Chapter Text
Dick Grayson was eight when his world ended for the first time.
Dick Grayson was seventeen when his world ended for the second time.
He was seventeen when the Joker cornered Batman and Robin in the rafters of a warehouse. He was seventeen when he slipped on a coiled rope and fell. He was seventeen when the rope tightened around his left leg and broke it. Ripped it.
He was seventeen when he lost his leg.
There wasn’t much he remembered from that night afterwards. The moment of surprise, the fear of falling, and then PAIN PAIN PAIN.
It took some time for him to wake up again, in the Batcave with so much pain killers in his system he neither knew his name nor what was going on.
The first time he woke up and was actually coherent enough to comprehend that something had happened was almost a week after the event. He was no longer in the Cave, instead a normal hospital room greeted his bleary eyes. That was the first sign that something was very, very wrong.
The second sign was Alfred sitting at his bedside and not Bruce.
That something else was missing came to him much later, with Dick being still too high on the good stuff to feel any of his limbs. Instead he just stared at Alfred until the old man realized that Dick was awake.
“Master Dick, thank god! You had us quite worried. Do you need something? Some water?”
His throat was dryer than the Sahara, so he nodded, not really being aware of what was going on. A few sips later Dick finally managed to ask the one thing he did notice:
“B… Bruce?”
His voice was weak, pathetic, and suddenly he knew why Bruce wasn’t here. Dick had proven to be too soft after all. But that was not the answer Alfred gave him:
“Master Bruce is quite busy making sure that the man who harmed you is behind bars. He should arrive soon. Don’t worry, Young Sir”
Reassured Dick drifted back into the soothing darkness of sleep. He didn’t see Bruce that day. Or the day after.
He realized the loss of his leg later, when he shifted during the restless sleep that had infested him since they reduced his pain killers. It was two things that finally clued him in: The searing pain that shoot up his left leg and the weird lack of resistance when he fidgeted with the blanket.
Only moments later, when he looked down and saw the space where one of his limbs should be, he questioned why he didn't realize it sooner. With all the concerned looks Barbara and Alfred were sending him.
(Bruce still hadn’t visited)
But he had been out of it for most of these conversations, only listening halfheartedly before slipping under again. And now he was alone with the knowledge that the Joker had taken his future from him. That his own foolishness had taken it. Robin was over.
The tears that started flowing shortly after came to no surprise. That nobody was here drying them for him, hurt almost more.
The next couple of days passed in a haze. Dick’s brain was trying so hard to come to terms with what was missing that he didn’t hear the tasteless promises of Alfred about Bruce. He didn’t hear Barbara’s forced cheerfulness. All he heard was “You can’t be Robin anymore” over and over in his head. It was infuriating. Especially since Dick didn’t know who he was without the mantel of Robin.
When Barbara asked if the other Titans could visit, he shot her down. No, they weren’t allowed to see him. He had to get a grip before he could look Donna in the eyes again. Or Kory. Or Wally. Garth. Roy.
The first sign of hope came upon him then, in the form of Dr. Tanja Romanova, his physical therapist. She was a tough woman, someone who only knew Dick Grayson, ward of billionaire Bruce Wayne. She had no idea that Robin was the one struggling to sit upright in front of her. That it was a hero that needed help. It was refreshing.
She was also the one who told him that with enough time spend on letting his leg heal, a prosthetic could be fitted for him. If he wanted to. She told him about a few specialists in the field of prostheses that she could refer him to as soon as his stump was healthy enough.
Something heavy lifted from his chest - if only barely. Just after one week of being conscious Dick already missed the constant movement. He missed the high bars and the trapeze and the rooftops. He missed being Robin. But he was happy to start with Dick Grayson getting his feet back on the ground. Or his foot? Technicalities.
There was no hesitation when he looked Dr. Romanova in the eye and told her that he was happy to talk to every specialist she could think off as soon as she deemed him ready. Her answering smile filled him with warmth.
The next months were spend in physical therapy. They told him that it was vital for the prosthetic to work for his other limbs to be well trained and in top shape. Let’s just assume Dick surprised Dr. Romanova. Which was not to say that the physical therapy wasn’t demanding. It was hard to learn to move again when a quarter of his limbs wasn’t there to actually follow his brains command. His center of gravity was royally screwed up. But he did it. He trained, he learned how to walk with crutches and how to crawl correctly (and how to stand on his hands, but he already knew that one).
Bruce had finally started to show his face too. He sat in the back of the training room, only to vanish before Dick got a chance to talk to him.
The only real talk they had since Dick’s accident had been a short “You can’t be Robin anymore”. And Dick had already known that. Which didn’t make it hurt any less. Bruce was blaming himself and letting it out on Dick, but Dick had too much on his plate to also take care of Bruce’s ego. Fuck, he had to learn to walk again. He wasn’t getting his leg back. And Bruce was certainly no help at all.
Was it that much to ask for Bruce not to be an ass for once?
But Dick used his frustration to channel it into his recovery. Dr. Romanova had to step in multiple times to remind him to look after himself, to make sure his body was ready. To make sure he wouldn’t make it worse in his anger to prove himself.
And finally, she green lighted him for a prosthetic.
That was the first time Dick called Barbara in two months. He was ready to reach out again. Maybe. He wasn’t so sure yet, but Barbara was different. Barbara would understand. And she did. It felt good to talk to her again.
The first fitting for a prosthetic went horribly. It hurt when he tried to put it on, and he fell when he tried to walk with it. He was almost happy that he told Alfred to wait in the car.
(Living at the Manor had changed since he was discharged. Bruce only rarely appeared during dinner time and getting around had taken on a much more challenging tone)
His prosthetist told him not to worry, that his limb might just take a bit more time, but all Dick felt was frustration. He had been doing great. He had been getting his life back on track, so of course, his stupid fucking leg had to fuck it all up again.
Even though he didn’t yell, didn’t let his anger get the best of him, the doctor told him that he should consider seeing a therapist. Something about life changing traumas. Bullshit.
(And the public didn’t even know the whole story. They thought he was in a car accident)
He went out of that meeting angry and it didn’t change when he went home to vent only to almost fall again when he tried to get out of the car. His frustration was quick to turn into tears. Couldn’t he do anything correctly?
His father wasn’t talking to him, he had alienated his friends (No offense, Kory) and the only two people he still spoke to were the family butler and his best friend/crush.
Maybe it was time to stop trying and just wallow in self-pity.
A week later saw him talking to Black Canary for the first time about everything.
A month later saw him return from a meeting with his prosthesist with a smile.
Two months later saw him working on walking again without crutches with Dr. Romanova.
Three months later saw him move out of the Manor.
He couldn’t do it anymore. The silence between him and Bruce had started to suffocate him. When he asked Dinah about it, she told him that needing space in a situation like his was natural, and that he was allowed to take that space for himself. So, he did.
At first, he had wanted to move to Blüdhaven, to put a whole lot of space between him and Bruce but it was impossible to forget that he still needed physical therapy once a week, had an appointment with his prosthesist every two weeks, and met with Dinah over coffee whenever he needed it. Which was quite often as of now. That, and nobody wanted him too far away in case he fell or needed help. He was a cripple now after all. He almost forgot.
So, a Gotham City apartment it was.
Settling into a life on his own was different. He had handles installed in the bathroom and his bedroom, he needed to cook for himself, it was his own responsibility to do his course work. He was free. It felt great.
Half a year after the accident Dick called Wally again for the first time.
Maybe he was ready to move forward. At least a tiny little bit.
His 18th birthday came, and Dick had lived alone for three months. He used his prosthetic on the regular now and when he tried hard enough, he could almost ignore the phantom pain that seared nerves he didn’t even have anymore.
His party was small but everything Dick needed. The Titans came and Barbara and Clark. Alfred had cooked them a true feast and for the first time since way too many months Dick was completely happy.
With every horrid joke Roy told, with every never-ending story Garth got caught up in, with every loving look Donna send his way, something in Dick loosened. He had locked these people out and no matter how often Dinah told him that that was normal, some part of him would always regret it.
With every touch from Barbara, with every shoulder bump from Kory, Dick could almost ignore the Bruce shaped hole at his table. His guardian had taken in a new kid. Jason. Adopted him too. Just as his guardianship over Dick ended.
But, no, his birthday was his and his alone. He wouldn’t destroy it by thinking about Bruce. He was surrounded by too much love for that.
It was late that evening, closer to the next morning than any of them liked to admit, when Clark joined him on the balcony of his flat.
“How you doing, lad?”
“Has Bruce send you to talk to me?”
That got a chuckle out of Clark. Dick liked the big goof. Something made him feel safe with him that had nothing to do with Superman and everything with Clark Kent.
“No, I came here on my own. It’s your birthday! Only a Super kind of event would stop me from attending”
“Good to know. So, B has no excuse for not showing up”
Maybe Dick was a tiny bit bitter. Heck, he had any right to be.
“You send him an invite?”
“No. But when has he ever needed one before?”
Clark tugged Dick closer to him, embracing him in a one-sided hug.
“That’s true. But don’t spent too many thoughts on your old man. It’s your night. You’re the Nightwing of your own story!”
“Nightwing?”
“Have I never told you about Nightwing and Flamebird? Well, I can’t stand by that!”
And then Clark told Dick a story of Krypton. A story so sad and yet hopeful, Dick felt tears well up. With a look at Clark’s serene face, Dick realized that this story was his birthday present. Clark had shared something with him so deeply personal because he knew that Dick would treasure it.
Maybe the real heroes were the friends you made along the way.
Three months later saw him in a slump. He used his prosthetic too often, too carelessly and now the skin on his stump needed time to heal which meant crutches and stares when he left the flat. Not that he didn’t usually got those, but on good days he could pretend that they were because of his charming personality and his dashing good looks. But not right now.
Which was why he stopped going out.
The call from Barbara telling him that Jason was Robin now hadn’t helped either. He hadn’t talked to anyone in days. He hadn’t eaten in some time. He couldn’t even remember when he last talked with Dinah.
He missed flying.
He missed it so much that he considered taking one last dash across the rooftops. It sacred him. And even more scared him his inability to do something against it. Or about it.
The person to finally shake him out of his stupor was the last person he expected to: Jason.
The boy, and it truly was still a boy, stood in front of his apartment door in the pouring summer rain and stared at Dick when he finally managed to get the door. Dick had tried to ignore it but after 15 minutes of nonstop ringing even the most steeled mind needed a break.
So, to say that he wasn’t in the best mood when he found his replacement in front of his door would be an understatement:
“What? Didn’t Bruce tell you that the lost Robin was a cripple?”
Jason recoiled and Dick instantly felt bad. Why was he like that? The kid was not at fault for either his shitty mood nor his strained relationship with Bruce.
Dick moved away from the door, into the apartment, motioning for Jason to follow him:
“Sorry. Want something to drink?”
That got the boy talking.
“Yeah. Some tea, if you have it.”
The accent was clear Crime Alley. Bruce had really outdone himself with that one. But Dick tried not to be more of a dick than he already was, so he didn’t say it out loud. He moved into the kitchen instead, leaning his crutches against the counter before filling the kettle with water. That seemed to intrigue Jason:
“You have one of these?”
Dick was just thankful that Jason hadn’t tried to help him. If that had been the case Dick would’ve had to use all of his self-restrained to refrain from punching the kid. And he wasn’t sure if that would have been enough. He was trying, okay?
“Do you think Alfred would let me move out without a decent kettle to keep myself alive? Never.”
Finally, the water was done, and Dick could set two cups of tea down on the couch table. Standing around was awfully awkward, especially with the kid your guardian adopted watching your every move.
“But what brings you here, kid? Didn’t believe I was real?”
Jason looked offended but Dick was way too tired already to think about what exactly had angered the kid.
“No. There is no way to escape your fucking face in the Manor. I had to see for myself what all the fuzz is about. You would think you died with how Bruce talks about you, but you just lost a leg, for fucks sake!”
Well, that was a surprising new take. One that Dick was not in the mood to discuss.
“Congratulations, you saw my face. If that’s all you had to say, you can get out of my fucking home!”
And now he was getting angry. Wonderful. Maybe if he closed his eyes everything would be alright again. But Jason wasn’t ready to just stop:
“I fought with Bruce. That’s why I’m here. And I didn’t mean anything by it, just… Bruce never talks about you but there are pictures of you everywhere. Alfred tells stories sometimes, but you sound like a fucking angel in all of them. How am I supposed to be Robin if I’m unable to reach that impossible standard? I needed to know that you are human. And you are. Painfully so.”
“Well, thank you for the reminder. I almost forgot for a hot second there”
“It helps that you are.”
They fell into silence after that. What was Dick supposed to do? He had a thirteen-year-old on his couch who just yelled at him and then told him insights into Bruce’s life that even Alfred had forgotten to mention.
What was the right thing to do in this situation?
“Do you wanna stay the night?”
Jason grinned at him:
“Yeah”
And Jason stayed the night. And the next morning Dick called Dinah again. It was time to prove to Bruce that he wasn’t dead yet.
In the following months Dick started to work out again. He took up boxing, weightlifting, and running. His prosthesist transferred him to Dr. Quinn when Dick started asking for prostheses that would make it possible for him to take on the high bars again.
And with a collaboration between Dr. Quinn and Dr. Romanova he did just that. He learned how to safely take on his gymnastics equipment without the prosthetic and, when Dr. Quinn designed experimental gymnast prostheses, he learned how to do it with them too.
He was finally flying again.
Was it hard and different and yet totally worth it? Yes.
Flying without a second leg ended on the floor more often than not, but it didn’t clip his wings as long as he was in the air. Dick was sure that he would even be able to do the famous Flying Grayson quadruple flip, if he trained hard enough.
It felt like breathing being up on the high bar - and later when they moved on to a low hanging trapeze. It felt like being Dick Grayson again.
Training with his prosthetic was more demanding. Simply because they had to take time outs more often to see if it fit, if his skin or muscle were irritated and to make sure that he didn’t accidentally overexerted himself.
But there was something exhilarating in doing a flip - nothing too fancy - and landing on two legs.
Slowly but surely, he got back in form. In Robin form. A bit different now, but superhero fit nonetheless. But that made it even more apparent that no human prosthetic would allow Dick to fly across the rooftops like Robin once had.
Dick Grayson would be able to fly again like this. In the safety of a gymnasium far away from things like uneven ground, badly lit stairs, or useless gaps (Dick finally understood now why the metro always warned you to Mind The Gap).
After all this Robin was still stuck on the ground.
Still, Dick started to go out more with leg and without. Dinah helped him realize a few things and when Wally knocked on his door asking for some quick advice or Jason needed to cool down at his apartment after a fight with Bruce, Dick no longer felt powerless. He was moving again.
And when he kissed Barbara for the first time when he was eighteen and a half and she kissed him back, he didn’t think that there was anything less between them than just their love for each other.
It had been 1 ½ years since the accident when Dick contacted Cyborg and Martian Manhunter regarding an idea he had for a future prosthesis.
They answered his call - and who in the Superhero community wouldn’t? - and together the three of them sat down to start a project. A project that would give Dick his wings back.
Whenever they reached a dead end, Dick would inquire with Dr. Quinn what her personal opinion on this completely hypothetical prosthesis would be. It only worked because nobody suspected Dick Grayson to be working with the Justice League.
They made progress.
The first try was a complete disaster, however. It was a crash and burn scenario that ended with Dick having second degree burns and Cyborg and J’oann getting yelled at by Batman. Dick was kind of disappointed that Batman hadn’t yelled at him too. He would give anything to get some fucking recognition from his mentor. From his dad. Anything at all.
They continued anyways.
And after the second try (just wouldn’t move), the third try (moved too much), the forth try (seemed to work until it suddenly started to sizzle), and finally the fifth try (it just… fell apart) it finally worked.
They created a prosthetic that was connected to Dick’s brain, reacting almost instantly to his synapses telling his leg to move. It looked humanoid (other than his every day prostheses) and was made from black and blue graphene, an extremely hard but light substance.
It was something a hero could wear without proclaiming his lack of limb to the whole world. Plus, it looked really fucking metal.
But like every good thing in life it had drawbacks: It tired him out faster, he couldn’t wear it for longer periods of time, and it made the phantom pain haunting him so much worse. Because suddenly his brain could send signals to his left leg again. But there was still no organic leg to feel anything.
On one memorable instance the NOPE (Neurological Operating Prostheses Engine) had malfunctioned and broken down with one bolt just yeeting itself out of the joint. And Dick had yelled as if in pain because his brain saw something leaving his knee and decided that that bolt had been his. The pain had been real for him, but not for his body.
But all of this was secondary to the one thing Dick had worked so hard towards: He was going out to fly again. With a bit of training beforehand, of course.
Now he only had to choose a name. Robin didn’t feel right anymore (and not only because Jason was Robin and Dick had started to actually like the kid) but because Robin was Batman’s partner. And if Dick was one thing no longer it was that.
He remembered his birthday again. And sitting outside with Clark. Dick grinned when he dialed Clark’s number. He had a question for Superman.
To say he was surprised when Batman, no, Bruce Wayne stood at his door two months later, during lunch of the day Dick was ready for a test run with NOPE, for a test run as Nightwing, would be an understatement.
He hadn’t talked to Bruce directly since he moved out of the Manor. That had been over a year ago. Alfred called him regularly, of course, and Jason came over solely to curse out Batman, but they hadn’t come face to face in quite some time. It felt as if he was seeing Bruce for the first time again. It wasn’t pleasant.
“What are you doing here?”
Dick was dressed leisurely in a hoodie and some pants Barbara had helped him modify for no-prostheses days (there had been relatively many of these lately). He could feel Bruce’s eyes stopping at the sewn-up pants leg.
For a moment the emotional whiplash threatened to unbalance Dick. He had forgotten that Bruce had never seen Dick just be without some sort of prosthetic on. He had seen Dick, back before the accident, and he had seen him in the hospital, completely lost and yet desperate to work towards ‘normality’.
But Dick as he was now? At ease with his body? Comfortable to look into the mirror and not flinch back when only three limbs greeted him? No, Bruce was the only person Dick called family that had never been part of the Dick After.
It hurt. It hurt so much more than Dick could have ever imagined.
“I… I wanted to see you”
“Now?”
Bruce just looked at him. His eyes were locked on Dick’s face now, burning into his skull. It might be Bruce who appeared at his doorstep, but it was Batman who handled this conversation. And nobody said no to Batman.
“Yes. Now.”
Dick let him inside his apartment.
It was awkward. Of course, it was. But Bruce made Dick conscious of his body. Of his movements through his home. Of the crutch he used to comfortably reach places. He made him feel his disability.
Dick hated it.
But he went to the kitchen nevertheless, starting the coffee machine and starring Bruce down when he moved into Dick’s space. Both of them were silent until they had taken a seat on his table. And as always it was Dick who caved first:
“Now what do you really want, Bruce? You haven’t talked to me in over a year”
“I… I heard about your little pet project with J’oann and Victor and I wanted to tell you that I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“Well, aren’t we all lucky then that you are no longer my guardian? Aren’t we all lucky then that you can no longer tell me what to do? Not since Robin. Not since the accident.”
Dick knew he sounded bitter. Heck, he was bitter. The satisfaction that cursed through his body when he saw the shocked look on Bruce’s face made him feel warm. Warm and a tiny bit dirty. Bruce had still been his second father. Dick hated the amount of power he had over him.
But Bruce surprised him just then. He raised his hands in a peaceful gesture and nodded:
“I know. I just thought you should know that I won’t support this endeavor in any form but…”
“Then you can leave.”
“No. Hear me out. I know I haven’t been the best guardian this past year and half. I know I messed up. Let me try to fix it. Please, Dick.”
“I want you to leave right now, Bruce. I want you to leave and only come back when you are capable of looking me in the eyes. I want you to fuck off until you learn to respect me again.”
He was angry but his voice sounded weak. Bruce wanted to extend a hand but then he seemed to remember the current conversation and did the only good thing he had done in a long, long time: He left.
And for the first time since seeing Bruce at his door, Dick could breathe again. With each deep breath came a surge of tears. Tears, he had held back when his guardian - his dad - had told him once again, that he didn’t believe in Dick. It was nothing new and yet it hurt each time.
He went out that night, anyway. Out of spite. Out of righteous fury. Out of a promise to himself: He would stop letting Bruce dictate his life.
His first few nights out were a complete disaster. Well, not completely, he got to make out with Batgirl on a rooftop on the night of his 19th birthday. But other than that?
His reactions were slightly off when they were in a fight, he accidentally almost killed a crook when he kicked him too hard with his NOPE, and no amount of training could prepare him for the fact that he could jump 3 feet further than before and miscalculated his landings frequently because of that.
But none of these things were life-shattering. They all just meant that he had to work a bit harder and Dick was ready to do just that. Hell, Dick had always been ready to do just that.
And if he had to train more and work later and strain himself more, just to be able to run next to Batgirl and take the city with her, it was totally worth it. Nightwing was flying and that was everything that counted.
So, what if Batman and Robin made themselves scare on the route him and Barbara usually choose? So, what if Jason told him that Bruce had broken his hand in anger when the first report of an injured Nightwing came through? So, what if Bruce hadn’t called himself to make sure that Dick was okay?
(Which he was. He had sprained his ankle which resulted in a few awkward days and endless teasing from Roy who had crashed on his couch. Dick had been duped the “Legless Wonder” for most of the time. It had ended in only one black eye)
He was 19 now. An amputee for almost two years. He had a closet full of prostheses, an absolutely awesome girlfriend, friends who would do anything for him, a little brother, a college he attended sometimes (Sorry, Alfred), and he was flying again. He was flying again.
He was happy. Especially when it came to the larger picture. Dinah told him how proud she was, and Dick had to agree: He was proud of himself too. It was a great feeling to have.
It was one that made it worth it when he overbalanced or tripped over small things. It made it worth to struggle sometimes only to find other things laughable easy.
It made it worth for his first month out to be a bit of a disaster. But hey, they were superheroes. When did any of their lived not resemble a disaster?
Nightwing became a fixture on the Gotham night sky. It had taken only half a year and suddenly the papers asked if Nightwing and Batgirl would transcend Batman and Robin. It was a hilarious debate to follow.
Dick enjoyed it immensely. He had started to read the paper during breakfast just to keep up with it. The fact that his hero-ing had gotten better and better helped with the slight pinch whenever he read the name of his mentor. They hadn’t talked since Dick threw him out of his apartment. There hadn’t even been a card for his birthday.
But Dick was over that now, really he was. Recently the thought of joining up with the Titans again was far more important. His old team had done good without him, but he knew he could make them great.
Barbara supported him fully when he’d asked her. But still, it was a hard decision to make. The extreme use of NOPE made him unable to use his daily prostheses too often and while Dick had honestly no longer a problem with his lack of leg, taking on the world with crutches was fucking exhausting. He could simulate being fully able-bodied when he wore a prosthetic (and even then, it was a simulation) but with crutches stairs were even more of a hassle than usual. And Gotham was shit when it came to disabled access for buildings or the metro. Bruce should really get on that.
All of that was manageable, however. Dick made sure of that. But with the Titans? That would mean longer missions, even more of a strain. It made him ask himself if he should tell all of them his secret ID and not just the inner circle, he considered his family. It made him ask himself if it was safe to be Dick Grayson around them, instead of Nightwing.
He had filled notebooks with pro and con lists, but no definite result had yet presented itself. Dick was kind of tired of all this thinking if he was honest.
Which was why Bruce knocked on his door again, of course.
It was like the man could smell when Dick was in emotional turmoil. It wouldn’t surprise Dick if he could. That creeper would learn such a skill if it was possible.
“What do you want now?”
Dick was done pretending to be polite when it came to Bruce.
“To say sorry and to talk to you”
That made Dick still in his angry rant he had been planning in his head. Bruce wanted to say sorry? The world must be ending. It was the sincere look in Bruce’s eyes and the complete lack of Batman in his posture that made Dick step back and let Bruce enter.
“You are going to leave if I tell you to”
“Of course”
“Good”
They got settled on the couch, coffee in front of them, and only then did Dick realize that Bruce hadn’t stopped to stare at his leg even once. Huh. His former guardian might have actually learned his lesson. He might actually be sincere.
“Talk”
Which didn’t mean that Dick wouldn’t be a bit of a dick to him. After almost two years of minimal contact, Dick felt that to be fair. And Kory told him once that him being salty was “as you humans call it: Sexy” and Barbara had agreed. So, salty it was.
Bruce straightened and looked Dick directly in the eyes when he spoke. There was an almost stiffing air of importance around them. Dick had to swallow even before Bruce started talking:
“I… I’m sorry, Dick. I am truly sorry for how I treated you those last few years. Before your accident as well as after. Especially after. I… I told myself that it was my fault, what had happened, that I was to blame and that you would be better off without me. I didn’t realize that me being there for you, was the one thing I could do. And that made me clam up. I… You suffered for my mistakes and you suffered even more under my inability to talk to you. And I am truly, completely sorry for that.”
“I… I don’t know what you want from me, Bruce. What am I supposed to tell you? Thank you? I’m sorry too? What do you want to hear?”
Dick was lost. There were only very few memories of Bruce opening up like this and none of them were recent enough to prepare Dick for all these emotions he felt. But Bruce seemed to be the emotionally prepared one for once in his life. He took Dick’s hand in his, never breaking eye contact and said:
“You have nothing to be sorry for. I was the one who took away your autonomy and your integrity. All I want to know is if you are happy. If you are healthy. If you like the person you became. Because - while I might not know everything - I am damn proud of you.”
There should be a legal clause in place that forbade the immense pride and suffering that cursed through Dick’s body when he heard that last bit. It made him feel like Robin again, constantly trying to gain approval, constantly trying to make Batman proud. He didn’t know why he was so happy and so angry at the same time. He didn’t know how this was possible.
“Why? Because your disabled little charity case managed to get his life back on track? Because I am such an ‘inspiration’? You have no idea. I am just living my life and if you would have even cared for one minute enough for your ginormous head to get out of your ass, you could have been a part of my life. You wouldn’t have to be proud of your cripple for surviving, you would be happy for your son for living!”
Where had all these words come from? Dick had no idea, but he did feel lighter for having said them.
No matter how often he promised himself to get over Bruce, for him to reach independence from this part of his life, he never really succeeded. What a bitch move from life.
“I… I am proud of you for doing your own thing without me. I am proud of you for everything you did as Robin and for everything you will achieve as Nightwing. I am proud of you for working with Clark and Victor and J’oann and I am proud of you for not letting me stop you. I… I would be more than proud if I would be allowed to call you my son. And I know I fucked that one up, so I am going to go now… just… Batman would be more than happy to welcome Nightwing down in the cave.”
Dick was too stunned to react when Bruce stood up and left. What the ever loving fuck had that been?
But at least this had helped him in making a choice. He dialed Donna’s number. He had a team to rejoin.
Being with the Titans again was fun. And so much less problematic than he had imagined.
His friends were the greatest people on earth (and on this side of the galaxy) but what else was new. Whenever the running and jumping and being awesome got too much, Dick excused himself to monitor duty. And none of his friends ever even imagined thinking worse of him for it. Maybe Dick had been the one to overthink this all along.
He still patrolled in Gotham, just not as often anymore. He lost a bit of his one-on-one time with Barbara for it, but it also gave him some more space to think about Bruce and their last talk. Nothing had come of it besides a weird feeling in Dick’s stomach.
At least that was what he kept telling himself.
It was Jason that called him that fateful night, which would mark the beginning of yet another end. Barbara and Commissioner Gordon had been kidnapped by the Joker.
Dick’s blood ran cold. It must have showed on his face, because when he looked up from his phone all of his friends at Titans Tower stared at him. It only took him half a sentence to convince Wally to take him to Gotham.
When he arrived, the worst was already over. Barbara and her father had been found. Jim Gordon was alive, Barbara barely hanging on in the hospital. It pained Dick to slow down and change into civvies before he could go and visit her.
(And yes, it would always be weird to limp into a hospital after a long day and visit someone else. It felt as if people forgot that he could have hurt friends too, just because he was obviously lacking something. Common sense, according to his friends. Or self-preservation)
He wasn’t alone when he reached the operating room. Jim Gordon sat in one of the chairs in the waiting room area. He slowly sat down, as to not spook the man. Jim looked ten years older than he had when they had last seen each other.
“How is she?”
Gordon looked at him then, with contempt and hope in his eyes. Maybe Dick wasn’t the person he had hoped for. Or maybe he was. Dick just knew that he had to be Dick Grayson tonight and not Nightwing. That Batman and Robin would have to be enough while he sat and waited for Barbara to survive.
Had his friends and family felt the same that first night after his fall? Probably.
“Extensive spinal cord injuries. Head trauma. Broken rips. They are still treating her but it’s up to her if she survives. It’s up to my little girl to survive”
“How good, that we both know then, that Babs is a fighter”
Dick had to believe in that. There was no other option or choice. Barbara would survive and she would thrive, and Dick would be there for her. It was just how the world worked.
They sat together the whole night. Not talking, but sharing companionship nonetheless. Jim brought him coffee and Dick shared his snacks. It was early morning when a doctor finally came to talk to them:
“Family of Barbara Gordon?”
“I’m her father. That’s her boyfriend”
Dick nodded even if the comish’s tone had been harsh. The man was under a lot of stress right now. Sparing Dick’s feelings was very low on the list of things to look out for.
“We stabilized her and transferred her to a room in the ICU. Her spinal injuries are severe, though. The bullet lodged itself between L4 and L5 of her lumbar, or lower spinal cord. She will most likely be paraplegic. Other than that, she should make a full recovery. I will send a nurse when she is ready for visitors. One at a time.”
With that the doctor vanished back into the operating room. Gotham was a busy city for doctors and nurses and they couldn’t spare any time for the finer points of human interaction. They had lives to safe. And they had just saved Barbara’s.
A ginormous wave of relief washed over Dick. Babs was going to be okay. It was going to be okay. Next to him Jim started crying. For a moment Dick didn’t know what to do, and then he reached out and pulled the commissioner in a one-sided hug.
“It’s gonna be alright. She made it”
“I know. My little girl is alive. My little girl survived”
Dick let the father cry, having tears run down his own face. Distantly he wondered if Bruce had been like this too that night. Unimportant. That laid in the past, while this was the present.
Dick held onto Jim and Jim held onto him. Together they waited. Together they cried because Barbara had survived.
Dick wasn’t surprised when she banished him from her hospital room two weeks later. He had done the same after all 2 ½ years prior. And their situations were different. She had a bit more to deal with. He could wait and he would be there when she needed him.
He would give her the same space and trust she had given him.
It was the right thing to do. Which didn’t mean he wouldn’t try to cope in the most Bat-way possible, however. He had finally taken up Bruce’s offer to use the Batcave.
The Joker was currently back at Arkham but Dick still needed to let out some steam. He took to training in the cave, to going out with Batman and Robin at night. Nobody said anything if he was a bit harsher with the criminals than necessary.
Batman himself seemed badly shaken up and Jason had screamed with rage when Bruce told him that Arkham was all they could do against the Joker. Dick had wanted to scream too, but some part of him agreed with Bruce: They couldn’t kill no matter what. No matter how much they wanted to.
But Jason was even more disagreeable than normal. Dick knew that Jason liked Barbara, but he was impressed by just how much his little brother cared for her. When asked why Jason just beamed at him and said:
“She’s fucking Batgirl. A normal girl deciding to be a hero without Batman to hide behind. And she could totally kick your ass!”
Which, true, it was adorable and heartbreaking at the same time. Barbara deserved to create this kind of burning passion in people. She was awesome after all. But Dick knew that Barbara had a lot of adjusting to do in the future. That Batgirl was most likely over. Not the hero part, no, never, but the part of her life where Batgirl was the moniker of her choice. Accidents and traumas like theirs changed you. And Barbara had been a woman for years. It was time her hero-name reflected that.
Dick would tell her just that when she was ready to hear it.
Until then this punching bag was more interesting for his fists and thoughts.
“You favor your right leg”
Yeah, no shit, Sherlock. But Dick didn’t grace Bruce with an answer out loud, instead he waited for the coin to drop. The shocked intake of breath only moments later was more satisfying than anything that had happened in the last two weeks.
“I’m so sorry, Dick. I didn’t mean…”
A breathless laugh escaped him. It was still so weird to see Bruce - freaking Batman - walk around eggshells when it came to him and his loss of leg. It was better than the guilty silent treatment, of course, but terribly weird and also a little insulting.
“I favor my right leg because I can’t really control the force I use with my left. There are a few too many criminals out there who ended up with worse than necessary injuries because I used my left one for a spinning kick.”
He looked at Bruce then because he felt the scrutinizing gaze of his mentor. Bruce was clearly contemplating something. It was a typical look on Batman and one Dick didn’t like.
“What? Spit it out?”
“Hn… I noticed differences in your gait during patrol, of course, but you and Barbara made sure to keep the capabilities of your Nightwing prosthetic out of my hands. What exactly can you do with it?”
Only a month ago Dick would have spit in his face. And while things weren’t okay between them - not for a long shot - Nightwing worked with Batman at last. And Batman needed to know what his allies could and couldn’t do.
“What NOPE can do? It enhances my ability to jump by 3 feet, and kicks are up to twice as forceful as they were before. I also have storage for snacks and equipment. Everything a night-time vigilante needs.”
Bruce only nodded before wandering off. Dick wanted to punch him right there, but he didn’t. All of them had too much on their minds. Social cues were lost on Bruce most of the time and during stressful periods? Well, good luck.
Time, well, time moved on. Barbare hadn’t yet contacted him, only told him through her father that she wanted more space. That Dick reminded her a bit too much of what she had lost. And just because Dick understood, didn’t mean that it hurt any less. Emotions were a bitch.
Instead he focused on cases centered in Gotham. He needed to be home just in case Barbara decided to reach out. Just in case the Joker broke out and Dick could get a chance in punching the clowns teeth in.
And to be there for Jason. His little brother was 15 now and fighting with Bruce. Constantly. In a way he reminded Dick of himself, of that last year before the accident and the many that followed. But he wouldn’t let his misguided grief for things that were no longer ruin his relationship with Jason.
Instead he let him sleep at his apartment whenever he needed to cool off. Instead he made room for this little angry gremlin. They played video games together, they ate junk food, and whenever the night had finally progressed enough, Jason would spill the beans. About the fight. About the fear. About what being Robin meant to him.
It hurt to hear all that. It hurt and healed to know that Robin had not only saved him, but Jason too. He didn’t know how to react to those deep revelations, though, so he went with the Dick Grayson special: He hugged Jason close.
He did the same thing the night Jason came to him because of a case he and Bruce were working on. The night in which Felipe Garzonasa fell. Dick listened and listened and hugged. But internally? He didn’t know how to proceed either.
Bruce would be furious. And anxious. At least partially, rightfully so. Someone had fallen. Someone had died. And Jason had been there. Something like this shouldn’t happen in their line of work. Wasn’t allowed to happen. And yet it had.
But Dick felt lenient too. Jason was still just a child. Mistakes were made and no matter if Jason pushed Felipe or not, he felt bad about it. And that was all that counted. At least to Dick. Dick would make sure that Bruce felt the same. A warning about deteriorating Father-Son relationships should do it. Dick knew where to push the buttons and he wouldn’t hesitate to push them.
But before Dick could ring true to his promise of talking to Bruce, the Titans answered a call for an off-world mission. Dick had never been off-world for longer than a day and it sounded awesome. It sounded like something far away from murdering little brothers and breaking relationships. It sounded like an A++ opportunity to run away for a bit.
He agreed and suddenly there was so much to do, that Jason got kind of forgotten. It sucked but honestly: outer space. A few galaxies away from worrying about Barbara (and he left her a message) and Jason (he left him his emergency number).
It was a whirlwind of motion and if everything went alright, Dick would celebrate his 20th birthday on a space station with people closest to him, excluding a few notable exceptions.
They set sail and everything went great. He spent time with Kory and she told him about Tamaran and growing up as a princess. He joked with Wally and Roy and Donna, and sparred with all of them. He spent long days lounging around and short days fighting bad guys.
It was a vacation of the superhero kind.
But they had to return. And they did. Two days before his birthday. With his phone logging back into the American Mobile Network and a hot bath (and a week without a prosthetic) in his near future, Dick couldn’t wait to reach his apartment.
There were two messages on his phone though, when he checked. The older one was from Jason, the newer one from Barbara. Both were very short. Both made dread pool in his stomach. Something told him that his bath had just been canceled.
Jason’s, dated three weeks prior, was simply “I have news” and the one Barbara had send him contained a dreadful “Call me!”. Dick didn’t want to. Dick did it anyway:
“Dick?”
Her voice sounded wrecked. Dick didn’t know if it was because of something regarding her health or if it was because of something completely different. He hadn’t heard her voice in far too long to be able to tell.
“Babs? You said I should call you…?”
Dick was tired. He had been fighting aliens for over a month. He wanted a bath, sleep, some cereal and someone to massage to tension out of his left limb. He knew he would be getting neither. He knew his world would be destroyed once again instead.
“Oh, Dick… I… has Bruce talked to you?”
“No. No call. Nothing. Why? Because you scare me Babs.”
“I… Dick… Jason… Jason is dead. Killed by the Joker. Two weeks ago.”
The floor vanished under him. He fell to his knees in a graceless heap, not processing, not understanding, not believing.
“What? That… please tell me that isn’t true? Please… please…”
Tears were streaming down his face. He... He wanted. No. He… this had to be a lie. It had to! What would Dick do if it wasn’t? This couldn’t be true. No. Not Jason. Not his little brother. NO!
“I’m so sorry. I… I’m so, so sorry. My dad told me… the press knows, but I’m not sure if Bruce has talked to anyone since… I… I am so sorry”
Barbara was crying, Dick noted. Well, he was too. But there was something else that piqued his interest:
“Bruce? Why hasn’t he called me? He… he was able to. He was able to contact our ship. Why hadn’t he called? Babs? Why didn’t he tell me? I…”
He had to call Bruce. He had to. It was important. It felt almost as important as the hole in his heart did. His friends had gone home too, nobody knowing that Dick’s world would break apart only moments later and still all Dick did wish for was a tight hug and someone to tell him that everything would be okay. That this was a nightmare. That his little brother wasn’t dead.
Without another word he ended his call to Barbara. Instead he dialed the number of the Manor. It rang for a long while. But finally - finally! - Alfred picked up. Only hearing the haggard sound of Alfred’s voice confirmed everything. His little brother really was dead. God, no.
“Wayne Manor. Please state your request”
“Alfie…”
“Master Dick. You are back, I see”
“Is… is it true? Please, Alfie… is it true? Is Jason really dead?”
“I… I am sorry, but yes. Master Jason has… died”
Dick would love to be mad. Would love to hate Alfred for not telling him, but he could hear the un-shed tears in the Butler’s voice. He could hear his own pain reflected right back at him.
“Oh… why? Bruce?”
“I am afraid Master Bruce has not yet left the downstairs to take care of the more personal issues… like calling his son about his brother’s… demise. I am truly sorry, Master Dick. I… I was so consumed by my own grief…”
“No. Not your fault… I guess I missed the funeral?”
“I’m afraid so”
“Oh… Alfie? Tell Bruce not to call me. I think I need so space. And… I am sorry too.”
Dick ended the call and did what he did best: He started to run.
He spent his 20th birthday on a park bench in Chicago, with some beer and without anything else. Without his dead little brother. Without his hurt girlfriend. Without his worried friends. Without the phone he chucked into the water after it started blowing up. Without a college education. Without a home. Without a leg. Without anything to look forward to.
Three months later found him in Blüdhaven. The city he had wanted to move to almost three years ago. Now he did it. Nightwing had relocated with him too.
Everyone knew that he had moved there. It was hard to stay under the radar when you couldn’t move past the need to be a hero. The need to feel something. The need to feel alive.
Dick had quit college when he heard the news and now he worked in a dingy cop bar, searching for trouble and information. Whenever someone asked how he lost his leg, he told them some wild story about Gotham and heroes who couldn’t do shit. It felt as if he was talking about himself. Maybe he was.
He talked to Wally and Roy and Donna. But never Kory or Barbara. He called Alfred and Leslie, but never Bruce.
He was falling apart. His prostheses needed upgrades but neither talking to the JL or returning to Gotham for a check-up felt doable. His new apartment wasn’t made to handle his needs and he had taken to using a kitchen chair in the shower as to lower risks of injury. He still fell. It still hurt.
Dick was falling apart. He either slept too much or not enough. His pay made it impossible to eat healthy and more than once he marveled at the fact that was only able to move as freely as he did, because of Bruce’s money. Because of the fact that even now only the prostheses Bruce had paid for were the reason he could go to work or take the stairs. Even if he didn’t want to do either.
Even if he never wanted to touch anything Bruce had paid for again.
Because it had been Bruce that lost his little brother. Because it had been Bruce who cost them everything, they had worked so hard on.
(Because it made the voice in his head bearable)
(Your fault. Your fault. YOUR FAULT. your fault. Your Fault. Your fault)
So, to say he was surprised to see Barbara in front of his apartment one day, would be an understatement. He hadn’t talked to her in months, hadn’t seen her since the Joker had his way with her. Hadn’t realized just how bad he missed her.
She looked beautiful. Her red hair in a high ponytail, her eyes shadowed in the way of a nighttime vigilante, her clothes fitting and not in the way of her chair. The chair. Dick hadn’t even realized it was there at first. He had only seen her. How could he not? She was a powerful sight to behold.
(And, of course, his apartment complex had an elevator. He was broke, not suicidal. Probably. As of yet. Most likely.)
And for a moment he understood. People who loved you saw you not your disability. And even with that disability being a part of you, it didn’t stop the way they looked at you. It didn’t stand in the way of them truly taking you in. They saw every single part of you and loved you even more for it. Had she seen him the same three years ago? Probably.
Because he saw her like that right now.
Saw how she commanded the room - or his tiny, dingy apartment -, saw her regal pose and the queen like force behind each of her movements. He saw Barbara Gordon.
“Why are you here?”
“Because someone needed to do it. Bruce is not going to and your friends are too far removed. So, here I am. Ready to kick your ass. Let’s go out and get some coffee!”
With that she turned to the door, leaving him behind. No, leading the way so he could follow. And that he did. With his crutches in his hands and a week-old hoodie, he definitely didn’t compare to her but he knew that that didn’t interest her.
Instead they made their way downtown, through the dirty streets that made up Blüdhaven. Halfway to the coffee shop Barbara suddenly turned to look at him, and when he stared back, she smiled.
“What?”
“I just thought something pretty dumb and you are allowed to be offended but…”
“But what?”
Dick was intrigued. It was rare for Barbara to not outright say something. But then again, they hadn’t talked in any significant matter in almost half a year. Were they even still dating?
“It is kind of nice to go down the street with someone you know is unable to try to push you. I think I almost dislocated my dad’s shoulder last week when we went to the grocery store and he wanted to push my chair on the way there.”
Dick laughed. It felt good. It felt foreign. It felt forbidden. But still… good.
“I mean… I hope you know that I wouldn’t push you even if my hands were free. Cause, you know, I kind of get it. People trying to help. Feeling helpless. Being angry because of that”
“And do you feel helpless now?”
He stopped and stared at her. There they stood in the middle of the sidewalk, taking space and stares galore. Her chair and his sewn shut pants leg made them the target of public scrutiny. Their eyes met. He took a deep breath:
“Yeah. Yeah, I do. But not because of my leg. Really, that stopped bothering me as soon as everything else started going to shit. I’m just…”
What were the words he was looking for? What was the correct answer? He didn’t know. Barbara must have sensed it too because she motioned them forwards again.
The coffee shop Dick had chosen was full, but they somehow managed to get a place anyway. A pretty barista brought them their orders, and both of them smiled when she sat it down. Not having to fight through the masses was always a relief.
It was Barbara that started their conversation back up again:
“I’m going back into the hero business”
She said it as a challenge. As if she wanted for Dick to disagree. He couldn’t do that. He still knew that feeling all too well. He knew how much she needed support and love and understanding. He knew just how ready to fight she was.
“Cool. How? What’s your new moniker?”
“I deserve— Oh.”
And then she laughed. It was a beautiful sound. He could have fallen for her just because of her laugh but everything else she did was entrancing too. He was completely lost when it came to her. And yet he knew that it was a sound that happened far too seldom.
“I… I thought of building up an information network. Batgirl was always awfully good at hacking and collecting intel. Maybe it is time for Oracle to make a job out of it”
“Oracle… I like it. It has a nice, mysterious ring to it.”
She smiled and without a second of hesitation Dick felt himself smile back. They drank their coffee and for the first time in quite some while a feeling of content settled in him. But of course, this conversation wasn’t over yet:
“How are you doing, Dick?”
“I… I am trying. Possibly failing, but God, am I trying.”
“Can I help?”
“I think you just did. Thank you. Babs, I…”
“Yes?”
“I love you. And I am so sorry that I didn’t keep the promise I made. I’m sorry that I didn’t keep a fuckton of promises I made. I’m trying. I really am. And I am going to keep trying with you.”
There were tears in Dick’s eyes. Tears, that spilled down his cheeks. They both knew he didn’t just talk to her, he talked to Jason as well. He hadn’t even visited the grave of his little brother yet. Just one other person to disappoint.
When she put her hand on his, the warmth surprised him. It had been ages since someone touched him. He had forgotten how much he craved it.
“I am… I am not going to tell you that everything is okay or was okay. I wanted you ages ago, and you were gone. But… I understand. And I can live with you trying. Because honestly? You blame yourself so much you don’t need other people doing it for you, too.”
“What did I do to deserve you?”
“I mean, have you seen your ass?”
With that a laugh mixed itself between his tears. He felt warm. Oh, so warm. There were people next to him. There was a strong woman in front of him. There was hope.
The next months moved on in anecdotes.
It was Dick calling Wally and Wally running into a wall because of excitement.
It was Donna and Roy holding an intervention in his apartment and burning all his ugly sweaters.
(They weren’t ugly. You guys just don’t have taste)
It was Dick going flying with Kory. Again, and again. And it was Babs joining them, screaming the entire time.
It was movie nights at Titans Tower.
It was visiting the graves of his family with Barbara. It was seeing Jason’s grave for the first time and bursting into tears.
It was Dinah talking with him about guilt. About surviving and grieving and being a hero.
It was Dick and Babs falling into bed with each other, struggling, only for Dick to break down laughing because “Between the two of us we have one good leg”. It was Barbara laughing so hard that she cried. It was the two of them together.
It was Dick almost giving Superman a heart attack when the Man of Steel wished Dick good luck for a mission by saying “Break A Leg” and Dick answered “I sure hope not. I have only one left” without missing a beat.
(And it was Wally laughing in the background)
It was getting newer and better prostheses and yet continue to learn to love his body without. It was being comfortable as just Dick Grayson.
It was talking to Alfred but never to Bruce.
It was becoming the hero Blüdhaven deserved.
It was becoming NIGHTWING.
Dick wanted to go to bed. It had been a long day. Being a bartender was hell for his foot and back. And he still planned on going out tonight. A quick shower would be great before, though, and all he would get. Bed had to wait.
But a knock on his door interrupted his efforts to ready NOPE. Instead he stashed his gear behind the couch again and made his way to the door. It was dark outside. Nobody in their right mind would conquer Blüdhaven at this time. Maybe it was one of his neighbors.
A quick look through the spyhole told him a different story though: Outside stood a child he had never seen before.
He opened the door.
“How can I help you?”
The kid stared at him and for a moment Dick was unsure if he had scared him or not. The kid was tiny. He didn’t need to be frightened on top of it. But when the flood of words started to leave the kids mouth, Dick knew he didn’t need to fear for this child. At least not like that:
“Hello! My name is Tim Drake! I live next to Bruce Wayne. And… and I know that he is Batman. And that you are Nightwing. I followed you. At night, I mean. And not you directly, but like, the second Robin. And… Batman… Batman needs a Robin again. You have to return to Gotham. It needs you!”
Dick stared at the child. Stared at Tim Drake, who had just spilled the best kept secret in the world.
“I am not going to be Robin again. That name is no longer mine.”
He would never be Robin again. Never fly next to Batman like that. But maybe it was time to grace Gotham with a visit. Maybe it was time to return to his home turf for a while.
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