Heroes by R'rain That thought never seemed to leave him, no matter how many times he saved a life, no matter how many times the words were said to him. Donning the Robin suit and going out into Gotham to fight crime gave him a real satisfaction in helping people, but it wasn't enough. No matter how much he did, it was never enough. "Master Dick." He looked up suddenly, noticing for the first time the darkening sky. The edge of the garage door had been digging into his back where he had been sitting, leaning against it, but he hadn't even felt the discomfort until his attention had been abruptly pulled away from contemplating their latest battle. "Dinner is ready. Would you care to eat?" "Oh...yeah, Alfred, I'll be in in a minute." He stood up slowly as the butler reentered the manor, staring out across the vast lawn and at the trees that bordered the Wayne estate. The grounds seemed endless sometimes, like a sanctuary against the evil that was so pervasive in the other half of their lives. He slipped past the rows of cars and bikes and went in through the side door, sauntering down the hallway towards the washroom. He'd learned the hard way that Alfred wouldn't serve him unless he'd washed up, especially after working on his bike. Life here had changed him in a lot of ways, both large and small, and frankly he wouldn't have it any other way. Walking through the empty hallways, he recognized, not for the first time, that the whole house fit him better than it had at first--less of a museum and more of a...well, home. "Dick." Bruce stood up from the table as his younger partner walked into the kitchen. When it was just the two of them, they didn't bother with the grand dining room--it was far too stiff, too formal. There wasn't that kind of distance between them. "Yeah," he acknowledged the greeting, sitting down. The silver and china place settings he would never get used to, but Alfred insisted and so they were present at every meal they didn't slap together themselves. He ran his spoon half-heartedly through his bowl of soup. "Something wrong?" "Huh? No, not really. Just thinking." He took a tentative spoonful, and held it in his mouth for a moment. It was good, naturally, but the taste was dull on his tongue. "We--Batman and Robin, that is--got a thank you letter from Danny Talbot's little girl for saving her father's life. I got it from the Commissioner earlier today. Would you like to see it?" "Maybe later." He picked up the sandwich and looked at it without taking a bite. "Something's bothering you." Dick chastised himself for the unintentional sarcasm, but couldn't really take it back. Once again his partner was stating nothing but the obvious, and holding back the questions he really wanted to ask. This time, though, he was almost thankful. Bruce, after all, *was* a hero. "Nothing that a good, long ride this afternoon can't cure," he said, finally setting down the sandwich and standing up from the table. He'd barely touched his food. "Where are you going?" "I don't know." "Do you want to read the letter before you go?" Dick shook his head. "I, uh, don't think I can," he admitted, then fled the kitchen before Bruce's dark earnest eyes could make him reveal any more. It had begun to rain before he'd gotten more than a few miles away, the sky darkening in streaks above him. Well, that just figures. It slid harmlessly off his helmet and off his thick leather jacket so he ignored it. It remained light, and patches of blue sky still peeked through randomly as he kept riding. He didn't even know where he was going until he got there, stopping his bike at the gates of St. Mary's Cemetery and pausing there for a long, quiet moment. He shut off the engine and just sat, staring through the slits between the wrought iron bars at the rows of marble monuments beyond them. Finally he stepped off and pulled open the gate just far enough to step through. He'd only been here once before, for the funeral. Even now, months later, a wave of guilt flooded over him. There was no turning back now that he was here, though, and he forced himself to take step after step towards the place where his family was buried. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his vision blurring as he looked at the names carved into the headstones. Those two words ripped his heart out and laid it bare on the ground in front of him. For a long while he couldn't say anything else; he bowed his head and stood there, tears slipping unnoticed down his face and landing on the already-wet grass. A pair of warm hands settled on his shoulders as he stood there. "You followed me," he managed to get out without turning, his voice raspy. "No," said Bruce softly. "I just had a hunch." He turned Dick around and simply held him for a moment--his embrace awkward at first, but becoming closer as he seemed to shed his self- conscious aloofness and let himself just be there. The younger man never cried outright, but the tears still fell until there were no more left in him. "It was never your fault." The words broke the long silence between them, seeming to come from nowhere but fitting perfectly. Dick shook his head, pulling away from his partner's embrace. "Dick, you have to forgive yourself," he said carefully. "You have to forgive yourself before you can let anyone else in." "I can't," he whispered. "It's not your fault that you lived." Dick was silent, with no more tears, even, to say what words couldn't. "And it's not my fault that *I* lived either. We're not to blame." He reached out for Dick's shoulders again as the other man stared at the graves. Bruce had done what he could to give them a respectable memorial, but none of that mattered right now. "'Dear Batman and Robin'," Bruce began from memory. He made a token struggle to get away but Bruce's solid grip on him kept him from moving. "'My daddy came home today. He says he is feeling lots and lots better now. He says that you saved him from dying. I didn't want my daddy to die. Thank you for not letting my daddy die. Now he can play horsey with me again and make me my favorite pancakes like animals. Katie.'" He paused a moment to let the letter sink in. "Can you listen to that and tell me that you haven't done good?" "It's not...enough." "It is enough," he insisted. "It's more than enough. It's more than anyone has ever asked of you." "It won't bring them back." "Nothing will." The words hung there. It wasn't like it was a new idea to him, but to hear it said aloud brought back a lot of memories he'd tried to keep buried these past months. "Everything we do for everyone, it's good...but for us, nothing changes." He said the words helplessly, feeling as though they'd never been quite so forlorn before today. "Nothing changes until we change it. We won't feel anything until we let ourselves feel it. And we won't find family until we look at what's in front of us." "You're all I have," he whispered. "You're all I need." He turned Dick towards him a second time and kissed his slightly parted lips before the moment left them. The rain continued to fall unnoticed over them as they both stood there, their lips joined, neither one pulling away even for air. When they finally, regretfully, parted, Dick couldn't keep his eyes off his partner. "Please let yourself feel," said Bruce quietly. "Let yourself accept someone else's gratitude, someone else's love." "Yours?" "And Katie's, and everyone else whose life you've affected. But...mostly mine," he confirmed "I need to think," evaded Dick. "Do you?" With an impulsive rush, Dick kissed his partner back, much more forcefully than the previous one, once again letting actions speak far louder than words ever could. "If you're all I ever have," he said finally, his face pressed against Bruce's neck, "I would be happy." Bruce continued to hold him close. "Let's go home," he said, steering his friend back towards the cemetery gates. --End--