Chapter Text
It had started to end somewhere around two blocks from the Narrows on what might have been New Years Eve, but Dick hadn’t worn his watch. He hadn’t wanted to. If he counted the hours they would crawl into seconds and he knew he wouldn’t make it through one day sober—again.
The red had caught his eye. He didn’t stop so much as just not move his feet again while he inspected the red. It was the same as Jason’s favorite blanket, the one that he had folded at the end of his bed and pulled up when he got cold. Or maybe he didn’t, Dick didn’t know because Dick hadn't been there. Had chosen not to be there. Before his eyes the red slowly became a door with a big, brass knob that looked so appealing that he had turned it before he even knew he’d gone up the steps.
He found himself inside a vestibule. Drafty, but warmer than the Gotham January (December?) that was waiting for him outside. To the right was a closed visitors book and a dark doorway that Dick had a vague idea would lead to a sanctuary. The left was an open door, a short, brightly lit hallway with a few people milling around. He stared out from the shadow of his hood and wondered.
A man stepped forward, smiling warmly. He looked a little like Harvey, when Dick had first known him.
“Come on in,” he said warmly, “We’ve got coffee.”
Dick let himself be waived in and followed along until he had his cheap coffee. The man introduced himself as Lenny.
“Is this your first meeting?” He asked.
Dick shrugged. “I saw the door and it reminded me of something. Thought I should come in. What’s the meeting?”
Lenny nodded like that meant something. “We’re having an AA meeting all night, for New Years. Help keep people on their path, you know?”
Alcoholics Anonymous . Should he be there? Dick thought back on the last few months. Roy had been dragged off to rehab for a third time, Kori still wasn’t speaking to him, Babs had started becoming more instant on him sharing information with her. There had been no Christmas at the manor in the wake of Jason’s death. There hadn’t been a mission, for once, and he knew that Christmas at the Tower would be a bad idea. So he had sat alone in his apartment until it was time to sit on his knees in front of the toilet.
He looked back up at Lenny—the man was nearly as big as Bruce, but paunchy—and nodded. “‘S weird, I wasn’t even looking for this.”
“We’ve got a saying,” Lenny said, guiding Dick toward a ring of metal folding chairs, “Is it odd or is it God?”
Dick let the meeting wash over him. There wasn’t much ceremony about it and the coffee was worse than he had expected. Something kept him glued to the seat, though. Maybe apathy about moving, maybe the ringing in his ears that hadn’t stopped since that night. Lenny sat by him, listening intently to each person who shared their story around the circle. He seemed to be the organizer, which would explain why he’d shepherded Dick in, but he was one of the last to share.
His divorce was obvious and recent, the tan line on his finger hadn’t faded yet. His clothes were middle class, not cheap and not designer, but his watch was a dollar store special. Lenny shared how he had pawned his original to get cash so he could buy liquor without his wife realizing it when she had cut him off from the credit cards. His grandfather's watch, he said, and he was still trying to find a way to get it back.
“My daughter,” he said, “Is in therapy and won’t speak to me yet. I couldn’t pay attention because getting drunk became more important than her. And she got hurt. My baby, my little girl—she was raped and I don’t know how to help her. I have to live with that.”
It felt like he had been pushed out of an air lock. Dick clutched his chest one handed, burrowing his nails into his hoodie. Roy’s hoodie, the one Dick had stolen during the last on of their on and off before Oliver had dragged Roy to rehab. Distantly, he heard Lenny ask if anyone else would like to share. As if his brain had taken a hike and let his heart hijack the mission, Dick’s mouth dropped open of his own accord.
“If it’s January then I’ve been sober for a day, for the first time in a long time. I’m always sober at work. But never when I’m off the clock.”
In the silence that followed Lenny reached into the plastic tackle box at his feet and fished out a coin, a little larger than a quarter, with 24 stamped on one side. He handed it to Dick saying, “The first twenty four hours are the most important, you made it.”
He knew it wasn’t in Lenny’s hand long enough to absorb the warmth, but Dick felt it all the same as he examined how the light shined off it.
“My name is Dick, and I think I’m an alcoholic.”
* * *
As it turned out, admitting he had a problem didn’t magically make it easier to solve and apparently the drinking had been a load bearing nerosies. Now the rain outside could send him into a spiral of panic and flashbacks. The thought of sleeping in his own bed was horrific. Dick could feel the phantom weight climbing in with him, sliding over him like a ghost until it drove him out to sleep on the couch that had started to sag in the middle. But the worst was the weight.
Dick twisted in front of the mirror, fighting his jeans to make it over that hump in his thigh that wasn’t there before. Seven other pairs were scattered on the floor like pathetic confetti for the worst pity party ever. He shucked the eighth pair off and threw them at the mirror before he dug into the back of the closet for a pair of navy blue joggers. Those at least fit, if only by the grace of elastic.
He didn’t even want to go to this appointment, but John had pushed him. Lenny was a great guy and ran the meetings that Dick liked to go to at the church, but he was a civilian and couldn’t exactly handle “I want to drink because the Joker murdered my brother, so I killed him back.” So, Dick had tracked John Constantine down at his stupid floating mansion. He’d been sober for a while if the rumor mill at the Watchtower could be trusted, and it had been right. John had been sponsoring him since.
John had been an asshole since, Dick thought while he tugged on a long sleeve shirt. Making him make this appointment and actually go, convincing him that it could help. He felt the overwhelm coming for him like the tide rushing in and stopped. With his shirt pulled over his arms, thumbs hooked in the neck, he took five deep breaths.
It had been his own idea to tell John about the assault. He had made his own appointment.
Dick had to take responsibility for his own choices.
The door didn’t actually say what the place was. GRCC was stenciled in gold, and hung on the side of the building. The agency had chosen a dove as their mascot, flying over the last C. Dick took a deep breath and went inside.
The waiting area was cozy, which surprised him. He had expected to feel like he was at a doctors office but instead there was mismatched living room furniture spread around and a check in desk off to the side. The woman was manning it and smiled kindly at him. She was pretty, a little older than Bruce with wrinkles beside her brown eyes and dreadlocks spiraled up on top of her head. Big elephant earrings crowded between her jaw and neck. That made him smile.
“How can I help you?” She asked when he approached.
Dick rubbed his hands together, leaning his elbows on the counter.
“I have an appointment, my name is Richard Grayson.”
If she recognized his name it didn’t register on his face. That was nice. It was something he liked about his meetings, too. People there obviously knew who he was–he’d been in the paper more often than not for his underage escapades. They didn’t care, or if they did they didn’t act like it. Here and there he could just be Dick, some guy off the street.
She clicked around on her computer a little and nodded. “You requested a male counselor?” He nodded. “Greg is great, he should be out in just a minute to get you. We set ninety minutes for intakes but it likely won’t take that long. There’s a donor visit today so the office will be closing about twenty minutes after your appointment ends. Okay?”
Dick nodded. As he turned to take a seat, a man came down the back hall. He was a little scruffy, with long brown hair pulled back at the nape of his neck and little rectangular glasses on the end of his nose. Inexplicably, he reminded Dick of a math teacher he’d once had. Mr. Jefferies had been his coach for mathletes at Gotham Academy and one of his biggest supporters all through school. He felt a little better about Greg, like maybe he could pretend that this guy had the same gentle, proud face that Mr. Jefferies had when he cheered Dick on every weekend when Bruce couldn’t make it.
“You must be Richard,” the man said, but didn’t hold out his hand.
Dick nodded sharply. “I go by Dick. Greg?”
“That’s me. Come on back.”
The offices looked like they’d been redecorated more recently than the waiting room. Greg’s had a spindly desk pushed into a corner and a selection of modern but cheap-looking furniture. Dick picked a corner chair with a good view of the door. Greg sat at his desk, back to it, and balanced his computer on the corner.
“I’ve got our intake questions pulled up here, but I’ll take my notes on paper and transpose them later.”
Greg pushed through the formalities and paperwork, Dick nodding along dumbly. This was the fourth time he’d sat through a therapy intake, starting from shortly after his parents’ murder. Maybe this time he’d make it to the first appointment.
“Do you want to start with what brought you in, or family history?” Greg asked. “You’re driving this train, so to speak.”
Dick frowned, leaning over his own lap to balance his elbows on his knees. “Everyone knows my history. An unstable childhood, then the murder, then the not-adoption, now I’m here.”
“Would you call it unstable?” Greg asked. “I only ask because it sounds more like something you’re repeating than something you believe.”
Dick cut his eyes at the man under his lashes. Greg looked genuine, his face open and smooth. “My parents loved me, and so did the rest of the family. We were all family there. . .”
Dick found himself describing the circus family and, for the first time, feeling listened to. Greg called them what Dick called them, asking more about Uncle Anton and Aunt Kalinda. Dick remembered his first therapist, an older woman who looked like she was held together with toothpicks and chewing gum. She had written unstable childhood and should assess for attachment disorder on all her notes. The county had made him go back twice before Bruce yanked him out.
They didn’t dive deeply anywhere, but before he realized what had happened Dick had gone through his early childhood and right by those first few years at the manor. He paused briefly around his not-adoption and then Jason’s welcome into the home. About him, Dick simply said he’s dead, Bruce didn’t tell me . About Tim, who had only been around for a few months, he said there’s a new brother, I have to be there .
“My friend John convinced me to come here,” Dick said suddenly, during a lull where Greg was catching up on the notes. “He’s my sponsor.”
“For?”
“AA.”
“I’m glad he got you to come in. He sounds like a good friend. How’s your sobriety going?”
Dick shrugged. “It’s been about six months now, I had a couple relapses before that. But it turns out that my drinking was covering up some bigger issues and I need to deal with that if I want to stay sober.” At least, that’s what John had told him over coffee one night.
Greg nodded. “That’s often how it goes. Tell me about those bigger issues, Dick.”
Dick shifted, leaning back. “I’ve gained a lot of weight since I quit drinking.”
“That’s a little unusual. Do you have any idea why?”
“Probably because I didn’t eat when I drank so I’d get drunk faster, and I made sure to throw it up after. You know, save on the calories and all.”
Greg made a note and pressed on. “How much weight would you say you’ve gained?”
“Twenty-three pounds so far. None of my jeans fit.” Not to mention the Nightwing suit. “And it’s killing me.”
Greg frowned. “Were you underweight before?”
“I’m an acrobat, I can’t exactly be heavy.”
Greg ignored Dick’s side-step, but made a mark on his notepad. “And you’re uncomfortable with the weight gain?”
He nodded. Dick would say he didn’t have poor self image, per say, but he didn’t exactly preen when he walked by mirrors. He dressed nicely enough, he got enough dates as a teenager to satisfy himself so he knew he wasn’t terrible looking. But the attention has been too much in the aftermath. The looks, the things that people said, people in the street and even his own friends. Dick hadn’t wanted the attention any more. Keeping his weight down had the good side effect of making sure he stayed in tune with his training, still able to move freely.
“Was the throwing up just a product of the drinking?”
“It was a happy side effect.”
“How often?”
“Every time I drank.”
Dick made it to the end of his appointment with a recommendation for a dental appointment and one with his regular doctor. Apparently the purging could have caused serious damage to his teeth so they needed to be looked at as soon as possible. Greg set up an appointment for the following week. Dick was really feeling like he was going to come back as Greg walked him out. Greg hadn’t made him explain the assaults during the appointment. It had been enough for him when Dick said that it had been twice in the last two years, two different women, and no one knew about the second except him and John. No one had taken the first one well.
As they drew closer, voices drifted up from the waiting room.
“. . . early today, we weren’t expecting you yet.”
A low, self deprecating laugh. “It’s been a while since I was down here and I left early to give myself time to get lost. I’m sorry for the imposition,” a man said as they rounded the corner into the waiting area.
As if Bruce could ever get lost in Gotham, Dick thought. Beside him, Greg stiffened.Clearly he had cottoned on to what was going to happen here.
It would have been good to know that Bruce was the visiting donor, Dick thought, because now they were just all standing there, staring at each other. He supposed he was lucky that Bruce was traveling sans entourage. There was no one but Greg and the receptionist to witness the family meltdown that was about to occur.
“Dick,” Bruce said, half questioning.
Dick turned to Greg first and said, “Thank you. Goodbye.”
He tried to just walk by Bruce., but a warm hand wrapped around his upper arm. Bruce asked, “What are you doing here, chum?”
Oh, John was going to be so annoyed. Dick met Bruce’s eyes. He’d always thought they were warm when he was kid, that deep blue felt like he could dive in and be safe forever in the waters of his foster father’s gaze. Then the fighting had started, the water had gotten hot, and every time Dick met Bruce’s eye it was like he was being boiled alive but had dived too far to get out on his own. Now he had the coin in his pocket. Dick pressed his thumb to it until he felt the engraving print itself on his skin and imagined that John was here with him, and Wally too. The ghosts of their hands on his shoulders.
“I’m at the rape crisis center. I’m getting counseling.”
Maybe that had been more John than Wally. Granted, Wally would have ran because even as adults Bruce was still the most terrifying person that Wally knew. Some days he was the scariest person Dick knew, too.
Bruce’s facade cracked. Someone else probably wouldn’t recognize it, but Dick had seen Bruce do everything from brush his teeth to be hung off a seventy story building. It had been a point of pride for Dick for years that no one knew Bruce like he did.
His eyes searched Dick’s face. Dick knew that Bruce was looking for tells. Something to show him that this was an undercover mission or a mistake, or that one of his friends was coming behind him and Dick was just there as a support person. Dick knew he wasn’t going to find anything, he just waited for the big crack.
Greg stepped up suddenly, “Dick, how about I walk you out while Shawna starts Mr. Wayne’s tour?”