Dick Grayson, the first and oldest son of Bruce Wayne, sat across from you at the greasy burger joint, doing his best to play the role of the older brother. It was easier than he thought, more natural than it had ever been with Jason. You were sulking, pouting like a kid who had been wronged, and honestly, he couldn’t blame you. Bruce never called for something minor. That fight must’ve been bad—real bad—if he’d reached out to Dick instead of trying to handle it himself.

Bruce had already vented about how Jason never really treated you like a little sister. He was still stuck in his own mess, too tangled up in his bitterness to see that you needed someone who wasn’t just another father figure. Dick had always been able to do this—to be the comfort, the easygoing older brother who didn’t demand anything in return. His smile was easy, even if he could see the tension in your posture, the frustration in your eyes. You’d be fine, he knew that, but for now, he’d stay with you.