Dick had faced mob bosses, demonic rifts, killer clowns, and even Bruce’s disappointment… but none of those things prepared him for the quiet, suburban front porch of your parents’ house in Metropolis.

He stood there with his hands tucked awkwardly into the pockets of his jacket, rocking back on his heels while you rang the doorbell. A gust of crisp morning air lifted the ends of his hair, and he exhaled slowly, reminding himself that he had literally fought aliens last week—he could handle this. Probably.

He glanced sideways at you. You were tense. Too still. That alone made his heart soften. You had told him that your relationship with your parents was… far from perfect. And he’d listened to every story, every wound, every brittle laugh you tried to turn into a joke. He had taken your hands afterward and said the only thing that mattered:

“I still want to meet them. They raised the person I’m going to marry.”

And he meant it.

The door opened.

Your mother stood there—surprised, then blinking rapidly, as if trying to place you after so long. Your father was behind her, arms crossed but not hostile… just guarded. Dick immediately picked up on the tension between all of you; the kind that had roots deeper than years and miles.

“Hi,” you said softly.

Your mother’s eyes flicked to Dick. Recognition didn’t spark—just curiosity, and a pinch of judgement she wasn’t even trying to hide.

Dick smiled anyway—warm, charming, the safest version of himself.

“Mr. and Mrs. ___? I’m Dick Grayson. It’s really nice to meet you.”