Chapter Text
Dick was watching old episodes of Doctor Who while he waited for Clark to show up. Billy Piper and Christopher Eccleston were running around trying to stay alive and save the day.
People were of course screaming and being eaten by monsters. This time Rose was trying to keep her father alive, while the Doctor was insisting her father needed to die. His death was a fixed point in the timeline. Saving his life would create ripple effects of destruction throughout the universe. Rose of course ignored those warnings. The monster of the week were then created by the universe to resolve the paradox Rose brought about by saving her doomed father. All very dramatic.
Eventually her father throws himself in-front of a car and dies. Monsters vanish. Everyone else who died that episode comes back.
Paradox fixed. Timeline restored. Catharsis reached. Doctor Who world building lore established: Not everyone could be saved. Some people had to die. Time travel had rules.
Rules and lore later to be played around with and eventually reaffirmed with the alternate universe in season two, and David Tenant's swan song arc of specials.
Be sad for the allotted 5 minutes and then continue on the fun wacky adventure.
Dick gets up to get a snack. He leaves the tv running.
————
He was walking to the nearest kitchen when Oliver’s voice came over the intercom, informing him Clark had arrived.
Dick texted a quick OMW and pivoted towards the front entrance. Through some hallways and down some stairs. More hallways. He could hear the two men making polite conversation as he approached the main entranceway and ambled down the grand staircase. They had both clocked his approach a while ago, but were trying their best to appear like they weren’t paying attention to him. As of late it seemed they had all decided to treat Dick like a feral stray cat. Pretending they weren’t paying attention to him. That they didn’t care what he was doing. Giving him lots of space and places to hide. Making sure he always had access to food.
It was fucking ridiculous. And aggravating. And just a little bit funny. Seeing these extremely competent and powerful people attempt to play bumbling harmless fools always was.
The two men finally looked towards Dick as he neared the bottom steps. Clark took an aborted step forward, halfway reaching out before moving his right hand to scruff the back of his neck. He gave a flat awkward smile that tipped towards a grimace, eyes roving around the entranceway. Clark shuffled awkwardly. After a few beats he gave his thighs a light slap and turned towards Oliver.
“Welp. Nice catching you Ollie. I was thinking me and Dick could head out back?” Clark asked with a slightly cocked head. “Have a chat now that things are more settled.”
Dick didn’t even bother stopping as he made his way to the bottom of the stairs, moving past them both and walking straight into the hallway.
“Of course, of course” He heard Oliver say from behind him. “The benches by the garden should be dry by now but there’s the gazebo and covered patio if not. Grab anything from the kitchen. I’ll just be in the study off the side if you need me.”
Dick trudged on.
————
They did end up in the back garden. Muddy dirt patches proliferated between the few flowers that had started growing in the early spring. They were sitting side by side on benches, staring out together. The robins hopped around. Usually Dick loved this time of year. Loved seeing his namesake. Loved the spring. Now it felt painful. The two great losses of his life shoved in his face. His parents and Bruce.
Eventually, Clark decided it was time to have whatever talk he had come for.
“So,” Clark began, “I wanted to start by apologizing for not being available as much the past few days. Now that the anti-justice league is contained the others will be taking point again. I wanted to get this contained quickly so I could continue showing up for you without distractions- but I know that meant I wasn’t around when you moved in. Just know I did have an ear out, and I was following the updates from the rest of the move-in team.”
Dick heaved a sigh. “The Justice League is important. The work is important. I don’t want to get in the way of that. Gotham is already suffering enough because of all this. I don’t need the rest of the world’s destruction on my shoulders.”
At that Dick saw Clark turn towards him. Dick stayed staring at the tree line at the property edge.
“It would never be on your shoulders, Dick. You never should have been made to think so. You’re a kid, and even if you weren’t, it’s never on one person.” Clark stated. “The world doesn’t rise and fall on one individual. It’s always a team effort.” Dick didn’t reply. Clark must have seen some micro expression come through because he gave a little huff.
“You used to believe that anyway. I know you kept encouraging the League. You were a main reason the Titans formed.” Clark continued. “You never believed in working alone. You always thought it was best to have help.”
A tsunami wave of anger courses through him. Sweeping him up and away. He was so overwhelmed he couldn’t focus. All at once he was angry at his Uncle-fucking-Clark. At Roy and Oliver. The self-righteous Justice League. At the stupid cloudless sky. The dirt patches and bushes. The feeling of his shirt. The breeze in the air. Anger at his carefree younger self.
The Robin wasn’t a symbol of hope. How foolish of him to think it was. To keep buying into the pretty little white lies his mother used to tell. The plush of red on its breast wasn’t a thing of joy. It wasn’t a sign of hope. It was a omen. A curse. He should have taken the optimistic part of himself long ago and slit its throat. Smothered it alongside all the other parts of himself he had to kill after his parents murder.
“Maybe I used to be stupid” Dick spits. “Besides, I don’t know your talking about this. I mean, you are the one who keeps insisting I shouldn’t have been Bruce’s partner. That he shouldn’t have needed one.”
“Dick…..” Clark hesitates “You and Bruce. That’s not. That’s different.”
And just like that the surge of anger slips away. He is once again left breathless on the shore. He forgot. That Clark is here to talk at him and not to him. Dick just needs to sit back. Engage enough to get through this. Any actual participation will just make it worse. Make him stay longer. Give Clark something else Dick needs to ‘work on’.
Dick breathes deep. Let’s it out slowly. And does what he always has. He performs.
————
Eventually Clark winds down their ‘conversation’. From what filtered through Dicks awareness, it had mostly been reassurances that the JL is taking this seriously. Plans they are putting in place. Some information about the Titans. Keeping Dick informed. Keeping Dick involved.
Yeah. Right.
“Just know that I’m keeping an ear out for you.” Clark said as he was got up to leave. “Need anything. A chat. A check in. Something happens with the Queens. Something comes up. A cat gets stuck in a tree. I’ll be there. You’re the priority right now. I’ll keep checking in every so often.”
Dick was glad he hadn’t bothered to do an actual sweep for cameras and listening devices in his room. He had been doing cursory checks before getting ready for bed every night, but nothing substantial. Nothing obvious or thorough. He had yet to find anything but he operated under the assumption he was always being observed. It was just easier that way.
Besides it’s not like he would have actually remove any devices he did find. It would just be good to know where they were.
Now he knows to factor Clark’s hearing into the panopticon he is living in.
Maybe he should offer Clark some grace. Give him the benefit of the doubt. Assume good intentions. All the things he used to do before Clark proved Dick’s idea of him was wrong.
Maybe Clark is trying to be comforting rather than threatening. Trying to show that Dick is being looked after rather than looked at. The thin line between protection and possession is one Dick has long since learned to dance along.
The rope he was holding onto snapping, leaving Dick in free fall ever since. Wondering if this time there will be a safety net under him. Wondering if soon the steady callused hands he had learned to rely on would catch him and place him back on steady ground.
He used to think he knew where Clark stood. What his values were, his lines in the sand, where he stood with him. What Clark would choose when push came to shove. That certainty had been shattered in the watchtower interrogation room last month. When he betrayed Bruce- his best friend! Betrayed Dick, betrayed Gotham, endangered ENTIRE PLANET for his own self-righteousness. You would think his massive hero complex would actually allow his to prioritize properly. Could make the hard decisions. Understand that sometimes sacrifices had to happen for the greater good.
He feels like a kid again, when he was learning how to use his grapple. Regaining his trust in himself. Learning to trust his partner and their equipment. Learning how he needed to operate in this new environment. His new routine. How to twist and spin. When to leap. When to fall. When to catch himself and when to trust he would be caught.
————
Dick re-entered the sitting room he had been in before Clark’s visit. The tv hadn’t yet paused so he just flopped onto the couch.
The world moved further into the fuzzy dreamlike fishbowl view Dick had been floating in.
It was odd. A perspective shift he only really noticed when it was lifting. When he gained some clarity. The honey sludge moving from his brain and limbs.
When he was in it? Well. It just felt like reality.
But.
Not.
It felt like he was experiencing the truth for the first time. Peering behind the curtain. Seeing how the world really was. Like his normal perception was actually the faulty one all along. Now he could observe things clearly. Now that he wasn’t as attached. This was the world through a more objective lens.
He could see the tv show or simulation or created reality he had been blindly living in. He was coming out of Plato’s cave, seeing the dancing shadows for what they were. Seeing how this was all much less real than he had thought.
That consequences weren’t as big of a deal. That the future was a hazy made up thing. His emotions were locked behind three inches of glass. He could poke and prod at them if he was curious, but it took a lot more to get any sort of feedback.
Time moved too fast or too slow. The effort to do anything was increased. His impulse control was paper thin. He just didn’t really feel like he was actually here. That any of it mattered. That he was a real person. That other people were real.
Maybe they were. Maybe they were more real than he was. Maybe he was a background character created to fuel their narrative arcs. Make them grow. Move the plot along. This pain was for a greater purpose. For them.
Or maybe he was set dressing. Created to fill out the world. To be entertaining in the background. Made to be pleasing on the eyes, but to have them easily slide past him.
Or maybe he wasn’t created at all. Maybe he didn’t even have the privilege of a purpose. He served no function. He wasn’t plot device or a narrative symbol. Not an archetype or representative of a theme. Not even background fluff. Not intended at all. Not noticeable enough to be deleted from the rough draft.
He let himself drift. The tv played on.