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“Dick Grayson.”
Talia recognized the man the moment his eyes met her, disregarding the blood smeared across his face, hands, and uniform.
“I haven’t the faintest idea why you’ve come here for blood.”
Dick stared at her apathetically and Talia marveled at it. Dick had always been an emotionless man, no doubt due to what the Court of Owls had done to him, but his mere presence indicated a rebellion. Dick wasn’t the type of person to disobey direct orders from his superiors, the rich, corrupted, citizens of Gotham, and that was because he was physically incapable of doing so. It was ingrained in him to obey, for that was his purpose as a Talon, but Gotham rarely ever had a need for sending their Talon across the world.
She could only conclude he was here out of his own volition.
“Where is he?” Dick’s voice came out softly. “Tell me.”
It was quite deceptive, having a voice so soft, while he was staring at her with bloodlust.
“He?”
Talia squinted her eyes with confusion as she attempted to comprehend what Dick was referring to.
“My clone,” Dick expanded.
Ah, Talia understood, the genetic experiment.
“How did you come to find out about him? I’m quite surprised you’re even aware that we’re responsible for him.”
Him, she said, as if he were an actual person, but that wasn’t the case. Talia did not think of Dick’s little son, for lack of a better term, was even ‘grown’ enough to be considered a person, but he was getting there.
“Now,” Dick whispered in a tone that left no room for negotiation, or dilly-dallying, and Talia was compelled to rethink her words now that he was holding a sword at her throat. “Show me.”
Talia thought over what she could do to save her neck in this situation. She wasn’t afraid of death, but there were time-sensitive things that needed to be accomplished. How would she fulfill her duties if she decided to take a nap? Besides, it wouldn’t look good for her reputation if she were to be killed here. It might just instill doubts within her men, as brainwashed as they were. One could never be too careful.
“Fine.”
Talia turned her back on Dick with the intention of dragging out this encounter, and she led him down the many corridors. She descended down the stairs for the lower-level, and Dick was close on her heels. She could feel his eyes staring through the back of her head. If his eyes were made of fire, she would have been ash by now.
Talia approached a room that was completely unguarded, perhaps because most of their security force was spared to fend of Dick Grayson, the man who had sieged their base single-handedly, so the only layer of protection resided in a punch-in mechanism. Talia tapped in a code and waited for the door to unlock. The brief few seconds it took to unlatch were tense, but the door eventually gave way. Talia stepped through.
She ignored various green, glowing, test tubes as she led Dick through the room. They were filled with failures—clumps of flesh that never managed to look like a proper embryo. Only one seemed to contain something resembling a success.
“This one,” she introduced. She was in the middle of turning with the intent of saying more, but then the world tilted, and nothing seemed quite right about having a sword pierced into her heart. Blood spilled from her lips and dripped down her chin. Then she looked down and saw the end of the blade.
“Ruthless creature,” she gasped before everything dimmed.
Dick tugged his sword out and kicked her body to the side. He then stepped closer to the tube, eyeing it coldly.
This is what they wanted to replace me with?
He’d been too free willed lately.
The Court didn’t like that.
That’s why they’d commissioned the League for assistance. In turn, they would provide the League with resources in Gotham, the kind that involved city-control, but Dick didn’t care about that bit. He only cared about the copy-cat. The replacement.
Quiet fury burned in his blood. It was the cold kind—the kind that could freeze someone’s insides out. You thought you could replace me? After all you did to create me? After the horrors you inflicted upon me? After destroying my life?
Dick stared at the thing that floated in its glass tube and raised his blade. He had every intention on plunging his sword through the glass, but then his eyes caught the nameplate.
Damian Grayson.
Trial #24
The name has him pausing. When he’d first heard about his clone, he expected they would replicate his exact identity. He believed they were going to create a creature that would act like him, but now that he was face-to-face with the ‘clone’, face-to-face with his name plate, a different vision played out in his head.
Damian Grayson.
His sword hovered in the air as he fought his feelings.
No, he thought, it would be better to kill the embryo before it can grow more.
His sword wavered as he gazed at his target. Talia’s body was bloody beneath him, but she might not as well exist. He was trapped even though he was in perfect control of his body. He felt the same could be said about his mind.
He stood in place for a few minutes, frozen. He’d never had this much conflict before. Not over something he’d been so convicted on killing. Yet, somehow, his arm managed to decide for him, lowering and pointing his sword towards the ground.
He remained in place for a good long while, eyes glued to the floating embryo.
“Damian,” he repeated aloud.
It was beginning to sound better and better.
Deep within the Arizona desert, far away from any paved roads, a small log-cabin sat on a secured piece of land. Cacti and shrubbery decorated the land, but not within the fence that enclosed the cabin. Dick had cut everything down to create a safe environment for—
Dick paused momentarily as Damian fell flat on his face. Sand and dirt popped up at his fall. The dry wind picked it up and ushered it away. Perhaps out of pity.
Dick didn’t make any swift movements to aid the little tot, and that was because Damian knew how to take a fall. As expected, Damian picked himself without a whine, and he continued about chasing a lizard. As Dick observed him, he marveled at Damian’s growth. Talons weren’t capable of growing, but Damian was different. He was growing like a normal human, but there was no telling if it would remain that way. Dick believed he’d reach his prime and then stop there, but he wasn’t certain about it.
Living in the middle of nowhere wasn’t ideal for a child that was Damian’s age, but Damian wasn’t like normal children. He required only a small amount of food, and then he was full for the next two weeks. Sometimes he’d go to sleep, but not often. The hot sun didn’t seem to bother him too much, and neither did the freezing night winds. Dick didn’t have to worry about those things, but once Damian had gotten a scrape on his knee, and Dick had been puzzled to find out that Damian could bleed.
He kept a close eye on Damian because of that abnormality. Not to say that he wouldn’t have kept a close eye on him regardless. He loved Damian. More than he thought he was capable of loving.
Sometimes it surprised him.
When he carried Damian around as a baby, he hadn’t felt much for him. A cold regard, perhaps. Yet, time seemed to have mended that rift between them, and now Dick missed holding Damian, and he wanted to hold him just as much as he used to, but Damian didn’t like being still for long periods of time. That made Dick realize that he ought to appreciate the present before it was gone.
“Ba! Look!”
Damian ran over to him on short, stubby legs and held up the lizard.
Dick regarded it with a small amount of astonishment, mostly due to the fact that Damian was even capable of catching such a speedy little thing, but then he smiled something small and warm.
He approached Damian and crouched down. He observed the lizard.
“Good job.”
He reached out a hand and patted Damian on the head.
Damian looked extra pleased with himself but then he relaxed his grip, and, in that moment, the lizard flew out of his hands and scampered away for freedom.
Damian cried out with sadness and Dick laughed quietly. As Damian’s bottom lip trembled, Dick decided it was time for a distraction. He tugged Damian in and pecked a few kisses on his head. Then he rubbed his back in a loose hug.
Dick couldn’t explain why he wanted to kiss Damian on the head. It seemed like a natural instinct, just like hugging him, but some distant part of his brain told him that this wasn’t as unusual as he thought it was.
Damian’s snuffles completely disappeared as he spent time in Dick’s comfort, and then he was wiggling because he was ready to set off again. Dick regretfully let him go and allowed him to play at his heart’s content. It’d been three years since they’d settled down in Arizona. Dick was beginning to think they might need a change of scenery, as safe as it was, for Damian’s own stimulation, and because Damian wasn’t really learning how to talk. It probably wasn’t easy to figure that sort of thing out with a near-mute for a parent.
Parent.
Yeah.
Dick would like to think of himself as that.
Damian played for a few more hours with tireless energy, and then Dick took him foraging for teaching purposes. Damian might not always have Dick to depend on, even if Dick was willing to always take care of him, so he made sure Damian was aware of important skills. Foraging for edible plants was a valuable talent. Damian might just need it in the future should anything ever happen to him.
Once evening arrived, Dick had them head back to the cabin for safe keeping, but something had him halting in front of the fence. Damian was just about to wander through the gate before Dick grabbed him and threw themselves both back. An object fell from the sky and rammed into the ground. Dust exploded all around the object, and clay gave way underneath to form a crater. Dick pulled Damian back even further and clenched his jaw.
Once the dust settled, a blue figure struggled to climb out of the crater. Dick knew who it was the minute his cape came into view.
Superman seemed disorientated as he took in his surroundings. He didn’t have much time to compose himself. Someone was hovering in the air above him. High in the sky.
Yet he managed to make eye-contact with Dick.
And something in his face changed before he was slammed into by his opponent.
Dick decided that running was the best option here. He swept Damian into his arms and ran with no direction in mind. He only wanted to get away from the wreckage. Away from the fight.
He would not be risking Damian today.
Or any day.
Or ever.
Camping life replaced cabin-living with a snap of the fingers. Dick had no idea where they were going, but he knew they wouldn’t be going back to his property. He’d paid for it with dirty money anyways. He didn’t feel guilty about leaving it behind.
But he did feel guilty about having Damian being unsettled. The poor kid was flinching at every sound and clinging to Dick like a monkey. Dick couldn't do anything without having his son holding onto his leg or hand. He didn’t even want to let go to use the bathroom (one of the rare times to do so), and he’d been terrified at the prospect of Dick releasing his hand to dig a hole.
Can’t leave evidence behind.
He knew it was pointless though. His own intelligence was proven correct when Superman found him again. Two days after his mystery battle.
It’d been in the middle of the day when Superman landed on the ground. Dick had just stopped Damian from making friends with a scorpion, and he’d been rubbing off the dirt from Damian’s caked hands.
Dick kept himself perfectly still as Superman stood there, staring at Dick as if sad, disbelieving, and defeated at the same time.
“Clark,” Dick said beneath his breath.
It might as well be a shout to Superman’s ears.
“Dick,” Clark began, taking a few steps forward, “I thought I’d been hallucinating back there. I’d just gotten the wind knocked out of me, and when I saw you, I thought maybe I was making things up.”
Damian hid behind Dick’s arm.
“I couldn’t find your heartbeat. I—” Clark looked at him. Really looked at him. Unlike the Court and all their lackies. “What happened to you?”
“A lot.”
“I guessed that but—”
Dick looked away. Was he really in the mood for this right now? Talking? After years of avoiding this?
“I can’t go back to Gotham,” he explained. “I’m a wanted man there.”
“What?”
“People are after my head,” he expanded, “and they’re after Damian’s too.”
Dick tried to tug his arm away to give Clark a good look at his pride and joy, but Damian wasn’t happy about that. He plastered himself to Dick’s back instead. Dick huffed and then looked Clark in the eye again.
“That’s why you found us out here,” Dick said. “If it’d been up to me, you would have never found out that I was alive.”
He wasn’t alive perse. But he got the point across.
“Alive and with a son,” Clark observed. “What are you going to do now?”
“Relocate.”
“Where?”
“That’s to be determined.”
“And you won’t be going back to Gotham? Dick. Bruce would be elated to see that you’re alive. He’s been beating himself up and—he’s never been the same after you disappeared.”
Dick said nothing to do that, and that was an answer in itself. Clark waited for some sort of response, but when it became clear that Dick would do nothing of the sort, he exhaled and proposed an interesting idea.
“How about you come back with me to the farm? We’ve got enough space for you and your… son.”
Clark said that last word as if it was finally registering in his brain that Dick, the bright-eyed kid he used to chat with, was now a father, a full-fledged adult, and responsible for another human being.
Dick said nothing once again, so Clark sought out to sweeten the deal.
“You don’t have to stay there forever. Just until you get your thoughts collected and you decide what you’re going to do, or, rather, where you want to go.” His tone was careful. “That’s the least I can do after exposing you and your son to danger.”
Dick contemplated his offer and realized that Smallville wasn’t too bad of a place to relocate to. It would be a temporary move and… and maybe Damian would like to see a farm for the first time.
It took him a lot of mental arguing, but then he tilted his head. So minutely that no one, unless they were Superman, would have seen it.
Clark smiled.
Dick felt a strange sense of peace as he watched Lois pluck Damian up and help him pet a cow.
Clark stood next to him, dressed in blue overalls.
Damian was very careful with petting the cows, even if Lois’ hand was guiding his own, and Dick wondered how Damian could have such a charming personality. He’d been really wrong about Damian replacing him. That belief had been entirely incorrect now that he’d raised him.
Damian was nothing like him.
Clark didn’t think so.
“He looks very much like you,” he observed.
It’d been three days since they’d arrived at the farm, and he had a lot of time to talk to Clark. Clark had stayed home from work, though he occasionally left for hero business, and that was because of Dick’s company. Clark seemed to think he owed something to Dick, like friendship, perhaps, and Dick might have swatted it away if he didn’t miss human interaction.
Normal human interaction.
Between two adults.
“You think?” Dick asked.
“He’s got the same eyes and hair. The same smile too.”
That shouldn’t have pleased Dick as much as it did. Once upon a time, that thought would have enraged him. Now it only made him happy.
“I think you should tell Bruce,” Clark began. Dick had expected he’d bring him up sooner or later. “He’d like to know about him—about you. He’d help you hide too. He’d probably come up with something better than I could.”
Clark was being compassionate towards his friend and Dick. He thought this would be good for them, Dick understood that. That’s why he wasn’t offended or irritated. He was only thoughtful about the suggestion.
“Say hi to your Daddy!” Lois said, just loud enough for Dick to hear. She waved at Dick, and Damian watched her, and then he grinned big and waved his hand enthusiastically.
“Hi, Daddy!”
A pang stabbed Dick’s heart.
Too damn cute.
Because of Lois, Damian had started calling him Daddy.
He liked that.
He liked it a lot.
“Okay, we’re going to pick some peas!” Lois announced.
“Alright, sweetheart,” Clark answered. “We’ll join you soon.”
Lois carried a happy, chattery, Damian who, despite making mostly no sense, was entertained by Lois’ ‘ah-hah’ and ‘ohhh’ noises. Lois did a good job of pretending she understood him.
“Take time to think about it,” Clark returned to the subject at hand. “You don’t have to decide immediately.”
Dick stared off at Lois’ retreating back and then thought about all he’d gone through. The Court. All the people he’d killed. The League’s disappearance. The hurt and the pain and the mental anguish. All of it.
He felt apathetic. There was a void there.
“He might not like what I’ve become,” Dick said, “if we met, that is.”
“I don’t think so,” Clark disagreed. “I know Bruce, and I know what you mean to him. He wouldn’t be disappointed or disgusted. He’d be relieved. Happy.”
“You think?” Dick glanced at Clark. “How can you be sure?”
“When has Bruce ever turned away someone he cared about?”
Dick couldn’t even remember much of his childhood, let alone Bruce caring about him, but Clark’s insistence gave him a tingle in his stomach. Maybe he was right. Maybe there was someone out there who still cared about him. Who wanted him. Just like he wanted Damian.
He wanted someone like that in his life.
“I’d like to meet him.”
He didn’t realize that was his answer until he spoke it.
A day following that conversation, Lois gave Damian another bath (this was his second bath) and then dressed him in a nice pair of clothes. Clark had bought the clothes from the city, after Lois had measured Damian’s body, and he also bought Dick a fresh pair of clothes too. Dick changed out of his musty old uniform, and he didn’t realize how good new clothes could feel until after he put them on.
It made him feel like a whole different person.
Clark clapped him on the shoulder after he emerged from the guest room.
“You look sharp!” He eyed Dick’s hair. “How about we fix up that hair of yours and get you looking better than ever?”
Dick agreed and then Clark was whisking him away into the dining room. He tamed Dick’s hair with a comb and a spray bottle and a hairdryer. Lois told Dick he couldn’t have chosen someone better to do his hair, and that was because Clark knew how to make himself look clean and professional.
“You have to know a thing or two if you want to be a superhero,” Clark joked.
“All you do is change one curl of your bangs,” Lois pouted. “I don’t know how I didn’t recognize you sooner.”
“Simple. Magic.”
After Clark finished up, Lois handed Damian back to Dick. Dick sat the boy on his knee, and they both remained in the dining room as Clark and Lois left for a private talk. Dick decided to use Damian’s head as a chinrest, staring off at the doorway, and thinking about the last time he’d seen Bruce. That had been a long time ago. He’d still been Robin and they’d been facing off a criminal. Dick couldn’t remember the man’s name, but he remembered that he was responsible for multiple bombs. They’d found a pattern and laid in wait for him at the public art museum. Bruce apprehended him before he could lay anything down, but Dick had been also apprehended by an unrelated third party.
The Court of Owls.
He might as well have died that day.
Dick encircled Damian in his arms and tucked him closer to his chest.
He would never go back to Gotham. He would never become their puppet again.
If he was forced to...?
He’d kill them all.
Every. Single. One.
Not just for himself, but for Damian. For anyone who’d ever been involved with the Court. For all of Gotham’s citizens. He’d make them bleed, and he’d watch them die. Slowly. Bit by bit. Staring up into the face of the man they’d created. Their own weapon.
Multiple voices were muffled past the doorway and Dick realized this is the moment. He kept himself in place because there wasn't much else to do, and Damian entertained himself by playing with the fingers on his father’s left hand. Dick loosened his hold on his son just to humor him.
Clark walked in first, with Lois behind him, and then Bruce is there.
“We’ll let you two talk,” Clark said, “unless Dick wants us to stay.”
Dick set Damian down and pushed him forward in wordless gesture. Lois got the meaning and escorted him out. Clark didn't leave immediately, probably because he was hesitant about this situation himself, despite his prior confidence, but he eventually departed in favor of giving Dick his moment.
Bruce was nothing like Dick remembered him. He didn’t see much of Bruce after becoming Talon, and when he did, he was always in costume. He was much older than Dick remembered him being, but he still looked handsome enough to have his photo smacked onto a magazine cover. Age had filled out his face, but in a good way.
His expression was stiff and indecipherable. When Bruce noticed Dick was trying to get a read on him, he deliberately relaxed. Despite that, the silence that stretched between them was awkward. Dick didn’t know what he’d been expecting, but if he had been expecting something, it wouldn’t have been a void of conversation.
“Bruce.”
Dick’s voice was enough because Bruce took a step forward, then another, and then he guided himself towards the opposing chair. Bruce lowered himself on the chair and sat down. His eyes never left Dick’s.
He probably had a million questions.
But the first one he asked is the tamest that could be asked.
“Dick,” he exhaled, collecting himself, “how have you been?”
“Fine,” Dick answered shortly. “I’ve been doing my best to get by.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Dick searched Bruce’s face. “You look older.”
“You look older too.”
“That must mean Alfred’s gotten older,” Dick reasoned. "I don't remember what he looks like."
“He’s getting on in his years,” Bruce admitted. “But he’s still alive and kicking. He’s stronger than any other man I know.” Bruce placed his hands on the table. “Clark tells me that you have a son now?”
The two went onto talking as if they’d never been separated. Dick managed to hold a conversation with him for hours. It was so long that Lois came in a couple of times with a drink for Bruce and an offer to get him some cushioning for his seat. Bruce declined respectfully, and he talked with Dick well into the evening. They might as well have been in their own world. Dick was much more talkative than he usually was.
They spoke for good while, and then Bruce was standing up and Dick did the same to meet him.
Bruce swept Dick into a bone-crushing hug and let the first tear fall. Dick returned the gesture, albeit weaker, but he tried to support Bruce in the best way that he could.
Bruce had a mute way of crying. He didn’t shake or tremble, nor did he make any sounds. Nevertheless, there were tears rolling down his cheeks. It was hard to believe he’d been keeping it all in for the entirety of their conversation, or maybe it was just hitting him now.
“Come back home with me,” Bruce pleaded. “Your room is still in perfect shape. I haven’t touched a thing. And bring Damian with you. We’ll get him a room too.”
Dick gently withdrew and rested his hands on his father’s arms.
Seriously. Who was in more need of comfort here? Bruce or Dick?
“I can’t. The Court will be going after me the second they know I’m back. I’m not willing to put myself at risk when I have a son to take care of.”
“The Court?” It didn’t take Bruce long to put together the dots. “You mean—?”
Dick nodded and Bruce had to grip Dick’s arms, too, just to keep himself from doing anything rash.
“I was thinking we’d find another place to stay in,” Dick continued. “I—”
“I have an island,” Bruce blurted out. “It’s privately owned, and no one will bother you there.”
Dick was taken aback. That was a quick suggestion.
Not a bad one though. It depended on where the island was.
Before Dick could ask for more questions, Bruce swept in again with more to say. “You can stay there until I clean up things in Gotham. Then you’ll be free to do whatever you want. It might take me a couple of years to root out all of the owls, but I have more support now, and I think we could manage it.”
Dick finally felt the first crack of emotion since seeing his ex-mentor after years of being apart.
“You’d take on the Court of Owls? Why?”
“They want to kill you. I’d like to put an end to that. For good.”
“But—” Dick was visibly confused. “Why would you—”
“I just got you back Dick. I’d do anything to keep you safe. Anything.”
Dick felt his cold, dead, heart spring to life and beat. Just once. Then it went quiet again, but the sensation didn’t leave him. He was touched. Deeply so.
“Now, let’s discuss relocating you,” Bruce said.
“I—okay—yeah.”
“Now, it might take a month or two to get everything ready but—”
If this is what being retired felt like, maybe he’d stick around.
Damian was slumped on his chest, knocked-out, and Dick was reclined back on a beach chair. He stared up into the sky, one hand on Damian’s back, the other behind his head.
He wasn’t kidding when he said he’d take care of everything.
Bruce had been 100% serious about cleaning up Gotham and making sure Damian and Dick were safe. He visited often to give Dick reports on the Court of Owls, and when he couldn’t visit, he sent someone named Jason, and sometimes he sent someone named Tim. A woman named Cass dropped by once, and Dick felt there would never be an end to people who he would have to meet. Not at the rate they were dropping by. Bruce really did find a lot of people to support his cause.
“You’re kind of my inspiration,” Jason had said, when he’d first come to visit, “so I had to see the Robin in person. I took on your name after you disappeared. Thought I’d do it to honor you.”
Jason liked to come by more than the rest of Bruce’s new team, but he made sure not to over-extend his welcome. Dick was coming to like him. He had a roguish charm to him, and he was good with children. He made Damian happy.
Speaking of Damian—
He was happy too.
Bruce made sure he was spoiled rotten with gifts and toys. He sometimes brought new foods and desserts too. Alfred-approved. Damian was starting to get a real sweet tooth because of Bruce, who Damian had decided to call Grandpa because of Jason’s influence, and Dick never bothered to correct him. Bruce seemed content enough with the nickname too.
Frankly, Dick’s glad he never stabbed that sword through Damian’s test tube because, right now, as he laid down, with the company of an ocean breeze, patting Damian on the back, he felt like he was in paradise.
“I love you, Damian,” Dick murmured before closing his eyes.
He couldn’t sleep but—
He could dream sometimes.
But he didn’t need to this time.
Because he was already living it.
If I could go back and talk to you, Dick thought of his younger self, hopeless and devoid of emotion, I would tell you that everything will be alright in the end. You'll have family again, and nothing will hurt. Not like the Court of Owls hurts.
Now we'll live without fear.
A life without fear.
Yeah.
That sounded nice.