AUTHOR'S NOTE: I know, I know, why make Bruce so cheery all the sudden? I don't know, why not? I mean, the guy is never happy, come on, give him a break. And also, I'm using a happy and funny Dick for this, plus he's my age(and I don't mean YOLO and SWAG, that's just idiotic), so I can make him a bit like me. And trust me, he's a lot like me in this story.

Yes, Dick does make a whole lot of fourth wall references, sorry!

Yes, I know, the Batman/Robin, Father/Son thing isn't really that realistic in the DC Universe, but hey, why not play around with it?

Anyway, "I don't own anything Batman-related" I say while beating lawyers off with a stick.

Dreams about my parents. No, nightmares. I still have them, even at thirteen. What happened just years ago seems like eons. I will never forgive and never forget.

My alarm clock blares and I am forced to retreat from the nightmarish landscape that can only be described as my thoughts. I smell bacon. And eggs. I wonder if Bruce is awake while I do my daily morning reps.

I make my way to the kitchen -I still get lost in this house, no matter how many times times Alfred goes over the plans with me- and see what else is cooking.

Oh. My. Jesus. Bruce is cooking breakfast.

"Oh, hey, Dick. How'd you sleep?" Bruce says so cheerily, I get goosebumps. This is weird...

As I walk toward him and around the kitchen island, I pinch myself to make sure I am not dreaming. My pain confirms that I'm not. I poke Bruce's shoulder to convince myself that he's real as well, and he is quite tangible. Hard muscle tangible.

"Who are you and what have you done with Bruce Wayne?" Alright, when you live the kind of lifestyle Bruce and I live, you must understand that this statement is meant seriously. If someone infiltrated Wayne Manor, not only would Bruce be one unhappy bat, but we would also be screwed. So you get it when I say what I say while standing ready to fight in the Wayne Manor kitchen. Thank you.

Bruce gives me a incredulous stare.

"Look, Dick, I understand your suspicion, but you this is me. I am Bruce Wayne, and you have no reason to think that I am not, in fact, the real Bruce Wayne. If you still have suspicions, you may go ask Alfred in the den about what's going on," Bruce says, and flourishes his hand and turns around in a fluid motion. I decide to go see if Alfred is in there, and sure enough, when I peek around the edge of the wall, I see an old man, sitting in a chair in front of an unlit fireplace, drinking tea in a very nervous fashion.

I return to the kitchen and apologize for accusing Bruce, and he accepts. I hop on the island, -quietly may I add- and he holds up a finger , pointing down, telling me, "Off the island, Dick." Now that's a bit more like the Bruce I know. I take a place next to him at the stove leaning against the counter.

"So, happy-Bruce-that-seems-too-good-to-be-true, why are you so happy-go-lucky this morning?" I say, hoping he will tell me something really stupid like a art showing tonight, but unfortunately, he says nothing and put a finger to his mouth accompanied by the "shhhh" sound. That, now that, it scares me.

He walks to the island, and puts five pieces of bacon on a plate on the counter. He says not to touch them, but, being me, I take on anyway, and him being him, he notices and a chase down commences. Most of you would think, "Oh, he's Batman, he'll win, of course!" but you may also forget my acrobatic skills. I climb things well, he runs faster, though.

I run throughout the entire manor, climbing up staircases, and sliding down banisters. It's all great fun, until you go somewhere where Bruce can't get to you, then it gets exciting.

"Aww, come on, Dick, you know that's not fair!" Bruce says. I wiggle the bacon in the air in front me. I am on the roof, and there's pillars that I jumped from, but Bruce is too heavy to make the jump from the top of them to the roof. Course, he could if he tried really hard, but you know, he's got to do thing the Batman way. So, off he goes, after saying,"Hold on, I'll be right back,"

And right back he was, holding...a grappling hook.

"Wow, Bruce, if you can't get up here without your trusty grappling hook, that's just pathetic," I taunt him. But then, he pulls something small and metallic out of his pocket. I can't clarify it, I'm too high up, but it looks like a smaller version of the original hook.

It was a smaller version! And Bruce was pointing it right at me. I am so shocked, I don't have time to move before he fires, and as I wait for pain of a small hook to explode across my face, it doesn't come, but I do feel the bacon come out of my mouth.

He took the...what? Bruce freaking Wayne used a small grappling hook to retrieve bacon out of his son's mouth from four stories down. I like it.

He runs away and back into the manor, with the bacon, and I jump down laughing.

While this morning was pretty great, nights in Gotham are always the best.