Chapter 1: what makes a man
Chapter Text
What makes a man? The answer to that question is fairly relative and varies depending on who you ask. If you want to get scientific, a man is a human: a homo sapiens. Philosophically, a man is someone who can feel and speak his emotions. But to Dick Grayson, a man is simply someone who has a life worth calling their own.
By that definition, Dick Grayson does not qualify.
Ever since he returned from Spyral, it felt like his world had been falling apart. His apartment lease, unpaid for a year and a half, had expired, and he’d been evicted. Coming back to Blüdhaven only to see a random woman living in what used to be his place had been a shock, to say the least.
Now he rented a dingy room squeezed into one of Haven’s worst boroughs—the only place he could afford. He refused to touch his trust fund and lived off cash deposits from a backup account. Even then, this place wasn’t a home. Just a temporary living arrangement, at best.
His friends were icy, as usual. Donna was dead, and Wally had his own family and kids to take care of.
Alfred was dead.
The remaining Titans had fallen out with him years prior. Things were never quite the same after the Mirage incident.
The world, outside of the few people close to him, had forgotten both him and Nightwing. Spyral had used a satellite program, utilizing nanotechnology to remove all knowledge of Dick Grayson from public consciousness. His superhero persona, which he had spent years building, was erased so they could undo the damage caused by his identity being revealed by the Crime Syndicate.
Dick Grayson had recently been spending his days in his rundown place, staring at the ceiling. He barely ate. The feeling of food traveling down his throat was too reminiscent of the pill Lex Luthor had forced him to swallow. The man superhero son spy was wasting away. Things might have been fine, that is, if he still had his family. Bruce, Babs, Jason, Tim, Cass, Steph, and Damian. Nobody had forgiven him for ‘faking’ his death.
Well, maybe Dami, but he hadn’t talked to him in almost two months. Bruce had still been recovering from his memory loss, though he awkwardly asked his ‘son’ if he wanted to stay with them. Dick’s sure that if he had his memories, Bruce never would have said that. After all, Bruce got them back and any calls Dick sent to the manor’s phone went unanswered. Dick supposes he could have gone in person to visit them, but he didn’t think he could bear it if he was turned away.
Bruce had let them all think he was dead, and didn’t think to let them know it was all his idea. Jason and Tim hated him. The last he saw Jason was on the rooftop, when he first returned, six months ago. Jason had punched him, and both him and Tim (in a rare moment of agreement), had lashed out on Dick. It was deserved, though, Dick knew that. He wished to just be able to drive up to their respective houses, but his fingers twitched as he thought of the inevitable event of him being thrown out once more.
It was fine, though. Nobody needed him.
He had been given a box of his apartment’s old stuff by Bruce when he returned. Apparently, before Alfred passed, he had collected all of Dick’s materials and put them in storage.
He liked to turn on the comms at night—muted—and listen to his family squabble and work. Dick hadn’t tried even once to talk to them on comms or join patrol, he wanted them to be happy. And that’s what they were.
Happy.
It was strange, now that he thought about it. He had fretted all during Spyral what would become of his family without him to break up the arguments. But he had listened in on them. They worked perfectly together, and it pained him to think of just how little they needed Nightwing.
This was the exact definition of self-sabotage. Dick was met with unfriendly faces when he came back, and now his attempts at reconciliation were weak. Even through his recent haze he could see he wasn’t exactly putting a lot of effort into his friendships and familial relationships.
(Maybe he was trying to punish himself; maybe he was not letting rejection become possible)
He didn’t exactly know how he had gotten here. On this roof, in the middle of the night. He remembered opening a bottle of vodka, staring at the phone he hadn’t charged for a fortnight. He quickly put it out of mind, knowing there wouldn’t be any messages anyway.
Drinking had been an escape he used to indulge in, and it had overtaken him once more the past few months. Bottle after bottle, he wallowed and sulked, his inebriated brain tormenting itself. He had nowhere to be, nobody to answer except the landlord every month.
Dick Grayson, swayed on his feet. He was on his new apartment’s roof, a light flurry of sleet coming down. He shivered as the tiny pellets hit his face. He looked down to see he was dressed in civilian clothing: a dirty t-shirt with a faded logo, and a pair of flannel pants. They were soaked with water from the frigid weather, and he shook where he stood.
He took a few steps forward on the small rooftop, looking down at the dark alleyway fifteen stories below.
~ In Gotham, miles away, Damian was ushered by Pennyworth to bed, away from the phone he had been using in futile attempts to call Grayson. He just wished he would visit ~
Dick stared at the alley walls, noting dully that there was nowhere to grab onto for support if he slipped.
~ From his apartment, Jason Todd scowled over his beer, boring into the unread messages he had sent to his older brother ~
What’s left for me to do? Dick thought, not feeling anything but emptiness and a sense of melancholy. Who would miss me?
Maybe Dami, but he had the rest of the family. He could get over it.
~ Tim Drake-Wayne sipped his fifth cup of coffee in the Batcave as he scanned CCTV to see if Nightwing was patrolling in Blüdhaven ~
He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, a roaring in his ears as he inched his foot forward.
~ Barbara Gordon folded her hands together and rested her face, her fourth call hitting Dick’s voicemail once more ~
Dick felt his foot pass the edge of the rooftop, and it was only then that he realised he was crying.
~ The Titans felt Dick’s absence as they gathered for their annual Christmas reunion. Wally West sighed as he tucked in Irey and Jai, planning to run over to see his best friend the next day ~
His breath came out in a trembling cloud. He hadn’t even realized how cold he was. He wasn’t angry at Bruce, not anymore. He was just tired. Dick let out a breath and whispered a hoarse, “Goodbye.”
~ In Metropolis, Clark Kent shot up from where he lay in bed with Lois Lane ~
Dick Grayson, ‘golden’ son of Batman, raised his foot. A curious gaze looked down on him.
~ "God, please,” Bruce Wayne muttered, getting into his car and starting a drive to Blüdhaven~
“Well? How would you like to get your wings?” He turned his eyes from the man below.
“I’ll go down there right away!”
Chapter 2: the meeting
Summary:
“I was sent here, and I came to save you.”
“Save me?” Dick raised his brow, “Sorry if I got it wrong, but I seem to recall dragging you back from becoming sidewalk splat.”
Clarence's eyes didn’t stray from Dick, giving him a patient look, “I had to work quickly. I knew if I were about to fall, you would try to save me! And see, you did!”
“Aha,” Dick’s voice was flat.
Notes:
Thank you so much all the people that commented! You guys are really making me not regret posting this, and I'm actualllyyy gonna finish this one.
Ages for this fic:
Bruce: 43
Dick: 24
Jason: 19
Cass: 19
Duke: 17
Steph: 17
Tim: 16
Damian: 12
Alfred: Expired for a year 😔*Clarence is NOT an OC, he is a character in the movie this fic is based on!!*
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Help!” a voice called out behind Dick. He barely caught it over the city noise, but it was enough. Spinning around, he squinted and saw a man teetering on the edge of the rooftop. He was wearing old-fashioned clothes: a brown trench coat, bowler hat, and two-piece suit underneath. He swayed dangerously, almost slipping over the edge.
Barely sober, Dick lunged, his feet skidding on the slick roof. His numb fingers closed around the man’s coat just in time, dragging him back. They toppled into a messy heap, Dick’s heart pounding, safely landing on the roof.
“Are you,” Dick gasped, helping the man to his feet, “alright?”
Now that he was closer, he could see the man’s face better. He was an older fellow, with white hair and a kind face. He reminded Dick of Alfred, in a way. The man seemed remarkably calm for someone who sounded so frightened a moment before. His wrinkled face held an amicable smile.
“Perfectly fine!” the man said pleasantly, picking up his hat from where it had fallen. “I would ask how you were doing, but I think we both know it’s not well.”
“What?” Dick shook his head, looking the man over. “W– How did you get up here? I haven’t seen you in the building before; do you need me to call anybody?”
“I think that’s what I should be asking you, Richard,” the man said, patting Dick on the shoulder. “Why are you all alone this Christmas?”
Dick narrowed his eyes, reevaluating the man, "I never told you my name," he said carefully.
“Oh, you didn’t have to! I’ve watched you grow up from a little boy, Richard.”
Dick wracked his brain, but he couldn’t seem to recall ever meeting this man before, “What’s your name? Have we met?”
“Clarence, my good sir! AS2,” he said, “and we haven’t!”
“AS2?” Dick questioned, furrowing his brows. Was that a military rank?
“Angel, Second Class.”
Alright... clearly this man was delusional. Dick turned his head to the side and dragged a hand over his face. Clarence looked politely concerned and stood beside him, hands folded in front. “Where do you live?” Dick asked, turning his attention back to the elder man.
Clarence smiled still, “Heaven.”
Dick chose to ignore that, “How’d you get up here, then? Only tenants get a key to the roof.”
“I was sent here, and I came to save you.”
“Save me?” Dick raised his brow, “Sorry if I got it wrong, but I seem to recall dragging you back from becoming sidewalk splat.”
Clarence's eyes didn’t stray from Dick, giving him a patient look, “I had to work quickly. I knew if I were about to fall, you would try to save me! And see, you did!”
“Aha,” Dick’s voice was flat.
Clarence’s previously amused voice turned concerned, “Your fingers are blue, Richard!”
“Yeah,” Dick glanced at them, “We should probably get somewhere warm. Then you can let me get you to a safe place.”
“I’m in a safe place! I was sent down here, I’m your guardian angel.” Jesus. This guy needed serious help. Maybe Dick could take him to the hospital and see if they could identify him there.
“Thank you for… protecting me then,” Dick relented, grabbing a tight hold of Clarence’s arm. “Let’s go inside.”
“Bit silly, don’t you think?” Clarence said, letting himself be dragged, “To kill yourself over miscommunication. Your family wouldn’t want that.”
Dick stopped in his tracks. He turned back to Clarence, incredulous. “How— I wasn’t going to kill myself!”
“Sure seemed like it, with you stepping off and all that jazz!” Clarence said with amusement, “I’m your guardian angel, can’t be letting that happen.”
“If you’re an angel, where are your wings?” Dick asked, gesturing to Clarence.
“Well, I don’t have them yet!” he responded, “It’s why I’m a second class angel. You’ll help me get them though, won’t you?” The winds blew harder, hail raining down relentlessly.
Dick wasn’t about to push this further. Who knew what would happen if he challenged the delusion? “Sure. Follow me inside.”
They walked together to the rooftop door, and Dick ushered them in. He hurriedly walked them down the steps to his apartment door, shutting the door behind them. Dick turned the heater up, and grabbed a couple pairs of clean clothes. “Here,” he said, handing a neon hoodie and sweats to Clarence. Clarence accepted them and started to change in the middle of the small room. Dick averted his eyes and quickly excused himself to the restroom. He glanced in the dirty mirror.
He looked awful.
His black hair hung soaked to his cheekbones. His skin was a patchy mix of blue and pale. Normally, his blue eyes would sparkle, but now they were dull and almost grey. The bags underneath his eyes would rival Tim’s, and he could see the visible weight loss. He looked like a ghost of the man he once was. Dick hurriedly changed into a dark hoodie and track pants, splashing hot water on his face. He turned off the light and left the bathroom, searching for Clarence.
He wasn’t there.
Dick went into the kitchen, the only other space in the apartment, and spotted Clarence. His head was tilted as he examined a framed picture of Dick’s family. Dick stepped beside him and looked at it too.
That was a nice day. It was Thanksgiving, the year before he left for Spyral. They had finally been in a good place, and Alfred made them all pose for a photo. Dick must have printed thirty copies of it, and ordered various paraphernalia with that adorned on it. Trackpads, blankets, keychains, you name it.
He wondered if Tim still had the mug. The room was silent for a moment.
“Why aren’t you with them?” Clarence’s voice startled him. Dick glanced back at the man.
“I don’t think they want me there.” Dick let out a thin, humorless laugh. “Actually… I know they don’t. I got punched and basically told to fuck off.”
“When was that?”
“About six months ago,” Dick replied. He didn’t know why he was talking so much to this guy. Something about him made it easy for him to speak to.
“You haven’t exactly been persistent in regaining contact,” Clarence said mildly, looking back towards the photo.
“What?” Dick snapped, “Yes, I have! I’ve texted and called. And…”
Dick trailed off at the end, glancing at the dead phone on the counter. Uncharged for weeks. Clarence let out a warm, low laugh. “Funny how alcohol can warp our minds, isn’t it?”
“It doesn’t matter anyway,” Dick sighed, leaning his head on one of the shelves. “I’m worth more dead than alive.”
“Now, you mustn't talk like that! I won’t get my wings with that attitude.” Clarence reprimanded, putting a hand on Dick’s shoulder.
Dick wiped at his eyes, where a stray tear escaped.
“You just don’t know all that you’ve done!” Clarence continued, sounding more eager, “If it hadn’t been for you—”
“Yeah, if it hadn’t been for me everybody would be a lot better off!” Dick burst, stepping away from Clarence. He placed his hands on the counter, “My siblings, my dad, and my friends…”
He trailed off, looking mournfully towards Clarence, “Why don’t you just go home and talk to your family. They need you more than I do.”
“No, you see now! You don’t understand,” Clarence was starting to sound frustrated, taking a step forwards, “I’ve got my job–”
“I don’t. Need. Help.” Dick stressed, slamming his hands on the counter.
Clarence took a step back, looking surprised. He sighed and started to pace the kitchen, muttering to himself, “Oh, this isn’t going to be so easy. Yeah, so you still think killing yourself would make everyone feel happier, eh?”
Dick turned around, staring at the man. He scoffed and shook his head. “I don’t know. I guess you're right.”
It was strange, being at this end of the conversation. Normally, it’s Nightwing talking down people from suicide, not the other way around.
“I suppose it would’ve been better if I’d never been born at all.” Dick coughed, still shivering from the cold.
“What’d you say?” Clarence looked as if he’d had an epiphany, voice lilting in surprise.
“I said I wish I’d never been born,” he repeated irritably, voice barely audible.
“Wait a minute. Wait a minute, that’s an idea!” Clarence put a hand to his mouth, looking up at the ceiling, “What do you think? Yeah, that’ll do it. Alright.”
Dick’s eyebrows twitched up. He couldn’t believe he had forgotten this man was mentally unstable. He had gotten sucked into a conversation, and completely disregarded what he was trying to do in the first place. He had to get him some help.
“C’mon, Clare,” Dick said, putting an arm around Clarence, “Let’s go you to a hospital.”
Clarence walked with him to the door as Dick put his shoes on, “Alright. I want you to know that you’ve got your wish, though.”
Dick led them out the door and shut it, “Really? What do you mean?”
The door behind them suddenly blew back open, as if a gust of wind had travelled into the building. “What the–” Dick muttered, slamming it closed once more.
“You don’t have to make all that fuss about it!” Clarence shouted from behind him. To whom, Dick did not know. The lights flickered, and everything shifted.
Notes:
heheh, finals this week! so next chapter on Dec 21st