Chapter Text
Dick shuddered awake as the rain pounded against the window of the safe house he was in, the storm battering the building with everything it could. His heart pounding, Dick flinched as lightning briefly illuminated the room, and he resisted the urge to run.
Run where? Dick scolded himself, trying to get his breathing and pulse back under control. He glanced over to spot Tiger, who was resting in a cot by the door, a moment’s notice away from being fully alert. The two of them were on yet another mission, retrieving an organ harvested from an unaware meta, to be donated to someone buying it from the black market. The organ trade was something Dick had been blissfully unable to think about before this job, but learning about it now, seeing it every day, made him sick.
This time it was a kidney, harvested from an unrealized speedster, who’s heart gave out. When they had been assigned the mission, Dick had asked if they needed to retrieve the other donated organs, but Tiger had just rolled his eyes and ignored the question. That was another thing Dick had to get used to on this job, being ignored.
That line of thought only made Dick wince, as he remembered his last three audio missives to Bruce going ignored as well. The urge to check in on Gotham had been almost too much to resist, but he knew he couldn’t give away his position in Spyral.
Not yet anyways, not when he was so close to finding out what they were planning.
Tim Drake needed more coffee.
Well, actually, he needed sleep, but unless he suddenly gained the ability to stop time, only the first of those two options would prove helpful, so with an exhausted sigh, he pushed himself away from the Batcave’s computer for the first time in three hours, and trudged up the stairs.
Dragging his feet, Tim walked sluggishly to the kitchen, where he was surprised to find Jason cooking something on Alfred’s stove.
“What are you doing?” Tim asked, recovering from his shock.
Jason startled, jumping around with rapid speed, raising the plastic utensil he was using to stir whatever was in the pot, before his eyes narrowed in to focus on Tim. “The fuck, Replacement, you could’ve given me a heart attack.”
“I was just asking you what you were doing,” Tim retorted defensively, a scowl triggered by the nickname. “…you’re the one who didn’t hear me come in!”
Jason sneered, before turning back to the stove. “I’m making some breakfast, okay?”
“And you can’t do that at your own house?” Tim taunted, moving towards the coffee machine.
“It’s not for me, you little shit. It’s for the baby bat. He wanted some porridge, and Alfred’s busy, so I’m making the goddamn porridge.”
Tim grimaced. Damian was still recovering in the medbay of the Batcave, currently being accompanied by Stephanie and Cass, after his miraculous resurrection by way of the chaos shard. But while the shard had brought Damian back to life, it hadn’t fully restored his health, and so he was still dealing with a major stab wound to the chest.
And Tim was glad, at least a little, that Damian was back. He was, but that didn’t make being around the younger boy any easier. The two of them still rarely got along, and Tim was tired of being the bigger person, tired of walking away from every little fight the younger vigilante picked. He was tired of the attitude, and the bickering, and the jabs that were designed to hurt.
And he couldn’t look at Damian without wishing there was another brother there to soften the words.
Jason glanced over at Tim, clearly reading into his exhausted expression. “I miss him too.” Jason said quietly, catching Tim’s attention.
“Huh?” Tim blinked, not sure how to respond.
“I miss Big Bird too.” Jason repeated himself, slowly stirring the porridge, jutting out his jaw to conceal the rush of emotion he felt. “I…he was so good at taking care of people, and getting through this without him just seems so much harder.”
Tim couldn’t say anything. The thought of Dick just amplified his exhaustion even further. It had been nearly six months since the Crime Syndicate invasion, and since Dick’s death, and now Bruce was gone too, off galivanting around the world for nearly three weeks with no memory of any of them.
“It was always going to be hard,” Tim said coldly, watching the coffee machine pump liquid out of the reservoir, through to the grounds. “It always is without Bruce.”
Jason gave Tim the side-eye. “You talking about when Dick was Batman?”
Tim snorted. “What else would I be talking about? That was the worst time in my life, and between Bruce being dead, Dick ignoring and FIRING me, Damian coming into the picture, Steph and Kon being gone, and you…” Tim trailed off, noticing Jason tense up at the reminder of his violent interventions on their nightly patrols.
“…it was hard then.” Tim finished off quietly, pulling the pot of fresh coffee out to pour himself a cup. “This won’t be like that. I won’t let it.”
Sighing, Jason gestured for the coffee pot, inclined to pour himself a cup too. “Did Dick ever tell you how he stopped being Robin?”
Tim blinked. And then blinked again. He was too tired for this. “No? Why are you asking me that, now?”
“Because you’re right. We’re making this too hard for ourselves, and we have to change it. That means being goddamn honest with each other for a change. And I think you should know this story.” Jason turned down the gas on the stove, letting the porridge simmer.
Tim sat down at the breakfast table, staring at Jason expectantly, waiting for the older man to join him. Jason sat, nursing his coffee for a moment, collecting his thoughts. Impatiently, Tim began taking a sip of his own drink.
“Bruce fired Dick from being Robin.”
And Tim spat out his coffee.
“He what?” Tim choked, his brain startling awake.
Jason glanced with disgust at the drops of coffee sprayed across the table, and got up to grab a towel to clean it up. “Bruce fired Dick from being Robin. Twice, actually, but that is kind of the main gist of it.”
“Why? When? How?” Tim’s mind was racing with questions, but Jason held up a hand to stop him in his tracks, wiping down the table before retaking his seat.
“When Dick was fifteen, he was shot. He took a bullet for Bruce on patrol, and the slug went clean through his left shoulder. He nearly bled out, from what Alfred told me, and spent days in a medically induced coma to recover.”
Tim reviewed his mental map of Dick’s scars, remembering the puckered skin of a bullet wound on his shoulder, just below the clavicle, and the messy patch of tissue left by the exit wound on his back. Jason kept talking.
“When he woke up, Bruce was pissed. He told Dick that would never happen again, that Robin would never fly again, and that Dick was fired. Never mind that Dick was still hopped up on painkillers, recovering in his hospital bed, that hurt him more than anything, according to Alfred. Or at least, it did, until Dick was released from hospital, and Bruce made everything worse.”
“How could Bruce have made it worse?” Tim asked, trying to inject a fraction of humor into his voice, to cover the curiosity getting the better of him.
“The first night back from the hospital, Dick stole all of his Robin equipment and went out on patrol. Bruce chased him all across Gotham, and dragged him home to where the two of them would have their biggest fight…well, ever.” Jason admitted, imagining how bad the argument was, having witnessed the fights that came after. “Alfred said that after that, the two barely exchanged words with each other for a year. Batman and Robin patrolled separately, and Dick started rebelling more as a civilian. Parties, sneaking out, and lots of other shit. And the Titans Team started coming together too, which Bruce DEFINITELY didn’t like.”
Tim snorted. Bruce’s opinion on the Titans had changed very little since it’s conception, and he could only imagine what B had thought of when Dick started hanging out with them.
“And then Two Face happened.” Jason whispered, gripping his mug tightly.
Tim frowned. “I thought Two Face had been attacked when Dick was just starting out, not when he was finishing?”
Jason was confused for a moment, before he realized what Tim was talking about. “Oh, no! I’m not talking about Two Face BECOMING Two Face, I’m talking about Dent attacking Robin!”
Tim opened his mouth to say something, but then he realized he didn’t know what to say. “Huh?”
“Dick was out on patrol, and came across Two Face’s gang, and like an idiot, decided he was going to bust the lot. He went down against them all with no backup, and got himself caught. And Two Face decided to beat him. Badly.”
Tim winced.
“Luckily, he had an emergency beacon, and called for help. But by the time Batman got there, Two Face and his crew were all gone, and Dick…according to Alfred, the only other time he’d seen that many injuries on a living person was during his war days.” Jason sighed, taking a long sip of his coffee. Tim did the same, noticing that the drink was rapidly started to cool.
“Bruce locked away all of the Robin gear, and made it clear that Dick would never wear that suit again, and started going on about taking over WE, and college, and apparently Dick just snapped. Alfred didn’t tell me everything about that fight, but by the end of it, Dick had been fired from Robin for a second time, and Bruce had kicked him out.”
Tim couldn’t breathe. How had he never heard this story before? “He kicked him out?” Tim asked.
Jason nodded, a grave expression on his face. “Dick went off to live with the Titans after that, dropped out of college before he even started attending classes, and ran the team in Jump City. That’s when he started going by Nightwing.”
“So why are you telling me this?” Tim asked, confused.
“I could never understand why Dick would repeat Bruce’s mistakes,” Jason sighed. “Firing you, didn’t really make any sense to me, until I learned something else about Robin that recontextualized the whole shitshow.”
Tim raised an eyebrow, waiting.
“Robin wasn’t Bruce’s to take away. He didn’t come up with the name, the colors, any of it. That was all Dick. Robin was his mother’s nickname for him, because of his birthday. The Flying Graysons wore the red, green, and yellow on the day…”
“…on the day they died.” Tim cut Jason off, his eyes widening with realization. Jason nodded, grimacing as he remembered that Tim had actually been there to witness the Graysons’ deaths.
“Robin was meant to be Dick’s, and Dick’s only. In Dick’s eyes, he was the only person who had the right to wear that mantle, because of how much it meant to him.”
“So what,” Tim growled, feeling frustrated. “He fired me because he wanted to pick who he had as Robin?”
“I think,” Jason said carefully. “That Dick has always believed Robin was about saving the child wearing the mask. And that, even though he had little say about who the people were wearing the mask after him, when it came time, he saw another kid that needed saving, after Robin had already rescued you.”
Tim stopped short.
For the longest time, Tim had always believed that Robin was only an extension of Batman. His support in the field, his partner in crime. Robin was nothing without Batman, and Batman wouldn’t survive without Robin. He’d been all too happy to supply the need for the child vigilante when no one else would or could, because it didn’t MATTER who was Robin, as long as Batman was around to save the day.
But of course it mattered! Tim’s eyes started tearing up, and Jason’s expression fell. “Shit, Timmy, I’m sorry, what did I say?”
“I thought Dick didn’t want me. I thought that he chose Damian over me because he didn’t want my help. He didn’t believe me about Bruce, so I thought…”
“You thought that his choice in Robin was a reflection on you.” Jason realized, a bitter expression on his face.
Tim nodded, choking out a sob. “I never even considered his perspective, about Robin being there to save the kids, not save B. Of course he wanted Damian.”
“He wanted you both, Tim!” Jason emphasized, climbing out of his chair to kneel in front of his little brother. “I just think he needed Robin’s magic to help Damian, because in his eyes, you didn’t need it anymore.”
“I did,” Tim sobbed. “I did.”
“I don’t think that’s true,” Jason said gently. “You’re Timothy goddamn Drake. You went out there and built your own mantle. You saved yourself, and you saved Bruce, and you saved this family, all without Robin. Dick saw it then, and we all see it now, and in fact, I think the only person who doesn’t see it is you.”
Tim fell silent, but Jason kept talking. “And yes, Dick probably went about it all the wrong way. You know how he is, sometimes he’s just a stubborn battering ram who fucks around like a shithead.”
“How he was.” Tim corrected, his voice hollow.
Jason’s mouth shut with a clack, and the two vigilantes stared at the floor in silence for a moment.
“That doesn’t mean he didn’t believe in you. Otherwise he never would have chosen you to be Robin.” Jason finally said, looking back up at Tim.
Tim frowned, looking up at Jason who had a determined glint in his eye. “He didn’t. I chose to be Robin.”
“He trained you, didn’t he? He taught you how to fly, how to fight, how to hack, how to drive the Batmobile. He came back to Gotham for you, Timmy, and to me, that looks a lot like him choosing you to carry on his legacy.”
Tim sighed, thinking over Jason’s words. “I never thought of it like that.”
“Yeah, well, that’s what you get for being a stubborn little shit.” Jason groaned, climbing to his feet. “Goddamn, this weather is killing me. When’s that lightning storm supposed to pass?”
Tim shrugged. “I don’t know. Tomorrow, hopefully. I really need to make some progress in this case.” Tim rubbed his eyes, picking up his (now cold) cup of coffee to chug the remains.
“Which case is this?”
“Organ trafficking.”