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"DG is Dick Grayson, isn't he?" Terry asked.
"Yes," Bruce said.
He didn't know why he still had Dick's things upstairs.
He didn't know why Dick left anything.
Probably just because the mansion was so big. He had plenty of rooms. Plenty of empty rooms to fill.
"Your son," Terry said.
"Adopted."
"Like Tim Drake."
"Yes."
His two sons. His two Robins. He loved them and he failed them both, so they left him and never looked back.
"What was Dick's story?"
"He was an acrobat. His parents were killed by the mob. I took him in."
"And he was Robin too?"
"Yes. It was his nickname." Dick, then Tim. He remembered them chasing each other through the mansion; he remembered Alfred's tiny smile as they vaulted past him on the stairs. Either of them could fill the house. Together they burst the walls at the seams.
Dick used to balance on his stomach on the library ladder and read, rocking gently back and forth. Tim preferred to take his textbooks on the treadmill so he felt like he was getting somewhere with his studies.
Terry liked to study in the kitchen with a glass of juice and a sandwich and Ace sniffing at his elbows, waiting for him to drop something. Terry was a quiet boy. He didn't fill the house. He wasn't a Robin.
"So that's the whole story?" Terry asked.
Bruce looked at him.
Where should he start? There was nothing more to say.
When Dick left for college he had nightmares that first, silent night. They eased when Dick came home on vacations and left him when he took in Tim. They changed when Tim was--injured. They remained.
He's dreamed of laughter for the past forty years.
Terry beat the Joker. Terry didn't need to hear about his dreams. Terry had a brother and a mother to fill his house.
"Ease off the glaring, you'll pull something," Terry muttered. "So--is there any particular reason I shouldn't say hi to Dick? Talk about the old days? Fighting crime? Wearing funny outfits?"
"No," Bruce said.
He hadn't spoken to Dick in... a long time.
"He lives in Bludhaven," Bruce said.
A long time.
He walked down the stairs.
One step at a time. His hips felt every kick and hard landing these days.
Soup and sandwich on the tray. Alfred made this trip ten times a day before he died, before Bruce sealed up the cave...
One step at a time. Ace waited at the bottom.
He could bring the computer upstairs, of course; run a terminal to a hidden spot in his library and monitor Terry in front of a warming fire. He could hear Alfred's voice lecturing him: he wasn't getting any younger.
One step at a time. He wasn't dead yet.
"Disappointed?" he asked Ace as he crossed to the computer without dropping the tray. Ace folded up beside his chair and wiggled his eyebrows at Bruce until Bruce sat down.
He called up the suit tracker. Terry was flying; his motions didn't correspond to the expressway. Bruce neither approved nor disapproved; visibility meant that criminals were reminded of his presence, but also meant that they knew where he was.
Terry's choice to make. He was Batman.
His watch beeped. Ace nosed his ankle. Bruce leaned down and petted him. "I'm awake," he said, and took a pill from the bottle on his tray.
He'd always thought his back or his knees would give before his heart did. Bone was so much less forgiving than muscle. His fingers were knotted with a career's worth of pain: a bump for Croc, a bend for the Joker, an old ache for Harvey Dent.
His back was bending under his years but in the clinch it was his heart that failed him.
He swallowed his pill with a sip of black coffee and watched the red dot of Terry's tracker cross the city.
The dot paused. Bruce switched on the audio feed. "Trouble?" he asked.
Terry grunted. "Jokerz. Thirty seconds, tops--what, you dunces seriously think you're the real thing? Listen up: tiny blue hats? Not scary." Punches. Yelps. Engines. "Twips."
The red dot moved again. Bruce left the audio on and listened to Terry's breathing. He was a quiet boy; he didn't talk to himself the way that Tim or Dick did. He talked to Bruce when he had something to say.
Bruce ate half his sandwich and slipped Ace the rest.
"Elm Street," Terry muttered. "Big red building. Big red, come on, big red... hey! Big red. And a big entrance."
A knock on glass.
The slide of a window.
"Batman," Dick said.
Such a long time since Bruce heard his voice, but he'd know it underwater and backwards.
"Hi," Terry said. "This is a social call. I can come in the front door like a normal person if you want, I just--you wouldn't know me from Adam."
Dick laughed, and that sound hadn't changed either. "Door or window, choose your poison. I'll put on some coffee."
"I'll... just come in the window, then," Terry said. "Suddenly this seems abrupt and rude."
"Please. I have people flying in my windows all the time. You know about the Titans, right?"
"No?"
Dick laughed again. "Sure. Before your time. The Teen Titans, the New Titans, the Space Titans... anyway, after I gave up being Nightwing--for obvious reasons--I sponsored a revival of the team. Now I'm Uncle Dick, everyone's favorite shoulder to cry on."
"Huh."
"Those speedsters just keep breaking hearts."
Obvious reasons. Nightwing was still wearing the body frame, then. Bruce always hoped he would heal out of it, but...
Bone was so fragile. Unforgiving.
"I need to catch up on my superhero history," Terry said. "I haven't run into many other people on the job."
"No. Gotham is the Batman's, and everyone else leaves it alone."
They both sipped their coffee. Bruce stared at the red dot.
"You're younger than I thought," Dick said.
"I--guess," Terry said. "I don't feel all that young."
"How's Bruce?"
"Mostly schway. Old. You know."
"Yep. I know."
"But he can kick fan," Terry said. "The first time I met him, we beat up a bunch of Jokerz together."
Dick laughed. "He'll kick ass from the grave."
"I can't honestly see him dying. I see him living to be, like, two hundred."
"Hm." Dick chuckled under his breath. "Possible."
"Huh."
Bruce can't say he never thought of it. Ra's Al Ghul... There was still a pit.
He looked at his knotted hands.
"So what's your name, Batman?"
"Oh! Yeez, sorry. Terry McGinnis."
"Dick Grayson. Pleasure to meet you."
Terry was laughing so hard his physiological monitors were showing caution lights. "And then!" Dick said, slapping the couch beside him, "then! A giant hand scoops us up off the ground!"
"Oh, no! Ha!"
"That game--it was so cutting edge, but now it's like being trapped inside Pong. Oh, man."
"But how did you get out?" Terry asked.
"The hand. We answered a question wrong purposefully and rode the hand to safety. Which--" Dick started laughing again.
Bruce's soup was cold. Ace was snoring beside him.
"God," Dick said, "we had fun. It was terrifying and sometimes awful, but it was the best time of my life."
"The job isn't always easy, but--"
But Terry is doing well. Very well. Bruce isn't happy that he couldn't start the boy as a Robin, but Terry isn't a Robin naturally, is he? And neither of his Robins became Batman.
He'd offered the cowl to Dick, but Dick refused. That was the last time they spoke before Dick broke his back.
"Bruce wouldn't let you out if you couldn't handle it."
"Well, I stole the suit that first time," Terry said.
"So? It's the lair. Do you really think anything happens there that Bruce doesn't have a say in?"
Dick was wrong. Sometimes things just happened. Terry stole the suit. Inque snuck into the cave.
The Joker stole Tim. Two-Face broke Dick. Things happened that he had no control over and that he couldn't fix.
A door slammed in Dick's house. "I'm home!"
Who? ...Flash. Wally. Bruce knew his voice, too.
"I should probably get going," Terry said.
"Meet Wally first. Library!" Dick called out. "He's one of us, the Flash--he can keep your secret."
"Hey!" Wally said. "Batman! Been reading about you! God, I remember being that young. I worked with the last Batman, did he tell you that? Justice League? That was a good time."
"I, uh. Hi. Bruce doesn't talk about the old days much."
"Bruce. Man. Blew my mind to find out who Batman was. Bruce Wayne, he was like a movie star or something, in the papers all the time. And Batman, too! Guy never slept," Wally burbled. "Good to meet you! New Batman! Doing a good job!"
"Thanks..." Terry sounded overwhelmed.
Flash. He understood why his alternate self was so fussy over Flash. When he left the Justice League, Flash's endless banter was what he missed most. Tim was gone then, Dick as well, and Flash--
Flash filled a room.
"Stop by any time," Dick said.
"I will! I need to bone up on my history, for one thing," Terry said.
"Damn straight. Need to know where you came from to know where you're going."
A rustle and a scrape--mask and window, probably. The red dot on the map moved slightly and Bruce heard traffic noise over the audio.
He flipped it off and the silence fell around him like a cowl. He was deaf, until Ace twitched in his sleep; then he was deafened.
Dick never married, unless you counted Wally, which Bruce didn't. He never had children, unless you counted his Titans, which Bruce didn't. He never had a normal life. Bruce failed him but still Dick said being Robin was the best time of his life.
Which meant--that Bruce failed. Dick should have had more joy in life than that.
"Hey," Terry said, making Bruce jump, "Bruce, I'm heading home. See you tomorrow."
The audio snapped off again.
Bats took wing in the silence, making their nightly exodus. Twenty years ago he would have followed them.
Bruce stood up, then sat back down again. He picked up the phone and hit the number two quick-dial. Dick picked up after four rings. "Hello?"
"Dick," Bruce said.
"Bruce." They were both silent for a heartbeat. "The new guy just came by--but I guess you know that. Nice kid."
"He's raw but smart. He has potential."
"He looks like you around the eyes."
They hadn't spoken in ten years. Bruce was at a loss.
Easier to be silent.
"So what brought this on?" Dick asked.
"You--left a few things here. Terry found them."
"Huh."
"You can have them back."
"No. Home is where you keep your odds and ends."
Home?
Home.
His face ached. Bruce pressed his lumpy knuckles to his eyebrow.
"I love you too, Bruce," Dick said.
Bruce was silent. So was Dick.
"Flash is doing well?" Bruce asked, finally.
"He's fine. He'll be fine until it's time to join the Speed Force," Dick said. "I saw Tim not too long ago. His kids are growing up."
"Yes." Tim's oldest was going to college next year on a Wayne scholarship. It was good of Tim to accept what help Bruce could give him.
"You got Waynetech back."
"Yes."
"You had me worried there for a while. When you hung up the mask, it's like you stopped caring. About anything."
"I never stopped," Bruce answered.
"Yeah," Dick said. "Like I said, I love you too."
Bruce was silent.
Dick laughed softly. "Goodnight, Bruce."
"Goodnight."
He hung up.
He was exhausted. He hadn't slept in two days. Old habits died hard.
"Come on, boy," he said to Ace. Ace yawned hugely and pushed up to his feet.
Steps, all those steps, one at a time, with Ace bouncing up ahead of him.
He turned off the lights of the house as he passed them. His night vision was still the best.
Lights off. Security on. Teeth--still his own--brushed. Pajamas on.
He climbed into bed. Ace jumped up beside him and rested his muzzle on the other pillow.
"Night, boy," Bruce said, scratching the dog's ear. The dog's tail thumped against the blanket.
Dick's room was down the hall. Tim's room was beside it, and now that he thought about it, Tim's room wasn't empty either.
Bruce hadn't touched either room in decades. He wondered what Tim left.
He turned that over in his head as he dropped into turbulent dreams.
THE END.
All comments are welcome.