I leave the scenario that led to this up to your imagination. Please enjoy.

. . .

Dick didn't say a word the entire drive back to the cave. His silence begged for space and a Bruce would give him that. Far be it from him to deny any person a heavy, painful silence. More than that, the man knew all too well what the boy was feeling. He had learned and relearned, time and time again, that his best wasn't always enough. This was Dick's first time. It wouldn't be his last. Still, he was only fourteen. What happened hadn't been a failure. The kid had done everything right. So had Batman, but senseless murder never colored inside the lines. Bruce knew with certainty that all Dick could see at that moment was the literal blood on his hands. It was on his knees and his boots too. He'd tried so hard to keep it inside a boy only a little younger than himself, but no amount of medical training or willpower could win a battle that was already lost.

The car was barely in park when Robin hauled himself out and tore off for the shower. Bruce followed at a deliberate pace, meticulously pouring over the night's events in his mind. Once cape and cowl were removed, he took off his belt and set to work replacing and restocking its gear. By the time he went to change, Dick had darted past and was headed upstairs, taking the steps three at a time. Bruce watched him disappear around the bend in the stone wall and waited for the sound of the clock entrance. Once he heard it he stood a moment longer just listening to the vast silence of the cave. Few things ever did as much to steady him. He rubbed his eyes and hit the showers.

Upstairs the manor was dark and quiet. There were no signs of Dick and Alfred had long since gone to bed. Bruce made for the den to prepare for a WE presentation scheduled for mid morning. He had a lunch meeting after that which would afford him a chance for some much needed sleep. He and a few of Gotham elite's usual suspects had planned a business meeting at a new high end Korean place downtown. A convenient -'Ha! Good old Wayne didn't know how much soju was too much soju.'- nap on his office couch would grab him a couple hours. Nobody ever questioned Bruce Wayne's indulgence or his air headedness. That fact had given him a surprising number of unsuspicious opportunities to catch up on sleep over the years.

Bruce worked with only the desk lamp on. He liked the shadows it created in the cavernous study. They comforted him, made him feel peaceful. He worked for about an hour before sitting back in his chair to rest his eyes. Spinning slowly to face the window he opened his eyes to admire the winter starlight shining in the darkened panes. Bruce caught sight of one shooting star before a light in the east wing switched on. It instantly flooded across the snow covered ground outside and obscured his view of the stars.

Bruce leaned toward the window to see where it was coming from. The gym, and he could make out movement inside. He looked at the time. 5:22AM. He sighed deeply. He had hoped the kid had just gone to sleep, but knew better. What happened wasn't gonna let him go that easily. He had witnessed a tragedy, one he had fully expected to prevent. Until that moment young Dick Grayson believed his good intentions and best efforts could stop a determined bullet. It was a turning point and he would need a guiding hand. Bruce got up.

As he passed through the dining room he could see light under the kitchen door. That would be Alfred beginning his morning ritual of tea and solitude at the breakfast counter. Alfred had started every day this way since before Bruce was born. It wasn't until adopting a nocturnal schedule in his mid twenties that Bruce learned of it.

The door to the gym was open a crack and Bruce could just see Dick's shoulders and the back of his head moving furiously. The only sound was that of bare fists attempting to beat a punching bag to death. He pushed the door open and stepped inside. If Dick heard him he gave no indication. He was relentlessly throwing everything he had against the bag. Fierce, angry grunts accompanied each punch and his gray tee shirt was already almost totally darkened with sweat.

Bruce didn't want to talk to him. He wanted to let him work it out on his own like he had done so long ago. But he had been a grown man the first time this happened to him. And it had still been difficult. Even now it was never easy, but he handled it. Dick was fourteen. Fourteen and trying to shoulder shame and guilt and responsibility that didn't belong to him. As Robin he had to learn to accept powerlessness when it reared its ugly head and Batman had to teach him. That was the responsibility Bruce adopted four years ago.

He moved towards Dick and didn't stop until he was standing just behind him at his right shoulder. The teen had shot up in height so much over the last year, the top of his head now reaching as high as Bruce's chin.

"Dick." Bruce said. The briefest pause between punches let him know his presence was acknowledged. "Can you tell me what's wrong?"

"You know what's wrong!" He spat out between punches. He wasn't wearing gloves nor had he wrapped his hands. The skin of his knuckles was bright red from continued impact and at least one was already split and starting to bleed. Real injury to his hands was imminent if he kept on as he was.

"You're going to hurt yourself."

Dick didn't listen. He just kept on hitting, over and over again. Bruce took his shoulder in a firm, controlled grip and pulled so that Dick turned to face him. He pursed his lips in anger and he didn't look at Bruce. Instead he glared at the floor. His chest and shoulders heaved up and down as he breathed heavily through his nose.

"Look at me, son." Bruce said in a gentle way that still somehow invited no argument. Reluctantly, Dick managed to lift his eyes to meet Bruce's. "You need to say it."

He shook his head, shame clouding his expression. His anger buckled beneath it. Bruce kept the steady grip on his shoulder and didn't look away from him.

"I couldn't save him." Dick grit out suddenly.

"No." Bruce agreed carefully. "You couldn't. And that has to be ok."

Dick stared at him a second longer, burning eyes brimmed with tears, before turning to throw another brutal punch at the bag. He let out an enraged scream and leaned into another round of punching. Then he began kicking the bag as well. Then the cursing started, and then the tears. Again Bruce put a hand on his shoulder. Dick's attack stopped abruptly. He pressed his forehead to the bag, squeezing his eyes shut tightly. Tears he clearly wanted so badly to stop streamed down his face.

"Dick." Bruce said. "It's not your fault because you could have or think you should have stopped it." It was true. Both of them knew that but it didn't take the pain away. If it could, neither of them would be who they were now. "And I know" he continued. "just how badly you wanted to. I've been there."

Immediately Dick turned on his heel and slammed into Bruce's chest. His hands snaked around the larger man and clung to the back of his shirt like his life depended on it. Bruce reacted slowly, putting his arms around him, one hand on his back and the other pulling his head against his shoulder. Dick began to sob, heaving coughs and cries against the only other person who could understand. His pain quaked through both of them. Bruce began speaking, quieter this time. "It'll take time, Dick. And maybe you'll find you can't live with it. That will be your choice. There's no shame in it. But if you can, you'll learn how to deal with this. It won't always be this hard. Trust me, son." Dick nodded violently against Bruce's shoulder. Despite his devastation he was still listening, still trying. "You did everything you could. I'm very proud of you." That seemed to make Dick's sobs erupt even harder and his arms tightened around Bruce. He did eventually begin to calm but the shuddering cries continued. For as long as it took, Bruce just held him and let him cry. When finally he was breathing evenly and the tears had stopped, Dick hesitantly pushed himself out of Bruce's arms. He looked down at his feet, embarrassed. Bruce clapped him softly on the shoulder. "You should go shower," he said kindly. "again." Dick coughed a weak laugh and rubbed his unbloodied hand across his teary eyes. He took a deep breath and nodded.

"Come on now." Bruce encouraged and lightly pushed on his shoulder, directing him toward the door. They walked into the hall together and from there Bruce watched him go. "You'll be ok, Dick." He said after him. It felt hollow but he believed it. He knew it. The boy nodded as he went, his posture betraying everything he was feeling, before disappearing further into the manor.

With a heavy sigh, Bruce rubbed his face with both hands and headed toward the light under the kitchen door.