Dick was in a sour mood. The snow was picking up, and he couldn't help but to scowl. Alfred wrangled him into staying indoors for the night. Martha and Thomas as well, insisting he'd get sick again. He stuck to his room, one which he didn't decorate.

Tim poked his head in the door, a small smile on his face. "Dad make you stay in tonight?"

"Not Bruce," Dick grumbled. "Alfred."

"Yeah, he does that. It's hard to say no to him." Tim invited himself in and sat next to the slightly younger boy. "But you know, it is snowing pretty hard out there. How many criminals could possibly be out there in this weather?"

"More than you'd believe."

"Don't you ever get tired of it? Being a superhero I mean."

"Tired of it? No. It's more like I get tired of putting the same loons back in Arkham."

Tim blinked. "You put criminals in Arkham? How messed up are these guys?"

"Seriously?" Dick turned to Tim. "You've never heard of the Joker, Poison Ivy, Clayface, Two Face, Penguin, Black Mask, any of those guys?"

"Well, yeah, I guess. I've heard of Penguin and Two Face, but that's because they have turf wars over Gotham every other week."

"That's it?" Dick was amazed. No wonder he hadn't seen any of the others. They apparently didn't exist in this Gotham. That was weird, all things considering. Had Batman's appearance merely created criminals? Dick had never thought that was possible.

"Yep. Those are the big guys."

"Unbelievable." Dick turned back to the window, watching the snow fall.

"Do you ever take off your mask? I mean, it's not like you can't trust us."

"It's more for your safety, than mine." Dick answered. "So, no. Never."

Tim frowned, and opened his mouth to respond with something flippant, but the loud buzz of the doorbell caught his attention. Dick also turned towards the door. Curiosity got the better of them, and the two made their way towards the staircase. At Alfred's shout of surprise, the two sped faster. They met up with Damian and Jason, who were equally as worried.

Jason was down the stairs the fastest, aiding Alfred. As soon as Dick was halfway down the stairs, he caught sight of what was going on. There was a man leaning heavily against Alfred, blood flowing from a wound on his shoulder. A woman held the man's hand, tears streaming down her face. It took Dick all of three seconds to recognize them.

"What's going on?" Thomas entered. "John! Good Lord, what happened?"

"Master Thomas, we must lay him down." Alfred instructed.

Jason supported John on the other side and they hobbled to the living room, where John was laid on the couch. Martha and Bruce entered, each of them shocked.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know where else to go!" The woman cried, covering her face with her hands.

"Mary, what happened?" Martha asked, hugging the distraught woman.

"Dad, what do we do?" Tim asked, tugging on Bruce's sleeve.

"Timothy, I need a bowl of warm water. Jason, I need towels. Master Bruce, get me a pair of tweezers and some wine from the kitchen."

Immediately the four set out to retrieve the items. Dick didn't move from the staircase. He was still dressed as Robin, and his mask protected his identity, but the shock on his face was evident. Damian stuck next to him, watching him closely.

"Martha, it's awful! They came out of nowhere and… and John is…" Her words were unintelligible as she broke down into full sobs.

"Mary," John groaned from the couch.

"Easy now," Alfred soothed, "We're going to patch you up. Don't speak."

"S'alright, Mary," John got out between hisses and groans as Alfred set to work removing his shirt, "'M gonna be fine."

"Mary, please, tell us what's happened." Martha urged. "Who did this to you?"

Damian nudged him and Dick didn't dare take his eyes off of the two newcomers. Upset by the lack of response, Damian nudged him harder.

"Hey, what's wrong with you?" Damian hissed. "You're a superhero, aren't you? Haven't you seen blood before?"

Dick didn't answer. It wasn't the blood. No. It was the couple. They weren't supposed to be here, to be alive at all.

"It was Zucco. We just recently found evidence and he… he shot John and stole it!"

Dick flinched at the name and took a step back. Damian looked alarmed, but didn't bother to ask any questions. He turned back to the commotion in the living room. Jason, Bruce, Thomas, and Tim all returned at different times, but Alfred put them back to work with different tasks.

"Evidence?"

"Zucco murdered our son." John growled, despite Alfred digging into his shoulder with the tweezers.

Dick took another step back, his breathing quickened and his heart beat wildly in his chest. It didn't make sense. Nothing that was going on made any sense. How could he be dead? Well, how could he be dead again in this timeline? How could his parents be alive? He'd only changed Bruce's future. Why was everything else being affected?

"We finally found evidence, but one of the cops leaked information to Zucco. He—he wanted to silence us with money, but we wouldn't take it so he shot… and he took it!"

"Dad, who are these people?" Damian asked, giving up being next to Dick, who was still staring on the staircase.

"This is John and Mary Grayson. They are close friends of ours. A while back they lost their son." Thomas answered.

"Now we've lost our retribution." John muttered darkly.

"Please, can't you do something, anything?" Mary cried. "Is there any way we can get that evidence back?"

"I'm afraid I don't know of anyone remotely close to Tony Zucco. I'll do what I can. For now, rest here." Bruce answered. "We'll keep you safe."

"Thank you."

Dick snarled. He was done thinking. He was done with being cooped up. No. Zucco had harmed his family again, and he would do more than get the evidence back. He would beat Zucco into the ground and throw his ass in jail. He was out of the house before Damian could return to the staircase in hopes of dragging him into the living room.

"What was your son's name?" Jason asked softly, handing Alfred another tool.

"Richard." Mary wiped her eyes. "He was our little Robin. He was always so happy."

The room became very quiet. Tim turned to Bruce, who could only stare at her.

"Robin… Dick…" Jason said slowly. "This isn't possible!"

"How did you know we called him Dick?" John frowned and hissed again when Alfred prodded him with a needle.

"Dad, he's gone!" Damian pointed to the empty staircase.

"He's going after Zucco." Bruce ran a hand through his hair.

"What's going on? I don't understand." Mary pulled away from Martha.

"How did your son die, Mrs. Grayson?" Jason asked, eying the woman with a seriousness that would have rivaled Batman's.

"He… he fell. We worked in a circus as The Flying Graysons. It was Dick's first night and… we were told it was an accident; but we'd never be so neglectful of our equipment. We tried to prosecute, but we never had the evidence. And now… now when we've just gotten proof it's been taken away by the man who murdered him!"

"Dick said he used to travel with his parents. Dad, it's got to be him. There's too much of a connection." Tim squeezed his father's sleeve tighter. "This guy is dangerous, we need to get him back."

"What are you saying?" Mary looked torn between disbelief and grief. "I don't understand what you're saying!"

"We think your son is alive." Thomas answered. "But he's telling us another story."

Mary didn't say anything, just stared at Thomas. John stayed completely still on the couch. Jason grabbed his coat and Tim went to grab his as well, while Damian already had on his boots and coat. Bruce had other plans.

"You boys aren't stepping foot out of this house. No one is."

"Were you not listening?" Tim shot back. "Dick's in trouble. This Zucco guy is bad news and—"

"He's more than capable of handling this. He's proven himself before." Bruce answered sharply.

"You let my son go out there?" John's voice was low and dangerous. "You let my son go after that son of a bitch?"

"Let him? No." Bruce sighed. "He's far too clever to control. We've tried before and come up very unsuccessful. If Dick is out there now, we'll never find him. The only thing we can do is wait for him to come back."

Mary sank to her knees and Martha rushed forward to comfort her. "It's alright, he'll come back. He's a brilliant boy, Mary."

"Boy?" Mary's voice cracked. "Dick would be twenty this year. My boy would be a man, Martha."