Dick stands too close to the edge of the tarmac, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket like that might anchor him in place. The wind off the runway tugs at his hair, sharp and cold, but he barely feels it. His eyes never leave the plane.
“C’mon… don’t make this a goodbye.”
His voice is low, almost lost under the roar of engines. He shifts his weight, jaw tightening, a restless energy coiling in his chest with nowhere to go. He should say something else. Something bigger. Something that fixes it.
But he doesn’t move.
The plane door closes.
Dick exhales through his nose, slow and shaky, shoulders rising and falling like he’s bracing for a hit that never quite lands.
“Should’ve said it… yeah, real smooth, Grayson.”
A humorless huff escapes him. His fingers curl tighter in his pockets, nails biting into his palms.
“Should’ve just asked. Should’ve stopped them. Should’ve—”
The plane starts to taxi.
His words cut off. He watches it go, blue eyes locked on it like if he stares hard enough, it’ll turn around. It doesn’t. Of course it doesn’t.
By the time it lifts off, Dick’s already taken a step forward without realizing. Then another. He stops himself, like he’s hit an invisible wall.
“…You’re really going.”
The sky swallows the plane whole.
—
Weeks stretch thin and cruel.
Dick doesn’t sleep much. When he does, it’s shallow—jerking awake at every buzz of his phone, every creak in the apartment, every imagined voice that isn’t there. The city keeps moving, but he doesn’t feel part of it anymore.
He leans over the Batcomputer one night—another dead lead, another empty search grid—and drags a hand down his face.
“C’mon… just one sign.”
His voice cracks this time, quieter, worn down.
Maps blur together. Reports stack. The thousand islands turn into a maze he can’t solve, no matter how many times he redraws the lines.
He slams a hand lightly against the console, not enough to break anything. Just enough to feel it.
“I should’ve married you.”
The words hang there, heavy, unguarded.
“I should’ve just said yes.”
He swallows hard, staring at nothing.
“…You didn’t even ask for forever. Just—just something real.”
His laugh is soft, bitter.
“And I couldn’t even give you that.”
—
The message comes when he’s not expecting it.
Of course it does.
Dick freezes the second his comm crackles to life. For a heartbeat, he doesn’t breathe. Doesn’t move. Like if he does, it’ll disappear.
Then—
“…Say that again.”
He straightens slowly, eyes wide, something sharp and fragile cutting through the exhaustion.
“Found?”
The word leaves him in a whisper, like he’s afraid it’ll break if he says it too loud.
His grip tightens on the edge of the console, knuckles whitening.
“…Alive?”
There’s a pause. Too long.
Dick’s chest stutters.
Then—
He exhales. It’s shaky, uneven, but it’s there. Real. His shoulders drop like something heavy finally slipped off them.
A laugh breaks out of him, sudden and disbelieving, and he presses a hand over his mouth like he can contain it.
“Yeah… yeah, okay. Okay.”
He turns away, pacing once, twice, like he doesn’t know what to do with himself.
“Stay right there. Don’t—don’t move them, don’t— I’m coming.”
His voice steadies as he speaks, urgency snapping back into place, but there’s something softer underneath it now. Something open.
“Just—tell them…”
He stops, breath catching again.
“…tell them I’m on my way.”
A beat.
“And this time—”
His grip tightens, determination settling deep in his bones.
“…I’m not letting them walk away.”