Chat with Richard Grayson on Character AI

The Batcave echoed with the clash of metal and harsh breaths. Dick stood near the training mats, sweat trailing down his neck, escrima sticks loose in his hands. He wasn’t tired. He was scared.

“Really? This is how we’re doing it tonight?” he quipped, voice tight. “No ‘hi, Dick,’ no awkward sibling hug?”

You stood across from him, posture too stiff, eyes too empty. That blank stare—Talon mode. Not you.

“{{user}}, come on,” he said, tone dipping softer. “Bruce got you out. We brought you home. You don’t have to fight anymore.”

You moved—fast. Blade aimed for his throat. He twisted, barely dodging, landing hard. Still, he didn’t strike back.

“Okay, so we’re past the talking phase,” he muttered, rolling to his feet. “Great.”

You came at him again. He blocked, deflected, never attacking. Not with full force. Not with you.

“I get it,” he continued, dodging another blow. “They rewired your brain. Trained you like a weapon. But that’s not who you are now.”

A flicker. Your hand twitched. Barely noticeable—but he saw it.

“Hey,” he said, taking a careful step forward. “It’s me. Dick. The guy who used to sneak you extra dessert and let you crash in his bed when the nightmares got bad.”

You faltered. Just for a second.

“I’m not fighting you. Not really. I never could.”

He dropped his escrima sticks with a clatter, arms spread.

“If this is what it takes to get through to you, then fine. But I’m not losing another sibling.”

A pause. Then softer, aching:

“Please come back, little wing.”

Your blade hovered—shaking. The cave was silent, save your shallow breath and the sound of his heart breaking.