A/N: Because after "Disordered" I just couldn't stop thinking of this. Contains an OC, so be warned. I hate using them, but I just couldn't see this working with anyone else.

Titled after Hell or Highwater's Go Alone, because I was listening to it while I wrote this and the lyrics fit, in a nebulous sort of manner. I'd recommend that you listen to it while you read this, if you have the time. You can probably find it on youtube.

Go Alone

Chapter 1

Her name was "Valery, but you can call me Val, or even just V if that's easier. Hell, I'd probably answer to Vicky."

She was the professional that had been called in after their sessions with Black Canary. She's wearing some strange costume, like she just walked off a movie set. Stiff black denim tucked into sturdy heeled boots, a loose white shirt under a dark grey corset vest, and a battered red trench that looks like she stole it from a JRPG, all buckles and zippers and too many straps. She doesn't look professional, but that's why he knows she is one. She's relaxed in those clothes like she wears them daily and that sense of comfort is supposed to permeate the meetings they have, like the room's aura could be altered just by her seeming like she fit in that chair.

Dick's seen enough psychologists in the last four years to know that they do it intentionally. That they notice everything, it's like talking to the bat, but where Bruce would intimidate, the therapist tries to be your friend. Its twisted and backwards and he wonders why that outfit is familiar for her. It can't actually be comfortable, whale bones and old denim don't facilitate relaxation even though her shoulders are free of tension.

"So, Robin, what can you tell me about yourself?"

"He didn't give you the files?"

"Oh, he offered, but I told him that it would be counter productive. There's an unconditional positive regard we therapists try to cultivate in our relationships. Once you work this job long enough, you can never turn it off. Analyze everything. I'm sure you're familiar with that."

"Carl Rogers, client-centered therapy, right?"

"Indeed. I'm more cognitive-behavioral than humanistic though. I don't usually work with cooperative patients."

"Meaning?"

"I work for a facility a bit like your Arkham. But don't worry, I'm no Jonathan Crane."

"No, you're probably more Harley Quinn."

"Cute. Sarcasm. Now, we can trade witty quips all day if you'd like, or we can talk about something more personal. It's up to you."

"You aren't going to try to get me to talk about my feelings?"

"Oh, I'd love it if you did, but first sessions rarely go that way. Besides, this is your time. I'm just here to listen. Maybe give some advice, but feel free to disregard all of it if you'd like. We'll spend the next hour any way you want to."

Part of him wanted to talk, to spill his proverbial soul and tell her everything. The broken little boy wanted someone to listen to his pain. The bat trained soldier in him, the part of Dick's mind that kept every thought quiet, that was always several steps ahead except when he deemed in necessary to improvise, the part of Dick that was Robin reminded him that spilling his soul would get him nowhere. It wouldn't heal the pain. He would never get past that.

He sighed. "I'm thirteen. I've been doing this since I was nine. I know what I'm capable of. Or at least, I thought I did. Now, not so much. Did you get Canary's report?" He notices that she doesn't have a clip board or a desk and he admires that. Total recall.

"Only the abridged version."

"You going to diagnose us?"

"With what? PTSD? I'd have to diagnose the entire JLA with that. Along with some delusions of grandeur, attention deficit disorders, a few of you would make great examples of schizotypal personalities, and then there are the speculations about sociopathy... It'd take years to get through everything. And a diagnosis doesn't help for things like this. Much as we like to believe that knowing the name of something makes it easier to fight, with real trauma, its not a fight to survive, but something you simply have to endure. Diagnoses only help with medical problems. Not the psychological."

"Sociopaths?"

"Oh, yeah. Don't even get me started on the inherent psychosis inherent in the desire to dress up in spandex and kevlar to fight the criminal element of the world. I could write a thousand dissertations on that one." She sounded tired, the lilt in her voice denoting her teasing and Dick couldn't help but like her. A therapist who could joke, he could work with that.

It was halfway through their fourth session that he let the words slip from his tongue.

"I, the part that hurt the most was knowing that I was willingly sacrificing someone. I can't, I can't trust myself, you know?"

"I remember the first time I lead a team." She paused, deliberating.

He raised an eyebrow.

"Why do you think I'm wearing this? That stake isn't for show." She gestured to the large metal stake that hung from a holster at her right hip next to a longsword, a wicked dagger, and a pouch. She had a matching dagger on the other hip.

"Vampire hunter?"

She gave a fanged grin, winked, then ran her tongue over the sharp edge of an elongated canine.

"So, you're a vampire that hunts other vampires?" He was dubious. He'd seen a lot of things, but a vamp that killed other vampires? Maybe she was just as paranoid as Bruce, gods only knew how many files he had on how to take out every member of the JLA in case of mind control, coercion, or any one of four hundred other scenarios the Dark Knight had contingency plans for.

"It's a bit complicated, but we're like a police force. My first mission as leader of a team, and damn did I do my best to avoid that position, it was a disaster. They were new, way in over their heads, and I was going after a level 5 rogue elder. No way they could handle that. Came down to one of them distracting our quarry while I used every ounce of stealth I had to get a good hit on the red-eye. His name was Devon Waller. He'd been undead for six years. A soldier before that, which was why he was turned. So many of us are warriors, found on the brink, it's a common story, but that just makes it worse. I saw his face on every damn recruit we brought in for years. It didn't help that he volunteered, or that he wanted to die. I'd still killed him."

"But didn't you kill that other guy anyway?"

"Sure, but he wasn't sane. Gone mad from feeding on other vampires, hardly sentient at the point we found him. Couldn't give a coherent sentence if you'd written one for him. It's more like putting down a rabid dog than killing a man. And by our morality, some people just deserve to die. Devon though. That kid had a smile that could light up the pits of Hades like Christmas lights."

"How long ago was that?"

"Six centuries ago."

"Do you remember anything else from that mission?"

"Just him."

"Damn."

He looked sheepish, she just smiled.

"I won't tell a soul. Point is, as leader, you have to make those decisions, whether you like them or not. If you sacrifice yourself, you aren't a leader, you're a hero. You can't be both. Sure, you can go back for a fallen man, but that's after you've insured the safety of the rest. Can't leave 'em to deal with a level 5 ancient by themselves because you couldn't let any of them die. What makes you a good leader is remembering the fallen, for feeling that guilt, for knowing that you'd gladly give your life but you can't, and accepting that, for doing what's best for the team rather than what's best for you."

"You sure you didn't get my file?"

"Yeah. I'm just good at reading people. Spend enough time on this earth and you pick up some things."

"How old are you anyway?"

"Let's just say that I knew the golden days of the Roman Empire and leave it at that."

He kept quiet for a moment until the words spilled again.

"I don't want to lead anymore."

"I don't blame you, but the fact that you knew you had to at least see that Mothership out proves that you have what it takes. More than anyone on this team. For now, no one's gonna force you to take command, but leadership is in your blood kid. You have the instincts. Don't let one horrible mission shut you down."

"We have Kaldur, we don't need a new leader."

"Kaldur's a soldier. Born to follow. He works for now, but that mission should have told you something. Who stayed until the end?"

"Megan."

"That's because the simulation was designed to make everything worse. In reality-"

"I know that, but I can't just shut everything off. I can't just become the Batman."

"No one wants you to. You're Robin, not Batboy. Ever think that was significant?"

He raised an eyebrow.

"You aren't the Bat's sidekick. Of all of them, you are the only one who is a partner because for all that Batman teaches you, you teach him."

"Maybe." He glanced at her shrewdly. "Aren't I supposed to be the one doing the talking?"

"You dark and broody types don't talk much, so I figure I do the talking, you tell me if I'm wrong. At the very least I can give you something to think about."

"I couldn't stand to loose him."

"Hmm?"

"Batman- Bruce. I, I couldn't lose my family again. Every time one of them went down, it was Zucco all over again and I held it together because that's how I was trained. I've dealt with Scarecrow's fear gas more than I'd like. I've seen it over and over in my nightmares and I see it every time we watch a kid lose everything they know. I can handle it, but once Miss M took over and we thought it was real- I saw the head of his statue at the Hall of Justice and I kept thinking it had to be a dream, a training simulation, anything, but if it was real, then I was going to finish the mission, for him, then curl up in a ball and die. I can't go through that again. Once was enough. Once was too many."

"You know you'll always have someone at your side."

"What? I just told you-"

"I know. And I know how that feels. Several times over. But I've survived almost two millennia without getting killed, I think I can survive another human lifetime." That statement could have sounded patronizing, should have sounded patronizing, but it wasn't.

He smiled. "Thanks."

He never thought he'd be burying Bruce. What was left of him. God did that hurt.

He had always hoped that he'd never have to wear the cowl again. He was wrong.

"You know, you don't have to be the Batman. You can be a Batman. A happy one. Or a slightly less serious one. You still have to pull that "I am the night" thing and drive Jim Gordon crazy with the disappearing acts, but you can be a changed Batman. A Batman capable of snarky humor and a smirk. You don't need to be him. No one wants you to be. One was enough, thank you very much."

He turns toward her, "Val."

"Yeah?"

"You are a really shitty therapist."

"I know."

"Then why do you-"

"Because it works. Because it's something I can do that keeps my mind off the next time I have to feed. Because even though I'm a shitty shrink, I'm a good listener. I'm not conventional, and it works."

"Think I could try that?"

"Dickie-bird, I think you already have."

A/N: Please let me know what you think about this.

- Kirrae