Story Synopsis: An epilogue for Battle for the Cowl. If Dick Grayson doesn’t become Batman or die, then what will become of him?
A/N: Most likely this will become non-canon come March. Special thanks to Erin and Kim for the beta-ering!
“Chasing the Moonlight”
The sunrise was upon him, even though it was still the dark of night. Sitting upon the hood of his father’s Ferrari, Richard Grayson overlooked the debris that was once Wayne Manor. Resting his chin upon the knee hitched on the car, he simply observed, his heart void of any feeling. In the dead of silence, he thought he heard an amused laugh, what a normal person would call a grunt, echo through the once lively home.
His father never laughed, per se, but to the ones who knew him best, a grunt was the equivalent.
Dick, on the other hand, was ruled by his feelings. Alfred used to say that the only thing more persistent in the world than Bruce’s mission not to feel anything was Dick’s mission to make him feel something, and like always, Alfred was right.
Dick eventually won the war.
But not every war could be won.
Not every war was so blatantly obvious.
The coldness of the winter night cut through his leather jacket and the sweatshirt underneath, and he pulled the outer clothing tighter around his body. The wind’s stinging slap momentarily dazed him but never distracted from the physical ache within. Not even the moon could comfort him in its light.
Even when he first saw it after the quake, he kept hope alive. He would know, he’d told Tim once. He’d know.
Frozen blades of grass crunched under boots, and Dick’s eyes snapped from the demoralizing home. A red duffle bag thumped onto the hood, and a boy in a polo shirt and leather jacket pushed back onto the metal, crossing his legs underneath him.
“You knew?” Dick asked, his eyes once more scarred by the bleak sight.
Tim Drake shared the same sight, the same tone. “Yeah, as the world’s second greatest detective, I knew.”
Dick raised his head to glare. Tim shrugged. “You’re the greatest now. I guess that makes me number two or at least number three.”
“The world is doomed.”
Silence, then an unblocked punch to the cheek. A bruiser no doubt.
“You should have told me, you jackass!”
Dick flinched when hit, barely moving when he spoke, “Yeah, I guess.”
“Were you ever going to tell me, or were you going to let Alfred do it between courses at dinner?”
Dick shrugged. “Does it matter?”
Now Dick understood how Bruce could have said those words to him when he lost himself after Vesper’s murder.
Tim sucked in a sharp breath. “Who am I speaking to?”
Dick raised his eyes to greet the endless moon.
“Dick, who the hell am I speaking to?”
The answer lay within the silence, and a second punch wetted Tim’s knuckled. “Answer me, damnit!” Another punch, more crimson tainting his immaculate hand. “Answer me!”
Dick
finally caught the third attack with his bare hand, but his eyes never met
Tim’s. “What do you want me to say? That in that moment, Dick Grayson didn’t
die like Bruce
“Okay…maybe…maybe I can see that,” Tim conceded. “After my parents died, I shut down, became like Bruce for a while, so yeah, I can at least accept that. But this? Letting everyone you know and love think you’re dead? How can you explain that? How can make the rest of us endure that, you sick bastard!”
“Because, like I said—” Dick raised his icy blue eyes, devoid of everything that made Dick Grayson himself. “—Dick Grayson is dead.”
Tim’s breath slowed until he simply huffed a breath or two every ten seconds, and he glared unforgivably at his older brother. “If that were true, then why the hell are you still here?”
That even Dick couldn’t answer.
“Why aren’t
you out there?” The boy threw a finger toward
“There’s nothing left.”
“To fight for?” Tim added.
Poor delusional kid. “No.”
There was no sigh, like Dick thought there would be, only an embittered growl and futile clenching of Tim’s fists. “I don’t think it was Bruce’s death that killed Dick Grayson. I think it was your failure to claim the cowl, instead forfeiting it to Jason Todd of all people.”
“He was trained by—”
“He’s also a psycho who kidnapped the Joker and tried to get Bruce to kill him.” Tim shook his head; his voice fell to a raspy condemnation. “I think you feel you failed Bruce, and instead of dealing with it, you just gave up.”
Dick tightened his arms about his leg, the coldness almost paralyzing him. “I didn’t forfeit to Jason. After I reclaimed the cowl from Elliot and the manor exploded, I gave it to him.”
Tim’s head shot up. “WHAT?”
“When The Gazette reported Dick Grayson was inside at the time, I figured it was for the best. He’s gone. Everyone should realize it.”
“Why?” Tim demanded. “Why does he have to be gone? He isn’t just Bruce Wayne’s son, y’know. He’s the most respected Titans’ leader.”
“Who was ousted because he was brainwashed by a cult-crazed maniac.”
“A member of the JLA.”
“Reserve member.”
“My big brother.”
A pang. “Tim—”
“I’m not going to say something lame like, ‘I already lost two fathers. I can’t lose a brother, too,’ but—just because you lost your father doesn’t mean that you have to lose yourself.”
“But…everything I am—everything I was…was because of Bruce.”
The moon drifted low in the sky as it began to set, and along the horizon a fine line of purple lighted with the dawn of morning.
They sat for a period of time before Tim ventured to ask, “So…if everything you are you owe to Bruce, and since he’s gone, there’s no Dick Grayson, does that mean there’s no Tim Drake? Or Alfred Pennyworth or Cassandra Cain or Barbara Gordon?” Tim snatched Dick’s shoulders and shook him hard. “Who am I, Dick? How am I still here?”
The gentle moonlight caressed their hair and cheeks, refusing to let go to the morning, and Dick averted his haunted eyes.
“I quit the
Teen Titans. Two good friends of mine are dead. My stepmother is still in a
mental hospital, doing God knows how poorly. My once-dead girlfriend and I no
longer click, and my big brother is going through an identity crisis. Hell, Tim
‘Drake’ doesn’t even exist anymore. I’m Tim ‘
“We’re defined by more than just one person. Yeah, I know Bruce had such a profound impact upon your life, upon my life, but it’s because of him that we persevere because he wouldn’t want us to die in his name. He’d want us to live.”
Dick
laughed dryly. “Then you seriously didn’t know Bruce. He fired me because I
wanted a life outside of
Tim returned the light. “Yeah, I guess that was stretching it a little.”
The moon clung to the darkness of the night and fought against the light of day.
“Your two best friends died,” Dick finally amended.
Tim shook his head. “I’m sitting next to my best friend.”
A moment.
“I should have known.”
Tim furled an eyebrow. “What?”
“I always thought I’d know the moment he was…When the time came and he would need me like I did in Arkham with Hurt—but this time, I didn’t.” Dick raked his fingers through his already disheveled hair and lowered his head. “God, Tim, I still don’t. He’s gone. I saw the body. I buried the body, and I still don’t feel it!” Raising his tearstained face, Dick beseeched, “Why don’t I? Why can’t I?”
“Maybe that’s the answer.”
Now, Dick’s face contorted, bewildered. “What?”
“Maybe you answered your own question,” Tim insisted. “Maybe you can’t feel it because there’s nothing to feel.”
Dick blinked for several moments before he sat back on the car, his arms behind him like pillars. He closed his eyes and savored the moonlight, no matter how weak it was, as it dried the tears upon his face.
“Dick…?” Tim asked.
“…Yeah?”
“You’re still with me, right?”
The warmth of the moonlight he could not ignore nor the bond he had forged with the boy next him—or the bond with a man that still had yet to be sliced. “…Yeah, I’m still here.”
“Good.” Tim smiled to himself. “So, we’re really doing this?”
Dick lowered his gaze to see the destroyed manor once more and then raised it to the moon disappearing in the rapidly lightening sky. “Are you sure about coming? I—”
“—didn’t want me to know because you were afraid I’d want to come along,” Tim finished with a feral grin. “Damn right, but just because Bruce isn’t here doesn’t mean there still isn’t a Dynamic Duo.”
Dick laughed lowly. “We were pretty good back then, weren’t we?”
“Always have been, always will be.”
“But where we’re going—”
“—no one can follow.” Tim smirked. “I know.”
Dick slid down the front of the hood to stand. “Do I want to know?”
Tim unzipped his bag and tossed the newspaper in front of Dick. “Early edition.”
The older brother’s hands hardly kept firm as he read the headline. “Latest Wayne Tragedy: Youngest Son Joins Father, Brother After OD’ing.”
Dick dropped the paper to see Tim avert his eyes and shrug. “I thought Steph would love the irony of it.”
“Does she—”
“No. No one does. Not even Alfred or Leslie.”
“They’ll know. This—This isn’t you.”
“I’ve lost a lot of people, Dick. I know where and even whom to get the drugs from. I acted high in front of Zoanne a few times and then planted heroin in my room at the manor. The body the police found has my DNA on it.” Tim once bright face fell into a deep frown. “They won’t.”
Dick let out a shivering breath. It was better they didn’t know. As far as Dick knew, they would never come back from this alive. It was better for their grandparents to think they were dead now than think there was a chance.
Dick dropped into the driver’s seat as Tim flung himself into the car and tossed his duffle into the back. “So where are we heading first, Mr. Wayne?” the younger brother asked.
Dick started the engine and gunned the accelerator. “I figured we’d start at the Oblivion Bar, Mr. Wayne. Maybe we can find out how magic works and if that can help us.”
“Where do you think he is?”
The innocence and hope of youth—was Dick ever that young?
What remained of the moonlight cast shadows upon the one majestic mansion, and yet, a ghost of a smile crept upon his face. Dick shifted the car into gear and winked at his younger brother. “I don’t know, but we’re going to save him even if we have to go to Hell and back to do so.”
Tim shared the smile. “Amen to that.”
The car’s tires squealed as they
rotated as if on ice before shooting off down the road. As the sun banished the
moon from the
Alfred Pennyworth smiled. “Godspeed, lads.”
The End
A/N: Just in case they kill Dick—I needed some closure.