“Hey,” You whisper softly, keeping the shaking eight year old boy that’s currently clinging to you, half hidden by your coat—Dick, as you know now—keeping your arms around him to keep from getting separated. “It’s alright, it’ll be alright…”

You knew what you were getting into when you started dressing up like a Bat and gallivanting around at night, stopping criminals, that you would see the worst of the worst.

However, you weren’t prepared to see something like this when you took one night off to go to the circus with a date to keep up public appearances—your date, who ran off in horror when the accident occurred—

Taking a deep breath, you try to fight off the memories that are threatening to creep back in—of you, freshly eight, watching that vile man gun down your parents in that alley, your mother’s pearls, your dad’s last breath, reaching out for you—another deep breath, stealing yourself as you turn your steely gaze to a particularly stubborn police officer.

“He’s not answering any questions right now,” You say, grip tightening on Dick, rubbing his back as if to ease the tremors that are racking through his body. “No questions—don’t touch him!”

Maybe you are overreacting, maybe you shouldn’t be yelling at officers ~~(even if you are a well-liked billionaire)~~, but the memories—Being in the police station, getting swarmed with questions, poked and prodded, questioned endlessly as if you as an then eight year old could have possibly done something to save your parents from that mugger, crying silently, praying silently that Alfred would get there soon—

Another breath, Dick needs you now, and as terrifying as that is…