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The rain was pouring down hard on Gotham’s streets. It drowned old newspaper and used cigarettes in ever-growing puddles of chilly water, and Robin had never been more glad for the lenses adorning his mask than he was at that moment, trying to swing from a rooftop to the next.
He scrambled for his line as the wind picked up, landing gracelessly in a particularly murky mess of water in the street below when his frozen hands could not hold his weight anymore. He laid there for a moment, the wind knocked out of him, desperately trying not to let the ball of frustration in his throat erupt in useless tears.
He’d fallen. Fallen. Fall. Fallfallfall.
He flexed his frozen, numb fingers, idly wondering how he’d make it to the Cave now that his grapple was swinging alone somewhere above his head, irretrievable in this weather. Out of reach.
Bruce was not going to be happy.
Then again, Bruce was not going to be happy about him going out against orders, anyway. At this point, what did it really matter?
Dick picked himself up, ignoring the painful twinges from his soon-to-be-bruises. No. He couldn’t leave his equipment in the field. He did need it to patrol efficiently and get home. As mad as he was at his guardian, rules in the field existed for a reason and it had been drilled over and over in his head that that reason was their safety. Forbidding him to go out tonight could be ignored since it was such a stupid decision, but being confined to walking, all the way through patrol and back to the Manor in full Robin attire was dangerous.
Besides, his dad always used to say that you couldn’t stay down after a fall, no matter how big or small, or you’d be too afraid to fly ever again. That the best thing to do was immediately get back up and back on task, because no little fall was ever going to stop Dick Grayson, right?
Robin scaled up the side of the building and leaped. His cape trailed in his wake like the drag of the big, yellow, spotlight.
‘Out of reach’ had no place in a Flying Grayson’s vocabulary. That wasn’t going to change tonight.
Not tonight.
If he could help one person tonight, just one, the whole evening would be worth it. Robin would be worth it.
He felt a small thrill of success resonate through him as he caught the line and swung, waiting until the perfect moment to release the mechanism, to free his grapple from the building. He landed hard on the next rooftop, tucking himself into a roll and springing back up into a few somersaults triumphantly, grapple in hand.
Dick bowed to an imaginary crowd, grinning.
Then he remembered where and when he was and felt his face crumple under the rush of emotions that came flooding back in. More water came cascading down his face and he angrily tore at his mask to rub it away with his cape.
He put his mask back on.
He needed a distraction. To be able to do what Robin had been created to do.
(Before Bruce came up to his room to check on him and discovered Dick wasn’t in bed like he was supposed to be. The man had tried his best all day. Cancelling patrol was still stupid.)
The very distinctive sound of glass shattering nearby caught his attention.
Finally!
He dropped silently down a gutter pipe onto a balcony and crept around the house’s corner to see what was happening below better.
A man was sliding out of a broken window, just above a jewelry shop. He was huffing pretty heavily, obviously not used to this kind of physical work. Dick had handcuffs and a police communicator. He’d done this a hundred times before. Usually with Bruce as his backup, granted, but he could handle this.
Dick jumped down behind the man, blocking his way out, while he was busy heaving a bag - a small one, but one that looked like it was either very heavy or in need of some careful handling - out of the window.
“Don’t move,” he said.
The guy spun around, startled.
Dick looked down the barrel of a gun for the entire second before the guy’s aim faltered.
“A kid?”
“Robin,” he said cheerfully. Well, as cheerfully as he could given what today was.
“Robin ? Robin’s real ?”
The man glanced around the alley, at his gun, then up at the surrounding roofs.
Then he smiled. It was not a nice smile.
Dick took on a fighting stance.
“Go home, kid.”
“Give me the bag.”
“Nope.”
“Give me the bag.” Dick asked again, taking a step closer. His attempt at intimidation was thwarted by the violent shiver that followed. The man’s forehead wrinkled.
“No can do.”
“I’m-”
“You what? You’ll beat me up?” The man was relaxing, now. Though he was still stealing the occasional glance towards the roofs. And still not pointing his gun at Dick. “Nope. I ain’t fighting back. You’ll have to beat up a unresisting citizen for a petty crime you have no proof they’ve committed. You sure you’re okay with having that on your conscience?”
He said that as he was clearing a large, dry spot of old leaves and various unidentified trash with his foot. Then he sat down smugly in the spot he’d just created.
Dick felt like he was about to burst out of frustration.
“Where’s Batman?”
“Here.”
“Hmm. Smart. But I don’t think so.”
They stood in silence for a long moment, Dick unsure as to what to do. Sure, the man was infuriating. But he wasn’t exactly a Zucco threat level. Dick had cornered him pretty easily. The guy had lowered his gun as soon as he’d seen him, and was pretty out of shape. Not a murderer, just a random thief. He couldn’t let him go. But he couldn’t exactly fight him either. It’d be too one-sided. And he’d done nothing to deserve it. Arresting and giving him to the police required proof, of which he had none.
He was hit by the memory of Bruce’s voice, soothing: ‘Sometimes you just have to give people a chance.’ He wasn’t sure who had said it first, him or Bruce. But it was something they both lived by.
Justice. Not revenge. Never revenge.
Dick sat, eyes trained on the robber in front of him.
“Go home, kid. Tonight’s not a good night to be out and about.”
“Crime doesn’t stop because of the weather. There’s always going to be someone I can help,” he argued.
“Yeah, sure. But anyone that can afford to do so and has a functioning brain cell stays inside in this weather. Pneumonia’s not any more fun for criminals than it is for anyone else, ya know? Gotham can survive you taking a night off.”
“You’re out here,” Dick pointed out, helpfully.
“Fu-rick you, kid.”
Dick giggled.
“Why did you do it?” He asked.
“What’s it to you.”
“You said that everyone that could stay inside would. So you can’t. Why?”
“None of your business.”
“We could help, Batman and I. You just have to ask.”
If Dick could save just one person tonight. If he could give just one person one more chance.
“You’re way too kind for your own good, kiddo. Maybe I enjoy being a criminal.”
Dick shrugged, wiping at the water cascading down on his forehead from his soaked hair. He drew his knees up to his chest, burrowing tighter in his cape when the wind picked up again. The man eyed him critically.
“You’re not about to freeze to death, are ya?” Dick shook his head. “Good. I don’t suppose you’re considering letting me go?”
Dick hesitated, then shook his head again.
They lapsed in another bout of awkward silence. It was broken by the sudden, but distinctive, roar of the Batmobile’s engine. Dick winced. That was Bruce’s ‘high speed’ mode. Either the city was about to blow-up, or Dick was busted now.
He used the criminal’s distraction to discreetly swipe the bag back. He hid it under his cape. Maybe he’d learn more about this guy’s motives like that.
He managed to hide it just in time, something the criminal suddenly seemed to realize they were running short on.
“D’you even have somewhere to go?”
“Do you?”
“Cute.”
Dick shot him a cheeky grin. Then tensed, when the sound of the Batmobile grew clearer, closer.
Definitely busted.
The criminal also tensed, frowning. Dick didn’t know why he hadn’t tried to bolt yet, but he seemed to hesitate.
“Oooh, boy, I’m gonna regret asking this. Is Batman forcing you to do this?”
Dick stared up with widening eyes, baffled.
“I promise you won’t be in trouble if you tell me, okay?
Dick blinked, still baffled.
“Aw, fu-crap. He is. And the GCPD’s working with the fuc-him. I really did not need to add kidnapping to my list of charges.”
“What?” He managed, as the man scrubbed a hand over his face and hair, muttering under his breath. Robin leapt to his feet, took a step back. “Kidnapping?”
That’s the moment Batman chose to tear into the alleyway, grip the man by the throat, and slam him against the wall.
“B,” Dick said. “B, stop. I’m fine. He needs help.”
Bruce let go, but still insisted on putting himself protectively between them.
“Kid,” the guy wheezed, looking at Dick. “Offer’s still open.”
Dick shook his head, and went to tuck himself under Bruce’s cape. It was freezing, raining, and that seemed to help his mentor relax some. A hand landed on his shoulder.
“You didn’t hurt him,” Bruce said, assessing. He leveled the intense eyes of the cowl on the man.
“What, I can’t have morals, now? Screw you, man. Not every criminal’s a scumbag, you know?”
In Dick’s personal opinion, the look of doubt that overtook Batman’s...chin – Whoever said Batman couldn’t communicate was wrong. The man was the master of micro-expressions. – was extremely unwarranted. Especially when you considered the number of laws they broke together every single night.
“I’m well aware. You can not deny, however, that many others would not hesitate to …hurt him.”
“Holy f- it speaks.” He took a second to compose himself. “Yeah. No, I know that. But then why the fuck are you allowing him to be out here?”
(Robins would recognize the way Bruce stiffened in that moment many, many times over the course of Batmen’s careers. At the time, however, Dick only looked up furiously at his guardian at the mere idea of Bruce trying to take this from him. He’d do it with or without Bruce’s approval. He would.)
“Ah. I see. Er– Good luck with that.” He was speaking again before Dick could question what he meant by that. “Doesn’t matter. Offer will always be open. What now?”
Neither Dick nor Bruce made any move to stop him when he started walking backwards.
“Wha- Really?” His brain seemed to catch up with his mouth. “Okay, then. Kiddo, you be careful out there, you hear?” He nodded at them and made to turn around, only stopping at the sound of Batman’s voice.
“The money and intel.”
“Worth a try.” He went to grab his bag. Startled when he couldn’t find it. “Wha-?”
Dick handed the bag to Bruce.
“You little-” He stopped, wilting a little under the strength of Batman’s glare. “Okay. Shutting up now. And not doing that ever again. Understood.”
Robin waved.
“Bye, mister criminal.
Bruce would later firmly deny having snorted at that.
"Good luck with the Riddler!”
“How did you even-”
Having just thrown himself in his arms, though, there was no way Dick could have missed the little sound of amusement. And with how tightly he was holding him back, there was no way Bruce didn't know that.
–––––
About a decade later -give or take a few couple of years- a graying man carrying two heavy shopping bags would open his front door to find Nightwing lounging on his couch in a ridiculously acrobatic pose, giving a verbal tour of his house to a wide-eyed, particularly scrawny Robin. Thankfully one that had finally seen the wonders of wearing adequate protective eye-gear, if still not pants.
“And this the house of Mr Criminal. He tries to pretend he doesn’t like me, but I know better. If you’re ever in danger and can’t get back to us, you can always temporarily hole up in here, okay? He won’t mind.”
“Oh, motherfuc-” The tiny Robin’s eyebrows rose. He took a deep breath, trying to calm down. “For the LAST TIME, kid, I have a name!”
“See, Robin? Very good at pretending. Ooh, you bought my faves!”
He regretted ever meeting the obnoxious little troll.
That said, the cereals were an acceptable loss. He didn’t even particularly like that kind.