A/N: Why does Bruce sometimes sit alone and cry after a hard patrol, especially after he's tried to save the parents of a small child and fails. Could it be survivor's guilt?

Survivor's Guilt

By

AJ Red Robin

The anniversary came again, in pain, in rage, and sorrow, deep sorrow that could not be shaken. It was more than sadness. It was more than rage. It was hard for an eight-year-old boy to explain or express, let alone a man in his 30's. Only one person saw it for what it was, it's what partially drove him.

Bruce Wayne sat in the deep darkness of his ancestral home's family chapel. He lit two candles and placed them on the altar. He would do this after visiting the alley where his parents were murdered, and after he would visit his parents' gravesite.

The deep raging anger and sorrow came, again. It was like a thirst he could not quench, a hunger he could not abate. For all his work, it never seemed to be enough. He was too late, again. A little boy was without his parents tonight. He would grow up alone, or among relatives who would not fully understand the pain of that loss. For as many years that have passed, once again, Bruce felt the deep sorrow of wanting to be with is parents, and the questions came up once more in his mind. Why me, why them, why did I live and they died? Why couldn't it have been me. He knew the answer, deep in his soul, because he had not been afraid to face the bully with hate-filled eyes, and tear-stained cheeks. Somehow, he made the bully go away. He made the man with the smoking gun run back into the shadows from where he came. And he's been making them run ever since. Even so, on nights like this, the questions once, again, rear their ugly head. And now he knew if for what it was. Before he couldn't out voice to it, but now, as the years have gone by, he's been able to. He knows what it, what the words mean, because standing beside him on this night was a young man who felt the same.

Dick Grayson lit the second candle as he watched Bruce out of the corner of his eye. He knew what this night meant to the older man, because he had been through it himself, the anger, the deep sorrow, and the questions that formed in his mind. This might not be the anniversary of his parents' deaths, but it was an anniversary just the same. It was an anniversary where something more had been born out of the ashes of that burning, for truly it had to be, because he felt it, too. On this night, he could almost see the question written on Bruce's face, as surely as what must be on that little boy's face as well. It was the same question that often plagued him. Why me? Why didn't the trapeze break when I was on it?

Even so, even so, each had survived while their loved ones died. And this night was no different. A little boy was sleeping tonight, pondering those same questions. Will he rise above the pain as we had done and become something more? Or will that little boy fall in despair and become something else entirely, someone that both the Batman and Nightwing would have to put down in the future. Would that little boy end up blaming the world and continue the cycle of violence years later, or will he rise above it, like the phoenix from the ashes and find his true path?

For now, those questions could not be answered. Only the why could be, because it was that very question that forged an answer in the two men's minds. It was because of that question that they didn't blame the world and become less than they are now.

Who knew that survivor's guilt could hold so much more than just the need to be by one's loved ones, again. It could also be a galvanizing force that reminds the survivor, while there is life, there is hope.

"Thank you, Dick for being here," Bruce turned toward his son and heir.

"I wouldn't miss this for the world. I know what it means to you," Dick replied. "I'm sorry about tonight."

"Thank you. That little boy will be growing up alone."

"He won't be alone, Bruce," Dick stated.

"How so?"

"He's got you."

"You're right," Bruce said. "I can do something. I'll go see him tomorrow."

'You know you can't adopt every kid who's gone through this."

"I know, Dick, but it can't hurt to let him know that he's not alone in how he feels."

"Just like when you talked with a little boy sitting up in a tree?" Dick gave a knowing smile.

"Just like that."

"Come on Dick. Let's see if Alfred has some cookies and milk waiting."

"Sure thing."

Both men left the two candles burning on the alter, a testament to time that survivor's guilt, however long it lasted, did not have to be faced alone.

End.