AN:

Hey guys! This is my second story and, like my first one, it contains much fluff! In this story, Dick is 10 and it's the anniversary of the Grayson's death, so he's been living with Bruce for one year. I am sticking with the fact that the Grayson's were a Gypsy family and that they spoke Romany; it hasn't been confirmed that Young Justice Robin is Romany, but I hope he is! I'm sorry if there are some grammar mistakes in this, but I don't have a beta; I proofread my own stuff. There might be a couple of run-on sentences, but they're supposed to be. This was done for ARL15, who wanted a fluffy DaddyBats story. I hope you guys like it! Please remember to review and PM me if you guys have any requests!

Warnings: no cusswords, just some description of gore :p

Disclaimer: I own nothin'

He saw them fall. Again. Down, down, down.

He watched, helpless, as his mother's blue eyes, so like his own, filled with terror. He watched as she reached for him in vain, screaming. "FIUL! RICHARD! RICHARD!" Over and over again.

He watched as his father, his strong, wonderful, beloved father, shut his eyes tightly, knowing that in a few short seconds, his life would come to an end.

He didn't hear the crowd panicking. He only heard his mother screaming for him. He didn't see the brightly colored walls of the circus tent-his home- around him. He only saw his Mamica and Tati, the two people he loved most in the world. Falling, falling-

SPLAT

Dick's mouth opened in a silent scream as his parents' bodies hit the ground; their bones shattered under the brutal force of gravity, making the most terrifying sound he had ever heard. Blood pooled out from their mangled forms, staining the dirt around them a shocking scarlet color.

And then he was right beside them. Burying his face in his mother's blood-soaked hair, his fist tightly clutching his father's green and gold leotard. He screamed as loud as his little lungs allowed. He screamed and sobbed until he thought his throat might burst.

Suddenly, there were hands grabbing him, pulling at him. Hands attached to the arms of people he didn't know. They yanked at him, telling him to let go. He fought back vehemently, kicking and shrieking.

"MAMICA! TATI! NU, NU, NU!"

And then they were gone; the bodies of his parents were covered up and loaded into the back of some truck. He would never hear his father's booming laugh again, never feel his mother's warm arms envelope him in her soft hugs-

Richard Grayson awoke with a scream in his throat, his heart pounding a furious rhythm in his small chest, cold sweat pouring down his tanned face. He sat bolt upright, his chest heaving, as he yet again relived that faithful night that happened exactly one year ago. He looked around the room in horror; it was dark, cold, and rather empty. It took him a moment to realize that he was in Wayne Manor, safe in his California King bed. It also took him a moment to realize that he was still screaming, tears streaming down his face. He struggled to control his breathing as he heard a door open somewhere in the Manor. Then came the sound of hurried footsteps.

Dick's door flew open. There stood his adoptive father: billionaire Bruce Wayne, clad in a dark blue button-down shirt and black dress pants, despite the fact that it was around two in the morning.

Bruce had been working on the speech he was to give in two days time at the gala he was hosting. Then, his adoptive son's blood-curdling scream had filled the air. He had thrown down his pen immediately and made a beeline for Dick's room.

I should have asked if he was alright before putting him to bed, Bruce thought angrily. It is the first anniversary. He threw his "son's" door open. What he saw made his heart ache.

Dick looked up as Bruce entered the room. He struggled to stop his tears to no avail. He watched as Bruce sat next to him on the gigantic bed, so unfit for a child his size. "Dickie?" Bruce asked softly. Dick couldn't respond; he was having enough trouble trying to breathe. Bruce sighed, closing his eyes, as he took his little bird into his arms. He seemed so small, so terrified. His lithe acrobat body was shaking, his beautiful blue eyes wide and tear-filled. His breath was coming in quick gasps and he was still sobbing. "Nightmare?" Bruce asked, still holding his foster son. Dick whimpered at the word as he broke completely.

His cries became louder as he clutched his mentor, his savior; his new father. He struggled to speak.

"T-they f-fell, B-Bruce! W-why didn't I d-do anything? I s-should have-should h-have-" he sobbed, but Bruce hushed him. He stroked Dick's soft ebony hair, hugging him even closer.

"No, Dick. It's hard to accept, but there was nothing you could have done, understand? It was not your fault, putin pasăre. It wasn't your fault," Bruce whispered, using his special pet name for his son. He gently lifted Dick off the bed and moved himself so that he was sitting in the middle of the bed while leaning back against the headboard. He placed Dick on his strong chest and rubbed soothing circles on his son's back.

Then Dick spoke again. "H-has it really been a w-whole year since they-t-they left, Bruce?" he whispered, finally regaining some self-control. He gazed up at Bruce with those heartbreaking blue eyes, eyes that had seen so much in so little time, seen things that no child should ever have to see.

Bruce nodded sadly, remembering the first anniversary of his own parents' death, how hard it had been to cope.

He was brought back to the current situation with a jolt as Dick started to cry again, burying his face in Bruce's chest. He began to unconsciously speak in Romany.

"Ei au căzut, Bruce! Au călcat! And it should have b-been me! I was suppose to f-fall too! There was s-so much blood! S-so much sânge..." he sobbed. Bruce fought back his own tears as he cupped Dick's face lovingly in his callused hands.

"No," he said firmly, navy eyes meeting baby blue. "Don't think like that, Richard. You were not supposed to die. You're alive. Please, don't ever talk like that. I don't know what I'd do without you. I need you, Richard Grayson. Batman needs his Robin, Dickie."

They sat in silence for the next few minutes, Bruce continuing to rub Dick's back and Dick still gasping. Then Dick spoke again.

"Why did they leave me, Bruce? D-did I do something wrong?" he asked. He said it in such a broken voice that Bruce squeezed him even tighter.

"No," he whispered again. "You did nothing wrong, putin pasăre. Do you hear me? You did nothing, nothing to cause it. Neither of us did..."

When Dick didn't respond, Bruce glanced down. He smiled when he saw that his adoptive son was on his way to sleep.

"Are you going to leave me too, Bruce? P-please don't g-go. Vă rog... vă rog...Don't leave me, Tati..." Dick mumbled sleepily. Bruce's eyes widened; it was the first time Dick had ever called him "daddy." The simple word made something flutter inside Bruce...a desire of some sort. A desire he hadn't felt in a long time: the desire to protect. This little boy meant so much to him, it was inexpressible.

Bruce felt a tear slide down his cheek as he buried his face in Dick's mop of raven hair.

"Never. I will never leave you, Dickie. Dormi…dormi, my little bird. I will be right here…I'm not going anywhere, fiul," he whispered. He looked down again to see that Dick was asleep, his tiny fists still clutching Bruce's shirt. His pink lips were slightly open and adorable puppy-dog snores filled the room.

Bruce chuckled softly and tenderly wiped the tears from Dick's face with his thumb. He set the little Gypsy down on the bed and then lay down next to him, pulling the blankets over both of them. He watched Dick for more signs of nightmares but none came. He gave a third sigh as he looked at his son's sleeping form: his tanned face, the almost invisible freckles dancing across his pixie nose, his soft pink lips trembling slightly, his long black eyelashes almost touching his cheeks. He was absolutely adorable, and Bruce knew that he would someday become a handsome young man. A ladies man, like himself.

Bruce grinned and then leaned over to plant a gentle kiss on Dick's tiny forehead. No, he would never leave this little angel of a child; who could?

When Alfred entered Dick's room the next morning to call him to breakfast, he found his two charges sound asleep; Dick was curled into Bruce's side, whose arm was wrapped protectively around his son.

Because that's what Richard John Grayson was: Bruce Wayne's son. Not in blood, but in every way that mattered.

Whew, done! Sorry if Bruce seemed OOC, but hey, I said it'd be fluffy! I really hope you guys liked this one-shot!

Please review!

Oh yeah, and here are the English translations for the Romany dialogues:

Fiul: son

Mamica: mommy

Tati: daddy

Nu: no

Putin pasăre: little bird

Ei au căzut: they fell

Au călcat: they broke

Sânge: blood

Vă rog: please

Dormi: sleep

~Zara