Chapter Text
I remember what happened, not when. I must have been about sixteen. It was an average night, maybe three in the morning. After returning from another school-night patrol with Bruce, typing up reports, and shutting things down, I found myself staring at a wall of blackened screens. B, sensibly, had gone and showered for an early meeting at Wayne Industries mere hours away.
I had school in the morning. I had a test, as I recall. Anyone with sense would sleep. Or study. Or something. All I could think about, though, was the echo of some two-bit henchman’s voice in my head. “Look, it’s the baby Bat.”
This kind of thing didn’t often shake me. I’m not exactly the delicate type.
This night, though, I looked into the reflections of my own eyes in the black of the monitors. A dozen versions of me stared back like funhouse mirrors. Like parallel dimensions. Like possible futures.
Which would I be?
A baby Bat. Destined to grow into the full thing. One of the me’s in the reflection. Would I grow up to be Batman?
Over these years, I had changed as B had -– grown colder. I wasn’t the twelve-year-old doing cartwheels down the manor halls anymore.
Standing next to my team, even, next to the Titans, I could see that more than ever. Often, I was the serious one, the quiet one, the methodical one. When had that happened?
I loved Bruce. He saved me, much as he said that I saved him. We worked together on almost a telepathic level, knowing each other from the inside out. I knew Bruce, his vices and virtues. I knew his goals, motivations, and ambitions.
I knew what ate him up in the quiet and the dark. I knew what psychological meat grinder he threw himself into each night and why. Because I knew Bruce, I loved him, but I couldn’t be him. I wouldn’t be him.
But, all the same, was I destined to be the baby Bat that grew into a Batman? Could I stop it even if I tried?
I jumped as I felt a hand land on my shoulder. I turned to see the deep shadow of a concerned line above Bruce’s ice-blue eyes. “Dick? You haven’t showered or changed.”
I shook my head and he let his hand fall away. I missed it immediately. When was the last time he gave such a casual touch? I pushed away a memory — younger me, laughing, Bruce playing, smiling. Not now.
I put on a nonchalant tone. “Sorry, B.” I stood and swung the cape off my shoulders and over the arm of the chair. I broke away from him toward the showers. “Just planning who I’m going to be when I grow up.”