A/N: Okay, so this is a continuation of chapter 3 (which is a continuation of 2, so it's like a three-chapter mini-arc or something) and mostly consists of me stalling while trying to figure out what the teams reactions are, and then kind of failing at capturing that response.
That being said, I greatly enjoyed writing the first five pages of this. The last two took forever (read: six days)
Reviewers (as a whole), thanks so much. It's always great to have feedback, especially if I can respond to you via PM, because then I don't have to clutter every chapter with long responses that just end up being me ranting about my headcanon... Thanks for dealing with that ladies and gents ^_^
Chapter 4
"You really aren't good at this, are you Bruce?"
"That's very supportive, Dick."
"Oh, you wanted positive reinforcement? I'm sorry. I've spent the last four years without it, so I'm not exactly sure how to give that anymore."
"Dick, I-"
"Don't. I'm just pissed at the team and taking it out on you, but you really are a fun sucker, you know that right?"
"A fun sucker?"
"Eh, I'll find a better term for you some day."
Why he'd ever thought it'd be a good idea to work on Bruce's sense of humor on the trapeze, Dick would never know. It was bad enough that Bruce wasn't exactly agile enough for most of the complicated moves Dick preferred, but to do it while trying to get him engaged in witty banter was practically suicide.
"It's really not that difficult. Just swing your legs to build up momentum, release at the apex of your swing, flip, catch, turn, repeat."
"Says the circus performer."
Dick really hated his weekends sometimes. Morning was training, training, and more training. Afternoons had him checking in at Mount Justice for some team training, and nights were the typical patrols in Gotham. Sure, that meant he got to spend his time being useful, doing what he was born for, but it also meant that he had to go back to Mount Justice to watch his teammates pour over his personal file from the BatCave... Okay, the edited version, but still. They'd know most of what had happened to him, he wasn't sure if he was ready for that, but if anything, they deserved to know something about him. They all had their secrets, but he was the only one who was a secret, so let them read the file. He'd deal with the repercussions.
Which was probably why Bruce was even attempting to continue the lame repartee while working. He was normally quiet, only pointing out areas of improvement, and never wasting a single movement during training. Except today, because tonight Dick would have to confirm his teams worst fears.
He just needed to distract himself until then. And if there was anywhere that let him feel free, truly unbound by any of the tethers that tied him as either Dick Grayson or Robin, it was on the trapeze, it was mid-flight, almost falling but always landing.
"Hey, Bruce?" he calls as he pulls himself up on the bar, managing to sit along it lazily like a swing. His mentor follows suit with far less grace, not to say that Bruce's graceless, but that, in comparison to the acrobat, the man is- well, he's no trained acrobat, but his gymnastic capabilities allow him to manage here. That's the biggest difference between them. Bruce is brutal efficiency while Dick is flashy fluid movement.
"Hmm?"
"Thanks."
He gets a smile. Which, with Bruce, is really just a slight tilting of the corners of his lips and a minuscule tilting of his eyes. He's grateful he's spent the last five years of his life studying the subtle signs of Bruce and Alfred. Without the limited knowledge he's picked up, he'd never manage to survive. He lives off those subtle signals and non-words.
"Oh, you wanna take a break? Hit the floor. There's this move I was working on with Val the other day. I think you'll like it."
"So, she's teaching you now?"
"Just when I need to work through something. It's nice having someone to talk to that understands, you know? Not that I can't talk to you, but-"
"I understand." He knows Bruce means it. After all, he's almost certain that Val's stay with the Young Justice team was organized by the man solely with Dick's problems in mind.
They hit the mats and warm up, start with some practice katas before moving into an actual spar. Bruce gets into the perfect place, just where Dick wants him, and his feet are moving before he consciously notices. It's a high kick, into a spin kick, into a flip-dodge. They still once he lands.
"Capoiera." It's no surprise that Bruce recognizes the move's origins. The quick complicated movements, the aerial maneuverability, and the high kick are all indicative of the Brazilian martial art.
"Yeah, she figured, with my flexibility..." He trails off, and they're moving again.
Sometimes, he really loved his weekends.
One of these days, he was going to burn the days Saturday and Sunday off his calendar. And he would bathe in the sound of the crinkling paper succumbing to the flames, he would watch the flickering light permeate the room, and he would love every second of it with a kind of psychotic glee that would make every quark in his body shiver.
Provided that image was able to burn the current one off of his retinas.
He likes his team, don't get him wrong, but he really hates the looks on their faces right now. Look, singular, is more like it, because they each have an identical expression on their faces. One of pity and awe in a combination that should not even be possible.
Wally is the one to break the silence.
"Dude."
His exclamation is followed by a heavy silence and Dick just stays in the doorway.
"Why didn't you ever tell me you're actually a legitimate ninja?"
"Never came up in conversation?"
"Dude, seriously, bros don't hold information like that back. This is awesome!" Except for the fact that Wally looks like someone killed his dog. He never really was good at acting.
"Yeah. I mean, it's useful to know. Not the most practical in most situations, but in Gotham, Ninjutsu has its uses."
They look at him for one hard moment.
"Anything else interest you guys about my file?" He's hoping he can just get this over with. They don't appear to be cooperative.
More silence. Some awkward shuffling and Kaldur actually looks like he's on the verge of twiddling his thumbs.
"Fine. Common room. Twenty minutes. Be ready." And Dick stomps out of the kitchen, cape flying up to obscure his path like he damn well leads this team in full Bat-fashion.
The statement should have less truth to it than it does, and that stings.
He finds her in the training room, on the floor in front of a few mirrors, back arched over a leg, in a leotard, tights, and leg-warmers. It's a sight so 1980 he doesn't know if his brain can handle it. He snaps himself out of it though. Dance fashion isn't a priority.
"You're going to help me, aren't you?"
Val looks up from her stretch, sighing, and nods at him. "How long've I got?"
"Fifteen."
"Good. Join me?"
"Sure."
He knows he'll have to join team training with Canary in an hour and a half, but this isn't training so much as stretching, making sure he doesn't have to deal with crepitus and snapping hip syndrome, both of which he knows the hunter next to him fell victim to ages ago. Hearing her move sometimes is only a matter of listening for inhuman crackling noises that resonate like machine-gun fire.
It'd disgust him if he wasn't quite so morbidly fascinated with the painless noises.
"So, Bats gave them your file?"
They're in the main training room which translates to non-civilian identities only.
"Yeah. He figured it'd get them to stop treating me like a kid. I'm worried that they'll just start treating me like a victim instead."
"You ain't a victim, kid."
"I know that. You know that. B knows that. They don't."
"You want me to help them get that?"
"You're the only one who can."
"True enough."
She stands up, shaking out her limbs in that loose fashion of a dancer, practically shimmying from her ankles to her neck. He follows suit and rolls his joints back into place. They may stretch the same muscles over the same bones in similar ways, but for her to roll a joint was to exert perfect control over the play of tendons and ligaments in a way that was pure show. For him, it was all about preparing for flight.
They bow to one another in ridiculously ostentatious manners. He's rather glad she shared quite a bit of her own history with him. Their pasts in some form of a performance lifestyle makes it easier for him to handle telling her about the good memories of his days as an aerialist.
"You lost there, little bird?"
"Nah. So, why Val?"
"My codename's been Valkyrie for so long, it just felt fitting. At least for this life."
"Valkyrie?"
"I didn't choose it. I'm not Norse, so I wouldn't go for one of their legends." He tries not to think of just why a Roman Praetor's daughter wouldn't want to have a Norse codename.
"Well, it is kind of fitting."
"Heh, yeah, it is, isn't it? I'd have gone with Nerio, personally, but Valkyrie works a bit better."
"More recognizable, at least."
"I do like the thought of having wings. Well, depending on the depiction."
She put a hand on his shoulder and they walked from the training room like they were just going to grab water on a break. Not a thing like going to have a conference about what exactly his file meant. He wonders what the team will do when she walks in with him.
Probably nothing. Though Wally will probably question the leotard.
The thought makes the edges of his mouth curl in a Bruce smile. It's the most he can manage for now. Val just ruffles his hair and grins at him like some demented marionette. He knows not to trust that smile, simply on principle. Expressions like that are never a good sign. Especially not on someone who has about two millennia of knowledge on being devious.
"What are you planning?"
"Nothing. Just imagining the looks on their faces."
That's so comforting, V. So concerting.
The team is jumpy. Val gets too much amusement out of it, but she masks it well.
"So, shall we get started?" She even claps her hands together like a television stereotype.
Artemis practically claws at the cushions of the chair she's sitting on. "No offense, but why are you here?"
"I'm just here to make sure this gets resolved. I'm essentially a mediator."
"What if we don't need mediation?"
"Then I just sit here."
"Why?"
"Because it's my job."
"Right."
"So, uh, we should probably start this, right?" Val rolled her eyes at him. He glared back.
"Is this absolutely necessary? The team can function without-"
"Kaldur, I understand where you're coming from. You want to avoid a painful confrontation and that's admirable, but in some cases, these things need to be met head on. Especially in circumstances like this. If you don't resolve this now, it could lead to one of you getting gravely injured or worse on your next mission. That's also avoiding the fact that you all are friends, which means this needs to happen even more than it would if you were merely coworkers." A guidance councilor waxing poetic wasn't something Dick thought he'd ever have to see in Mount Justice. Clearly he needs to reevaluate his worldview.
They just look at each other quietly, no one moving, and Dick feels his control falter, the anxiety and nerves spilling out of his pores in rage. Part of him realized that this was incredibly unhealthy but, as would often be pointed out to him from this point foreword, he was the Bat's protege. If he didn't act like the man occasionally, they'd all be concerned.
It's more honesty than most of them have ever seen from him. And it's just one clipped sentence. Short. Four words. Fifteen letters. One apostrophe.
"Don't even think it."
He won't allow them to pity him.
"What are you talking about?" Wally sounded completely perplexed.
"Don't pity me. Don't be amazed. I am what I am. Accept it, and let's move on, okay?"
"Sure thing, Rob, but, uh- you know how we- well, I know you're probably trained for this or something, 'cause Bats is crazy - but, well there was that time-"
"Wally, you're rambling."
"Right. Um, what I'm trying to say is-"
"Wally."
"I'mgladyou''dbeokaybecauseI'msureyou'vefoughthimsinceeverything,butlike,he'scrazyandIdon'tblameyouifyoucan''remybestfriendandIcareand..."
"Breathe Walls."
"I'm good. You get that?"
"Sort of. And for the record, I'm good with Joker. Well, good with fighting him, that is. Trap me in a room with him again and I'll probably get a bit jumpy. Same goes for Two-Face. Especially if he has a coin and two hostages." He looks out at the others. Megan looks two seconds away from pulling him into a hug. Artemis seems to be re-evaluating him. Kaldur has a measured look of pride, like an older brother watching his younger sibling survive something godawful, it's pride and shared pain. Conner just looks a bit sad and confused, tries to mask it, but he's worse at hiding his emotions than Bruce, doesn't have the experience, and Dick reads it easily.
Meagan croons "Oh, Robin" and catches him in a hug, Kaldur puts a hand on his shoulder, Wally screams "Group hug!" and latches onto him, Artemis ruffles his hair, and Conner stands to the side equal parts confused and amused.
Val gets in on film, because she hates him.
Before they start their usual team training, Wally catches up to him, blurring to his side in typical speedster fashion.
"So, that's why you got all twitchy with the Boy Hostage jokes and started to wear pants?"
"Smiley face scars aren't really the best for striking fear into the hearts of Gotham villains." His eyes roll into the back of his head behind his mask.
"Neither were the scaly underwear." Oh, he did not just-
"One, it was a leotard. Two, that costume wasn't designed for fear. Three, the scales were armor. So-"
"Wait, you had armored panties?"
"LEOTARD."
"Right, a leotard. That's so much better."
"I'm an acrobat!"
"Uh huh. Sure thing boy who wears fairy boots."
"You're just jealous of their awesome, KF. Their terrifying power of awesome."
"And this is your newest attempt to be scary?" Wally gestures to his current Robin suit.
"Nah. It's all about the stealth. Realized I'm never going to be as creepy as B, so why try?"
"You gonna let us call you Shorpants anytime soon?"
"I know those are the best insults you and Roy have for me, but you're gonna need some new ones."
"Fine, Batboy."
"Yeah, that name sucks. I ever tell you that?"
"I know. That why you didn't pick it?"
"Partly, Flash Boy."
A long suffering groan is his reply.
"I hate you, I hope you know that."
"Noted, twinkletoes."
A/N: Let me know what you thought of this chapter. Next should be up sometime next week and, well, it's going to be strange. It will include a lot of me mucking around with most of DC's comicverse cannon. It will include Deathstroke and is a 'dear god this should never happen' AU for the Renegade arc. I will probably hate myself for writing it.
You are the only ones with the power to stop this, but I probably won't listen anyway.
References:
Crepitus - a medical term to describe the grating, crackling or popping sounds and sensations experienced under the skin and joints.
Snapping Hip Syndrome - (also referred to as coxa saltans, iliopsoas tendinitis, or dancer's hip) is a medical condition characterized by a snapping sensation felt when the hip is flexed and extended. This may be accompanied by an audible snapping or popping noise and pain or discomfort. Most forms of athletics (but specifically ballet and gymnastics) leave one prone to snapping hip syndrome, as repeated hip flexion leads to injury.
- Kirrae