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i.
“It’s just not right,” Roy says as he paces around one of the common rooms at Titans Tower. Dick doesn’t really know or care which one, he just chose the first one he could pull Roy into, before Speedy said something the other Titans didn’t need to hear.
On the couch, Dick buries his face in his hands. “Just shut up, Roy.”
“I’m telling you!” Through his fingers, Dick sees Roy whirl around, gesticulating wildly. “It’s fucking insane, is what it is.”
Roy, Dick decides, is a drama queen. Kinda funny, seeing as how he’d accused Dick of being the drama queen last week. “Dude, calm down. It’s just every other weekend.”
“Yeah, half the time you spend with the Titans!” Roy shakes his head.
“Bruce is right, though, Roy,” Dick says. “I am neglecting the Mission. And I do spend a lot of time messing around with you guys that I should spend patrolling.”
Roy flops onto the couch, sending Donna’s latest attempt at buying tasteful throw pillows flying. “He’s just jealous. Because he doesn’t have any friends except you, but you spend all your time with us.” Roy might be right. Bruce had been all for the Teen Titans until Dick started running off to them every weekend—or after one of their blowout arguments, which have only been getting worse since Dick turned 16 and got his driver’s license. “Plus, we tell you when he’s being an asshole, and I’ll bet he doesn’t like that.”
Okay, yeah. Bruce might be jealous, but the way Roy’s saying it makes it sound like Bruce is way more controlling than he is. “I mean, he wants to spend time with me,” Dick says. “Is that such a bad thing?”
“He’s telling you that you can’t see your friends,” Roy says flatly.
Bruce said that Dick can only go to Titans Tower every other weekend or in emergencies, but he also said he missed Dick. He’s keeping Dick from hanging out with Roy and Wally and Donna and Garth, but that’s because he wants Dick around. And sure, Bruce can be a controlling bastard—Dick has ranted about that to the other Titans plenty of times—but that just means he cares, right?
So, Dick leans in, like he’s telling Roy a secret.
“Listen,” Dick says. “I—I love you guys, and it’s really fun being here, but I’ve been wanting to spend more time with B for a while. And I do feel like I should focus more on Gotham to keep up with things. You know how it is—the landscape of crime is always changing. And Bruce kind of gave me a good excuse. So, don’t start shouting about B in front of the others, alright?” The truth is, Dick doesn’t want to decrease the time he spends with the Teen Titans at all. But he doesn’t want to get into a fight with Bruce about this. Bruce can’t think that Dick doesn’t want to spend time with him. And if going to Titans Tower less will make Bruce feel better, it’s worth it. For Batman and Robin.
“I don’t like this,” Roy says, but Dick watches as the older boy’s shoulders slump. “…okay, Dick. I’ll drop it.”
“Thanks, Roy,” Dick says, putting a hand on Roy’s shoulder and leaving the room before he can change his mind.
ii.
Kori’s warm hand rests gently on Dick’s cheek, careful not to press the growing bruise. Dick’s breath catches in his throat as her hand drifts up to brush his hair away from his black eye.
Bruce hadn’t even hit him in the eye. He just hit him hard. Hard enough that Dick fell to the floor of the cave. Hard enough that the blood pooled in the socket and turned it black and blue.
“What happened?” Kori asks, eyes wide as she traces the edges of the bruise.
Dick knows that if he told her the truth, she would fly straight to Gotham with starbeams burning in her eyes. “I fell,” he says. He gives Kori a self-effacing grin. “It turns out that crutch handstands aren’t exactly the best idea.”
Because Dick doesn’t want Kori to fight it out with Bruce. Dick just wants to curl up next to his girlfriend and forget that today ever happened. Forget that Jason is dead, and it’s all Dick’s fault, and Bruce knows it, and Bruce told him to leave, and Dick can’t ever go back home now.
“I’m alright, Kori,” Dick lies.
Kori frowns, uncertain. It’s a strange look on her. “Did Bruce have anything to do with this?”
Dick’s a performer. And it’s easy to perform what you know so well. A few days ago, he would have reacted with brief confusion, and then a confident denial. So, that’s what he does now. He lets the bewilderment play across his face for a second, then shakes his head with a smile. “Don’t worry, Kori. Bruce would never.”
Kori looks away. “I’ll get you an icepack.”
“Thanks,” Dick says.
Kori goes to rummage around in the freezer. Instead of handing the ice pack to him, she wraps it in a thin towel and holds it to his face herself. “I am sorry about your brother, Dick.”
Dick just hums in response. He has no right to mourn Jason. Not when he died in Dick’s family colors.
iii.
“What happened to your face?” Babs asks. Tim leans against the nearby door, making space for Dick to talk to Barbara, while Cass stands even further away, her cape flying out behind her.
“Uh—” Dick cuts himself off.
The answer is actually very simple: “I got in the way.” Dick’s not ashamed of it—he’s proud, actually. Proud that he intervened. Proud of saving that man from being strangled to death. Proud that Nightwing stopped Batman from becoming a killer. Because Jim could be dead, and no one else is going to lose their father tonight. One tragedy is already far too much.
What happened to your face? It’s an odd question to ask a vigilante. Dick was fighting people. The reason his lower face is covered in blood is because someone punched him. Such is the life.
So, if Babs is asking, that means she knows that this time is different.
Or—suspects. Suspicion, Dick can deal with. Especially now, when Barbara is understandably distracted.
Barbara can’t know. She’s already terrified for her father—this would only make things worse. And it would hurt Tim, who practically worships the Batman and Robin of old. If Dick allows even a tiny crack, that shatters. Dick can’t bear to be the reason Tim’s pedestal breaks.
It’s all excuses really. Dick doesn’t want to talk about it. He doesn’t want it to be a big deal. He just wants to move on, like he did after Bruce punched him the first time.
“Nothing,” Dick says. “Just let one get past my defenses, I guess.” Tim watches, his eyes narrowed. And Cassandra—Dick can’t see her reaction through her mask, but surely she’s clocked the lie. Doesn’t matter, though. They won’t press. “How is he?” Dick asks, changing the subject and leaning his head against Barbara’s as she cries.
iv.
Dick’s little brother is curled up in the corner of his apartment. Meanwhile, Dick is barely resisting the urge to strangle his former mentor.
How could Bruce do this? Tim had—Tim had friends. Family. A support system. People he could relate to. And Bruce looked at that and decided, ‘this child needs to trust people less.’ He saw that Tim had a good thing and ripped it to shreds, because the kid wasn’t paranoid enough for him. Because Tim could do what Bruce could not, and that must be a flaw, mustn’t it? If the great Batman doesn’t have friends, then his Robin can’t have them either.
It's so fucked up. Dick had really expected better of Bruce.
(But didn’t he do this to you too? Says the little voice inside his head. Dick barely even registers the thought. He stopped listening to that voice long ago.)
So, Dick is beyond angry right now. But that doesn’t do Tim any good. Not when the boy just needs someone to comfort him in his distress.
“Bruce has a strange way of showing he cares,” Dick says, wrapping an arm around Tim’s shoulders.
“I don’t—he didn’t even apologize, Dick.” Tim ducks his head, hiding the tears that are dripping down his face.
“He’s trying to help you,” Dick tells Tim. “He wants you to be safe, and sometimes he can be a bastard, but he loves you, Tim. You’re his Robin.”
Tim shakes his head. “It hurt, Dick.”
Yeah. Bruce betrayed Tim’s trust horrifically. But— “He’s a bastard,” Dick agrees. “I have half the urge to strangle him.” More than half, but Tim doesn’t need to know that right now. “But that’s how he is. That’s how he loves us. When I was your age I was mad at him all the time. But he means well, Tim. He really does. And when I stopped being angry at him for pulling these things, it got a lot better.”
“I don’t want to be like him.”
“Hey,” Dick says gently. “Am I like Bruce?”
“No,” Tim whispers. “You’re not.”
“See? I turned out fine.” Dick ruffles Tim’s hair. “You will too.”
“I—” There are still tears leaking from Tim’s eyes. Dick doesn’t know what to do. “Can I have some water, please?”
Dick springs to his feet, grateful to look away from the results of Bruce’s love. “Sure, Timmy.”
“Sorry for bothering you.”
Dick smiles. “It’s no bother.” He’s glad he could be here, to reassure Tim. Because Dick? Dick had no one to tell him that Bruce meant well. He just had to trust.
v.
“I don’t know what you expected,” Jason says, arms crossed and helmet lying off to the side as he sits on the rooftop with Dick. He’s refusing to even look Dick’s way, but at least he’s talking, which is far better than the past three hours of stakeout. Or the operation before that. Or— “I mean, we buried you, Dick. Or whatever fake you put there instead. We’re not going to just get over it, no matter how many bonding ops you try to drag us on.”
Dick sighs heavily. He regrets it immediately, though. Jason deserves better than dismissiveness. Dick knows what it’s like to mourn a brother, and he forced Jason and Tim to go through that. Sure, the accusations hurt like hell, but Dick needs to think past his own pain.
“Come on,” Jason says, finally, finally turning to look at Dick. He’s angry, is the first thing Dick registers from Jason’s burning eyes and clenched jaw. That’s not helpful though. Jason is always angry with Dick these days. There’s nothing Dick can do to change that. Nothing, except maybe tell the truth. And Dick is never going to tell the truth. Not about this. “Tell me why you thought it was okay.”
This time, Dick is the one who looks away. “Just drop it, Hood.”
Jason’s hand falls heavily on Dick’s shoulder. Dick flinches away, but Jason doesn’t let go, tugging Dick around to face him. “Why, Dick? Why did you go to Spyral? Why did you fake your death?”
Some things would break this family. And Dick can’t do that. He’d told Bruce things wouldn’t be the same, but they have to be the same. Because the this is the only thing he has left. His brothers, no matter how much they hate him. His pride, which will be lost if he admits he caved to Bruce’s demands just because they came with some harsh words and fists. And his lies—the same ones he has been telling for years.
“I did what I needed to do,” Dick says. “And no names in the field, Hood.”
Jason’s lip curls in disgust and he stands up, shaking his head.
Even though he’s the one driving Jason away, Dick doesn’t want his brother to leave. “We’re not finished with the stakeout.”
“They’re not showing up,” Jason says coldly as he puts on his helmet. “If you want to wait around, you can, but I’m out. I don’t wanna deal with you anymore.”
And then he grapples off, leaving Dick alone on the rooftop.
In the end, Dick doesn’t slip up. He spent a decade and a half covering for Bruce, sweeping his bullshit under the rug. He’s good at it. If he was going to make a mistake, he’d have made it long ago.
Instead, it’s Bruce who brings it all crashing down. Not out of guilt, but simply because he is even more lacking in self-awareness than Dick thought.
It starts when Dick finds Duke sitting at his kitchen table on a Saturday morning. “…hi Duke,” he says. He wasn’t aware Duke had gotten to the ‘breaking into siblings’ apartments’ stage of Bathood yet, but he guesses the kid is just precocious.
“Bruce had me looking at some old case files,” Duke says. He skips over the small talk completely, which is…unusual for him. “I had some questions?”
“Uh, yeah,” Dick says, walking towards the coffee maker. “Shoot.”
“I made you coffee,” Duke tells him, pointing to a mug on the counter.
“Thanks.” Dick smiles at his foster brother, scoops some sugar in, and then sits down at the table across from Duke.
Duke swallows. “What’s a percussive strike to the mandible?”
“Hmm…” Dick takes a moment to think over that one. “A really fancy way to say a punch to the jaw?” The only person he knows who is pretentious enough to phrase things like that is Bruce. Specifically, a brooding Bruce. Well-adjusted Bruce tends to write a little more like a normal person.
“Could it be anything else?” Duke asks.
Dick shrugs. “Don’t think so. A percussive strike is some sort of hit, and the mandible is the jaw, so…It could be a kick or a slap, I guess, but usually percussive strike means punch.”
“And if something says ‘Sustained facial damage from strike during intervention; potential mandible fracture’ what would that mean?”
“Someone tried to get in the way of something, got hit in the face, and maybe fractured their lower jaw.”
Duke places a post-operation report printed from the Batcomputer on the kitchen table and then wipes his hands on his shirt. Dick can see wet spots on the paper from Duke’s sweaty hands. Is Duke nervous to ask questions? Dick must’ve made a mistake if he is. His little siblings can always ask him questions. “And…what’s this?”
Dick looks at Duke in confusion, sipping his coffee. “I feel like this is a trick question.”
Duke’s foot bounces furiously under the table. “Please just—just answer.”
Dick shrugs. “It’s a report from the batcomputer.”
“Yeah,” Duke says. He slides the file towards Dick. “Read it.”
First, Dick checks the date and searches his memories. That…that must’ve been pretty early on in his time with the red suit—probably the Court of Owls debacle. And then, he begins to read.
By the time he reaches the end, it’s taking all his willpower to keep his hands from shaking.
During this discussion, Nightwing’s tooth was removed via percussive strike to the mandible. The tooth was then confirmed to have the electrum implant.
“Duke, this is…”
“Here.” Duke passes Dick another file, and he reads that one too.
Nightwing prevented Batman from continuing attack. Nightwing sustained facial damage from strike during intervention; potential mandible fracture.
And all he can think is…why? Why would Bruce put complete descriptions of these incidents into his records—and not just his private records, but the records that are accessible even from Duke’s clearance? And then he told Duke to go looking through them, not even realizing that there could be an issue. He didn’t even—
“He didn’t even try to hide them,” Duke says hollowly.
Dick has to try, then. If Bruce has gone mad, Dick has to at least attempt to cover for him. One last time. So, he laces his hands in front of him on the table and gives it his best shot. “I don’t remember these, Duke,” Dick lies. “I think something’s up with the file system.”
Duke shakes his head. “Don’t try to gaslight me, Dick. This is—this is real. He hit you at least twice. Probably more, if he’s writing it this casually. If he doesn’t even realize how messed up this is.”
“Okay,” Dick says. “Okay, but it’s not—”
“Tim gave me access to the Titans contact sheet. Apparently, Roy keeps a file called ‘Fuck Batman’. Most of it is hearsay, but if I line it up with incident reports—”
“Don’t,” Dick whispers. “It’s…I made a choice, okay? I chose to cover for Bruce, because I was fine.”
Duke gives a sad smile and reaches across the small table to squeeze Dick’s hands. “It’s over,” he says. He probably means to be comforting.
It didn’t have to be, Dick thinks. He would’ve kept every incident secret for the rest of his life. All Bruce had to do was possess an ounce of self-awareness and realize that he had something to hide. But he didn’t. And now, Duke knows and the Titans and other Bats will soon follow. “Yeah,” Dick says, squeezing back. “I guess it is.”