Where did I go wrong? I lost a friend
Somewhere along in the bitterness
And I would have stayed up with you all night
Had I known how to save a life
How to save a life

~The Fray

Chapter One

Weeks Earlier

There was no one really at the funeral. There shouldn't have been anyway. Robin was the one who died, not Damian Wayne. Even if they had mentioned that Damian was dead, it would raise some suspicions. Instead they came up with the cover story he was out of the country learning abroad.

The few that were there were the ones that knew him best. Or thought they did. The kid was a mystery, wrapped in a riddle, covered with snarky arrogance. But now that was gone.

Tim stood above the coffin out in the rain. The rest of his rag-tag family had gone inside after they had thrown their handfuls of dirt onto the hole in the ground. Tim's handful was still clenched in his fist. This wasn't the way that he wanted, or expected this to end. He always expected him to go in a way where he was far outmatched in an effort to prove himself worthy, and the best of, the rest of them. No one expected that he would be done in by a clone of himself.

The rain soaked him to the bone and his long hair dripped water into his eyes. Vaguely he heard a voice in his head telling him to get his hair cut. Whether it was Dick's voice or Damian's, it didn't matter to him. Although if it was Dick's voice, he shouldn't he talking, he went through that whole mullet phase. A shiver ran down Tim's spine, whether from the memory or the wind in the rain, it didn't matter. All that mattered was that the brat, his brother, was gone.

He fell to his knees, hand still clutching that fistful of dirt. It couldn't end this way. He should have done something more. Tried to make peace with him. Anything. Anything was better than what he did. Which was nothing.

He wasn't sure how long he was kneeling in the sopping grass before someone came and helped him up and into the house. He never looked at the face of the person that was leading him into the manor. But he could tell by the way that they draped a rain jacket upon his shoulders and held him close that it was Stephanie.

He didn't understand why she was doing this. Their relationship had ended a while ago. And while he still harbored feelings for her, they were locked away and buried deep down. Those feelings caused pain, for him, for her. So it was best they locked themselves away.

"You'll catch cold if you stay out here any longer," she said gently.

Tim didn't respond.

He allowed himself to be taken into his room where a towel and fresh clothes were waiting, courtesy of Alfred. Stephanie gave a slight rub on his back before leaving him to change out of his soaking clothing.

Slowly he peeled off the layers of his wet suit. He never really liked that suit anyways. He replaced his boxers but stood staring down at the rest of his clothes. Thankfully it wasn't another suit. It was a red t-shirt and a pair of his favorite pair of jeans. Damian had once made fun of them because of the fraying on the bottom and the red paint that had been spilt on them when he was repainting his room.

That brought up new emotions and tears began to fall again. Why couldn't he have stopped him from becoming Robin? Why did he have to fail him as well? It seemed like he had failed everyone. He had failed his father, he had failed Stephanie multiple times, he had failed his team, and he had failed Damian.

He curled in on himself and cried. That was how they found him an hour later, only in his boxers, head in his hands, still clutching that handful of dirt.

Bruce wasn't taking this well. He'd lost a son before with Jason. He thought he could understand what this time would be like, but he was wrong. Every little thing would remind him of Damian. The way that the sun had shown in his window in the morning waking him up causing him to pull the covers over his face. Down to the click-clack of Titus' nails as he searched the house for his master.

And now, everyone was in his living room, feeling the loss that he was. But it wasn't. They weren't related by blood in any way. Damian was his flesh. He had once imagined a future where he could see grandchildren running around. Not that any children that came from Dick, Jason, Tim or Cass wouldn't be his grandchildren as well. But there was something enticing in the way his imaginations played out. Not that Damian would ever be one to actually settle down and start a family. He was far too much like his father.

A short chuckle came out of Bruce's throat. He never intended on a family, and yet here they were. All in the same house without trying to strangle each other. Possibly a first for this family. But he was deeply grieved at the circumstances.

Taking a deep breath he walked out of the bathroom and into the living room where everyone else was. His eyes wandered to each member of his family.

Alfred was cleaning compulsively the mantle that didn't need any cleaning. He would never allow any type of spot to exist while he was alive and well. It was very much similar to when Jason was taken from them.

Speaking of the prodigal son, Jason was standing in the window bay staring out at the rain. His eyes were hard, yet glassed over. Bruce guessed that he was thinking about his own death. Absent-mindedly he played with one of his knives that he carried with him.

Dick was sitting on the sofa next to Barbara. He had been closest to Damian, possibly. He took Damian's death especially hard. Barbara had pulled his head into her lap and was stroking back his dark black hair in attempts to comfort him. The other's had tried, but Barbara's touch was the only one that he had responded to. His eyes were bloodshot and sniffles escaped him every now and then. Barbara tried to maintain her strong exterior, but Bruce knew that the moment she was alone, her barriers would break down and all the emotion she held inside would escape.

Stephanie didn't have any of those barriers and was unashamed of showing her emotion for all to see. She seemed to have been crying all day. Despite the insults that Damian had thrown at her she was genuinely felt the pain at his death. But as the day wore on, she gathered herself into a functional, if not complete individual again. She sat next to Cass on the sofa, holding a mug of hot chocolate that had long since cooled.

Cass was harder to read. She had spent most of her time away from the Manor doing work anonymously, limiting the interaction that she had had with her brother. She hadn't shed a tear, but there were other ways for her to show her grief. She just wouldn't share with them.

Finally Bruce looked at his younger son. Tim's reaction came out of left field. Bruce was sure that his two youngest hated each other for everything that they were worth. Damian hated the fact that Tim was included into the family despite being an imposter for the Wayne line. And Tim was wary of the boy for his background and his skills, along with the attitude. But the way that the boy broke down for his brother gave more depth into their relationship, than any of the petty fights they endured with each other.

Bruce stared at his family. How dare Talia do this to him? To them? How dare she take away her only son from his family? Rage surged through his veins. If he ever got hands on that woman, she would be very sorry that she ever tangled with his family.

The clock chimed seven in the evening. Usually, everyone would get up to suit up for patrol, but there was an unspoken agreement that there would be no patrol that night. They needed the time to mourn.

But that wasn't what Bruce needed. He needed someone to be on the other end of his swinging fist. Abruptly, he stood and walked out of the room and down to where his suit was. There was only one way for him to relieve himself now. Damn all consequences.

He pitied those who decided to tousle with him tonight.

A plan was formulating in his brain before he even realized that he could concoct such a thing. He found himself thinking about how things would happen if he would do something about it. What could he have done? Nothing. But what can he do now? That was the question that was at the forefront of his brain at nearly every waking moment of the day. Which was more than he would like to admit.

He would deny it if asked, but his insomnia had returned. Nothing that would have helped in the past did anything anymore. So he spent that time when he should have been sleeping watching. He watched as Cass left Gotham again, needing the space from the place. He watched as his brother Jason withdrew even further from the family. He no longer killed the criminals he caught, but he was not above brutal means of achieving what he wanted. He saw as grief drove Barbara and Dick even closer. They were the life rafts that kept the other afloat.

And his heart broke when he ran into Stephanie. Her wise-cracking had ceased almost completely. The radiant smiles that he loved were now rare and far between each other. He couldn't bear to see that amount of pain on her face. It was the same look that she would have when she was younger and thought about her daughter she gave up for adoption.

But as he watched them, he saw them progress and grow. Not wanting to waste time, Dick had asked Barbara to marry him for the second time. He didn't want anything to happen to either of them without having her know how he felt. She accepted.

Jason became more accepted within the family in and out of uniform. The shaky alliance in costume with the Commissioner was only accepted on the terms of some type of therapy and supervision.

But one person wasn't growing past in a healthy way, was the one that he was most worried about. Bruce was falling back into the habit that he had when Jason had died. At first he didn't think much of the broken limbs of the criminals that were turned in. But then Bruce came back home with a stab wound to his abdomen and nearly passed out from blood loss before he even made it into the cave.

That was when Tim knew that something needed to be done.

"Bruce, I think that you and I need to talk about your behavior of late. You're acting reckless-" Tim began.

Bruce slammed his bedroom door behind him, cutting off Tim and Alfred who had been following to be sure that Bruce made it to the bedroom alright. Tim's resolve hardened and he knew that something needed to be done before Bruce did something that would seriously hurt, or kill him. Tim stalked to his room to put in motion his plan.

He waited until the house was empty before bringing everything to action. He couldn't afford for his plans to be disturbed. They would stop him.

While in his room he packed. Every once and a while he would find himself staring at the plastic bag that held the dirt that was supposed to go into the grave. He couldn't bear to let it go. After he threw a few clothes in a rucksack, he gingerly placed that plastic bag in a leather pouch, before putting that in the satchel and throwing it over his shoulders.

As he sneaked out of his room and out of the house, he prayed that this wasn't a half-thought out idea that came from his insomnia. He also prayed that no one would come by unexpectedly and question what he was doing.

He had already hidden the backhoe and the crowbar behind the bushes in the forest. He got in one of the inconspicuous cars and drove down to the plot, ready for everything to begin.

He worked as quickly as he possibly could. There was no grass yet over the dirt, and digging was quickly moved aside. Once he was down far enough, he crawled into the hole and pried open the casket. A small voice in his brain yelled at him to stop and allow Damian to rest in peace and that this was a crazy idea that would never work.

He ignored it.

Tim pried the casket open and looked at the boy inside. He was only eleven. Tim wiped sweat and tears from his face. He closed his eyes, giving a silent prayer to whoever may be out there, before pulling the body out of the casket and throwing the boy over his shoulder. He grunted under the weight.

"I didn't think that you would be so heavy," he muttered.

He carried his brother's corpse to the car he had waiting. He covered him with a blanket in such a way that if anyone looked inside, they would think that he would simply be sleeping. Then he got in and drove to the main house. Tim stopped the car, and cast a look to his brother before running into the house for one last time, leaving a letter on the kitchen island, where he was sure they would find it.

Giving one last look at the Manor he drove off the estate and towards a private flight he arranged to be waiting for him at the airport.

Hi Bruce,

I realize in all likelihood that it won't be you who is going to read this first, but I can't allow you to go down this path. I first came to you after the death of Jason, your son, my brother, a few years ago. You were in a bad place and I wanted to help you out of it. In the process I managed to become a part of your family, and I am thankful for every minute of it. But you're sliding back into that place again. I've tried to talk to you about it, but every attempt on my behalf has failed. So in a drastic attempt to bring you back from going over that edge again, I'm leaving. You may have figured out what I'm planning to do. But know this. You can't stop me. So don't try. There is a likelihood that this will fail. But if I succeed, well, how about we leave what happens next to when I get back.

As always, your son,

Tim

Bruce dropped the paper and immediately looked with horror at the butler who'd handed him the paper. Alfred had read only the first few sentences, but the way that the letter was set up, nothing could come from it that was good. It was the setup for a goodbye letter.

Bruce ran out of the house and down to the small graveyard on his property. His heart nearly stopped when he saw that small backhoe and the pile of dirt next to it. He leapt into the hole and nearly threw up when he saw the empty casket.

"No, no, no, goddammit."

By the time Alfred had walked down to where Bruce was he was finishing his call with his second oldest son.

"NO. I don't care what you are doing right now. We have an emergency, priority alpha." He paused listening. "Jason, if your ass isn't over here in the next ten minutes, there will be no time for you to even think about doing that."

He hung up the phone and stared at his son's casket for only a moment more before stalking back to the house. Alfred followed behind, keeping in step.

"If you don't mind me asking sir, what does young Master Tim have planned with Master Damian's body?"

Bruce didn't answer his butler. He only grit his teeth a bit more. He understood that recently he'd been slipping back into a reckless man with a vengeance that no longer cared. He thought that he didn't really care anymore. His son was dead. But upon reading Tim's letter, he realized that there was more that he had to live for. He had Tim, and Dick, and Jason. And if he was right, he may lose another one.

He stood on the front porch arms crossed waiting for his other sons. When he saw the motorcycle and the car indicating his sons' arrival, he walked into the kitchen.

"Hey Bruce, what's the big deal that you needed to see us immediately? Barbara wasn't too happy I left in the middle of preparing dinner," Dick said jogging in behind Bruce. Jason was quick to follow.

"Yeah, what's the big idea? I only get so much time to just relax."

Bruce pointed at the letter. Dick picked it up and upon recognizing his younger brother's handwriting read it thoroughly. Jason peered over his older brother's shoulder to read. Once done a slightly confused look was upon Dick's face. Jason's face had paled the further he read.

"What is he planning to do B?" Dick asked. He looked back at his younger, but taller, brother. "Jay? What is Timmy doing?"

"The Lazarus Pits. Tim is going to put Damian into the Lazarus Pits," Bruce said.

The letter fell to the floor for the third time that night.

A/N: And the plot begins moving along. As always, review.