A/N: I had just uploaded a Loki story with this title, but then I realized I liked it better for my Nightwing story. Oops. Haaar. I'll re-upload that one once I can think of another title. xD

Well, *Spoilers?* if you're following Nightwing's story, you know he still hasn't regained his memories. #Laaaaaame.

Which means I'm still annoyed. Haha, so now I'm taking it upon myself to write a satisfactory conclusions (for myself). I was just thinking about what it would have looked like if Dick had been shot/lost his memories while he was still Robin and living in the Manor. With all the drama and fluff I can manage. This will be a multi-chapter story.

For my one-shot on the same topic, check out my story, "Chum".

The Wasteland in my Mind

"It's so quiet here...and I feel so cold...

This house no longer feels like home" -So Cold/Ben Cocks

'I don't remember' was Richard Grayson's one thought as his eyebrows furrowed, and he let out a frustrated sound that he didn't quite recognize. He had been standing right outside his bedroom for at least 5 minutes, but still, his legs refused to move.

It was strange, because while his mind was a wasteland, and he didn't remember anyone...his body was usually good at knowing where to take him, but now? Maybe the emptiness in him mind was spreading. He couldn't remember where he was supposed to be. That's the way it was now, sometimes he blinked, and didn't know where he was, or when... or who.*

"...Master Richard? Can I help you?"

Oh. There it was. The old man who looked at him with the saddest eyes. The young man couldn't stand it. It had been a few months since 'the incident'...that's what they called it, but Richard Grayson had no problem calling a spade a spade. He'd been shot in the skull. Pain. There had been so much pain; and then nothing. His entire life, all his memories... wiped clean. There was nothing he remembered. They'd tried to fill in the blanks of course. Grew up in the circus. Dead parents. Adopted by Bruce Wayne.

"...No, I'm alright Mr. Pennyworth."

The butler was giving him 'the look' again, the one that meant that he'd done something wrong, even though he hadn't meant to. Alfred was trying not to give it, of course, but 'Mr. Pennyworth' sounded so strange, so foreign coming from the teenager's mouth. It was the name that Richard Grayson had used in those first few days, when he'd been a small, terrified 8 year old boy...but that had been so long ago. It had been Alfred, or ' Alfie' for so long now, and while at first, the gentleman had frowned at the nickname, now he'd do anything to hear it again.

He'd do anything to see Dick's smile, to hear joyful steps bouncing down the stairs, and into his kitchen, asking for a snack, or trying to make himself something to eat and leaving the kitchen a mess, but it was impossible to be mad, because along with the chaos, came the smile of a carefree soul.

But now...there was this shell of the boy he loved. A shell that didn't smile, that didn't brighten rooms, that didn't exude jubilation...

He had to be careful, Leslie had warned them not to overwhelm the boy...not to pressure him. So, Alfred Pennyworth swallowed his feelings and remained neutral.

"Would you like a snack? Cucumber sandwiches, perchance?"

At the suggestion, the boy made a face. "...I'm not hungry."

They stayed there for a few awkward seconds, neither one knowing how to proceed, but Alfred, as the adult, gave him a reassuring smile.

"That's quite alright. Dinner will be in a couple of hours anyway...You may rest in your bedroom until then, or perhaps go outside and get some fresh air?" Alfred suggested, pointing toward the master staircase. The blue eyed boy frowned at the gesture, as if he couldn't remember where the stairs were? He wasn't an idiot!

"Yeah. Fresh air" He said curtly, practically running to the staircase, and then downstairs to the front door, not turning around to look at the man. He knew Alfred was watching him, watching with those sad, concerned eyes, and if he had to be subjected to them again, Richard Grayson was going to scream!

The boy walked around the Manor grounds for hours. He'd started out kicking his soccer ball around, and when that hadn't appeased his senses, he'd explored the large property, and then he'd gotten a little bit lost...but refusing to admit it, he'd just thrown himself on the grass to stare at the clouds. Maybe, somewhere, in the very back of his mind, he remembered something like watching clouds with someone, and trying to find figures.

Or it was just his mind playing tricks on him, he had no idea. Still, he laid there on his back, watching white fluff move eternally slow in the sky...

An elephant. He saw an elephant.

"...Hey chum"

At the sudden voice, the teenager jumped up, heart racing. When he realized it was just the man who wore suits and spent too much time at work, he visibly relaxed. He wanted to complain about the nickname. He hated it. He had told Bruce he hated it. He didn't want to be called that. They weren't friends.

"It's time for dinner" Bruce informed him gently, when he realized that the kid had no intention of saying hello, of running up to him to tell him about his day...

"I'm not hungry" The teenager responded, barely above a whisper, but with clear conviction. Two sets of blue eyes stared at each other for a few seconds, before Bruce finally shook his head and found his batman voice.

"We're waiting for you to have dinner. Go inside. Now"

At the sudden change in tone, Richard Grayson was at a loss for words. He resented the man. How dare he speak to him like that? This man... wasn't his father. That's what they had told him. They weren't 'chums', they weren't anything!

"...I'm not hungry"

"I didn't ask if you were hungry or not, Richard." Bruce glared, not wavering. Not when the kid glared back, not when his son huffed and stomped away. He was grateful that this hadn't turned into another screaming match. They'd fought more in the past few months then they ever had before, and more often than not, Bruce Wayne had no idea what he was doing. He was arguing with a young man who had been shot! Who had lost everything! He definitely felt like a fool, and a failure, especially when the frustration boiled over in to resentment.

It was never anger at Dick though, no, not really. There was rage at the beasts who had done this to his son, sure, but in the end...

In the end... the anger, the helplessness, the despair always landed at his feet.

It was all his fault.

To Be Continued...

*Nightwing #50

Please review for timely updates.

This will focus on Dick, and his journey.../Relationship with Bruce. But It'll also include the tragedies from "Heroes in Crisis". Just an FYI ;)