Dick originally intended to arrive at the manor before the party started, but after thinking about it, he decided against it. The thought of being alone with Alfred, Tim, and heaven forbid, Bruce was not something he could handle right now. So instead, he found himself alone in a crowded room of people he didn't know an hour after the party began.
Dick had been to a hundred of these things as a kid. The suit, the tie, and the fake enthusiasm were all part of the act to hide who they truly were. Somewhere in the room of people, Bruce was smiling with his billion-dollar playboy smile. He'd be talking about things that were far in the back of his mind buried behind facts and new leads on a Batman case.
Wherever Bruce was, Dick was trying to avoid him. He stayed to the outside of the room by the large windows that overlooked the extensive grounds of Wayne Manor. He held his empty cup and leaned against the wall. Lately, it seemed he was leaning against everything. Dick couldn't even hold himself up anymore. Maybe it was a metaphor his subconscious was trying to relay to him. Your guilt is too much, Dick. I don't know if you forgot about that event yesterday, but I haven't. It's pulling you down.
Dick sighed. He needed another drink. As he headed to the kitchen, he looked for Bruce, but thankfully the man was nowhere to be seen. Once in the kitchen, Dick headed to the refrigerator and grabbed a water bottle.
"Master Dick! I was starting to worry you weren't going to attend," a voice with a heavy British accent said.
Dick froze. Alfred. How did the man always manage to sneak up on him?
"Hey, Alfred," was all he could think to reply before he thought of an excuse. "I got caught up with some stuff at work, so I got here a little later than I intended."
Work? You mean trying to avoid everyone.
"Oh, yes, your police job! I would imagine you would need a break from fighting crime, but I guess the situations are different," Alfred said, smiling wide.
Oh, yes, they are.
"That and I don't think you fully understand how to sit still," Alfred continued. Dick smiled toward the older man. Alfred had been like a grandfather to him all these years. Would he be disappointed in him? He knew Alfred and Bruce never truly liked the idea of Dick being a cop. Now, this past incident gave them a real excuse to disapprove.
The older man was so happy right now, though. As much as he knew he could confine in Alfred, now was not the time.
"Are you okay, Master Dick? You seem to be thinking a lot and quite hard, if I must say," Alfred said with concern.
Dick began to reply when a joyous, "Dick!" came from the kitchen door.
"Hey, Tim!" Dick said, opening his arms. The younger boy came to him, and they locked in a tight hug. "Long time no see. How's everything?"
"It's going well. But, you know, the usual problems," Tim replied with a boyish smirk nudging Dick in the side with his elbow. "How's everything with you?"
"Been better, but handling it all the best I can," was the only thing he could think to say. But, unfortunately, the best I can do isn't very well.
"Well, Master Dick and Master Timothy, I assure you that Master Bruce would love to see both of you out mingling with the people. Especially you, Master Dick. I'm not sure if he knows you are here yet," Alfred interjected.
"You mean the tracker inside me doesn't page him when I step onto the premises?" Dick asked, pretending to be shocked.
Tim's eyes widened a little. "Tracker? Bruce didn't say anything about a tracker."
"You'd expect him to?" Dick asked, one eyebrow pointed questioningly.
"Master Dick, don't scare the young man. Besides, you can't give away all the family secrets," Alfred stated with a slight grin. Dick laughed at Tim's face as they left the kitchen and headed back to the party.
Everything that just happened in that kitchen was an act. On the outside, he had seemed perfectly fine, but inside he couldn't let himself be happy. There was a man who'd never be happy again because of him.
Once inside the party room, Tim left Dick to speak with a rich, charitable parent of a school friend. Dick was glad to know the boy had regular friends. It gave him hope that maybe Tim could lead a somewhat normal life.
Once Tim was out of sight, Dick retreated to his spot near the windows. As he stared out the window, a reflection staring back at him caught his eye.
"How are you doing, Bruce?" Dick asked.
"I'm doing well, Dick," Bruce replied, still in his playboy persona. "I imagine everything is well on your end."
"Of course," Dick said, only half turning toward Bruce. If he completely turned around to face Bruce, he knew the older man would be able to read him like an open book.
"Well, I'm glad you could make it to the benefit," Bruce said, putting his hands in his pants pockets.
Dick looked back out the window. "Me too."
"Please, lower the enthusiasm in your voice. I don't think I can handle the sheer amount that is coming out of you," Bruce said, joking.
Usually, Dick would've laughed and jokingly bantered back, but today he excused himself to go to the restroom, not once looking Bruce in the eye.
Dick could feel Bruce staring after him, but before Bruce could chase him down, someone got the billionaire's attention across the room.
Dick left the main room and headed up the grand stairs. After a walk, he ended up in front of his old room. Dick turned the knob and gave the door a slight push with a shaky hand. It opened in front of him, but he felt like he didn't have the strength to go inside. After a few minutes, he finally entered.
Everything in the room reminded him of simpler times. Times where he would come home from school, do his homework, wait till night, change into his Robin outfit, go out, fight crime, sleep, and repeat. It also reminded him of even simpler times than those. The Flying Graysons poster above his bed reminded him of circus life. Nothing got any simpler than that. He didn't feel like the same little kid who'd once called this place home; Dick felt older than he knew he should. Then again, the vigilante life could age anyone, even the resilient Bat-Family members.
He moved toward the edge of the bed and sat down.
You're stronger than this, Grayson. You've been through a lot worse situations.
It was true; he'd been in worse situations but never ones that affected him and the people he loved like this. It wasn't only his moral code he'd broken, but Bruce's, too. And Tim. He didn't want to set a bad example for the boy. He was supposed to be an inspiring older brother figure, but he was a sorry excuse for a functioning human being right now.
It was like being in the big top all those years ago. There were plenty of people around watching everything unfold in front of him, but none of them understood the agony that was slowly destroying him. Down below in the manor, tons of people would watch as he passed, but none of them knew. Just like the people in the big top the night his parents died. When it was all over, they got to go home and leave all the pain behind. They would glance at him as they left the tent. Finally, all of them left, except for one, Bruce.
Despite all the fights he and Bruce had been through, he owed the man his life. There was no telling where he would be if Bruce hadn't gone to the show that night. No telling what could've happened if he had left all the pain back in the big top and passed the young, troubled youth.
He laid down and stared at the ceiling. Did he think he could hide from Bruce forever? What was he terrified of? Rejection? Disappointment from the one man he had always looked up to?
A knock on the door caused him to sit up.
"Dick?"
Bruce. It appeared the answers to his questions would come sooner than later.
"Yeah?" Dick hesitantly asked.
"May I come in?" Bruce asked, standing in the doorway.
"Yeah," Dick mumbled.
Bruce walked into the room but stopped after a few steps to look around the space. Dick wondered when the last time Bruce had come into his room was. The older man looked like he hadn't been in here since Dick left.
"So, what was that little act down at the party?" Bruce finally asked, moving to sit in the chair next to the bed.
Dick looked down at his shoes to avoid eye contact. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Really?" Bruce said, staring at Dick. "And you think I don't know you well enough to know when there is something wrong?"
"I'm fine, Bruce," Dick said. A silence followed.
Bruce rubbed the back of his neck with his hand and started, "Look, Dick. I know we've had our ups and downs, but you know you can talk to me."
"Talk to you or talk to Batman?" Dick paused before finally meeting Bruce's gaze. "Since you walked up to me at the party, I could sense your Bat-brain working. You've been trying to read and judge me since."
Bruce was taken aback a little but didn't show it. "I'm just trying to figure out what's wrong with you."
"Everything, Bruce," Dick whispered, suddenly feeling sick as nausea began in his stomach. His former mentor didn't reply at first, and Dick thought maybe he hadn't heard him.
"I know about what happened yesterday, Dick," Bruce finally said.
Dick's head fell in between his knees and into his hands. Of course, he knew! Why did he ever think Bruce wouldn't find out?!
"Your police captain called the house. I wasn't home, but Alfred answered. She told him she was worried about you and why," Bruce explained.
Dick didn't reply. Instead, he could feel the shame building up inside him. Tears burned at the corner of his eyes as the image of the bullet making impact made itself apparent in his brain once more. The need to vomit was becoming worse, too.
Silently, Bruce stood up and moved to the bed. He sat directly next to Dick and placed a hand on his former partner's shoulder.
"I shot him, Bruce. He's dead because of me," Dick whimpered.
"It's not your fault, Dick. You did what you had to," Bruce said.
"That's it?" Dick somewhat shouted, standing up, "After years of your strong moral code being hung above me, when I go against it, it's not my fault?"
"Dick," Bruce started.
"No, Bruce. You don't understand. You weren't there. I couldn't do anything. I was helpless. I had to revert to killing!" Dick said, pulling at this hair.
"And if you had done anything else, your identity could have been compromised, meaning mine as well, along with Tim's," Bruce argued.
Dick walked to the window. He felt light-headed and put his hand out against the wall to hold him up. "It's my fault." A long silence followed.
"I should've never been a cop," Dick added as he made his way back to the bed.
"There was nothing else for you to do, Dick. Helping people is just part of who you are," Bruce said.
Dick ignored the last statement. "The worst part of it all, Bruce, is wondering who that man was."
"Dick, I looked the man up," Bruce hesitated, trying to find the right words." He was a nobody. He had no family, no friends, and not even minor acquaintances."
Dick dropped his gaze to his shoes again. "That's not an excuse, Bruce. I would've been a nobody," Dick paused, "if it wasn't for you…" his voice trailed off. "When my parents died, if the courts had their way, I would've been stuck in a Gotham orphanage. No family, no friends, and no minor acquaintances in Gotham."
"Dick…" Bruce said, his voice sad.
"If you think about it," Dick interrupted, "that man was what I could've become."
"Dick, you could never hurt people. You're too good of a person. I've had the privilege of having you in my life, and I guarantee that you would've never become that man," Bruce said.
Blue eyes met blue eyes.
"Look, Dick. It isn't the same as just outwardly killing someone. You did something that is an unfortunate part of your job. Commissioner Gordon isn't a crook because he uses a gun during his workday, for goodness sake. So while I've never fully understood your need to be a cop, I'm proud of you," Bruce said.
The room was quiet. I'm proud of you. Dick had heard it before from Bruce, but it was as rare as an appearance from Crazy Quilt nowadays.
Dick looked away from Bruce to the large window in his room. He stood up and walked back over to it. Bruce didn't move but simply watched him stroll across the room.
"Dick."
Dick turned around. "Yeah, Bruce?"
"There is no sense thinking about what-ifs. The chance of that life happening is zero. There's no way you'll ever go down that path," Bruce said.
Dick gave a slight smile, which Bruce reciprocated.
"You've always been there for me, son. If you ever need to talk about anything, please don't hesitate to reach out," Bruce added.
Dick made his way back to the bed and stood in front of Bruce.
"Thanks, Bruce," Dick said, extending his arm out to help Bruce stand up.
"No problem, Dick," Bruce said, hugging the shorter man. Then, as he pulled away, he started again. "But we have a party to get back to."
Dick rolled his eyes and groaned. "Ugh. Well, I have my car here. So you'll never know if I just run away."
"Well, that tracker I have on you would tell me if you left the premises," Bruce said with a sly smile.
Dick's eyes widened. "Wait, tracker? I was joking about that. And, double wait, you weren't even there when I made that joke!"
Bruce headed out the room and down the hall with Dick on his heels.
"Bruce. Seriously, is there really a tracker? Bruce?"
Bruce smiled.
"Bruce?!"