Here is a better Summary, because this site's one is too short:

Richard Grayson-Wayne disappeared from the public eye six years ago. Some think that it was how the billionaire's ward was handling the departure of his rumored lover, Barbara Gordon, a little over a year prior. He was caught on camera back in Gotham on the anniversary of Batgirl's death, July 14th 2014, but not seen again until Bruce Wayne's New Year's party in 2020.

Robin left the Team almost a year after Batgirl's death. Though he did not cut contact with them, he no longer operated as a hero. This continued until 2019 when he became protege to Black Canary, a fact known only by a select few. He now goes by the moniker of Nightwing and has trained for three years under Canary before joining the Team under his new name.

When he joins the Team, Dick is forced to deal with his demons and to relearn how to trust both himself and his teammates. As he does so, he finds himself slipping into a dangerously familiar rhythm with Wally that feels suspiciously like falling in love.


The Gotham Times
Thanks to the Fallen
July 14th, 2014

It has been a year since the announced death of the heroine named Batgirl, who worked with the Caped Crusader himself. Reports have said that she was attempting to rescue both Richard Grayson-Wayne and Jason Todd. She successfully saved both of Wayne's ward, loosing her life however in the process.

Today the commissioner gave a public commemoration to the heroine, and the Wayne family also thanked her. However, the eldest of Wayne's wards left the ceremony early, leaving his brother to deliver a speech in his stead.


The blackened skies looming over Gotham poured heavy rain over the sorrowed city. Hundreds gathered at the steps of the police station, all garbed in black and their heads bowed in respect. The city's streets were filled with a gloomy silence, despite the crowd, as it began to mourn its loss.

The commissioner, who looked the most dismal of them all, made his way to the podium set up in front of the station. As he walked, his face appeared hollowed and filled with sadness. It only worsened when he looked over the crestfallen concourse. Before stepping to the podium to begin, the man turned his head, looking over his shoulder at the others standing with him. The Wayne family had as much to grieve as he did. Gordon shook his head and cleared his throat, turning and stepping forward to begin, the crowd falling silent.

"People of Gotham, today we honor the loss of a hero. She had not been with us long, yet the skills of Batgirl will be dearly missed…"

Behind the commissioned, Dick stopped paying attention, his chest tightening with each word. The city was acknowledging the loss of a mask, while he was mourning the person behind it. His eyes clenched shut as he shied away, memories surging to the forefront of his mind.

"Batgirl... Babs!" Robin cried, pushing another piece of debris away.
"No. Nonono you can't be dead! Come on, answer me, please! We have to go home! Wake up!" The boy pleaded to his partner's burnt body.
"Please, don't leave me. Don't leave... I love-..." he whispered, not being able to say it, and wishing none of this had ever happened.

"Dick. You okay man?" Jason asked, nudging his brother's shoulder.

Dick quickly shook his head, clearing the memory from his mind as he looked to the younger boy. The blue-eyed boy had tried as hard as he could to forget that night, tried to put the past behind him. All this was doing was making it worse.

"I-I've gotta go," he mumbled, stepping backwards and ducking his head down.

The boy turned his back to his family and the rest of Gotham, making his way slowly towards the stairs. His hands were stuffed deep in the pockets of his suit jacket as he walked. Why did he think that he could do that? Stand up there and listen to people talk about her without knowing what had really been lost. According to all the newspapers, Barbara Gordon had been sent off to finish her education in Europe. No one in the city, outside of Wayne Manor, truly understood who was being mourned, and that turned the teen's weighty grief to agony.

As Dick ran through the city's rain-blackened streets back to the Manor he was blind to any and every sensation beyond his mind. He didn't notice that he had forgotten his umbrella or left the rest of his family on the stage without so much as a word. The bitter wind bit at his bones, seeping through his already drenched clothes, yet he could not feel it. The mourning boy felt his heart ripping all over again, and it drowned out everything else.

He had to get away so that he could shut down all these horrid feelings and memories. The gates of Wayne Manor swung open for Dick and shut behind him, the boy already halfway up the path when the iron clattered to a close.

Not a thought passed through the boy's head as he entered the manor, running on instinct and habit. Until he wasn't. Dick stopped, face-to-face with a dark oak door, hand hovering above the brass knob. He was stuck, frozen in place where he never wanted to be again. As his breath quickened, his hand began to shake. The pain that made his mind go blank was gone, leaving the heavy guilt that he was so desperate to escape from. A phantom acrid smell invaded the space.

His hand snapped into a fist as he jerked away from her door, jaw clenched tightly and face turned away. He spun away in a rushed motion, arms at his sides and body stiff. Every step seemed to echo uncomfortably along the hall and it made the weight of his thoughts that much harder to bear. This time Dick did not let his mind escape as he made his way to the stairs, walking up and turning left, towards his own room.

He had barely made it inside the door before he leaned his back against the wall and collapsed on the floor, not having the energy to keep himself standing even a second longer. His knees were pulled to his chest, and forehead pressing against them. Everything felt like it was spiraling again. Up was down and down was up, and nothing was solid anymore. He was falling and drowning, adrift without a compass, a lifeboat or even an astrolabe.

"Master Richard?"

Dick didn't move. Or answer. Doing anything more felt as though it would be the final straw to break the camel's back. He heard the door open and could feel Alfred's eyes land on him. The elder man stepped into the room soundlessly, leaving the door slightly ajar as he moved to stand in front of the young man.

"Master Richard," the butler repeated, though more of an appeal to the boy, than at him.

When Dick still gave no response, Alfred knelt down. He extended a hand and placed it on his knee, hoping to get any sort of reaction. Dick moved slowly, his head raising at a snail's pace to meet Alfred's eyes.

"H-how'd Bruce do it Alfred? How'd he not fall apart?" The teen asked, a glassy sheen glazing over his eyes.

The butler took a moment to respond. He often forgot that most people did not know, or forgot, just how much Bruce was still broken from his parents death. It was all the Batman really was, a manifestation of his pain and anger. The older man sighed, shaking his head gently. Loss was all too prevalent in the Wayne family for Alfred's taste.

"But he did," the englishman said softly, squeezing Dick's knee again.
He nodded slowly when Dick looked at him with disbelieving eyes. "Bu…"
"Though, not until he was older." Alfred stated, pulling his hand back as he cleared his throat. "When Master Bruce left he was no more put together than you. He was angry at the world, betrayed by it. He disappeared, training in remote regions of eastern Europe so he has told me." Alfred gave a slight shrug, not entirely sure of the truth in that statement, though it was exactly what he had been told many times. "Upon his return, Master Bruce was in control of the anger that he had let drive him, but no less broken it seemed when he designed the Batman. Until he began to trust again. In small things mostly, and more often than not they had to do with you, young Master." Once again Alfred paused, a long and heavy sigh left him. His eyes lifted to meet Dick's, a warm look to them. "When one is shattered beyond repair, perhaps it was in order to build something new. To do that, one often needs new and unknown tools. A colorful suit and pixie boots, for example. "
"Okay, seriously? You're still bringing up the boots?" Dick groaned, head tipping forward in embarrassment.
Alfred chuckled briefly, a smile crossing his face. "Solely to serve a point," he replied, the warmth of his smile seeping into his voice.
"That you make one silly costume and it follows you throughout your entire life?"
"That sometimes all that can truly aid in repairing something that has been broken is something that does not seem logical," Alfred stated, unhurriedly rising to stand.

Dick lifted his head, brows knit with confusion as he watched the elder man move towards the door. He didn't move his eyes away from the wood, even after he heard the click of the lock. So many questions were buzzing in his head now. How was that helpful advice to his question? What was telling him that Bruce had gone away to train and come back to start Batman going to do to help him move past Barbara's death? Gradually Dick's bewildered expression faded. His forehead relaxed and his mouth set in a tighter and tighter line, steeling himself as an idea settled in his mind.

The boy stood, eyes locking onto the closet on the other side of the room as he ran through a list of everything he had on hand that would be helpful. He began to move quickly, bounding across the room and taking out several large bags. Tossing two duffel bags on the bed, he moved to the dresser and began to pull out clothes and any of the supplies he had, from his first birdarangs to one of his prototype uniforms. The bags filled up fast, which surprised Dick. He thought that it'd be hard for him to choose things and pack, but evidently his mind was more than ready to go.

As he stood over the backpack he was filling with money and some of his smaller electronics, Dick looked over to his desk. He was searching for his holopad, but something else caught his eye. Dick walked towards the desk, a ghost of a smile cracking the determined line of the almost-scowl on his lips. He reached for the frame, cradling it in his hands as he handled it with great care, as if it would break at the slightest pressure. The faint smile grew despite the prickling that started building behind Dick's eyes as he looked at the faces in the picture. It had been taken years ago, before… before everything.

As Dick reached to pick up a second photograph, a whoosh of air flooded into the room, startling the acrobat. He nearly dropped the picture in his arms as he spun on his heels, eyes wide and looking around the space. All he heard for a few seconds was the sound of blood pounding in his veins. His eyes narrowed as he recognized the boy pacing in front of him. Of course Wally would make that sudden of an unannounced entrance. Dick settled himself back in his skin, snorting at his friend, not listening to him.

The teen turned away from the speedster, heading towards his bed to carefully remove the photo from it's frame. He tucked the glossy paper into the bag, nestling it in the pages of his favorite book. Still, he did not pay any attention to the redhead, who he knew was likely beginning to worry and would start asking questions. Dick walked back over to the desk, eyes on the floor as he moved to avoid making eye contact with Wally. Quickly, he grabbed another photograph and a small trinket, before starting to, once again, walk over to his bag.

However, a rough hand on his shoulder jerked him to a stop halfway there. Dick raised his eyes slowly, almost shying away when he saw the fear and perplexity on Wally's face. The speedster pulled his hand away from his friend's shoulder, head swaying from side to side as he tried to understand what was going on.

He had come over expecting to find Dick in a useless pile on the floor and drag his butt downstairs to play videogames, get his mind somewhere else, after getting a panicked call from Jason. But it seemed his work had been done for him. Dick was already about a hundred thousand miles away, and apparently deciding on going even further away. Before the speedster could ask any questions, he was cut off.

"I'm leaving," Dick stated simply, eyes flicking up to meet Wally's before darting away.
"I can see that, genius," Wally huffed, motioning to the bags on the bed. When Dick's head drooped and no answer came, the elder teen sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'm sorry. Just, why?" He asked, hand dropping away and sliding into his pocket.

Another silence drug on between the two as Dick shifted uneasily from foot to foot, eyes still glued on the floor, or the walls, or anywhere but Wally's face. Dick let out a long exhale, turning away from his friend, arms crossing over his chest. Wally watched as Dick stepped back, forcing himself to stay rooted to the floor, painful as it was to him. He tried to be patient, making his mouth stay shut to let Dick answer in his own time.

"I-I… I need new tools, and I'm not gonna find them here," he murmured, not daring to bring his eyes up.

The acrobat could only hope that his friend understood what he was saying. There was too much hanging over him here, so many memories and too many of them always swarming him. Over and over Dick had been told that the pain would lessen, that some measure of the compunction would eventually go away. It had been over a year, yet there was no relief from the burdensome weight, that instead grew heavier and heavier upon his mind and shoulders with every new day.

He turned back to the bed, moving towards it, prepared for Wally to try stopping him again. The other boy didn't, much to Dick's surprise and relief. There wasn't much more he could explain, he thought to himself as he carefully pulled the photograph from its frame and tucked it away with the first. The small figurine followed, getting placed inside one of the duffel bags with the same care.

His attention switched back to Wally as the redhead came to stand beside him, the third photo from the desk in his hands. Dick gradually lifted his eyes, uncertain what he was going to see in his friend's face. A knot tied itself in his gut as his gaze slowly crawled up to meet Wally's, hand reaching out to take the picture. When he clasped the photo, Dick's eyes connected with Wally's and a welcome wave of relief rolled over him. The tightly-knit frown from before had faded into a lax curve, melding with the vain attempt at a smile and glossy eyes to show that he did understand, that he knew how much Dick needed this.

The teen, filled with an maddening mix of peace and regret, lurched forward, throwing his arms around Wally, trapping the speedster in an almost vice-like embrace. "Thank you for understanding, Walls," he mumbled into Wally's shoulder.
"Just… don't die, okay?" Wally said, voice cracking as he hugged Dick in return, just as forcefully.

It took everything both of them had to not cry as their worlds broke apart, parts of the ground feeling as though it were falling from beneath their feet. Neither wanted to lose what they had, but Wally understood that sometimes moving on and getting better had to start with goodbyes. When the grip around his torso softened, Wally pulled back and tried to force a smile on his face. Support was all he could offer now, he thought as he started to grab the backpack, handing it to Dick.

The teen swung the pack over his shoulders, reaching for his other bags as soon as it was settled on his back. As he moved, he was thinking over any and every list of the things he might need or would definitely need. Anything to not think about how safe that hug had made him feel, if only for a small second. Dick was already halfway out the door before he stopped, one hand on the frame. He looked over his shoulder, sniffling quietly.

"Don't do anything crazy till I get back."
"How can I? You're taking all the crazy with you," Wally snorted, a half-smile on his face.
"Punk."
"Jerk."

It was Dick's turn to smile then as he turned and stepped out the door. In seconds he disappeared down the hall, out of Wally's line of sight, eventually out of the manor, and effectively out of the speedster's life, for the foreseeable future.

A drawn out sigh left the speedster, his shoulders rolling forward and head drooping on his neck. Every ounce of willpower he had, he had put into trying to support his friend's needs. He was being a selfless person, giving Dick what he knew the younger teen had needed. Of course Wally knew that Dick wouldn't have stayed if he'd said that he should. At least he knew the acrobat would come back, even if that only hurt more.

Wally looked around the room. It almost seemed the same. The drawers were all closed and everything was in it's place. Heck, if Wally hadn't seen Dick walk out himself he wouldn't hardly know that his best pal had decided to pack up and hit the road! Except for the desk. Four things were missing. Four things that had sat on that piece of furniture for as long as Wally could remember. Three photos that meant more than the world to Dick because of what they captured; and a small figurine that was supposed to be a robin, but looked more like a pile of goop according to most people. But Dick saw the robin, or told Wally that at least.

The speedster chuckled, smiling to himself as he looked at the desk, able to see the pictures though they were gone. One of himself and Dick in the aftermath of being the idiot goofballs they always were, trying to pull a prank on Barbara, and failing as always. The second was of Barbara Gordon surrounded by fall-colored trees at a lake's edge, smiling like there was no evil in the world as she fed a baby duck. The last was a ridiculous, blown-up image that Dick and himself had taken in a photo booth somewhere in the first few years they'd known each other.

Wally shook his head and shoved his hands in his pockets, the happy grin fading to a faint smile. He fully intended to go find a way to drown himself in ice cream somewhere as he made to start moving towards the door. However, he was stopped in his tracks, the frames on the bed catching his eye. He stepped closer to look more carefully at them. His smile fell away as his chest tightened when he saw one of them wasn't empty. The blurry snapshot of the Pranknamic Duo in their early years was still sitting in its frame, laying beside the two empty ones.

Wally veered away from the bed, face twisted in pain as he resisted the urge to scream or shout or punch something. Even when she was gone, Wally couldn't measure up to Barbara, in any way. Not in what she meant to Dick, not in what she did for him… Nothing. He would always come in second, or last. No matter what the game or who the players were, Wallace Rudolph West would always rank behind everyone else no matter how much heart, soul, talent, or will-power he put into playing.

Fate seemed keen on telling Wally that he would never, ever, get the boy.