Nanda Parbat

Date Unknown

Time Unknown

Not for the first time, Dick wondered what he was getting himself into. Lama Norbu hadn't been kidding: the preparations necessary for Togal had taken the better part of a month: he'd been forced to make pilgrimages to several important sites around the area, both in order to respect the ancient traditions that had governed the monks for centuries, and gather the ingredients the monks needed in order to prepare their secret formulas.

Once that was done, he'd been effectively entombed what felt like several lifetimes ago, on January 3rd.

As he'd been instructed, he'd laid in the middle of a dark room on top of a wooden slab, no bigger than the closet of his room back at Wayne Manor, while several monks had laid out incense and bowls of a smoking substance around him. There was enough space for him to stand up and walk for a few steps in any direction, but that was it. The only source of light had been the doorway he'd entered from, and that had been sealed.

He'd watched as the monks swung a heavy wooden door into place, obliterating what little light he'd had. Dick was left alone in complete darkness, with only his thoughts for company.

It wasn't too bad at first, though the silence and inability to move very far grated on him. He'd always hated sitting still.

Tögal wasn't what he'd expected. Nothing had happened in the first week he'd spent alone. Or the second. Or the third. He'd tried to leave after the fourth, but he couldn't find the doorway that he'd entered the room through. With sight denied to him in the pitch black of his confinement, he had been forced to try and find it from memory and touch. His rational mind told him it was still there, but he had run his hands over every inch the four walls confining him, and hadn't felt anything but smooth rock.

For all intents and purposes, he was trapped.

He'd lost count of the time he'd been alone on day 24. Now, it could've been a month since he'd been sealed in, or he could've been hours from freedom, and it would have been a surprise to him either way. Maybe this was what going crazy felt like. Maybe he'd gone crazy weeks ago, and he simply hadn't noticed.

Surprisingly, he never felt hungry, or cold, or thirsty: there was no physical sensation from his body that he could focus on. He spoke to the emptiness surrounding him. His voice didn't echo. Sometimes, he'd push his knuckles against his closed eyes, trying to make bright pressure smears of color appear, just to break up the monotony of the constant darkness. It didn't work.

The darkness he sat in seemed to swallow his entire being whole, a physical manifestation of how he was beginning to feel inside.

His "day" began when he opened his eyes, and it ended when he was able to coax his body into sleeping once again. Increasingly, there were moments where he couldn't tell if he was awake or asleep. No matter how hard he tried, he didn't receive visions when he meditated, or come to any realizations, as the monks had told him he would.

Denied any other option, Dick did the only thing he could do: he waited.

—

Gotham City

January 25th, 2017

00:15 AM EST

Tim was worried. He watched as the blip representing Dick Grayson remained unmoving on the map displayed on his holographic computer.

Dick's routine for the last few months had been to move on to a new place every one or two weeks, but according to the tracking device built into the bat-phone Dick carried with him, his older brother had stayed put for the better part of a month.

Both Dick and Batman himself had taught him that, when tracking someone, changes in routine almost always signified something. Tim wished he knew what this change signified.

"Robin." Batman's voice brought him out of his silent contemplation. The two of them were perched on top of a loading crane, keeping watch on warehouse nearby. His mentor was looking through a pair of binoculars, but it was clear he knew that Tim had been distracted. "Put that away. Focus."

Tim accepted the chastisement in silence, closing down the holographic display and resuming his vigil. Standard procedure was for one of them to keep watch on their surroundings while the other kept watch on the target. It never hurt to be too careful, especially with the villains they encountered on a semi-regular basis. You never knew which would be assassin or mercenary might want to try and make his or her reputation by killing Batman and Robin.

The question slipped out before Tim could stop himself. "You're not worried about him? He hasn't checked in for weeks."

Batman didn't answer. He didn't even move. Tim could still hear the lesson Batman would have given him in his head. Worry has its place. It's alright to worry about the things that you can't control. But never let it get in the way of your actions. Never let it distract you from the mission.

Tim frowned as he scanned the buildings around them. He kept his mouth shut for the rest of the night, resolving to become as focused as his mentor.

—

Something did change, eventually.

One "day", he opened his eyes and realized that there was a physicality to the darkness now, one that left him free to use his senses again. Where before there was darkness, now he could see his body outlined perfectly. It was like being lit up by a spotlight that only worked on him. Instead of the robes that he'd been wearing when the monks had sealed him in though, he was now clad in his Nightwing armor.

He could explore again too: he got up and moved experimentally, and realized he'd gone far beyond the physical dimensions of the room that he knew he was still trapped in. He didn't question it: this sort of thing mystical incongruence was exactly what he was looking for. Instead, he just walked. Movement always helped him think, always helped him process.

He didn't get more than a few steps before a familiar voice spoke to him from behind.

"You're an idiot. You know that?"

Dick whirled in surprise. "Wally?" He said in breathless disbelief.

His best friend looked exactly the same as the last time he'd seen him. "But, you're dead." Dick said, stumbling backwards. He was too shocked for much in the way of eloquence.

"And your point is…?" Wally replied, bemused. He walked towards Dick, hands in his pockets, as if he didn't have a care in the world.

Dick turned away, resigned. "That this isn't real."

"Maybe. Maybe not." Wally put a hand on his shoulder as he reached him. It certainly felt real enough to Dick. "You got someplace better to be?"

Despite the situation, Dick smiled faintly. Even if the Wally he was talking to here wasn't real, he was still a damn convincing imitation. And Dick wanted to talk.

Wally smiled, as if he knew what Dick was thinking. "You didn't answer my question."

Dick gave a soft laugh. "Yes, I did know that. I'm an idiot, but I'm amazingly self-aware."

"If you were that self-aware, we wouldn't be here, would we?"

Dick met his friend's warm eyes. "I guess you got me there."

Wally gave him a pat on the shoulder before letting go. "You spend all this time running from the shadow of your mentor, and you decide the best way to figure things out is to follow his footsteps exactly and come here?"

Dick shrugged. "It made sense to me at the time. I suppose, at the end of the day, I wanted to break myself on the same anvil that Bruce did to see if deep down, I really am the same as Batman."

"How's that working out for you?" Wally asked, looking around in confusion at the darkness of their surroundings.

"It's a work in progress." Dick said, joining his friend in his examination. "If this is supposed to be my soul, it's kind of dark. And empty. You think I should be worried?"

"Hey, I'm here, aren't I?" Wally said.

Dick smiled. It had been too long since they'd done this. Just hung out and talked. Joked about the problems in their lives. A very real pang of sadness passed through Dick as he realized he'd never actually be able to do talk with his best friend again.

Wally's face held nothing but compassion and understanding as he watched Dick.

"Do you remember that night? When all three of us set off for Cadmus and broke Superboy out, all those years ago?" Dick asked, remembering the scene in its entirety.

Slowly, the image he'd been thinking of coalesced in front of him, like a life size diorama. Every detail of that night he could recall was there. The four of them crouching down in the rubble of Cadmus' upper floors, which had come crashing down on their heads. All four of them looked up as the Justice League descended from the sky. Their expressions showed the anger and confusion that came from trying to figure out what the hell the "sidekicks" had gotten up to while they'd been away.

With a thought, Dick froze the recreation and took a hesitant step forward, becoming one with the memory.

He smelled the dust in the air from the building's collapse, felt the aches and pains of his body from their fight with Blockbuster. He smiled at the simplicity of what they'd done, the tactics they'd used to bring Blockbuster down.

Wally stepped forward into the memory as well, joining Dick in standing next to their younger selves. "As if I could forget." He smiled. "This was a good memory."

Dick nodded. "I remember feeling like we could do anything that night." He moved to stand directly in front of himself, and even though the reproduction didn't see him, they regarded each other. The 13 year old boy, and the man that he had become.

"Who knew that this would be where we ended up." Dick said, wistfully. "I miss the kids that we were then."

"Me too." Wally said in sympathy.

Putting the first memory on display had seemed to trigger a chain reaction, and now the darkness was was lit up like a museum gallery, with each significant moment of his life recreated and put on display.

Dick walked towards them, with Wally following close behind. They spoke as they walked, but less than one might think; Wally had been there for most of his significant moments, and he seemed just as content to relive the old days as Dick did. It was for that reason that Dick tried to stay from the memories that only concerned him.

They wandered far and wide through the gallery of his soul for what felt like years, though it could have just as easily been minutes. Time had no meaning here. Dick could have easily lost himself in the past, except for the fact that he felt something pulling him away. It wasn't an intrusive feeling, but it was an insistent one. Like a magnet, something was calling him towards it, but it left him free to explore as he moved towards it.

They'd definitely shared bad memories: Tula's death, their arguments with each other, and the missions that they'd failed as a Team, to name a few. But, the good ones that he saw outnumbered them by a wide margin. Simpler memories, perhaps, but still good, and no less important to them. They stopped to watch their respective first kisses on that first New Year's Eve. The times Wally had come to him for help after failing to remember Valentine's Day. The first time they'd fought together, side by side in the pre-Team days.

"You know," Wally said at one point, as they watched a 15 year old Dick Grayson cackle as he flung a handful of batarangs at Shimmer. "This job could be real fun for you again, if you let it."

"I wish." Dick said, voice full of regret. "I can't treat this as a game anymore Wally. Not with what's at stake."

Wally was unmoved. "Yes, much better to drive yourself crazy worrying about when the next bad thing is gonna happen." He gave him a sad look, as if he knew something that Dick didn't. "It never stops, Dick."

Dick reached out and took Wally's shoulder. "Is that why you retired?" He asked, sincerely. He'd always agreed with Wally's decision, since the logic behind it was flawless. But as smart as Wally was, he'd always been a man driven by his emotions, not his logic.

That had always been one of Dick's greatest fears: that his best friend had abandoned him because he thought they were fighting a losing battle.

Wally shook his head. "Of course not. I never told you, but… I missed being a hero. You know how much I loved it. Being able to fight next to you, hang out with the Team. It was good. Better than good. But as much I loved it, I loved Artemis more."

Wally gestured at another memory. Dick recognized it immediately: it was from when after Tula had died- he'd accidentally walked in on Wally comforting Artemis, holding her close and whispering to her in the Cave's kitchen. Wally walked over to the memory, and Dick followed behind him. "Dick, you have the biggest heart out of anyone I've ever known. It's one of the things that inspired me, over the years. Even with all the crap that the world has thrown at you over the years, you're still the best man I know. But can anyone go through what you've gone through without breaking? Bending, just a little bit?"

It was a rhetorical question. They'd both lived through the answer. None of them, not even Wally, had emerged from the last few years unscathed.

Wally sighed and looked back, apologetic but unashamed. "That's what I was afraid of. You know how much she loves the Team. You saw how hard on her it was to lose Jason and Tula. I didn't want our losses to break Artemis… the way they broke you. I'm sorry."

"That's alright. I don't blame you." Dick said, completely truthful. "You did the right thing. I know you'd have helped me, once Artemis was back, if things had been different."

The pull on him was growing stronger. From where they stood, in the memory Wally had led him to, two other memories came into view right next to each other. When Dick realized what they were memories of, he was hesitant. These memories were easily two of the most painful he had. But they called to him, and they would not be denied.

Without even realizing it, he took two steps forward. Wally stopped him with an outstretched arm. "You don't have to."

"Yes, I do" Dick replied. He understood Wally's concern, misplaced as it was. His friend had always tried to keep his mind off of his losses. As if it were that easy.

He stepped forward.

—

The Watchtower

January 28th, 2017

21:11 EST

"Dick Grayson, when I find you…" Barbara muttered to herself, furious. She typed rapidly into the Watchtower computer, simultaneously compiling mission reports for the Team and conducting a search for the former boy wonder. It was inefficient, doing both tasks at once, but it was the only way she was able to keep her search secret from the rest of the Team.

At first she'd been able to rally some support from everyone by insisting that she was tracking down Nightwing for Artemis, so that they could talk, but ever since he'd called the archer on Wally's birthday Artemis had made it clear to everyone that she wanted to leave Dick alone until he was ready to come back. As a result, she was now the only one really looking for him.

Deep down, Barbara doubted that she'd ever find him if he didn't want to be found. There were false trails all over the globe, on six of the seven continents, in dozens of different cities. It wasn't as if she was just up against him either; she was essentially trying to find someone who was being hidden by Batman, Robin, and Nightwing

Barbara knew she was good, but she wasn't that good.

She wished she could talk to him, tell him how sorry she was. She wished that she could tell him that even if they weren't together anymore, that they were still friends. They'd been friends from the moment they'd first met, he'd always been there for her when she needed him. She felt guilty that she'd driven him away, when he finally reached out to her with his burdens.

She wished he was here.

"Batgirl." Aqualad called to her. "Are you ready?"

"Yes." She replied, pulling up the briefing that she'd prepared earlier. The program that she'd written to search for Nightwing would keep working while she helped Kaldur brief the Team on their new mission.

And she knew, just like the last 208 days since Dick had left, it wouldn't find anything.

—

The air was chilly as he stepped into the memory. The trees were tall, almost completely obscuring the night sky from his view. He could see the broken branches of the trees Jason must have hit on his fall.

Dick crouched down, looking on as his younger self clutched on to Jason's hand in the futile hope that his brother would be alright. "It seems like only yesterday Bruce told me that he was thinking about taking in another orphan." He reached out, fingertips inches from Jason's face, but pulled back with a sigh. "And now he's been dead for two and a half years."

Dick stood up again. "I wonder what he'd say to me now."

"He'd tell you that you were being an idiot. Did you really think he wanted you to kill yourself in order to win? He wanted you to fight for the world, sure, but he also wanted you to live in it too. He'd be happy with what you've done to honor him." Wally spoke in tones of hushed disbelief, as if he couldn't believe that he was being forced to explain something that was obvious.

"Dick, you and your plan saved the world."

Dick gave him a sad look. "Not all of it, Wally."

The memory shifted, dissolving and reforming in the blink of an eye. Swirling snow was held in mid air as it blew across the bleak arctic landscape. A vortex of energy reached hundreds of feet into the sky. A lightning bolt bounced off the ground and raced off into the sky, frozen in mid-arc.

The snow crunched beneath his feet as he walked forward towards the vortex. He knew Wally was following behind him.

This wasn't a true memory, he knew that much. Events had unfolded too fast for him to really comprehend what had happened. This was a subconscious recreation of the event, built from what the Flash had told him had happened, and his own experience there.

He came to a stop an arms length away from the three speedsters. The Wally that was part of the recreation was frozen in mid step, almost translucent as the energy disintegrated him. Both Barry and Bart looked on, their faces suspended in expressions of shock and horror.

Dick stood and took it all in, a thin film of tears gathering in his eyes. He held them back. He wanted to fall to his knees, as Artemis had done, but he held himself up. He kept his voice clear as he spoke. "It should've been me, Wally. You had everything to live for, and I… It should've been me."

Wally stood by his side, glancing at him with sad eyes. "You really think I'd have been alright with you gone?" "Maybe. Maybe not." Dick said impassively. "At least you'd still be alive."

He gestured at himself, at the armor he wore and the weapons he carried. "I should be dead, Wally. I should've died a long time ago. It's simple math. I'm just a normal guy with a lot of gadgets on his belt, but I get into fistfights with people who have super-strength, clash with entities with enough power to destroy the world, and duel with telepaths who could crush me with a thought, all to name a few. They only need to get lucky once to kill me. I need to be lucky every single time in order to survive."

Dick shrugged, not taking his eyes off the frozen image. "In the grand scheme of things, you were more important than me. You were more valuable than me. That's all there is to it."

Wally laid a hand on Dick's shoulder in sympathy. "Can you name anybody, any one of our friends, who'd be better off if you'd died instead of me?"

Dick didn't even hesitate."You would."

"I doubt it." Wally said, gently. "But even if you're right, what about everyone else? Zatanna? Tim? Bruce? Where would they be without you? I may not be the detective you are, but it's not all that hard to figure out. Zatanna's already got issues from losing her dad. How do you think she'd feel from losing the love of her life? Tim would have been crushed under the weight of Batman's expectations, and Bruce… I know losing Jason was hard on both of you, but if things had been different, and they'd lost you instead… I think that would have been enough to tip them over the edge."

Wally seized him by the shoulders. "I was your best friend. Did you really think I blamed you for something that the Light was responsible for? It shouldn't have been either of us. But it needed to be me. I don't regret that."

Dick turned around and started walking, hoping to leave the memory behind. Wally didn't let him get away. "What is it with you and this fixation on becoming a martyr?"

"I'm not." Dick said, annoyed. This was a conversation they'd had before many times, without resolution. "It's about protecting my friends. That's all it's ever been about. I'm willing to take the hits, make sacrifices so that the rest of you don't have to."

"I know. I always knew. That's what makes you one of the best people I know. But you know what your problem is, Dick? There's selflessness, and then there's self-denial. I know you've lost a lot, but-"

Dick stopped walking. Wally halted in confusion.

"Lost." Dick repeated, his tone cold. The topic had always been one of the things that had always driven a wedge between them. He'd always resented it when people tried to tell him how to deal with his grief. "Who have you ever lost?"

He started walking again, leaving Wally to catch up. Even though he didn't know how to navigate in this strange place, the memory he wanted to find beckoned to him, drawing him towards it like a magnet.

When he finally stopped, he found himself in the middle of a big top. The only people he could see were the only people that mattered: his family, all of them smiling as they entered the giant tent, looking exactly the same as he remembered them.

His cousin Johnny, strong and composed, ready to take on the world and show it what he could do. If people thought Dick was a good big brother, it was only because Jonny had shown him how to be one by example. His uncle Rick and his aunt Karla, like newlyweds, clinging to each other despite the fact that they'd been married for over 20 years. He could see himself too, and his parents. His mom smiled as she doted on him while his dad carried him in easily on his broad shoulders.

They were greeted by thunderous applause from a non-existent audience. Wally caught up to him just as Jack Haly's familiar voice introduced them. "Ladies and Gentlemen. The Flying Graysons!"

The music. The opening moves. The audience's reactions. It was all exactly as he remembered it, and it was torture to endure. He knew exactly when the net would come down, knew exactly when the finale began. From the ground, Dick could see Johnny reach out to ruffle his younger self's hair one last time, see his mouth move to form the words that he still remembered by heart. "Don't worry, squirt, you'll get a chance sooner than you think."

Johnny leapt out to join the rest of their family on the bar, and… Dick wanted to look away, but he couldn't. For as long as he could remember, the sequence of events that came next were a blur, but here, he was able to watch with perfect clarity.

The air felt like it was sucked out of the tent.

His mother hit the ground first. Then his father and his aunt. Then his uncle. Then finally his cousin. Dick felt the snap of Johnny's neck breaking, and felt something break inside himself too.

There was a scream from the invisible audience.

He knew it wasn't real. He didn't care.

The time it took him to stumble forward in a daze to where his family lay was the exact same amount of time it took his younger self to climb down from the board and sprint forward. However unintentionally, he was mirroring his younger self. Both of them dropped to their knees like puppets with their strings cut, clutching at the dirt beneath them in impotent rage and sadness.

He hadn't cried that night, all those years ago. He had in the days that followed, but that night… that night he'd been too numb, too overwhelmed by the magnitude of his loss to cry. He didn't cry now. Dick kept his voice composed as he spoke."This is just the start of what I've lost, Wally. You'll never understand what this feels like."

He didn't look up as Wally knelt down to his left.

"I'm sorry, Dick." He said, gently. "You're right. I don't know what this feels like. But I know it must be terrible. And I'm sorry that I've made you go through it again."

Dick gave a shuddery breath, unable to look away from his family. "Some days, it feels like I've lost everyone I've ever cared about."

"That's because you care about everybody." Wally's face held no trace of irony or amusement as he spoke. "And everybody dies."

Dick took a deep breath, but nodded.

"If it helps…" Wally added. "I think this is what makes you different from Bruce."

"What?" The comment left Dick puzzled. This trauma, this pain, was exactly what had connected him to Batman. It was what had made Bruce take under his wing in the first place.

"Look." Wally gestured behind Dick's right shoulder with his head.

Dick followed Wally's gaze. He hadn't seen the man approach 10 years ago, and he hadn't seen him approach now.

Bruce.

His younger self mirrored him, looking up in a daze, not knowing the identity of the man in the fine suit who had approached him.

Bruce stood there, looking down at the small boy kneeling on the dirt in front of him, empathy etched onto his features. Their eyes met, and though he hadn't recognized it at the time, the knowledge of shared loss flickered across his mentor's eyes. Bruce knelt down to scoop the boy up into his arms.

"Come with me." Bruce said gently but firmly, carrying the boy away, shielding him from the unblinking stares of his dead family with his own body.

Bruce walked away, heading towards the exit. His back was facing Dick, but Dick didn't need to be able to see in order to know what happened next: he remembered it as clearly as if it happened yesterday. In his mind, he could still see Bruce's dark brown eyes meeting his own bright blue ones, keeping his gaze fixed upon them. "There was nothing you could have done."

His younger self clutched Bruce tightly, and Bruce returned the gesture. "I'm sorry." Bruce whispered to him.

Dick remained on his knees, watching as Bruce carried him out of the big top and out into the world. As they reached the threshold of the tent and left, the big top collapsed and dissolved into blackness, leaving him and Wally surrounded by the blackness once again.

"This was your answer, Dick. Do you think when Batman came here, he had anything like what you just saw? People that he showed his real identity to? Friends who he could turn to in his moments of doubt? People he loved that could support him when he needed it?"

Dick knew Wally was right. Bruce had never let himself have much beyond what was necessary for his mission. Maybe it was a defensive mechanism to stop him from losing more. Maybe it was out of commitment to their cause. Dick had never asked. It had never mattered before.

"I miss them so much, Wally." Dick said, softly, still looking at the spot where his family had fallen. "I miss Jason, I miss Tula, I miss Roy and Donna and Garth and the Marvels." He finally looked up. After all, this would very likely be the last time he ever spoke with his best friend. Even if he was a hallucination. "And I miss you."

Wally's face held nothing but understanding. "Me too, Dick, me too." He reached down and helped Dick up off the ground by his shoulders. "But as hard as it is to accept, I'm gone. You can't change what happened, or what you did, especially to yourself. You can only make better choices from now on. You can keep on fighting. But you can keep on living too. It doesn't have to be one or the other. I know it won't be easy, but if there's anyone who I trust to figure out how to do both, it's you."

Dick sighed, and for the first time in years, it felt like he could breathe again. It felt as if a great weight had been lifted off of his shoulders.

Wally held his hand up between their chests for Dick to take. "I think this is where we say goodbye." He said, sadly. "Are you ready?"

Dick wasn't sure he'd ever be ready. But he nodded his head regardless, clasping his friend's hand tightly. For the last time, they pulled each other into a tight embrace.

"Take care of her for me, ok?" Wally asked softly. There was no need to elaborate on who he was asking him to take care of.

"I will." Dick promised. They released their hug, hands still clasped, eyes still locked onto each other. Wally nodded. His grip on Dick's hand loosened.

Dick gave a soft nod in reply.

And let go.

—

Nanda Parbat

February 21st, 2017

10:01 NPT

Dick woke up.

It was a sudden and unexpected awakening, like coming out of an intense dream, and he was forced to gasp for breath as he came back to awareness. It was a struggle to remember where he was, and how he'd gotten there.

He still couldn't see, but for a different reason this time. When he'd been sealed in the room had been pitch black, but now it was lit up by the warm glow from four candles, one in each corner of the room. It would have been barely enough light to see by for any other person, but to his light deprived eyes, the radiance was almost blinding.

He couldn't move either, not with any real grace. His body, having lain still for so long, was stiff and sluggish. He lay unmoving, letting his eyes slowly adjust to the luminance while also shifting his body experimentally, slowly gaining control again. Finally, when he could open his eyes without stabbing pain, he tried to stand up.

And fell immediately.

He landed with a grunt on his hands and knees.

Dick wasn't just trying to control his body again, but also trying to comprehend what he'd seen, what he'd said, and what he'd heard. He thought of Wally. Was what he'd just gone through a hallucination? A glimpse of the afterlife? Something in between? He would probably never know.

The pain was still there, though. Almost in response to what he'd gone through it pulsed, knifing through his chest, making it impossible to stand. He'd never allowed himself the luxury of expressing it before.

Not this time.

A single tear made its way down its cheek, hanging off the edge of his chin for a moment before falling. He touched a hand to his face, examining the wetness that he found on his fingertips with interest. Several more tears had spilled out, joining the first one that had emerged in staining the wooden floor beneath him.

Dick made a noise, something that was just short of a scream. It sounded like something was being ripped out from inside him. For the first time since his parents died, he held nothing back. There was no one but himself here, no one to be strong for and no one to keep safe from his fury, and so, he let everything go.

He sat back screamed from the sorrow of having his friends and family die before his eyes.

He howled from his rage, and because he knew there was nothing he could have done to stop it.

He wept because he knew that all of it had been necessary, and because their sacrifices had been worth it, even if it was hard to remember sometimes.

And when Dick was done, he got back up because it was who he was. He still had friends he needed to protect. He still had people he needed to save. He still had a life he needed to live.

Dick pushed the door to his room open, and stepped back into the world beyond.