Archive of Our Own

I.
"What you went through, it's something you
Should be over now"

"Have you been journaling like I asked you to?"

Dick shifted uncomfortably in the leather arm chair, a guilty smile on his face.

"I never know what to write."

Dr. Cooper made a sort of humming noise as she wrote something down on her yellow legal pad. Dick couldn't help but feel like he was getting a bad grade in therapy.

"And what about those support groups I recommended? There’s quite a few in Gotham too, you know."

Dick sighed, looking anywhere but at Dr. Cooper. At the paintings in her office, the window that overlooked the bay, anything to not meet her eyes. 

"They don't help."

She raised an eyebrow. "You haven’t given them a chance. Sometimes being around others who have similar traumatic experiences can-"

"It just reminds me of all the people I couldn't save."

Dr. Cooper's pen clicked as she began writing again. Dick slid further down the faux leather. Now he was in trouble. 

"Do you think the guilt you hold for being unable to save these people hinders you from recovering yourself?"

Dick narrowed his eyes at the woman. This was a new one.

"I think I pay you too much," he said playfully, though his heart wasn't in it like it usually was.

Dr. Cooper smiled, folding her hands over each other on her lap like she did every time Dick tried to shift the focus off himself with a joke.

"Dick, I can't help you if you don't help yourself. I can give you as many tools and tricks as I have, but if you don't utilize any of them and make an effort, then you won't get better."

Dick felt a subconscious hand make its way to his wrist, rubbing the raised, inked skin.

"Maybe I won't ever get better," he admitted, taking a steady breath as he willed himself not to burst into tears. "What if I'm like this forever? All... fucked up or whatever."

"Dick, this won't be the first, nor I fear the last, time I remind you that it's only been a few months. Healing takes time. You know that. We haven't even tackled you moving back to Blüdhaven yet..."

Healing takes time. Yeah, Dick knew that, probably better than anyone. That's what sucked so much about getting better: it wasn't instantaneous. Dick was impatient by nature. It was something he'd been working on since he was a kid. Back when he was Robin, not having the instant gratification of seeing the bad guys go away for a long time bothered him. It had taken Bruce quite some time to teach him that sometimes they didn't always get the villain in one go. Sometimes they had to re-strategize and start over.

And sometimes the bad guys won. That one Dick was still wrestling with.

"Healing isn't linear, Dick," Dr. Cooper said for what had to be the millionth time in the past few months. "No two paths are the same."

Dick nodded like he always did when she said her signature line. It always made him think about Jason, and how he was handling everything. He was, well, Jason about it, if Dick had to be honest. While Dick hunkered down and internalized his emotions until the rage inside him overflowed at the worst possible moment, Jason was more shoot first, talk about feelings never. Dick had learned long ago that they were both just as hotheaded as the other, they just dealt with it in different ways. Jason often allowed his rage to cloud his judgement; Dick tried to act like he wasn't angry every single day of his life. Neither one of their strategies was for the best, not in the long run, but it didn't seem like something they were willing to work on quite yet.

Maybe even ever.

"Still with me, Dick?"

Dick blinked, turning his attention back to where Dr. Cooper looked at him expectantly, her usual thin smile on her face. Dick had to hand it to her; she was remarkable at not showing her emotions. He could learn a thing or two. 

"Still here," he confirmed.

"Good," Dr. Cooper said, clicking her pen once more. "Remember that."

II.
"And it's not that strange 'cause it wouldn't change
What happened anyhow"

Dick's heart was racing. How was this a scarier notion than facing all of Gotham's villains head-on at once? He'd done things like this before, but this time it was different. Way different.

He took a steady breath, remembering back to almost an hour ago when Alfred had offered to accompany him back to Blüdhaven for the day. Dick had wanted nothing more than for Alfred to be there by his side, but he knew this was something he had to do on his own.

It was beginning to look like spring in the city. There were still some remnants of winter to be seen, though: a thin layer of snow still on the half-dead grass, ice slick against the headstones, but the buds on the trees were trying their best to make themselves known. The cemetery parking lot was empty save for Dick's bike and a lone black car. He knew who it belonged to, considering what day it was.

Dick straightened the tie Alfred had picked out for him. Dick hadn't asked him to, but he knew exactly what Dick had planned without even having to mention it, which was so Alfred of him. Dick had gotten out of a longer than usual shower to see a fresh suit and bouquet of daisies waiting for him. Dick had smiled at the gestures. Leave it to Alfred to always know the intentions of the manor's residents.

Dick took another breath before making his way down the gravel walkway and into the graveyard. It was quiet and Dick was grateful for that. He didn't need an audience. Not now.

He could see two figures off in the distance standing next to a grave that was still new, the grass not yet having a chance to grow completely over the disturbed dirt. Dick shifted the grip he had on the flowers, trying to force his legs to move forward. This shouldn't be hard.

Dr. Cooper had said he should work to come to terms with what happened. Maybe this was the first step. Facing his failures.

Somehow Dick's legs started working and he found himself a few feet away from the grieving couple. Dick was suddenly aware of a girl on a bench a bit away, her eyes downcast. Dick froze. He hadn't expected... maybe now was a bad time. He took a step back, his foot landing on a twig that snapped under his weight. The couple turned sharply to look at him, the man's face stoic with a hint of confusion, the woman's full of sorrow as fresh tears streaked down her face.

"Can we help you?" the man asked, his voice rough as if he'd been crying recently.

"I'm sorry, I-"

"Wait. I know you."

Dick paused, not even realizing he had been backing up slowly but surely. The woman moved forward, removing the distance Dick had tried to create between them. There was something unreadable on her face, something Dick couldn't quite place. He couldn't tell if she was angry that he was here, or relieved.

"You're one of the detectives from Daisy's case. Aren't you?"

Dick sighed softly as he closed his eyes for a moment.

"My name's Dick Grayson," he finally said, trying his best to keep his voice from wavering. "I'm... I'm so sorry for your loss."

Mr. and Mrs. Garvin studied him closely for a moment. Dick couldn't decide if they wanted to scream at him or hug him.

"I'm sorry to bother you. I should just go-"

Mrs. Garvin took Dick's free hand in her own, holding it for a moment and studying his face. Dick could see the cuff of his suit start to roll up a bit due to how his arm stretched out to complete the distance between himself and Mrs. Garvin. His eyes shot down to the tattoo, a twisted feeling in his stomach accompanying the sight of it, as it usually did when he mustered up the courage to even look at it. He was used to forcing himself to run his fingers over the inked skin, as if reminding himself he was still alive despite it. Mrs. Garvin sensed his uncomfortableness and met his gaze, her mouth forming a sort of O-shape at the sight. A fresh tear escaped her eye, but she quickly composed herself, a sad smile replacing any shock she might still be feeling.

"Daisy's were always her favorite. Guess we got the name right."

Dick returned her smile as he offered her the bouquet. She accepted, but quickly passed them to her husband so she could pull Dick into a hug. He was stiff at first, shocked by the sudden, unexpected physical contact, but quickly relaxed once he told his body that no harm was going to come to him.

"I'm sorry," he said again, his mouth feeling as if it were full of cotton.

"You don't need to apologize to us, Detective," Mrs. Garvin said quietly into his ear. "You're the last person who needs to apologize."

Dick hardly doubted that. "I was on the case, I was supposed to-"

Mrs. Garvin pulled back slightly from the hug so that she could look into Dick's eyes. Her arms remained around the man, the presence of thin fingers still on his back.

"Haven’t you given enough? Haven’t we all given enough?"

Dick looked at her, confused, so she continued.

"What’s done is done, Detective Grayson. You can’t live in the past forever.”

Dick couldn’t help but feel a bit of tension leave his shoulders.

"You did everything you could, and what did it cost you?" Her eyes lingered for a moment on his wrist. "Things I can't even imagine, Detective."

She finally pulled away, taking a step towards her husband, who stood silently watching the exchange unfold. The same sad smile stayed present on her face as she plucked a single daisy from the bouquet the man held, returning to Dick with it between her fingers. She twirled the flower by the stem for a moment, before tucking it into the lapel of Dick's suit.

"You came here to apologize," she continued, standing back almost as if to admire her handiwork. "But I think it's the world who owes you an apology."

Dick furrowed his eyebrows at her words. "I don’t… I don’t understand, ma’am."

"Maybe not now," Mrs. Garvin said, extending an arm around her husband as she rested her head on his shoulder. "But you will."

This seemed to be the end of the conversation, and Dick could only admit that he half-understood it. Mrs. Garvin had turned her attention back to her daughter's grave, breaking away from her husband to kneel in the dirt so that she could set the flowers Dick had brought down next to the newly polished headstone. She stayed on the ground, her fingers running over the marble and in between the etchings. Mr. Garvin looked at Dick once more, still with an expression Dick could not discern between anger or pity. He extended his hand, offering Dick a handshake. The younger man took it. It was over just as quickly as it had begun.

"I've accepted my daughter's death, Detective," Mrs. Garvin said, her back to Dick as she spoke. "Have you?"

Dick wasn't sure how to answer that. 

He turned to leave, his heart still pounding from the interaction. It had gone much better than he had expected it to. He had assumed Daisy's parents would blame him and that he would not be welcome to even come near the deceased girl's grave. Despite expecting defeat, Dick knew it had to be done. He needed closure just as much as they did. He hadn't wanted to make it their problem, had half-hoped they'd be gone by the time he made his way to the cemetery. Yet a small, sadistic part of him wanted to see himself suffer for his transgressions. Did he really deserve this family's pity and forgiveness, after what he had failed to do? Dick wasn't sure, despite Mrs. Garvin's words.

Dick was about to walk back to his bike when he caught sight of the Garvins’ other child, still sitting on the bench a few feet away from her sister's grave. Dick felt a pang in his heart at the familiar sight. He hadn't even known Daisy had a sister. A small voice in his head told him to just keep waking, but his legs didn't seem to get the memo, as they led him to the bench.

"Do you mind if I sit?"

The teenager startled at Dick's voice, looking up at him with a guarded expression. Her face was red and blotchy from crying and she twisted a knitted scarf in her fists as if trying to tear it apart. She looked around a moment before shrugging, bringing a fist up to her face to forcefully wipe tears from her eyes.

"Free country," she said finally.

Dick decided that was as warm a welcome as he was going to get and took a seat next to her, leaving a few inches between them. He didn't say anything for a moment, just listened to the sound of the wind blowing through the still-bare trees. The girl's feet pushed gravel back and forth, creating small trenches under her boots.

"What's your name?" Dick finally asked, his voice soft.

"April."

"It's nice to meet you, April. My name is Dick."

April didn't respond, so Dick kept talking.

"How old are you?"

"I'll be eighteen this summer."

Dick felt his stomach drop. Daisy had been sixteen. He remembered that from the file. It had been one of the biggest reasons he agreed to the case in the first place, especially since Amy had wanted both Detective Grayson and Nightwing, something he tried not to do often. He remembered lying awake at night, his mind imagining all the horrible things that could be happening to a child. Now, he supposed, he didn't have to imagine it.

"You're the oldest, then."

"I was."

Dick's breath hitched, though he hoped he could play it off as if he'd just gotten a sudden chill from the weather. If April noticed at all anyway, she didn't let it show.

"I'm a big brother myself," Dick admitted, tracing his hands along the metal railing of the bench. "I have six siblings."

"Some grocery bill that must be."

Dick chuckled. "Yeah. It's tough, being the oldest. Isn't it?"

"I guess."

Dick swallowed, his mouth suddenly moving faster than his mind could as he spoke.

"My little brother died too, when I was about your age."

April finally looked over at Dick, her green eyes meeting his blue ones. She seemed to be trying to figure out if Dick was lying, just saying these things to relate to her, but she must've found truth to his words, as she responded.

"How'd he die?"

Dick took a deep breath, hoping to God his voice wouldn't waver. "He was killed. Murdered. For a long time, I felt like it was my fault, because I was the oldest and I should've been looking out for him. But I'd left home by that time. Our... dad, and I, we weren't on the best of terms. I wanted more independence and he... he gave something away of mine, something very personal to me. I was angry about it for a long time, but I was selfish to leave. It was for a stupid reason, in the grand scheme of things. I'd give it all up in a heartbeat if it meant... my brother got a chance to live the life he was supposed to."

April continued to twirl the scarf, though less aggressively this time. "I was at college when Daisy got taken. I was supposed to have come home that weekend. We were gonna hang out, go to an art exhibit she'd been wanting to see. But I'd been asked out on a date, this girl from my ethics class. I'd had a crush on her since orientation and didn't want to blow my shot. So I'd asked Daisy if we could reschedule. She seemed sad, but said she'd just go with her friends. That was the last time I spoke to her."

Dick could see silent tears starting to run down April's face and he took a small packet of tissues out from the inside pocket of his suit jacket that Alfred had left for him. If Dick didn't know any better, he'd assume the old man was psychic. He handed them to April silently, who accepted. She blew her nose, crumpling the package in her hands along with the scarf. She must have sensed Dick studying it, so she explained.

"It was her going away gift to me, when I left for college," she smiled sadly at the memory. "She'd just started learning to knit. Said she would've made me a sweater, but she could only make scarves. I told her no one could ever have too many scarves. Now it seems it's all I have left of her."

Dick could see the Garvins watching them from afar and he smiled softly. "No, it's not. Not by a long shot. She'll always be with you, in your heart. It sounds cheesy, but it's true. You'll carry her with you the rest of your life, and she'll be there every step of the way. The good times, the bad, the in-betweens. Trust me, you'll see her face in crowds of people, in the places you go that she loves, between the lines of her favorite books. They never really leave you. Maybe physically, but not in ways that truly matter."

Dick had no idea where all of those words had come from. Maybe there was somewhere deep in him that still mourned the boy once known as Jason Todd. He had thought he'd come to terms with it all, since Jason had come back. But maybe that was the issue. Dick had never really gotten the chance to truly mourn his brother, because soon he'd been alive again, just different than how Dick had last seen him. Different, but alive , so that had equated to fine in Dick's eyes. He hadn't even realized he still hung on to the guilt of not being there for Jason when he was killed until the words came out of his mouth. He thought with Jason being resurrected, he had somehow let go of that shame. Now it seemed he'd just buried it deep down within himself, like he did with every other issue that bothered him.

He remembered when Jason had died. Bruce had become a shell of his former self, impossible for anyone to penetrate. Alfred had tried to go about things as normal, but the few times Dick had gone back to the manor, he could see the toll Jason's death was having on the old butler. Dick had forced himself to swallow his emotions, something he wasn't great at. The only emotion Dick ever seemed to be able to school was his anger. He'd learned long ago that people liked him as a sweet, emotional boy, not a hot-headed one. Maybe it had come from forced stage smiles or perhaps keeping up appearances once Bruce officially took him in. Dick wasn't sure exactly when he had learned this lesson, but it was one that stuck. He was the approachable brother, the one who cried easier, who was always there when someone needed a shoulder, even if he couldn't spare one. He'd been quickly typecasted in the role and had a hard time breaking out, even now.

But when Jason died? He refused to feel anything. And that had scared him, almost as much as the day he finally snapped and put a petty thief in intensive care after a rough night of patrol with the Titans. No consequences had come from his actions, which felt even worse. He deserved to be held accountable, which is why he left. His team hadn't understood, not really at least, and he hadn't done a great job of explaining. Dick had been less emotionally available then, after all, less forthcoming with his team, which had eventually been their downfall. The next thing he knew he was in Chicago, and… well, the rest was history Dick rather not think about. But before that, he had forced himself back to the manor some summer's day years ago, an excuse to check on Alfred already on his lips, and he came face to face with a boy whose first words to Dick had been: "Do you remember me from the circus? The night your parents died?"

And that had been a whole new struggle, Dick supposed; trying to see Tim Drake not as a replacement for Jason, nor himself as Robin, but as a new brother, despite the boy not fully understanding why Dick did the things he did. Dick had been borderline neurotic at times, he had to admit, balancing between disdain for how easily Bruce had seemingly replaced Jason and an overwhelming feeling to not fail Tim as he had failed Jason. One minute he was offering to take Tim out to lunch, the next he suddenly remembered doing the same with Jason, which forced him to lock himself away once more, less someone actually see him feel a single negative emotion. It was a terrible situation to be privy to, yet Tim handled it as well as one could. Dick supposed he housed even more regret from how he had treated Tim, though he knew the boy held no grudges against him. He'd told him once, a couple years ago, that he knew Dick had been grieving in his own way, and Tim had just unfortunately been stuck in the middle of it all. He'd said it so nonchalantly too, like a true middle child. Classic Tim.

And then Jason came back, for better or for worse, or so it seemed at the time. And that had led to Dick repressing even more of his negative feelings. Because that was his  job. He was supposed to be the "pure one", the "boy scout", the "emotional one", but only if those emotions were desirable. He wasn't supposed to be angry or jealous, or pissed, or resentful. He'd learned where that had gotten him in Jump City. No, it was easier for everyone if Dick Grayson remained the "golden child", never mind how much he fucking hated that stupid nickname. He hated the pedestal his siblings often put him on, though he knew they didn't do it on purpose, and they certainly did it less after Spyral. He wasn't some legend, he was just a man, but there were times Dick felt as if no one really saw that, no matter how much they claimed to. All his Robin successors seemed to see him as an inspiration when it came to taking on the mantle, and while Dick appreciated it, he couldn't help but feel they saw his trailblazing as Robin through rose-tinted glasses, even after they themselves had left the role behind. Dick saw it in Damian too, beneath his usual standoffish behavior that Dick was slowly but surely chipping away at, and it worried him just as much as it honored him.

Dick Grayson, he thought to himself, should be no one's role model.

Dick suddenly was drawn from his thoughts at the feeling of April resting her hand on top of where his laid on the bench. He forced himself to be grounded once more despite the feeling of a loose tear running down his face.

"I should have been a better brother in the past," he admitted, looking down at the flower in his lapel. He removed it, studying it closely as he continued. "Guess I'll have to make up for lost time."

"Maybe you're right," April said, her eyes looking to the horizon, towards the Blüdhaven cityscape. "Maybe Daisy's still here."

Dick closed his eyes for a moment. He could swear the wind picked up a bit, but just for a moment. He turned slightly, offering the single daisy to April, who took it hesitantly, a smile breaking through the tear tracks on her face.

"I like to think so."

After softly squeezing April's hand, Dick stood, turning to leave for good this time when April's voice stopped him once more.

"What was your brother's name?"

Dick turned his head to look back at the teen. "Jason. His name's Jason."

April seemed to mull the name over in her mind. "That's a good name. Jason."

Dick chuckled. "Yeah. I think so too."

"Tell Jason I say hello," April said, the hand holding the daisy over her heart as she spoke. Dick knew what she meant.

"I will."

Dick continued up the hill and back to the parking lot, making it all the way to his bike before he finally broke down, his legs giving out as his body slid down the side of his motorcycle. He pushed his knees up against his chest and buried his head in his crossed arms, sobs shaking his entire body as the wind blew gently through his hair, as if to somehow try and comfort him. Though he supposed he could be imagining things.

III.
“But you swore to yourself a long time ago
There were some things that people never needed to know”

Jason felt the wind close the bodega door sharply behind him, the rusted bell above it jingling loudly as it swayed. The man at the counter looked up from his newspaper, nodding a greeting at Jason, who returned it, bee-lining for the coffee makers. He couldn’t remember ever coming to this bodega, but his usual place got shut down, so he’d have to make do. They were all the same, visually anyway. It was the coffee that mattered.

He pulled a Styrofoam cup off a stack and grabbed the pot, pouring a splash in so he could taste it. Not as good as Alfred’s, but it’d have to do. He filled the cup up and closed a lid over it, bringing it to the counter. 

“Two sixty,” the man at the register said, sliding his paper off to the side. 

Jason dug around in his jeans pocket for his wallet, pulling a few singles out. When he looked back up, he noticed some children’s drawings taped to the wall. The man followed his line of sight and smiled as he accepted Jason’s money.

“Cute, huh? My daughter does them. She’s obsessed with those heroes.”

Jason tilted his head as he studied a crayon drawing of Batman and Robin, the lines thick and the colors bright. He couldn’t help but smile at the costume the artist had decided on. That had been his Robin uniform. Even though it was in crayon, he could tell. 

“Wanna meet the artist?”

Jason looked back towards the man, who had Jason’s change in his outstretched hand. Jason accepted the coins and pocketed them, nodding. The man chuckled and nodded his head over to where a young girl sat further down the counter farthest away from the door. She was too absorbed in her drawing to notice that Jason had walked over. He leaned against the side of the counter a bit so that he wouldn’t be too tall and intimidating. Sometimes he forgot his build could be jarring to some, especially kids.

“I like your drawings.”

“Oh,” the bodega owner frowned, coming to stand behind his daughter. “I’m sorry, she’s deaf. Hold on.”

He tapped her shoulder, causing her to look up at Jason, her eyes big and brown. She smiled. Jason hadn’t known what he’d expected, but the girl looking at him with such innocence and kindness wasn’t it. He didn’t know why he assumed everyone would be automatically afraid of him. Plenty of men were six feet tall and built like a tank, especially in Gotham. He wasn’t even as scary looking as he had been when he’d first come back, but he still remembered the fear in criminals’ eyes when he’d shoot them dead. Maybe it was more the feeling of taking someone’s life that brought back those memories, and his brain had twisted that fear into how he was perceived. 

People may look at him like a hero nowadays, but he would never forget the feeling of distrust and fear that had first met him when he started as Red Hood. It was sure to live with him forever.

I like your drawings, Jason signed, a bit rusty but still comprehensible. The girl’s face lit up and her father looked surprised, obviously not expecting Jason to know sign language.

The girl shifted her hands so Jason could see her latest drawing better. He sighed, a fond smile on his face as she went back to her drawing to color in the hair, her black crayon dull from overuse.

“That one’s her favorite. She’s always drawing him,” the bodega man said.

“Yeah,” Jason agreed. He was always my favorite, too.

The girl finished coloring and chose another colored crayon to write her name in big, blocky letters in the corner of the page. She slid the finished work across the counter, towards Jason.

For me?

She nodded, still smiling brightly at him. Jason hadn’t expected the gesture. He hadn’t even expected the girl to smile at him, if he were to be honest. His hand hesitated a moment as it hovered over the drawing. Such a simple gesture yet it meant more to Jason than the entire world. He gently picked the piece of construction paper up off the counter, willing his hands not to shake as he studied the drawing carefully.

“It’s perfect,” he said, looking back up at the family in front of him. Thank you.

“She doesn’t usually take to strangers,” the owner said, his arm around her shoulders. “You must be something special.”

“Nah,” Jason said. “Nothing special.”

The man made a soft humming sound, but didn’t push it.

“Enjoy the art and coffee.”

Jason lifted his cup of coffee in a cheers gesture before exiting the shop. It felt like being forced back into the real world, in a way. Like the bodega was a holy place, a temple. He bit his lip as he lifted the drawing up once more, studying the reds and blues that stood stark against the darker blacks and browns. 

He had to hand it to the kid. She’d gotten his good side. Dick’s too, though he used to doubt the man had a bad one. Nowadays he knew better. The wind blew past the drawing of Red Hood and Nightwing standing on a tall building and Jason tightened his grip on the paper, not wanting to lose it. 

He set his coffee on a nearby building ledge so he could fold the drawing before placing it in his pocket for safekeeping.

IV.
“You're never gonna to lose the anger
You just deal with it a different way”

Dick pushed the chicken on his plate around with his fork. It had already grown cold and he hadn’t even bothered to take a bite yet.

“Don’t let Alfred see you. He’ll think it’s his cooking.”

Dick forced himself to stop his dissociative staring match with the kitchen wall, turning his attention instead to Tim, who had made his way into the manor’s kitchen for one of the cookies Alfred had baked that afternoon. Tim offered him one, but Dick shook his head. He shrugged and took a seat across from Dick at the kitchen island. He started absentmindedly tearing pieces off of his cookie, seeming to look anywhere but at Dick.

“Is there something I can do for you, Tim?”

The younger boy bristled under the scrutiny. “Can’t a guy just get a cookie?”

Dick scoffed and rubbed his temples. “I don’t see why not.”

Tim broke off another piece, picking the chocolate chip out with his fingers. Dick rolled his eyes, tossing his fork aside.

“Okay, you obviously didn’t come here to dissect cookies. What’s on your mind?”

Tim looked over at Dick innocently, his finger dragging the discarded chocolate chip onto a napkin. “How’re you doing?”

Dick groaned and leaned back in his chair, his face buried in his hands as he mumbled a few choice words into them.

“Glad to see you’ve decided against dramatics,” Tim said sarcastically. 

Dick cradled his face in his hands, glaring at Tim from between his fingers. “I’m fine, Tim.”

“You barely eat,” Tim pointed out, his eyes wandering to Dick’s uneaten dinner. “You hardly sleep. It’s been three months and you haven’t gone back to work or moved back to Blüdhaven-”

 “Is that what this is about? You want me to move out?”

Tim scoffed at the accusation. “No, of course not! It’s just-”

“Suddenly I’m crazy cause I’m taking some time off? Jesus, Babs has been hounding me to take a vacation, and the minute I do it’s suddenly suspect.”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it!” Tim said, his eyes narrowing. “You’re just making shit up now.”

Dick slammed a fist on the table, the china plate clattering in protest. Tim jumped at the sudden noise and Dick immediately regretted his outburst. 

“I’m sorry-”

“Jesus, Dick!” Tim all but screamed, a scowl on his face directed at Dick. “Get angry for once in your damn life and stop apologizing.”

Dick stood abruptly from where he’d been sitting, his chair screeching across the linoleum tile. “So that’s it, huh?”

Tim remained stoic. “Is what it?”

“You think I don’t get angry? That I’m not pissed off all the time? Is that what you think?”

Tim opened his mouth, but paused for a moment, seeming to take a moment to think over his next words, a furious look suddenly overtaking his face. 

“I know you get angry, Dick. Jesus, you’re probably the angriest person I know, angrier than Jason, even Bruce! But at least they fucking show it! You just pretend like everything is perfect but it’s not! You did the same shit after the Crime Syndicate and after Spyral and you know it! You closed yourself off and pretended like everything was fine, but it wasn’t fine, Dick. It’s never been fine. You just keep running away instead of facing your damn problems.”

“You think I have time to sit here and wallow in self pity or punch holes in the drywall? News flash, Tim, I have shit to do!”

“All you’ve been doing is wallowing, Dick!”

Dick turned to leave, but Tim wasn’t done. He swiftly crossed the distance, stepping in front of Dick. Tim lightly pushed him back, half-hoping Dick would hit back. He just stopped in his tracks, though, an annoyed look on his face.

“Move, Tim.”

Tim stood his ground, his head raised slightly to lock eyes with Dick. 

“Why are you punishing yourself?"

Dick snorted. “Excuse me?”

“Haven’t you been through enough? Haven’t you given enough?”

Dick exhaled.

“I don’t want you to leave again,” Tim admitted, breaking eye contact. “But if going back to Blüdhaven or Jump City or even Chicago helps you… then you should do it, I think.”

Dick took a deep breath in. There was one place in particular that Dick had ventured off to in the past that Tim wasn’t mentioning, and he knew it was excluded on purpose.

“You think I wanted to leave?” Dick asked, his voice dangerously low. “You think I wanted to go play super spy, to get mind-fucked by a Nazi? You think that was a barrel of laughs for me?”

Tim met his eyes again, confused. “What?”

“You really think I had a great time being James Bond? Trust me, the movies make it look a lot more fun.”

“Dick, what the hell are you talking about?”

“After the Syndicate… Bruce didn’t give me a choice. You know that, right?”

Tim furrowed his brows. “What?”

“You don’t remember?”

Dick turned away, pacing for a few seconds before taking a seat at the counter again. He rested his fists against the marble counter, his knuckles nearly white due to how hard he squeezed them shut.

“Everyone thought I was dead. Bruce wanted to keep it that way. He needed someone to infiltrate Spyral. They were hunting masked heroes. They were hunting you guys. Someone had to do it, and Bruce had no one else. I told you guys that. The night on the roof. Remember?”

Dick could recall that night in the Batcave like it was yesterday. Just him, Bruce, and their masks. They’re looking for who we really are, Dick. That’s what Bruce had said to him. Dick’s first thought hadn’t been himself, or even Bruce. It’d been his brothers. It had been Damain, Tim, and Jason. He couldn’t let them go through what he had been through with the Syndicate. No one could go through what he had. 

Why do we fall, Dick? We fall so we can learn to get back up.

Dick hadn’t believed that line for a second. Dick didn’t fall so he could keep getting back up to roll with the punches. He fell because he was pushed.

All my life I’ve been falling, Dick thought bitterly. Now it seems I’ve landed, and it isn’t looking too good.

Dick had thought Bruce’s apology meant something. That he really was sorry for shutting him out, for forcing him away and into the arms of the Syndicate. But now, once the dust had settled and the cards had all been laid out, Bruce was still Bruce. Willing to say anything in the moment if it meant he got one step closer to his goals.

I’m going to get you out of this.

But he hadn’t. Not really. It had been Lex Luthor who stopped and restarted his heart. Bruce had just shoved him into a new mission, not wasting any time. He still remembered Luthor’s hand over his mouth, forcing the pill down. He hadn’t been in any position to argue. He knew what had to be done, better than anyone in the room. He remembered waking up, the shot of adrenaline restarting his heart in an instant. The look on Bruce’s face. 

He’d been foolish to think Bruce would change after that. That he would be less aggressive with his approach. Hell, he’d been an idiot to think for a second he would be allowed to rest with his family. That’s all he’d wanted, all he dreamed about while working as Agent 37. To go home one last time. To have one last Sunday dinner, one last movie night. To silently read with Jason in the library. To help Tim with his math homework, even if he really didn’t need it. To take Damian to the art museum. To help Alfred in the kitchen. 

He’d just wanted to go home. Just one last time. Maybe that’s why it was so hard to force himself back to Blüdhaven. Maybe he was tired of running. Maybe Tim was right.

“He had no one else,” Dick repeated, his voice strained. “I had to protect you. All of you.”

Tim’s face held a myriad of emotions. His hand gripped the back of the chair, as if to stabilize himself, but he refused to sit. He licked his lips, his mind running a mile a minute before he looked up at Dick again.

“He never told us. I know you… I know you mentioned it, but I just thought…” Tim’s face was crestfallen. “Maybe it was a joint decision.”

Dick Grayson doesn’t die. He just disappoints.

Dick chuckled dryly. “When has there ever been a joint decision when it comes to Bruce Wayne?”

Tim clenched his teeth. “He should have told us himself.”

“How could he? He didn’t remember.”

Tim shook his head, a single tear sliding down his face. “This whole time… I thought you left. We thought you left. That you wanted to leave, deep down, and you were just using Bruce as a cover. That you chose the job over us, chose to lie to us, chose to decide what was best for us, just like he always did. I forgave you, we all did, but it’d taken a while, even after the Robins and when I helped you out with Netz. After everything, I thought-”

When you think about your own funeral, everyone you love crying because you lied to them, because you decided to fake your death and be a spy instead of a hero… what joke comes to mind?

Dick stood up and gave Tim a hug, allowing the boy to bury his head into his chest. A sob wracked through Tim, as if the hug had been the final straw to break down his facade.

“I’m so sorry I doubted you,” he sniffled. “I should’ve… I’m so sorry, Dick.”

It was my burden to keep, my blame to take, my lie to tell. Not yours. I’m the oldest. I carried that. So you didn’t have to.  

Dick ran a hand through Tim’s hair, suddenly lost in the memory of that roof top a million years ago.

But I want you to know. Really, I need you to know. Everything we’ve gone through together. All of that never left me, never will leave me. Knowing you guys were behind me is more important than anything.

He could still feel the punch Jason had landed on his jaw like it'd been yesterday.

I ’m not just another fellow disciple of the Bat or whatever. T im, Jason, I’m your brother.

“You told us,” Tim said, his voice muffled slightly as he finally lifted his head from Dick’s chest, breaking free. “But we didn’t listen. Not really, anyway. Not until it was too late.”

Break it.

“It’s okay,” Dick said. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“Damn it,” Tim swore, pushing himself away from Dick. “I’m smarter than this. I should’ve known-”

“Hey.”

Tim was pacing now, his mind and mouth running a mile a minute about things Dick could only half begin to discern.

“Tim, look at me.”

You’re twice the detective I ever was. It’s a good thing I’ve got these looks.

Tim’s bloodshot eyes met Dick’s tired ones. He finally took in the purple bags under them, the way his face was still so pale even after being able to see the sun once more. He supposed Dick had always looked a bit tired and worn thin, but he had been so used to it that he had never given it a second thought. That’s just what Dick looked like. That was just Dick.

Maybe once his eyes had held more light within them. Perhaps long ago he had smiled more. But Tim hadn’t known a Dick like that. He had only known the legendary acrobat who fell from grace and the mighty Nightwing who died for their sins. 

“It’s not your fault. Don’t for a second think you’re to blame.”

Tim’s eyes became teary again. He rubbed his knuckles under his eyes.

“It was never your fault either.”

Dick froze, his eyes suddenly not meeting Tim’s. How quickly his strength left him.

“Bruce didn’t give you a choice, did he?”

It’s never enough.

“No,” Dick’s voice was almost too quiet to be heard. “He… he didn’t leave room for argument.”

“Then you had no choice. So it was never your fault. None of this was your fault. The Syndicate bomb, the Spyral ploy, Desmond-”

Dick winced at the name, but Tim kept going.

“Dick, you’ve got to stop blaming yourself for things that’re out of your control.”

I was born to do the impossible.  

Dick inhaled, his breath shaking a bit as he forced a smile.

“You sound just like my therapist.”

Tim smirked, his arms crossed over his chest. “Must be a smart woman, then.”

“Oh, you have no idea.”

V.
“To be living by a code of silence
When you've really got a lot to say?

Jason couldn’t help but stare at the suit every time he found himself down in the Batcave, which was becoming more and more frequent these days, it seemed. He’d find himself drawn to it, in a way, like a man possessed. 

He remembered a time not too long ago when that suit saw its fair share of action. But it hadn’t been used in months. Jason knew, deep down, that it would again one day. He seemed to be the only one in the house to think that, though. Even its owner, so it seemed, had given up on trying to get back out there.

“We kept the fire burning, while you were gone.”

Jason turned to see Stephanie, her arms crossed as she leaned against the wall of the Batcave.

“I see that,” Jason replied, his eyes shifting to the rest of the suits that lined the wall.

“Someone had to while Batman and the Robins were off looking for your sorry asses.”

Steph was smiling, obviously joking around with Jason. He chuckled, giving her his full attention. 

“You did good,” he said finally. “You, Cass, and Duke. You all did better than I would’ve.”

Steph scoffed lightly. “I don’t believe that for a minute, Jay.”

She looked towards what Jason had been studying and smiled, coming closer to offer a supportive hand on Jason’s shoulder. A long time ago he would’ve shrugged it off, told Steph to fuck off before storming out, but today he leaned into the touch.

“He’ll get back out there,” Steph said, nodding her head as if trying to also convince herself. “It takes time. You and I know that better than anyone. But he’ll figure it out.”

Jason sniffed. He knew Steph was right. She usually was about stuff like this. 

“I was Robin once too, you know,” Steph said, looking up at Jason’s unreadable expression. “I know what’s going on in that head of yours.”

“You always do,” Jason admitted. “It’s kinda scary, actually.”

The duo laughed and Steph rested her head against Jason’s shoulder, closing her eyes.

“Nightwing will come back. Dick will come back. He just needs time.”

Time. That was something Jason supposed he had in high supply nowadays. He hadn’t been benched, per se, but Bruce had obviously been giving him the easier patrol assignments. It irked Jason most days to remain stagnant, but one look at Dick told him that maybe it was a good thing they were taking a break. He’d seen what mission after mission, nonstop, had done to him before. Maybe this was for the best.

“I know,” Jason replied, smiling sadly at the Nightwing suit in its glass case. He remembered the first time he’d seen that stupid suit. Back then, it’d been ridiculous, something he still made fun of Dick for. Nightwing had gone through many costume changes, but what he stood for remained the same. Jason couldn’t say the same for himself, after all.

“So, enough doom and gloom,” Steph clapped her hands together as she made her way over to her own suit. “How’s a little patrol sound? Nothing like busting up some gangsters to lighten your mood.”

Jason had to admit: patrol was probably exactly what he needed.

“Give me five.”

Steph smiled. “Knew you’d swing it.”

“Like I said,” Jason replied, his fingerprint already unlocking his suit’s case as his other hand tapped a finger to his forehead. “Kinda scary.”

VI.
“And a little dirt couldn't hurt
No one anyway”

Dick was semi-aware of a body on top of him, thrusting into him, but he couldn’t will his body to move. His brain was fuzzy. He couldn’t quite keep his eyes opened and fixated on his surroundings. His fingers felt as if they’d been shoved in ice water. The feeling of a hand in his hair made him wince; whoever had a hold of him was pulling too hard.

“You like that, don’t you pretty boy?”

Dick most certainly did not.

The man thrusted again, eliciting a pained groan from Dick’s mouth. If only he could push the man off. Maybe that would solve some of his problems, or at the very least, give him a bit of peace. His body wouldn’t obey, though. It was like something- or someone -was controlling him.

God, he’d been there before. The feeling of Doctor Daedalus in his mind, the mind games Owlman played with him after he’d been kidnapped, the manipulation William Cobb subjected him to. Jesus, even Bruce, in a way. 

God. Bruce. He missed Bruce. He missed all of them.

“Fuck. So tight.”

Dick cried out a bit louder this time around as the man finished, one hand with a death grip on his hair, the other digging its nails into his already bruised skin.

“A pleasure as always.”

The weight lifted off of Dick, and for a few moments, he would know peace. And wasn’t that just the most pathetic thing in the world? Oh, how the mighty have fallen, Grayson. One day you’re sitting on top of the world, the next the scum of the Earth is fucking you in the ass. Literally. He’d been Robin, Nightwing, Batman, Agent 37. Born to be a Court of Owl Talon, former apprentice of the legendary Deathstroke, the man who died to save the world. He had been Richard Grayson once.

He wasn’t so sure who he was now, though.

You’re not Robin. You’re not Nightwing. You’re not Agent 37. You’re just the evening’s entertainment. 

Dick’s eyes blinked open wearily, making contact with that damned tattoo. Fuck that tattoo. Dick hated that tattoo. That tattoo meant just as much to him as it had his ancestors. 

27, he supposed. Just another number. 

He’d heard that one before.

You’re just exactly what they all want you to be. You’re nothing but what they want you to be.

“Tsuchigumo!”

Dick shot up in bed, the scream on his lips quickly cut off by his own hand clamping itself over his mouth. He was prepared. He had enough nightmares, after all, and the last thing he wanted to do was wake his family up every damn night because he couldn’t handle his shit.

“Master Richard?”

Dick’s body froze, his stomach feeling as if it’d just landed a quadruple somersault. Maybe it did. It was the only stomach alive able to. 

“I’m fine, Alfred,” Dick whispered, finally noticing the slice of light lingering into his room via the cracked doorway. The light expanded as Alfred entered, a warm mug of tea on a tray balancing in his hands.

“Of course, Sir. Your tea.”

Alfred placed it on the bedside table, watching Dick closely.

“I didn’t think I ordered any tea,” Dick chuckled, though it was weak. His heart wasn’t in it.

“Most in this manor do not. Call it… complementary.”

Dick smiled, knowing what Alfred was hinting at. He picked up the tea, glad it was able to warm up his oddly numb fingers. Alfred had used his favorite mug: the tourism logo for Blüdhaven incorporated with the bisexual flag. It’d been a birthday present from Tim. Leave it to him to be the brother who understood.

“Is there anything you would like to discuss, Master Richard?”

Dick took a long sip from his mug before forcing himself to reply.

“No. Should there be?”

Alfred didn’t waiver. “Perhaps not, Master Richard. But, if anything you would like to discuss did happen to come up…”

Alfred retrieved the now-empty mug from Dick’s hands.

“... you know where to find me.”

Just as quickly as Alfred had arrived, he had vanished into the night with enough speed to give Batman a run for his money.

VII.
“And you still have a rage inside you
That you carry with a certain pride”

Jason watched carefully from behind his mask as a few lowlifes unpacked crates of contraband from some unmarked vans. Steph had been tracking the gang for a few days now, and it was looking like this would be their final stop. 

“Play it cool, Hood,” Steph’s voice rang out from Jason’s com. “Knock ‘em out and leave it to GCPD to clean up.”

Jason shot Steph a glare, but he knew she wouldn’t be able to see it from behind the mask. He was so sick being treated as if at a moment’s notice he could fly off the rails. Sure, he didn’t have a great track record when it came to staying level-headed, but he wasn’t hopeless . 

He knew Steph hadn’t meant anything by it. That she was just trying to communicate to Jason that they didn’t need to pull out all the bells and whistles for these idiots. But Jason didn’t take it that way, despite knowing better. He wasn’t that scared kid who dragged himself out of the pit anymore. He could handle himself. He wouldn’t lose control again, like he had at the casino.

“You take left, I take right?”

“Copy.”

In an instant, Spoiler and Red Hood had descended upon the unsuspecting drug dealers. Everything was a whirl for Jason as he slammed the butt of one of his pistols into a guy’s knee, shooting another in the shoulder. The fucker was lucky Jason used rubber bullets these days. 

“Hood, on your left!”

Jason whipped around, grabbing one of the dealer’s wrists before he could land his punch. He twisted, relishing in the sound of agony that came out of his mouth. Yeah, that’s what you get for dealing to kids, asshole.

Soon, all that remained outside the warehouse were a couple crates and a lot of unconscious perps. Steph kicked one in the side as she made her way to the doors, her hand lingering on the handle for a moment.

“Ready?”

Jason furrowed his eyebrows. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Steph didn’t respond, just shrugged and opened the door, sliding in quickly so that Jason could follow. They hid behind a couple of boxes stacked near the wall, trying to get a lay for the land. 

There were about half a dozen lackeys surrounding a guy who Jason instantly pinned as the boss, given his expensive suit. A few were unpacking some of the merchandise for the leader to examine.

“All here,” one said, his fingers twirling a sealed syringe around in a circle.

Be patient. It'll be your turn soon.

Jason blinked, frozen as the memory suddenly came over him. Where the hell had that come from?

“Did you hear me?”

Jason looked over at Steph, an impatient yet concerned look on her face. If she wanted to say something, she must’ve decided against it as she brushed past whatever the hell that sudden lapse from reality had been for Jason.

“We flank ‘em, just like outside. Got it?”

“You’re the boss,” he mumbled, closing his eyes for a moment. He was infinitely grateful to his Red Hood helmet for hiding his face. The last thing he needed was an impromptu therapy session with Stephanie Brown.

Steph tossed a smoke bomb towards the middle, smiling at the confusion it caused. The moment the room started smoking, they were back to it, making quick work of the unsuspecting criminals. As Steph finished up with a couple kids who couldn’t be much older than Tim, Jason had the boss pinned against the wall.

“What’d I say about kids, huh? Stay the fuck away from them.”

“It’s just business! Just business!”

Jason punched the man in the jaw, smirking slightly at the way his bones cracked beneath his fist.

“Bullshit. Try again.”

The man was shaking under the scrutiny of the Red Hood. Good, Jason thought. The motherfucker deserved it. He had a strict rule when it came to the drug trade in Gotham. No kids. It’d been that way since day one. Even now, when he busted every drug ring he came across instead of exploiting them like he did back in the day, he saved the cruelest of punishments for those that sold to kids. 

“Hey, I gotta provide. I got a family, Hood, c’mon! These kids have families, there’s worst jobs out there, ya know?”

Would you rather be doing what big brother is?

Jason blinked back the familiar rage that threatened to take him over. He hated when it happened. He used to see the rage of the Lazarus Pit as a blessing, as a tool that allowed him to kill more efficiently. But that wasn’t true anymore. If anything, it scared him. He couldn’t lose control, he couldn’t let the pain take control. He couldn’t let it win.

I don't know how we're gonna get outta this one.

Jason was somewhat aware of his grip on the man’s suit jacket tightening. He was also a bit aware of that sinking feeling in his stomach that meant he might do something he’ll later regret.

I should've protected him.

Suddenly, Jason wasn’t holding the drug lord in place against the concrete wall; he was holding the Cigar Man, the same twisted smile on his face that he had when he talked about what he did to Dick.

I know things between the two of you are complicated, but you didn't just leave Bruce. You left me and Alfred too, you know.

Jason allowed the green to seep through the cracks, for the wave to wash over him, to baptise him. He couldn’t control it if he tried.

You pieces of shit are all the same. So full of yourself, so sure that you'll be on the top forever. So ready to hurt everyone around you for a few bucks.

He could vaguely feel the splatter of blood against his helmet as he laid into the guy, feeling his bones shatter. Jason pulled back, grabbing the guy by the fabric on his shoulders and throwing him into a crate, watching as his body weight broke through the wood. Thousands of pre-prepared syringes spilled out, which did nothing to cease Jason’s rage.

You reap what you sow, motherfucker.

He started kicking, his steel-toed boots making quick work of the man’s ribs. The sounds of his cries were drowned out by the sound of his own blood pumping through his veins. Even if he could hear the guy, he doubted he’d pity the small whimpers he was making. 

That's for my brother, your sick bastard.

“Hood! Red Hood!”

Jason was vaguely aware of someone calling his name, but it didn’t seem real. It was too far away to be important, anyway. He had more pressing issues.

Jason, look at me.

“Red Hood! Look at me, damn it!”

There were hands on his shoulders, pulling him back. No, he wasn’t done! He needed to kill this guy, for what he’d done to Dick.

Let's go home, son.

“It’s time to go, Hood. GCPD is gonna be here any second.”

The hands were more firm now, and Jason felt himself jilted out of his rage, his head whipping around to see who the hell was bothering him.

Steph. 

It was Steph. With the saddest eyes he’d ever seen, close to tears, a worried look deeply etched into her face.

“Jay…” she said softly. “It’s over. Let’s go home.”

Let's go home.

VIII.
“But you've been through it once, you know how it ends
You don't see the point of going through it again”

“You’re surprisingly an easy man to find, Dick Grayson.”

Dick had just wanted a nice, quiet evening out. He supposed, in Gotham, that was next to impossible. Dick hadn’t even included in his note to Alfred where exactly he was going. Just out. He looked over at the mention of his name, shock overcoming him as he realized who it was.

Oh, Dick Grayson. I can’t wait to see who you are the next time we meet.

“Helena? What the hell are you doing here?”

Helena Bertinelli smiled, taking a sip from her whisky before sitting next to Dick at the empty bar. 

“You mean this shithole bar or Gotham?”

Dick chuckled, taking a swig of his terrible beer. “Yeah.”

“Well,” Helena started, tapping her fingernails against the bar. “I’ve been teaching here in Gotham for a little bit now. Resigned as Matron. I needed to find myself, especially after… everything.”

Dick hummed softly, his eyes taking in Helena. It’d been a long time. Maybe too long. Memories of their relationship came rushing through his mind all at once. It had been a weird one, he had to admit. Not many of his flings ended with both parties being possessed by the consciousness of a Nazi, after all. 

“As for this bar, well… I used to know everything about you, Dick. You really think I don’t know what your go-to ‘wallow in self-pity’ location is? I was in that head of yours once, remember?”

Helena pushed lightly on Dick’s forehead, her head tilted and a smile on her lips.

“But now, it seems, I’m at a disadvantage. So catch me up, Grayson.”

Dick looked down into his pint glass. “Helena, I’m not as stupid as I look. I know you already know.”

Helena sighed sharply at the realization that her ploy was up. “Excuse me for being willing to let you do this on your own terms.”

Dick bit his lip. “Sorry.”

“Oh, for what? Growing a pair? C’mon, Dick, this is me. I’m not one of your little siblings, so be honest with me, yeah? Like the good old days.”

Dick outright laughed at that. “I don’t recall either one of us being as forthcoming as we should have. Mostly you, though. I actually told the truth most of the time.”

Helena smiled fondly, as if in remembrance. “They weren't all bad. Were they?”

Dick looked back over towards her as she smiled downing her glass of whiskey before pushing it towards the middle of the bar for the bartender to refill.

“You got the ‘bad’ part right.”

The bartender slid Helena’s glass back towards her and she wrapped both hands around it, a pointed look still aimed at Dick.

“Talk to me. I’m not used to the strong, stoic act from you. It’s usually getting you to shut the hell up that’s the problem.”

Dick smirked at that, finishing his beer. A new one was already waiting. He considered for a minute lying to Helena, telling her everything was fine, but he stopped himself. It would be a waste of everyone’s time. Helena was too smart to allow Dick to lie to her, especially about something like this. So Dick mustered up what little remaining courage he had, and spilled.

“I should’ve been stronger. I was trained to be stronger.”

Oh, Richard. You foolish, handsome boy. Always leaping into the unknown with no care for your own safety. Always falling into traps.

“I’m supposed to be the best, you know? I’m supposed to be the hero, not the victim. I’m supposed to save people. I should’ve known better.”

Risk is what I do. Risk is who I am. What’s one more leap without a net?

“I knew what the case was, how dangerous it could’ve been, but I was so blinded by my own stupid heroism that I walked right into their arms, let Jason walk right in with me. I was too selfish to ask my family for help, too scared to see them involved in another one of my messes, so I closed myself off. I thought I could do this on my own, but I never could. Not really.”

Let’s admit that both of us know the person you’re really protecting is yourself. From needing to have a damn human emotion!

“I shouldn’t have taken it on alone. I didn’t need to. I know that now. But I still feel like an idiot. I shouldn’t have underestimated anybody, least of all my family.”

You trust people. It’s what makes you who you are.

“Always the self-deprecating type, aren’t we?”

Dick blinked, as if broken from a trance. He looked at Helena, confused. 

“Oh, poor eldest daughter Dick Grayson. Always having to prioritize your family’s needs over your own.”

I don't do that, Dick thought bitterly. Do I?

“You’re acting like this is the first time you’ve failed, and I know for a fact it isn't. You fall, Dick, and when you do, you fall hard. But every time you do, you always dust yourself off and get back in the race. I’ve seen it up close and from afar. You’re quite good at it, actually, the whole ‘moving forward’ thing. Maybe that's the issue here.”

I wish I could have been there for you the way you were there for me.

“This is no different than any other time, so why are you acting like it is? Move on.”

Dick scowled. “This is different.”

“Why?”

“It just is, okay?”

Dick wasn’t sure how he was supposed to say it. That nothing had ever gotten as far as it did when he was in Desmond’s trafficking ring? That sure, he'd had his fair share of unwanted looks and touches, unwanted sexual advances, but that this was a whole different level somehow? That he hadn’t seen it coming, despite it being obvious? That he never thought it would’ve happened to him? That someday he’d be a statistic in a group therapy session? That he didn’t like the view from the other side of things? How the hell could he even begin to say those words? 

It was different. This was different. He’d been kidnapped, tortured, drugged, stabbed, killed, broken, and beaten before. He was no stranger to pain, to being the victim. But this was different. It had to be. Because if it wasn’t… 

If it wasn’t, then maybe it was supposed to be normal .

And it couldn’t be normal. 

“I know what they did,” Helena continued. “Not all the nitty gritty details, but enough. And I'm sorry, Dick. I'm sorry that it had to happen to you, but-”

Suddenly, the rage Dick was usually quite good at keeping at a simmer boiled over. One minute his hands were resting on the bar, fists clenched, the next he had swiped the half empty pint glass off the counter and halfway across the room, the sound of shattering glass echoing in his brain. 

“You don't know what the fuck you're talking about,” Dick huffed, tossing a twenty on the bar before standing. 

“Dick, don't do this-”

“Sorry about the glass,” Dick said to the bartender, who didn't seem like he minded much. 

Dick grabbed his coat and shoved it on as he walked outside, a light frost beginning to cover the cars parked along the streets. He was making his way to his bike when Helena's hand on his shoulder stopped him. The woman was strong, stronger than she looked, as she forcefully turned Dick around so that they were face to face. 

“Fuck off,” he mumbled, shouldering her hand off of him. 

“No, I'm not going to fuck off, Dick. You don't fucking scare me, so knock it the hell off.”

Dick watched as she zipped up her leather jacket, shoving her hands into the pockets to keep warm. 

“You know what your problem is, Dick Grayson?” She continued, that all-too familiar look of annoyance in her eyes. “You think you're still a fucking martyr. You still think you're hooked up to that damn bomb with the fate of the universe resting on your shoulders. But you're not. You survived, and I'm sorry, but you need to find a way to get over yourself. You've been through more in the past year than some will ever go through, and it's not fair, but it's the facts.”

Dick was looking away now, probably because he knew if he kept looking into Helena's eyes he'd either break down crying or punch the brick exterior of the bar. Or both. 

“You play the role of a wounded victim so well for a guy who despises being one. A bit ironic, actually. You'd do anything to not be seen as a victim, but by doing so you've made yourself the archetype of one. Quite poetic, in a twisted sort of way.”

Helena had seemingly noticed Dick looking anywhere but at her, so she slowly took his face in her hands, running her thin fingers over his cheek. It was gentle, even comforting, in a way. Dick felt a single tear run its course down his jaw and he furrowed his brows, quickly trying to blink it away. God, he was so sick of crying. Helena didn't mind, though. She helped, actually, quickly wiping it away with one of her knuckles. 

“You’ve got to stop carrying the world on your shoulders, 37. There's a lot of people in your life who'd be willing to help you hold it up. You just gotta ask them.” 

“Think Bruce would go in on family counseling?”

“Always with the one liners. Enough with the jokes, Dick, I’m serious. Think about it. How many times have you been the one holding everyone else together? How many times have you been the glue, the rock? Isn’t it time they return the favor?”

Dick thought back to when Jason had died. How he’d had to see the shell of a man once known as Bruce Wayne and the hurt look on Tim’s face when Bruce brushed him off or Dick couldn’t bear the thought of looking at him, less he saw the face of Jason. How he sat at his grave alone, flowers clutched in his fists as he begged forgiveness from a tombstone.

What one liner did you use when Jason died? 

When Barbara was shot, he couldn't leave her side in the hospital. He’d sat there for days because he knew Commissioner Gordon couldn’t bring himself to do it and that Bruce wouldn’t bother to. Another casualty of the Joker, so it seemed to Batman. But Barbara was more to Dick than just a soldier. He loved her, and he should’ve saved her.

What fantastic quip came after Barbara took the bullet?

After Damian, he couldn’t even leave his apartment for a week. All he could think about was their last conversation, how he’d promise to play Damian’s new game with him. How Batman had failed his Robin. How in his quest to be nothing like Bruce, he’d become the worst version of him. A Batman without his Robin. A Batman with nothing but a memory and a bloodstained suit. A Batman with no light in the darkness.

When Damian slid on the sword, did you have a nice pun prepared?

Helena was right. She usually was, but in this instance it was blindingly obvious. He always seemed to push his emotions aside, bottled them up for another day. But another day never came and he just buried them down deeper and deeper, using jokes and excuses to try and forget how angry and hopeless he felt. No matter how many times Dr. Cooper told him that he had to be honest with himself, he never seemed to listen. It was a wonder she hadn’t given up on him yet.

“I know healthy coping mechanisms don’t really run in the family,” Helena said, her ruby red lips upturned in a smile. “But it never hurts to break the cycle.”

Her hands fell to her sides, a thoughtful expression still on her face as she studied Dick. He humorlessly considered for a moment that Helena was a mind reader. Unfortunately, Dick was just an open book when it came to her. But having super powers would’ve been his second guess.

“I know you don’t want to say the R-word. I get it, Dick. Trust me. I get it. It’s messy and complex and it’s the worst thing that can happen to a person. But stop complicating it. You’re giving it more power by not saying it.”

Dick felt his fists clench in the pockets of his motorcycle jacket.

“I was wrong before. When I said this was no different than any other time. You were right. This is different. I didn’t mean that what happened to you should mean nothing, quite the opposite. I just meant… Jesus, what the hell did I mean?”

Dick chuckled. “That I should get my head outta my ass?”

Helena snapped her fingers as if having an ‘aha’ moment. “Yes! That!”

They were silent again for a moment. The wind was starting to pick up once more. It seemed to blow right through Dick, like it had at the cemetery.

“Seriously, though, I meant that you’re stronger than you like to give yourself credit for. That I know you’ve gone through hell before and come out the other end. That you can do it again. What’s happened to you is different, but the way to deal with it is the same.”

“And how exactly do I deal with it, Dr. Bertinelli?”

Helena tilted her head a bit as she reached up to brush a strand of hair out of Dick’s face. He still hadn’t cut it, after coming back. It was longer than it’d been when he was in Chicago, which was saying something. 

“That one’s for you to figure out. Can’t give you all the answers, that’d be cheating.”

“Of course.”

Helena backed away, her hand raised to wave goodbye.

“Until next time, Dick Grayson.”

Dick watched as Helena hailed a cab down and got in, not even giving Dick a second look as she drove off into the night, leaving him on the street corner feeling only slightly better than when the night had started.

IX.
“So you can't talk about it
'Cause you're following a code of silence”

It took Dick about a month after coming home, but he'd finally been able to step back into the Batcave. He wasn't sure why the place bothered him so much. Maybe it had been seeing his Nightwing suit hung up in its glass case, how it reminded him of the bloodstained Robin suits that had once stood there as a sick and twisted memorial, both reminding him of all the ways he'd failed his brothers. Maybe it felt too similar to that, despite Dick being far from dead. 

Maybe it had been the fact that the last time he found himself down there, he'd broken down in front of Jason, something he regretted to this day. It wasn't as if Jason judged him for it, probably the opposite. If anything, Dick was judging himself . He knew logically that it was okay for his siblings to see him cry, to see him when he felt his weakest. If anything, it probably helped to humanize him more. But a larger part of Dick knew he was supposed to be the strong one. 

You don't have to be strong all the time. 

God, Helena was right. Total eldest daughter syndrome. 

He knew it was impossible to be tough all the time. But if Bruce could do it, he would have to as well, right? He's been Batman once. That still meant something. 

It's okay to let go. I've got you.

Dick was used to leaping without a net. But that didn't mean he should normalize it. His family was his net, they were there to catch him when he fell, and he had to stop being such an ass. 

He had to stop trying to be Bruce. 

Dick sat on the bench by the workout machines, wrapping his hands so he could use the bags. It wasn't his usual go-to; he usually was over by the bars doing flips, each one more elaborate than the next to try and get whoever his workout buddy was to smile. But he was down in the cave alone. 

There was no one to impress. 

Dick got up and started stretching, his mind still running a mile a minute. Hopefully his workout would clear his mind a bit. He could use the distraction. After he finished stretching, he jogged in place for a moment before returning to the bench where the speaker sat. It was funny, everyone in the family seemed to have drastically different workout playlists. Some of them didn't even workout to music, which was stranger to Dick than Jason's mix of heavy metal and showtunes. 

Dick was scrolling on his phone, trying to find his old playlists, when the sound of footsteps coming towards him made him lift his head. He smiled at the newcomer.

“You want me to leave?”

Cass set her water bottle down next to Dick’s, shaking her head. Dick shrugged and continued scrolling through his music for a moment, before exiting the app. Cass liked to workout in silence, that much he remembered. She also usually liked to do it alone, but it seemed today she didn’t mind the company.

“Are you good if I take the bag?”

Cass wasn’t looking at Dick anymore; she was busy chalking her hands for the weights. 

“That answers my question.”

Dick remembered a time when Cass didn’t say anything. He hadn’t minded; he talked enough for two people half the time. She’d eventually found her voice after some time at Wayne Manor, but was still the most quiet of the bunch. It was kind of refreshing, in a way. Dick stood and was about to make his way towards the punching bag, but he froze, looking back towards Cass. She was done with the chalk and was looking at Dick with her usual expression: thoughtfulness mixed with something Dick still wasn’t able to fully read.

“I’m fine,” he said, despite the fact she didn’t ask.

He rolled his eyes, though at the situation or himself he wasn’t sure. “Okay, maybe not fine fine, but I’m fine. Really.”

Cass was still looking at Dick expectantly, as if waiting for him to say something in particular, though he didn’t know what.

“I’m dealing with it, you know,” Dick continued, though he had no idea what point he was trying to make. “Like I always do.”

Part of it’s a defense mechanism.

“It’s not any different than before, not really. I mean, sure, it’s a little different, but…”

You don’t want to be defined by the terrible thing that happened.

“I should be used to it,” Dick chuckled, though there was no humor in his tone. “All those charity galas… Those rich people never know when to keep their hands to themselves, you know?.”

You don’t want to be hurt anymore.

“I just…” Dick sighed, the weight that had been on his shoulders since the age of eight pushing him further down. He rested his elbows on his knees, placing his forehead in his palms as his leg began to bounce up and down, his heart matching the pace. 

“I don’t want to be a victim. I hate being a victim.”

You want to be someone stronger.

“Damn it,” he sighed, lifting his head from his hands. He stared a hole into the wall across from him. He’d look at anything but Cass right now.

“I hate the person I was when I was there. What they made me.”

You start to question what you’ve become.

“I just… stopped talking one day, you know? Figured out it hurt less to shut up. I know that must be a wild notion: me shutting up.”

Dick looked over at Cass finally, to see if she would at least humor his attempt at a joke. She was a tough crowd, though, always had been. She didn’t even give Dick a merciful smile. She was still waiting for Dick to say something in particular, though he had no idea what. It was starting to piss him off a bit. What the hell did she want from him?

“I dunno what you want me to say, Cass,” he said, a hint of irritation in his voice. “I dunno what you wanna hear.”

You worry you haven’t done enough with your life.

“What?” he got up and began pacing back and forth in front of the bench, his hands shaking slightly. “What would you like to hear? How I failed that girl? How I failed Jason? How I failed myself? How I failed…”

That your parents wouldn’t be proud of you.

“How about towards the end there I simply gave up? You wanna hear about that? How fucking pathetic I was, how I took the easy way out?”

You swear you’re going to do better.

“How they had me so pumped full of drugs that I couldn’t fight them off even if I tried?”

You’re going to be better.

“How the only thing that distracted me was the worry I felt for Jason? That I refused to forgive myself for getting him mixed up in all this?”

But sometimes you don’t get the chance.

“It’s my fault he got taken!”

Sometimes you do let people down.

“I should have stopped them! I should’ve fought harder! I shouldn’t have let myself be taken! I shouldn’t have let them rape-”

Dick’s legs gave out, but he only half-noticed the ache in his knees from hitting the rough concrete flooring of the Batcave. His head was swimming with too many emotions for him to even notice the physical pain: guilt, fear, self-loathing. All that and more. Dick had hit his breaking point once more, just like he had all those months ago with Jason in the med bay. He couldn’t catch his breath, couldn’t force air through his lungs. Hot tears were threatening to fall and he all but growled as he shoved them away. He hated how easy it was to cry these days. 

He’d finally said the word, though. The word he’d been evading since… it’d happened. He’d been avoiding it on purpose. If he said it, it made everything that happened to him real, and if it was real, then Dick wasn’t sure what that would mean for him. Of course he knew what had happened to him, and was hyper aware of every detail to boot. He had nightmares about it every time he closed his eyes. He knew what had happened. He wasn’t naive, he was just trying to compartmentalize. That’s what Batman had taught him, after all. 

But Helena was right, and Dick was really sick of saying that. Not saying the word gave it more power, made Dick its victim. And if there was one thing Dick Grayson refused to be again, it was a victim.

He tried to force himself to calm down, tried utilizing grounding techniques Dr. Cooper had taught him, but nothing was working. He was all too aware of how fast his heart was beating in his chest and how strangled each sob was as he choked on a million different memories. He couldn’t help it. He was drowning in his own past, every horrible thing that had ever happened assaulting him all at once.

“I know what happened to me. Why can’t I just accept it?”

His parents falling. Bruce taking Robin away from him. Deathstroke. Jason’s death. Barbara being shot. Dick failing his Robin, his brother, his everything . The bomb. Owlman. Doctor Dedalus in his head. The Court of Owls. Haley’s Circus burning, their deaths. The trafficking ring. 

“Why can’t I just get over it? Like usual? Why does it have to be different this time?”

Every failure, every mistake, every miscalculation Dick had ever made. Every death on his hands. Every person he had failed. Dick could feel himself curing up into a sort of upright fetal position, his body shaking. He couldn’t control himself, he couldn’t stop. He felt so useless. He felt as he did every time those strange men came to assault him. He was powerless. He was pathetic. Jesus, he had been great once. He’d soared. He’d taken on the Joker, he’d been Batman, he’d saved the world on multiple occasions. Now he was nothing. He was broken. Dirty. Used.

You’re just the evening’s entertainment. 

“Why couldn’t I be stronger? Why can’t I admit what happened? What’s my fucking problem?” 

Dick was suddenly aware of the feeling of a small, yet steady hand on his shoulder. He thought he was imagining it for a moment, but when he looked over, there was an arm, and then a body attached. He suddenly felt himself grounded back in reality, a soft smile meeting him when his eyes finally met hers.

Cass.

“Bad things happened. Terrible things. But strong people survive.”

Dick closed his eyes. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t bear to look at her. He probably looked ridiculous. A mess.

“Hey.”

Dick felt nimble fingers swipe at his face. He forced his eyes open, expecting to see the same pity he saw in everyone else’s eyes when they looked at him. They didn’t mean to, Dick knew that. But they couldn’t help it. 

But there was no pity in Cass’ eyes. There was only understanding.

“Strong people survive,” she repeated. “You’re strong people.”

Dick didn’t really feel strong. He wasn’t sure he ever would again.

“I’m sorry you have to see me like this.”

Cass shook her head, her hands still doing their best to ground Dick.

“Strong people do not always have to appear strong. Strongest people often show their weakness.”

Dick chuckled wetly. “Thanks, Mr. Miyagi.”

Cass tilted her head, her smile even brighter now.

“Nicknames. Someone feels better.”

“Yeah,” Dick sighed, removing Cass’ hands from his body so that he could hold them. He knew if any of his family members understood what he was going for, it would be Cass. That she wouldn’t fault him for showing what he considered weakness. That she would listen without trying to solve his problems for him. That she wouldn’t care what he had done in his past. 

That no matter what he did, he would always be her big brother.

“Thank you, Cass.”

She squeezed his hands.

“Sometimes you need a shoulder. And that’s okay. No shame.”

“No shame,” Dick repeated, hoping the mantra would stick.

X.
“I know you well enough to tell you've got your reasons
That's not the kind of code you're inclined to break”

Dick turned the page of his novel, though he wasn’t really paying attention to what he was reading. It was late and he was just trying to avoid falling asleep. Every night for the past week he’d been abruptly awoken by one nightmare or another. He’d had his fair share of nightmares in the past, of course, especially recently, but never this intense. Never everything all at once. 

That was a lot harder for him to handle. 

Dick sighed and tossed the book onto his nightstand. What was the point? He didn’t even know what he was reading; that’s how little he’d been paying attention. He rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes darting towards his alarm clock.

2:43 AM. 

The night was still young.

Dick laid back on his bed, rubbing his weary eyes. God, he was exhausted, but the thought of not sleeping was more comforting than the possibility of waking up in a cold sweat due to another nightmare. He was just starting to consider raiding the kitchen for any baked goods that had made it past his siblings when there was a soft knock at the door.

“Come in,” Dick said, expecting it to be Alfred. The man seemed to have a sixth sense when it came to the manor’s residents. He had no idea how Alfred always seemed to know when he needed a cup of tea or just the offer to listen to Dick’s problems. Dick didn’t like worrying Alfred with his issues, even if the man did actually seem interested in hearing them, so he usually just took the tea and saved the therapy session for another day.

But it wasn’t Alfred at his door, Dick realized once it had clicked closed.

It was Jason.

“Saw your light was on,” Jason said, his voice low. “Couldn’t sleep either?”

Dick didn’t reply as he sat up. He and Jason hadn’t talked much one on one since they’d gotten back to Gotham, and it was all Dick’s fault. He’d been pushing the younger man away, he knew that. Maybe it was the remnants of guilt Dick still had for getting Jason kidnapped. Maybe it was the shame he still felt for how weak he’d been in the med bay. Maybe it was a mix of a bunch of things. Dick wasn’t sure. All he knew was that he and Jason hadn’t spoken more than a dozen words to each other in a few months, and it seemed like Jason was going to be the one to break the silence for once.

Dick was used to being in Jason’s shoes: the sibling who desperately wanted to talk, wanted to know what the other was feeling, but was shut out, given the silent treatment. Jason had done it to Dick many times before. But it was Dick’s turn to be the dark brooding one it seemed.

Like father like son, he thought to himself bitterly.

“I know why you’ve been avoiding me.”

“I’m not avoiding you,” Dick finally spoke, though it was so clearly a lie.

"Could've fooled me.”

 Dick scoffed as he brought his legs to his chest, wrapping his arms around his knees. Jason had taken a seat at the foot of his bed, a move that was strangely intimate for Jason. Usually he just leaned against a wall with his arms crossed, or paced around the room so he could knock shit over in various fits of rage. Dick wasn’t used to this approach. 

“You’re usually the talker, Dick,” Jason continued, his eyes studying Dick carefully. “Not really sure how you do it, actually. It’s kinda exhausting.”

Dick made a small huffing noise as he finally looked at his brother. There was a pain deep in his heart when he realized just how tired he looked. Dick was used to a cocky, surefire smile. He was used to the man looking rather nonchalant about petty things such as this. He was used to, at the very most, a rage that covered Jason like an armour, that protected him from processing his emotions in a way that might make him appear weak.

Dick wasn’t used to the bags under his eyes, the paleness of his skin, nor the complete look of defeat that seemed to be making its way across Jason’s features. No, this wasn’t Jason.

This was like looking in a mirror.

“Sorry,” Dick said, wincing at how weak his voice sounded. “Not up to it, I guess.”

“Stop blaming yourself. It’s a bad look on you, the whole ‘woe is me’ routine.”

“Well, if I don’t blame myself, who will?”

Jason rolled his eyes at that. “No one blames you. That’s the point, Dick.”

Dick, any other day, would’ve shot Jason a dirty look for saying his name like that. It was a childish joke that he had gotten used to over the years, but it still annoyed him. That seemed to be what Jason was looking to do, though. Get Dick angry enough so that he would burst and feel at least some emotions, even if they weren’t pretty. It had worked for his other siblings, after all.

Dick was too tired, though. He was also quite sick of this routine his siblings had cooked up; facing him one-on-one in hopes of getting a reaction out of him. He wasn't stupid; he'd noticed it the moment Tim found his way into the kitchen a few days ago. Somehow, someway, they'd find Dick while he was trying to be alone and attempt to get him to process his many emotions. While it was nice to see how much they cared, Dick was starting to find it less endearing and more like an ambush. Unfortunately, it seemed to be working, as Dick thought back to how many breakthroughs (or was the correct word break downs ) he’d had in the past few weeks. It was probably better than what he’d been doing: pretending like everything was fine while hoping he’d just wake up one day and magically feel better.

“Whatever.”

Jason narrowed his eyes, obviously not liking how passive Dick was being. 

“I don’t blame you. You know.”

Dick knew where this was going. Jason had been trying to do this with him since they’d settled back in at the manor. Dick had always avoided the discussion, though, either with a lame excuse or by just leaving the room without a word. Dick was honestly surprised he had lasted this long, though at the beginning it seemed Jason wasn’t completely sure he wanted to have the conversation himself. Talking things through had never been Jason’s strong suit, which was fine, because Dick was always there to pick up the slack. Maybe that’s why things had been so weirdly tense the past few months. Dick was the only one who ever tried to get the family to talk about their problems, so with him giving everyone the silent treatment all of a sudden, they were at a loss. Alfred was good at it, but he didn’t push as much as Dick did when it came to his family. Tim seemed like the next best candidate, but he also struggled with finding the right words, as did Steph and Duke. As for Bruce, Jason, Damian, and Cass? More often than not, radio silence on the whole “emotions” thing, though Dick had been surprised in the past. And Barbara? Well, Dick couldn’t even stand the thought of talking to her anytime soon.

It was funny, really, how terrible his family usually was at communicating their feelings. It was even funnier that Dick pretended like he was any better at it. He made a much better therapist than a patient. Everyone always seemed to assume that just because Dick was always trying to get others to open up it meant he was supposed to be forthcoming himself. It wasn’t always a two-way street. Dick was much better in situations where he was in control, he’d always been, and if he wasn’t the one leading the impromptu therapy session, he was much less likely to share. When he felt like he wasn’t in control, he panicked. Time and time again, that remained a constant for Dick. He hated that about himself. It made him too much like Bruce for his liking. 

“I wish you’d just talk to me, man,” Jason continued. “You’ve done it before.”

“Jay, I appreciate… whatever the hell this is, but between Dr. Cooper, my unexpected date with Helena, and a less than stellar workout session with Cass, I’m kinda sick of talking about my issues.”

Jason didn’t move. Dick had expected the taller man to storm out, maybe shove a couple of Dick’s belongings to the ground for good measure. But he stayed seated, his green eyes staring right into Dick’s soul.

“I’m getting real sick of this. It’s me, Dick. Not any of the others. Me. You had a good start with Tim and Cass, but the kid gloves are coming off. Whatever you’re going through, whatever you’re feeling, I can handle it. We can handle it.”

Dick knew Jason was right. He knew continuing to pretend like nothing was bothering him wasn’t going to do anyone any good. Despite knowing this, despite knowing what the logical choice was, Dick couldn’t bring himself to form the words on his own. Why was it that the only way Dick could come to terms with his trauma was when he was under duress, when Tim was yelling at him or Cass was staring at him expectantly, knowing he’d eventually break down under the scrutiny? It seemed as if every time he took a step forward, he took twenty more backwards. It was exhausting. 

Healing isn’t linear, Dick. No two paths are the same.

“You don’t have to be the strong one all the time, remember? I know you’re the oldest and you feel like you have to shoulder everything yourself, but it isn’t true. You can ask for help. You can show weakness. You can tell us when something is wrong. It doesn’t make you lesser or weak.”

Strongest people often show their weakness.

“I know it’s a bit hypocritical, all this coming from me. But if anything, that should mean more. Right? That even I’m willing to put in the effort?”

Dick wasn't looking at Jason anymore; his eyes were locked on a framed poster that had been on his wall since he’d moved into the manor all those years ago. Dick wasn’t really seeing the old Flying Graysons poster, though. His eyes were unfocused, his brain beginning to feel fuzzy as his heart rate increased.

“If I came to you and…” Jason paused to take a deep breath. “...and I told you that I was having bad memories from the Pit… would you judge me? Think I’m weak?”

“No,” Dick said immediately, forcing himself to blink. He took a steady breath, trying his best to calm his body down. “I wouldn’t ever think that.”

“Then why do you think that about yourself?”

“It’s different,” Dick bit back. 

“It’s not, actually. We’ve all gone through shit, Dick. Your issues aren’t so different from ours, not when you get right down to it. You wouldn’t say shit like this to any of us, so stop saying it to yourself. It’s actually getting kinda annoying, the whole martyr thing. You already died for our sins once, don’t need you to do it again.”

You know what your problem is, Dick Grayson? You think you're still a fucking martyr. You still think you're hooked up to that damn bomb with the fate of the universe resting on your shoulders. 

“I’m not a martyr.”

Jason huffed. “Is that all you got from that? That you’re indeed not Jesus? Complex much?”

Dick was hugging his torso now, still avoiding Jason’s eyes. Eye contact was still a struggle for Dick. He remembered being forced to make eye contact during his time in the trafficking ring as a way for them to establish control over him. Meeting people’s eyes for too long now made him uneasy. He could do it in the heat of the moment, it seemed, but he avoided it for the most part, less his heart begin to race and his palms begin to sweat and his-

“You’re just a man, Dick. You fucked up, you got fucked up. That's life. No one blames you for what happened but yourself. And hell, if you really wanna blame someone, blame Desmond, hell , blame Redhorn. He sold you out-”

Dick was up in an instant, his face dangerously close to Jason’s, who had jumped back a bit, his back hitting the baseboard of Dick’s bed. Dick nearly had Jason pinned to the ornate wood, his hands shaking as they gripped at Jason’s T-shirt.

“What the hell did you say about Redhorn?”

Jason looked like he regretted ever coming into Dick’s room.

“It’s new intel, your buddies at the BPD just dug it up.”

“And you elected not to tell me this because…?”

Jason pushed Dick off of him, though it wasn’t nearly as harsh as it could’ve been. He stood, running a hand through his hair. Dick watched him through narrowed eyes.

“You didn’t appear to be handling things well, Dick. Like, at all. Can you even blame Bruce for wanting to wait to tell you? You’ve been off the rails for months now and we’ve all noticed. It’s why we’ve been trying to get you to open up more, make you come to terms with things. But all you do is get pissy and then close yourself off again. You’re not getting better, you’re just maintaining speed, and that’s not any better than devolving. You’re not handling any of this, Dick, so pray tell why you thought you could handle the new intel too?”

Dick stood from the bed, his shoulders tense as he approached Jason. Dick didn’t let him being shorter than Jason discourage him from appearing more threatening. It didn’t seem to shake Jason, though. Hell, he’d perfected that stare-down years ago.

“Tell me, Jason.”

“Bruce-”

Dick’s fist was faster than his brain, it seemed. He wasted no time in putting a fresh hole into the nearby wall, the paint cracking around the cavity. Once he came to his senses he’d regret it, dread having to tell Alfred. Right now, the sensation of his knuckles bleeding felt better, more relevant. 

“Oh, since when do you give a fuck what Bruce wants? Since when do you listen to him? I’ve been breaking you two up from fights since you picked the wrong car to jack, and now when I actually fucking need something you wanna play the good son? Fuck you, Jason .”

Dick was going towards the door now, a new plan in mind.

“If you won’t tell me, I’ll just go find out for myself.”

A hand on his shoulder stopped him. Jason was strong, but Dick was pissed; he quickly turned, grabbed Jason’s arm tightly and flipped him over onto the ground, effectively pinning the younger man. Jason wasn’t going down without a fight, though. Bending his knees, he sent a two-legged kick to Dick’s torso, pushing the man off of him and into the nearby wardrobe with a painful thump. Dick winced, and Jason felt a bit bad, but that feeling was quickly pushed aside once Dick got back up and punched him squarely in the jaw.

“Asshole!” Jason spat out a glob of blood onto Dick’s hardwood floors. “I’m trying to fucking help you! I’m looking out for you, the same way you always do for me!”

Dick’s anger was making him sloppy, Jason noticed. He tried to land another punch on Jason, but he was easily able to grab Dick’s wrist and twist slightly, not intending to break or even sprain anything. The moan Dick let out went straight to Jason’s heart, though, as he dropped Dick’s wrist in an instant. 

“You’re always there for me, Dick. I failed you in Nevada, but I won’t do it again. So let me help you, bastard!”

Dick squinted his eyes at Jason, clearly confused. He kept his arms up in a blocking position, but had stopped trying to immediately attack. 

“You didn’t fail me. I failed you . I’m the reason you got taken, if I’d just come to family dinner so you wouldn’t have had to come looking for me, you would’ve never walked into the trap waiting for me at my apartment.”

“That’s so stupid,” Jason said, an incredulous look on his face. “Dick, there was no way you could’ve known something like this would happen-”

“I should have known!” Dick’s voice was raised, though it sounded choked, like Dick was pushing back tears. “The type of case it was… bad things happen with people like this. I should’ve been prepared for any and all outcomes-”

“Jesus Christ, you sound just like Bruce!”

“Fuck you!”

They were sure at least half the house was up by now, probably listening to every word they said. No one was a very light sleeper, and the manor was echoey. But neither one of them were too concerned with this possibility. They were much more focused on their current screaming match.

“It’s true! Jesus, you’re going on and on about how you should’ve had a plan, should’ve looked ahead. That’s just like him! Every day you try more and more to be nothing like him, but out of all of us, you have the most in common with the guy! Fucking self-sacrificing, lone island, emotionally stunted dumbass! All you do is blame yourself for everyone else’s problems and act like you’re too strong to ask for help. Bruce does the same shit.”

“I’m nothing like Bruce,” Dick hissed. “Bruce wouldn’t have let this happen in the first place. He wouldn’t have even gotten taken. And he certainly wouldn’t have let them torture him, let them brand him like cattle, let them assault him! Let them rape-”

Dick cut himself off with a choked noise. Dick was honest-to-God shaking now; his hands were clenched in fists and Jason was worried he might ding up the walls again. 

“I let them rape me,” Dick continued, his voice dangerously steady all of a sudden. “I let them hold me down, I let them use me, I let them call me demeaning things, let them say what they wanted about my body, my sexuality, my heritage. I let them fuck me.”

Jason was beginning to inch closer and closer to Dick, but he wanted to be careful. The last thing he needed was Dick to try and make a break for it or knock Jason back on his ass.

“They had me so drugged up I couldn’t tell up from down half the time. But I was trained better than that. I should have fought through the pain. I should’ve protected my mind better. Being drugged isn’t an excuse.”

Jason was almost close enough to reach out and touch Dick.

“The only thing I could think of in there was how I’d failed you again.”

Jason froze, his eyes meeting Dick’s. The older man wasn’t looking away this time, though. He was maintaining contact, the semblance of a sad smile on his lips. If Jason wasn’t feeling a million things all at once, the feeling of pride at Dick’s accomplishment might have risen more to the top.

“I wasn’t there for you when you died. I wasn’t there for you when they took me away. I failed you, Jay. I just keep failing people. My parents, you, Babs, Damian, Daisy… no matter what I do, I just keep letting people down.”

Dick closed his eyes as he took a shaky breath in. Dr. Cooper had said it would feel good for him to finally let everything out at once instead of in a bunch of angry, short bursts like he had been with the rest of his family. But this didn’t feel good; it hurt. His heart ached.

Jason wasted no more time; he broke the distance between the two of them and embraced Dick in a hug. Dick obviously hadn’t been expecting it, and Jason couldn’t blame him. He probably hadn’t initiated a hug since… Well, maybe technically since their first night back, but Jason hadn’t really started the whole hugging thing; Dick had collapsed in his arms and Jason had just finished the puzzle. No, Jason hadn’t hugged Dick, let alone anyone, like this since he was a kid. Since Dick had slung a duffel over his shoulder and told Jason to be on his best behavior before moving out. Jason had gripped onto Dick like a lifeline; it’d taken Alfred to pry him off the man because Dick wouldn’t even let go himself. He hadn’t understood at the time. He thought Dick was leaving because of him. That he’d done something wrong, that he hadn’t been a good enough brother or Robin.

Nowadays he knew the truth, but it had cut deep back then. It still obviously bothered him a little, to a certain extent.

“Dick, you’ve never let me down. Not now, not back then. I never blamed you for my death and I sure as hell don’t blame you for this.”

Dick’s hands were grasping at the fabric of Jason’s T-shirt. Jason could just barely feel the man’s fingernails dig slightly into his skin, but he didn’t care. He wasn’t breaking away until Dick was ready, just like Dick had done for him all those years ago.

“I don’t know how many people have to tell you this until you get it, Dick, but you have got to stop being so damn hard on yourself. You’re not perfect. You don’t have to be. I didn’t look up to you as a kid because you did everything right all the time. I looked up to you because no matter what, you always saw the bright side of things. Despite so much evil, so much awfulness in the world, you always see the good in people, even in those who don’t seem like they have any. I wanted to be that kind of Robin; the kind that always helped people, always gave them a reassuring smile when they were scared. That’s what you do, Dick; you make people feel safe. And now you need to let someone do that for you.”

Dick lifted his head from Jason’s shoulder, a confused and teary-eyed expression on his face. “ You looked up to me? ”

“Duh, asshole. And if you tell anyone that I’ll kill you.”

Dick said something Jason didn’t quite hear before replacing his head on Jason’s shoulder. Jason could feel Dick’s heart beat. It was beginning to slow to normal.

“Letting people in is hard, especially when you’re used to the other side. But if you don’t come to us, allow us to help without having to fight you first, how’re you gonna get better? You’re never gonna get over it, not fully. You know that. But you can put it past you. You can focus on moving forward. What’s done is done. Your past doesn’t define you, Dick. It never has. Your future does.”

Dick finally broke away from Jason. He had expected tears to be making their way down his face, like every one of his recent outbursts had been ending. But there were none. Sure, his eyes were a bit wet and his throat ached, but he wasn’t full on sobbing anymore. But even if he had been crying, it wouldn’t have mattered. It wouldn’t have made him weaker, or his emotions any stronger. Jason wouldn’t see him as a lesser man for it. It was funny; it took Dick not crying to realize that it was okay to. 

“I want to move on,” Dick finally admitted. “I want to stop feeling like this… like I’m helpless. Like I’m a victim. I kept thinking things out of my control were holding me back; being taken, what had happened to me. That if I had just known the unknowable, I could’ve avoided all this. But that’s stupid. I was being stupid. I was holding myself back. I was the one refusing to come to terms with what happened. I was the one shutting people out. Deep down, despite saying otherwise, I wanted to stay in that pit of self loathing and pity. It was safer there. I didn’t have to face my issues, I didn’t have to be vulnerable. But what good did that do me? I just dug myself a deeper hole, just pushed away the people in my life who care about me.”

Part of me felt like I had to do this huge thing by myself. But I forgot that I never have to be alone…

“My entire life, Bruce has been training me to be a better version of him. I guess all that went to my head. In my effort to be nothing like him, I just became him. I started trying to do the impossible, started to try and do things on my own. I got angry, I said things I didn’t really mean. I pushed everyone away. But I’ve always needed backup, and so has Bruce. I can’t do this alone. I can’t overcome this alone. I never could.”

You might be seeing sides already, all of us birds on one and you, the bat, on the other. Hell, you’re probably throwing up walls right and left.

“I thought because I was once Batman, I had to be him. But I don’t. I’m not Batman. I’m not Robin. I’m not even Nightwing.”

One identity to the next. I bet it doesn’t even matter to you. It’s all a farce, just entertainment.

“I’m not an agent of Spyral. I’m not a product to be sold. I’m not that scared little boy anymore.”

You’re still playing on the circus floor. Dancing and dashing and having a grand old time as the crowd roars. Let’s hear it for Dick! Let’s all hear it loud.

 “No. I’m just Dick Grayson. I’m just a man.”

Dick had somehow found himself seated on his bed once more, though he had been so absorbed in his own words, he hadn’t noticed the exact moment. All he knew was that Jason had eventually sat down next to him, a steady and comforting hand on his shoulder as he spilled his guts finally. 

This was different than how it had been with The Garvins, or Tim or Cass or Helena. There wasn’t an uncontrollable rage rolling through his body, he wasn’t panicking or feeling like a cornered animal. He wasn’t saying all this due to a crescendo of emotions overtaking him. He wasn’t saying this to get his loved ones to leave him alone, or to hurt them. He wasn’t avoiding saying the hard stuff that he’d been rolling around in his mind for months. 

No, this was different. It was different this time. 

Dick wasn’t putting up barriers as they came crashing down. He wasn’t playing keep away, he wasn’t trying to do damage control. He wasn’t trying to fix the dam; he’d opened the floodgates finally. He was healing. This was what Dr. Cooper was talking about. This was what it felt like.

“Do you really wanna know?”

Dick looked at Jason, trying to read him. While there was a part of Jason that was relieved Dick had begun to try and put himself back together, he still knew the man deserved to know the truth. He hadn’t wanted to keep the new intel away from him in the first place, and under normal circumstances, he would’ve gone behind Bruce’s back the minute he turned around. But Jason had seen that look in his eyes. He’d seen how exhausted he really was. How he truly didn’t want to do this either, but he knew deep down this was what was best for Dick at the time. That he needed to find himself before he looked for revenge.

It’d been the same way when he was eight years old, after all. 

“Tell me, Jay. I promise I won’t freak out.”

Jason only half-believed him, given his current track record. But he nodded as he ran a hand through his white-streaked bangs.

“We found out that Redhorn was a middle man of sorts, would send intel to Desmond on potential victims. Guess he saw a lot of good candidates, what with being a police chief and all. It started with logical choices, people who wouldn’t be missed: sex workers, drug addicts, criminals. If they looked like they could at least manage one of their two specialties, and there were no major connections keeping them in Blüdhaven, away they went to Nevada. Desmond knew if he kept ‘em in the casino attached to his name it wouldn’t be long until someone connected the dots. That’s why they all went to locations not officially in Desmond’s name. He had aliases for them all, but Barbara was able to figure them out when we hacked his files. It’s how they were able to find us.”

“If they were taking people who wouldn’t be missed,” Dick asked, his voice low. “Why take Daisy? The Garvins are a very influential family in Blüdhaven.”

“Guess her dad made a bad business deal, screwed Desmond over on a major merger or something. He wanted revenge.”

Dick’s stomach twisted. He knew Daisy wasn’t the first, that there were others, but she had been the first one to be made personal it seemed. But he hadn’t realized just who they’d been targeting to begin with. People that wouldn’t even have files, because no one would have bothered to report them missing. No one would have cared that they were gone. No one would have noticed. It took a rich girl going missing for even Dick to care enough, and that made him sick.

He’d been in a position like that before. He grew up invisible. When he was in the circus, no one saw him or his family unless they were on stage performing. Otherwise, he was just another dirty circus freak. Someone who didn’t belong. Someone they didn’t want in their city. The world didn’t care about him until he became the ward of Bruce Wayne. Until he was deemed important. He felt sick thinking of all the unknown, unnamed victims of this cruel game. It wasn’t fair that he couldn’t even properly mourn them, let alone save them.

Dick had known there were others, of course. He’d seen the files and some of the others during his capture. But he hadn’t thought much about just how big the operation was. Was it just nationwide, or was it global? How many innocent lives had been lost because of these men? How big did it get?

“And me?”

Jason seemed to hesitate for a moment, though he knew eventually he’d have to say the words.

“It was Redhorn. He was trying to get rid of you. He’d figured out you’d been trying to usurp him, or whatever. That you were on to him being corrupt and almost ready to go up the chain.”

Dick remembered. He, Amy, and Alphonse had been the only ones, so it seemed, that suspected Redhorn wasn’t a clean cop. They’d been working to get enough dirt on him to hopefully get him fired, or at least demoted. It had been an endeavor, since they had all agreed on only legal proof, so that the case could go to court. That meant no Nightwing and no calling in special favors.

“Amy says her best guess was that Redhorn had hated you from the start, that this was his revenge. That he had made you the ringleader in all of this, and assumed with you gone that Amy and Alphonse would give up. So he put you on the list, and Desmond’s men came to collect.”

Dick’s head was swimming. Jesus, he knew Redhorn hadn’t liked him. It was obvious from the first day. Dick had had to bend over backwards just to get in the door for an interview, let alone actually get the job. He’d just been grateful that it wasn’t all up to Redhorn, that there was a whole group of people who made the decision. That, and the glowing letter of recommendation from Commissioner Gordon sure didn’t hurt. 

Getting the job, Dick soon realized, was the easy part. It was everything that came after that sucked. People either ignored him or insulted him within earshot. It was always so passive aggressive too, making Dick feel like he was in high school all over again. They would do petty shit, like graffiti slurs on his locker or spill coffee on his finished reports so he’d have to redo them. Some days he got so fed up that he would go straight home and change into his Nightwing suit, so at least he’d have an excuse to hit someone. At work, though, he couldn’t let them see it bothered him. That’s what all bullies wanted: a reaction. The minute Dick snapped they won. So he put a tired smile on his face and washed away the words. He chuckled softly and went to grab a fresh report. He rolled with every punch, knowing one day he’d have to leave or it would kill him. 

Maybe that explained the last few months.

“I’m sorry, Dick, but you couldn’t have avoided it. It wasn’t a choice you made, it was one made for you. No matter what you could’ve done, you still would’ve been on that fascist’s shit list just because of who you are, and that’s not something you can change. So all this guilt you’re feeling for not being more careful… it wouldn’t have done you much good anyway.”

Dick bit his lip, tasting just a hint of metal from where he’d split the skin open. All this time, he had blamed himself for trying to keep everyone safe, from trying to do things on his own. But really, none of it would’ve mattered. He would’ve been taken. He would’ve been caught up even if Amy and Alphonse hadn’t asked for his help. And sure, maybe if he’d gone home and talked to Bruce about the case, he would’ve had backup, he would’ve been found faster. But keeping it away from his family also meant the least amount possible got caught in the crossfire. The less who knew, the less targeted. Dick shook his head, though. No, that kind of thinking had gotten him in trouble in the first place. He couldn’t pretend like he was doing what was best for his family by keeping them in the dark. He couldn’t do things alone.

No matter the path, it all ended the same. With at least one of his family members going to his apartment to check on him. What if it had been Tim or Damian? What if they had been taken and Dick had failed to save them just as he had failed Jason?

No, Dick hadn’t failed Jason. 

Dick hadn’t been in control of the situation. There’s no way he could logically be held responsible. No one expected him to perform miracles. He was just a man. He wasn’t perfect. He didn’t need to be.

“I knew I hated that guy.”

Jason snorted, rubbing his temples as if trying to ward off a headache. “Jesus, Dick, a guy sells you into a human trafficking ring and that’s all you’ve got to say?”

Dick shrugged. “I’ve recently been trying to work on letting things go.”

Jason looked at Dick; really looked at him. To Jason, Dick had always been a constant, even when things with him were anything but that. No matter how tired Dick was or how loud the argument had gotten between him and Bruce, he would always give Jason the same look; a small smirk paired with the same glint in his blue eyes that Jason had once seen in his own mother’s. It had been the familiarity Jason had needed as time went on and things drastically changed for him. He still remembered the moment Dick realized who was under the hood. 

They’d been at a draw; Jason with a gun pointed point blank at Dick, Dick with an electrified escrima stick dangerously close to Jason’s neck. Half of Jason’s mask had chipped away, leaving a gap near his left eye. Dick had looked deep into that eye and that twinkle in his expression had appeared once more.

“Jason?”

Jason had used Dick’s distractedness against him, had shot a bullet clean through his shoulder, careful to miss anything important, though he had no idea why at the time. Maybe he had missed the way Dick looked at him. Maybe he had just missed Dick in general. It didn’t matter. In the end, it all worked out.

But now when Jason looked at his brother, he didn’t see the hero he had made him out to be when he was a kid. He didn’t see the legendary Robin or the untouchable Nightwing. He saw past Dick’s masks, past the personality he presented day in and day out. Jason saw just how exhausted he was, just how close to the borderline he was getting. The way his shoulders slumped a bit as he rested. The way he didn’t even stand to his full height most days, that he slouched over a bit, as if trying to make himself smaller. How he barely ate, unless someone, usually Bruce, pushed the matter (which he hadn’t done in a bit due to how it often shut Dick down, closed him off even more). How he had only returned to Blüdhaven to grab things from his apartment, go to therapy, and visit the cemetery. He hadn’t even gone into work to grab anything or say hello to Amy and Alphonse, how he probably hadn’t even talked to them since coming back. He hadn’t even mentioned wanting to go back to the BPD. 

Would he even go back? Jason knew it was ultimately Dick’s decision to make, but he couldn’t help but think of how much of a toll it would continue to take on Dick. He was good at helping people, but he would do so much better mentally if he did it in a less hostile environment. Jason knew they’d never convince him to just live on his inheritance; Dick had to always be working, always be moving. But maybe they could get him to take a job geared less towards law enforcement and more towards social work. Then he could continue to help people.

Dick was looking at Jason, knowing fully well the boy was studying him too. Dick couldn’t help but feel pride when he looked at him. He’d come a long way from that scared kid in the alley just trying to make a quick buck to help his family out. He’d grown into a remarkable young man, and Dick was proud to call him his brother. Despite hardships along the way, Jason had found peace within himself. Sure, he still held onto some anger, he still had bad days, but that didn’t make him a bad person. It just made him human. 

“Thank you,” Dick said, the feeling of an invisible weight lifting off his shoulders overcoming him. “Thank you for everything.”

Jason smiled, wrapping a strong arm around Dick’s shoulders. The older man leaned into the touch, allowing himself to be embraced. Dick had always been the physical type; Jaosn had had more than his fair share of surprise hugs or hair ruffles, and so had the rest of his siblings. It was time for Jason to return the favor.

“That’s what I’m here for. That’s what we’re all here for.”

Dick grinned, his eyes watching the stars outside his window. This was the first clear night in quite some time, so he could actually see some of the constellations now. He used to love laying on his back in the middle of Haly’s, looking towards the night sky and connecting dots to make his very own shapes. 

“Are you okay?”

Jason looked over at Dick, who was still locked in on the stars. 

“What?”

“You sat here and made sure I was okay, so now I wanna know: are you okay?”

Jason didn’t respond at first, and he was aware that Dick was beginning to look at him. He wasn’t sure what to say. His journey had been a bit more complicated, it seemed. He felt as if his pain was not as great as Dick’s, so that he didn’t deserve to behave like it bothered him. That despite having a matching tattoo, he didn’t have all the needle marks Dick had. He didn’t have the long gashes from a whip making contact with his skin. He didn’t have multiple internal lacerations-

Jason forced his mind to clear. This wasn’t helping. He was doing exactly what he had told Dick not to; blaming himself. There was nothing he could’ve done to keep Dick from being sent to Las Vegas. There wasn’t anything he could’ve done to keep him from being assaulted. There wasn’t anything he could’ve done to keep him from being taken. So why would it make sense to blame himself for everything out of his control?

Still, Jason was doing better. He at least understood what the root of his problems were; Dick had just finally come to terms with his own shit. Jason had seen this production play out so many times it was starting to make him dizzy. Jason remembered that night on patrol with Steph, when he had beat that drug lord senseless due to the onslaught of memories taking over him. It had taken Steph literally pulling him away to break the trance, but by then he’d already beaten the guy to the brink of death. He’d felt a bit ashamed, but not nearly as much as he could’ve, considering the guy sold drugs to kids. But that wasn’t the point. Jason had lost control, had allowed his trauma and memories to take the wheel, and that wasn’t okay. It’s probably why Dick hadn’t gone back out in the field quite yet. He wasn’t ready to take the lead, and that was okay. He’d get there.

Jason had prided himself on being rather well adjusted, all things considered. He was okay faster than Dick because he had gone through less. It made sense. But that experience at the warehouse had told him a different story, even a few weeks after the fact. 

Too often as Red Hood he’d allowed the wave of green to wash over him, to take control of situations he was too afraid to do himself. And while he had long prided himself on handling this ability, maybe it wasn’t a useful tool at all. Maybe it was just another mask for Jason to hide behind. If he did something under the influence of the Lazarus Pit, how could he possibly be fully to blame? It was immature and selfish, but something Jason knew he was guilty of. 

He thought of that girl in the bodega who drew superheroes. He thought of the many depictions of Batman and Robin that lined the store’s walls. He thought of her picture of Red Hood. She only drew heroes. So if she drew Red Hood, that must make him a hero.

And if Red Hood was a hero, he couldn’t hide behind others’ fear anymore. He couldn’t force himself to use his anger just to intimidate the bad guys. He had to find a balance between the light and the dark. He couldn’t completely remove one over the other; then he simply wouldn’t be human. He had to learn to balance them. It might take time, but he could do it.

With a little help, of course.

“I’ll be okay, Dick,” he said finally, looking at the stars himself this time. He could make out a constellation: Orion. Jason didn’t know much about myths, but that guy was a fighter, right? He could probably relate.

“We’ll figure it out. We always do.” 

Jason supposed they did. 

XI.
“And if a vow is what it takes
Haven't you paid for your mistakes?”

Dick had parked his bike nearly ten minutes ago but still hadn’t made a move to go into the building yet. Luckily he was early; he’d given himself extra time in case he needed to psych himself up before going in. He’d obviously needed it, he thought to himself as he pretended to read a flyer posted on the bulletin board near the door. He knew he should just go in, that it would be way less awkward than standing outside and acting like he cared that the church had a bake sale coming up, but he just couldn’t force his body to move.

He looked down at his watch. He had five minutes to get his shit together before things got started, and if those five minutes passed before he gained the courage to go in, he knew he was just going to turn around and do the drive of shame back to the manor. Somehow that was more terrifying than just going into the building for an hour.

Dr. Cooper had recommended this group. It was in Gotham, so he didn’t have to go far, and she knew the counselor who ran it. She had been trying to get Dick to give it a chance since day one it seemed. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to go, though. Going meant he’d have to admit he needed help, and then he’d have to admit exactly what he needed help with. It’d only been a few weeks since he’d even been able to say the word, let alone think about what it entailed. No, he’d needed time to regroup, to figure some of his shit out. 

He was here now. The next step was opening the door.

Dick reached to push the door open, his hand hovering in space for a moment. He could do this. Dr. Cooper had told him that the hardest part was opening that door and walking in. That he wouldn’t even have to share the first day if he didn’t want to. He’d gone face to face with some of the worst villains the universe had ever seen; so why couldn’t he walk into a church?

“The first day is always the worst. It took me five go’s before I opened up that door.”

Dick jumped out of his own psyche, his eyes darting over to where a woman stood, a bright smile on her face as she looked up at Dick. 

“You’re here for the meeting, right?”

Dick nodded, not sure where his voice disappeared to. The woman didn’t seem to mind the silence, though, she just put her hand over Dick’s and pushed the door open for both of them. Leaving Dick to hold it open, she walked through, turning around so she faced Dick.

“See. Nothing bad happened.”

The woman twirled around in a circle, her arms outstretched, as if trying to prove her point.

“Your turn.”

Dick’s hand was still on the door, holding it open. The woman was watching Dick intently, waiting for him to make his choice. Dick closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath in. It wasn’t walking through that door that scared Dick; it was what was waiting for him inside. He’d have to face a group of people he never in a million years would’ve thought he’d have something in common with. And once he faced that room, he’d have no choice but to officially, without a doubt, come to terms with the fact that he had been sexually assaulted. And while he was leagues ahead of where he had been months ago, he was still hesitant to dwell too much on it. Sure, he could say it now, he could talk to Dr. Cooper about it bit by bit as their weekly sessions went by. He was making more progress in the past two weeks than he had in the past year. 

But that didn’t mean he was fixed, that he was back to normal, whatever “normal” even meant. Dick couldn’t joke about it, not like he was able to about other things. He still had trouble even bringing it up some days during his sessions with Dr. Cooper. But at the very least, he wasn’t avoiding it anymore, wasn’t trying to bury his head in the sand and pretend like everything was perfectly fine.

It just reminds me of all the people I couldn't save.

Dick knew the real reason he wasn’t walking through that door so easily. He wasn’t sure he could stand to see the faces of people he had sworn to protect but had failed. How could he look at them knowing it was his job to prevent all of this from happening? That if he’d just been stronger, he could’ve saved them?

He’d told Dr. Cooper about his hesitation during an earlier session, when he had finally admitted he may be ready to try out one of those groups she kept recommending. She had worked with a lot of patients in Dick’s line of work; both lines of work, actually, so this hadn’t surprised her one bit.

“You can’t save everyone, Dick. You know that. No one can. You’re just one man, not even an alien or Meta, and even if you were you wouldn’t have the ability to rescue everyone.”

No, maybe he couldn’t have been there in the moment, when these people were going through some of the worst moments of their lives. But maybe Dick could be there to help deal with the aftermath. Maybe being a hero wasn’t only about saving the day; it was about sticking around and helping communities and people rebuild their lives after the fact. 

Dick opened his eyes, a refreshing smile on his face that finally reached his eyes. He stepped through the door, looking over at the woman who had waited for him, who had taken time out of her day to help a complete stranger overcome a seemingly impassible force.

“How’s the coffee here?” he asked, allowing her to lead him down a hall and towards a small conference room, where people were beginning to find a seat in one of the chairs that made up a large circle in the middle of the room. The group was mostly made up of women, but Dick saw a handful of men as well, which put his mind at ease a bit. That had been another problem with this whole group therapy thing; he was afraid he’d be the only guy there and that it would be awkward or potentially triggering for some of the other participants. Dr. Cooper had assured him this group was indeed led by a male counselor and that quite a few men attended.

The woman took him to the refreshments first, passing him an empty cup so he could make himself some coffee.

“Oh, it’s vile. The worst. It’ll probably kill you, so it’s a good idea to build up a resistance to it quickly.”

Dick chuckled as he mixed some sugar into his cup before taking a sip. Well, it was better than what they made at the station, though that was a pretty low bar. Dick wasn’t even sure it was coffee. He’d almost had Amy convinced it was a hazardous chemical. He tried not to think about Amy or Alphonse or work too much. He hadn’t been able to face meeting up with them even at a bar or coffee shop, let alone stepping foot back in the BPD. He wasn’t so sure what his next move was going to be, career-wise. He was fortunate it didn’t have to be a bigger issue for him.

“Looks like they’re starting soon. Here, you can sit next to me.”

“You never told me your name,” Dick reminded her, following her to two empty chairs next to each other.

“Sonia. Sonia Branch.”

She offered her hand and Dick shook it.

“Dick Grayson. Nice to meet you.”

 There was a flash of recognition in Sonia’s face at the mention of his name. Dick was nervous; the whole point of coming here was so no one knew who he was. She probably recognized him from the news or something. Gotham tabloids loved reporting on Bruce Wayne and his kids. Now she was probably gonna get a nice payout by telling them exactly where she’d seen the eldest Wayne son.

“Grayson… Any relation to the Flying Graysons?”

Dick hadn’t expected that.

“Yeah, me and my parents. We used to perform in-”

“-Haly’s Circus! Yeah, of course, my dad took me to a show once. I’m sorry… I know what happened to them…”

Dick smiled, just relieved she wasn’t looking at him as if he were Gotham royalty. He hated when people thought he was better than them just because Bruce had money.

“It’s okay. It was a long time ago.”

If Sonia was going to reply, she didn’t get the chance as a man in an oversized cardigan had begun to start the meeting, his eyes taking in everyone from behind his owl-rimmed glasses.

“Thank you all for coming today. I’m so glad you could all make it. I see we have some new faces too, so please make sure we make them feel welcome. I think we’ll start with some introductions, and then we’ll see who’ll like to start. Sounds good?”

The circle nodded and Dick could feel Sonia’s eyes on him.

“Great! Well, I’ll start! My name’s James, I’ve been a social worker for about eleven years now. I ended up moving to Gotham for grad school a few years ago, to get out of a bad relationship. That experience is why I actually started this support group last year. I wanted to help others who had gone through similar experiences.”

Dick remembered Dr. Cooper told him this counselor, James, had his own troubled past, but Dick hadn’t considered just how much he related. Despite how great Dr. Cooper was, she didn’t fully understand everything Dick was going through, because she didn’t have that lived experience. While he appreciated everything she did for him, it was still nice to have someone he could talk to who had first-hand experience overcoming challenges such as this.

“Now, who’d like to start? Maybe someone new?”

The circle was quiet for a moment. The only sound Dick could hear was his own heart beating. He suddenly felt like a kid anxiously awaiting to give a big presentation at school. His knee was bouncing up and down and he placed a hand over it, forcing it to stop.

“You don’t have to,” Sonia whispered into his ear. “It’s your first day, don’t worry about it. Get the lay of the land first.”

She was right. Dick didn’t owe anyone anything, especially on the first day. He could take this as slow or as fast as he needed, and just knowing that was enough to make him raise his hand, relieved his knee was no longer bouncing. Sonia looked surprised, but Dick couldn’t blame her. A few minutes ago he hadn’t even been able to walk through the door on his own. Now he was volunteering to go first? That was just Dick’s style, though. Once he gained some momentum, he was able to let go of the bar and take the leap.

“My name’s Dick,” his hand readjusted its grip on his coffee and he tried to figure out where the hell he should start. “And… Well, I guess it began a few months ago, when my partners at the BPD wanted me to take a look at a case file…”

XII.
“You can still hold back
'Cause you don't crack very easily”

“Father is coddling you tonight. We both know your skills are needed elsewhere.”

Dick sighed as he readjusted his utility belt. Damian was sharpening his katana, which he probably shouldn’t even be bringing out on patrol, but Dick didn’t want to mention it, less Damian got even more pissy. 

“I asked for a simple patrol tonight, if possible,” Dick reminded the kid, making sure his mask was staying on his face. He couldn’t help but fidget a bit; this was his first patrol since being back and he was more than a little nervous. Thankfully, he knew his team had his back.

Bruce, Cass, and Jason were busy in the Heights cleaning up the Riddler’s latest mess. Tim and Steph were on the Southside keeping an eye on things, Duke was off, and Barbara was stationed at the Batcomputer as Oracle. That left Dick and Damian to patrol the West End together.

“Why would you do something so beneath you?”

“Damian, simple patrols are not beneath me, they’re not beneath any of us. You can’t take out a big bad every night. I taught you better than that.”

Damian made his signature huff of disapproval as he abandoned his whetstone in favor of crossing his arms over his chest.

“That is not what I meant. What I intended to communicate was that you are fully capable of joining Father, Cain, and Todd in investigating the Riddler’s ploy.”

“I don’t need to go out and prove myself,” Dick pulled his gauntlets on. “This is just me getting my feet wet again.”

“Then I should have assisted Father with the Riddler, not Todd. I am a much more skilled warrior than him.”

Dick turned to look at Damian, who looked like steam might start to come out of his ears at any moment. He was small, but mighty, that was for sure.

“But I’ll need you to watch my back, Robin.”

This was obviously the right answer. It used to work all the time when Dick was Batman. He remembered Bruce not always taking care to make him feel important, so he always put in an effort to make sure his siblings knew just how needed they were. No matter what Damian might claim, he was not immune to words of encouragement. 

“Fine. I will accompany you so you do not die.”

“Much appreciated,” Dick smiled, his fingers brushing against the case his escrima sticks were kept in. He could do this. This was a piece of cake. With Riddler wreaking havoc, it usually scared off the smart criminals, as they didn’t want to stick around less the Bats came for them next. That left the complete idiots, and they were the easiest to deal with. They practically giftwrapped themselves.

Yet still, Dick hesitated. He knew he was ready, he knew he wanted to return to his role as Nightwing, yet still he hesitated. He’d been mulling it over in his head all day. He knew he’d have to go back out there eventually and that today was as good of a day as any, but he couldn’t stop worrying about every what-if that crossed his mind.

What if the rest of his family needed his help with the Riddler and he wasn’t able to handle it? What if he wasn’t even able to handle a simple mugging? What if his trauma got the best of him and he couldn’t ground himself? What if something happened to him, or even worse, to Damian?

He couldn’t live with himself if Damian got hurt again.

“Father once told me that before every mission, every night of patrol, we accept any and all consequences that may occur.”

Dick nodded his head. Leave it to Damian to get to the bottom of this. He was well on his way to rivaling Bruce’s detective skills.

“Today is no different. You cannot foresee every outcome, so do not attempt to.”

Dick had to admit he was slightly surprised by how insightful Damian was. He knew the kid had it in him, he just hadn’t expected the late night philosophy lesson.

“You are my Batman,” Damian continued, looking up at Dick with a hint of pride in his eyes. “You have taught me much. If anyone can overcome this, it is you.”

God, Dick had done a good job with this one, he thought to himself as he reached out to ruffle Damian’s hair, much to the pre-teen’s annoyment.

“Wow, Damian. I… I didn’t think you’d-”

“If you tell Todd what I have said I will smother you in your sleep,” the kid said darkly, quickly reaching up to brush his hair back the way he liked it. 

Dick chuckled softly. “Noted.”

Damian nodded curtly before returning to his katana, returning it to its sheath. 

“Dick, can we talk for a sec?”

Dick turned his attention away from Damian to see Barbara looking at him with an expression he’d seen more times than he could count. Babs always gave him that stern yet sincere look, especially when she was about to say things she knew he didn’t want to hear.

“Yeah, sure. Be ready in five, Damian.”

“I have been prepared for ten minutes now,” Damian replied, but his usual bite wasn’t behind the words. 

Dick rolled his eyes and followed Barbara back to the Batcomputer, where she had a few miscellaneous tabs open, most tracking where the rest of the team was.

“What’s up?”

Barbara scoffed at Dick’s nonchalant opening. “Hi, remember me? Barbara Gordon? Your favorite ex?”

Dick lightly tapped his hand against his forehead, as if having an ‘a-ha’ moment. “ That’s who you are, I’ve been trying to figure it out for weeks!”

“Asshole,” Barbara replied, though she was smiling. “You promised me you’d be careful, Dick Grayson.”

Dick knew what she was referring to. It’d been the last conversation they’d had before he’d been kidnapped. 

Be careful if you're investigating as Detective Grayson, okay?

Their relationship had its ups and downs, that was for sure, and recently they’d been on one of their infamous downfalls. Dick had been keeping his distance since coming back for a few reasons, but mainly due to how rocky things had been before he left and the fact he wasn’t sure he could handle Barbara’s cold honest truth. After his talk with Jason, though, he felt a little more prepared.

It wasn’t that Dick thought Barbara hated him or would say unnecessarily cruel things, it was just that she had a habit of always speaking her mind, especially when it came to Dick. She never sugar-coated things, she never tried to save his feelings. And while that was probably exactly what Dick had needed, he hadn’t been ready for it. He’d needed time. Maybe that was lame, maybe it was pathetic, but it didn’t really matter in the end. He wasn’t ready to go to others for help, which meant they had to come to him. Barbara must’ve known Dick wouldn’t be ready for her candor, so she’d elected to also give him space. It didn’t mean she couldn’t be a bit pissed about it, though.

“I’m sorry I’ve been avoiding you,” Dick admitted, secretly proud of himself for even admitting that. When Jason had confronted him, Dick had denied that he’d been giving Jason the cold shoulder, which had been a bold-faced lie. 

“Hey, it’s a two-way street. I could’ve come to you like everyone else did.”

Dick was surprised at Barbara’s confession. He’d been expecting sarcasm, perhaps even a jab about him being too much like Bruce or being too cowardly to face her. He hadn't expected her to meet him halfway.

“We didn’t part on the greatest of terms, and I didn’t want to put more on your shoulders. Besides, me screaming at you hasn’t always worked so great in the past.”

Dick laughed softly, his hands on his hips. “I mean, it doesn’t not work.”

“Yeah, sometimes the thing you need is tough love, Dick. Just… this time around? I thought it would harm more than it’d help.”

Barbara had a point. This time around Dick was more on edge, more flighty. If she’d tried her usual routine, he’d probably closed himself off more, or would’ve just hoofed it back to Blüdhaven and shut everyone out again. No, those two options weren’t sustainable, not by a longshot. It hurt to stay away from Barbara, but it’d probably been a good move on both their parts.

“I’m still sorry,” Dick smiled. She was grinning back at him and he realized just how much he had missed this.

“Yeah, yeah, you’ll make it up to me, Boy Wonder. Like you always do.”

“Another Russian nesting doll?”

Barbara rolled her eyes. “I never even got the first one, you know.”

“I told you, it broke!”

“Sure it did.”

The familiar ping of a new notification on the Batcomputer rang out, and the two turned their attention back to the monitors.

“Trouble?”

“Nah,” Barbara said, clicking through a couple of windows to find the source. “Just one of the alerts I set up. I keep tabs on all our identities, any prominent mentions on the web.”

“What’s it this time? Batman is Clark Kent?”

“Nah, it’s about you, actually.”

Dick furrowed his eyebrows. “Huh?”

Barbara turned around in her chair slightly to face Dick, a peculiar smile on her face.

“See for yourself.”

Dick was still confused, but he got closer to the Batcomputer so he could read the monitor. Barbara had some social media platform pulled up and it seemed they were all talking about him. Well, Nightwing, at least.

Haven’t seen him around in a while, hope everything’s good.

We’d know if NW was dead, Gotham would’ve gone even more to shit.

I misssss himmmmm!!!

I heard he was on a top secret JL mission!

No Blüd sightings either wtf

Guy deserves a vacay fr…

He saved my kid’s life once! Guy’s a hero!

Hope he comes back soon! We need him!

Gotham misses you, NW!

“You’ve been blowing up on social media for months now. I’ve had to fend off some of the more… accurate theories, but the majority of posts have been just like these.”

“I didn’t… I never-”

“What can I say, you’ve always been a fan favorite.”

Dick didn’t know how he was supposed to feel. Happy that so many people looked up to him? Terrified because oh God, so many people looked up to him? Ashamed that he’d let them down? Maybe all those emotions and more?

Barbara’s hand touched his wrist and all of a sudden he was grounded again. He looked over, a reassuring smile on her face.

“You better head out, before Damian leaves without you.”

“Yeah,” Dick said, his eyes looking back towards the thousands of messages that scrolled down the screen. “He’s done it before.”

Barbara chuckled and patted his hand.

“You got this, Dick. You always have.”

And yet again, Barbara Gordon was right.

XIII.
“It's with you now
But that ain't how it was supposed to be”

It was probably the most perfect night of patrol Dick had ever had. Maybe the most perfect he’d ever have. 

Bruce, Jason, and Cass had made quick work of the Riddler and had dropped his ass back in Arkham before the clock even struck midnight. Tim and Steph had thwarted a would-be bank robbery, and Dick and Damian had saved a family from a group of muggers. Besides a handful of bruises, everyone had come home safe and sound.

Dick couldn’t have asked for a warmer welcome back.

It was late, but Dick was still down in the cave, despite almost everyone having already gone upstairs to bed. 

Everyone except Bruce.

Dick had already taken his Nightwing suit off and put it away, but Bruce had only taken his cowl off as he sat in front of the Batcomputer, watching security footage he’d probably seen a thousand times.

“Burning the midnight oil, B?”

Bruce turned in his chair, a tight, tired smile on his face once he realized who’d spoken.

“Shouldn’t you be asleep? Long night.”

Dick pulled his phone out of his pocket and pretended like he was answering a call. 

“Yes, hello? Yeah, he’s right here, just a sec,” Dick playfully placed a hand over the receiver of his cell phone, a smirk on his face as he turned his attention back towards Bruce, offering him the phone. “Kettle? Pot’s calling you.”

“Smartass,” Bruce grumbled, though there was a small smile on his lips as he spoke.

“Better than a dumbass,” Dick said in a sing-song voice as he put his phone back in his pocket and took a seat next to Bruce. There hadn’t always been multiple chairs at the Batcomputer. Dick remembered back in the day when it had been one massive one, intended only for Bruce. Now there were always at least two set up, and the ability to pull up more if need be.

“Really, though. Like you said, it’s been a long night, we should probably both-”

“I actually wanted to ask you something, Dick.”

Dick tried to read the expression on Bruce’s face, but he was a little too good at schooling his emotions. Dick wondered how he’d gotten so good at it. Probably years of being emotionally stunted, something Dick was worried he was well on his way to becoming.

“What’s up?”

“How’re you doing?”

Dick hadn’t known what to expect, but it certainly wasn’t that.

“Um… fine. Good. A lot better, I guess.”

It didn’t sound too convincing, even to Dick.

“It felt good to get back out there, to be there for people, you know?” Dick continued, trying his best to sound as normal as possible. 

He knew Bruce saw right through him, that he knew Dick had had his reservations about getting back in the game, but in all honestly, Dick didn’t really want to talk about it. Sure, he’d learned it was better for him to open up to his family rather than bottle everything inside him, like he had been, but that didn’t mean he had to be an open book 24/7, right?

“I’m glad you’re back, Dick.”

Dick knew Bruce meant that in multiple ways. 

“I was actually thinking…” Dick had been wanting to bring the topic up for a week or so now, but he hadn’t been able to figure out the right words to use, or the right time to mention it. No time like the present, he assumed.

“I was thinking of going back to Blüdhaven soon.”

Bruce turned away from the Batcomputer, focusing his full attention on Dick. He didn’t seem surprised by Dick’s confession; if anything, he looked like he’d seen it coming.

“Good.”

Dick squinted in confusion. “That desperate to get rid of me?”

“No, of course not. I just meant that I’m glad you feel that you’re ready.”

Dick nodded, running his hand through his hair. God, he hoped he was ready. He was definitely doing better than he had; he wasn’t missing any appointments with Dr. Cooper, he’d been attending that support group (and even got coffee afterwards with Sonia most weeks), he’d even set up a lunch with Amy and Alphonse. Things were going, dare Dick say, great. 

“I’ll still be around. That group’s been awesome, and I’d hate to miss movie nights, now that Tim’s finally letting me pick.”

“Whatever you decide, you’ll do great, chum. I’m proud of you.”

Dick felt his face turn red at the praise. Sure, Bruce had told Dick he was proud of him before, but it’d been a while and he hadn’t done it often. Bruce was bad at feelings all around, no matter if they were others’ or his own. Dick had figured this out not too long after Bruce had taken him in. He certainly tried his best, but sometimes his best was lackluster. In the past, Dick had thought he was the issue, that Bruce didn’t like him. He still remembered the night he’d curled up in his bed, crying. Bruce had been having a rough day and Dick hadn’t known what the cause was. It’d taken Alfred armed with a cup of hot cocoa and an explanation that it was the anniversary of Thomas and Martha Wayne’s deaths for Dick to calm down. After that, Dick tried to be more open-minded when it came to Bruce’s struggles. He figured out when Bruce needed space and when he needed someone to just sit in the general vicinity. Dick quickly learned to excel at this and it ended up coming in handy once their family grew.

“Thanks Bruce. That… It means a lot.”

“I don’t tell you that enough Dick. I’m sorry.”

“You get hit with some toxin or something tonight, B? You’re acting weird.”

Bruce sighed deeply, his hands clasped in his lap. Dick noticed how exhausted he looked. It seemed to be a running theme in the family lately.

“There was a moment, when you were gone… I thought I might’ve lost you and Jason. Again. And… I don’t know what I would’ve done if I had.”

That was probably the closest Dick was going to get to an emotional breakthrough from Bruce, he thought humorlessly.

“Dick, I don’t think I ever got the chance, or maybe the guts, to tell you this, but… I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“The Crime Syndicate. Spyral. Jesus, everything . I shouldn’t have pushed you, I shouldn’t have left you…”

 Dick couldn’t help but think back to the big fight Bruce and he had had over Dick infiltrating Spyral. The whole ordeal seemed so long ago, with everything that had happened to Dick after the fact, but he supposed it really hadn’t been that long. He still remembered the taste of blood in his mouth from Bruce punching him. He’d hated Bruce in that moment and it had scared the shit out of him. He’d been pissed at Bruce before, but he’d never felt as much rage as he did in that moment. And when he tried to come back and Bruce had forgotten him… well, he couldn’t help but get pissed all over again, even if this time around it wasn’t entirely Bruce’s fault.

“You didn’t… Jesus, Bruce. I forgave you for all that. You did what you had to.”

“You shouldn’t have. What I did-”

“Hey,” Dick said, reaching out to rest his hand on Bruce’s shoulder. “You did it to protect our family. I was our best shot.”

Bruce still didn’t look like he believed Dick, and he couldn’t say he blamed him. Bruce must’ve been sitting on this since regaining his memories. Why he’d waited until Dick got kidnapped and assaulted was beyond him, but Dick couldn’t say he didn’t appreciate the sentiment.

“I know we weren’t on the best of terms before you were taken,” Bruce continued, rubbing his temples as he spoke. “But I should’ve checked on you myself. I should’ve found you sooner.”

“Look, I can’t say I’m used to you being so caring and sharing. I don’t hate it, just not used to it. But if we’re gonna be doing this, you can’t be all doom and gloom. What happened to me wasn’t your fault, B.”

Dick was semi-aware of a similar conversation he’d had with Jason. Maybe he was more like Bruce than he cared to admit. 

“Jason told me the same thing. I didn’t believe him at first either, especially after he told me I was acting like you.”

Bruce scoffed, a twinkle in his eye at Dick’s confession.

“But maybe he was right. Maybe I am kinda like you. I used to resent that, no offense. It’s just that when people say that to me, it’s to point out when I’m not handling things well, or I’m going a little overboard. But maybe it’s okay I’m like you. Maybe it’s not just our flaws that are similar, but the good things too. We both care deeply for our family. We’d both do anything for them.”

Dick took a deep breath. Never in a million years would he have seen a conversation like this occurring, least of all without Bruce talking over him or just flat out punching him.

“We’re both pretty… strong-willed . Sometimes that comes back to bite us in the ass, but we usually have the right intentions, even if we act upon them in the wrong ways. I guess, what I’m trying to say is… maybe being like you isn’t so bad.”

Bruce had a look in his eyes that Dick didn’t see nearly as much as he probably should’ve. It wasn’t anyone’s fault; Bruce was a tough nut to crack. Dick had accepted that a long time ago. But even so, when Dick did get that look, he knew he’d earned it.

Pride. Bruce was proud of him.

“How’d I get so lucky?” Bruce asked, reaching up to ruffle Dick’s hair like he used to back in Dick’s Robin days. He hadn’t realized how much he missed it.

“I dunno. You’re welcome, though.”

Bruce rolled his eyes and pushed Dick’s shoulder lightly.

“Brat.”

He was smiling though, and Dick was too. And for a moment, Dick could forget about all the terrible things that had happened to him. He could just, for a moment, pretend like he was Robin again. Like he was untouchable. Like he could do anything. And maybe the feeling couldn’t last forever, but Dick could enjoy it while it lasted. And maybe that would just have to be enough for now.

XIV.
“And it's hard to believe after all these years
Still gives you pain and it still brings tears”

“You’re serious, aren’t you?”

Dick saw the question coming from a mile away. 

“It’s for the best.”

Alphonse looked confused, but at least Amy appeared like she half-understood. 

“What about Redhorn? Isn’t this sort of like letting him win?”

Dick took a drink of his coffee. Another question he’d assumed Alphonse would ask. The guy was kind of an open book to Dick these days.

“I don’t really see it as giving up,” Dick admitted. “More so doing what’s best for me. I joined the force because I thought being a cop was the only way I could help people, because that’s all I wanted to do. But it’s not the only way, not even close.”

Dick knew they would never fully understand, no matter how hard they tried. But that was okay. Dick didn’t need complete understanding; he just needed support.

“I’m not letting him win. I’m doing the opposite; I’m no longer allowing him to have any say in my life. The force isn’t the right fit for me anymore. Hell, maybe it never was.”

Amy was looking at Dick the same way she did when he had gotten himself promoted to detective; a mix of pride and whimsy, as if she had a feeling where he’d go next, but would love to be surprised all the same.

“What’re you gonna do, then?” Alphonse asked, a confused scowl still on his face as he pushed ice down in his Coke with a straw.

“I actually have an interview tomorrow at The Haven Community Center. The director, Shawn Tsang, is looking for someone to help with their at-risk youth program. Could be a good fit.”

“I don’t see how-”

“You’ll do great, Dick,” Amy said, interrupting Alphonse, who looked a bit pissed but remained silent. “Whatever you end up doing next, it’ll be great. For both of you.”

Dick knew she was referring to Nightwing. He smiled, watching as the waiter came to deliver their food. He quickly served them before leaving once more to deal with the lunch hour rush.

“Thank you. For everything. I appreciate what you’ve done for me, from the start. You were some of the first people in Blüdhaven to give me a chance.”

“Well, what can I say, you were the least brain-dead rookie I’d met.”

“You were alright,” Alphonse said, a joking smile on his face. “Your handwriting on those reports, though? Atrocious.”

“Why’d you think I went through the trouble of signing him out a personal computer?”

“Hey, it’s not that bad!” Dick said defensively, though he knew he wasn’t kidding anybody at the table.

“Yeah, who taught you penmanship, the clowns at the circus?”

“The roustabouts, actually,” Dick said playfully.

“That actually explains so much,” Amy said in fake-awe.

The three laughed, and for a moment Dick could pretend like it was the old days and the only thing he had to worry about was cleaning up Blüdhaven, the perp depending only on what uniform he was wearing. Dick knew it hadn’t truly been as simple as he liked to remember it being, but at least it hadn’t been this damn complex. Still, if he could go back and start all over again, he probably wouldn’t change much knowing what he knew now. Despite how rough the past few years had been, they’d made him the man he is today. 

No, despite everything, Dick had changed, and for the better. Some days it didn’t feel like he had made progress, but he just had to remind himself that he could be way worse off, all things considered. 

That’s what he had to say to himself as he stood in front of Redhorn’s office, his palms sweating slightly as he raised his hand to the doorknob, forcing himself to turn it. When Dick opened the door, he could see Redhorn waiting for him at his desk, an amused look on his face as the younger man entered.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Grayson?”

Dick forced himself not to say something he’d regret, though at this point he wasn’t sure what would make the list. 

“I’m here to resign.”

Redhorn didn’t look surprised. In fact, Dick could swear he knew it was coming. The man smiled wider as he opened up a wooden box on his desk and removed a Cuban cigar.

Dick removed his pistol from its holster and unclipped his badge from his uniform shirt, placing both on the desk. Redhorn cut the tip off of the cigar and began to open and close his lighter with the flick of his wrist.

“I had a feeling you and your bleeding heart wouldn’t be able to cut it.”

Dick scowled at Redhorn, trying his best to keep control of the rage inside him. There were a million things he wanted to say to this asshole, but none of them would do him any good and he knew that. 

“Since I met you, I knew someone of your sort wouldn’t be able to handle what we do here. This conversation was only a matter of time.”

Dick’s hands balled into fists. The nerve of this fucking guy. How dare he-

“It’s no surprise the way your last case ended.”

Dick forced himself to take a deep breath in and out. He released his hands and let them rest at his sides. This guy wasn’t worth it.

“This isn’t about you,” Dick finally said, his eyes staring right into Redhorn's. He wasn’t afraid of this asshole, not anymore. “It’s never been about you.”

“This is about me,” Dick pointed a finger at his own chest. “This is what I need. I joined the force to help people, to make Blüdhaven a better place, but that isn’t what you do here, not really at least. All you do is tear people down to step on them as you climb to the top. And I’m not going to be a part of it anymore.”

Dick wasn’t getting much of a physical reaction from the police chief, but then again, he hadn’t gone in expecting one.

“I’m not leaving because I’m weak. On the contrary. It’s easy to bring people down. It takes more effort to care about people, to be there for them. Something you’ll never be able to do, because deep down, you’re a pathetic man whose only power comes from hurting others. And I won’t end up like that.”

Dick turned to leave; he’d said his piece and if he stayed any longer, he might start beating the smug smirk off the bastard’s face. His hand went to open the door, but he paused. Maybe there was still one thing on his mind.

“Oh,” Dick said, turning back to look at Redhorn one last time. “Sorry your deal fell through. It looked pretty promising, from where I was standing.”

Redhorn narrowed his eyes as some ash from his cigar fell onto his desk. Finally, a goddamn reaction. Dick couldn’t help but feel like it should’ve felt more satisfying.

Dick turned away, exiting the office and leaving the door open, smiling as Alphonse and Amy walked past him.

“Thanks, Grayson.” Alphonse said, which was probably the closest thing Dick would get to praise from the man.

“Hey, I set ‘em up, you knock ‘em down, right?”

Alphonse nodded curtly as Amy lightly punched Dick in the shoulder, a grin on her face.

“You’re alright. For a rookie. Tell Gordon I say thanks.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I will. You two have fun.”

Amy looked like she wanted to say something else, but she saved it, following Alphonse into the chief’s office instead. As Dick walked away, he could just make out the two of them reading Redhorn his rights. Leave it to Babs to be able to go down the legal routes when it came to digging up dirt on Redhorn. Dick being targeted by him certainly helped, considering the paper trail the whole ordeal left. Dick had that to be thankful for, at least. 

He wasn’t sure what was in store for the future of the BPD, but in all honesty, he couldn’t say he cared all that much. It felt great, having such a heavy weight be lifted off his shoulders. He’d started at the force as another way to help people, but all it did was cause him more stress. There were too many times where due to legal loopholes or corrupt cops he’d have to let a perp go or forgo helping someone who needed him, and it had taken its toll on him, perhaps even more so than the pettiness of his awful coworkers. He couldn’t help but feel relieved that he wouldn’t have to worry about any of that anymore.

As he walked out of the station, a box of his belongings in his arms, he couldn’t help but look at Blüdhaven in a different light. He’d come to this city for a fresh start, and although most of the time it was less than welcoming, Dick couldn’t help but see it as his home now. While a piece of his heart still remained in Gotham (and even, dare he say, in Jump City and Chicago), he was ready for the next chapter of his life and he was glad Blüdhaven was going to be the setting. It wasn’t perfect by any means, but that was life. It was messy. Bad shit happened. But so did good things, and those were the moments worth hanging onto.

What’s done is done, Detective Grayson. You can’t live in the past forever.

He supposed there would always be some truth to those words. It wasn’t necessarily a bad idea to look back. Looking back allowed you to see how far you’ve come. But Dick couldn’t spend too much time dwelling on the past anymore. He had a whole future ahead of him and he didn’t want to miss it for the world.

Dick made his way to where he’d parked his bike, securing the box on the back of it. As he worked, a slight breeze blew past him, rustling his hair slightly as it passed. He closed his eyes, taking a moment to just breathe.  

This was where he belonged. This was where he was meant to be.