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Bruce hadn't really been thinking when he'd taken in Dick Grayson.
Honestly, he'd been in a bit of a haze the week after the incident at Haly's Circus. Maybe he wouldn't have been so affected by the Grayson's death normally, but seeing the small boy scream and wail over his parents bodies had triggered something in him. He doesn't remember moving, but he remembered the snapping cord that sounded like a gunshot, he remembered holding the sobbing boy to his chest, the blood soaking into his pants and on his hands and the rain that couldn't have been there. The sequins on their costumes glittered like pearls in streetlights. He clutched the boy to him tighter, muffling his screaming sobs into his rumbling chest as he desperately tried to stay in the present while the past clawed at his consciousness. This pup needed him here, not 16 years ago during the worst moment of his life.
The police eventually led them away from the bodies, Jim Gordon himself covering the two of them with a shock blanket when it was clear that they wouldn't be separated. Imprinting, he would later find out, was a very real phenomenon for pups during traumatic events. In the moment, though, all Bruce knew was that he needed to protect this boy. He'd growled at anyone who got close aside from Jim, and even he had to approach slowly with his scent blockers off. The police had to give up on taking either of them in for questioning that night.
Bruce doesn't even know how Alfred managed to separate the two of them. The old beta showed up and probably managed to calm him down, but he doesn't remember Dick being taken away from him. He must have been, considering there was no way Bruce would've been allowed to take the pup home with him legally. Despite all of its faults, Gotham City CPS wouldn't be bought out immediately.
They could, however, be bought out a week later. Bruce hated it, but he hated the thought of that boy all by himself in a juvenile detention center even more. Lucius already wanted his head for the display at the circus, what was one more infraction?
So no, Bruce hadn't really been thinking much through when he took Dick Grayson on as his ward. He'd seen a boy who was just like him who needed help, and he'd acted.
The problem started two weeks later.
The problem being that Dick has started presenting at the age of nine. As an omega, no less.
Apparently, after the traumatic death of his parents, spending a week breaking out of juvie to hunt down their murderer, and another two weeks of breaking out of Wayne Manor to do the same, Dick's body has decided to take him out of fight or flight mode by force. Bruce knew, objectively, that when raising a child he'd have to eventually have a talk with him about puberty and presentation and all of the things that entails, but he'd thought he'd have a few years to prepare for that. Two weeks with a silent, angry shadow was not enough to form a bond close enough for either of them to be comfortable with this conversation, regardless of any imprinting status. The only times Dick had even spoken to him were to ask about his parents' murderer or to scream at him in French or Polish or whatever other language he thought Bruce didn't know. He'd started taking lessons in French on the side in some desperate hope that he'd be able to communicate better. It hadn't helped much, although Dick had seemed quietly pleased when Bruce responded to him in broken French after one of his tantrums. He counted it as a win, at the time.
Now he wishes the problem was as simple as Dick refusing to speak in English.
Leslie exits Dick's room with a stormy look on her face. Bruce pauses his pacing when she looks at him, certain that he's left an indent in the floor. She sighs and gestures for him to follow her, leading him to a sitting room not too far from the hallway of bedrooms. He's realizing how often she's there, if she knows the layout of the halls so well that she can lead him around. He really should pay her more.
Despite the room having plenty of seats, neither of them sit down. Instead, Leslie turns to him with a grim look on her face. "I'm not a pediatrician," she says, her voice low and concerned, "but it is highly uncommon for someone to present so young. The fact that he's presenting as an omega makes this situation a lot more dangerous."
Bruce nods. "I'm prepared to do everything in my power to keep him safe from—"
"No, Bruce," she interrupts. "I mean he could die."
He blinks, his teeth clacking together as he shuts his mouth. He knows that the presentation process can sometimes be painful, especially when triggered early like this. His own alpha presentation wasn't exactly a walk in the park. He'd never heard of someone dying just from presenting.
"What?" he asks for lack of a better response.
Leslie sighs. "Presenting so early would be dangerous for any child. His body hasn't actually had the time to prepare for the transition period." Bruce nods. He remembers the months leading up to his own presentation being a hellish blur of hormones settling in. "And he's just lost his whole pack. I don't suppose you have anything from them to help ease his instincts, do you?"
He grimaces. "No," he tells her unhappily. "The GCPD confiscated everything, claiming it was 'evidence'. I've been trying to get access to his belongings, but even Jim is having a hard time getting through." He doesn't mention that Dick is probably right, and there really was mob involvement in his parents' death, and that's likely why they can't get access to any of their things either. "It's been slow going."
"Keep trying, God knows that boy deserves to have something familiar." Leslie shakes her head, clearly displeased with that answer, but she knows that the GCPD is more often than not an unhelpful entity at best. Her clinic is in the bed of its dead zone, after all. "The traumatic death of his family likely triggered his body into presenting as a way to call out for his pack to protect him."
"But they're not here to ease the reaction."
She nods. "Making this a deadly scenario."
Bruce purses his lips. He feels useless, standing here listening to Leslie explain all the ways Dick is in danger. He just doesn't know what to do. He's a man who likes to have a plan, and he usually has a plan for every possible scenario, but this situation wasn't one he'd have predicted. He didn't know trauma could cause an early presentation, and he didn't know that early presentation could be a cause of death. He doesn't like being surprised.
He takes a deep breath and tries to center himself. One of the best skills he's developed is staying calm despite the situation. Panicking isn't going to help Dick survive his presentation. He can freak out once he's sure the pup he took in isn't going to die three weeks after his parents.
"How do I help him?"
Leslie, at least, seems to approve of his resolve. She adjusts her glasses a bit before clasping her hands in front of her. "The two of you imprinted on each other three weeks ago, correct?"
Bruce furrows his brow. "I thought that would have faded by now. Wouldn't he be more clingy if it were still active?" To him, it seemed like Dick was doing everything in his power to get away from him. From what he's heard about imprinting, that type of behavior seems opposite of what would normally happen.
Then again, Dick has been anything but normal from the second he crashed into Bruce's life.
Leslie shakes her head. "On the contrary, your behavior makes me believe that the imprint is still firmly in place."
"My behavior?" Bruce balks. Despite the situation, she has it in her to still laugh at his surprise.
"The urgency you had when you were trying to gain custody, the fact that you're still fighting to get his things back." She looks him square in the eye. "You've been actively forcing yourself to calm down this whole time while I've been performing my check up. You're acting like a frazzled first-time father."
Bruce gapes at her. He honestly doesn't know how to respond to her reading into his behavior so thoroughly. Here's a doctor he's known his whole life, who was close friends with his father, who practically took on a parental role for him after his own parents died, telling him that his behavior is a dead giveaway of the imprint that formed weeks ago. He didn't think he was acting particularly different. Anyone would worry about a child breaking out of their house to traipse across rooftops in search of the man who killed his parents. Except, apparently, he wasn't acting normal at all.
Leslie snorts. "Please, Bruce, did you honestly believe the imprint would fade when he's living in your house?" Bruce bristles.
"It's a very big house."
"Uh-huh," she says. "And I'll bet he's been at your heels the whole time anyway."
The thing is, Leslie's right. Dick followed Bruce most of the time he was home, unless he brought attention to it. If Bruce tried too hard to talk to him, he'd get yelled at in any number of languages, or he'd be given the cold shoulder. He's been trying so hard to get through to the kid, but he can only do so much. Eventually, he'd figured it'd be better to let him be a quiet observer. He'd started keeping various things for him to play with in his office. Dick liked the puzzle toys the best, the kind that the goal was to get everything untangled. Considering his ability to slip past every security measure Bruce has tried to put up to stop him from leaving the manor at night, he figured those might be a hit. The kid is smart. Maybe too smart for his own good.
Still, Bruce doesn't like being read so easily. He'd forgotten just how well Leslie knew him. Apparently, that knowledge extends to his new ward now, too. He scowls at her.
"What does the imprint have to do with this?" he asks, redirecting the conversation back to something that actually matters. Leslie, for her part, immediately becomes serious again.
"You're the closest thing to a pack that he has now," she tells him. The statement hits him like a punch to the gut. "He'll need you in there with him if he's going to have any chance of surviving."
Bruce considers this. Part of him is happy to hear it. He wants nothing more than to run into Dick's bedroom and do whatever he needs to help him through this. He's been a pack of two for the last sixteen years. It would be an honor to add this precious pup into it. Not many of Gotham's elite can boast having both an alpha and an omega in their pack, and none have a male omega. Not that status matters all that much to him anymore, but there's still a part of him that was raised to take pride in his family name. He would raise Dick with that pride too.
The issue is, this is directly opposing the advice Leslie had given him when he'd taken Dick in as his ward. She'd told him that he should do what he could to help the imprint fade. It isn't inherently bad, but it can cause a codependency to develop, which isn't something he wanted for himself or for Dick. He'd thought it had been fading, but clearly he was wrong. Bruce can only imagine that helping him through his presentation would set back any progress he's made on that front, if not solidifying it entirely. That's better than him dying, but he wonders if he'd be able to forgive himself if it causes Dick to be completely dependent on him.
Leslie seems to sense his hesitance, though. "I know I warned you about the complications of the imprint, but he needs a pack, Bruce. Having pack members around during presentation helps stabilize hormones and eases certain symptoms." She takes a deep breath. Her composure doesn't break, but he can tell that she doesn't like this anymore than he does. "Trauma induced presentations always cause a shock to the system that can lead to death, no matter the designation, but male omegas almost never survive a trauma induced presentation. The only ones on record who have, have had pack members with them during the process." Bruce purses his lips again.
"What if he doesn't want to be a part of my pack?" So many things have been decided for Dick lately, whether he wanted it or not. He hates the idea of taking another choice away from him.
"Then you break the bond after he survives this heat." Bruce doesn't like that answer, and she can clearly tell. "I know you want to give him the choice, but we don't have that luxury right now. Focus on keeping him alive so he can make the choice later."
He's quiet for a moment. Objectively, she's right. It's better for him to be angry but alive than for him to be dead from something he could prevent. That doesn't mean Bruce has to like it. He heaves a sigh.
"You're sure there's nothing else we can do?" he asks, just as a precaution. He's pretty sure he already knows the answer.
And, predictably, Leslie shakes her head. "Trust me, if there were a medicine I could give him, I would've already." She looks him dead in the eye. "You're the only one who can help him at this point, Bruce." He nods to her.
"I'll do what I can." He hopes that he'll be able to help without having to do anything Dick doesn't want, but he's prepared to do what it takes now. "Will you stay, just in case?" She hesitates for a moment.
"I don't know if I can," she says. He can tell it's difficult for her to admit. "I'm the only doctor on duty at the clinic, you know." He does know. She probably wants to stay to make sure Dick makes it through this, but patients don't just stop coming just because there's a billionaire asking for her to stay.
"I understand," he tells her. "I'll make sure Alfred or I will keep you up to date on the situation, should anything happen."
She nods. "See to it that you do." He turns to leave, anxious to get back to Dick now that she's explained what's going on, but she calls out to him, "And Bruce?" He turns back to her, an eyebrow raised. "Whatever happens, don't blame yourself."
He hates the way his throat tightens when she says it. She knows how he carries guilt on his shoulders for every person he can't save out there as Batman. She knows the weight the guilt would have for something like this, where he can't even save the child he swore to protect. It's hard to remember that she knows him, has known him for more than a decade now. He swallows around the heavy lump in his throat and offers her a weak smile.
"You know it won't be that easy," he says simply. She gives him a wry smile.
"You'll just have to do your best, then." Bruce isn't sure if she's talking about helping Dick or not shouldering the blame, but he has a feeling it might be a little bit of both.
They end their conversation there, not bothering with saying goodbye. He knows that she'll be coming back every day until Dick's presentation ends just to make sure he's not taking a turn for the worse. He hopes they won't need any of her expertise, but he's preparing himself for it just in case. Leslie goes to gather the supplies she brought with her and fill Alfred in on the situation. Bruce has no doubt that he'll be relying heavily on him in the upcoming days. It's looking to become a difficult week.
He makes his way back to Dick's bedroom, trying to tamp down on the anxiety building in his chest. He knows what he needs to do, it's just a matter of executing the plan. Nevermind the fact that Bruce has been in a pack of two for the majority of his life, and the thought of bringing in such a young pup under such dire circumstances doesn't sit quite right with him. He'll just have to hope that Dick will understand once all of this is over.
Bruce steels himself outside of the door. He's the Batman. He can manage to get his young ward through his premature presentation heat without causing any lasting problems. Dick Grayson is not going to die tucked away in Wayne Manor.
The door creaks when he opens it. Dick doesn't seem to have a reaction to the noise, though. He's whimpering softly, buried in the blankets piled messily on his bed. Bruce has the sudden realization that it's probably his attempt at building a nest. It's messy and haphazard, the blankets spread unevenly around him. It's nothing like the nests he remembers his mother making, but he doubts he could have made a better one. He feels useless again, looking at the boy curled up on the bed. He won't be able to teach him how to do any of the omega things his mother used to do. For the first time in recent memory, he finds himself wishing his mother were there. She would have known what to do.
He can't let himself get lost in the memory, though. Dick needs him here and now.
Bruce walks into the room, a soft rumble building in his chest. He tries to project his scent some, too, to announce his entrance into the space, but when he kneels by the bed, Dick shows no signs that he's aware of his presence. He tries not to worry to much about that. He doesn't really succeed.
"Hey there, chum," he says softly. He resists placing a hand on his head. He doesn't know if he'd be comfortable being touched.
Dick seems to have to force his eyes open to look at him. They're hazy with the heat, and it takes a moment before he seems to recognize that Bruce is right in front of him. He lets out another small whine.
"Mr. Wayne?" He feels a pang in his heart. Even now, he's still "Mr. Wayne." He offers him a small smile.
"You can call me 'Bruce', remember?"
Dick chooses to ignore the comment. "What did the doc say?" he asks instead. It looks like he tries to push himself up for a second before giving up and burrowing down again.
Bruce purses his lips. Better to rip the bandaid off, probably. "She says that you're presenting.
The pup makes a confused noise. "That's not s'pposed to happen yet," he says. It's not a question, and Bruce finds that he's a little relieved that he knows that much at least.
"It's not," he confirms. Dick curls in on himself a bit more. He looks so small tucked into all of the blankets on such a big bed.
"S'that why it hurts so bad?"
Bruce hesitates for a second. Ripping it off, he reminds himself before nodding. "That's part of it." The boy hums, blinking blearily at him. Waiting for him to continue, he realizes. He takes a deep breath. "Doctor Thompkins says that pack bonds are a major part of stabilizing a pup's presentation."
He watches as the meaning of his words slowly sinks in. He's not sure how much of it really makes sense to Dick, but by the way his eyes start to water he thinks enough of it does. He can't resist combing his fingers through the pup's hair this time. He's a little surprised when he whines and leans into it. Bruce hadn't expected to be pushed away, exactly, but he didn't think Dick would so willingly lean into his touch. Maybe he wouldn't have to worry as much as he thought about bringing him into his pack.
It doesn't stop his heart from wrenching when the boy sobs, "I don't have a pack anymore."
Bruce remembers the pain of feeling his pack bonds with his parents die with them. It's seared onto his heart like a brand, a wound that didn't heal quite right. He never realized just how crucial Alfred's presence was on his recovery. He doesn't know what he'd do if he were in the same situation as Dick, packless and in a home he doesn't know. He's realizing just how unprepared he truly was taking the pup in. He's never been one to give up, though. Dick is his responsibility now. He refuses to let him die under his watch.
He rumbles softly, stroking his forehead. "I know, chum," he says softly. It seems to make the poor boy cry more. He shushes him softly. "I want to help you, okay?" Dick just trembles and shakes his head.
"Maman was supposed to help me!" he cries. He buries his face in one of the pillows. "Maman and Daddy in our nest!"
He breaks down, no longer seeking the comfort Bruce was offering him. Truthfully, it's the first time he's seen Dick cry since the night of the accident. He'd been wondering if he'd just been doing it out of sight, but now he suspects that he'd been bottling the feelings up. Despite his energy and boundary testing, this is the most childishly he's spoken since coming to Wayne manor. Bruce can't even blame him for it. He knows when his parents died, he refused to feel anything other than anger. Anger was safe. It kept people out.
And that's the exact problem, isn't it? He didn't encourage Dick's anger, but he didn't open himself up to receive any of his other feelings, either. He'd hoped that, if given the space, the boy would open up to him on his own. Instead, he'd just given him the silence to bury his feelings. He's been performing this whole time. He probably still would be, if his body hadn't forced him to drop the act. Bruce isn't sure if that's a good thing or not.
Bruce shushes him like his mother used to, stroking his hair away from his face. It's a subtle way at scenting the boy. He's not sure if Dick notices at all. He's not pushed away, but he doesn't lean into the touch like before. Still, he keeps the steady movements up, hoping to soothe him even just a little bit. Listening to him sob and watching him tremble breaks something inside of him. This is a little boy who had his whole world destroyed in one short night, and now he's having to navigate even his body betraying him.
Bruce looks at him and sees a reflection of himself that he'd never let become a reality. He'd never healed from it, not fully, but he wonders if he can help Dick. Maybe to heal from a hurt so great, you had to let yourself break first.
Eventually, Dick's sobs slow down to just the occasional sniffle. He turns his head out of his pillow just enough to peek at Bruce. His whole face is flushed, but whether that's from crying or from the heat is hard to say. His eyes are swollen and red rimmed and show an exhaustion that no child should wear. The look he gives Bruce is difficult to parse. It has none of the open hostility he usually guards himself with, and it isn't the watery look of a child about to cry. It almost looks like he's assessing him. He bites his wobbly lip.
"What do I do, then?" he asks softly. Bruce feels something soft curl in his chest knowing that he's willing to trust him to know what to do. Even if he's one of the only stable adults in his life now, the choice to trust him is still a heavy one. Bruce is honored to hold it, and terrified by it at the same time.
He swallows the lump in his throat. He can't afford to hesitate now. Dick needs him to guide him through this, even if he might hate him later.
"You have some options," he explains slowly. He keeps stroking the pup's hair to soothe him. Dick's eyes flutter a little, but he nods to show he's listening. "You can keep going through the presentation on your own, if you want. Alfred and I will provide you with whatever you need, but…" He trails off, biting the inside of his cheek. Is it fair to tell a child they're probably going to die?
Dick doesn't need him to say it, though. He really is too smart for his own good. "I might get worse," he finishes for him. Bruce just swallows again and nods.
"I'm sorry," he says lamely. He can see the way Dick is calculating the news behind eyes too smart for any nine year old. He almost wants to know what he's thinking. Is he considering if it'd be better to join his parents? Or does he feel the guilt of desperately wanting to cling to his life, even when his whole world isn't in it anymore?
Dick shifts, pulling himself a little bit more out of his burrow. "What's my other option?" Bruce takes a deep breath. Rip the bandaid off, he reminds himself again.
"You could join my pack." Dick blinks at him for a moment before his eyebrows furrow. He's quick to start explaining himself. "I'm not trying to replace your family, but joining my pack will help ease some of your symptoms. And," he swallows, hesitating again. He wishes he had more time. "If you're not happy, you can leave once you're through with the presentation."
Dick studies him for a long moment. Bruce can't tell what he's thinking at all. He hasn't had the chance to truly learn the boy's body language, and his silent consideration makes him sweat. He's preparing himself for the pup to tell him to get out, that he doesn't want to join this rich stranger's pack, even with the imprint still in place. The worst part is, he would. If Dick asked him to leave, he would. He'd do everything he could to help him survive the presentation, but he'd ultimately listen to the request from the child, knowing full well that he'd probably never get the chance to help him again. And Dick knows it, too.
Bruce sees the exact moment that he starts to close himself off. His eyes go from calculating to guarded, and he shies away from his touch. He even manages to shuffle away from him just a bit. He feels his heart sink, thinking he's about to lose the only chance he has at saving this kid. He pulls his hand back to give him space. The last thing he wants to do is make him uncomfortable.
He's about to apologize and leave when Dick asks, "Are you gonna mate me?"
Bruce freezes, his whole body going cold. Of all the things he expected to be asked, that wasn't one of them. Maybe he should've, considering the way high society still works. It's gotten better since he was a child, but there are still people who are protected that shouldn't be. Bruce is trying his best, but there's only so much one man can do to undo the deep corruption in society. Dick doesn't even sound scared when he asks. He sounds angry and resigned and betrayed. If Bruce weren't so shocked at being asked if he was planning on mating his nine-year-old ward, he'd be pleasantly surprised to know that Dick trusted him so much. As it is, he has to mitigate damages.
"No!" he says as quickly as he can once he recovers. "No, Dick, I don't want to do that to you."
Dick narrows his eyes. "That's what they said you wanted in juvie. Said that there was no way Bruce Wayne would want someone like me for anything else."
He can't help the small growl he lets out. He wishes Dick had never been sent there. Leave it to Gotham to use a juvenile detention center in place of actual foster care. Bruce isn't surprised that people were talking about him like that in there, but he doesn't like the implications of "someone like me." He can handle being talked about. He practically built his cover story so that people would talk about him. But Dick is a child. Not only that, he's a child who just lost his parents. People should not be talking about him like that.
Dick flinches at his growl, though, and he fights to get himself back under control. He can worry about that later. He needs to focus on the here and now.
"I'm sorry." Bruce tries to keep his voice soft, returning to the comforting rumble. Dick doesn't relax, exactly, but he's not as tense. "You would be my pup, not my mate. Whoever told you that before is wrong."
"But why?" Dick asks. He looks like he wants to believe him but just can't find a reason to yet. "Why else would someone like you take in someone like me?" Bruce can read between the lines. Why else would a rich man take in a little boy from the circus?
He really will need to investigate into that detention center. Personally.
"Because you're like me," he says softly. He watches as the boy tries to puzzle out what he means. He forgets, sometimes, that outside of Gotham, his story isn't quite so well known by everyday people. "When I was twelve, my parents were murdered right in front of me." Dick gasps, his eyes going wide. Bruce just gives him a small, sad smile. "Maybe it would've been better for you to go to a more traditional family, but I thought I might be able to help you."
The hesitancy in Dick's eyes melts away as something seems to click in his head. "That's why you shielded me," he says. Bruce nods.
"There was no one to stop me from seeing. I had hoped to spare you at least that much."
Dick's eyes well with tears again, but this time he doesn't turn away. He stares at Bruce, lip trembling as he holds back his tears. He watches him try to scent the air through his stuffy nose and does his best to project the honest desire to help. He's never tried to project a parental scent before, but he tries now. He can't quite get a read on the expression Dick is making. He wishes, again, that he knew what the boy was thinking. Does knowing this make it better? Was his resistance to opening up to him because he was scared of what letting him in would become? Bruce doesn't know. He just hopes that Dick will let him help so that he has the chance to find out.
"That's really all you want?" he asks hesitantly, like he's scared Bruce will change his mind. He nods.
"If you're willing to join my pack." He reaches forward slowly to cup his cheek, telegraphing his movements so he has time to pull away if he wants to. He doesn't. Bruce strokes his cheek with his thumb. "I just want to help you, Dick."
Dick's resistance seems to melt away, the tears finally falling from his eyes again at the gentle touch. He keens, a sharp, needy noise and reaches his arms out towards Bruce. He thinks he gathers him into his arms faster than that night at the circus, pulling him softly to rest on his chest as he climbs into the nest. He didn't get verbal permission, but Dick isn't pushing him away. Instead, he seems like he's trying to burrow into him. He strokes the scent gland on the nape of his neck as he sobs into his chest, hushing him softly.
"Please," Dick keens. "I don't wanna be alone!"
Bruce holds him just a bit tighter, tucking him under his chin to scent him better. He's practically already drenched in his scent, the smell of petrichor somehow managing to overpower the still developing omega scent. He's never going to let this boy think he's all alone ever again.
He keeps one hand on the back of Dick's neck, not quite scruffing him. He doesn't want to if he doesn't need to, not while he's distressed like this, but he knows the weight is comforting to a pup. His other hand gently takes his left hand in his own, gently rubbing the scent gland on his wrist with his thumb. He slowly brings it up to his own neck, prompting Dick to scent him as best as he can. It doesn't do much, his scent is still puppy-sweet and unable to stake any real claim, but it helps settle the both of them.
"I'm going to bite you here," Bruce explains softly, pressing against the gland. Dick watches him with wide eyes, tears still dripping slowly down his cheeks. "And then you'll do the same for me. Then we'll be pack."
Dick studies him for a few moments more, as if he's trying to really make sure Bruce isn't lying to him. Eventually, he must come to some sort of conclusion for himself because he nods and brings his wrist up to Bruce's mouth on his own. He stares at it as he waits for the bite. His eyes say so much that Dick himself doesn't. He can see the desire to trust him, the hope that he isn't lying, the fear that he can't place. Bruce doesn't tear his eyes away as he gently bites down onto the gland on his wrist. He hopes his own eyes show just how determined he is to do right by his pup.
When Dick gives him his own bite, Bruce makes a silent vow that he will do everything in his power to protect him for the rest of his life.