Aside from the occasional sips when hanging out with friends, John's never been much of one for drinking, but right now, all he wants is to forget. Forget the pain. Forget the grief. Forget his not-parents. Forget the friends that can't look him in the eye. Forget how everyone's behaviors toward him have changed. Forget that his life has never been his life. Forget —
Forget everything.
He digs out a beer from his almost-empty fridge — self-care has gone down the drain over the past year — and drinks it straight from the bottle. John trudges to his old, saggy couch, kicking dirty clothes and empty bottles out of the way. They clatter against each other as he drops onto the sofa, too drained to maintain any sort of decorum.
Alfred would be aghast at the state of his apartment. He can't bring himself to care.
Both he and Bruce would be furious if they knew he was drinking. But no big, bad bat has stormed in, so John thinks it's safe to assume they aren't paying him any attention. The thought both relieves him and makes his chest clench.
Here, in the solitude of his apartment, the grief and pain surges back in full force. John has never been an introverted man; he craves others' presence, their touch that reassures him that they're still there. But his friends... well, he knows what they think of him now, and his attitude certainly hadn't helped. The loneliness crushes him, and he tips the bottle back, guzzling down the liquor in search of happiness — or failing that, oblivion.
The alcohol burns his throat on the way down. When he lowers the bottle, the devastation is still there.
His phone buzzes. John glances at it; it's a message from Donna. Knowing her, it's probably an apology of some kind, mixed with an admonishment. He scowls and throws his phone back onto the table without reading the text. He doesn't want an apology or a scolding. He just wants things to go back to how they were. He wants... he wants a lot of things that he won't be getting.
He sighs tiredly, feeling guilt creep up his throat. It doesn't matter what he wants. Donna deserves an apology. John resolves to text her back.
But not tonight. Tomorrow. He feels too drained to be anything other than numb right now.
"This place is a dump."
John swivels around and finds himself face-to-face with the eyes of the past. Dick Grayson is perched in his windowsill, looking around his apartment in disgust. As kid drops down and wrinkles his nose, John's chest twists at his familiar, young face.
"I mean, seriously, is this the best I can afford? It's so messy! Alfie would have a fit if he saw this — but a dignified one, obviously."
John scowls to cover his pain. "What are you doing here — " He can't bring himself to say his name, because if he does, it would just be cementing the fact that the life he used to live is truly and completely over, so he settles on " — kid?"
Dick shrugs. "I was getting bored at the manor. Everyone's so old and overprotective now! Bruce said you were the one who found me, so I wanted to meet you! And see what life would be like seven years from now. I wasn't expecting..." He gestures broadly with his one arm, eyeing the abundance of crap scattered about. "...this. Seriously. So not asterous. And aren't you too young for that?"
He gestures to the bottle.
"But not too young for Bruce to essentially disown me. Anyway, he hasn't stopped me yet, has he?" John mutters in what he knows is a feeble defense. "And the place usually isn't so bad. Just... been having a lousy week."
"More like a lousy year," he snorts.
Dick walks farther into his apartment. As he takes a chair from the kitchen area and drags it over to the couch, John has to admit he's rather impressed. The kid's only been back for two weeks, is missing an arm, and has just learned he's lost a lot of his life, but he's still managed to make his way to Blüdhaven on his own. If nothing else, his tenacity is admirable.
The kid sits down opposite him, eyeing the beer distastefully. It's obvious he's not going to leave anytime soon. John sighs in weary resignation, sets the bottle aside, and sits up. He remembers his persistence at that age and though he's sure he could physically evade the kid, he won't.
He owes Dick that much, at least.
"Just... what do you want, kid?"
"Like I said, I wanted to see what it'd be like in the future. I was hoping for something better though... or cleaner, at least."
"Well, sorry to disappoint. This is the best I got right now."
Dick looks a little dejected at the curt response. He stares at him, his gaze searching. John tenses uncomfortably under the kid's piercing look. There's something sad glimmering in those blue depths. Then Dick breaks off to glance around again.
"It doesn't seem in very good condition," he notes, and there's a hint of disappointment in his voice.
"It has a roof and a bed," John replies flatly.
Those are the only things it's really needed, after all. Before he'd discovered the truth, his days had been busy with police work and his nights filled with vigilantism. He was rarely at home for more than a few hours a day and most of those were spent sleeping. After, he'd been obsessed with looking, too busy with the search to use it for anything other than the occasional night.
And these days, he can't usually muster the energy to do much more than sleeping, grieving, and drinking. John's spiraling badly, he knows that, but there's no one here to drag him out of this slump, and he can't do it on his own.
Dick's mouth twists; he's clearly displeased with the low living standard John has set. His eyes fall on an half-opened envelope, lying inconspicuously on the living room table. He tips his head curiously and reaches for it, and John sighs at the breach of privacy.
"Really, kid — ?"
Dick picks up the letter and opens it. His eyes bug out abruptly when he sees what's inside. He yanks out an uncashed check, staring first at it, then at John. He looks confused, painfully so, and it only grows when he flicks through the rest of the envelope and sees more of the same.
"I don't need Bruce's charity," John says coolly in response to the unasked question. "I know he was only sending them out of obligation."
Dick sets the letter back down on the table. A profound sadness fills the kid's face and John feels himself bristle in response.
"What happened to me?" Dick asks quietly.
"Didn't Bruce tell you? The Light took you — "
"No." Dick shakes his head. "Not me."
John's anger deflates. He sags back against the couch, fingers idly pulling at its loose threads. The exhaustion is rearing up again. "A lot of things, kid. Time passed. I grew up, learned to make the hard choices. People died. You've met the new Robin, Tim?"
Something decidedly unhappy flickers in his eyes. "Yeah."
"There was another. Before Tim. His name was Jason. Jason Todd."
Understanding spills across his features. "You... said was."
Grief crawls up his throat. "We didn't get along at first, but in time... he was my brother. Then, three years ago, Joker got ahold of him."
Dick looks horrified at the revelation. John simply finishes, "We didn't make it in time."
Dick's mouth opens and closes wordlessly.
"Things built up after that, little by little," John continues. "Tula's death — Kaldur's late girlfriend, if you didn't know, the undercover op, the Invasion — you know about that, right?" Dick nods. "Yeah. And then..." He swallows thickly. "Wally..."
"His... his death?" Dick asks in a small voice.
John's shoulders slump.
"And to cap it all off, a month after that..."
"...You learned about me."
"Yeah. Look, kid, the moment we found out, Bruce completely turned his back on me. Everyone did." John sighs heavily, running a hand through his hair. "All they cared about was finding you, and I understand. I devoted my every waking hour to the same thing. But we were on shaky grounds already from the Invasion. No one was happy with my choices during that, including me, even though I know I did the best I could with the information available. And afterward... every relationship I had, they just... fell apart."
"What do you mean?" Dick asks.
"They looked at me, and suddenly, instead of seeing me, they were seeing a threat. A mistake. Oh, they tried to pretend." John's mouth twists and he laughs suddenly, edged with bitter resentfulness. "But I could see it in their eyes. They didn't trust me anymore. And with the search for you, I fell to the wayside. The last person I've seen lately is Donna, and that was during a big fight that ended with us storming off."
Dick frowns. "That doesn't sound like Donna. That doesn't sound like any of them."
"Life changes people, kid." His lips press together, then he reluctantly admits, "And I... well, I exactly didn't help matters. I was..." Bitter, angry, lost, lashing out at everyone around me, pushing them away. "...not handling it well, to put it lightly. And their grudges from the Invasion and stress from knowing what I really was... well, when I snapped at them, they responded in kind."
"It wasn't your fault though," he protests. "You were doing the best you could. And maybe you could've been more whelmed about this whole thing, but that's on them too."
"Yeah, well, they didn't see it that way. Besides, no matter what crap people claim about controlling our attitudes, feelings aren't so easy to brush aside. You can't change them just like that. And sometimes, there's nothing we can do but let them out."
A contemplative lull falls over them. John can see the kid turning his words over in his head. He tips his head back against the couch with a sigh. He desperately wants to go to sleep, just pretend for a night that nothing is wrong. He doubts it would help matters at all, but he wants to anyway. His thoughts start to wander, first to Donna, then to the Light, Kaldur's undercover mission, the Invasion, Wally —
"Do you hate me?" Dick asks suddenly.
John pulls himself away from those thoughts and sits up with a frown. "What?"
"Do you hate me? For existing?
And this is a hard question, because he knows what he should say. He should say that no, he doesn't, that he never did. But that would be a lie, because part of him does hate the kid for upending his entire life and downgrading him to little more than a copy that's long overstayed its welcome. It's an ugly part that he's ashamed to admit to having, but it's there. John doesn't blame the kid for all this, but he also can't erase the resentment lurking in the back of his mind.
He can't tell the kid the truth. But he also won't lie to him. There's been enough lies to go around lately. So John settles on a deflection.
"If anything, kid, you should hate me. I'm the one who stole your name, your family, your life."
The kid's eyes gleam. It's obvious that he sees right through John's half-truth, and it makes him grimace. His mask must really be failing if some kid can pick it apart like that. Even if it's this kid, John doesn't like the idea of anyone being able to read him, to spy his conflicted and tormented thoughts.
To his relief, Dick chooses not to call him out on it.
"You didn't get a choice though."
"Doesn't change what happened."
"You still didn't choose this."
"Neither did you, and I'm not the one who lost his life to someone else."
"And I'm not the one who discovered his whole life was a lie!"
John bites back a groan of annoyance. He's not looking to argue with the kid, but this is already hard enough. Each moment he spends talking with him, the knife in his gut sinks a little deeper. And the kid's starting to look frustrated.
"Enough. Just... tell me what you want and then leave me alone, okay?"
Dick straightens in his chair, setting his jaw and squaring his shoulders. "I want to get to know you."
"That's a horrible idea," John says instantly. "You shouldn't. I'm a thief. I stole your life from you. I got our best friend killed. I'm not a good guy to be around, and you should stay far away from me. Kid, look, I know you have good intentions, but my existence has only ever messed yours up, and this isn't going to change that. It's better if you spend time with Bruce, Tim, your friends. They'll help you recover much faster — "
"I don't want to!" Dick shouts abruptly, shooting to his feet.
"Kid..." John starts, taken aback at the sudden anger.
He's cut off by a sharp glare. Dick's fists clench at his sides, his face red with fury, and then just as fast as the anger had come, he deflates. He sags back into his chair, looking tired and young and every bit the thirteen-year-old he shouldn't be.
"I don't want to," Dick repeats quietly. He swallows. "I don't care what you say; they treat me like some kid and all that does is remind me of when we were all kids and hung out together. I don't have anyone else, okay? Dat and Dya are dead. Wally's gone. Bruce might as well be too, for how jaded and cynical he's become. I don't know Tim at all, and he's Robin. And my friends are all grown up and moved on. You're the closest and only thing I have to family, Dick."
"John," he corrects absentmindedly, head spinning. "Not... That's your name. Not mine."
"Just because I had it first doesn't mean it's not yours too," Dick asserts seriously. "You don't have to give it up, if you don't want to."
"It would just confuse others," John replies.
"They can adjust."
John quietly mulls over Dick's words for a couple minutes. Dick waits for him to speak again, fiddling with his hands. Finally, John leans forward, making the kid perk up.
"You said the others remind you of what you've lost. But why don't I?"
"I... I don't know," Dick admits, leaning back. "I... you're new. I don't have memories of you. Somehow, talking with you has been one of the easiest conversations I've had yet. With everyone else, it been grasping at straws, looking for something that's not there anymore. And Tim is, well, Robin. I can't... really get over that yet."
John can understand that. It'd taken him a long time to move on from that particular decision of Bruce's.
"You're like a fresh start," continues Dick. "No obligations, no expectations. And I don't hate you. I don't blame you. I already told you, it wasn't your fault. Beside, you were the one to find me, and you'd been searching for a full year before that. I meant what I said. You're good as family, and... I want that. To..."
He takes a deep breath. "To be brothers."
Dick stops talking, waiting for John's response. There's an nervous but eager light in his eyes.
When the silence stretches on and on, though, that light dims. Resignation sets in; Dick's shoulders slump, and he stands to leave, dejection written in his features.
"It's okay. You don't have to say anything. Neither of us is feeling very traught right now, and you probably hate me, so... I'll leave now. We don't have to — "
"Kid, wait," John blurts out. Dick pauses, turning back to him. John crosses the room to kneel in front of him. After a moment's hesitation, he reaches out to place a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Look, I think I understand where you're coming from. I... well, I'm still not convinced it's a good idea, but lately my track record hasn't exactly been great on that front anyway. I guess... I guess what I'm saying is, I don't mind giving it a try."
Dick's eyes brighten.
"You... you mean it?" he says hesitantly.
"Yeah. I mean it," confirms John.
Without warning, Dick throws his arms around the older man. He's startled at first, then slowly relaxes into the embrace. His arms come around to hug him back. When the kid finally pulls back, there's a warm fullness in John's heart.
"So... Brothers?" his younger self asks hopefully.
And for the first time in a good year, John finds himself giving a genuine, if tentative, smile. Dick grins back broadly.
"Okay, Dick," John agrees. "Brothers."
The backstory, for clarification: This takes place one year after season 2, making John twenty. In this universe, Roy was not cloned. Also, Donna Troy is part of the Season 1 Team because why not? Dick was kidnapped at age thirteen, on September 4, 2010 (during the mission in Bialya, in an AU of "Bereft"). Cadmus cloned him, and a month later, Batman found "Dick." The original lost his arm and was put in cryosleep for the next seven years, while the clone lived his life from then on.
Season 1 and 2 proceeded much the same after that, though the Light took over the Watchtower by infecting a Leaguer on patrol. Red Arrow still managed to escape and warn the Team.
They find out about how John was cloned one month after the Invasion, and spend the next year searching for Dick. When this story takes place, it is two weeks after Dick was found.
According to the Internet, in Romani, Dat means Father and Dya means Mother.
Thoughts? Questions?