#dispatch inspired

~3k words of a Titans Rebirth (Dispatch Inspired) AU. title is from a song called Leonard Cohen by boygenius. dick grayson x reader, ex-friends to lovers, kinda co-workers to lovers. fem!reader, reader uses she/her pronouns. reader is Robert Robertson coded. reader uses a mech suit, and uses the codename Cyber (Cy for short). i always write with a black reader in mind because I’m black, but I stay away from physical descriptions as much as possible. reader is 29 years old. this is part 1/8, loosely structurally following Dispatch.  TW: Death of a parent, some hints of suicidal ideation but it's not explicit. If that’s not something you want to read about, please feel free to click away!

Episode 1: Pivot

You weren’t ever an official member of the Titans, but you weren’t a total stranger either. Sometimes, they’d ask for an extra set of hands on a mission. Or when something suited your skills, you’d sub in.

When a mission ended and you weren’t ready to go home yet, or when you needed some special patching up, you’d find yourself at Titan Tower, and Dick Grayson was usually somewhere close. Some nights you’d do research together, plan sting operations and tactical interventions. Most nights would start out with official hero work, and they’d end with you and the Boy Wonder eating takeout and bonding over your similar lives. 

You were both child soldiers, of a kind. Dick was the world’s best-known sidekick, trying with all his might to be just like Bruce. Your mech suit was a family heirloom, and your heroism was your inheritance. Your father had been Mechaman Astral, and his father had been Mechaman Prime. Your dad expected a boy child, but instead he got you. So, you took the suit on anyway and called yourself Cyber.

In those days, before you officially donned the suit, you were only there as your father’s support. You’d plan and train and study, occasionally going out with him on the low-threat missions. Cyber was a mask, a costume and a fun weekend job. You got to help people, it was fulfilling. It was also the only time you ever got to spend with your dad. 

You and Dick shared a kind of complex, a burning need to prove yourselves worthy of the mantles you carried. It was the kind of thing that made a good basis for friendship. You knew one another’s triggers and insecurities without having to say them out loud, because they were mostly the same. Dick was something like your best friend, your only friend, really.

He was like your mirror. He had a bad pun for any moment when you were too serious for your age. You had a tight hug whenever he talked like he was spinning out. And then, when you were nineteen, your father died.

You became the hero you had always wanted to be, working solo, as your dad always had, in a mech suit that wasn’t made for you. You officially turned your back on the Titans and on Dick Grayson, once and for all. 

Ten Years Later.

You had always assumed you’d die in the suit. That was your fate, same as your dad and same as his dad. So, when Shroud’s bomb exploded and you were free falling in a non-functional mech suit, you closed your eyes and waited to take your last breath. This would be the end of Cyber, and of you. And then, bizarrely, you woke up on the ground.

The suit was in pieces, you couldn’t feel your left arm, and you hurt all over, but you were alive! You were happy for a moment and then it hit you. You had survived, but the suit looked absolutely wrecked. That meant you had failed. You had let your family down. You passed back into unconsciousness. 

You wake up two weeks later, in a hospital bed. The room is stark white, but it doesn’t feel like a regular hospital room. The bed is too soft, and you can hear laughter coming from somewhere. You groan when you see a red blur whizzing through the door. That could only be Wally West or Barry Allen. Either way, you’re probably in some Justice League or Titans facility. You aren’t an official member of either team, but hero hospitals were few and far between, and heroes tend to protect heroes. Even heroes who want to be alone, apparently. 

The blur resolves into a person, and you sigh. Yep, it’s Wally. Ginger and chewing on something, like always. 

“You’re up!” he cheers, and then he’s off again, presumably to get someone with actual medical expertise. You grumble as you sit up. You’re weak and you fail on your first try. You twist on the bed and put your feet on the ground, breathing through the dizziness. You remove the oxygen mask from your face and, just as you’re trying to pull out your IV, a nurse walks in and freaks out.

She rushes to you and tries to stop you, but you push on. You’re used to recovering on your own. That’s what you’d been doing ever since the suit became yours. You just need to get back to your apartment, pop a couple of painkillers and wait for the hurt to pass. Just because this time is a little worse than usual doesn’t mean you need all this fuss. Wally zooms back in before you can finish shaking the nurse off. 

“Woah, woah, woah,” he stops you from getting up with two gentle, but definitely strong, arms on your shoulders. “You just woke up from a coma. You are not going anywhere.”

You try to argue, but he muscles you back into bed, keeping watch as he signals for the nurse to get someone else to help. 

“Wally, seriously, I am not staying here. I don’t even know where here is! Let me go.” 

He purses his lips. Wally West hardly ever looks serious, but he sure does right now. He’s standing right next to the too-soft bed, ready to stop you if you try to bolt again. 

“So you do remember my name! Nice to see you too, Cy. It’s only been what, ten fucking years! Ten years since you went radio silent on all of us and took your suit solo! No goodbye, no contact, nothing!” 

You roll your eyes. You’d spent the last decade expecting this confrontation. 

“I was never a Titan. I don’t owe you guys anything. I decided to work alone because that’s how I work best, and now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get back to it.” 

“Even if that was true — which it isn’t — you need to see a doctor before you go anywhere. And your suit’s a wreck, so I’m not sure what exactly you’d be getting back to,” he snarked. 

You glower at him, trying to keep the hurt inside. You’d expected that the suit wouldn’t make it, but the confirmation makes your eyes prick with tears. You blink them away before Wally can see. He’s a Meta, so he wouldn’t get it. If you don’t have a suit, you don’t have anything. You aren’t smart and skilled, like the Batman and his trainees. Aside from some basic hand-to-hand combat and your average hacking skills, you don’t have anything to offer without the suit and its weapons systems. It’s also all you had left of your father. No time to linger on that now.

You take a deep breath. 

“No suit means I’m a civilian. I can go to a regular hospital with my regular shitty health insurance. I don’t need to be in whatever hero facility this is. So. Let. Me. Go.” 

Wally begins to reply, but then the door opens, and a doctor walks in, trailed by someone tall and lithe in a black and blue suit. Nightwing. Of fucking course he’d be here. This must be a Titans facility, then. 

He’s grinning that stupid smile of his, and the pretty doctor is twirling her hair as she giggles at something he says. Dick Grayson always was too charming for his own good. He’s still smiling when he turns to you, though it does falter a little, becoming more awkward and strained.

“I’m so glad you’re awake,” he says, eyes soft and gentle even through his domino mask. 

You sigh. You can’t let those eyes get to you. 

“Yeah, thanks, me too. But now that I’m awake, I don’t want to be here anymore. I’d like to leave. Please.” 

You add the last word as a placation. It doesn’t work. 

The smile which was faltering falls. Dick’s brow furrows, he straightens up a little. Leader mode. His body language was just as easy to read as it had been when he was Robin. When he speaks again, his voice is stern. 

“You’ve been in a coma for two weeks. We don’t know the extent of the damage. You will leave when the doctors give me their endorsement. Until then, I’m afraid you’re stuck here.” 

“You can’t keep me here without my consent!” you protest. 

“This is a Titans facility. I am the leader of the Titans, so I can do whatever I think is in your best interest. Now sit still, so Dr Jones can do her thing. The less you fight me on this, the quicker she can get done and the sooner you can leave.” 

His voice is professional and cold. He steps back and gestures to the doctor. She smiles shyly back and takes the stethoscope from around her neck. You slump back in the bed, awash with a sudden wave of exhaustion. Your arguing took more energy than you had. Dick turns and leaves the room, without another word. 

But Wally stays, his arms crossed. You sigh and close your eyes, answering her questions. She’s doing her job. It’s not her fault that you’re here. You can feel Wally’s eyes on you the entire time. 

You try not to think about the fact that you’re twenty-nine and your entire life’s work is over. Not right now. 

It’s been two days, and you’re still in the Titans infirmary. The doctors have assured you that you can leave tomorrow. Wally keeps you company. You haven’t seen Dick once since that first visit. Donna is off world with Garth, dealing with some intergalactic threat. Roy and Lilith have been by, briefly, but they’re busy. You’re surprised they want to see you at all. It’s not like you’ve been a particularly good friend in the last decade.

Wally’s in his civvies this time, and he’s got a bag of potato chips that you’re passing back and forth. 

“So,” Wally begins, sitting on an armchair near your bed. “Have you decided what you’re going to do now?” 

“I’ll hold a press conference. Tell the world the suit is beyond repair and I’m retiring. And then I’ll… I don’t know. I’ll figure it out. I have a couple months’ rent before I burn through the last of the money my dad left, and then I guess I’ll find a job.” 

Your dad wasn’t Bruce Wayne levels of rich, but he had left enough for you to get by on. Theoretically, you should have been set for life, at just nineteen. The mech suit was a problem, though. It constantly needed repairs, and repairs were expensive. You would have needed to find a solution to the money problem soon anyway. 

“A job doing what, exactly?” Wally asks. It’s a fair question; one you’ve been thinking about too. “You’re twenty-nine, you have no actual work experience, and you didn’t go to college.” 

He’s right. You never made a Plan B. You didn’t think you needed to. 

“I don’t know, Wally. I guess that’s what I’ll be figuring out.” 

He’s uncharacteristically silent for a few moments. 

“There is something you can do. But you’re not going to like it.” 

You give him an appraising look. 

“Tell me.”

He takes a deep breath. 

“Ever since the Titans have been expanding, we’ve needed someone on base who can run comms and logistics. You and Rob — sorry, Nightwing — spent hours learning how to do that stuff when you were kids. You’ll be the man — er, person — in the chair. The new kids on our team are young, green. Literally, in one case,” he snickers before continuing. “Having someone with experience who can keep them in line will free the rest of us up to handle the big baddies, while they take on the low-level threats. You can choose who goes on what missions and tell them how to get it done. If I remember correctly, you do love bossing people around.” 

You frown. You’re not sure what you expected, but this wasn’t it. 

“So, you want me to sit in front of a computer while you go do the real hero work?” 

“We — uh, I think it will be a productive use of your skills, given the fact that your suit is unusable. You’ll add to the team’s success rate and mentor younger members effectively.” 

You’re quiet for a moment. Wally has never used phrases like ‘success rate’ and ‘productive use of skills’ in his life.

“He put you up to this, didn’t he?” 

Wally winces at your sharp change in tone. 

“Di- um, I mean, Nightwing thought you’d take it better coming from me. But I really do think it’s a good idea! Just think about it,” he adds, when you still don’t reply. 

“Tell Grayson to grow up and talk to me himself and then I’ll think about it.” 

Wally sighs. He had kind of expected this.

“I’ll see if I can find him,” he said, and then zoomed off. 

You don’t know why Dick is avoiding you. You can probably guess that it has something to do with the whole ‘ghosting him for a decade’ thing, but it’s been ten years! And your dad had just died, leaving you to deal with his estate and his funeral and all of your grief. 

You hadn’t seen Dick in person since the day of the funeral. You were nineteen, in a new black dress, and he held you while you sobbed. Your father was dead before you had a chance to show him that you could be the child he wanted, an asset in the field! Now he’d never know. You were nineteen and an orphan. If anyone could understand how that felt, it was Dick.

After everyone had left, the two of you lingered by the grave. Dick drove you home and asked if you wanted him to stay with you. You’d done that a million times when your dad was away on a mission. Him on the couch and you down the hall in your room, pretending that you weren’t thinking of the boy a few steps away. You told him no, not this time. You said that you needed to be alone. He understood, because of course he did. He was always so understanding.

He walked you to the door, hugged you tight and said see you soon. And then you never spoke to him again. He had tried reaching out, even showed up at your door a couple times. You never answered.

Okay, maybe the avoiding made sense, on second thought. Still, you didn’t think you could work with him if he refused to talk to you. This was his idea, so you needed to hear it from him. You’re lost in your thoughts, reflecting on how wrong things had gone, when the door opens again.

Dick Grayson, in a tight black shirt and jeans that fit way too well, is standing in the doorway. He’s looking at the ground with a hand in his pocket. 

He takes a deep breath and asks, “Can I come in?”

“Of course,” you answer, a little more quickly than you mean to. 

He closes the door behind him and sits down where Wally had been before.

“Wally said—” 

“I wanted to—” 

You both speak at the same time. 

“Please,” you say, earnestly, “go ahead.”

“Wally said you wanted to hear it from me. About the job.”

You nod, and he goes on. 

“Well, you’ll be based here in Titans Tower, I can show you the computer set-up later. We need you to coach our new members through missions. We’ll try to be there as physical support if we can, but things have been going crazy with the Red Ring lately, so we need someone who can be there when we aren’t. Someone who can manage them. I also need someone to take over their planning and logistics. They need someone with experience, who understands field ops and can guide them until they find their feet.”

He barely takes a breath as he continues his — obviously rehearsed — spiel.

“We have resources, you know that. No promises, but we might even be able to piece your suit together. It’ll take a while, though. A few months at least. You can stay here at the Tower, if you want, that’s where the trainees’ll be full-time. You’ll be paid, of course, from the Titans fund, in addition to the suit repairs. Do you have any questions?”

You sit in stunned silence for a moment. So, the offer was real. Part of you had believed it was another one of Wally’s schemes. A last-ditch attempt to get you to stay. It was real and you could get your suit back! Somehow, Dick Grayson still knows exactly what it takes to get on your good side. But there’s something else that you’re wondering about.

“Just one question, Grayson. Why me? I haven’t worked in a team in years, and we haven’t spoken since… in a long time. So why do you want to work with me?”

Dick stares at you for a little, before shaking himself out of it and looking at the aircon unit just to the left of you. 

“You’re a hero. Teamwork, and everything it involves, is a logistical issue. You’ve been trained in that. These kids need to learn to put themselves aside and act like real heroes. We need someone we can rely on to teach them that.” 

He still isn’t making eye contact with you. You look down at your lap. 

“That’s just it, Dick,” you see him flinch a little when you use his name. “It’s been ten years. How do you know you can rely on me? How do you know you can trust me after what I did?” 

Finally, he looks at you. It feels something like relief, to look into those blue eyes again, after so long. It feels like seeing water after a decades-long desert. 

“I know you. It’s been ten years, but I’ve always known you. I’ll always know you.” 

There’s a sincerity to his words that you can’t mistake. How can he be so certain? But, then again, Dick has always been sure of himself. He's kind to a fault, but he has never been willing to say something he doesn't mean.

This is the same boy you know. The same boy, as he pointed out, that you’ve always known. You let out a breath that you didn’t know you were holding. Someday, you’ll find the words to explain it all to him. Why you turned away, and why you stayed away. You have been alone for so long, but maybe it’s time you weren’t anymore. Maybe someday, you can be his friend again. You don’t dare hope for more, not like you once did. 

“Fine. I’ll do it. When do we start?”

He smiles, and something in your chest twists.

i’m writing this to procrastinate my thesis, so i’m going to go do that. 🫩🫩🫩