"I don't want to be like him."
The air is thick with unspoken words. Dick glances at Black Canary through his slight fringe, eyes zeroing in with her icy blue. She looks sickeningly understanding and he can't stand it even though he knows her intentions are good. He drops his head between his knees, a scowl pressed into his skin under his mask.
She inches forward on her seat, extending her hand to place her palm on his knee. He almost jumps at the sudden contact, but he schools his expression into one of nonchalance (always nonchalant these days), before he realises that that is exactly what Batman would do.
Maybe he's already more like Batman than he thought.
He thins his lips.
He forgets he's thirteen, sometimes. He forgets that at age thirteen, he's supposed to be riding stray shopping carts in abandoned streets, shredding the basketball court after school—hanging out with friends.
He's supposed to be feeling things. Feeling the wind against his skin as he's slinking through his mundane neighbourhood on his rusted bike, taking the shortcuts he knows like the back of his hand. He's supposed to be sitting abashed at parties, too afraid to approach the giggling girls in the back corner. He's supposed to feel the uncertainty of starting high school—Is he going to fit in? Will he still be friends with people from primary school? What will he be when he grows up?
Instead, he fills the void with smirks and offhand remarks. He piles on the gel in the morning, sticks the domino mask in place at night. He wonders which one is the real mask.
He picks at the peeling skin around his chewed down nails.
Dick remembers he's not like every other thirteen year old. In fact, he was supposed to be flying.
He was supposed to feel the wind against his skin as he flies through the air, a roaring crowd beneath him. He was supposed to slink through his old steam train, taking shortcuts through the compartments and circus tents he knew (still knows) like the back of his hand.
He picks at his skin until it is raw and stings and he knows he feels something.
The team makes him feel. He knows it's a start.
Wally's incessant jokes are something he cannot help but laugh at—both his jokes and Wally himself. (Laughter is a good way to fill a void—ask the Joker). M'gann's sweetness is something he cherishes (and loathes) as it is a reminder that there is some good in the world. Kaldur is like Batman, but nothing like Batman at all. He is the mentor Dick finds himself wishing he had. He knows it's unfair to Bruce, but he can't help it.
Conner is a nice reminder that Dick is not alone. Anger is close to emptiness. They both routinely sit and watch the static in silence, the sound of each other's breaths enough to remind them that they exist and can be more.
Artemis is a conundrum of emotions that Dick finds himself wishing he could figure out. Whilst the others remain in their signature ethos, Artemis reeks of conflicting emotions—so thick he could almost smell it in the air.
The little vent they were once stuck in did not help.
He studied her with curiosity as her face conveyed a million emotions at once. Her raised and furrowed eyebrows were a telltale sign of distress, her slanted eyes showing the fear he never thought she possessed, and the slight gap between her trembling lips conveying her shock at the entire situation.
Water dripped down the curve of her chin, falling onto her thighs. It was then that he noticed her heaving chest and trembling hands. He almost reached out in an effort to comfort her, but they were here—dripping wet in an air vent—for a reason.
He settled for resting his hand on the hard leather of her boot.
"You seem distraught."
Robin keenly observed her face when it contorted into disbelief: widened eyes with raised brows and mouth agape. It then slowly morphed into anger: brows slanted towards her nose, wrinkling the skin between her eyes, her eyes hard and lips licked in anticipation.
"Of course I'm distraught!..." she rambled on, arms flung around in wild gestures. There's a freckle under her left eye. Her right eyebrow is slightly more grown out than the left. She has a small scar lining her jaw.
It dawned on him that Artemis is human. No, not an ordinary fifteen year old, but someone like him. Jaded past and all. He almost feels sorry for her, but she'd never allow it. He hardened his resolve.
"Well, get traught, or get dead."
Robin is the Boy Wonder. Dick Grayson is a boy.
Robin is untouchable. Dick is not.
He likes it that way. (He should know better. But dammit, he is thirteen. He is thirteen!)
There is elation when he saves people and is part of a team. A warmth that builds up from the pit of his stomach, bubbling up and into his throat, and in a way, he can't breathe.
It feels the same when his blood stains his hands and he's pushed up against his locker, an arm crushing his oesophagus.
He thinks, then and there, that maybe there is something to worrying about fitting in at high school.
Dick smirks through it all.
It surprises him when he finds a mop of blonde instead of red when his eyes manage to open.
Yes, surprise is good.
His lips thin into an unconvincing smile as he slides down the cold locker doors, his blazer catching on his lock. Artemis drops to her knees by his side. (She doesn't know she's been there all along). He drops his head, allowing himself a small smile as he heaves to catch his breath.
Her fingers hover hesitantly over his face, ghosting his cheek. Dick can tell she wants to ask if he's okay (the current situation reminds him of the time he almost drowned and Artemis had saved him. She saved them all). He opens his eyes, shifting his head so he's facing her. He doesn't worry that she'll be able to figure out who he really is—he'd be shocked if she could tell that he was Dick Grayson, with the amount of blood caked to his face.
She looks taken aback—wide, soft eyes, mouth agape and inhaling slightly. Artemis sits down, grabbing a small packet of tissues from her backpack. She quickly pulls some out of the packet and holds them bunched together at his nose, prompting him to take it and stop the steady stream of blood.
She licks her dry lips. "Hey, are you alright?" Her voice is dry and cracks.
He takes the tissues from her calloused hand and angles his head up, stuffing them carelessly in his nostrils. Dick contemplates saying: No, I'm not alright. There's something wrong with me. Instead, he cracks a grin, looking at her from the corner of his eye. "Why, I am fine and dandy on this lovely summer's day."
Artemis is never good at dealing with emotions, which is ironic to Dick because he considers her the most emotional person he knows. (Definitely not in a bad way—more like a human way. And it's not like she willingly expresses her emotions—no, it's in the way her shoulders sag or in the way her hair is tied).
Thunder booms in the distance.
Her brows slant. Realisation. She pulls back from him as if she's been stung. Dick tries not to be offended. He sticks on his trademark smirk.
"Dick Grayson, right? You're the freshman that took that photo with me a couple of weeks ago." She says it like an accusation and Dick wonders if she cares that her superhero persona and herself are essentially the same—in name and in manner.
"Yup," he says cheerily, popping the 'p'.
She angles herself away to rummage through her school bag. "Well, Grayson. I suggest you learn how to keep your arms up in a fight." She turns back to face him, presenting him with a cheap plastic water bottle. Artemis unscrews the lid. He takes it with his free hand.
Dick almost chortles in response but manages to keep it to a smirk. "And you'd know, right?" He raises the bottle as if he's toasting. Water sloshes.
Her mouth drops a bit, gaping, trying to form words. Suddenly, her eyes light up. She's made up an excuse. Dick wonders if this time it will actually be good. "Yes! I would know… because I do… I do… uh… karate after school," she fumbles, looking uncharacteristically vulnerable.
Her face hardens immediately, as if she'd heard his thought.
He brings the bottle up to his lips, taking a long sip. It tastes like day-old water, grapefruit lip balm and copper. Artemis watches him, unimpressed. He slurps for good measure. Dick doesn't miss the twist of disgust on her face. He smirks.
"Wow, you could almost be a vigilante with all your karate skills," he drawls, taking another long sip of water.
Her fist twists the navy fabric of her Gotham Academy skirt and she looks adequately whelmed. (Pursed lips, crinkles between her brows, clenched fists).
Dick thinks he should put her out of her misery—at least until the next time they meet.
"Well, vigilante, I've got some business to attend to—namely, my bloody nose." He points to it with her water bottle. "See you 'round." Saluting, he grins, showing off his bleeding gums. He passes the bottle back to her, their fingers grazing.
"It's Artemis," she grits out.
He supplies her with a wink, before rising off the ground, legs wobbling as he walks away, hand still holding the bloody tissues to his nose. The blonde girl makes no move to follow him.
He can't tell if he's stumbling because he just got the shit beat out of him or because of his encounter with Artemis.
Dick is surprised, to say the least, when his feet move on its own accord towards Artemis, who's sitting at a lone picnic table, her feet perched on the seat and hugging her knees. He's supposed to be avoiding her. Batman's orders. What is he doing?
(He knows what he's doing).
Her golden hair is pulled back into her signature low ponytail, but a few strands are loose, framing her face and playing with the light breeze. She's tired. Unfurling, she throws her elbow onto the wooden table, leaning her cheek against her palm. She chews her apple like it's a chore and stares at her scuffed shoes.
His feet stop in front of her, kicking up dust. She looks blearily up at him.
Artemis' brows raise, looking expectant and slightly annoyed.
Dick's mouth is dry, and it takes him a second to find the words, "Thank you", that have been rattling around his brain since he realised he never actually thanked her for yesterday.
Her face ripples into understanding and she nods quickly, before looking off into the distance. He doesn't miss the light dust of pink on her cheeks.
"It was nothing," she finally replies. She's not looking at him, as if she's expecting him to walk away now.
He grins, and he slides into the spot next to her. Artemis' head shoots up, staring at him. A trace of unease stiffens her posture.
He sees the question in her eyes.
"Is this seat taken, vigilante?" he asks as if he is genuinely concerned. (He isn't.)
Her lips pull back into a snarl. He smirks.
We'll laugh about this someday.
Artemis cocks her head, hesitating for a second. "No, dweeb," she scowls, looking away. She drops her feet in the gap between the seat and the table, twisting herself so she's facing the way he's looking. He laughs at the insult. She rolls her eyes, but her stiff back slowly softens into its usual hunched position.
"You heal quick," she observes.
Dick shrugs. "I don't bruise easy."
She hums in response. (She bruises easy).
They settle into a comfortable silence, watching the distant football game. He thinks that this is nice.
And maybe he will be alright.
Robin is untouchable for a reason. The others don't seem to understand.
He trains every day for countless hours until his muscles are straining and his skin is slick with sweat. He does it because that's who he is. That's who Batman wants him to be.
Robin powders his hands, cracks his knuckles and grabs onto the bar. Kicking his feet up, he hoists himself up into the air, flipping over into a handstand. He falls backwards, gravity inevitable, and swings around the bar, over and over and over again. He launches himself into the air—flying—and catches himself on the second bar.
He continues swinging back and forth between the bars, throwing in a twirl or flip every now and again.
Truth be told, Robin isn't really paying attention to whatever he's doing. He's not as focused as he should be, but if he were, he wouldn't have noticed Artemis by the gym entrance. He almost loses his grip on the bars as he observes her—she's leaning against the door frame in her civvies, arms crossed over her chest. Her eyes are a little wider, pink lips parting slowly. If he were to hazard a guess, he'd say she's in awe.
He expects her to tell him to take a break as all the others did, but she surprises him.
"Boy Blunder, up for a one on one?"
Robin glances at her from the corner of his eye. His fingers just manage to cling onto the next bar. Artemis pushes herself off the door frame, striding into the gym with purpose.
"You'll have to be more specific," he teases. "One on one as in—" he waggles his brows, a winning grin plastered to his face. His elbows aren't straight as he swings around the bar.
Artemis rolls her eyes, sticking two fingers in her mouth, gagging. He feigns hurt.
"In your dreams, Boy Wonder."
Robin releases the bar with a double layout dismount, sticking to the landing. Artemis scoffs.
"Show off," she mutters.
He smiles crookedly in response, but he's genuinely smiling nonetheless.
Robin finds himself cherishing the five minutes Artemis and him have before they zeta into the cave. Sometimes (more like all the time), he makes sure they bump into each other.
He doesn't know whether he does it for Artemis' misfortune or for himself.
It comes to a point where Artemis waits for him to show up.
"Aw, that's so sweet," he says, making sure to layer his condescending tone on thick. "You're waiting for me."
"Don't let it get to your head," Artemis snaps. She pushes herself off the photo booth as he emerges from the shadows, kicking an empty Coke can in his direction.
"I think you like me." It takes all his willpower to wrestle the smile on his face into a smirk. He kicks the can back to her.
Artemis scoffs. She crushes the red can under her foot. "Yeah, and I like fairy tales," she replies sarcastically.
Snapping his fingers, he points his index finger to the sky. "Ah, that explains the hair, Rapunzel. Oh, and leaving your arrow for us to find." He taps his chin and makes a point of thinking really hard. He can sense Artemis' unimpressed look. "And your affinity for magic and fate."
"Sarcasm, Sherlock," she bites.
Robin arches a brow, sauntering up to the photo-booth. He bows down deeply, his arm long and languid, gesturing Artemis to zeta first. He looks up at her through his fringe.
"Let's go to Neverland and never come back 'till forever ends!" he exclaims, a manic grin plastered to his face.
Artemis furrows her brows, a smile playing at her lips. Something twinkles in her eyes. "And how long is forever?"
Robin straightens, holding her by her hands gently. "Sometimes—" he pauses. He leans up on his toes, his lips to her ear. "—Just...one...second," he whispers.
They stay there like that for a second, until Artemis pulls away, blinking rapidly. She tugs at her ponytail.
Robin bounces on his toes.
She shakes her head and waves him off as she enters the zeta tube. "You're maddening," she snorts.
"All the best people are!" he calls after her. Dick doesn't miss her grin.
He enters Mount Justice smiling.
It doesn't occur to him that he's happy. In Dick's world, happy is hard to come by.
Conner's the one that points it out to him.
"You know, sitting with me is pointless now," Conner mumbles, still staring at the static.
Robin stares at the screen and raises a brow. He's genuinely confused. "What are you talking about, Supes?" He kicks his feet up onto the glass coffee table, crossing his arms over his chest.
He catches the slight movement of Conner's shoulders. "You seem happy," Conner comments, sinking further into the couch.
The word catches him off guard.
Happy.
He tests it out on his tongue, the word feeling foreign.
Happy.
It's not the kind of happy you get out of pulling pranks and dealing witty one-liners, he realises. It's the one that lingers—one that makes you want to hum the song stuck in your head and take people by their hands and dance with them. It's the one where there's that feeling in your stomach that bubbles up to your throat, but this time, you can breathe. And breathing makes it all that much better.
He's dizzy, he realises, and judging by Superboy's perked ears, he can tell too. Conner looks concerned.
It takes him a second to compose himself, but ultimately, he doesn't know how to react. For once, he feels raw—and in a good way.
Smiling wide, he turns his head to regard Conner. "I like the company."
Conner's lip twitches at the corner.
Artemis breaks her arm during a mission.
He stays close to her after that. Dick Grayson or Robin, it's the one thing they have in common.
"Dweeb, I'm starting to think that you can't breathe without me," she laughs, propping her cast (Dick's name is scrawled across the whole thing in pink texta, with a little heart with and an arrow shot through it. Artemis had rolled her eyes but didn't scribble it out, like she had done with Wally's doodle of tiger) onto the picnic table. Her hair is braided in such a way that makes him think that her mum wrestled her into letting her braid it, and her tie is haphazardly strung around her neck. She looks happy.
Dick chuckles, a smile pulling at his lips. He follows suit and props his elbow on the table, cheek in hand, eyes drilling into hers. "Of course, vigilante! You are the moon to my stars, the water to a parched man's throat, the cape to the hero, the—"
Artemis shoves him with her cast. "We get it, Romeo." She rolls her eyes. Dick thinks she's almost looking at him fondly. He smiles broadly and they fall into a comfortable silence.
"You know, not all heroes wear capes," she says, just as the bell is about to ring.
"You certainly don't."
Later, when he's lying down in his bed and staring out his bedroom window at the stars, he thinks Artemis is right.
(you don't need a cape to fly.)