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Language:
English
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Published:
2019-09-03
Completed:
2019-10-28
Words:
3,047
Chapters:
2/2
Comments:
42
Kudos:
388
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And Then He Flew

Summary:

The Wayne Enterprises ballroom was filled with streamers and bouquets of sweet smelling flowers.

In the aftermath of a gunshot that rings in the air, Dick Grayson lays bleeding under the stage lights.

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

Dick pushed open the double doors, stepping out into the cool night air and away from the rest of the party. Wayne galas were never the most fun things to attend, but they were always for a good cause, and essential to keeping up his appearance.

Besides, he had to be there that night. Wayne Tech was unveiling its new line of building equipment, a line of new tech meant streamline construction and architectural design. It was a big step forward for the company as a whole, and another notch on the Wayne family belt. It wouldn’t exactly... look good, if he wasn’t there for support. That was the official reason anyway.

Dick sunk down into one of the plush chairs scattered around the balcony, sighing as he let himself melt into the velvet. Around him, guests chatted in the soft light spilling from the ballroom, talking quietly over glasses of wine and champagne. 

It was shaping up to be a quieter evening than expected, considering the few vaguely veiled threats both Bruce and Wayne Tech had received throughout the previous week. Bruce suspected the sender was a competitor in the architectural market, that, or someone angry at the him on a personal level. He’d talked about postponing the gala until the person responsible was caught, but in the end there hadn’t been much movement in the case, and neither Bruce nor the GCPD thought the sender presented any real threat. Dick had been called in for backup anyway, just in case.

He’d socialized with business partners and family friends, practiced his laugh and talked about life in Blüdhaven. There had been the flirting, the pictures, the overall presentation of being Bruce Wayne’s privileged and spoiled son. By now the act was almost as easy as breathing. Not that all of it had been fake. He’d had several genuinely interesting conversations with people, gotten Babs to spit out her drink laughing, and scoured the buffet table for all the food he couldn’t buy on his independent budget.

Not to mention Bruce had (officially) introduced both him and the press to Tim Drake-Wayne, the boy quickly disappearing as soon as the cameras stopped flashing. Dick had looked for him for a few minutes, but he’d quickly recognized that Tim wanted to be alone, and considering his night job, Dick doubted he would be found unless he wanted to be.

Noise spilled out onto the rooftop as one of the staff members propped open the ballroom doors; the evening’s speeches were about to begin. Dick took his time getting up, stretching and pausing a moment to soak up the glittering cityscape, before he followed the trickle of partygoers back inside.

The crowd had migrated from the main space to the dining area near the stage, shimmering gowns and dark suits pressed in tight circles around the tables. Bruce was standing with a few other members of Wayne Tech’s board of directors, waiting patiently for everyone to finish talking and get settled. Tim was standing behind him, shoulders hunched, fingers fiddling with his suit cuffs. He looked nervous, and completely out of place.

Dick made his way through the throng and slid into place next to Tim. He tensed, just slightly, eyes glancing anxiously in Dick’s direction.

Their first meeting had been… awkward, to say the least. Dick had stumbled upon Bruce and Tim patrolling while on a case in Gotham. There had been the initial shock, the anger, the confusion; Dick still too raw over Jason’s death, Tim insecure about his place as the new Robin. 

Later conversations had been clunky and forced, both of them hesitant to get to know each other or give space to discuss anything of real importance. They’d seen each other sporadically in the following weeks, some of the awkwardness alleviating with those brief meetings. Dick had even introduced Tim to some of the new team members and taken them out to eat a few times in an effort to make him comfortable. But they still hadn’t talked much, and there was still a sense of tension between them, one Dick regretted he’d help to create.

Tim was a sweet kid, a smart kid. He was forging a new identity from a mantle that had been violently tainted, and doing a good job of it too. He worked hard, he devoted himself to the part, and he had skill to boot. Dick knew he’d have to apologize sooner or later, and the after party presented the perfect opportunity.

Dick shifted in place, elbow nudging Tim lightly in the arm. The boy’s head snapped to look in his direction, eyes wide as dinner plates. Dick smiled and leaned in just slightly, whispering low enough that only he would hear.

“You pulled quite the vanishing act tonight. If you wait for me next time, I’ll show you how to get to the roof.”

Tim stared at him for a moment, a look of disbelief on his face, before his shoulders relaxed and his mouth split into a grin. Dick chuckled lightly and focused his attention back on the crowd. 

Bruce had started his speech, charisma oozing from each word, his signature smile plastered across his face.

“... and you can’t imagine what the boardroom’s been like.”

The crowd laughed.

Bruce took a breath to continue talking, Tim shifted closer to Dick, words forming on the tip of his tongue, eyes bright and relieved, a loud noise tore through the ballroom, the window across from the stage shattered, and everything fell apart.

Pain exploded through Dick’s abdomen, just below his ribs. He staggered backwards, eyes meeting Tim’s, watching as realization dawned on the boy’s face, excitement quickly morphing into horror. 

Screams erupted from the crowd before Dick even hit the stage. 

Bruce was at his side in seconds, eyes blown wide, lips pressed together in a thin line. His hands went straight to the wound—the bullethole, Dick realized—pressing down firmly to slow the bleeding. Dick hissed, fingers finding purchase on the hem of Bruce’s suit jacket. 

The room was in chaos around him: security guards yelling orders to one another, the sound of breaking glass as guests dropped their drinks and rushed for the exit. Dick squeezed his eyes shut against the noise, closed his fist tighter around the fabric of Bruce’s suit, and groaned as nausea spread through his body and made his stomach flip. The world melted into the background as the feeling overtook him.

Nothing felt real. His limbs were distant, a faint ache buzzing just under the skin. He tried to take a deep breath, tried to focus, he needed to focus, but he couldn’t. Each gasp and twitch set his nerves on fire, his stomach knotting and twisting and pushing against his lungs.

There were even more people crowded around him now, a hubbub of voices much louder than before. It was too much. Someone shifted his body and Dick cried out in pain. There were more touches, quick and careful. A wad of cloth was pressed to the wound, a stronger weight than before pushing down shortly after. He whimpered and felt someone squeeze his hand through the haze.

Right. There were people here, his friends, his family. Dick’s eyes snapped open, trying frantically to pick out their faces from the blurry mass of light and color. He couldn’t think. He tried to calm down, tried to focus on the people he knew were there—Bruce, Tim, maybe even Barbara—but his mind was a rush of panicked thoughts, each one tumbling over the next as they pressed against his skull.

He wasn’t going to get to graduate high school, wasn’t going to get to fly past bright city windows while on patrol. He wasn’t going to see the Team again, or show Tim all the secret passageways in the manor, or watch movies with Bruce in the old theatre room.  

Dick choked as blood and bile flooded his throat, thick, acrid liquid coating his tongue. There was a cry of panic as he began to cough and sputter, the hands pushing on his wound faltering for only a moment. Dick fought to breathe, shuddering and spitting as more fluid filled his mouth. Each gasp felt like his lungs were being ripped apart, his chest shaking with the effort. 

But nothing was working.

Dick’s eyes widened at the realization. This wasn’t… this couldn’t be the end… could it? He was Dick Grayson, he was Nightwing. He’d trained with Batman, he’d saved the world before, and now he was bleeding out on a charity ball stage, confused and helpless with no way to stop it. 

The spots in his vision started to fade, the world finally to coming back into focus. Colors took on shape and detail, and Dick let his eyes drift over the faces above him.

Bruce, his father, his mentor, his teacher, expression marred with regret, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, shoulders tense as he pushed on Dick’s wound. There was something about seeing him like that, desperate and afraid, that made Dick think of Jason. 

Bruce had been devastated by his death, they both were. Dick remembered the days following the funeral had been quiet, the silence only broken by the occasional shouting match between the two of them. Dick had been angry, Bruce self destructive, everything culminating in a swirl of tension and disarray that had one or both of them breaking down in tears by the end of each fight. It had been emotionally exhausting, old pains and frustrations bubbling to the surface all over again. Bruce still hadn’t forgiven himself for that death, maybe he never would.

And now there was Dick.

Two sidekicks. Two sons. Dead in his arms. Being a Robin really was bad luck.

Dick’s eyes slid to the next person.

Tim, a brother he didn’t know, an unfinished connection, something he was leaving behind before it even started. God, he was such an asshole. Tim didn’t need this, didn’t need to see first hand the brutal reality of being a hero. Not now. Not yet.

He still had an energy to him, one that Dick was starting to see emerge little by little. The boy needed a solid base before experiencing trauma like this, something to keep him steady when things were falling apart. But seeing him then, the way the stress had settled into his body, the tears streaking down his cheeks, the splash of blood on his button up, it made Dick realize just how much of a mess he was leaving behind. 

Tim wasn’t fragile by any means, but seeing someone, even someone he wasn’t close to, die at his side? Dick couldn’t begin to imagine the strain it was going to put on the boy’s psyche.

And… that.

Dick was dying.  

He was dying.

These minutes lying in Bruce’s arms, everything turning to background noise, this was the end, this was it, and there was nothing he could do.

Dick hadn’t noticed he’d stopped breathing.

The thoughts were rushing even faster now, a blur of worries and regrets filling his head to the breaking point.

He wasn’t going to get to play video games with Wally, or unpack those last few boxes in his apartment. He wasn’t going to travel in space or relax in a cafè or celebrate the anniversary of sneaking into Cadmus. There would be no more breakthroughs in a case, or practice sessions in the gym or drug ring busts, or-

Or anything.

Dick’s eyes rolled back in their sockets. 

Fluid dripped down the curve of his chin. 

Numbness spread slowly from his fingers to his arms, moving across his chest and through his legs as everything seemed to slow down. 

This. 

This was the end. The end of the adventure.

The voices around him felt far, far away.

Stay with us Dick.

I’ve called an ambulance, they should be here soon.

Perhaps they were below him, a crowd gathered to watch something, something amazing.

I can’t feel his pulse!

Dick, come on! Not now, not like this!

He could smell the peanuts and caramel, feel the rough wood of the trapeze bar under his fingers. A booming voice announced their show, and his parents smiled at him from across the tent.

please

Dick swung out into the open air and cool, calm darkness enveloped him like a tidal wave.

Chapter 2: Epilogue

Summary:

What is a father?

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Muffled grunts echoed throughout the alleyway. Bruce landed punch after punch, red staining the knuckles of his gloves. The perp in his arms was marred with dark bruises from head to toe, one arm twisted at an unnatural angle, the other sporting a deep gash from elbow to shoulder. They were nasty injuries. Bruce knew. He’d made them.

“What th’ hell’d I ever do to you?” The man spat.

Dead eyes.

Slack jaw.

Cold skin.

Bruce landed the next hit just a little bit harder, eliciting a sharp grunt of pain.

“‘T was that bad huh?” The man let out a breathy laugh. “Who knew someone like me could get t’ a big guy like you?”

Bruce tightened his hold on the man’s jacket, leaning in close enough to feel each breath on his skin.

He had held on so tight, but it wasn’t enough in the end.

“Why did you kill him.” 

It wasn’t a question.

The man chuckled, voice harsh and raspy.

“Afraid you’ll have t’ be more specific than that.”

“Dick Grayson.” Bruce let the man slip from his grasp, watching as he crumpled to the alley floor. The man shifted, groaning, until he was leaning against a dumpster.

“Th’ Grayson kid?” He asked. “Same as ‘nyone else; I was paid t’ do it.”

Bruce kneeled down, taking hold of the man’s shirt to hoist him up to eye level.

“By whom?”

The man chuckled again, exasperated.

“Now Bats, I’m not really at liberty t’ talk about my contractors.” Bruce stared at him for a moment, quiet, before he reached down and pressed his finger into the gash on the man’s arm. Hard. The man squeaked in surprise.

“Hey hey hey, fine, I’ll tell, I’ll tell!”

Bruce hesitated a moment, before dropping the man back to the ground. The man hissed and let his head loll back against the dumpster.

“Right, thanks. Now, listen, I don’t actually know that much ‘bout the Grayson kid, was just told to take care o’ him. But... from what I heard, Wayne was oversteppin’ his boundaries see, buyin’ up lotsa land to test his new construction shit. He got too close to mob territory, started interfering with deals n’ business n’ all that crap. It got somma the big bosses ‘round here nervous, angry. They wanted t’ hit Wayne where it hurt, somewhere personal, so one of em’ hired me to off his kid, huge payoff n’ everything. I don’t know who it was, but definitely one o’ the big bosses.”

Bruce’s eyes narrowed.

“I honestly don’t know who it was or I’d tell ya. Look where the job got me for Pete’s sake!”

There was a moment of silence before Bruce slammed his fist into the man’s temple, knocking him unconscious.

Money. Business. Petty revenge. That’s all it was. That’s all Dick’s life had meant to them.

They didn’t care about the damage, about the mess they’d left behind. They didn’t give a damn about some rich guy’s kid. Dick had been a means to an end for them; disposable; worthless.

But he’d find them. Bruce was going to find the people responsible and he was going to make them pay.

Not just for Dick, for Jason, no... they deserved it. Those people, those bags of filth who thought they could mess with his people, with his family, they were going to suffer.

They wouldn’t want that.

No... no they wouldn’t.

He needed to calm down, get a hold of himself. He couldn’t let his mind wander, not when his emotions were this effected. 

Deep breaths. Breathe.

“Thanks for everything Mr. Wayne.”

“Hey Bruce, wake up! Alfred wants to know what you want for breakfast.”

“It’s not as easy as you make it sound, Bruce!”

“I’m worried about the Team Bruce, I don’t know what to do .”

“Dad... I heard... I heard about Jason...”

“Can I use the car to take Tim out tonight? Wanna make sure he feels like a part of the family.”

“Yeah, see you later. Love you.”

Small hands tugged at the hem of his cape.

“I know what I want to be called!”

Bruce swiveled in his chair and cocked an eyebrow.

“And what would that be?”

The child’s eyes were bright and blue, his cheeks flushed with excitement.

“Robin. Just like my momma and poppa used to call me.”

Bruce smiled.

“That’s a wonderful name, Dick.”

The child beamed and laughed, running towards Bruce’s open arms. Bruce hoisted him up onto his lap, ruffling his hair.

“I’m gonna be a hero!”

“Yes you are, one of the best.”

One of the best.

The memory faded and Bruce stood again between walls of damp, dull concrete.  Without looking back, he turned on his heel and left the alleyway.

Maybe that’s all Dick had been to them, but he had been so much more.

A hero. A brother.

A son.

Bruce shot his grapple into the misty Gotham sky, a feeling of weightlessness overtaking him as he cut through the dark.

I see you in the way the birds fly

In the morning sun that cuts through the fog

I see you in the blue of the drapes and the ocean and the sky

I swear I hear your voice

On the dark nights

When the rain hits my window

And I remember how you used to climb into my bed

You were so small under the covers

You were so tiny 

But you became a part of me

A part that grew and grew

I only notice how much you gave me

Now that the hole is wide and gaping

I’ll never get you back

But I see you in the beat of a robin’s wings

And you don’t seem as far as before

For years, Bruce weeps for the child with blue eyes, and for a lifetime, he mourns for the man he had become.

Notes:

Thanks for reading you guys. Sorry this epilogue took so long to get out, I got sidetracked with school and other projects. This might be edited a bit in the coming months, but November is going to be almost solely devoted to NaNoWriMo so it might be a bit.

Again, thanks for reading and have a wonderful day!