Chapter Text
—
Leadership was never a position Nightwing actively sought out. His very early start in vigilantism meant the experience on his ‘Superhero Resume’ was always miles ahead of anyone else his age, or even older. It had just always been the logical choice.
That’s not to say he was bitter about it. Actually, it played well with Dick’s personality. The profound desire to protect his friends. The altruistic delight in fostering fellow allies’ potential. The incessant need for control.
Unfortunately, the traits that made Dick such an incredible leader also brought him the most suffering. Every error he’d made in the past still dragged its ragged claws across his psyche. You failed, they carved. Your negligence got them hurt. They almost died because of you. The words overlapped, building upon one another, permanent fissures haphazardly taped up and hidden beneath brittle tarps.
What will your next mistake be?
However, there is something else that shakes him to his core. Something even more horrifying than screwing up.
It’s when Dick Grayson does everything right, yet something still goes wrong. There’s no justification for self-punishment, no harsh lesson to learn from—just a cruel reminder of reality.
Bad things happen to good people.
And Dick blames himself anyway.
—
The antiquated chime of the manor doorbell echoed within the cave, and it was simply adorable how Damian’s demeanour instantly switched from attack mode to an excited kid anticipating a playdate with his bestie. Okay, maybe that was an exaggeration. Despite the youngest Robin trying to subdue such childish reactions (in Damian’s words), Dick could read him like an open book.
With a cheeky grin, Dick swept Robin’s legs out from under him. Damian landed on his side with a grunt, but did manage to use the momentum to rebound into a crouch.
“Don’t get distracted in the field,” Dick tutted, wagging his finger.
Damian scowled. “You said the spar is over when Jon arrives.”
“No, I said, ‘We can stop when Jon gets here.’ Can, not will. Semantics, little D.”
“You’re insufferable,” Damian rolled his eyes. “Seeing as Pennyworth is currently on a different continent, no one is available to open the door for Jon.”
Dick gave an amused snort and crossed his arms. “As if you haven’t snuck Jon into the Batcave through the cliffside tunnels often enough. Yeah, that’s right, Batman knows,” he teased as Damian’s eyes became shifty.
“I expected as such,” Damian puffed out his chest. “I’d be highly disappointed, otherwise.”
“Naturally. Go on then, call him through. B already updated the system to allow Jon solo entry.”
Damian turned his head to the side. “If you’ve finished pretending not to listen in, then get in here.”
Sure enough, within a minute, Jon swooped in and landed with a few short steps. He sheepishly scratched the back of his head. “Hi Damian! Hi Dick! Sorry for snooping, I got worried when I didn’t hear Mister Alfred inside the house.”
Dick couldn’t resist ruffling the boy’s windswept, fluffy hair. “No worries! Bruce estimated the mission would take about a week, so Alfred is on a much-needed vacation.”
“Only a week? Dad said they’d be away for two.” Jon questioned.
“Really? For once, Batman is the optimistic one.”
Damian tsked. “Father values efficiency over theatricals. He is making an educated assumption that the Guardians are the complete opposite of the JL’s Green Lantern.”
“That is a very rude and valid thing to say about Hal,” Dick chastised lightly.
“Huh?” Jon blinked, a little lost.
“We should resume training already,” Robin muttered, blatantly changing the subject. Damian was always testier whenever Bruce was away for a longer period of time. Again, open book. Dick resisted the urge to hug him, knowing Damian would not take kindly to it right now.
“Training,” Jon agreed readily. His intuition for when to follow Damian’s lead without question was as sharp as ever. “What are we gonna do today? A new combo?”
Dick walked to one of the tables to the side of the sparring area as he spoke. “Actually, this will be a special session specific to you, Jon. This type of situation happens to Superman more often than he’d care to admit.”
He picked up a small, compact metallic box and returned to the young duo.
“So, since you guys are officially benched from any Super Sons-related hero work while the Super Dads are away, I thought it would be a good opportunity for you to try out Blue Kryptonite for the first time.”
Jon blanched, pupils pinned to the black container. “Kryptonite?” he rasped. Next to him, Damian glared warily at the offending item, even stepping slightly in front of Jon.
The corner of Dick’s mouth twitched, but he continued. “Blue Kryptonite, no other variation. Your dad used to train with it, too. It’s proven to be completely safe and painless; it just temporarily suppresses your Kryptonian abilities, and only while you are touching it. Essentially making you fully human.”
Fortunately, his reassurances replaced Jon’s fear with curiosity. Damian remained stiff, keeping up the protective stance, but he stayed silent. Dick could empathise with Damian’s conflicted behaviour. On one hand, it was necessary to prepare for dangerous situations like this. Yet on the other hand, Damian was used to fighting alongside assassins, metas and fellow Bats. A defenseless Jon was far too breakable.
A light voice cut through his musings.
“Okay, I’ll do it.”
Dick perked up. “That’s the spirit! Don’t stress, today will just be a warm-up, get you desensitised to the feeling. Even Superman was like a newborn kitten the first time ‘round.” He turned his attention to Damian. “I want you to leave the sparring area.”
“What?!” Came the predictably heated response. “Do you think I cannot handle a depowered half-Kryptonian?”
“Yes, actually,” Dick replied coolly. “This is training for you, too. The only reason Batman and Superman approved of this was because I’d trained alongside them, when they used to do the same exercises. For now, I want you to observe. And I need Jon to focus without distractions.”
“I am not leaving,” Damian stubbornly stated, blatantly ignoring Dick’s entire spiel.
“Robin…” Dick warned with a familiar deep undertone.
Jon shuffled nervously and glanced between the two Bats as they stared each other down, but he was smart enough not to intervene.
“However,” Damian eventually conceded, jabbing a thumb at some large wooden crates stacked several feet away, “I shall relocate to a better vantage point for now.” Without waiting for Dick to agree, Robin effortlessly leapt onto the tower and hunched there like a little gremlin, hood up and everything.
Dick sighed. For one so critical of Hal’s eccentricities, Damian could be just as dramatic at times. Well, it was likely as good a compromise as he’d get from the teenager.
He redirected his focus back to Jon, who was obediently waiting with bright, trusting eyes. A tiny pang of doubt skittered across his heart. Would Jon still look up to him with that guileless expression after this?
The answer was obvious. Dick could break every bone in Jon’s body, and the silly child would still believe he was a good man. Too innocent. Too easily taken advantage of. At least Dick assured himself that Damian would only hesitate once before eviscerating him, if he ever went insane enough to try.
Dick lifted the box and twisted the small dial on the side. After he finished the rather complex combination, the lid unlocked with a click and flipped open. He showed the contents to Jon.
“A ring?” Jon peered at the unassuming metal. “I thought it would be blue.”
“The ring itself is mostly titanium, with the Blue K hidden inside. As a security measure, only the one wearing the ring can activate it, but anyone can deactivate it. You have absolute control. Don’t hesitate to turn it off if you need to, okay? I would rather we revisit this at a later date than you pushing yourself beyond your limits.”
“Okay,” Jon said, but Dick wasn’t so sure he would actually ever give up. Before, the ring’s deactivation was also restricted to the user. But there was one time when Clark trained to the brink of collapse, and he barely had the clarity to deactivate the ring. (Pulling the ring off without deactivation was near impossible.) Following that, Bruce immediately modified the mechanism to allow for external deactivation.
“Put the ring on any finger, and it will automatically adjust to the correct size.”
Jon slid the ring onto his left forefinger and watched in trepid fascination as the ring comfortably tightened into place.
“So how do I turn it on?” Jon asked.
“Tap the ring three times, then slide it clockwise. You can even do it with just your left thumb if you want. It detects your movements through electrical pulses and unlocks if it matches. Turning it off is the same, just sliding the opposite way. Any other questions?”
Jon shook his head, but then looked up at Robin. “You got anything, Dames?”
“Tch. Don’t forget I’m watching you.”
Apparently, the statement didn’t give Jon creepy stalker vibes, because he merely beamed in response and flashed an OK sign. His little Robin certainly had a unique way of conveying his support.
“Alright, whenever you’re ready, Jon,” Dick said.
Jon nodded, then fiddled with the ring. It was great to see only a bit of apprehension; it gave Dick confidence that the initial contact with the Blue Kryptonite would go rather smoothly.
That confidence evaporated in a heartbeat.
“Whoa!” Dick exclaimed when Jon staggered, almost falling backwards if Dick hadn’t caught Jon’s wrist. He pulled him upright and held on tight as Jon steadied himself, face pinched and pale.
“You alright there, bud?” Dick asked calmly, but the doubt had returned with a vengeance. This wasn’t how Clark had reacted the first time. He could only recall some wobbliness, but then again, it had been a long time ago… Clark would have warned him if it had been serious, right?
“Are you blind, Grayson?” And there was Damian, spawned beside Jon, gloved hand supporting his shoulder. “I knew this was a bad idea!”
“It was not a bad idea,” Dick retorted, exasperated. Then admitted, “But the situation has changed.”
Jon snapped his head up, which caused his knees to tremble. “Wait, I can keep going! I just hafta… get used to it.”
Dick frowned, taking in Jon’s appearance. He was practically colourless, shaky, and even had beads of sweat forming on his temple. But he did seem to be recovering slightly. Jon was attempting to pull away from Dick and Damian’s hold. Not succeeding, but an attempt nonetheless.
He carefully let go, and motioned for Damian to do the same. Robin deferred, albeit with great reluctance. Thankfully, Jon could stand on his own, but still seemed a little woozy.
It was an unexpectedly strong reaction, but the worst of it seemed to have passed. Still, the uneasiness in the pit of his stomach grew. Could the difference to Clark’s experience be age-related? Or was it due to Jon’s hybrid genetic makeup?
“How do you feel?” Dick asked, hoping it didn’t sound too much like an interrogation. The last thing he wanted was for Jon to lie in an effort to ‘pass the test’.
After a beat, Jon settled on, “Really tired. Is this what it's like to be human?”
Dick hummed noncommittedly. Perhaps the complete suppression of all alien traits, something Jon hadn’t ever experienced before, might have been especially jarring in comparison.
But then something caught his eye. In hindsight, it was impolite to grab Jon’s forearm without permission. But at the time, manners flew out the window as Dick hurriedly examined the marks circling Jon’s wrist. Against the pallid skin was a large handprint, fresh and vibrant red. His handprint, from when he’d caught Jon only moments before.
Dick knew exactly how much strength, how much pressure he applied. There was no way he could have used enough force to cause any damage. Yet the evidence of injury was right there. His ears started to buzz as blood raced through his veins.
Dick Grayson couldn’t fathom how, but he’d fucked up.
“We’re stopping here,” he gritted out, deftly switching off the ring and sliding it off.
“What? Why?” Jon cried in dismay. “It’s just a small bruise, isn’t it?”
Dick shook his head stiffly as he kept Jon’s arm raised, then let out a breath as the blossoming red swiftly faded. Jon was fine. The mark was gone, but they would need to figure out exactly why Jon had been hurt so easily when he lost his powers. It was certainly not his place to run any tests; that would have to be done by Clark and Bruce.
For now, no more Blue Kryptonite.
Seeing as Dick was too preoccupied to provide answers, Jon turned to Damian. “You get bruises all the time.”
Damian was also focused on the healed patch of skin, but still snarked back, “We can’t all have skin of steel.”
“So what’s the big deal?” Jon muttered, gloom seeping into his voice. “If you guys can handle it, then so can I.”
And now he was giving the kid an inferiority complex. Excellent job, Nightwing. He knelt and rested his hands on Jon’s shoulders, giving them a comforting squeeze.
“I have zero doubts you can handle it, bud. I’m just being cautious, as your body’s reaction to the Blue Kryptonite is a bit different from what I expected. Once your dad returns and clarifies some things, we can try again, okay?”
“Okay,” Jon mumbled, a bit subdued.
Dick gave a reassuring pat and stood back up. “I didn’t have a backup planned, so why don’t you two have a free afternoon?”
Jon blinked, then nodded, expression gradually brightening. “Dami, there’s an ice cream shop I’ve always wanted to try. Can we go there?”
“...Acceptable, but we’re taking my ride.”
Jon turned to Dick, “Do you wanna come join us?”
Dick waved them off. “You kids go have fun. I’ve been slacking on my police reports and need to catch up on them.”
Once the pair left, he slumped ungracefully against the crates. Jon was fine. Jon was back to his normal, super-powered, not-bruised self. Jon was okay.
He just couldn’t shake the cold tendrils of dread coiling down his spine.
—
Batman calculated correctly, to no one’s surprise. The conference had gone smoothly, and they managed to return to Earth within a week.
It had been several days since then. Dick Grayson was swamped with work in Blüdhaven, seeing as he’d taken leave for the days Bruce was gone (and he really had been slacking on those reports). Combined with his nightly Nightwing rounds, he didn’t have much time to question the radio silence.
He’d informed Batman and Superman about Jon as soon as they got back. Clark wasn’t overly alarmed, but he also agreed that it was unusual. They assured Dick that they would investigate the matter and keep him in the loop.
Apparently, that was a big fat lie, because the first one to reach out to Dick wasn’t Bruce, nor Clark. It was Tim. At four in the afternoon on a weekday, no less.
> hey
The one-word text was more than enough to raise a big red flag. He lurched out of his office chair and swiftly left the station, ignoring everyone’s concerned looks.
< What is it? You can’t just say ‘hey’ and expect me not to freak out Tim
> don’t freak out
< Not helping. Stop stalling
> okay. somethings up with the kents. theyre being hush about it, but I have an inside source
Something’s up with the Kents. Oh god. Jon. He knew it. He knew something had gone terribly wrong, and Jon was paying the price.
< What did Conner say?
> who said anything about conner?
< WHAT DID HE SAY
> he doesnt know much ok? just that somethings got the big guy rattled, and the kid is still at the fortress. I just thought you should know since B is also acting suspicious and thats just asking for me to snoop and snitch
So Bruce knew. That bastard. If he was trying to figure out how to soften the blow…
Dick immediately tried to ring Bruce, but the call ended a second later, and a text popped up.
> I’m busy.
< You better tell me everything right now, or so help me
A minute passed before the reply appeared.
> Not yet.
Dick wanted to scream.
< You can’t do this to me. I deserve to know what I did
> You aren’t responsible for this.
< Responsible for WHAT, Bruce? Do you even know what I’m thinking right now?
> Calm down.
< Bruce. I’m begging you to tell me what’s going on. I need to know
Another long, painful minute of silence.
> Let me talk to Clark.
Right. Of course he needed Uncle Clark’s permission. Gods, this was serious. Numerous possibilities swirled wildly in his mind, but Dick wasn’t brave enough to dwell on any of them for too long.
Another text pinged, but it was from Tim.
> you good?
< Not really
> damn, did you just confront B?
Dick reached his motorbike and hopped on.
< I’ll be there in 20
> are you insane? dont be dumb, just go the speed limit. he isnt even home
< Fine, be there in 40
> kay. see you soon
—
By the time Dick reached the tunnel entrance, the sun had just started to set, casting a foreboding haze through the foliage. The hidden barrier opened automatically at his approach, allowing him to blast through.
Tim was already waiting, arms crossed and leaning against the railing by the parking zone.
Dick didn’t bother to stop completely, just skidded around and leapt off the bike.
“He’s back?” Dick gauged from the rigid posture.
“Yeah,” Tim confirmed, keeping pace as Dick strode across the walkway. “The big guy, too.”
“Shit,” Dick swore, anxiety shooting through the roof now. Was he about to get murdered by a vengeful father? If something awful happened to Jon, he’d let Clark do whatever he wished.
“You told me the kid was fine when he left,” Tim stated, and Dick took it as an accusation rather than a query, even though logically he knew Tim didn’t mean it like that.
“I misjudged, and I’m about to find out how badly.”
“They didn’t tell me anything, but they weren’t angry, Dick,” Tim frowned. “You’re falling into the whole ‘I’m the worst and everyone hates me’ pit. You have to get all the information before spiralling.”
“I value efficiency,” Dick chuckled hollowly.
Tim just gave an exasperated huff as they entered the elevator. “Wonderful, you sound just like Damian.”
Dick gasped. “Damian! Where is he?”
“Missing.” His tone was aggravatingly nonchalant as he checked his nails. “If I had to theorise, I’d say the brat sneaked out last night, stole the Batwing, flew to the Arctic, and broke into the Fortress.”
“Jesus Christ,” Dick clenched his jaw. First Jon, now Damian. He’d truly failed as a mentor to the two children.
As they were about to walk past the kitchen doorway, Dick Grayson froze like a deer in the headlights.
“Hey there, champ,” Clark Kent greeted, voice subdued yet still undeniably kind. His comically large stature (barely hidden beneath an oversized plaid shirt and worn jeans) was seated at the kitchen island.
Dick couldn’t speak, could barely breathe. Dammit, he wanted Clark to be angry. To shout, berate, or hit him, anything but this. Like father, like son. He couldn’t handle it if Clark forgave him so readily after hurting Jon. He couldn’t.
“Tim, go upstairs.”
Oh, and there was dear old Bruce Wayne. Completing the sickeningly domestic roleplay performance with a grey turtleneck sweater and dress pants, and boiling a kettle of water.
Tim opened his mouth, but paused and glanced at Dick. He must have looked utterly pathetic, because his brother just closed his mouth, nodded, and left without argument.
Now it was just the three of them. Bruce looked expectantly at Clark, and Clark gazed patiently at Dick, but there was no way in hell he would be the first to break.
Clark visibly sagged. “I’m sorry for causing you so much stress. That wasn’t my intention.”
Nope, absolutely not. Clark couldn’t possibly be apologising to him. Dick really despised that stupid, ridiculous, boy scout persona of Clark’s. It was so incorrigibly genuine.
Seeing Dick’s lack of reaction, Clark gestured to the stool next to him. “Please sit. Drink some tea. Once I explain everything, you’ll understand that the reason for the secrecy was my fault. I was confused and needed some time to figure things out. I didn’t stop to consider how you would interpret the lack of communication.”
He sat, if only to get Clark to stop berating himself and start berating Dick instead. Bruce placed two cups of tea in front of them, then settled against the fridge, as if separating himself from the conversation. Not taking anyone’s side, but a background presence of support. Clark thanked Bruce and took a sip from his cup, then put it down again. Dick ignored his.
Clark gave a placating smile. “Jon is alright, I promise.”
Dick blinked, then mutely looked at Bruce for confirmation because Clark could be an incredible liar when he chose to be.
Bruce pursed his lips. “You know I don’t sugarcoat things, chum. Jonathan Kent is doing okay, and will be perfectly healthy soon enough.”
Clark inclined his head. “See? Even the man with a million contingencies is confident.”
Dick haltingly faced Clark, eyes wide and glistening. “What happened? Is he unwell because of the Kryptonite exposure? I’m sorry. I didn’t… I didn’t know…”
“There’s nothing to apologise for. Actually, if you hadn’t used the ring, things might have gone downhill without any of us realising.” A twinge of pain pinched at Clark’s expression. “Now that we know, we can start treatment before it progresses too far.”
“Before what progresses too far?”
Clark hunched a bit, a look of shame washing over him. “Oh, right. I haven’t really gotten used to saying it out loud yet. We ran some tests and… We confirmed that Jon has Leukaemia.”
Leukaemia. The notion washed over him repeatedly, each wave colder than the last. Jon, the sweetest boy he’d ever met, was diagnosed with cancer. Of all the possibilities he’d thought up, that wasn’t even close to making the list.
“How can that be?” Dick wavered, voice barely a whisper.
“We discovered it’s because Jon is half-human, and doesn’t gain the same resistance as I do against specific cell mutations under the yellow sun. His red blood cell count dropped to dangerous levels, but his Kryptonian side prevented any symptoms from manifesting. Jon’s condition was dire. It terrifies me to think what would have happened if someone used Kryptonite against him… But it was you. And when you realised something wasn’t right, you took off the ring. You saved him, Dick.”
“I…”
Clark’s countenance finally fractured, eyes reddening with unshed tears as he opened his arms. Dick launched into the embrace, burrowing his head desperately into the soft flannel. He clutched onto Clark like a lifeline, trembling with overwhelming emotion. He felt fingers run through his hair, stroking his back, the ministrations likely for Clark’s sake just as much as for Dick.
“You saved him,” Clark echoed softly. “Thank you for saving my son.”
—
As soon as Jonathan Kent stepped off the ramp, Dick scooped him up into a crushing hug, nuzzling the boy into his chest. Jon’s delighted laughter melted away almost all of Dick’s destructive thoughts, and he took a moment to revel in the most beautiful sound in the world.
“I’m so happy to see you,” Dick crooned, swaying in a circle.
In his peripheral vision, Damian attempted to slip by undetected. This gave Dick the perfect opportunity to fish him up as well. Now he held them both, one exuding joy and the other radiating displeasure.
“You too, Little D,” he chuckled, giving his Robin an affectionate kiss on the head. Damian growled, shoving his face away.
“Put me down, Grayson! I am not a baby!” Damian protested, but there wasn’t the usual ferocity behind it.
“Not happening~ Not unless you wanna fess up about your spontaneous adventure, hmm?”
Damian crossed his arms with a huff. “It was hardly spontaneous. I had prepared to infiltrate the Fortress of Solitude for months. I just so happened to have enacted those plans last night, for no particular reason.”
“Sure you did,” Dick raised an eyebrow. “And how did your genius intellect determine how to break into an impenetrable fortress?”
“He knocked on the front door!” Jon chirped, eyes crinkled in mirth. “You shoulda seen Dad’s face when he realised it wasn’t Batman flying the plane!”
Damian sniffed and turned his nose up haughtily. “I surmised that the fastest and most effective way inside was through the main entrance. And I was proven correct.”
Jon cupped his hands and whispered conspiratorily, “Dad wrapped him up in so many blankets, he looked like a giant marshmallow. I have photos.”
Damian narrowed his eyes. “You wouldn’t dare.”
Clark, who had just exited the aircraft, shuffled remorsefully. “Sorry, Damian. Batman requested evidence of your arrival at the Fortress, so I sent him a few pics.”
A beat of silence.
“Betrayal from all sides,” Damian declared.
After a chorus of laughter, Clark patted Dick on his back and asked, “Would it be alright if you watch over the kids for a bit? I’m going to help Bruce set everything up.”
“Sure thing, Uncle Clark.”
As soon as his dad was out of sight, Jon tapped lightly on Dick’s cheek. “Can I tell you something?” he said, uncharacteristically reserved.
“Yes, of course you can, bud. Tell me anything you want,” Dick replied, wondering if this was Jon’s way of confronting him nicely. Seeing as he didn’t receive a single ounce of condemnation from anyone else, perhaps the one most affected by all of this had something to say.
He shouldn’t have even entertained the idea, considering Jon’s angelic disposition. But it would have been somewhat cathartic, in a messed-up way. There wasn’t quite the same level of retribution when the only one criticising him was himself.
Jon averted his gaze and stared at the floor. “Back then, I didn’t listen to you when you explained why you took away the ring. I thought… I thought maybe you regretted letting me try it on. That I wasn’t strong enough, or mature enough. That I…”
Slowly, their eyes met again. “That I was a disappointment. But I was wrong. Dad got really scared, and I think I scared you, too. I’m sorry.”
“Oh, Jon…” Dick breathed, leaning his head down to touch Jon’s forehead. “You never have to apologise for this. I shouldn’t have let you feel that way, and I’m so sorry. You’re going through something no kid should ever have to experience, and we’re going to be with you every step of the way, alright? We love you, so so much. Isn’t that right, Damian?”
“That’s obvious,” Damian murmured, reaching out a hand and intertwining it with Jon’s. “I love Jon the most.”
Jon snorted, but smiled shyly and didn’t move his hand away.
Tim and Jason will never believe Dick when he tells them it was Damian who confessed first.
—
End of Part One