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Dick remembered what it felt like to fly with his parents. He also remembered what it looked like to watch them fall.
On the anniversary of his parent's death it was raining.
Dick was sitting at the kitchen island, on the uncomfortable metal stool, with his head pressed against the cold, icy marble, alone in his Blüdhaven apartment. The collar of his freshly pressed suit, a simple black suit and tie, was digging uncomfortably into the side of his neck, but Dick didn't have the energy to care. He clutched his keys in his hand, the keychain of the Bat symbol pressed sharply into his palm. He didn't feel like he could move.
He turned his head to face the clock hanging above his front door. 8 pm. He should have left 30 minutes ago. He promised Damian he would be at the gala.
Damian, his little brother, was slowly opening up to people more, and Dick was so proud of him. He was nicer to Tim, worked better with Jason and even went on fun trips with Steph, who had made it her mission to take the little guy under her wing. He was getting better at interacting with civilians and victims and he listened and was respectful. He was still Damian of course,he could only be around Tim for so long before threatening murder,but it was an improvement, and that's all Dick could really ask for. Damian still struggled with crowds. Dick could help him with that. But not from Blüdhaven.
His mind kept wandering, like it usually did on this day every year. This day, however many years ago, was the worst of Dick's life. What would he have been doing now, back at the circus that night? The opening acts started at nine, and the Flying Grayson's were seen as the ‘grand finale’, the one everyone came to see. His parents would have been checking the ropes just before they opened.
They would have been checking the ropes.
Dick knew now they didn't check them well enough, and bile rose in his throat. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to push away the guilt that was consuming his insides. His mind raced with ‘what if’s’ and possibilities. What if they had noticed the ropes had been tampered with? What if they caught Zucco in the act? What if Dick had started off their routine, like he was meant to? What if-?
Dick took a deep breath, and lifted his head up, rubbing his eyes. He was spiraling. He looked out of the glass sliding doors that lead to the balcony. It was raining heavily. The bright lights of Blüdhaven appeared blurred from the rain hitting the glass. It was loud and showed no signs of stopping. He gazed back up at the clock. He should get moving.
He couldn't go out as Nightwing tonight. He had nothing to hit, no place to release the anger that was quickly building up inside him. He felt like that little boy Bruce had taken in all those years ago. Angry and desperate and sad, who thought everything and everyone was evil. His hands clenched into tighter fists.
As he stood up, Dick saw flashes of his Mother, reaching her hand put to him. He remembered how he had reached out to catch her, and had only swiped at the air. Then she fell, along with his Father. His Mama and his Tati, reduced to nothing more than a bloody mess on the sawdust below. Dick couldn't smell sawdust anymore without bursting into tears.
Another deep breath. He could do this. It had happened years and years ago, he had lived a whole lifetime since that day. A whole lifetime without his parents. Dick blinked back the tears that threatened to fall.
“My little Robin!”
His Mama’s voice echoed in his ears. A voice he was slowly forgetting. Another wave of guilt crashed through him. How could he be forgetting them?
Dick didn't think he would be able to hear any mentions of Robin tonight. The name felt like a stab to the gut. He'd be fine, Dick told himself. He had to be.
“Richard,” Damian greeted, after opening the front door to the Manor. His face was flushed, like he had run to answer the door. Alfred hovered behind him, and Dick pulled his face onto a relaxed grin.
“Hey, Little D!” Dick laughed as he ruffled Damian’s hair, and the little boy squawked and swatted at his hand. The chaos from the kitchen could be heard from here. Dick followed Damian into the kitchen after hanging up his fully soaked through coat and greeting Alfred. The guests would start arriving in about half an hour.
As expected, the kitchen was full of his family (and Steph, who he counted as a sister in law at this point). Jason was rooting through cupboards, searching for pre gala snacks, Cass was sitting on the kitchen counter, nodding along with whatever Steph and Tim were giggling about. Duke was pulling on his dress shoes, one foot propped up on a chair. Bruce was sipping coffee in the corner, reading something on his phone.
“Hey Dick!” Steph smiled. She was wearing a floor length, deep green dress Dick thought might have passed down from Barbara.
“Hi, everyone!” Dick greeted warmly, and pulled Steph into a hug. He would not cry, he repeated to himself, even though the simple contact made his stomach clench. He couldn't hug his parents. They were under a decorated rock, in a graveyard, not here with him. He hated himself for thinking like that, when he had all these people that cared about him, right here in this room and elsewhere. How dare he feel lonely. How dare he.
“Grayson, I need your opinion on something,” Damian said, as Dick pulled away from Stephanie. He held up two ties. One a deep green, that matched his suit jacket and the other, black, that matched the shirt and pants.
“Which one should I wear?”
Dick pondered for a moment, before pointing to the black. “That one, it'll match the suit better!”
Damian nodded and Dick's smile never once faltered.
“Dick! catch!” Duke called, before throwing a hairbrush at him, no doubt for his wind swept and rain soaked hair. Dick grinned back to him and he caught the brush in his hand. “Thanks, Duke!”
“Dickface.” Jason mumbled, pushing past him and out of the kitchen.
“Master Bruce, the first guests have arrived,” Alfred announced, and Bruce pocketed his phone before leaving. He hadn't even greeted Dick. Dick smiled wider. He could get through this. The rest of them followed to the ballroom the gala was being hosted in. Another Wayne Enterprise Charity event. The whole family was here, which was rare in and of itself. Even Jason was here. Dick should be grateful.
The diamond chandelier was shining above them, hanging from an intricately decorated ceiling. There were tables of food lining the wall to his right. Dick immediately felt sick. There was already a quite large crowd gathered, Gotham elites chatted loudly with each other. Dick didn't want to say a word to any of them. Some tried to flirt with him, some tried to get gossip from him, some tried to rope him into business offers. He was a pawn to them. A stepping stone to Bruce fucking Wayne. Some called Bruce his Dad. He always wanted to hit the old men and women who said that to him.
He was pulled out of his thoughts when he felt Damian quickly grasp his hand, squeezing for comfort. Dick couldn't help the genuine grin that settled on his face when he looked down at his little brother, who was fidgeting nervously. Galas still freaked the little kid out. Dick remembered feeling like that at galas too. He had had no one's hand to hold.
“We can do this, Dami,” he reassured, more to himself than anyone else.
Damian nodded, his frown easing up a little as he released Dick's hand.
“If you need anything, come find any of us, okay? And try not to insult or injure anyone, the lecture from B isn't worth it.”
“I'll try, Richard,” Damian confirmed, before making his way over to Stephanie. The two had gotten especially close after Stephanie's time as Batgirl. They had formed such a close bond, and they looked out for each other. Damian would never admit it, but they all knew she meant a lot to him.
Another deep breath. He just has to get through a few hours. He has done this so many times before. He has gone to gala after gala after gala. Why didn't it feel like the walls were closing in? Dick adjusted his tie, and walked over to a group of socialites who were talking with Jason.
“That dress looks stunning on you, Mrs Windem,” Dick smiled, champagne in hand. Mrs Windem’s face was flushed red, whether that was from his compliment or the wine, Dick wasn't sure. The woman grazed her hand over his upper arm, and Dick tried not to pull away.
“Thank you, Dick! You are such a charmer, much like your Father,” she laughed, and the two beside her, her husband and Mr Miller, her husband's business partner, did too. Dick joined in and ignored the anger that washed over him. She meant well, he reminded himself. She meant well.
Mr Windem stepped forward, the man had greying hair and a beard, and if Dick remembered right he was a nice enough guy.
“Say, Richard, do you have any interest in business?” he asked, and Dick shook his head, smile still firmly in place.
“No, Sir, not really. My brother, Timothy, has a talent for it but I'm afraid I'm completely useless at it!”
“What do you work as then, son? I don't believe you leech of your Dad.” Dicks fist's clenched as the man spoke. He couldn't lose his composure.
“I'm a gymnastics coach, Mr Windem. I teach younger kids and teens,” Dick responded through clenched teeth.
The man frowned, and Dick resisted the urge to punch him across the face.
“ I expected better things from you, not some low wage coaching gig. You seem so bright, so above coaching kids.”
“Sorry Mr Windem, I think my brother is calling me, I must go! Lovely seeing you all.”
Dick needed to get out of that conversation. Mr Windem was really grating on his nerves, and Mrs Windem kept looking at him like he was a fucking meal. His head hurt. He placed his glass on the tray of a passing server. He hated nosy Gothamites. Dick made his way over to Tim, who was looking very uncomfortable in a conversation with some young ladies.
Immediately, one of them, a short blonde girl in a light blue,bright fitting dress, latched onto his arm when he got close enough. Dick reminded himself to be polite. She probably didn't know any better.
“Good evening, everyone. How's your night going?” Dick smiled his best camera ready smile.
“We were just talking with your brother,” someone he recognised as Sam Allison giggled, as they touched Tim's shoulder. The boy’s face immediately flushed pink.
“Yes, I'm sure he's lovely company,” he winked at a girl in a purple dress, who looked like she was about to faint. “But we are both needed elsewhere right now. Bruce is about to make his speech, Timmy here is needed on stage.”
Dick had never seen Tim look so grateful in his entire life.
“Surely you can stay a little longer,” Sam pouted, as they adjusted the strap on their one piece jump suit.
Dick’s smile stayed firmly in place, even though a part of him felt so, so angry that this person thought they had that much privilege over his brother, that they could slow down an entire event just to talk to him. “No can do, come on Tim!”
“Wait,” the girl that was holding his arm spoke up, not letting go and he moved to walk away, Dick's head snapped towards her. He didn't know her name. She had a specific look in her eye, it made Dick nervous.
“I was just wondering, Richard, are you single?”
Dick froze in place. It felt like someone had just thrown a bucket of ice water on him. He wasn't single. At all. He hasn't been for years. He had Wally.
Wally, who was currently on a Justice League mission. Wally, who was the only person who had asked how he was doing today, on the anniversary of his parent's death. Wally, who was supposed to be with him today, to help him through it. But he wasn't. It obviously wasn't his boyfriend’s fault , but Dick just wished he was here. Then it might be bearable. Dick snapped back to reality, and hoped his smile hadn't faltered.
“That's a secret,” he winked again, before walking off after Tim, only to find he couldn't find his brother in the crowd anymore. Dick moved through the hoard of people, hoping to find any of his siblings so he wouldn't have to talk to these stuck up assholes, who thought they had a right to have an opinion on anything in his life, alone anymore. He spotted Duke in the crowd, and quickly tried to make his way over to him.
“Richard Grayson!”
Dick almost outwardly screamed.
He whipped around, grin perfectly in place as he faced Ms Richmond, a big donor to a lot of Wayne Enterprise’s charities.
“Long time no see, Elizabeth! How have you been?”
She smiled back at him in return. “Just splendid, Richard. Though, your Father's galas usually are.” She paused for a moment. “Sorry, I shouldn't call him your Father. I know your Dad is dead. I was actually at the circus that night, I don't think I ever told you that! Great show, tragic ending but-”
Dick tuned her out. His Dad was dead. His Mother was dead. They were dead. On this day, however many years ago, they fell to their deaths. Everyone talked about it like it was old gossip, like it didn't matter anymore. Like his parents, his wonderful, kind, compassionate, parents meant nothing anymore. His throat burned and his eyes stung, as he moved away from the woman in front of him, and pushed his way through the crowd.
Nobody here, not even his siblings, not even Bruce, remembered what today was. They didn't remember. But Dick did. Dick remembered every single day since that night at the circus. It haunted his dreams, his achievements, his day to day life. They still meant the world to him.
The cool air of the spacious area outside the ballroom was a relief. Dick sucked in a large breath of air trying to steady himself. His heart was beating maniacally and he still couldn't quite catch his breath. The world moved slowly as he made his way towards the bathroom to the left of him.
Dick didn't want people to forget his parents. They had lived, and yet they're only remembered by their gruesome deaths. Nobody knew his Mama had taught him many languages or that she loved to sing and bake, especially bread. Dick still had that recipe memorised. He was never able to make it without breaking down in tears. Nobody knew his Tati was extremely skilled at carving things from wood, or that he was known for cracking jokes. They didn't know that. And Dick was still grappling with the fact that nobody, except him, still knew.
Dick fumbled with the lock behind him, tears blurring his vision. He could hear the rain outside now that the crowd was just a distant noise. He couldn't breathe. He slumped against the white walls of the bathroom, the bright light shining in his eyes. He was fine. He was ok. Deep breaths. How dare anyone talk about his parents death like that. Like they were nothing. Like they weren't people. They had more of a life than any of those morons. His anger had been building up all day, he needed to release it. He needed it gone. He punched the wall as hard as he could. Again and again. How dare they. His anger faded with every punch. When he pulled his fist away, his knuckles were bruised and dripping blood onto the tiles. The stone wall had been chipped, tiny pieces of it crumbled onto the floor. He barely made it to the toilet before he threw up.
Now all he had left was his sadness.
He cried harder, for his parents that no longer could. He didn't know what they'd think of him now. Clark had told him a few years back that they would be proud of him if they saw him today, but Dick couldn't be sure.
What if they disapproved of him being a kids gymnastics coach? They probably wanted him to go college, get a degree or perform, like he did at the circus. Would they approve of Wally? Dick thought they would, but what if his parents were homophobic? Dick knew they were friends with many queer people at the circus, but what if their own son being gay was somehow different?
Dick gagged again, and sat on the bathroom tiles, and shut his eyes. His parents deserved better. How would his Mama react if she found out he was forgetting some of the languages she taught him? That Dick didn't sing at all anymore? That Dick didn't bake the bread he loved so dearly as a child? He couldn't bare the thought of singing to anyone, it made him feel like he was impersonating her.
How would his Tati react if he found out Dick had forgotten all the wood carving skills he had taught him? That Dick had started stealing his dead Father's jokes? Dick hasn't even tried to make anything from wood at all since his Father's death, even the thought of it made him sick. He had had to leave all his Tati’s carvings, that his Dad loved so dearly, behind at the circus. He had none.
Dick only threw up bile, having nothing left in his stomach. He hadn't been able to eat all day. Dick couldn't remember the final meal he had shared with his parents. He was ashamed of that. It felt like he didn't care enough. Why couldn't he remember them as well as he used to?
Tears kept on falling and Dick could feel himself shaking. He ran a trembling hand through his hair. He couldn't calm himself down. Another deep breath. Only a sob escaped his throat. Maybe if Dick had done things differently, his parents would still be here. He's been carrying this weight, this looming pain, with him everywhere he goes. He had watched, along with a crowd full of strangers, as his parents took their last breath. Fuck, even Tim had seen it. Dick cried harder.
Dick didn't know how long he had sat there before he heard a soft knock on the door.
“Grayson?”
He opened his mouth to respond, but all that came out was a low whine. Deep breaths, goddamn it.
“Richard, are you alright?” Damian asked from the other side of the door. His little brother couldn't see him like this. Dick needed to grow the fuck up and put on the happy, adult act. Why was he acting like a baby?
“Dick, I know you are in there,” Damian called, knocking on the door again. “I am not leaving until I am sure you are alright.”
Dick was helpless when he heard the door of the bathroom click open, teaching Damian how to pick locks without damaging anything was a decision Dick deeply regretted, and his youngest brother swung open the door, only to be met with his eldest brother, who acted more like his Dad, hunched over a toilet bawling his eyes out.
Damian looked deeply concerned. “Richard, why are you crying?” Damian moved towards him, and Dick shook his head. Damian needed to leave.
“I- I’m ok, Dami. Go back to the gala, I'll be there in a moment,” Dick tried to assure him, but it was clear Damian wasn't buying it.
Damian kept his distance, just watched Dick curl up even more and cry harder.
“Damian, I'm serious. Please, please leave,” Dick sobbed.
“What's going on in there, D?”
Fuck.
“Brown, it's…Grayson. I do not think he is alright.”
Dick squeezed his eyes shut, and he heard two pairs of shoes move towards him.
“Fuck. Dick?” It was Tim, and Dick moved his head in the other direction, facing away from the trio who were staring at him like that. Something touched his arm, and Dick violently flinched away.
“Sorry,” he heard Damian mumble, and Dick felt his heart shatter a little bit more. He opened his eyes, and pulled Damian in a little closer.
“I'm sorry, Dami,” he murmured into the boy’s hair, he could smell the hair product in it.
Tim was crouched down in front of them, brow furrowed. Steph was standing in the doorway, repeatedly glancing towards the ballroom down the hall.
“Dick, what's wrong?” Tim asked.
Deep breaths. He wasn't breathing as erratically anymore, so it was easier to do. He didn't feel as sick anymore, but he could still taste the bile in his mouth and grimaced slightly. He was still holding onto Damian, like he was a little teddy bear. Like he did with his elephant plush named Zitka when he first got the manor. His parents had gifted the elephant to him when he was very little. He always wanted to bring Zitka into their little trailer, and sometimes refused to sleep in protest of not being able to. His brain couldn't comprehend why he wouldn't be allowed to, even though Zitka was bigger than the space they lived in. They bought the reasonably sized Zitka as a way to combat this problem, and it worked like a charm. He didn't go anywhere without Zitka for years. Dick cried harder.
“It's -” he started, but couldn't get any more words out as he sobbed. No matter what he tried he couldn't compose himself. He could hear more people coming down the hall and towards the bathroom, someone calling Stephanie's name. Dick thought someone might be trying to talk to him, but his eyes were shut and he cried and he wasn't listening.
More deep breaths. He needed to ground himself and calm himself down. He must have let go of Damian at some point, because the weight of his little brother is no longer there. His parents' deaths shouldn't affect him like this anymore. It's been years. All of his orphaned siblings got a little emotional around the anniversary of their parents deaths, they were all mostly orphans after all, including Bruce. Never like this though. Dick hadn't reacted like this in front of anyone in over a decade. Only Bruce and Alfred had had to deal with it then. Here he was, traumatising his entire family with his dramatics.
Slowly, the tears began to subside, enough that Dick could open his eyes and see Jason and Tim in front him. He could hear Damian somewhere behind, talking to someone.
“Dick, hey, Dickhead,” Jason said, his tone surprisingly concerned. Tim nudged him a little, probably for insulting him. “Can you tell us what's wrong?”
Deep breaths. It's simple, Dick.
“It's my parents death anniversary,” he cried, louder than he intended.
The room goes silent. Dick can still hear the distant chatter from down the hall, but everyone in front of him is quiet. He can now see it's his entire family. Bruce, Jason, Tim, Damian, Cass, Duke and Steph. They're all here. Dick can't help feeling a little embarrassed they all saw him like that.
“Shit,” Tim cursed.
“A-and nobody remembers them. I miss them and they'll never be here again. I want my Mama and Tati,” Dick felt like a baby for whining about this to a room full of people who probably understand better than most people. They'd all lost something in this family, and he just had to cry about it.
Damian speaks up first .“I am sorry we did not remember the date, Richard. I would not have asked you to come, otherwise.”
Dick just shakes his head, he isn't sure what else to say or do.
“You're going to be okay, Dick,” he heard Jason say.
Another broken sob escaped from him. How could Dick be okay when his parents were no longer here? He thought he had come to terms with all this years ago, why now is it hitting him so hard? He was better than this. Everyone thought they deserved a say on what Dick did with himself and his life, but the only opinions he cares about are theirs.
Bruce finally opened his mouth, and said something to Dick. “Chum, why don't we get you to the kitchen? Alfred can bandage up your hand and you can get a glass of water.”
Dick winced when Alfred asked him to stretch out his hand, and little blood was still oozing from his knuckles. Alfred furrowed his brow as he grabbed more alcohol wipes for his hand. Damian was sitting right next to him, perched on one of the kitchen island chairs. Jason and Tim were sharing looks of concern, which made Dick’s stomach roll. Steph and Cass were making everyone tea, and Duke was busy grabbing bandages for Alfred to use. Dick didn't know where Bruce was.
He had a glass of water in his other hand, and was taking small sips every few minutes, which did seem to help. It felt nice having his family around him and caring for him, but he hated being the cause of pity and concern.
“We are here for you, Dick,” Tim mumbled, arms folded over his chest. “It's important to me that you know that.”
Dick swallowed and nodded. “Didn't expect today to hit me as bad as it did.”
“It'll always be hard,” Bruce walked in, blanket tucked under his arm, “I know it's never gotten easier for me.”
Bruce passed Dick the blanket, and he took it, resting his sore hand on top of it. He knew Bruce intended for him to wrap it around himself, but that made Dick feel too much like a victim.
It was 11pm. At this time, many years ago, Dick was in the back of a police car, his parents already dead. Alfred started bandaging up Dick's hand when Duke returned with them, the ache in his knuckles began to dull. He looked over at Damian. The kid looked like he had seen a ghost. Dick should be strong for him, but no. He just had to fall apart. Like a baby.
“All done, Master Dick. Please keep the punching exclusively to your nightly escapades,” Alfred warned. Dick couldn't do anything but nod.
When Alfred left, Jason quickly took his side. “ We don't want you to be upset, Dickface. You scared the shit outta us.”
“I'm sorry,” Dick bowed his head, not wanting to see the pity in his younger brother's eyes.
“That's not what he meant, Richard. You have nothing to apologise for. It is just….difficult to see you like that,” Damian replied, looking rather sternly at him. Dick couldn't help the small smile that formed on his face. Damian was clearly trying to look more grown up than he felt. It was a little charming, but equally as sad.
“I feel like I'm failing them,” Dick confessed, quietly. “I don't know what they want me to do with my life. Would they be proud of me? I don't even know if they'd like me. I don't know if they're happy for me.”
Tim sighed, and looked Dick straight in the eye. “Even if they were still alive, it wouldn't matter what your parents would want you to do. From what I've heard, your parents would be happy for you Dick. You deserve good things, even if tragic things have already happened to you.” Tim paused for a moment. “We will never know your parents as well as you did. Nobody will. But they're still in your heart, no matter what. What happened isn't your fault, Dick. It never has been. I'm sorry your parents can't tell you how happy they are for you right now, but I'd be willing to bet anything that, no matter what, they love you. I'm sorry none of us remembered what today was.”
Dick was crying again by the end of Tim's speech.
“Thank you.”
Dick was sat down in one of the living rooms after all the guests were gone, and he felt well enough to stand by himself, his family all sat around him. He had a cup of tea in front of him, and a blanket wrapped around him. His suit jacket and tie are gone, and the top button of his shirt undone. Damian was sitting next to him on the couch. Tim and Cass were sitting on the floor in front of them. Jason was sitting in an armchair, sitting cross legged. Duke and Stephanie were on the couch a little further away. Bruce was leaning against the door frame.
Steph and Duke were kicking each other's feet, which ended in a full on physical fight between the two, who were laughing the whole time. Tim talked to Cass about cases he's working on, and she commented occasionally to offer input. Jason was reading, or at least pretending to be and Damian was playing some game on his iPad, ignoring them all, but he quickly fell asleep after a few minutes, iPad slumped against his chest. Bruce was keeping a watchful eye on them all.
It felt so right.
Dick took another deep breath. They had all managed to calm him down and pull him out of his own head, and now, here he was with all of them. He may have lost his parents, and he will be left to forever wonder what his life with them might have been like, but here he is now, with his siblings who he loves so dearly and doesn't know how he ever lived without them. He wished his parents would see him now.
He felt a hand on his shoulder, and looked over at Bruce.
“Your parents would be so proud of you, Dick.”
Dick smiled at him.
“I hope so."