The two men entered the bar and looked around. The bar was dark, smoky, and the small bar was full of people who were already half drunk.

"Wally! Roy!" Donna Troy slid off the bar stool and met them halfway. "Where's Garth? Is he coming?"

Wally hitched a thumb over his shoulder, "Said he'd catch up with us. You know he wouldn't miss this," the speedster said as his companion leaned in to kiss their teammate on the cheek.

Roy frowned and looked at her. "Tears, gorgeous? You know he wouldn't have wanted that."

Donna brushed a hand over her cheek carelessly. "I know. It was a moment of weakness. Won't happen again."

Wally leaned in and hugged her. "Don't be stupid," he chided lightly. "It'll happen again - to all of us."

"Come on," Roy told them, heading deeper into the bar. "I see a table."

The two follow their archer friend to a large table with four chairs. He yanked a fifth from the table next to them and slid it into place. A waitress came over to take their orders as they sat down.

"Hi I'm Katie. Waiting for others?" she asked, noticing the extra chairs.

"Any minute now," Wally told her.

"Five beers," Roy ordered, holding up his hand, fingers spread wide. "One of them non-alcoholic."

As the waitress sidled away, Donna smirked at him. "Cutting back, Roy?"

Roy shrugged and checked his watch. "It's early yet. You know he doesn't drink until he's done for the night."

"Good point," Wally murmured as their expressions sobered.

"Looks like a wake," Garth said, finally joining them. He took off his jacket and draped it over his chair as he twisted it around and sat down, straddling it. "That IS what you land-lubbers call it, right?"

"Sorry," Wally nodded as he slapped their friend on the shoulder in greeting. "It's been six months, but it still feels a little raw, you know?"

The toughest part of Dick's death was that they couldn't mourn their friend and leader openly. They assumed that Bruce wasn't ready to admit to the world that his son was dead, not this close to Nightwing's disappearance. He was still a stickler about identities remaining secret. The funeral they had all attended had been private on the grounds of Wayne Manor, in the family's private cemetery. Only those in the know had attended, but the crowd had still been large. Nightwing had been a trusted comrade, leader, and friend in the hero community. Everyone loved him. Everyone grieved. Bruce had retreated after Dick's body had been interred into his study for the rest of the day with only the butler daring to enter the master's sanctum sanctorum. Tim had openly struggled to contain his emotions and play host, but it had been difficult when Jason and Damian had both been visibly seething in anger at their loss. If they had known who the murderer was, they would have been gone, out to seek vengeance and blood. They must have been busy hunting the bastard that did this because they hadn't seen Tim around much anymore. Jason either, for that matter, although Jay seldom came around much even before this happened. Of course, both of Dick's little brothers made life around the Tower uncomfortable. Any mention of Dick and the two of them would exchange looks and excuse themselves. Wally thought it was because they had lived in their elder brother's shadow for so long and, with his death, might have felt like Nightwing had become a martyr for the cause and become unattainable.

The waitress came back and handed the drinks out. "Who gets the non-alcoholic?" she asked, looking around at the group expectantly.

Garth took it and set it in front of the empty chair without being told. "It's too early yet for him to be drinking," he muttered.

The four of them lifted their mugs. "For Nightwing," Roy proclaimed under his breath. They were there as civilians, after all. "The best leader any group could want."

"To Dick," Wally said. "The best friend anyone could ever ask for."

"To Dick," Donna said. "The best listener any girl . . ." she glanced around the table, "or guy could have."

"To Dick," Garth added. "Always the smartest guy in the room."

His companions smiled at that. There was a reason he had always been their leader . . . even from day one. They drank to that and set their mugs down as their eyes settled on the empty chair and untouched drink.

"He should here," Garth growled low. It wasn't only Jason and Damian who wanted retribution. "Why didn't he call us? He had to have known all of us - ANY of us - would have dropped everything to come to his aid."

Roy hunched his shoulders. "It isn't fair. He would have done the same for us. He did do it for me - more than once!"

Donna dipped her head and brushed her hand across her face again. She had promised . . .

"Hey! If no one's going to use this chair, mind if I grab it?" A big guy asked grabbing the back of the empty chair in preparation of yanking it away.

"YES!" Garth and Donna slapped their hands down on the seat with surprising violence, making the man drop it abruptly.

Faced with four sets of glaring eyes, he held up his hands in surrender. "Whoa! Okay. Sheesh! Take it easy."

Roy scooted his chair back as if to stand. "Why don't you take a hike?" Wally's hand came down on his shoulder in an effort to keep their friend in his seat.

"It's for our friend," Donna sighed, explaining.

The man harrumphed. "Doesn't look like your friend is going to show," he grumbled and left.

Stricken, Donna turned around to face the others. "No . . . No, he's not," she whispered, heartbrokenly.

Garth snorted in amusement. "Nice moves there, West," he said. "That was usually Dick's job, keeping us all in line. Do you remember . . ."


Dick watched as Bruce left to get ready for work and picked up his book. He flipped through the pages absently for a while before setting it back down, preferring to stare out at the fog that had rolled in during the night.

"Master Dick?"

Dick looked over at Alfred standing in the doorway. He knew without saying that it would take an injury to get the older man to enter the room. Despite his protests that he understood and had forgiven him, Alfred refused to spend time with him alone since Dick had attacked him in a bout of insanity. It made him sad to know that he might have ruined his relationship with the man he had considered a grandfather. If he could only get those demons out of his head . . . the ones that had crept in apparently during his death.

Initially, he had thought they had come from the Lazarus Pit, but now he knew better. Dreams of shadowy figures amidst swirling colors, the smell of sawdust and animal excrement were more than just memories of his childhood, but they were interspersed with sounds of water lapping against the support posts of a wharf and the wind whipping through his hair atop buildings. It was confusing and he didn't know how they connected yet but he would. Bruce had told him how he died. Murdered. Stabbed in the back, the side, multiple injuries. The book he had been reading was indeed apropos to his situation.

"Apropos," he murmured.

"I beg your pardon?"

He gaped at the butler, startled. When had Alfred arrived? Then he remembered. He had gotten lost in his thoughts again.

"I'm sorry, Alfred. It's a word I read recently." Dick laid his hand on the book beside him as if providing proof so that old man would believe him.

Alfred nodded. "It is always a good thing to increase one's vocabulary," he agreed. "Do you know what it means?"

"'Relevant', I think," Dick replied.

"Indeed, young sir. That is one meaning," Alfred smiled.

"Did you need me for something?" he asked.

"Just checking on you," Alfred admitted. Of course . . . "The day is begun cold and damp. I wondered if perhaps you would be interested in a cup of hot chocolate to ward off the chill in the air? You used to enjoy that very much on cold days."

But, Dick had already returned his attention back to the view out the window. He watched at the swirling clouds drifting lazily along the ground, shrouding the manor's gardens from view, much like death had done to his memories. He frowned, losing himself back into thought. The fog seemed 'apropos' to the way he was feeling.


Alfred watched the young man who had embedded himself in the old man's heart all those years ago sadly. He missed the excitable, yammering, child-like joy that Dick had brought with him everywhere he went. Everything had been more interesting and enjoyable whenever Master Dick was around. It was a feature that the boy had never outgrown and the reason that people flocked to him, eager to be his friend . . . even those who found him to be exhausting still loved him being around.

Alfred turned away, returning to his duties in the kitchen, missing that wearying, bubbling, non-stop prattle more than ever. This intense and brooding young man, prone to unexpected outbursts of anger and violence that had been left in that lovely boy's place frightened Alfred, although he was determined to hide it.

One must only look to Master Jason, after all. Who had expected him to return to the family after his first year or so after his own emersion in that ghastly pit? They simply must give Master Dick the time to heal and recover, as well. Alfred simply refused to hurt that sensitive young man with the generous heart. He was certain that person still resided beneath the layers of barbarity, wrath, and temporary bouts of madness with glimpses of distrust and fear. Time - That was all they needed.


Dick wasn't sure when Alfred has left him but he was alone. That didn't happen very often unless he was locked in his room but, today he was and the morning beckoned. Taking advantage of the opportunity, he unlatched the window, sliding outside into the freedom and mystery that lay beyond the fog. Five steps later, the fog enveloped him and Dick disappeared.

The fog was so thick in the low places that he couldn't even see his feet, let alone see where they were leading him. Not that it mattered - he knew. It was the one place that he hadn't been allowed to go since he got back and never by himself. It made sense, though. Too dark, too depressing, he supposed, but he wanted to see it, the stone with his name on it. With his lifestyle, that it hadn't been erected sooner was more surprising. He thought about why Bruce had chosen to inter him here, in the family plot, rather than with his parents where they rest in the city. Was it because of how he died or who he had been when he had passed? The world still hadn't heard of the death of Dick Grayson, so Dick laid odds that it was because of the mask.

Everything was because of the mask.

The shapes of the gravestones and effigies appeared through the mist like ghosts of the souls laid to rest there. From their shapes, he could pick out several including the ones belonging to Thomas and Martha Wayne, the one placed there when they had believed Bruce had died - a victim of Darkseid's Omega Beams, and the gap where they had chosen to remove Jason's stone after his return . . . Dick stopped, blinking.

Someone was standing at his grave. The fog hid his identity, but not his shape. He frowned . . . Everyone in the family was either at the manor or on their way to work or school. Who could possibly break through the manor's security to reach the family plot without Bruce or Alfred being alerted? It could only be one of a few people, someone who could move faster than the sensors could detect.

The edges of his mouth lifted as the answer came to him.

"Wally?"

The figure stiffened in surprise as his head turned at the sound of his voice.


Wally stood staring at the name on the stone. He still couldn't believe it. Of all of them, Wally would have put his money on Roy finding his way to the grave before Dick. Roy moved through life almost carelessly, definitely recklessly, although that had changed somewhat since Lian had entered the archer's life. But, Dick? He still followed most of the rules Batman had set into place for him when he was nine years old, an effort the Bat had made to protect the child who's soul cried out for justice with the same intensity as his mentor's. But, unlike his mentor, Dick had still found joy in life. Lively where Bruce was brooding, he always moving whereas Batman remained still, blurting out jokes or puns when his dark partner preferred silence . . . Dick had been a bright spot in the dark night.

Of course, Dick wasn't that same bright child bursting with energy once he had grown up. His friend had taken on many of The Batman's attributes and had gotten a bit more serious once that he had gone off on his own but, as Wally stared at the finality of the stone in the quiet of the cemetery, he found he still couldn't wrap his mind around it. Dick didn't belong here. It was too quiet. It was too still . . .

The fog swirled between the stones, making eddies as the air current shifted. Something had made them move and this time, it hadn't been Wally.

He heard his name whispered in an all too familiar voice and he stiffened in surprise. The sun had barely risen enough to lighten the world, shadows still reigned, and the fog was heavy enough to send shivers down one's spine on this cold November morning. But, it wasn't the cold that caused the hairs on the back of Wally's neck to rise. He turned his head just enough to make out a shape in the mist in his peripheral vision, not big enough to be Bruce, not slender or tall enough to be Alfred.

Wally shook his head. His grief was making him see things. He should never have stopped by. He should have just gone home this morning after the late night reminiscing with the remaining Titans. He was hungry . . . Yes, that was it. He was hungry and it was making him hallucinate. Turning on his heel, Wally ran, determined to get home and bury this memory in great swathes of food.

Or, that was what was supposed to have happened . . . had he not slammed into the apparition - Hard!

"Woo-oof!" he grunted on impact with the ground. Except, it wasn't the ground he had landed on. Wally stared down into the groaning face of his dead friend.

No apparition, a very solid Dick Grayson shoved Wally off him and leaned up on one elbow as he rubbed the back of his head. "What the hell, Wally? Ow!"

Gaping in shock, Wally scrambled to his feet in panic. "Dick! Yo-You're . . . alive?"

Dick grinned up at him and shrugged. "Surprise?"

"Surpr- . . .? What the hell, Dick? I saw you there - in the fucking casket - I cried tears over your very real corpse, damn you! I watched as they buried you, for Christ's sake!"

Dick's smile dimmed. "Jeez, Walls. Sorry to disappoint."

Wally shook his head, but his friend remained, sprawled on the cold wet ground in nothing but a pair of now-muddy jeans, a black t-shirt, and barefoot. This was no ghost and definitely not a hunger-induced hallucination. The shock of it made his head feel light and a little fuzzy. "What? Oh man, sorry. I didn't mean it like that. I was just . . . My God, is this real? Are you real?"

"Your landing on me felt pretty darned real to me," Dick smirked.

"Oh yeah, sorry about that. I thought you were a hunger-induced hallucination," Wally said, sheepishly. He held out his hand, pulling Dick to his feet. Keeping hold of his friend's hand, Wally slapped him on the shoulder and held on. "I can't believe it. You're alive!" He started laughing suddenly and pulled Dick into a bear hug. "You're alive, oh my God!"


Dick stiffened in the embrace but didn't shove Wally away. Instead, taking a large breath, Dick forced his body to relax and allowed himself to hug the red-headed speedster back.

Wally finally released him, gaping into his face. "What happened? I know that was you in that damn casket. How did you-? Oh my God, did Bruce-?"

"Not Bruce," Dick sighed. "My brothers happened. All three of them: Jason, Tim, and Damian."

"Don't tell me . . ."

Dick made an affirmative sound and turned his head, his fingers smoothing over the white streak in his hair that the pit had left him. "Lazarus Pit."

"Holy shit!" Wally touched the lock of hair before stepping back, his earlier joy replaced by something wary. "You're not, like, crazy now, are you? Like Jason was when he returned?"

Dick coughed lightly. "Getting better…but the morning cuppa java helps."

Running a hand through his red hair, Wally stared in awe. "You're alive."

Dick laughed. "You said that already. Several times, in fact."

"Last night, Roy, Donna, Garth, and I sat around drinking ourselves shitfaced and remembering all the times you've pulled our butts out of the fire," Wally grinned. A split second later, he gasped. "Oh, my god! Wait until they hear the news! They're gonna shit!" His grin reappeared as ideas started rolling through his brain. "Oh wait! We've got to have some fun with this. Garth believes in ghosts! We can scare the living shit out of him before we tell him the truth."

Dick sobered. "Wally, you can't tell anyone. Not yet."

Wally nodded. "Of course not! Not right away, at least," he grinned. "Wanna bet we can make Roy crap his pants! Donna would figure it out immediately, though, but we won't mess with her because, you know, Donna hits too hard," he remarked, rubbing a phantom-pain in his arm from some distant memory. "But, we can't wait too long. That would just be cruel."

"No, Wally. I mean it. You can't tell anyone about me until I give you the go-ahead.

Wally frowned at this. "Dick, they're your friends. You can't keep this from them. They're in pain right now. They love you."

Dick winced. He didn't like this either, but there was mystery behind his death to solve first. "I'm sorry. I don't like it either, but it's important." Someone had murdered him. He just couldn't remember who had managed the deed, not yet, anyway.

"Not even Roy!?"

Dick looked at him. "No one."

"Dickie— Come on! It's Roy!" Wally sighed. "Not even Donna? Man, she's going to kick your ass for this, you know."

"You're just going to have to trust me," Dick insisted.

"Like you have to ask," Wally agreed reluctantly.

Of course," Dick's lips curled up in a smirk that Wally knew meant trouble. "We wouldn't be able to help it if one of them just so happens to run into me."

"I missed that smile," Wally grinned.

"I missed you, too," Dick said. "I miss everyone."

Wally glanced down at his not-dead friend's muddy feet. "Although, Alfred might kill you if the cold doesn't," he said, indicating Dick's bare feet. "Let's get you inside before you end up with pneumonia."

Dick looked down in surprise at the dewy grass peeking out from between his toes. "I didn't notice," he admitted.

"Are you serious?" Wally turned Dick around, shoving him back in the direction of the manor. "Not feeling the cold - Is this some kind of side effect from the Lazarus Pit, like the white streak of hair?"

"Don't know. I'll have to ask Jason," Dick said as he headed back the way he came.

The sun was higher now and the fog was thinning as the sun burnt it away. Dick glanced back at the cemetery. Visiting his grave would just have to wait for another day.


A/N: I know it's been a while since I have last posted. I just want to be sure it's perfect before I post it! Big shout out to Alex for helping me so much with this chapter. It's finally perfect, we worked hard on this chapter.

ANYWAY! Soooo what do ya think?

Thanks to everyone who has read, reviewed, and faved this fic! I love hearing from you. You guys rock!