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“Neal! Focus! What the hell are you doing?” Peter’s voice crackled in Dick’s ear.
Dick smiled at the man standing next to him. “You know, I bet this piece could go for 15 mil easily, if you know the right people.”
Henry Nohran raised an eyebrow at him. “And who would ‘the right people’ be, Mr. Halden?”
Dick, or rather, Neal, took a sip from his drink. “Oh, you know…” he sent a knowing glance at Nohran.
“Neal, you’re going off script,” Peter said disapprovingly.
Yeah, well, not like that didn’t happen every other mission. Dick and the White Collar team were currently investigating Henry Nohran, a forty-two year old business magnate suspected of being a black market art dealer. Neal, as per usual, had been sent undercover as an interested business partner to steal a copy of his financial records, see if there was anything fishy. A risky idea, bordering on illegal even with the help of the FBI. However, a stroke of luck had befallen him, and Henry had led him to see his collection personally, negating the need for Dick to actually steal anything later if he played his cards right. Sue him. Now he had a chance to do some Nightwing investigation later, and weed a confession out of Nohran now.
The sooner he got this job over with, the better. He was tired of being someone he wasn’t.
“I’m afraid I don’t know, Mr. Halden,” Nohran said snidely.
“Sure you don’t,” Dick replied amicably.
“Who are you?”
“I told you. Nick Halden. I work with LordTech. I just have a few… special interests on the side.”
“Art?”
Dick nodded. “Where did you get this beautiful work from?”
Nohran gave him a sideways glance. “Is that really important?”
Dick shrugged. “Just curious. I could always… help a brother out, if you know what I mean.”
Nohran smirked. “I can’t say I’m not interested.”
Dick smiled a little internally. Good. He was leading him down the right path. Just a little more pressure and specificity, and…
“Do you have much experience in less… legal operations?” Neal said with knowing look.
Nohran smirked, still staring at the abstract shapes and colors in front of him. “I suppose.”
Hah. Dick knew the guy would have too big an ego to not flaunt his “accomplishments”. His file had told Dick everything he needed to know about this dude’s tendencies.
Peter sighed with relief from Dick’s comm. “Great job, Neal. We’ll come back with a warrant. Now get out of there.”
Dick handed him a business card from his suit pocket. “Call me,” he said. “We can come up with a deal, I’m sure.”
Nohran took the card, staring at it while Dick turned around to leave the disgustingly clean building. The door was right there, and then Dick could be home free to get some actual work done. The van was just around the corner. He could picture it now, the classic: Neal, why do you always do this, but also you completed the mission so good job I guess schtick from Peter and Jones. Diana would probably just give him a fist bump.
Dick was halfway out the door when he heard footsteps running down the hall. He whirled around, faced with three security guards chasing him down.
Dick Grayson would let himself be caught before shoving some Wayne money in their faces and schmoozing them into letting him go, or resort to violence if necessary. Nightwing would take them out easily and run away scott free. But what would Neal Caffrey do? He could probably outrun them. Maybe try to fight. Or he could let Peter & Friends come “save” him.
“Neal! Get out of there!”
In Dick’s split moment of indecision (not necessarily a bad thing—Neal would freeze up in this situation for at least a second), the guards were suddenly much closer, and Dick accidentally let his instincts take over. He punched the nearest guard right in the face, letting himself wince a little as his head snapped back with a spray of blood from his nose. Then he turned tail and ran.
The other two guards were still chasing after him, gaining surprising ground. God, Dick really needed to keep up with his workout regimen. It was hard with a tracker on his anklet at all times. If he had Barbara hack it too many times, White Collar would eventually catch on. There were only so many extended gym sessions he could do without Peter getting suspicious. Neal Caffrey was decidedly not a gym bro. Definitely a push-ups in the morning type of guy.
Dick’s feet thumped against the cobblestone driveway as he cursed his idea to make Neal a suit aficionado. These shoes were not made for running. When this job was done, he swore he’d never touch a suit again. Exclusively sweatpants, t-shirts, and tennis shoes from there on out.
Dick’s mind was wandering to incredibly enticing thoughts of when-this-job-is-over, so he didn’t notice when he started to trip over a stray rock in his path, the point of his shoe catching on it. Dick tried to catch himself at the last minute, but couldn’t, cursing as his arms hit the ground and probably leaving him with a bruise or two. A little Bruce in his head chided him. You need to work on your situational awareness, Robin.
Aw, shut up, he told Bruce, scrambling to get up, angry at himself for making such a stupid mistake. The van was only just around the corner. But before he could lever himself back to a sprinting position, an arm roughly grabbed him, dragging him backwards. Dick groaned internally. Great. Just what he needed. A hostage situation.
Dick caught sight of Diana, Jones, and Peter clambering out of the back of the van, guns and badges raised. A hand grabbed Dick’s hair, pulling him back further. Suddenly, there was a sting of cold metal resting against his head and an elbow holding him in a chokehold. The security guards had fled the scene, most likely because of the appearance of federal agents.
A sliver of fear crept into Dick’s chest. He’d been in this situation many times before, sure, but there was always a chance his luck would run out.
“I thought I recognized the name Nick Halden,” Nohran’s slippery voice said into Dick’s ear. He tried not to cringe at how warm the man’s breath was. “Word gets around, fed. I’m afraid your alias is useless.”
Dammit. Dick knew he should’ve chosen something else, but he had been run ragged at the office and in his private investigation. He was simply too tired to come up with a new identity. He hadn’t thought it would bite him in the ass like this.
“The FBI has every right to arrest you right now, Nohran. Even without the gun you have to his head,” Peter said, leveling his gun right back at him.
Lie. They could only get a warrant prior to this little scuffle, but assault with a deadly weapon was a nice touch to a growing rap sheet of felonies.
“Yeah, come on, Nohran,” said Dick. “We’ve got everything we need to take you down.”
“We can cut you a deal if you let him go,” Peter said warningingly, glancing around and probably calculating his chances of taking these guys out. “Just put the gun down, and we can talk.”
“I have a different idea in mind,” Nohran replied, sneering. “How about I take Nick here hostage until I can safely get out of the country and off to a new life. Whaddya say?”
Oh, Dick did not have time for this. He had digging to do on one of the new hires at White Collar. The whole point of Neal Caffrey getting arrested was to a. get the US government to stop hunting a man who only existed for specific covert missions and b. root out SPYRAL agents that Batman suspected had infiltrated the FBI.
Bottom line? Dick had stuff to do. He did not want to spend precious moments that he could be using to get this case over with as a hostage for a second-rate art dealer. He needed to get back to his average life. And although Dick appreciated some action—this stint had been hideously boring most of the time—that didn’t mean he wanted to be subjugated to being the Boy Hostage again for who knows how long.
Dick’s pent up frustration burst, and in a flash of movement, he grabbed Nohran’s hand that was holding the gun, thrusting it away from him and the crew as fast as he could as it went off with a bang! Dick was lucky that Nohran didn’t have better reflexes, he supposed. That, and that Neal Caffrey didn’t have a reputation as a fighter.
He quickly disarmed Nohran, who let out a startled squawk, and kicked him in the nuts for good measure before running back towards the group.
“Neal, what the—” exclaimed Peter, clearly surprised by his move. He shoved Dick behind himself in some attempt to shield him. Dick begrudgingly obliged.
“We can talk about my impulsivity later!”
“Oh, you better believe we’ll be talking about that later,” Peter replied, exasperated.
Diana and Jones were approaching Nohran, guns outstretched towards him. “Are you okay?” Peter asked.
“Yeah, peachy.” Peter huffed and rolled his eyes.
“Put your hands up, Nohran,” Diana said, looking amused at how he was clutching his delicates on the ground.
Nohran put one arm up, wincing and scrunching his face up in pain.
Something’s wrong, thought Dick, his mind racing. Something’s definitely wrong.
Quick as lightning, Nohran abandoned pretenses and whipped his other hand up, now holding the gun from earlier.
But this time, his weapon wasn’t pointed at Dick.
No. Not again.
“Peter, look out!” Dick shouted, tackling him with all his body weight.
For a moment, Dick felt nothing, and thought he’d got lucky. Then, milliseconds later, pain exploded in his abdomen. He let out a strangled cry, hands automatically going down to stop the bleeding and falling to the floor in the process from the impact and his dizziness.
Ow. Ow ow ow.
“Neal!” Peter shouted, as Dick felt hands grab his waist and try to pull him upright. The moment they did, though, more pain radiated throughout his body and Dick groaned. “Sorry… sorry…”
“’S alright,” Dick replied automatically. “I’m okay. I’m okay.”
Dick felt himself being lowered to the ground—his eyes were screwed shut and hands still glued in place on the wound. Right side of his body. Probably didn’t nick any organs, or Dick would be feeling a whole lot worse right now.
His back was leaned against something—either the wall of the building or the van, he couldn’t be sure. He tried to focus on breathing. In for four, hold for four, out for four. Dick was pretty sure he wasn’t reaching that standard, but points for trying, right?
“That’s it, just breathe, Neal…” Peter said reassuringly. Dick heard his suit ruffle and him turn over his shoulder. “Diana, call an ambulance!”
“Already on it, boss!” came her distant reply.
Everything was starting to sound tinny and faint. Peter’s warm and calloused hands were pressing down on his own over his wound, making sure they stayed in place.
“‘M okay, Peter, really…” Dick mumbled.
“No you aren’t, you idiot,” Peter’s strong voice replied, bringing him out of his stupor a little. “Just… just stay calm, it’ll all be alright soon.”
Dick almost snorted. He was calm. This wasn't anything new for him. Peter was the one panicking. In fact, Dick was feeling calm enough to just drift off…
A finger was tapping his cheek rapidly. “Neal! Eyes open.”
Oh. Whoops. His head had lolled to the side. He begrudgingly pried his eyes open, squinting at the bright light assaulting his eyes in the form of the sun. Peter’s figure was swaying in front of him, refusing to stay still and making Dick quite dizzy. His eyes almost slid shut again before he pulled them open with a start.
“The ambulance will be here any minute. Just hang tight, okay?”
Dick nodded, moving his head as little as possible.
“Suit is ruined,” he murmured, distantly thinking that was something Neal would say.
“Of course that’s what you’re worried about right now,” Peter said, looking down at him with a slight smile.
A sudden thought came to him. “You’re okay?” Dick asked.
Peter’s face shifted into a strange expression. “I—yeah, Neal, I’m okay. Just stay awake.”
“You got it, B,” he said with a hitch in his breath. He had forgotten how much bullet wounds hurt.
“B?”
“Huh?”
“You just called me B. Like the letter. Or the insect, I don’t know.”
“No I didn’t…” Dick replied confusedly, tiredness seeping into his every word as his eyes fluttered shut again.
“I—okay. Sure.”
Peter started talking to him, but the words didn’t really reach his ears. It sounded like static or white noise more than anything else. Dick tried to keep his eyes open, but Peter was slowly shifting into a dark blob with pointy ears and Dick decided he did not want to process that right now. There was a tap on his cheek again, but Dick just ignored it. He was hurting too much and floating too far away to care. Then there were hands on him, dragging him upright, and a new explosion of pain ravaged Dick’s side.
And then, nothing.
<<<<……….>>>>
The first thing Dick noticed was a constant, very annoying beep in the room he was in. It got slightly faster the moment he became aware of it, which was extra irritating. Dick reached his right hand out in an attempt to shut off the alarm, but he ended up just swatting thin air before his heavy arm dropped back on the bed. There was something tugging on it, pinching the skin around his wrist uncomfortably.
“Neal?” a familiar voice said. “You awake?”
Dick groaned in response. Right. He was Neal Caffrey. He forced his eyelids open, blinking to adjust his eyes to the white light of the… hospital? Why was he in the hospital?
“Peter…?” he croaked after a moment, squinting at the man sitting in a chair beside him.
“Hey, partner.” A cup of water was shoved into his hands. Dick fumbled for a moment before he lifted it to his lips and drank greedily. His mouth was always parched whenever he woke up.
When he was done, the cup bled dry, he asked, “What…” He ended up trailing off before he could finish a coherent thought, reaching up with the non-IV hand to rub his eyes.
Peter stared at him with a strange expression. “You—you took a bullet for me, Neal.”
Oh. Right.
“Why would you do that, Neal?” Peter asked, face all scrunched up and sad-looking. “I—why?”
Why indeed.
Dick thought for a moment, feeling how truly weary he was—physically, yes, but even more so of all the lies and the masks. Dick Grayson was just tired.
“I can’t lose anyone else,” he said quietly, turning his head away from where Peter sat with more effort than he would have liked.
“Neal…” Peter said sadly, and Dick could imagine his downturned eyes, his hand twitching to reach out to him.
Dick didn’t know what it was about the way Peter said his “name”, but something about it made his chest swell up with pressure and emotion.
Dick was about to reach his breaking point. He could feel it. So many months of lying and pretending he was someone he wasn’t was putting a toll on him—a weight like the sky on Atlas’ shoulders. Maybe it was the drugs or his exhaustion that had already made his tongue so loose. Whatever the reason, in a moment of surrender, he let himself drop the mask completely. He let himself be Dick Grayson.
“I just—I can’t. I can’t do it, Peter!” Words started to pour out of his mouth without his permission. He didn’t care right now that Peter wasn't supposed to know anything about his real life. He just needed to get all this… stuff off his chest. “I can’t have another Mom and Dad—or, or, or a Donna or a Joey or a Jason or a Kate or another Blüdhaven!”
The name of his city elicited a sour taste in his mouth when he remembered that day. The green smoke, the burning smell, the screams and the radiation prickling his skin. His immense and crushing grief that tied him down to the spot where his city had once been like a black hole.
“Whoa, Neal, calm dow—” Peter’s hands were out placatingly.
“Don’t tell me to calm down, Peter!” Dick was now somehow sitting upright despite his body protesting, his knees halfway up to his chest and his hands clutching his hair. “I mean—my entire city was blown up, and I couldn’t do anything about it and I’ll never see that hot dog vendor or my neighbors or that one guy who always waved to me again and—and you made me care about you!”
Peter didn’t say anything, maybe out of shock. Dick was bordering on a panic attack, and although he wasn’t looking at his partner, he could imagine he was itching to call some nurse in.
“I—I tried to keep my distance, I tried to stay away just like with the Outsiders, but Jade and Shift and Indigo still died and I still felt awful and I felt just the same when I saw he was gonna shoot you and—”
“Neal, you’re not making any se—!”
“That’s not even my name!” Dick sobbed, a tear or two starting to flow down his face in his frustration and panic. His hands were pulling too tightly on his hair, but it grounded him, in a way. “I—I’m such a liar and a fraud and not even in the ways you think because none of this is real, an—and… and God, I wish I was Neal Caffrey.”
“Neal…” Peter’s voice was suddenly much more alarmed.
“I mean, my life sucks!” Dick said, ignoring his handler. “It royally sucks! I work myself to the bone, watch my friends and family die, and pretend like everything’s great! Everyone has such huge expectations, and it’s not that I can’t meet them—I can!—but I don’t want to anymore. Neal doesn’t have any expectations, which is unfortunately extremely wonderful, because on one hand I need to get out of here before anyone else worms their way into my heart but on the other I don’t want to anymore!”
Everything was silent while Dick caught his breath, tears now streaming down his cheeks freely. He felt out of control of his own body and words.
“I—I’ve almost convinced myself I am Neal. An—and it feels so good when you say good job or trust me which is completely stupid since I don’t have anything to prove to you, not really, but I still hate it and love it at the same time but I can’t believe—” Dick’s voice cracked, “—I can’t believe I let myself care about someone again.” Even to his own ears, Dick sounded pathetic. “I should've just been an asshole like normal so you’d hate me and keep me at arm’s length but I couldn’t bring myself to do it and I just—I just can’t anymore. I’m so tired, Peter. I’m so tired of everything.”
Silence again. Deafening, terrible, weighty silence enveloped the room like the atmosphere one would find at a funeral. Dick slumped back onto the bed, completely spent from his outburst. A distant part of him thought how screwed he was, how the cat was out of the bag, how Bruce was going to skin him alive, and how he’d have to leave now and never see Peter or the crew again.
“Neal…” Dick couldn’t tell if that was a sad “Neal” or a warning “Neal” or a flabbergasted “Neal”. Probably all three.
“That’s not my name,” Dick sniffled, turning to look at Peter for the first time since he started ranting.
“I—then what is?” If Peter’s face got more confused-looking, Dick was sure he’d have an aneurysm.
“Dick.”
“Well, that’s rude.”
“No. That’s my name. Dick. Short for Richard.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“Ne—Dick, I… I don’t think I understood half of what just happened.”
“Good. Let’s keep it that way.” Dick was already feeling a little more normal and slightly horrified at everything he’d just revealed, but still, lurking over him was an all-encompassing blanket of fatigue. He sank deeper into the cot and turned away again. He’d like to go back to sleep now.
“Dick. I am an FBI agent, and you are my CI. It’s my job to figure out whatever the hell you just dumped on me.” Oh, come on. Peter did not just pull the “it’s my job” card when Dick just bared his very soul for him to see.
Dick whirled his head around, black spots in his vision protesting. He pointed his finger at Peter. “I am not your CI! I am not Neal Caffrey, and I do not need to be here right now!”
“Then who is Neal Caffrey, huh?”
Me, a small part of him whispered. Dick’s hand deflated. “I… no one. He was never real.”
“Listen, kid, I’m not gonna pretend like I know what’s happening right now, or that I’m happy with the fact that apparently you have a hell of a lot more going on than what I ever could have guessed. But you said you still care about me, even if you didn’t want to. So that means I still care about you, Caffrey or no.”
Against his wishes, Dick felt the inevitable sting of tears in the corners of his eyes again.
“This is so stupid,” he said, covering his face with his hands. “I’m a grown man. I should have my crap together by now.”
“That’s not how life works, Neal.”
“Dick,” he automatically corrected, lowering his hands.
“Dick. I… I’m gonna circle back to that other stuff.” Straight to business, as usual. Dick was hoping he’d make an exception right now in Dick’s clear distress, but Peter’s detective instincts just wouldn’t let him. Typical. “What’s this about a mission? Neal, I swear to God if this was all one long con, I’m going to lock you behind bars and throw away the key.”
“So much for ‘I care about you’, huh?” Dick said with a weak laugh.
“Dick.” His ears turned pink against his will out of embarrassment. Dick had a feeling he was using that as an insult as well as his name. Still, it felt good hearing Peter say his real name for once. “Answer the question.”
“No. It’s—it’s not like that. Trust me.”
Peter stared at him like he was insane. Dick felt an unbidden wave of shame. “Trust you? After everything you just told me? Neal, I can’t do that. Either you tell me everything, or I get the FBI involved.”
“Peter—”
“No, Neal, listen. I can’t say I’m surprised you’re a lot different than what you say you are, but if I think you are trying to stage some long operation to swindle the government, I will start an investigation and I will not rest until I figure out what is going on with you.”
Irritation was starting to hint at the edges of his mind, even though he had no right to be. Dick would be doing the same in his position.
“Immunity. Give me immunity and we’ll talk.”
“Neal…”
“It’s only a precaution. Just—please, you can’t tell anyone about this. You’re… you’re still the only one I trust here, regardless of my name.”
Peter looked conflicted, but Dick’s sad, kicked puppy look won him over.
“Fine. Immunity.”
Dick’s mood brightened slightly and he nodded, a bit more pressure taken off his chest. “Thank you.”
Peter grunted, which sounded a little too familiar for Dick’s tastes.
He took a deep breath. “I—God, you’re gonna think I’m crazy.”
“Dick.”
“Okay, okay. Don’t blow a gasket. I… I was sent here by my… my… I don’t know what he is. Regardless, he had intel that hinted at corruption in this branch of the FBI. SPYRAL.” At Peter’s look of confusion and his open mouth about to ask a question, Dick plowed on. “I doubt you’ve heard of them. They’re a secret spy organization, emphasis on secret. They have hypnos implants that can do just about any form of brainwashing. Or so I’ve heard.”
Peter nodded hesitantly, a go on.
“Neal Caffrey… it’s an alias I’ve used over the years if I needed to get a job done. Forging, stealing… it was never for the money. I had to go undercover with criminals a lot, so I helped perpetuate a lot of rumors about me. Some of them were real. A ‘steal something first before anyone else can’ sort of deal, sometimes.”
“Real life National Treasure, right here.”
Dick snorted. Neal would’ve rolled his eyes and said something like It’s a little more nuanced than that, Peter. A younger, happier Dick would’ve snapped his fingers and said Exactly! But Dick just said, “Yeah. Sure. Anyways, me and my whatever-he-is decided to kill two birds with one stone. I could get the bounty off my head while simultaneously weeding out the double agents.”
Peter took a deep breath, his elbows on his knees. Dick couldn’t tell if Peter believed him or not. “And… how well has that been going for you?”
“Remember Ben Heavens?”
“The desk jockey? Yeah.”
“I convinced him to leave with some healthy threatening and blackmailing.”
Peter raised an eyebrow. “I see.”
“Caught him trying to brainwash Briar into forgetting she saw him copying clandestine financial records and stuffing them in his briefcase. I’ve got my own implants that stop their voodoo from working on me.”
“Anyone else you… helped push out the door?”
“A couple. I… I haven’t gotten as far as I had initially planned. Gomez, Marcos, Kion, Grenadin, Leun. Some others I’m probably forgetting.”
Peter rubbed his temples. “Okay. Okay. So what you’re telling me is that you’re not the criminal I thought you were and you came here undercover as a spy mission sent by… who, exactly? You realize how this sounds, right? You realize how idiotic I feel for hearing you out?”
“Yes, I do, and I can’t tell you that.”
Peter’s expression soured with a frown. “You want me to take this to the higher ups? You know I will, Nea—Dick.”
“Peter, you don’t understand. If I tell you this, a lot more will be compromised than just me.” Dick was panicking a little. It was one thing to reveal his I’m-not-actually-a-criminal secret. It was a whole other thing to reveal the secret he had spent his entire life hiding from everyone who wasn’t already a superhero.
Peter reached into his pocket for his phone. “Fine. I’ll just call Hughes, then, and—”
Dammit, Peter.
“No! No, I’ll talk. Just. I mean it when you can’t tell anyone. Not Diana, not Jones, not El—no one.”
Peter put his hands up. “Okay. My lips are sealed.”
Dick took a deep breath and swallowed. His mouth was insanely dry, even with the water from earlier. “Don’t kill me.”
“Who said I was going to?”
Dick smiled a little. “I—” Here goes. Everything he spent building this cover for over eight months, about to be blown to smithereens. Dick could hear a pin drop in the room with his bated breath. “I’m Nightwing.”
Peter blinked at him. “Who?”
Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me.
“Wha—Nightwing! The vigilante? I—I was Robin!”
Peter’s mouth opened slowly. “Robin. As in… Batman and Robin?”
Dick rolled his eyes. Of course that’s what he knew him by. Stupid Bruce and his stupid legacy. “Unfortunately.”
Another blink. “You’re joking, right? This is all some elaborate prank—a con to pull on me for your and Mozzie’s enjoyment? I look even stupider than I did ten seconds ago by listening to this crap!”
Dick just stared at him.
“Oh, God. You’re serious.” Peter sat back in his chair, shellshocked. “My CI is a vigilante.”
“… Yeah.”
“Wait a second. You know Batman!”
“Obviously.”
“B! You called me B when you were bleeding out! Oh my God, you thought I was Batman!” Peter crowed, eyes lighting up.
Dick shrank back, cheeks flushing pink. He grabbed the blankets with his fists in an attempt to stop squirming. “Uh, no I didn’t. An—and for the record, I was barely conscious!”
“You thought I was Batman! Oh, wait till I tell El—”
“Peter.” Peter looked down at him, his face falling.
“Right. Can’t tell anyone. Sorry.”
“It’s fine.”
“So… is Batman your dad?”
“It’s complicated,” Dick grumbled. “He—he raised me, yes.”
Dick decided not to say anything about what that implied about his subconscious comparing Bruce to Peter.
“But he’s not your father.”
“Not biologically. My parents died when I was 8.”
“Oh. I’m sorry, Neal.”
“It was a long time ago.”
“I mean, sure… but when you were—” Peter coughed, “—breaking down, you mentioned them and a bunch of other names I didn’t recognize besides Kate. All those people, they’re… dead?”
Dick shrugged, blankets still balled in his fists. He hated being this vulnerable. “Some of them came back. Still hurt. Gives me false hope that Kate and the others could maybe…”
Peter put a hand on his shoulder. Dick couldn’t help but lean into it. Might as well. All his walls were down right now. Not a single one was left standing, it seemed.
“An—and Blüdhaven. That was the worst of them all, I think.”
A pause. “Dick, it’s not your fault a city got blown up. I saw it on the news a while back, you couldn’t’ve done anything. No one could, not even Superman.”
Oh, Peter couldn’t be more wrong about that.
“It literally is my fault, Peter. The Society set Chemo loose as vengeance against me. Nightwing. I am the sole reason tens of thousands of people—my people—died,” he said flatly, exhaustion evident in his words. He didn’t even have it in him anymore to be angry.
Peter’s expression fell. He probably wasn’t expecting that. He cleared his throat. “Last time I checked, you’re still not accountable. You’re not the one who killed them.”
“Doesn’t matter what the law says. Doesn’t stop my heart from skipping a beat every time I think about it.”
“… Have you ever thought about therapy?” Peter asked.
Dick glared at him. “My therapist would need therapy.”
“Well, sure, but…”
“Not happening, Peter.”
Peter coughed again. “Back to what you said earlier. Neal, Dick, whatever you call yourself… you don’t have to leave. You can’t, legally.”
“It’s not my choice, Peter. I have… a life.”
It sounded weak even to his own ears. Really, what life did he have left? It’s not like he lived in the manor anymore. The Outsiders were toast. Blüdhaven was gone. He didn’t have a job. All he had left were his few friends and family, but they were all in on his secret and knew where he was and what he was doing. He spoke to Bruce frequently to update him. Tim had shown up at June’s house a couple times out of the blue. He tried to keep in touch with Donna and Wally, but it wasn’t like they talked less than they did in their daily lives. Roy kept calling him, too, for some reason. Why, Dick had no idea. They never talked about anything important. Just stupid stuff.
“Whose choice is it, then?”
“Batman’s,” Dick grumbled. “He sent me here. Now he’s gonna pull me out.”
“So, he’s your boss?”
Dick knew what Peter was doing. A spark of anger ignited in his tired bones nonetheless. “He is not my boss. Not anymore.”
“Then it sounds like he can’t force you to do anything,” Peter said smugly. “Besides, Neal Caffrey still has a sentence to serve.”
“He never existed,” Dick reminded him glumly.
“You admitted it, Dick. You like it here, whether it be against your will or not.”
“And you’re missing the point. I can’t keep pretending I'm someone I'm not. I have to get back to… to…”
“You could gradually change Neal,” Peter suggested. “Make it more bearable. Maybe Neal Caffrey becomes a little more like Dick—you didn't tell me your last name.”
Dick chuckled a little, ignoring the way it sent pain through his body. “You’re a detective, Peter. Figure it out.” Dick paused for a moment. “You know, it's kinda funny. Neal isn’t that different from me, personality-wise. At least, a younger version of me. Couldn’t resist the humor and the general coolness.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Can I tell you a secret, though?”
Peter nodded. “Of course.” He leaned forward slightly.
Dick lowered his voice to a mock-whisper. “I hate suits and wine.”
Peter started laughing, and Dick couldn’t help but join in, silent giggles tearing up his spine. Yeah, he was definitely high.
“I never thought I’d see the day,” Peter said with the last of his chuckles after a prolonged laugh. “Wow. You know, I think I’d like to get to know the real you.”
Dick raised an eyebrow with a real, genuine smile lighting up his face. Those few words meant a lot more to him than Peter probably thought they did. “I don’t think you do. I can be a real asshole if I get angry. And even more annoying than Neal.”
“Oh, I don’t think that’s possible.”
Dick smirked. “Challenge accepted. I like puns, so be prepared.”
“Well, then, we’re just two peas in a pod.” Peter leaned back in his chair and let out a long breath, shaking his head.
“Hey, Peter.”
“Yeah?”
“Gimme your phone.”
Peter raised an eyebrow. “Why?”
“Do you want Batman to find out about this now or through his own investigation?”
Peter’s eyes widened. “Wow. You know Batman’s phone number.”
“He is human, Peter. He has a phone.”
“I mean, yeah, but you don’t really think about this kinda stuff when you think about Batman.”
“Just give me your phone, man.”
“Alright, alright.” Peter handed over his flip phone from his pocket.
Dick dutifully dialed Bruce’s number, placing it up to his ear and letting it ring while he waited impatiently. “I’m gonna delete the number from your phone after this, you know,” he said to Peter.
“I figured.”
Finally, on the third ring, Bruce picked up. “Who is this?” he said gruffly.
“It’s Dick.”
Bruce grunted in surprise. “This isn't your usual phone.”
“It’s Peter’s.”
“… I see. I take it he knows?”
Dick took a breath. “I—yeah.”
“Okay.”
Dick nearly dropped the phone in surprise. “Okay? That’s it? No, You're done, Dick, pack it up?”
“You trust him?”
Dick glanced at Peter, who was looking away innocently. “Yes.”
“Then I do too.”
“But… the mission…”
“There are still SPYRAL agents that need to be uncovered, are there not?”
“I guess.”
“Then you’re not done.”
“B—I—why aren't you blowing up right now?”
There was a pause. “Roy and I decided this mission would be good for you. A way to take your mind off of Blüdhaven. We did research on Agent Burke, we knew he was a good man. This was supposed to be your much needed break, Dick.”
What.
“WHAT?” Dick exclaimed. “But I thought… I thought…”
“You’re doing good work, son. There’s still more to be done.”
“Wait. Roy? I’m gonna kill that son of a—”
“Hey, woah, no killing,” Peter butted in.
“Stay safe, Dick. Let yourself relax for once.”
“Oh, that’s rich, coming from you!” Dick squawked, but it was too late. Bruce had hung up. Dick cursed.
After clearing out the number from his phone, Dick limply handed it back to Peter. “Well.”
“I only caught half of that.”
“Congratulations. Batman isn't mad and you also have his trust,” Dick said numbly. “And apparently I was sent here for a third ulterior motive.”
Peter’s eyebrows raised up his forehead. “Which is?”
“To get me to rest.”
Peter laughed after a second. “Really? Oh, that’s funny. You are always asking for more cases. I can imagine you with a red string cork board, staying up till 4 am with a crazed look in your eye.”
“It’s not funny, Peter. I’ve been tricked by my pseudo-father and best friend.”
“It’s a little funny,” Peter insisted.
Dick crossed his arms and thought for a moment. Things at the FBI were much slower than what he was accustomed to. It was nice, in a way. He liked Peter and the team against his better judgement. “Maybe… maybe a break wouldn’t be so bad.”
“That’s the spirit.” Peter thumped him on the back while Dick moped. “I’m gonna call a nurse in.”
“I don’t need a nurse.”
“I’m assuming you want to get out of here as fast as possible, though. They should know you’re awake.”
Dick grunted. Peter pressed the call button on the side of his bed.
“How long was I out, anyways?” The curtained window wasn’t very helpful in inferring.
“Only about six hours.”
“Only?”
“Considering you got shot and the bullet was still in you, yeah.”
A nurse arrived, fussing over Dick and checking things like his bandages (no, he hadn’t ripped any stitches in his panic), his IV drip, and asking if he needed more painkillers. Dick declined. He was already a bit more untethered than he wished. He never would’ve had such a mental breakdown in front of Peter if he was in his right mind.
When she finally left, Peter stood up, stretching his back. “You said you’re tired, right?”
Dick rolled his eyes against his pillows. “I meant that metaphorically, Peter.”
“Yeah, well, you look like you mean it physically.”
“Gee, thanks.”
Unfortunately, Peter was right. He was dead tired, and he really did need to sleep. He was out of juice.
“Get some rest. I need at least twelve hours to process everything that just happened before I can be a functioning human again.”
“It’ll be a little hard when you never were one in the first place,” Dick shot back.
“Ha ha. Very funny. Sure you aren’t a comedian, not a vigilante?”
Dick’s eyes slid shut as he settled under the blankets, letting himself relax. “I can be both.”
Peter laughed. “Go to sleep, Boy Wonder.”
A response of hey, you don’t get to call me that rested on the tip of Dick’s tongue, but he was out before the words could reach his mouth.
He suspected he’d be a lot less tired in more ways than one when he woke up.