Archive of Our Own ^beta

Dick doesn’t understand comfort. Even the word feels weird in his mouth, the texture and taste of it on his tongue is foreign to him. He’s never been comfortable, never drawn comfort from simple things. Growing up in the circus wasn’t comfortable, it was cramped and over-populated and stifling. Full of early mornings and exhausting routines practiced for hours at a time. He didn’t find comfort in those things, they were just part of his day. It was his home and then it was taken away from him in a moment, he can’t seem to find comfort in that. Not even the memories, which always seem to be laced with pain and grief no matter how many years have passed.

Even in Gotham comfort was in short supply, Bruce didn’t seem to advocate it anymore than Dick wanted it. Comfort was for other people, people who lived safe and happy and whole, not for the boy with a heart full of grief and blood under his fingernails. Comfort was not for the boy raging against the darkness. It took him a long time before he even wanted to be there, to even think of Gotham as home, and even then it never really was. Gotham belonged to Robin, and Dick isn’t sure he wants to open those wounds now he’s finally left the Boy Wonder behind. Because Robin didn’t fix anything, not like Dick thought he would, not like Bruce promised he would. Robin wasn’t comfort, wasn’t safety or shelter against the storm. Robin was the storm. Dick poured in every ounce of pain and anger and loss he had until Robin became a thing he barely recognised as himself and hated it when he could.

He never looked for comfort in material things or people or places. Those things were temporary, fleeting. They were fog on a mirror, slowly dissipating over time. Even in Detroit, his first home away from everything else was sparsely furnished and cold. He was hardly ever there, spending too many nights sleeping in his car hunting down child abusers, wife beaters, animal traffickers. Clinging to the uncomfortable, the things he couldn’t find any comfort in. Those things that kept him on the edge, one foot away from a fall or one foot away from solid ground.

Dick thinks comfort isn’t made for someone who lives a life after dark. Who thrives off violence and justice and something much sadder than that.

Comfort isn’t made for him.

But Kory, Rachel and Gar. They look for comfort in everything. In a million different ways.

In him.

He notices it slowly, piece by piece. The way Rachel seeks him out after a nightmare and throws herself into his arms like he can stop the darkness from claiming her. That’s comfort, something she finds in him that Dick doesn’t understand but is happy she has found it. It’s the way Gar follows along behind him when he’s anxious about something, a shadow, a constant. A reminder that neither of them is alone staring down the darkness, but together. That’s comforting for Gar, having a place to belong and Dick wants him to have that. To know that he’s safe here. Comfort is laced in Kory’s touch, whether it’s feather-light and absentminded, a hand on his cheek, a kiss to his shoulder. A token, a gesture, her way of assuring herself that he’s there. Everyone is alright. Sometimes it’s more deliberate, a hand slipping into his, her fingers carding through his hair, her lips on his. It’s something she’s actively searching for, claiming for herself and Dick lets her. Offers himself up to her because he wants to be what she needs, what she wants. He wants her to find comfort in him even if he cannot find it in himself.

Comfort is made for them Dick thinks, these bright and beautiful people who have suffered too much, endured too greatly.

And he wants to be able to provide it.

He works out pretty early on that the comfort they seek out in him is also subconscious instead of something he needs to actively think about. It’s something in his presence in their lives, a solid weight of assurance, a blanket of protection, like they can make a home out of the bomb shelter that feels like his heart. They stitch him back together, one knot at a time like it’s nothing.

But Dick knows it’s everything.

So, he does his best to embrace them. The changes they have made to his life and his heart, shaping something beautiful out of something that was once so damaged Dick wasn’t sure it would ever work again. But it does. With them, for them, because of them. His heart is full, open, beating. No longer a mangled thing in his chest but something purer and grander.

Because he loves them. Fiercely.

Like a forest fire, all-consuming and earth-shattering.

And when they find comfort in him, Dick can’t find it in himself to do anything else but be grateful that he gets to see them like this, love them like this.

He gets to be part of this family they’ve carved out of an alliance.

So, when he first notices his clothes go missing, he doesn’t think much about it. Doesn’t really wonder where they’ve ended up, just knows they’ll turn up eventually. He travels light, always has done and the total sum of his wardrobe can fit into a small carry-on bag. The basics, a few suits, some t-shirts, jeans, socks, boxers.

There’s a part of him that wonders if he was still rebelling against Bruce, the man who once gifted him an entire room full of clothes, all the latest styles and expensive fashions, rather than ask him personal questions like how is he feeling or what’s his favourite colour. Bruce buys love because he is no good at articulating it and Dick has always resented him for it.

He’s never taken much care over his clothes, they are all well-worn and brought cheaply. They need to be practical, serviceable, long gone are the days he spends dressing up as Bruce Wayne’s adopted son. So, he doesn’t much care when he can’t find the shirt he put in the wash last week or the socks he was sure he left in the bathroom to change into. There are four of them, all their clothes being lumped together to put in the wash (he thinks Gar separates them into sensible loads but knows no one else bothers) so they’ve probably ended up in the wrong room and will find their way back to him eventually.

That is until he sees Rachel stride into the kitchen one morning heading straight for the coffee.

Dick takes her in, from her bed hair to her sleepy eyes fumbling with putting sugar into her mug. He stops when he gets to her feet. A pair of thick black socks cover her toes, clearly too big for her small feet because they fall down, pooling near her ankles.

His socks.

He watches as Rachel finishes making her coffee, slipping across the floor in her too big (stolen) socks as if she can’t get enough traction. She looks a little silly, slipping across the floor to put her spoon in the sink before sliding her way back over to retrieve her coffee but she also looks younger than Dick’s ever seen her and that makes something lodge in his chest.

She takes that first sip of coffee and Dick watches her eyes close at the taste hitting her tongue. She always does this he knows, savours that first taste in a way he’s forgotten how to. For Rachel, that first morning coffee is a simple wonder of her day, a moment of bliss despite whatever else is happening. Dick feels his heart clench at the sight, even though he witnesses it every morning. There is just something about Rachel taking comfort from her morning coffee that brings out a smile in him.

Maybe, just maybe he thinks, the horrors she’s faced hasn’t stripped away everything of the girl she used to be.

He hopes there’s something of that little girl left in her, wants her to have something she can claim as a survivor of her past.

In the end, he doesn’t mention the stolen socks on her feet. She takes a seat beside him and reads the paper over his shoulder like she’s older than she actually is. Dick tries not to smile at the way her feet swing out from her stool every now and then, socks slipping even further off her feet. He pushes the paper closer to her so they can share it, a silent action that carries the routine of a hundred mornings they’ve spent together.

Gar and Kory will join them, making more noise as they grumble about how early it is (it’s not) and how hungry they are (Dick knows to have breakfast ready to go by the time they wake up so Gar doesn’t automatically start reaching for the pop tarts like it’s a reflex) and their little family will feel whole, sacred, right. They’ll laugh or tease each other over breakfast, Rachel will have too much coffee and leave to steal the first shower of the day because she likes the hottest water along with Kory who will end up claiming the shower after her.

When she leaves, Dick stares after her. His little girl in her cat pyjamas and his socks.

If his heart picks up speed at the thought, Dick pretends to ignore it and takes another sip of his lukewarm coffee.

Complicated feelings of the heart aren’t for family breakfasts he thinks, and he finds his feelings about these three get more complicated by the day.

Rachel never seems to return the socks to him and that’s okay. Dick doesn’t miss them. Then he comes back from erranding errands one day to find Rachel curled up on the couch with a book, wearing his hoodie. One he hasn’t seen in weeks and suddenly he understands why.

It’s too big on her, swallowing her fingers in the cuffs and acting as a blanket as she tucks her knees up under her as well. The dead giveaway that it doesn’t belong to her isn’t about the size though, it’s the colour. The hoodie is maroon, and Dick knows if he looks closer there will be a hole in the left sleeve where he once caught it on a batarang in training.

Rachel never wears red.

It stands out amongst the blacks and blues of her outfit like a signpost, yet he finds it suits her more than it ever suited him.

Dick wonder if that’s how these things work. Things that he never understood finally making sense in his head, things he thought were wrong suddenly gaining meaning in the context of his family. A red hoodie, a relic from a life he no longer wants, finding new meaning wrapped around the girl he loves as his own daughter.

That simple and that complex.

“Nice hoodie.” He comments with a smile, can’t help himself from drawing attention to it.

Rachel looks up from her book, pulling it tighter around her body, “It was cold. Do you mind?”

Dick shakes his head, “Not at all.”

“I should have asked but you weren’t here and…”

“It’s fine, Rach. Keep it.”

She bites her lip, holds up her book to him, “Want to come read with me?”

He smiles then, makes his way over to her and knows they’ll spend the rest of the afternoon curled up on the couch together until dinner, taking it in turns to read their favourite parts to each other. Dick will find himself wrapping an arm around her, kissing her hair, and wondering if they’d have done this if he had the chance to know her when she was little. Practicing her reading together, bedtime stories. He hopes they would, wants more than anything to have known her back then, given her a life better than the one she had. But he can’t change it now, so he holds her close and savours this time they have together, sharing their favourite scenes in matching hoodies (hers red, his grey).

When dinner comes around and they finally move Rachel pauses to look at him, “It makes me feel safe.” She offers, gesturing to the hoodie, “I know it seems silly.”

He shakes his head, “It doesn’t. I’m glad.” He smiles, tugging the hood up to cover her hair, “I don’t mind.” He reassures her again.

And he doesn’t. He really doesn’t.

Because Rachel put it on knowing it was his, feeling safe enough to do it without asking him. That fills him with something warm and achy in his chest.

Later on, when Dick thinks about it again, he’ll understand it as comfort. He’s comforted by the fact she’s comforted by it. A piece of fabric, a brandless hoodie that he’s had for years.

It will take him longer to realise the pattern that goes along with his missing hoodies, all of them ending up being requisitioned by Rachel at one time or another. She steals one to wear after a nightmare. Dick will learn to spot the trend, the little signs. The way her eyes look darker as she shuffles into the kitchen in the mornings, the way she’ll be quieter over breakfast. She’ll take longer in the shower on those days and often gravitate towards him in the afternoon, if not to talk (although sometimes it’s to talk) then just to be comforted by his presence.

And she always ends up wearing his hoodie by dinnertime. Dick isn’t sure where she finds them, whether she grabs them fresh out the laundry pile or rummages for one in his wardrobe. He finds he doesn’t care either way, if they help her then he never wants them back. He’ll keep buying new ones and she can keep stealing them in an endless cycle until they’re drowning under the weight of all these hoodies in the summer heat.

When Rachel does return them though, he always knows which ones she’s worn recently. He finds pencils in the pocket that normally belong in the crease of her sketchpad or paint on the sleeves from the times she has spent an afternoon painting.

Dick shrugs into one of his hoodies and catches a flash of yellow paint on the right cuff and finds himself smiling down at it, his fingers brushing over the dried stain. The clash of colour on the fabric. A sign that Rachel had stolen it for comfort.

It makes him giddier than it should, it’s just a paint stain on a sleeve after all, but Dick finds he can’t bring himself to even try to wash the stain out with Kory’s stain remover soap. It’s a physical reminder that for all the wrong he’s done; this is something very right. What he is to these kids, a source of comfort and protection, it’s the best thing he’s done in his life.

He’s comfort, even though he struggled with the concept before, he understands it in Rachel, in Gar and Kory. He feels honoured by the fact and scared by it.

Dick’s second biggest fear after losing them becomes not wanting to let them down.

He’s never had that before, people he wanted to do better for, be better for.

Sometimes, when he feels himself sliding, he catches the smatter of colour on the cuff of his hoodies. Sometimes yellow, or blue, or purple, or green but always there. He sees it and his world rights itself again.

This, he thinks, this is what he takes comfort in.

It takes him longer to figure out with Kory, seeing her in his t-shirts have become a new sense of normal for him. A level of intimacy they share that reminds him how lucky he is to have her, have this. Kory hates sleeping without clothes on, something he realised after the first time they slept together. Now, he knows not to throw his t-shirt too far away when she takes it off him, keeping it within reach at the side of the bed for Kory to slip into before they fall asleep.

She looks better in them than he ever did, the worn fabric looking cosy and soft against her skin. It’s not about comfort he thinks, but practicality. His shirts are closer, bigger, better for sleeping in. But as with most things regarding Kory, she manages to completely prove him wrong without even trying.

He gets back home after spending a few days in Gotham, even now he hates going back but Bruce insisted and when that failed, Alfred insisted, and no one says no to Alfred. Dick didn’t want to bring the kids to Gotham, doesn’t want them to see the place that birthed Robin. To realise what he had become before them. They have already seen enough of that to last a lifetime and Dick is determined not to go back to that.

So, Kory agrees they stay home and Dick heads to Gotham alone. He can tell she wants to go with him, wants him to have someone to lean on. He loves her a little bit more for that but part of him wants to do this by himself. To prove he can, that he isn’t weak. That Robin doesn’t define him anymore.

But coming home to them is a relief Dick can’t even put into words. The way everything from Gotham falls off him as soon as he reaches the front door.

He’s home.

It’s late and everyone is asleep when he gets in, but he makes his first stop at Gar’s room, tucking the boy in and kissing his forehead before moving onto Rachel’s room and doing the same. It’s still weird to him, how easily these little moments come to him. He was never any good at family before them. Now, he thinks he could chisel down to bone and find these kids embedded into the marrow. That’s how ingrained they are to him now, how much this little family has fused into his very being.

They don’t wake up and Dick lets them sleep, padding along the corridor to the room he shares with Kory.

They didn’t plan it, sharing a room. It just happened, her clothes merged with his. Her side of the bed cluttered in hand cream and hair bands marking her presence there. A life being shared, as simple as two toothbrushes sitting together in their ensuite bathroom.

She’s asleep as well but she’s left the lamp on, knowing Dick was heading home when they last spoke on the phone. Kory sleeps on her side, curled up with a hand shoved under his pillow that she’s stolen and moved slightly over to her side.

Dick smiles warmly at the sight, then he catches what she’s wearing. His grey t-shirt and a pair of his boxers, her long legs peeking out from under the blankets despite the weather being balmy rather than hot.

He’s been gone for two days and that means Kory make a conscious choice to wear his clothes to bed, not out of practicality or convenience but something much more emotionally based than that. She missed him.

There is a part of Dick that still can’t believe he gets to have this, but here Kory is, in their bed, wearing his clothes. A neon reminder shouting at him that even if he doesn’t think he’s worthy of it, she does. She’s seen the darkness in him, the way it rises and surges and takes over when the kids are in danger, when she is. She doesn’t shy away from that darkness, why would she? She burns fire, pure light filtering out of her like she’s the fucking sun, if there’s anyone doesn’t run from darkness, it’d be her.

Dick thinks they’re perfect for each other in that sense, his shadows, her light.

She’s a lot more complex than that he knows, her own darkness weighing her down like an anchor. Kory is just better at hiding it, fighting it, than he is. What she recognises him in, she first saw in herself. Maybe that’s why they work together, they both know suffering but neither makes excuses for it. They don’t pretend it’s right or just or some sort of cosmic balance sheet.

She stirs a little in her sleep, like she can sense his presence and Dick can’t help but take the last few steps closer to her, sinking down to perch on the edge of the bed and reach out a hand to touch her, fingers against the soft curls of her hair.

She’s real and solid under his fingertips and he wants to laugh at himself because what was he expecting? Her to disappear as soon as he touched her?

Kory sighs, “Dick?” She doesn’t open her eyes but her voice is sleepy, and he can’t help but tuck her hair behind her ear and over her shoulder so he can take a better look at her.

This woman.

In that moment Dick thinks she would have made an excellent Queen for Tamaran, the type men would go to war for rather than against. He would. Without a moment’s hesitation. Pledge her his life, his sword, his body. Whatever she wanted. Kory could conquer the world with nothing more than her starfire and a smile and the world would probably thank her but Dick is happy (a little selfishly) that he doesn’t need to share her with the world because she chose to be here. With him and the kids.

This should-be Queen.

And they aren’t there yet, wherever there is. They are still finding their way, to themselves and each other, but they are solid. Dick knows that, feels it down to his core. Sometimes he stumbles, still asks her if she’s sure before they have sex, feels a moment of anxiety before grabbing her hand but then he remembers she chose him. To build this life with, have this family with and everything else fades into the background like static on a television.

“Dick?” She mumbles again, a little louder this time and finally opens her eyes to see him staring down at her with a wistful smile.

He’s taken too long to reply, too busy caught up in her presence in his life. Dick runs a hand from her shoulder down her arm, meant to be reassuring and feather-light.

“Hey.” He smiles softly, his tone low, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

And he really didn’t but seeing her like this, sleepy and comfortable with him will forever be one of his favourite things. One of the many sides of Kory that he gets to discover and cherish.

She hums gently, “I missed you.”

Dick thinks his heart skips a heart. He feels his shoulders sag, tension pouring out of him at the statement, “I missed you too,” He tells her in a rushed breath, “More than you can imagine.”

Kory tugs at the edge of his jacket then. One sharp pull of the fabric towards her, her intentions made clear without words. Dick relents happily, flopping down beside her on his back until her forehead is pressed against his arm and the pillows under him rest at awkward angles because she took them from his side.

“You stole my pillow.” He smiles despite himself, trying to keep his feet off the bed so his boot don’t press mud into the blankets.

Kory wraps an arm around him, pulling herself onto his chest so she can nestle her head against his collarbone. Dick adjusts quickly, one arm curling around her to press her close enough than he can smell her shampoo. Vanilla and coconut. The one resting in the shower next to his own.

“It’s okay, you can have it back.” Kory mutters, “I found a better one.” For emphasis, she rubs her cheek against his chest as she gets comfy.

“And what about these?” Dick asks, hooking a finger into the waistband of her stolen boxers and snapping the elastic lightly against her hip.

“You should know by now that your clothes are fair game.” Kory tells him and he doesn’t need to look down to know she’s smiling.

He chuckles, because he does know that, they all steal his clothes even though he barely has a wardrobe full. Kory has most of the space in their closet and Dick’s never really seen the need to buy more when the ones he has are fine.

Then he gets it, comfort. Kory lets out a sigh against him, like she’s finally relaxing again now he’s home and he wonders just how worried she’s been while he was in Gotham. Clearly worried enough that putting on his clothes helped her, he didn’t realise his trip down memory lane would affect her this much on his behalf and suddenly, Dick is overwhelmed by the sense of love he feels.

“Well, I guess I’ll just have to stay home next time to make sure I get all my clothes back.” He tells her.

At the mention of his trip Kory seems to wake up a little more, “How was it?”

“Hard.” Dick replies, “But I’m back now.”

He doesn’t want to think about it, the way every street in Gotham seems to haunt him even now. The way every alleyway in his mind is still painted red with blood. Every siren a call to arms. Gotham feels like echoes of his pain, his grief and being back there even for a few days was enough to remind Dick how far he’d come. The kind of person he wanted to be and the kind he absolutely didn’t.

“The kids are planning a breakfast surprise tomorrow. Pancakes.” She tells him, “They’ve been practising for days. If I even have to look at another pancake after tomorrow…”

He kisses the top of her head, can’t hold himself back and Kory relaxes again, “I’ll eat my share and yours.” He bargains, happy to be back to this life of breakfasts and kids and laughter and pancakes.

Kory doesn’t respond, just curls herself around him a little more until he isn’t sure whether she’s holding him or he’s holding her. Maybe they’re just holding each other. He toes off his boots awkwardly, letting them thud to the carpet below to be dealt with later and shifts a little so the pillow beneath him isn’t weird pressing into his spine. He hasn’t bothered to take off his jacket and right now, Dick doesn’t really care.

He thinks Kory must be asleep again, her breathing slow as her body rises and falls against his own and this is all he could possibly want.

These little touches of home.

This is what he takes comfort in, their home, this precious thing like glass in his hands that’s so much stronger than it looks.

Not in the place, the walls, and the roof, but in this family. They’re his home, that’s what he takes comfort in.

The fact that he’s finally back where he belongs.

He doesn’t need to be a genius to figure it out with Gar, the boy isn’t subtle about reappropriating Dick’s wardrobe for his own comfort, it just takes him longer to understand the reason behind it.

When he does, he can’t bring himself to mind.

Every now and then, Gar has days where he seems to move a mile a minute, always searching for things to occupy his time or distract him. Dick doesn’t comment on it, he understands the need to keep busy. But on those days, Gar will always head out to grab them lunch from a nearby coffee shop rather than them cooking something.

Dick just thinks he wants a few minutes outside, away from them, to remind himself he’s okay. He’s safe.

When he comes back, holding two brown bags of food, he’s wearing Dick’s jacket. The leather one that he hasn’t seen in weeks and now he knows why. It fits Gar a little better than Dick thought it would, the boy must be growing even now, but still hangs a little oversized on his frame, so Dick instantly knows it isn’t his.

Gar doesn’t say anything about it as he opens the bags, passing out salads, muffins, and sandwiches, pushing the long sleeves up his forearms to be able to use his hands.

Kory notices it as well, coming over to take the muffin Gar is offering her with one hand and straighten the collar of his stolen jacket with the other.

 “A Mini-Grayson in the making.” She tells him softly, kissing his cheek before taking a bite of the muffin.

Gar blushes, shifts his feet uncomfortably and makes eye-contact with Dick for the first time as he offers him one of the sandwiches from the bag, “I should have asked…”

Dick shakes his head, taking the sandwich, “You don’t need to.”

And he doesn’t because eventually Dick figures out why Gar likes to wear his jacket.

In happens one night, Dick wakes up in search of a glass of water only to find Gar sitting in the dark on the couch in his pyjamas and his jacket, hands clutching the sides of the leather near his collarbones.

Dick pauses, “Gar?”

The boy turns to face him, not expecting to be caught at this late an hour, “Nightmare. Sorry. I’m fine.”

Except he isn’t fine. Dick can see the way his shoulders heave under the jacket, the panicked look in his eyes. He forgets about the water and heads to the couch, perching himself at Gar’s side.

They all get nightmares, Gar most of all, and Dick doesn’t want to think about the trauma he endured at the hands of The Chief because otherwise he gets nightmares about it himself. But he understands what this is, the feral look in Gar’s eyes. Fear.

This thing Gar can’t run from, can’t seem to fight, can’t seem to be free of. An endless battle with his own mind, and that is something Dick Grayson knows a lot about.

“Want to talk about it?” Dick asks, knowing that he might not. Knowing these things are harder to say, even in the dark. Especially in the dark.

Gar shakes his head, “I just…” He grips the leather tighter in his hands, “I just want to stop seeing it. Him.”

Dick wants that for him as well, but he knows time is the only thing that’s going to make that happen and that’s not something he can give right now.

“The jacket helps right?” He asks, “That’s why you’re wearing it.”

That’s why he always wears it on days when he wants distraction, to keep busy, it’s another shield against the dark, the nightmares, the memory. Armour disgusted as leather whereas for Dick, it’s only ever been a jacket.

Gar looks down at the brown material, “When I’m scared, after a nightmare, I ask myself “what would Dick do?”” He sighs, running a hand through his hair, “You wouldn’t let him win, you’d fight. So, I want to fight too.”

Dick nods, understands the weight of this, the comfort of a single jacket to a boy who’s survived so much.

“So, lets fight.”

Gar sighs, “I hope I turn out like you one day.”

And there it is, the thing Dick is most afraid of because he doesn’t want Gar to be like him one day. He wants him to be better. He already is, in so many ways Dick failed at. Wearing his jacket allows Gar to channel himself the way Dick would, fight and defend and never stop fighting. Maybe he needs that, maybe one day he’ll outgrow it and become more than Dick can even imagine. But for right now, he needs this.

“That jacket was one of the first things I brought after leaving Gotham. I didn’t take a coat with me and in Detroit there was snow. It felt like the first step to starting over, being someone new. Not letting the darkness win.” Dick tells him gently, “You should keep it.”

“No, I didn’t mean… I was going to…” Gar trails off.

Dick shakes his head, “I want you to. Think of it as a present. I have other jackets.”

Gar curls the jacket tighter around himself, “Thank you.”

Dick can’t begin to know the struggles Gar is wrestling with, knows the boy hasn’t told him everything and maybe there’s a reason for that, but if this is how he can help remind Gar he isn’t alone in this fight then he doesn’t mind in the slightest. He reaches out with a hand, grabbing Gar’s fingers and refusing to let him go. Gar curls his fingers around Dick’s, warm palm against warm palm.

If wearing this jacket, worn leather and a little too big, helps him find comfort against the dark, helps him with his anxiety of his past, then Dick doesn’t think it ever belonged to him. He was just waiting for the real owner to show up and claim it. It doesn’t fit him right yet, but Dick knows it will, maybe better than it ever fitted him.

Because this is the potential of the thing, the sign of hope. Everything Gar might grow up to be, grow into becoming, an endless possibility that isn’t defined by where he’s been.

To Gar, it isn’t just a jacket.

To Gar it’s a connection, to Dick, to their family, to a future brighter than the one he previously envisioned for him.

And Dick takes comfort in that as they sit and welcome in the dawn together, he takes comfort in the fact he can be this for Gar, for this family.

Because maybe he isn’t Robin anymore, and maybe he isn’t sure what it is he is becoming yet, but right now he’s this. This constant for his family, this comfort. And he’s never really looked for that for himself, never wanted it, or known what to do with it. Until now.

Now he knows for every moment of comfort he takes from Kory, from Rachel, from Gar. For every drop of love and support and light they give him, he’s going to find a way to give it back to them in return. In whatever way he can.

Whether it’s a hug, or a reassurance or a piece of clothing. Dick knows he’s going to live and breathe for this family, they are what he’s fighting for now.

And he takes comfort in that.