I do not own Batman or Dick Grayson or any DC characters. Because if I did, things would be VERY different.

The boy stopped short and looked down at the grass. A small, fuzzy bundle lay at the base of a tree that he had been intending to climb, and he squatted down next to the tree, peering seriously at the small lump.

The boy, who had two skinned knees and one skinned elbow, rarely slowed down long enough to look carefully at his surroundings, so that seeing anything at all nestled in the tall grass was a small miracle.

His hands shaking, he reached down to scoop up the pile, and, bringing it close to his face, he looked carefully at the tiny beak, downy feathers, closed eyes, and undeveloped wings.

He looked up into the tree, trying to see the baby bird's nest, but he could not.

Without thinking, he ran back towards the house, clutching the fledgling to his chest.

"Bruce! Bruce! Help! Bruce!"

He soon heard running feet in reply, and his new father came to the door of his study.

"Dick! What is it? Are you hurt?"

Dick shook his head vehemently. "I found a baby bird. I think it's hurt." He thrust his cupped hands towards the man, who, dropping to his own knees, examined the animal.

"It's a baby robin."

"Is it okay?" Dick's voice was anxious.

Bruce looked again at his ward, who, six months after his arrival, was still fragile, both emotionally and physically.

"I – I don't know, Dick." He touched the wing gently with one finger, and tried to lift it, but the bird's body was stiff.

He shook his head regretfully. "No, buddy. I think that it's – gone."

"Gone?" Dick's face screwed up. "What do you mean? It's dead?"

Bruce nodded slowly. "I'm afraid so."

"Oh." Dick blinked. He hadn't been prepared for that.

"Here," Bruce said, moving to take the bird. "I'll take care of it for you."

Dick closed his hands protectively around his precious burden. "No. He's my baby bird. I'll – bury him."

Bruce nodded seriously. "Take him to Alfred. He'll help you."

Dick agreed. "I will."

He left Bruce staring at him, and walked solemnly to the kitchen, where he presented his baby bird to the butler.

"Oh, Master Dick, how sad."

"I have to bury it, Alfred."

"Oh, dear, yes. How sad. But here, I have something that may help you." The manservant retrieved a small tin from a cabinet, and, removing some tea bags from it, showed it to Dick. "Here. This will make a suitable coffin for such a tiny creature."

"It smells good. It smells like – peaches."

"Yes. This is Master Bruce's favorite blend. It does have the essence of peaches."

"Can we put something in it, Alfred? Something – soft? To wrap around him? I don't want him to be cold."

"Yes, of course. I have just the thing." Opening a drawer, Alfred pulled a worn and soft dishtowel out and arranged it in the tea tin.

"Here we go." He held the small box out while Dick arranged his baby bird within.

"Can we go bury it now, Alfred?"

"Yes, of course, Master Dick. Where would you like to bury it?"

"In the cemetery. Near Bruce's parents."

Alfred gave a small smile. "Of course. Let me retrieve a shovel. Shall I inform Master Bruce?"

"Yes, please."

So the two men and the small boy walked to the cemetery, and Bruce dug a small hole at the base of a peach tree – a tree that Dick himself had selected. The boy settled the tin into the hole reverently, and watched as Bruce covered it up.

His eyes began to fill with tears as his guardian began to pat the earth over the box, and Dick slipped his hand into Alfred's.

"Why did the baby bird have to die?" He asked the manservant.

Alfred shook his head. "Perhaps he just fell from his nest too soon."

Bruce wiped dirt off his hands. "Or a cat got him."

Dick frowned. "Why did it happen?"

Bruce shook his head. "I don't know, Dick. Sometimes things – happen. And we don't know why."

He clapped the boy on the shoulder in a gesture of comfort, and left to return the shovel to the garden shed.

"I'm so sorry for your loss, Master Dick. It's so hard when something – or someone dies. Especially if they are young." He was thinking particularly of Dick's own recent contact with death, and with Bruce's, so many years before.

Dick nodded, but didn't say anything, and the two stared at the tiny grave.

"Oh, Master Dick, look!" Alfred's eye had been caught by movement in the tree, and he pointed up into the lowest branches. "Do you see that?"

Dick shook his head, and Alfred picked him up and, with his free hands, pointed again. "Look there. What do you see?"

Dick's brows drew together, and he looked up into the tree at a baby robin, who stared back at him, wide mouthed and pugnacious.

"It's a baby robin."

"Yes. It is. And it looks to be about the same size as yours. Perhaps that is your bird's brother or sister."

"Do you think so?" Dick looked at him with serious blue eyes.

"Perhaps. And, although your baby bird is – gone, his brothers will fly on. Into the sky. Life goes on, Master Dick. For the birds, and for you."

Dick gave Alfred a small, weak smile. "Do you really think so?"

"Yes, I think so. I really do."

The boy looked down at the freshly turned earth where the makeshift coffin rested beneath.

"Goodbye, baby bird. I love you."

Author's Notes: I think that you all know the genesis of this story, and, if you do not, just google Batman Inc. #8, and you'll know why I wrote this. There will be another chapter after tomorrow, I think.

Death is dogging me at this time, and I would like it to go away now, please.