Dick Grayson-Centric Fics

Rules: Make a 24-hour poll listing the titles of every WIP you want to work on. (It's fine if you only have one, still make a poll for the vote count). Whichever WIP title gets the most votes, write 1 sentence for every note received.

My goal for the year is to write more, so maybe this will help me do that!

Tim hated Bludhaven.

The city was heavy. Everything from the people to the architecture felt stifled under an oppressive weight that seemed relentless. The buildings were narrow and short, leaving Tim feeling paranoid as he ran across its rooftops, staying in the shadows to avoid being seen from the ground up.

Not that he had to worry about that, as the streets were dead, deader than Gothams during an Arkham breakout, which was saying something. The few people he saw quickly ducked in and out of doorways to prevent from being out in the open for too long. Even the less-than-savory characters perpetually seemed to be in a rush, looking over their shoulders at the smallest noise.

The same jumpiness was common in Gotham, but usually when criminals were nervous they looked up, scared that one of the Bats was about to bust their operation. Here it seemed that the biggest danger was on the street, following you around every corner, waiting to attack the moment your defenses were down. 

It was not fair to say that Bludhaven seemed eviler than Gotham. Despite all of Bruce’s theatrics Tim never bought into the personification of the inanimate. A city was a neutral thing, it was its people that colored it. A city was not cursed, it was not doomed for destruction or decay, it was simply a vessel, ready to take on the shape and mood of its inhabitants. 

But something about Bludhaven did feel hopeless.

Chapter 2

Tim watched Dick speed out of the cave, his form was still wobbly but his hold on his bike was tight and certain. It did little to relieve the worry that had settled in Tim the first moment he set eyes on Dick glued to his spot in front of the computer, where they had left him the night before.

“Should we follow him?” He asked, breaking his gaze to look over at Bruce, who had also been watching Dick leave. Lips pursed in a tight line of displeasure and concern.

I can’t remember the last time I saw Bruce smile.

The thought was a random one but not altogether groundbreaking, as ever since his return Bruce had acted like he couldn’t be bothered to be alive. None of them were taking it particularly well, especially Tim who had spent a year and a half of his own life tracking the man through time to bring him home.

Tim knew that something was bothering Bruce, had been since his return, but no amount of prying could pull the reason out of his Father.

Frankly, Tim would take a secretive Bruce to a dead one, but the silence still stung.

Chapter 5

When Dick was younger and would refer to Donna as his soulmate the adults in his life would give him an infuriating all-knowing look. As though to say, that they and they alone understood that 'soulmate' meant crushes and first kisses and dates and all the things Dick hadn’t been interested in. Not with Donna at least.

She was his soulmate in that she was literally his other half, his home and conscience. His comforter and confidant. She was warmth and kindness wrapped up in the scent of sea salt and ozone. She was indignant fury and unceasing patience, she had always treated Dick as a man as opposed to a myth, having understood the weight that comes from the title of ‘Boy/Girl Wonder’. She too understood the pain of perfection and the anguish over never being able to live up to the image other people curated of you.

That connection surpassed romance, it simply hadn’t been needed with her.

As Donna held him in a hug that was just a hair shy of too tight, tucking his head under hers and hair cascading down to shield his face from the view of others, Dick wondered at how foolish he had been to think of any other touch as love.

“You’re an idiot.”

“I know.”

“I mean certifiably the stupidest genius person I’ve ever met.”

“I know.”

“And I’m mad at you.”

“I know.”

Donna hesitated for a moment, with her arms tightening around him Dick could feel a small hiccup begin in her chest and despite himself, he felt his eyes begin to tear up as she whispered into his hair.

“...Are you okay?”

“... I don’t know.”

No. 1: Race Against the Clock

Search Party | Panic Attack | “If only we could hold on”

Dick Grayson was a flight risk.

It was a universal truth that surprised all except those who knew him. It wasn’t fair to say that Dick was flighty, he was never flaky and never thoughtless. He came when called and stayed when needed. But he was restless, always in motion, always on the move. Brain always on to the next thing even as his body stayed until a task was complete.

It was a trait that only got worse when he was exhausted. When his whole being was on autopilot, propelling him forward until he could rest. Dick loved people, no one would argue that, but Dick also healed alone. Whether it be injury or anxiety, he crawled away to his hoval to clean his wounds and screw on his head away from prying eyes.

Most of his fights with Bruce occurred because the other man refused to let him do so. Dick’s natural aversion to being confined was always at odds with Bruce’s desire to hold everything he cared about in an unrelenting grip.

The question was almost violently quiet, unbelievably at odds with the non-stop verbal sparring match the two had been doing since they came back into the cave. Fury in their eyes and spite on their tounges.

The question was desperate but resigned. Like Dick already knew the answer but also needed to be wrong.

It zapped any remaining ire within Bruce in an instant, leaving him feeling shallow with guilt and a little bit of horror.

"Of course, I love you, Dick."

"That's not what I was asking B."

Words, words words.

Dick always needed words and Bruce could seldom give them, even when things had been easier between the two. Before death, and pain, and mantels being passed down that should have died with their owners.

Bruce couldn't seem to find them now, couldn't remember how to even begin forming them.

Dick for his part looked disappointed at the silence but not surprised. With a heavy breath, he stretched out his shoulder, uncrossed his arms, and put on a smile meant to disarm.

"Forget I said anything Bruce, I'm just tired."

It was an out that Bruce would normally take, which is why he wasn't sure why instead his hand darted out to stop Dick as he turned around to the showers.

Dick stopped at the hold, though it wasn't a firm one, and gave Bruce an expectant look, eyebrow raised in waiting.

"I do love you Dick, not just the memory of you."

It was the answer he thought his oldest wanted, it was also the truth. So Bruce wasn't sure why it caused Dick to flinch, slipping his arm out of his hold. Smile dropping.

“Get in here kid.”

It was a testament to her mental state that Rachel neither balked at being called ‘kid’ nor denied the command, as she threw herself into the wooden doorway without a word. Barely taking note as the door swung shut behind her, leaving the grimy stained streets of Bludhaven thousands of miles behind. 

Midnighter for his part, also did not hesitate as he gripped her arm and pulled her over to a plush and inviting cotton-covered couch, pushing her to sit with a gentle but firm hand. 

The windows were open, causing a cool breeze to blow against the linen curtains as they lazily moved where they hung. Unlike the last time Rachel was here, the sky was a deep dark navy, indicating it was late into the night in France. But the lack of pollution and clouds allowed the stairs and moon to shine brightly down on the fields. Illuminating nearly everything in sight.

Almost immediately Rachel felt her breathing calm, some primitive cog in her brain telling her she was safe now that she was inside and away from even the barest hint of danger. But still her body felt jittery and cold, and her fingers shook as she pushed her hair out of her face and rested her head in her hands. Fingers digging into her temple harshly, as though willing herself to get a grip.

There was a poem Rachel had been taught years ago, though whether she learned it begrudgingly from her English lit teacher or less begrudgingly from Jason, she couldn’t recall. The bulk of it, though short, remained elusive to her, deteriorated from the erosive nature of time. The last line, however, had stayed with her.

Nothing gold can stay .

She had often heard the saying outside of the confines of its original iteration. Just as one knew the first lines of the ‘To Be or Not to Be’ soliloquy without an understanding of what came before or after it. It had never really held much meaning for her, she was not a poetic person and she often left flowery language to the interpretation of her better-read siblings. But for some reason, it came to mind now.

Nothing gold can stay.

It was a promise, that good things were never permanent. An idea that could be sad if not for the fact that supposedly bad things were never permanent either. Right now it felt more like a threat, a reminder that good times were quick to leave and spoil.

It felt like gold hadn’t come at all. Instead, Rachel had been forced to build the foundation of her life with steel beams already eaten away with rust. Already beginning to crumble with the first strong wind that came blowing her way.

Roland Desmond was pissed.

On that, the whole of Bludhaven could agree. Though whether due to the passing of his Mother a few weeks prior or the ongoing deterioration of his trafficking operations at the hands of Nightwing, no one was sure. Many speculated it was both.  

Rachel could not be bothered by the rare exhibition of gossip heard in alleyways and across sticky bar hightops throughout Bludhaven. She had thrown herself into her work with a vigor that was as impressive as it was alarming.

If anyone asked she would tell them it was because she wanted to trip up Blockbuster while he was spirling, wanted to use his blind rage and grief-addled mind against him to finally take him off the street.

If anyone asked she would not say it was her own guilt and grief propelling her forward. She would not talk about how she visited the old woman's grave at least twice a week with unspoken apologies on her lips. She would not say that Blockbuster's anger at the hospital rattled her and that she had been spending more nights perched on Renee’s roof watching over her, than in her own bed.

The warmth that had emanated in Rachel's apartment two weeks ago when her friends filled its walls had vanished. In part because Rachel had been sidestepping requests for visits and had all but isolated herself in an attempt to bring Blockbuster down.

Bruce didn't respond, not that Alfred anticipated he would. The man had been infuriatingly quiet the last few months. Never saying more than a few words at a time to him, and never the one to initiate the dialogue.

Alfred hadn't been surprised, when Martha and Thomas passed Bruce had become mute for months. Alfred had been beside himself with concern, dragging the young boy to child psychologists and specialists. Certain he was already messing up this tremendous responsibility he had been given.

It made sense that Bruce would revert back to the bad habit with Jason's death.

It had almost been a relief when Richard arrived and he could hear the familiar melody of the two of them arguing, floating up the cave stairs. It was some sign that Bruce was still there, buried behind layers of grief and guilt.

He hadn't thought the fight would end in a punch, it never had before. But as soon as Alfred heard the sound of flesh hitting flesh and Richards body crash to the floor he had bolted downstairs. Just in time to hear Bruce destroy any goodwill that remained between him and his only living son.

Despite popular belief, Alfred hadn't been the butler for decades. He was the guardian of Wayne Manor and his protection of it did not stop at Bruce. This was why his first step had been to ensure that Richard was alright as his oldest stomped away, most likely to skulk in the study.

The younger man was so far from fine it only served to further fester the disappointment he felt in Bruce. A disappointment that made way to determination. Alfred had allowed Bruce to destroy everything around him after his parent's death, he had assumed the boy had needed to to move on. He was still paying for that choice every time he saw one of them don a mask and go out into the streets of Gotham.

He would not stand for it now.

“I miss my mom.”

The admission was quiet, but Dick saw Jason’s head snap up from his phone, gaze indiscernible as he surveyed Dick. Probably trying to figure out what brought the confession on.

“Ok.” Jason said it like a statement, but Dick could hear the question in it.

“I miss how warm her body felt when she hugged me. I miss being able to bury my head into her stomach and breathe her in…. I miss breathing her in. I miss having a mom and knowing what it’s like to be loved by someone unconditionally. I miss growing and having her there to notice.” Dick got quiet a moment, a little unsure if he should continue sharing, but he felt the need to anyway. “Sometimes I miss being the youngest. My cousin was a few years older than me, all my friends at the circus were. Hell, even the Titans were. I miss being the one cared for. You know?”

Dick saw Jason set down his phone and turn to face Dick head on. After a moment Dick turned as well and matched his brother’s gaze. The confusion that was there making way to understanding.

“Yeah. I know what you mean.”

Dick felt himself relax slightly at the reassurance, closing his eyes he sunk deeper into his living room couch that the two were currently occupying.

“I miss wearing clothes that weren’t replaced as soon as they got holes. And I miss dishes made with cumin and cinnamon. And I miss my dad. God, I miss him so much. He was so calm Jay, he always smiled, he always knew that things were going to be ok, you know? He sang all the time, and no one sings here.” Dick felt his throat close at the realization, not even realizing all this was weighing on his heart until he let himself feel it. “No one sings here, and sometimes I forget about all them. It’s like my life is on auto-pilot and I just don’t think about it. But then I remember and it’s like my body is ripping itself open from the grief and I can’t... I can’t- just”.

Everyone was being so nice to him.

That was the first thing Dick noticed after receiving a myriad of tight reassuring hugs from his siblings upon his arrival. Dick loved his family but nice was rarely a word he would use to describe them. Their personalities often fell into the East Coast trap of being kind but not nice. Always there to help but with a biting remark waiting on the tip of their tongues. It was the thing Dick was most often told differentiated him from the rest of the Bats and he did not disagree with the assessment.

Now though, everyone appeared to be walking on eggshells, their gazes soft with unrestrained pity and rage. Their hands gentle as they ushered him in, treating him like glass that could shatter at any moment. The juxtaposition from yesterday when Tim bodychecked him in the kitchen doorway for stealing the last cup of fresh coffee was palpable.

Dick hated it.