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“I don’t want to be like him.”
The air is thick with unspoken words. Dick glances at Black Canary through his slight fringe, eyes zeroing in on her icy blue. She looks so understanding that it's sickening and he can’t stand it, even though he knows her intentions are good. He drops his head between his knees, a scowl pressed into his skin under his mask.
She inches forward on her seat, extending her arm to place her palm on his knee. He almost jumps at the sudden contact, but he schools his expression into one of nonchalance before he realises that that is exactly what Batman would do.
Maybe he’s already more like Batman than he thought.
He thins his lips.
He forgets he’s thirteen, sometimes. He forgets that at age thirteen, he’s supposed to be riding stray shopping carts in abandoned streets, shredding the basketball court after school—hanging out with friends.
He’s supposed to be feeling things. Feeling the wind against his skin as he slinks through his mundane neighbourhood on his rusted bike, taking the shortcuts he knows like the back of his hand. He’s supposed to be sitting abashed at parties, too afraid to approach the giggling girls in the back corner. He’s supposed to feel the uncertainty of starting high school—is he going to fit in? Will he still be friends with people from primary school? What will he be when he grows up?
Instead, he fills the void with smirks and offhand remarks. He piles on the gel in the morning and sticks the domino mask in place at night. He wonders which one is the real mask.
He picks at the peeling skin around his chewed-down nails.
Dick remembers he’s not like every other thirteen-year-old. In fact, he was supposed to be flying.
He was supposed to feel the wind against his skin as he soared through the air, a roaring crowd beneath him. He was supposed to slink through his old steam train, taking shortcuts through the compartments and circus tents he knew (still knows) like the back of his hand.
He picks at his skin until it's raw and stings and he knows he feels something.
The team makes him feel. He knows it's a start.
Wally’s incessant jokes are something he can't help but laugh at—both his jokes and Wally himself. M’gann’s sweetness is something he cherishes on cloudy days, like her ever-improving batch of cookies. Kaldur remains a pillar in the face of change, and he finds himself relieved that leadership and responsibility fell onto his shoulders. Conner is a nice reminder that Dick is not alone. Anger is close to emptiness. They both routinely sit and watch the static in silence, the sound of each other's breaths enough to remind them that they exist and can be more.
Artemis is a conundrum of emotions that Dick finds himself wishing he could figure out. Whilst the others remain in their signature ethos, Artemis reeks of conflicting emotions—so thick he could almost smell it in the air.
The little vent they were once stuck in did not help.
He studied her with curiosity as her face conveyed a million emotions at once. Her raised and furrowed eyebrows were a telltale sign of distress, her slanted eyes showed the fear he never thought she possessed, and her lips were quivering in shock.
Water dripped down the curve of her chin, falling onto her thighs. It was then that he noticed her heaving chest and trembling hands. He almost reached out to comfort her, but they were here, dripping wet in an air vent, for a reason.
He settled for resting his hand on the hard leather of her boot.
“You seem distraught.”
Robin keenly observed her face when it contorted into disbelief: wide eyes with raised brows and mouth agape. It then slowly morphed into anger: brows slanted towards her thin nose, wrinkling the skin between her hard eyes, and lips licked in anticipation.
“Of course I’m distraught!” There’s a freckle under her left eye. Her right eyebrow is slightly more grown out than the left. She has a small scar lining her jaw.
It dawned on him that Artemis is human. No, not an ordinary fifteen-year-old, but someone like him. Jaded past and all. He almost feels sorry for her, but she’d never allow it. He hardened his resolve.
“Well, get traught, or get dead.”
Robin is the Boy Wonder. Dick Grayson is a boy.
Robin is untouchable. Dick is not.
He likes it that way.
There is elation when he saves people and is part of a team. A warmth that builds up from the pit of his stomach, bubbling up and into his throat, and in a way, he can’t breathe.
It feels the same when his blood stains his hands and he’s pushed up against his locker, an arm crushing his throat.
He thinks, then and there, that maybe there is something to worrying about fitting in at high school.
Dick smirks through it all.
It surprises him when he finds blonde hair instead of red when his eyes manage to open.
His lips thin into what he hopes is a smug grin, but judging by the look on her face, it turns out to be an unconvincing smile. His legs traitorously give out and he slides down the cold locker doors, his blazer catching on his lock. Artemis drops to her knees by his side, her fingers hovering hesitantly over his face, ghosting his cheek. Her mouth twitches, opening before closing again. He opens his eyes, shifting his head so he’s facing her. He doesn’t worry that she’ll be able to figure out who he really is—he’d be shocked if she could tell that he was Dick Grayson, with the amount of blood caked to his face.
She looks taken aback—wide, soft eyes, mouth agape and inhaling slightly. Artemis sits down, grabbing a small packet of tissues from her backpack. She quickly pulls some out of the packet and holds them bunched together at his nose, prompting him to take it and stop the steady stream of blood.
She licks her lips. “Hey, are you alright?” Her voice is dry and cracks.
He plucks the tissues from her calloused hand and angles his head up, stuffing them carelessly in his nostrils. A moment is all he needs to decide to plaster a grin on whilst looking at her from the corner of his eye. “Why, I am fine and dandy on this lovely summer’s day.”
Artemis is never good at dealing with emotions, which is ironic to Dick because he considers her the most emotional person he knows. (Definitely not in a bad way—more like a human way. And it’s not like she willingly expresses her emotions—no, it’s in the way her shoulders sag, the way her hair is tied).
Her brows slant. Realisation. She pulls back from him as if she’s been stung. Dick tries not to be offended. He sticks on his trademark smirk.
“Dick Grayson, right? You’re the freshman who took that photo with me a couple of weeks ago.” She says it like an accusation and Dick wonders if she cares that her superhero persona and herself are essentially the same—in name and in manner.
“Yup,” he says cheerily, popping the ‘p’.
She angles herself away to rummage through her school bag. “Well, Grayson. I suggest you learn how to keep your arms up in a fight.” She turns back, presenting him with a cheap plastic water bottle. Artemis unscrews the lid. He takes it with his free hand.
Dick almost chortles in response but manages to keep it to a smirk. “And you’d know, right?” He raises the bottle as if he’s toasting. The water sloshes dangerously close to the rim.
Her jaw drops a bit as she tries to form words. Suddenly, her eyes light up. She’s made up an excuse. Dick wonders if this time it will actually be good. “Yes! I would know… because I do… I do… uh… karate after school,” she fumbles, looking uncharacteristically vulnerable.
Her face hardens immediately, almost like she’s heard his thoughts.
He brings the bottle up to his lips, taking a long sip. It tastes like day-old water, grapefruit lip balm, and copper. Artemis watches him, unimpressed. He slurps for good measure. Dick doesn’t miss the twist of disgust on her face. He smirks.
“Wow, you could almost be a vigilante with all your karate skills,” he drawls, taking another drawn-out sip of water.
Her fist twists the navy fabric of her skirt and she looks adequately whelmed. (Pursed lips, crinkles between her brows, clenched fists).
Dick thinks he should put her out of her misery—at least until the next time they meet.
“Well, Vigilante, I’ve got some business to attend to—namely, my bloody nose. See you ‘round.” Saluting, he grins, showing off his bleeding gums. He passes the bottle back to her, their fingers grazing.
“It’s Artemis,” she grits out.
He supplies her with a wink, before rising off of the ground, legs wobbling as he walks away, hand still pinching the bloody tissues to his nose. She makes no move to follow him.
He can't tell if he's stumbling because he just got the shit beat out of him or because of his encounter with Artemis.
Dick is surprised, to say the least, when his feet move on their own accord towards Artemis, who’s sitting at a lone picnic table with her feet perched on the seat, hugging her knees. He’s supposed to be avoiding her. Batman’s orders. What is he doing?
(He knows what he’s doing).
Her golden hair is pulled back into her regular low ponytail, but a few strands are loose, framing her face and playing in the light breeze. She’s tired. Unfurling, she throws her elbow onto the wooden table, leaning her cheek against her palm. She chews her apple like it’s a chore and stares at her scuffed shoes.
His feet stop in front of her, kicking up dust. She looks blearily up at him, her apple forgotten.
Artemis’ brows raise, looking expectant but slightly annoyed.
Dick’s mouth is dry and it takes him a second to find the words that have been rattling around his brain ever since he realised he never actually thanked her for yesterday.
"Thank you."
Her face ripples into understanding and she nods quickly, looking off into the distance. He doesn’t miss the light dust of pink on her cheeks.
“It was nothing,” she finally replies. She angles her head further away from him like she’s expecting him to walk away now.
Dick grins, and he slides easily into the spot next to her, pulling his feet up and onto the bench, mirroring her. Their toes almost touch. Artemis’ head tilts ever so slightly, allowing her to stare at him at the corner of her eye. A trace of unease stiffens her posture. He sees the question in her eyes.
“Is this seat taken, Vigilante?” he asks sweetly, with mock concern.
Her lips pull back into a snarl. He smirks. We’ll laugh about this someday.
Artemis cocks her head, hesitating for a second. “You're a dweeb,” she scowls, but she's twisting herself and dropping her feet in the gap between the seat and the table, so she’s arguably sitting the correct way. Dick takes it as an invitation to follow suit, with the dull thud of his feet landing on the ground filling the silence. He grins at the insult. She rolls her eyes, but her stiff back slowly softens into its usual hunched position. She takes a bite of her apple.
“You heal quick,” she observes.
Dick shrugs. “I don’t bruise easy.”
She hums in response. (She does).
They settle into a comfortable silence, watching the distant football game. He thinks that this is nice.
And maybe he'll be alright.
Robin is untouchable for a reason. The others don’t seem to understand.
He trains every day for countless hours until his muscles are straining and his skin is slick with sweat. He does it because that’s who he is. That’s who Batman wants him to be.
Robin powders his hands, cracks his knuckles, and grabs onto the bar. Kicking his feet up, he hoists himself up into the air, flipping over into a handstand. He falls backwards, gravity inevitable, and swings around the bar, over and over and over again. He launches himself into the air, flying, before catching himself on the second bar.
He continues swinging back and forth between the bars, throwing in a twirl or flip every now and again.
Truth be told, Robin isn’t really paying attention to whatever he’s doing. He’s not as focused as he should be, but if he were, he wouldn’t have noticed Artemis by the gym entrance. His grip becomes dangerously slack as he observes her—she’s leaning against the door frame in her civvies, arms crossed over her chest. Her eyes are a little wider than usual and her pink lips part slowly. If he were to hazard a guess, he’d say she’s in awe. Something like pride pokes at his chest.
“Boy Blunder, up for a one-on-one?”
Robin glances at her from the corner of his eye. His fingers just manage to cling onto the next bar. He had expected her to tell him to take a break, like the rest of the team did. In his brief moment of silence, Artemis pushes herself off the door frame, striding into the gym with purpose.
“You’ll have to be more specific,” he teases. “One-on-one as in—” he waggles his brows, a winning grin plastered to his face. His elbows aren’t straight as he swings around the bar.
Artemis rolls her eyes, sticking two fingers in her mouth, gagging. He feigns hurt.
“In your dreams, Boy Wonder.”
Robin releases from the bar with a double layout dismount and sticks the landing. Artemis scoffs.
“Show off,” she mutters.
He smiles crookedly in response, but he’s genuinely smiling nonetheless.
Robin finds himself cherishing the five minutes Artemis and him have before they zeta into the cave. Sometimes (more like all the time), he makes sure they bump into each other. It had begun as a way to rile her up, but now he doesn’t know whether he does it for her misfortune or for himself.
It comes to a point where Artemis waits for him to show up.
“Aw, that’s so sweet,” he says from the shadows, coating his words in syrupy condescension. “You’re waiting for me.”
“Don’t let it get to your head,” Artemis snaps. She pushes herself off the photo booth as he steps out into the sunlight, kicking an empty Coke can in his direction.
“I think you like me.” It takes all his willpower to wrestle the smile on his face into a smirk. He kicks the can back to her.
Artemis scoffs and crushes the red can under her boot. “Yeah, and I like fairy tales,” she replies sarcastically. Her eyes roll so far back into her head, he thinks they might get stuck.
Snapping his fingers, he points his finger to the sky. It's hard to keep the smile off his face, but he manages. “Ah, that explains the hair, Rapunzel. Oh, and leaving your arrow for us to find.” He taps his chin and hums. He can sense Artemis’ unimpressed look. “And your affinity for magic and fate.”
“Sarcasm, Sherlock,” she bites.
Robin arches a brow, sauntering up to the photo booth. He bows deeply, his arm long and languid, gesturing Artemis to zeta first. He looks up at her through his fringe.
“Let’s go to Neverland and never come back ‘til forever ends!” he exclaims, a manic grin plastered to his face.
Artemis blinks once, twice, before a small smile appears. “And how long is forever?”
Robin straightens, taking her palm with his fingers and gently swiping his thumb over her knuckles. “Sometimes—” he pauses, tilting his lips to the shell of her ear. “Just... one... second,” he whispers.
They stay there like that for a moment, until Artemis pulls away, dropping her arms awkwardly at her sides. A soft pink blooms on her cheeks as she does an impressive impersonation of a goldfish. Robin bounces on his toes. He's never seen this expression on her before.
She shakes her head, breaking the spell. Artemis waves him off as she enters the zeta tube. “You’re maddening,” she snorts.
“All the best people are!” he calls after her. Dick doesn’t miss her grin.
He enters Mount Justice smiling.
It doesn’t occur to him that he’s happy. Conner’s the one that points it out to him.
“You know, sitting with me is pointless now,” Conner mumbles, still staring at the static.
Robin continues staring at the screen, raising a brow. He’s genuinely confused. He kicks his feet up onto the glass coffee table, crossing his arms over his chest. “What are you talking about, Supes?”
He catches the slight movement of Conner’s shoulders. “You seem happy,” Conner comments, sinking further into the couch.
The word catches him off guard.
Happy.
He tests it out on his tongue, the word feeling foreign.
Happy.
It’s not the kind of happy you get out of pulling pranks and dealing witty one-liners, he realises. It’s the one that lingers—one that makes you want to hum the song stuck in your head and take people by their hands and dance with them. It’s the one where there’s that warm feeling in your stomach that bubbles up to your throat, but this time, you can breathe. And breathing makes it all that much better.
He’s dizzy, he realises, and judging by Superboy’s perked ears, he can tell too. Conner looks concerned.
It takes him a second to compose himself, but ultimately, he doesn’t know how to react to this new piece of information. For once, he feels raw—and in a good way.
He decides to ignore it for now. There are more pressing concerns.
Smiling wide, he turns his head to regard Conner. “I like the company.”
Conner’s lip twitches at the corner.
Artemis breaks her arm during a mission.
He stays close to her after that. Dick Grayson or Robin, it’s the one thing they have in common.
“Dweeb, I’m starting to think that you can’t breathe without me,” she huffs, setting her cast onto the picnic table. Dick’s name is scrawled across the whole thing in an offensive pink and 3D block letters, and next to it a carefully drawn heart with an arrow shot through it. (Artemis had rolled her eyes but didn’t scribble it out like she had done with Wally’s terrible doodle of tiger). Her hair is braided in such a way that makes him think that her mum had wrestled her into it that morning, and her tie is haphazardly strung around her wayward collar. She looks happy, staring off into the distance.
There's a smile pulling at his lips. He follows suit and props his elbow on the table, cheek in hand, eyes lazily trailing the sharp edges of her side profile. “Of course, Vigilante! You are the moon to my stars, the water to a parched man’s throat, the cape to the hero, the—”
Artemis shoves him with her cast. "We get it, Romeo,” she deadpans, rolling her eyes fondly. (He's learnt to tell the difference between her scathing eye-rolls and her fond ones. She saves the fond ones for him, and the others for Wally. At least he likes to think so). He smiles broadly, and it feels like his face is about to split into two. They fall into a comfortable silence.
“You know, not all heroes wear capes,” she says, just as the bell is about to ring.
“You certainly don’t.”
Later, when he’s lying down in his bed, staring out his window at the full moon, he thinks—knows—Artemis is right.
(You don’t need a cape to fly).