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Dick was tired.
Things in Blüdhaven had not been great—well, not that they were ever good, but the city had really cranked up the “suck” factor lately.
And maybe Dick could have handled it, except things with his family hadn’t been too good, either. Bruce had been in one of his moods all week, which meant everyone else was on edge, too. As a result, Dick had been playing peacekeeper for the entire Wayne family plus those associated with them. But that was nothing new. By now, the role fit him like a well-worn sweater.
Bruce yelled at Damian over a minor mistake? Call Dick.
Jason lost his temper and needed to be talked down? Call Dick.
Tim was taking on too many of Bruce’s WE responsibilities and not sleeping? Call Dick.
No one had seen Cass in three days? Call Dick.
Of course, he answered every single call he received without hesitation. How could he not? His family needed him. It wasn’t their fault their father was incapable of putting his own emotions aside for the benefit of his children. Why would he? That was what Dick was for.
The happy Robin. The family’s ray of sunshine. The light to Batman’s darkness.
All those titles used to fit him; at least, Dick pretended they did. Now, they were more like roles he had to perform. The smile he wore was simply a costume, just like his old leotard and glittery face paint. Over the years, Dick had made it his job to give others all the laughter and happiness he couldn’t give himself.
That was the real kicker. If he were being truly honest—something that didn’t happen very often—Dick’s soul was filled with the same darkness as Batman’s. He was just a hell of a lot better at hiding it.
And he didn’t resent Bruce for that—really, he didn’t. The man loved them all dearly, but the strength of that love could never quite overpower the weight of his own inner demons. It was a hard truth that Dick had learned to bear years ago—and one he tried desperately to protect his siblings from.
But who protected Dick?
Stop pitying yourself, he chastised. You’re the oldest. You can handle it. You don’t need anyone to come and save you.
Except, maybe he did.
A shiver ran through his body. Rain fell from the night sky like a heavy curtain, soaking Dick to the bone as he lay still on the hard concrete. He needed to get up. He knew that. The last time he’d been on his back like this on a Blüdhaven rooftop while it was raining, something very bad had happened to him.
“Quiet, mi amor, callado…”
Nope. He wasn’t thinking about that. Not even a little bit. He had much more important things to focus on at the moment—like the fact that his city kept getting worse no matter how hard Dick tried to save it, or the way his family was slipping through his fingers like sand in an hourglass.
Or maybe he should think about the knife that was currently sticking out of his chest.
Some nobody had gotten in a lucky strike during patrol. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, Dick would have easily dodged it. But he hadn’t been sleeping well (at all) lately, and his reaction time had suffered greatly. He’d gotten away by grappling up to a nearby rooftop before collapsing onto his back. He hadn’t moved since.
He was so tired.
Dick considered pressing one of his emergency beacons, or at least reaching for his comm. But something was stopping him. He just…didn’t want to. Because if one of his siblings answered, they’d realize the big brother they relied on wasn’t as unshakeable as they needed him to be. And if Bruce answered…well, he would freak out at first, and then he would berate Dick for screwing up and getting himself hurt. Dick didn’t have the emotional bandwidth to deal with either option.
And so he did nothing.
It was selfish, just lying there waiting for death. Dick knew that. He should want to live. He had too many people counting on him to just throw his life away. Hell, the entire city of Blüdhaven depended on him. So Dick needed to live—for everyone else if not for himself. That would be the right thing to do.
But he was so, so tired. Couldn’t he be selfish just this once? Surely, everyone would understand…
Thoughts of his friends and family flashed through his mind: Alfred, Jason, Tim, Duke, Cass, Steph, Barbara, Wally, Donna, Roy, Kory, and so many others. All people who loved him deeply, and whom he loved back.
Then there was Damian.
The burden he’d never asked for who had turned into the blessing he could never live without. His baby brother—the one who had Dick walking the line between sibling and parent like a tightrope—was everything to him. Could he really stomach the thought of leaving him? Of leaving all of them?
And what about Bruce?
The man would undoubtedly self-destruct if Dick died. Their relationship was complicated, and Bruce certainly had his issues, but honestly, so did Dick. That’s what had drawn them to each other in the first place, wasn’t it? Two opposite sides of the same, scratched-up coin. And as much as Dick wanted to strangle his adopted father at times, he couldn’t deny that he loved Bruce Wayne with all of his heart.
The realization hurt almost more than the knife in his chest: as much as Dick wanted to die, he couldn’t leave everyone he cared about behind. Dick Grayson could never be that selfish. At least, not normally.
Something was very wrong with him.
His hand shook as he reached for the emergency beacon on his suit’s logo. Before he lost his nerve, he pressed it.
His comm rippled to life seconds later.
“Nightwing, what’s your status?” Batman’s gruff voice demanded.
Dick found himself having trouble answering. He could feel his strength leaving him at an alarming rate. Was he already too far gone? It would be just his luck to finally die as soon as he decided he needed to live.
“Nightwing, answer me!”
“B-B…” Dick rasped. Damn, he sounded rough. The knife must have been lodged in his lung, because he was starting to have trouble catching his breath. And that copper taste in his mouth…did he bite his tongue in the fight and not notice, or was he coughing up blood now?
The line was silent for a brief, tense moment. When the Dark Knight replied, his voice was tight. “I’m en route to your location. Tell me what’s going on.”
“I, uh, think I messed up,” Dick admitted. The world around him was starting to grow fuzzy around the edges. That was never a good sign.
“How so?”
“Didn’t wanna…make you mad. Didn’t want the others to see me like this…”
“Nightwing, I need you to tell me what’s going on. Are you hurt?”
Dick licked his lips and winced as he tasted more blood. “Y-yeah. Got stabbed. ‘M sorry. It was stupid.”
Batman growled. “Stabbed where?”
“…my chest.”
There was a sharp intake of breath over the line. “Okay, remain calm and take slow, steady breaths. I’m coming. It’s going to be okay, Chum.”
Chum.
That single word broke down a wall Dick hadn’t even realized he’d built. That nickname….he hadn’t heard it in so long. Suddenly, he felt like a kid again, back when he was Bruce’s partner and everything was simpler and he wasn’t so full of poison.
Tears started pouring out of his eyes.
“B-Bruce,” he choked, trying to keep his chest from shuddering as he cried. “I-I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
His father shushed him soothingly—in a tone that was way too gentle to be Batman. “Don’t apologize, Son. You need to stay calm for me, remember?”
“Y-you don’t understand. I-I didn’t call you. I didn’t want to call you. And now, I think I waited too long.”
Bruce made a sound as if he’d been punched in the gut. “Why, Chum? Why wouldn’t you want to call me?”
Dick swallowed thickly. Talking was taking more and more effort. “I just…wanted it all to be over. I’m so tired, B.”
“Oh, Dickie,” his father whispered, his voice full of anguish. “Please, just hang on. I’m almost there. We can fix this—I can fix this.”
“Tell the others I’m sorry,” Dick murmured. He could barely feel the rain hitting his skin anymore. “Especially Damian. Tell ‘em I love ‘em. And don’t tell ‘em the truth. They don’t….they don’t need to know. M’kay?”
“Don’t talk like that, Son. You’re going to be okay. I’m almost there.”
Except he wasn’t. Dick knew that. Gotham was at least half an hour’s drive from Blüdhaven. There was no way Bruce was making it in time. They both knew that, even if neither of them said it out loud. That was just how they did things—Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson lived in a world of unspoken truths.
“S’okay, B,” he assured. “Just please…don’t shut down. Th-they’re all gonna need you…”
The Dark Knight sounded suspiciously like he was crying. “Dickie, Son, stop. You are the light of my life: my greatest achievement. I know I haven’t been there for you like you deserved—like any of you have deserved. I’ve fallen short in every category there is. But I promise, I’ll do better. I’ll be better. Just please, Chum. Don’t leave me like this. I love you.”
Dick’s lower lip quivered. Why was Bruce just opening up now? Why couldn’t he have told Dick all of those things before he was bleeding out on a rooftop? If he had, then maybe Dick would have actually called for help instead of lying there in the rain for God knows how long. It just wasn’t fair.
But then again, life wasn’t fair. Dick had learned that the day his parents’ trapezes snapped.
As he felt his eyelids grow impossibly heavy, Dick decided he didn’t want to go out thinking about the bad stuff. He’d spent so much of his life being angry and bitter towards Bruce. But despite all of his father’s flaws, he’d dropped everything the moment Dick had called him. It wasn’t his fault he had called too late.
So, he decided to follow the man’s lead and not leave anything else unspoken. “I-I love you, too…Dad. I really, really do. Goodnight…”
“No, don’t close your eyes, Son! You have to stay with me. You have to—CLARK! CLARK!”
But Dick had already succumbed to the darkness.