Dick jerked awake, his teeth grinding together to keep his cry contained. That was awful, he moaned to himself, the last moments of the nightmare replaying in his mind over and over again. He'd been drowning, water rushing down his throat and into his lungs as something clenched around his middle dragged him under for the last time. The last thing he had heard was Bruce's voice, screaming his name desperately. His final vision had been a silhouette of his own hand, floating above him in the water but looking strangely wrong. Why didn't I have any fingers? he wondered, realizing after a moment's thought what had been off about the limb. God, that was creepy. Still, at least it wasn't about Erwin.

He rolled onto his side and curled carefully into the fetal position, staring towards the window and trying to convince himself that the nightmare was over. The house was quiet, more silent than an old place like the manor should have been, and in the noiselessness he heard the grandfather clock downstairs chime three times. Ugh. I'll never get back to sleep now. Crap. He reached for the bedside lamp, hoping that a little light would help chase the demons away, and his hand brushed against leather. "What the hell?" he asked plaintively, turning the switch and flinching back from the sudden brightness.

Seeing that it was Bruce's book, he regarded it warily. He knew it hadn't been there before he'd eaten and fallen asleep, because nothing had been there; Alfred had just cleared the nightstand off that afternoon, saying that he might find he wanted the space as he spent more time awake but still confined to his bed. Still, it was easy to believe that Bruce might have put it there last night, maybe as a reminder that he was supposed to have read it months ago. What disturbed him more than its sudden reappearance was the fact that the last time he'd picked it up it had convinced him that he was a miserable coward. Even factoring in the fever he'd been laboring under at the time didn't completely ease the unsettled feeling it gave him. "Oh, come on," he whispered finally. "Now you're letting it make you a coward. It's just a book, doofus."

Chiding himself, he picked it up and opened it, flipping forward a few pages from where he'd stopped reading so he wouldn't have to look at the 'cowardice grass' story again. As he had before, he swiftly lost himself in it, disagreeing with certain parts and falling in love with others. He tried to guess what Bruce would say about some of it, and wondered how closely their views would turn out to correlate. Just as his eyes were beginning to feel heavy again, he turned a page and found a piece of quartered paper pressed down into the binding so it wouldn't fall out. Maybe I shouldn't look at this, he considered. It might be something personal of Bruce's. Examining the still-folded sheet, though, he shook his head. No, this is new paper. The creased edges aren't even sharp yet. Well, fine then, he'd open it. If it wasn't meant for his eyes, he could always return it with an apology.

"It is said that even with an adopted child, if you teach him continually so that he will resemble you, he surely will."

He stopped reading, sucking in a breath. This is Bruce's handwriting. His eyes flicked between the sheet in his hand and the type on the book's page, matching word to word, before he continued his perusal.

Dick,

I have read the Hagakure many times, and found wisdom and truth in a number of its passages. Six years ago, I was given the opportunity to walk a path that has shown me that the saying above is the truest of them all.

I cannot thank you enough for allowing me to make that journey with you, and I cannot wait to see where the path takes us next.

-Bruce

His mouth hung open until he'd finished the note for a third time. "Wow," he murmured, guessing correctly that he was holding the tenderest thing ever spawned by Bruce Wayne's pen. Closing the book but keeping the letter in his hand, he stretched out on his back and stared at the ceiling, tears streaming from his eyes. Before he realized what was happening, he had cried himself to sleep, overwhelmed by the depth of emotion behind those three simple sentences.

Alfred's pointed rattling of a lid against a tray pulled him from his dreamless slumber some six hours later. Blinking in the light that filled the room, he felt the single page still tweezed between his fingers and smiled. Seeing that the butler's back was turned to him, he reached over and placed the sheet securely in the book before saying good morning. Under normal circumstances, the idea of hiding something from Alfred wouldn't have occurred to him, especially seeing as how the Englishman found out everything sooner or later. Under normal circumstances, though, Bruce didn't leave him notes that took sixty eight words to say 'I love you.' Dick wanted to keep that special message between the two of them for as long as possible. He knew it wouldn't last, but he was hoping to at least have time to construct an adequate response before anyone else knew.

He ate ravenously, completely cleaning his plate and earning a pleased look from Alfred as a result. Requesting his calculus book before he was left alone again, he pretended to study for a while, then gave up on trying to think about l'Hopital's Rule and picked the Hagakure back up. I got pretty far earlier. Maybe I can finish it before Bruce wants to talk.

Around one o'clock the man sauntered in, not bothering to knock. "Jeez, Bruce, is privacy even a thing to you?" Dick asked jokingly, not looking up from his re-reading of a few favorite parts. "What if I'd been doing something you didn't want to see?"

He paused, one eyebrow quirking. "I would think that would be extremely painful with stitches."

"You're probably right." He snapped the book shut. "Finished," he announced, setting it back on the nightstand. He was hoping Bruce would take it back now, not because he hadn't enjoyed it or didn't want more time with it but because he had tucked the note meant for him safely away and replaced it with one of his own.

"I thought Alfred said you were studying," the billionaire frowned, sitting on the bed and purposefully not bringing up the letter he'd written the night before. If Dick wants to talk about it, we will.

"I was studying. Just not calculus."

"Your schoolwork is important, Dick. Just because you're getting to miss the last couple weeks of class and take your finals at home with Alfred proctoring doesn't mean you don't need to study."

"Like I said, I was. Besides, more people should study that book. They should teach it in schools."

"Most fourteen year olds wouldn't get it, kiddo," he relented.

"But you figured I would?"

"Didn't you?"

He cocked his head to one side. "I don't know. I understood parts of it, but…I think there are some parts that none of us will ever really get, because we're so removed from the time and the place."

"That explanation in and of itself tells me that you got plenty out of it." The boy beamed. "Was there anything you disagreed with?" Bruce went on, already knowing the answer but enjoying the conversation.

"Uh, yeah. Mostly the mountains of dead extras that any director trying to make a movie out of it would need."

"Well, I guess I've done something right, then."

"Ha, ha," Dick made a face at him. "You've done plenty more than that right."

"I think so," he agreed quietly. "So what else about the book?"

He struggled for any specific example besides the one on the tip of his tongue. "Mitsuse Genbei," he said finally, conceding victory to his traitorous brain. "That…that was a strange story."

"Mitsuse Genbei?" Bruce's face clouded as he tried to remember the particulars. "Wait...The story where the samurai has to commit seppuku because of a stomachache before a battle?"

"Stomachache, indigestion…appendicitis," the teen shrugged, blushing a little as he remembered the effect the tale had had on him. "Who knows what he had, right?"

The pieces fell into place, answering the question Bruce had been the most troubled by since he'd first heard Dick call himself a coward. "…Please tell me you didn't read that story right before we took you to the hospital," he begged.

"Um…it might have been one of the ones I looked at around that time."

"You took it seriously. Why would you take that seriously?"

"Bruce, I had a 104 degree fever! It seems really stupid now, I just…I dunno. It made sense at the time." Seeing that the man was utterly baffled, he went through his logic, telling him everything he could remember about the way his brain had reasoned out that his appendicitis had rendered him spineless.

"You know, until you explained that it really did sound absurd."

"…Does it not sound absurd anymore?" he asked, a slight note of concern entering his voice.

"It's still ridiculous, Dick, but I can see the logical steps you took to reach your conclusion. Your methodology was fine – exemplary, even - but the information you had to work with was faulty, mostly due to your fever. You know that you aren't a coward, right?"

"I hope I'm not. I hope I never earn that name."

"You aren't, and you won't. People like Lejaune, they're cowards. You…you're the complete opposite of that." Bruce looked at him, face deadly serious. "A coward wouldn't spend evenings going out of his way to help other people; he wouldn't have fought Erwin, and his truth serum, so successfully; and he wouldn't have been able to push back everything else in order to give Batman much-needed information on a case that seemed to be going down the tubes. And if you ever doubt the fact that you are one of the bravest people I know, I want you to tell me immediately so we can set the record straight. Understood?"

"…Yes," he agreed, fidgeting in mild embarrassment even as joy at the praise he was being given filled him.

"Good." As he spoke, the billionaire slid further onto the bed, kicking his shoes off and crossing his legs to sit more comfortably. "So long as we're on the subject of telling me things, why didn't you say that you were in pain?"

"Okay," Dick took a deep breath. He'd known this question was coming, but despite the hours he'd spent preparing for it he was still nervous. "First off, I didn't really think it was anything worth worrying about. I thought at worst I was coming down with a stomach bug. I did almost say something right before we went out on patrol, but…" he shrugged. "You'd already put the cowl on, and I didn't particularly want to get left at home."

"It got worse out in the field, though, didn't it?"

"Ooh, yeah. Way worse. But we were in the field, I wasn't going to say anything at that point unless I really couldn't take it anymore. I mean, sure I had to fight Pezzoli's thieves doubled over, but I still got them. Except Lejaune." His face darkened. "Stupid semi-fake hostage."

"…You thought I would be mad at you for saying something," Bruce deduced.

"Well…yeah. Especially once you told me we were waiting on the credit card heist. I wasn't going to say anything at that point no matter how bad it got because it would have blown the mission."

"Your health comes before the mission, Dick."

"Look, I didn't know it was going to get the way it did, and I didn't know we were going to be out as long as we were. Not complaining," he added, throwing up his hands, "I totally love spending all night jumping off of roofs with Batman. But you didn't tell me that we were doing anything more than a basic patrol. If I'd known there was a late case involved, I might have said something earlier." They were silent for a moment. "…I'm totally grounded, aren't I?" he asked sadly, seeing Bruce's disappointed look.

"No. You're not."

"Really?"

"I said last night that you've been punished enough for not saying anything, didn't I?"

"Well, yeah, but…I broke the rules. And you looked upset a second ago."

"Did you learn anything from breaking the rules?"

"Yeah. Freaking say something, even if I think it's just Alfred's curry or the flu and even if you've already masked up."

"Good. And any look I had was directed at myself, not at you. I realize that I bear a fair amount of responsibility for everything that's happened."

"…How do you figure that?"

"Several ways. First, I noticed your discomfort before we left, but chose not to push you on it. I should have; you gasped, and you don't evince pain without pretty serious cause. Second, I should have briefed you on the credit card heist before we left the cave. If something had happened that required me to go elsewhere and leave you to take care of it, there might not have been time to give you all of the information you needed. Third – and this was after the fact – I should have called Leslie out to look at you after you got hit."

"You had no way of knowing that my appendix had taken one for the team."

"No, but even with that aside, you took a hard blow to the abdomen and were obviously in pain. Remember, I thought you were bleeding internally when I found you. Regardless of the fact that it was just your lip, I should have taken the cue from my initial suspicion and had you examined properly. If you had been bleeding internally when I sent you to bed, you might have never woken up. And that would have been entirely my doing."

"…That was an awful lot of guilt you dumped on yourself just now," the teen pointed out. "You know, there's a line in here…" he snatched the book back up and thumbed through it. "Oh, here we go; 'a man who has never once erred is dangerous.' Now I know you've read that one like a billion times, I mean, at least once for every mistake, right?" he teased, ducking slightly when Bruce mock-punched at his shoulder. "So what's with the guilt trip? You feeling okay? Sure you didn't catch my fever?"

He sighed heavily and smiled, shaking his head. "I caught your fever about five seconds after I met you, Dick, and I stopped wanting to get over it a long time ago. You seem to have that effect on people."

"So what, I'm like a charismatic Typhoid Mary?"

"Something like that," Bruce laughed. "As charming as you can be, though, we need to figure out a good story for you to tell the judge about the hit you took."

"I've been working on that." He straightened, putting on a serious face. "Your Honor, a couple of bullies –older kids, not from my school - cornered me after class on Friday, while I was walking to where Alfred always picks me up. They started calling me names and trying to get me to fight them. I refused, on account of Bruce always tells me not to get into brawls." His eyes gleamed in amusement as he tried to picture Batman telling Robin to avoid getting into fights. "One of them pulled out this makeshift cudgel he was carrying and smacked me with it. I screamed, and they freaked out and ran off. I didn't tell Bruce because I didn't want him to be ashamed that I hadn't stood up for myself, even though he told me not to fight." He dropped his act and waited for a reaction. "Think that will work?"

"It fits with what Alfred and I said, which was namely that we didn't know you were hurt until we found you curled up in bed. And if you can't identify the kids who did it, they can't try to take it much further."

"I think I'm going to have to tell him that Erwin drugged me, though. I can't think of a way to explain the 'partners' thing otherwise. I'm afraid that telling them that and letting them think I was being led on will throw doubt on what Erwin said to Batman, though. Once they know I was drugged it won't take them long to realize that he was, too. I don't want to threaten the evidence you gathered."

"There's a better solution to that problem than just telling Leavering about the drugging," he said, shaking his head. "I told him that I'd been filling your head up with the idea of coming in as my full business partner after you finish college. I also told them I'd been pushing you too hard on your schoolwork, and that that was what you probably meant by needing to stop."

"…Bruce, that's brilliant!" He paused. "…Did you…did you mean that first part?"

"About you becoming my full business partner after college?"

"Yeah. Do you…would you really want that?"

"…Yes. I would. But the important question is, would you?"

"It could be pretty awesome. The Dynamic Duo conquering the corporate world by day and stalking the streets of Gotham at night? Wicked."

"Well," Bruce allowed, "if that's still what you want at that point, we'll talk about it then. A lot can change in six or seven years," he added quietly, remembering his conversation with Clark as well as Alfred's more distant warnings that teenagers were strange, prevaricating creatures. Hell, if he needed a reminder of how much things could shift in that period of time, all he had to do was compare his life seven years earlier to his life today. He didn't want to get too excited over something that he couldn't predict with any accuracy whatsoever.

Dick, on the other hand, just grinned at him, happy to soak in the moment rather than worry about whether or not that imagined future would actually come to pass. "Wouldn't it be crazy if we got to take business trips together? Like we did that one time when we went to the beach with the purple sand? That was fun."

"…It was. You stopped talking about it a long time ago, though."

"You were busy, Bruce. I didn't want to make you feel guilty by harping on you about it. It's okay that we never went back. It's still a really great memory."

"It's funny that you mention it, actually. I was just saying something about it to Alfred the other day."

"Really? What?"

"Oh, I asked him to find out if there were any houses in that area that a person could rent for a long weekend. If they wanted to. You know, nothing huge, just enough room for, say, two or three people."

"…Wait, are you telling me that you're consenting to take a vacation?"

"I'm open to the possibility. Let's leave it at that for now."

"So when are we going?" Dick was practically bouncing.

"Hey, quit moving around so much. You'll tear something. Gotham Memorial's floors have enough new scuffs from my shoes." When the teen settled, still looking at him expectantly, he sighed and tipped his hand. "Mid-July. You should be healed enough by then."

"Epic! I wonder if they do deep-sea fishing near there?"

"I don't think you'll be that healed. And why would you want to do that, anyway?"

"It could be fun. Besides, fish is good. Even you like fish sometimes."

"What about seasickness? Or…falling in the ocean? Those boats are small, Dick. It sounds dangerous."

"…Really, Bruce? You let me fight crime in a spandex costume, but the idea that I might have to throw up in the water is too close to the edge for comfort?"

He opened his mouth to retort, but he had no response for that. "I'll consider it. But I don't think you'll be healed enough for it."

"So long as you're willing to think about it, I'm happy."

"…Deep sea fishing," Bruce muttered, rolling his eyes.

"Don't knock it till you try it."

"Anyway," he over rode him. "I also have news about Erwin."

Dick's happy smile erased itself, and Bruce felt like an idiot for bringing that name up just now. "Oh?"

"It's Pezzoli news, really. The police got one of his goons to talk. They know who was trying to, um…buy you."

"Oh…?"

"Does the name Lindsey Scott sound familiar?"

His eyes narrowed in confusion. "Wait…it's a woman?"

"No. It's a guy with a woman's name."

"I would remember if I'd ever met a guy named Lindsey."

"You've never actually met him, but I know you've heard of him before."

"Give me a minute, then." He thought. "…Not Senator Scott? The one who likes to try and block everything even remotely related to WE?"

"That would be him."

"…He's a pedophile?"

"That's how it looks, yes. They raided his home this morning and found…well, they found a lot of damning evidence."

"Ugh. So…targeting me was more than just another notch in the bed frame, I'm guessing? He was trying to get to you on a personal level, too."

Sometimes I regret your high level of intelligence, Dick, he thought but didn't say. "I think that's probably the case."

"Great. Now I'm a business liability, too."

"You are not a liability, of any sort," Bruce snapped. Seeing the shocked look at his reaction, he softened. "Don't think of yourself like that."

"Okay, okay. Sorry. I just…I don't know. Never mind." He looked away, picking at the comforter as if it were the most interesting thing he'd seen all day.

"Hey. Dicky?" Minding his lip, the billionaire pulled his face back towards him. "I wasn't angry at you."

"I know," he said softly. "I just hate it when I say things that upset you."

"It's not what you said. It's what they did."

"I know," he repeated. "But it still sucks."

"Yeah. It does. But it's over now."

"Mm." They realized at the same time that Dick had just made Batman's 'I disagree but I'm not going to argue about it' noise and laughed at one another.

"…You want to come down to the cave and help me with that serum?" Bruce asked when they had recovered. If they had to do something related to their recent problems, it might as well be something useful that the boy would enjoy. "There's plenty of time before dinner."

"Um…" He wanted to – he'd been looking forward to it since the night before, after all – but their long talk had been exhausting. "I'm actually a little tired," he admitted. "Do you mind…I mean, could we do it after dinner instead?"

"I have a function I have to go to this evening."

"Oh." Maybe he wasn't that tired, after all. "Well, I've got enough energy for a couple of tests, at least. Let's go." He threw the covers back and prepared to get up, but Bruce's hand on his knee stopped him. "What?" he asked.

"Don't get up." How often do you do that? he pondered. How often do you shove aside what you need or want, just to get a few extra minutes in with me? It's not right.

"But I want to help you," Dick insisted, confused.

"You will. We'll do it together, tonight. But right now you need to rest."

"You have a thing to go to, though. You just said-"

"It's funny," Bruce stopped him. "I think I'm coming down with the flu. Amazing how stomach ills seem to hit this house all at once, isn't it?"

"…You're really not going to go?"

"I can't go to an ambassadorial reception ball with the flu. If the wrong person caught it from me I might cause an international incident. The last thing I need is to be investigated as a potential terrorist with access to biological weapons."

Dick laughed. "Because that's the logical next step after embassy staff catch a bug off of a businessman. Then again, we elect pedophiles to Congress, so maybe it isn't so farfetched, huh?"

He stared at him in amazement. "…Are you already joking about that?" How much more resilient can you possibly be?

The teen shrugged. "Call it my coping method. Since I've already started bashing on the government, do you mind if I just jump right in and get a bright red mohawk, a lot of dark clothes and punk rock tees, and a nose ring?"

"Don't you think the nose ring will clash with the rest of your costume?" he bantered along.

"They come in different colors. I'll get something bright and flashy, with, I dunno, spikes on the ends. No one will even notice. Maybe I can even get Alfred to change the 'R' on my costume to an anarchy symbol."

"And after you make that request, just go ahead and sprout wings and flap your way north with the spring migration. I think by the time fall comes Alfred will have cooled down enough from your request to be able to be in the same township with you without his head exploding."

"Sure," Dick grinned. "I've always wanted to go to Canada. You think I'll fit in with the other robins?"

"Nope. You're much noisier than they are."

"Oh, well. Guess I'll just have to stay my normal, boring self, then. Thanks for ruining all the fun."

"Any time."

"It is kind of your M.O."

Bruce blinked at him for a few seconds, retortless. "I thought you were tired," he said finally.

"I am," Dick moaned, laying down and throwing his hands up in mock exasperation. "You keep talking to me!"

"All right, point taken. I know when I'm not wanted." Tucking the covers in tightly around him, he noticed the small frown his words had drawn and flashed him a tiny smile to let him know it had been a joke. "Go to sleep. We'll get to work after dinner. Only if you're up for it, though."

"I will be," Dick mumbled, already beginning to doze off. "Bruce," he added as the man stood.

"What?"

"Take the book with you. I'm done with it for right now. Might like to see it again some other time, though."

"…Sure," he agreed, picking the volume up from the nightstand before leaving the room. Maybe he didn't even get the note, he thought as he walked into his study, shutting the door behind himself. I might have put it too far forward in the book. If he'd already read past that page, it's probably still in there. Slipping his finger into a telltale gap, he touched folded paper and sighed. He didn't even see it. Damn. I guess…I guess I should just remove it. Setting the book on his desk, he let it fall open to the marked page, and the note slid partway out.

His eyes widened as they took in a single sheet of college-ruled notebook paper. I'll be damned. He wrote me back. Dropping into his chair, he slowly opened the letter and read:

Bruce,

Six years ago, I no longer had a path. You were kind enough to take my hand and guide me along yours. I can never fully repay you for that, but I hope you'll let me spend my life trying to do justice to the examples you've set and the lessons you've taught anyway.

-Dick

P.S. – I love you, too, you big dork.

He managed to get through it twice before he had to put it away, afraid of smearing the ink with his tears.

Author's Note - Well, readers, this is the end. I did receive a request to expand on the beach trip premised in the last two chapters, and have begun working on a (quickly expanding) sequel to this story. Said sequel will involve plenty of fluff, Bruce on a small boat (just imagine his delight!), a little teenage romance, and a murder most foul. Despite the fact that I feel like I'm ripping off Dateline, it will be entitled "To Catch A Predator." Unlike this story and Dateline's project, there will be no pedophilia. I expect to have the first chapter up before the end of the week, and intend to update at my regular speed. I hope you'll be so kind as to read and review.

Thank you all for reading this little labor of love. I hope you enjoyed it. :)