He Had Flown
A Dick Grayson Oneshot
By Kirsten Erin
His back against the wall, Dick slid down it slowly until he was sitting. His chest pumped air like each breath was his last and, by God, it felt like each was. Every inch of his body hurt, from his feet to the top of his head. Every inch was drenched in pain. His vision went in and out of focus, blurry images twisting and turning, making it impossible to even imagine being able to see. Nausea rose up in his stomach, but he couldn't gather the strength to purge himself of it.
"Not so tough now, are you, bird boy?" He couldn't remember the name of the villain he had been fighting, but he could hear them wheezing for breath. No matter how tough they talked, he could rest knowing he had at least put up a good fight before they killed him.
He wondered if Bruce would be upset with him- when he found Dick's corpse. Would he think him weak? Would he be able to tell that Dick had tried?
Tears blurred his vision further. God, it hurt just to breathe. The person who had done this to him was talking again, but Dick couldn't hear them. He had to focus on his breathing.
In. Out.
Wince.
In.
Grimace.
Out.
"Dad, it hurts!" an eight year-old Dick complained. His father, a well-muscled man in his mid-thirties, grinned down at him.
"You're fine, son. It'll put hair on your chest," he laughed. "Now get up on that platform and do it again." His father pointed at the trapeze just as tears squeezed their way out of the young boy's eyes.
"No! I don't want to! It hurts. I don't want hair on my chest." He crossed his arms over his chest and winced at the action. More tears leaked from his bright blue eyes.
Richard Grayson Sr. knelt down so he would be eye-to-eye with his son. He placed a hand on each of his shoulders and looked his son in the eyes. "Dicky, let me tell you something that took me years to learn. Pain isn't always a bad thing. Sure, it's definitely unpleasant. If it wasn't, everything would be easy and nothing would be worth achieving. Sometimes, though, pain is a good thing. It's the doorway to a pleasure you never could have reached without the extra effort. If it were easy, everyone would have it. But when you push through the pain, you can do something few others can." He moved back so as to give his son a clear view of the trapeze. His mother did an arial and missed the bar, falling a few feet before being caught securely in the net. When she climbed out of it and back onto the platform, she shook herself off and tried again. "Only birds can fly, boy. Birds and the Graysons. It's what we do, son. We fly. But you can't fly if you never get off the ground."
Dick didn't realize he had blacked out until he was waking up again. He tried to hold onto the memory that was slipping like sand through his fingers. His brain felt both heavy and foggy. He could hardly hold his head up.
Needless to say, the profound nature of his father's speech had made hardly an impression on the eight year-old recipient, but Dick looked back on that memory with great fondness now. Wasn't it his father's words that pushed him through that first year of being Robin? Back then, he'd had to work harder for the cape than he had ever worked in his life. That had been such a good pain in retrospect. He had flown. He had soared. He had done what few others had been privileged to experience.
Blinking in an effort to clear his vision, he sucked at the air in an attempt to get some of it into his lungs. Everything was spinning again. The villain's voice was lost in the deafening roar that claimed every bit of his hearing.
Becoming one of the Flying Graysons had been a good pain. Becoming Robin had been a good pain. The bruises, scars, and broken bones he had acquired over the past few years were all worth the pain it had taken to get there. Pain would always be worth the well-being of the innocent- of those who needed protection.
Dick didn't need protection, though. He could take the pain.
His whole life could be summed up in one word: Pain.
What was a little more?
Bright lights exploded in his eyes as something slammed into his ribs. Fire shot through his middle as what little breath in him rushed out. Everything went black once again