Where Did I Go Wrong?

1

Up until about an hour ago, it has been a slow evening. Quiet. Maybe that's what should have tipped Bruce off--Gotham was never this silent--but he was having too much fun. He'd promised to spend the entire evening with him foster child, and that's exactly what he'd done.

An hour ago, he'd be considered the luckiest man alive: with an amazing child, a god-like creature at his hand in marriage, and more money than he could hope to spend in one lifetime.

Until an hour ago, he'd had everything he could have hoped for.

Now, he clutched to the one thing that had held him for so long.

***

"Robin!" Bruce yelled to his ward. He watched for as long as he dared--staring as the boy was whipped back by the brutal force of a bullet--before he had to turn away and face he man who has shot his son.

Bruce wrestled his rival, finally able to knock the gun from his hand as he snapped it with a sickening crunch. The Joker yelped in pain, quickly retreating to his "sidekick's" side.

Batman barked orders to his fellow leaguers, as he kneeled next to his ward. His child. His salvation from the hell that had become his life.

The boy lay unmoving, stirring only when the calloused fingers of the man he knew as his father brushed against his cheek. "B- Batman?" He coughed. His breath hitched in his throat, heavy, as if he could not catch his breath.

Bruce hummed to the child, rolling him over just enough to take sight of the two circular wounds in his chest cavity. He skimmed good fingers over the delicate, bloodied flesh of his boy and willed himself to gain control of the situation. The worst possible thing Bruce could have done, was let himself be consumed by the guilt and grief that ate away at him.

He applied pressure to his son's crimson injuries, not stopping to think twice about the wincing that followed.

Robin tried his best not to cling to the arm granting the only salvation he needed to his bleeding wounds. He tried not to squirm too much when weight was pressed into his chest, or to cry out with every agonizing breath he took.

"B- Bats?"

"I'm here." Bruce spoke, an almost immediate reply.

"It hu- hurts." Dick squeaked out, desperate for an escape.

"I know... I know." Bruce whispered, barely audible over the intolerable gurgling in his boy's lungs.

Around them, with the villains defeated and the city saved, a crowd had begun to gather. News crews and civilians all lining up to watch on awe as the vigilante they had come to love clutched on to the dying body of his son.

Dick brought up a gloved hand to meet the exposed part of his mentor's face, curling his fingers around the cowl to retain his grip. Batman unknowingly leaned into it, taking little comfort in the action.

Dick wasn't a stupid child. Time was running out, and it was time to face the inevitable. Slowly, he dragged in a deep, painful breath and willed himself to speak.

"P- pr-... Promise..."

"No, Dick."

"Please?"

"No!" Bruce yelled. The calm tenderness of his previous tone slipping away. "I'm sorry." He whispered. He couldn't let go.

"Promise... Promise you'll ke- keep doing th- this..."

Bruce nodded, taking the boy's frail head into his lap.

"Yo- you won't s- stop. Even... Even after t- tonight."

Robin raises his gloved hand to the exposed part of his mentor's face.

"L- love you..." He whispered, forcing a faint smile, and whether he was trying to put himself or Bruce or both of them at peace was unknown. "Dad..."

The silence that followed was deafening and unbearable. Dick's hand begun to slip ever so softly, and Bruce grabbed it, clutching on to everything he holds dear.

Finally, he let the small hand fall from between his own fingers, landing with a quiet 'plop' over the boy's chest.

"I love you too," he whispered so gently that if Clark hadn't been listening as closely as he was, he probably wouldn't have heard it.

In the hushed silence that fell, Batman removed his cape, unclipping it from his suit to lay it across the unmoving child in front of him. He picked up the boy, cradling his head close, and walked past his team.

"I told you to leave this alone," he mumbled, barely able to hide the shame in his own voice. "Someone could get hurt..." Choking on his words, the Dark Knight whisked away as his cape billowed over the young boy's body.

He carried his child away to his ship, never turning back. Nothing would be the same, and he was afraid... Afraid that without this boy to bring light and happiness to the manor, he'd fall into a depression once more.

All throughout the days and nights that followed, the funeral and the holidays, Dick's birthday; only one question rang through Bruce's mind over and over--

Where did I go wrong?

~~~(A/N)~~~

I apologize for nothing! This story is also on ao3 (username: dickiebirdgrayson), and I'm working on a few other things to put on there too, but in the meantime, you can cry about this.