Here's some emotional angst for y'all. You know I just can't stay away from this, right? It had to be done. From yesterday's response, I'm tempted to post three chapters today. The problem is we're catching up to where I'm at in my writing. I don't know if I can pump out two chapters a day until the story is done. Sorry, but pretty soon I may have to cut back to one a day.

"Dick, son, I don't know how or why you're here, in front of us," John started slowly, "but you'll understand if we ask you to prove you are who you say you are. All of this time travel and dimensional travel has us a bit confused."

"Proof?" Dick looked up into the eyes of his parents. "You want me to perform? Or answer questions? DNA test? Anything."

"Dick, what is our family tradition during Christmas?" Mary asked, looking extremely hopeful.

"Which Christmas?" Dick asked immediately. "The one with the circus family or our private family?"

She didn't bother replying, instead crossing the room and gathering him up into a hug. "Oh Dick, it is you!"

His father was instantly there as well, pulling the two of them close to him. Dick was overwhelmed. He hadn't hugged anyone in so long. And to be hugged by his parents… his parents who were here, and not a dream or illusion from Scarecrow's gas or Poison Ivy's poison. This was real.

They held the embrace for several minutes, Mary sobbing into her son's shoulder and John pressing his nose into Dick's hair affectionately. Dick wasn't really sure what to do, where to put his hands, or even if he should say anything. He just stood there, taking in the scent of his mother's perfume and the strength of his father's arms around him.

"I'm so sorry!" His mother sobbed.

Dick's heart wrenched in his chest and he held his breath. What was she saying? What was she saying and why was she saying this?

"I'm so sorry, Dick," She repeated, tightening her arms around him. "I couldn't do anything but watch as you…"

Oh no. No, no, no, she was taking away everything he was supposed to say. He tried to back away from her, but she refused to release him.

"Mary, it's not your fault. I'm your father, Dick, I should have been watching out for you. I let that bastard take you away from us. Please, forgive me."

No, this was all wrong! Dick squirmed and finally managed to free himself, looking horrified. Mary sank to her knees and continued to sob. John looked pained just looking at him. If anything, it was Dick who should be on his knees asking for forgiveness.

"No." Dick shook his head. "No."

"I understand that you don't forgive us—" John was cut off.

"No! No, that's not it!" Dick frantically waved his arms and shook his head. "I… you… You didn't do anything wrong!"

"We let you die, son!" John argued, pain lacing every word.

"It's not you," Dick swallowed, trying to push back the emotions threatening to explode. He'd kept it bottled up for so long, and here was his chance to let it out. "who should be apologizing. It's me, Dad. I didn't… I couldn't do anything but stand there and you…"

John embraced his son once more and rocked him gently from side to side. It was comforting and Dick knew he'd been forgiven. His mother found the strength to join in the family hug once more and after a couple of minutes Dick was sat down, a parent on either side of him.

"How old are you?" Mary asked.

"Thirteen."

"You're so handsome, but it would be nice if I could see your eyes, Richard."

Dick frowned. He didn't really feel comfortable taking off his mask. These were his parents, sure, but it made him feel vulnerable. Reluctantly, he peeled off his mask and looked his mother in the eye. She smiled and stroked his cheek, pulling his forehead to hers.

"I always knew you'd be handsome."

"A real lady killer, eh?" John smiled for the first time and squeezed Dick's shoulder. "Any girls you like?"

"No."

"So you're into men, then? Hey, don't worry about it, we don't judge."

"What? No!" Dick pulled away from his mother to stare at his father in disbelief. Just because he wasn't into any particular girl automatically meant he was gay? His father was stranger than he'd remembered.

"Dick, come home." Mary squeezed his hand.

"Mom, I—"

"Dick, whether it's you from the future, the past, or another dimension, we love you all the same. You're still our son." John interjected.

Dick stood up and pulled himself away. "Mom, Dad, I can't."

"What's stopping you?" Mary demanded, voice still soft, but brows furrowed. "Is it the Waynes?"

"It's not them." Dick bit his lip. Okay, maybe that was part of it. "Bruce has his own family now, but I know you. I know you'll worry."

"You don't mean to quit playing hero, do you?" John's voice took a dangerous low. "Dick, tonight you got lucky. You're not hurt and you managed to get Zucco, but you're just a ki—"

"Don't say it!" Dick balled his fists. "Don't you dare say I'm just a kid. I'm not."

"You're not a man yet, son."

"You don't understand!" Dick pulled his mask back on. "This is who I am now! I'm Robin."

"You're our son, Richard John Grayson. Why are you acting like this?" Mary swallowed back the furious tears threatening to make themselves known. "Why are you putting yourself in danger?"

"I'm not the same person as your son; the son who's in his grave wondering why his parents are replacing him. I'm sorry, but I can't. If I don't do this, who will? There's no Batman anymore to protect Gotham."

"The police—" John started, only to be cut off by Dick once more.

"The same ones who leaked information to Zucco? You know as well as I do 90 percent of them are corrupt and the other 10 are useless." Dick took a deep breath. "I've proven myself before to Bruce, to Commissioner Gordon, to everyone. I took down Zucco and retrieved the evidence. Why isn't that proof enough for you?"

"You're going to get yourself killed!" Mary stood and took a few steps toward Dick, who took just as many back.

"I'm not your son. My parents are dead, and while I love you, I can't stay with you. I wish I could go back in time and save you. You don't know how hard I wish it was me instead of you."

"Don't say that." Mary whispered. "Please, don't ever say that."

"I was trained to do this." Dick looked at them pleadingly, although they couldn't see his eyes, his body language spoke all. "Please, you have to understand. I'm saving people. I'm saving this city. I know you; I know that you'll either try to stop me every night or you'll try to come with me. I can't let you do either."

"Why you?" John asked. "Why does it have to be you who saves Gotham? There are plenty of other superheroes! Superman can fly, the Flash has his speed! Someone else can take over this, Dick. The Justice League will—"

"Justice League?" Dick's eyes widened. "There's a Justice League here?"

"Of course there's a Justice—why?"

"I can go home. If I can hack into—Mom, Dad, I have to leave. I don't belong here. If I stay with you, if you convince me to stay with you, it makes parting harder."

"Why can't you stay?"

"I'm from another dimension. Being here physically is causing an imbalance. In fact, any minute now this universe could collapse." Dick hadn't thought about that. Then again, he'd only just put the pieces together. "It's not safe for me to stay. I need to find a way back home."

There was a heavy silence.

"What about in the meantime? From what I gather this dimension hopping isn't exactly easy." John said. "You don't even know how you got here in the first place."

"True, but I can send a signal through the Watch Tower. I doubt the League will just let me in, so I'm going to have to hack it."

"Hack the Justice League base?" Tim's loud whisper was clearly heard through the door.

"Shh! You idiot!" That was Jason.

"Way to go, Drake, they probably heard you."

"I can still hear you!" Dick called over his shoulder.

"You still didn't answer us, Dick." Mary noted. "Will you stay here?"

"Yeah, if Bruce will have me. I mean, the Batcave still isn't finished. I'll need to get it set up before I can even begin to hack the JLA system." Dick frowned. Between patrol and working on the Batcave, it was going to be a rough couple of weeks—if the universe even held for that long. He'd already been here for over two months.

"We can visit, then?" Mary took Dick's right hand in hers. "You won't have a problem with it, will you?"

"Sure." Dick slumped. "I'm sorry I can't go live with you. It's hard on me, too."

"We understand now, son. You be careful, alright?"

"Are you leaving?"

"It's late," Bruce interjected from a now open door. "Why don't you stay here? Honestly, we wouldn't mind you staying here until Dick ends up going home."

"No," John declined, "Dick is right. It's hard enough, losing a son once. Getting so close and having to say goodbye again is too hard for us. We'll stay the night and visit twice a week."

"I'll show you to your room." Alfred led the way, and Dick watched them climb the stairs.

Seeing them again after so long was tough, and he was emotionally exhausted. Damian managed to jump him behind and push him face first into the carpet.

"What's this about a Batcave, Grayson?"

"Brat's right. You've been hiding things from us and it's not nice." Jason pulled Damian off of Dick, much to the dismay of the youngest.

"Not appreciated, Todd."

"Just shut up for once, will you?" Tim hissed. "Give the poor kid a break."

"Enough, go to bed." Bruce shooed them away and helped Dick back to his feet. "It's already past midnight. Time for bed."

Dick hummed in response, eyes drooping. Bruce smiled and shook his head. He ushered Dick up the stairs and into his room, helping him get out of his Robin suit and into something more suitable for sleeping. Truly, he was fascinated by every inch of the Robin suit. Such craftsmanship went into the design and secret pockets.

It was a work of art.

And then Bruce imagined his own Batman suit. He'd have to make Dick draw it up for him. All of his dreams as a kid of being a hero, just like the vulnerable boy in front of him were rekindled.

"A Batcave, huh?"

"It is quite the feat, Master Bruce." Alfred said, a knowing smirk on his face. "The boy built it nearly himself. Of course, he did manage to access many of your funds. I assure you, however, that he spent only a few hundred thousand."

"A few hundred thousand?" Bruce stared down at the sleeping boy.

"Sir, he is leaving eventually. So I imagine you will inherit it. He seems to know exactly what goes where and has set to work building an impressive and very dangerous motorcycle."

"Who taught this kid?" Bruce muttered to himself.

"I believe you did, sir." Alfred answered. "Might I draw you a bath?"

"No, I think I'll go straight to bed. Thank you Alfred."

"No need to thank me, sir, it is my job after all. If you tortured me endlessly for hours I may just admit to have taking a liking to it."

"Oh really? Only now after over thirty years of service?"

"Until many, many hours of torture, sir."