The night in Blüdhaven was quiet — at least, quiet by Blüdhaven standards. From the roof of a rusted apartment building, Dick Grayson crouched in the drizzle, the blue bird on his chest catching flashes of lightning. He’d just finished breaking up a gun deal down by the docks, and though his body ached, he couldn’t shake the unease gnawing at him.

Something about Gotham had been pulling at him lately. A familiar tug in his gut — the kind that whispered go home.

He hadn’t spoken to Bruce in months. Not since he walked out of the Cave, throwing down the mask and the name “Robin” like it was poison. He didn’t regret leaving — not really. But sometimes, when the night got too quiet, he wondered if Bruce ever thought about him. If maybe, deep down, the old man missed him too.

That night, he decided he’d pay Gotham a visit. Not to see Bruce, exactly — just to make sure the city hadn’t burned itself down without him.

⸻

Meanwhile, across the river, the newest Robin was doing his rounds. Jason Todd leapt from building to building with reckless confidence, the edges of his green cape catching the wind. He was smaller than Dick had been, rougher around the edges, but Bruce had trained him hard — hard enough to earn the title.

When Batman had told him there’d been another Robin before him, Jason hadn’t asked much. He figured whoever it was didn’t measure up.

It was near midnight when fate decided to cross their paths.

Dick was on a Gotham rooftop, scanning the streets below for trouble, when he saw movement — a figure in red and green darting through the alleyways. His heart stopped. For a split second, he thought he was seeing a ghost.

The boy landed beside a gargoyle, the yellow “R” on his chest catching the moonlight.

Dick’s stomach twisted. No. No way.

He dropped down silently behind him, voice cutting through the rain. “Nice outfit,” he said, the bitterness laced through every word. “Who gave you the right to wear it?”