The Sun to His Moon

Gotham City, New Jersey

02:15 EDT

October 17, 2012

Muffled white noise was Dick’s first indication that one of his senses started to return. He felt a steady pounding within his skull and occasionally could distinguish simple words such as “Robin,” “Joker,” “Dick,” and “Help!” The young hero knew the voices but couldn’t quite place them. He was teetering between sharp, burning pain and total, all-encompassing numbness. Dick felt as though his eyelids were sealed shut, refusing to budge despite how hard he tried to open them. An odd warmth spread through the dull pain, binding him tightly and dragging him back into the realm of unconsciousness. 

The next time Dick’s mind won the battle of control over his body, he realized he could hear a droning, persistent beeping and someone — Wait, that’s Alfred — speaking, “Yes, yes. His readings are steady.” 

There was a pause. 

“Well, he did lose quite a lot of blood, and he’s been... resting for two days now.”

 Another pause. 

“I don’t know if Master Bruce would appreciate that right now. Master Richard isn’t even awake yet. Perhaps later?”

Pause. 

“Hello? Mister Wallace?”

“Suvvin,'” Dick swore softly to himself in Romani. With tensing muscles, he peeled open his eyes and was incredibly grateful for the muted lighting of the Batcave's medical bay. Dick blinked a few times and tried to distinguish his guardians. 

“Bruce?” 

Dick’s voice sounded rough, as if he had swallowed sand. 

“Alfred?”

Immediately, a hand covered one of his knees. “I’m here, Dick. I’m here.” 

Dick’s cool blue eyes finally focused on Bruce, who was positioned in one of the medical bay’s chairs. Alfred left his self-imposed station in the doorframe and approached Dick with a tray of cookies and a glass of water. Dick grabbed the tray greedily and drained most of the water before attempting to stomach the sweets. After nibbling silently on one for a few minutes, Dick placed the tray on a bedside counter, glanced up, and asked casually, “So… What did I do?”

Bruce remained silent while Alfred smiled sadly, “You scared us, Master Richard.”

“Yeah, but what happened?” Dick pointed this question at Bruce.

“The Joker. He had a gun, and…” He nodded at Dick’s shoulder. Dick glanced down to see his left shoulder heavily banged.

“Oh. I must be on some quality stuff. I didn’t even notice.” Dick gave a half-hearted laugh as his shoulder began to throb with the knowledge that he had been shot. “What’s the stitch count?” Dick wondered aloud. “Feels big this time.” 

Bruce sighed and rubbed at his eyes. “Thirteen.”

Dick raised an eyebrow as he attempted to shimmy his shoulder and hissed through the pain. 

“Yup,” Dick grunted. “That sounds about right. So, Agent A, I heard you on the phone. I’ve been out for three days, right?”

“Two days, Master Richard.”

“Well, that’s a whole day less than I thought. Great reason to stay traught,” Dick said brightly. He forcibly grinned as though he had just woken up from a lazy afternoon nap rather than a medically induced — Wait, was it medically induced this time? Ehh, whatever. — coma. Despite his stellar performance, he could feel the tension radiating off of Bruce and Alfred.

“Dick, this isn’t a joke,” Bruce growled. “You almost died.”

“Bruce, in our line of work, we ‘almost die’ all of the time. It’s just another day that ends with ‘y.’” Dick retorted nonchalantly.

“Dick,” Bruce warned, but Dick continued to talk over him.

“I followed Rule #1 — I didn’t die. Emphasis on the ‘didn’t.’”

“Dick.”

“I just have to rest up for two or three days, maybe do some remote reconnaissance for the team, so I’m not wasting my time. And after, I’ll be ready for patrol–”

“Robin!” Bruce exclaimed, and Dick’s mouth clamped shut. “Listen to me, you can’t-”

Suddenly, a yellow blur entered through the med bay’s doors and landed on top of Dick’s lap, knocking the air from Dick's lungs.

“Oh my gosh, Dick. You’re okay! I was so worried. I didn’t get a single text, call, email, M'gann Message, or anything. None of the team had heard from you. Two days!” Wally’s words flowed faster as the speeder’s voice grew more animated, hands flying over Dick to assess the damage. “Then I remembered Alfred’s in-case-of-an-emergency number,andI’mherenow. I’msohappyyou’realright!Don’teverfreakmeoutlikethatagainorIswearto-” 

Dick quirked an eyebrow as a fond smile lit up his face; Wally’s mouth froze mid-syllable. “Too fast?”

“With this headache and the number of drugs I’m surely on right now? Yeah, dude, it’s a little hard to keep up,” Dick grinned. 

Wally chuckled sheepishly with a slight pink tinge gracing his cheeks and muttered, “Sorry.”

“Don't apologize. It’s okay. Just happy you’re here.” Dick slung his free arm around the spry speedster to not aggravate his injured shoulder. The closest he could manage to an embrace. “Are you okay? The team? Any updates?”

Bruce cleared his throat, and Wally jumped off the bed in the blink of an eye. “Hello, Mr. Wayne, sir.” Wally smiled and waved at the butler in the corner, who had just brought in more cookies. “What’s up, Alfred?”

“Hello, Mister Wallace.” Alfred gestured to the fresh tray of cookies. 

Wally whistled. “You always know how to make me smile, Alfie.” Wally grabbed double handfuls of cookies and immediately shoved them into the physics-defying black hole anomaly known as Wally’s mouth.

Dick began giggling at Bruce’s look of utter disgust regarding the speedster's dietary actions, “Walls, please, I can’t handle laughing right now.”

“Well, I’ll try to tone down my natural charms from a ten to a nine, but don’t expect too much,” Wally teased as he hustled over to give Dick a fresh glass of water.

“Oh, trust me,” Dick shot back. “My expectations are always low for you.”

“Ouch! You wound me, Boy Wonder!” Wally laughed as he raised the glass to Dick's lips.

Alfred glanced between the two and leaned close to Bruce, “Master Bruce, what do you say in letting the boys have a moment? They seem a tad preoccupied with each other.”

Bruce stood but frowned. “Dick, will you be alright?”

“I’m feeling two hundred percent better already,” Dick stated confidently, wiping the back of his mouth with his hand. He stole a sideways glance at Wally, who was bringing the plate of cookies over to Dick’s side, before he smiled at Bruce. “Really.”

“Alright,” Bruce resigned. “If you need anything, just yell.”

“Will do.”

“Wallace,” Bruce met the speedster’s eyes and gave him a curt nod before making his exit.

Once the coast was clear, Wally flopped back up on the bed. Dick folded back the thin sheet, and wordlessly Wally crawled in beside him. “To answer your question, I was going up the wall-”

“Physically or metaphorically?” Dick interjected as fast as he could.

Wally fixed him with an unamused look, “Wow, Rob. That was so funny I forgot to laugh. You proud of yourself for that one?”

“Immensely. Don’t act like you don’t love it.”

Wally cleared his throat to try to cover the affectionate smirk creeping onto his face. “Anyway,” he started, louder than before. “I was ‘going up the wall’ because I was worried about you, and you have the audacity to make fun of me. The nerve,” he made a show of scoffing before Dick nudged him with his foot to go on.

“The team was worried sick, but overall, we’re good. As for business, just some simple surveillance. Nothing too crazy.”

Wally reached into one of his suit’s storage compartments along his forearm and pulled out his phone. “That reminds me, smile for proof of life!”

Dick rolled his eyes before Wally shoved a crumb-covered hand over Dick’s eyes, obstructing his vision. Dick instinctually threw up a peace sign from around Wally’s shoulder while Wally stuck his tongue out. Wally snapped a pic, assessed the photo, saved it, and sent it with the caption, “He’s okay! <3”

“There, now the team and Roy know you’re safe. Now, eat something before I finish these off.” Wally handed Dick one of the cookies, grinning at him with chocolate chip smudges around his lips and cookie crumbs in his teeth.

Distantly, Dick thought he could hear the heart monitor pick up.

Blüdhaven, New Jersey

03:19 EST

November 27, 2018

The rhythmic pounding of heavy boots upon flattened cement rooftops was occasionally interrupted by a swift leap or strike attempt at the fleeing gunman. The late autumn air cut like a Batarang in Nightwing’s face as he struggled to move closer to his mark. Dick front-tucked over a trash bin the gunman kicked over and attempted a dual eskrima strike to the target’s left side. However, the gunman tucked his knees in and rolled to the right without turning around. So, the two continued the fatiguing dance they had been performing for the past two hours. 

To put it frankly, Dick has had enough of it. He was to be at his civilian job with the Blüdhaven Police Department in less than three hours, with even less time to drink himself to sleep alone in his apartment.

Dick had been silently profiling the criminal during their trek. Nightwing observed an illegal arms cartel meeting when this guy appeared via motorcycle; his mark had thrown down a duffle bag containing assault rifles. As the cartel inspected their new toys, the guy suddenly drew his concealed handguns and began shooting the gang members with eerie precision: one to the chest, one to the head. Dick hadn’t stuck around to check on the gang and immediately pursued the lone gunman. 

Tall, masculine build, dark jeans, loaded thigh holsters, worn black boots, leather jacket, gloves, and a Kevlar chest plate. This crooked vigilante seemed to parry every blow Nightwing attempted. He seemed unconsciously in tune with Dick’s fighting style. What really threw Nightwing in a loop was that the guy had not said a single word, which might have to do with the light-up helmet he’d been running around in. 

It might have been the Gotham in him, but he was rather used to the “Let me tell you my fun little scheme, Boy Wonder. HAHAHAHAHAHAAA!” reaction. 

Better days, Dick thought solemnly with the bitter-tasting ghost of blood in his mouth.

Sometimes, he would hear his laugh echo throughout the recesses of his brain. His subconscious would then supply what he imagined as a young bird's last words over the echo of crowbar swings and maniacal laughter. “Why did you let me come alone?” “You were supposed to protect me.” “You never-”

Dick tried to shut the intrusive thoughts off as he felt his chest constrict. Where had Dick been when Batman called for backup? Why had Dick neglected his little brother, who said he needed help with a solo mission?

Off-world with the team instead of protecting his family. Before Dick knew it, he felt the overwhelming sensation of drowning. It accompanied the guilt he carried with every tragedy that he could have prevented.

Lost in thought, Nightwing faltered and stumbled over a pipe. Catching himself by locking the tip of his left boot underneath the pipe, Dick used his falling momentum to swing the other leg out to effectively trip the gunman. Seizing his chance, Dick launched himself and tackled the man, kicked his helmet for good measure, and managed to zip-tie his hands together. As the man groaned and kicked at Dick, Nightwing reached for the two guns holstered at the man’s sides. Dick unloaded one and tossed the gun to the opposite side of the rooftop. The other did not leave Nightwing’s grasp. 

Dick cleared his throat and took a step back, “Look, it’s been a long night,” Nightwing said gruffly with the gun trained at the man’s helmet. “I want to go to sleep, so give me a reason I shouldn’t hurry this up and put one of these through you.”

Dick stared into the helmet’s fluorescent white eyes as silence filled the air. Finally, the purp’s head looked skyward. “You’re bluffing.” Dick, mildly offended, knew he was bluffing but was annoyed that this random guy had just assumed he was. Despite this, Dick adjusted his grip on the gun.

The man tilted his head to the side. “If you’re so serious, you might want to turn off the safety,” the man spoke quietly with a slight metallic twang Dick assumed was an additional component of the helmet. “You masks are a whole lot more fun in Gotham. Ever thought about taking a trip outside the ‘burbs? You could probably learn a lot.” 

The guy was taunting him, but Dick didn’t respond. He slicked his sweaty hair back and subtly turned on a Kord Industries recorder he had inserted into an earpiece. “So, what ar-” Nightwing started.

“The old earpiece trick? Really?” The guy scoffed. “Puh-lease, that’s been a thing since I used to shove myself in spandex. Come up with your own source material, Jesus.”

That offhand comment was enough to make Nightwing doubletake. “What,” he demanded more than questioned. “You used to be a mask?”

The helmet bobbed up and down. “Had a cape and everything. I was a backup bitch back in my youth. Real cute, too.” 

Dick assessed that the guy must be lying. The voice behind the helmet sounded young, perhaps younger than Dick, but Nightwing knew of basically all the sidekicks and partners of League members. None of them matched this guy’s growing profile. 

“Who are you?”

“I’m just a guy. With issues. Trying to help clean up crime.” Dick could hear a fool’s smile in the man’s voice. “Like you, but I try methods that are a bit more… permanent.”

Suddenly, a large burst of flames appeared several streets down, followed by the familiar sound of mass panic. Dick glanced at the vigilante behind him and sighed. 

“Oh, my goodness, gracious!” The voice gasped in something akin to a Southern belle accent. “Sounds like you’ve gotta go, Hero. I’ll just wait here.” The gunman hummed as he picked his leg up and shook it as though he was waving goodbye.

Possibly against his better judgment, Nightwing quickly zip-tied the vigilante’s ankles and pursued the fire. When he glanced over his shoulder, Dick could see the illuminated eyes of the red mask fading as they were consumed by darkness; free once more.

Gotham City, New Jersey

04:31 EDT

October 17, 2012

The medical bay was dark and quiet except for Dick’s heart monitor, some movie Dick was half-paying attention to on his phone, and Wally’s muffled snores against Dick’s good shoulder. 

Leave it to Wally to fall asleep an hour into the movie he hasn’t shut up about wanting to see. 

The speedster had fallen asleep about twenty minutes ago, and Dick had to carefully reach for Wally’s phone without waking the sleeping redhead. He used Wally’s phone to text Iris West-Allen that Wally was sleeping over, and Dick was now texting Roy whilst pretending to be Wally. 

He had Roy going for a solid half-hour before Roy finally figured out it was Dick. He beamed at Roy's message that popped up on Wally's screen — You can't blame me for not realizing it sooner. You two have a permanent residency in each other's brains. Just assumed Wally absorbed even more of your personality. 

This was familiar. This felt right. Wally burrowed into his shoulder for a late-night movie, as warm and comforting as sitting in a pool of sunlight. Roy joking around with him like things were normal, before everything became so messy.

If Dick closed his eyes and concentrated just so, he could almost imagine this was just another night for the three of them — just like when they were kids. Wally, early for a sleepover in Robin's room at Mount Justice, yet still the first one asleep. Roy, late as ever, but bringing all the junk food that Alfred would disapprove of. Wally would just so happen to wake up right when Roy arrives. Dick, simply happy not to be alone, declaring that the night had only just begun.

A soft knocking interrupted his daydream just as his phone speakers yelled a series of expletives. Dick had a momentary heart attack that Alfred may have heard before responding, “Come in.”

Bruce stepped through the door frame and was silhouetted by the hall light. Thanks to over five years of night patrols, Dick could easily distinguish his facial features. Bruce did not appear all too pleased, but Dick was used to that. Beyond the typical neutral face of displeasure, he saw that his mentor looked tired, haggard even. 

Whenever Bruce was sporting this face, Dick knew the conversation wasn't going to end well for him.

“I see Wallace made himself comfortable,” Bruce commented.

“Well, yeah, he’s just being a quality best friend, and besides, Wally’s the most frequent guest I have had over.” The “I don’t see what the problem is, Bruce” was explicitly heard in his tone.

“Dick,” Bruce breathed out heavily from his nose. “I have no qualms with Wally. He’s not even a part of the issue at hand.”

“Then what’s wrong?” Dick asked, blunt.

“Like Alfred said,” Bruce spoke slowly. “You scared us. If that bullet hit a few inches…”

“No!” Dick hissed. “You are not benching me because of this.”

“I know you’re upset, but you don’t get to tell me what I can and can’t do.”

“Well, I’m almost sixteen. Are you really going to treat me like I’m ten again?”

“You needed a break back then after what Dent did to you!” Bruce retorted, voice rising.

“So, how long then? How long do you want me to stop this time?” Dick’s fists clenched around the bedsheets, and tears began to prick his eyes.

Miraculously, Wally had yet to wake as Dick sat up in bed.

“Indefinitely,” Bruce stated.

“Indefinitely?” Dick whisper-cried. “That’s as good as never! What about my responsibility to the city of Gotham? To the team? To you? We’re the Dynamic Duo, and you’re gonna bench me?”

“Dick, when the Joker,” Bruce’s usually steely voice cracked. “Shot you, I thought you died. You collapsed, and Jesus, there was so much blood.” Bruce stared at the wall as though rewatching the scene play out. “If benching you from your duties as Robin keeps you alive, then I’m more than willing to give up the Dynamic Duo permanently.”

Dick’s heart monitor was beating at a rapid pace until he finally detached himself from the monitor and IV. Panic rose up around him. No, he can't lose being Robin. He can't lose the last thing that was truly his.

“You know what, Bruce?” Dick crawled out of his bed as the blood from his removed IV started dripping down his arm. He stood opposite Bruce on the cold tiled floor. “Fuck you!”

Wally rolled away from Dick and mumbled, “Dad, stop yelling… just getaway.” Dick’s head whipped around and winced at the comment. But his gaze lingered on the speedster before it shifted back at Bruce, a dark glint in the young hero's eyes. 

Dick leaned over and shook Wally awake. The speedster flinched but then opened his eyes blearily. “Oh, good morning, Rob,” Wally said sluggishly with a soft smile.

“Wally, we need to go. We need to run up to my room and get as far away as possible. Right now!”

“Emergency?” That woke Wally up, and he immediately hauled Dick into his arms and sprinted to his room.

Before Bruce could even say, “Dick, wait!” the two had already left Wayne Manor as nothing but a shrinking blur in the dead of night.