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You’re Dick Grayson.
You’re tortured, your identity is revealed to the world, and then you’re killed. Right after that, everyone you care about cries over you because they think you’re dead. Then your dad beats you up and tells you that you have to go undercover to protect the people you love. You know that people are going to be mad at you for it, and you’re not sure they’re going to understand why you’re doing this thing you really don’t want to do.
You tell your dad that your relationship with him will never be the same because of this. You’ll never be “his boy” again. Your dad tells you it’s a sacrifice he’s willing to make. It hurts you almost as much as the next punch does.
So you go do your mission. It’s hard because you don’t have your usual support system to help you get through it. All you have is a little device that you sometimes call your dad on, and then one day you don’t even have that because your dad stops answering, and you don’t know why. You ask him, no, you beg him to let you come back home because you did what you came there to do, and you don’t know what you’re supposed to do next, but more than anything, you just want to come home.
To make matters worse, you’re confronted by the man who murdered you, and he happily reminds you of this all while trying to take kryptonite from you. He also shows you that the technology you’re using while undercover can control your body. Now you know you can’t trust anybody, including yourself.
You decide, fuck it, and go back home because you’re sick of this undercover shit. More importantly, you don’t know if your dad is dead or if something bad happened that forced him to abandon you.
When you get home, you find out that your dad has amnesia and doesn’t remember you. Your brothers spit accusing words at you for lying to them even though your dad is the one who forced your hand on the issue. One of them punches you because he’s so mad at you for pretending to be dead. You don’t know how to explain to either of them that you really did die. At this point, you’re not sure they would even care.
You go to see one of your best friends next, and when you try to explain things to her, she tells you you’re a disappointment. She doesn’t understand how hard you fought your dad to avoid doing all of this in the first place. She doesn’t understand that people, including your dad, took advantage of you when you were physically, mentally, and emotionally fragile. You know she doesn’t know all of this, but it doesn’t matter.
It still hurts.
And then… and then there’s your youngest kid brother. Your Robin. Your heart stops when you see him because what? He’s alive? You’re frozen in shock, but your Robin isn’t. He flips into your arms and, suddenly, you’re hugging him. He’s warm and alive, and there’s no mistaking that this is your Robin. This is your kid. And your kid isn’t like the others. He’s just as thrilled to see you as you are to see him. You hug him hard enough to hurt, and your cheek is pressed tightly against his. It’s everything you wanted, and you don’t think anything can beat this feeling.
You’re proven wrong when your kids says, “I missed you,” in a voice that’s incredibly sincere and full of pure, unadulterated happiness.
I love you, you think while closing your eyes and gripping him even tighter.
What comes out of your mouth is, “I know, kiddo. Me too. Me too.”