Disclaimer: I. Own. Nothing. But my lawyers are still battling for Alfred. Fingers crossed!

Warning: Angst. And my OTP.

He was beaten down, trodden on, and completely exhausted. Every muscle screamed out in protest whenever he so much as twitched, his eyes were leaden in weight, and he could hardly walk in a straight line. Excluding the brief periods of forced unconsciousness, the last time he had rested was nearly three whole days ago. Even then, he simply couldn't sleep.

His tired eyes were trained resolutely on the phone in his hand. The alarm clock on his bedside table told him that it was two in the morning. He had been staring unseeingly at the device in his hand for nearly an hour, after a previous hour of tossing and turning in bed. On the lit screen before him, the contacts were pulled up, the selected one such a familiar name that it nearly drove a blade through his heart.

Against all reasoning and logic, his thumb moved on its own will and pressed the call button. Half of him wanted to shout for joy at having finally done the deed, and the other half wanted to bash his head into the wall. With a shaking and unsteady hand, he raised his phone to his ear. Seconds passed in silence, before the ringing started up. He waited with baited breath, bottom lip worried between his teeth. His free hand was clenched into a fist around the rumpled sheets around him and his knees bounced so that he could focus on something, anything besides the anxiety rushing through his veins.

The call went to voicemail.

Dick hung up without leaving a message, before going back and redialing the number. Once more, the dreaded ringing echoed in his head. It went on for what felt like hours, dragging past with painful slowness, until going to voicemail again. He silently cursed, swallowed past the lump in his throat, and hung up. The redial button was pressed.

No one picked up. Instead, the call was completely dropped even before the ringing was done.

He felt the urge to throw the phone, smash it against the wall, and then maybe let his head go after it. But, rather than doing that, Dick went back to his contacts list and found the next trusted name. His finger hesitated a fraction of a second, before firmly pressing the button. Phone against his ear, breath steadfastly held in his lungs, he waited impatiently. Nothing. He tried again. Voicemail. Third time's a charm. The receiving phone had been turned off.

The urge to smash the phone was reduced to merely crying. He wanted to scream out at the top of his lungs, and then proceed to sob into his pillow like a little baby. But he wasn't a baby. He was more resourceful than that. So what if they wouldn't pick up their civilian phones? Maybe they needed silence for something, or maybe they were sleeping and hadn't been woken up, or maybe they lost their phones.

Please, Grayson, the pessimistic side of his mind scoffed cruelly, realistically. The calls were purposefully dropped. They'd have to have their phones with them in order to do that.

Shoving the thought aside, along with all the damned impulses to let the tears fall, he furiously scrolled through the near-endless names. He found the third one that he needed, and quickly pressed it before he could change his mind. It rang a total of four times, before going to a voicemail that was already full (more than likely thanks to previous messages left by him). He tried again, trying to remain optimistic. Maybe they just hadn't reached their phone in time? Still nothing. The fourth number was the last he could think of at the time, and he hesitantly initiated the call. Ringing. Voicemail. Hang up.

Maybe they'd call back once they realized it was him. It was pretty late, or rather early, so maybe they were all sleeping.

Except they were all nocturnal by nature, trained to be instantly awake at any given moment. So why wouldn't they wake up to answer their phones? Tim was a light sleeper, Steph kept her phone on the loudest level possible, Cass woke up to anything, and Babs was way more careful than that.

Why wasn't anyone answering?

Because you're Batman now, he told himself dejectedly. Being Batman means being alone.

But…why? They were called the Bat Family, weren't they? And sure, maybe he had been the one to coin that term, back when it had only been him, and Bruce, and Alfred, but everyone else had accepted it so easily. They had accepted the title, so why not the responsibilities? But, the truth was, they had taken the responsibilities. Everyone had. The family, the League, the Titans. The entire hero community. When Batman called on someone, they came almost immediately.

So, where was everyone?

He hated the feeling that plagued him, so familiar and almost-but-not-quite forgotten that it tore all his old wounds open. It was like when he had left Robin behind and gone to Bludhaven for the first time. So lost, and alone, and completely confused, and he just hadn't know what to do. But, at that time, he had had another family, the Titans. They helped him gain his footing, they helped him become Nightwing, they helped him grow up.

And now there was no one. Because, when Batman called, everyone came running. But when the Replacement Batman, the Fake Batman, the Weaker Batman called, no one was there.

As Robin, he had been arrogant. As Nightwing, he had been confident. As Batman, he was inadequate.

And as Dick Grayson, he was broken.

He had spent years, years, building relationships, strengthening bonds, forming a family. The one thing that he could do that Batman never could. He had started the Titans, led them, loved them. He had worked with the League, kept them on their toes, been taken in by them. He had trained the younger heroes, helped them, shaped them into the fine people that they were. He had put his everything into it. Not just into crime fighting, but crime preventing. The stronger as a community they were, the more likely they were to win. And he had given his all to make them as powerful together as possible.

But, the second the cowl came into the equation, everything crumbled. Fourteen years of hard work, his life's work, down the drain. Just because he took up a legacy bigger than him, just because he went by a name feared by so many, just because the cape was too damn heavy and the cowl hindered his sight.

After fourteen years of trying to be the exact opposite, he was the Batman.

And the Batman worked best alone. That's what Bruce had told him whenever he had gotten angry, whenever Dick had been inadequate as Robin, or insubordinate as Nightwing, or downright frustrating as Dick Grayson. He had always believed that it had simply been Bruce's anger speaking. But he was beginning to see the truth in the statement. Being alone meant having no expectations or delusions of camaraderie.

Stop it, Grayson, he scolded himself harshly, only just noticing the tears that trailed down his cheeks and the shakes that plagued his shoulders. You're tearing yourself up like this. You know better. You live off people, you need them to thrive. Don't push away from them now, not when you need them most.

Right. Fifth phone number. He found it, breathed in a deep gulp of air, and pressed the button. The ringing started, sounding slower than usual, as if it was purposely dragging the pain on. If he didn't pick up, then Dick truly was alone. And the very thought of being alone made him wish he were six feet under alongside his parents.

It was on the final ring. It was going to go to voicemail, and Dick would be left to cry out his heart and soul all alone, surrounded by treasures and superficial niceties that had been bought by his dead adoptive dad's money and the gaping emptiness that plagued the halls of the Wayne Clan ever since the rest of the family had deserted.

Someone picked up.

"Dude," an achingly familiar voice mumbled, heavy and slurred with sleep. "I know you're nocturnal and all, but this is a bit ridiculous."

He nearly cried.

Actually, he did. But he managed to muffle it enough that the only person who answered wouldn't hear.

"Wally," Dick choked out past the tears and tightness in his chest. His free hand ran through his hair and tugged at it uselessly. It was still too short.

There was silence on both sides for a short time, and Dick nearly panicked, thinking that even his best friend had deserted him.

"What's wrong?" the Scarlet Speedster was instantly serious, all traces of sleep gone from his voice.

"I-I don't know w-what to do, anymore," he just barely kept himself from outright sobbing, even though he knew that Wally was the least likely to judge him for it.

"Give me ten minutes. I'm on my way over."

At that, the call was dropped, and Dick was once more plagued with loneliness.

Without warning, the smart phone slipped from his shaking hand, bounced off the edge of the mattress and skid to a halt on the floor. He threaded his fingers into his inky black hair, bringing his knees to his bare chest and curling his body in on himself. His face was hidden against his knees, hidden from the world and all the fears and troubles that devastated him from the inside out. Tears slipped unchecked past his eyelids, growing in number until sobs were wracking throughout his entire body.

Time lost all sense, and he wasn't sure how long he sat there, but soon enough a familiar presence settled down on the mattress beside him. A comforting arm was slung over his shaking shoulders, holding him close to someone's soothing warmth, which made him realize just how cold he had grown in the past hour or so. Still, the tears flowed freely, drenching his knees and arms with the icy wetness. The figure never wavered, never removed their arm from Dick's shoulders. He really appreciated that. He could count on one hand how many people he would willingly cry in front of. The one he had known the longest was dead. The second had nearly been killed by Dick's own son, and the third had just run over a thousand miles in minutes to come see him.

When he finally came back to his senses, the sobs quieted until he could breathe calmly, he wiped away the remaining tears and lifted his head up. There, sitting beside him on the edge of the mattress, was a sympathetic and concerned face littered with a multitude of freckles. The lean redhead was clad in hastily thrown on clothes and his hair was messily windswept. Catching Dick's waterlogged blue eyes with his own bright green ones, the young man tried offering a comforting smile. It fell flat between the two of them.

"Jeez, Dick," the redhead broke the silence. "You look like crap," he observed. "Why didn't you call sooner? And when was the last time you slept?"

Dick let out a heavy sigh and a shrug, hanging his head in poorly disguised embarrassment. "I didn't think I needed to as much as I do."

Wally's sharp eyes watched him for a few passing moments. "What happened, dude?"

The raven-haired boy lowered his knees from his chest, settling into a cross-legged position and running a hand through his hair. He scrubbed at his face, trying to rid himself of the shame that covered him in a shroud. He couldn't do anything right anymore, could he?

Quite being a baby, Grayson. You've faced worse than this.

"Alfred and I were in England," he started, clearing his throat to dispel the tremor in his voice. "For some big charity event. Alfie said I needed to get out more."

"Well, you haven't exactly left Gotham since you took up the cowl."

"Because Gotham is even more of a mess than usual," Dick defended himself. "But, anyway, I was there at the charity, when suddenly the place was attacked by ninja."

"Of course," Wally reasoned jokingly. "You simply can't leave the house without being attacked by someone, right?"

A quick smirk crossed Dick's features, before he fell back into his tale. "It wasn't my best fight-"

"You mean you got your ass handed to you."

"On a silver platter," Dick agreed. "And when I woke back up, I was being held hostage by ninja man-bats in an underground secret base. With Talia."

Wally whistled lowly. "You really can't ever catch a break, can you?"

"Just wait. It gets worse," he nodded darkly. "She led me to a training room, basically told me that I was an idiot, nearly gave me a lecture about destiny, and then introduced me to a two-year-old assassin."

"Two-year-old?" the speedster replied, eyes widened almost comically. "Didn't realize they were starting that early."

"That's what I said," Dick rolled his eyes, attempting levity.

"And what did she say with that destiny crap?"

"Something or another about how things were already set in motion," the raven-haired boy remarked with a slight shrug. "The usual. But then she went on about…about the night the Graysons fell." His hands were shaking slightly again, tears welling in the back of his eyes. He'd thought that now, after fourteen years of crying, he wouldn't have any tears left. He was wrong. Again.

"That's rough, man," Wally admitted with a wince and a groan.

"There's more."

"Still? Dude, you really can't catch a break."

"The two-year-old?" Dick started quietly. "He's my son. Allegedly, at least."

Stunned silence covered the room, broken only by the faint sounds of the city surrounding them. Dick's eyes were trained on his hands which were nestled in his lap, while his shocked friend found his widened eyes locked onto the city lights that shone through the wall-length windows of the penthouse master bedroom. The quiet was oppressive and heavy, bearing down on both of them with a weight threatening to crush their minds and bodies alike.

"Damn," Wally breathed out, receiving the faintest hint of a smile from his friend. "Just, damn. Do you know who-?"

"The mother is?" Dick guessed correctly. "No. Talia didn't say."

"Do you have any guesses?"

"Not really," he shrugged half-heartedly. "I wasn't too involved with anyone around that time, especially not anyone who would give their son up to the League of Assassins."

"Eugenics experiment?"

"I wouldn't be surprised."

"So, what do you know?"

"His name is Damian," Dick started softly. "He's been trained by the League of Assassins and he already packs a mean punch."

"…did you get punched by a two-year-old?"

"Not helping, Wally."

"Sorry, dude. But a toddler? Are you losing your touch, or something?"

"Very funny. But I wouldn't be laughing if I were you. He already tried to kill Alfred."

"No," Wally breathed out in disbelief. "You're kidding me!"

"Not even a little," Dick admitted.

"So, let me get this straight. Talia introduced you to your assassin son and so you brought him here?"

"What else was I supposed to do? Talia just dumped him on me, and it's not like I could exactly refuse and just leave him there! Whether the paternity turns up positive or not, I can't just let him be raised as an assassin!"

Wally let out a sigh, but nodded in agreement. "Yeah, you're right. Have you told the family?" he wondered, diverting the subject slightly.

Dick averted his gaze, instead focusing on the city skyline out the window. "I tried to," Dick murmured. "No one answered."

"Where'd they all head off to this time?"

"Your guess is as good as mine," he replied dejectedly. "Babs is spending time with her mother in New York, Cass went over to Hong Kong, and last I heard Tim and Steph were looking for Lazarus Pits in the Middle East."

"Any word from Jason?"

"None."

"You still shouldn't have waited so long to call," Wally chided. "You can always come to me, dude."

"Thanks Wally," Dick smiled in obvious relief.

"Anytime, bro," he assured, moving his arm to ruffle his friend's hair. He received a half-hearted grimace and gave a chuckle in reply. "So, do I get to meet the baby assassin?" Wally wondered in curiosity and excitement.

Dick looked a bit hesitant, but the familiar twinkle in his best friend's eyes quickly soothed his worry. "If you want to," he shrugged, climbing to his feet and stretching slightly. "He should still be out. We had to sedate him after he attacked Alfie," Dick explained, leading his friend out of the bedroom and to the highly secured door across the hall.

"Can't believe he actually attacked the Bat Butler," Wally breathed out. "I didn't think anyone had the guts to do that."

"Neither did I," Dick admitted. "He went the whole nine yards, too. Had a samurai sword and everything," he continued, stopping at Damian's door.

"Full lockdown, huh?" Wally observed as Dick put in the keypad codes.

"The kid's a brat."

"Maybe it's genetic."

"You're hilarious, Wals."

"I try so hard, Dickie."

The door clicked, and Dick cautiously turned the doorknob to open it. Inside, it was dark, illuminated only by the city lights that cut through the windows. It was mostly bare, with only the necessities. A four poster bed dominated the area, while a few dressers and side tables were scattered along the walls. Dick knew that he'd have a lot to buy for the kid: clothes, toys, parenting books. Normally, he would've scoffed at that last one, but he knew for a fact that Bruce had had plenty in his possession, and he'd been a pretty good father for Dick. Obviously, there was at least something useful in those books.

Both of the young men wandered over to the bed in near silence, only the shuffling of Wally's feet heard in the quiet of the early morning. They stopped at the edge of the mattress, eyes trained on the innocent face of the slumbering boy there, still clad in his League of Assassins robes. The toddler in question was laying on top of the sheets, resting on his back with his limbs sprawled out, as if trying to take up all the space of the ginormous bed.

"His bed is bigger than mine," Wally noted, voice just barely above a whisper. His bright green eyes, which practically glowed in the darkness, keenly observed every feature he could in the gloom, mentally comparing them to the features of his best friend beside him.

"Perks of being a Gotham rich boy," Dick shrugged.

Wally was thoughtfully quiet for a few moments. "He looks like you."

Dick's eyes widened, and he looked at the young toddler with renewed interest. Sure, he had noticed a few similarities, but those were mostly superficial. After all, Dick shared black hair and blue eyes with the majority of the Bat Family, and yet none of them were related.

"I mean, I never knew you when you were two," Wally continued. "But he looks like you, especially when you were younger."

"You think so?"

"Yeah. That slight natural tan, the tiny frame, and the baby face."

"I don't have a baby face," Dick muttered.

"Sure you don't, Pixie Boots," Wally teased.

"Watch it, Twinkle Toes," the dark-haired boy shot back playfully as the two of them headed out into the hallway.

"But, seriously, he doesn't look so bad," the speedster went on. "He probably inherited that creepy little cackle you used to do, though."

"Yeah, if he ever laughed."

"A kid that doesn't laugh? How serious is the mother to counteract your genes like that?"

"Assassin serious."

"Good point," Wally conceded, willingly following Dick down the hallway to the gourmet kitchen. "Anyway, maybe once the kid stops trying to kill people, we could set up a superhero playdate," he suggested with a grin. "Jai and Irey love meeting new people. And we could even get Roy to bring Lian along!"

"Yeah, that'd be nice," Dick agreed with a smile. "After all, us superhero dads need to stick together," he commented lightly.

"Definitely," Wally nodded, going straight to the fridge and grabbing the milk while Dick grabbed two cereal boxes from the pantry. "Superhero kids are impossible. I have no clue how the League ever survived us," he joked.

"How are the twins doing?" Dick wondered genuinely as he prepared a bowl of Crocky Crunch and Wally made a bowl of Sugar Crisps. Both of them added at least three spoonfuls of sugar on top.

"Good," the redhead replied, a gentle smile gracing his features. "Thanks to the combined efforts of the League and STAR Labs, we've finally managed to stabilize them permanently. No more accelerated aging for those two," he laughed, sadness plaguing the usually happy sound. "We only had to miss the first three years of their lives."

"Well, at least you didn't have to deal with the terrible twos," his friend reasoned.

"I guess. But Jai and Irey are terrible twos no matter how old they are."

"Must be hereditary."

"I'm going to tell Linda you said that."

"She'll just agree with me and you know it."

Wally pouted, finishing up his cereal with a half-hearted scowl. "Shut up," he mumbled, unable to think of a better comeback.

For a few minutes, they simply sat at the breakfast bar of the penthouse kitchen, munching happily on cereal in companionable silence. Neither of them spoke up, because neither of them needed to. Everything that needed to be said already had been, and now the two of them were content with just being in each other's presence.

"Now, let's hurry up and wash these," Dick said once they were done with their snacks. "If Alfred finds out we had sugar this early in the morning, he'll kill us."

"How'd you even manage to convince him to get you cereal, anyway?" Wally questioned as they washed their bowls.

"Lots of begging and plenty of shameless kissing up," the Gotham prince remarked cheekily. "Not to mention I had to clean the bathroom and make my own bed."

"Oh, you poor baby."

"Shut up, Wally," Dick retorted, flicking a few soap suds at the redhead and starting a miniature war between the two.

By the time their bowls were actually put away (and all the soap cleaned off of the floor and countertops), it was already nearly four in the morning. As exhausted as either of them were, they both knew that they wouldn't be able to sleep for the remaining hours of darkness.

"Should you be getting home soon?" Dick asked.

"Nah," Wally waved the comment off. "It's Saturday, so I haven't got any work, and Linda already knows I'm here. We could have a sleepover!"

"Sweet," the dark-haired boy grinned and let out a laugh. "Well, since you'll be staying for a while, I have downloaded Call of Duty 5 onto the Batcomputer," he commented in a playfully thoughtful manner.

"Dude!" the hyperactive speedster all but squeaked. "That's not supposed to be out for another two months!"

"I know," Dick offered a sly smirk, already heading for the elevator that would take them down to the Bat-bunker. "A few small-time dealers were trying to get a bit of coin for selling it ahead of schedule. And, well, I couldn't let it get into the wrong hands, now could I?"

"Richard John Grayson, you are evil."

"Thanks, Wallace Rudolph West."

"Don't full name me!"

"You started it!"

"Did not!"

"Did to!"

"Are we really doing this?"

"Why wouldn't we?"

Word Count: 3,958

A/N: Like I said. My OTP. DickXCereal forever! And some DickXWally, because I ship them (friendship, that is) harder than any other ship (romantic or otherwise)!

So, yeah. Kind of angsty. But it has a happier ending, right?

Just wanted to make things a little bit more clear: Lian (daughter of Roy Harper and the assassin Cheshire, if you didn't know) is going to be about five in this and not dead, while Jai and Irey (son and daughter of Wally West and Linda Park) are technically about six or seven months, but they are physically and mentally four now (oh, and I'm changing the whole planet traveling/speed force thing or whatever plotline that happened there, and substituting it with my own).

Are there any other comic children that Dick would be close to? Excluding, of course, Mar'i. She doesn't exist in this.

I've decided I should give a fair warning now. This story is shaping up to be longer than I expected. And it's going to move very slowly. It won't focus on Batman and the Bat Family. It will focus on Dick Grayson and the Wayne Family. It will revolve completely around Dick and Damian, and how Damian changes, and how Dick singlehandedly saves the entire universe through his superpower of making friends. There will be a sub-plot based on the secret and the destiny that Talia mentioned (and it will be BIG), but that comes much later.

Anyway.

Shout-outs to: Chunelle, XXXHells Angel of deathXXX, blueskyswclouds, vizard light, RDFitzy, shikamaru B5, Kilana89, wildninja1, Red Sky at Morning, SuperiorSpiderX, The Jinxer, XBlossom-FreakX, ricestalk-2004, AthenaOwl10, and for adding to favorites or for following! And special thanks to Evening Raven, soccernin19, FlightfootKeyseeker, MarissaTodd, and Kilana89 for reviewing!

Happy Valentines Day everyone! You leave a review, and I'll send you a Batman themed valentine (funny story, I actually got some from the story…they have a Nightwing one, but no Robin…)!

Thanks for reading!

Have a good week!
~AvenJackel

P.S. Go see the Lego Movie if you haven't already. Batman made a goth/emo/heavy metal song for his girlfriend about the darkness in his life, having no parents, and how being rich makes it slightly better (I have the song on my ipod). Seriously. Go see it. Their Batman is hilarious.

Question of the Week: Why did none of the Bat Family members pick up Dick's call?

See you next week! Same Bat-Time, same Bat-Channel!