Chapter 10:

ONE MONTH LATER; JULY

He was healthy now.

He was full.

He wasn't seeing things, the world wasn't spinning and he wasn't collapsing or seeing old, faded memories. Eventually, he had just screamed "screw you" to life, right in the face, and then punched him in the gut and walked away. He decided that he would eat, even if it involved stealing. Of course, he'd been conflicted about it. He shouldn't have left his body get to such a low point. He blamed it on his own sick pride. He didn't want to betray Batman's trust, even if Batman didn't know about it. But maybe that was how he showed his love, even it was from such a far distance. Still, he felt as if he would be betraying his trust just because he was in an alternate universe with no one that he wanted to turn to, didn't mean he had to steal. Well, that's when he punched life in the gut and walked way, leaving Life on the sidewalk bleeding from his mouth.

Though, this might have just been a dream of a guy with a white shirt with the word "life" sprawled across it that was trying to giving him lemons on the sidewalk. The guy was really annoying… and overly joyful about the lemons. So Dick may have imagined punching him in the face and yelling "screw you and your lemons".

So, now he was getting to a far more healthier status, which was having a better toll on his sleeping habits, which had completely degraded over the last few months. July was warm, and far more comfortable to sleep in, but sometimes he did wake up with a pillow covered in sweat. Personably, he preferred the cold to the hot; that was mostly when he was sleeping, however. It was better to bundle up then to completely shed everything, in his opinion. July was passing by without much of a thought, he hadn't gone out as Robin since the incident with White Rabbit. He didn't want to end up with another broken rib, on that he had to tape up himself, and an almost broken hand. He should have handled the situation better, but after simply dealing with the common thug, he wasn't prepared for a "themed villain", or whatever you wanted to call it. He hadn't really made up his mind, which was too focused on anything else. When he got back, maybe he should Bruce check him for A.D.D. Still, themed villains were going to be where most of this trouble was now, he figured.

If anything, it was a good wake up call. A painful one, but a good one.

He began to slowly but surely work up his health. He didn't like stealing, whether it be a pair of basketball shorts or some bagels, but all in all they both made him feel a little bit better, at least physically.

Mentally… Dick wasn't doing so well. He was lying to himself about doing well. He kept telling himself that he was okay, and that Batman was coming for him, he needed to sail on. The first part was a lie, the real lie. The second part he refused to believe it was a lie. Batman was his father, his second father, but his father none-the-less. Still, he would dream of the manor every night. But the one thing he would never dream of was going out into Gotham on an August night, a cool, light and airy breeze blowing around him as he bounded up and down the buildings, leaping through the air and a laugh bubbling up from his throat. His eyes searching through the dark shadowy city in search of anything that he could challenge.

And Babs told him he wasn't poetic.

Still, he missed that feeling that he got when the wind rushed up his face, the fumes of Gotham city spewing their toxins in his face. He didn't get that here; then again, he hadn't been exactly bothering to try. He was still trying to get his physical health up. Even then so, he felt alone and tired, but like he was trying to emphasize, it wasn't physical. He was just… sad. The worst had been on March 1st.

It was 2013.

And he turned fourteen years old.

That had been like stabbing him in the stomach, with the holder muttering "screw you" in his ear as he slowly fell to the ground. He didn't go out that day and enjoy the first day of spring, he didn't really do anything but sit there and wallow in his self-pity, which he normally would have looked down upon.

He hadn't realized it then, but when he was standing looking out the window, he'd fallen asleep.

"What are you doing?" A voice behind him yelled. His eyes flickered open and he slowly turned around to see himself, but it wasn't Dick Grayson; there stood Robin, the Boy Wonder.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, letting his arms fall to his sides. Robin shrugged, allowing the cape to fall over his shoulders and shroud his torso. He stood about five feet from Dick, his body hidden behind the black cloud and his feet spaced apart as if he were about to jump into a fight. Dick wondered if that's what he looked like to other people.

Robin chuckled then, his shoulders fluctuating slightly. "To talk to you, duh. Congrats, by the way. You made it to fourteen with most of your mental health still at the regular statistic. Happy Birthday. They would have been proud, too, you know."

Dick looked away, fighting the tears. He was fourteen, just like Robin said, he shouldn't be crying. If anything, he should be happy. They would have been proud. He knows they might like all of him, he didn't even like all of him, but they would have been proud of who he would become. At least, he was pretty sure.

"Same for you, they would have been proud of you."

Robin looked away, and Dick could imagine himself rolling his eyes. "We're the same person, of course they'd be proud of both of us."

"No we're not," Dick inclined, taking a step forward. "I mean, we look the same and we may smile the same, but we're not the same."

Robin shrugged. "We might not have been, but we certainly are now. Look, back home… where you, we, belong we're not the same. Robin is heroic, cunning, athletic, funny and a genius. Dick Grayson is a wimp, a freak, mister-trip-up-the-steps, dull and just sort of awkward. But here… there's no one to lie too. You're both, well… sort of. You're definitely all Robin here. But there's bit of Dick Grayson too; you're still awkward. I'm still awkward. No changing that. You're both of us, combined as one. You are still Robin, on the inside. You don't have to fight people to be Robin. You're a different breed, certainly, and maybe you should cry for help but… you're a different person now."

"Yeah… you're right." A small chuckle escaped Dick's lips, but other than he remained tight-lipped.

Robin smirked and threw his hand up in the air. "Heck yeah I'm right! Look, I'm proud of you, though that might just make our ego bigger. But, just accept that fact that your both of us combined, you're one person now. You need to be proud of yourself and… and be happy. Who knows… well… I'm proud. You know they would be proud of you. And… Bruce is."

Dick turned away, not responding. For a moment there was silence, and Dick could hear Robin's breathing behind him. "Then where is he?" He asked in a silent voice.

"Working, trying. He is only human, but he's coming. That's the one thing that you can't give up on. I don't care if you give up on humanity; the one thing you can never give up on is him, because he said he'll always be there, and he will."

"…I know."

And then he woke up.

He rubbed his eyes with the palm of his hand, and then blinking them over and over. It had been odd seeing himself without using a mirror. But Robin… he, was right.

"Of course he was right," he'd muttered, "You idiot."

Anyway, Robin was right and despite how much Dick Grayson wanted to be left normal (as if his life had ever been normal), that would never happen. He and Robin, they were one person now. He could life with that, honestly, but if you asked him, Dick Grayson would say no and Robin would smirk and laugh and shrug his shoulders as if he were still unsure. And he knew that Bruce was coming, for heavens sake the man kept to promises as if they were family! He couldn't give up on hope, because he could only hope. Hope was the only thing he had left, something he held hands with. Why let go the only thing he had?

ROBIN

Robin.

The name lapped up on his mind, over and over.

Robin… Robin.

He wanted to go back to being Robin, he really did. But honestly, he felt more safer staying inside, where he wouldn't get hurt, or get overly cocky, or even pretend that he was okay. He wasn't okay, but he'd long since gotten over that revelation and honestly, complaining about it in his head wasn't going to get him anywhere. But Robin… when he had that dream… they were the same now, Robin and Richard John Grayson. But… he still didn't want to get in the costume. He'd abandoned it for almost a month now, focusing mostly on vigorous health exercises to get himself back into shape. The longing to become a hero again still hadn't escaped his mind. He had caught up on the newspaper, who were wondering where "Little Bird" was. Eventually, the worry had subsided to page six by the second week. In all honesty, it was good that they had stopped worrying about him. When he came back, he would just stay clear of large groups of people. He would stay in the shadows, stay to himself and interact with the police as little as he could. Good... yes... a fresh start.

His mind made up.

He was going to be Robin again.

The thought, however, didn't seem to cheer him up.

Groaning, he slipped away from his thoughts and lurched himself from the window, which he'd taken upon himself to make a habit of standing by. Walking barefooted over to his computer, he opened up the laptop and began to mess around with the settings. After a while, however, he became bored with repeatedly making his cursor look like a light saber. Huffing, he snapped the laptop shut and rolled his head around.

"I would kill to be with Wally right now…" he muttered, blinking away the sudden feels. Sighing deeply, he grabbed his raggedy old Chuck Taylor's and slipped them on, tightening the knots with his now tanner hands. He leapt up, breathing deeply, and strode toward the doorway with the swing that used to be in his step long gone and blown away to rags by the wind. He threw open the door, causing the door knob to hit the old plaster and leave a large dent in the wall. He honestly didn't care; the place was abandoned anyway. Turning to grab the cold door knob, he noticed a small letter taped to the wood. He picked it off with nimble fingers, frowning as he did so.

On the front was a large "R", and a small oil smudge.

He frowned, suddenly becoming suspicious, and slowly picked the letter from the door. He closed the door behind him and then slid down it, staring at the R in unhindered concentration. Slipping his finger under the paper, he took out a piece of folded paper. On it, he saw another R. He began to read the words that filled up the white, crinkly paper.

Dear "R",

I'm sorry if I upset you. Well, no not really. I had good intentions. And now I have to write a letter. A letter. Can you believe it? Anyway, look R… can I call you R? I saw it on your… suit, just figured it had to do with your name. I don't really think "Little Bird" is an appropriate name. So… I know your denying any help I can offer, but I'm still offering it. If you need a place to stay, or a place to talk… Pepper says my door is open. I agree. You know where Avengers Tower is. I'll keep it clear when you come.

-Tony Stark

Dick stared at the note, his blue eyes suddenly becoming angrier and angrier. He didn't need anyone's help, because that would mean he's giving up on Bruce, which he isn't, he can't. He crinkled the paper up, glancing down the brightly lit hall way with narrowed eyes, and then shook his head.

He stuffed the letter into his pockets.

AVENGERS TOWER

Bruce wasn't sure when Tony would be up from his lab, but in all honesty he couldn't wait much longer. He'd waited an entire month, contemplating whether or not he wanted to confront Tony about what he found in the Lab about a month ago. Mostly, he was concerned about the human figure in the light, and Tony's notes, and his stills. Bruce had taken them a month back, when he'd gone in there to "investigate", made copies, and then returned the originals the next day. He had tired to keep calm when around Tony, but it was quite a large feat when Tony acted like there was nothing, like he hadn't even lied to Bruce.

Bruce's head snapped up when he saw Tony, his arms more or less covered in dark splotches of oil, walk into the room, humming a tune. This was probably the most pleasant Bruce had ever seen Tony… ever.

"Tony," he called out. "Can we, er, talk?"

Tony glanced up, washing his hands in the sink. Bruce caught a troubled look in his eyes, but it suddenly faded as Tony nodded. "Sure, though, I need to get back downstairs because Dummy seems inclined to-"

"I found your notes," Bruce interrupted, not really interested in what Tony had .

Tony looked at him curiously. "What notes?"

"The ones with the portal. And with your Multi-verse idea, along with the pictures and stills," Bruce's voice was dangerously low and calm, as if he were simply warning Tony. Tony was staring at him, but there was no curiosity in his eyes; there was betrayal. In that moment, Bruce knew he was right and in the back of his mind, he wondered why Tony had let his true emotions shine through. Tony finished wiping down his hands, and then he slowly set the now blackened towel on the sile-stone counter. He walked over to Bruce, his head held high.

"You looked through my notes?"

"And you lied," Bruce shot back, though his voice wasn't accusing, it was hurt, though the hurt was covered with a layer of anger. "You told me you didn't find anything. Tony-" Bruce sighed then. "Why did you lie?"

Tony didn't answer, but he rubbed his face uncomfortably, looking away, and sighing. He set his hands on his hips, his hands twitching ever so slightly. "Because I figured it out. I just… it was impulsive."

"Are you implying that you lying was a fluke?"

"No," Tony gritted his teeth in frustration. "Of course not but-"

Bruce's fist slammed against the hard counter. "But what! We were working together on this! And then you go and say you didn't find anything! Why?" He took a moment to calm down, closing his eyes to regain any sort of hold on the monster. He was angry at Tony, but Tony didn't deserve the Hulk.

"Because!" Tony snapped, his face suddenly turning serious. "Look, what I found is… is something else, alright. As for the new theory, like everything else I come up with at first, it's a theory. As for-"

"The Human figure, Tony, I know about the human figure," Bruce's voice was more like a disappointed sigh.

Tony kept going, ignoring Bruce. Normally, Tony simply laughed through an argument, but right now he was actually yelling back, and he only did that with Steve and Nick Fury. "The notes and pictures, just…," He paused again, this new revelation made no indentation on his face. "Well, don't tell anyone, alright? Don't say anything."

"You have to explain everything. Everything, to me."

Tony nodded briskly, sitting down on the bar stool, retaliating his story.

EARTH PRIME

NEW YORK CITY, CENTRAL PARK

Dick walked briskly through Central Park. His mouth was set in a thin line, his eyes set on the ground. People bustled past him, talking and laughing and generally having a good time. He wished he were one of them, not that he wasn't have a good time, it was just that he wished he could be laughing, too. Sighing, he pushed forward toward the large boulders that made up park of the park. In all honesty, Dick would rather be at home, but he wanted to get out; he had to get out. He just couldn't handle being alone anymore.

He smiled as a couple passed him, smiling and holding hands, perfectly content in their love-filled world. His smile was big, and bright and it was fake.

Dick probably looked happy, probably content and in thought as he stared at the ground with blue eyes. And if you asked him, he was happy. Well, he was okay, which at the moment equaled happy. No, he wasn't necessarily happy with his life; his life sucked. But he was okay, he was coping. He wasn't giving up, because that was something he wouldn't ever do. He promised himself that. But he was okay. He was, thankfully, warm now and he was smiling a bit more. Though, it was because he wasn't acknowledging that he was a thousand miles away, and that there wasn't anything left to say. What could he do but wait?

Still, on the inside, he wasn't coping. Physically, he was fine; his smiled proved that. But on the inside… he was slowly falling. He had tried, many times in fact, to identify what the emptiness that had been growing inside him was connected too and where it was coming from, but he could find nothing that lead him to it's identity. Sure, the fake smile he put on for people he didn't know bothered him, especially because he acknowledged that it was fake. He knew it was fake, he knew the difference between real happiness and a lie.

Still, the fake happiness was slowly decaying him, because it honestly bothered him that his smile couldn't be real. That was what bothered him, why did he smile fakely? Why was he so… tired and alone inside? It bothered him to no end, the thought nudging it's way into his mind periodically throughout the day. Of course, he pushed it away.

Walking past an older couple, he climbed up a rather large, looming boulder, sitting down in a small niche where if one looked up, they couldn't see him. He fiddled with his shorts, peering up through the strangled branches above him into the sunlight. He began to hum, a small short, rough tune that his uncle used to hum when he was in a cheery mood. Dick wasn't cheery at the moment, but he felt as if he should be. His head rolled back, hitting the hard rock just ever so slightly.

He was fourteen now.

He chuckled, thinking of what Wally said he would do when he turned fourteen. He closed his eyes, smiling as a happy though crossed him mind. Maybe for his sixteenth, where he wouldn't be alone. The smile fell off his face soon enough, just as a large cloud rolled across the sun. His eyes wandered around, though he could hardly see over the wall of rock from the niche he'd buried himself in. He could hear voices, and laughter, and people walking around, running, jogging, singing. He felt himself turn bitter toward these people toward he didn't know.

Shaking his head, he gritted his teeth, gripping the stone with white hands. He'd gotten tanner again, ever since he'd come here. Well, he'd become far more paler, but now during the summer instead of doing school work and going out with Batman, he'd gone out, trying to escape his lonely apartment, mostly to the shops and to Central Park. He glanced away, his eyes closed and his nostrils flaring; the sudden rush of anger had left his body, and he sighed deeply, letting it all out.

Letting go of the rock, his knuckles returned to their normal tan, and his thoughts continued on as if he'd never been interrupted.

He was bitter; bitter towards the strangers. They had families, as far as he knew, and they had a reason to smile; their smiles weren't fake. His smiles were fake smiles. His fake smiles that burned themselves into his skin, so everyone could see there, and so he could never get rid of them, so they'd always be there to haunt him when he looked in the mirror, fake smiles that showed lies and loneliness. He still refused to look in the mirror if he couldn't help it. He still flinched at his reflection, because he was scared of it. It seemed that he couldn't stand himself anymore. He couldn't, he didn't like himself right then. But that wasn't who he was! He was Dick Grayson and Robin! He was supposed to be cocky, full of mischief, and innocent. He was pathetic, in his eyes, because he depended so much on people that couldn't save him. He depended too much on his ego; his ego was a butt. But it didn't change that his smile was a fake.

He shook his head, his mouth turning into a fierce scowl. He wasn't a fake! He wasn't lying to himself! Bruce was still coming, and all he had to do was wait and be happy!

But… he wasn't happy, and lying to himself will only causing more problems. He frowned, what was wrong with him? Shifting upward so he could see over to the lake, his eyes caught sight of small boats that people were controlling on the land. The boats sailed over the water easily. He watched as the wind blew the water back to fight one ship that was completely black, the ship fought against the tyranny of the wind but the wind one, eventually blowing the ship over. Dick heard a startled cry from whom of which he guessed was the ships owner. His mouth turned up into a dry smirk, though he wasn't smirk at the fact that the boys ship had gotten knocked over; he was smirking because he saw life analogy.

He was the boat, and the water and the wind… well, they were his depression.

To be continued...

Chapter inspired by: Sail by AWOLNATION