Author's Note: Set after the events depicted in Batman: The Black Mirror, something I have just finished reading and found to be absolutely brilliant. Bruce comes to visit Dick and finds his first partner suffering from sleep deprivation, paranoia and general creepiness. Must be the coffee...

Family

My head hurts. My body aches. I feel and look like crap. And while I'm lying practically comatose on the bed, I can't help but laugh about it. I finally know. This is what it's like. This is what it's like to be Batman. How I feel right now is probably how Bruce has been feeling for years. I can't wait for him to say I can go back to being Nightwing. I miss my tights and escrima sticks. I miss making stupid, hammy quips. I miss New York...

KNOCK KNOCK

That's funny; I don't remember ordering out. The knocking goes on and I go on lazing around like a dead man for minutes. Whoever's there it can wait. If it's Tim again, I swear to god I will kill him. If it's Alfred, he'll understand. If it's a pizza delivery guy, it's probably an assassin. Eventually, the polite, rhythmical knocking makes me roll off the bed. I throw on a shirt and stumble to the door.

"Who's knocking?"

"It's me, Dick. Open the door." The boss-man is outside. You can't mistake the voice; it's the scariest and commanding sound in the world. Nobody else speaks to me that way except him. I take a quick look at the apartment. Even with all my junk, the space is still too big to look untidy. I suppose there are advantages.

"Yeah, one sec, big guy." I unlock and un-bolt the door. Bruce is stood just behind the doorway in a rumpled business suit. He has the look of a billionaire who's just stepped off an incredibly long flight. I smile at him. Amazingly, he smiles back.

"Hello Dick." He says without moving. I drift around the door until I'm stood only a few inches from him.

"Did you not fancy being normal?" I inquire. I honestly expect every house call from him to be as Batman; it's something of a novelty to have him come here as himself.

"You've got your windows shut. And I forgot my tools." He offers, still without moving from his position. Bruce isn't like Tim; the man's got proper manners. He doesn't just invite himself into peoples' homes; he waits until he can say, "May I come in?" Just like that. I mean, if he's not in costume of course. If he's Batman, he does whatever the hell he feels like.

"Please." I reply, stepping to one side to allow him through. He's still bigger than me. The big man's the only one who still makes me feel like a kid; everyone and everything else just reminds me I'm not. Bruce gestures to the circus poster near the kitchen.

"I see you've finally started decorating this place."

"I've finished, actually." Bruce's response is to raise an eyebrow in surprise.

"You can't be serious. This is your home, Dick; you should want to come back here." I wave my hand dismissively.

"I don't want to get into that now. Coffee?" I'm already moving towards the kettle even whilst in the middle of articulating that sentence. I can feel his eyes studying me. In a few moments, the boss will know everything that's been happening to me these past few months. He won't say anything unless I bring it up; he understands about privacy better than most.

"Yes, thank you." He says wandering over to where I'm stood, hunched over the faucet, filling the kettle. There's a brief silence with nothing but the sound of running water. Then, inevitably, I have to speak.

"So, how come you're back in town? You bored of globe-trotting already?"

"I just wanted to see you and Tim. It's been three months."

"Four. It's been four months." I correct him whilst flicking the switch on the kettle. I start getting cups out. I hear him grunt an admission of fault; he knows I hate verbal apologies.

"Alfred has been filling me in on your latest investigation. How is Jim taking it?"

"The commissioner's okay considering his son is still a psychopathic monster and had to shoot him. Things could always be worse." I start spooning in the coffee granules. Bruce is still watching me intently. I suppose there's little else to focus on in an apartment this bare. I hear him chuckle. "What?"

"Dick you're twenty-six years old; you don't have to call him the commissioner when he's not here. You can refer to him as Jim; he's practically family." I exchange glances with the big man. Now he's scrutinising my eyes. I turn away; I don't want him to see how sleep-deprived and pathetic I look right now.

"He knows I'm Batman..." I pause, realizing that what I've said is strictly not accurate considering currently company. "Gotham City's Batman anyway." I say to correct myself. "He thanked me." I look over and see Bruce is content to nod in agreement. He's not surprised in the slightest; he probably knew all along.

"Hhnn." The big guy says leaning back against the counter-top. There's another silence while the water finishes boiling. When it's done, I pour it right away.

"You still take it black, right?" I ask. Bruce doesn't answer. I feel his hand resting on the back of my neck. He squeezes the flesh gently. It feels like the most comforting thing in the universe right now, all warm and relaxing and still freaking huge. He speaks softly.

"Yes, that's right." He doesn't remove his hand while I stir his drink. I don't really want him to; I need it at the moment, given the way things have developed recently. His hand finally slips off when I hand him his mug. "Thank you, Dick. Shall we go sit down?" He asks sipping his coffee. I nod.

"Sure. I'll be with you in a sec."

"Got to add the milk and sugar yet, huh?"

"Yeah. Not a tough guy like you." The joke's sub-standard in so many ways, but he gives me a grin anyway; he knows I'm too beat-up and too tired to concoct anything better tonight. He strolls over to the couch and takes a seat. Now it's my turn to watch him. As usual though, there's little to watch; Bruce is the master of the poker face and, even though from my angle I can only see the back of his head and shoulders, he's not giving anything away. Everything's probably going perfectly though. It's hard to believe he was ever gone. The man journeyed across time and space, died and came back to life and all for Gotham. I'd like to think he fought his way back for me and Tim, even for Damian, but that's not Bruce; it's always been about the mission. The mission always comes first. I finish my drink and join him.

"Bruce," I begin sitting down on the couch opposite his, "tell me you didn't come here because Alfie's worried about me. Or Tim. Especially not if Tim's worried about me." I fill the quiet by sipping my coffee. I hate coffee, but I need the caffeine to function these days.

"No. I'm not worried about you, Dick. You're a grown-man; you can handle your own affairs just fine. Like I said, I just wanted to see you." I'm about to speak when he suddenly adds something that does wonders for my confidence. "You look terrible."

"You've looked far worse in the past. Obviously part of the Batman curse." I've entered survival mode. It's pretty much the same as my everyday mode, but I'm a lot snider and sarcastic when I'm like this. Bruce's frown suggests this is a tactical error. I try to rescue the situation. "I'm fine. I'm just a little more ragged than usual." The big man sips his coffee.

"Is Tim helping you?" He inquires. I shrug my shoulders.

"He's being Tim; sometimes he's my equal and sometimes he's my annoyingly brilliant little brother and a pain in the ass." Bruce smiles. I don't know why, but sometimes I think he prefers little Timmy to me in the 'favourite son' category. Maybe it's because Tim's a short-ass and makes him look really tall. Maybe not. I need sleep. Come on caffeine.

"And how is Lucius faring at the office?"

"Good, I assume. Haven't checked in all that recently, what with the cases and all."

"I'm sure he's fine." I want to turn on the TV. Sitting here with him like this, drinking coffee, is getting a little awkward. Bruce doesn't do social with people who KNOW him. He doesn't like small talk or big talk or anything not to do with work. I'm getting suspicious. This would be easy if Bruce didn't hate TV.

"Are you worried about me? Seriously, don't sugar-coat it if you are." I suddenly say. He just stares at me.

"Do you WANT me to be worried about you, Dick?" He says in such a way as to make me feel like what I said sounded crazy and paranoid. I kind of shrink back in my seat.

"No, I just...don't know why you're here." Bruce leans forward, placing his mug on the table between us. He reaches out and pats my thigh.

"I just wanted to see you. You're my son and I love you." He takes his hand back. There's another awkward silence.

"Is there another case? Is someone going to die, is that why you're here? You can tell me." Bruce stands up. "You're not leaving are you?"

"In a few minutes I will be." I stand up too, starting to wonder what is about to happen. When he walks round the table and clamps a hand on my shoulder, I start to worry. "Right after you go to bed." I'm about to object only for him to steer me effortlessly towards the bedroom. "This was obviously a bad time for a social call. I'll telephone you tomorrow, when you're suitably rested."

"Listen, that mental patient talk just now, it's probably the coffee. I'm fine really." I tell him while he switches on the light.

"Dick, you're wearing a dress shirt with star-covered pyjama bottoms at eight in the evening. You need sleep." He's marching me to the bed.

"I only wore the shirt because you were at the door! I wasn't even going to get up."

"It might have been preferable in hindsight." He offers finally releasing his grip. I look at the bed and then look at him. He's got an expectant look on his face.

"Okay, I think I manage the rest of the way. You can go now." I tell him knowing already it won't work.

"Get in bed, Dick. Now." I feel twelve again. I take off my shirt, put on for his benefit, and reluctantly do as he says. Once I'm in bed and under the covers, he nods his head. "That'll do. Now, I'm going to leave. I'll ring you tomorrow around midday and we can meet for lunch." He is halfway out the door before he turns round to add something typically ominous. "If you get out of bed early, I'll know." We exchange glances. "Night, Dick."

"Goodnight, Dad." I say before remembering I'm not seventeen-years-old anymore and that Bruce legally adopted me years ago. Then he switches out all the lights and leaves by the front door. Once he's gone and I've listened for ten minutes just to be sure, I put my head back down and sigh. Being Batman also means being a paranoid and creepy freak that scares the guy who invented the identity in the first place. I guess sometimes he does want to come round and see people. Maybe time-travel did something to his head, made him sociable. Eventually, I manage to stop replaying the embarrassing highlights of the big guy's visit and fall asleep. It'll all be better tomorrow. It will ALL be better tomorrow.