[ It's not really a detente, with Damian standing across the space from her.
Barbara isn't surprised to be told by Damian that it was her job to make sure it didn't happen in the first place and that is her job in the future to make sure it didn't happen again. As though she hasn't spent enough of her life already with the clue of both what it would be like to live in a world where Dick Grayson was dead or one where he was alive but beyond reach even two feet away.
She doesn't disagree. She wasn't there. She didn't know until after. That's her job. To be the voice that solves the problems is the extra eyes in situations those who are in that can't solve. She can be unsettled, she can stare Dick down until he's partly abashed, but she can't yell at him. Can't even tell him what he did—why he did—it was wrong. And that's where the words that come from her mouth have to source themselves. She has to hold on to that for both of them. Even if it's emotionally gutting. ]
Do you think any of us would have made a different choice, if it replayed now?
If it was you or one of us? Dick, or me, or even Bruce?
[ She doesn't have to say that she saw them. But she did. Bruce, with Damian asleep, cradled in his arms. If she had doubts, they're far smaller now.
(The bigger problem, the one that kept her up equally as troubled all night, wasn't just Dick. It was how many people in their family would easily fall on a sword for someone else, if they knew without a doubt they'd be able to get up from it on the otherside. Their family rode that edge so hard already, even without a get-out-of-death-free card.
Because, of course, she's already there.
She's the one who is supposed to know before anyone needs to. And she knows them. Loves them all—and knows them so very, tragically well.) ]
no subject
Barbara isn't surprised to be told by Damian that it was her job to make sure it didn't happen in the first place and that is her job in the future to make sure it didn't happen again. As though she hasn't spent enough of her life already with the clue of both what it would be like to live in a world where Dick Grayson was dead or one where he was alive but beyond reach even two feet away.
She doesn't disagree. She wasn't there. She didn't know until after. That's her job. To be the voice that solves the problems is the extra eyes in situations those who are in that can't solve. She can be unsettled, she can stare Dick down until he's partly abashed, but she can't yell at him. Can't even tell him what he did—why he did—it was wrong. And that's where the words that come from her mouth have to source themselves. She has to hold on to that for both of them. Even if it's emotionally gutting. ]
Do you think any of us would have made a different choice, if it replayed now?
If it was you or one of us? Dick, or me, or even Bruce?
[ She doesn't have to say that she saw them. But she did.
Bruce, with Damian asleep, cradled in his arms.
If she had doubts, they're far smaller now.
(The bigger problem, the one that kept her up equally as troubled all night, wasn't just Dick. It was how many people in their family would easily fall on a sword for someone else, if they knew without a doubt they'd be able to get up from it on the otherside. Their family rode that edge so hard already, even without a get-out-of-death-free card.
Because, of course, she's already there.
She's the one who is supposed to know before anyone needs to.
And she knows them. Loves them all—and knows them so very, tragically well.) ]