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Dick Grayson isn’t very sensitive when it comes to blood and gore. He’s witnessed it time and time again ever since he was a child, it’s a part of his routine. Witnessing blood, cleaning it from his weapons, from his skin. He’s seen a lot of blood, at a lot of places, but it’s rarely as bad as it was in that basement. Dick Grayson might be used to seeing blood, but he isn’t used to it squelching from his boots, he isn’t used to walking through it as if it was a puddle during heavy rain.
Damian hanging limp in a chair, blood everywhere. Cardinal on the floor, taking Batman’s punches like a gift. Batman, a mess on top of Cardinal, sobbing into the blood, hands falling with purpose. Batman-shaped knuckled indents on Cardinal’s skin. A cough. Dick’s boots swimming through a mix of blood and gore.
Dick Grayson is used to seeing his family get hurt, he is used to seeing them bleed. He’s witnessed it time and time again ever since he was a child, ever since his parents fell. He never really got over it. He’s been a vigilante for over a decade, he’s seen his friends and family get hurt so many times that he should have gotten inured to it at this point. He hasn’t gotten used to it, it still hurts just as much, he’s just gotten much better at ignoring it, at pushing everything aside and pretending.
Seeing an autopsy report. Using all coding knowledge he’s got to get through the safety measures that hides the cowl-footage of that night. Jason’s limp body. Soot, ash, blood. Hearing Bruce cry, hearing his heart break. Watching Bruce get torn apart and stitched together on rewind, watching as the Bruce of before gets left behind during the stitchwork. Noticing the absence of the Bruce that loved Jason, learning to accept that a part of Bruce died in Ethiopia and settled in its soil.
As a kid, whenever someone he cared about got hurt, Dick was quick to anger. Quick to jump to his feet, fists raised, ready to avenge. Bruce was very good at teaching him how to hide that anger. Dick learned how to hide it, with Bruce’s help, but it never went away, it always kept stirring just under the surface. It still does.
The Joker laughing, Tim gone, hearing Jason’s name. Nothing mattered, Dick started punching and never stopped. He felt the Joker’s bones crack underneath his knuckles, he felt the Joker’s blood splatter in his face. Nightwing-shaped knuckled indents on his flesh.
Dick never killed his parents' killers, just like Bruce never killed his. Dick learned how to smile in the face of the world, he learned how to be the most charming man in a room. He learned how to be a rich man’s ward. Dick learned to smile during the day, and get his frustrations out at night (in moderation, or else it gets taken away from you.) Dick learned to watch the people he cared about bleed.
Bruce coming home every night with new injuries, Alfred patching him up. Bruce getting shot an alley away, Dick keeping pressure on the wound in the Batmobile. Bruce Wayne, as Bruce Wayne and not the Batman, getting kidnapped for money and Dick having to save him.
Dick was never ready to have a ‘new’ father. He wasn’t ready for his first family to die. Bruce was never ready to be a father either. Neither of them were ready, and they hurt each other because of it. Words cutting through skin and bone like the sharpest of knives. Screaming in the middle of the night. Shards of broken vases on the floor, accidentally stuck in heels, blood on the floor. They aren’t really father and son, they aren’t really brothers either. They aren’t colleagues or partners, they’re some other thing, a mix of it all, a lump of titles that doesn’t fit. They’re Dick Grayson and Bruce Wayne, they’re Batman and Robin.
The thing with Batman and Robin, is that their dynamic holds no clear rules. Sure, Batman has always thought that he is in charge and that Robin is his subordinate, but the dynamic only works because Robin is willing to go against Batman’s orders. They are partners, partners who fight and disagree, but partners that somehow simply work. Work as long as none of them are kept in a cage. Robins are meant to fly.
Bruce was always scared in the beginning, scared of Dick getting hurt, scared of losing this new, frail thing, scared of losing yet another family. He was never any good at showing it, never good at getting over his own fear, never good at talking about it. Dick was still a child, he wasn’t very good at emotions either. Bruce taught him how to deal with (hide) his anger, and Dick taught him how to love again, how to be a family. It was a slow process, it had its ups and downs, but Bruce got better. He was good with Jason. He really was. At least until the end, at least until he got scared.
Bruce’s fear has caused a lot of fights that cut deep. One of the things that hurt the most was when Bruce replaced him. When Batman picked up a random kid from the street and gave away the Grayson family colors without asking, without even explaining to the new kid what they represented. Dick hated that kid for a while, he directed his anger at Bruce to the little kid with no other family, with no support system. Bruce was good to Jason in the beginning, Dick wasn’t.
He will never forget seeing Jason in the Robin colors for the first time. They had been standing in a dark alley, only a few flickering streetlights from the next street over illuminating their faces. Jason had been standing proud, his back straight, and his smile wide. It had been a real smile. Dick remembers envying it. Jason had been standing proud in the darkness of Gotham, Dick made that proudness falter. He will never forget how Jason’s smile got smaller and smaller until it couldn’t be called a smile anymore, how his eyes turned from glittery worship to cold, empty, steel.
Dick can still remember how quiet it was when he stopped speaking, when his rant meant to hurt simmered out with the death of one of the flickering streetlights. He still remembers how small Jason looked in the suit, how their hands were shaking, Dick’s from regret and Jason’s from contained, frustrated tears.
Damian removing a cowl, Jason’s eyes blankly flickering around. Jason’s eyes filled with blood, too much blood, Damian wiping it away.
Dick remembers shouting at Jason, screaming with angry spit that Jason was nothing more than a cheap replacement, a fraud, a thief. He remembers Jason drying his face with his sleeve. He remembers being angry, and not being able to hide it. He remembers wielding his words like a knife, and cutting as deep as he possibly could. He remembers telling Jason that he was nothing more than a thug, just like Willis Todd and that he might as well die later that night, in Wayne manor, because it would surely be better than dying in a prison cell.
The blessing of being forgiven. Lunches in Robinson Park, train hopping, making snowangels in the tall grass behind Wayne manor. Knowing that he doesn’t deserve it, thanking every god out there that he’s got it anyway. Alfred taking out one of his very few absences, Jason being out of his favorite tea—Dick serving him sugar water in the fine china, a pretend tea party in the garden. Watching the cloudy sky from the Wayne manor roof, a falling star, almost falling off, laughing too loud. Wishing that he’d never have to lose another family, that they could always stay that happy. Losing Jason anyway.
Dick had bought tickets to Broadway, he was going to take Jason out for a weekend. He was going to spend time with his brother and have fun. He knew that Jason needed it. There was so much tension between Bruce and Jason, they had been fighting more than usual, it reminded Dick of himself right before he left Robin behind. Dick was just going to finish that mission on Tamaran, then he would take some time off to hang out with Jason. That had been the plan. Jason was dead when he came back. Jason had already been buried.
Coming back from space, laughing, being happy. Too many missed calls. Jason died. Dick wasn’t there to do anything. He was useless. He missed the funeral. Dick walking into the Gotham City Cemetery (not the family one). A tall angel, Here Lies Jason Todd (not Wayne). Dick went once, never again. He couldn’t bear to look at Jason’s name etched into stone.
Dick Grayson remembers meeting Tim Drake. He remembers hero worship and proudness. Proudness like Jason in a dark alley, only lit by flickering streetlights. Tim asked him to become Robin again. Dick refused. He could not stand the idea of living under the same roof as a stitched-together Bruce Wayne that still mourned the part of himself that he lost. Dick could not stand the thought of going back to his childhood, his childhood of fear and rage and pretending. Pretending is easier if you’re on your own.
Damian asking about Jason’s grave. Guilt, fear, pain. A weight on his tongue. Bruce’s face, Talia’s eyes and somehow so much Jason. Dick decided to hide, to run away, to deflect. Damian putting further distance between them. Alfred asking for his opinion on whether they should let Damian into Jason’s room. Deny, deny, deny. Damian with his father’s face, mother’s grace, and Jason’s air. Dick almost calls him Jason too many times.
Tim Drake became Robin, eventually, and it was hard to let it happen. Dick tried to be better towards Tim than he was towards Jason in the beginning. It felt like it worked, Dick knows that it only worked because Tim expected nothing. Wayne Manor and all of its inhabitants, only occasional or not, are very strong, very frail, people. They are all very strong, but very broken. A part of Bruce is lost, buried in Ethiopia, gone, dead and buried. Tim Drake believes he deserves nothing, he is a ghost ready to disappear, he calls himself a replacement. Nobody has to scream it at him in a dark alley, under a flickering streetlight. Dick is a hollow shell with a pearly smile. He tries, he fakes, and he exists. If he gets torn apart, and gets stitched together with parts being left behind, his lost pieces are not hidden in Ethiopia, they’re hidden underneath the floorboards in his own apartment.
A broken Jason in his arms, it has to be Jason. Bruce-shaped knuckled indents on his face, Bruce’s tears mixed with Jason’s blood. Jason’s milky and dulled eyes, Damian’s footsteps. Dick’s shaking arms. So many questions, an ocean of them, not a single answer.
Bruce called him when Damian first arrived. Dick could detect new fear in Bruce, fear just like when Jason first arrived. Fear like the first time a Robin soared through Gotham’s skyline. Fear like a third Robin crawling in through a window to save Batman and Nightwing. Fear like a girl he couldn’t call his own, and thus couldn’t control. “It’s mine. With Talia.” Dick never liked Talia. Dick was terrified that he wouldn’t like her son. He did. Damian was just too much like Jason. Damian’s biggest flaw was how easily he ripped up old stitches, and how much those torn stitches tend to bleed. Damian was bleeding more than that before he started coughing. Jason is bleeding more than that right now.
Bruce called him when assassins started crowding Wayne manor, Dick left Blüd and managed to get there just in time, Cass arrived with him. That was the first time Dick ever met Cardinal. He was tall, a large man with a larger presence. He was strong, Dick could tell and Cass confirmed it. Cardinal was dangerous. Dick still listened to his instructions, he took Robin with him and left for Gotham Light and Power. He never regretted that decision. Bruce did need their help, Robin probably needed that closure. They needed that conversation about Tim’s parents, about Steph, Superboy and Jason.
Steph coming back, Superboy being alive, Tim being happy for the first time in months. Dick resenting him for it, hating himself for resenting Tim for being happy. So many people back from the dead, but not Jason, never Jason. Never Jason until it’s been too long. Never Jason until it hurts.
Dick noticed that Damian looked happier. He noticed that Damian tried to stay away from him, Tim and Bruce, that he accepted Alfred, but often spent time with Steph and Cass. He followed them, twice. Damian didn’t look very pleased the first time. He looked almost disappointed during the entire evening. He still showed far more emotion than he ever did in the manor.
The second time, there was a whistle, and the car stopped. Damian walked out, the car drove away without him, Steph waving as they left. Cardinal stepped out as if he appeared out of thin air and messed up Damian’s hair. They looked familiar with each other, they looked like family. They walked for a minute before Cardinal turned his head to stare right into Dick’s soul. Cardinal’s face was covered, but the message was received. Dick left them alone. The only reason Damian was happier was because he got to see his family, got to see Cardinal. Cardinal could have made sure that Dick never found out, could have gotten to see Damian another day when Dick wasn’t watching. Dick left them alone.
Cardinal is Jason. Jason is the person who made Damian happy. Damian wanted to see his brother’s grave and to read his brother’s books. Dick denied him. Dick has interacted with Jason twice without even knowing it. It was Jason who saved their asses during the Wayne manor invasion, it was Jason who ruffled Damian’s hair before looking right back at Dick Grayson, right into his soul. It has to be.
Dick asked Cass how he could get closer to Damian, how he could gain his trust. Dick wanted to try. He wanted to be better. Cass told him to be honest. Cass told him to drop the act and tell the truth. Dick didn’t know where to start. It was Damian who took the first step. Dick followed him to the library and followed him around like a lost little bird. Damian reminded him so much of Jason that it hurt. Dick took him to the cemetery. Damian seemed to like him better after that, it felt like Dick did something right for the first time in years.
Then Damian was gone. Lost. Kidnapped. Dick waited for the moment Cardinal would show up with Damian in tow, he believed that Cardinal would be able to fix it. Cardinal never showed up, Dick started stressing. He feared for Damian’s safety, he feared for his own. Everything was Dick’s fault. He should have followed Damian out, Damian was alone and it was probably Dick’s fault. They just started getting on the right track, and Cardinal was going to kill him.
Hearing Cardinal drop down behind him felt like a blessing, Dick didn’t show it, but having someone as strong as Cardinal on their side felt like relief. “Nightwing, I need a plane, or a helicopter.” The modulator made it difficult to gouge his emotions, Dick was a mess, he hoped that Cardinal would fix everything. Just like last time back at Wayne manor. “I can find him if you give me a plane.” Dick called Batman. He thought that everything might be fine, that Cardinal had a plan.
“I’m never letting him leave my sight again, clearly none of you know how to keep a kid safe. Two of your robins have already died. Maybe I was stupid for leaving him in your care with a track record like that.” Dick had already been thinking those thoughts on repeat. He already believed that it was his fault. He had already acknowledged that Cardinal would be pissed, and would never forgive him. Dick would have let it slide if Cardinal hadn’t mentioned Jason, Dick can’t handle thinking about Jason.
No more dead Robins. Robin’s can die, but it turns out that they never stay dead either. Like a Phoenix they rise from the ash, bloodied and taunted by death, but alive, breathing and ready to fight.
“If he’s dead I’m killing both of you and then myself.” If Damian is dead, Dick might just let him. Bruce won’t. It almost looked like Cardinal’s skin was glowing, it was shining through the fabric of his undershirt, Dick was staring.
Two blades entering Damian’s chest, exiting. Pink flames licking metal. Blood, too much blood. Blood red and Baker-Miller Pink. Silence.
Dick killed the Joker once, Bruce managed to bring him back to life. When Bruce was hitting Cardinal, breaking his arms, cracking ribs, leaving Bruce-shaped knuckled indents on his face, it looked like Dick Grayson beating the Joker. Dick had frozen, his feet had gotten lodged in the bloodied mess on the floor, and instead of Batman, he saw himself. He didn’t stop Bruce. If Cardinal died, Dick wouldn’t have saved him. The odd thing was that Cardinal never fought back. It looked like he welcomed the punches like an embrace, it looked like a desperate attempt at redemption. Dick only watched, he watched until a cough disrupted the scene.
“If he’s dead I’m killing both of you and then myself.” Cardinal never cared to follow through with that promise. He seemed content with killing himself through Bruce’s hands.
Damian never looked that tender in the manor, never looked at anything with that much care, that much love. Damian looked at Cardinal like he was everything, like losing him would mean losing a part of himself. Damian looked at Jason with more love than Bruce ever did. Dick has never forgiven the Joker for taking Jason away from them, never forgiven him for what he did to Babs, Dick has never once stopped hating the Joker, not even in death. Bruce almost instilled that kind of hatred in his own kid, might still have, because those eyes don’t look good at all.
Not caring about the punches, feeling absolutely nothing and everything all at once. Losing another brother. Batman, crazed and not in control. Watching. Listening. Having two dead brothers, having none. One, slipping out of his arms, slippery from the blood coating his skin. The other, bruised and bloody on the floor, dad-shaped knuckled indents on his face. Feeling everything and nothing, all at once.
Perhaps this is why Bruce has the no kill rule, because you never truly know who you’re killing, never truly know someone’s intentions or the outcome. Bruce almost killed Jason. He might have blinded him for life. He almost killed Jason. Maybe Bruce is right. Bruce only did what Dick did to the Joker, acting in the name of rage-fueled revenge, not thinking about the consequences. Who is Dick to be angry at Bruce? He’s got no right. He watched, he did nothing, he let it happen. It’s Ethiopia all over again, only this time Dick was there and he still did nothing. He doesn’t deserve Jason, he doesn’t deserve to be a big brother. Dick should leave. Pretending is easier if you’re on your own.