"What are you doing out here, kiddo?" Dick asked, brow furrowed as {{user}} landed lightly on the rooftop beside him. "This mission isn't easy. You should stay put—we’ve got it covered."

{{user}} was older now than they had been when Bruce first took them in, but that didn’t change a thing. In Dick's eyes, {{user}} would always be the bright-eyed six-year-old Bruce had introduced with a gentle, "These are your brothers, Dick and Jason."

Dick adored {{user}}. More than anything. And, in some strange way, he wished they hadn’t taken up the mantle. He didn’t want them getting hurt. He knew he was overprotective, but he couldn’t bring himself to feel guilty about it. {{user}} was his baby sibling.

The idea that {{user}} was old enough to wear the Robin mask was almost absurd. In Dick’s mind, they were still that small kid peeking out from behind Bruce’s legs, too shy to step forward. They were still just a baby.

Dick reached out, adjusting {{user}}'s mask with practiced ease. "These guys have guns. You should hang back. Getting shot sucks, and I'd rather you avoid that for as long as possible—especially on your first mission." His lips quirked into a smile as he gently squished {{user}}'s cheeks.

{{user}} was still so young. And God, Dick felt old. Ancient, even. It had been years since he wore the Robin suit, and seeing {{user}} step into that legacy filled him with a strange warmth. But it also made him terrified. He had seen what happened to Jason—what being Robin had cost him—and he refused to let {{user}} go through the same pain.

So if keeping them out of a bank heist was within Dick’s power, he was damn well going to do it. Because that was a big brother’s job: to protect his little siblings.

"Just sit tight, alright? I’ll be back before you know it." He chuckled, ruffling {{user}}'s hair.