AN: Warnings; Graphic mentions, Potentially serious feelings of pity and sympathy to Dick, Harsh flashback
Over 10,000 words. Okay. This chapter took me over seven hours to write. At this point I'm mentally exhausted and wrecked, and this isn't even close to the end of the story. In fact, this is about to set up something that will last at least seven chapters (probably). Then that's about the halfway point.
I apologize if there are any grammatical errors or anything; please point them out if you see them. I could not bring myself to go back and reread all of this. I checked a few sections but not everything.
I need to take a bit of a break from this to recollect myself. I don't know how long, probably a month maximum, and that's not including how long it'll be before I get an update out. I also realized that I've seriously screwed up my timeline from my chapter sketches and what I have in cannon and posted, so I need to figure that out before I can think about writing another chapter.
Also, if I had a little contest, would anyone be interested in participating? Please let me know if you would be so I know if I should have a contest of not. If only a few people say yes I won't do it, but if a lot say yes, I will.
On a brighter note, here's a great cliffy for y'all to ponder until I get back! (So when you see no update in a while, that does not mean I've abandoned this, because I'm not). I really hope you enjoy this chapter, and I'll see you all in a bit!
Time; something that there was both too much and not enough of. All of the scum were given far too much time to do unnecessary crap that could have been prevented. Should've been prevented. The scum that acted all big and tough but when it came down to it were the biggest cowards of the Earth. All they did was hide behind bodyguards and hen those ran out they pleaded for mercy. The scum that strutted around cities as if they owned the place when in reality, they didn't. So when it turned out they didn't, they cried and whimpered like lost little puppies.
Life; something that was far too precious and yet was handed out as if everyone deserved it. Who were heroes to decide that everyone deserved to live? What about those who killed just because they wanted to watch the world burn? Take Gotham's villain's for example. Or more specifically, the Joker. The man who'd ended the life of Richard Grayson for the sole purpose of trying to get Batman to cross the line. Nothing pissed Dick off more than knowing that even he didn't mean enough to Bruce for the man to cross the line just once. He'd thought that after everything the two had gone through together that he at least meant something to him. He supposed he guessed wrong.
Second chances. Ha! More like fifty million second chances. Those pathetic so-called heroes think they can make all the bad guys stop being bad guys. They can try for all Dick cared and he knew they'll continue to fail every time. Once a choice is made, there's no going back on it. He knew that better than most.
To say that Dick was bored out of his mind was an understatement. Being bedridden and forbidden from training was his least favorite part about being shot in the chest. Damn that officer. Who knew when he'd be allowed to start training again? He needed to tone the skills that had cost him this past week in the bed.
At least he'd worked out his problem with Talia. It seemed that the bullet wound triggered something inside his chest and head. A faint throbbing was always there, but Talia's tea had changed it from pure agony every second to the faint throbbing. Along with the tea, Dick had figured out that meditating for an hour every day had decreased its presence even further. At least that was a plus to being stuck in the small yet comfy room. It gave him a change to try to work out even more coping methods. Talia believed that it was a side effect from the pit that had been blocked until he experienced another near-death experience. They'd never know for sure considering Ra's was always put back in the pit before they could consider just trying to save his life with medical supplies.
He had a fairly good guess as to the why they didn't just do the same with him. He remembered his own resurrection… his animalistic attitude as his body reacted horribly with being brought back… his entire body feeling as if it were on fire and running being the only thing that could squelch the burning.
But then again, he'd died from an explosion after all. Maybe the aftereffects of his whole body catching fire from it remained for that time. Following that theory, it should only be a matter of time before the damn squeezing in his chest and head would stop.
Dick unconsciously clenched his hands to fists and the cracking noise that followed echoed around through his eardrums. The harsh cricks vaguely reminded him of the sound of his spine rubbing against itself that night.
That night… everything and everyone Dick once knew or cared about had been unfairly ripped away from him. The only father-like figure he had in Bruce Wayne, his mentor, his supposed legacy, Jason, his old team, Barbara, Wally, Tim…
… His name. He could never be Richard Grayson to the public again. That identity was dead and soiled. Even if he ever announced his being alive, he'd never be saved. How ironic. Richard Grayson, the goody two shoes that strived to put a smile on everyone's faces. Richard Grayson, the boy who was fostered by billionaire Bruce Wayne after the tragic murder of his parents and refused to perform stunts close to what he had at the circus. Ha! Yeah right. His Robin and even Nightwing personas said otherwise. Like those worked out oh so well.
Dick wondered how Wally was. He knew two of his old teammates retired from the superhero business and were living their lives like normal humans. Dick was curious as to if they were still dating. He'd hacked into the security system of Mount Justice the week before he'd been shot and listened to Artemis and Wally fight over leaving or not. His death had to have had something to do with it. Dick knew Wally after all and if his calculations were correct, Wally was one of the mot devastated heroes and would want to retire and bring Artemis with him so he wouldn't run the risk of losing anyone else he kept very close.
Artemis, of course, probably revolted strongly against it, insisting they needed to stay and work harder to prevent it from happening again. She would've insisted on staying so she could keep proving that she was nothing like her father and sister. That she wasn't going to turn into an assassin and betray everyone. That left only one possibility for her to comply with Wally and leave. Kaldur. He must've betrayed the Team and League shortly thereafter. It was the only solution. Everything added up.
Jason becoming Nightwing a week after Dick's death, Artemis and Wally leaving six months after, Kaldur turning a month before they left. Dick found it humorous. Frankly, he could hardly believe it himself. Who knew Jason would find some of Dick's old sketches and take advantage of them? Then again, Jason always had been the kid that would go to extremes to finish the mission. That was where the two of them mainly differed. And that was why the Light, or more specifically Vandal Savage had only been surprised that he was alive. Vandal had known that the Nightwing he'd been watching the past two years was not the original. After all, the original would never put Aquagirl's life on the line for a mission. From there it'd only been a study of finding out what happened to the original. Dick knew that him being Shadow hadn't been anywhere on Vandal's mind.
He did, however, have to give kudos for Jason figuring out the Kaldur is Black Manta's son. As Nightwing, Dick hadn't put his discovery down on anything. It'd remained in his head and his alone. He'd told no one else. The Justice League most certainly wouldn't have told Jason. Which meant that Jason had come to the same solution as Dick.
Why was Kaldur the only black Atlantean? Who were his parents? Why was Aquaman so protective of him? Those were the questions that drove Dick to start his own, personal mission. Sure enough he didn't expect the results. Imagine his surprise when he ran some of Kaldur's blood from another mission and compared it to other's an discovered his DNA matched that of Black Manta.
Ra's cough dragged Dick out of his thoughts and he was force to blink several times in order to bring himself back to reality. It took five seconds for his vision to focus back on his surroundings. He discovered himself to be looking down at a chessboard and t appeared to be his turn.
Dick carefully studied the game in order to decide what move to make. He picked up a pawn and was about to set it down when- "You seem distracted." Despite his efforts not to, Dick jumped and sent the board scattering to the ground, the game piece somehow still in his hand. He scowled at himself for not paying attention.
Dick brought his gaze up to meet Ra's' frowning face. "I was thinking," he said.
"Thinking about what?"
He gritted his teeth and stalled by leaning down to retrieve the fallen board and its pieces. "Kaldur." Partial lie. His thoughts were related to the former Atlantean but not regarding him. Just his luck, Ra's didn't appear to believe him. Not entirely, at least.
"And what about Kaldur'ahm has caught your attention and taken you away from our game?" he asked. Dick placed the board down and they both worked quickly to set their pieces back where'd they'd been. A rare look of mischievous crossed his features. "Are you mad that he is out fighting for our cause while you're stuck here until my daughter sees it fit?"
Dick narrowed his eyes while he regarded the game and its pieces. He pointed to an empty space. "You had your rook there," he challenged.
Ra's smirked and moved it to the correct location. "I was just making sure you were paying close attention."
"I'm not a child," Dick said. "I'm not mad because he gets to fight. I'm confused." Confused at how blind all of you are.
"For what are you confused?"
"Can we trust Kaldur? Do we know for sure that he wants to be a member of the Light? How do we trust that he won't betray us without proof he's on our side?"
Ra's smiled and moved his rook to capture Dick's pawn. He contemplated how to word what he wanted to say. He decided to just be blunt. "I trust you, don't I?"
"Yes, but-"
"Why do you think I do?" Dick chose not to respond and instead made the decision to absentmindedly move another pawn. "You sought out Slade. Not the other way around. Kaldur'ahm sought out Black Manta. The Light doesn't trust him. Not yet. But we have tests prepared to make sure of his loyalties, just as I did with you."
Dick's eyes narrowed. "What kind of tests?"
"Miniscule things that will add to our equation to victory." He moved his Queen through a gap Dick had left. "Check."
He stood up and gripped the sides of the table while simultaneously ignoring the throbbing forming in his chest. Calculated eyes glazed over the board in an attempt to work a safe way out of it. While he had four pieces left, Ra's had seven. He grunted and sat back down before grabbing his King and reluctantly moving it. That left his own queen wide open to take, something of which the master of chess did. Dick couldn't believe he'd allowed himself to become so sidetracked and allow this to happen. He always put up a better fight than this!
Dick's lungs closed up tight and he gasped for air. Ra's stood up, eyes wide with concern as Dick slid over the side of the seat and crashed to the ground. His eyes grew wide and he clawed at his chest in a desperate attempt to draw in air that his lungs wouldn't allow. The next thing he knew, his upper body was being lifted and something cold was pressed to his lips. "Drink," a voice ordered. He forced himself to comply even though black spots were creeping in at the edges of his vision. The liquid tasted cool and had a hint of honey to it.
"Okay, kid, I gotta go. But it's been fun though, right? Well, maybe not so much for you but I'm just guessing since you're being awfully quiet. Anyways, be a good boy, do your homework and be in bed by nine. And, hey! Please tell the Big Man I said, 'Hello.' Ehehehe AHAHAHAHA!"
Dick thrashed around in the grip of whoever was holding him at the sound of that voice. He couldn't place when that took place but he had a pretty good guess. Slade slapped him and Dick found himself able to breathe again. He took in giant gasps of air. The room was quiet besides the heaving coming from him and it took a long time for the black spots to disappear and his vision to return. When it finally did, he found himself looking at the concerned faces of his mentors and one assassin. "Sorry," he mumbled. He tried not to wince at how raspy it sounded. How long had he been sitting there?
"Don't apologize," Talia said from behind. She must've been the one to drag him up.
"What was that?" he asked in reference to the drink.
Talia stood and Dick had to plant his hands on the ground behind him to prevent himself from landing on his back. He'd already fallen once; he didn't want to make it twice. She strutted in front of him and paused when she reached the doorframe. It was only that she turned and addressed him. "That was tea meant to calm the mind," she said. Her eyes narrowed to slits. "Next time your chest is causing you trouble, let someone know. Don't wait until you pay a painful price." And then she was gone.
Slade and Ra's shared a glance before Ra's followed his daughter. That left Slade and Dick on their own. He took another sip of the tea. Slade glared at him. Great. Now to talk about my failure.
"That was stupid," Slade finally said after several moments. Anger burned in his eyes and he crouched to be level with his apprentice. "Don't ever do something like that again!"
Dick stalled for a moment by lifting himself back into his seat. "There's not much I can do than to learn to cope with it until it goes away. The tea can't be a permanent solution. If I can't deal with it, then you'll have to find a new apprentice."
"I won't let it come to that."
Dick raised an eyebrow. "I thought you weren't the protective type. Not since-"
"I won't have spent the last two years training you only for you to retire," he interrupted. "That'd be counterproductive for both me and the Light."
"You aren't even a member of it."
"Yet," Slade said. "I have every intention of working my way into it before they try to get rid of me." That much was true. All he had to do was play his cards just right and he would be a full member. Working with Ra's wouldn't work for much longer. Dick was a large portion of it. He just needed the boy to prove his worth to them first. His wound was a major setback to his calendar, but he could work around it.
He suddenly noticed the dead, exhausted look in the boy's eyes. The way in which his shoulders slumped and his body slouched. Even his facial expression was drooping as though he hadn't gotten much sleep lately. "You look tired," he commented.
Dick unconsciously straightened his shoulders and body posture. Based on past experiences he knew that whenever Slade mentioned him not being on alert usually meant the man was about to throw a halfhearted attack at him and then reprimand him for not being prepared. "I'm not," he tried to deny.
Slade merely raised an eyebrow. "You waking up earlier than usual every morning says otherwise."
"I…" he trailed off, groping desperately for a lie. "So what? That's all the more time to work on getting better." What he settled on sucked, but it was better than nothing. His mentor, on the other hand, was not impressed.
"Listen to yourself. You're not thinking rationally. You won't get better if you don't take proper care which, again, is counterproductive; something of which I will not tolerate." His eye narrowed dangerously. "If you can't better watch over your own health I will make you leave. I won't have a stubborn apprentice holding me back on missions."
Dick felt his temper flare and his hands slammed against the arms of the chair so he could stand up and glare right back at the older man. "That officer caught me off guard-"
"- Something of which I taught you how to avoid-"
He jabbed a finger at Deathstroke's chest. "- You're always looking to place the blame on others! Maybe if you hadn't allowed yourself to become emotionally compromised with your hatred of Green Arrow, none of this would be happening right now. Grant is dead, so just let it go!" Both froze after he said that and part of Dick silently wished he'd actually died. His shoulders slumped once more and he didn't even try to fight back when Slade roughly shoved him back into his seat. "I… Sorry. I didn't mean to say that. It's just-"
"- It's just what?" Slade demanded. "It's just that you're having doubts about staying here?" Dick blinked at him but didn't try to protest against it. "I watched your fight with Robin. I saw the way you looked at him. You almost regret hurting him, don't you? You're going soft, Richard. You need to clean up your act before you try to go back out there."
Dick narrowed his eyes at the usage of his official name. He'd only ever been called that by others when he seriously messed up. His parents mostly referred to him as Richard which was why he started going by Dick after Bruce took him in. He'd needed some part of him that would go down in the grave with his parents, after all. He let out a deep sigh and ran a hand through his hair. He'd really fucked up this time. "… Robin has much potential, Slade," he responded stiffly. "If we could just get him on our side it's game over. He's a great strategist and he's on par with Batman's detective work. All he needs help on is his fighting. It's better suited for us if we can turn him while we still can."
Slade raised an eyebrow. "And why is that?" He genuinely enjoyed irritating the boy at times. He didn't do it often, but when he did Dick would get offended and tended to go down to the training room to work out his pent up steam. This time was different, however. Dick was still confined to his room and select few others. The others not included were the training rooms, the weaponry, and anywhere close to where assassins would be training. But right now Dick needed another way to blow off the steam. Slade just had to play his cards carefully and not go over the edge. He did once before and Dick had almost killed an assassin when they'd offered to spar.
He sighed again and he felt his eye twitch. His disdain for explaining himself was amongst his least favorite things to do. "Batman is determined to mold Robin and Nightwing to become what I was to him. He spent half a year on Jason before I figured out what he was doing and put a stop to it. With me gone there's no one there to make sure that doesn't happen. The fact that Nightwing is still alive and not dead and six feet under to the public shows that Batman's determined to not let my so-called legacy be done for. When I fought against Tim, his fighting style was very similar to my old one."
"You trained him." Slade was unimpressed.
"He needs his own fighting style. He won't excel in his fighting if he doesn't, meaning he'll spend more time on learning how to hack or work on detective skills. From there he could figure out that I'm alive and it'd ruin everything. But if we get him and enhance everything he knows, he could become unstoppable. He has the potential to be better than me, even you. He just needs the proper… motivation." Dick crossed his arms and leaned back in the chair as if to ask if the conversation was over.
Slade grunted out an answer that Dick couldn't hear before turning and walking away.
Dick bolted straight up in his bed, the sheets tangled all around him, yet they somehow weren't touching him. He was panting, shaking, blinking away the sleep and rubbing at his eyes. He struggled not to scream, completely thankful for the years of practice he'd gained since the age of nine. Sweat dribbled down his entire face and even more soaked his body and the bed. Dick's chest heaved for too much air as he tried to settle himself down and he could feel his heartbeat pounding against his ribcage. He propped himself up by planting his hands down behind him. He didn't even notice how they shook from the aftershock of the dream. The sound of air expelling from his lungs seemed to echo around the whole room due to the lack of noise otherwise.
As he calmed himself, a cold fury crept up his spine and it took all of his willpower not to let out a disgusted snarl. He'd always been plagued by nightmares, whether it be Bruce disowning him, falling, watching his parents die, watching his new (yet former) family die as he was held to a wall and forced to watch, his own failures, and Joker's laugh along with the sound of bones shattering echoing in his ears as hit after hit after hit of crowbar collided with solid muscle. Well, now his dreams had a new star; a man in a black suit that was covered with knives and mask that resembled something he knew he should recognize –maybe it wasn't just his memory of the last minutes of his death that was missing– pulling down on a lever that sent electric charges coursing through his body while everyone he'd once loved, respected, or not saved in time watching him with amusement in their eyes while sparks made his body jerk harshly into the piano wire that bound him to the table.
One full week of the man's hidden face putting him through painful things and he still hadn't told anyone about it, and Dick still wondered how Slade knew he was tired. The whole thing made him snappish and uneasy even though he tried his hardest to keep it a secret. He already had Slade and Talia breathing down his neck; he didn't need people watching him as he slept to make sure everything was okay. Apparently the secret was finally taking a toll on his stability. That much was evident by him accidentally letting it slip with his snarky remark about Grant.
He grunted when his arms finally cooperated and stopped shaking before forcing his already sluggish body to stand up. He stretched, and damn did it feel good to crack his back and knuckles. Not being allowed to work had made his muscles stiff and sore. Some brief exercises before going back to bed couldn't hurt too much, could it?
Dick bent his knees and carefully crept forward without making a sound. He didn't need to wake up the others and worry them. He'd only be sent back to his room if he were caught, anyway.
Several hours later, a restless young boy slipped out of his own bed and began to work his way around the building in an attempt to work out his thoughts. Noise in the training room caught his attention and he narrowed his eyes before cautiously creeping to the door. He pushed it open noiselessly, and he stilled in the doorway.
It was impossible to tell how long the man in the room had been at it, but he was in the middle of some tumbling routine –one in which every movement screamed pain and fear and sorrow– and he was completely soaked in sweat, his shirt tossed on the bench of the far side of the room dripping a few droplets as well. His sweatpants stuck to his leg and his hair was dripping with it… it'd obviously been a long time, and he didn't look anywhere close to being done despite his legs quivering and almost giving out from underneath him as he landed from a flip and propelled himself up in another twist.
The boy at the doorway continued to watch with one eyebrow raised, half of him critically watching while his other half observed each and every perfect movement in order to better enhance his own training later on.
The agony and exhaustion eventually took its toll on the older man's body, as shown when he landed on one leg and it completely collapsed beneath him. He let out a long stew of curses after he landed and he instantly wrapped two sweat-coated hands to his knee, too lost in all the demons tormenting him to even notice the person in the doorway.
"… You should get some ice for that," the young-yet-hardened voice of Damian called out. Damian stepped fully into the room and pretended not to notice the full on glare sent his way. He was dressed in comfy sweatpants that had several hidden slots to place weapons in if the place were ever attacked –his room was right next to the weaponry– along with a tee-shirt that hung loosely around his small frame.
"Go away, boy," came the snarled out response of a clearly angry Dick Grayson.
"No." Damian was in front of Dick in a flash and was already looking at his knee. The refusal isolated itself from the demons within Dick's troubled mind.
"It's just the knee. It'll be fine by morning." Damian fought his irrational impulse to hit the knee to prove a point. Ra's would kill him if he did that.
"Look," he grumbled, "I don't do this for anyone, so the fact that I'm helping an idiot like you should be enough for you to shut your ungrateful mouth." He reached out and put a hand on Dick's shoulder. It was almost impossible for the boy to ever show anything akin to affection, let alone someone to see it.
Dick looked up at him, his brilliant blue eyes dark with more than just physical pain. "You can't help me."
Damian cocked his head to the side and frowned deeply. "Because you won't let me? Or because I can't possibly understand because I'm a six year old kid?" He drew his hands back and planted them on his hips, wishing he were older for the seventh time that night. "I'm not completely heartless."
"Both… and you're Talia's and… you're Talia's son. Anything I say you'll report to her. I don't need a shrink." He glanced back down at his knees. Sweat flung itself from his bangs, and Damian reared back while making a repulsed face.
"I'll be leading you one day. I need to make sure you're safe." Damian inwardly laughed at how unlike him he sounded. He just needed to get on Dick's good side so he'd teach him how he did all those flips and turns with such ease…
Dick shuddered upon that, upon hearing similar words come out of another person's mouth, the sound of a much deeper yet still vaguely same voice sounding so warm and sweet… he shoved his hands to his eyes and rubbed them furiously, a noise that he refused to admit was a sob escaping his throat. A small part of him wanted to die. His breathing went erratic and defied all the hours he'd spent meditating and training in his life. Damn it! He didn't need a mental breakdown right now, of all times!
Damian metaphorically stabbed a knife through his chest before leaning forward and wrapping Dick up and into a hug. Dick froze for a moment, his pride warring with his old desire for comfort and contact with other people before sinking into it, another sob escaping his throat while tears blended with the sweat running down his face.
The two remained quiet except for the gasps for air that stood for more sobs that sounded every few minutes and Damian felt his irritation slowly disappearing. He made a snarling face in defiance to the fact that Grayson was getting to him. They swayed a little bit while he swayed a bit, murmuring, "It's okay, you're safe here. Sh, Grayson. That's it. Take slow, deep breaths."
Unknown to Talia's son, Dick's breakdown was because of everything he'd kept pent up. All the pent up anger, grief, and even fear that'd been turned to demons finally broke through his once sturdy walls. Damian tightened his grip on the male in hopes of helping to calm him. He almost jumped when Dick wrapped his own arms around him and squeezed back. His eye twitched. Perfect. An overly emotional person thinking we're suddenly best friends. Even so, Damian didn't pry himself away from the hold, instead choosing to offer some form of light in the dark to banish the demons.
Dick pulled away after a minute and tried to ignore the fact that the boy's shirt was now clinging to his chest from the wetness of tears. He rubbed his eyes furiously before he awkwardly shuffled away, his training finally taking over again. "Sorry," he mumbled while gesturing to the wet shirt.
Damian tugged at it before taking it off, opting to get a new shirt than to walk around in a ruined one. "Don't do it again," he grumbled in return. He didn't need to swallow any more of his pride and instincts tonight than he already had. He watched as Dick pushed himself to his feet. Damian followed in pursuit. "So… an acrobat, huh?"
Dick clenched his teeth and squeezed his eyes closed for a moment before letting out a loud exhale of air. "Yeah…" He scowled and tried to read the boy's face. The thin lips and blank green eyes showed that he was well trained –for or a six year old, at least. Dick's experience allowed him to read the boy anyway. "When practiced enough, acrobatics aren't as hard as they seem," he finally said.
Green eyes narrowed and he turned around to walk away. He didn't notice the near-smirk planted across Dick's face as he closed the door shut behind him.
*About Two Years Ago*
A sleep deprived and emotionally exhausted Dick Grayson, dressed in his Nightwing attire, walked through the Zeta Tubes and vaguely heard the last words of the computer announcing his arrival. To his surprise, he saw no one in the main room, even though there almost always was at least one person, whether it be a League or Team member.
The Team had improved so much since he'd first helped to create it when he was just thirteen years old. They'd gained new members such as Lagoon Boy, Beast Boy, and Robin, all of whom had made great efforts in proving their worth to the older and more experienced members. As well as gaining members, they'd also lost Zatanna and Rocket to the League. All Team members had been offered League positions when Dick had turned seventeen, but only those two had accepted. The original members knew that any and all future rookies would need some serious training on stealth; no one needed a repeat of their first year where every time they'd been told it was a covert or recon mission only, some sort of explosion would later be associated with those words. Batman just gave up at some point and told them to try to keep the damage at bare minimum.
Batman… had changed. At least, his relationship with Dick had. Any mention of the first Dynamic Duo when either two were present resulted in the room temperature seemingly dropping twenty degrees as well as a quick change of topic. Dick still couldn't fathom how Bruce thought he could kill Tony Zucco when he had been released from prison. He wasn't a murderer, and he never would be. He would never stoop down to that level… to Zucco's level. Even so, Bruce still seemed weary about bringing the topic up whenever Dick was around. It irritated him to no end, and his irritation often followed him to the Mountain, leaving behind the reputation that he was the complete opposite of his old Robin persona. It didn't help that he stopped butchering the language. That'd certainly earned him concerned glances when he'd scowled at Wally for using it after making his first appearance as Nightwing. He'd scowled at Wally. His best friend.
Dick walked through the halls of Mount Justice and frowned at the fact that no one seemed to be there. What the heck? Where is everyone? They were supposed to be having a training session, after all. Conner of all people never missed a chance to either kick some serious butt or get his kicked and then learn how to correct himself so it wouldn't happen again.
Dick loved Conner's development over the years the most. The once hard-headed, bad tempered clone was nearly the complete opposite now. It was hard to believe. The temper was still there, of course, but it now took a lot more for it to go off. The clone now planned strategy before his attacks, something of which Dick was proud of for teaching him. Conner was developing potential to be the leader of the Team in future years.
He still had no desire to lead, now more than ever. That drive had never returned and, if anything, it'd only pushed itself further and further away. Now that Dick was his own hero, had his own name and city, he wanted to make it clear that he wasn't Batman and didn't want to be him. He was aware that Bruce knew that much, but he was unsure if the man that'd taken him in knew why that was. Probably. He was Batman, after all.
He came to a halt at the door to his old room. He sighed and rested his head against it, masked eyes closing and his hands resting on either side of his head against the door. He hadn't entered the room in over a year, and even then, it had only been so he could clear all of his Robin stuff out to turn it into a strategy room. That never happened.
He entered the pass code in and smiled sadly at the familiar numbers and words. Wally had helped him come up with it when they'd first been ordered to choose a room. FGSW2RW10BFATPOAW. Falling Grayson, Slow West, Ten Richard, Two Wally, Best Friends and Two Pieces of a Whole. At the time he had made the code, he'd been leading ten to two in successful pranks. Falling Grayson and Slow West represented two of their fears. The first fear they'd told the other about, in fact.
The door slid open with a soft hiss that somehow still echoed throughout the quiet halls. Dick took a single step through the door, almost wincing when his light automatically turned on. It wasn't that he was startled because he'd forgotten that he'd set it up to do that, not at all. He had just forgotten that he'd left a poster of the Flying Graysons on the wall above the messy, vacant bed and directly across from the doorway. It was so hard for him to believe that he would have left it there until he remembered that it'd been because the original members of the Team all knew his name. He just hadn't cared when Lagoon and Beast Boy had joined because they'd never be able to figure out the pass code. Outside of Wally, no one else on the Team even knew. Some things deserved to be kept secret forever, the meaning behind the code being one of them.
Dick glanced to his left and almost laughed the picture that was perched up against the desk. It was an old photo from back in 2010 at Wally's birthday party. The two friends had insisted Megan take a photo of them together. Dick's right arm was wrapped around Wally's shoulder while his other made a peace sign. Both boys were smirking like dorks and Dick raised his eyebrows of his own eyebrows sticking up above the sunglasses on the photoed Dick.
A computer sat on the desk and Dick walked over to sit down in the chair set at the front of it. He opened the screen and turned it on. A photo of the entire Team together greeted him when it automatically went to the home screen. The nefarious thirteen year old Robin had himself balanced on Conner's and Kaldur's shoulders while Conner looked up at him with a raised brow. Kaldur's amusement was more subtle with the way his mouth was slightly parted open to show a black space between his top and bottom teeth. Dick remembered how Kaldur had chuckled after the photo was taken. He now suspected that the photo was taken just before the Atlantean could actually chuckle. He once thought that Kaldur had held it in.
His eyes strayed to the date planted at the bottom right corner of his screen. March 17th, 2014. A small piece of his heart shattered inside his chest and Dick allowed his head to slowly rest against the keys of the keyboard. Blue eyes flickered shut before the sting prickling the corners of his lids could escape. March 17th. The date when, eight years ago today, he last performed in front of an audience with his family.
Resolve settled in his stomach and Dick sat up straight before turning off the computer. He turned around at the doorway and took in one long, final look at one of the few remaining pieces left of his childhood before shutting it and making his way to the training room.
When he arrived, he went to the far wall and opened a secret panel that had been inserted during the reconstruction. A keypad revealed itself and Dick didn't hesitate in typing in a code. All doors that could be used for entrances by other members sealed shut and the room became soundproof. If anyone came to the Mountain, he wouldn't know until he finished the exercise. All that was left connecting him to society on the outside was a camera in the upper corner. He didn't notice that it turned to follow him to the center of the room.
A hologram of a very realistic looking thief appeared about ten feet away. He reached down and pulled out his escrima sticks and grinned when the thief took out a gun. His favorite part about this exercise was the realistic aspects of it all. If he were to be hit by anything, he wouldn't take the realistic damage, but he would feel it as if he'd actually been hit or hurt. The same applied to the hologram. Another great part about it was that he and Batman had created the program to make it as real as possible. If someone like him of Robin were to through a birdarang at the hologram and it were to go pierce the clothes, the holographic bodies would be sent backward as if they'd actually been hit. If it was close enough to the wall when hit, it'd be pinned to the wall while the birdarangs held it there by the clothes on their shoulders.
The thief took aim and fired, but Dick vaulted over it as if it were second nature. The hologram kept firing at him while Dick merely sprung around the room while gradually working his way closer and closer. When he was finally close enough, Dick struck out with an escrima. The thief doubled over and grasped its stomach. Dick took that time to knee him straight in the face. It reeled back and stumbled away, fake blood pouring from the broken nose. A quick roundhouse kick to the back of his head sent the man tumbling to the ground where he stayed unmoving.
Several more figures grew up from the floor and charged at him. Dick almost laughed as he weaved his way through the crowd surrounding him. This way two easy and yet, he knew each and every level became increasingly harder. He effortlessly dodged strike after strike with practiced ease. Ten more figures quickly joined the first on the ground.
A grin was plastered on his face when he turned around to wait for his next opponent to appear. It slowly stood up with its back facing him. How dramatic, he thought. Even so, he thought something was familiar looking about this one.
Dick felt his blood run cold when it finally turned around. The world around him froze and he was almost thrown back in time to an eight year old him leaning down and screaming at the sight of brain matter and blood splattered all over limp and broken bodies. He forced himself to return to the present before he could fully go into the memory.
Hate filled his body and Dick vaguely felt his lip curl up into a snarl, his eyes that had been wide in shock now narrowed in pure hatred and anger. He let out an animalistic roar and snarled out, "Zucco!" before lunging forward, not even giving the hologram the chance to strike first.
Years of pent up anger, grief, desire for revenge, and cold fury took over all logic and reason that he'd been taught. Dick instantly delivered a powerful kick to the man's stomach and an uppercut to the head while his body was hunched over. Sweet pleasure filled his entire being at the sound of pained grunts coming from the hologram. They satisfyingly had Zucco's voice.
Dick aimed another punch but drove it into the murderer's side instead of the face. Another punch and kick soon followed and it felt like the best thing ever was happening to him when he heard the amazing sound of something breaking inside Zucco's chest.
Zucco fell backwards and landed harshly on the ground. Dick was on him in an instant, throwing punch after punch to various spots of the hologram's upper body. The figure somehow threw Dick off and it stumbled to its feet, spitting out from its mouth in the process. A moment of silence minus the heavy breathing stood. Dick's face was still curled into a snarl and spittle dripped down his chin.
Dick's body stiffened as he thought. It wasn't until Zucco took a step forward that hatred took over logic again. He removed two wingdings from their holster and took careful aim before releasing them. His aim remained true. His aim remained true and the weapons caught the sleeves of Zucco's shirt, dragging him back and pinning him to the wall.
Dick was on him in an instant, one hand firmly planted against the wall behind Zucco while the other slammed into Zucco's neck. The hologram let out a gagged noise and a crazed look crossed Dick's face. A demented grin formed and the hand squeezed the throat. He relished the feeling of his parent's murderer's neck between his powerful hand.
The hologram bucked and kicked out against the hold in a desperate attempt to break the brutal hold. It made wet, choking noises that sounded very close to pleading. This only made the fire of fury and need for revenge to burn even harder inside Dick.
Dick tightened his grip and spit rolled down the corners of Zucco's mouth. It was only when the light started to fade from Zucco's eyes that something inside Dick clicked. He jerked back in disgust and held the hand that'd been choking the life out of Zucco with his other hand. His eyes widened as he realized what he'd almost done.
Zucco slumped and his head fell to his chest while he took in noisy breath after breath. "No," Dick whispered, shaking his head while he brought ashamed eyes up to meet fearful green. "I can't."
A shaky breath left Dick's lungs and he took a step backwards before turning around. He wished he hadn't. A giant screen was in front of him and was playing the scene of that night. Dark blue eyes widened in realization of what he was seeing. It was his perspective. He tried desperately to turn away from the screen but his body refused to cooperate with what his mind was telling it.
No. NO. This couldn't be happening. How could this be happening? The program wasn't designed to do this! Why was it doing this? And why the hell wouldn't his body move? Why was he stuck with watching this again?
He could literally hear the snap of ropes echo both in his mind and in front of him. The screams were in sync as well. His mother's eyes turned to fear as she looked up while he looked down at their falling bodies. He saw the blood and brain matter splatter against the ground and oh god why was he being forced to watch this?
His eyes blurred and he reached down into one of his holsters and before he knew what his body was doing, he whirled around with his arm pulled back to send the wingding straight through the murderer's throat. It all happened in slow motion. He saw the fear in Zucco's eyes reflect that of his mother's. Saw how Zucco's adam's apple bobbed up and down. Saw the trickle of sweat roll down Zucco's cheek. Felt the fear radiating from Zucco overcome his confusion all at once.
He halted himself with the wingding mere centimeters from ending the life of his parent's murderer. His hand trembled and his whole frame followed his hand. He took in a wobbly breath that he hadn't even noticed that he'd needed. Dick licked his lips and swallowed in an attempt to wet his dry mouth. "No," he repeated, louder this time. He stood straight and dropped the wingding, his body still trembling from a combination of pure fear and realization of what he'd almost done. He leaned in close and said, far too quietly for the camera to catch, "I'm not you, Zucco." Dick turned and walked away, his body shaking the entire way, but not before craning his head to glare up at the camera.
Everyone in the main room remained frozen with many thoughts running through their head. After Dick had restrained himself from killing the hologram, Megan had ended the psychic link in order to protect herself from all the overwhelming emotions from attacking her.
Megan had a few tears running down her face. Conner, who stood on the far side of the group and as far from Megan as he could be without being outside the huddled group, had his jaw dropped open and his eyes narrowed while he glared at his shoes. Batman's and Robin's faces were completely unreadable, but if was safe to assume that even Batman himself was stunned with what had transpired. Kaldur looked extremely upset and looked as though he were disappointed in himself.
Wally was shaking with fury, his eyes seeing red, and Artemis had to physically restrain the speedster to keep him from attacking Batman for putting Nightwing through that. For not only making Tony Zucco appear when he shouldn't have, but for also using the memory Martian Manhunter had seen once when probing Dick's mind and put into the program. Dick didn't deserve to be put through that emotional trauma. No one did, in fact.
Even though Artemis was holding back, she wasn't keeping his mouth closed. He opened his mouth and he felt the vein in his neck pounding. "WHAT THE HELL IS THE MATTER WITH YOU!" he shouted, too infuriated to care about watching his language or trying to keep his cool because this was the damn Batman he was yelling at. "WHAT THE HELLl?! ANSWER ME, DAMMIT!"
Batman and Robin turned as one to glare at Wally, but the speedster was too angry to be intimidated. Neither bat answered and it only added to Wally's growing anger because how can Bruce abuse Dick's memories and emotions like that?!
All eyes in the room darted nervously between the livid teenager and the Bat. No one spoke for a long time and the room was so deadly quiet that Conner didn't even have to warn them when Dick was coming down the hallway. The echo of feet slapping on the ground echoed like a clap in a cave and everyone turned as one to the dark shadow that represented a doorway. The echo grew louder and louder until it was overwhelming.
It felt like a lifetime had passed to the speedster before Dick entered the room. Masked blue eyes narrowed to slits at the sight of more than just Batman in the room, though the glare seemed to be all on the Bat. Dick took a deep breath and walked straight up to the Bat. He tilted his head the slightest bit so they could look eye-to-eye and a massive conversation seemed to be passing. The tension in the room reached an all-time high.
It was only when his best friend curled his lip and actually growled that Wally realized why Batman did it. He was trying to prove a point to Dick. He had tried to prove that Dick could have killed Zucco. Pride surged through Wally. Dick just proved Batman wrong. That never happened!
Something must've changed in Wally's posture because Artemis released her tight hug-turned-pin on him. They looked at each other and Artemis seemed to read his thoughts, for a giant, goofy grin spread across her face. The grin spread like wildfire around his teammates and even Robin's lips were twitched upwards, albeit the smallest bit, but still there. It suddenly didn't matter that the room temperature had felt like it'd dropped the moment Dick didn't do it, for a warm, fuzzy feeling spread through Wally's entire body. He was about to step forwards and hug his best friend from behind when something finally happened.
"I'm not him," the quiet yet confident whisper said. Wally hesitated and quickly rethought the hug in case something bad happened. The screen was still pulled up behind Batman and showed the empty room with discarded wingdings and two escrima sticks. "I'm not him," Dick repeated, his voice growing louder with each word until it was at its normal level, "And I'm most certainly not you. I wouldn't kill someone or something that happened almost a decade ago, even if he killed my parents. Not like you would." Jaws dropped at the end of that statement and Batman's eyes narrowed dangerously, mirroring Nightwing's slits.
Nightwing backed away and turned around without another word. Batman reached out and grabbed Nightwing's arm. "Nightwing, wait-" He didn't get to finish his sentence, for Nightwing had reeled around and socked him straight in the jaw. Nothing had prepared them for the amount of shock they felt when Batman went down. Not even Robin could mask his face in time. His eyes were as wide as saucers and his mouth was suddenly big enough for a car to fit.
Nightwing, on the other hand, had no reaction whatsoever; his eyes still those terrifying slits and his body still as a stone. He turned once more and the Team could only numbly stare at the sight before them. Not even Kaldur, the always calm and collected leader, could pull himself together enough to say anything.
Batman lay still on the ground, holding his jaw with one hand while he propped himself up with the other. He was about to get up when the screen crackled. Everyone but Nightwing, who was still walking away, turned to see what was happening. The sight had Batman on his feet in less than a heartbeat. Robin glued himself to the Bat's side. All Robin could think was, Thank god Tim wasn't here to see this.
Joker's face was looking up at something –presumably a phone– and his face scrunched up. "Is this thing working?" The sound of Joker's voice made Nightwing whip around and watch the screen. Joker tapped the camera before laughing. "Hello residents of the United States! This is your favorite clown speaking! I'm here with you today from Happy Harbor! You'd never imagine how many nice people there are here." Something changed in the Joker's tone while he spoke. It sounded dangerous and promised blood and death.
Joker turned away from the screen and pointed to something that was off-camera. "Lookie over here! This kind lady was nice enough to offer me a tour around the place. She especially loved introducing me to the warehouse this fine morning! Tell everyone how much you love it here, sweet cheeks."
The view changed to a woman that was tied up against the wall of what could only be a warehouse. terror shone in her eyes and she tried to call out for help through the gag around her mouth. "Mmph! Mmmph! Hhhmmmmppphhh!" Tears rolled down her cheeks and her body was trembling from fright.
Joker's face came back into view and he had a knife in his hand. "Such a kind young woman, huh?"
"Recognized: Nightwing, B01."
The sound of Nightwing's departure made Wally, who'd been stationary and watching the scene transpiring in front of him along with everyone else, jump. He was already moving before Batman could give out his order. "Follow him." Batman turned back to watch the screen, his eyes narrowed and calculating, and ignored the announcement of the Team leaving. A feeling of dread settled in his stomach and an image of discarded wingdings and two escrima sticks entered his mind. He turned and sprinted to the Zeta Tubes.
*Present Day*
Tim woke up late in the morning, his stomach growling loudly. He rolled out of bed, his muscles screaming in protest and black spots crept along the edges of his vision. He clenched his stomach and steadied himself against the wall to keep from falling. That would be embarrassing, even if he was the only person in the room and no cameras were watching. The only cameras in the Mountain were essentially everywhere but the bedrooms.
He looked around at the utter blankness of his room. He was so boring. Then the previous night hit him. Why he'd slept in so late. It was already ten o'freaking clock! He was almost always up at five! Eight at the maximum on weekends!
Then he remembered why he'd been up so late in the first place. He'd had another fight with Jason and couldn't fathom staying at the manor. He didn't want to go to sleep with Jason's room, although empty since he had been forced to move to Blϋdhaven, being literally across from his. The smug teen still had the big letters spelling his name taped to the outside of the door as if someone could mistake it for theirs. So he'd come to the Mountain at two in the morning after patrol around Gotham ended. Now that he thought about it, he probably could've asked Barbara if he could have crashed at her place. Oh well.
Even after coming to the Mountain, Tim had spent two more hours in the practice rooms to get the tension and anger off his shoulders. It'd helped, and he was extremely grateful that the room was soundproof. The slap of fist and feet against dummy bags and other items would've driven the clone insane.
He quickly put on sunglasses and ran out the door and through the hallways of the place, his muscle memory taking over on the pattern to take on the way to the kitchen. The Team was probably waiting for him there. That was where they seemed to be most of the time when they weren't on missions or training. He'd noticed that a week after becoming Robin. In a few months, he'll have been Robin for two years!
Wow. Being Robin really does fly… Tim almost laughed at the lame pun, but he managed to hold it back.
His guess was correct, and from the looks of it, they really needed someone to settle them down. Conner was on the far side of the room and watching Lagoon Boy and Megan through narrowed and angry eyes while the couple fed each other small treats. Blue Beetle looked weirded out by it, as per usual. Wonder Girl had Bumble Bee in a head lock, smiles on both of their faces. Beast Boy had a piece of pie and was trying to creep up on his adoptive sister.
Robin raised an eyebrow and coughed. "Hey!" Everyone looked at him and Wonder Girl laughed. He scowled. "What?" he asked. He was not in the mood to mess around; he was still mad about last night.
"You're hair is messed up," she said, still laughing. He almost smiled. She was –her laugh was so cute –just her laugh. Nothing else. Nothing at all. She was certainly pretty but he most certainly didn't like her –he liked her… as a friend! That's right. Tim liked her like a friend. Nothing more, nothing less.
He opened his mouth to respond but the automated tone of the computer cut him off. "Recognized: Nightwing, B13. Batgirl, B16." Tim slammed his jaw shut and his body stiffened. Everyone frowned at that, but no one mentioned it. They were still cautious about bringing up the sparring match between Robin and Nightwing. Even Beast Boy put down the pie.
Nightwing and Batgirl entered the room and Jason's eyes instantly found Robin. Batgirl glanced between the two before the three of them had a quiet conversation. The tension in the room thickened. Nightwing spoke after a minute. "Gotham. Now."
Robin hated how Nightwing's tone didn't even offer a chance to question why. Nightwing turned and walked away. Robin looked at Batgirl and he raised his eyebrow. 'What the heck?'
She shrugged. 'I don't know.'
He tiled his head to the side. 'What's going on?'
Even with the cowl on, Robin could tell that her face darkened and he saw her fists clench by her sides. He understood instantly. 'Joker.'
Robin followed her without question, his mind remembering the last encounter he'd had with the crazed man. Batman had attempted to torture him into telling him how to stop the laughing gas infecting Gotham. It hadn't worked, of course, but the memory stuck with Tim nonetheless. He'd learned much about Batman that day.
He had learned that Batman loved breaking fingers. He loved to put his face in another's as a way of intimidation. He learned that Bruce's voice could drop to terrifying levels that Tim never wanted to hear again. Batman enjoyed hurting the Joker. Batman could never kill the Joker. That was the most important thing, in Tim's mind.
The two, for some strange reason, needed each other. It was as if one would die without the other. He knew that that was why Joker would always target the Robins and anyone close to Batman. And why he put Batman in traps he knew the Bat could escape from. The Joker could not live in a world without the Batman. Batman, despite all the crimes Joker had committed and all the people he'd killed, could not end the man himself. Because Batman can't survive without Joker.
They're two pieces of a whole. Robin often wondered what Jason's other piece, or pieces, were. He acted like he didn't need to rely on anyone, but Tim knew that everyone does. Maybe that was why Jason hated him so much.
Tim had Batgirl. He had Conner. He had Cassie. He had the Team.
While Nightwing was leader, everyone knew that it wasn't supposed to be Jason. They knew the first was supposed to. So where did that put Tim? Tim wanted to become Robin. Jason didn't want to become Nightwing.
And now Tim knew Jason was hiding something. There had to be a reason why he was slipping away at the most random times. And Tim was going to find out why, even if it killed him to find out. He was a detective, after all. He'd figure out the enigma soon enough.