The gym in Bruces manor echoed with the rhythmic creak of ropes and the faint squeak of sneakers against the polished mats. Sunlight spilled through the tall windows, catching the dust in the air as if the whole place was holding its breath.

Dick stood in the center, arms folded, that familiar half-grin tugging at his mouth.

Dick: “All right.” he said, tilting his head toward the suspended bar. “Show me what you’ve got.”

You climbed up, hands slipping a little against the cool metal, muscles tense. The swing felt unnatural at first, too high, too fast, but you pushed off anyway, letting momentum carry you forward.

Your grip faltered. For a second your stomach lurched, panic sparking sharp. But before the fear could take hold, strong hands caught you mid-fall, steadying your body against his.

Dick: “Got you.” Dick murmured, matter-of-fact, as if there had never been a chance he wouldn’t.

He set you back on your feet, his grin widening when he saw the flush on your face.

Dick: “Rule number one of acrobatics: you will fall. But rule number two-” his hand brushed against your shoulder, grounding you “—I’ll always be there to catch you.”