"Like New Years Eve – tonight's underway. But tomorrow you'll wake up afraid of the day. Cause underneath the scars of your broken dreams an undone war still wages and stings. You fear the year will blow like a breeze through a rainbow – you swear it's there but you can't grab a hold so you sit and cry and wonder why – why – why. When all of your tears dry let your troubles roll by. So pay no mind, my sorrows fine. The day is alive and that's why I cry. You've come far and though you're far from the end you don't mind where you are because you know where you've been."

-Carbon Leaf 'Let Your Troubles Roll By'

Oh Silent Prayer of My Thoughts:

By: The BatThing

Edited By: Ariel

Tim leaned against the huge gates of Wayne Manor and looked up to his broken home. Hands in his pockets, clenched tightly and helping to steel his resolve, the boy started to walk the long drive, trying not to lose his courage. He wouldn't be childish about something like this – after all, Wayne Manor wasn't a person. It was a building. Just a building.

Deep down Tim couldn't help but feel terrible. It was his home he was walking too, a home that was empty. No Dick, no Barbara, no Alfred, no Bruce, and no chance at them all being together again. 'Like a nightmare,' Tim thought, 'it's like a nightmare.'

The walk was shorter than Tim had hoped; it wasn't long before he found himself standing before the front doors, hand on the doorknob. Just as he had assumed, it was locked. Not that it mattered – the boy pulled out his keys (he always kept them with him now, for some reason) and carefully entered, closing the door firmly behind him.

He was here, and oh, he had to swallow hard past the lump in his throat. Tim considered turning tail and simply running. He could come back when he was stronger, when he was ready. 'When will I ever be ready?' Tim thought as he climbed the stairs. He came to his room and entered, closing the door behind him once more. He moved straight for his closet and pulled out an old suitcase. The boy dropped it on his bed and carefully began moving clothes from his chest into the bag. Once he had a few articles of clothing, Tim picked up a few other important things.

He dropped to his knees and slid under the bed, snatching up an envelope that was shoved up between the headboard and the mattress. With a small sneeze –the dust bunnies multiplied without Alfred to sweep them up- the boy opened it. He looked at the pictures included, one of his father and mother, long before they had Tim. The other was of Bruce and Dick, where Dick looked no older than eleven. Tim had stolen both the pictures.

The boy slid back out, and tucked the pictures in a small compartment in his pack, hidden from sight. He then lifted the mattress and pulled out a bat-a-rang. A thin smile traced his lips at the sight of it. How long had it been since he had last laid his hands on this? He used to cling to the sharp metal the same way a child with a happier life would a ragged rabbit. Tim had owned this long before he even knew Bruce was the Batman.

The boy made his way to the window, and looked out it, glancing across the yard. The familiar feeling came over his body, he would always watch at the window when six rolled around. Six meant Bruce came home – six meant that it was Robin time. The boy looked miserably around, as if Bruce just might drive up, and he'd realize that he wasn't alone. That he hadn't been left behind.

Stupid.

It was stupid to think about, and Tim started giggling at the idea. The giggles grew strong – till it he was laughing so hard his sides hurt. The boy sunk to the ground and the laughter soured, turning into gasps, and then slowly into sobs, the boy ripped off his mask for the first time in months, allowing the hot tears to flow freely. "Come back," he sobbed, "please, just come ba-ha-ha-hack."

It wasn't till one in the afternoon that Tim found himself back at the police station. He kept his head down, not wanting to see anyone, not wanting to see their looks – their glances his way, still curious after so long.

"Ah! Robin!"

The boy lifted his head and was a little disgruntled to see Justin running his way. As much as the raven haired hero would adore having a friend – he just didn't feel like one at this moment. He wanted to be alone.

Justin was smiling as he came to a stop before the boy, "I bet you wonder why I'm working at this time of day, huh? Well, it seems I keep getting bounced around; actually, my partner and I were here pretty late last night so we took this shift. What are you up too?"

"Not much," Robin admitted.

"I'm just going through the bomb work, paper work, covering the missing people and those who died. You know – updating the files. It's not much fun, but I suppose it's better than what they've been putting me on lately." Justin laughed and scratched the back of his head with a shrug. "Ha!"

Tim tried look like he cared. "Where are you working?"

Justin nodded, "I'm on break – so I can show you, come on!" He took Robin a little ways down the hall to a small room, filled with file cabinets. There was a small desk and papers clutter all around it. "Yeah, so, this is my hole in the building. Sometimes I think I must be weird, considering they put me way back here."

Tim lifted a paper and looked over it, reading the names of those who still hadn't been found. Ah – he found his name listed. Strange to think he was still safe, right under their noses. He prayed that Bruce had met a similar fate. He put the paper down and picked up another, with the W's. Yep, Wayne, Bruce, still not found. 'That's good, I suppose.'

"Yeah – so," Justin picked up a small mug and took a long sip. "Ahh, good stuff."

Tim didn't waste time watching him, he found the G's and scanned through. 'Grayson – Grayson, where are the Grayson's? I know Dick hasn't been found yet, so why isn't he on here?' The boy dropped the papers, and looked at Justin. "Where is the list of those who have died?"

"It's um, updated, I just got the new copy. Here," Justin pulled out a thick stack of papers and handed it to the masked boy, looking confused. "Is something the matter?"

"No, not really," Tim replied, trying to look as if everything were fine. It was hard. G's, Grayson – Grayson, Grayson, Joel – Grayson, Martha –Grayson, Mick –Grayson, Richard. Tim dropped the papers, throat tightening. He felt his knees grow weak, and tried to casually lower himself into a nearby chair. "Looks like a lot of people were lost," Tim said, crossing his arms across his chest. 'Keep your calm, just get out of here.'

Justin nodded. "It's sad, but yeah."

"Um, I--I have to go see Gordon about something, I'll see you later – ok?"

Justin smiled. "Sure Robin, I'll see you later."

Tim closed the door behind him, and then took off – feeling his stomach churn. He slammed into the bathroom, and managed to make it to the sink before vomiting. He felt the taste of acid in his mouth and gasped, quickly turning the water on and washing the sink out. He shook his head, watching the water flow, and feeling he might get sick again.

Dick's gone. Barbara and Alfred are gone.

Tim's body shook slightly as he raised his eyes to the mirror. He opened his mouth in a silent scream, squeezing his eyes shut and slamming both fists into either side of his head. Gripping his hair he pulled, shaking his head firmly. "It's not fucking fair!" The last word was a shriek.

He collapsed to the ground and shoved the heel of his hands into his eyes, shaking his head violently, rocking back and forth. Primal noises came from his mouth, primal and on the verge of breaking into sobs.

"Not again, don't you cry again!" He slammed his head into the wall, in an attempt to stop the oncoming wave. "Ow!"

Tim sat in silence after that, head hanging, and hands limp on his knees. He could feel the throbbing in the back of his head, but ignored it completely. The wave of grief was more exhausting than a week of combat, than his entire life since the bombing.

'It'd be nice to sleep and not wake up,' he thought. 'It'd be really, really nice.'

The sound of a door opening interrupted his reverie; eyes flashing Tim stared up at Bullock. The man looked uncharacteristically concerned as his gaze settled on the boy on the floor.

"What's your problem?" Tim seethed.

Bullock looked at him strangely, and then outstretched his hand, "come on, Commish is wonderin' where ya' are."

Tim swatted the hand away and slowly rose to his feet, "I suppose I can't be granted a few hours of freedom, huh?"

"What happened ta' ya'?"

"What?"

"Ya head. What happened?"

Tim carefully touched the back of his head and felt something sticky. He turned and looked at the wall and rolled his eyes at the small – but very visible – red smear. "Great." Walking into the stall he took some tissue paper and soaked it in the sink for a moment, then scrubbed at the wall. "Tell him I'll be there in a moment."

"Do ya' know where 'dere' is?"

"His office?" Tim gave a disgusted look. "Yeah, I think I just might know."

"He ain't in his office, genius."

Tim tossed the wet tissue and shrugged his shoulders. "Then where is he, Bullock?"

"He's out lookin' for ya – listen, somethin's 'da matter, I can tell 'dat much." The man stood a little taller, and then shrugged unconcernedly, "I jus' thought I'd tell ya' 'dat I don't mind tutorin' you, so long as you don't mind havin' me teach you."

'Great, he throws something like that at me and what am I supposed to do?' Tim shrugged.

The two stood in silence for a few seconds and then Robin lifted up his backpack and pushed the door open. "Bye."

"Right."

Tim used the phone in Montoya's office and quickly called Gordon's cell, waiting patiently as it rang. Gordon was less than pleased.

"Where have you been? It's been close to seven hours since you left this morning! You didn't even bother to check back."

"Sorry."

"You've been gone for hours, and we've been trying to reach you."

"Sorry."

Gordon was silent, re-thinking his lecture. "Ok, fine. Listen, kid, I'm not that upset that you didn't check back. I understand you need some personal space. But, you also need to remember that rules are rules. That's all I want for you to know. Ok?"

"Sure." Robin's voice wasn't sure, and he wasn't sorry. He wasn't fine, and he didn't feel any regret towards his actions. And all that was showing in his tone. His words were agreeing, but his voice was another story.

Silence. "Are you still at the station?"

"Yeah."

"Well, I'll swing by and pick you up. We're taking the night off."

"Perhaps you didn't talk with Montoya? We're in the middle of a case that requires attention. I'm sorry I didn't check in, but this is a little more important, don't you think?"

"Mr. Zsasz? Montoya discovered it was a false lead – which lead us in a wild goose chase after you." Gordon paused and then sighed. "I'll swing by. Don't worry, it's your job to hunt the streets – you can do that tonight. Leave the paperwork to Montoya, all right?"

Robin hung up the phone without answering and turned to Montoya. "It was a false lead? How'd we figure that out?"

"Well, it turns out that Zsasz's body was found. He was murdered, and dumped in the Gotham River." The young woman tucked her hair behind her ear and smiled a little. "Of course, when we found him we didn't even know that it was him – if you know what I mean."

"Sure, I know." Robin turned around and headed out of the office, closing the door behind him. His eyes flashed as a figure came running towards him. It was Justin.

"Hey dude, the commissioner was looking for you."

Robin nodded slowly. "Yeah, I just talked with him."

The young cop smiled a little and then placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. "You look beat, maybe you should head home. You know, take a few?"

"Sure, I know."

"Anyhow, if you can – try and get a hold of me in the next few days. I'm having a party, and it'd be awesome if you'd come." Justin grinned all the more at the thought. "I thought you might not like it if, like, people you didn't know came, so I just invited a few other cops who are cool."

"Look, Justin…eh, I'll be sure to think about it and try to get a hold of you." Robin started away, glancing over his shoulder. "See you later."

"Yep, later."

Robin watched as Gordon's car pulled up to the curb, and the boy started down the steps. He climbed into the car and blinked at Gordon, who was looking at him as if disappointed. "What?"

"You probably shouldn't wait outside in the future; people will notice a boy with a mask. We don't want press finding out that you're staying with me. Things will get messy."

"How is it the press hasn't already found out? I don't believe for a moment that Gotham City's police force is filled with saints. I mean, some of them have to get extra cash somehow. I bet half of them work for the Penguin!" Robin rolled down the window as they started back towards the Gordon house. "Besides, I wanted to get outside for a little while."

"Roll the window up. And, if it's important that you get out, wear sunglasses. People won't think anything of a boy wearing sunglasses."

Robin turned his head, and gave a short nod. "Fine. But how is it that the press doesn't know?"

"Just like not all cops can be trusted, not all journalists can be trusted. I have a few friends who watch out for me."

"Right, I doubt a few friends would keep something like that hidden."

"True, but the only thing they'd know would be that there is a masked boy hanging out in the police station. I'm sure they could say you're Robin, but people already know Robin works for me." There was a pause. "The only people who know you are staying with me are the few I trust. Everyone else believes that you still live wherever you use to."

"You know, it might have been useful if I knew this. What if I told someone that I was staying with you?" The boy and slouched in the seat. "I mean, come on."

Gordon glanced at the Boy Wonder with a smirk. "I hardly doubt you trust just anyone."

Robin shrugged. "When you're alone you learn to do anything for a friendly chat."

"You're the Batman's son, I doubt you get that desperate."

The boy bristled, and then turned on the man, growling now. "I told you before! I'm NOT his son! And what do you know about Batman! How dare you assume, you and the rest of them! It's all you do, assume that we – that we're just fine. You all assume that I can't get desperate."

"What? Now calm down a moment here." Gordon was surprised at this unexpected outburst. "I never assumed that you were fine."

"You said so! You said that you doubted I would get desperate! Well Jim, I am! I'm desperate!" The boy felt the pain in his head coming back full blow. "I'd do anything to go home! ANYTHING! I'm sick of living with you, and following your rules! I've grown up!"

"Don't fool yourself."

"I'm NOT! I can survive on my own!"

"You're so grown up that you just give up?"

"I haven't given up, asshole!"

"Oh yes you have! If you hadn't then you wouldn't be like this. You would be coping and accepting the losses you've suffered. You need to move on! Rather you sit around and scrape by. You push yourself too hard, eat only the bare minimum, seclude yourself, and ignore any help offered. You're giving up everything your father would want for you."

Robin was seeing red. "HE'S NOT MY FATHER, DAMMIT! What the hell makes you think you know so much?"

They were now pulling into the drive, and Robin was already going for the handle, but Gordon locked the doors, and then grabbed the boy by his forearm. "He wanted you to be happy, father or not, he did care for you. He was your family."

"Let me GO! Stop talking about him!"

"He would want you to move on, accept his death!"

"You don't KNOW that!"

"He IS! HE'S DEAD!"

Robin fell silent. "How do you know?" This time it was a question, a desperate question needing an answer.

"If he were alive he would have come back for you. Would the Batman actually abandon you? Would he leave his city?"

"Shut up, shut up." The boy was shivering now. "Don't talk about that."

"Robin, son, listen." Gordon released the boy's arm and placed both hands on the boy's shoulders. "It's time to move on. He's gone."

"But I don't want him to be gone…" The boy was now crying, his voice breaking. "He's the only one left besides me."

Gordon gave an understanding nod. "I know it feels like that, but-."

"I found out that Nightwing died today," Robin interrupted. "Batgirl's gone too. So please, please don't make me believe Batman's gone. I can't do that. Please," the boy clutched the man's jacket, looking up at him. "Tell me he's alive. PLEASE! Lie to me, I don't care, convince me he's ok and he's coming back! I don't know what I'll do if he really is…dead."

"Robin, I-."

"PLEASE!"

Gordon shook his head. "I can't."

To be continued…