-The road to hell is paved with good intentions.

The ache for home lives in all of us, the safe place where we can go as we are and not be questioned. -Maya Angelou

Grit and grime, but paved with good intentions. Gotham would never be beautiful, nor would she ever be particularly normal, but under the haze of pre-dawn sunlight Dick could already see the progress that Bruce and his posse of allies had accomplished. The streets seemed a little brighter and average citizen seemed slightly less skittish than he remembered. Normally those would have been bounds and leaps towards what Bruce felt…had felt would be the city's shining future. However Dick could not bring himself to relish the small victories as they would not last. After all, what chance did Gotham stand without her masked protector?

Not even half way to the manor, Dick felt his aching feet begin to falter in their already slug like pace. He was pushing seventy-two hours without sleep and found that his mental word games were no longer enough to keep him lucid. So when the sharp neon of 'Bill & Bob's Diner' pierced his bleary gaze Dick couldn't help but stutter step to a halt. He couldn't remember when his last meal had been, but the hollowness in his gut quickly took the backseat once the thick, bitter aroma of coffee assaulted his senses. The smell alone jolted a slight tingling back into his exhaustion heavy limbs.

Just one cup, I'll get it to go.

His plan had been a simple one and he didn't even care about the looks he got as he ambled in with his collar turned out, head hung low, and black body hugging suit exposed from the waist down. Dick offered a smile to his doe eyed waitress, patiently repeating his one word order of coffee until she finally managed to scramble away. While his body cried out for rest he refused to do little more than lean against the counter, if he took a seat there would be no guarantee about when he would get back up.

One cup of coffee couldn't take that long but each second ticked by with the intensity of an hour, and the gaze Dick felt burning a hole between his shoulder blades wasn't proving helpful.

"Dick." His name was called with an air of familiarity but underlined with obvious disbelief.

So not feeling the aster—

Turning as little as possible toward the voice Dick momentarily thought about just ducking through the door. But of course walking toward him was his newbie waitress, the triumph of her first completed order bright on her face. Squinting at the peeling name tag, Dick decided he wouldn't be the one to crush Dana's workplace enthusiasm.

So he waited, paying for his beautifully strong cup of Joe and leaving a generous tip while trying to pretend as if he hadn't heard his name called clear across the diner.

One, two, three …his boots clacked promisingly across the scuffed linoleum but with one hand on the door he found that a well calloused hand had taken a firm hold of his left shoulder.

"Dick."

The voice was closer and more incessant, like the speaker was willing Dick to turn toward him. With the meaty grip on his shoulder -the bruised one no less— he was basically forced to oblige.

Even in his sleep deprived, physically beaten state it took only a nanosecond for Dick to place the pair of startling green eyes staring at him.

"Roy."

The archer seemed surprised by such a clipped answer, no rambling or witty quip, just the simple exchange of one name for another. For a moment there seemed to be an echo in the diner, but it turned out to just be the waitress calling Roy to collect his order. In the time it took for the redhead to glance briefly at the counter Dick had slipped silently away, suddenly finding the strength to hurry down the pavement and disappear into the throng of Gothamites mulling about in the early hour.

In the hour and a half it took for Dick to finally reach the manor at Gotham's edge he'd had more than enough time to analyze and then over analyze Roy's reaction to his presence. The man had obviously been shocked, whether by Dick's lack of speech or his haggard appearance could be anyone's guess. However there had been no look of grief or wavering sympathy, the archer had no idea of what had brought him to Gotham and Dick had a sinking feeling that good ole Supes had kept the ordeal under wraps. The boy-scout probably thought it the polite thing to do. But that meant as the eldest it fell to his shoulders to not only inform Bruce's family but also the various heroes and vigilantes who remained in the dark about The Bat's fate.

Pausing at the wrought iron gate, Dick took a minute to stare down the looming mansion. A faint sense of anger bubbled to the surface but he choked it down by jabbing the call button with far more force than necessary. It took little more than a moment for the speaker to cackle to life. "Master Richard what the pleasant surprise! Is Master Bruce with you as well?"

The unbridled hope in the trusted butler's voice was almost enough to make Dick turn back.

But Alfie deserved better than that.

"No Alfred…he isn't."

The static died and without reply the gate swung open.

Dick could check one person off the daunting list.

When he reached the front door and had the novelty of opening it himself he knew in the pit of his stomach that Alfred knew now too, the fate of his beloved Master Bruce.

He found neither hide nor hair of the aging servant and figured he'd retired to quarters more private in nature. In walking the halls of his adoptive father's home Dick too felt a whelming urge to slip away and break.

How he ended up in Bruce's room he didn't really know or mind.

It was crashing in on him –the reality of it all. Being home, brought it home.

Denial was too quickly being replaced with anger, sorrow, and an immeasurable amount of grief. He slammed the flats of his arms against the heavy wood of the door, not surprised that the sturdy oak didn't so much as waver. It was built to withstand Bruce after all.

'You promised… you promised to never leave me alone.'

Assured that somewhere else in the manor a strong, English man was doing the same Dick felt no shame when tears started rolling down his cheeks, carving a path through the grime his last patrol had left on his face.

"He isn't coming home, is he?" The tactlessly blurted question startled Dick from his emotional ravine. When he caught sight of a small shadow cast in front of the window he knew exactly who it was that Damian was inquiring about. He also knew that behind the carefully trained façade, the only biological son of Bruce Wayne was breaking as well.

"No little D, he isn't."

Authors Note: Thank you Ranlou, CG07, and batman-defeats-all for the lovely reviews. This chapter went without being proof read, please forgive any major mistakes.