Chapter Text
Richard John Grayson was born in Keystone City, Kansas.
Most people felt something towards their birthplace- a fierce pride, or a sense of shame. His wasn’t somewhere he was especially proud of, nor was he ashamed of it. It was really just a place; one of many on the long list of places he’d been.
Home was never a place, for Dick. It was always, always the people. His mom and dad, all the people they worked with at the circus. They were his family, and they were the only home he needed.
Then the wire snapped, and he lost everything he’d ever known in the blink of an eye.
His home was gone, just like that.
With time, he found a new home in Bruce and Alfred, and later, Jason. Over the years his home grew- his friends, his team, his many, many siblings.
But there would always be a part of him that felt the most at home in a beat-up truck on a deserted highway; in sleeping bags; in middle of nowhere gas stations at two in the morning. On the road, knowing wherever they stopped, it would all be temporary.
It was… an adjustment, coming to Wayne Manor at eight years old, knowing that he’d be in Gotham for the next ten years at least.
Even after all the years he had lived there, some days he still woke up wondering when it would be time to pack up and go. Time to take to the skies of another city.
Almost every other vigilante in Gotham had been born there, with a few exceptions. Very different parts, sure, but the same city nonetheless.
Bruce and Tim were born and raised in the high society of Bristol, while Steph and Jason knew the streets of Crime Alley like the backs of their hands. Duke was a Narrows kid, and Babs had grown up in Tricorner.
They all had Gotham in their bones. They had been born with the toxicity in their veins, the smog in their lungs. The grime of the city was a second skin. They knew the city better than anyone.
Dick sometimes felt like an outsider, to all of that. He’d lived in Gotham for a decade, and been in and out for several years before Bludhaven was destroyed and he’d moved back. He should feel like Gothamite, down to his bones.
Sometimes, he did. Sometimes, he knew Her rooftops like the back of his hand. Sometimes, the thick smog felt almost comforting as it settled in his lungs. Sometimes, he felt like the grimy city streets were all he’d ever known.
But then he would remember- he didn’t belong here. Not like they did.
Duke had described, one afternoon, how on his roadtrip upstate with Batman and Two-Face, it was his first time seeing the stars. He hadn’t been able to appreciate it when they were running for their lives, but on the way back, they’d had a chance to stargaze. Apparently, he’d been rendered speechless for five minutes.
Bruce had chuckled fondly remembering it. His first time properly seeing the stars was when he was eighteen. While it was a little easier to see them in Bristol than in the Narrows, it still wasn’t much. His parents had never been fond of vacationing, and he hadn’t had a reason to leave Gotham until he left to train. He, too, had been unable to do anything but stare in awe.
Tim had been seven, the first time he remembered seeing the stars, on one of the few trips his parents took him on. He’d taken as many pictures as he could, but they didn’t compare to the experience of seeing them in person.
Jason had told them, his voice carefully blank, that the first time he saw the stars, he was fifteen years old, at a refugee camp in Ethiopia.
Dick had kept quiet. He’d seen the stars all his life. He’d grown up with Orion and Hercules and Ursa Minor. He could tell all their stories in a heartbeat. He didn’t remember the first time he’d seen the stars; they’d always been there.
There were other things, too. Fresh air, real sand and soil. Things that were impossible to find in Gotham. Things that Dick had had plenty of until he was eight.
Gotham takes care of Her own, and She doesn’t like outsiders. That was just the way it was. So what did that mean for Dick? What was he to Her?
Had he been there long enough to be considered a Gothamite? Would he always be the circus boy he was born as?
Was he always going to be stuck in this in between state?
As one of Her vigilantes, he did everything he could to protect Her and Her people. Did that make him one of them? Did She care about him like She did them?
Some days, the idea that he wasn’t a Gothamite didn’t even cross his mind. What else could he be? Nightwing may have debuted in Bludhaven, but everyone knew he started off as Gotham’s- as the very first Robin. And Nightwing had been operating in Gotham for a while now. Dick Grayson had lived in Gotham for a decade, and despite spending a few years in the Bludhaven Police Department, he was back in his father’s city. He had an apartment in East End, and he spent almost every weekend at Wayne Manor.
Some days, all he could think about was how he didn’t quite fit. He wasn’t made for this city, not like the others were. He wasn’t born to walk these streets or breathe this air. Gotham was just one stop of many. Not home, never home.
He hadn’t grown up in Gotham. He hadn’t been raised on Her smog and Her grime and Her toxins. But he knew this city. He put his blood, sweat, and tears into protecting Her. He knew these streets better than anyone- he had been Robin, and Robin had always belonged to Gotham. That was a fact. And Nightwing may have once belonged to Bludhaven, but there was no Bludhaven left for him to belong to.
And maybe She didn’t see it that way. Maybe he would always be an outsider to Her. But if She wanted him gone, She would have to drag him out kicking and screaming.
This was his city. He may not have been born with Gotham in his veins and his lungs and bones, like the others had, but goddamnit if he hadn’t made it a part of him anyway.
(Privately, Gotham thought this made him more of a Gothamite than anybody.)