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"I have something I need you to do."
Dick frowned from where he was sitting next to his Batcave locker, hand in his hair and trying to untangle a couple of the knots he had from the night of patrol. It had been a long night after a series of awfully long months, and Dick, more than anything else, wanted to trudge upstairs and get at least an hour of sleep before debating whether he wanted to deal with Bludhaven or not. He couldn't remember the last time he had questioned whether any of this was worth anything, and he certainly couldn't remember the last time he questioned whether trying to help Bludhaven was worth it.
Regardless, Bruce had spoken up, despite the unspoken rule that once they all had taken the masks off and showered, they'd wait to talk about vigilante business until the next night.
"Do we need to talk about this tonight?" Dick asked, pushing himself to his feet and hissing quietly at the ache in his joints. He shouldn't feel old, but he was. Joints aching, muscles not recovering as quickly as he should. His body was cashing in the checks he had started writing when he could walk, and he should have expected it to happen soon, like it happened to most gymnasts his age. Hell, he should be thankful that it had only started now, considering with the added strain of his vigilante life, it made all of the strain on his human body worse.
"Yes, we need to talk about this now. I need you to go undercover. Robbie, specifically."
"What?" Dick frowned as he looked up at Bruce. He thought they had all but put the Malones underground, back well before he had been forced undercover with Spyral. They had all gone out in a blaze of glory when it was determined that the aliases were more hassle than what information they were providing were worth. Robbie was dead, so why did Bruce want him?
Bruce nodded, holding a file out to Dick. "I believe there's a new family coming over from Sicily."
"That hasn't happened in decades." Dick frowned as he opened the file and started flipping through it.
The frown on his face grew deeper as he realized that the file was less on what Bruce had already found and more about what exactly Robbie had been doing in the ages since they had supposedly killed the Malone family. Dick flipped more quickly through the pages, desperate to figure out exactly why Bruce was so concerned about the mob trying to muscle back in when everyone knew that would be suicide for any of them with the Batman around and all of the other ridiculous gangs and rogues making life hell in the city.
"And I think they might be taking advantage of the recent peace."
"Peace?" Dick didn't bother to hide his disbelief. There hadn't been any measure of peace in ages. It might not be as bad as it was when Bruce had first started his crusade, but that was mainly because violence was less constant. They traded the constant gun and mob violence for the more occasional rogue activity, and Dick had a bad feeling that many would prefer it the other way.
"Exactly. I need you to disrupt their attempts."
"And my life here?"
"You've been with Spyral. Nightwing has only appeared once. It's an ideal time for you to leave on this assignment."
"That's the exact reason I want to stay," Dick said. Wasn't Spyral supposed to be the last of it? Wasn't he supposed to be done with all of this undercover bullshit? Could he please try to take a few months to reacquaint himself with who he was past Nightwing and Ric and Agent 37. All he wanted was to try and figure out who Dick was at this point, who he was past the Flying Graysons and the gymnastics and all of it.
Bruce huffed, shaking his head as he turned away. "If you stay any longer, another extended absence will be noticed more readily than if you leave immediately."
"What if I forget who I am, Bruce? When's the last time I had a chance to actually be myself?"
"I need you on this."
Dick couldn't help the broken laugh. "Not the person who's actually involved with dealing with the mobs and gangs? Wouldn't Red Hood be much more useful as a contact for this than a dead Malone? Wasn't Spyral enough?"
"You're the best person for this."
"I want to stay," Dick said, unable to hide the whine in his voice. He wanted to stay, he wanted to fix everything, he wanted to be able to take Damian to the fucking zoo before he was too old for things like that.
"I need you to go."
"No."
Dick looked up at Bruce before holding the file out. He wouldn't do it. Bruce had asked for too much. This was entirely too much at this point, and Dick was only beginning to realize that he could rip out every last chance of a crime from the world, make everyone compliant slaves, and it still wouldn't be enough for the man. It would never be enough. Twenty years of service to Bruce's mission wasn't enough. Losing his identity wasn't enough. Losing his memories, getting them re-written, nearly killing so many in his family, and that wasn't enough. Bruce would never be content. He couldn't imagine giving up on Gotham, because he had always lived there, but Dick still remembered living outside of it. Places where it was safe, where he wouldn't have to worry about a cannibalistic crocodile-man relapsing, or a plant lady getting pissed off because of some company, or anything else.
He took a shaking breath, and he dropped the file. "I'm done, Bruce. I'm not going. I'm broken, alright? I thought I might be able to pick myself up and glue myself together after practically entirely losing myself to Spyral, and now you want me to shatter myself to drag Robbie back to the surface." Dick looked down at the file, now scattered on the floor, and he turned away from Bruce. "I'm done. Nightwing's done. No more."
"Excuse me?"
"You heard me."
Bruce's hand landed on Dick's shoulder as he passed him, gripping him hard enough that Dick knew there would be a bruise later. "Nightwing can't be done. We still have work to do."
"I've burnt out," Dick replied, pulling himself away from Bruce. "I'm done. I want to figure out who the fuck I am outside of Nightwing and your stupid mission. Who knows, maybe I'll actually get back to college and figure out how to do math full time. But I'm done with you. Done with all of this. Figure out how to move on and all that fucking bullshit."
"Chum—"
"Nah." Dick made a face, not wanting to even hear the nickname that had been used for him since before Bruce even knew his actual name. He was done with it. "I'm tired. I'm going to bed. No more 'chum,' no more 'please,' I'm done. I'm ignoring you. You're dead to me."