"Blank Canvas"

"Blank Canvas"

Summary: Dick Grayson gets a change to see what life would have been like had he made certain other decisions.

Timeframe: The Following things have happened:

~ Dick Grayson has left Gotham and moved to Bludhaven, becoming Nightwing.

~ Jason Bard has already been Robin and died.

~ Tim Drake has already been Robin and been kidnapped by the Joker, going through the events of "Return of the Joker" approximately a year and some change ago.

~ Barbara Gordon, after finding Tim Drake, was shot by the Joker… shoot… that doesn't match with chronology, does it. Oh well. She was shot by the Joker. You can imagine how in your own mind. That was about, oh, six months ago. She is just now thinking about becoming Oracle.

~ Alfred quit because he finally got sick of Bruce.

~ Bruce…. He's Bruce. Lots of angst and self pity after the Tim and Barbara things.

Are we all up to date? Okay… Let's begin.

DISCLAIMER: None of these characters are mine…. But I'm borrowing them for a bit

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The last thing Dick Grayson saw was the other car jump the guard rail and head straight toward him.

The last thing he heard was a crunch. But of the car, or of his bones? He didn't know which.

Dick waited for the pain, but it never came.

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After what seemed like mere minutes, Dick woke up. He stood to find himself no longer in his car, or on the street, but in a hospital room. He looked around, disoriented, and saw a body lying on a bed, hooked up to repirators and such.

"Is that the other driver?" He though aloud as he walked toward the body. "No… that face. It's banged up bad, but I know that face. That's…"

"You," a voice said from behind him. "That's you, Dick."

He turned around and saw a veiled figure, dressed in white. "Am I….?"

"Dead?" He saw a smile emerge from under the veil. That smile looks familiar, he thought, but he couldn't recognize the face. "No, not yet, but you're struggling," she informed him as she walked past him. She touched his face and brushed a hair off his forehead. "You're a fighter. You always have been, but part of you wants to give up."

He gazed at the figure in wonder. "Who are you? How do you know so much about me?"

"I know you because I have been with you. I guess you could call me your guardian angel, if you want something precise, although I am much more than that."

Dick looked at his scarred body on the bed. "Will I die?"

"Yes," the figure answered simply. "Everyone does."

He looked at her. "Now? Will I die now?"

"That is up to you."

"How?"

"Your body is in a coma, waiting for your spirit to reconcile itself. Like I said, you are a fighter. You do not give up. You never have. It is not in your nature. Yet now, part of you wants to stop the fight. It sees no reason for going on. Why is this? What makes you feel this way?"

He sat down on the bed. "I wonder if what I do matters anymore. For every criminal I put behind bars, it seems like five more spring up in their place."

The figure sat down next to him. "And this makes you want to stop fighting?"

"Yes!" he exclaimed as he rose again and walked across the room. "What good am I doing? What good have I ever done?"

From the bed, the figure spoke. "Would you really like to know?"

Dick looked over to her. "Huh?"

"If you want, I can show you. Key moments in your life. Important decisions. I can show you what would have happened had you made different choices; strayed different paths. Do you want to see?"

Dick thought for a moment. "Yes."

She rose and walked ominously toward him. "This is not censored. You will see the good and the bad of your impacts. Maybe some people will have been better off if you had made different choices. You must be prepared to weigh the effects of your decisions carefully. Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Yes," he said without a second thought.

She smiled again. "The fighter."

"Where do we start?" he asked anxiously.

"Work back," the figure said walking away. "What was the last decision you made that impacted others? Others you care for? Your last regret maybe."

Dick thought and winced as a memory came to him. "Tim."

"Tim Drake… the boy Robin. Tell me about it."

He gave the figure a cockeyed look. "I thought you knew all."

"I do. I want to hear you tell it. Tim…"

"I didn't go," Dick said softly. "I didn't get there fast enough. Bruce had sent me all over the world looking for Tim when the Joker kidnapped him. But I didn't get back to Gotham fast enough. I couldn't be there when Bruce and Barbara found him."

The figure nodded. "And you think things would have been different if you had been there?"

"Yes," Dick said.

"Fine," the figure said, and Dick blinked.