A/N: So sorry this has taken me so long to get up! You know how it is, one minute you and your muse are all buddy-buddy and the next she leaves you stranded.
Ah, well. Such is life.
I know I took a poll on what the outcome of the story should be but my muse and I got in a huge fight over it (hence the leaving). I have decided that my muse is
right (as always) and have followed her advice. Thanks anyway to everyone who voted!

He was a failure.

He could still remember the look on Dick's face as he ran to his family's bodies. It was the same look he had worn many years before as he saw his own parents murdered. He had promised, right then and there, that he would protect this boy. And he had failed.

Alfred had told him over and over that what had happened to Master Richard was not Bruce's fault. That he had died doing what he loved - fighting bad guys and finding justice. Bruce didn't believe him; he knew it was all his fault. He was the one who allowed Dick to fight crime. He was the one who had sent Dick out with only a handful of teenagers - inexperienced teenagers at that - to watch his back. He was the one who had assigned them the mission that cost Dick his life. He was the one responsible for everything.

He pushed himself off the grass and stood, looking down at Dick's grave. The gravestone itself was rather small and simple compared to the grand Wayne memorials around it, but it nestled just right between Dick's parents' own headstones. He remembered how Dick had asked for his parents to be buried so far apart; when he had asked Dick why, the boy had answered that someday he wanted to be buried between them. Dick was 8 then. Bruce never imagined having to follow Dick's wishes a mere 6 years later.

The headstone simply read:

Richard John Grayson
December 1, 1996 - June 3, 2011
Hero

Most people thought the word "Hero" was included as a tribute to the way Dick died - the press had been told that Dick had died while trying to save an old woman from a fire that started in an apartment building near Dick's school - but a select few knew that Dick had not only died a hero but had lived as one every day of his life. Bruce sighed and started back toward the manor. It had started to snow while he had been sitting by Dick's grave and he knew that if he didn't return to the manor soon, Alfred would come looking for him. Bruce turned his face to the sky. Dick had always loved the snow. He had never gotten the chance to see any before he lived with Bruce; the circus had always toured warmer countries during the snowy months. The first time Dick had ever seen snow, he had turned to Bruce with a look of pure joy on his face and proceeded to drag both Bruce and Alfred into the first snowball fight Wayne manor had seen in 20 years.

Bruce sighed. Dick had brought a lot of light back into his and Alfred's lives. He had forgotten how to smile and laugh before Dick came along. Of course, even with Dick in his life, he didn't smile or laugh much, but he had. As he reached the door into the kitchen, he turned and looked back across the lawn to the graveyard on the hill. Generations of Waynes lived on that hill, and now Dick would as well. He was where he was supposed to be: among family.