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It's taken Bruce a long time to get where he is now.
He spent years and years isolating himself, hurting himself in whatever way he could justify in his head because he felt like he deserved it. It's easy to tell yourself you deserve to be hurt when you hurt others every time you leave the house.
Things are better, though.
Dick-- who was so, so small when Bruce first met him-- helped a lot. He was your typical, angsty pre-teen with the confidence of somebody who thought they were invincible but the caution of somebody who's already seen too much death. He was a menace and a child, but he dragged Bruce out of his funks by virtue of being there and needing him in a way nobody really had before.
He wasn't good at it, Bruce knows that, but he was trying and he knows Dick still loves him.
Jason was another story entirely. Young and eager in the same way, but more aware of the darkness out in the world. The way things are and how badly they can hurt. It never stopped him from being so, unfailingly good, though, even with his issues.
Every kid he takes in, every Robin he trains, makes Bruce a better man. They teach him new lessons, new ways to be a person again, and no money in the world could ever be enough to pay them back.
(That doesn't stop him from trying, though. He'd give them all anything they asked without hesitation.)
Duke and Stephanie and Cass and Barbara, too. Every single one of them gives him something more to fight for that he didn't have before.
The guilt still haunts him, though. It follows him through the halls of his home, through the streets he stalks, like a ghost. A familiar sort of ghost, too. He can see its green eyes in the corners of his vision, the stark white streak in its hair.
(He's failed all of his children at some point, but no failure will ever haunt him the way Jason's death has. Even now, even after all these years and Jason's return, he knows nothing will make up for the pain and suffering his son was forced to go through. Even still, he will not compromise his morals for it. He will not break.)
Bruce never expects any of the last five years, though. There's a new guilt that stalks him now in the form of Peter Parker-- his grandson from an alternate universe, his grandson who died at the hands of a madman and woke up in the Lazarus pit with nothing but the clothes on his back and a determination to live.
Even if Peter hadn't been born here, in this universe, it makes Bruce feel an exhaustion deep, deep in his bones.
His grandson.
He drags a tired hand down his face, staring blankly at the paperwork on his desk. Wayne Enterprises never sleeps, even when Bruce wishes it did. This is all technically Tim's job, but-- Tim had been excited about dinner. About seeing Peter. The paperwork could probably wait, but it won't kill Bruce to fill it out and make things a little easier.
His love is shown in these small acts, the ways he tries to make things better. He could never manage to say the words out loud, but he hopes the kids all know what he means when he restocks their favorite snacks or fills out their work for them or sneaks evidence into their files to help solve a case.
He hopes they understand.
Pounding footsteps rush towards his door and he stands up, immediately concerned.
"Tim--" he starts as the door slams open, banging loudly against the wall behind it.
"It's Peter," Tim says. There's a tremble to his hands and knees, he looks ready to collapse. Bruce ignore it in favor of following him back to the dining room.
Dick is kneeling on the floor along with Jason, staring blankly at the pile of ashes beneath him. They stain his hands, the knees of his jeans. Even Damian looks shaken, standing behind them and staring with wide eyes at them both.
"Where is he?" Bruce asks. He has a sinking feeling he knows, though.
"Gone," Jason is the one to answer, the only one out of the six of them besides Bruce and Alfred to be even remotely calm. "He's-- he turned to dust right in front of us."
They're all heroes, they deal with death all the time. Bruce knows he taught them all how to handle a crisis, but he also knows what it's like to watch somebody you love die.
"Dick," he makes his way around the ash pile that used to be his grandson, clamping down on whatever grief that's causing him now, to kneel in front of Dick. Bruce grabs his shoulders firmly, squeezing. "Dick. Look at me. You need to calm down so we can fix this."
There's no fixing this, he knows, but he needs them calm.
Dick isn't stupid either, though, and he knows Bruce is lying. It's obvious by the look on his face, the way his hands reach up to cling to Bruce's forearm and his nails dig into the skin hard enough to draw blood. He just keeps staring at the ashes like he expects them to reform into Peter and put things back to normal.
He sighs.
"Damian, Tim," Bruce's voice goes right into commander mode, the same one he uses in costume to get the kids to listen. "Go to the cave. Start looking for what this could be."
(Isn't this what Peter said happened in his old universe when he died? How did it happen here? Why now?)
"Jason--"
"Do it yourself," Jason snaps. He still hasn't managed to get over his feelings about Bruce and, usually, that's okay. He doesn't need to be questioned now, though. Somebody is dead. Peter is dead.
"Jason," he repeats. "Stay with Dick. Do what you need to do. Alfred and I will call the others."
And Jason relaxes, only a little. He's still peeved about getting orders, but, whatever he feels now, his priority is going to be Dick.
Bruce waits for Jason to take his place next to Dick before he's off and starting to make phone calls. Stephanie, Barbara, Cass, Duke, Clark-- anybody he can think of. He can hear Alfred following behind him and making his own calls.
This is a mess. This is-- it's like Jason all over again, but Bruce knows there won't be any miracles this time. There's not a body to bring back, even if he felt tempted to use the Lazarus pit on Peter again.
He won't do that.
He can't.
His eyes slide over to Dick who's sobbing into his brother's shoulder, the ashes on his hands smearing over the jacket as Jason talks to him in soft, slow whispers. Whatever he's saying isn't helping, but Bruce knows that won't last long.
Whoever did this is in for hell when Dick calms down enough to let himself be angry. Between him and Jason, they'll wish they were dead and Bruce can't say he'd even try to stop them.
(He will. He always will. They'll hate him, and this will reopen old wounds between him and Jason, but Bruce has to try and stop them from killing if he can. If he knows about it. He secretly prays they won't bother to tell them.)
He hangs up the phone with a click and a sigh.
There's no time for grief, not now, but he takes a moment to breathe and let himself feel it before he shuts it down.
And, then, it's back to work.