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The stars look as if they are perfect.
The first time Dick remembers actually looking, analyzing even, at the stars was in a rural Spanish town, surrounded by acres and acres of wheat fields, while traveling with the Haley’s.
He was young, still losing his baby teeth once in a while while eating their daily dry crusted bread. It was the first time his ma pointed out the constellations in the sky, telling him the stories behind each seemingly random group of stars. There were no clouds that night and no hurries to be had. The random dots on the sky, his ma said, let us continue our storytelling for years and years. His pa, listening intently next to him, added details on how to spot them if he were to ever be alone at night.
Unlikely, he said, but maybe if dick becomes a rowdy teen, he could at least look at the stars to remember how Ma and Pa are worrying at home.
(If Dick had the training that he now has, would he have spotted the sadness his parents had?
Or guilt?)
The moon shines at them like a spotlight. The gentle breeze cradles the little boy to sleep. The two lovers share a look of grief.
It’s a beautiful cloudless night.
——————————————————
Tim Drake’s favorite place in the suburb of Gotham is the Gotham Museum of Science and Industry. Sure, it has bits about the history of trains and how it involved in Gotham with the influx of immigrants. It has a whole exhibit about magnetism and he still proudly has a very small piece of (probably a fake) glass crystal from the exhibit.
However, his favorite is the dome. It’s got an entrance and an exit that greets you with a pair of black-out curtains. With its spacious floor and comfy couch-like chairs, the dome’s projector fills the entire space with the real-time reflection of the locations of each star. During those special tours, the sky turns and changes far faster than the real-time to show how the sky night could look in 30 years, or how it would have looked thousands of years ago. Tim feels as if he’s seeing what a lonely orphan from Mesopotamia would have seen during their lifetime.
It’s his mom’s favorite place to be in the museum too. His mom whispers how the Babylonians used to catalog the stars and mark the solstices throughout the years. She has the sparkling eyes that his dad gets when he talks about opera.
(It’s the same face she has when she talks about Turandot.)
(He only has a vague idea of how proud Janet Drake is of her son. She wishes, all the time, that she could tell her son how much she loves him, more than anything that has ever existed in the world. So instead, she shows him by sharing her passion.
He’s a smart kid. She wants to see him grow and grow until he surpasses her in everything. So she starts with the stars, the most unknown place in this universe, just as her grandpa did.)
Today’s a special day for this mother and son duo. It’s the third Saturday of the month, meaning that there’s going to be a tour guide in the dorm talking about the history and the lores behind the famous constellations. Last month, they missed it due to sudden calls Janet and Jack had to answer.
At 10 AM, after a lazy breakfast with scrambled eggs and toast, the mother and son duo is excited to go. His dad has always dropped them off and picked them up to listen to them talk about the stars. The duo is always excited to talk about the same old tour they experience but they talk about the changes they made at the planetarium or the differences between the tour guides. It truly is the favorite part of their month at all times.
(It’s the favorite part of Jack Drake’s week too. He would never miss it if he could. Would fate be kind enough to give him moments like this for the rest of his life?)
“Did you buy the tickets online already, honey?”
“Of course, Jack. I’m not hurrying to drink my coffee for no reason! Are you ready, Tim? You’ve been taking an awful long time to get your socks!”
Tim is. Tim is just thinking about the Graysons and the star of the show, the youngest Grayson. The shining light of the circus. They’re coming to Gotham next month and Tim just cannot wait to see them.
He wonders if they like looking at the night sky. They must have seen the stars from all around the world, just like his parents have. He’ll ask when they’re taking the picture together. He can wait.
“Coming, mom! Just looking for my lucky socks!”
“I’ll get the car warmed up!”
It’s going to be a great day.
——————————————————
As Dick grows up, one thing is certain. The stars - they’re just rocks and stones, burning through the space, burning through the emptiness of it all. The vacuumed empty space in between the lights is inherently - and unfortunately - nothing.
The stars fall sometimes to make up that fact. For a second, there’s movement. But it’s still a second. So insignificant to all but the star. So sudden. So forgettable.
It only took a second for his ma and pa to fall to their demise. If he was a second late, he would’ve fallen too.
The night before her death, ma told him about two constellations. When his pa asked why two tonight, his ma said that it was because they must go together. Ursa Major and the Ursa Minor were the last ones she told him about, after Lyra, Orion’s belt, Aquila, and Cassiopeia.
(He ignores the implication that his ma could’ve known that their death was coming. What ifs are just what ifs, he tells himself.)
Also called the Big and Little Dipper, they symbolize a mother and a son. Artemis’ devout huntress, violated by Zeus, the father of the gods, turns into a bear because of Hera. After Callisto’s turning, her son hunts his mother without knowing that it’s his mother. Then, Zeus turns the mother and the son into bears in the sky to mourn them.
He didn’t even bother to let them face each other or let them hug for their eternal peace. Would she have known that her attempt to escape the world had led her into a doomed pair of a mother and a son? Does the son know that his mother loved him more than anything, despite his birth starting the tragedy of them both? Does the mother know that none of this was her fault?
Dick Grayson-Wayne is not sure. One thing he knows is that his ma loved him more than life.
Life does not like that.
“How’s your school going, Master Grayson?”
“Dick is fine.”
“Of course it is, Master Grayson.”
“It was… okay.”
“Good.”
It was not okay.
“The supper will be in an hour, Master Grayson.”
“Is Bruce out today?”
“Yes, unfortunately. He will be back later.” Alfred glances at the boy.
Without him. The most important words, unspoken. Dick walks up the stairs and slams his bedroom door.
After a wordless supper and a few attempts of conversations from Alfred, Dick sneaks out through his window with his star chart he got from school. Gotham might be thick with smog but Dick can identify a few.
But random stars are not his target.
He’s looking for the Ursa Major and Ursa Minor tonight. But the city is too foggy. Too hazy and too cloudy.
It’s a year since their deaths. When he closes his eyes, the pool of blood does not leave his sight. It’s cold. The winds are not as forgiving in Gotham. Nothing is. It’s a brutal, brutal city.
“Chum.”
It’s Bruce. Dick does not answer.
“Chum.” Tears swell up but Dick does not look up. He knows his face is red and blotchy from his attempts to not cry since the supper. He knows his hair is messy, his clothes dirty, and his hand barely gripping the star sheet.
“I know. It’s okay, chum.”
Dick Grayson finally looks up to the sky and lets it all out.
——————————————————
Jackson. It means ‘Son of Jack’. He is Timothy, Son of Jack, Drake.
If he had a choice, if his name was not already on several billboards, websites, databases, and articles, if he lived in an alternate universe where he was not Robin, maybe he would have changed his name to show that he is also his mother’s son too.
That he is proud to be Janet Drake’s son.
He feels like he doesn’t get much to keep his mom’s memories. He doesn’t have a trace of his mother in his name or his job. All he has today is the suit his mother bought him two years ago with his mother’s favorite flowers, shivering in the snow.
All he knows is that today’s the day of Janet Drake’s funeral.
The headstone is made out of marble. He hopes he has time to bring her flowers every once in a while.
(He knows he won’t. He’s Robin.
(Even such a title is given by someone not his mother.
He desperately looks for something given by his mother.
He’s not sure where to look.)
It’s a few days later when he finds a box of letters. He finds it while organizing his mother’s closet, hidden deep in the closet. It’s a wooden box, her initials ingrained beautifully on the box. The wood grains show some age yet the finish is still gorgeous.
Their monthly trips to the planetarium. The night the Graysons died. The night he introduced Steph. The list goes on.
Deep in the box, he finds the letter about his birth. Her giddiness going to the hospital. Her surprise with her hands and feet swelling. Her talking about how much of a picky eater she has become.
In the last paragraph, she talks about his name. She talks about how she thought about a lot of names: Connor, Bartholomew, and Jaime, to name a few. However, only one name remained. Timothy.
Her grandfather who taught her the stars and the sky. The one who taught her the history of the world. The one whose death impacted so much that she decided to go into archeology.
She named him.
For the first time since her death, Tim cries.
——————————————————
It’s been a while since they patrol together, Dick and Tim.
It’s also been a while since the night was so quiet. They are sitting on the ledge of the roof of a random building. The bricks are old and crumbly. The wind is cold. The sirens are loud. There are fights everywhere. Smashed windows everywhere.
It’s the usual.
One thing not unusual is the lack of fog and clouds. Gotham City is one foggy city; the night sky is rarely ever this clear. From the roof of this building, many stars are able to break out of the thick smog of the city, just like the moon does.
“There’s Ursa Major, Tim.”
“Huh, Ursa Major seen in Gotham. That’s new.” Tim looks at Dick. Dick’s eyes are a bit hazy. “Your favorite, right?” Dick whips his head around.
“How did you know? I don’t tell that secret to anyone.”
“Firstly, I’m not just anyone. Secondly, you told me.”
“I absolutely did not. Spill, Tim. Who told you?”
“You did. At the circus. The night your parents died.”
“Huh.”
“Who else knows?”
“No one that’s alive. That’s for sure.”
“It’s my favorite too. Don’t worry. You’re also the only person alive who knows that information too.”
“Was it…. your mom?”
“Yeah.”
“Me too.”
They watch the mother and the son in the sky, wordlessly. They don’t have to; they understand. They see the mother and son create a circle together, a completeness that no other constellations create.
The stars are beautiful today.
“Have you been to the Gotham Museum of Science and Industry’s planetarium?”
“No, but I know it used to be your favorite.”
“How did you know that?”
“You used to disappear there whenever something bad happened.”
“Ah, the trackers.”
“... Yeah.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever gone there after Mom’s death.”
“We should go there together, then. I heard there’s a tour every third Saturday of the month. Tell me about the stars. You know, I didn’t do well in physical science class in high school.”
“That’s just because Mrs. Wilson sucked. Don’t complain about how much I talk after the tour, though.”
“I won’t. Pinky promise.”
“Fuck off.”
They don’t mention the fact that both their calendars will highlight the next third Saturday of the month. They don’t mention the fact that they will both feel a kind of grief after the tour and that they know they won’t have to talk about it. They won’t mention that they will visit their mothers’ graves the day after and that they will meet at a café near the Gotham Cemetry.
That doesn’t matter. They might matter in the future but not here. Not tonight. Not on this building.
All that matters is that the stars are shining beautifully tonight despite the smog of the city.
That’s all that matters tonight.