Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Give me one.”

Dick tapped the ash from their cigarette over the railing of the balcony, a bemused look on their face. They’d barely heard Jason join them outside. He was becoming quite the master of stealth in his early teenage years.  

“No, you're thirteen. You shouldn't be smoking.”

“Doesn't mean I don't,” Jason argued. “This is Gotham, half the kids smoke a pack a day and the other half only do it when they can't score drugs.”

“Doesn't make it right,” Dick took another drag before begrudgingly handing the cigarette over. It was their last one and it was already half gone. Dick could always buy a new pack from a bodega in the morning. Jason would have a far harder time doing so. It wouldn't be impossible but Dick elected to make it easy on him anyway. 

Jason smoked like he'd done it before. Like he'd done it a million times, not just like he'd seen his dad or older sibling or some actor in a movie do it. It probably should have worried Dick more, but they could really only focus on the pain radiating from the left side of their face, their eye swollen shut and a nasty shade of purple and black. The blood under their nose had dried a dirty red and they hadn't even bothered to clean it up. They couldn’t see the point. They’d just bleed again soon enough anyway.

“My dad used to knock me around, you know. Piece of shit.”

“And I won't let him,” Dick said simply. “Not this time.”

“He's dead.”

“Not the dad I was talking about.”

Jason scowled deeply as he took a particularly long drag. He blew the smoke out bitterly and quickly, like a deeply troubled character is a noir novella, not even coughing once. Dick couldn’t help but think Jason was far too young to smoke in such a way and truly mean it.

“Bruce isn't my fucking dad. He's not your dad either. Fuck him.”

Dick hummed in response. They lacked the words in that moment to perfectly convey what they wanted to say on the matter. Or perhaps there were just too many words and they didn't even know where to start. Dick always seemed to have that problem. It’d ended many relationships in the past and was destined to continue to do so well into the future. 

“I’m serious, Dickie. Fuck him and everything he’s ever said about you, cause it’s all wrong.”

Dick laughed this time, though it came out rather weak and sardonic. It crackled in his voice box and when it finally passed through his lips it sounded more like a strangled sob than anything that could pass as an expression of joy or contentment.

“Nah, I think he’s right about a lot of things.”

Jason’s teeth clenched around the filter, bite marks digging so deeply into the paper that bits of tobacco seeped out and stuck to the wetness of Jason’s lips.

“You’re not crazy.”

So he’d heard that particular argument then. No matter, Dick was sure the kid had heard far worse things come from Bruce, perhaps even from Willis Todd himself. Dick liked to pretend that Bruce’s words no longer had an effect on them, that they no longer cared what the man thought or presumed. But that night had truly shaken them, despite the cool, aloofness they were attempting to mask with on that cold, stone balcony.

He’d never called them insane before. Not to their face, at least. They were sure he’d said it and other iterations of the word countless of times to Alfred or their doctors or the myriad of psychologists and psychiatrists and whatever other professional individuals had jobs starting with psych and liked to add meaningless abbreviations to the end of their names in email exchanges. 

They still remembered the look on Martha’s face when he’d said it. When he’d drawn his hand back and hit them right in the face to cease their desperate pleas.

“Richard, you’re insane! You need help!”

She’d looked so disappointed, though Dick couldn’t tell if it was aimed at them or her grown son. Perhaps both. 

“I believe you,” Jason had finished the cigarette and dropped the butt over the railing. “I’ve always believed you, you know?”

Dick wanted to thank him. They wanted to hug him and never let him go. They wanted to promise him that everything would be alright, that Bruce wouldn’t really send them away, that they were sure the impressively useless pill regiment they were on wouldn't be adjusted for the millionth time, that they wouldn’t have their therapy appointments moved to three times a week instead of two. That perhaps this would all blow over, that Bruce was just acting in the heat of the moment.

But none of it was true, and Dick knew that Jason knew as well. Because he was stupid. He wasn't naive like a boy his age should be. 

“I'm leaving, Jay,” Dick said instead, their heart clenching impossibly tight in their chest. “I have to. I don’t have a choice. If I stay he’ll kill me, or worse. And I'm so fucking sorry.”

“I know. It's okay.”

Dick closed their eyes for a moment. The cool spring air washed over them, the sky a murky reddish-grey from the city's air pollution. For not the first time, they wished they could see the stars above the skyscrapers and neon lights. 

“This isn't how this went,” Dick said slowly. “That isn't what you said.”

“I know,” Jason replied. Dick looked back over at him and watched as his flesh rotted off his bones, his dead, unseeing eyes hanging carelessly from their sockets. His sweatshirt and jeans were replaced by a moldy funeral suit and clumps of dirt clung to his brittle hair. Worms and other insects crawled between the gaps in his broken, bloody teeth. 

“But this is how you wanted it to go, isn't it Dickie?”

Dick jumped awake, their heart threatening to burst through their ribcage. They took a few deep breaths, willing their body to relax. 

This wasn't the first time they'd had this dream, after all. They had a nightmare nearly every night and the one with Jason in it was frequently showing on the cinema screen within their fucked up mind. 

One look at the angry red numbers on their digital alarm clock told them it was far too early, but they knew there was also no way they were going to go back to sleep before they needed to leave for work. So they sighed, ran a hand through their too long, unruly hair and swung their legs out from under the threadbare blanket, their naked feet hitting the wooden floor quickly due to their lack of a bedframe. 

The studio apartment was shit, to put it delicately. It was in the worst part of Blüdhaven and could only fit a mattress, a wooden chair they had rescued off the side of the street by hookah lounge, a suitcase that was shoved into the corner overflowing with clothes, a closet with a toilet, and a small kitchenette boasting a sink, mini refrigerator, and a counter big enough for a hot plate and a coffee maker. No shower, the communal one was down the hall, but Dick just cleaned up at the station or in the sink because even they weren't stupid or desperate enough to go into that room, less they catch a venereal disease or two. 

They stretched much like a cat would, their oversized T-shirt rising to show off their far too skinny stomach and blue checkered boxer shorts. They climbed over the discarded high heeled shoes and club clothes they'd thrown on the ground after their previous shift to make it to the kitchenette to make a shitty pot of coffee. The machine protested with every push of a button, but soon the familiar sound of liquid boiling and brewing echoed off the lead-plastered walls of the apartment.

With that started, they grabbed the pack of cigarettes and lighter sitting innocently next to the machine and pulled one out of the pack, lighting it and taking a good long drag. One bonus of the shitty apartment, they supposed, was that they couldn't care less about smoking inside. The walls were already more yellow than white so they doubted they could do any more damage to them and even if they did, no one would notice. 

Dick let the cigarette hang between their lipstick stained lips as they made their way to the one window in the apartment, the blackout curtains no match for the neon signs from the strip joint and bodega across the street. They drew the curtains back just enough so that they could watch the taxis race down the street, narrowly missing a few working girls and homeless people. One slammed her hand against the roof, her fake nails definitely leaving a mark as she screamed something at the driver in Spanish that they couldn't quite make out. 

“Good morning to you too, Blüd,” Dick chuckled, their words slightly slurred from the cigarette still in their mouth. 

Good, they supposed, was a bit of a stretch. 

A wolf whistle was the only greeting they got as they made their way into the station, their knee-high boots clacking against the cracked linoleum of the Blüdhaven Police Department’s ancient floors.

“Lookin’ hot, Grayson!” A uniform shouted, his female partner simply rolling her eyes at his antics instead of berating him as she definitely had a right to. “Coming over to my place tonight?”

“Can’t,” Dick bit back, their head not even turning to look towards the officer. “Have a date with your mom already.”

There was the overwhelming sound of bystanders voicing their amusement at Dick’s words but they ignored the male pissing match in favor of pushing their way through the door of the vice unit. No one looked up as they made their way to their desk, a mound of files and paperwork already awaiting them.

“What the hell is this?” Dick asked, pinching the corner of a manilla file folder with their ruby red nails as if the contents inside were a possible biohazard.

“What, pretty girls like you don’t do paperwork?” a voice teased. 

“We do, but who the hell pulled all my files and left them here?” Dick bit back, turning to see the smirking face of Detective Alphonse Sapienza leaning back so far in his chair that he was at risk of toppling over all together, if Dick was lucky. 

“Hey,” Alphonse said, his words boasting a mock-defensiveness, his eyes lingering for far too long on the low cut collar of their shirt. “Don’t look at me. I didn't touch your shit.”

Dick dropped the folder, still confused as to why anyone would pull his completed paperwork. Judging by the tabs, they were all from his current case, but it was all files that were finished or leads that had already been interrogated to death. 

“Did you have fun last night?” Alphonse had the balls to ask, his eyes filled with the unmistakable look of lust Dick had seen in every man they came into contact with while working nights. 

Dick narrowed their eyes at the man’s statement, wanting nothing more than to state for the record that the last thing they would consider going undercover as a hooker to be was fun. But they knew it would fall on deaf ears, as much of Dick’s words often did, so they turned sharply and marched their way to their captain’s office, only suddenly a bit concerned with how short their mini skirt truly was. They hadn’t expected to stay very long, only planning on sending a few urgent emails and maybe raid the break room fridge before going back on the streets, and they certainly didn’t think they’d be talking to their boss, or else they would have perhaps chosen something less sensual or just a nice pair of pants.

They raised their fist to knock but never got the chance, the oak door swinging open to reveal Captain David Sputter standing impatiently in the doorway.

“Get in, Grayson, I haven’t got all day.”

Dick nodded sharply and entered once Sputter had moved his behemoth of a body out of the way.

The Captain always seemed as if he was running late to something, his foot always tapping anxiously and his eyes always finding the nearest clock in any room. He was balding but hiding it well and perhaps in his sixties, though no one knew for sure. He wore the same ten ties on a consistent rotation, always had a bagel and black coffee for breakfast from a food stall near the building, and only had one photograph of his family in his office, which was turned away from him and facing whomever was unlucky enough to be seated in the uncomfortably straightbacked chair positioned directly within his line of sight when he was to sit at his police standard issue office desk.

“Sit down.”

Dick obeyed, crossing their legs delicately as the last thing they needed their captain to see was the lacy underwear they were wearing underneath the faux leather miniskirt. The Johns on the street didn't care for hookers with modesty, after all, so wearing something underneath was widely considered a turn off. 

“How's your current case been proceeding?”

Dick opened their mouth to reply, already preparing a million and one excuses in their brain that sounded borderline professional when Captain Sputter continued, as if he hadn't just asked a question to begin with. 

“I'll tell you how it's been going: slow.”

They wanted nothing more than to roll their eyes at the Captain's statement, at his tone that exuded an overwhelming amount of misplaced authority on the situation. Sputter wasn't out every night with these girls, forming connections with them just to watch them end up dead behind a seedy bar or skin mag stand. He wasn't learning their names and their hopes and their dreams and watching the light dim from their eyes after each John was through with them. So who the hell was he to claim Dick was taking too long?

“Captain of homicide has been hounding me to transfer the case to them. I gave you the benefit of the doubt, Grayson, I really did, but you haven't gotten me anything new in nearly two weeks. We don't even have a description of the guy slashing these girls.”

“Captain,” Dick forced their voice to remain level despite the way it threatened to shake like a tree sapling in November. They couldn't afford to show weakness, not now, not ever. 

“What the hell does this guy know anyway?” John's voice suddenly rang out, a hint of protectiveness icing his words. “Don't listen to him, Boy Wonder.”

Dick hadn't even noticed John when they entered the office. Perhaps he'd only appeared once Sputter’s intentions became evident. He had a habit of defending Dick in these types of situations, when Mary or Martha weren't readily available. He exuded a stronger energy than the two women, more often than not being the confident assurance Dick needed in situations that called for such an energy. Martha and Mary, while supportive and strong-willed in their own way, were much less likely to suggest more physical solutions to various problems. Dick couldn't recall their father being physically aggressive in life, but perhaps it was simply a side they were too young to see of him at the time. 

“Captain,” Dick tried again, their eyes refusing to look towards when the figure of his father stood near the dirtied, soot-stained window. “I know these girls better than anyone. They trust me. They aren't gonna trust some douche from homicide.”

“And what information have these girls even given you? Do you have anything at all that's new or relevant, or are you perhaps just having fun?”

“How dare he, I'll knock his teeth out,” John spat venomously, the indication of Sputter's words clear as the crystal whiskey glasses that decorated the Captain's bookshelf behind him. He had a smirk on his ugly, fat face, one that masqueraded itself as cocksure and all-knowing. 

Dick was used to it, which wasn't a great situation to be in, but their situation nonetheless. People always would have their assumptions about them and there was very little they could do or say about it, so they often just ignored it. It was easier to act as if the teasing from their fellow officers and detectives didn't bother them. It was much more simple to forget the feeling of strange men’s hands on their bare skin as they snuck another unwanted kiss or squeeze, as they whispered sickeningly sweet nothings into their ear. It never went farther than that, thank God (it was the one perk of having a badge stuck in their garter belt, they supposed), but it still had a lasting effect, no matter if it was just meaningless words and caresses. 

It wasn't meaningless to Dick. 

“I promise you that pretending to whore myself out isn't my idea of fun,” Dick bit back, perhaps sharper than originally intended. 

John had a proud look on his face, but he remained silent, almost as if he'd decided Dick could finally handle this themselves for the time being. 

“Maybe you're not pretending,” Sputter went on, not seeming to take note of how poisonous Dick’s voice was beginning to grow. “Maybe it's not truly just about the case anymore. Your judgement has been clouded before, detective.”

Sputter said the word detective like one might to a child playing pretend, one with an overactive imagination they were sure to grow out of soon. Dick didn't appreciate the man's tone one bit, and neither did John evidently, as he leaned in closer to the man, practically breathing down Sputter’s neck, though the Captain was smugly oblivious to this. 

The Captain moved closer to Dick, rounding the desk towards Dick's chair and leaning far too close for comfort. Dick could smell the black coffee in his breath and sourness of his cheap aftershave. Dick recoiled slightly from the disgusting mix of scents, an olfactory overload of sensation washing over them. 

 “Maybe I could be… persuaded to let you stay on the case.”

Sputter was so close that Dick could feel his hot breath against their skin. They shivered, leaning back deeper into the chair. They were trapped; Sputter had a hand on each arm of the chair, effectively blocking Dick in and giving them nowhere to go. Dick couldn't hear John’s voice anymore and they wondered if it was because he'd left or due to the roaring static radiating from their brain that seemed to deafen them completely. 

“Show me you've got what it takes,” Sputter continued, though his voice sounded distant to Dick, like he was trying to speak to them in a crowded room from too far away. 

Dick felt as if they were floating in water, like their body and mind weren't connected. It was as if the nerves had all been severed and if Dick focused hard enough, perhaps they could even watch their body from the outside, pretending they were just an innocent bystander in this whole situation. 

The lips on Dick's bare neck is what seemed to snap them out of their disassociation, their gaze becoming sharper and the fog clearing as they acted on instinct, pushing Sputter off of them. The bigger man was surprised by Dick's sudden movement, which is probably why he moved at all when Dick shoved the man into his own desk, quickly slipping out of the chair and shoving their back against the door. 

“You bitch,” Sputter spat. “I was trying to help you.”

“Fuck you,” Dick retorted. 

Sputter only scoffed at the insult, not seeming bothered by Dick's words. He probably heard it a lot, if past actions were assumed to be a pattern. 

“Whatever, make your bed and lie in it. Go bring those files up to homicide and then get the hell out of my station. I'll deal with you tomorrow.”

Dick didn't need to be told twice. 

The door slammed sharply behind them. 

Chapter Text

The first ghost Dick was old enough to remember seeing was that of a girl by the name of Margaret Holloway.

Dick had presumably seen many ghosts before the ripe old age of five, if their mother's accounts were to be believed, but Dick couldn't recall much from before the age of four and a half. It wasn't unusual, many didn't remember their toddler years. Hell, some could barely remember elementary school, so Dick had to admit that remembering an event from nearly twenty years ago was no small feat. 

It had been spring in Missouri; the circus was just on the outskirts of Hannibal to perform for one night only before packing up and making their way to Kansas City. There were no designated fairgrounds in the small town so they had set up their tents and caravans in an open field, close enough to the town to see Main Street and the shotgun shacks surrounding it. The town was quiet, as most one horse towns seem to be, the only noise really being the trains that passed through on their way to somewhere bigger and better. 

Dick had just turned five; it was late March or perhaps early April, and cold enough to warrant Mary dressing them in a hand-knit sweater made of brilliant red yarn that would always be able to be picked out of a crowd in case they wandered too far away from their parents, as they had already proven to do if their last show in Milwaukee was anything to go off of. Dick had flown before they could walk, but once they figured out how to move on the ground they were as swift as they were in the air. John had joked once that Dick really did run before they could walk. 

Mary had taken them into town while John helped the other men pitch the tents. Dick was obviously going a bit stir crazy since their long drive from Tennessee and she had promised them a candy from the general store if they behaved. Dick, at the promise of a treat their family could rarely afford to splurge on, had shaped up almost immediately, holding onto Mary's hand tightly as they entered town, the road turning from dusty dirt to cracked pavement in desperate need of repair. 

Mary's grip on Dick's hand tightened once they crossed over into the town limits, almost as if some sort of invisible, magical barrier surrounded the town right at the line where the road became asphalt. Dick could feel the energy shift too, in their own way, or perhaps that feeling was only brought on by the stares directed at them from the townspeople, each curious and apprehensive at the sight of newcomers. 

Each small town was a gamble and Dick was learning that lesson far faster than their parents would have liked. People stared a bit less when it was just John, with his paler skin tanned only by the hard work he completed under the sun’s rays, but when they saw Mary and her beautiful caramel skin and unforgiving beauty marks, her long thick hair tied up in a diklo, people had a habit of becoming a bit more apprehensive at her arrival. Dick wasn't as dark as their mother, almost as if a few dashes of milk had been mixed in to create their exact skin tone, but they were still so strikingly different, with their curly black hair too thick for a comb and a nose that they still had yet to grow into, that passersby couldn't help but stare, even just for a moment. 

It wasn't their fault, not really at least. They were in a closed community surrounded by those who looked identical to themselves. Dick, however, was raised in a highly diverse environment and traveled around the country to all sorts of different places. They were used to people who looked nothing like them, were even more comfortable when no one looked too alike. It made it easier to tell everyone apart, especially for a toddler still developing their memory skills. 

Mary was a master of ignoring the way people stared at her. John always got a bit defensive when people stared at his happy little family, but Mary held her head high and even smiled and greeted old ladies holding grocery bags and mothers pushing strollers, her smile sometimes dazzling enough to make them return the gesture. She was a force to be reckoned with, a storm just waiting to pour down if anyone even so much as uttered a disrespectful word towards her or her child. 

Dick perhaps noticed the girl’s hair first, so long that it nearly reached her lower back and fiery red, competing with their sweater for the brightest thing on the sidewalk. But the more Dick thought about it, after all was said and done, they came to the conclusion that what really drew their attention was the fact that she didn't stare at them like everyone else did. She didn't even offer them a glance before politely looking away, like others more dignified often had a habit of doing. 

She didn't even seem to see them. 

Dick stared at her curiously as she sat on a bench outside Holloway’s General Store, the old windowed door propped open with a half-full can of paint. She was dressed in a long white dress, almost like a nightgown, which made no sense to Dick. Their mother would never go out in public in her sleep clothes, but perhaps the women of this town were prone to different habits. 

They allowed their mother to pull them into the store, the burly man behind the counter greeting them with a warm, husky voice. He turned back to the woman he was helping, her arms wrapped around a particularly large bushel of crab apples. There were a couple of kids looking gleefully at the candy themselves and Dick soon joined them, their small body nearly vibrating with excitement. 

“One piece,” Mary said, her lips turned up into a smile. “And don't wander, please.”

Dick nodded, their eyes wider than the chipped china dinner plates they ate all their meals off of as they took in the impressive display of quarter candy overflowing the huge oak barrels. They couldn't remember a time when they'd seen so many sweets in one place, besides perhaps the front window of the luxury sweets shop they had passed once in Chicago. They hadn't been allowed to go in, their parents knowing without a doubt they wouldn't be able to afford even a sample, but Mary and John had allowed them to press their chubby face to the glass and marvel at the sight of gourmet chocolates and imported confectioneries. 

Mary turned to go find the nails Pop Haly had requested, making sure she stayed within a few feet of Dick in case she needed to get back to them quickly. They were far too occupied with deciding between something sour or covered in chocolate, though. It was a tough decision for any five year old to make and Dick did not take it lightly by any means. 

The store clerk disappeared into the back with the promise to find a particular type of canning jar the woman with the crab apples was requesting. Mary compared two separate boxes of nails, trying to figure out what made them so different in price. One of the children squealed in delight at the sight of his favorite sweet being restocked since his last visit. 

Dick felt a sudden tingling sensation on their neck, almost as if a cold, frigid breeze had just blown sharply by. They tucked their fingers into the sleeve of their sweater, suddenly freezing despite the old brick store retaining enough heat to warrant a fan to be blowing in an open window. 

They turned around and saw large, catlike green eyes staring right into their soul. 

“Hello,” Dick said carefully to the girl in white, her long hair swaying slightly despite the fact she remained still within the doorframe of the store. 

“Hello,” she echoed, her voice mimicking Dick's uneasy tone. 

“Candy?” Dick offered, holding out a Charleston Chew they'd been gripping onto, indecision the only thing truly keeping it in their hand. 

“Candy?” The girl questioned, almost as if she didn't know what Dick meant by the word. 

Dick dropped the chocolate back into the barrel and traded it for a rainbow lollypop. They examined it, watching the girl out of the corner of their eye as she lingered by a barrel filled with Pop Rock packets. Her hand hovered over them, almost as if she longed to pick one up. 

They dropped the lollypop back down and grabbed a packet, showing the packaging to the girl with a smile missing a tooth in the center. 

“These? You like these? We can share!”

The girl nodded slowly, the hint of a smile on her lips. 

“My favorite.”

“Did you pick one, little robin?”

Dick turned to see Mary approaching them, the box of nails she'd eventually decided on in her hands. 

“Yeah, I was just-”

Dick turned to look back at the girl, but when he did so she had disappeared. 

“Here, let's go pay.”

Dick allowed Mary to take the cherry Pop Rocks from their hand, their grip loose as they scanned the store, trying to find where the girl had gone. It was as if she'd vanished into thin air. 

“Pop Rocks, huh?” The clerk asked as he typed the numbers manually into the register. “Those are a classic choice.”

“I'm not sure you've tried them yet,” Mary said, a hint of confusion in her voice. “What made you want to pick them?”

“The girl with the red hair seemed to like them. I wanted to share.”

The clerk paled slightly, his hand gripping the receipt a bit tighter than necessary. He looked like he might burst into tears at any moment, which Dick remembered being odd. They'd never seen a grown man look like that before, not even their father.

“What the hell kind of game are you playing, kid?”

Mary looked uncomfortable all of a sudden and Dick couldn't understand why. 

“I didn't see any girls with red hair, I must have missed her,” Mary replied softly and quickly, a look on her face that suggested she might have to deescalate a situation very soon. It was sort of a pinched look, one that made the wrinkles near her eyes much more prominent. Dick didn't seem to notice this, though as they continued on, frustrated that no one else seemed to have seen the girl in white. 

“She was in the white dress, over by the candy.”

“This ain't funny,” the clerk scowled, all kindness from his face gone. “Get out.”

“He didn't mean anything by it,” Mary said slowly, as if choosing her words carefully in her mind before speaking them. She gripped the brown paper bag with their items in it tightly, as if afraid she might have to use it as a weapon. 

“Coming in here talking like he's seen my dead kid? Should have known those rumors about your kind were true!”

Dick didn't understand what had made the man so upset. All they had done was mention another child they saw by the candy. How could she be dead if they'd just seen her?

“What right do you have, coming in here and speaking about Margaret?” The woman with the crab apples accused, suddenly deciding she wanted to join the commotion as well. “Go back to where you came from, we don't want you here!”

“Dick, let's go,” Mary said softly, grabbing their hand tightly. “We're leaving.”

Dick wanted to ask why they were so mad but their mother had pulled them out of the store and onto the safety of the sidewalk. Dick could have sworn they caught a glimpse of red hair out of the corner of their eye but they never got the chance to truly look as Mary all but dragged them down the street. She walked fast and with a purpose and didn't slow down until the road turned to dirt once more. 

“I'm sorry,” Dick finally found their words, hating how silent their mother had been for the duration of their walk back so far. “I didn't mean to make them mad, I just-”

“I know, little robin,” Mary sighed. “I know you didn't mean to.”

“Mama, why were they mad?”

Unbeknownst to Dick at the time, Mary had a difficult time putting the real reason for the townspeople’s anger into words that the five year old would truly be able to grasp. How does one tell a child to hide their true selves, less those too ignorant to understand harm them for it? How does a mother come to terms with possibly snuffing the light of innocence out so early on in a child's life? It is a hard task to overcome, that is for sure. 

“Richard,” she said softly, using the child's Christian name so they could know just how serious her next words would be. This had an almost instantaneous effect on Dick, who, even at the young age of five, could discern between their parent’s speech patterns and what certain tones and words meant in any given situation. 

“When you were born, Madame Elise was there.”

“The fortune teller?” Dick questioned, though they already knew the answer. Madame Elise’s image had appeared in their head the moment Mary uttered her name: her jet black hair and her long fingers that hovered over tarots and tea leaves, the ruby red of her lipstick and her husky voice that always brought a sense of calm washing over Dick when they heard her consult the spirit world on the fortunes of those brave enough to wonder. 

“Yes. When you were in my belly, Madame Elise said that you would possess gifts that she could only dream of having. Once you were born, all she had to do was look at you once and she could tell that the spirits favored you.”

“What does that even mean?” Dick asked. 

“It means you’re more sensitive to the spirit world than the average person. That you can look beyond the veil that separates our world from theirs. It can be taught, with time and hard work, but you were lucky enough to need none of that. That is why you saw that girl when no one else could.”

Dick frowned slightly, their young brain trying to come to terms with what all this meant. Were they to become a torture teller like Madame Elise then? They weren't sure they wanted that, they enjoyed flying on the trapezes with their parents far too much to give it up. 

“She was a spirit?” They finally asked, their hand squeezing Mary's tightly, desperate for comfort. Mary squeezed back reassuringly. 

“Yes. Once she was a child like you, but now she belongs to the spirit world. That's why neither I nor her father could see her. Do you understand, my little robin?”

Dick didn't, not truly. Not yet at least. 

But they nodded carefully and that seemed to be what Mary was seeking for she leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on his forehead. 

“I am so proud of you. Never forget that.”

Dick tried, they truly did, but it was indeed a hard thing to remember, as the years dragged on and on. 

Dick threw their cigarette butt in a nearby smokers pole, the embers still a deep orange. They pulled another one out the pack they kept in their purse, the lighter clicking a few times before the flame appeared. Their high heels clicked and clacked against the sidewalk as they sidestepped litter and questionable liquids. 

Despite being told otherwise by Sputter, Dick was on their way to the House of Blue Light. 

It was a hole in the wall joint owned by a man known only by the name Snake, which was such a ridiculously cliche pimp name that Dick had laughed out loud the first time they had read that piece of Intel in the case file. Snake was a man of short stature who desperately made up for it with edgy tattoos and a gaggle of bodyguards and bouncers much taller and thicker than he could ever dream to be. He wore his greasy hair in a rat tail and chewed on his cigars more than he actually smoked them. He wore brass knuckles as a fashion statement and liked to do shots of Don Julio off of his girls’ bare tits. He was revolting and was going to get life the minute Dick figured out if he had anything to do with the string of prostitute murders that had plagued the shitty seaside city of Blüdhaven. 

At first it had been at random; the only thing in common these women had were being employed in the oldest profession. Then, things started to get a bit more specific. It was common for murderers to have a type, just as most men did. However, Dick couldn't ignore just how close to home his taste began to be. Women around 5 '10, ones with a bit darker skin, then black hair and blueish eyes. Dick saw it. They saw it immediately, which is why they bent over backwards to get on the case. 

Because if anyone was going to catch this guy, it was going to be exactly who he was looking for.

Dick had an uneasy feeling every time they entered the House of Blue Light, almost as if someone there knew exactly who they were and what they were truly doing there. That was impossible, though, as Dick had been careful when it came to maintaining their undercover identity. 

Eve was new to Blüdhaven; she’d run away from her dying home, Allentown. Her daddy wanted her to settle down and get married after he'd gotten laid off, and said she needed to find a rich man to support the family now that he couldn't, but that wasn't Eve’s style. No, she wanted to see the world and to her, the world seemed to start in New Jersey, where she quickly figured out that to survive in the big city you had to make sacrifices.  

Like agreeing to whore yourself out and for your pimp to take 70% of your cut every night. 

Everyone liked Eve, the workers and patrons alike. She had a sense of innocence still about her but still seemed to know her way around enough to get the job done. She was the best of both worlds in that sense, exactly what a John wanted after a few too many shots. 

And no one ever got close enough to see under her skirt before she pulled out a badge and declared “BPD Vice, let me see your fucking hands, creep.”

But that little bit just simply wasn't advertised. 

The music could be heard from a block away, the bass pounding in Dick’s chest as they pushed the door open, the smell of sweat, sex, and weed overwhelming. They pushed past waitresses and drunks, seeking refuge in the bar where Jo was sliding beers down to a worker in the highest heels Dick had quite possibly ever seen. 

“Jo!” Dick called, getting the older woman's attention almost immediately despite the noise. “Where's Snake?”

“Office,” Jo yelled back, topping off a vodka cranberry and handing it to the poor girl on stilts. “He's been askin’ for ya!”

“Great, wish me luck,” Dick chuckled. 

“Ah, you're pretty, ya don't need my luck!”

Dick waved a farewell and began to try and navigate once more through the sea of degenerates and sinners to eventually come to a staircase with a few strung out addicts lounging on the sticky stairs, their pupils dilated and their minds somewhere else. Dick simply stepped over them, tugging at the hem of their skintight dress as they ascended, a door guarded by a bouncer called Hicks awaiting them at the top. 

“Boss was looking for you,” Hicks said in lieu of a traditional greeting, stepping aside to push the door open for them. Dick said nothing as they walked into the lush office, the music considerably louder once the soundproof door closed behind them. 

Snake sat at his heavy mahogany desk that had perhaps been built with a Wall Street CFO in mind but instead was being used to cut lines of coke with an American Express card. Dick thought half-heartedly to themselves that that could have well been the desk’s fate either way. 

“Sit,” Snake snapped his fingers. One of his lackeys pushed a red velvet chair towards Dick, the legs leaving a mark in the too plush carpeting. 

Dick obeyed, watching warily as Snake snorted one of his prepared lines, blinking rapidly for a few seconds before regaining his composure as if nothing had happened. 

“Got my money?” Snake opened his box of Cuban cigars that sat on top of his desk, cutting the end off as he had done countless times.

Dick dug into their minuscule purse and pulled out a fat wad of cash they'd taken off Johns the previous night. They never had sex to earn the money, of course, but it did have to still be confiscated for “evidence”. It was the only way to keep up the facade and the department had approved it, so Dick had no hang ups over the matter. Most of those guys deserved to be robbed blind anyway. 

They slid the cash over and Snake grabbed at it greedily, breaking the hair tie Dick had wrapped around it and beginning to sort the bills into the counting machine. It only took a moment for the bills to cycle through and Snake must have been pleased at the number because he removed a few hundred dollar bills and slid them back towards Dick, who returned them to their purse. 

“A little extra, to show my appreciation. Don't go spending it all in one place.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Snake smiled, his teeth yellowed from years of neglect.

“Want a bump? On the house.”

Dick didn't want anything from this man, least of all cocaine. 

“Can I take mine to go?”

Snake chuckled, almost as if Dick had asked why the sky was blue or some other childish question. 

“Not looking to mix business and pleasure?”

“Pleasure is my business,” Dick replied sweetly. “I just like to have fun off the clock too.”

“Billy, get her a baggie,” Snake stood, a sort of proud look on his face which made Dick want to vomit. He rounded the desk and placed a gentle, almost caring hand on Dick's face. They tried not to recoil in disgust.

“I like a girl who knows what she likes,” he purred into her ear, blindly accepting the baggie of coke from Billy so that he could tuck it in-between Dick's cleavage. Dick smiled through their discomfort. 

“Now,” Snake pulled away, guiding Dick to their feet and turning them around towards the door. “Go make me money.”

He slapped their ass for good measure and Dick imagined him frying in an electric chair to keep themselves from screaming. 

The streets were loud, as they always were, no matter the time of day. Cars whizzed by without a single car for the posted speed limit, music played loudly from bodegas and boomboxes, a sensational combination of R&B and Latin. There was a strong scent of street food being cooked and salt from the nearby ocean that would quickly be overwhelmed by the sickly sweetness of vape smoke from people walking past them and piss that seemed to seep into the city’s very foundation. 

Dick hated this city. They hated it to their core. Yet they could never bring themselves to leave, not when there was work to be done. They weren't naive enough to think one good cop could change everything, but they could change enough and that's what truly mattered. 

They approached their usual corner, one they shared with a blonde who called herself Suzie and a short Latino woman named Rosa. Suzie was young, probably younger than she let on, and was just a bit too fond of party drugs, entrapping herself even further in Snake’s cycle of abuse with each passing day. Rosa was perhaps around Dick's age and often talked about moving out West to try and make it as a make up artist in Hollywood. Dick did have to admit, her make up was always far more elaborate than anything they could attempt. 

Suzie was leaning against a street lamp, a disposable vape clutched in her hand as she surveyed the lay of the land, looking for someone worth her time. Rosa was chatting with a man who looked vaguely familiar; a regular, but not so frequent that Dick could place his name. 

“Evie!” Suzie seemed to light up at Dick’s entrance, taking a hit from her vape and blowing tutti frutti scented smoke into the night sky.

“Hey,” Dick greeted, rubbing their bare arms to try and force more warmth into them. They should have worn a jacket but the last time they had Snake had called it “unsexy” or something of the sort and Dick couldn't afford to get on his bad side, not when they were so close to another lead, so they left their leather jacket home the next evening and for the ones that followed as well. 

“Some John was looking for ya,” Rosa butt in, the man she had been speaking to seemingly abandoned now that Dick had arrived. “Cute, in a fucked up kinda way.”

“What's that even mean?” Suzie rolled her eyes, annoyed with Rosa already. The two didn't have a habit of getting along and Dick often had to play the peacemaker in their arguments and disagreements. 

“Means he was probably cute once but now he's all fucked up.”

“A regular?” Dick asked, already sensing Suzie was going to retaliate in some way. 

“Never seen ‘im.”

This had the potential to make Dick nervous, but all they could consider was that this mysterious man might be the lead they'd been searching for. It wasn't as if Dick's customers left stellar reviews, or reviews at all for the matter. It was a bit hard to do so in county lock up. 

“Must be a fan,” Rosa smirked. There was a hint of something akin to jealousy in her eyes and Dick tried their best to ignore it. 

“Where’d you see him?”

“Outside Prodigal. Caught ‘em in the back alley when I was with a client. Asked if I knew ya. Told ‘im I’d pass along the message, for a fee of course. Gave me fifty, what a guy! Said meet em in the alley, too many people inside.”

“I suppose chivalry isn't dead after all,” Dick chuckled. “Thanks.”

“Be careful,” Suzie said, passing Dick a condom from the wide assortment she kept stocked in her purse. “No secondary locations.”

They never outright said it, but Dick could tell Rosa and Suzie worried for them just as they did for the two women. They weren't stupid enough to not figure out that working girls who looked like Dick had been winding up dead and every night they acted as if it would be the last one they'd see Dick alive. 

Dick accepted the condom, knowing they weren't going to need it but appreciating the gesture nonetheless. 

“I’ll be back.”

Dick wasn't sure they believed them. They weren't so sure they even believed themselves. 

The walk to the Prodigal was a short one. It was close by their corner, which was probably why Rosa had been there in the first place. She went every night before her shift and had a shot of their cheapest whiskey. It was for luck, according to her. Dick thought it really just helped numb things a little.

The mystery man, whoever he was, had the right idea about meeting outside. The regulars of the Prodigal were a rowdy bunch and Dick doubted they could get through their conversation if they had to yell over the shitty jukebox or fend off curious eyes. 

Dick crossed the street, flipping off a taxi that honked at them. They pulled the spaghetti strap of their dress back up their shoulder as they rounded the side of the building, the sound of their steps echoing off the narrow alley walls. Trash cans and empty kegs were haphazardly pressed against the walls, the brick boasting peeling ads for strip clubs and concerts. It was dark, the only light coming from the street lights behind them and a single bulb lit by the backdoor. That's where the shadowy figure of a man stood, the smell of cigarette smoke wafting towards Dick as they walked closer.

“Heard you were looking for me,” Dick spoke, their voice velvety smooth. They had to keep up the facade until they knew for absolute certainty that this was an informant. 

The figure turned yet Dick could still not see his face, only the popped collar of his jacket and the inhale of his cigarette that enlightened the tip. 

“You heard right,” the man said, his voice deep, but not nearly as deep as Dick had been expecting. It was definitely a younger man, perhaps in his twenties if Dick were to guess. Not the usual age range when it came to clientele. 

The figure walked forward, his boots crunching abandoned wrappers and newspapers that covered the cement. He ashed his cigarette with the tap of a finger and Dick could just begin to make out a feature of the man’s face, a crooked nose that had obviously been broken once or twice.

“What can I do for you?” Dick moved forward, their hips swaying slightly. It was a purposeful movement on their part and usually turned on the poor sap it was aimed at, but the man didn’t seem phased by it, which only furthered Dick’s theory that perhaps he really wasn’t here for sex.

“Sad to hear about those working girls,” the man brushed off Dick’s question swiftly, as if they’d never even asked it. “Ending up dead and all. Cops know who’s doing it?”

“Cops don’t care about dead streetwalkers,” Dick said simply.

“No, I suppose they don’t.”

The man took a long drag from his cigarette, the embers lighting up a part of his face for just a moment. Dick could see long, jagged scars zigzagging down his skin. They couldn’t help but wonder just what could have happened to cause such markings.

“It’s a shame, though,” the man continued on. “Cause I know who’s killing ‘em.”

Dick took a deep breath, their fists clenching at their sides as the man stepped forward once more. The shadow of the alleyway was still working against them, as was the hood they could now see was pulled over the man’s head, obscuring his face even more. He reached out, his hand brushing against Dick’s chest as it retrieved the baggie of cocaine Snake had stuck there, giving it a single, disgruntled huff before tossing it aside to the ground.

“Who?” Dick asked, their mouth devoid of all moisture suddenly. A sinking feeling deep within their gut warned them that perhaps this was the very man who was responsible for so many innocent deaths.

“Can’t tell you here. Too many ears. But I can confirm what I’m sure you’re already thinking.”

Dick narrowed their eyes in both annoyance and confusion. It seemed as if all this man was truly doing was playing games with them, and that was the last thing Dick had time for.

“And what’s that?”

A chuckle. It was deep, sardonic, but somehow familiar despite the fact Dick was sure they’d never met this man before. He finished the cigarette and flicked it to the ground, stomping on it abruptly with his heavy combat boot. He leaned forward, his face suddenly the most visible that it had been since the conversation started as he slowly lowered his hood.

Dick froze.

“That it’s really you they’re looking for.”

The scars on his face were a pinkish red as if they hadn’t happened all that long ago. His hair was as black as a raven’s wing, with a small tuft of brilliant white jutting from his bangs. He was young, perhaps younger than Dick had originally thought, but approximately 6’2 and built like a brick shit house. He wore a red hoodie under a brown leather jacket, something that might have been blood staining the cuffs. The man smiled wickedly, as if everything had gone according to plan for him.

All of this was so very foreign to Dick, except his eyes.

His eyes were ones Dick would never forget.

“What’s wrong, Dickie?” Jason Todd asked sarcastically. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”