May the bridges I have burned light my way back home.

For ARL15.

Somewhere out in the sea of his thoughts, Dick had had the sense to fish for his headphones, and the music had managed to float him to the safety of an island far from the shores of reality. Every guitar riff was like a wave near the sands of his distractions, and the harmonies were the summer sun bearing down on his exhausted bones. He lost himself to the world and took comfort in his peace, until the lyrics played through his mind and wound their way to his throat where they doubled up on the stubborn knot that had just begun to fade.

The blockage staggered his breathing and like a tidal wave, plunged him back into the cold depths until reminders and memories like sharks herded him back to reality and he scrambled to sit up against the headboard with a misty blur consuming the world through his opened eyes. He sat there for a long minute, breathing become rougher and ragged, and then he had the sense to scramble for his MP3 player, maxing the volume in the hopes that it would consume him once again.

Headphones only have the one drowning setting though, and the levels above it only succeed in blaring the music until the difference between song and sound becomes too muddied to be distinguished. It beat down on his head until he had a fresher reason for a headache, and he accepted it with a broken little sigh, staring out over the room brokenly.

The mist over his eyes had the world broken into colored blurs, and the only thing he could make out against the tans and reds was the utility belt up against the coat rack. He focused on it as the deafening roar and the knot in his throat combated for his attention, trying to swallow down the latter half heartedly.

A part of him knew he was being ridiculous. He was allowed to get upset, but at thirteen, he wasn't a kid anymore. On weekends, he dodged bullets and took on people twice his size without a complaint. The fact that he was a sniveling mess over something that had happened so long ago was beyond frustrating to him, and yet, here he was trying to hold it together.

The frustrations weren't from crying over his parents' deaths. He would find himself from time-to-time with a few tears when a memory caught him off-guard, and looking at the utility belt, he was surprised that the coat rack was even able to support it with four years of moping underneath it. His anger was rooted in that he had cried in front of the team.

Dick liked to believe he was a professional. He was a hero, after all. People depended on him to be strong, and the team knew him as this... snarky little kid who could say a pretty mean comment every once in a while. He could handle himself, and handle a team, and had within him personal talents that he believed helped make up for his lack of superhuman ability. He was Robin, the Boy Wonder, and the team didn't know him as the orphan who lost everything in a single night.

He had come to the Cave today knowing that he would cry, as he had done every past year on the anniversary. If he remembered right, he had been shaky when he had just walked through the Zeta. There had been no reason to come in today, besides the fact that Bruce was off and he hadn't wanted to be alone.

If he had wanted the team's company, why had he just sat there and ignored them? He could've told them why he was upset. Batman wasn't there, and they would've kept the secret, and maybe he could've gotten some comfort. Instead, he had chosen to make a big, obnoxious deal about it, and they probably thought he had been seeking attention.

He gave a tiny groan and absently swiped at his cheeks, swallowing hard.

He had acted like the little kid who had lost his parents so long ago, and not the hero that they had trusted him to be. He was bigger than this, bigger than these tears, and he knew he should go out there and apologize to them. An explanation wasn't even necessary, but it wouldn't have hurt to say that it was just family drama, and leave it at that. He had been over all of their bios, and he knew he would be preaching to some kind of choir if he could only get past the fear of trust.

He knew he should go out there. He didn't. Instead, he drew his knees in closer and kept watching the utility belt until a bright flashing in his peripheral flicked his eyes over to the pocket of the jacket a few pegs over. His phone glowed in its pocket, and he knew he was getting a call. Numbly, as the music blared on, he watched it flash until it died. Then, once it had been dark for a few seconds, he pulled out his headphones and got up from the bed. As he pulled his phone out of the pocket, he could still hear the music as clearly as he had when he'd had the headphones on.

Unlocking it, Dick saw that he had a few missed calls from Bruce. He stared at the icon he had set for his guardian, and then he dismissed the calls, making his way over to the bed and sitting on the edge. He leaned over his knees, elbows resting, and he stared at the screen as Bruce called again. The brightness lit up his tear-stained features and he ran his thumb along the side of his phone until the call went to voicemail. He stared at the darkened screen for a while longer, and then he threw the phone back on the bed with a frustrated huff and crawled back up to the headboard and fished for his headphones again.

When Kid Flash had contacted him in the middle of the League meeting, Batman knew something was wrong. Without more than an apologetic raise of his hand towards Green Lantern who was in the middle of a proposal, he rose to his feet and excused himself. He tried contacting Robin through his com. link but he hadn't gotten a response on any of their channels. That had been a good enough reason to leave the Watch Tower.

He had taken the Zeta down to the Bat Cave and called Dick on his phone several times, waiting patiently each time before trying again. With each call, his patience and calmness wore thin. When he still went unanswered, he took the Zeta again to the Cave, where he was met with the younger heroes worried for the well-being of their youngest member. He offered them no answers, and they stopped asking at the first Bat Glare they received.

When Batman asked, Kid Flash told him where he'd find Robin, and warned him about the temper. The warning was disregarded. The Dark Knight went into the hallway and barely a minute later, he returned with a gloved hand closed tight around his sidekick's forearm, practically dragging the thirteen year old after him. Batman was void of an expression, and Robin seemed to have all of them, topped mostly with half-hearted anger.

The team could only watch, and they did so long after the Zeta announced the Dynamic Duo's departure.

Bruce had had to release Dick's arm through the Zeta, and when he finally passed through, Dick was halfway up the stairs out of the Bat Cave.

"Dick!" the man yelled, and the thirteen year old stopped on his step, fists clenching. "Get down here! We need to talk."

Dick made no effort to come down the stairs, but he made the effort to at least look his way. They stared at each other across the distance until the silence in the Bat Cave was deafening between them, but neither looked away or made an effort to talk. It was only when the Bat Computer gave an alert and Bruce turned to look at it that Dick found the strength to pierce the silence.

"So now you want to talk?"

His voice was quiet, and it broke, but it still carried throughout the length of what now felt like their tomb. The man turned back from the computer and stared up at him again and his jaw clenched, but he held his tongue and just watched as Dick grabbed onto the hand railing with white knuckles.

"Weeks, Bruce. It's been weeks."

"I know, Dick."

The laugh that filled the room was nothing short of venom, and Bruce found himself having to look away, pulling down his cowl as an excuse to.

"You know?!" Dick repeated, and now it furious, and Bruce knew he deserved it. "Look, let me make this clear. I never asked you to adopt me! I never asked you to... pretend and... be my dad, or whatever it is that you think is such a burden. I asked to be your partner, but that doesn't just... take away the fact that you're supposed to be some kind of mentor to me!"

Bruce turned his back and worked on getting out of the costume, and he heard his ward's frustrated huff. He knew tears were close, and he worked as fast as he could to get back to workable civvies.

"Do you know how much courage it took to even ask you?" his voice broke again, and Bruce's hand shook. "I-I know I'm out there dodging bullets like... like I'm one of you, but... I'm not. I'm thirteen. I'm... I'm still a kid, and I-," Dick was crying now, and Bruce bowed his head, "I miss my parents. I miss them s-so much. You said... you said it would get better... you said..."

Bruce was in sweatpants and a t-shirt as fast as he could put them on, contemplating staging a lab accident with intentions of super speed, and then he made his way onto the staircase. He scaled the steps as fast as he could with his regular human speed, and when he got up to Dick, all hostilities faded once he opened his arms. His ward took the few steps down and almost collapsed against his chest, sobbing weakly into the spare shirt, putting his arms around his guardian as Bruce held him close.

"You're not a burden, Dick," Bruce muttered, and he shut his eyes softly. "You're a hero. Grief doesn't change that. All of us grieve, and probably more than you think. This life is taxing, and it takes a lot out of us, and especially out of you."

He felt Dick give a little laugh, as if to say that was an understatement, and Bruce managed a small smile.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there for you when I should've been, but I'm here now, and... I'm trying."

And Bruce tried, and held his ward until Dick felt better, or at least until he felt like he didn't need to be held any more. After he wiped at his cheeks, he paused a little awkwardly, a question dancing on the tip of his tongue.

"Do you want to go visit them?" Bruce offered, disregarding the tear stains on his shirt.

Dick seemed surprised at the question and he shook his head.

"Talking to rocks isn't going to do me a lot of good," he shrugged the idea, and now Bruce was surprised. "I was thinking... I don't know, ice cream? Hot cocoa? Let's go do something."

Bruce stared down at him for a moment with furrowed brows, and then he couldn't help but give a little laugh.

"Alright, we'll go do something. Come on."

He started up the stairs, and Dick followed after him.

-F.J. III