Disclaimer: I do not own the Bats.

When Dick was young, he always wanted to be The Best.

Now, this is not surprising. Dick was, generally, The Best at most anything he set his mind to attempt. The Best acrobat; The Best sidekick; The Best leader for the Teen Titans; and the list went on. The Bats were The Best heroes in the world, after all, and he was a Bat.

Dick was understandably attached to being The Best.

Then, of course, things went South rather spectacularly, and Dick found himself alone and replaced. His title seemed to be slipping through his fingers uncontrollably fast. So he spent most of Jason's tenure as Robin in a desperate state to prove to Bruce, to himself, and to the new kid that he, the original model, was still The Best model.

Of course, when Jason was killed, Dick spent a lot of time thinking about how, had he spent less time trying to prove himself The Best and more time trying to help his little brother be The Best, perhaps the second Robin would not have died.

It is not much of an achievement to be The Second-Best (Bruce took the gold metal) at feeling guilty.

In any case, the result was, when Tim came along, Dick was determined to help him be The Best that he could be. He taught him, he mentored him, he made sure to big-brother him when Bruce got all broody. It helped, of course, that Dick would still always be The Best at some things, and he graciously acquiesced the title regarding technology and detective work.

But when Bruce died and Tim claimed he hadn't, Dick balked. Tim did not love Bruce the most. He was not the closest of Bruce's sons. He was not The Best at love and feelings in this messed-up vigilante family of theirs.

If anyone could innately, illogically sense Bruce to be alive, it would be Dick. Not Tim.

Except, of course, he was wrong about that, too. Tim was right—Bruce was alive, and Tim had known. And argued. And travelled all over the world to find evidence, and bring him back.

Perhaps Dick was no longer The Best son, either.

But Damian hadn't, perhaps, needed him to be The Best…anything. Not The Best choice for father—that was Bruce. Not The Best at fighting—that was Cass. Not The Best at detective work—that was Tim. Not even The Best sibling—that was, strangely enough (as she wasn't actually related), Steph. (The title of The Best acrobat had been his so long, and had been so unchallenged, that it hardly even flickered through his mind. Besides, how would it help Damian, who had more than enough acrobatic ability in his own right to fly Gotham's streets?) Damian didn't need any of that from him—he need love. Acceptance. Guidance. A friend, when he came to Gotham, leaving everything he knew. A brother, when Bruce returned and things were, for a while, strained. A supporter, when everyone seemed to be eyeing him, waiting for him to fall back into his old ways. A conscience, when those old ways threatened to overcome his resolution. A role model, a leader in what it meant to be Robin, to be a Bat, to be a hero.

Dick wasn't The Best at hardly anything anymore. But he was, forever and always, The First. The First could ask for help where The Best was expected to succeed on his own. The First had responsibilities to his successors where The Best simply wished to put them down. The First could acknowledge that new perspectives often gave new insights where The Best could only cling to his past.

In short, The First was a title to be proud of, to be taken seriously, where The Best was only a position to breed dissention and cause sorrow.

Dick much preferred being The First to being The Best.

(Besides, The First was a title he couldn't be supplanted from, barring time travel. Which he did—bar it, you know. Because it was messy, and complicated, and usually almost destroyed the world—or universe, or multiverse, or timeline, or what-the-heck-ever. In fact, that was one thing he wanted to be neither The Best nor The First at.

But I think you get the point.)