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The very first memory Duke has is of his mother. She’s sitting in a sunbeam, skin highlighted in a way that hurts his eyes but makes him unable to look away. Reading a book, she seems so peaceful and at ease - and even then, he can remember the look of joy and love and kindness she had when she finally saw him looking.
The next early memory is her teaching him how to do his hair. She taught him how to maintain his curls (which oils to use and which to shun), how to do beautiful braids (his hair wasn’t long enough yet, so he got to practice on hers and Dads), how to work in beads and other hair accessories. To this day, he remembers how to do it. It’s why he doesn’t let his hair grow out anymore - it just hurts to much.
The third is an amalgamation of moments - those that involve food. Mom wasn’t really allowed near any baking - she managed to ruin it, somehow, each time - but cooking was her forte. Soups, breads, even cheeses, she passed on her knowledge to the best of her ability. From whatever culture and people, he learned how to make whatever he wanted to, and how to do it well.
As he grew older and became more occupied with school, he started missing out on the small moments. Then, when there weren’t anymore moments to be had, he’d do the little things to try and remember. He’d wander the products aisle, remembering what each thing did and how Mom used it. Then he’d tour the rest of the store to make notes of where all the ingredients he knew of were. He was never able to buy anything, though. The homes he got put in never gave him allowances, and he couldn’t get a job without parent permission.
He was stuck, stagnant, for a while.
Then he remembered what his mother had said, once - “Fistfight the world, if you have to. Just keep going, and make sure nobody looks down on you.”
So he did.
He joined the We Are Robin movement, and he fought. Then he started leading, and he kept fighting. Then Batman came back, and he still. Kept. Fighting.
Maybe it wasn’t what Mom meant when she said it, sure. But even so, it gave him the strength to get back up, again and again and again. No matter how many times he got knocked down, no matter how many times nobody helped him up.
He took his bruised and bloody knuckles, put them back into fists, and he fought for people like him. He fought for the people who didn’t have anyone. For the people how didn’t know how to stand up again.
Duke Thomas made himself someone to rely on. Even now, so many years later, with a diploma on his desk and volunteer work lined up everyday and a brightly covered costume in his closest, he doesn’t regret it.
If he had to go back in time and do everything over again, he might not even change anything. He might protect people from dying, but he’d never not make any of the choices he made again.
Every bruise, every break, every scar he got, he’d take over and over again. Because he knows he did good. Even on his darkest, worst days, when not even his light can brighten up his thoughts, he knows he’s helped people.
Whether that’s as Signal, solving crimes and giving people closure. As a volunteer at all the shelters and food banks and hospitals he could swing. As a social worker, when he tried to put kids in good places, places they could be safe. Now, as a therapist, helping people overcome the demons in their minds.
Duke can’t say he did it on his own - he wouldn’t dare. Bruce helped, making sure he wouldn’t get himself killed with a lack of knowledge or strength. Alfred, he made sure Duke always had food, to give to others or to eat himself. Dick, with his legacy and his emotional support (and Haley, of course). Babs, with the way she always knew what he needed. Jason, with his rough words of encouragement and unwavering backup, even at the most inopportune times. Cass, with her company and ability to know how to make him feel better. Tim, with his tutelage with school and detective work. Steph, and her unwavering optimism, even if Duke knew she didn’t always feel it - she always made sure everyone was cheered up, regardless of her mood. Damian, with his awkward company and thoughtful gifts. Ace and Titus, with the way they always knew when to touch and when to keep away.
There are so many more - Isabella, Riko, Dre, a, Riko, Dre, Dax, Troy, Darcy, Taylor, Travis, and everyone else in WAR, but he knows he’d never have started without Mom.
He’d never have kept going without Mom, and her hugs, her smile, her words of encouragement, her unwavering belief, and the way that even after she died, he couldn’t imagine a world where she didn’t love him no matter what he did or didn’t do. Not even when he was so deep in his depression he could barely eat did he think he could disappoint her. Duke knew that if she could see him then, she wouldn’t be mad - she’d sing to him, make him soup, wrap him in so many blankets he’d have gravitational force.
And if she could see him now? She’d party for days. She tell him how proud she was of him, over and over again even though he’d never doubted it.
He doesn’t need to pretend to know what her feelings would be - Duke already knows, just from how often she told him as he grew up.
Sure, that doesn’t stop the pain, most days, but when the hole in his heart starts to burn and claw and bleed anew, he sits down at his desk and he writes a letter. And it always starts with…
Hey, Mom, I love you.