A.N. It's officially September 11th. This is my last chapter on this story. And thank you for all the reviews. I just want to explain something real quick though.

Wally peeked out of the hallway into the living room. He found who he was looking for. Wally stepped into the room hesitantly, not wanting to disturb her.

Iris was lounging on the coach, presumably asleep. At least she was pretending to anyways. Her eyes were clutched tight and her fists were balled up. He wished she would actually sleep. During this week is when she always had her worst nightmares.

During this time, she would push herself harder than her body and mind could actually go. Tried to keep as busy as possible, so that she'd be too exhausted to have dreams. Wally watched her for a moment before going over to the coach and lying down on it with her.

Iris didn't even bother to pretend anymore. She pulled Wally closer to her and buried her face into his soft red hair. Then she began to cry. She held onto him impossibly tight as she recalled all the things she desperately tried to forget. Things that would make a lesser person go mad.

The smell of burning flesh and smoke. The feeling of being trapped in hell. Flames dancing everywhere as she tried to escape, burning her.

She remembered seeing people fall as they jumped out of the windows from higher levels, knowing that hitting the ground would at least be a quicker death. She had been one of the lucky to survive. She had been rescued moments before the towers had collapsed.

As Iris sobbed out the horror, all Wally could do was hold her closer and wish he could make her forget, that it had never happened. Wishing that he could make her forget the screams of the people who hadn't been so lucky.

Dick rolled up his sleeves and glanced at the clock. It was time. He headed downstairs and joined Bruce, who acknowledged his presence with a brief nod. Alfred handed them a basket and they told him good-bye.

Bruce and Dick bordered the jet, a regular one, and set off. They arrived a little ways away from Shanksville, PA. Both of them came off the plane with all the supplies they were going to need. All around the area of where the plane had crashed, they planted red, white, and blue flowers.

After about 3 hours of this, Bruce brought out the picnic basket Alfred had given them. They ate in silence and were soon back to work. They worked until the sun started to fall. Dick planted the last of the flowers before standing up and brushing the dirt off his shorts. He walked over to his mentor and stood by him. They watched the sunset together. Dick remembered the first time they did this, when he was 9.

Bruce had been doing it for 9 years in secret now, while Dick had just been doing it for 4 or 5 years. He recalled asking Bruce why the terrorists had chosen such a specific date. The man had held a grim look on his face when he had turned to the 9 year old boy.

'The meaning of the attack was to destroy our icons of help and hope. They chose that day to mock us. This was done on 9/11 Dick. 911.'

Dick had reveled in his disgust and horror from that taunt. But as he stood, watching the familiar sunset, he had only one thought.

The attack had been catastrophic and had caused worldwide panic. But instead of falling apart, we pulled through. That attack made them stronger, not weaker. As long as that flag stood, there would always be hope for him.

A.N. I hope the last bit wasn't too cheesy. Any questions please PM or review me. Thank you all for taking time to read this.