Dear Batman,
Okay, I admit that always looked weird on the Christmas cards—but I have to tell you, sometimes it felt even weirder to write “Dear Bruce."
Sometimes, I wonder what you call me in your head. When you think about me, I mean. If you think about me. Reading those files of yours…I guess it was the first time I was ever sure that you sometimes wondered the same kind of things. And I don't want you to wonder about me. I want you to be sure.
Thing is, I don't know how to reassure you in words. I mean, there are no words. What am I, Bruce? Your son? Your trainee? Your soldier? Your “sidekick”? Your ward? “Ward.” I hate that word. It stopped having any meaning the minute I turned 18, and I was afraid I would, too. Stop having meaning, I mean, for you.
So, in the absence of finding words, I try to show you who I am in action. And I find I can't stop moving. Sometimes it's because I feel like I have to keep up with you, and sometimes it's because I feel I have to keep ahead of the others.
You don't know what it's about either, do you? All the people around you? Sometimes I think they just gather of their own accord—pulled by some magnetism and mission that keeps me in orbit, and I'm so grateful for them—so glad not to be alone out here—that I don't give it a second thought. But other times, Batman—Bruce—no, Batman—other times, Batman, I think you deliberately called them to your side…and I can't believe you'd have the gall.
You eventually heard me out on the issue, but I don't think you ever really got how much it hurt me when you chose Azrael to stand in for you instead of me. The only thing I hate more than wearing that cape and cowl and imagining a world without you in it—is watching someone else do it.
I know you have your reasons for everything you do, and I know you don't always think I believe that. I do believe that. I'm not ever worried that you haven't thought things through. I'm just sometimes worried that I don't factor into your thinking. Or that if I do, you're worrying that I can't take care of myself. It occurred to me for the first time today, that maybe it's not about that. Maybe you're worrying that you can't take care of me.
You're not an easy man to be close to, Bruce. As much as you may care about any of us, any of this, I know you’d trade it all in a heartbeat if you could have your parents back. And I've never admitted this to anyone, but I don't think I would. Trade, I mean. And I don't think I'm ready to see your face if I told you that, which is why I'm never going to send this letter.
I miss my parents with my whole heart, Batman, I do.
But I wouldn't trade this for the world.
Love, Dick
Gotham Knights #14
