Hello, everybody! Look at me! Another story! *Gasp*

This is one I have actually been working on for awhile. I finally sucked it up and finished it today. So happy! :D

So this is basically another one of those "Five time he did, and the one time he didn't" stories that I simply love reading. Only this one is a lot shorter and simpler than the other one I started that I technically should be working on... *Cough*

Anywho, enjoy!

1.

Dick stomped through the doorway of Wayne Manor, chucking his bag at the wall. He carelessly kicked his shoes into the closet, turning on his heel and sweeping toward the kitchen.

Runt. Weakling. Geek.

Alfred stood at the stove, stirring a pot full of something, presumably for dinner that night. He raised an eyebrow at Dick's scowling face as he snatched his milk and cookies from the counter. "Hard day, Master Richard?"

Dick paused at the exit, considering his answer. With difficulty, he toned down his glare, aiming for a neutral expression as he turned back to face the old butler. "It was fine," he snapped, ruining his attempt at nonchalance. "Thanks." He quickly exited the kitchen, not in the mood to talk to Alfred—or anyone, for that matter—at the moment. He plunked down on the dining room table, a bit of milk sloshing onto the polished surface as his dishes clattered down.

"Master Richard," Alfred chided from the kitchen, "that is mahogany! Please refrain from taking your frustration out on the furniture."

Smart alec. Teacher's pet. Charity case.

"I'm not frustrated," Dick grumbled under his breath. Louder, he called, "Sorry, Alfred."

He picked up a cookie from the plate, dunking it in his milk and nibbling halfheartedly on the edge. For some reason, it didn't taste as amazing as it usually did.

Dick was used to bullies. He dealt with them on a daily basis. He knew that what they said wasn't true—usually. He also knew their intent: making someone else miserable to make themselves feel better. So why did their taunts still hurt? Maybe because he wasn't allowed to whack those stupid grins off their faces.

Circus freak. Gypsy boy.

"Stop it," he growled.

"Stop what?"

Dick's head jerked up in surprise, his knees bumping painfully against the underside of the table. He frowned as he realized that Bruce had entered the room and was standing across the table with coffee and newspaper in hand.

"Nothing," he muttered, a faint blush tinging his cheeks. He hadn't even noticed Bruce was home, let alone right in front of him.

Bruce raised an eyebrow at him as he moved to take a seat. "We'll have to work on your spacial awareness."

Dick nodded glumly, rubbing his thumb across the surface of his partially eaten cookie and sending crumbs raining down onto his lap.

Nerd. Brain boy. Loser.

He made a fist, crumbling the innocent cookie into dust. He stood up abruptly, nearly knocking his chair to the ground. He hastily brushed the crumbs from his slacks. "I'm going to do my homework," he announced, stalking from the room and missing Bruce's frown at the practically untouched plate of cookies he'd left behind.

2.

Dick resisted the urge to punch a hole through the wall of his room. Alfred had already re-plastered that wall twice this month, and Dick didn't really want to explain to him why it happened again.

He prowled around his room, searching for something, anything, to cure his immense boredom.

Laptop? He'd just hacked the Justice League database last week. Cellphone? Wally and Babs would kill him if he called at this hour. Bookshelf? He'd read every book in there...thrice. Homework? Finished. Bed? That was where he was supposed to be, which ruined the point.

He sighed in frustration, running a hand through his tousled hair. Why wasn't there anything to do?

He sneezed loudly, snot shooting out of his stuffy nose and onto his lips. Gross. He pulled a tissue from the Kleenex box on his nightstand and blew his nose, crumpling the used tissue and tossing it into the rapidly filling basket across the room.

He was sick and confined to his room. Maybe that's why everything was boring. He grudgingly glanced at the clock. 2:23am. Batman was probably beating the lights out of some crime boss right now.

He rubbed his hands over his eyes, ignoring the headache pounding through his skull. It was so not fair. Out of all the members of the team, he seemed to be the only one vulnerable to sickness. Wally's metabolism chucked the flu out of his system before the virus even took hold. Ms. Martian couldn't catch human viruses, and neither, it seemed, could Kaldur. Superboy was Superboy. And Dick had never seen Artemis sick before.

A familiar tickling sensation worked its way up the back of Dick's throat. Despite his best efforts, a cough erupted from his mouth. He clapped a hand over his lips, determined not to let them escape. However, the more he tried to fight it, the more the feeling grew until they finally burst free. The coughs came almost faster than he could breathe, sending involuntary tears streaming down his cheeks as he clutched painfully at his stomach.

When he was just about sure he'd hacked his lungs out, the spasm ceased. He gasped greedily for air, wincing as the torn tissue in his throat burned from the stomach acid that had tried to escape. He groaned pitifully, raising a hand to his throbbing temples.

Shakily, he got up from his kneeling position on the ground, staggering back to the nightstand and grabbing the half full glass of water. He raised it to his lips and drank, sighing in relief as the liquid worked its way down to his stomach, soothing the tissue in his mouth and throat. All too soon, the glass was empty.

He glared at it half-heartedly, willing it to fill up again. As expected, nothing happened.

Suddenly, Dick stiffened as a faint creak echoed in the hallway. Some sixth sense sent him flying to his bed, jumping quietly onto the mattress, flicking off his lamp, and pulling the covers up over his chin. He closed his eyes, feigning sleep.

Just in time.

He resisted the urge to smirk as he heard the door open, a triangle of light stretching across the room.

He kept his breathing deep and even as he sensed rather than heard the figure moving toward him. A shadow blocked the light against his eyelids, revealing that the person was standing right next to him.

He felt Bruce's warm hand on his forehead, sweeping his sweaty locks out of the way and checking his temperature.

The hand retreated. Bruce didn't move, seemingly hesitating.

A flutter of childish longing flickered in Dick's chest. Would he...?

The shadow retreated, sending Dick's hopes down the drain. Of course he wouldn't. He hardly ever did.

The latch clicked quietly into place as Bruce left the room, leaving Dick to his hot sweaty misery.

3.

Robin dodged another bullet, throwing a batarang at the source before somersaulting away to avoid the next thug. He grunted in pain as someone behind him got in a lucky punch, turning on his heel to kick the offender in the face before chucking one final blow into the nose of the man he'd just been battling.

Robin! Artemis yelled through the mental link. Could use back up over here!

On it, he replied, smacking the last minion on the head with a batarang. He dashed across the rooftop, barely hesitating before leaping into the air between the two seven story buildings. He shot his grapple gun and heard the comforting and familiar clunk as it grabbed hold of the building Artemis was on. His fall quickly turned into a swinging curve as he stuck his feet out, preparing to land at Artemis's back.

Artemis glanced up at him, and he saw her face suddenly fill with horror. "Look out!"

Robin looked up, just in time to see the thug he'd just smacked leaning on the edge of the roof, something held tightly in his hands. The man pulled back his arm, and threw the object, a glittering something—a knife, he realized—flying through the air toward him. Whether by pure dumb luck, or enormous skill, Robin watched in shock as the blade plowed right through his grapple line. The taut string suddenly went limp, the end of the now shortened rope falling away from the grapnel at the other end.

For a moment, time slowed. He seemed to hang suspended in the air, watching the horrified expression on Artemis's face as realization sunk in. And then he began to fall.

His heart stopped in his chest. Time continued to run unnaturally slow. It was just like in his nightmares. Only now, it wasn't going to end just in a cold sweat.

He was going to die.

He almost had to laugh despite his absolute terror. The last Grayson to die by falling. Oh, the irony.

He braced himself for impact, his eyes fixed on the stars above his head. At least he could actually see the sky, like all those cliché character deaths in books and movies.

Suddenly, a yellow blur shot through the corner of his vision, and he found himself ripped from the sky like a balloon on a windy day. They went flying, tumbling through the air until their path was cut short as red foam erupted before them, acting as a shock absorber and slowing them to a stop half buried in the stuff.

"Ohmygoshareyouokay?" Wally rambled under him. "IwasontheothersideofthestreetandIsuddenlysawyoufallingandIwaslike..."

He trailed off as Robin buried his face in Wally's chest, gloved fingers digging almost painfully into the canary yellow costume. Robin trembled like a leaf, his heart racing nearly as fast as the speedster who had just saved his life. He had just...it was just like... He couldn't even complete the thought. Memories began crashing before his eyes, each one like a battering ram through his shell shocked mind: falling, falling, red starbursts, mangled bodies, sightless blue eyes...

Robin was ripped from his thoughts as a hand touched his shoulder, Roy's concerned face swimming into his vision. "You okay, kiddo?"

Robin flushed as he realized he'd been asked that question twice, and he had yet to answer. "Yeah," he said shortly, barely keeping the tremor out of his voice. "Fine."

Roy raised an eyebrow beneath his mask.

Robin realized he was still clutching Wally like a lifeline, and hastily let go, standing up and brushing himself off to try and hide the trembling in his hands as Artemis came rushing toward them. Robin didn't even bother wondering how she got down here so fast.

"Oh my gosh, are you okay?" she cried. "I saw the line snap, and then you were falling, and-and—"

"I'm fine, Artemis. Really." He tried for a smile, but even he knew it fell miserably flat. He brushed past them, heading off down the street. "Come on, that wasn't my first flight. What are we all still standing around here for? Let's go."

Surprisingly, they obeyed, giving him one last suspicious look before starting off for the bioship parked a few blocks away.

Robin felt a hand on his shoulder, and looked up to find himself staring into familiar emerald eyes.

"Hey, man," Wally said softly. "You sure you're okay?"

Robin hesitated just a moment. "Fine. Just fine."

Once the team returned to the Mountain, he pretended not to notice the concerned glances sent his way as a Batman debriefed them, choosing to remain silent. The moment he got back to the Batcave, he crept into his bedroom in Wayne Manor before Batman put two and two together.

4.

Dick curled up under the covers, hands clapped firmly over his ears as another peal of thunder echoed outside the mansion. He gritted his teeth, forcing his body to curl in even tighter.

Despite the rather hot night, Dick kept his blankets firmly over his chin—sometimes even higher.

You big baby, he mentally chided himself. You can take down twenty armed thugs without batting an eye, and you're scared of something as normal as a thunderstorm?

A particularly loud blast of thunder erupted outside, directly after an enormous bolt of lightning shot down seemingly next to his window.

He let out an involuntary yelp of surprise and fear, burrowing his head under the blanket. Okay, make that a lot scared.

A trickle of sweat worked its way down the back of his neck as he crouched in the stuffy confines of the fabric. At first, he thought an earthquake had joined the general chaos, only to realize that he was shaking so violently his teeth were chattering.

You're nearly 14 years old, he berated. You're Robin, the Boy Wonder, the partner of the freaking Batman, and you can't take a little lightning?

A small reluctant voice in the back of his head answered his question: Yes.

Finally, reluctantly, he came up for air, taking deep, grateful breaths of the moist night air. He half-glared out the window. "Who gave you the license to drive my heart insane?" he grumbled.

As if in answer, a bolt of lightning shot so close, he imagined he could see the individual crackling tendrils of electricity. It struck a large tree on the manor grounds, which promptly burst into a ball of orange flames as a deafening clap of thunder sounded the explosion.

Dick squeaked in a very unmanly way before diving back under the safety of his bedsheets, heart pounding wildly.

"Bruce," he whispered shakily, inwardly knowing there was no way his guardian would hear him. There was a major drugs bust going down tonight, the organization run by none other than Bane. Despite all his training, all his skills, Robin was still kept home whenever possible when it involved Bane.

Dick managed a small smirk. So he was allowed out to take down a psychotic clown with a crowbar, but practically put under lockdown for one dude on steroids. Typical.

Doubt crept in the corners of his mind. Maybe there was a reason for that... Did Bruce know of his unhealthy fear of thunderstorms? Was that why he'd been kept home? Nah, it was probably because he had a social studies test tomorrow. Bruce had said something about extra study time... He glanced over at the unopened backpack by his desk. Oops.

His speculations were interrupted as sirens became evident in the lull between blasts, seemingly headed right for the mansion.

Dick frowned. Why would the fire department...tree on fire. Right.

He peeked out over the sheets, watching out the window as a fire truck barreled across the Wayne estate, headed for the blazing treetop merely twenty feet from the house itself. Alfred must have called the fire department when he came to the conclusion that if that 30-foot tree happened to fall in the wrong direction, there would be serious consequences.

Dick kept his attention fixed to the window, flinching occasionally at random claps of thunder as he watched firefighters scurrying around below like ants. He thought he saw Alfred standing a few feet from the chaos, watching them work as if he was supervising the whole thing; and he probably was.

Dick watched sadly as they combatted the hungry tongues of fire, which, despite both the rain and the firehose, continued blazing brightly in the dark night. He had climbed that tree hundreds of times over the past few years, using it as his own private sanctuary to read, swing, avoid Bruce, or just simply think about stuff upside down to see if he could approach a thought from a different angle. He would miss that old oak.

He flinched as another streak of lightning lit up the night sky, grimacing as the thunder rolled loud and clear through the city.

Maybe it was safer under his bed...

5.

Dick lurched forward with a gasp, sweat trickling down the back of his neck as haunted memories flashed before his eyes. A book that had for some reason been on his face fell off and onto the covers, forgotten as the boy struggled to breathe. His heart thumped wildly in his chest, and he half expected to see it pound right out of his chest and onto his bed from the intensity of the beats.

He bit his lip as the smallest of whimpers escaped from his throat, tears prickling behind his eyes. This was one of those times he wished he hadn't put up that poster right where he could see it.

Pasted on the wall directly before him was six blue silhouettes against brilliant red and yellow, seemingly ready to fly of the poster as their name suggested into the room beyond at any moment. He could see the individual detail of each of the figures: his father's and uncle's muscled arms, his mother's and aunt's ponytails, his cousin John's shock of hair. And of course him, in the bottom right: the smallest, the youngest. The sole survivor.

He ripped his eyes away, instead focusing on the book in front of him. He struggled to rifle through his clouded thoughts, trying to remember what he had been doing before falling asleep. Studying for tomorrow's history test. Right...

He moodily plopped the book on his nightstand, leaning back to lay against his pillow. He covered his face with his hands, pretending not to feel moisture beneath his fingertips.

Sometimes, it was just so...unfair. Why did his family have to die? Why not some other kid's?

The thought immediately made him feel guilty. Robin existed to stop something like that from ever happening again. To wish otherwise...well, that was just backwards, not to mention wrong.

He cracked his fingers open, glancing at the clock: 5:07am. He had about one hour until it was time to get up and get ready for school. And he'd gone to bed at 3am. So it would really be wise if he snored through that last hour to the fullest.

But the moment he closed his eyes, he knew there would be no more sleep that morning: red, blue, and gold costumes, torn and stained totally red, red, red...

Dick's eyes shot open, head snapping to the door. He huddled into his sheets, snatching the history book quietly from his nightstand and plopping it—still open—on his face. He lay perfectly still, calming his racing heartbeat and breathing.

A light creak echoed through the room as someone opened the door.

Dick inwardly smirked. He was getting frighteningly good at this.

He kept his face still, his breathing even, waiting for Bruce to make the next move. As predicted, only a few moments later, the book was carefully pulled off his face, a slight thud sounding near his ear that marked its placement on the side table.

A hand combed through his hair, and Dick accidentally hummed in pleasure, leaning instinctively into the touch.

He could practically feel Bruce's small smile.

A minute or so passed, and Bruce removed his hand, much to Dick's disappointment.

A low squeak as the door closed again, and then the room was silent once more.

Dick waited a couple more minutes, just in case Bruce decided to come back, before opening his eyes. He was immediately faced with the bright yellow poster. He grimaced, picking up the history book from where it lay.

Might as well do a little extra cramming while he had the time.

+1.

Recognized Batman 01

Batman stepped out of the blinding light, pausing momentarily in the entrance way to let the spots dance out of his vision. He raised an eyebrow behind his cowl to see only Black Canary standing in the center of the room, apparently waiting for him.

"Black Canary," he greeted, striding toward her. "Where is the team?"

Dinah winced slightly. "Resting."

Batman made to move past her, but a firm hand reached out to touch his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks.

"I don't think it would be wise to debrief them now," Black Canary said softly.

Batman glared at her. "Why not?" he demanded.

"The mission..." She trailed off, shaking her head sadly. "It didn't go quite as planned."

Batman's eyes narrowed. "How so?"

Dinah took a deep breath. "Long story short, a civilian couple got caught in the line of fire. They—they didn't make it." She gave him a sideways glance. "They have a daughter."

Batman froze. "Where's Robin?"

"Waiting for you in the lounge."

Batman took off down the hall without another word, thoughts in a turmoil. Another orphan. Robin must be devastated.

He remembered Dick's exact words from the day he had first brought up the idea of being Batman's partner: I have to make sure it never happens again.

The utterly serious expression on such a young face had melted Bruce's heart—just a little. He completely understood where Dick had been coming from, as he had lost his parents around the same age. He'd allowed Dick to become his partner. And he was forever proud of that decision.

But lately, he'd come to find he understood his protégé less and less. Ever since the team had started, their relationship had become...strained. The act of utter defiance had cracked their partnership, the two slowly becoming more and more distant as the only time they really spent together was patrolling Gotham City. And even those nights were becoming fewer and farther between. Even Robin's combat training had been taken over by Black Canary.

His thoughts were interrupted as he realized he'd reached what the team had deemed to be the lounge. Batman could see Robin's raven black hair over the top of the green couch: the boy's back was toward him, and he sat hunched over on the edge of the seat, elbows on his knees as he stared blankly at the blank television screen.

Batman noticed that he was still in costume.

He realized with a small start that it had been a long time since he and his ward had hung out simply as Bruce and Dick. Between the forming of the new team, and all the issues with The Light, all their so called "bonding time" was spent in costume beating up villains.

He frowned at the thought. He'd have to change that.

It wasn't that he ignored his ward. Not at all. They had both just grown so busy, there was simply no time to have a proper conversation. But, at the same time, he'd ignored Dick in another way: he'd neglected his feelings. Over the past several weeks, there had been several instances when Bruce had questioned whether or not Dick was hurting somehow, but hadn't been sure how to approach him about it.

He'd noticed Dick's scowl, his readiness to beat something up when he came home from school one evening. Dick hadn't finished his cookies that day. Bruce had known that Dick was still awake that one night he'd been sick, despite the boy's extraordinary acting ability—it's hard to fake sleep with a stuffy nose. He'd noticed his ward's pasty skin during the debriefing after he'd fallen from a building, the slight tremor in his hands as he promised he was fine, locking himself in his room and coming out with a smile the next morning. He'd come home one night to find Dick conked out under his bed, blanket pulled over his sweaty raven locks as the last vestiges of thunder rumbled to a halt outside. He'd heard the boy's cries, had come in to check on him only to find him fast asleep with a book on his face—the Dark Knight had honestly been unsure as to whether or not he was actually asleep this time, as Dick had fallen asleep with unfinished homework balanced on his nose many times in the past, and had chosen to let him be.

But know it was beyond clear that the boy was anything but all right. And Bruce wasn't about to let it go again.

Taking a quiet breath, he stepped into the room, treading silently to stand at the arm of the couch. "Robin."

Robin flinched like he'd been shocked, jerking his head up to look at Batman in surprise. "Oh," he said huskily. "Hey, Batman." Bruce could hear the underlying pain in those words, despite Robin's best efforts to hide it.

He knelt down beside the boy, mentally trying to plot out exactly what he was going to say. "Black Canary told me what happened," he said gruffly.

Robin winced. "All of it?"

Batman shook his head. "You didn't tell her all of it."

Robin nodded several times. "Right," he murmured. "We didn't, did we?"

"Robin," Batman said softly. "Whatever happened, it wasn't your fault."

Robin turned away, his expression contorting as if in pain. "You don't know that."

There was an awkward silence. One that was unsurprisingly broken by the Boy Wonder.

Robin took a shuddering breath. "I was right there," he whispered, almost trance-like. "I was chasing down one of the crooks in the warehouse when he ran out the door. I followed him. There was a family outside." Robin gulped, as if there was a lump in his throat. "Don't know what they were doing there. But he raised the gun and—and—" He couldn't seem to finish his sentence. He bowed his head, staring blankly at his hands. "I managed to get the gun out of his hands before he shot the girl," he said softly. "But I wasn't fast enough. If I had been two seconds earlier..."

Robin chuckled darkly, not a hint of his usual good humor lacing his tone. "And of course it had to happen today. Of all days."

For a moment, Bruce didn't understand. Then, total horror filled him as he realized he'd done something he'd sworn he'd never do: he'd forgotten the anniversary of...well, the start of everything. He quickly backtracked in his mind, mentally plotting out the dates, praying against anything that he was wrong, that he did not just send Robin with the team on a mission on such a traumatic day. He cursed himself for not keeping a better eye on the calendar. He supposed staying up two nights in a row in the Batcave could throw off a person's timeline...

But it was no excuse. This should never have happened. He should have been there for Dick—and he hadn't.

He placed a hand on his ward's shoulder, tilting up the twisted expression to meet his. "Robin, this is not your fault. Do you hear me? There is nothing you could have done to prevent this. You did the best that you could do."

Robin looked up at him, his expression hollow. "But what if my best isn't good enough?"

"Dick," Bruce said more insistently, moving his other hand to rest on Dick's other shoulder. "You can't do everything. No one can. We're only human. Your best is your best. And it's good enough for me."

Blue eyes blinked behind the domino mask. And suddenly, his bird was in his arms, clutching him tightly as a muted sob tore its way through his throat.

Bruce didn't even hesitate before hugging him back, holding him close as Dick's body shook with silent sobs.

"I m-miss them," Dick cried. "S-so bad."

"I know, chum," Bruce murmured, closing his eyes tightly as unfamiliar moisture prickled behind his eyeballs. "I know."

Bruce didn't know how long they stayed there. Heck, he didn't care. But eventually, the shaking in the boy's shoulders came to a halt, the tears reducing to only the occasional sniffle.

"S-sorry," Dick sniffed. "That was stupid."

Batman looked at him in surprise. "There's nothing to be sorry about, Dick. It wasn't stupid."

Dick removed his face from Bruce's chest, his expression skeptical. "Really?"

Bruce's heart ached at the thought that his ward—his son—was apologizing for a totally normal human reaction. He supposed he wasn't exactly a good role model in the emotions department, but still. "It's how you express your feelings," he said. "Just because you're a Bat doesn't mean you have to act like one."

The ghost of a smile traced Robin's lips. "Whatever you say, Batman."

The Dark Knight carefully stood up, keeping one hand firmly on his ward's back. "Come on, Robin. Let's go home."

So what did you think? Was Bats a little OOC? Bad ending? Let me know in a review! Guests, that means you too! ;D Constructive criticism is accepted and appreciated.

Sorry for the awkwardness of number three. I was trying to keep the sections shorter, and it ended up coming out sloppy :P And sorry for the abrupt ending. I didn't know what else to do.

Have a great rest of the summer! Don't forget to review!