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galaxymagitech · 3 months

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No Winter Lasts Forever (No Spring Skips Its Turn)

Written for Dick Grayson Anniversary Week 2024: Day 2

Captivity | The Meaning of Robin | Rescue from Juvie

@dickgraysonweek

Summary: In which Dick is trained to be an undead assassin, refuses an unrefusable offer, loses a family, gains a family, meets a tire thief, and fights the forces of evil—not necessarily in that order.

Characters: Dick Grayson, William Cobb, Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, child abuse, minor character death, Court of Owls (while the Court itself is not depicted and the specifics aren't explored, they are part of the background to a large section of the story)

The ropes break with a snap!

Dick’s parents fall to the floor.

And Dick—Dick can’t breathe—

---

They tell him that he’ll have a new family, but Dick doesn’t want a new family. He wants his dat and dej, Pop Haly, the big top. Zitka the elephant. The strongman who spoke even more languages than he did. Harry the clown. Dick doesn’t want a new family. He wants his old family back.

But no one here cares about what Dick wants. He’s dragged by the wrist to a car, and then pulled from the car, and then shoved into a large, stone complex. They take his clothes, his bag, his stuffed elephant. Give him a grey-green shirt to wear that says only “Gotham” on it. Like he belongs to the city now.

Dick has never been to Gotham before. He doesn’t know why it gets to claim him. These streets, these skyscrapers…they aren’t his home. His home is the circus tent.

He doesn’t understand.

They hate him, here. The guards, the kids, the severe woman who called herself a “social worker,” only Dick doesn’t know what that means. Everyone hates him.

Dick curls up in bed and tries not to cry. Crying is a sign of weakness. Blood in the water. He’s surrounded by sharks.

“Hey, new fish!” Someone says.

Dick doesn’t respond.

The boy snaps his fingers. “I’m talking to you!”

Dick curls even tighter.

A hand grabs the back of his shirt and pulls him roughly out of bed. Dick’s palms slam into the concrete floor, stinging furiously. He looks up to see three boys—the same three boys who beat him on his first night there.

“When he talks to you,” says another of the boys with a nasty smirk on his face, “you answer.”

Dick shudders. He doesn’t want to fight them again, but he will. He will, if he has to. He’s been here only a week, a week that’s felt like a lifetime, and he’s had to fight the others again and again.

Why can’t they just let him sleep?

The first boy snaps his fingers again. “Eyes on me, grasshopper.”

Dick looks at him tiredly.

“When,” the boy asks, eyes alight with malice, “are you going to learn?”

---

Dick hates adults.

Well, not all adults. He loved his parents. Pop Haly, and all the other circus folk. No, he doesn’t hate adults, he hates normal adults. The ones that wear suits and skirts and guard uniforms. The ones that don’t care, that hate him for daring to exist. Those are the adults he hates.

But Batman—

Batman wears a mask, and a cape, and a costume reminiscent of a circus performer, though a lot less colorful. So when Batman asks Dick to trust him, Dick tries.

The man disappears into the shadows, leaving Dick alone on the rooftop with a single promise.

---

The next day, they tell Dick that someone is here to see him. Dick is brought to the visitation room, and they don’t give him handcuffs, but he feels like a prisoner all the same. He’s too small for the chair, and his legs swing above the ground as his hands twist in his too-big shirt. Dick doesn’t want anyone to see him like this.

When the man walks in, his shoes click on the floor. Click, click, click. Dick looks up warily.

“Hello, Richard,” the man says. Dick winces. No one calls him Richard except the adults at the youth center, and Dick hateshateshates them. He doesn’t like this man either. He’s wearing a collared shirt just like the police, and his face holds none of the joy that his circus family’s does.

But Dick can tell he is wearing makeup caked onto his face, like the stage makeup all the performers wore at Haly’s, and his eyes have a yellow tint to him. He wears a cool brown coat over his shirt, too. Dick may not like him, but he doesn’t entirely hate him. Because the man doesn’t look quite normal.

“My name is William.”

It seems wrong to call an adult he doesn’t know very well by their first name, but the man didn’t give him a last name.

“Do you have a nickname you like to use?” William asks gently.

“Dick,” Dick says. It’s the first time anyone has asked. It’s the first time anyone has cared.

“Hello, Dick,” William says. “I was friends with Mr. Haly’s family.” Dick squints at William, but he doesn’t seem to be lying. His body bleeds sincerity so much that it’s eerie. “I heard about what happened to your parents. I’m sorry.” Dick shrugs. “I’d like to help you, Dick, if you’ll let me.” Dick looks up and meets his strange, yellow-tinted eyes. They both stare, for a while. Dick blinks first.

“Whatever,” Dick says.

“I want to show you something,” William says. He removes three balls from a pocket inside his coat and throws them into the air, progressively speeding up. Dick watches him, unimpressed. He can do better than that and he’s just eight. William smiles at the way Dick wrinkles his nose. “I know,” he says, catching the balls. “Not very impressive.”

“I can juggle six,” Dick says boldly.

“Do you want to show me?” William asks. He extracts three more juggling balls and places all six in Dick’s small hands. Suddenly nervous, Dick places the balls on the table and wipes his palms on his baggy brown pants. “It’s alright,” William says, reaching for the juggling balls.

“No,” Dick insists. “I can do it.” He picks them up, and gradually tosses them into the air, until he’s doing all six at once. He can’t help the smile that sneaks onto his face as he falls into the rhythmic catch-pass-throw-catch-pass-throw. When he senses his focus dwindling, he catches the balls and drops them into William’s outstretched hands.

“Excellent,” William says, and begins to juggle them himself. Unlike Dick, he does it like it’s easy, talking as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. “Who taught you that?”

“Ahmed,” Dick says. “He was our juggler. He could do knives.”

William adds another ball into the rotation, smoothly drawing it from his coat. “I can juggle knives too. Unfortunately, visitors aren’t allowed to bring those.”

Dick thinks that’s probably a good idea. He doesn’t want to see what the other boys would do with knives.

“If I take you out of here,” William offers, “I could show you.”

“Could you really?” Dick asks. He feels like he’s tripping headfirst down a hill in his excitement. He wants to leave. He wants to escape. And William is offering him a way out.

“Yes,” William says. “I’m working on it. I’ll be back before you know it.” He catches the juggling balls one by one, and Dick notices that he’s worked up to twelve—one more than the world record.

Dick hates normal adults, but William isn’t normal.

“I’d like that,” he says.

---

William comes back for him, just as promised. The youth center gives him his clothes back, his bag, his stuffed elephant, and Dick can feel his heart soaring. As he walks away from the barbed-wire-topped gates, William’s fingers dig into his shoulder like talons.

Dick winces. “You’re—you’re holding me too tight.”

William’s grip relaxes, and Dick lets the smile slip back onto his face. He ignores the twinge of unease, burying it deep inside.

---

William takes him to a strange building, and they take an elevator deep underground. His new guardian—that’s what the “social worker” called William—leads him down a long, marble corridor.

“Where are we going?” Dick asks.

“To your new home,” William tells him.

Dick inches closer to William’s side. “This is kind of scary,” he says. “Not that I’m scared. But it’s kind of scary.”

“You are above that,” William says.

The corridor opens into a large, circular room. At the center of it is a large statue of an owl, gleaming white. Dick doesn’t know where the light is coming from.

Hands trembling, Dick reaches into his bag and pulls out Zitka. He holds the stuffed animal close to his chest, digging his fingers into her soft fabric.

William reaches out and pulls Zitka away.

It takes Dick a moment to process, but when he does, anger fills him. “Give her back!” He says, stamping his foot. “She’s not yours, she’s mine! Give her back!”

William watches him, eyes unblinking. “You don’t need a toy, Dick.”

“You can’t take her!” Dick insists.

“Watch,” William says, stowing Zitka in his coat and pulling out six long, sharp knives. He begins to juggle them, and Dick watches as the blades glint in the unnatural light. “Doesn’t it look fascinating?”

“I want Zitka back,” Dick insists.

William sighs, and this time, he pulls out three blunt knives. “If you can learn to juggle these, I will return your toy to you. Does that sound fair?”

It’s not a nice question. When adults say that, you always have to answer ‘yes.’

---

William takes him to a room with a bed and turns off the lights. “The bathroom’s through that door,” he says. “Go to sleep. I’ll wake you in the morning.”

William shuts the door, plunging Dick into darkness. He hears the lock click.

---

The next day, William hands him a wooden sword and tells him that they will practice fighting. Dick doesn’t think this is a normal thing to do, but he doesn’t like normal. William said he knows Pop Haly’s family; maybe he’s from another circus, where they fight with wooden swords.

Dick ends the day bruised and exhausted. William sends him to his room. Dick shudders, pulling his thin blankets over him and wishing they protected him from the cold.

Each day passes much the same. William shows him a dummy and tells him which spots to hit. They’re circled in red, with words on them. Heart. Carotid. Kidney. Dick doesn’t think he’s training for a circus anymore.

“I don’t understand,” he says.

William puts a hand on his shoulder. “I serve an organization, called the Court of Owls.”

“Is that like Haly’s circus?”

William gives Dick’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze, just an ounce too tight. “Almost. Like your circus, they gave me a home. A place. A life. They will give you one too.”

“What if I don’t want it?” Dick asks.

William’s face darkens and his hand grows tighter. Dick flinches, but William doesn’t let him escape. “You will.”

Dick practices. He graduates from a wooden sword to a real one. He learns to juggle the dull knives and does it for hours under William’s watchful eye. When William hands him sharp ones to try, Dick thinks of asking for Zitka back. That was, after all, the deal. But he doesn’t think his request would be well-received.

“Good,” William says, and pride shoots through Dick, but also fear. So much fear. He doesn’t like what he’s becoming. “Good.”

---

“There is a procedure,” William says, when too many days have passed for Dick to keep track of the time. He isn’t wearing his makeup today. Dick can see how pale William’s face is, like a corpse. The way his black veins twist across his skin. “It makes you strong, like me. So people can’t kill you, like they did to your parents.”

“What…what does that mean?” Dick asks.

William smiles. There’s an edge to it. Dick tries not to let his fear show. He’s been doing that a lot, these days. “They’ll give you some medicine,” William says. “And it’ll help you. Protect you. After the procedure, you can take your place at my side.”

“With the Owls,” Dick says.

“With the Owls,” William agrees. “You are almost ready.”

Dick looks at William’s face. He doesn’t think he wants to be ready. But he doesn’t dare speak.

---

“Tomorrow,” William says, holding out a hand to help Dick pull himself off the ground. He’s bleeding from shallow cuts, the product of sparring with real swords. William says those wounds won’t matter after the procedure. The procedure will protect him, and they’ll barely hurt anymore.

Dick can’t help but think that they also wouldn’t hurt if William didn’t insist on inflicting them.

“Tomorrow, you will join me as a Talon.”

“I—” Dick knows, by now, that if he says he doesn’t want to be a Talon, he will be ignored. “What will I do, as a Talon?” He asks instead.

William runs his fingers through Dick’s hair. It’s grown long, tickling at his jaw. That’s how Dick knows that he has to have been here for a while, even though he he’s lost track of the days. “There are people that pose a threat to the Court,” William tells him calmly. “You will remove them.”

“I’ll…put them in jail?” Dick asks, even though…even though William has not been training him to put people in jail.

“You will kill them,” William says. As if murder wasn’t what stole Dick’s parents from him.

“How many?” Dick asks. He thinks that if he could see himself in a mirror, his face would look almost as pale as William’s.

“As many as the Court requires.”

---

Dick doesn’t want to be a Talon. He doesn’t want to kill for people he’s never even met, even if William says he owes them his life.

Dick had a life before the Court, before William, and it was with the circus. It was with Pop Haly and dat and dej and they never would’ve wanted him to do this. His mother called him Robin. The first bird of spring. A symbol of joy, of hope, of renewal. Not of death. Never of death.

That night, Dick lies awake, terrified. He doesn’t want to go to sleep and become a Talon when he wakes up.

He likes William, but William is scary, sometimes, and as time went on, sometimes became all the time, and now—

—Dick doesn’t think he likes William very much, anymore.

Run, Robin, run! His mother cries out in his mind, and Dick shoots out of bed.

---

Dick races down the corridor, trying desperately to remember the way out. As the days have passed, William has moved him to rooms deeper and deeper into the complex.

Dick pleads that his memory is right.

His feet are bare—William didn’t give him any socks or shoes. Dick wonders if that was on purpose, to prevent him from escaping.

But he’s climbed rock-faces barefoot before with the other circus kids. A marble corridor isn’t going to phase him.

Left. Right. Right. Left. Sharp left. Secret door. Left. Left. Right. And—there.

Dick mashes the up button on the elevator and steps into it, knees shaking as he feels the floor rising underneath him, carrying him up from the ground. Until, halfway, the elevator grinds to a stop.

No.

Dick will not fail now.

He remembers that in movies, people climb out the top of elevators. This is an old one, so he’s able to scale the grated door and push out a panel in the elevator’s ceiling. There’s a metal cable, there, stretching up, up, up.

Dick climbs.

It hurts his fingers, but he climbs.

When he reaches the top, he presses at the buttons by the steel doors until they slide open. There, Dick finds William waiting for him.

“What are you doing?” William asks, as Dick leaps onto the floor.

Dick juts out his chin. “I don’t want to be a Talon.”

“It’s your destiny, Dick,” William says, tilting Dick’s chin up so Dick has to look him in his unblinking yellow eyes.

“I don’t care,” Dick says, stepping to the side and batting William’s hand away.

“You don’t mean that,” William says. “I saved you from that prison, Dick. I brought you here, so you could become a Talon.” Dick’s heart aches. He knows that William probably only wanted him for the Owls, but having the confirmation still hurts. “You belong here. With me. Don’t you want to stay?”

“No,” Dick says. “I don’t want to be here, so you have to let me go. It’s the law.”

But he doesn’t think the law applies to William. Or if it does, Dick doesn’t think William would care. “I can’t do that,” William says. “You belong here. If I have to hurt you for you to see it, I will. I don’t want to, but I will. Do you understand me, Dick?”

“You’ll hurt me?” Dick asks. William has hurt him already, but in little ways. Bruises and cuts while they trained. The way William says it this time seems worse.

“The Owls have ways to make the Talons listen to them. I didn’t want to have to use them on you. But they demand absolute loyalty.”

“What will they do to me?”

“They will take you apart and study you piece by piece, every organ on display, and then they will stitch you back together. You will be awake the whole time. It will hurt. They will put you somewhere very, very cold until you listen to them. They will make you forget your name, your parents, everything except Talon. I want to spare you that, Dick.”

“I—” Dick trembles. “I—” He feels his knees collapse under him. William catches him and holds him close. “I’m sorry,” Dick whispers. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t know what he’s apologizing for, until his hand closes around the hilt of one of the sharp knives tucked into his belt. The ones that William gave him when he graduated from the dull practice ones.

In a single, practiced motion, Dick swipes up and slices a blade across William’s throat.

The Talon releases him instantly, wound gushing black blood. Dick feels his stomach churn. The wound is already starting to heal.

“You’ll regret that,” William hisses.

“No,” Dick says, as he lunges forward and slices William’s neck again, “I won’t. I’m not your Talon. I don’t serve the Owls. I’m a Robin.”

William taught him how to fight. William taught him how to kill.

William’s head falls to the floor, and Dick screams.

---

The first time Dick steals, his hands tremble, and the man catches Dick with his hand halfway into his pocket. Dick runs.

The next time, he forces his hands still and he doesn’t get caught.

Stealing is wrong, but so is killing, and Dick killed William. William saved him, protected him, tried to give him purpose the only way he knew how, and Dick killed him.

He can’t bring himself to regret murder, so he doesn’t regret stealing either.

And the streets—the streets are so, so cold.

---

The years pass, and Dick grows accustomed to the cold—and the starvation, the fear, the danger. He knows how to clock which passersby are targets for his sticky fingers and which he should avoid and which he should absolutely avoid at all costs.

He tries performing acrobatics in the city’s squares, but every time the authorities catch him, he has to move locations, and eventually he’s exhausted all the good ones. It lasts him through the winter, at least, and the next winter he’s able to try again.

Dick missed his ninth birthday in his six months with William. He spends his tenth waiting out a late snowstorm in the cheapest motel room he could find and fighting off the thieves who try to enter. They run. Dick doesn’t kill them. He doesn’t think they’ll mess with him again.

Dick turns eleven. An older kid on the street tries to take the money he picks off a lady with a pearl necklace, and Dick punches him in the stomach hard enough to knock the wind out of him and forces him into an armlock. “Yer good, for a runt.” Dick knows that he’s good for anyone, runt or not. He killed a Talon, after all. “Y’know,” the boy says, “I’ve got a job. Could use some help. Little security.”

“How much?”

“I just gotta listen in on somethin’ goin’ down in this warehouse over on 41st and 3rd. Fifty whole dollars. We can split it. Thirty me, twenty you.”

“Twenty-five,” Dick says. The boy agrees too easily. Dick goes anyway; he needs the money.

At the first sign of trouble, the boy pushes Dick out of their hiding place and makes a break for it. Dick ends up fighting off two of Maroni’s men and saving the boy’s hide. He makes the older boy take him back to his boss and splits the money with him fifty-fifty. “You can call me Mark,” the boy says. “I’m thirteen.”

“I’m Dick,” Dick says. “And I’m eleven.”

“Might wanna choose a different name.”

It’s not the first day of spring, but the weather’s starting to get warmer. Crocuses are sprouting through the pavement—though that might be Poison Ivy’s doing, more than anything else. “Robin,” Dick decides. “I’m Robin.”

He thinks he might have made a friend.

---

Mark hunts for information and sells tidbits of it to the highest bidder. Listens in on mob deals. Roots through the trash for information. With Dick at his side, he gets bolder. Instead of a supplement, information becomes their main dealing.

On Dick’s twelfth birthday, they steal donuts from a stand outside some sort of ritzy novelty donut store and run. When the owner comes chasing after them, they shove the donuts in their mouths and look all innocent, and by then the owner’s spotted more street kids trying to steal the donuts, so he has to rush back.

“I think,” Mark says, as they sit on a rooftop, “this is some kind of good deed or something.”

“Yeah?” Dick asks.

“Yeah.” Mark points at two kids huddled in a nearby alley, chowing down on their stolen donuts. They look about eight or nine. The age Dick was when he entered the streets.

On Dick’s thirteenth birthday, he has no one to celebrate. Mark double-crossed the wrong crime lord and ended up in Gotham Harbor.

From then on, Dick works alone. That is, until he finds a scrappy ten-year-old attempting to whack two guys with a tire iron.

---

“Jason Todd,” the kid introduces himself, once Dick’s sent the guys running and convinced the kid that he wasn’t going to kidnap him and sell him to human traffickers. He looks cleaner than most street kids, not quite as hungry, his clothes not entirely torn. But no ten-year-old would be jacking tires at midnight if he had a family at home.

Dick doesn’t know why he brought the kid back to his hideout, why he decided to share his limited medical supplies, but he did.

“Robin,” Dick tells him, as he wraps a bandage around a nasty cut on Jason’s arm. “How did you get this, Jason?”

Jason shrugs.

“C’mon.”

“When my mom died, they tried to put me in a group home,” Jason says. Dick’s heart sinks. “I wanted out. The mob that ran the place took exception to that.”

“Are they looking for you?” Dick asks. Many of the group homes in Gotham are in league with someone, but the mob ones are rare. If Jason ended up at one of those, his parents might have been involved in something dangerous.

“Don’t know,” Jason says. “Sure they got worse problems to worry ‘bout than me. Can I go now?”

“Yeah,” Dick says. “I’m not keeping you here.”

The kid climbs out his window, and Dick shakes off the urge to stop him.

---

Dick doesn’t like working for Gotham Rogues, but as time has gone by, the mobs have slowly phased out and the Rogues have phased in. He refuses to tangle with the Joker or Scarecrow, but he occasionally collects information for Ivy or Penguin. Two-Face, well, Dick would rather not be anywhere near him, but he’s not the kind of guy you can refuse.

It’s while infiltrating casino security systems for Two-Face that Dick hears about Willis Todd, the traitor. Two-Face has him killed in jail, but it’s not enough to satisfy him. He paces and paces and paces about, until someone suggests going after Willis Todd’s boy, Jason.

Dick’s heart stops in his chest, as Two-Face pauses his pacing.

“There’s an idea,” he says. He flips his coin in the air, and his lips twist into a vicious grin. “Bad heads. Guess that boy’s out of luck.”

No.

---

As a rule, Dick tries not to get involved. He runs information and he fights off any attackers, but he never gets involved in anyone’s actual operations. It’s not his job.

But while it was easy for Dick to not particularly care about various criminals killing each other, he can’t let that grumpy little ten-year-old get killed. Not when he knows that Two-Face is going after him.

Dick searches through the city and finds Jason in Crime Alley, shivering behind a dumpster.

“You’re in danger,” he warns.

“I’m always in danger,” Jason says. “What, here to kidnap me, Robin?”

“I’m here to protect you.”

Jason doesn’t believe him.

So Dick watches. He’s good at watching. He watches as Jason picks pockets and steals tires. He watches for two weeks, until he’s almost convinced that there’s no point in watching at all. And then, he sees five of Two-Face’s men corner the kid in an alleyway.

Dick drops down, joining the fray. Only, these are no ordinary goons. They fight like men possessed, like they’re doped up on some sort of substance—and Dick knows, from his recent surveillance of Ivy, that they probably are. Dick still has the knives William gave him, even after all these years. For once, he uses them. He may be out of practice, but, well, he doesn’t need much practice to shove a sharp object into a man’s gut and twist.

“R-robin?” Jason asks, voice shaky, as three of the men run away. Two lie on the cobblestones, dead.

Dick knows that if he hadn’t met William, such a display would’ve terrified him. He inclines his head. “I’m sorry, Jason.”

“Thank you,” Jason says. And then, despite the fact that Dick is carrying sharp knives and has just committed two murders, the kid rushes forward and wraps his arms around Dick’s waist. Dick returns the hug. He missed hugs so much, and this—

—this is the best.

“I killed them, Jay,” Dick says.

“Those men, they hung around my dad,” Jason says. “They were…they were real mean.”

Dick pulls him closer, wrapping his arms around Jason’s shoulders. He keeps his touch light, so Jason can easily draw away at any time. He’s dangerous. Jason shouldn’t want to be held by him. But the kid just keeps clinging. “I have a place to stay,” Dick offers.

And Jason—Jason accepts.

---

After defeating Two-Face’s men, Dick has to go back on the down-low for a while. No more major information-gathering, just tiny crumbs here and there. But with him and Jason living together, they can split the work. Dick teaches him all the best pickpocketing tricks, all the ways to hide on alleyways and rooftops, how to know which information is worth selling. Jason teaches him how to jack tires and how to make himself sound more like a Crime Alley native and the stories his mom used to tell him.

Dick learns that Jason loves reading and adds books from charity stores to their limited budget. He watches Jason curl up at night with one of their flashlights, poring over Jane Austen and Emily Dickinson and Shakespeare. Sometimes, he reads them out loud, and Dick listens, providing commentary. With the Shakespeare, Jason often asks Dick to read for different characters, so they can have a mini play in their ramshackle hide-out.

It makes Dick feel like he’s almost good, for the first time since his parents fell.

---

“Little Wing?” Jason echoes, wrinkling his nose.

Dick pulls him closer as they huddle together for warmth. It’s a long, cold winter. “Because I’m Robin. And you’re little. So you’re Little Wing!”

“I’m not a bird,” Jason sulks.

“Well, then,” Dick says. “I’ll just have to teach you to fly.”

---

Rooftops are no match for Robin and his Blue Jay apprentice. Neither, they decide, are the tops of trains. It’s dangerous. It’s stupid. But Dick is sixteen and Jason is eleven. They should be playing games with their classmates in school, and this is the closest they can get.

“Watch me, Little Wing!” Dick calls, doing a flip on top of the moving train. “Wait, no, don’t copy me, Jay—"

---

“My real name,” Dick says one day, “is Richard Grayson. I was part of a travelling circus.”

Jason laughs. “Pull the other one.”

“Really! My best friend was an elephant and everything.” Dick’s heart pangs as he thinks of Little Zitka. He never did get her back from William. But he’s sixteen now, and far too old for stuffed animals anyway.

“I don’t believe you.”

“Well,” Dick says, “then I’ll just have to convince you.”

---

All good things must come to an end. Jason says he’s going out, and he never comes back. Dick spends days asking around, and the rumors are conclusive: Batman found a boy trying to steal his tires and stole him instead.

Dick thinks back to when he first met Batman, with his cape and cowl and funny suit. Dick had thought that, just because he wasn’t normal like the other adults, he could be trusted.

But Dick knows better now. In the circus, strange was good. Strange was safe. But in Gotham? Strange is Two-Face and Joker and Scarecrow. Strange is William. And Dick can’t trust normal or strange.

Dick knows he can’t go up against Batman, even with six months of training to be a Talon, even with his experience fighting on the streets. He should just leave it and move on.

But Jay—

Wherever he is, he must be so scared.

Batman may not serve the Court of Owls and he may not kill, but he still hunts on the streets at night. Just like a Talon. And Dick will never leave Jason in the hands of a man like William.

---

Poking around inevitably gets Dick caught. Trapped between Batman and the police department, he makes the obvious decision, and gets picked up by social services. He’ll be out within a day.

Only, apparently, he’s the subject of an eight-year-long missing person case, several conspiracy theories, and a never-ending investigation. With everyone watching him, it’s impossible for Dick to slip through the cracks.

It’s the same story that happened eight years ago. No room in the system. Dick is sixteen and a runaway and everyone knows he’s a thief. No one’s going to adopt him, and he probably belongs in jail anyway.

They send him to the youth center again. This time, Dick can’t say he blames them.

---

Dick stretches down and lazily pushes into a handstand, wandering around upside-down as he thinks.

“Quit it, Richie,” his cellmate grunts from the top bunk.

“Fuck you,” Dick responds, balancing on one hand to give the guy the middle finger.

“I said quit it!”

It’s not a battle worth fighting. Dick sighs, walking himself back into a standing position. He lets himself fall down onto the bottom bunk, bouncing his foot.

Dick just has to wait a couple of days for this all to blow over, and then he can escape back onto the streets and continue his search for Jason. But the waiting is so, so painful. How does he know that Batman isn’t a Talon? Just because people say he doesn’t kill doesn’t mean it’s actually true. Jason could be alone with a Talon.

What if Dick didn’t actually kill William for good? What if that man has is little brother, right now? What if he’s doing all those things he said the Court did to Talons to make them obey?

Dick is startled out of his thoughts by the cell door clanging open. “C’mon,” the guard says.

“Where are we going?” Dick asks, but as usual, the adult doesn’t listen to him. They never do, unless Dick is useful, and here? Dick is useless.

The guard leads him to the social worker. Dick knows she’s the social worker because she has the same, pinched-looking face that he’d remember for a thousand years. Her hair is put up into the same tight bun, only now it’s streaked with grey. “Congratulations, Richard,” she says. “You’re being fostered.”

Dick’s first thought is that it has to be the Court, but he immediately dismisses the idea. Since he got rid of William, the Court’s been predictable about where they popped up, and they’ve never made a move on him. Dick is seventeen. All they have to do is wait six months and then they wouldn’t have to even bother with CPP. It would be stupid for the Court to have engineered this.

But Dick knows that seventeen-year-olds don’t just get fostered.

“Now?” He asks incredulously.

“Yes, now,” the woman snaps.

“Don’t I have anything to say about this?”

The social worker—Ms. Cleary, she introduced herself, apparently seventeen-year-old Dick is more worthy of her name than eight-year-old Dick was—scoffs. “Just be grateful you’re being fostered.”

“But…shouldn’t I at least meet the guy first?” Dick asks. That’s how it had worked with William—not that it had done any good at the time.

“Mr. Wayne is not some ‘guy,’ Richard,” Cleary tells him sharply. “He is one of Gotham’s first citizens.”

“One of Gotham’s first citizens,” Dick mutters under his breath. “Yeah, right.” He’s heard of ‘Mr. Wayne.’ Not involved in any organized crime, any smuggling business, any anything. He just goes to parties and donates absurd amounts of money to causes that barely help at all. Wayne isn’t particularly powerful or influential, not in the underworld where it really matters. He’s just rich.

“You’ll show him the proper respect.”

“Sure.”

Outside of the youth center, Dick can see birds perched on the barbed-wire-topped fence. He wonders if any of them are robins.

“Hello, Richard,” the man says, holding out a hand for Dick to shake. Dick eyes it distrustfully.

“Richard,” Cleary hisses, and Dick rolls his eyes and shakes Wayne’s hand.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Bruce says. “You’ll be my ward until you’ve turned eighteen.”

“Why?” Dick asks.

“Don’t mind him,” Cleary says loudly.

Wayne blinks. William didn’t blink. “It’s a reasonable question, Ms. Cleary.” He turns to Dick. “I was there that night at the circus. I had wanted to foster you, but you went missing before I could.”

“Went missing?” Dick asks. He hadn’t spared much thought for what he was registered as in the foster system, just that he couldn’t be caught by them.

“Yes, you disappeared one night, you’ll remember,” Ms. Cleary says. “We suspected you ran. No body was ever found. It was such a relief when you turned up.”

But that’s wrong. They handed him off to William. He had always—he had always thought that that part, at least, was legitimate.

Dick can see Wayne’s eyes flickering between him and Cleary with far too much intelligence for the bumbling idiot Bruce Wayne. “Let’s just go,” Dick says. He doesn’t have a bag to hoist over his shoulder, just his brown pants and the grey-green shirt on his back that reads “Gotham.” Dick thinks it’s right, this time. He does belong to the city.

It turns out that Wayne isn’t driving. Instead that’s handled by his butler. Wayne sits in the back seat with Dick. Dick tries to avoid his searching gaze.

“If you let me out here,” Dick says, “you can just tell them I ran away. I’m a flight risk, apparently.”

“Apparently,” Wayne echoes. He shakes his head. “I meant what I said. I have another ward. He’s currently staying with a friend of mine, but he’ll be back in a few days. I wish I could have taken you in earlier, but at least this way, I can help you as best I can.”

“Help me?” Dick rolls his eyes. “I don’t need help, Wayne. Just give me six months and I’ll be out of your hair.”

“Call me Bruce,” Wayne says. Dick thinks he won’t, thank you very much. “Do you have a nickname, Richard?”

Dick can’t hide the flinch. (William asked the same question. William cared, only so he could use it against him.)

Wayne frowns. “Alright. I am…truly sorry that I wasn’t able to help you earlier.”

“Not your fault,” Dick shrugs. “I ran away, didn’t you hear?”

“No,” Wayne says deep in thought. “I don’t think you did.”

Dick refuses to talk the rest of the car ride.

---

Alfred shows him to his room and tells him to be down for dinner in an hour. Dick doesn’t go. He wants to see what will happen. If Wayne will tire of him, or get angry, or what. Alfred knocks on his door. “It is time for dinner, Master Richard.”

Dick could play this out further, but he’s hungry. He goes downstairs and stares suspiciously at the food Alfred serves him.

“Is it not to your liking?”

The food smells delicious. Dick’s more worried that it’s drugged.

But he has to sleep eventually, and if they wanted, Wayne and Alfred could drug him then. So he eats the food.

When he goes to bed that night, he locks the door and barricades it with a desk and a chair and he’s not even really sure why.

---

Over the next few days, Dick dodges Wayne’s attempts to talk to him. He won’t let himself be sucked into something. As soon as Wayne gets bored of him, Dick can be back on the streets, searching for Jason. Only, Wayne doesn’t seem to be getting bored easily.

Dick takes the GED study books that Alfred hands him. He thinks Jason would’ve loved the literature one.

Hell, Jason would’ve loved everything about this place. The food, the butler like out of one of his mystery novels, the library. But Jason has been kidnapped by Batman. By now, he could be dead, or worse.

“My other ward is coming home tonight,” Wayne tells Dick at dinner. “I’d like you to meet him.”

“Yeah, sure.” Dick bets it’s some snotty rich kid. At least if he can offend the brat, then Wayne might finally kick him out. Dick’s starting to get desperate, and he’s only a couple days away from moving from backtalk and eyerolling to outright theft. It’s a fine line to walk; troublesome enough that Wayne doesn’t care about him anymore, but not so troublesome that he ends up having to deal with the cops.

---

Dick stands by the door with Wayne. The man tried to put a hand on his shoulder, but the second Dick flinched, Wayne started apologizing, and Dick had called him Bruce just to shut him up. It’s pretty clear, at this point, that Wayne is nothing like William. He’s just an idiot.

The doorbell rings, and in walks a tall man with glasses, who looks like he’s trying to hide himself by curling inwards. And behind him—behind him is—

“Jason?” Dick can’t help but gasp.

“Robin?”

And before Dick can ask what the heck is going on, Jason has rushed forwards and wrapped himself around Dick, clinging to him like a barnacle.

“I…see you’ve already met?” Wayne asks awkwardly.

“Little Wing,” Dick says. Jason may be clinging to him like a barnacle, but Dick isn’t letting go anytime soon either. “I thought—Batman got you.”

Out of the corner of Dick’s eye, he sees Wayne pale. Shit.

Dick extracts himself from Jason’s grasp and turns to face Wayne, putting himself in front of Jason like a shield.

“Wait,” Jason says, tugging on Dick’s sleeve. “He’s safe. I promise.”

Dick knows better than to trust an adult. But Jason pulls him upstairs and, well, as long as Dick is watching his Little Wing, he knows he’s safe. That’s enough for now.

---

Dick’s used to hiding. Jason might not know where Batman works, but it’s easy enough for Dick to stay up and track him downstairs to his study, to turn the hands of the clock, to walk down into the cave underneath Wayne Manor. Jason said that Wayne is safe, but Dick had thought that William was safe too. Kids can be tricked.

Dick watches as Wayne performs stretches, looks something up on the Batcomputer, frowns. It doesn’t seem like he’s keeping any kids prisoner down here, at least. Dick slips through the cave to a row of what appear to be holding cells. No one is there.

“Richard.”

Dick startles, turning around to see Wayne watching him. He’s wearing the Batman costume now, though the cowl isn’t on yet. “Wayne,” Dick says.

Wayne sighs. “Please just call me Bruce.”

“Batman,” Dick says, because Wayne clearly takes exception to the use of his last name, but he can’t protestthis.

“How did you find the cave?” Wayne asks.

Dick shrugs. “Followed you.” He walks over to the Batcomputer to look at the screen, careful to keep Wayne within his peripheral vision. “Why did you really decide to foster us?”

Wayne pauses. “I’m…not sure what you mean?”

Dick walks over to the training mats, where there’s a wall of weapons. He withdraws two knives, twirling them with his fingers. “I won’t let you train Jason,” he says.

Wayne props his elbow on the desk with the Batcomputer and rests his chin in his hand. He watches Dick, gaze scrutinizing. “Someone trained you.”

Dick thinks for a moment. The Court, he could deal with. With William gone, they didn’t seem particularly interested in him anymore. But Batman? Dick doesn’t think he and Jason would be able to avoid Batman for long. And Batman, well, he hunts criminals and he supposedly doesn’t kill. There are worse monsters to serve.

Dick isn’t a child anymore. Jason is.

“Yes,” he says. Dick looks over at the training dummies and tries to blink the visions of the Court’s marble corridors from his eyes. He lets the knives fly from his hands and embed themselves in two of the dummies’ hearts. “Whatever you want, my help will be more than enough.”

A pained expression flickers across Wayne’s face. “I didn’t bring Jason or you here to train.”

Dick doesn’t believe him. He’s long past falling for pretty lies.

“I swear,” Wayne says. “If you want, you will never have to fight again.”

Like Dick has ever had a choice. He doesn’t know what to say, so he falls back on the bottom line. “If you try to train Jason, I’ll kill you.”

Wayne’s mouth opens and then closes. “That won’t be necessary,” he says eventually. “Someone hurt you, Richard. I know it’s difficult to believe I won’t do the same, but I promise. I won’t hurt you or Jason, and I won’t ever make you do something you don’t want to do.” Dick meets Wayne’s eyes, watches his emotions swirl within the blue irises. Wayne blinks first. “I hope you can let me prove it to you.”

Dick doesn’t know quite what to say to that. Wayne seems too good to be true, just like William did. Dick has no reason to trust him.

But Dick doesn’t need to trust Bruce to give him a chance.

“Dick,” he says suddenly.

“What?”

“It’s my nickname. No one calls me Richard. My name’s Dick Grayson.”

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