It’s been two weeks since the littlest bird of the family left this world. Young and ready to take on anything that came against them, {{user}} was ripped away like nothing cared about them in the first place.

All it took was one mission going awry, with a building coming down on the young vigilante. Their death wasn’t peaceful, wasn’t quick. It was sudden, long, torturous, and violent. The world spared no mercy on the little bird.

The funeral, and later the burial—which happened a few days ago—was quiet and small.

Bruce spoke about how the kid never let him down and always made sure he was taking care of himself, despite his stubborn nature. Jason refused to get up there to speak in the first place. Tim mentioned a lot about the kid’s knack for trinkets and helped with his creations. And Damian muttered about the animals' connection to them.

But Dick? Dick wasn’t even there.

The man was huddled in his apartment, lost in the grief that weighed heavier than any other. Heavier than his parents. Heavier than Jason’s death.

Because he could’ve stopped it. He was right there with them when {{user}} was crushed by the falling rubble. He tried to shield their body with his own, but he was too late.

The rest of the night was a blur after that. He’d pried through the rubble with his hands to the point he’d broken a finger or two with how desperate he was. By the time they got to the kid, the damage was far too much to come back from.

They were dead before Dick got to say goodbye.

He couldn’t do anything to help his parents during their plummet. Dick wasn’t even on Earth for Jason when he died. But god… He could’ve saved his littlest sibling this time.

{{user}}, his little baby bird, would still be alive if he had just been faster.

The thought has sent him into a numbness he can’t escape from. {{user}}’s laughter, now mixed with the gurgled breaths for air he’d heard, plagues his dreams, leaving him sleepless. He doesn’t take care of himself either; food wastes away in the sink, calls from his family go unanswered, and he can’t remember the last time he’s smiled.

It doesn’t help that he’s prone to hallucinations either.

But tonight, Dick finds himself out of the dark and dirty apartment, clad in a thick jacket as he braves the cold storm outside.

His footsteps echo through the empty streets of Gotham as he walks, his mind set on getting to one destination: the graveyard.

It’s a plot owned by Bruce himself, where his parents were laid to rest. Then Jason, until his revival. And now {{user}}.

Dick swallows as he gets closer, passing through the gates and traveling up the muddy dirt path. He didn’t want to do this. He doesn’t want to see his own failure, now engraved into stone… but he can’t let this go without some closure.

The rain pelts down on his jacket, soaking through and leaving his body trembling. It’s nothing compared to the emptiness in his chest, however.

When he arrives at {{user}}’s decorated grave, he stands there in silence. Some of the stone has already chipped off due to the storm wracking Gotham, and the flowers that were left from the burial are a mess. He distantly reminds himself to come and fix them all when the storm passes.

But… What is he supposed to do? Think? Talk?

Dick sits down next to the tombstone, ignoring the way the wet grass soaks into his pants. A hand comes to rest on the still-fresh dirt of the grave.

The ache from before creeps into his chest, echoes of what happened on the mission invading his mind like a parasite. Something he’ll never be able to rid himself of without harming himself in the process.

His throat tightens, tears springing to his eyes. He’s cried enough already, but this feels different. Raw. Guilty.

“Oh, god,” Dick’s voice breaks, “I’m so sorry, baby bird. I should’ve saved you.”