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Dick remembers his first time being Robin. Nine years old, with a smile so bright he could've lit up all of Gotham on her deepest, darkest night. He remembers looking at Bruce, at Batman , and thinking: I'm gonna be him one day.
Dick thinks about Bruce now, about going out every night and coming home covered in aches and bruises, about Alfred's face creased with worry. Dick thinks: Maybe I don't want to be him anymore.
The thing is this: Dick Grayson has always been acutely aware of his own mortality. Fighting alongside a bunch of superhumans tends to throw one's own fragility into stark relief, especially when Dick's seen most of the League and the Team get injured on missions, superpowers or no. And he knows, of course he knows , he's just a kid, he may be more experienced than some of the others but he's still smaller, weaker, human.
He's always known this. Bruce knows he knows this. So why, exactly, did the Batman think it was a good idea to make a group of teenagers experience their own deaths for the sake of a lesson?
—
Bruce, when asked, says only, "You wouldn't understand."
Dick tries to reign in his anger.
"I thought I was your partner. We're supposed to be equals, Bruce ."
"I'm just trying to protect you, Dick. You'll get it when you're older."
Bruce looks calm, face carefully blank. He's impossible to read right now, no matter how hard Dick tries. He’s never hated anything more.
"Oh, you're trying to protect me? Where were you when me and my best friend fell to our fiery fucking deaths in some fucked up training exercise that was your. Fucking. Idea."
Something flickers across Bruce's face, some combination of anger and sadness and guilt, and Dick turns away. Runs upstairs, grabs his bag, and makes his way to the Gotham zeta tube.
Bruce doesn't follow him.
—
"I don't want to be the Batman anymore."
Dick addresses his knees instead of Dinah. He doesn’t want to see the disappointment on her face after his admission. He feels a lump in his throat, feels his eyes start to sting. He closes them and tries to subtly take a few calming breaths, bracing himself for Dinah’s response.
“There’s nothing wrong with that.” Her voice is gentle. Dick opens his eyes and looks directly at her. He doesn’t try to hide the shock on his face.
He forces out a “What.”
“There is nothing wrong with not wanting to be just like your mentor. You are your own person, Dick. You don’t have to follow in his footsteps if that’s not what you want.”
Dick doesn’t say anything.
—
In his thirteen years of life, Dick Grayson has seen a lot of shit. This? This is up there. He can’t look his friends in the eye knowing his plan was the one that got them killed. Not really killed. Killed in the simulation. It feels like the same thing.
Kaldur corners him in the kitchen on the first day, after his session with Black Canary. Everyone else is scattered around Mount Justice, besides Conner who, as far as Dick can tell, stormed off after his own therapy session. Dick’s rummaging around in the fridge for a snack. He turns around with an apple in his hand and there he is, standing on the other side of the little island with his arms crossed. Dick doesn’t bother trying to slip past him and instead braces himself for whatever Kaldur has to say.
“It was not your fault.”
Dick knows Kaldur means for it to sound reassuring, but it really doesn’t. He fakes a smile and says, “Okay.”
Kaldur frowns a little and uncrosses his arms, coming around to Dick’s side of the kitchen island. “I mean it, Robin. It was not your fault.”
That’s not my name, Dick thinks. His free hand twitches; he wants so badly to take his sunglasses off.
“Okay,” he says, again, and leaves.
—
In his room, Dick starts up his laptop. He sinks back on the bed with the computer in his lap, scrolling mindlessly.
His friends died for him in the simulation, but none of them really know who he is except for Wally. His friends could die for him for real one day, and they still wouldn’t know. Bruce forbade him from telling anyone his identity but—
They deserve to know, don’t they?
And it’s not telling if they find out on their own, is it?
He bunches up underneath his blanket and turns his attention toward the show on his screen, forming a plan in the back of his mind.
—
Dick leaves his room sometime after nightfall. It’s weird, not being out at night. It’s weirder still, being at Mount Justice this late. He’s stayed a few times for team sleepovers, but right now the cave seems to be empty. Everyone else is asleep in their own rooms.
Except Wally, who’s sprawled on the couch in front of the TV, snoring lightly. Dick stifles a laugh at the sight of his best friend drooling into the cushions. Soft light from the TV illuminates Wally’s face, and Dick’s stomach gives a sudden, sickening lurch as he remembers the way that same face looked as they both—
He sprints out of the room and locks himself in a bathroom, sliding down against the door. He curls in on himself and tries to control his breathing, it’s just a memory, it wasn’t real, get a fucking grip. It doesn’t work and, to his horror, Dick feels sobs rising in his chest. He punches the wall next to him, trying to— to what, scare off a panic attack? It’s a stupid idea but he doesn’t want to lose control right now but he can’t make it stop, can’t stop remembering the desperation and the fear and he curls up and lets his brain shut down.
He still feels unsteady twenty minutes later but he thinks this is as good as he’s going to get right now, so he gets up and leaves and goes back to where Wally is sleeping on the couch. This time, he keeps reminding himself that they’re all alive, they’re safe, the simulation wasn’t real, everything is going to be fine. He makes an unnecessary amount of noise as he walks over, stomping his feet a little. Wally snorts in his sleep at the sound, then blinks open his eyes slowly. He takes one look at Dick and stands up, opening his arms and gathering him up in a hug. Ordinarily, Dick would be embarrassed that anyone could read him so easily, even Wally, but right now he thinks this might be exactly what he needs.
“Wally,” he says, “I need your help with something.”
—
Dick and Wally stay up late talking over Dick’s plan, dubbed ‘Operation: Bat Out of the Bag’ by Wally. Morning sees them curled up together on the couch, TV still on and buzzing quietly. M’gann and Conner find them still asleep on their way to make the Team’s breakfast. M’gann takes a photo.
Dick wakes up slowly. Wally’s still snoring next to him, he can hear Conner and M’gann in the kitchen, and for one moment he feels completely at peace. Until familiar anxiety creeps its way up his spine.
The Team— they’re going to find out who is today. More of who he is, technically; Robin’s just as much a part of him as Dick Grayson is. Dick Grayson and Robin are one and the same but also so, so different and he gets that and he knows Wally gets it but what if the Team doesn’t—
Wally stirs beside him with a loud snore, blinking blearily and stretching. “Hey,” he says, catching sight of the expression on Dick’s face, “it’s gonna be fine.”
Dick nods, trying to look more confident than he feels. “Yeah,” he says, “everything’s gonna be just fine.” One hand comes up to fiddle with the frame of his sunglasses. The plan is simple. Dick takes off his glasses and pretends nothing is different. Wally does the same. This way, he doesn’t need to explicitly reveal his identity; Dick Grayson’s face is well known, the team will recognize him. He takes a deep breathes, pulls his sunglasses off his face, and hands them to Wally. Wally takes them without a word, tucking them into his pocket. “Alright,” Dick says, “here goes nothing.”
M’gann’s only reaction when he walks into the kitchen is a small gasp and widened eyes. “Robin?” she asks, and then, “Is this okay?”
“Is what okay, M’gann?”
She doesn’t say anything, just gestures towards her own eyes. Dick doesn’t say anything, either, just shrugs one shoulder and reaches past her to grab the cereal.
Conner’s staring at him, eyes narrowed. Dick raises his eyebrows. “Is something wrong?” he asks.
“You look familiar,” is all Conner says. Dick spares a second to wonder if Cadmus’ little gnomes thought Gotham City’s social scene was important enough to teach to the Superboy.
Kaldur reacts more or less the same way Conner and M’gann did, meaning he pretends nothing’s different after Dick and Wally do. He doesn’t get a dramatic reaction until Artemis steps out of the Zeta tube and breezes into the kitchen. “Good morni—,” she cuts herself off, eyes widening as she takes in Dick’s face.
“We’ll laugh about this someday?” he tries.
“I think I need to sit down,” Artemis says. She turns around and sinks into the couch, staring up at the ceiling. Dick follows cautiously.
“Um,” he says, “are you okay? Should I, like, uh, get you something? Water…?”
“It’s fine,” Artemis says weakly. “God, it makes so much sense. Of course Dick Grayson and Robin are the same guy. He’s a fucking mathlete.” She looks over at Dick. “You are Robin, right?”
Dick nods. “Yep. That’s me.”
“Alright. Cool.” She closes her eyes. “What the fuck.” That last part is said in a whisper. Dick hears Conner snort from behind him.
“Robin,” Kaldur says gently. “I thought Batman forbade you from telling anyone your civilian identity.”
Dick shrugs. “Technically, I didn’t tell. The Bat’s still gonna be mad, but hey, it’s not my fault I, uh, lost my sunglasses.”
“Besides,” Wally says from beside him, “what’s Batman gonna do, like, erase our memories? Hell no. We’ll all be fine.” He bumps his hip against Dick’s. “Even Dick.”
“Oh my God,” Artemis groans, sitting bolt upright. “Is Bruce Wayne Batman? No, don’t answer that. If you say yes, I think I might lose my mind.”
Dick joins in on the chorus of laughter.