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Dick Grayson was familiar with falling all too well. Ever since his parents fell to their deaths, he had felt like he was spiraling down after them, trapped in a constant free fall. He had tried to convince himself that he was flying, but gravity pulls everything down eventually, and Dick had finally hit the ground.
He was done. No more vigilantism, no more Nightwing; he even lost Detective Grayson. And why? Well, it could all be traced back to Bruce and that horrible undercover mission he sent Dick on.
Spyral had done its best to brainwash him, and fighting back had taken a toll on Dick. By the time he managed to break their conditioning and remove their implants, the damage was irreversible. His balance was tentative at best, his vision slightly blurred in his left eye, and even standing up from the couch could leave him throwing up from intense vertigo. On top of that were the constant headaches he suffered, largely brought on by his sensitivity to light, and a fog of drowsiness that clung to him most hours of the day.
All of it added up to Dick being handicapped in a major way. So there he sat on his couch, in a high-end apartment that Bruce paid for, the lights dimmed, but his sunglasses on as he watched the latest news on the TV. They were running a documentary of Robin’s work in Gotham, speculating on the reasons that the mantle had been passed on, what the relation between them all was, or if there ever was a connection beyond the Batman.
Dick watched as a clip compilation of Robin played, squinting at the screen as he tried to tell if it was him or Jason that had just taken down Killer Croc. It was hard to tell nowadays, with his facial recognition shot to hell. Mostly, he counted on outfits, which worked 90% of the time. Damian was the only one he always got right, thanks to his darker skin tone.
As he watched Tim (Jason? No, Tim. Definitely Tim.) take on the Mad Hatter, the documentary cut to breaking news.
“Arkham seems to be the only asylum with revolving doors, as tonight five of the major criminally insane inmates escaped. These inmates include the Riddler, Mr. Freeze, Killer Croc, The Penguin, and the Joker. Authorities are advising everyone to remain indoors…”
The broadcaster droned on, but Dick’s mind was already racing. Was his family out there already? Were they okay?
Panic thrummed under Dick’s skin, his already heightened anxiety doubling as his mind raced to worst-case scenarios. His family was out there, and there he was stuck on his stupid couch. No, no, he had to do somethi-
The world fuzzed out around him as vertigo hit Dick hard, bringing him to his knees before he could take a single step away from his couch. His ears were ringing, his stomach churning, and his heart pounding, his pulse a prominent pressure in the veins of his neck.
He couldn’t help. He couldn’t even walk without collapsing, and instead found himself crumpled against the coffee table, sobbing from the weight of helplessness crashing down on him.
Beside him on the table, his phone chimed with his 11:30 alarm reminding him to get up, relieve himself, drink some water, and go to bed. Every ring of the bell felt like another nail in his coffin, reminding him that he couldn't take care of anyone, let alone himself. How could he trust his body to protect his family when he couldn't even trust his body to alert him to its needs?
Defeated, Dick's tears eventually abated, and he slowly pushed himself up to sit back on the couch. With shaking hands, he turned the alarm on his phone off and carefully pushed himself to his feet, gripping the arm of the couch to wait out the dizziness standing brought. He'd visit the bathroom and then grab some water, maybe coffee too, because even if he couldn't fight alongside his family, he could at the very least cheer them on over the course of the night as the news crews updated.
*****
Standing on a rooftop overlooking the city, Jason looked towards a distant fire as sirens rang throughout Gotham. “We sure could have used Goldie on this one, huh, Bats?” He murmured, looking over at Bruce.
The Bat glanced at him, his permanent frown in place as he looked back at Gotham’s skyline. “Stay focused, Hood. We can’t get sidetracked tonight.” In a blink, Bruce disappeared into the shadows, leaving Jason behind.
The Red Hood sighed, feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders as he wished his brother was still alive and fighting beside him. But Dick was dead, and Jason had to be the big brother now. He had to be the strong one. “Alright, soundoffs every ten minutes, guys. Let’s all get out alive tonight,” Jason instructed, dropping down into an alley to mount his bike.
*****
“Roger that. Stay safe,” Cass responded, moving forward to stand next to Steph by the exit of the clock tower.
Steph glanced at her before looking back at the door and squaring her shoulders. “I know what you’re going to say. I know. We’ll be fine.”
“I miss him.”
Steph’s eyes widened, and she looked over to meet Cass’ gaze, shocked to see the tears that had gathered there. “Yeah, me too.”
Cass hummed, closing her eyes and letting the tears fall. “You are correct. We will be okay. For him. We keep going for him.”
Stephanie nodded, eyeing the golden bird that Cass sported proudly on her chest, the symbol paralleling the purple finger stripes that she had modified onto her costume in lieu of her old purple gloves. Yes, they fought for Gotham in Dick’s memory, paying homage to their brother who had never given up on her. “Alright, let’s do this,” Steph said, tapping back into the comms, “Twenty bucks says Cass and I can beat Killer Croc before you even get close to Riddler, RR.”
*****
“Sorry, already way ahead of you,” Tim answered, grunting as he roundhouse-kicked one of Riddler’s goons. “Saw this coming a mile away.”
Movement behind him caught his ear, and Tim jumped and flipped over the man charging at him, coming down and springing off his shoulders as he sent him into another goon. His eyes cut over to the silhouette of the criminal mastermind standing a few roofs over, and Tim smirked, running forward and leaping off the rooftop. His grappling hook caught at the last second after a triple somersault, and Tim let out a cackle eerily reminiscent of Dick’s signature laugh. Maybe he couldn’t do a quadruple somersault, but every time he flew through the air, it felt as though he was truly continuing Dick’s legacy, not just as Robin, but as a Flying Grayson.
It was a legacy as cherished as it was tragic, and Tim’s eyes stung with heat as he landed on the same roof as Riddler, his grief lending well to anger as he took the criminal down quickly. “You owe me twenty, Spoiler.”
*****
“Tt, such bets are pointless.” Damian counted the number of men guarding the warehouse in front of him and debated the merits of sneaking in instead of fighting. “You’re being entirely too childish.”
“Oh? Like someone else we knew?” Duke asked from Damian’s elbow, having the perfect viewpoint to see how Damian’s grip on his escrima sticks tightened while the younger boy’s eyes darkened. He nudged him gently. “Bet I can take out more guys than you.”
Damian was quiet for a moment, but eventually his grip on his weapons loosened, and he lifted his head, looking toward Duke with an easy smile that hid layers of rage beneath it. “Loser has to wash the Batmobile for a month?”
Duke nearly froze with the uncanny resemblance to Dick that Damian displayed, but nodded. “Deal.”
Together, they swung towards the warehouse, counting aloud as they took each and every man out.
*****
In the clock tower, overwatching the city and coordinating with the entire team, Barbara Gordon strained her tired eyes to focus on the various screens in front of her. She wasn’t going to let Dick down. She’d do her best to keep his siblings safe, the same as he had always done. “Don’t worry, Dick. I’ve got their backs,” She murmured, taking a moment to gently fondle the locket she wore with his picture inside.
*****
Sometime later, after the outbreak was handled, Bruce sat in the Batcave, a single monitor lit up with a video feed of Dick’s apartment. His greatest accomplishment, and his greatest failure, that’s what Dick was now. Just a ghost that reminded Bruce of how badly he had messed up, how wrong he had been, and how shameful he had acted. Dick stood up and stumbled away from his couch, his once graceful feet now clumsy and unstable. Bruce’s frown deepened, and the camera feed shut off, leaving the screen black as Bruce stood and went to bed.