Work Text:
There wasn’t a thing he wouldn’t do for his family. Nothing.
Dick stared at himself in the mirror’s reflection; stared at his messy hair, which he could excuse as having just woken up from a nap (that he hadn’t taken); the bags under his eyes, which he could dismiss thanks to the tan coloring of his skin that hid the bruises rather well; the scar on his brow, that one there on his lip, the one on his jaw.
And he thought about it all.
He thought about Bruce. He thought about Alfred. He thought about Jason. He thought about Tim, Cass, Damian, and Duke. He thought about Amy, John, Mary, Raya, Raymond, Jimmy, and Haly. He thought about Catalina, Kori, Roy, Wally, Garth, Lilith, and Donna.
Then he stopped, pressed the domino to his face. He became Nightwing and put Dick Grayson away.
…he was tired.
Nightwing gritted his teeth as he held the metal beam up to give the civilians room to escape, the searing hot iron slowly burning through the padding of his gloves and shoulders.
“Go!” he shouted at the last kid left. The boy hesitated, brown eyes wide with fear. Dick softened and repeated himself in a gentler tone.
“Go, kid. Your mom’s waiting with Red Robin. So’s your dad. And your little sister, and your puppy, Brazer, and your baby brother.”
My family is waiting too.
The kid ducked out of the room in a quick rush and Dick let the beam fall off his shoulders, propelling himself out after the boy as the room collapsed.
When he made it out of the building he dropped to his knees, tilted his head back, closed his eyes, and sucked in a lungful of clean air.
And he breathed, opening his eyes to watch the boy be reunited with his family; watched his own start making their way toward him, their voices laced with concern in his comm unit.
Dick smiled.
But he was still tried.
Same night, different place.
Dick was sitting on a bed in the med-bay, his palms wrapped up in bandages because of the burns, and gauze taped over the ones on his back, legs crossed under him.
Nightwing had to be strong for the weak. Dick Grayson had to be strong for his family to be weak. Otherwise they’d try to be too, and they’d break because of it. Dick did, after all, but he kept that to himself. He broke where nobody could witness it, when nobody would witness it.
He broke in places like this, at times like these.
It started as a single tear crawling down his cheek, dripping from his chin, and evolved into jerking shoulders coupled with sobs kept quiet and muffled in his wrapped hands.
Bruce was with Tim upstairs, Duke was with Damian—also upstairs, Cass was with Steph and Babs in the Clock Tower, and Jason was wrapping up his patrol (last Dick knew).
So he was free to break.
And roughly an hour later, after he’d cried his eyes dry, he was still tired.
If anything he was even more fatigued than he had been before crying.
Dick slid to his feet and shuffled up the stairs to the Manor, already preparing a smile to put on for his family; already straightening his posture and loosening his muscles in the usual costume he wore for them.
Maybe if someone looked to see it all, they’d see his exhaustion plain as day.
The last time he’d slept was two days ago, and Dick could feel the lassitude weighing him down like wet clothes.
But he ignored it. He was tired, but he couldn’t sleep. His brain felt untuned, but he couldn’t fix it. He felt like he was stuck, and he couldn’t free himself. This happened often. Dick would just wait it out, and ride the wave until it troughed and receded.
Nightwing leaned forward off the building he was standing on and fell, the wind rushing past him, closing his eyes.
He let himself fall for a few seconds, then opened his eyes and shot out a line.
Falling was peaceful until you hit the ground, and Dick had no plans on hitting the earth anytime soon.
Instead he flew, body lighter than it felt on the roof, but the weariness still weighed on his chest.
Dick ignored it and kept flying as best he could.
Inhale, take a step forward, exhale. Inhale, another step forward, exhale. Inhale, lift the head, exhale. Inhale, try to smile, exhale. Inhale, just keep living, exhale. Inhale, ignore the javelin, exhale. Inhale, cough a little blood, exhale.
Inhale, live, exhale. Take another step.
Inhale, trip, don’t cry, exhale. Lean into Bruce’s chest.
Inhale, close the eyes, exhale. Ignore the blood running from the wound.
Inhale, just a little longer, chum, hang in there, exhale. Ignore the pain.
Inhale, why the fuck is there a spear in his chest, he was surrounded by metas, open eyes, Jason, exhale. Try to smile again for the little brother.
Inhale, Grayson?, exhale. Try to squeeze the small hand in his.
Inhale, Jason’s right—what the hell is wrong with you superpowered aliens, Dick is human and you’re all basically invincible, look at Tim, exhale. Close the eyes again because it was getting too hard to keep them open.
Inhale, just a little longer, hum, exhale. The weight of fatigue was gone.
Inhale, just keep living, exhale.
Fly.
He was sitting, legs dangling, on a small bridge. The bandages around his torso itched a little around the edges, but that was fine.
Dick’s head was tilted back toward the sun, his eyes closed.
The exhaustion was gone. He felt warm.
And the sun was shining again.