Disclaimer: I own what rocks dream about.
Merry Christmas!
There were things Dick loved about flying. Wind in his hair. The changing pull of gravity as something meant to pull him down was bent and used to help him fly above the dirt and grime of cold city stones. The feeling of being close to his parents. And today, he was. Next to his father, anyway. His father, who he'd thought was dead, thought murdered by Darkseid, was here. Flying beside him. Alive. Cape stretched behind him, rippling in the wind, profile stalwart as ever, firm as if he hadn't been gone for a year. Resolute as if the world hadn't turned upside down and backwards because he'd been deaddeaddead but now he wasn't and everything was perfect.
Dick threw himself higher into the air, heavy cape billowing behind him as he dragged it out to catch the wind, suspended, for a moment, in time and space, the kingdom of Gotham laid out before him in all its filth ridden, light specked glory. Plunging to earth, he adjusted his grapple. Pwitt Line taunt. Batman ahead of him, Damian waiting at home, waiting for his father and brother to return to him. When they got home, they were going to have hot chocolate (it was cold out), send prank messages to Jason (Jason liked being in the group chat even if he insisted otherwise), watch a Disney movie (Dick had missed watching Tangled with Bruce), and Dick could tell Damian embarrassing stories about Bruce without the pull in his chest-
"Batman!" Bruce, Bruce yelling at him, but not Bruce and all Batman. Dick, in similar Batman regalia, plummeted to Earth, streamlined because thatvoicewasn'tgood and he knew it and...
Mugging. Three perps. Three guns. One victim. Three quarts of blood. No. Booted feet hit the ground, and Dick is standing on cold pavement, there's no snow because there's not enough moisture, so it's cold and dry, and the cold is nipping at his face left exposed by the mask...
"What were you thinking?" Dick glances over at Bruce. The answer is the same now as it was so many years ago, eleven years old and convinced that the chandelier would be a fine replacement for a trapeze. He hadn't been thinking.
"I needed you to stop them! They had guns, there were three of them, and I was too far back. You were supposed to be in front! You said that you were more familiar with the terrain now, so you should lead. You did. Where were you?"
"I..."
"This woman is dead! She's dead, Batman."
Batman. Not Nightwing. Not Robin. Not someone who was allowed to make mistakes. Batman. What a joke. What a funny, funny joke.
"Do you have anything to say for yourself?"
Dick didn't know what to say.
A sharp jerk, and Batman twisted away from him, eyes narrowed, shoulders tense. Crime scene. Report to the police. Mugging. One victim. Three perps. All caught.
Three perps, two crimefighters, and one useless vigilante. Zero living victims.
Dick pulled the cowl from his head, sweat sticking ebony hair to it's interior, pulling at the roots as hard kevlar parted with smooth skin and hairs. Coming out of the Batman costume after a hard night always felt disgusting. Dick began trudging toward the showers, legs aching and lungs burning. Something was stuck in his throat.
"Grayson." Damian. Right.
Dick plastered on a smile, and hoped it would appease his brother. "Hey, Dames. I'm gonna hit the showers real quick before heading upstairs. I'm absolutely disgusting."
"And this is different from the normal, how?" Damian fell into step beside Dick, smaller legs adopting quicker but rhythmic strides.
Dick huffed a laugh. "Maybe not much, but I think I have the right to get a little better."
Damian's brow furrowed. "Inform me of the situation, Grayson. I am not being told everything, which is unacceptable. I allowed you and father to patrol alone on the basis that you would handle yourself as bequeaths proper adults, and should this not have happened, I must consider it a breach of contract."
Dick laughed again, out loud this time, eyes wrinkling at the corners. "You allowed? Somehow, I think B may have had a different view on our departure."
"You are distracting from the point."
Dick sighed. "Give me a couple minutes to shower, buddy. I'll be out in a jiff. We can talk then." Dick flashed Damian a quick reassuring smile, and ducked into the shower room, fingers already working at the clasps in the Batman suit, shedding layers of kevlar and leather.
Hair wet and skin pink from heated water, Dick emerged from the bathroom, suit pressed into the high tech laundry chute they always used for their costumes… at least when residing in Alfred's domain.
Dick's hopes of avoiding Damian were quickly squashed as a familiar aristocratic voice, pitched high with a familiar accent lifting from each syllable sounded in his ears. Honestly. One would think the kid would know to mind his own business by now.
"So. You have completed your cleansing and will now speak with me."
Scowling, Dick turned to dismiss Damian… but no. No, this wasn't Damian's fault. Damian hadn't done anything wrong. That was all Dick. Dick was just looking for someone to be mad at.
"You need not make a report of your patrol. Father has logged your encounter in the computer and I have full knowledge of transpired events."
Dick died a little inside. Damian knew. Bruce probably didn't know he knew, and wouldn't be terribly happy with the knowledge that Damian had his own password to the computer. Not to mention… Dick had been hoping, somehow, that Damian wouldn't learn about their encounter. Damian was raised on perfection. Dick had made a mistake. A dumb, dumb mistake that resulted in lost life. It wasn't right. It wasn't Batman."
A heavy sigh. "Then what do you want, Damian?"
It wasn't Batman, and it was Dick's responsibility to be Batman. He'd donned that cowl, and, even with Bruce back, he'd kept it on, and gone out there, and made a promise to the citizens of Gotham. And then he'd broken that promise. Badly. A woman was dead because of him. Someone's mother would never come come to tuck them in. Someone's daughter would never make another phone call. Someone's wife would never support them through the trials of medical bills and children's flues. All because of Dick. All because he was too stupid and reckless to swing on a line correctly.
"I want to hear your side of the story. I shall then determine the proper course of action from there."
Dick's shoulders drooped. "What side of the story? I made a mistake. It was a dumb mistake. Someone died. I'm sure Bruce made a very thorough report."
"I am certain father did. Good for him. Now, you..." Damian trailed off. Dick was surprised. Damian very, very rarely made a statement without knowing how he would finish it. Damian was never caught at a loss.
Dick paused in his steps and looked down at Damian. Smiled. "It's okay, Damian. I'm alright. I won't make that mistake again, 'kay? Let's go get some hot chocolate."
Damian shifted, planting himself into the ground. "We go nowhere. Grayson... I am not unobservant. You are distressed."
Well, obviously Dick wasn't going anywhere now. Damian wouldn't be left alone: that much was obvious. But maybe he could be dissuaded. "You're right, Damian. I am. But I'll be okay. I'll just-"
"No. No, Grayson, you do not distract from yourself. Not from me." Damian's mask of anger fell a bit, as he tried to find the proper expression. "I am not... I am aware of your pain. You have made a mistake. It is not the end of the world."
"It's the end of someone's world." And that was more than Dick had meant to say.
"No one is perfect."
"And that's alright with you?" Damian, Damian Al Ghul Wayne, Damian who was born to be perfect and raised to rule the world. Damian who never gave himself an inch of slack, trained to perfection and scorned anyone who didn't do the same.
Damian Al Ghul Wayne. Dick Grayson's baby brother.
"Everyone makes mistakes, Richard. It does not make you a bad person. You are still precious to me. You shall always be my older brother."