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Sick was a good word to describe what he was feeling, though frustratingly vague. He’d wanted Bruce to get knocked off his high horse, yes, but he’d never wanted anyone actually hurt. He’d wanted Bruce to be wrong for once, he’d wanted to be the moral paragon counterpoint to the Dark Knight that everyone thought he was, and while Superman was not stupid enough to believe that just wanting those things had caused them to become warped, and then, suddenly, real-well, coincidences that are not coincidences are never good news.
It wasn’t like Robin had never been stabbed before-that much was true. But he was usually Robin at the time, on the streets, doing his job. Wayne Manor was one of the most secured homes in the country; Bruce was rich enough to afford the best protection money could buy, and he’d bought it. Improved upon it, even. Home should have been the single safest place for an orphaned boy, and even if it wasn’t, Dick was probably among the top fifty martial artists on the planet. Certainly among the top five in the city. Should have been able to protect himself, but what, really, could you do against a child without breaking every superhero’s moral code? Harming children was a particularly grave sin in Batman and Robin’s eyes, and while it was normal to be infuriated by that, the deeper anger it invoked in the two of them was something Superman chalked up to the fact that they’d both been young children at the critical juncture of their lives-the deaths of their parents.
Very nearly his entirely family, in Dick’s case.
Unstoppable force hit not just an immovable object here. It was flat-out an entire brick wall. Superman could imagine the mental anguish the situation would have caused Bruce; he was very glad not to be a Martian then, and have to block Bruce’s thoughts from his mind. The terse message from earlier sounded even harsher in his memory. How had Bruce found the time to zip the documents and send the e-mails when he might not have known whether or not Dick-the child he’d raised since the age of nine-was bleeding to death?
Killed, no less, by the son he never knew he had? It was Cain and Abel between a seven-year-old and a sixteen-year-old. It was ridiculous.
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