'But when the morning comes,
And the sun begins to rise,
I will lose you.

Because it's just a dream,
When I open up my eyes,
I will lose you!' - Winnie-The-Pooh

5. Senility

Dick had never felt so old.
Maybe, sometime between the leotard and the yellow cape and the blue bird and the black cowl, the years had fallen down the drain. Towards the sea.
They slipped away, and disappeared, and left him all alone.
The tie around his neck itched like a noose. Above, the sun shone like fire, shining on bright green grasses and poppies blooming. The white clouds drifted upon the slow breeze whispering, spreading rumours to the four corners of the sky.
What a beautiful day...
His hands were clasped in front of his white shirt, unstained and ironed clean, fingernails digging into his palms. Not drawing blood.
Not yet.
"...Would anyone like to say a few words?"
Tim tugged at Dick's sleeve. Dick knew what he meant- a few words? how could anyone describe anything in a few words?
How he used to be-
How you loved him-
How he loved you-
How he left-
And how you hurt-
...There were no words left. There was nothing to say.
"...If that is all," the priest broke in, shattering the silence. A priest? Why?
Since when have they believed in heaven?
"If that is all," the priest repeated, "then we can move on."
...No.
No, we can't.

He was sitting in a chair, after most of the people had gone. Bruce had spared no expense, as he was expected to. He hated this. Everything was so fancy, so fake.
Yet, somehow, the silence made it real.
Tim rubbed his eyes, which were red and puffy. Not from crying- not all sadness was crying- but from exhaustion, and anger. Dick took Tim's hands and held them in his own.
"I d-don't want to be here ever again," Tim choked unhappily. "I don't even- I don't-" He struggled to breathe.
"Damian's gone," he said simply. "He's gone."
"I know."
Tim shuddered, as if the sun became snow. "What... What are we going to do?"
Dick smiled at him painfully. "What we can, Timmy," he said gently. "What we can."
"And if that isn't enough?"
"Then..."
"Then we do what we must," a deeper voice interrupted.
Tim looked up, and happiness flickered briefly on his face. "Jason," he said shyly. "You came."
"I did," Jason agreed. He scraped a chair noisily across the floor and plopped down onto it.
Dick could see he was shaking.
"You didn't have to come," Dick said softly.
Jason gave him a look. "Yes. I did."
Unconsciously, they all turned to Damian's gravestone- then they turned to the one beside it, no longer readable, a smote pile of ashen grey.
The bullet shells still hid in the grass.
"At least," Jason mused, but his voice was high, "at least he gets a better patch of grass. My patch is as ugly as Bruce's cooking."
Tim put his head on the table, as if listening to the ground. "Does it hurt to die alone?" he asked tentatively.
Jason snorted. "It hurts to die."
A bird, curiously digging around for crumbs, landed on the table. It seemed strangely unafraid of them. Its yellow beak stood out against its black head, its breast an orange-red.
A robin.
Finding nothing on the silver table, the robin flew away.

"Does it hurt less the second time?"
Dick started. They were sitting in the grass, directly in front of the gravestone. It seemed a nice place to sit. In a way
Jason sighed. "Does it hurt less, the second time?" He impatiently repeated.
Dick shrugged his shoulders. "It hurts the same," he admitted. "Every time."
Clenching a fistful of grass, Jason snarled. "I warned him. I warned Bruce- how many children does he need to kill before- before-"
He choked on his own words and fell silent. Beside him, Tim leaned his head on Jason's shoulder.
There was a long, stretched silence.
"It's time to go."
They looked up to see Bruce, standing in his tuxedo. His blue eyes were clear and cold.
"Do... do we have to?" Tim asked quietly.
Bruce squatted behind them. "Yes, chum. I'm afraid we do."
Jason scowled angrily. "I told you... I told you! I told you and you didn't listen and now he's gone and who knows if he'll come back? If you even want him to-"
"Jason!" Dick intervened sternly. "It wasn't Bruce's fault. It wasn't anyone's fault..."
Jason snorted. "It's always someone's fault."
Bruce didn't speak. He stood up, brushing off his black coat. He stood for a while longer staring at the gravestone and his sons and the gravestone with his son.
"Come on," Tim said slowly. He stood up shakily.
Jason's lip disappeared under his teeth. "I'm staying here," he growled. "Where I belong."
"Jay-"
"Don't." He looked up at Dick with tired eyes. "Just... I just want to be alone for a while."
And so they left him there, still sitting in the grass, hands around his knees.
And they knew he was waiting for the sound of scratching beneath the earth, hard fingernails on a wooden coffin, searching for a way out.
Waiting to help Damian, because nobody helped him.

The bed was cold in the twilight hours. Dick sat with his head in his hands, because he was too tired of the world to face it right then.
Outside the window the breeze still blew.
A knock came from the door. "Dick?" called a timid voice.
"Come in, Tim," Dick responded.
Tim came in, fidgeting with the hem of his pajama top. Dick moved over to clear a space for him on the bed.
"Bruce isn't talking to anyone," he informed Dick. "He didn't eat his dinner, didn't change out of his fune- his formal clothes. Alfred is worried, and- and I am too. Will he become... angry again?"
Dick offered a small smile. "You snapped him out of that before," he soothed, "I'm sure you can do it again."
"But... but things are different now. Bruce is different." Tim sighed. "And the world got so cruel..."
"Hey, don't be like that. We're supposed to be the happy ones."
"No, you're supposed to be the happy one. I'm not supposed to be anything..."
Dick ran his hand through Tim's hair, black, like all of theirs were. One of the only things they all had in common, besides Batman, and Robin.
(And maybe that feeling of helplessness when another one of them dies.)
"Well, be the happy one with me now, okay?" Dick forced a grin. "Help me. Help all of us."
Tim looked out the window. "It feels bad, now- but things will be okay, won't they?"
"Do you think so?"
Tim paused for a brief moment. "Yeah. Yeah I do."
Outside the window, the trees swayed in the wind. A robin hopped from a high perch to a lower branch, searching for its nest. Searching for its family.
Titus howled in the hall below them.
"It isn't over," Tim continued. "Life goes on."
"Yeah," Dick said, smiling slightly. "Life goes on."

Okay! Finally, we've reached the end of this journey. Since this was Damian-centric, somehow I had to end it without Damian (yeah, I know, makes sense). Anyway, it's a bit shorter than usual, but I hoped you enjoyed this! Please like or review. Thanks to everyone who made this journey worthwhile, and for everyone who enjoyed this at all. See you in a new story!