Bruce knew he'd made mistakes, but his boys had never been one of them.

Not any one of them he'd regretted, not even through the pain, the scars, the bullet wounds.

They were his sons. There were his boys. And they were his responsibility.

And he'd screwed up with each and every one of them.

"Master Wayne," Alfred greeted as Bruce crossed the premises of his own house.

"Alfred. Damian?"

Alfred gave him a cold look. "He is asleep in his bedroom. He requested your presence, earlier. You weren't available."

Bruce sighed and ran a hand through his hair. Ever since that little mishap with the mugger that got Damian benched, they hadn't had a chance to talk. Well, maybe that was more like Bruce hadn't wanted to talk. He knew he'd never find the right words to say- he just didn't want to lose Damian too.

He ascended the staircase slowly, one step at a time. The banisters were precisely polished, as usual, thanks to Alfred's care. He remembered all the little boys who used to slide down it- all of them had done it at one point, even Damian, according to Dick. (A lot of things he knew about Damian were according to Dick. They had been very close, and he was jealous. Of Dick or Damian he wasn't sure.)

The door to Damian's bedroom stood slightly ajar. Sneaking in softly, he looked around. Everything was neat and precise except for the bed. Damian lay sleeping, blankets strewn around in a sort of fit. Bruce frowned- had Damian had a nightmare? He reached out his hand to brush aside his hair, and Damian mumbled. Out of the corner of his eye Bruce noticed a piece of paper caught in his hands.

Strange, Bruce thought. It seemed to be a picture.

Gently, so as to not awaken the sleeping Robin, he unfurled Damian's hand and took the photo. He smoothed it out with his thumbs and nearly choked.

It was a picture of all four of them- all four of his boys- sitting on a couch, Damian and Tim asleep, Dick the one holding the camera, grinning wildly. And Jason- Bruce would recognise him anywhere- with his face buried in Tim's hair. It must've been recent. A recent moment that Bruce had not been a part of.

It was funny how Bruce had missed out on more things when he was alive than dead.

He looked over at Damian again. Damian, the youngest, yet he'd never let you say that. He was all knives and scowls, but Bruce knew that beneath that, he was Damian Wayne. His son. He had his own way of showing he loved people- like Bruce- but the youngest Robin did love his family, even Tim. As his Father, Bruce had failed him. Just being this close was strange. Not uncomfortable, it should't be uncomfortable, but it shouldn't be strange either. He should touch Damian, hug him, but it was like the contact would burn a hole into his heart, too big for him to recover. He just couldn't... let Damian in. No matter how much he wanted to.

It would 'endanger the mission'. As usual.

To be honest, Bruce wasn't sure what the mission was anymore. All he knew was that it really wasn't worth it.

Bruce's thumb moved over to Tim. He looked small in the picture, curled up protectively against Jason. Trying to shield himself from the world that had been so cruel to him. Tim, the quiet one, the one who cleaned up the messes. The one that Bruce never really got a chance- no, the one that Bruce never really thought to thank. For believing in Bruce when nobody else had. He'd been grieving over Jason for most of Tim's tenure, and maybe that was why he'd never gotten around to treating Tim as more than a partner.

Because he was; because all of them were. And maybe he wasn't the one who replaced Tim this time, but did it really matter? He was never there for him anyway. And maybe just one thank you, just one you-were-right (and I was wrong) would have convinced Tim to stay.

But he hadn't said anything. And Tim hadn't stayed.

The twist in his gut coiled painfully as his eyes moved to Jason. Bruce couldn't even see his face- but he remembered it, as clear as day. Reckless. Fierce. Lonely. And then, dead.

Had... had Bruce ever seen Jason again, without his hood and mask? The picture of the little boy he had once known and the Red Hood he fought now mangled together, creating a face he didn't recognise at all.

He had tried so hard... and had been too late. It was always too late with Jason, but he wished it could have been otherwise. He looked at the picture again. Silently, he wished picture-Jason would look up, and that his face would be the little rebellious Robin that Bruce hadn't known what to do with. And that Bruce'd open his mouth and say, like he'd imagined doing thousands of times, "I'm sorry."

But that wouldn't be enough. It never was.

And finally, Bruce stroked the last person in the picture. The only one who was smiling, looking at the camera. He'd smile through just about anything- Bruce was proud of that. But goodness knows Dick didn't get it from Batman. He'd always be grateful to Dick, for being the one to prove that Bruce could be more than 'Brucie', or Batman. That he had a heart somewhere in him (a heart that could bleed and hurt and kill). And Dick, in a way, would always be grateful to Bruce. For allowing him to become Robin. For giving him justice.

And yet, for all that they were grateful to each other, Batman had still driven Robin away.

He'd thought that if Dick was far away, the villains couldn't hurt him. But he'd ended up hurting Dick more than any villain ever had.

Was it fair to either of them? No. But apologies and confessions just didn't fit Bruce's firm, hard-lined mouth.

And there, in those five minutes, he had gone through more than a decade of sorrow, pain and hurt. And yet...

They were there. In that picture. Alive and breathing and well. And, for Bruce, that was all he'd ever wanted.

Maybe they were happier without him. He'd never know.

But Bruce knew he had made mistakes, a lot of them. From the Joker to Two-face to Gotham City.

But his boys were not, would never be, one of them. Losing them was a mistake. Having them was the only thing he could say, with certainty, that he had done right.

Because no matter the distance that divided them, they were his sons.

And he couldn't be any prouder of them.

And there we have it, folks! The official end of my saga of tales. I'd like to thank all the people who reviewed, liked, or followed this story. Thanks to your support I actually finished a multi-chapter story! I really enjoyed writing this, and I hoped you enjoyed reading it too. We ended with a little of DaddyBats- cause who doesn't like that? Anyway, to all you readers out there, thank you again and goodnight! (Metaphorically. Where I am it's 2 in the afternoon.)

And now, I can confidently say,

The End.