Authors Note: Yeah, so the title has no correlation to the chapter whatsoever. You think of something better and I'll use it, lol. Also, thanks to Sara for inspiring this idea. Thanks so much to everyone who reviews and reads.

"You gotta' keep holding on. When push comes to shove you taste what you're made of. You might bend till you break, 'cause it's all you can take. On your knees you look up, decide you've had enough. You get mad, you get strong, wipe your hands, shape it off, then you stand. Every time you get up and get back in the race, one more small piece of you starts to fall into place."

Rascal Flatts Stand

Maybe Today

By: The BatThing

Chapter Seven: Windows Down

Dick felt a hand rest on his shoulder and he froze momentarily in his relentless reign of tears. For a few seconds he wasn't sure what to do. There was the option of shaping up and being brave, there was the option of running, there was the option of turning to Bruce for comfort, but despite the many choices, Dick stayed put. He returned to his tears and clung all the more to the strange woman that was offering him her shoulder. She didn't seem to mind him being there. In fact she seemed welcoming – saying soft words, occasionally running her hand through his hair. He didn't know her and he probably wouldn't ever see her again, and that thought did a lot to keep him put. If she did judge him what did it matter? So long as she was pretending that he was ok to be crying like this.

"Dick?" Bruce called out again to him, his hand smoothing across the boy's back awkwardly. A poor attempt to comfort in Bruce's mind, but it did more than he thought it did. A simple touch and Dick's tears grew immensely. The billionaire drew away, thinking he had done wrong.

The nurse was looking at him now, her expression was tense, sorrow built into every line of her face. All those who had the guts to stare directly at the scene, even those who pretended to not notice – they all wore the similar face. And they didn't even know the truth. All they could see was a sobbing boy, and perhaps knew the dregs of the story. They didn't know though, they didn't know what Bruce knew. Their sympathetic sorrow was nothing compared to what he was feeling.

"It's ok, Dick. We're ok." Bruce felt his stomach turn and tighten, sickening at the very thought. Why did this have to happen to them? Why couldn't it have happened to someone else, anyone else? While that thought was inviting, the unmasked Dark Knight knew better than wish too hard on it. It was wrong, evil – cruel to wish this sort of thing on anyone.

But why Dick?

He stood up. Looking down at the crying child and wondering what could be done. What could he do? In a situation like this, what good was he, how much did Dick actually want him to try and be a comfort? He could hear Alfred telling him to do something and as much as Bruce wanted to, he was frozen. "Dick?" He called out in a coarse voice, sounding as helpless as he felt. One more time, he could try one more time to be of some sort of comfort. Kneeling back down and slowly stretching out his hand, Bruce laid it on the back of Dick's head, running it down to rest on his neck. "We're ok, Dick."

At this Dick moved away from the nurse's shoulder, covering his face securely with his hands and shaking his head. He was scarlet, red from an undeserved embarrassment and shame. Gasping a bit, Dick managed to control the tears a bit, but within seconds of their halt they returned, and he twisted around to his guardian. Plunging himself at the man, he allowed himself to be immersed once more, hidden by somebody stronger then he was.

"Let's go home."

Sleep probably wouldn't have been an option if it hadn't been for some Lunesta Alfred gave to Dick when the boy crawled into the car. It took two of the 3mgs of the medication before the boy finally was able to subside out of his crying and fall out of sorts, muttering occasionally until he could no longer stay awake.

Bruce was thankful for that much. It was a chance for the boy to escape the real world, and a chance for the socialite to explain the situation to Alfred, every painful bit of it. As strong as Bruce Wayne was, Alfred Pennyworth was ten times as solid it seemed. The butler was his rock, all he had to lean on at times like these, and again and again he realized his dependency on the older man.

"What are we going to do?" Bruce pleaded, wanting an answer – needing that answer.

For a few moments Alfred said nothing and then gave a short nod. "Live, Master Bruce."

It wasn't what Bruce had wanted to hear. He had been hoping for some explicit instructions on how to right the wrong done, turn things around, make Dick forget, make things all better. Years of fighting the war for Gotham, and Bruce wanted the easy way out – thought there might be one. Hoped there would be.

Alfred's words told him otherwise, reminded him of how things really were and made him fell a new hate for mankind, and above all – a hate for Henry Ganthers. Pushing his fist into this forehead, resting like that for a few moments, Bruce clenched his teeth, grinding them together in rage. He had wished the man who killed his parents would die, he had wished it of the Joker, and now he wished it of a teacher. "I'd kill him if I could, Alfred. I want to kill him."

Silence.

"But I can't."

"No."

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Alfred glanced through the rearview mirror, and it was clear he was in equal pain to the man in the backseat. "No." He repeated. "Don't be sorry, Master Bruce."

"I made him go to the help session with that man, Alfred. I made him, he didn't want to go – I forced it on him." Bruce placed a hand against his mouth and chocked on the feelings he was experiencing. "This is my fault."

"No."

A sad frown and downcast eyes reflected in the window as Bruce stared at himself in the glass, ignoring cars passing and lights fluttering past. A tremble of his chin caught his attention and he bit down on his tongue, hard, bringing the short stutter to a sudden halt. "I won't blame him if he hates me."

"It's not your fault anymore than it is mine, or the school cooperation, or friends of the afflicted teacher, or of the Gotham police, it isn't your error anymore than anyone else's and nobody will hold you culpable for what occurred today. Master Bruce – you've done nothing to deserve whatever sort of guilt you might be trying to place on yourself. Not a thing."

Bruce knew better than to fight that, Alfred wouldn't ever give up defending him, even if he was wrong. What was the use of arguing it? The rest of the drive to the manor was in almost complete silence; occasionally Alfred hummed a familiar tune that Bruce recognized as the butler being worried. It was the hum that said things were wrong, but tried to console the situation.

A rain started as they pulled to a stop. Bruce collected Dick's limp form and followed Alfred into the house, slipping into the home and away from the dark skies and rain. He waited as Alfred closed and latched the door. "What should I do with him?"

A look as Alfred slowly removed his coat, brushing the damp water off his cheeks. "He's asleep, Master Bruce."

"Ok." Bruce turned and started up the stairs, feeling stupid for asking the question. He couldn't help but have some trepidation holding the ninety some pounds in his arms. The billionaire made his way to the child's bedroom and pushed the door open with his shoulder, and then walked on in. He was thankful to see Alfred follow in, and placed Dick gently on the bed. "I'm … going to see." He didn't really make sense of the sentence, just looked at Alfred, expecting the butler to understand.

"Tonight?"

A spiel on how Gotham couldn't protect herself alone seemed dumb, pointless. Bruce just wanted to get away, find out what the law planned to do about Henry Ganthers – and maybe take out some of his anger on anyone stupid enough to get in his way. Sinking his teeth into his lower lip Bruce nodded a strong nod. "I'll be back."

"Master Bruce, you cannot mean to leave."

Bruce ignored the question, ignored the look he was getting, and walked on out of the room. He headed down the flight of stairs and into the Batcave, thankful for it for the first time in a long time.

"Thank god that's over."

Batman slipped into the dark room and pressed his body against the wall, breathing as softly as he could manage as he attempted to hear what was being said on the other side. Commissioner Jim Gordon was talking to someone, and with time, Bruce easily recognized it as Slam Bradley.

"Detective Lucero got a statement from both kids, got a team at the school, combing through the place. Seems like the guy went crazy, we have some statements from the hospital. Damn, won't the rain ever stop?"

Jim had to be smoking, the long pauses between moments, and the fact that he didn't speak as much as he might have clued the Dark Knight in. "Just want to go home for the night. It's been a long day."

"Hell yeah."

The two talked on things such as weather, vacations needed, foods that were appetizing, but they didn't steer back to their original conversation. Figuring the use of sitting there listening was spent, Batman moved back towards the window, crawling out and making his way across the building once again. A team was at the school – he could find out more there.

A shout from below caught his attention.

"Hey, Lucero! You bring that coffee for me?!" A man was looking out his window a few stories up, smiling down at the detective running into the building, out of the rain. "Not so much. Probably going to drink both of them, the bastard."

There was laughter from inside, followed by an agreement. "The jackass. Can't blame him …" The window shut and the Dark Knight was quick to make his way to the ledge. He listened to the conversation in the room. "Heading that school hostage case, whatever the hell. At least he got the easy way out."

"Heard about that."

"Everybody heard about that."

"Nobody should have. I can't imagine going out like that. If it were me, I'd take pills or something. No suffering that much."

"The bastard deserved it."

"I'm just saying."

"Me too."

Dick Grayson's sleep was short lived, quick to come to and end within just a few hours. He awoke in the dark room, shivering from a dream he didn't remember. For a few moments he did nothing but lay there, and then as if the realization just washed over him, he flung his hands over his eyes and squeezed them shut tightly, grinding his teeth as he tried to rid himself of the everlasting memory.

Incapable to conquer the shadows on replay in his mind, Dick threw off the covers and made a dash for the bathroom, gasping as he dropped to his knees and throwing up. He sat there, his red face a mix from shame, embarrassment, and the sickly feeling he was experiencing. Gagging again, the eleven-year-old crawled to the sink, washing his mouth out and spitting up there.

The amount of time Dick spent at that sink, doubled over, his cheek pressed against the cool tile, was unknown. He was unsure if he faded into sleep, all he knew was that the memories wouldn't go away, of all the horrible things that had happened, how Ganthers had hurt him – how Ganthers had killed his friends.

Darcy, Greg, Haden … they were all dead now.

How their parents must feel now.

Dick blinked his tired eyes, weary and heavy. Slowly dropping to the floor he began to clean up the mess he had made, holding back the sobs, feeling them exploding in the depths of his chest. It was a dull pain.

He could see Haden pleading to go home and he could see Darcy clinging to him, looking to him to save his life. Dick hadn't been able to do anything but fuck everything up. And Bruce … Bruce had trained him for situations like this for years now. He should have known. He should have been able to do something.

Once more Dick Grayson was the one left alive.

"Mmhmm?" Bruce lifted his head up at the sound of the clink above, signaling something was coming down into the cave via the clock. Brushing a hand across his face, the billionaire squinted as light flooded down the staircase, breaking the dark momentarily. "Alfred?"

To his surprise Dick was descending the flight of stairs, looking a bit hesitant. He didn't say anything as he came to the main floor and walked towards the changing rooms, glancing occasionally at Bruce who was staring at him.

"Dick?"

"Yessir?"

The man paused and then gave a small nod. "Where are you going?"

"…M-morning workout?"

"Morning work -." A glance at the red numbers in the corner of the Batcomputer brought the unmasked Dark Knight up-to-date. "Oh."

Dick didn't say anything and started once more for the changing vaults.

"Not today, Dick." Bruce felt guilty for saying those words, but he couldn't bear to go through the workout this morning. Not after something like yesterday, not after that. He turned back the computer screen and momentarily shut his eyes, mentally smacking himself for his bad and inexperienced behavior.

"…Ok." Dick paused and then cleared his throat. "New case?"

"I think Alfred will be expecting you for breakfast shortly. I'll meet you up there, ok?" Bruce began to shut down the computer without bothering to turn and face the boy.

"Ok."

But Bruce didn't come up for Breakfast. Alfred made for light conversation, but it did little to deter Dick from thinking about the man's absence, or his dismissal of the boy. So, when Alfred finally did excuse the eleven-year-old from the table, Dick grabbed his windbreaker and started for the outdoors, happy to get out of the house and away from everything. Outside seemed like a good idea. Outside he could hide away from everything.

And so, sitting on a swing and occasionally moving his feet for a small amount of rocking, Dick thought over things. The weather was getting warmer and warmer with the passing of time, and the grass was slowly gaining its green back. Soon, in a few weeks, leaves would even start to show, and flowers. In just a few more weeks everything would start getting better, so why couldn't Dick Grayson do the same? He thought until finally he came to a decision that would take care of the problems, it would make things better – it would make things ok. Or, at least a little.

Dick began to practice saying the words aloud, making them sound like he meant them, making them sound believable. He could do it, he could say them – make them all believe him. Even Bruce?

Even Bruce.

"I don't remember."

Close to two hours later, when Dick finally made his way back up the Mansion, he found Bruce walking around outside, flopping his hands about, as if practicing something. The boy suppressed the urge to sneak past and simply approached the man, doing his best to look fine. "What are you doing?" His voice wasn't very strong, but it was better than he had imagined it would be.

Bruce gave a start and turned to look at Dick and slowly shook his head. "I, uh, I dunno … looking for you?"

"I was in the woods."

"Oh. I just came out. Alfred says you've been gone for a long time now, he was – he was worried."

"Sorry." Dick answered, feeling himself blush. He shrugged his shoulders and started to walk towards the doors, using long strides. "I'll tell him you found me."

"…Oh, ok …" Bruce sighed and shook his head. Alfred would kill him if he didn't do this. "Dick, wait – come here, we should talk."

"Talk?"

"Yeah, talk. You have a minute?"

Dick didn't want to talk right now. He wasn't ready to talk. And more surprisingly, he hadn't expected Bruce to want to talk about anything. The man looked like he was going to be sick, and Dick shared the feeling. "About – about what?"

"About yesterday."

"What about yesterday?"

Bruce gave him a look.

"You mean about Mr. Ganther's going crazy?"

Another look and Bruce nodded slowly. "Yes."

"What about it?" Dick sunk into a stair, sitting on it and looking at his guardian with an innocent expression. He dug his fingertips into the cement step, wishing he could escape to his room. "I already told you everything I know."

"…Well, Dick, if you ever want to talk about it – or, you know, stuff." Bruce paused and rubbed the back of his neck. "Alfred and I are, you know, we're around and stuff."

"And stuff?" Dick didn't smile. "Ok. I guess this means I won't have to go to after school sessions anymore, huh?" He didn't want to make the joke. He didn't want to make the joke! "I guess you'll have to get me a tutor."

Bruce didn't look amused. Rather, he looked a bit shocked.

"I gotta' go finish my homework, can I go?"

"Homework?"

Dick nodded. "Homework."

"Dick … I was, I was – Alfred and I were thinking you should take a break from school for a little while. Maybe go back to Alfred's lessons for a bit of time. I don't think school is a very good idea right, right now."

"Well, why not? I mean, I understand your concern, but it's not like anything horrible happened yesterday. Nobody was really hurt." Liar. Liar. Liar. Liar! Don't you lie about Haden and Darcy, don't you lie about Greg! Don't you lie about that, not about that! "I don't see why I have to stop going to school just 'cause a teacher goes a bit crazy."

Bruce was looking at the boy in disbelief.

"What's the matter?" Dick felt himself blushing under the pressure. These lies were getting hard to handle, and Dick wondered if Bruce knew he was lying about not remembering. After all, he was the World's Greatest Detective. How could he not know? "I'm s-sorry."

"You do remember what happened yesterday, right?"

Dick bowed his head, not up to answering the directly at the moment. He felt his knees buckling and his hands trembling as he sat there, blushing a shade of scarlet.

"Maybe you should go to your room." Bruce didn't mean to sound upset, angry, or disappointed. He was simply at a loss for what else to do in this situation, giving an order seemed the only option there was to make him appear less disoriented then he honestly was.

Dick took the chance and started up the stairs, happy for the chance to get away.

To be continued …