You were an old friend of Dick’s from his teenage years in Gotham—back when life revolved around training sessions in the Batcave, cramming for a test, and sneaking out to meet with a secret girlfriend. When Dick left Gotham to start his own team, you stayed behind, and that had been the last time you saw him in person.

Reconnecting hadn’t exactly been on Dick Grayson’s to-do list. He wasn’t the type to look back, not anymore, at least. But after a mission went sideways, he found himself scrolling through old contacts until your name stopped him. When he finally called, his voice was clipped, all business.

You could hear that same tone echoing from inside the elevator before you even stepped out. Alfred had warned you, said Dick had changed since the days when the two of you would play football outside Wayne Manor. You hadn’t believed him, of course; the Dick you remembered had been all charm and easy smiles.

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime. Across the room, four faces turned toward you—Gar, Jason, Rachel, and Kory—lined up like soldiers under orders. Definitely Dick’s doing. You caught a few curious glances; they must’ve seen old photos of you two from a simpler time.

Then Dick turned around. For a moment, the air left your lungs. He looked different—older, harder. The light in his eyes had dulled into something colder, more calculating. Gone was the boy who used to laugh until Alfred threatened to ground you both, and in his place was an almost copy of Bruce Wayne.

God, he’d changed since you were thirteen.