Bruce halted in the middle of the hallway as a trace of whisper reached his ears. Dick and Wally should both have been asleep long ago, but from the sound of things they were wide awake and still talking. Part of him understood how difficult it must be for best friends who lived hundreds of miles apart to not put every rare moment together to use; the rest of him was perturbed at the prospect of dealing with two cranky teens come morning. Determined to ensure that they got at least a few hours of rest, he moved towards his son's door.

"I just don't get it, though," the speedster's voice came through the crack as he drew near. "When he's not scary, he just seems…I dunno, sad. I know why he's sad, obviously, but you'd think he could…well…not get over it, but…get over it."

The billionaire's hand hovered a mere inch above polished wood. …He's talking about me, he grimaced. He wasn't offended, but he was surprised that Wally was being so direct with Dick about parental deaths. Maybe he should just leave them be, he mused. Interrupting now would be awkward for everyone involved, and the last thing he wanted to do was cause a breach between the boys.

He turned to retrace his steps, but the next words he heard pulled him back. "It's…it's not that easy, Wals," Dick murmured patiently. "Besides…he's a lot happier now than he used to be."

"Then he must have been one hell of a Debbie Downer back in the day. No offense."

"None taken. I don't really remember the specifics – I was kind of wrapped up in my own stuff those first few months, you know – but Alfred says he's a hundred times better now than he was before…well, before I came along." Something shifted in the bedroom, and Bruce imagined his child pulling his knees protectively to his chest as was his wont when he was thinking painful thoughts. "I do everything I can think of to make him happier. It works sometimes, even when he's in costume, but…not always."

"That's the thing, though," Wally insisted. "Here you are, doing everything you can to make him happy, right?"

"Right."

"And you do that by being happy yourself, right?"

"…Right."

"So if you can be happy despite having gone through the same awful thing he did, why can't he?"

In the corridor, Bruce winced. Wally's question was one that he had asked himself at least a thousand times over the past five years, and he had never struck upon an answer that felt right. He slipped closer, feeling like a bit of an idiot for eavesdropping in his own house but also curious as to what Dick's answer would be.

"It's just who we are, bro. I'm not happy all the time, you know, the same as he's not sad all the time. It's…it's inverse, I guess. Maybe that's part of why we work so well together. I don't know. All I know is that there's not much anybody can do to make him happier than he is. Trust me," a dark note underlined his tone, "I've tried."

"He's not even happy as Batman, though! I mean, I love being Kid Flash, don't get me wrong, but I'm still jealous of him, and Superman, and all the others. Everyone knows their names. He's a freaking superhero, like with fangirls and imitators and everything; how can that not make him happy?"

"Hmm…"

"…What?"

"I was just thinking…well, have you ever read Camus?"

"Dude, you're kidding, right? I can't even spell that."

"Sorry. Anyway, you know who he was?"

"Like a philosopher or whatever, wasn't he?"

"A philosopher. Not so much a whatever."

"Heh. Okay, so what about him?"

"What you just said made me remember something he wrote, that's all."

"What was it?"

"'Heroism is attainable. Happiness is more difficult.'"

Bruce's jaw dropped. When, a flabbergasted gasp ran through his head, did my thirteen-year-old start reading Camus? More importantly, a frown creased his lips, why did I not know that he had? The author must have been a suggestion of Alfred's, he decided. It wasn't impossible that Dick had gravitated towards absurdist philosophy on his own, but he preferred to believe that his son wasn't growing up quite that fast.

"…Huh," Wally's exhalation pulled him back into the conversation at hand. "That's kind of cool, but…I still don't get how heroism doesn't make him happy. They should go together."

"Wals…I don't think he does all the Batman stuff in the hopes of it making him happy. I think he does it so that no one else has to be sad like he is."

"Okay, but when he succeeds at doing that it should make him happy."

Yes, Wallace, the billionaire sighed, it should. But it doesn't. It just...doesn't.

"He never really succeeds, though," Dick slowly formulated an answer. "...Holy cow, maybe that's the problem."

His brain stuttered. What?

"What?" Wally echoed inside.

"He can't save everyone. It's literally impossible, because he can't be everywhere at once and know what's going on at all times. He can't even save everyone in Gotham, no matter how hard he tries. It's not his fault, of course, but he's a perfectionist. No matter how many people he does save from the sadness, he'll dwell on the few that he couldn't get to or didn't know about."

...Like you, an awful wave of guilt washed over the listening man. Like I couldn't save you, chum. I didn't know, and I couldn't help, and now...now all I can do is try and make you happy as much as possible, because I failed to save you from the pain.

"...Oh," was all the speedster managed. "I guess there's not much you can do about that, huh?"

"Not really. Just...try to distract him. That's all. Anyway...that's why he's sad, okay?"

"What about you?"

"Huh?"

"Why are you sad sometimes? Besides...you know. Because I really hate that idea, bro. You shouldn't be sad."

"Thanks, but...well, I guess I'm sad sometimes because he's still sad. No matter what I do." Dick laughed wryly. "We're both perfectionists in our own ways, apparently."

"And I'm not a very good distraction," Wally chastised himself. "I'm sorry I brought this all up, I just...I was just curious."

"It's okay. I don't mind telling you about it. It's kind of nice, actually, sharing the load a bit. Besides, it helped you understand him a little better, and you spend enough time around him that that's important."

"Yeah. It'll be even more important in a few months when I can get my license. Then I'll have a super legitimate explanation for how I got here as a civilian, and we can see each other way more."

"Now that makes me happy."

"Awesome." A yawn broke the silence that followed. "Man...maybe we should get some sleep. I'm tired."

"Me, too. Besides, Bruce'll be back soon; we don't want him to catch us still up."

"Right. He might go from sad to scary."

"Yeah...and if he has to yell at us about being awake at three in the morning, he'll never agree to take us go-karting tomorrow. Today. Whatever. Go-karting."

"Let's not risk that."

"Agreed."

"...G'night, Dick."

"Night, Wally."

There were no further sounds from the bedroom for several minutes. When the speedster's light snoring began, Bruce straightened and swiped at his cheeks. Then he pushed the door open a few more inches and peeked in at the pointed face he cherished above all others. ...You saved me, kiddo, he swallowed hard. I hope you know that. Don't feel like you fell short; you did something that no one else could, not even me. And now... A smile inched across his lips. Alfred's right, but his scale is off. I am a hundred thousand times happier with you than I ever was before.

You did more than that, even, he went on. You gave me a second goal; making you happy. Go-karting? We can go-kart all damn day if it keeps a grin on your face, because I don't want what Camus said to be true for you the way it is for me. Heroism is practically your natural state, I think, but I want happiness to be just as easy for you. I'm going to do whatever it takes to make that the case, Dicky. He retreated on that oath, shutting the door behind himself. Whatever it costs me, I want you to be the happiest hero the world's ever known.

Author's Note: The Camus quote is from his 'Letters to a German Friend'. Happy reading!