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dickgraysonweek · 10 hours
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It’s Grayson Ten Years Later! 
Ten years have passed since Grayson placed Dick into a daring new position as a Super Spy. The unique relationships Dick makes and the challenges Dick faces entertain to this day and continue to inspire all types of fanworks.
We believe a legacy like that calls for a one year celebration! Two fanwork challenges await, and your mods will offer you a big meta post every month.
Fanworks Challenges
We wish to encourage you to write, draw and create fanworks playing with the concepts of Grayson through two separate challenges. If you take on both or one alone is up to you!  
🕒 Posting for the challenges starts on July 9, 2024 and ends on July 8, 2025.
🕵️ Investigation Challenge 🕵️
Investigate Agent 37 over the next year by writing 37000 words or creating 3700 Layers. Not up for field work? Review your fellow agents’ investigations by leaving 37 comments.
Words and layers include any fanwork like meta and graphics not only fanfiction and fanart. In fact, Grayson (2014) has been so much discussed, we hope to read or hear about your opinion pieces!
By the end of the year, you will receive a little gift. We are going through the investigation that you put so much work in! 
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🎯 Mission Challenge 🎯
Choose your target prompt and take aim at the right date to complete your mission in time!
Each participant will receive a pool of prompts to choose from and an individual due date of their choice. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to complete one prompt before time runs out. 
To claim your mission starting June 18, you will choose your target from a list of 120 prompts. Each prompt can be claimed up to three times in total by any participant, then it gets taken off the list. In addition to the prompt, you choose a date to publish your fanwork.
Every participant will receive a mission card with their prompt and date. It’ll be posted to the Tumblr blog. The more missions you fulfil, the more stats you receive.  
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Interest Checks
The mission challenge will only go forward if there is enough interest! Make sure to tell us if you like the challenge. If you are interested in writing meta, it would help us if you took a look at the second interest check! The forms will be open until June 14.
💌 Mission Challenge Interest Check
💌 Opinion Pieces Interest Check
We'll release even more elaborate information over the next days but feel free to send us your asks if your questions aren't answered in our rules and FAQ.
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dickgraysonweek · 4 days
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Could you repost the discord server link? All the previous links are expired
Of course! Here's a current one. It'll be valid for a week. There's usually a valid one in our about. :)
Green Booty Shorts (18+, Shipfriendly)
https://discord.com/invite/xRZNGVYj
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dickgraysonweek · 18 days
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A (Negative) Analysis of Tom Taylor's Nightwing Run - Introduction
Introduction Who is Dick Grayson? What Went Wrong? Dick's Characterization What Went Wrong? Barbara Gordon What Went Wrong? Bludhaven (Part 1, Part 2) What Went Wrong? Melinda Lin Grayson What Went Wrong? Bea Bennett What Went Wrong? Villains Conclusion Bibliography
I want to start this essay by admitting I’m actually embarrassed by its length. Why did I spend so much time on something I dislike? The truth is, I did not begin this with the intention of creating such an extensive, formal study of the Tom Taylor and Bruno Redondo’s Nightwing run and how it reflects the wider problems with DC’s handling of one of their most iconic characters. I was just trying to organize the thoughts that came up during discussions with other Dick Grayson fans. Before I knew it, I had enough material, enough desire to challenge myself, and enough frustrations to vent to properly create this monstrosity.
I did not begin this Nightwing run determined to hate it. In fact, I was ready to love it. As Taylor promoted the run before the first issue was officially released, I was so excited for it. As I read short interviews where he discussed Heartless, I could not wait to have a new, incredible villain. Foolishly, I believed Taylor when he said he loved Dick Grayson. 
Needless to say, I was disappointed. Then frustrated. Then angry. The beginning of any story is a period where writer and reader form an indirect bond, and as the story progresses, so do the highs and the lows of said relationship. As such, a reader’s tolerance for negative factors will either increase or decrease depending on their experience up until that point.
In other words, if the writer fails to earn the reader’s trust and instead takes their attention for granted, even seemingly insignificant details become irritating in a way they would not be if presented in a better story. In such scenarios, the reader can no longer overlook those minor moments because there’s little good to balance them out with. It is a death by a thousand cuts. 
In the case of Taylor and Redondo’s run, along with those thousand cuts are also broken bones, internal bleeding, head trauma, and severed limbs. A weak plot, simplistic morality that undermines the story’s stated themes, and, most importantly, a careless disregard for Dick Grayson and everything he stands for utterly destroyed my enjoyment of this series. 
It is still too early to tell what sort of impact Taylor’s (as of time of writing, still unfinished) run will have on Dick Grayson’s future portrayals. But just because we cannot predict its long term significance, it does not mean we cannot critique it. Currently, we simply lack the benefit of hindsight. 
If this essay were to have a thesis, then it is this: Tom Taylor and Bruno Redondo’s Nightwing not only fails to tell a compelling Nightwing story, but it also exemplifies a cynical, self-serving, and shallow approach to storytelling that prioritizes creating hollow viral moments to boost the creators’ own online popularity over crafting a good story, honoring the character in their care, and respecting his fans – fans who have, historically, often been women, queer folk, and other individuals who felt othered by a cisheteronormative patriarchal society. Taylor and Redondo’s thoughtless and superficial narrative not only undermine the socially progressive ideals they supposedly care for by propagating a cisheteronormative patriarchal worldview, but they also demonstrate a lack of love and understanding for the character in their care. At best, Taylor and Redondo have no interest in getting to know Dick Grayson, nor any respect for their predecessor and their contributions to this character. At worst, they despise Dick so much that they wish to reinvent him into something completely different, tossing away everything that was special to his fans in order to appeal to a readership that never cared about Dick Grayson. 
I structured this essay so that, hopefully, each part will build on the ones that came prior. Naturally, because all aspects of a story are interlaced, there will be overlaps between each of the sections. As it may have become obvious from this introduction, I’ll be focusing primarily on the writing of this run. That is not to say that I will not address the art, but writing is the field I know most about, and so it feels only fair to focus my critique on that. 
I hope that by the end of this essay, I will have successfully proved that this run’s mishandling of different narrative elements betray a cynical appropriation of progressive ideology and a disregard and disinterest in what makes Dick Grayson so special to so many people. This is an attitude that is present within DC Comics’ current ethos as a whole.
Now, who is this essay for? Honestly, it’s probably not for Tom Taylor fans. I do not believe I’ll be persuading anyone with my writing, and, to be quite honest, neither would I say I wish to do so. Taylor and Redondo’s run has won numerous awards and has many dedicated fans who adore it for what it is. If that is you, then I’m glad. I wish I could be among your numbers. I wish more than anything that I could love this story. But I do not, and I know many others agree with me, and it is to them, I think, that I’m speaking to. As Taylor’s run is praised to heaven and back, I needed a safe space to voice my thoughts. This essay became this safe space. And to others who also feel unseen by the constant praise this run is getting, I think this could speak to you, as well. To be cliche and cringe, this will hopefully let you know that you are not alone. 
Finally, I want to acknowledge some people whose thoughts greatly contributed to the creation of this essay. For around three years now I’ve been having wonderful interactions with other Dick Grayson’s fans, and those discussions were not only incredibly fun and cathartic, but also provided great insight into what needed to be included in this essay. My best friend especially gave me a space to vent when I got frustrated, and my original outline borrowed a lot from the messages I sent her, as well as notes I took for our discussions.  
I’ll also be directly quoting four different Dick Grayson fans (identified as Dick Grayson Fans A, B, and C in order to allow them to keep their anonymity). Their analyses were so critical to the formation of my thesis and for a lot of what will be addressed in this essay that I actually feel like they deserve co-credit in this essay. Dick Grayson Fan B especially deserves a shoutout in helping me track down a couple of pages used as supporting evidence, as I knew what pages I was looking for but was having a hard time remembering in which issue they were located. I’m quoting them with permission, and crediting their ideas and contributions whenever relevant. 
Now, without any further ado, let’s get started. 
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dickgraysonweek · 21 days
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The prompts are finally here! The mods are very excited to announce the prompt list for Omega Dick Week 2024!
As we enter the creation phase, we hope you find these prompts as stimulating as we do. August can't come soon enough! (Though, if you're like us, you'll need every one of those days to create your works!)
To keep those brain juices flowing, we're also pleased to announce that we're opening a new NSFW, ship- and kink-friendly Dick Grayson server! The aim of this server is to create a place to talk about Dick in all of his bottom/omega/submissive glory. If you'd like to join, shoot us a DM and we'll get you the link!
Have any questions? Review our event Rules and check out our FAQ. If you still need answers, send us an ask!
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dickgraysonweek · 1 month
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@dickgraysonweek is over and done with, but here's some more DILF Dick Grayson with MAWS Slade Wilson, because you hoes absolutely ate up the last one.
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dickgraysonweek · 1 month
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Holy shit a finished fic. This is the last of my @dickgraysonweek spree this year and I realised running through it before uploading that she fits a few different prompts, Life's ended up with Day 1 Leader of the Titans, Day 2 Captivity, and a little of Day 4 Trauma Reveal as well as the supernatural prompt it was for. Anyway I hope you enjoy!
He came to when the iron touched his skin. He tried to pull away, but a hand tightened its grip on his arm. The iron touched him again and he screamed. It was acidic, wrapping around his wrist and the hand pulled his arms behind him. He tried to kick but his legs had been bound to the chair already. Some part of his brain noted that the line of restraint was thin, supplied zip-ties as the explanation. Iron circled his other wrist and he almost bit through his tongue. The hands vanished and he tried to adjust his wrists so there was as little burning as possible.
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dickgraysonweek · 2 months
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🐦🕵️‍♂️ Thank you so much for celebrating 84 Years of Dick Grayson together! 💙🥳
Make sure to check out all the wonderful fanworks shared about our favorite daring young man! You can find them all in the Tumblr tag and this year's AO3 Collection. 💕
If your fanwork was not reblogged, please say so! Sometimes things get overlooked.
[That said, please consider that this week is about Dick Grayson. As an organiser of multiple events, I've been forced to notice a new trend. Single individuals will ignore the character or ship a fandom event is about in favor of simply writing about the day prompt. It's great if a prompt inspires you so much it becomes more important than the big focus, but if your work stops being Dick-centric, please take a step back and consider if it truly matches a Dick Grayson Week.]
The tags that moved the AO3 Collection
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aren't far from what was shared on Tumblr, but an extra shoutout to Dick & Tiger seems appropriate! 🤸‍♂️🐅
Fanworks will still be reblogged for the next two weeks if you would like to share any late entries. The AO3 Collection is going to remain open.
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dickgraysonweek · 2 months
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For @dickgraysonweek 2024 - final day! It was a brilliant event week!
Day 7: A Celebration of 84 Years
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dickgraysonweek · 2 months
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Rating: Explicit Warnings: Rape/Non-Con Relationships: Dick Grayson/Grant Wilson, Dick Grayson & Roy Harper Characters: Dick Grayson, Grant Wilson (DCU), Roy Harper Additional Tags: Undercover Missions, Bunny Dick Grayson, Stoat Grant Wilson, Fox Roy Harper, Kemonomimi, Public Sex, Predator/Prey, Hypnotism, Illegal Activities, threat of death, omega verse aspects, Dick Grayson Has a Vagina
An undercover stakeout mission goes exactly as poorly as Dick knew it would when Roy leaves him alone inside a predator club. Grant is a lucky stoat indeed.
@dickgraysonweek Day 7: A Celebration of 84 Years
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dickgraysonweek · 2 months
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Age-Reversed Sladick
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Man this is late lmao. Anyway here's day 3 of @dickgraysonweek: DILF Dick Grayson | Apologizing To Dick | Time Loop
MAWS Slade Wilson conceptually is still so funny to me so he's also thrown in here
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dickgraysonweek · 2 months
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fic: atmosphere (4k)
Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Batman (Comics) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne Characters: Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne Additional Tags: The Flying Graysons (DCU), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Dick Grayson is Robin, Dick Grayson is Nightwing Series: Part 4 of Dick Grayson Week 2024 Summary:
His dad squeezes his shoulder, hard so he can feel it through the suit.
It’s supposed to be reassuring, but Dick doesn’t need to be reassured. Even looking down into the open air beneath them, down into the buildings and roads that looked so small, Dick isn’t scared. He’s excited. He tugs twice on the bar tether out of habit, making sure it’s fully secured. His dad does it too, double checking his work. It could feel like he doesn’t trust him, but mostly it just feels like he cares.
“Ready, my loves?” crackles through his earpiece.
“Ready,” he chirps.
His mother, on the far platform, raises a hand. “Then let’s fly, little Robin.”
Day 7 of @dickgraysonweek: A Celebration of 84 Years
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dickgraysonweek · 2 months
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Eighty Four
Ao3
Summary: Dick has 84 years of memories in his head. Except he doesn’t
@dickgraysonweek 2024, Day 7: A Celebration of 84 Years
It all happens very suddenly.
One moment, Dick is turning in for the night.
He’s just come back from a long patrol, and the worst of Blüdhaven had been particularly brutal today. He loves this city, but it has its moments where it just about grinds him down into dust. Today is one of those days, and all he wants to do is sleep.
Too exhausted to do more than peel off his uniform, he staggers to the bathroom to splash some water down his face to get the smell of the bowels of the city off of him.
The next moment, his head explodes: all colors, shapes, and sounds. The sounds overwhelm him: voices screaming, speaking, chattering , one after another, layering on top into an unstable cacophony with seemingly no end. At first, Dick is certain he’s been shot in the head. His hand desperately roams around his scalp, his forehead, his face, trying to find the source and plug the wound, anything to make it stop.
But he finds nothing, and he searches and searches and searches til his arms are tired but there’s no hole and no blood and the voices in his head won’t stop talking (shut up shut up shut up).
Finally he can’t do it anymore and just gives in, curled up on the tiles and rocking against the pain and waits and waits and waits and waits
-
Hours (Days? Weeks? Months?) later, Dick can move.
The voices in his head don’t stop, not really. Instead, they settle there, filling out all the nooks and crannies, whisper and yell and scream until the noise is just noise and Dick is able to come back to himself, slowly but surely.
He quietly tests movement, twitches his fingers and his toes. When they move normally, he carefully levers himself up into a seating position, leaning against the bathroom wall. His head thunks on the cold drywall, and he breathes out once, twice, three times.
He can’t think (it would just be another voice inside his head, and there’re too many, too many) but he can move, and waits for a bit more function to return. You got it chum, Dick whispers to himself, pulling on the thread of an old, comforting memory. You got it. You got it. He feels something inside him react in confusion in response.
He waits some more, rubbing feeling back into his arms, wrists, fingers, trying to center himself in the physical world, trying to find his voice again.
Eventually, he can weakly maneuver his arms and, with great effort, push himself up to his feet. The voices don’t get better, but they don’t get worse either. That’s all he can hope for at this point.
Okay. Okay okay okay. Move.
He takes a step, and everything explodes again. Everything goes dark before he hits the the floor.
-
He wakes up outside the manor.
The first thing he notices is that his headache is much more muted now. The noise is still there, but muffled, moved to the sidelines in his forehead.
The second thing he notices is that the manor looks…different.
There’s small details here and there that look altered, just similar enough that it’s clearly the manor but different enough that it’s triggering the space of uncanny valley in his brain.
He stumbles towards the manor, mind whirling. How did I get here? He thinks. Why does it look so different?
Paranoid, he makes his way over to a window instead of the front door. Cupping his hands, he leans over and peers directly inside only to see…
Himself?
He blinks, and he’s back in his apartment bathroom, cheek pressed onto the tiles. The headache is back, exploding in his head so suddenly he almost throws up.
He breathes through it, then prays.
-
At some point, he can move again.
He moves slowly, half-crawling out of the bathroom, trying to remember where he left his phone. Help. Is all he can think. I need help.
He moves until he reaches his bed, shakily lifting himself on it and grabbing at the phone on the bedspread. He makes to unlock it, wincing at the light, then pauses.
911 would be a logical choice. However—
His…disappearing act, or whatever had just happened to him? That hadn’t sounded medical. It hadn’t felt medical. This had to have been something else.
And so…
Hoping he doesn’t regret this, he scrolls through his contacts, takes another breath through the pushing headache, then calls Bruce.
-
Yeah. It’s a mistake.
“I’m telling you,” Dick hisses through his teeth as Bruce takes a sharp turn in his car. “I don’t think it’s medical. I’ve been having—”
“We’re going to get you medical assistance,” Bruce interrupts, like Dick hadn’t been speaking at all. “Then, if it doesn’t work…”
“It won’t,” Dick says. His thoughts are so loud. “It’s magic. I feel it.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Bruce says. He takes another sharp turn. “Don’t worry. I have it handled.”
“It’s not medical…” Dick says again. “It’s not—”
He draws in a quick breath. Something flashes in front of his eyes: shattered images, shadowy figures, memories. Childhood memories rush into his mind: moments from his time as Robin, form the teams he was part of during his youth. There’s Wally and Artemis and Kaldur and—
He frowns. That doesn’t sound right. He’s never…he’s never…
“Hey!” Bruce says, voice joining the shouting in his head. “Pay attention! We‘be almost reached the League. Stay awake!”
-
The voices get too loud to ignore very quickly.
He starts losing vision too, he thinks: quick flashes of things, of people, of conversations, start running through his brain at a constant pace. He doesn’t really know if what he’s seeing is what’s in front of him or not.
Eventually, he just starts asking.
“Bruce?” He wheezes out. “Where’s Duke?”
There’s a brief silence.
“Docto…”
“I’m calling Zatanna. This is outside of my capability.”
“Duke?” Dick asks, holding onto the name for dear life. “Where is he?”
He feels a hand grab his forearm. “Who’s that?” He hears.
“I’m giving him something,” He hears, and something pricks at his arm.
Dick says “what-” before the images and sounds come back and he can’t see anything and everything’s so much so much so much—
-
“It’s not magic,” Zatanna says.
Dick steadfastly refuses to look at Bruce. “What is it, then?” He asks. He scratches at his hospital gown. “They said it wasn’t medical—”
“Well,” Zatanna says. “It’s not not magic either. It’s just…it’s just not the magic I’m familiar with. This is…” She pauses, tapping her finger on the solid Justice League medical wing bed. “I don’t know where it’s coming from, or how it got to you. But I know what it’s doing.”
Dick winces. The voices pound at his head relentlessly. “What is it?” He asks. “What’s wrong with me?”
He sees Zatanna make nervous eye contact with Bruce. “It’s the same magical signature. How could you tell?”
“I couldn’t,” Bruce says, sounding defeated. “But from what he was saying…I had to check. I didn’t want to be right.”
“What is it?” Dick repeats, looking between them.
“Crisis,” Zatanna says simply, voice heavy.
Bruce actually freezes. He closes his eyes. “Shit,” He says.
That, make than anything else, scares Dick. “What is that?” He demands. “What does that mean?”
“We have to tell him—” Zatanna begins, but Bruce interrupts her.
“No we don’t,” He says staunchly.
“Then why did you call me if you didn’t want to…” Zatanna argues, and Dick has had enough.
“You put it out there,” He says. “So. Tell me. What’s Crisis and what does that have to do with,” And he gestures at his head. “This?”
Zatanna hesitates. She looks back at Bruce.
Bruce stares back at her, glaring.
“Forget him,” Dick says. “Tell me. Please.”
Zatanna sighs. “Well,” She begins. Bruce makes a gruff noise of disapproval. “It’s…well. It’s a long story. But to summarize: there’s been a few…events, in recent years. Multiverse events.”
Dick’s eyes widen. “Multiverse? Like…like mirror universe multiverses?”
“Yes, and no,” Zatanna says. “The details aren’t important. But. These events sent huge shockwaves over multiple worlds across the multiverse. I got caught up in the stream of events through…some sort of magical feedback. Because of that, Bruce knows too. And the Justice League. But other than that…our Earth was one of the ones that wasn’t caught in the crossfire, so we kept the information secret. Until…until now, I suppose.”
Dick’s head spins. “You’re telling me,” He says. “You guys had access to the multiverse for years? And you didn’t tell anyone?”
The voices in his head shout louder.
“We didn’t want to cause panic,” Zatanna says. Bruce shakes his head. “Since we would likely not be affected…”
Dick turns to Bruce. “Why didn’t you tell us?” He asks. “This seems like a big deal!”
“You didn’t need to know,” Bruce says shortly. “And honestly? Why would you want to. It’s difficult information to deal with.”
Dick can’t help but laugh. “What the fuck,” He says.
“Anyway,” Zatanna says. “I recognize the signature of multiverse connections. And…it’s all over you right now. You’re being suffused by the connection to not just one other earth, but multiple. You’re experiencing memories from multiple multiverses all at the same time.”
Dick places a hand on his forehead. “You’re telling me,” He repeats. “Everything I’m hearing here…it’s real people? Real thoughts, and they’re speaking to me?”
“Not speaking to you,” Zatanna says. “Just…connecting to you. They don’t know you’re there. It’s more like you’ve tuned in to a bunch of radio stations at the same time. And, well. It’s not ‘people’. They’re all…they’re all you.”
“Me?” Dick repeats.
“I didn’t know this part,” Bruce says, eyes narrowing.
Zatanna shrugs. “That’s what’s happening,” She says. “You’ve become…a focal point, I suppose. Of all your multiverse equivalents. They’re projecting onto you, and I don’t know why or how. You’re probably seeing their memories, or thoughts. But yes, they’re all versions of you.”
Dick feels dizzy. “So what I’m seeing…the memories that don’t make sense?”
“Are not yours,” Zatanna says. She looks grim. “Not this Earth’s version of yours, anyway. Earth-84, by the way. In case you were wondering.”
“What can we do?” Bruce says. “How do we fix this?”
Zatanna twists her mouth. “I’m not sure,” She says. “Yet, at least. I can call up Doctor Fate. Maybe Constantine? We’ll try to come up with a way to cut the connection without harming anybody.”
“I thought you wanted help?” Bruce says, sounding disgusted.
“You have got to get over the Constantine thing,” Zatanna starts, before Dick interrupts.
“What do I do, then?” Dick asks. He feels…numb. Empty. But also, much too full. “Do I just…do I deal with it?”
“You’ll have to,” Zatanna says, sympathetic. “We can’t risk anything that might make this worse. Try to deal with it for now. I’ll get back to you as soon as we have a solution.”
Dick looks to Bruce, who still looks displeased. “We’ll deal with it,” He says.
Dick just sits there. The voices keep shouting.
-
Dick insists on going back to Blüdhaven. Bruce is very much not happy with the plan.
He hasn’t had this bad a fight with Bruce in years. Dick is catapulted back years, to his adolescence and beyond, when fighting was Bruce was an everyday sport for them.
“Don’t be stupid,” Is Bruce’s argument. “You have a multiverse in your head right now. You’re seeing memories that aren’t yours. That’s dangerous. What if they overwhelm you? What if you lose yourself? Be smart.”
“I don’t see how staying here will help with that,” Dick argues. “I can only fight this battle by myself. Which means I get to choose how to do it. And that means going back home.”
In the end, Bruce can’t actually do anything to stop him (being injured or restrained could cause him to lose his concentration and fall into the voices, so Bruce doesn’t even try) and Dick stomps out, borrowing one of Bruce’s cars and hauling ass back to Blüdhaven.
When he gets home, he quickly scribbles EARTH 84 on a post it note and sticks it on his bedside lamp. Just in case.
-
Dick wakes up in a prison.
Well. Not in, really. It’s more like he’s watching a movie, seeing things move on a flat screen in front of him, two-dimensional.
He blinks at it. Where he is?
He sees a figure in a familiar uniform lying on the ground of a cell in the corner. The suit is black, with blue stripes running across and curling up around the fingers.
The figure groans.
Dick feels the pain and confusion from it like a physical thing. What the hell, he thinks, half hysteria, half curiosity.
Well. If he can help this Dick, why not? He’d have to have been summoned here for a reason, right?
He starts talking, and the man on the floor responds.
-
One morning, Dick walks out of his apartment to go to work.
He’s halfway to the station when he mindlessly looks down and just…stops.
He’s not wearing a uniform: just jeans, a tshirt, and sneakers. And that’s because he’s not a cop. He’s never been a cop. Some Dick somewhere must have been, but he’s never been. He’d gone on autopilot anyway.
Dick runs home, grabs his post it, and stares at EARTH 84 until his eyes tear up.
-
Dick’s phone rings. Startled out of his memories stupor, he leans across the kitchen table to grab at it.
“Hey Dick,” Tim says. “Haven’t seen you in a while. What’s up?”
“Oh, you know,” Dick says. A chorus of voices whisper Timmy. “Not much. Just Blüdhaveing away over here. What’s up with you?”
One thing Bruce and him had agreed on? Stay away from everyone. He knows himself, and knows that he’s not going to be able to act normally around them when he’s got so much happening in his head. And if they find out about this…well. There’s a lot that can do wrong there.
He sees the hypocrisy there, but he can’t bring himself to think about it more.
“Just Red Robining away over here,” Tim echoes. “Anyway, wanted to give you a call and see if you wanted to help with something. I’ve been chasing a lead with the League, and I think that—”
“League of Shadows,” Dick says, trying to covertly confirm that his memory of it is the correct one.
“…yeah?” Tim responds, then jumps right back into it. “They’ve been active again in Gotham, which, as you know, is a problem. I don’t want Damian involved either, so. You in?”
Dick sighs. “I can’t, Timbo,” He says. “I’m working on something super sensitive right now. I’ll give you a call if I wrap it up early?”
He hasn’t left his apartment in days. Hasn’t even read a news article in at least a week. He thinks.
There’s a silence at the other end of the line. “Okay,” Tim says. “I’ll wait for your call.”
“Great,” Dick says. His pounding headache increases. “Then I’ll just—”
“Wait,” Tim says. He sound serious. “Dick. Are you okay?”
“Of course,” Dick says. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
Tim’s sigh sounds tired. “Okay,” He says. “I’ll believe you. This time.”
Dick doesn’t know what to say. “Bye,” He says, then hangs up.
-
Dick wakes up, heart pounding.
He can still feel it: his stomach flipping as he falls, the momentary pain as his head smashes against something on the floor. And then blackness, darkness and goes on and on and on and on…
He frantically dials Bruce. “What universe are we in, are we 84? Are we 84?”
“I—” He hears the telltale signs of a car pulling over. “Dick—”
“Is this Earth 84?” Dick says frantically. He stares at the post it note like it’s lying to him. “Am I alive?”
There’s a short silence. “Yes,” Bruce says. “On both counts.”
-
“They need help,” Dick tells Zatanna at their daily check in.
Zatanna looks up from her notes. “Hm?” She asks, more sound than word.
“The other mes,” He says. “I can hear so many of them. But the ones I’m seeing? They need help. They need support. They’re suffering.”
Zatanna worries at her lip. “I was worried about that,” She says. “If they’re connecting to you, they might need you for something. Has anything been happening in the visions that you see?”
“Yeah,” Dick says, biting the bullet. “I think they’re hearing me.”
There’s a short pause. Zatanna looks shocked. “Please explain,” She says.
“I’m talking to them,” Dick says. “And they’re hearing me. Sometimes,” And he thinks back to that first memory, the one that started it all. “They’re seeing me too. But only briefly.”
“When did this start?” Zatanna asks, intense.
Dick shrugs. “Always been like this,” He says. “I just haven’t been engaging much. Not until recently.”
“Why?” Zatanna asks, alarmed. “You shouldn’t. The consequences could be…well. This is existential, here. You shouldn’t even be able to do this.”
Dick shrugs. “You know,” He says. “It’s not just people in here. It’s decades. Almost a century. Years and years and years. All inside my head. I don’t know if they’re dead or if they’re alive. All know is that they’re stuck in here and I can’t help them. The only thing I can do is speak with them.”
“I know,” Zatanna says. She sits down next to him. “You can’t, though. This is greater than them. This is greater than us. We all need you to keep the fabric of this universe, and all their universes, together.”
“I think they’re reaching out to me, though,” He says, practically pleading. “They…I keep hearing our number. Eighty four. Eighty four. Over and over again. And then that’s when I can show up, and when they can hear me.”
Zatanna looks even more troubled now. “You cannot keep engaging,” She says. “The fact that they can reach you at all is troubling. When it was just you crossing the multiverse, it was concerning. But if the rest of them can too? What if they start bleeding into each other’s timelines? That would have potentially disastrous consequences. You have to stop doing this.”
Dick nods. He doesn’t speak for the rest of his visit.
-
He can’t fight anymore.
Dick stares up at the ceiling, lost in the worlds in his head. He cycles through them, again and again and again, checking in. He sees how own gaze land on him, eyes widening, before he vanishes. He hears whispers crossing the lines between the many versions of himself, sees them making their way into their own heads.
He hears a knock, and it takes him to second to realize that it’s coming from his own universe.
He sits up so fast he gets dizzy. There, at the window, is Jason. He’s not wearing his helmet. Instead, he’s wearing his regular gear, and a Jasonesque frown.
Dick crosses to the window and pries it open. It sticks a little, so he has to push. “I have a door, you know,” He says, stepping back so Jason can leap inside. “It works perfectly fine.”
Jason rolls his eyes. “What, you’re telling me that?” He says. He glances around the apartment. “Whoa. Did a tornado go through here or something?”
Dick shrugs. He really hasn’t been up to tidying up much these past…however long. “Did you need something?” He asks instead.
“Touchy,” Jason says. He looks vaguely uncomfortable. “You been busy or something? Tim says he asked for support on a couple things and you didn’t come.”
Dick feels that familiar guilt rearing back up. “Well,” He says. “You know how it is here. I’m always working on something.”
“Clearly,” Jason says. He eyes the apartment again.
Dick feels itchy, uncomfortable. He feels the tug of the counterparts in his head. “Can I get you anything?” He asks. He searches through his brain. “I don’t have ginger tea or anything.”
Jason gives him a weird look. “That’s specific,” He says.
Okay. Wrong Jason’s tea. “You know what I mean,” He deflects. “Do you want something?”
“Nah,” Jason gives him a searching look. “Well. I came here to get your input on something but. Yeah. I don’t think that’s happening now.”
“Why?” Dick asks, even though this works out for him, actually. “What’s going on?”
“You’re asking me?” Jason asks, disbelieving. “Tim was fucking right. There is something very wrong with you right now.”
Uh oh. “What?” Dick asks. “Why?”
Jason snorts. “You kidding me? Look at this place. Look at how you’re acting. Have you even left this room today? Nightwing hasn’t been in the news for weeks. Maybe longer.”
Dick shrugs. “I have a lot of underground stuff going on right now.”
“And,” Jason barrels on. “You’re not making eye contact right now. Which is. Unusual for you.”
Is it? Dick lifts up his eyes, locking eyes with Jason. He prays that Jason doesn’t see the other worlds swirling around in his pupils. “There,” He says out loud.
“Dude,” Jason says. He keeps eye contact. “You have to be seeing this. What’s going on with you?”
Dick’s head hurts. “I know,” He tells Jason’s eyes. “I know it’s all weird right now. But…I can’t tell you right now. I need you to trust me.”
Jason just laughs. “Do you know how much like Bruce you sound like now?” He says. “You clearly need help.”
“I do,” Dick admits. “And I know you can tell that. But. I’m managing it right now. And I need to do it alone. And. When I’m done, I’ll tell you. But you need to let me do this.”
“Do what?” Jason says. “I don’t even know what you’re taking about!”
Dick breaks their staring contest. “Yeah,” He says. “God. It’s all fucked up right now. But it’s doable. Can you trust me on that, at least?”
Jason doesn’t say anything, and Dick is worried he’ll keep pushing—
“Don’t make me regret this,” Jason says. “Fine. Call me as soon as you can. I mean it.”
-
He wakes up in a dilapidated mansion this time.
“That’s new,” He says to himself, wandering the space. It’s all dark and cold and misty: something happened in this world. Something bad. “Where are you?” He asks himself vaguely. “Where are you, Dick?”
It doesn’t take long before he finds him: a familiar figure stands a distance away, looking far too put together for his surroundings, at least from the back.
The figure whirls around suddenly, and Dock catches a glimpse of a very familiar face. “What the hell…”
Dick waits for the moment where he’ll vanish from the other him’s sight, where he’ll fade into the background…
It doesn’t happen. The other him keeps starting at him, open-mouthed. “Hey,” Other Dick says. “Who are—”
“You see me?” Dick interrupts, eyes wide.
“Um, yeah,” Other Dick replies. “You’re standing right in front of me, of course I see you! Who..who are you? Why am I here?”
Dick raises an eyebrow. “Isn’t this…this is the manor, right? Wayne Manor?”
“I guess,” Other Dick says. “I was just there, with everyone else…and now I’m in this one, and everyone’s gone. So. Yeah. I’m just…who are you? Why did you bring me here?”
Huh. This is new. “Um,” Dick says. “Well. I didn’t bring you here. You brought me.”
“How do you figure that?” Other Dick demands. “Look, just take me back, okay? I don’t have time to deal with this. Damian needs me.”
Dick’s heart pounds. “Why?” He asks. “Is he in danger?”
“What?” Other Dick asks. “No! There’s a school thing—anyway, I don’t have time to explain myself to you, bizarro-me. Just send me back.”
Dick frowns, examining the other him. He’s…different than the ones he’s seen so far. Brighter, almost. Colors deep and shiny against the backdrop. Almost too shiny.
“Um,” Dick says. This is…bizarre. Even by these standards. “I don’t really know how. Sorry.”
Other Dick’s eyes widen. “Well that’s just great,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “First I’m haunted by ghosts or whatever, now this? This is possibly the worst week anyone has ever experienced in the history of the world.”
Dick stares at him.
Other Dick shrugs. “Okay. So I may be exaggerating. But, hey. I think I’m entitled.”
Dick can’t help but laugh. “You’re kind of weird,” He says.
“That’s kind of a self own,” Other Dick says. “Considering. Either you’re me, or you’re pretending to be.”
“Can’t argue that one,” Dick says, shrugging. “Um I guess we can try to find a way to get you home? If, you know. I can figure it out.”
“Hey,” Other Dick says, tone pointed. “Of course you can! I don’t tolerate any downer self talk in this house. Even if it’s, you know. Post apocalyptic.”
Dick laughs again. “You know,” He says, before his vision shimmers, and he wakes up in his apartment with a gasp.
-
“Another one of them saw me,”
Bruce’s disapproving stare radiates over the phone. “I hope you didn’t engage,” He says
Dick hesitates. “Well…” He hedges.
“I don’t think I have to tell you,” Bruce begins, voice icy. “That you’re playing a very dangerous game here. Not just for you, for all of us.”
“I know,” Dick says. “I do. I would never put us in danger.”
“And yet,” Bruce begins, but Dick interrupts him.
“I’m helping them,” He says, almost desperate. “They need me, they need advice, they need support. And I’m doing that.”
“And you would risk—” Bruce begins, voice icy, and Dick quickly interrupts.
“No,” He says. “Maybe I was. But now. Now…after that last interaction? There’s something…” He cuts himself off. “It was different this time. But different good. I think I can figure this out. Maybe…maybe I’ve been going about this wrong. I’ve tried doing nothing, I’ve tried leaving hints. I think I need to be more involved.”
“Remember what Constantine said,” Bruce warns.
Dick chuckles. “A sentence I’ve never heard you say.” He comments. “Anyway. I know. Be careful in crossing the streams, I know. But he also said that I’m gonna have to break this connection on my own. And you know what? I’m gonna try it my way this time.”
“Just,” And here, unexpectedly, Bruce’s voice softens. “Don’t fall on your sword. That’s not your job.”
“It’s not yours either,” Dick responds. “And don’t worry. I got this, right? Who knows me better than me, anyway?”
There’s an amused silence on the other end of the line. “I think you know the answer to that,” Bruce says.
“I’m not gonna say you,” Dick replies. “Anyway. I’ll keep you updated, okay. You know I wouldn’t risk anyone if I wasn’t sure.”
“I know,” Bruce says, then: “good luck.”
-
“Oh, it’s you again,” Other Dick says.
Dick starts. He glances around the space: he’s in his childhood bedroom. A fire crackles in the fireplace, bathing everything in a warm light. “Huh,” Is all he can think to say. “I don’t have a fireplace in my room.”
“I’m just lucky, I guess,” Other Dick says. He sits cross legged in bed. “So. As fun as it is to see you again, did you want something?”
“Kind of,” Dick says. He crosses, sinks into the chair in front of his desk. “I wanted to ask something, I guess. More like talk things through.”
“Uh huh,” Other Dick steeples his hands. “Sure. I’m doing breakfast with Damian tomorrow so I’m gonna try in turn in early, but go ahead.”
“So,” Dick barrels on. “I’ve been looking for you again, cause, well. In summary, I’ve been seeing different versions of us, at various points in time. None of them have been able to see me, except for you. Why is that?”
Other Dick shrugs. “Are you about to tell me?” He asks.
“The other key difference,” Dick says, staring at the Flying Graysons poster on the wall. “Is I can’t figure out what you want. Everyone else needed help. You…you don’t. At least, I don’t think so. So why? Why did we connect? What did you need?”
Other Dick crosses his arms. “I think you’re missing something here,” He says.
Dick nods at him. “Go ahead,” He says.
“Maybe you called me to help you this time,” Other Dick suggests. “You said all of us needed help, right? You’re one of us too. So maybe…so maybe I was meant to help you?”
Dick thinks about it. “With what?” He asks.
Other Dick shrugs. “Hell if I know,” He says. “You tell me. Give me all your problems and I’ll psychoanalzye you right now.”
Dick laughs. “How are you so game for this?” He says. “You don’t even know me.”
“You’re me, right?” Other Dick says. “Who knows me better than me?”
Dick hides a smile. “Good point.”
“Anyway,” Other Dick says. “Look. You’ve been running around solving everyone’s problems for them. What’s going on with everything else? Life? All of that?”
“Um,” Dick says. “Well. You know how it goes. We have certain priorities we have. Vigilante shit.”
Other Dick sighs. “If I may,” He says. “Don’t. You’re not gonna make anyone else happy nor will you be able to do your job if number one,” And he points to Dick. “Isn’t okay either.”
Dick shrugs. “I hear you,” He says, then: “Your world seems nice, by the way. It’s so…it’s so bright here.”
“Why thank you,” Dick says. “I think we do okay.”
“Not that, though,” And Dick gestures at the Flying Graysons poster. “You know, everything’s almost free of tragedy here.” He smiles sadly. “You know that’s one thing I’ve never been able to help with? I can’t change events, but this seems like it happens again and again and again. They die every time.”
“Yeah,” Other Dick also smiles sadly. “Well. Our version of us kinda depends on that happening. You can’t really change that.”
Dick sighs. “And Bruce,” He says. “He’s there every time.”
“Same reason,” Other Dick comments. “But you know what? We’re not so bad. Stuff happens, you know? But sometimes…we can make that work. And all you can do is be you.”
Dick sighs. “Damn,” He says, leaning back. “Does that work on the family? You’re not a very specific encourager.”
“Oldest brother superpower,” Other Dick winks. “Works every time. You should know.”
“I mean,” Dick shrugs. “I think you do that gig better than me.”
“Your world seems different,” Other Dick says. “So, I don’t know. Maybe your gig means a bit of a different approach. Whatever.” He gives him a significant look. “From where I stand, you seem to be doing okay. You helped the rest of us too, right?”
Dick nods. “Yeah, I guess I did.” At those words, he feels a tug at his head. “Oh,” He says. “I think this is goodbye.”
“See you around,” Other Dick says. He waves. “Or not. Hope you figure it out.”
“Me too,” Dick says, before everything shatters again.
-
It all happens very suddenly.
One moment, Dick is turning in for the night.
He’s toweling his hair dry, contemplating. The last few days have been mostly manageable. He thinks he might have cracked it, he just needs to—
And the voices vanish. Just like that.
Dick drops his towel to the ground. He clutches at his head, looks hard.
Nothing. Not a peep. His head is empty and silence and all him and blessedly quiet. He’d forgotten what quiet sounded like, and it’s the loudest thing he’s ever heard.
Dick breathes out. He can actually feel tears in his eyes. “Oh my god,” He whispers. “Oh my god oh my god,”
He scrambles to his phone. The image of Other Dick comes to mind. Thank you, he thinks as hard as he can. He hopes it gets to him. Thank you.
He dials Bruce before the quiet can get too loud again.
-
“Earth to Grayson,” the Bluetooth speaker in his car crackles. “You there?”
Dick shakes his head. “Babs,” He says. “Sorry. I got a little lost in my head.”
“Can’t be doing that,” Babs says, laughter in her voice. “Especially when you’re driving. So. Just to confirm. 7, my place?”
“Confirmed,” Dick says. He signals left, changing lanes. “How many people did you manage to get?”
“Pretty much everyone,” Babs says. “Jason too. So. That’ll be fun. I’m gonna make him socialize.”
Dick laughs. “Good luck with that,” He says. “Anyway, I’m gonna pass by the manor and say hi to everyone there for a bit, then drop by yours after.”
“Woof,” Babs says. “Well. Good luck. Hope you make it out in one piece.”
“You and me both,” Dick sees the Gotham skyline in the distance. He basks in the familiarity. “To be honest, it’ll be nice to see everyone again. It’s been a little…lonely up in here.”
He remembers the days he had wished his head would stay quiet. He doesn’t regret that, but…
That connection, that ability to help? It had been a lifeline that was difficult to let go.
Bab’s voice softens. “I get it,” She says, then. “You sound better. I’m glad.”
Dick smiles softly. “I am better. I think.”
“I want to hear all about it,” She says. “You promised, right?”
Dick thinks of Jason. “I did,” He says. “You’re not ready, I can tell you that.”
“Ominous,” Babs says. “Anyway. See you soon! Don’t be late.”
“When am I ever?” He asks. The WELCOME TO GOTHAM sign passed by him in a swirl of green and blue. “I’ll be there. Promise.”
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Part 2 of today's fill for @dickgraysonweek 2024
Day 6: Supernatural Creature AU | Dick Pushed to the Limit | Identity Porn
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Part 1 of today's fill for @dickgraysonweek 2024
Day 6: Supernatural Creature AU | Dick Pushed to the Limit | Identity Porn
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Day 3 of @dickgraysonweek! I am so pumped because I submitted this prompt and I am Living
Day 6: Supernatural Creature AU | Dick Pushed to the Limit | Identity Porn
“Someone launched a blue shell,” He hummed, ears picking up the sound cue for it, “It’s a serial murder case. Three bodies, all in California, one in Jump. I don’t think any cops have noticed it yet, but I have a program that flags similarities in case files and autopsies.”
Starfire whooped as she passed Beast Boy, who grumbled and hunched further around his controller. Raven also glanced at him before using a speed boost to shortcut across the grass. “Is it bad?”
“It’s not good,” He hummed.
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Something Other
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@dickgraysonweek
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Living Ghosts
Written for Dick Grayson Anniversary Week: Day 5 Prompt: Batfam Meets Agent 37
@dickgraysonweek
Summary: Cass is tracking down a metahuman trafficking ring in Hong Kong when she meets a man without a face...a man who moves like Dick Grayson but wrong, wrong, wrong.
Characters: Dick Grayson, Cassandra Cain
Warnings: Implied abuse
Cass crouches behind a large cooler, letting the shadows cloak her completely. She has grown adept at hiding. But she hates it, hates hiding when there are people being hurt every minute she spends waiting in the shadows.
Patience, Batman growls in her mind. She feels Cain’s hand grasping her shoulder and holding her back, fingers digging into flesh. 
A far-away scream. Cass doesn’t even wince. She has heard many, many screams in her life—most of them her own. But that doesn’t stop her heart from tearing itself apart inside her ribcage.
Cass has been after this organ trafficking operation for two weeks. It’s a short time for a police operation, but a long time for Orphan. In the two weeks she’s been working on this, many people have died. All of them because Cass wasn’t fast enough.
Batman would tell her to focus on the Mission—no use punishing herself when there are still things to be done. Cain would tell her to stop being ridiculous.
Cass tells herself that she still has more lives to save, and that she is doing her best, and that she is enough. The voice in her head is her, but it sounds like Barbara. Cass likes that.
Right now, her priority is turning off the automated alarms so she can begin to pick off traffickers one by one. It’ll be fun. Cass doesn’t like hurting, but she does like moving, fighting.
Two guards patrol past. Good. When they’re far enough away, Cass slips out and steps silently through the shadows until she reaches the control room. It takes minutes to disable the alarms. Cass isn’t the best with this, having never seen a computer during her childhood, but she’s adequate. Barbara made sure of that.
With the alarms off, Cass sneaks towards the area where the future victims are being kept. She finds a mass of guards outside one particular room. There are a lot of them. But Cass is good, and she knows it. She can take them.
Like a bullet, she shoots out of the shadows and attacks.
The traffickers fall like dominos. Cass has this under control. She will defeat these traffickers, free the victims, lead them out, and then defeat the rest. Then, she’ll turn them into the police with the evidence she collected. It will go well, and the two weeks she spent on this won’t be a waste.
Only, she hears the sound of fighting from down the corridor, getting closer and closer. Just as Cass knocks her last opponent unconscious, a man backs into view, fighting hand-to-hand with five more guards. Cass watches warily as he knocks each one out. His blows are clean, efficient. He’s not aiming to kill, but he’s clearly well-trained. An unusual combination. He moves like he wants to add in acrobatics but thinks better of it at the last moment—his feet are light on the ground, but every so often he seems to press himself down, holding himself to the Earth. When he’s defeated the last of the traffickers, he walks forward and picks up a hand-held cooler from the ground.
Cass knows there’s an organ in there. Which means…this man is not here to free the victims. He’s here to serve his own purposes.
Cass bristles. “Put it down,” she says in Cantonese. She is not good at speaking Cantonese. English was difficult enough to learn, when she heard only small snippets of it growing up, but learning a second language with entirely new sounds, and forcing her lips to cooperate? It’s difficult. She has struggled with every phrase.
The man turns to face her and—
—there’s something wrong with his face. She can’t make out any features of it. When she tries, her brain just goes fuzzy. It’s like staring at a black hole, only she can tell that there are features, she just doesn’t know what they are.
His body stiffens. Shock. He’s surprised. Cass does tend to have that effect. Five foot five, female, and standing over ten unconscious men. She bets he wasn’t expecting anyone else here, especially not her.
And yet, his surprise seems less I didn’t expect to find someone here and more I didn’t expect to find you here.
Does he know her? He could be from the League of Assassins, but although some of his moves contain slight traces of that fighting style, it’s buried far under other training. Almost as if he was trained by someone attempting to replicate the League’s style. No, this man is not League-trained—or if he was, he was trained very, very briefly.
The man raises the cooler. Cass doesn’t know what he’s trying to communicate. Why doesn’t he speak? She takes in his gray costume, with light blue accents. The gun strapped to his belt. Why does this man carry a gun, if he doesn’t want to kill?
“I won’t interfere,” the man says eventually, in English. How did he know she can speak English? Her Cantonese is not accented with English, but rather the strange accent that infects all of Cass’s speech, a side-effect of her difficulty forming words. His voice is strange, like he’s trying to disguise it. Not disguised in the way of his incomprehensible face, but disguised as if he’s putting on a voice in a play.
Cass believes him. But he is carrying an organ in a cooler. He is not good. And Cass is willing to bet that he does other not good things, if he does this.
Cass chooses her words very carefully. “Died for that,” she says, in English this time, pointing at the cooler.
“I know,” he says, sounding regretful. The way he stands, the way he speaks—it feels familiar, but slightly off. Wrong. So wrong.
“I will stop you,” she decides, and leaps forward.
“We don’t have to fight,” the faceless man insists, dodging her blows. “I just need to take this to my employer.”
Cass doesn’t waste time talking. This fight is difficult, and if she pushes her opponent far enough, he may be willing to use that gun on his belt. She will give it her all. But she’s Cassandra Wayne. Black Bat. Batgirl. Orphan. She knows that she will win.
Cass tries to figure out the strangeness of the way the man fights. He clearly is used to having weapons—likely short-range, bludgeoning. One for each hand. Perhaps tonfa or batons or escrima. None of them are common for a mercenary, and the man mentioned an “employer.” He doesn’t seem any worse off with only his fists, though. Notably, he doesn’t fight like he’s used to having a gun in his hands.
Why is a man who isn’t used to a gun carrying one?
Cass dodges a headshot and throws a kick at his chest. He stumbles.
“We don’t have to fight,” the man insists. “If I didn’t know you were here, I would’ve taken them down anyway.” Cass stops, watching him warily. His body doesn’t scream liar, but everything about the man feels off. Familiar, but wrong. She doesn’t know why. And Cass is not inclined to trust anyone she can’t fully read. “I swear, I’m not part of this. We can work together to stop the rest of the traffickers.”
“And your employer?” Cass asks.
The man shrugs. “He won’t be happy, but he’ll have to deal with it.”
Cass points to the gun in the man’s belt. He winces. It seems he doesn’t like to be reminded of it.
Suddenly, the man flies into a blur of motion, shooting forwards and pushing Cass to the ground. Cass isn’t supposed to be surprised like that, but nothing in the man’s body language was indicating an attack. Only, an attack would mean that Cass should be in pain, right now, and she isn’t. Instead, she watches the man do a strange flip over her head and land in front of a trafficker who snuck up on her, hitting him swiftly in the jaw. The mercenary takes advantage of the trafficker’s stumble and sends an elbow flying into the enemy’s skull. The trafficker falls to the ground, unconscious.
In that moment, it clicks. The man’s movements are…wrong. But not so wrong that Cass can’t see.
He’s supposed to be dead. Tim told her that he was dead, over a long phone call where Cass barely spoke. Alfred confirmed it, when she checked in with him during a brief visit to Gotham. And Alfred wasn’t lying.
But Cass trusts herself, and her eyes don’t lie.
“Dick Grayson.”
---
The second Dick sees Cass, he realizes why Helena didn’t let him bring his escrima sticks on this mission, why she insisted that she would be the one entering the trafficker’s lair. Only, she ended up delayed, fighting against some other organization that wanted the organs, and sent Dick ahead. She promised him that someone else was taking the ring down and he didn’t need to waste any time on it. Just get the spleen, pay, and get out.
Dick is clearly failing at this. But in his defense, Dick hadn’t known that Spyral been outbid.
It felt better, fighting for the organ. Still wrong, still dirty, still disgusting, but better than just paying for it. Spyral is a vulture, and so, by extension, is Dick.
It’s a mission, Dick reminds himself. Infiltration and sabotage. He’s here to stop Spyral, and anything he does would have been done anyway. It feels like a pointless excuse, because it is one.
He doesn’t want to fight Cass. He knows he can’t beat her, and he’s not crazy enough to try. But what else is he supposed to do? She rightly recognizes him as a villain, and she’s never been one for letting villains go.
Dick tries to reason with her, and just as he thinks she’ll agree to work together—Helena is going to hate that, but what choice does he have?—he notices a trafficker sneaking up on them. He’s been controlling his movements, his voice, his every action, trying to avoid tipping Cass off to his identity, but in this moment, the trafficker’s raising a gun and it’s his life or hers. And Dick knows that he’ll protect his little sister, even if it destroys his mission.
He turns around to see Cass staring at him, eyes narrowed.
“Dick Grayson,” she says, and he knows that he has failed. There’s a scream from down the corridor. “They need help.” Dick nods. They move forward together.
Between the two of them, taking down the ring is easy. They slip out into the darkness of the night, and Dick tries to split, but Cass catches his arm. “We need to talk,” she says.
Dick sighs. He doesn’t even know if he can return to Spyral after this. He needs to check in with Bruce. Sure, he could make his own decision, but he doesn’t know if it’ll be the right one, and this is Bruce’s mission. Whatever Bruce orders, goes. Dick would love the excuse to leave, but it could very well make everything worse.
Dick lets Cass lead him back to what he hopes is a safehouse. It’s sparse and undecorated and very probably moldy, so Dick hopes that his sister is normally living in better conditions.
“Alright,” Dick says, sitting down on the couch next to Cass with a sigh. “What do you need to know.”
“Stop,” Cass orders. She scrutinizes him carefully and Dick just sits there, waiting for her judgement. And then she leaps forward and wraps her arms around him, pulling him close.
It’s amazing. In Spyral, well, it’s not that he didn’t ever have contact with people, but it was never just a hug. It was never this warm, this gentle, this careful. It never makes him feel like a person. Dick hugs Cass back, holding her close like a lifeline. When she pulls away, she’s smiling.
“Missed you,” she says, like Dick was away at college or something.
“I missed you too.” Dick swallows. He knows that what he did was wrong. He knows that he lied to his family and left them and let them believe he was dead. He’s not expecting a happy reunion at the end of this. But Cass, at least, doesn’t seem to be responding with violence at the moment. “I’m sorry, Cass.”
“Tim said…you died.”
“Bruce—” Wait, no. Dick didn’t rehearse this, he doesn’t know what to say, but he does know that he cannotblame Bruce for this. “I faked it. I didn’t die, not really. It was…an opportunity. To go undercover. We had to use it to our advantage.”
Cass bites her lip. “Lying.”
“I really didn’t die.” His heart just stopped, for a minute or so. It doesn’t count. It can’t count.
“Lying,” Cass repeats.
“My heart stopped,” Dick admits. “There was a bomb that would go off unless…unless I died. Lex Luthor stopped my heart and then revived me right afterwards. I just had a…close brush with death.”
“You died.”
“I didn’t.” Dick shakes his head vigorously. “I didn’t die.”
Cass frowns. “Why do you need to believe?”
She can probably see the desperation. “I…it can’t have been that bad. I have to be fine. And…” Cass is so against killing, she isn’t the person to discuss this with, but…she’s letting him in her safehouse. She deserves to know what a monster he is. “Years ago…I beat the Joker until his heart stopped beating.” Cass presses against Dick’s side. She should be pushing him away, not burrowing closer. “Bruce revived him. He said…he said it didn’t count. I didn’t break the rule.” Dick meets Cass’s eyes, but her gaze is off to the side. She can’t see his face, can he? The Hypnos implant is still hiding him. “If I died…if I died…” If Dick died, then he killed the Joker. If Dick died, then he broke Bruce’s one rule. And after Blockbuster…
…it’s no wonder that Bruce sent him to Spyral. “I trained you to live and I watched you die!” Bruce had screamed. If Dick died, then he’s a killer. A murderer. How could he have expected Bruce to respect his protests, to listen to his pleas about family, when Dick is the very evil that they fight?
“Stop,” Cass hisses. “Your mind is going around and around. You need to stop. You’re…hurt.”
“I deserve to be,” Dick says. It slips out. It stays there. He can’t take it back, but it’s not wrong, so he doesn’t see why he should.
“Do you regret what you did?” Cass asks.
Killing the Joker? Most of the time. Sometimes, Dick wishes that Bruce had let that monster stay dead. Wishes Jason had come back to a world where someone at least had avenged Robin. Wishes that he could have spared Jason the pain of discovering that the Joker still lives. But for the most part, Dick can see the disappointment in Bruce’s eyes and the fear in Tim’s and wishes that he could take it back and never find out what he was capable of.
But then again, he found out he was capable of stepping out of the way only a year later.
“I try to,” Dick says honestly.
Cass lifts a hand to Dick’s face. She’s feeling for his features like she’s blind. The implant can mess with the visual cortex, but not the somatic. Cass is seeing him, as best she can. “Brother,” she says.
Dick smiles softly. “I didn’t die,” he says. “I’m not trying to lie to you, Cass.”
Cass lifts her hand away. “Under…covered?”
“Undercover. Yes. Spyral is…they’re hunting metahumans. They want to discover your identities. Someone had to go.”
“Why?”
“To keep you all safe,” Dick says.
“Spyral is…bad,” Cass says.
That’s certainly an understatement. Dick sighs. “I hate it. But it has to be done. I wouldn’t have gone if…if there was any other option.”
“Why didn’t you tell us?”
Dick wanted to. He didn’t understand that part, didn’t understand why the family couldn’t know. It’s more realistic this way, sure, but they’re all excellent actors. And Dick knows that after Jason’s death, after Bruce’s “death,” after Damian’s death, yet another death would strike deep.
He wanted to tell the family. He didn’t want to hurt them.
But Bruce said.
Dick doesn’t have an answer for Cass. Any excuse he could try to give would be halfhearted at best, and she’d know it.
“They’re hurt,” Cass says. She points to her heart. “Here. Hurts. Hurt me.”
“I’m sorry,” Dick whispers, voice broken.
Cass pulls back. Dick doesn’t deserve to be near her anyway. “Why?” She asks again.
“Why am I sorry?”
“No. Why did you lie?”
“It was safer,” Dick tries. That’s not the answer, though, and Cass knows he’s lying.
“Lie,” she says, voice hard. “Why?”
“Bruce insisted,” Dick says. He half-expects Cass to call that out as a lie as well, because, yeah, Bruce had insisted, but Dick had agreed in the end. Instead, Cass pulls her feet up onto the couch and tilts back against him.
“Hurt,” Cass says.
Dick freezes. He doesn’t know what Cass is implying, and he doesn’t want to betray himself by answering a question that wasn’t asked. “I’m sorry for hurting you,” Dick says eventually. That’s the safest option.
Cass shakes her head and his heart sinks. “No. Hurt you.”
Dick swallows. “It doesn’t matter.” He forces himself off the couch. “I should go. The organ won’t keep for very long.”
Cass just watches him.
“You can’t tell anyone I’m alive, okay? Please, Cass. I need you to promise.”
“Fine,” Cass says. Dick can’t read bodies the way she can. He doesn’t know if she’s lying. But he does know that he has to go now before Helena gets suspicious. He gives Cass one last hug and tries to remember the feeling of her arms around him to carry him through the rest of the mission. “Love you, brother.”
“Love you too,” Dick says as he leaves.
---
Cass sits alone in her apartment, fists clenched and toes curled into the couch cushions. Dick moved wrong. He moved like a ghost.
And some part of her is overjoyed that her big brother is alive. It’s amazing. It’s a miracle.
But most of her—most of her is afraid.
She said she wouldn’t tell anyone that Dick was alive. She doesn’t know if she was telling the truth, yet. For now, Cass won’t tell anyone who doesn’t already know.
But Dick’s fear, his shame, his guilt is seared to the backs of her eyelids. He was hurt. He was hiding.
Cass has to have a talk with a Bat.
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