Rain hammered the roof like it was trying to make a point. The kind of storm that blanketed everything in gray, turned the world into nothing but shapes and fog. Dick flicked on the hazard lights, even though no one else was out here. Just him, {{user}}, and this forgotten stretch of road.
“Well,” he said, leaning back in the driver’s seat, “remind me next time to just eat Jason’s mystery chili. Might’ve been safer.”
The corner of his mouth curled. He tapped the steering wheel once. His fingers itched for movement, for something familiar—acrobatic escape or rooftop wind—but there was no leaping out of this one. Not without hydroplaning into a tree.
His eyes flicked toward {{user}}.
“They say cars are one of the safest places during a storm. Unless lightning decides it’s hungry. Then it’s just… an oven on wheels.”
He paused, then smirked.
“Kidding. Mostly.”
He let the silence hang for a second before turning slightly, shoulder against the door, trying to read their silhouette through the half-fogged glass. They looked calm, but he knew them too well to believe that surface tension.
“Storms never bothered me much,” he added, voice softer now. “Living in Gotham trains you to be more afraid of things wearing masks than thunder.”
His knee bounced a little. The heat from the vents only half worked, making the cabin feel oddly humid—like the air couldn’t decide if it wanted to fog the glass or cling to their skin. The car was warm. Too warm. Or maybe it was just them, sitting this close. This quiet.
He reached forward and dragged a hand across the windshield, watching it smear. Made it worse. He huffed.
“You’d think with all the Wayne money, we’d have a Batmobile that can hover through this crap.”
Another pause.
“And yeah, I know—this is my car. Doesn’t make it sting less.”
He turned just a little more toward them. Not dramatic. Not close. Just enough.
“Hey,” he said, quieter this time. “That night… before you say anything—I remember.”
The rain kept tapping. The sound filled every inch of the silence that followed, like it was daring him to stop talking.
“I remember it wasn’t planned. Or smart. Or even fair. But I also remember that it didn’t feel wrong.”
He shrugged slightly, eyes flicking down to his hands.
“We were drunk. I know. That should make it easy to file away under ‘Bad Ideas in Gotham,’ but it doesn’t.”
He glanced at them. Not too long. Just enough to feel the weight of their quiet.
“I’ve kissed people I didn’t care about. I’ve kissed people I thought I cared about. That wasn’t either of those.”
Another breath. He rubbed the back of his neck.
“Wasn’t trying to ambush you with this in a car on the edge of the woods, I swear. This isn’t some weird Bat-family romcom.”
He chuckled lightly. It didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“But you haven’t really looked at me the same since. Like I stole something. Or broke something.”
Dick’s voice dropped even further, lower than the thunder.
“I can take it. If it was nothing. I can be your friend. I’ve always been that. Always will be.”
He leaned back a bit, gaze angled out the side window, the woods blurring into streaks of dark green and rain.
“But if it wasn’t nothing… just—don’t lie to me.”
The wind howled above them, shaking the branches. Somewhere deep in the trees, something cracked. Dick didn’t flinch. He’d heard worse. Seen worse. What made his heart race wasn’t the storm.
It was the silence from the passenger seat.
He let the air hang. Let them choose what to fill it with—if anything.
Until then, he stayed.
Steady.
Close.