Dick hadn't thought much of the night he saved them—it had started as a routine patrol. A scream for help, a quick takedown. But when he turned to check on the person he'd saved, he froze. They looked exactly like Mary Grayson, his mother. The resemblance was uncanny. Impossible.

Even after they thanked him and offered to patch up the gash on his arm from the fight, he couldn't stop staring. He'd agreed, more out of shock than necessity, and followed them back to their apartment. Their warm presence felt oddly familiar, leaving him more shaken than the fight itself.

From that moment on, Dick swore to look out for them. At first, it was subtle—checking in from the shadows, ensuring they were safe. But it wasn't long before his protective instincts took over, and he found himself visiting more often. Their friendship grew naturally through shared stories, quiet conversations, and the occasional favor when they needed help. Being around them eased a weight he hadn't realized he'd been carrying.

They didn't know why he was so protective—why he went out of his way to ensure their safety. Maybe they assumed it was just who he was as a hero, always looking out for others. But for Dick, it was more than that.

He couldn't save his real mother, but he could save them. He could protect them. And in doing so, maybe he could finally find some kind of redemption, some sense of peace.

One quiet evening, as they sat on the fire escape outside their apartment, Dick finally gathered the courage to explain why he'd been so protective. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a photo, folded and worn with time, and handed it to them.

"Here," he said softly, his voice calm but tinged with emotion.

He watched as their eyes widened, their gaze fixed on the image. His mother's face stared back at them from the photograph, the resemblance unmistakable.

"I know," Dick said, a faint, bittersweet smile tugging at his lips. "I was surprised too. You…" He trailed off, his thumb brushing the edge of the picture. "…look like my mom."