Chapter Text
Dick didn't know how it worked.
(That was the sick part - knowing that he didn't know about his family's gift, because his parents told him to wait until he was older - to wait until their corpses had been buried beneath pounds of dirt and tears and disappointment. He didn't know about his family's gift. He didn't know their stories. He didn't know the Flying Graysons despite being the last of them.)
The only memory he truly had to guide him was simple.
His mother's smile had been so soft beneath the gentle light of a setting sun as she'd placed his little, pudgy hand in hers.
"It is a gift, my little Robin." she had said, and Dick had stared at the matching wings inscribed like a ring or a tattoo around their wrists. "When you love someone, you can feel their heart, but be careful, because you can never take love back."
Dick frowned. "Why would I want to take it away?"
A shadow crossed her face as a stray cloud cast darkness over the memory. She had smiled so bitterly that Dick just knew there was a story there he'd never learn.
He didn't remember her reply.
But he remembered those two things. That when he loved someone, he could feel their heart and that he could never take back love.
(And it hurt so much - that empty space where he could no longer feel his parents. It hurt in a twisting, awful way both similar and different than the circus leaving him behind despite the fact that he could feel all of them in his very soul.)
(It was so achingly lonely.)
Dick's anger, his hatred, his pain - it almost created a murderer.
It was Batman and his mother's soft, hazy memory that created Robin instead.
"You don't have to do that, Master Richard." Alfred tutted, attempting to gently extract the towel from Dick's hand. However, the boy held firm, dancing just out of reach.
"I can do it." Dick insisted as he finished drying a plate despite Alfred's reach.
It was in that moment, however, that his foot slid in a spill of water down the front of the sink and on the floor. Of course, he was a gymnast, an athlete. He caught himself easily, perhaps too easily.
He didn't catch the plate.
Tears welled up in his blue, blue eyes as he stared at the shattered pieces lying about his bare feet, and he turned to look at Alfred. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry I -"
Alfred smiled at him, hands reaching out gently. He plucked the boy from the floor and placed him on the cupboard, bare feet safer there as he said. "My dear boy, I care far less about the china than you. Perhaps we could strike a deal. I will clean this up, and then together we may do the dishes."
A rush of warm relief ran through Dick's chest, and he smiled.
Alfred pulled back before frowning at his own skin, just one solitary eyebrow raising. "That's peculiar."
Because there on his wrist was a line of blue dancing into two wings wrapping all the way around his wrist, the tips of the feathers meeting just below his palm.
Dick had flushed red, ankles immediately crossing as he almost sunk into himself. Alfred looked at him with those all-knowing eyes, seeming to see straight through him. Whatever Alfred saw made him smile gently. He placed a weathered hand on Dick's knee, the wings on his wrist standing out against the pale skin.
"It's beautiful, Master Richard."
Together, the two finished the dishes.
(And sitting there together in comfort, in warmth, in a quiet acceptance as hands moved and helped and brushed by one another, Dick felt . . .)
(Dick felt whole. He could feel again.)
Suddenly, Dick was handing out his love. The guarded fear disappeared, replaced only by his desperate wish to be home in a circus again.
Instead of his mother and father, Alfred and Bruce bore his wings. Then Commissioner Gordon and his daughter were marked like Reya and her mother. For the strong man, there was a Superman. For the lion tamer, he had Wonder Woman. For a ticket master, there was a district attorney -
Dick could still feel his old circus, could still feel their joy and sadness and fear and laughter -
But it was different. It was so different when they could stand right beside him.
(And Dick - Dick forgot. He forgot his mother's warnings just like he began to forget her voice - it was there, but it was faded. It was soft and hazy like a good dream.)
Robin's world was hazy like a cloud of choking smoke in a great fire.
He hadn't cried, not once as he'd felt Harvey's heart shift rapidly between anger and righteousness and guilt and sadness to a vindictive desperation and just a hint of exhilaration as pain had bloomed throughout Dick's body. He hadn't cried once as he felt all that Harvey felt while he'd destroyed Robin's faith in him.
But then Harvey's hand was in his hair, dragging him from the grimy floor by the scalp.
And all the while, he just kept talking.
"The great outlaw protector of Gotham hid behind Lady Justice's skirts. But she's blind for a reason, brat. 'Cause she doesn't see what needs to be done in her name."
Dick squinted through the concussion, the blood he could feel on his face, the pain, and the world began to swim into focus.
Harvey's face, the side the acid had burned through his soul -
His hand. His wrist. His mark.
Robin's mark.
It was on the side of his burn.
You can never take love back. His mother had said.
A tear escaped one eye, hurt welling up as he understood. He swallowed a sob as he felt a spike of - of amusement paired with heartache from the man in front of him, and for a moment, Robin - Dick wished he had never loved at all.
Then Harvey grabbed the bat.
"I could feel it." Dick whispered later, voice hushed as though it were an unspeakable evil he were speaking into existence. He knew Bruce didn't understand, didn't know what the mark on his wrist truly was, but Dick couldn't help wincing at the pity that seeped through his chest. He let Bruce believe that it was just a regular pain, a normal pain even as he said "I can still feel it."
Dick was more careful. Robin was more careful.
The marks appeared more and more seldom and after more time. They were earned instead of freely given.
Every hint of drugged confusion and resentment and fear and burning anger that leaked through Dick's chest and seeped through everyone else's emotions was a reminder.
He would never go through that again.
He would never let himself go through that again.
Apparently, Batman had the same thought, because the man was suddenly looming and worried where Robin used to feel trust. He was angry when he used to be amused. His emotions, harsh and so, so very afraid, were like a battering ram as they would slam through everything else in his chest, overwhelming everything -
And Robin couldn't live like that.
(Not when a gunshot rang out, attempting to steal Robin's soul, and he woke up unable to hate Batman for trying to take Robin's name, too.)
The Titans earned his trust, his mark faster than anyone else. Some of them earned it prior to even starting the Titans. They were a circus unlike any other - just dumb teenagers trying to make a difference -
Somehow, that was how the mark was discovered by the media.
For most of them - the mark appeared on the wrist where gloves or gauntlets perfectly hid Robin's wings -
But Cyborg didn't't have wrists - not anymore.
The mark peeked out instead from under his hair, crossing his forehead like a circlet for a prince - a king. He had laughed when he'd seen it, saying he'd always wanted a tattoo and smiling in a way that melted some of the anxiety of where the mark had appeared off of Robin's shoulders -
But then the newspapers had a headline about an inner circle in the Superhero community, the picture of Cyborg's mark front and center. There was a picture of Superman's hand, the mark peeking out just slightly from his sleeve, saying that if Superman had one, it must have been a very important mark. The rest of the article was full of wild theories and ideas not only of who else bore a mark but what it could possibly mean - if it was in reference to power or position or something else -
That night, Superman drifted down from the heavens like an angel and rested a hand on his shoulder. "No matter what the papers say about the marks, I want you to know that I love mine."
Robin smiled a little weakly. "Not everyone does."
"Not everyone knows what it is." Superman replied simply.
Curiosity settled in Robin's chest that was purely his own as he said "And you do?"
"I know it's yours. That's all I need to know." Superman replied.
And Robin -
(Dick felt loved - wholly and truly.)
That didn't stop him from watching the news, obsessively scrolling through articles until -
"There's another Robin." he said numbly.
"Robin was named for my mother." Dick had admitted quietly on Clark's couch, a cup of hot chocolate on the table in front of him. He picked it up off the coaster, staring blankly at the image of a happy home - a sweet farm with blooming flowers. He sat the cup back down, unable to look at it.
"I didn't know that." Clark said.
"She used to call me Robin. I picked the name and the colors for her and Dad. The two of them - I wanted them to live on, and I wanted people to feel - to feel happy, inspired when they saw their colors just like people did when they were alive." Dick smiled, chest aching with sympathy but not pity.
Clark had never pitied him.
"I think you succeeded. You always inspire everyone around you. I'm sorry you weren't the one who chose to give Robin to someone else."
Dick sighed. "If it were up to me, I don't know if I would have ever passed it on. Maybe it's good Bruce did it, because this way - this way my parents get to live on."
Clark quirked an eyebrow. "And you're okay with that?"
"No." Dick admitted bitterly, his own anger rearing up sharply in his chest where he tried to suppress it. "I wish I was. I can swallow it down sometimes, but I'm still so angry. I wish I was better than this."
"Dick." Clark said, the first hint of disapproval slipping through their connection. "You're one of the most amazing people I know. It's okay to be upset and angry. Bruce should have talked to you about this. In the very least, he should have called you, so you didn't have to find out the way you did."
"Maybe." Dick said softly. "But I should have figured something was going on. Lately, he's felt different."
Clark frowned, eyebrows furrowing, and Dick thought . . . he thought It's time.
"Robin isn't the only thing I got from my mother. I also got the gift. It's what she called it." Dick said slowly, tracing the wings around his own wrist. He watched as Clark's fingers drifted to his own mark - the one he usually kept hidden beneath a thick, bulky watch as Clark Kent. "I got this one from her, because she loved me. And when I love people, I leave the same mark on them, and I can feel what they feel."
Clark frowned. "Like pain?"
Dick looked up. "More like emotions. I can usually tell when someone is in pain, but it's more like - like empathy."
"That's amazing." Clark breathed.
Dick basked in the literal Superman's awe, letting it fill him for a moment before saying softly "There's only one downside. I can never take the mark back."
Clark's eyebrows shot up. "Why would you want to take it away?"
Dick couldn't help it. He laughed. "Can you imagine being betrayed? Feeling someone's hatred for you that you love?"
Clark went quiet, his eyes softening. "That's a heavy burden."
Dick swallowed. "I . . . Yeah. Sometimes I just lay in bed and pretend I can't feel it. When it's - when it's too hard. I know I'll get up eventually, but . . ."
Silence lapsed between them for a long time, the confession heavy in the air between them. Their hot chocolate slowly cooled as the light from the window changed from soft oranges to a misty twilight. Dick let himself drift there, feeling everything and everyone - worry and anxiety, laughter, buzzing discontent, and a pitiful confusion and self-destruction from somewhere behind bars -
"There's a Krytonian myth, you know. Of Nightwing and Flamebird. Have I ever told you it before?"
Dick's sharp eyes caught on Clark's kind smile, one eyebrow raising. "I don't think you have."
"It starts with Flamebird. She was a beautiful, flaming dragon. Her opposite was Vohc-the-Builder. Vohc would create the world, and it was Flamebird's purpose to destroy what he had made, so Vohc could create something bigger and more beautiful the next time. However, they weren't vindictive nor angry at one another. Vohc was grateful to be pushed further and greater, and for a time, they were even in love. But Vohc had a friend - another god named Nightwing."
"Let me guess. He's also a dragon." Dick joked, but despite his words, he leaned forward, completely enraptured.
Clark grinned, carrying on. "Nightwing was tasked with hunting down all the evils that lived in the shadows by his father, but that made him solitary - a god of shadows himself. He was lonely, constantly stuck in the darkness, but he did have Vohc. Vohc took pity on him and introduced him to the light - Flamebird. The two instantly loved one another, becoming partners and lovers, but Vohc still loved Flamebird. He made a monument to their love, and when it came time for Flamebird to burn it down, he begged her not to. However, she had to, and she did, turning Vohc into Vohc-the-destroyer. He was so enraged that he tore Nightwing and Flamebird apart."
"That's . . . sad."
"Yes, but it's not the end. It's never the end, because Nightwing and Flamebird are reborn every cycle. The two find each other, the darkness and the light. Every cycle, they are revived, and every cycle, they are betrayed and lose one another. Yet, they keep coming back, because the love is more important than the hurt."
Dick lowered his gaze, eyes stinging. "Nightwing, huh?"
Clark reached out, taking his hand so that their angel marks met. "You gave me a great gift, Dick. So I want to offer you something in return."
The next time that Dick took to the sky, it wasn't as Robin.
"As much as I appreciate the offer, I'm afraid I'll have to decline the League's interest." Deathstroke the terminator - Slade Wilson said, slowly removing a single glove while Nightwing stared at him.
At the mark.
Damn it. Nightwing thought. I was being careful.
"That is what they say, isn't it?" Deathstroke said slick as oil as amusement filled Nightwing's chest. "That this is an elite hero's mark? Though I suspect that isn't quite true."
"Maybe it's a sign." Nightwing said through gritted teeth. "Time to switch sides."
Deathstroke chuckled genuinely.
(And Nightwing hated the warmth in his chest.)
I have to get out of here. Nightwing thought. I want to go home.
Jason Todd was rough around the edges. He was a bit like an alley cat that wanted to be petted but would scratch you if you tried it.
Despite Dick's anger, his frustration, his soul-deep fury at the man who wasn't radiating a hint of shame at replacing Dick just like that -
Dick thought the kid was adorable.
So he gave him his Robin costume. He gave him Robin the way he should have been able to on his own before Bruce did it.
(And Dick wasn't shocked when he began to feel the kid's surprisingly sweet happiness and excitement even if it was sometimes tinged with bitterness or anger. Dick understood anger - he'd tasted it from all kinds of people. Jason's anger was fair - it was just. It was from his past washing up in library bathrooms and watching the desperate be buried beneath medical bills and crime, and it was from the new knowledge that came with silk sheets, more than enough food for every meal, a fancy school with bullies that tried to shame you instead of break your nose -)
(Dick sometimes smiled when he felt it, because he knew that kid saw all the pain and injustice in the world - and he was going to fix it in ways that Bruce couldn't imagine.)
(Except Jason wouldn't.)
It happened while Nightwing was in space.
His feet had been under him, and he'd been laughing. Laughing.
Bubbling joy and excitement had been bouncing around his chest from nearly all sides, the happiness from the Titans drowning everything else out.
(Nearly everything. Because the whole past week had been a whirlwind when he'd shift his attention to Batman and Robin. Batman's emotions were stress and frustration, nothing groundbreaking, and Robin had been filled with alternating, conflicting emotions made of dread and joy, anxiety and blindingly bright excitement, past resentment and loud hope.)
(Nightwing wasn't sure what was going on, but he knew he was going to visit the manor as soon as he returned.)
In that moment, everything was good and well and fine -
Then it wasn't.
Robin - Jason - his emotions were total devastation, fear, fire, and they were so overwhelming that Dick's heart began to pound painfully. His hand pressed into his chest, the blood draining out of his face as he hit his knees. He took a slow breath, watching the alarm cross the Titans' faces one by one as they surrounded him -
"It's okay." Nightwing breathed. "I'm -"
Fear, anxiety, terror beyond terror with hints of hidden pride and -
FEAR, FEAR, DESPERATION, CONFUSION, BLAME, ANGER, FEAR, TERROR, HOPE, HOPE, FEAR, HOPE, HOPE, HOPE -
Nightwing couldn't breathe. "Something's wrong."
"Breathe, Nightwing." Starfire said, laying her hands on his shoulders. "We don't know what's wrong or what medical attention we can get you here -"
Nightwing shook his head. "It's not me. It's not - It's Jason."
"Jason?" Starfire asked in confusion, and he watched as the other Titans' mouths moved, but he couldn't hear the words because -
HORROR, FEAR, DREAD, HOPE, HOPELESS, HOPE, FEAR, FEAR, FEAR, FEAR, FEAR -
"Call Batman. Someone tell Batman that Robin's in trouble." Nightwing begged. "Please - Someone has to tell him to save Robin."
It was all consuming, the fear, the pain, the hurt, but what was worse was the powerlessness that Nightwing felt with Robin -
Because they couldn't get a signal.
They couldn't get a signal.
He sat there for hours. Hours of emotional wreckage that were so devastatingly deep that he couldn't stand, could barely breathe -
Then there was a shining moment. Batman's desperation and Robin's hope merged for a single moment that made Nightwing feel almost drunk, tense relief slipping through his shoulders, because everything would be okay - It was just like Harvey with his bat or the Joker with his gun when Batman was there just in -
Then Robin felt nothing.
And then Robin was nothing.
Jason was nothing.
And Nightwing knew that he was gone, because he could feel Bruce's scream.
Dick hadn't been able to go to the funeral for his parents. At the time, he'd been in Juvenile Detention. He didn't know when it happened. Just that he hadn't been there to say goodbye.
This time - he felt as though he were in a jail of his own making.
(He hadn't purposefully delved into Harvey's feelings. It was just easier to deal with his warring anger and confusion than to deal with pity, pity, sympathy, love, pity, pity, love, ANGER -)
"I'm not here to fight." Dick had said to Bruce.
(It was true - until Dick had felt the anger, the blame, the fury, and then -)
(Then it became a lie, because Dick had his own anger to feed, too.)
Losing Jason made Dick think. Made him think How do I stop this from ever happening again?
So he focused on pressing the League and Wayne Enterprises and any other technical institutions he could think of to work on space communication - he spearheaded the project with a passion unmatched, and when he was told no, he made someone else say yes.
Then he focused on his mother's gift, because -
It wasn't supposed to be a curse. Nothing she gave him could ever be a curse. There was no way that it could just be a way to feel new kinds of pain.
So he sat Kori down and said "Have I ever actually explained the mark?"
Kori and the other Titans were more than willing to help him test and experiment with his mother's gift. All of them.
He quickly learned that they couldn't hear any of his thoughts, feel his emotions, or frankly, get anything from him.
However, there was one gleaming moment when Kory had been holding his hand, the two walking in the forest along the stream, that he'd heard her voice loud and clear. I could be here forever.
"Me, too." Dick had said.
There was a pause. "Dick?"
Dick glanced at her. "What?"
"I didn't say anything."
It turned out, if the thought was strong enough, and they were touching, he could hear it.
But not from everyone. Just when the bond was strong enough.
Then came the most useful thing.
It was instinctual. He learned that if he focused on someone, if he tightened his hold on their feelings within his ribcage, he could find them. It wasn't like a GPS or a string that tugged him along. He just felt his body want to go to them, and it knew where to go.
If he tried to figure it out or mentally work through where they were, he lost them, but if he just felt -
"So what you're saying is that you're the world's greatest hide and seek player?" Beast Boy demanded.
Nightwing grinned. "I sure am."
"Not if I have anything to say about it." Beast Boy grinned.
(Turned out that Dick could even find a worm so long as he loved it enough.)
(Beast Boy called him a cheater. It was the first time he'd laughed like that since Jason.)
Dick started to feel . . . better. Not content. Not happy.
(How could anyone feel happy when they could feel Batman's burning ire clawing at their ribs -)
But he was getting better.
Until -
"Remember, that was me disguised as Kory. If we weren't meant to be, seems to me you should have sensed the difference."
Mirage had his mark.
She had -
Dick couldn't feel anything from it, but it burned his eyes and turned his stomach every time he saw it, and -
Kory's face. He couldn't get the pure heartbreak in her eyes out of his head when she'd seen the wings, and -
(Dick felt wrong in his body. His body wasn't his own, and neither were his emotions. Were his thoughts even his?)
(The mark - why didn't he - he just assumed that Kory had been having a weird night while they were together, not that it wasn't her - that she and her emotions were far away -)
(Where did Mirage get the mark? What was it? Who had -)
Bludhaven was a new start away from Batman and the Titans and the nasty headlines and -
A knock rang through his apartment. Dick glanced at the door and genuinely thought about ignoring it, about just laying there on his couch and not moving, because it was one of those days where every feeling (and the weird buzzing nothingness of someone's emotions - probably Harvey's - that Dick instinctually shied away from) was getting to him -
But he was Nightwing.
And Nightwing was always reborn.
Dick pulled himself up and to the door, and -
Tim Drake was somehow both polite and a hardheaded, little thing.
Dick didn't want to love him.
Dick wanted him to run screaming from the Batman and never show his face again, safe somewhere boring and simple.
Instead, Tim climbed in his window and plopped down on his couch, completely drenched from the rain, and stole a french fry from his greasy Gothamburger bag. "What's this, and how does it work?"
He showed off the blue lines of the wings, and a part of Dick wanted to cry.
(It was a bad day. It was a very bad day.)
"It doesn't work." Dick stated too bitterly.
"Yes, it does." Tim said, happy mood bouncing in Dick's chest completely unaffected by Dick's reluctance. "Explain it."
"I feel your mood, your emotions, and I can find you if you're in trouble." Dick replied, snatching one of his fries back out of the little gremlin's fingers. "And if you want fries, you can ask for one."
"Can I please have a fry?" Tim asked.
Dick sighed. He handed over the whole cardboard container of them. "Here."
Tim lit up, munching away as he continued. "Can I send you messages?"
"Maybe." Dick said.
Tim stared at him for a moment, waiting for Dick to elaborate as he devoured the fries.
Dick didn't.
"Did you hear that?" Tim asked.
"Nope." Dick replied, popping the P.
Tim's eyebrows furrowed, but his excited curiosity, innocent and light, lit up Dick's chest. It was hard not to soften, the boy's happiness infectious. So Dick took his hand, their matching marks laying side by side.
"If the bond is strong enough, I can hear it when we touch." Dick explained slowly. "But your mark is new, so don't feel bad if it takes a -"
Bruce has long eyelashes. Tim thought.
Dick jerked back his hand, scandalized. "Why were you thinking about Bruce's eyelashes?"
Tim grinned ear to ear, jumping to his feet and spilling the remaining fries all over the couch. "It worked!"
The next time Dick saw Bruce, he couldn't help thinking His eyelashes are pretty long.
He looked at Tim. "You're a gremlin."
Tim beamed.
Dick had a nightmare that night.
He was standing in a burning warehouse, the concrete hot beneath his boots, and in front of him stood Robin - Jason. And he was also on fire. Dick reached out, but his boots had melted into the concrete, keeping him too far away to put out the flames.
Jason cocked his head. "Can't you feel it?"
A tear slid down Dick's face. "What do you want me to feel?"
Jason smiled. "Vohc is hurting."
Dick shook his head. "Why? Why?"
"Because I burn."
Dick woke up in a cold sweat, bolting upright. He panted, clutching at his chest as though he was having a heart attack.
Because he felt angry.
Jason was angry.
"A seance?" Zatanna repeated, her voice fuzzy over the phone. "I don't know, Dick. That can be tricky."
Dick's knuckles went white as he fought the overwhelming anger in his chest. "Please, Zee. I really need help."
There was a pause. "Okay. Okay."
Dick's apartment was cold despite the warmth of the summer heat outside as he, Zatanna, and Dr. Occult sat in silence, eyes closed as they clutched one another's hands. All the curtains were drawn, the lights off, bathing them in near total darkness. One solitary candle flickered between them, and Dick silently prayed and prayed and prayed -
"I'm sorry." Dr. Occult said, staring Dick down with those ageless eyes. "Wherever Jason's soul is, it's not where we can reach."
Something in Dick crumpled, but he managed to say "Thank you."
Dick didn't know what to do. He started connecting with more and more supernatural experts, only some of them human. He was convinced that someway, somehow, Jason's soul was trapped somewhere - somewhere Dick couldn't reach without help.
(But that was fine. Dick was good at making friends.)
(It would just take time - time to learn to live with the overpowering anger.)
Adding more members to the Batfamily was something that Dick struggled with in the wake of the dreams.
As Steph had become elated by her mark and Cass had become first terrified before settling and stroking it so gently that Dick had nearly cried without her emotions in his chest, Dick had thought There's too many to protect.
(Then he tried to swallow down the guilt of resenting the gift, his love for a moment - for regretting Pop Haley, and the lion tamer, the ticket master, the psychic and the strong man, Clark and Diana, Lois, Bruce and Alfred, Kory, Donna, Roy, Wally, and Jason -)
(God, Jason.)
Dick was in the middle of sending memes to John Constantine of all people (God, what had his life become) when he felt it -
Panic. Fear. Anxiety. Panic. Fear.
Tim.
Dick was running before he knew it, racing through the streets, and all he could think about was the dirt beneath his knees on a foreign planet where he couldn't do anything -
When Dick got there, Tim was . . . fine.
Perfectly fine.
Tim was sitting in the grass of the manor holding a stopwatch.
And suddenly, the anxiety died down into pleased amusement -
"That was a lot faster than I expected." Tim said, taking down the numbers from the stopwatch in his phone. "Where were you when you felt it? I need to make sure the distance is accurate."
Dick's eye twitched. I'm going to kill him.
"I assumed your apartment, but by my estimates, it should have taken you four more minutes at your highest speed - Hey!"
Dick plucked the child up by the back of his shirt and carried the squirming bundle straight inside past Alfred as he was dusting.
"Master Richard!" Alfred said in surprise before zeroing in on the way Dick promptly dumped the kid on the couch. Alfred sat down the duster to stand at Dick's side, one solitary eyebrow raising as his lips thinned. "Master Timothy."
Tim flushed all the way down his neck. "I was just testing how the mark works! What if I really need help? I want to know approximately how long I'd need to stall and if there's a distance it stops working in or -"
Dick pinched the bridge of his nose as Alfred, scandalized, said "Master Timothy."
"Dick said he can sense my feelings and if I was in trouble, but I need to know how it works - We should all know how it works and how long it takes for Dick to show up, but it's not in the computer! It's like B didn't do any testing, and I couldn't do an accurate test if he knew I was fine -"
"Master Timothy." Alfred repeated one last time, and Dick watched as the shame set in on Tim's face.
(Dick was so grateful for Alfred. He'd never explained how it worked, never knew the extent to which Alfred had figured out the gift, but the man acted with all the grace and dignity of a man who was never surprised, merely disappointed.)
(Very disappointed by the state of that one eyebrow.)
"I'm going to explain this just once." Dick said slowly, and he watched as Tim partially perked up, his shame living in Dick's own chest. It was for that slowly souring feeling, that sinking anxiety, that Dick did his best to soften his voice, his words as he knelt down in front of him. "I will always come for you. If you're in trouble, I'm on my way. If I can't get there in time, I'll find someone that can. I will do everything in my power to make sure you're okay, but you can't do that to me. Okay, Tim? Because before you, I felt Jason's panic. I was off world. I knew I was needed, and I couldn't get my communicator to work. I couldn't call Batman. I couldn't come home. I couldn't save him. I felt him die instead. I've taken the time to do my own tests, my own work to make sure that won't happen again - But I need you to trust me. Can you do that for me?"
Tim stared with wide eyes, understanding blooming in his face as Dick's chest became hot with mixed emotions - comfort and shame, embarrassment and trust -
Love.
"Come here." Dick said softly, and then he had a kid in his arms, warm breath on his neck.
"I'm sorry." Tim whispered.
"It's okay."
Alfred smiled at the two, gentle and soft, brushing his hand across Dick's shoulder blade before leaving the two boys to the moment, and Dick closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath -
"Is it still okay to do some experiments?" Tim asked. "Not like - like that, but ones you know about?"
Dick backed up just enough to give the younger boy a suspicious look. "What do you have in mind?"
Tim grinned.
Tim figured out how to do a specific emotion - a Nightwing come home emotion, and Dick -
Dick didn't know how he did it, and he had no idea how the kid thought he was going to teach the girls how to do the same thing.
(Then again, Dick wasn't sure how Tim had managed to fake such convincing fear, either. No one else had been able to lie with their emotions, but Tim - Dick was learning that Timmy was clever in a way that Dick had never seen before.)
However, that wasn't enough for him.
"I'll figure out how to make my thoughts travel." Tim declared. "If I can tell you things without having to be in the same room -"
"Maybe you should try making it work with clothing in the way first." Dick grinned, plucking one of Alfred's cookies right off the tray. The man gave him a look, but Dick felt the amusement so deep in his chest that he just tore it in half and gave the (bigger) half to Tim (the little gremlin).
Tim's eyes lit up. "We could experiment right now!"
Tim snatched a discarded towel and tossed it at Dick's arm, laying his hand over it.
Alfred frowned at him. "I do hope you'll bring me another towel first, Master Timothy."
Tim flushed.
"I don't need to hear your thoughts to know that you're about to do what Alfred said." Dick said dryly.
"Stay right there!" Tim commanded before sprinting out the door to get another towel. Dick snorted, taking a bite of his half of the cookie.
"Does Master Bruce know the extent of the power the marks give you, Master Richard?"
Dick startled, frowning. Guilt, his own slipping and sliding around Bruce's exhaustion and Harvey's bitterness and Kory's contentment, settled in his chest. "No. I never found the words to tell him."
Alfred nodded, humming quietly. There was no judgement, just genuine curiosity, and Dick relaxed as Tim's running footsteps echoed down the hall.
"I'll tell him one day, but now . . . we're still in a weird place after Jason, and I don't want him to know . . ."
Dick didn't want Bruce to know that Wayne Industries downgrading the Intergalactic Communications Project to a later project, a less crucial project might be the reason that Jason wasn't with them.
(But then again, maybe Dick was being too self-centered, convincing himself that he could have saved Jason in that moment. Maybe there was nothing that could have been done. Maybe Dick was as human and limited and small as an ant crossing the threshold of a god's door, an entire universe on the other side that was no better nor worse without him.)
Before Dick's mind could carry him away, Tim entered with the towel and hurriedly handed it off to Alfred before setting his hand back on the dirty towel on his arm.
"What am I thinking?" Tim demanded, and Dick -
Dick didn't have a clue.
(He was just grateful to have Tim there to chase off all the dark and ugly thoughts in his head.)
Barbara was sad a lot. Angry a lot.
Dick couldn't blame her. He saw how her hands would tremble on the wheel of her chair, how she'd adjust her glasses as she stared into her multitude of screens with a single-mindedness that he knew in his heart of hearts was fake -
Because her heart never drifted far from the chair, the bullet -
The Joker.
(And Dick - he understood.)
(He couldn't understand losing his body, his family's famous stunts, his flexibility, his legs -)
(He understood the obsession. He understood sitting beneath the stars doing favors for magicians he'd never heard of, sending silly messages back and forth with Constantine knowing that the other man suspected ulterior motives, begging Zee for any ideas or more magicians or tomes he could research, seeing Jason's burning form in his dreams -)
(Dick's mind was locked on the Joker and what he'd taken from him the same way Barbara's was.)
So Dick decided to give her something else to focus on.
And soon enough, there were stars in her eyes, and there was a blossoming in his chest that made his grasp on his obsessions loosen some, too.
(But then again, maybe the obsession was too much to truly do away with, especially when the fire was with him each and every night, and Barbara clutched at the armrests of her chair day in and day out.)
(He didn't know. There was a lot he didn't know. But he did know that -)
The Joker had gone to war, and fucking President Lex Luthor had baited him from the oval office -
(And Dick - Dick blamed himself, because he was the one that told Barbara to take a break from Oracle for one night and managed to choose the one night Joker would break free and manage to infect so many villains with the Joker gas that he could amass an army -)
And Tim.
Tim.
His anxiety had been relatively contained. He hadn't emotionally called for Nightwing, his worry had been limited, and then his panic had flared so sharply that Nightwing, regardless of what he'd actually intended to do, on instinct began to go after him -
Then silence.
He couldn't feel him.
(It happened so fast - so fast -)
"Just like Jason . . ." Nightwing breathed. "We weren't there for him . . . How long does this go on?"
Barbara's anxiety, her fear, her anger - It nearly swallowed him, nearly drowned out the lack of feeling from Tim -
No matter what she said, how she told him no, her emotions were warring in his chest - her fear -
(And Dick could fix that fear. He could end it. He could end the Joker.)
Halfway through beating the Joker into nothing, Tim's emotions began again, and Nightwing had a brief terror of just like Jason -
"His name was Jason, right?"
Robin - Tim was alive.
And he was - he was scared, scared of Nightwing.
(It wasn't long - just for a moment - but Dick had felt it, felt it when he'd looked at Robin without seeing him, had stood with bloodied knuckles over a corpse -)
Tim kept sending the Nightwing come home feeling, and Nightwing -
Nightwing ignored him until he stopped.
"I'm sorry." Dick whispered into Barbara's red locks.
"No." she whispered back. "I'm sorry."
Somehow, someway, Tim did it.
He taught the girls how to do it.
Nightwing come home.
Nightwing come home.
NIGHTWING COME HOME -
Steph and Cass and Tim - He couldn't ignore them all in his heart, begging without words for him to return. He just couldn't.
So he did what they asked.
Nightwing went home.
"You're such an asshole." Nightwing snarled at Batman, at the man's back (It always felt like he was talking to the man's back) -
"It's too dangerous." Batman stated.
"I'm not Robin anymore, B. You can't bench me."
"You're not to go near him."
And for a moment, Nightwing just stared at the man's back. He felt Jason's all-consuming anger, his inability to rest even beyond the grave, he felt Harvey Dent's righteous anger and the confusion - always the confusion at how this had become his existence, his torment, Slade's grim satisfaction at some atrocity perfectly executed -
And Nightwing felt his control snap. "I'll do what I think is best, and you won't get in my way."
Batman turned for the first time, his cape dramatically flaring around him as he stared him down like a murderer. "Or what?"
"Or nothing." Nightwing stated coldly.
And he stalked away.
The Red Hood was not an easy man to find. Frankly, it felt like he didn't exist unless he was baiting the bat.
It was impressive.
But Nightwing was nothing to scoff at.
It took him a week - just one week. Then he was waiting for the Red Hood exactly where he knew the man would appear to take out a couple of his henchmen selling to children.
(He'd done his research. The Red Hood didn't allow anyone to sell to children.)
Not that the henchmen would even be there.
It would just be Nightwing and the Red Hood.
But the moment the Red Hood had spotted him, the man had turned tail and ran.
It should have been easy to catch him, but -
(Something tinged the anger - Jason's overwhelming anger in his chest, and Nightwing had just skidded to a stop, surprise trapping him in place under the night sky just like his boots melting into the concrete in his dreams.)
(He watched the other man disappear and thought -)
(What was that?)
Dick lay on Bab's couch as she worked, staring at the ceiling.
He ran a finger over the mark his mother had left on his wrist, just thinking.
He had too many thoughts.
(He didn't let any of them linger.)
Robin sent the Nightwing come home feeling first.
Then the terror had set in, bone deep and loud vibrating through Dick's ribs -
"Fuck." Dick gasped out.
"What's wrong?" Babs asked, wheeling around to stare at him, eyebrows furrowed.
"Tim." Dick managed through a spike of horror, confusion, fear - "Where is he? Right now?"
Snapping into Oracle, Barbara's fingers danced across the keys. Her cool determination, her focus soothed some of Tim's panic just long enough for Dick to dive for his suit.
"I found him." Barbara called, her voice heavy. "He's in Titans Tower."
Nightwing wasn't close enough to hear the words, couldn't focus on the words if he tried -
Because there were two Robins. Two.
And Tim was being forcefully thrown into a wall, blood splattering about him like a bad horror movie as horror, fear, desperation, pride, shame filled the chambers of Nightwing's heart with screams and cries where there should have been blood -
But all the blood on the floor, on his brother -
"It didn't surprise anyone when I died. When I failed." Jason - Jason -
Jason.
Jason was alive.
Jason's face, his voice, his soul -
His boot was on Tim's back, and -
"Shut up!" Nightwing roared, moving like an avenging monster, a shadow demon, a Kryptonian myth -
Tim's hope flared in his chest as Jason's shock reverberated through his rage, and Nightwing shook Jason by the stupid rip-off costume he was wearing when he could have come back and claimed his old one, could have walked through the door, could have come home -
"You dumbass." Nightwing breathed out, hands trembling as he clutched at Jason. "You didn't fail as Robin. You didn't. We failed you. Just - Little Wing -"
Even with the mask, Nightwing watched as sudden panic rang through his face -
(Not that he needed to see his face to know what he was feeling -)
And suddenly, the younger man was ripping himself away, fleeing into the darkness.
Nightwing wanted to race after him, force him to come home, to talk to him, but -
Tim's heart was heavy, afraid still even as he tried to shoo his emotions away into something neat, orderly, something Nightwing couldn't read. The boy sat up, groaning a little, a stubborn set to his jaw as he said "What are you doing? Aren't you going to go after him?"
Nightwing took a breath. "No. No, I'm not."
And Nightwing gathered Tim into his arms, being awful careful around his ribs, his shoulders. Tim hesitated before clutching at him too harshly, blood smearing on Nightwing's neck as he began to shake a little -
There was so much fear, so much shame, so much heartbreak, and the residual panic buzzed through both of them.
(And Tim - he'd grown so, so much. He was still too young, so young, but he was coming into his mind, his own person, his own hero, his own skills. He was growing so fast, yet in that moment, he felt just as small as the kid that had climbed through Dick's window in the pouring rain to steal his food and shove the proof of Nightwing's - of Dick's devotion right in his face.)
"Come on, baby bird." Nightwing swallowed past a lump in his face. "Let's get you cleaned up, okay?"
"Why didn't you tell me it was Jason?" Dick asked, voice practically dead.
Bruce stopped and stared at him. "What happened?"
"Why didn't you tell me he was alive?" Dick demanded.
Bruce pursed his lips. "I'm not the only one who was keeping secrets."
And Bruce clicked a single button on the batcomputer's key board.
A hoard of text messages, logs, notes, and annotated notes from different magical sources appeared - all of the notes in Dick's messy scrawl.
Dick scowled. "I see you've been disregarding my boundaries and the law again."
"We disregard the law often." Bruce stated, easily glossing over Dick's boundaries just like that.
Dick's eye twitched. "What did you expect me to do?"
"Perhaps what you expected me to do."
The words were simple. They were fuel for a fire, for a deadly rampage that would rip up all the progress they'd made in the time Tim had been Robin (small progress but progress nonetheless). However, Dick could feel something else beneath the all-consuming fire that was Jason's heart in his chest -
It was heartache. Loss. Hurt.
Fear - Fear fueled by love.
(What a strange thing that love had both been lost and born in Batman, lost and born in Robin, kept and betrayed in Nightwing -)
(Peculiar. Alfred had said when he'd discovered Dick's mark on his skin.)
(Beautiful. Alfred had said when he'd discovered Dick's mark on his skin.)
Dick's voice cracked as he finally said "I thought Jason's soul had been taken to hell. Had been ripped from heaven - that he was suffering where we couldn't do anything. How could I tell you?"
Bruce softened, eyes so sad as he ached. "And I found that someone else with your mark - someone you cared for - was on the streets hurting people just like . . . How could I tell you?"
Dick's lip trembled, chest narrowing in for just a moment on the conflicting emotions that always, always warred within Harvey Dent who used to pretend that he had accidentally bought candy he didn't like just so he could give it to Robin without Robin feeling like a baby -
Dick's eyes burned.
"Chum." Bruce breathed, and then there was a hand on Dick's shoulder. "I think - I don't want it to be like this anymore."
Dick swallowed. "Me, neither."
"Maybe we just need to be honest. Clear about - everything. Not just the case." Bruce's hand tightened just for a second, hinting at the anxiety that welled within Dick like a sad yet hopeful pool of emotions that didn't appear once on Bruce's face.
Dick dropped his gaze, unable to look Bruce in the eye anymore.
There was a sting in his chest, a sting of rejection, before the well of emotion began to dry as though being sucked up by a giant hole of nothingness -
"Did I ever tell you about the marks?" Dick asked, and the hole within Bruce was buried in surprise for just a moment.
"No." Bruce stated.
"My mother called it a gift." Dick stated. "For a while I thought it was a curse, but now - now I think it's more than that."
Bruce's eyebrows raised a fraction of an inch.
"I think it's a tool." Dick face slowly spread into a grim smile. "Because I can find Jason Todd any time I want to."