Chapter Text
Dick doesn't remember how he got there, with toes curling over the marbled edge of the tallest building in the city, Gotham sparkling at his feet like an endless ocean. He briefly wondered if anyone outside the bats had ever seen the details on top of the Wayne Enterprise building before the wind picked up. It caught him under his arms and swept up his body, carrying the thought away just as quickly as it arrived.
He ignores the crunching of gravel at his back, the same way he ignores the child version of himself fiddling with a piece of frayed cable just a few feet away. The blood on the kid's Flying Grayson uniform is still fresh from his parents' bodies, the cable just a frayed reminder of who killed them.
Based on the sound, it was Jason, and the soft call of "Nightwing" confirmed it. Dick kept his mouth shut, eyes on the horizon. Jason never did well with being ignored, but Dick couldn't handle another one right now.
The Robin Jason, dressed in the same burned and bloody remains he was wearing when he died, gave Dick a slight push. It was enough to send Dick swaying on the balls of his feet and gazing straight down to the sidewalk below.
He was immediately mesmerized. It was the same way he gets dragged into the far corners of the Batcave on nights where he can't sleep. Shapes blend, and through the fog, he swears he could see the cracks of the sidewalk. He just needed to get a little bit closer.
Someone snorted, and it was enough to pull his heels back to solid ground. Dick was less impressed when he realized it was just Renegade Dick. He's leaning against a far wall with his face covered by the full mask. It was a pointless thing; it just made it harder to breathe. Plus, not like they don't know what the guy was probably thinking. Dick could feel the dare and the taunting scoff of chicken without anyone saying a word.
His thought was interrupted by a light whistle that had more than a few of them tensing. It came from a Damian dressed in League of Assassin attire; Dick knows this without turning around. It was the signal for an intruder.
Dick flicked his wrist, signaling for them to stand down. It was just the new Jason. He was getting too close. Most of them were some level of paranoid, but Dick still tried to keep things calm.
Tim, a young version maybe between nine and eleven, shifted in front of circus Dick. He brandished his camera with shaking hands like a weapon.
New Jason, though Dick still hasn't turned around to look, stopped in his tracks. His eyes were glued to Dick's back. "Dickie?" He whispered, carefully and quietly, like he was talking to a spooked animal.
Dick frowned at his ocean of lights and cocked his head to show he was listening.
"Dick, take a step back." Jason continued, his voice-controlled, with just a hint of urgency.
Dick wished he could, but he can't; a step back is closer to them. Here was better. Dick shakes his head with such force the stars of light turn to streaks.
"Please." The New Jason stated with such desperation that it jerks Dick to a stop. He sways over the edge, looking straight down at the ground below. He can't see the bottom anymore, only fog. He wonders what it would feel like to touch.
"Big Bird, just a few inches," Jason begged, "or sit down."
Dick shudders and rolls back on his heels. Jason doesn't beg; it was Dick’s job to beg.
Behind him, Jason let out a strangled noise that got swallowed up in the wind.
Dick finally turned, his gaze lingering for a moment too long on the women in the distance. Catalina, with her dripping wet hair and raindrops still rolling down the side of her face, waved back. Miriam was at her side just smirking, her eyes a bright green and the bottom half of her hair in long, loose, red curls. There are others back there; they can pull Dick in if he looks for too long.
He turned to Jason, just as old as Dick remembers. His helmet was missing, and both of his arms were raised toward Dick.
"This is good, Dickie" Jason tried to look reassuring, but it came off as more of a grimace. The man's voice was rough, heavy with emotion Dick didn't understand. "You're going to be okay."
Dick smiled at his brother, "I'm always okay." He said. He ignored the snort from the Renegade Dick.
"Yeah," New Jason hesitated. "But we need to get you back to the cave. You were hit-"
Dick's mind drifted for a moment, trying to figure out the New Jason's angle. It was probably a test. Lost-in-Time Bruce (or LIT Bruce as he had taken to calling him) did the same thing when he first started coming around.
"Everything is fine Little Wing," Dick said, unaware Jason had stopped talking soon after Dick tuned him out. He lifted a hand to place it on his brother's shoulder or meet him in a handshake; even Dick wasn't sure. They never found out; instead, Dick froze halfway, staring at the bloody fingers of his glove-free left hand. He followed it up, past the knife wound in the flesh of his arm, and he realized with a nagging feeling that something didn't add up, that both his boots were missing along with a single glove and utility belt. Not to mention he was stripped out of half of the upper body of his Nightwing uniform. Dick finally looked back up to Jason, "I'm fine." he said.
Catalina gave a wolf whistle in response.
"Yeah," Jason nodded, "But you'll be even better at the cave."
"I can take care of myself." Dick shrugged his bare arm, sending pins and needles trailing to his fingers from the cold. He turned his back on them again. He frowned at the feeling, betrayed by his own body while being lectured by his mind.
"Clearly, you can't."
"Don't you trust me?" Dick asked, his confidence gone with his sails against the wind.
"No. How could I when you don't even trust yourself?"
Dick could feel something hot, burning against his frozen skin, trying to guide him by the elbow. He pulled free in a desperate need to prove the voice wrong, and without warning, he jumped.