Guys… It's been over a year… I am sorry, I am so sorry (props if you got the Doctor Who reference). It's been a crazy year, and after the show got cancelled, I lost interest. But I'm back now! I've been on a Daddy!Bats kick lately, and decided that instead of starting a new story, I would finish this one! This is going to be a short update, but there will be longer ones coming soon!

But Clearly, I Can't Stay

Attacking Batman is one thing. Going after Robin is understandable. The Court of Owls had gone too far, however, when they attacked Dick Grayson in public, then went after Bruce Wayne as a warning. Now don't get me wrong; Bruce is completely capable of taking care of himself, but when he's at the office—or any public place for that matter—Bruce Wayne is defenseless.

The drive to the hospital was slow and painful—Tim kept asking questions about what was happening, Alfred was focusing on driving, so I was left to come up with answers for Tim.

"Why do the bad guys want you?" Tim would ask.

"I don't know," I told him.

"Why did they attack Bruce?"

"I don't know."

"Who will take care of me if Bruce dies?" He eventually asked, tears clear in his wide eyes that had seen too much for his eleven years.

"I—" I started, taken aback by the nature of the question. What would happen if Bruce died? Who would be Batman? Who would run the Justice League? "Alfred would take care of you," I finally said firmly.

"Who will take care of you?"

I had no answer for him. Alfred would want to take care of me. He would want to be there, but I knew he couldn't. Tim was fragile enough for Bruce and Alfred to handle. If Bruce died, I would have to completely go. Wayne Manor wouldn't be home anymore. I would be an orphan again.

"I'll take care of myself," I told him, feigning a smile.

Tim remained quiet the rest of the drive, seemingly contemplating how I would take care of myself when I was also a child.

When we finally got to Gotham General, Alfred dropped the two of us at the door while he parked the car. We rushed in and went to the front desk, where a nurse was on the phone. We waited for a minute before she was done and looked up at us expectantly.

"We're here for Bruce Wayne," I said.

"What are a couple of kids doing looking for Bruce Wayne?" She asked, raising an eyebrow.

"He's our guardian," I explained. "I'm Dick Grayson, this is Tim Drake."

She looked between us for a moment and finally sighed, "He's in room 321," she said, pointing towards an elevator. "Go up two floors and follow the hall. The door will be on the left. I'll let the nurses know to keep an eye out for you in case you get lost."

"Thank you," We both said, smiling at the irritated nurse.

"Just be quick about it," she said.

I nodded and lead Tim—who was still rather distraught about the whole situation—to the elevator. I pushed the up button and motioned for him to go in when the doors opened.

"Shouldn't we wait for Alfred?" Tim asked in his small, timid voice.

"He'll meet us up there," I told him.

He nodded in response and looked at his feet.

"Dick?" he asked, still not looking at me. "Did you leave because of me?"

I was taken aback by the question. When I told Bruce I was leaving, I had never thought about what Tim would think. "Of course not, Timmy," I said. "I just needed some space, and I felt like you were going to need Bruce more than I do right now."

"I heard you guys fighting last night." I didn't say anything, just pursed my lips and looked up at the light that marked what level we were on, praying that the elevator would move faster. "Is that how I'll feel about Bruce in a few years?"

"Tim, what's going on between me and Bruce isn't because I've been living with him. Me and Bruce are really similar, and that's why it worked for a while, but there are some things that Bruce can't understand. He has different ways of coping with things, and it's hard for him to understand anything else."

Before he could say anything else, the elevator dinged and the doors opened, a giant 3 flashing above them. "Let's go," I said, leading him into the hallway.

When we reached the room, Bruce was sitting up, which was a good sign.

"You're alive!" Tim exclaimed, running to the bed and wrapping his arms around Bruce.

"Why wouldn't I be?" Bruce said with a chuckle, returning the hug.

"I was so worried," Time explained, pulling away and smiling. "Dick was, too."

Bruce looked at me, "I guess you couldn't stay away for long," he said.

"Gotham keeps bringing us together," I shrugged.

I leaned against the wall while Tim talked to Bruce, going on and on about everything that had happened that day. The note kept going through my mind. If it was the Court, why would they go to Bruce and not me? I was an easier target, especially at school. None of it made sense.

Alfred finally arrived after a few minutes and could sense the tension between me and Bruce, so offered to take Tim to find a doctor and get some information about the attack, extent of Bruce's injuries, and other such information that Bruce would never willingly share.

I closed the door when the left and turned to Bruce, who's smile had vanished and was replaced with a stern look—a Batman look. God, even when he was in the hospital he still acted like Batman.

"Tim said there was a note," I started, walking towards the bed.

"Tim shouldn't have known about that," Bruce stated.

"He's smarter than you think, Bruce," I said. "He's gonna figure it out sooner or later, and I'm betting on sooner."

"I'll handle that when the time comes. For now, we need to protect you from the Court."

"What did the note say?"

Bruce ignored me, of course. "I'm going to pull some strings and get you excused from school—your guardian was attacked, so you'll have an excuse. Someone besides Red Tornado will be stationed at the Mountain at all times and—"

"What did it say?" I asked again.

Bruce sighed, obviously hoping to avoid answering. It was the Bruce Wayne thing to do—something comes up regarding my safety, he does everything in his power to keep it from me.

"Dick, it doesn't—"

"Tell me what it said!" I snapped. "It's about me; I have a right to know!"

He avoided eye contact, and I could see the despair. He knew what I would do when I found out. He knew everything I would do, and everything that would happen. Even know we had grown apart in the past two years, in that moment all I saw was a scared father, terrified that his son was going to die. I could see the answer in his eyes when he finally looked at me.

Give yourself over, or everyone dies.

I couldn't keep my emotions in check anymore. I plopped on the bed next to him and wrapped my arms around him, and he shifted to make more room. He hadn't held me like this in years, and even though I was "too old" for those things, it felt too right to let go.

"I don't want to become like them." I sobbed into his chest, and his strong arms tightened around me.

"You don't have to," he soothed, rubbing circles on my back. "We'll stop them; we'll get the League involved, keep you safe—"

"But you'll die. Tim, Alfred, Wally, Babs… Everyone will die. I lost my parents once, Bruce; I can't lose you, too."

He held me up and looked me in the eyes, and I could see tears threatening to spill—a rare thing to see from Bruce Wayne. He brushed the tears from my face and said "I'm not going anywhere."

I looked away from him. I couldn't look at him and see the pain and heartbreak in his eyes. "That's not a chance I'm willing to take," I said, my voice trembling. I pulled away from his grip and leapt off of the bed. "I'm sorry… Dad."

I left the room, ignoring his cries of protest as I left.

"You don't have to do this, Dick!"

"We'll find another way!"

But I knew, and he knew too, deep down, that there was no other way. Not for me.