Chapter Text
It’s something small that jumpstarts the thoughts Dick had thought had long since passed. Jason and Bruce were at it again, shouting at each other so loudly that the bats overhead had flown away with screeches. Tim awkwardly pushed his face into his phone and Cass had already disappeared into the shadows. Dick didn’t tend to come around Gotham for this very reason; Bruce always did something that upset someone, and that someone was usually Jason.
Jason didn’t just take it, didn’t take the lectures or the disappointed glares. He fought back because he was stubborn, and a part of him would probably always hate the man in the cowl. He screamed back and of course Bruce wouldn’t listen to what Jason was actually saying, and thus a screaming match arose.
Dick only stepped forward when he saw Bruce’s hand flex, saw his weight shift and Jason’s hands fall to his blades. He didn’t need them fighting, especially since Jason rarely stepped foot around the Batcave anymore and the only time Dick ever managed to talk to him was when Jason was in a decent mood in regards to Bruce.
“Okay, why don’t we take a step back?” Dick suggested, stepping closer to the shit show happening in front of him. Jason sent him a snarl and Bruce a scowl.
“Stay out of this, Nightwing,” Bruce ordered sharply.
“Yeah,” Jason sneered at him, “Follow Daddy’s orders like the fucking puppet you are.”
Dick reared back, shocked even though, deep down, he knew he shouldn’t be. He tried to tell himself that Jason was just angry, that Bruce wasn’t thinking, but it was useless. He knew better. As the two went back to barking at each other, Dick took a few steps back. He made a motion like ‘can you believe this?’ to Tim and the poor kid grimaced back but didn’t react further when Dick left the cave.
Dick had always followed orders; the ones that mattered. But he wasn’t a puppet, he wasn’t some mindless pawn.
(He knew a thing or two of how that felt. He also knew how Jason would be seen with a bruise on his jaw the next time Dick saw him and how Bruce would have knife slashes on his arms.)
He shook his head before he could get lost in the past, because he knew better than to really loose himself. He ran his hand up his bare arm and quickly followed a simple breathing exercise. Jason and Bruce could beat each other black and blue for all Dick cared.
He didn’t think of how he and Slade had done the same, years ago.
He tried to not think that the way Bruce treated them was far from mentor and student, let alone father and son. He wasn’t quite successful.
Dick knew early on that Bruce would never quite be a father. It had nothing to do with age or being a first-time parent to an angry but very smart nine-year-old. However, Dick learned throughout the years that Bruce was a bad guardian. He remembered being eighteen and angry, watching Bruce with a skittish boy he called his son and wishing that he could just take that boy from the Manor, shove him into the Titan’s tower, and take care of him.
(Jason would have likely grown up terribly, but he would have been alive. He would have never died, would have never seen green.)
When Tim showed up, took on the Robin title, and paved his own path and created his own legacy, Dick had tried to find every excuse he could to stay out of Gotham. He didn’t want to see yet another child go through the awful training that created Robins, but Tim had always beamed so brightly when Dick walked into the cave and led him away after a rough training session to get a warm meal and catch up.
It was the way bruises dotted Jason and Tim’s skin, bruises from training, from being dropped onto the floor with no mats and taking fists head-on, that made Dick learn that Bruce was a bad parent.
(It was the way that Dick flinched whenever someone got too close, whenever one of his friends playfully punched his shoulder and he braced for a powerful hit. It was the way he would flinch when children were out with their parents, and he was overcome with the urge to protect them from dangers that would never come their way.)
Dick had always been the glue that held their little family together, it was his job to give Bruce talks about emotions, make sure Tim slept and Jason had a civil relationship with at least three fourths of their family. He found himself getting tired of it; tired of all the fights he must break up and all the insults he must endure.
A part of Dick entertained the idea of leaving. Retiring from Nightwing, leaving the Bat family behind. It’s a thought he had a lot growing up, however it had always been leaving Gotham behind, creating a new life for himself, fighting crime by himself in his new city.
Now, Dick just wanted it to all be over. He wanted to retire and live the life of a civilian, something that Bruce had never approved of; he had put a stop to it quickly when Dick had started to subtly retire years ago.
The only way to leave is to die, Dick thought one day. He was horrified with himself as soon as he realized what he had thought and spent the next few days trying to make up for a thought he had late at night after a tiresome patrol and dealing with Bruce.
He had responsibilities. He ran the Titans, he took care of Bludhaven, he made sure Bruce didn’t do anything he’d regret in regard to their family. Dick had duties he needed to fulfill and dying was not one of them. Leaving was not one of them.
He was Dick Grayson, Nightwing. He could handle the pressure.
Dick found himself planning his death two months later. His jaw ached from when Bruce punched him mere hours ago when Dick timidly suggested he laid off Tim a bit; he was still a kid and he still had to focus on school, not vigilantism. It was in a state of fury that was filled with desperate thoughts of I deserve better that Dick pulled out papers and started to lock onto places that could easily be Nightwing’s resting ground.
He wakes up the next morning and dry heaves until his stomach is empty when he reads his plans.
Faking his death to run away was a coward’s way out. It was cruel. Cruel to Tim and Jason and Babs and Cass and Alfred. They didn’t deserve to mourn him when he was out there living a peaceful life. They didn’t deserve to think he was dead.
And what would the Titans think? Would they even be informed that their mysterious friend that was only known as Nightwing had died? Would they think he had abandoned him? Did it matter what they thought, when, in reality, he really was leaving them behind?
Dick shoves the plans into one of his hidden spaces and tries to forget about them.
(And he hated how he never really forgot about them, how he always thought about them whenever Bruce started to yell or give Dick the same ‘you aren’t enough’ lectures that he’s heard since he was running around in Robin colors. He hates how he still loves his family after everything. He hates how he still wants Bruce’s approval and Jason’s hugs and hear Tim’s excited words.)
Dick hates the idea of leaving Damian with Bruce. A child assassin that didn’t see any reason to keep criminals alive? He could already see the horrible relationship they would share. But Damian isn’t a street kid nor was he an orphan. Damian was Bruce’s son, and even if Dick tried to take custody of him, even if he did somehow win the case, Talia would swoop in and take the boy before Dick could even figure out how to parent him.
“I think you should be easier on the kid.” Dick said one day despite everything. “He’s had a hard life; he deserves a childhood.”
Bruce stares into his eyes. “None of us had a childhood,” he replied, completely calm, “Damian needs training, to be on the right path. If he loses a childhood, so be it.”
“I didn’t have a childhood because of you,” he wants to scream. He wants to cry and punch and kick but at the same time his eyes stay dry, and his fists stay at his side because the idea of disappointing Bruce still makes him nauseous even after all these years.
“He deserves better,” Dick said.
Bruce scowled at him, “I’ll parent my son how I see fit. You’re dismissed.”
Dick returns home to Bludhaven and doesn’t feel nauseous as he pulls out the plans he made months ago. The thought of staying here, of going to Gotham, of being around that family even another second makes his skin crawl.
He’d have to change some things around. Faking a death and making it convince the world’s greatest detectives was going to be difficult, but Dick had done harder things in his life. Soon, Nightwing would die. Soon, the Wayne family would mourn Dick Grayson’s life.
Soon, Dick would finally be free of them.
(And he hates how relieved he was at the thought; he hates how guilty he feels about it all. Even after everything, Dick still loved them, still felt devoted to them. All he had ever wanted was for them to love him too.)
Dick had made it a point to never learn any other hero’s real name.
The line had been drawn after Batman gave him the task of learning all their weaknesses and determining the best way to take them down. Dick kept all the heroes, even the Titans, at a distance. It had been difficult, at first, creating bonds with them but never really letting them in. But then he thought of how he was twelve years old and creating contingency plans for the kids who should be his friends, and the distance had been easier.
But, despite it all, Dick knew them, and he trusted them. Trust was difficult in his life.
That’s why, a month and a half later, Dick makes the decision to start his new life in Keystone. Keystone was KF’s city, and he was a good hero. Dick wouldn’t feel the urge to suit up and fight battles when there was already a great hero there. He could live a regular, civilian life there.
Richard Warbler – his best suited identity based on the paper trails he had (and they were damn good ones, seeing as Dick’s had this identity prepared since he was thirteen) - would be a boring police officer and live in a nice loft apartment near the police department. He’d be a boring guy, someone no one really looked twice at. No one would find him there.
(The day Dick Grayson dies, Richard Warbler would take his first breath, and he would feel free for the first time in years.)
He gets replicas made for the things he couldn’t bring himself to part with; his parents’ wedding rings, the only photos he had of them, a few pictures he had of his brothers and sister. He gets an extra suit and weapons made just in case he finds himself in a position that required it, but this one lacks any real charm. Nightwing is not going to make a return, and hopefully this new uniform will never see the light of day.
He feels guilty as he spends time with his family as if he wasn’t planning his own demise just to get away from them, but he acts like nothing is out of the ordinary. He bites his tongue when Bruce and Jason start to argue, he smiles and helps Damian with his training (he doesn’t even try to go for a killing blow anymore).
He tells the Titans he plans on retiring, doesn’t give them a date, or insinuate he’ll even go through with his words, but he doesn’t tell them of his plans. Doesn’t tell them not to mourn him. They’ll be prepared to replace him anyways.
He knows them and he trusts them, but he can’t have one of them slip and mention he had faked his death. Dick Grayson was going to die, and he would never come back. He couldn’t come back.
The only person who would know he still breathed is Slade. If he hadn’t been a necessary part to Dick’s plan, Dick would have left the man to think his so-called apprentice was dead. It was strange how Dick felt that Slade was the only one who he could really trust with this, and maybe it was because the mercenary thought of Dick as his equal. Maybe it was because, somehow, Slade did seem to care in his own twisted way.
Dick looked over the scene that he and Slade had just finished creating; only stopping their battle once the camera had been destroyed after Nightwing had gotten run through with a blade. Not even the world’s greatest detectives would be able to think he survived that hit.
The room is ruined, blood coating the floor and splattered over the walls. Parts of his uniform is torn and scattered around, his wingdings and escrima sticks laid around, scattered and forgotten and dropped from lifeless hands. If Dick hadn’t prepared bags of his own blood, hadn’t created the scene, he would have assumed this killed him just as his family would.
The fake body Slade had prepared laid in the center, lifeless eyes staring right into Dick’s with blood cooling under it. Dick stared back and felt oddly numb to it all.
“You know, little bird,” Slade said, “This is a perfect opportunity to join me.”
Dick looked over to the man, frowning. “No.”
Slade stared at him for a moment, searching. “Retirement doesn’t last with people like us, apprentice.” He said, a knowing sort of tone to his voice. “Call me when you’re ready to get back in the game.”
He leaves with the cash Dick promised and a card with his number is left in Dick’s palm. Dick hates how he doesn’t throw it out, instead checks it for trackers and leaves it in his pocket. He looked over the scene again before he sucked his teeth and turned. He left out the window silently, sticks to the shadows as he was trained to, and he disappears.
Dick is settling into his loft in Keystone when he sees the article posted. The Titans generally didn’t do public announcements, not like the Justice League did, so when they did release a statement, people were usually quick to write about it. It claims that their leader Nightwing retired, but the article made it clear that people believe something much more deadly had happened.
The death of heroes was never really announced. It made the public scared, the idea that the people protecting them could die. There are no articles announcing Dick Grayson's death, but there is one saying he's going on a trip. Either his family is holding out hope that he's alive, will come back to life, or doesn't want the scandal.
Dick turned off his phone and spends the rest of the day acting as if he wasn’t tearing himself apart on the inside.
He deserved better, he kept telling himself. And he would finally live a nice, peaceful life here. He deserved a nice life.