First thing I've ever published! Teensy bit nervous. And apologies in advance for any mistakes! Written mainly because I love Batman & Robin moments and wish that they had a better relationship - hate to see them at odds! So here is some shameless father/son love. Anyway, this is set after the episode 'Disordered', the episode dealing with the aftermath of the psychic mission gone wrong because Megan is much more powerful than we thought.

Please let me know what you think! :)

Batman glanced worriedly over at his protégé from the corner of his eye.

The two heroes were seated in the Batmobile, heading back to the mansion from the Justice Cave. Robin had been uncharacteristically silent for the entire trip, and the quiet was painfully apparent to the elder's ears compared to the usual chatter that he found himself subjected to. Usually these moments would be filled with Robin eagerly filling him in on the finer details of their latest mission, or how Conner had stormed off on his own again and Megan had baked him cookies (that tasted nothing like cookies) to entice him back, or how he had recently spent more time training with Aqualad because, let's face it, he was quite lonely really, or even how Wally and Artemis had actually managed to share a bowl of popcorn the other day and it was altogether quite suspicious…

But aside from the low hum of the powerful engine, all was unnervingly still inside the Batmobile. Batman carefully studied his partner and suppressed a sigh as he took in his demeanour, beginning to unravel the issue that was bothering the younger.

Robin's skinny figure was stiff and turned away from his mentor, face tilted toward the window. He appeared to stare intently at the buildings flickering by, but the vacant mist in his eyes told Batman that it couldn't have mattered if there were any buildings there at all – that gaze was unseeing and oblivious.

It was clear the boy was thinking deeply about what was bothering him. It was also clear that it concerned his mentor – as it was unusual for Robin to hole up over a problem that he was having trouble figuring out. Batman – world's greatest detective – also suspected it had something to do with the recent psychic training exercise that had escalated far out of control.

Batman also wished that his partner would just tell him. Despite his notoriously stony façade, he definitely had a soft spot when it came to Robin and their relationship – not that anyone needed to know (that was, if they didn't already). He certainly wouldn't be admitting it in a jiffy, reputation of the Dark Knight to maintain and all. But he did know that he was prepared to safeguard that bond at virtually any cost, and that Robin felt exactly the same. So he simply willed the boy to just stop thinking and worrying and start talking and explaining…

The Batmobile slowed to a stop. They were home. Batman realised with a jolt that he'd been zoned out for the past two minutes and coughed awkwardly, attempting to break Robin out of his stubborn stupor.

No such luck.

"Robin, we're home."

The boy blinked slowly in realisation, hesitating briefly before a curt nod and a graceful somersault out of the Batmobile, his mentor following.

Robin trudged his way over to the secret passage from the Batcave, his exhaustion rapidly becoming evident. His clean, precise steps tapered away until he was dragging his feet along the ground, his boots suddenly heavy with invisible lead and his shoulders convex and weary. He raised a hand to peel his mask from his face, staring at the fabric in his hands.

Batman's eyes softened as he watched Robin's steps gradually slow and halt altogether, the boy left standing in the middle of the cave and looking completely lost. His protégé's gaze remained fixed on his mask, staring at it with such an intensity that Batman thought Robin had forgotten another person was there and watching.

"Robin." The Dark Knight's voice shattered the pacific silence of the cave.

The boy sighed. "It's nothing, Batman."

Wincing slightly at the decorous, robotic response, Bruce instinctively removed the cowl from his face as crossed the distance between himself and Dick, lowering himself to one knee in front the boy to face him evenly.

"Dick, why are you afraid of what I will think?"

Dick's eyes widened and he looked up at Bruce, surprised. It struck the elder that it was the first time that evening that his ward had looked him in the face and made eye contact.

He was also deeply concerned at the accretion of guilt he saw there.

Dick had recovered quickly. "Well, I suppose you're not the world's best detective for nothing," he quipped, cringing as his attempt at levity fell flat.

Bruce smiled wryly, even though the boy's face still looked equally despondent. He waited patiently, knowing his protégé was scrounging for the words to express himself.

"I just – " Dick broke off abruptly to compose himself. "I just don't want you to be disappointed in me…"

Bruce's face instantly softened. "Dick, that could never happen."

"How can you be so sure?" he asked imploringly.

The billionaire smiled at the rare naivety in Dick's expression and swiftly opened his heart. "I didn't have my father for very long, but I remember, like you, I always wanted to please him and make him proud, to never disappoint him.

"But now I have a son," he said simply and earnestly, placing his large hands on Dick's slim shoulders, "and I understand that I could never be disappointed in him because I love him so much."

Dick beamed gratefully, eyes shining with genuine warmth for the man who had accepted him as a stranger and raised him as his own. But his face quickly fell as he remembered the topic of the conversation. "Bruce, I – I want to tell you, but…"

The man shook his head fondly. "You don't have to tell me everything, Dick. You're growing up, making your own decisions. I can't force you. And if there's one thing I respected my father for it was that he never told me how to live my life; he lived his, and let me watch him do it."

Those words cut through the fog of Dick's mind and resonated strongly. He suddenly realised with a sharp clarity that he wanted nothing more than to tell Bruce. He inhaled deeply and collected his thoughts. "The virtual training exercise," he began. "It helped me – no, it made me realise… I don't think I want to grow up to be the Batman anymore." His eyes stung with tears of shame as he looked up at his mentor, seeing only sympathy and understanding. A lone tear dropped from his eye.

"Oh, Dick," he heard, and then found himself suddenly embraced by two muscular arms, his chin resting on Bruce's shoulder. All remnants of his fragile composure crumbled away as the comfort he hadn't realised he'd been craving was offered to him, and he wildly threw his arms around the man who had become his father and clung tightly. Hot tears rapidly fell from his lashes as he came to terms with the realisation that the icon he had aspired to his whole life simply just wasn't who he wanted to be anymore.

Bruce tenderly cupped the back of Dick's head and rubbed his back soothingly, his ward fighting to calm down. His brow creased in a frown as he felt the small tremors from the boy in his arms who struggled to continue.

"I don't have what it takes," Dick explained brokenly, his damp cheek brushing the soft material of his mentor's costume. "I don't have it in me to sacrifice everything for the sake of the mission. I just can't."

"No one's asking you to, Dick," Bruce consoled, "and no one expects you to. You're only thirteen! You shouldn't even be involved in this life." The billionaire couldn't prevent the words from escaping. "You deserve better."

Dick firmly pulled away and caught his mentor's gaze. "I miss my parents every single day," he admitted painfully. "But I could never regret meeting you or becoming Robin."

Bruce honestly thought his heart would melt.

"And you've done so much for me," Dick went on.

Bruce cut him off. "You've always deserved to be happy, Dick. And for the record, I don't know what kind of man I'd be without you."

Dick smiled tiredly. "Me neither. Draw?"

"It's a draw," Bruce grinned back.

Dick's hand shot up to cover his mouth as he yawned loudly, swaying slightly on his feet. Bruce wordlessly took his ward into his arms once more, supporting him carefully before rising with him in his grasp.

"You need to sleep more, Dick," he chided gently. "Sometimes I'd say Wally has better survival instincts than you do."

"Knew you'd carry me." There was a drowsy quality to Dick's voice that told Bruce he wasn't far from sleep.

"Tomorrow you'll tell me you were perfectly capable of walking," he couldn't help but point out.

"Still knew you'd carry me." The statement was unguarded, and all the more truthful for it. Bruce swallowed back the lump in his throat.

Entering Dick's room, he ignored the fact that the boy was still dressed as Robin and easily slipped him into the bed, tucking him in. Stepping back, he simply watched him rest for several minutes, reminding himself how remarkable the boy was and cherishing the fact that he was home and for the moment, safe. He half-expected Dick to open his eyes and tell him to quit staring, but he remained curled up in a loose ball.

"I'll always carry you, Dick."