Author's Note: This will be a three-shot dealing with Dick and Bruce in the aftermath of a police tragedy. This first chapter will be the heaviest one in terms of emotions. Happy reading!

"Anyway, Lucius, I don't see why-"

"Mr. Wayne?" the intercom broke in. Bruce glared at it, then stabbed the reply button so hard that the last joint of his finger popped.

"I'm in a meeting, Constance," he half-growled.

"I know, sir, but I thought you'd want to know that your son's here."

That gave him pause. Damian was at school, and if he was going to sneak out the last place he would come was Wayne Enterprises. Tim had classes all day, and wasn't the sort to cut them just to swing by for a visit. Jason...the idea of Jason showing up in his lobby was outright ridiculous. Dick, he knew, was scheduled to be on shift across the river. "...Which one?" he asked slowly, replying to Lucius' curious look with a troubled glance.

"It's me," his eldest's voice came through. "I'm sorry, Connie told me you were busy, but...do you have a minute?"

There was a husky note that he loathed underlining the question. Years of experience had taught him that that sound meant tears were being brutally repressed, and the prospect was just as painful now as it had been when his boy was still small enough to curl up in his lap. Adding that to his sudden arrival at the office and insistence on seeing him, Bruce deduced that something was very wrong. "Give me a second," he agreed, and disconnected. "Lucius-"

"You don't have to say a word," he stood and began to gather his papers. "This decision can wait a while longer without negative consequences, but I could tell as well as you that whatever Dick's got going on can't. I'll email you about reconvening next week. In the meantime, here's hoping it's nothing too serious."

"Yeah, no shit." The dread in the pit of his stomach suggested something else, but he tried to hope around it. "Send him in, would you?"

"You bet."

He stared at the door as it closed behind the CFO. There was a pause – Alfred's etiquette indoctrination had no doubt forced Dick to exchange a few pleasantries – and then it opened again. "Hey, kiddo," he greeted, slipping into his old pet names easily.

"Hey...I'm sorry," Dick sighed as he slumped into Lucius' vacated chair and tilted his head back. "I just...I couldn't wait."

"It's okay. What's going on? I thought you were supposed to be at work right now?"

"Well..." His voice cracked. "I...I was."

Bruce hesitated. There were a few reasons he could come up with that would explain why his son was both not on patrol and extremely upset, but he found them all hard to believe. It couldn't be something with the family; he would have been the first person the authorities called for anything of that nature, not Dick. The idea of his son's having been written up or suspended for something done in the field was unimaginable, and he wasn't one to buck authority in the bullpen, either. Given that, a firing seemed to be outside the realm of possibility. The injury or death of a fellow officer would explain his fragile state, he supposed, but if that was the case why had whoever informed him of the incident allowed him to come to Gotham by himself? "Okay," he pressed gently, "so you were supposed to be on duty right now, but you aren't."

"Right. I...ah, fuck, Bruce, I know it's not my fault, but jesus..." Crossing his arms, the younger man took a deep, watery breath. "...I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize," he ordered, now up and moving around the desk. Occupying the chair beside his agonizing child, he leaned forward. "Just tell me what happened. It's okay."

A short sob rang out. One slender hand untangled itself and rose to keep further cries contained, a ring flashing on the middle finger as it shook. It didn't have to be still for Bruce to know that it was the recognition Dick had been given for graduating at the top of his police academy class. That silver circle was the first piece of civilian gear that he put on after a patrol and the last piece he took off right before one, and seeing it trembling now caused a lump to form in the billionaire's throat. "...Dick-"

"Have you watched the news this afternoon?"

"No," he shook his head. "Why, what did I miss?"

"There, ah..." He sniffled. "There was a...a..." Even though his head was still parallel to the floor, Bruce could see his eyes screwing themselves shut. "Someone killed two guys from my precinct this morning," came out hoarsely. "Just...mowed them down."

"Oh..." That certainly explained why he was so out-of-sorts, but it didn't answer the question of who had thought him stable enough to drive safely. Sensing that this was not the right time to launch into an investigation, he tried instead to gauge the level of Dick's involvement. "...People you knew?"

"Yeah," a hollow whisper confirmed. "People I knew. Good cops. Good men. I went to school with one of them, the academy, I mean. Josh. He was only...only a couple of years older than me. Wally's age."

"...I'm sorry, chum," he grimaced, gripping his shoulder. "I'm sorry to see good men lose their lives in the line of duty, and I'm sorry that they were men you knew." He was sorry, but at the same time he couldn't help but feel a cruel gratitude for the fact that it had been other people's children who had fallen. "I'm sorry."

Dick straightened finally, swiping at his eyes. "...It gets worse," he moaned. "I didn't think that was possible when I first heard that there were two men down, but...then I found out that they were dead, and...Josh...fuck, Josh, I'm sorry, man..."

"I don't understand, son," Bruce murmured, scooting up until their knees brushed. "It doesn't sound like you could have done anything to help him, or the other officer either."

"Don't you see, Bruce? I was supposed to be on patrol this morning." He gave him a sick grin. "Me. Not...not Josh. This was supposed...supposed to be his day off..." Then he buried his face in his hands, his back hitching under the billionaire's hand as he began to cry in earnest.

"Dick..." Feeling his own eyes growing hot, Bruce pulled the younger man into the best embrace he could manage in their respective positions. "It's not your fault, Dicky-bird," he swore against his ear. "It's not your fault."

"I kn-know, but...if I had known..."

"Hush. Just hush."

"It was his day off today, b-b-but...but he said he had a, a family thing this weekend, and he needed tomorrow instead, so I was gonna just commute from the house in the morning, you know? He asked to...to switch...said he'd work today if I did Saturday...and I said yes. I said yes, and now he's dead!"

"Nooo. No, baby. It's not your fault." Bruce had imagined many awful scenarios in the three years since his son had first told him he wanted to work for justice on the streets both day and night, but nothing quite like this had ever crossed his mind. At a loss, he simply held him and muttered helpless assurances. "...It's not your fault. You couldn't have known..."

For a long time they sat like that, Dick crying for his lost brothers in uniform, Bruce in turn crying for Dick. Eventually the younger of the pair pulled away, now dabbing rather than pawing at his raw, reddened cheeks. "If I had been the one out there today," he said quietly, "things might have been different."

"Thank god you weren't the one out there today," the billionaire replied with a fervency he rarely felt. Without having any details, he could only imagine what sort of hellstorm could have caught two trained men off-guard.

"No, I...I know that street better than Josh did. It's been part of my beat since I joined the precinct, but they've bounced him around a few times. The guy who did it...the guy who killed him...it was just supposed to be a domestic violence thing. It could have been so easy, but...but they're dead. I'm familiar with the person they arrested for...for killing them...and if it had been me instead of him...well...he's always been twitchy, you know? The...the shooter. Has some issues. Not a bad person, per se, just...issues. If I'd been there...maybe no one would have gotten hurt. Maybe it would have been different."

Bruce shook his head, but he didn't dare dive into the viper's nest that he suspected his son's psyche was at this moment. "How did you even hear all of this?" he asked instead. "If you weren't on duty, then how?"

"Some of it was on the news, but...well, you know me. I knew before that."

"Your scanner?"

"My scanner. I was in the nest, wrapping up a file from last night, and I just had it on for noise. I heard them be dispatched, I heard them acknowledge...I heard when the double-ought came over." He coughed. "After they couldn't raise them, they sent out a third unit. That double-ought...god, I hate the sound of that code."

Bruce could commiserate. He had heard his fair share of 'officer down' codes come over the Gotham police band, and it never failed to raise the hair on the back of his neck. To hear it and know exactly which of your co-workers was down, far away and somewhere that you couldn't get to them to help...he'd been in enough similar situations to know how terrible that felt. "Have you talked to anyone from the precinct since then?"

"Couple people. Everyone's...everyone's a mess. My sergeant knew that...that Josh and I had switched...so I got called right away. Told me I wasn't allowed to drive anywhere, and asked if I wanted a ride to the precinct. They were already bringing in counselors, you know? He really wanted me to come in for that, and I'm probably gonna catch hell for saying no, but...I told him I had my own counselor across the river." A choked laugh escaped his lips. "Told him I could get in any time."

"Of course you can. But Dick...how did you get here? Please tell me you didn't drive. I don't want to have to call you a goddamn idiot at this exact moment."

"I took a cab. It cost me a hundred bucks – early rush hour, you know – but...it was better than calling Alfred to come pick me up, waiting an extra ninety minutes, and then freaking him out by not wanting to say anything. I didn't want to talk to anyone else but you first. I just...I needed you."

"It's okay, chum. I'm glad you came, and I'm even more glad that you didn't do something stupid like try to drive yourself. As for everything else...Dick, I'm so sorry. I know it hurts, and I know you're blaming yourself a bit, but you've got to believe me that none of this is your fault."

"I know, but...I guess I'm not ready to accept that I know. If anything had been different, Bruce, anything, then maybe..." He sighed. "I'm sorry. I've been going in cycles. I cried a little right after I talked to my sergeant, then I was kind of okay in the cab...I'm kind of okay right now, but it's going to come back. I already feel it building again."

"No one in their right mind would expect you to cry once or twice and then be past this. It's okay. Listen," he picked up his hand, "you and I are going to go home now. I know it's early," he cut off his protest, "but I don't care. We're going to go home, and you can just cycle as much and as often as you need to this weekend. If you want to tell the others, you can, or you can keep the details to yourself for now. They'll understand. But I'll stay in tonight either way, just in case you need me."

"I have to...to go to work tomorrow. They'll bust down my apartment door if I don't show up, and god only knows what they'll do when they don't find me there."

"Then I'll take you, and I'll pick you up when you're done. You're off Sunday, right?"

"Yeah."

"Good. Then you can come home again Saturday night and stay through Monday morning. Alfred can take you across the river after he drops me off here Monday morning, if you want, or he can just take you to work and bring you back to the house afterward. You don't have to decide that right now; we can cross that bridge when we come to it." Reaching out, he brushed a hand over Dick's disheveled hair and cupped the back of his head. "Okay?"

"...Okay," he nodded. "But...Bludhaven..."

"I'll talk to Tim. If he can stand to take Damian with him tonight, I'll ask them to do a short Gotham round and then swing over next door. Don't worry about Bludhaven, we'll cover it."

"But...Bruce, if you send them in my place and...and something happens..." His eyes were wide, half-panicked at the idea that the tragedy that had befallen his fellow officers might repeat with one of his brothers.

"First off, what happened this morning wasn't your fault," Bruce stressed. "Second, that's not going to happen. Just relax, Dick. They'll be fine so long as they don't tear each other's throats out. It's okay."

"...It doesn't feel okay."

"I know." He exhaled heavily. "I know. But I also have an idea about what might make you feel a little better, if only temporarily."

"I didn't know you had a time machine we could use to go back and stop this day from happening."

"I don't. But I do have an Alfred, and Alfred has an oven. I also have inside information that he was planning to bake a fresh batch of chocolate chip cookies this morning because he knew you were coming over for the weekend."

Dick closed his eyes with a groan. "...Alfred's cookies shouldn't be able to make me feel better about this, even in the short-term. I know they will, but...it seems wrong."

"It seems like witchcraft, is what it seems like. But it works, and that's what matters."

"Yeah..."

"...C'mon, chum. Let's get you home, get a cookie in your hand, and go from there. Okay?"

He nodded. "Okay. Let's...let's do that."

"That's my boy. I'll get my jacket."

"Sure."

They met at the door, and for a moment Bruce could do nothing but lose himself in his son's pain-dark gaze. "...Dick?" he said finally.

He sniffed. "Yeah?"

"It's going to be okay. Trust me."

"...I do trust you, Bruce. More than I trust myself, even."

"Then you know I'm right."

Dick sighed and leaned into him again. "...I know," he breathed. "It's just so hard to see right now. That's why I came to you first, is because you've...you've always shown me the way." He pulled back. "Right now I'd just like to see the way home, though," he said, a sad smile teasing around the corners of his mouth.

"That's a road I think I can probably manage to find," the billionaire said, wrapping his arm around his shoulders and leading him from the room. So long as you're here to travel it with me, he thought gratefully as the portal to his darkened office shut behind them, the road to home is a path I'll never tire of taking.