Archive of Our Own

There was a time when Dick was happy and free.

He was independent. He was Nightwing. Free of Bruce’s insufferable scrutiny. Free from Gotham, only popping by to visit Babs and Alfred and Jason. In love and living with Kory, a ring burning in his pocket.

He had been so happy.

Then Babs was shot in the spine. And six months later, Jason was dead.

Six months after that, Tim came into their lives. Knocked on his door with a little folder full of incriminating photos and demanded he go back to being Robin again.

Demanded that Dick go back to putting up with…

Anyway.

He said no, and there was another kid Robin now, another child had stolen his name. A name he never would have shared with Bruce if he’d known it’d be taken from him.

There were legal troubles with his and Kory’s engagement, a media storm and public backlash. Apparently even superhero princess aliens were still not citizens. And then… Mirage, and the Titans turned against him, and everything was complicated, and…

Well.

Suddenly he wasn’t engaged to Kory anymore.

And he decided to set up shop in Blüdhaven. Lay claim to the place. Have a city that was his. Blüdhaven, after all, needed it.

Babs had remade herself into Oracle by then, joined the Justice League even, such a far cry from the teenage Batgirl he had his first crush on. They decided to give their relationship another shot, and things were looking up, they really were.

Then Dick screwed the fuck up and Redhorn was murdered, his killer got loose, and Amy found out Dick was Nightwing and promptly fired him from the force.

She didn’t make a big thing of it. Didn’t give the real reason. Gave him the dignity of keeping his identity intact, at least, and at her own expense, too. Everyone was oh so sympathetic to the cop unjustly fired for no good reason.

Then there was apparently a pile up on the freeway. A woman with a ten-year-long heart condition had an attack. The paramedics couldn’t get to her in time. She died in her car.

Dick hadn’t even known. He didn’t pay much attention to traffic, as a vigilante.

But that woman was Blockbuster’s mother.

Blockbuster assembled a team of costumed mercs. Lead by Tarantula herself. He spared no expense. Got an investigative reporter to profile him as a civilian, even.

Babs was their first target.

Dick thought it was a hit, and reacted accordingly. Even though Babs had been handling it herself perfectly well. And okay, maybe he did more harm than good, and got in Babs’ way, and Tarantula got away because of that, and maybe this was a little bit his fault.

He’d already been injured beforehand. On Alfred-mandated bedrest. The older gentleman had recommended that Babs beat him unconscious or perhaps hogtie him, advice which she ignored, and Dick also proceeded to ignore the instruction to stay still.

He kept moving, talking, joking, not caring about—

He didn’t even hear himself until after he’d made a crack about the Joker and Babs broke down crying. Yelled at him to just hold still for once in his life so he didn’t lose the use of his arm.

She should never have been put in that position. It was cruel to force her to be his caretaker. She was his girlfriend, not his mother.

“I’m tired of this, Dick. I’m tired of fighting with you to let me take care of myself, I’m tired of your relentless energy, and I’m tired of always playing ‘remember when.’ Oh, and I’m really tired of the way you always look surprised when your ex-and/or-potential-psycho-love-interests-in-costume plant wet ones on you.”

In hindsight, their breakup had been a long time coming.

How else was he supposed to react when a villainess kissed him mid-fight? Excuse him for being surprised. But no, Babs saw their potential.

It wasn’t even about that. He knew that.

But it hadn’t fucking helped.

What had worked when they were kids didn’t work as adults. They had both grown into different people. They just didn’t fit together anymore. Not like they used to. They were too different now.

Blockbuster’s next target was Haly’s Circus. Dick had been called to fill in for a suspiciously murdered trapeze artist at the last minute, something he was glad to do, even if his partner for the performance was a bit handsy.

But.

Blockbuster hired Firefly to burn down the big tent in the middle of the show.

Dick had tried to save as many people as he could.

It was at this point that he decided to just stop resting entirely until the situation was handled. He made a joke about being Daywing now, but no one was around to laugh.

The target after that had been his apartment building. Dick made it a point to be friends with all of his neighbors. He owned the building, actually, one of the very few things he had dipped into his trust fund for, but well worth it to make sure his neighbors were all being taken care of. He kept it on the down low. For a number of reasons.

Blockbuster blew the building to smithereens.

Dick tried to save as many people as he could.

He went a little bit feral after that. It was kind of a haze. He didn’t really remember any details. He was homeless, now, no belongings, no clothes, no food. Just the suit he had on his back, but that was all he needed. He lived for the Mission.

That was another thing Babs had taken issue with, actually. Said he had turned into Bruce, which gutted Dick to his core, so he was trying not to think about it.

It was only one of his deepest fears.

Wasn’t the first time he had been homeless, but homeless as a vigilante was different than homeless as a civilian. Very different. He was fine.

His suit was thermoregulated. So the pile of newspapers on the fire escape hadn’t been for warmth; they had been for the sensation of having blankets over him. He just slept better that way.

It was fine.

He even told Alfred at the funeral that he would stop by the Manor sometime soon. Which he fully intended to do, just as soon as he dealt with Blockbuster.

And so Nightwing went on a goddamn rampage brutally beating up every single one of Blockbuster’s hired villain freaks.

By this point, Tarantula had turned on him. The original Tarantula, John Law, had lived in Dick’s building. She had gotten cold feet about killing him and Blockbuster had to outsource the job to two others of his gang. But since she had “gone soft,” she was now on the outs with her boss.

That was a death sentence, in this line of work. Blockbuster ordered it to be carried out by Lady Vic.

When Nightwing finally got around to cornering Tarantula, she was willing to help bring down the big guy.

They got a full taped confession to everything. It was clean, no coercion. Nightwing didn’t lay a finger on the guy. Just walked straight into his headquarters, goaded him, and let Blockbuster beat the shit out of him without fighting back at all. It was a brilliant plan. Didn’t even check him for a wire, too busy whaling on him.

The two of them went straight to the DA. Catalina’s brother.

Who destroyed the only copy of the recording. So that Cat couldn’t be prosecuted as an accomplice. Said that was how he’d protected her all these years.

Dick… had thought Blüdhaven was better than that.

But it was fine! It was fine. He would think of something. That hadn’t been a last-ditch effort. Nightwing had tons of tricks up his sleeve. He would think of something.

Then Blockbuster tried to blow up the police station, but Dick stopped it! It was fine. Amy was alive. All those cops were alive.

His next brilliant idea was to go to the reporter Blockbuster had sicced on him.

She had evidence. She had started piecing things together. She was sharp, she had realized how her information was being used and she was willing to—

She was shot in the head.

Blockbuster was there.

He shot another who just happened to be in the hall.

“You could take every beating I could dish out. You might even enjoy them. You have absolutely no regard for your personal safety. But the people around you—well! That’s a different matter. Isn’t it?

“I’ll take out the people you care about—hell, even strangers you stand next to on the street—you won’t be able to shake someone’s hand without marking them for death! Do you like being alone, Dick?”

Shut up. Shut up shut up shut up.

“…It will never stop. It’s never going to stop.”

It’s never going to stop.

BANG!

He jogged up the flight and a half of stairs up onto the roof. Blood on his hands. Blood literally spattered onto his hands. Onto his face and chest. On the Nightwing mask. Defiling it.

He couldn’t breathe.

He fell down onto his knees on the roof, in the pouring rain, tugging down the zipper at throat just to get some air, apologizing to Bruce all the while. He was—He was—

Catalina was there.

“Don’t talk to yourself, querido, talk to me,” she said, turning his face towards her.

“I failed you. Utterly. Catalina, I’m so, so sor—”

“Shhh,” she said.

And then she kept shushing him. And she ignored everything else that he said that night.

Cat made him drive them up to Massachusetts on his bike. They broke into a bed and breakfast.

Dick was… He could have paid for it. He was fired, sure, but he had his trust fund, he didn’t like using Bruce’s money, but—

But nothing. What he wanted didn’t matter.

Cat was calling the shots right now. A good thing, too, because Dick’s head wasn’t on straight. Everything was a mess inside him. He felt like a toy that had been shattered and taped back together wrong, haphazard and without care.

There was exactly one bar in this postage-stamp sized town, and within three nights, the pair of them had become its best customer. It was the only tolerable aspect to whole horrible trip.

It’s never going to stop.

They had also raided the carryout that served as the town’s liquor store.

Dick was nursing a bottle of vodka back in their bed, Catalina finally passed out beside him after she’d come twice.

(“I don’t drink.”

“I know. But you’re gonna drink tonight.”)

Jason appeared in the room. A grown-up Jason. Like he would be today, if he had lived.

“Hey, Little Wing. How are things?” he asked. Maybe this day had a bright spot after all.

Jason glanced up and down the bed. “Gross. Don’t you have any dignity?”

“No, not really. Why?”

“You’re a fucking disaster, Dickhead.”

“Don’t I know it.” He knocked back another shot.

“Who even is this chick, anyway?”

“Tarantula,” Dick said, smiling. It was so good to have his brother here. He should get black-out drunk more often. “I think she’s evil. But so am I, so who cares?”

“What?”

“I’m evil.” He giggled. He held up one finger to his lips and shushed. “Don’t tell Bruce.”

“Dick. What the hell did you do?” he asked. Hesitated. “Is this… Is this about that murder back in Blüdhaven?”

“Mm-hmm, we killed that guy. Did it together.”

“What the fuck?!”

“Not so much the ‘Golden Boy’ now, am I.”

Jason rolled his eyes. “What, because you killed one person? Get on my level.”

“I don’t think you did it, for the record.”

“Did what?”

“Killed Garzonas,” he said. “You were too good, Jay. You woulda never.”

“…I’ve killed, Dickie.”

He waved that statement away with the bottle. “You’re just saying that because you’re a manifestation of my subconscious and I’ve killed.”

“Right,” Jason said flatly. “How much have you had to drink?”

“Just enough,” he said, taking a sip. He didn’t want to get too much drunker past this point. Knocking himself unconscious had sounded nice earlier but he wanted to keep this hallucination going now. It was so nice.

“So you killed a man. Fled the state. And you’ve been having nonstop, booze-filled sex romp in this B&B ever since,” Jason summarized.

“Yep,” he said.

“What, are you just a fugitive now? Living life on the run? Did you leave behind evidence or something?”

He waved the bottle again. “Doesn’t matter. Amy’ll take care of it.”

Jason’s eyes narrowed. “Amy as in police Captain Rohrbach?”

“Yep!”

“God, not only were you a cop, you were crooked too. You fucking disgust me.”

He laughed miserably. “Same here, Little Wing, same here.”

“Alright, Mr. Stone Cold Killer, why’d you do it? What made this man worthy of being Nightwing’s first kill?”

“Not my first,” he said, and laughed again. “He said he was never going to stop.”

He knocked back the bottle again, and when he lowered it, Jason was gone.

Him and Cat fought Copperhead. Cat was needlessly reckless, relied too heavily on him to fix all her mistakes, and it made him angry, but only a little bit. Mostly he was numb.

“I need to interrogate him,” he explained, keeping his voice as level as he could.

“Oh. Sorry,” Cat said.

“Nevermind. Just tell me what’s in these darts you use.”

Cat ducked her head demurely. “Don’t know exactly. It won’t kill him though. It’s some kind of knockout thing.”

“Fine. I’ll analyze it for you,” he bit out. He stalked away from where Copperhead was tied up and unconscious on the floor.

The idea of Catalina Flores being able to knock anybody out at will was terrifying. And she didn’t even know what drug she was dosing people with. Who had made it for her?

…Probably John Law, he mused. And then she being bankrolled by Blockbuster, so she probably had her own chemist on call by now.

Cat trotted after him. “Hey, caballero, you wanna go get something to eat? Maybe a drink or two?”

She leaned in close for a kiss and Dick whipped his head the other way. “Copperhead won’t try to take over a New England drug ring. Someone hired him to take out the competition.”

“So?”

“So, our work has just started,” he said, feeling more confident. Work. They could focus on work. Do some good old-fashioned vigilantism and maybe just never go back to that hotel room at all.

“Hey, lemme talk to you for a second, querido. I’m gonna handle this investigation, okay? You’ve done enough, and I still owe you one. Plus I still need to learnt the whole detective angle. Practice, you know?” she said. “But I’m gonna do all that tomorrow. Tonight, I’m gonna take care of you.”

She was behind him now. He had turned his back on her, to walk towards his bike. Her hands gliding over his shoulders.

His suit was rough, these days. Worn in a way super suits were never meant to become worn. Torn up with dozens of dangerous little cuts. Wearing it full-time for a week had done him no favors, and his only other clothes were a bundle of random things he and Cat had grabbed at a department store on their way up.

(Okay, random things that Cat had grabbed. She had dressed him up like he was a doll.)

He was going to have to pitch the suit entirely. It was unsalvageable at this point. He needed to get a new one. Somehow.

Just one more fucking problem.

“I don’t need—”

“Shhhhh,” Cat said, and god, he could go his whole life without ever being shushed again. “Let’s go get changed, mi tesoro, okay? Be real people for a few hours. Not superheroes, real people. Can’t save the world if we can’t save ourselves, hey?”

With his beautiful plans for throwing himself into work up in smoke, they ended up grabbing spare clothes at the B&B, changing, and heading back out to that goddamn bar.

Cat was trying to prove that she really knew him. Understood him on a deep level. Dick was trying to do a handstand on the mechanical bull. The manager was trying to get him down.

That was when he saw Jay again.

He was little, this time. The way he had been in real life. In his Robin uniform, torn up, covered in blood and bruises, missing a tooth and grinning. The specter of a dead child.

“Nightwing!” he said excitedly. “I’m so glad you’re here! Can you teach me to ride the bull?”

He knew better than to respond to the hallucinations in public. He had that much of a grasp on sanity, at least.

“I wanna be just like you when I grow up! It’s the only way that Bruce will love me—”

He shook his head. Not true. Jason had been more secure than that. He knew—

“—And it’s why I became Robin. I died trying to be just like you, Dickie,” Jason said gleefully.

Dick knocked back his shot. Cat cheered. She had ordered tequila, tonight. After putting away several martinis herself.

Jason bounded over to him at the bar. “Was it worth it? Was I good brother? Did I do enough to be loved?”

He felt sick.

Nothing another shot couldn’t fix.

“I did it all for you and Bruce, Dickie. I just wanted to be loved,” he said. “Why’d you go and kill me, huh? Was I not good enough? I tried my hardest.”

Catalina’s hand was running up and down his forearm. Grounding, almost. It was definitely the only thing Dick could focus on, so there was that, at least.

She was saying something. He contemplated shushing her.

“You killed me. I was the first. Then Joker, then Blockbuster. How long are you going to keep expecting others to clean up your messes? You’re supposed an adult, Dick. Like I never got to be,” Jason said. “You can’t save the world. You can’t even save yourself.”

It was big Jason, next.

Dick was at the carryout, filling up a cart. A huge man in Kevlar and leather was following him through the aisles, but only Dick could see him.

The cashier at the register was eyeing him. Rude. He looked rough, sure, but still. He had showered, finally. Even shaved. Despite still being homeless, he no longer looked it.

“So, Dickwing,” Jason said casually. “Is this life for you now? Domestic bliss?”

He picked up a squishy apple. Set it back on the stack in disgust.

What did it say about Dick, that he could only imagine adult Jason as being disgusted? Every time he saw him? Was that how he saw himself now? Disgusting?

“Not bliss,” he said quietly, barely moving his mouth. No need for the cashier to actually call the cops on the crazy man talking to himself. “You know that.”

“No, I don’t know that. Weren’t you dating Babs just last week? You sure moved on fast. Unless there was no transition period. Was there an overlap, Dickhead? Really trying to live up to your name there, aren’t ya?”

The words hit Dick like a knife to the heart.

It was true. There had been overlap. Catalina had kissed him while he was still seeing Babs, and that had been the beginning of the end, hadn’t it? Blockbuster’s first big play.

Cat had been hired to kill her. She had told him that, by now. She had figured that getting dumped would hurt him more. That if Babs was dead, he would idealize her as perfect, use her memory as motivation to keep going.

Fuck, maybe she really did know him. How in-depth was that profiler?

“Stone cold killer strikes again,” Jason said. “I never really knew you as a kid, did I? Damn. Might have to revise my plans here. I was relying on you giving a shit.”

Dick said nothing. Just kept scanning the aisles. Picking out microwaveables. Cans and frozen things. Instant ramen.

“You still live like a dirt poor college student though. At least that hasn’t changed,” Jason said. “At least get a vegetable or something. Jesus.”

He picked out a can of green beans. The Jason hallucination rolled his eyes.

“I heard a rumor going ‘round Titans Tower back when I was a kid that you were a cheater, but I never believed it. Shows what I know.”

Back when I was a kid. Before Mirage, then. Dick’s stomach twisted. He was… aware… that his back and forth between Babs and Kory hadn’t looked the greatest, from an outside perspective. That the Titans were all teenagers, many of them with harsh and unforgiving backgrounds, prone to lashing out at the people around them. But.

But.

They were his closest friends, too.

Tears slipped down his cheeks and Dick ducked his head. He drew in a shuddering breath. Fuck it. Fuck it! God, what he wouldn’t give to be as uncaring as this Jason was painting him.

“Dickie?” Jason asked. His voice sounded different now. Softer. “Shit, uh. Didn’t mean to make you fucking cry. Listen, I won’t bring it up again, okay? I’m sure you had—no, actually, there’s no good reason for cheating. But, like… uh… Sorry, I guess.”

He raised his head, wiping his tears and schooling his face. “No, you’re right,” he said. At normal volume, facing the hallucination head on. He has given up on managing the cashier’s impression of him. “I have no excuse. I shouldn’t have let Catalina kiss me.”

“’Let her’?” Jason repeated. “Kissing takes two people, Dick.”

“It sure does.”

He went to check out.

They were at a courthouse in Atlantic City.

Little Jason was in the room again. Clean, unharmed, in his Gotham Academy uniform this time, thank God.

“Do we need a blood test?” Dick asked.

“No, but there’s a twenty-eight dollar fee and a seventy-two hour waiting period,” the clerk said. A stout older woman.

“Seventy-two hours?!” Cat asked.

“Come on. This is a really bad idea…” Dick said lowly.

“For processing,” the clerk continued. “Vegas is faster, but in the time it would take you to get there…”

“Pay her the money, mi tesoro,” Cat ordered.

“Cat, I’m telling you, this isn’t—”

“He’s just nervous. He loved this idea a few hours ago,” Cat said to the clerk, done with Dick for now.

The clerk leaned in. “Sweetheart, I see this all the time. Don’t worry, you’re a darling couple. He’ll come around.”

“Thank you.”

“But I never will,” little Jay said, arms folded. “I don’t like her, Dick. Don’t marry her.”

“Okay, what else do you need from us?” Cat asked.

“Let’s see… I need a current address for Richard…”

“Dick,” he corrected.

“Richard’s fine, querido,” Cat said tightly. She has never called him Dick once. Nightwing, sure. Tesoro and querido and caballero and papi, even (which is not a kink Dick has, thank you very much. Not that she ever asked.) but never Dick.

“No, it’s Dick,” he said. Fifteen years through the gauntlet of Gothamite high society hadn’t been enough pressure to change his name. This doesn’t come close.

“Ricardo?” Cat asked. Probably thought it was a compromise.

“Dick.”

“Mr. Grayson—” the clerk interrupted politically. “—An address we can reach you and your signature, please.”

He clicked the pen.

“Don’t do it!” Jason yelled. “She’s a monster! Please Dick! She made you kill!”

He signed.

He’s not even sure what he put down.

He passed the pen to Cat, and the hallucination of Jason vanished.

They had broken into some abandoned house this time. Catalina wanted him to buy her a real place. She wanted to look around first, though. Still deciding.

She was out, doing… something. Maybe getting more alcohol. Maybe at a travel agency.

She wanted a honeymoon, after all. And they were on the run, what with the ongoing investigation.

They needed to leave the states. Realistically. There were plenty of beautiful non-extradition countries out there.

Jason was back.

He flopped onto the couch carelessly. Dick was in the armchair cattycorner to it.

“Coulda told me you were skipping town. It was hell to track you down,” Jason said. “So what’re you doing in Atlantic City? Adding gambling to your debauchery world tour?”

“Marriage,” he croaked out. He wished he had a drink. To think, just a few days ago he only drank on special occasions.

“What?!” Jason asked, sitting up sharply. “You’re marrying her?!”

Dick shrugged.

“What the fuck?” he asked. “You don’t shrug to that! Marriage is not a shrugging topic! What the hell is going on here? Is this some mind control thing? Do you even love her?”

“No,” he laughed bitterly. “No, of course not. I hate her.”

“Then why the hell are you marrying her?”

He shrugged again. “Got nothing better to do. And she wanted it, so.”

Jason’s eyes flashed. “You always do everything Catalina tells you to do?”

“Yup.”

“Why?” Jason seemed genuinely confused. Almost angry. “I don’t get it, Dick! What, does she have something on you?”

“Yep,” he said. “She knows alllll our identities, Little Wing. She was gonna kill Babs. She… She’s not a good person.” He looked at the hallucination is if it was his real little brother. “Stay away from her, okay? She isn’t safe. I don’t want you anywhere near her.”

“Oh, but it’s safe for you to be around her?” He shrugged again. “Fuck you!”

Jason got up and stormed out.

He turned around at the door. Walked back to the couch and sat down again.

“Listen,” he said. “You are trying to make me mad. I need you not to do that.”

“I am not—”

“Shush. I—”

“Don’t fucking shush me!”

Jason reeled back. “What the hell?”

That was when Dick started crying.

“—I didn’t want it, I swear I didn’t want it, I told her to stop, I said—She just shushed me and—She didn’t listen, she never listens, she—I just—” He keened.

He curled up into himself in the armchair, tugging at his hair. Sobs shook his chest. His nose was running and he was hiccupping. He was a disaster. His entire face was wet in some way or another. He was disgusting.

He was disgusting.

“Dick,” Jason said carefully. “Are you telling me that Catalina raped you?”

Dick sobbed louder. He nodded into his knees.

He just kept crying. He heard footsteps, but just pacing around. The Jason hallucination never left.

Time passed. Minutes, hours. Who knew. Dick eventually cried himself out.

He was so dehydrated.

Jason brought him a glass of water. Dick drank two thirds of it down at once, grateful.

“Thanks.” He wiped his mouth.

Wait a second.

He wasn’t even drunk right now.

“Little Wing?” he asked. “How did you bring me a glass of water if you’re an hallucination?”

Jason froze. Deer in the headlights.

“Little Wing?” he asked again, voice pitching high. He was so afraid. If this was—If this was real—

If it wasn’t, it would break him.

“Yeah,” Jason said. “Yeah, it’s me. I’m real.”

He did jazz hands, and that sold it. This was his little brother.

“How?” he breathed. “No! No, I don’t—I don’t care.”

He rushed forward and tackled him in a hug.

Jason thumped him a few times on the back. “Yeah, aright, whatever. This ain’t about me. This is about you calling off your engagement.”

“What?” he asked. “What are y—Jason! Of course this is about you! We have to call Bruce right now!”

“No!” he shouted. “No Bruce or I walk!”

Dick froze where he was, eyes wide.

His heart was rabbiting in his chest.

Jason ran a hand through his hair. “Listen,” he said. “I came back with this whole big revenge plan. I was gonna—It’s not relevant. Anyway. Yes, I’m alive, yes, I really died, no, I don’t wanna answer any questions, and we’re moving on. Dick,” he said earnestly. “…We need to get you away from her.”

He shook his head, smiling sadly. “It’s not worth it. Little Wing, we all loved you. Still love you. Bruce would want—”

“No Bruce. I’m fucking serious about that, Dickhead, I swear to God I will walk out this door.”

He nodded.

Okay. Okay. A problem for later. He would figure this out. He was Nightwing. This was what he did.

He solved problems.

“Okay,” he said, tabling the issue for later. “Why do you want to get me away from Cat so bad?”

“Badly,” Jason corrected on automatic. “And what the fuck kinda question is that? Are you kidding me? She’s raping you.”

He shrugged. “Not really. She’s just… She thinks she’s helping me.”

“No, Dick. No she doesn’t,” Jason insisted. “She’s selfish and thoughtless and doesn’t care what this is doing to you.”

“You haven’t even met her,” he protested. “You shouldn’t judge people like that.”

His brother looked at him like he had grown two heads. “We’re leaving,” he said. “And I’m shooting Flores on the way out the door.”

“No you aren’t!” He stood up. “You can’t kill her, Jason, I’m serious!”

“Like hell I can’t kill her! I have a gun. It’d be easy.”

“No! I won’t let you!”

“You won’t let me?” Jason folded his arms. “And how do you plan on stopping me?”

He couldn’t fight his brother. He couldn’t. Not on the first day he got him back. Not now.

“…Please,” he said instead. “Please, so many people have already died. I can’t—I can’t have one more death on my hands. Please.”

“It wouldn’t be on your hands. It’d be on mine.”

“I’ve been trying to save Catalina. Reform her. She’s my responsibility.”

“Some people are beyond saving,” he said darkly. “Sometimes the best you can do is harm mitigation. Take out the threat before she hurts more people.”

“Please,” he said again. “Please. I’ve been… trying… I just—Please, Jason. For me. I know I have no right to ask you anything, not after—“

“Fuck, you really would blame yourself, wouldn’t you?” And there was the disgust again. “Fine. I won’t kill her. But she does deserve it. I want that on the record.”

A huge relief broke over Dick’s chest like a weight falling off. “Noted.”

“Come on, let’s leave. Do you have any stuff you need to pack?”

“I don’t want to keep anything. I just—I wanna—” He breathed in deep. “Let’s get out of here.”

Jason nodded. He grabbed his hand and dragged him out the door.

Two minutes later, they were whipping down the highway on the Nightbird. Wind blew Dick’s hair back from his face. It felt so good.

He was free.

It stopped. It stopped.

It stopped it stopped it stopped.

He was free.