Chapter Text
Bruce would say Dick is stable. Grounded. Consistent. A solid hand in the field. He shows up when asked, follows protocol, doesn’t question orders.
“He’s reliable,” Bruce once said. “He knows his limits.”
What he meant was: Dick doesn’t get in the way.
Barbara used to think Dick was charming. Too charming. He got by on charisma and instinct more than real depth. Helpful in the field, but unfocused. Emotional.
He used to hang around when she was still building the Oracle systems. Talked a lot. She doesn’t remember what about. Probably nothing that mattered.
She figures he just wanted to feel included.
Jason remembers the fights. Dick arguing with Bruce behind closed doors — loud enough to hear through stone. And still, somehow, he stayed the favorite. The good one. The one who left but never got blamed.
He’s always been the golden child. That’s the part that stuck.
Cassandra thinks she understands him. She’s good at reading people — movement, posture, silence. And Dick is always moving. Smiling. Laughing with his eyes.
But something about him never settles. Every time she thinks she has the shape of him, he shifts. Like water. Like smoke.
She’s starting to realize she might not know him at all.
Tim tries. He really does. He checks in, sends messages, makes space in his schedule for casual rooftop chats. But the timing is always off, and Dick is always busy, and the words never come out right.
He keeps missing something. He doesn’t know what it is. Only that it’s getting harder to ignore.
Stephanie never thought of Bruce as her Batman. Not really. That was Dick — calm, sarcastic, endlessly patient. He trained her. Believed in her. Never once looked at her like she didn’t belong.
It was her, Dick, and Damian against the world for a while. And that version of the world? She misses it.
Damian calls him Richard in front of the others. Sharp-edged. Respectful. Absolute.
But when it’s just the two of them — when the rest are gone and the mask slips — it becomes Baba. A word that carries weight no one else could ever understand. And he never says it twice.
Alfred watches from the quiet corners, like he always has. He sees what they don’t — the layers beneath the easy grin, the wear behind the eyes. The way Dick keeps holding things together with no recognition, no reward.
“He’s the grandson I never had,” Alfred once said. “And the only one in this family wise enough to make me tea without burning it.”
Wally never had to figure Dick out. He just got him, from day one. The rhythm, the sarcasm, the restless heart. They clicked before they understood why.
He sees the way the others treat him now — like background noise, like a spare part. It pisses him off more than he says. Because they don’t get it. Not like he does.
They don’t see the late nights, the cracked knuckles, the backup plans no one else knew they needed until Dick handed them over, already solved.
Wally’s never loved quietly. But for Dick, he learns how.
Donna sees the weight Dick carries — not because he shows it, but because he never lets anyone else feel it. He holds the team like he holds breath underwater — effortlessly, but only for so long.
She trusts him with her life. Always has. When Dick says he has a plan, she doesn’t ask what it is. She just follows.
Roy remembers the first time Dick pulled him out of a downward spiral. Didn’t yell. Didn’t judge. Just stood there with an open hand and said, “You done breaking stuff, or should I come back later?”
They’re both grown now. Both messier than they were. But when Dick calls, Roy answers. No questions asked.
Garth doesn’t speak often, but he watches. And what he sees is a leader who doesn’t need a crown, or a cape, or a title to command loyalty.
Dick walks into a room, and people realign without realizing it.
He’s the gravity. The current. The center of the storm that makes it survivable.
Kaldur grew into leadership watching Dick command a room without ever raising his voice. Calm, focused, quietly brilliant — not a commander by rank, but by presence.
There was a time when everyone on the team looked to Kaldur for answers. Kaldur looked to Dick.
When things broke apart, when secrets fractured the foundation, Dick was the one who put them back together. Not with orders. With trust.
Conner still remembers the day Dick called him “a good man.” Just that. No grand speech. No condition attached.
It was the first time someone saw more than the 'clone' label. Saw him for what he chose to be — not what he was made from.
That moment stuck. Still does.
M’gann once told Dick she wanted to be more human. He told her she already was. That empathy wasn’t weakness, and kindness wasn’t naivety.
He made her feel safe enough to stop pretending. That meant everything.
Artemis owes him more than she can say. When no one else trusted her, Dick did. She never forgot that.
He saw through the anger. Through the edge. He told her, “If you’re going to fight with knives, at least let someone teach you how to use them right.”
He never looked down on her. Never looked away.
Clark sees the way Dick moves through the world — light on his feet, heavy in impact. It reminds him of sunlight slipping through concrete. Soft, but unrelenting.
He’s always liked Dick. Trusted him. But he underestimated him once — years ago. Only once.
He never made that mistake again.
Diana respects warriors. She respects restraint more. And Dick Grayson has both in equal measure.
They’ve trained together. Sparred. Studied one another in silence.
She’s seen him disarm gods without lifting a weapon.
J’onn cannot always read him. His mind is guarded — not by walls, but by layers of practiced calm. He projects what others expect. Buries what he feels.
It’s not deception. It’s defense. Beautifully constructed, heartbreakingly quiet.
Hal once called him “Junior” — teasing, casual. Dick laughed it off.
Then he watched Dick plan a mission in five minutes flat, redirect two Lanterns mid-flight, and execute a zero-casualty extraction while bleeding through a fractured rib.
He hasn’t called him “Junior” since.
There’s a reason they send Batman to lead teams, but ask Nightwing when they need someone to bring them home.