A Glimpse at the Past
Dick was, for the most part, a pretty calm individual.
He had his moments of…anger, but he liked to think they were few and far between. Sure, he wasn't a Buddhist monk or the Virgin Mary, but he felt like a rather chill person.
Until today. Today his chillness flew out the window, hit a semi truck, and died a terrible death.
His restraint was so frayed it looked like an emo girl's pants; barely held together with safety pins and leftover thread. If one more person so much as looked at him funny, Dick didn't think he'd be able to stop himself from going full Nightwing on them.
He watched, teeth clenched, as Green Lantern—otherwise known as Hal Jordan, because of course Batman had ever League members' identity on file—gallivanted off with their primary perpetrator.
Dick breathed in deep through his nose, then exhaled again, determined to ignore the way Superboy was staring at him.
The clone seemed to think he was being subtle or something; examining the detective with those narrowed blue eyes of his.
Dick would probably have to start worrying about that soon, but right now he didn't have room in his brain for anything else.
Like how absolutely stupid Green Arrow had been. That was taking up a lot of space in his brain right now.
The Leaguer had taken one look at him and nearly blown his own cover, calling him 'Dick' and acting like they'd met before.
Which they technically had met before at one of Bruce's charity galas, where the older Wayne would act the part of a generous, well meaning drunk.
Dick remembered Oliver Queen, the playboy of Start City, cornering him near the punch stand.
"Richard? Richard Wayne?" The celebrity had said, adjusting his suit jacket where some woman had been hanging off it. "Is that you?"
Dick carefully eyed the other man, making it look like he was merely taking a particularly long swig from his cup. Even at sixteen, when he'd still been operating as Robin, he knew who Queen really was.
He knew to be wary of him.
"It's Richard Wayne-Grayson, actually," He'd corrected, setting his punch down on the table and offering up his celebrity smile. "But most people call me Dick."
"Oh." The billionaire hero in disguise didn't seem sure what to say to that. "How…unfortunate."
Surprisingly, that had actually startled a laugh out of Dick. He ignored the surrounding gala guests, who all eyed Queen greedily as if getting Bruce's ward to laugh was an achievement. "I don't mind it."
"Oliver Queen," The blond stuck out his hand, shaking Grayson's with a firm but gentle grip. "Though I'm sure you already knew that."
Dick steepled a brow, looking Queen up and down obviously. "I had no idea who you were."
Oliver stared at him, eyes narrowed. After a moment, he said, "I can't tell if you're being serious or not."
Dick shrugged, hiding his grin behind another sip of terrible punch.
"You're a strange one, aren't you?"
"So my team of psychologists tell me."
This, if anything, only served to make poor Oliver look even more confused.
Dick rolled his eyes, offering the man another smile, "That was a joke. Feel free to laugh."
"Oh. I wasn't sure, what with your…" The older man gestured vaguely, trailing off. "You know."
Dick, actually, did not know. "What?"
Oliver shuffled his feet, staring directly into the teen's eyes, "How you ended up with Bruce? I just wouldn't be surprised if you did do some form of therapy."
Dick blinked, having not been the least bit prepared for such a turn in conversation.
Bruce had never…they'd never…Dick didn't even think 'therapy' had ever been on Bruce's agenda. It'd certainly never been on Dick's.
He could feel the edges of his celebrity persona slipping, like a too-large mask that couldn't quite stay behind his ears.
Should he have gotten therapy? Should Bruce have wanted him to get therapy?
When Dick refocused, Oliver had bent down, face level with the younger boy's. He looked concerned; eyes crinkled down at the corners. "You okay? Need me to, I don't know, get Bruce or something?"
At the mention of Bruce, Dick had snapped out of it. Back automatically straightening, he'd fixed a wide smile on his face.
"Nah, I'm fine. Just thinking about how I need something to go down with this," He held up his punch, then motioned to the dessert table. Which was very pointedly located as far across the room as he could get from Oliver. "I'll see you around. Maybe."
"Yeah, kid." In that moment, the blond had sounded infinitely heavy. Like something about their conversation was weighing him down. "Just…call me if you need anything."
Then the strangest thing had happened. Oliver placed his business card on the table beside them, carefully pointing out which number was his own. "See you 'round, kid."
Dick was too flabbergasted to even deny the 'kid' nickname. He stared at the card on the table, flummoxed as to why Oliver had even left it.
Was the man trying to connect with Bruce or something? Maybe trying to get Dick on his good side for some business deal?
He'd spent the rest of the gala wrapped up in his thoughts, barely remembering to shake hands with strangers and smile for the various news anchors following him.
The one thing he had remembered to do was slip the card into his pocket, hoping Bruce hadn't spotted the action.
"Grayson? Hey man, you good?"
He blinked, startling back into the world around him.
KF was waving a hand in front of his face, lips pulled down into a grimace, "You looked kind of spacey there. Is your leg bothering you?"
Dick had honestly hoped to never think about that night again; to ignore the strange questions Oliver had raised. To ignore the way his own mind had continued to revolve around them for weeks afterwards.
Eventually, Dick had told Bruce about his interaction with Oliver Queen, but never about the proffered business card. Grayson had kept that detail to himself.
After that, Bruce had been oddly quiet. It wasn't until later, when Dick was older, that he realized Oliver Queen was never invited back. He hadn't even had another conversation with the man till earlier on the roof.
It was strange, seeing the archer again. And it was especially strange seeing him in costume.
(It'd also been rather nice to be recognized after all this time, even if Dick would never admit it).
After the two green-themed heroes had flown off into the sunset (technically a cloudy Bludhaven sky) with Dick's criminal (again, technically not Dick's criminal), the remaining officers slowly trickled back into the police department.
Only when Dick, the Young Justice team, and McKibben were left did the commissioner finally speak.
"I have…a favour, to ask of you," She turned to Aqualad, hands clenched in front of her. "One of your team members is already at the hospital, correct?"
"Miss Martian is," Superboy answered for his leader. "She said she'd stay with the witness."
Griffin nodded, "Would your team object to keeping an eye on another invalid? I realize it would mean staying at the hospital overnight, but, with the mole investigation, I don't want any of my officers there."
"We are at your disposal," Aqualad said, expression solemn. "Who would you have us watch? Ida?"
"Sniper."
Dick snapped his head up at the mention of the man, opening his mouth to speak, but Griffin beat him to it.
"I know you want to be the first to interrogate him, detective. I know sticking you with vacation time seems like an odd choice at this point in time, but just hear me out."
Dick gave a brisk nod, not trusting his voice at that moment.
"Thank you," The commissioner turned back to Kaldur. "Until Detective Grayson's vacation time is over, I don't want anyone interrogating Sniper. Trust me when I say the only person fit for this task is Grayson. He's the only one who will get you any real results."
Grayson refused to acknowledge the warm and disgustingly fuzzy feelings the commissioner's words were giving him.
He was fully expecting the team to object and question the commissioner's leadership, but, to his surprise, Aqualad simply nodded.
"I agree, commissioner. Though I hope you won't mind us working on other leads concerning the vigilante case."
Oh, right. Grayson winced. He'd rather forgotten—what, with everything else going on—that the Young Justice team was here to expose him.
Or, at least, to expose Nightwing.
"Then we're in agreement? You will post a guard on Sniper, make sure there's no foul play?"
Aqualad looked at his teammates, as if silently posing the commissioner's question to them.
Some sort of exchange must've passed between them all, because Kaldur gave an affirmative, "Yes, we are agreed. We will figure out a schedule rotation."
"Excellent," Griffin clapped her hands together, nearly startling Dick over the roof's edge. "Now, much as I enjoy our lengthy chats, I do actually have a job to do."
"We should get moving as well. Miss Martian is probably wondering where we are," Aqualad said, the barest trace of a smile curling his lips.
As a group, they and descended the stairs.
Outside the commissioner's office, before Griffin went back inside, the woman paused in front of Dick.
"I know these next few days will be difficult for you," She placed her hand on his shoulder, his entire body tensing beneath her touch. "But please know I will always pick up when you call."
Dick was all too aware of the heroes barely a stone's throw away, quietly staring at the floor to give them some semblance of privacy.
"Right," He carefully maneuvered his way out from under her grip, offering what he hoped was an encouraging smile. "I know."
The commissioner studied him for a moment, her conflicted expression reminding him of Oliver at the gala, all those years ago.
"I'll see you in a week, detective. Hopefully talk to you soon," Again, another soul-searching look, and then she was gone. The office door closed behind her, almost too loud in the ensuing silence.
Dick frowned at the wooden door. Why did authority figures keep saying that to him? Did he have a sign attached to his back that said, 'worry about me'? Maybe the word 'helpless' stamped to his forehead?
Besides, a part of him—a really, really deep part of him—knew that they wouldn't pick up if he called. Why would they?
He wasn't their kid. He wasn't their ward, their son, or even their friend. So why on earth would they pick up the phone if it was his name on the caller ID?
A memory came, unbidden, to his mind: Dick, around sixteen or seventeen, waiting in the rain after his high school graduation ceremony. He still remembered the way he'd clenched his valedictorian speech in his hands, watching ink run down his arms in tiny rivulets.
He'd known that Bruce probably wouldn't be able to make it, even though Dick had told him weeks in advance. He'd also known that Bruce was proud of him for even making valedictorian, just like he'd known the man would never so to his face.
Dick, perhaps strongest of all, remembered the way he'd slipped Oliver's card out of his pocket, smoothing out the crinkled edges. The number was still there, barely legible after getting carried around for a few years.
He remembered how he'd been so, so tempted to call. Just to hear—
Dick snapped himself back to the present, tearing his gaze away from the commissioner's door and pinching at the bridge of his nose.
To hear what? Dick himself didn't even know what he'd wanted to hear then. He'd probably just been acting like some needy teenager, whining about how his surrogate, crime-kicking father couldn't give him a ride home.
Pathetic.
If Bruce was too busy to pick up his calls, to come to his high school grad, then there was no way Griffin or Green Arrow would be any different.
He clenched his fist, slowly working it open and closed as he tried to shut down his current thought process.
Seeing Oliver—no, seeing Mr. Queen—after all this time was probably just dredging up old memories. That, combined with the explosion and blood loss, was giving him a nice walk down memory lane, no biggie.
He could handle this.
Dick inhaled harshly once, then again, before turning back to the heroes.
Aqualad, Superboy, and Artemis were off to the side, talking quietly amongst themselves. From the sound of it, they were working out a schedule for watching Sniper at the hospital.
Only KF had noticed his little…whatever that was. Flashback? Memory? Dick didn't even know what to call it.
The speedster was watching him from behind those stupid goggles of his, arms crossed over his blindingly yellow chest. "You good, man?"
"Dandy," Dick managed to bite out. "I'm leaving. If you want a ride, make it snappy."
Without waiting for a response, he strode out of the department, not bothering to check if they followed.
Had he bothered, the detective would've seen the heroes staring at his departing back, their faces an odd mix of concern and perplexity.
"He seem extra moody to you?" The speedster finally asked. "Like, moody with a side of extreme angst?"
Their leader watched where the detective had disappeared to. "We should keep an eye on him these next few days. For the case, of course."
"Right," Artemis murmured, "For the case. Definitely not because we're worried about the guy."
"Nope!" Wally gave them one of his signature smiles, though it seemed a little wobbly. "Definitely not worried about the guy. No worries here!"
Superboy grunted, like he'd reached the limit of BS he was willing to take from his teammates. "We should go, before he leaves us behind."
"I would not put such a move past him at the moment," Kaldur agreed. "Let us go."
Dick slammed the door of his police cruiser shut, sliding into the familiar seat and resting his forehead on the steering wheel.
In the quiet of the vehicle, as he waited for the slow-poke heroes to come, the wall of exhaustion he'd been dodging for the past week finally caught up with him.
His whole body sagged; eyes drifting closed of their own accord. He was a lot more tired than he'd thought.
Maybe…maybe this whole mandated vacation thing would be good for him. Maybe he could—
The passenger seat flew open, a blonde and green blur barreling inside. "I told you I called shotgun, Flash Child! Just try and take it from me now." Artemis, the blur in question, snapped her seatbelt into place.
KF appeared moments later, immediately opening his mouth and starting some dumb argument.
Aqualad and Superboy approached much slower, silently getting into the back of the cruiser. Dick wanted to hug them; he didn't think he could handle anymore loud heroes right now.
He blinked, that last thought half startling him out of his daze. He must be a lot more tired than he thought if he was considering embracing superheroes.
KF finally conceded defeat and hopped in the back, leaving a smug looking Artemis up front with Dick.
Soon as the speedster's seatbelt was in place, he began badgering the woman again. Artemis didn't seem to mind, whipping around in her seat to exchange insults with him.
What a weird way to flirt, Dick thought absently as he flicked his turning signal on.
But after five minutes of listening to them argue, he'd had enough.
He dialed up some random radio station, hoping they'd take the hint and shut their mouths.
The two persisted, barely taking note of the sound.
Dick made eye contact with Aqualad in the overhead mirror, quirking an eyebrow as if to say You live with this?
The Atlantean mouthed something that could either be interpreted as Fried fish kebabs or This isn't even the worst of it.
Dick figured it was the latter. Though with an Atlantean…who knew.
Sighing, he flicked the volume up until the meaningless lyrics bounced around the inside his skull.
Artemis said something that he couldn't make out, so he looked her dead in the eye and turned the volume up even more. Try talking now, quiver girl.
She huffed like she could hear his thoughts, but settled into her seat all the same.
Finally, there was no more talking. They drove the rest of the way to the hospital with the radio blaring.
When they arrived, Dick wordlessly dumped them on the curb, gave a half-hearted salute, and put the car in drive again.
He had a date with his bed and no way was he missing it.
The apartment complex looked even shabbier than usual in the day, sunlight catching its many flaws and exposing them.
Dick barely managed to drag himself up the stairs, the throb of his leg increasing with every step. He thought the old lady next door said something to him, but he was too busy trying not to pass out to notice.
Finally, he shimmied his keys into the lock and wrenched the door open, not even having the energy to slam it behind him. Tossing them into the tangled key bowl on his slanted entryway table—unsure if they made it in and not caring if they didn't—he practically floated towards the bedroom door.
It was almost as if his bed were calling him, beckoning from the realm of sleep.
Yeah, Dick rubbed a hand over his eyes. He was really out of it.
Before he had time to blink, he'd collapsed on the bed, still wearing his dirty police uniform and heavy boots. Dick heaved a sigh.
Tuning out the ache of his body and the persistent, nagging pain in his leg, he fell asleep on top of the covers.
(A/N): *gasp* Is this me? Actually updating on time? In THIS economy?!
Ngl I have no idea how I wrote this so fast. My fingers were possessed and it just happened. I did try to edit this chapter, so if there's any stupid mistakes they are 100% my lazy a$$ fault. Feel free to burn me at the stake if ya find any ✌
Thank you for reading! And for your kind reviews! You're all so nice and I don't know what to do about it ;-;
Have a great week!
~ASL