A/N: As with previous stories, it is highly recommended that you read parts 1-4 before reading part 5. Probably AU, definitely flawed. Feel free to point that out and the author will happily add your complaint to the file on their computer dedicated to this story's issues.

Please, enjoy the story.

Gotham Cemetery

November 3rd, 06:30PM

Cold winds had come to Gotham. Snow blanketed the land, acting as a reflection of the ice which had begun to form around Richard Grayson's heart. He had always known there was darkness in him, and had also recognized that Bruce Wayne was his only way out of it. He had been aware from the first day that Bruce was trying to help him, that he would not allow Dick to fall into the darkness as he had.

But now Bruce was gone, and Dick was all alone, with nothing barring his entry to that darkness within. That place he'd tried so long, so very long, to ignore, to avoid, to keep hidden even from himself. He could feel it tugging at him now, drawing him ever further from the light which he had so long lived his life in.

The difference between heroes and villains was sometimes subtle. But he had always known right where the line was, had walked it a time or two, but never crossed it. Now it didn't seem like such a big thing to go over to the other side. He had no delusions that his feelings were right, that the thoughts in his head were really intended for a good purpose.

No. He was not so far gone as to think that. Maybe one day, but not today.

Due to the weather, the funeral of Bruce Wayne had been delayed until now. As if Gotham itself was weeping for its fallen hero, blizzards of unseasonable strength had blown through almost ceaselessly, snowing in heroes and villains alike, locking them in as if to prevent them from fighting, to insist on a moment of silence for the one who was now gone.

Dick had stood watching the casket lowered into the ground, telling himself over and over that Bruce was really dead, that he would not be back. Since Bruce had died, Dick had gone and looked at the body every day, proving to himself over and over that he was not dreaming, that there had been no mistake. That his father was well and truly gone.

It was worse, somehow, that it was Bruce who had died. To die as Batman, saving the world, was to be expected. Maybe Dick would have been able to come to terms with such sacrifice. But it was such a random freak thing. An explosion during a party thrown by Luthor. They'd found the people who planted the bombs, just some kids who were disgusted with Luthor and high society in general. Kids!.

It wasn't right.

Timothy Drake, Dick's adopted brother, had stood beside him, unshed tears in his eyes, biting his lower lip until it bled. So recently had he too been stricken by a childish act of hatred, which had nearly stolen his own life as well.

Tim. The only reason Dick was still here, still struggling against the darkness inside himself. Without Bruce to guide him, the boy needed a father figure. Dick might not be best suited to the task, but he was all Tim had other than Alfred, who was a wise friend and fantastic butler, but somehow not the father figure that a young Robin needed.

Tim needed Batman. Gotham needed Batman.

Neither had ever truly needed Nightwing. The team had never really needed Nightwing, not when they had Kaldur. Nobody needed Nightwing. But the world did need Batman.

Dick could be that for them. He had the knowledge, the training, the experience, the skill and even the way of thinking. It had never been a secret that he and Batman were so perfectly in sync that they rarely needed to even speak to one another.

He would be a poor replacement, but the best there could be.

After the funeral, the small crowd drifted away. Dick had barely been aware of them, hardly knew who any of them were. Alfred was standing by the limo, waiting to take them home, somehow knowing in that special way of his that Tim and Dick needed a moment alone to say goodbye to their father.

It was a moment reserved for the Robins, the sons of Batman.

The gray sky threw down a few flakes of snow, warning of the storm to come. Dick didn't feel the cold frozen bits of water land on his face or neck. He was already so cold inside that nothing could have made him feel anything but numb.

He didn't notice Tim looking up at him, searching for a way to deal with his loss in the eyes of his new mentor. He had no idea that Tim saw what he needed to in his eyes. Tim didn't see the anger, or the death, but something else. A reason to keep going. Even in the midst of grief, there was still a light in Dick's eyes, which spoke of the world he intended to save.

"I was shocked, to say the least, to discover that Bruce had not gotten out of the building," the sound of Lex Luthor's voice made Dick clench his jaw.

He hated that voice so much right now. For a moment, he could feel. Bitter anger, tainted only by the intensity of his sorrow, the hollowness inside.

"You're so young to be without parents," Luthor went on, coming to stand beside Dick.

Tim opened his mouth to speak, but noticed that Dick was ignoring Luthor and chose to do the same. Dick didn't trust himself to speak to the man right now. Even though it wasn't really his fault that Bruce was dead, Dick still held him responsible in his heart. It had happened on Luthor's property, the explosion had been meant for Luthor.

"And so very young to be trying to run Bruce's company without him," the remark hit home, and Dick could not remain silent.

"This is neither the time nor the place, Luthor," he growled, fury flashing in his dark eyes.

He didn't dare look at Luthor, lest he do something he would regret. He clenched his fists, and steadfastly looked at the new grave his father had been put to rest in.

"Oh but it is," Luthor told him "you don't want to be the one to sink Bruce's company, do you?. After all, how disappointed he would be if-,"

"Do not speak his name to me again," Dick warned "if you would like to have a meeting, schedule it. But know this," he turned and looked Luthor in the eye, rage blazing hot inside him, feeling good after being cold and numb so long "I will never sell the company, especially to the likes of you. Maybe Bruce didn't see you for the bastard you are, but I do,"

It wasn't completely true. Bruce had been well aware of Luthor's evil side, but had never let on that he knew to Luthor or anyone else. Dick wouldn't be able to pretend he didn't hate Luthor with every fiber of his being, best to make that clear now.

"If you ever try to build or buy anything in Gotham, I will use all of the resources at my disposal to stop you. Gotham doesn't need you, Luthor. Not now, not ever,"

"But it does need Batman," Luthor scoffed "and a boy trying to fill a man's shoes. I'm sure that's exactly what this place needs. More vigilantes,"

Dick wanted to kill him. More than anything he wanted to snap Luthor's neck. And it would be easy, so terribly easy. And he was so shattered inside that it couldn't possibly make him feel worse than he did. But one thing stood in his way.

A gentle hand on his arm, reminding him that he was still human, and still needed. Tim was looking up at him again, his eyes saying that he knew what Dick felt, that he understood. But this was not the way. Not here, not now, and most certainly not like this.

"I catch you doing anything to hurt my city, or its people," Dick growled "and I will kill you. Now go home, before I do something I'll regret,"

"This isn't over, boy," Luthor spat before trudging off through the snow.

"No," Dick said under his breath, frosting the air as he spoke "it's not,"