ME: Ooh, Teen Titans.

DISCLAIMER: LIKE A TEENAGE BOY CAUGHT WITH 'SPECIAL' MAGAZINES UNDER HIS BED- I OWN NONE OF IT! HONEST!

ME: This fic was born out of my ponderings as to just why Robin would become Nightwing, and my great love of making it all up as I go along...enjoy.

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He knew it had to have happened sometime. Way deep down, in his redundant heart, he just knew.

And it was nothing particularly special. The Earth was neither shaken nor shattered, and people still lived and died and generally stayed ignorant. Like to them today was nothing. Another blank page on the calendar.

He watched them all, from behind the safety of his mask, far away across the water.

He watched them all, pretending the flickering city lights didn't give him a splitting headache. Pretending that the sickness in his stomach wasn't there at all. Couldn't be there.

Pretending that he wasn't weak. And that maybe tomorrow somebody could turn back time for him, so he'd could stay in bed all day instead of going out and then falling apart.

Because sitting there, all alone, he suddenly didn't feel like being seventeen anymore. It was nothing but trouble, and he'd been left tired as Hell from jumping back and forth between maturity and childishness. Even if today had made him feel so damn old, tomorrow might just jump-start his heart and let him be a child again.

Well, maybe not as soon as that. He still had some mourning left to do, for a young man he never really cared about. Never really came to understand.

And now he never would.

Because Richard Grayson had died today.

The day he had met his replacement.

"Robin…" Of course she already knew everything. Everything except how his heart beat and where his pulse lay.

But she knew how he mourned. All too well, she knew.

"Don't call me Robin." He heard his own voice like it was far away, across the water, sharp and distant. "That's his name now."

"Tim Drake." And by God, if he didn't just hate the way she said that name. And it was stupid and childish of him, because the boy meant nothing to her. She hadn't even met him.

But Robin meant something to her. At least, he hoped so.

And hadn't Richard meant anything to Bruce Wayne?

"I am sure the Batman did not mean to hurt you."

"He didn't." It was another blunt and stupid lie. "I don't care about him." Because he wasn't his father after all, not even close.

His world remained intact. It had to. He was seventeen years old and nobody's child. Those walls he'd built were strong now. Batman couldn't break them down.

"You do not have to lie to me…Richard."

Starfire would not break him down.

"Richard is dead." He was so cold, not like his real father. So long ago.

"Then…who remains?" And she sounded so lost he hated her, for the briefest moment, for relying on him being somebody. For keeping something in him alive, and making a redundant heart beat again.

But, as always, he hated himself so much more. And to her that was so sad.

Maybe that was why he loved her like he did. And why, even though he was dejected and broken, he just couldn't tell her there was nobody left.

And thus:

"Just…just call me…."

One ordinary day, out of the ashes of his father, a young man was reborn.

"…Nightwing."

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ME: Well, there you have it. Originally this was meant to be a gloomy Robin-only piece, but the urge to add gloomy Robin/Star was too much to bear...it's just a very cute pairing.

Alas, I am a shameless review junkie. Won't you please provide my next fix?