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Bruce was happy today. Maybe to everyone else who only knew Bruce Wayne and not the Batman, he was the same charmer as always, but Bruce noticed a difference in himself as he headed to his main office at Wayne Industries. It was a subtle change that grew in strength with each passing year, ever since he adopted Dick Grayson over five years ago; it took Bruce a while to determine what this feeling was, realizing that the heavy responsibility of taking care of a child was balanced out by eager anticipation for everything they did next.
Today, Bruce worked out his schedule so that he would be able to pick Dick up from school himself. For most parents that wasn’t a big deal, they wouldn’t give it a second thought, but Bruce didn’t often have the chance to do these ‘normal’ things with Dick, so he was looking forward to it. Lately he had been reflecting on all the things his parents did for him, pained when he realized the privilege both he and Dick once had of having both parents in their lives was taken away—
I should do better at the little things, Bruce thought, greeted by several employees as he made his way to his office. I need to do better at the little things, so Dick doesn’t forget them. He had even less time with his parents than I did—if I forgot about all the small moments that make up a childhood, maybe Dick is already starting to forget. That can’t happen.
As Alfred mentioned quite often, Bruce had a tendency to obsess over the past, over time lost that could not be replaced or returned to; changing habits was hard, especially for someone like Bruce, but he wanted to at least try, for Dick’s sake. And try he would, starting with picking Dick up from school today, a small start to a new Bruce Wayne.
Maybe not entirely new…
The morning continued, promising good things as Bruce put on a smile and attended to several matters that needed his attention, video conferencing, checking out updated statistics and scanning over the latest revenue reports. He schmoozed and flirted, reassuring the board that their newest investment would definitely pay off in the future, signing whatever he needed to sign and send off for production to begin on some new tech products.
Bruce was cruising along through his day when during his second meeting at around eleven-thirty, he felt his cell phone buzzing in his pocket. It wasn’t his emergency phone, nor the one Alfred sent him case updates on, but his regular daytime cell phone which only had a few numbers saved in it. He didn’t answer it, but ended the meeting quicker than usual and snuck into his office to look—the number was registered in his contacts as Gotham High, and someone had left a voicemail.
“Hi Mr. Wayne, this is Rebecca from Gotham High. I’m sorry to bother you, but your son was involved in a fight today with some of his classmates, and the principal would like you to come in and speak with her regarding the incident. Please give the office a call back at…”
Bruce was immediately alarmed. Dick had only gotten in a fight at school once before, a few months after he first moved into the manor—since then he never misbehaved at school unless someone was being bullied, but none of those incidents ever resulted in the principal wanting to have a discussion with Bruce. He wasn’t terribly worried that Dick had been hurt in the fight, but even so, he immediately left the office for an early lunch and sped through Gotham like he was Batman chasing a criminal.
When Bruce got to the school, he was directed to the hallway outside the principal’s office, where he happened to walk by three other boys and their parents—he was glad they weren’t as injured as they could have been, noticing only a few bruises, wincing and split lips. They seemed more surprised than in pain, probably not expecting Bruce Wayne’s ward to be so agile and efficient in a casual school brawl.
Dick must have held back a lot, Bruce guessed, not making eye contact. But if he did, why get involved in the fight at all?
Dick himself was sitting in a chair wearing a frown on his lips, not a scratch on him, only a few scuffs and dirt marks on his pants, but otherwise spotless. He glanced up when he recognized Bruce’s footsteps, slowly looking away when Bruce sat down on the empty chair next to him. Neither of them spoke at first—as Batman, he would have given Robin the silent treatment until they got to the Batcave, then unloaded all the ways Robin could have gotten himself injured or worse. But, he wasn’t Batman right now, and Bruce wanted to be better.
What would a good parent do? What would a parent the complete opposite of me do if their child got in a fight at school? He wondered, looking over at Dick, who still had his head down, fully expecting to be reprimanded. I really do care about him, so…what should I say first? What does a parent who cares deeply for their son ask?
“Are you okay?” Bruce began, making sure to keep any disapproval or disappointment from his tone, which was harder than he expected. “Looks like having numbers on you didn’t help them.”
“…I’m not hurt,” Dick answered quietly, crossing his arms. Bruce noticed he didn’t say ‘I’m okay,’ which, if he was reading this correctly, meant he wasn’t. Normally Bruce wouldn’t pry, because he hated when Dick pried, but maybe pushing a little wasn’t a bad thing. Sometimes parents needed to do a little pushing to get the truth out, so they could help their children more efficiently.
(That’s what he read in a magazine once.)
“Dick.”
The dark haired boy looked over, blue eyes peering directly into Bruce’s—he never shied away from confrontation, even if he was in trouble. Dick always stood up for himself, against Bruce, against his peers, against villains, against the Batman…Bruce admired that about him, amongst many other admirable qualities he hadn’t seen in another person since his parents died, since he met Alfred all those years ago.
“Tell me what happened,” Bruce requested, putting a hand on Dick’s shoulder. “Please.”
Dick’s impassive face crumpled at the sudden kindness, falling to properly reveal his current emotions. Another thing about Dick was that he never lowered his head or mumbled when they had deep talks; his parents were open, direct people, something he continued to practice after their deaths, another thing Bruce was learning from him. Blue stayed on Bruce as he listened, keeping himself patient as Dick told his side of the story.
“One of them called me a slur. He called me gypsy.”
Bruce was used to his mask covering all expressions, not able to stop his surprised look, understanding what Dick said, but not entirely.
“The others saw that I was pissed, so they joined in just to mess with me,” Dick went on, hands twisting together to contain his anger. “I—I know it’s what most people call Romani people here, so I should be used to it, but…I’m not. I don’t like when they say it.”
Bruce didn’t quite know what to say to that, staying silent in case his son wanted to explain further. Dick’s crestfallen expression wouldn’t let him look away, keeping focused even though it was hurting his heart. Dick’s expressions, whether happy or sad, were just too much for him to handle sometimes, too open and raw, unable to be contained, forcing the other person into being equally emotional.
“It made me feel bad,” Dick confessed, voice quiet with obvious agony, even more than he was expressing with his words and eyes. “Like I’m some…dirty creature unworthy of life. That’s pretty much what it means when they call me that.”
More pain coursed through Bruce’s chest. He didn’t want his son hurting. He didn’t want anyone hurting him, especially. Frankly, it pissed him off that those punks had caused Dick such anxiety, but he didn’t want Dick to see his irritation and think it was because of him, because of how he reacted to his classmate’s racist comments. Bruce took a moment to reel in his emotions, clearing his throat when he was ready to speak.
“I’m sorry this happened. I’ll bring it up with the principal when we go inside.”
“No…she probably thinks it’s an acceptable term, too. I don’t want to make a big thing out of it,” Dick shook his head, retreating on account of not wanting Bruce to have more work to do because of him.
“It is a big deal if it makes you feel this way, Dick.”
Dick’s blue eyes widened in surprise, something warm and comforting sparkling in the background as he peered over at Bruce, who finally had to look away, or risk getting emotional himself. The anger was ceasing for the moment, overcome with worry and sadness for their current situation, but Bruce made sure to keep it close—sometimes his anger was a crucial step in moving forward. The hallway was silent for a minute, both contemplating as they stared at the colorful wall in front of them.
“I’ll handle it better next time—promise,” Dick assured him, wanting to be mature despite his earlier display of violence. “I’ll tell them I don’t like being called that, and that it’s offensive—it’ll probably make things worse, but…I’m a Grayson, and I’m not ashamed of that.”
Bruce couldn’t stop a smile now, forever impressed by Dick’s pride, kindness, thoughtfulness, sensitivity, his entire self, really. What did he even need Bruce or the Batman for?
“I’m glad to hear that,” Bruce nodded. “You have every right to be proud—and I’m sure your parents would say the same thing.”
The principal opened her doors then, waving them both inside; Bruce kept his hand on Dick’s shoulder, following closely, acting as his reassuring shadow as they faced their most recent challenge together. A long discussion was had with the principal, Dick telling her about the racial slur per Bruce’s silent encouragement. She seemed taken aback by this accusation, but was willing to address the issue with the other boys, who, along with Dick, were suspended for the rest of the day. Bruce thanked the principal for meeting with him, letting Dick collect his homework for the day before driving them back to Wayne Industries.
Dick looked out the window most of the time, thoughtful, but not as sullen as before, though Bruce could tell he was not himself. He didn’t know what else to say, didn’t know if there was anything he could say that would make his son feel better, hoping Dick wouldn’t be upset by his silence on the topic until he worked out the best advice to give—he let Dick sit in an empty conference room to do the rest of his homework, and at five o’clock, they went home.
“Why don’t you go to your room for a while?” Bruce suggested as they walked into the manor. “I’m going to talk with Alfred.”
Dick became a little decomposed at that comment, expression falling and skin paling slightly. His grip on his backpack straps even tightened.
“You—You’re going to tell Alfred what happened?” He squeaked.
“You’re more afraid to tell Alfred than you were telling me?”
“Yes.”
Well, maybe he had a point: when Bruce was a kid, he never wanted Alfred to think badly of him, always hiding evidence whenever he spilled or broke something. Alfred always found out and was never mean about it, but it didn’t stop Bruce from always wanting to impress him and stay in his good opinion; he still had yet to figure out that it didn’t matter what he or Batman did, Alfred would always love and treat him like a son.
“Fair enough…but yes, I am going to tell him what happened,” Bruce said, raising an eyebrow in Dick’s direction. “Unless you would rather tell him yourself?”
Dick flew up the stairs and darted towards the direction of his room, backpack bouncing against his back all the way. Bruce snorted when he heard a door slam, finding Alfred bustling around in the kitchen, making dinner; he seemed almost confused by Bruce appearing suddenly, in his normal clothes and not bleeding out of his Batman costume. Still, he immediately knew something was amiss, even without the blood and angry outbursts.
“Master Bruce—you’re home earlier than I expected,” He commented, raising an eyebrow at the clock. “I assume you picked Master Richard up on time, then?”
Bruce exhaled heavily, having kept it in all day long so Dick didn’t overhear and misread his guardian’s frustration—he was sensitive to disappointment, and didn’t do a very good job at hiding it. That was the performer in him.
“I was about four hours early, actually. The school called me around eleven-thirty to come get him—he got suspended for fighting with three of his classmates.”
Alfred put down his pot and washed his hands thoroughly, taking his time before turning back to Bruce. He didn’t ask any questions yet, seeing that Bruce had more to say on the matter and listening attentively like he was so good at.
“I’m sure this is terrible for a parent to say, but I don’t blame him one bit for roughing those punks up, Alfred—the Grayson’s were Romani, and one of the boys called Dick a gypsy,” Bruce hissed in disapproval. “Then his buddies started in just to torment him. Why would they do that? Dick is well liked at school, and I don’t see why they would trigger him like that for no reason.”
“Teenage boys are not known for being sensitive to the feelings of others. Were any of them seriously injured?” Alfred asked, pouring a cup of tea and sliding it over to the younger man.
“Not as much as they could have been. Just some bruises and a few split lips—but it’s still bad, right? For Dick to use violence against his classmates?”
“Are you asking me, or yourself, Master Wayne?”
Bruce sighed again, rubbing his forehead in stress.
“I’m not—mad at Dick. I’m just…mad at the situation,” He explained. “Don’t tell him this, but I’m more angry at those students for using slurs against him than I am at Dick for reacting the way he did. I mean, they should have been suspended for way more than just half a day—they were using racial slurs and harassing a student about his ethnicity! In the real world we call that a hate crime!”
“Indeed, sir.”
“And the principal acted like she had no idea what a racial slur was, that it wasn’t a big deal. I didn’t want to be that domineering parent that chews out their child’s teachers, but it took everything I had to not yell at her, Alfred. I just know those boys are going to keep harassing Dick because they think he’s the one who got them in trouble, and then he’ll get in more fights, and then he’ll have to change schools, but he won’t want to do that because then the bullies will have won, but then he’ll make new bullies at his new school, and—”
“I’ll have to stop your rant there, sir,” Alfred cut in gently. “It is unfortunate that Master Grayson has to endure such foul behavior, but I don’t believe transferring him to a different school will be helpful at this point. Now, I’m sure he understands that treating the situation with violence was not appropriate, yes?”
“Of course he does!” Bruce agreed passionately, backing his son up. “He already apologized and said he would react differently next time.”
That also pissed Bruce off: the idea of there being a next time. Next time someone recognizes Dick’s heritage and calls him a gypsy, or worse, or all the other stereotypical terms regular people were used to calling Roma people by. How often had Dick already overheard conversations involving Romani people, listening to the horrible ways they described his people? The mere idea made Bruce burn with anger.
“Then, I wouldn’t worry so much, Master Bruce. Master Richard has a good head on his shoulders, and I know he will not let such an incident hinder his identity,” Alfred assured him with absolute certainty. “He has always been sensitive to these social issues, and I know that if someone uses such abusive language with him, or anyone else, Master Grayson will handle it responsibly, without using too much force.”
“I’m not worried about Dick beating up bullies, Alfred. I’m worried about…him.”
Alfred didn’t seemed too surprised by this admission as Bruce himself was. Of course, he had known for a few years now that he worried more about that boy than he ever thought possible. He always worried for him. Bruce underestimated just how much he would come to worry about Dick Grayson, not just Robin when they were on the job. He worried about the teen constantly throughout the day, every day, whether he realized it or not.
When Bruce came home to get ready for patrol, he found himself wondering if Dick had eaten enough. When he was at work, Bruce wondered which class Dick was in at the moment, if he understood the lesson being taught. When he let Dick stay home some nights to get rest for an upcoming test, he hoped Dick was actually sleeping and not studying late into the night, and there were so many other little things, a million miniscule things to worry about, and Bruce did, just like a parent did. Now he had to add this to the already long list of worries.
“I don’t know how to handle this. I don’t know how to talk about it with him. I want to, but I just—” Bruce paused in frustration, struggling with his words. “I can’t relate to his situation. I want to help and to understand Dick’s identity, but I don’t know how.”
Alfred listened to Bruce’s rant, quiet for a moment before he moved the pot onto the stove, turning on the heat. For a moment, Bruce suspected he wasn’t going to offer him any advice, but Alfred seemed to be waiting for Bruce to put it together—when he didn’t, Alfred finally gave him a hint.
“Well, Master Bruce—in the lower chamber of Wayne Manor, we happen to have a fully functioning computer system that could be of some use to you. Now, if you would kindly fetch Master Richard, I would like him to set the table for me. Dinner will be ready presently.”
The internet. Of course. Bruce was always looking for an excuse to do immersive research that took several hours to complete. It would have to wait for today, even though it wasn’t like Bruce to sit around waiting. Hiding his feelings for now, Bruce retrieved Dick for dinner, and they ate together without too much tension suffocating the table, Alfred asking only a few questions about the day’s events, Dick and Bruce both giving short answers in response.
Afterwards, Dick followed Bruce into the hallway, hot at his heels—the boy figured he was grounded, but a tiny sliver of hope still allowed him to think he still might be allowed out on patrol. Bruce had been nice about the whole ‘getting into a fight at school’ thing, not yelling or berating him once yet; Dick didn’t want to press his luck, but he really wanted to make up for what happened at school by helping others as Robin.
“Bruce?” He began carefully. “Can I…can I still come on patrol with you tonight?”
At first, Bruce thought he definitely should not let Dick go on patrol, but when he really thought about it, wouldn’t withholding Robin from Dick only be reinforcing racism? Batman couldn’t let racism win in his everyday life—that just wasn’t right. Punishing Dick for being a minority wasn’t right, either, nor was being angry at Dick for standing up for himself, even if he used violence to do so. There was also the fact that his adopted son was looking up at him so hopefully, using those shining blue eyes to his advantage like he had probably done with his real parents a thousand times to get away with everything…
“Go get dressed,” Bruce sighed.
Dick subtly pumped his arm in excitement and took off for the Batcave.
***
After patrol that night, Bruce sent Dick to bed while he stayed in the cave and began a deep search on the internet. If someone told Bruce he would be looking up parenting blogs at four in the morning, he would have said they’re crazy, but here he was. The first subject Bruce dove into was how to deal with a child suffering from racism: he must have looked through fifty blogs and twelve pages of search results, pleasantly surprised (and also depressed) at how much information there was available on this particular issue.
There were several official corporations that had helpful websites with resourceful links, but Bruce found that the most practical advice came from blogs run by parents of biracial or minority children explaining how they handled unpleasant situations. Bruce was horrified at some of the stories told, wondering how in the hell the children’s parents managed to keep their composure after their child was so blatantly abused and disrespected. Forget Batman—Bruce Wayne would have blown a gasket if any of those incidents happened to Dick. He copy and pasted the best advice onto a separate document to print out and study later, hoping it would help him with Dick’s current situation.
Tune in to your child’s feelings. Listen to what your child is saying and reflect on what was said. For example, ‘I understand why you’re angry. I would feel that way too if someone said or did that to me’.
Acknowledge that people are treated differently based on the color of their skin and that these different standards are unfair.
Tuning into Dick’s feelings…could Bruce do that? He at least had to try, no matter how uncomfortable it made him. Dick deserved that, at the very least. Bruce found plenty of specific steps for after incidents with bullies, like they were dealing with now.
Praise your child for telling you what happened. Tell your child that what happened isn’t their fault. Let your child know that they can come to you whenever they want to talk.
Remind your child of their strength and everything that makes them proud of their identity. Encourage and value diversity and foster a sense of cultural pride. It’s also important to instill positive self-esteem, a strong sense of self-worth and self-love for who they are, where they come from, and what they look like.
Giving children a sense of cultural pride can help counter negativity.
Cultural pride—Bruce realized he really didn’t know a lot about Roma culture when he read that step. How could he help Dick be proud of his true identity when he didn’t even know what Romani believed in, what they studied and practiced? This resulted in him opening twelve more tabs in addition to the first fifteen, diving straight into Romani culture and traditions, consuming as much information as possible in hopes that it would help him further understand his adopted son.
Not a great start—as it turned out, the Roma were one of the most abused and misrepresented cultures in the world. Bruce had no idea they were persecuted so frequently, that many of them were victims in the Holocaust, that much of their small groups were still outcast and mistreated in the modern world as well, simply because they were nomads and had different traditions than other ethnic groups, because they were stereotyped as fortune tellers and thieves, which, as the bloggers said, wasn’t fair.
Bruce tried to focus on the actual culture of the Romani people, like their music and dances, unique cuisine, close knit families and beautiful homemade jewelry, but it was difficult when every paragraph ended with a sentence stating that many of their traditions were frowned upon. It was difficult, not knowing how traditional Dick’s parents had been, not being able to research what modern Roma practiced because they were so off the grid, so undocumented by the world, or not documented accurately.
Reading about the history and current status of Roma people didn’t make Bruce feel any more secure about Dick’s future.
Bruce related this information back to his current situation with Dick and the school bullies, reviewing all the papers he printed and trying to make it come together in a way that made sense. Some things he knew he could help with by giving a little more effort, like asking Dick about some traditions he might want to incorporate into their holidays, and assisting Alfred in making Roma dishes—then there were a few tips Bruce knew he would struggle with.
Be supportive, but don’t make promises you can’t keep, such as ‘I’m going to make sure this never happens to you again’. Refrain from threatening, intimidating or verbally abusing the offender.
When something degrading is said, anger is a normal reaction, but your child needs guidance on how to work through the painful emotions to keep hatred from taking root. Encourage your child to not generalize behaviors based on an unpleasant encounter with someone of a different race.
Working through painful emotions to keep hatred from taking root—that sounded familiar, though Bruce wouldn’t say he was an expert on that particular subject…he liked to think Batman didn’t work on hatred, but sometimes it seemed like the opposite. It was important that Robin didn’t learn that from him, and it was crucial that Dick didn’t learn that from Bruce, especially if he would be dealing with racism for the rest of his life.
Don’t make promises you can’t keep—no matter how badly Bruce wanted to promise Dick he would make sure nothing bad was said about him ever again, he bitterly knew that was an empty promise. Even as Batman, he couldn’t ensure Robin wouldn’t be verbally abused or picked on, and as maddening a thought as that was, Bruce would have to maintain his composure. The blogs said children were always watching, and with Dick, that rang even more true: it didn’t matter what Bruce said, if Dick saw him behaving a certain way towards racist assholes, that reaction would have consequences.
It was now past noon, and Bruce was slowly starting to piece things together, how he could help Dick address and handle this disturbing social issue. He thought he had a good grip on what steps he could take to ensure Dick knew that no matter what anyone said about him, he was worthy of life, and worthy of a damn good life. Even though Bruce was a privileged white man, he thought he was starting to understand, but then he came across an alarming article that pushed all rationality away.
Being bullied or experiencing racism can make kids feel sad, angry, depressed and left out. It can make them fearful and less likely to engage with school. It can absolutely impact their physical health, including stress reactions like increased heart rate, headaches and panic attacks.
Chronic stress caused by racism can lead to changes in hormones that cause inflammation in the body, a marker of chronic disease. Long term effects of this include heart disease and diabetes.
Reading that got Bruce so worked up about Dick’s future health that he felt a dire, panicked urge to talk to his son. He had to talk to him right now.
After quickly showering and throwing on some clothes, Bruce hurried through the manor in search of Dick, finding the teen sitting at his writing desk, reading a book they were assigned for English class and scribbling answers onto his worksheet. Instead of rushing in like planned, Bruce found himself pausing in the doorway to just look at him for a moment.
He looked at Dick’s dark hair, which was starting to get a little long, strands tickling his ears and the back of his neck, but not quite as long as Bruce had seen some young Roma men wearing in old photographs. He looked at his skin, seeming to realize for the first time how much darker the undertone of Dick’s skin was compared to his own, not quite brown, not quite tan, but a nice, warm olive hue. He looked at Dick’s eyes, the startling contrast of blue underneath thick eyebrows, watching as those eyes pulled off the page they were reading to notice Bruce’s presence.
For the moment, Dick was safe. He was safe, here, at Wayne Manor, just a few feet away from Bruce’s protective hold. Bruce didn’t want to break this moment, in case Dick would never know safety again after this moment ended, but he pushed forward, nodding in acknowledgement and stepping inside.
“What are you reading?”
“The Outsiders by S.E. Hinton—I really like it! Usually I don’t like the books we’re assigned, but this one is great!”
Bruce hummed in agreement, sitting on the end of Dick’s bed as the boy put his book down and turned to face him, twisting in his chair in a way Bruce had never been able to, not even as a flexible toddler.
“Is something wrong?” Dick asked immediately, looking worried. “Am I grounded?”
“No, Dick, you’re not grounded—but I did want to talk to you. About what happened yesterday, at school?”
Dick shrunk against the chair, but he was still paying attention, waiting for Bruce to speak first. What was the first step, again? Bruce swore he had them memorized, though he probably should have taken into account the lack of sleep and distractions he had while studying…Dick waited patiently, trying not to show how nervous he was, unsure what was about to be said. The silence stretched on until finally, Bruce found his words.
“Firstly, I wanted to apologize to you, Dick.”
“Um…for what?” The boy asked in confusion.
“For not being more sensitive about your background. I knew you and your parents had a Roma background, but when I took you in, I didn’t make an effort to really understand what being Romani meant. I’m glad you’re proud to be who you are, because you should be, and I…I would like to learn more about your heritage now, if you’re willing to educate me.”
Dick seemed taken aback by this conversation topic, sitting up straighter as he processed Bruce’s offer. He at least didn’t look upset over Bruce’s idiocrasy.
“Really? You really want to?”
What did the blog say, again? How do I word it so he knows I mean what I say?
“Yes, Dick. If it’s important to you, it’s important to me,” Bruce continued sincerely. “I want to learn more about what being Romani means to you, so maybe I can help you better in the future. I want to be more prepared for incidents like yesterday—I hope they don’t happen again, but I can’t promise they won’t, which isn’t at all your fault, Dick. I want you to know that you can come to me—I’ll listen to whatever you have to say, and whatever terrible emotions you’re feeling, whether it’s anger or sorrow or shame, I’ll do my best to comfort you.”
Dick didn’t know what to say. He never thought Bruce would ever bring this up again, unless he was reminding Dick to behave at school or something by trudging up past incidents of his misbehavior—he especially didn’t expect Bruce to bring this up with concerns about racism his son might face. Dick was happy he brought it up, though, because sometimes, Dick forgot how to say certain words in Roma, forgot what ingredients went in his favorite traditional soup, forgot verses of the fun songs other Romani members of the circus would sing with him. Sometimes Dick forgot the pet name his mother used to call him in their language, the little rhyme his father would say before putting him to bed.
He didn’t want to forget. If Dick made Bruce remember what it was like, being Romani, maybe it would help him remember, too.
“A tear in the eye is a wound in the heart.”
“Sorry?” Bruce replied, leaning forward more attentively.
“My mom used to say that whenever she saw me get upset,” Dick explained, remembering fondly. “That’s what I thought of when those kids were calling me gypsy: a tear in the eye is a wound in the heart. I guess that’s what it felt like in the moment…maybe that’s why I attacked them—Robin can deal with criminals and jerks that way, but Dick Grayson can’t.”
“You’re right…and I’d—I’d like to be there for Dick Grayson, just like Batman is there for Robin. I’ll admit, I don’t really know if I can truly help you, and maybe I’ll only make things worse, but I at least want to try. I want to try and make a difference for you, Dick.”
Dick finally relieved Bruce’s anxiety by giving him a smile, then turning a little somber as he thought about what his guardian said, looking at his twisting hands before gazing back up at Bruce.
“I can make a difference as both, right, Bruce? I—I mean, Dick Grayson can make just as much a difference as Robin does?”
Bruce stared at his son fondly, smiling himself when he realized that yes: Robin and Batman made a difference in Gotham, but Bruce Wayne and Richard Grayson did, too. Most importantly to Bruce, they made a difference with each other. Dick Grayson was the one who truly made a difference in Bruce’s life—not Robin.
The boy that sat in front of him, right here, Richard Grayson, the adopted son of Bruce Wayne, member of the Flying Graysons, Roma at heart: he was himself. He was everything. And Bruce wouldn’t change him for the world.
“You already have.”