Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter 1: Where We Were

It was a pity. Such a pity. The boy was strange and silent. He was no good, obviously after poor Bruce's money. That was the only explanation, the members of high society whispe red behind their hands, heads ducked together, small titters escaping when they thought no one was listening.

"I heard he's deaf!" Maria Wolworth hissed. The others rolled their eyes. Maria was always so behind the times.

"Well, of course he's deaf, Maria!" Harriet Carver shot back across the small group. "Anyone with eyes can see that! No," she leaned in closer to the others, "The real question is whether or not he's, you know slow."

Excited looks passed across every face in the clutch of women. Had Bruce Wayne had taken in a slow lad? Why on Earth would he do that? He was normally so much fun.

Across the ball room Dick Grayson, newly made ward of Bruce Wayne, rolled his eyes at their words. He was most assuredly not deaf, nor was he slow. That rumor was completely ridiculous, anyone who took the time to ask their little children how he did in school would know that. The brats certainly showed their displeasure strongly enough when he scored higher on an exam than they did.

The only other child at the gathering leaned over close to him and whispered, "What are they saying now?"

He quirked a smile at her. The expression still felt strange on his face, but it had been nearly four months since…. Well, since a time he didn't like to think about. He didn't smile back then. He shook his head lightly to banish the memories. Live in the moment. That was what Bruce always told him. Live in the moment. He brought his left hand up and twisted it into a few complex signs.

Nothing important. The freckled red-head next to him scowled.

"Dick, I know better than that!" She protested, "They always say mean things about you! Daddy should make them stop. I bet he would if I told him to!" She made to set her drink down. Dick rolled his eyes.

No Babs he signed, They will just be mean to him if he tries. I don't mind. The ten year old gave him a skeptical look. Really. He promised. It was the truth. The words of a few stupid women could not bother him, not after everything he had seen and endured in his nine short years.

She frowned deeply at him. I do not like. Her signs were still clumsy, stilted where his flowed, heavy where his were light, and her grammar was atrocious. It frustrated her, but Dick was just happy she was trying to learn. Besides, Babs was so smart, she would look like a native signer in no time.

Whatever. This party was boring anyway. Want to go work on the math for Wednesday?

Barbra stared at him. Was the kid for real? It was Friday night and he wanted to work on their homework? He met her eyes, his own large and blue. The left one had a very small scar pulling on the corner, not noticeable until you were up close, but large enough to make her wonder what his life had been like before Bruce took him in. He never talked about it.

Babs? He ended her name with the raised eye brows of a question and she shook her head to clear it of thoughts.

"Yeah, I guess we can go do homework," She pushed at his shoulder lightly, "Nerd."

You love me for it. Then he was gone, skipping across the floor with a grace she could never hope to match. He flitted past Bruce, signing something she could not make out, and out the door on the far side of the room.

Babs walked up to Bruce far more sedately. He was so handsome, she had only just realized that a few weeks ago when he showed up at school to take Dick to a doctor's appointment. She tried valiantly to hide her blush when he smiled down at her.

"Dick says you two are going upstairs to do some math?"

She nodded quickly, "Yes sir." She looked around hopefully but her father was nowhere in sight. "I was hoping you could tell my dad?"

"Of course, I'll let the Captain know as soon as he comes out of the kitchen."

"The kitchen?"

Bruce's smile turned slightly conspiratorial. Barbra's blush deepened. "Ms. Wells has developed a small fondness for our boys in blue. I believe your father is hiding."

Babs was startled into a laugh. Bruce chuckled along with her. He had opened his mouth to say something else when a willowy woman floated up to him.

"Oh Brucie, darling, you must come see what poor Elsa has had done!"

Bruce cast a small wince at Babs before turning to the woman. As she escaped the horrid ball room, Barbra could hear the woman going on about a botched nose job. She shuddered. High society gave her the hives.

Dick's room was sparse, far less decorated than she expected the bedroom of a multi-billionaire's ward to be. He had moved all the furniture to a small space near the window, creating a crowded area surrounded by emptiness. The walls were bare save for a single, faded circus poster which hung by the window next to his bed. When she entered he waved happily from his spot in the window seat. She could see that on the way up he had stolen a tray full of food and drinks and their math books were already laid out in a small semicircle.

Babs smiled at him, "You are the weirdest kid I know, you know that right?"

Yep. The sign was quick and cheerful. Babs crossed the room and settled into the window seat across from him.

When Captain Gordon ventured from the kitchen and climbed the stairs at midnight to retrieve his daughter he found himself desperately wishing for a camera. The two children had fallen asleep working on their homework. Dick had slumped forward and was curled up in a loose ball against Barbra's side. His daughter had her head tilted against the boy's and her arm wrapped around his shoulders.

"Do not worry," he jerked slightly when the elderly British man spoke, "I will have copies made for you." He held up a camera with a very small smile. Gordon sighed happily. Babs had not been this relaxed since her mother's death, it would be good to have the picture to remind himself that things would get better for the two of them.

"Thanks, Mr. Pennyworth."

"Not at all, Captain Gordon."

Chapter Text

Chapter 2: How We Were, Part 1

Dick's first month at the Manor was… rough, to say the least. He was nine years old and had spent the last four years learning to be something both less and more than human. On good days he barely remembered his life before there. On bad days he could only remember pain and silence and killing. Flying helped and Bruce immediately installed a trapeze set for him. When he flew he could remember how his mother's voice had always been slightly raspy and how his father's eyes had danced with joy all the time. When his fingers caught the swinging bar he could remember the soft scrape of his mother's nails on his scalp when she ruffled his hair and the feel of his father's strong arms hugging him after a nightmare. He had one picture of them, but they looked like strangers, these people he only remembered as color and impressions, not faces. He mourned them still and often dreamed of their fall. But, it was a distant sort of sadness, one that he could easily ignore most of the time.

When he wasn't flying his head was filled with darkness, silence, and calculations. He instantly knew the best vantage points in a given room and easily placed himself in that position. He knew without thought how he could incapacitate (kill) every person he came in contact with. Bruce; a knife in the dark, the rich always died easy. The old man; a subtle poison, advanced age would be blamed. The Commissioner; a gun from a rooftop, a gift from one of his many enemies. The thoughts flowed unbidden through his mind. Mostly, he ignored them, so used to their presence that they had long ago ceased to be remarkable. Mostly, they didn't bother him, but, the very idea of killing Bruce was repugnant.

Dick spent his days in the Manor, forbidden from leaving the house, even to explore the ample grounds. He didn't mind that so much. His naturally dark skin tone had paled over the last four years of forced isolation and he knew he would sunburn if time was spent outdoors. Instead, he followed the old man around, worried about what he was doing when Dick couldn't see him. For a reason he could not determine he trusted Bruce. Perhaps it was the heavy callouses he could feel on the man's hands or the way he seemed to instinctively understand Dick's cobbled together sign language and responded in kind. But, the older man reminded Dick far too strongly of him and made the young acrobat intensely uncomfortable. He tried to alleviate the sensation by spending as much time around him as possible, hoping to inoculate himself to the sensation and situation.

So far, it wasn't working.

Alfred would never admit it out loud, but the young boy that Bruce had brought home from the circus scared him. Richard Grayson was raw. When Alfred looked at him he had to fight to see a child and not one of his compatriots from his time in war-torn areas. The boy moved too quickly, too efficiently. His eyes saw everything, breaking it down into its constituent parts and judging what he saw with ruthless accuracy. Alfred wasn't sure that he had ever seen the lad sleep and he ate like a bird at meal times. Three days after the boy's arrival every single box of cereal he bought vanished, so Alfred was at least not worried about Richard starving to death.

Bruce said he just needed time; that he would recover from the trauma he suffered given a stable home and safety net to fall back on. Alfred wanted to believe his employer, he truly did, but when he looked up while cleaning to see the boy perched like a hawk at hunt on the chandelier, serious gaze following his every move, or when he woke to see the slight shadow at his door silently watching him sleep, well he wasn't so sure Bruce was right this time.

Fifteen days after Dick's arrival at the house on the hill Bruce took him aside after breakfast. Once again Dick had only eaten maybe three bites of the exceedingly healthy meal prepared by the old man. He wondered if he was going to be punished for the lack of appetite. He would have been before. He was still waiting for the other shoe to fall and for Bruce to be like the only men he could readily remember.

"I have to leave for a little bit," Bruce spoke slowly and signed along with the words. Dick focused on his hands, committing the motions to memory. He was tired of not being able to express himself properly. The words of his youth trapped behind the terrible wall in his head, clamoring to escape and giving him a constant dull headache.

Why? He asked. Though he had only learned the word the previous evening the motion was sharp and confident. He needed only see a sign once and it was freed from behind the terrible wall. He liked to imagine it finally scaling the sheer bricks and leaping, screaming for joy from the parapets.

"I have been gone a lot over the last few weeks and the board needs to meet." Bruce did not look happy about the situation. "Alfred will be here if you need anything." He read the subtle displeasure of Dick's face, "I would not leave you alone with him if I did not trust him with my own life, Dick. He raised me and has always been loyal."

Dick tried out the final word on his hands. He wanted it to feel right and natural, wanted to be able to find it within himself. It was clumsy and wrong. He wanted to cry, but there were no tears left in his body.

Bruce reached out and clasped Dick's hands within his own. Dick finally met his understanding gaze.

"Give it time, chum."

Dick nodded. If anyone else had said that, had told him that he might one day be like other people, he would not have believed them. He would have snarled and cursed them in his garbled words, hurling the nonsense at them as the weapon it was meant to be. He might have even lashed out physically, if the mood struck. Once again, Bruce was different. Dick wanted to understand why; why did he trust this man above all others? He had no evidence to back up his gut feeling, it was just that, the sense of a connection to another soul in the way he liked to think he had once connected to his parents. It had been a long time since he thought of anyone as family.

I will be good. He forced his lips into a wry grin, one he knew would placate his guardian.

"That is all I ask," Bruce nodded, "It would also be nice if you actually ate a little something besides cereal. You are skin and bone, kiddo." The smile on his face was real and Dick slowly felt his own soften into something more genuine. It was not a true smile, he had not done that in years, but it was close enough.

Five hours passed, lunch came and went with Dick forcing down a few more bites of his sandwich than normal. It felt like concrete in his gut, but if it would make Bruce happy he was willing to suffer a little discomfort. In his attempt to be good Dick forwent his normal shadowing of the butler and instead spent his time flying. But, his worry over the older man's actions was a constant buzz at the back of his mind. Finally, he gave up on being good and went to find the man.

A short search later Dick stood in the doorway of the expansive kitchen. The old man stood by the state-of-the-art stove, staring out the window with a small scowl on his face.

A sharp, sustained shriek filled the room. Dick jumped and then cursed himself for the moment of weakness which revealed his position. The man pulled a tea kettle from the stove and the shrieking ceased. He turned to Dick and smiled, though it was a thin wavering thing. It made Dick feel slightly better to know the butler was equally uncomfortable.

"Good afternoon, young master, would you like to join me for tea?"

Dick considered, he did not truly think that the old man would try to poison him. At least, not when they were alone at the manor and it would be only too easy to discover what had occurred. The tea did smell amazing. The soft scent of oolong and ginger that filled the room as the butler poured the water over the dry leaves eased his soul in a way he could not have anticipated. Tea was important to his parents, he suddenly remembered. A brief flash of red fingernails against a chipped tea service and deep laughter and warm sunbeams assailed him and Dick swallowed tightly. He supposed it wouldn't be so terrible to share a single mug with the man. He would simply have to watch him very carefully. He padded across the floor and, keeping a stern eye on the older man, pinched some of the dry tea form the open tin next to the pot.

One deep sniff told him the tea was not poisoned. He nodded his acceptance of the invitation.

One cup of tea would not hurt.

The old man's brittle smile became warm.

"Then come along, lad," he gestured to the small table on the other side of the kitchen, "I fear I have been derelict in my duty."

Dick tilted his head to the side in question. The butler chortled.

"It is my job to care for the members of this household. I admit that I have been doing only the bare minimum where you are concerned." He looked upset and suddenly Dick remembered what Pop Haly had looked like, a face full of warmth and age and love. The butler- no, Alfred (Bruce had said to call him Alfred), had that same look about him.

He opened him mouth and, without thinking, spoke to reassure the man.

"Kind no rot happy!"

Alfred jerked at the sudden noise. He dropped the delicate tea cup he had been holding and stared at the boy. The doctors had said-

But, before his train of thought could travel any further the boy looked between him and the broken mug with wide, terrified eyes and fled.

"No, Master Richard!" He called in vain. The child was already gone, vanished in the silent way Alfred as not sure even Bruce could manage. Muttering imprecations against his own clumsiness and paused just long enough to sweep up the shards and deposit them in the garbage before beginning a search of the Manor.

Chapter Text

How We Were: Part 2

Bruce entered his childhood home to silence. He frowned, normally, there were at least the soft sounds of Alfred going about his tasks. It could be nothing; Alfred could be out back tending the garden and Dick was far too silent to be heard no matter how close he was. But, something in Bruce rebelled against that idea. It was the same something that screamed at him to move when the thug behind him raised a gun or to stay still when the gunrunners patrol passed. He listened to it.

He tossed his jacket and briefcase into the closet just off the entryway and, after a brief moment of consideration, toed off his shoes. Silence and surprise were his allies in the case of a home invasion and he was not used to moving stealthily in dress shoes.

He quickly cleared the kitchen and other living areas downstairs. He knew before he entered each of them that they were empty. The manor was large and old. Bruce knew the sounds that every room made when occupied and empty. The gentle creaks of the wood and settling of the foundation were noises that had soothed him over the course of his life. Now, they were able to speed up his search for the other occupants of the home.

The search did not bear fruit until he climbed the stairs to the second floor and opened the door to the master bedroom. In a scene he would never forget, Alfred was on his hands and knees lifting the bed-skirt and peering into the blackness underneath. The surreal quality of the situation was further underlined when Alfred dropped the fabric and cursed loudly.

"Alfred?" Bruce could not help but question. He no longer thought the home had been invaded, but all was obviously not normal.

The butler spun to face his employer and surrogate son, "Oh, dear! I am so sorry, sir. I didn't realize that anyone else was here."

Despite his concern Bruce could not help but chuckle, "It's alright, Alfred. You just made thirteen-year-old me very happy."

If Alfred hadn't been so very British, Bruce was sure he would have blushed violently. As it was he simply sniffed disdainfully.

"What's going on?" Bruce gave in to his curiosity.

At this Alfred's shoulder slumped, "I'm afraid it is all my fault, sir. I invited the young master to have tea with me, hoping it would put him more at ease in my presence. Selfishly, I also hoped that it would help me feel more comfortable around the lad."

Bruce nodded, "That was a good idea. His parent's trailer had a lot of tea in it. I think it was pretty important to them."

Alfred nodded, "It was all going well. He agreed to join me and we were even having a discussion of sorts when – well when he spoke."

Bruce had to sit down.

"What?" he questioned softly. "The doctors said that he couldn't."

Alfred nodded, "I know. I was quite shocked myself. In fact, I dropped a teacup in my surprise. It scared him, or rather, I believe he thought I would punish him for the event. He fled."

"What did he say?" Bruce wanted to hear the boy's voice. He still remembered the bubbly child he had met all those years ago, the one who brightened any space he was in with his smile and his kind words. He wondered if the voice still sounded the same or if it had been darkened by pain and terror like everything else about Dick had.

Alfred looked pained, "I don't know, sir."

"How can you not know?"

"It was English, but not English; more of a random series of words than a sentence."

Bruce nodded almost absently, he was already running through all the possibilities of what exactly might be affecting Dick. Of course, in order to figure what was going on, he first needed to find the boy. He and Alfred decided to continue their searches throughout the manor. Alfred would continue on the second floor and Bruce climbed to the third.

The third floor was where the telescope and Wayne Family art collections were kept. It was rarely used except for during certain fundraising events. In fact, Bruce wasn't sure Dick had even been up to the third floor in the two weeks that he had been living at the manor. The silence in this area of the house was absolute. Bruce was sure that he would be able to hear any motion Dick made long before he saw the boy.

He was just beginning to despair ever finding the boy when the thought occurred to him. For all that the last four years had obviously changed him, this was still the little boy who had so joyfully flipped off the top of the candy cane truck to introduce himself to Bruce. Heights were a good thing in Dick's mind. With that idea in mind Bruce restarted his search looking up this time instead of down.

When he finally realized he was being too close-minded in his searching and that there was, in fact, a higher point in the manor that could be achieved if one was determined enough Bruce could have smacked himself. He found the closest window and opened it. The ascent to the roof was more arduous than he expected it to be; Wayne Manor was not lacking in foot and handholds but they were surprisingly slippery in the late afternoon fog that had fallen on the city.

"Dick?" Bruce called softly when he reached the summit. Her perched as steadily as he could on the slick tiles.

The boy's head popped over the peak of the roof, small face pinched with worry. When he saw that it was Bruce the tension eased almost imperceptibly. Without a sound, a skill Bruce still marveled at despite living with Dick for two weeks, he crested the roof and slid down the tiles to sit next to Bruce. It pained the older man that Dick still maintained a careful three feet between them, even in such cramped quarters as the roof.

Is he mad? The small hands flashed his question even as their owner refused to meet Bruce's gaze. I swear I didn't mean to scare him.

Bruce reached out and stilled Dick's hands, enveloping them in one of his own.

"He's not mad, kiddo." Finally the blue eyes raised to meet his own. Before Dick could ask again Bruce smiled, "I promise. I would never lie to you unless I absolutely had to. You know that right?" Dick nodded. "Good. Then trust me here; Alfred is not mad at you. He's worried because you disappeared on him and a little upset that you were so scared, but not at you."

Dick seemed to be considering that information so Bruce asked him the question he really wanted an answer to, hoping if he were distracted Dick might be more willing to answer.

"Chum? Alfred said you talked?"

Dick's eyes widened and he pulled his hands free of Bruce's hold.

I know I'm not allowed to. I know I'm broken but it just – here he slapped one palm down on the roof and mimed slipping off, I swear I didn't mean to.

"You are not broken!" Bruce said. He was pleased when his sharp tone did not cause the boy to shrink away from him. In fact, a very small twitch of his lips told Bruce that the declaration was well received.

"But, Dick, I need you to try and talk for me so I can help you."

Dick stared at him for few, very long, seconds before nodding sharply.

"I dance," he whispered. At first Brue couldn't even comprehend the actual words that slipped from the boy's lips. He was so caught up on the slight rasp of vocal chords unused to being used and the naturally melodious cadence present in even two words. The voice was everything he expected from his memory of the boy four years ago, everything and more. Bruce suddenly felt very close to tears. He pulled Dick close to his side, for once not dancing around the lad's distaste for touching. Thankfully, Dick seemed to want the comfort just as much as Bruce wanted to give it and he tucked himself up against Bruce's ribcage.

After a few moments of marveling at hearing the boy he was beginning to think of as his son speak for the first time Bruce contemplated the actual words. 'I' was obvious and transparent, but why say 'dance'? It made no sense given the context.

"Dickie?" He murmured, "Why did you say 'I dance'?"

Dick shrugged, his shoulders jamming into Bruce's side as he did so. He extracted his arms from their position wrapped around his torso.

That's what always happens, he signed, I know what I want to say but when I try and talk… He fell still. Bruce glanced down to see silent tears coursing down the boy's face. He felt something deep within him break a little more.

He didn't like me talking. He said I was stupid and that stupid people shouldn't talk, Dick continued after a few moments of silence and stillness.

"That is not true," Bruce grabbed onto what he could respond to, "You are not stupid; you are brilliant." Dick looked at him skeptically. "I'm not kidding. Something happened and you lost the ability to speak, and I do want to know what that was but you don't have to tell me yet. Most people would give up then, but you didn't. You found a way to communicate and it's damn clever-Don't tell Alfred I said that."

"Damn," Dick parroted with the first real smile Bruce had ever seen from him. Bruce could not find it in himself to be mad.

"Yeah, that," Bruce poked Dick's shoulder lightly, "Alfred does not like cussing. He won't hurt you, I promise, but he will give you a look that makes you feel lower than the smallest ant."

Dick giggled.

"Anyway," Bruce continued, "You invented signs, very good ones I might add, and have been learning ASL faster than I thought possible. You are overcoming something that would break most people."

"Know you," Dick whispered. Thank you, his hands elaborated.

Bruce smiled and kissed the top of the boy's head, "Dickie, I've only really known you for two weeks and I am already so proud of everything you are. Now, come one, let's get off the roof before you freeze solid."

Chapter Text

Chapter 4: Question Words

When Damian Al Ghul, soon to be Wayne, meet Dick Grayson for the first time he was decidedly not impressed. The man was shorter than his father by a good five inches and everything about him screamed 'ne'er-do-well'. His hair was far too unkempt, sweeping about his head in the breeze, his grin was too loose and his eyes were too bright. He looked incredibly wrong and incredibly right standing at Batman's side and Damian hated it. Who was this Nightwing to stand where he himself should? Damian privately thought, and not so privately declared, that he could not believe his father was associating with such trash. He might have thrown in a few choice phrases about Grayson's heritage and upbringing. It was then that he got his first glimpse that something might be not as it seemed. Something had glinted in Grayson's eyes and was reflected in his father's, something feral and dangerous. Damian felt a flash of fear that was gone before he could properly analyze it. He elected not to continue speaking on the subject, at least for the moment.

His opinion did not change when he learned that Grayson could not even speak properly. He called Damian 'Pup' and when he spoke it was all a tangled mess. His hands were constantly flashing about along with the words. Damian wished the other man would just be still for one minute, but that seemed to be impossible. He was constantly moving, pacing back and forth as he ranted incoherently. Occasionally he would pause and peer at Damian, the same something the young Wayne could not recognize from their first meeting flashing though his eyes. It would freeze Damian in his tracks, caught in the crystal blue gaze, until Grayson looked away and Damian was allowed to continue whatever he was doing.

Worst of all, it seemed his father perfectly understood the garbled mess of his first ward's speech. Grayson would chatter and flash his hands and Father would watch attentively and then respond in kind, though his words were precise and logical. It was infuriating to say the least…

It was not until Drake showed up for the first time that Damian thought that there might be more to Grayson than a simpleton his father had taken in and trained to fight crime.

"Pral!" Grayson had all but shouted. He scampered (scampered! What adult male did that?!) from the top of the stairs where he had been standing, down the long banister before flipping off the end and landing before Drake. He paused, looking the younger teen up and down, before gathering him up in his arms in a tight hug. Damian scoffed at the display of physical affection. When he finally released the other boy Grayson grabbed his hand and led him over to where Damian stood.

"Pral, this breathes Pup. He breathes cat Kham." He gestured a few times and for the first time Damian realized that he was using a sign language. It was not one that Damian was familiar with, despite having a basic knowledge of ASL, Signed English, and Arabic Sign Language. He frowned deeply as Drake flashed two quick hand symbols at Grayson. Obviously Father, Grayson, and Drake all knew the language. Perhaps it was invented to communicate as Batman and his partners? More investigation would be required…. (Tim, this is Damian. He is Bruce's son.)

Drake finally turned his full attention to Damian, "Hi, I'm Tim. Dick says you're called 'Pup'?"

Damian glared at the two of them. Drake was grinning and Dick was rolling his eyes with a groan.

"Madly?" Dick asked with raised eyebrows. (Really?)

Drake laughed, "Yep, at least it's cute. You're lucky kid, you should hear what Clark got saddled with-"

"I do not have time for this inane prattle." Damian hissed. If they weren't going to bother to show him the proper respect, or even to call him by the correct name, then he was not going to waste any more time on them than he already had. He stalked away. Grayson had already begun chattering again as he left.

Later that same evening Damian found himself in the library. This time of year the fireplace was always roaring and it was one of the few rooms in the manor where Damian felt like he could actually be warm. He missed the heat of the desert, the way it curled around his bones and lulled him into relaxation, even in the dangerous halls of Ra's al Ghul. But, when he pushed the chair close and held a book written in his native tongue, he felt almost like the manor could maybe be his home one day.

He had been reading for nearly an hour when the door creaked open. He resisted the urge to crane his head around the edge of the chair to see who had entered. He didn't recognize the steps; too heavy to be Grayson who always walked like he was trying to take flight, not precise enough to be Pennyworth, nor strong enough to be his father whose steps were as strong as he was. Damian rolled his eyes, of course Drake would choose to bother him.

"I request that you take your leave immediately," he tried, knowing it would be in vain. If Drake was anything like the other residents of Wayne Manor he would be unbearably stubborn.

"Not happening," Drake's voice was terse and Damian shut his book. "We need to talk."

"What in the world might you and I have to discuss?"

Drake settled into the chair opposite Damian. He immediately pulled off his jacket in the face of the heat from the flames.

"What are you reading?" Damian huffed out an annoyed breath.

"Why are you here?"

Drake sighed heavily, "Fine, to business then." He eyed Damian carefully, "Has anyone explained to you exactly what's going on with Dick?"

"I assumed he was a simpleton."

That drew a quiet snarl from Drake and Damian suddenly found himself more invested in the conversation. For all that he had very little respect for Drake as a person, he respected his father's choices. If Batman said that Tim Drake was a worthy successor to the late Jason Todd then Damian supposed he trusted that choice. It was not a situation that would be allowed to continue for very long. Damian was clearly the superior partner, his father only needed the time to see that and Damian would supplant Drake.

"You will NOT say anything of that nature in front of him," Drake managed through gritted teeth, "Dick has survived more than you could ever comprehend. He deals with talk like that every damn time we have to go out in public and he doesn't need to hear it at home too."

"What's wrong with him?" Damian could not help his curiosity. It had gotten him in trouble many times back when he lived in the compound.

"Nothing," Drake snapped. He sighed and continued more calmly, "Look this really isn't my business to be telling you, but you obviously aren't going to learn how to understand him without knowing… He has very severe aphasia, mostly affecting his spoken language."

"Aphasia," Damian tried the word out, unwilling to admit that he did not know what it meant in English.

"It means that his brain can't find the right words. What he says makes perfect sense to him and he always uses the same wrong words. So, if you've spend enough time around him you learn some of the words. If you want, I have all kinds of research on his exact sort."

Damian nodded. He supposed a medical condition was a legitimate reason to be so inept when communicating. Without thinking he asked, "What the hell are his hands doing? It is not a standard language."

The terse smile Drake shot at him told Damian that he had been far too obvious in his interest. He scowled.

"He was injured when he was still with Them," Damian's scowl deepened. He did not know who 'them' was supposed to be. "They didn't care. They didn't want him to talk anyway, but Dick knew that something was wrong. So he made signs up for himself. He knows ASL and Signed English and uses those in public but when he's home he uses his signs and ASL together."

Damian suddenly felt very small and very petty, though he did not want Drake to know it.

"I will-," he paused, considering his next words, "attempt to be kinder to Grayson on the matter of his speech."

The smile Drake shot at him was radiant. "That's all we ask, kiddo."

Damian nodded, "Now, please, leave me. I wish to read in silence."

Drake left without another word.

Damian did not read any more that evening. Instead he stared into the fire and wondered when everything became so complicated. He was just supposed to go to Gotham and take his place at his father's side. Now, he was struggling with sudden feelings of not-scorn for the various members of his father's family. It was, discomforting, to say the least.

Chapter Text

What We Say, Part 1

Dick wanted to go to school, he really did. He vaguely remembered afternoons spent in the warm sun outside his family's trailer, sitting on the ground and repeating names and dates of important historical events back to his mother. He could not see her face, but he could feel the glow of her smile and the buzz of excitement at a right answer. He could recall all of his times tables and the time they went to a library and she showed him how to use a computer. He remembered one day, a cloudy one where the sky threatened rain and the breeze felt cold, when his mother had cried and explained to him that not everyone saw their people as they were, that some hated them for who they are and that he should always be on watch for those people. She explained about a dark time when they were rounded up and killed and showed him pictures of his cousins and grandparents who had lost their lives. It was frustrating to him that he could still see the gentle wrinkles on his grandmother's face, could still remember the love his grandfather's eyes, but could not recall his mother's eye color without looking at a picture.

He had been living to Bruce for nearly three months and the demons were starting to shrink. There were still just as many as when Batman first swooped down from the rafters, but they were smaller, they had less talons than before. Every day he looked and everyday he was pleased to see their diminished power. He had even found a place for Alfred in his new world. Once they began spending time together the butler no longer reminded Dick of him and he was free to form unbiased opinions. Of course, Dick was not anywhere near okay; he still had nightmares that made him unable to sleep longer than a few hours at a stretch, he still flinched when anyone moved to quickly, and he still hadn't been able to speak a coherent sentence. He was grateful that Bruce didn't seem to care that he was broken, damaged beyond all repair. He wasn't sure what he would have done if Bruce had realized his mistake and sent him away. Bruce's understanding and gentle tutoring (so unlike what he could recall of his mother's more rambunctious style) had given Dick more words than he ever hoped for, even if they were only on his hands.

Dick thought he could manage his issues and problems. He wanted to learn again and neither Bruce nor Alfred had the time to be his teacher. He wouldn't really want them to put themselves out like that anyway, they had already done so much for him, more than he would ever expect anyone to do for someone like him. So, when the beginning of August rolled around he pulled Bruce aside.

Bruce?

Dick had spent an entire night after a nightmare trying to find the perfect sign for Bruce. It needed to be something strong and fearless, something that captured Batman, while still being the kind of gentle, understanding man Dick had begun to care for. Eventually, he decided on a quick motion that began with his right hand held open by his left shoulder and dropped to the center of his chest in the symbol which meant home in Dick's personal sign. It was a sign that he had always wanted to use in the light of day, one that rolled up all the hope for freedom and remembrance of happiness he was too scared to really believe in into a hand shape. Bruce thought it was a random shape and Dick wanted it to remain that way. He did not think Bruce would use the knowledge of how much Dick was growing to care for him against him, but it was difficult not to feel laid bare by the emotion.

"Yes?" Bruce pulled off his jacket and handed it to Alfred. Dick glanced warily at the older man. He reached up and grasped the edge of Bruce's dress shirt sleeve. He might not actively fear Alfred anymore, but it was still prudent to use caution. He saw Bruce lift a questioning eyebrow at Alfred but neither man commented on Dick's actions.

"I'll just hang this up, sir." Bruce nodded his assent and followed Dick out of the cavernous entryway. Dick hated that room; it reminded him of the aeries the Talons took their rest in. Tall, empty rooms with lights that swayed and the deceptively soft click of deadly claws. Dick viciously shoved those thoughts from his head.

"What's up, chum?" Bruce crouched to Dick's level as he spoke, "I thought we were done being scared of Alfred?"

Dick nodded. He wasn't really scared of Alfred anymore. Sure, the older man still gave him a small shiver when he appeared in a room that Dick had previously thought was empty. But if anything, that gave him motivation to continue his own practice. So, no, he wasn't really scared; he just didn't trust the man yet.

"Good. Now, what's going on?"

Dick steeled himself for disappointment. He was sure that Bruce was not going to grant his request. He could tell how even going out to dinner made the man twitchy.

I want to go to school. There, he had laid it out and now Bruce just had to respond. Dick ducked his head, waiting for the disapproval. A few long moments passed and he found himself being made to look up by a crooked finger under his chin. Bruce's expression was a mix of emotions Dick could not remember ever feeling. Something that looked like pride warred with fear and more than a little apprehension.

"I'll need to think about it," was all Bruce said. Dick nodded, that was not the immediate 'no' he was expecting, there was still hope that his request would be granted. "Now, I know you're probably tired of doctors, but I'd like you to see one more if that would be okay with you?"

Dick really wanted to say that no, it was not okay. He was so tired of being poked and prodded and having people in white coats marvel at his 'muscle tone' and 'extensive scarring' and 'oh my god what happened to this poor boy.' He had lifted his hands to protest when Bruce reached out and stilled them.

"Her name is Leslie," he explained softly, "She knows about the basement."

'The basement' was what Bruce called the cave that served as his base of operations for his work as Batman. Dick thought it was a little silly. He had checked for listening devices his first night in the old house (there weren't any). But, if it made Bruce feel better then Dick supposed it was okay. After all, he did a few illogical things when he was feeling unsafe (he still perched atop the column at the corner of his bed when nightmares woke him). Dick knew that Bruce was really saying that he trusted Leslie like he trusted Alfred. It was mildly reassuring, though not enough to make Dick comfortable with yet another doctor.

Bruce seemed to sense that as easily as he sensed everything else about Dick. He smiled gently at the boy and Dick felt that strange new desire to make his guardian happy rise in his chest.

"Okay," he whispered once and then drew in a deep breath and repeated louder, "Okay. Okay, I'll do it."

Bruce nodded, "I'm glad. She said she could see you this afternoon if you agreed. She'll come here and we can even do the exam in the cave."

Dick could not help the thrill of excitement at that. He was not allowed in the cave unless Alfred or Bruce was there to supervise him. They said it was because of all the 'dangerous' weapons that he might accidentally hurt himself with. Dick did not have the heart to tell them that he had been given his first set of throwing knives when he was five and used them for the first time on an opponent when he was six.

Leslie arrived a mere half an hour later and Dick had the strong suspicion that he had only been asked as a formality and that she was already on her way. Gotham proper was nearly forty-five minutes away if one used the normal roads and followed the speed limits. He found he didn't really mind the assumption and stubbornly kicked the paranoia-demon in the shins, forcing it back onto its increasingly rickety perch in his mind.

Dick and Bruce were waiting for her in the cave. Dick took the opportunity to use his trapeze and to show off to Bruce. It was nice to be acknowledged for one's skills. He thought he must have loved the circus, the mere idea of hundreds of people all cheering him on the way Bruce did was intoxicating. When he heard the elevator begin to descend from the upper levels he pulled shifted his weight from a position which allowed continued aerial work to a dismount prep. He landed with a nearly silent thud from thirty feet up. The crouched position would never have won any awards, but it was so ingrained in him over the last four years as the best way to silently land and sneak up on one's target that he was not sure he would ever be able to break the habit.

Clapping reached his ears and Dick shot to his feet, falling into a fighting stance unconsciously.

"Oh, I didn't mean to scare him," the woman standing next to Alfred worried, "I'm sorry, Bruce."

Dick scowled, he hated it when people spoke about him as if he weren't there.

I can understand her just fine, she doesn't need to apologize.

Bruce chuckled, "He says it's fine, Leslie. No need to apologize."

The doctor at least had the good graces to blush and Dick forced himself to forget the unintended slight. She was obviously a good friend of Bruce's and Dick did not want to alienate a potentially useful ally so early.

"Well," Leslie shifted her weight from one foot to the other, "Shall we begin? Bruce tells me that you haven't had a fun time the last few times you visited the doctor."

Dick wasn't sure if she wanted a response but in an effort to make up for his less than welcoming demeanor signed to Bruce who translated for Leslie; They treated me like, like a – What's the word for mouse and scientist? We saw one on the TV last night.

"Lab rat," Bruce carefully formed the letters to spell the words as he said them and then made the ASL signs. Dick nodded his understanding and continued.

Yeah, they treated me like a lab rat. I did not like when they took my blood and when they called me a monster.

"What!?" Bruce interrupted his own translation at that, "You are NOT a monster, Dick."

Dick shrugged, he didn't like it and it hurt to hear out loud, but he mostly knew it was true. Monsters were the things that came in the night and killed people; the things that took them from their beds and their families. That pretty well described him before Batman had found him. It was okay though, Bruce had given him the chance to not be that anymore.

"I see," Leslie spoke before Bruce could take the discussion further. Dick mentally thanked her for that. "Well, I promise not to be like those other doctors. You just tell Bruce if I'm doing anything you don't like and I will stop unless it is medically necessary. Can you agree to that?"

Dick glanced to Bruce just long enough to once again confirm that he was okay with the woman before nodding.

"Good," she smiled at him, "Then, let's begin."

Chapter Text

Chapter 6: The Stories We Tell

Movie night was something of an institution the Wayne household. It began when Dick was eight and the words on his hands were still stilted and feeble. Leslie suggested that it might be a good idea to help Dick readjust to the world at large by slowly introducing him to popular culture. The first movie they sat down and watched was a hit. Dick was soon singing the songs, the melody intact and the words mangled; Bruce thought it might have been the most beautiful song he had ever heard.

Each Saturday night a new movie was introduced and soon they had worked their way through the classic children's movies and into the lists Bruce found online of 'must watch movies'. Dick particularly enjoyed the Bond films, though his comments about how much more efficiently Bond couldDamia eliminate his targets alarmed Bruce, and Alfred was a fan of the quieter, thoughtful pieces that really explored human nature. Those movies always ended with Dick pressed as close to Bruce's side as he could get, his eyes wide and his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. Bruce and Alfred agreed that it was good for Dick to see those sorts of films, but they did limit them to once a month. Bruce had no real preferences, mostly he watched Dick's face for signs of distress anyway.

When Jason joined their little family Dick gave up one of his movie choice weekends for Jason and suddenly animal documentaries joined the roster. The only ones that Bruce forbade were the movie about birds of prey. They tried one the third week after Jason came to stay and Dick's ensuing panic attack at the first screech was something none of them ever wanted to experience again.

Tim and Cass joined them a year after Jason and immediately Alfred was making a rotating calendar of who would get to choose each week's movie. Cass tended towards the sorts of films Dick enjoyed, though she liked the more independent companies' works more than he, while Tim liked bright, happy pieces about people finding love and raising families. Dick always held Tim close on those nights. Even if Tim never said anything his yearning for a 'real' family was painfully obvious to them all.

Damian refused to participate, though he did sit in the room on movie nights and read.

The movies they watched had a lot to do with what was happening in their night lives. When things were dark Tim seemed to have more choices come up than the others. When they need to be reminded of what exactly they fought for it was Alfred (and he always choose Disney on those nights).

When Jason died they watched dry documentaries about molecules for two months.

When Bruce died, they skipped three weekends.

Finally, Tim and Cass approached Dick and Jason with a stack of DVDs and plaintive looks.

"We just, we want-" Tim was at a loss for how to say what they wanted. Cass lay her hand on his shoulder.

"We wish to watch a movie."

Jason snorted, "Go for it kiddos, no one's stopping you." Dick nodded along with Jason's words.

But, Tim shook his head and Cass lifted her chin.

"No. We wish to watch a movie as a family."

That was that. Neither Dick nor Jason had ever been able to refuse Cassandra something when she asked for it.

So it was that, fourteen years after Dick first stepped in the manor, the family gathered in the private living room. Dick sat at one end of the large, plush couch with his feet tucked under his body and a pillow hugged to his chest. He had taken a hard blow to the ribs on the previous night's patrol and the slight pressure felt good. Tim ensconced himself next to Dick, one leg lightly brushing up against Dick's side. He had claimed the remote as soon as he entered the room and no one was willing to argue with the teen who had only just begun to look them in the eyes again. Cass pressed herself tight against Tim's other side. She twined the fingers of her left hand through his right and snuggled into a large quilt with a soft smile. Damian and Jason each claimed one of the arm chairs. Damian had a deep scowl on his face at being forced to participate in what he deemed an "unnecessary waste of his precious time" and was pointedly ignoring the others. Jason found himself attempting to hide the large smile that wanted to creep across his face.

Of course, Dick was never one to let a hidden smile stay that way. He flipped his right hand in a general interrogative. Jason's hesitation melted away.

"I was just thinking." Dick rolled his eyes, obviously wanting more elaboration.

"I wasn't aware you could think," Damian snipped.

"Cute, kiddo," Jason shot back, "Your mommy teach you that one?"

"Come over here and say that! When my father returns and deposes you from his rightful place then you-"

Come on guys! Dick interrupted, You know we don't fight on movie night!

Jason suddenly laughed. Bruce had told him that on the first movie night he spent in the manor, back when he was an angry street kid of nine years and Dick was twelve. He was delighted to realize that the memory of Bruce was not the knife in his gut that thoughts of the man normally were.

"Has Dick ever told you how we met?" he suddenly felt like sharing with the younger ones. Nowadays it felt odd to remember that there were two whole years where it was just Dick and Jason in the manor. Dick shot him a fond look and he knew he had made the right decision. The last three months had been so hard on them all, perhaps a story would make things seem a little better.

Tim perked up at the idea of a story. Jason rolled his eyes; Time was such a little fanboy, even after all this time.

"No," he hurried to say, "All either of you would ever say was that Jason's mom brought you together."

Jason and Dick nodded.

"Athena ran sunburnt," Dick whispered reverently. He stretched one leg out to rest on Jason's knee. Jason rested his left arm on Dick's shin.

"Yeah, she was." Jason rubbed at his eyes, this was supposed to be a happy story dammit!

"Athena?" Cass had scooted even closer to Tim and even Damian looked reluctantly intrigued.

Dick blushed. Jason chuckled.

"Yeah, our little Romeo here had a crush on my mom," He mock glared at Dick, "which, by the way, was totally not cool. That was my mom."

Dick shrugged, "She ran sunburnt," as he spoke his free hand signed and so scary smart.

Jason's smile became a little more tender. "Yeah," he directed his attention to the others, "My mom was amazing. Her name was Sheila, though obviously Dickie-bird here called her Athena. She was his interpreter and speech therapist at Gotham Academy."

Tim nodded, "So that's where you met."

Jason laughed outright at that, "As if," he snorted, "There's no way a single mom on an interpreter's salary could afford to send her kid there. No, it's a bit more complicated than that"

Dick pulled both hands free and began to explain.

Dick is twelve when he starts worrying about Ms. Haywood. She's always been so kind to him, even when he doesn't think he deserves it. She gives him small candies when he shows her a new sign and understands most of the gnarled sentences he mutters when he is too exhausted from a late patrol the previous night to even sign. It's amazing to have someone besides Bruce and Alfred who understands him in that way. Barbara and Ms. Haywood are the only other ones and Barbara is… well, Dick isn't really sure what she is. A year ago he could have said that she was his best friend. Now, while he can still easily say that, he finds that the sign for friend no longer feels quite right when he uses it in relation to her. He wants to say more but has no way of articulating the emotion to Bruce (the only one he would trust with such a confusing feeling).

His school days are all the same. He arrives and goes to homeroom where he meets up with Ms. Haywood. She asks him how his night was and how his morning is going and he always says they were and are fine. She doesn't know about his night-life and he thinks it is nice to have a friend who doesn't. Technically Barbara doesn't know either, but Dick thinks that she is far too clever to not have it figured out by now. After all, her dad has so many files on Nightwing and a blurry picture of Batman was released last fall.

After homeroom he has math and it is still so easy that he mostly ignores it and talks with Ms. Haywood. They have the freedom to talk about whatever they want because sign is silent and Mr. Yu, the calculus professor doesn't care if Dick pays attention or not so long as his grades don't slip and he keeps the mathlete team in good standing for State.

Ms. Haywood tells Dick about her young son and his adventures on Gotham. She says his name is Jason and that he takes karate lessons. He's just reached brown belt and she is so proud. Strangely, Dick is too. He's been hearing about young Jason for almost four years. Even if they've never met face to face Dick feels as if he knows the other boy.

Sometimes their conversations are not so pleasant. Dick once asked where Jason's father was and Ms. Haywood had nearly started to cry. Peter Todd, she finally explained, was a very bad man, one he should not worry about and that she did not want to talk about. Later that day Dick looked Peter up in the database and decided that she was right. Peter was in jail on multiple counts of domestic abuse and armed robbery. Dick placed an alarm on the file. If Peter Todd was ever released from Jail, Nightwing would be the first to know about it. No one hurt his friends.

It was his conversations with Ms. Haywood about her son that would eventually change both the boy's lives forever. Dick was curious about the child he had learned so much about so, one night when Nightwing was patrolling separately from Batman, he swung by the Haywood home.

Dick loved watching the two of them together. They were so happy and easy in one another's company. It simultaneously made his heart ache with envy and desire and fill with happiness for them. Ms. Haywood would scoop little Jason up in her arms and spin him around, laughing all the while. Jason would sneak up behind his mom and grab her in a tight surprise hug. They cooked dinner together and when Jason had a nightmare he climbed into his mother's bed. She kissed his forehead and loved him so very fiercely that Dick could see it from his perch across the street. It was amazing to watch.

"Ha, it appears Drake is not the only stalker in the family!"

The others very carefully did not acknowledge that Damian had just referred to them as a family. In fact, the boy had moved from his chair to the foot stool in front of Jason's chair while Dick was telling the story. Dick stuck his tongue out at the assassin.

"Not a glorper."

"Okay, that last one wasn't even a real word," Jason informed him. Dick shrugged.

Eh, who even knows how my head works these days. He smirked, but apparently g-l-o-r-p-e-r means stalkers in Dickish.

"Riiight,"Jason rolled his eyes, "Anyway, so this creeper was stalking my mom. Like, I said before, he had a massive crush on her. Even Bruce knew about it."

Dick gasped, He did not!

"Ha! You admit it!"

Tim and Cass were laughing so hard at this point that they had to lean even more heavily on one another for support. Even Damian had cracked a genuine smile. Dick and Jason exchanged a look of triumph. Their plan was working.

"Anyway!" Jason continued over the sound of laughter, "Nightwing was stalking my mom. It actually turned out to be a good thing." Suddenly it occurred to Jason that this might not be the best story to be telling. One glance at Dick told him that the same thought had just occurred to his older brother. Dick's foot nudged Jason's leg and he raised one eyebrow. Did Jason think this was a good idea? He could only shrug in response. They all knew that subtle emotions really weren't Dick's thing. He typically left all that up to Jason to take care of and focused on protecting their physical bodies instead. Bodies he understood, emotions were just confusing.

Jason decided to censor the ending of the story.

"Dickie didn't know it but my mom had starting running with her old crowd. These guys from before I was born, real tough types. Matches Malone would feel right at home."

Dick snorted. The others did not react, they sensed that the tale was about to change.

"We were falling behind on our bills. I had even started running drugs for one of her buddies to help with money, well, that and stealing tires to sell," Jason could not help the smirk when he thought of his younger self's confidence that he would never be caught.

Dick took over the narration.

One night when I was watching I saw that Jason was alone. Children should never be alone.

He paused and Tim scooted closer. Dick shot him a tender look remembering the way that they had met. A child alone in the woods and in the rest of his life and the boy who was missing his guardian.

The others exchanged fond looks. They were all well aware of Dick's need to protect his flock and penchant for rescuing lonely strays.

Anyway, Dick continued, I worried about Sheila. Back then I wasn't really good with people and -

Jason snorted, "You were fucking terrible, bro. I swear to Bat you hissed at me once." Dick kicked him with his free leg.

Okay, I was terrible with people. But, not with Sheila. She was like Bruce and I was good with her. When she didn't show up after a while I snuck in.

Damian could picture it. Dick was an absolute ghost when he wanted to be, his training with the Talons ensured that. Jason would never have known Nightwing was in his apartment.

"I was in the living room, umm, trying to avoid, I mean-" Jason trailed off. Tim felt tendrils of alarm snake through him. He had no idea when they started talking that this was the story that they were going to hear.

"Jay?" he whispered, "Are you okay?"

Jason snorted and shook his head, "No. Look, I wasn't thinking when we started this. It's not really the story you guys need to hear."

Dick nodded his agreement. Next time, he signed.

"Please finish," Cass whispered suddenly, "Want to know."

Jason clasped his hands tightly and averted his eyes from the others. He could not deny that request, "My mom had OD'd," he muttered, "She was in the room Nightwing snuck into. He sorta freaked out when he found her."

Understatement. Dick had to fingerspell that word, I really freaked out. I had a flashback to my parent's and might have kidnapped Jason and taken him back to the cave.

"I was fucking terrified but I had heard of Nightwing but all I could think about was how much I wanted my mom so I didn't really fight him. Bruce took me in that night and got the paperwork started the next day."

That was it, that was all either of them was willing to reveal to the others. Dick smiled at them all but his eyes were flinty and the smile was fragile and sharp as cut glass. The dangerous feeling he sometimes got on patrol rolled off him in waves. Damian quickly snatched up a worn copy of Fantasia. They all needed the innocence of classic music and old animation.

Dick and Jason exchanged rueful looks over the heads of the others as the orchestra started playing. They really needed Bruce to come back from the dead. This parenting thing was so much harder than either of them was expecting. They could barely hold each other together, much less the other three. It felt like they were fighting a losing battle against the darkness of Gotham and in their own hearts.

Jason almost wished they had told the others the final part of the story, the part that explained how fiercely Nightwing was willing to protect Jason, even from the very first time they met. Dick's eyes softened and Jason knew he was thinking of the end of that terrible night as well.

Nightwing was smaller than Jason expected him to be. Everyone had heard of the wraith who made Batman look soft and fuzzy in comparison; the shadow that danced through the night on the breezes too light to carry more than a fear and a whisper. Jason, who believed in Batman and Nightwing despite what the news and the police said, had pictured an older man with scars on his face and fire in his eyes. What he got was a little boy who was so much more dangerous than anything Jason had ever imagined.

"Molt!" The costumed hero snarled at him, flinging one hand back in an obvious command to remain in his place. Jason tucked himself deeper into the light covers on the hospital bed. They were in a cave, that was all Jason knew. The spandex clad fury had burst into the living room where Jason was hiding from his still, silent mother and grabbed him in an inescapable hold. He was shoved into a car and then across the damp expanse of the underground structure, all without a single word being spoken by his captor.

Suddenly there was a series of powerful thuds on the door.

"Nightwing?" The deep voice echoed through the barricade Nightwing had been erecting ever since he shoved Jason into the small room. Jason felt shivers start running through his body. He wanted to go home.

"Homing Pigeon!" Nightwing called back. He had crooked his hands into sharp hooks. Each finger was tipped with a deadly looking claw, they glinted in the dim light of the room.

"What? Nightwing what is going-" the fingers flexed almost imperceptibly and Jason wondered if he was about to see Nightwing fight.

"Homing. Pigeon." The words were growled out in a voice that Jason was sure he would have nightmares about if he survived all this.

"Quadruple Summersault. Now, let me in. Are you hurt?"

Jason watched at Nightwing visibly deflated at the words. He glanced at Jason before nodding sharply and yanking on a single strap dangling from the rather precarious pile of items. To Jason's amazement the pile split in two and the door was revealed between two collapsed piles. It slid open immediately.

Jason yanked the covers back over his head.

Batman. Batman stood in front of him. Batman stood in front of him and Jason was delivering drugs and stealing tires. Oh God, he was so screwed.

Jason really wanted his mother.

But, batman did not appear to care that Jason was a fledgling criminal. He immediately grasped Nightwing's shoulders and glanced over his body before pulling him into a tight hug.

"Don't do that to me, chum."

Nightwing pulled away. His hands were jerking in complicated patterns that Jason only half recognized from his ASL lessons with his mother. With a frown he tried to translate;

Talons…. Sheila….dead…I can't…..please.

Oh, they were talking about his mother. He squeezed his eyes shut.

A gentle touch on his chin brought him out of his dark thoughts.

"Nightwing says you're Sheila Haywood's son?" batman's face was softer than Jason could ever have imagined it being. He nodded, too afraid to speak.

"She was a good woman." Jason nodded again. Without warning Batman reached up and pulled down his cowl. Jason gaped. Bruce Wayne sat before him covered in grime and sweat and skin tight leather.

"Would you like to stay with me until we can contact your other family?"

Jason shook his head, "Don't got any other family."

Nightwing, now with his mask removed and his eyes revealed, reached forward and yanked on Bruce's sleeve sharply.

"Dick wants you to stay with us for good," Batm- Bruce smiled at him and Jason realized he like the man. It was strange.

"I understand if you don't want to, you've only just-"

"No!" Jason all but shouted. He blushed violently but forced himself to continue, "I mean, I don't have anyone and Nightwing was just trying to protect me, right?" The other boy nodded with a radiant smile, Jason found himself returning the expression despite the hollowness in his chest, "I son't want to go back there if my mom isn't going to be there."

Bruce rested one hand on his shoulder, "Okay. Welcome to the family Jason."

It was only later that Jason would realize that he had never introduced himself.

Later that night, when all is said and done and Dick and Bruce had removed their costume in favor of comfortable pajamas, Jason overheard something he was sure he was never supposed to hear.

"You can't do what you did today, chum." A few beats of silence, "No, no, taking Jason was good. That was the right thing to do. We can protect him from anything that's out there." More silence then a heavy sigh, "You can't go off comms like that. I was terrified when I got to the rendezvous and you and the car were gone."

Jason peeked around the door of the room he had been given. Bruce and Dick stood out in the hallway.

"I know you can take care of yourself, hell you're probably more competent than me at some things," Dick made two quick motions that Jason recognized;

Most things.

Bruce's smirk was present in his voice when he spoke again, "Agree to disagree. No matter what you need to stay in contact. I worry about you, son."

Dick looked strange and half upset and Jason quickly retreated back to the huge bedroom he had been gifted. Suddenly he didn't feel quite so bad about staying here.

Hours later Alfred would enter the movie room to see his charges curled around one another on the largest couch, all fast asleep save the eldest who watched over them with the sharp eyes of the birds for which he took his name.

Alfred left them without a word. Sometimes Dick needed to watch his brood for a night without interference.

Alfred would simple ensure that there were plenty of pancakes come breakfast time.

Chapter Text

What We Say, Part 2

Mrs. Haywood was nice. She smelled a little too strongly of flowers and her clothes reminded him of the Ma Haly (a remembrance that hurt) but she always had a smile for Dick in the morning and her hands flowed in patterns that his own ached to imitate. The first time they met she had smiled at him and knelt down to his level. On most adults the gesture would have been patronizing, but Mrs. Haywood achieved it with the same level of ease as Bruce.

“Hello, Dick.” Her smile was big and toothy and everything Dick missed about being a real person. He couldn’t help but think that she would not have lasted long with the Talons. “My name is Mrs. Haywood, but,” here she lowered her voice and glanced conspiratorially back at where Bruce was speaking with two men in serious suits, “you can call me Sheila if you want.”

Shyly, he finger-spelled Hello, Mrs. Haywood. It meant a lot to him that her smile did not dim when he choose not to use her given name. She had glanced back at where Bruce was talking with an older man.

“Are you excited for school?”

Dick nodded. He really was. Now that he was in the building, with his backpack resting against his shoulders and his uniform on he was nervous and felt a little panicked about the number of people around him. He found himself constantly tracking the positions of everyone in sight and reminding himself of all the possible escapes. Despite those feelings he was eager to be in a more defensible position than the main entrance way of the large school.

Dick was not used to being around so many people at once and found himself flinching away from even other students as the bell rang and Bruce waved goodbye. His new guardian had already whispered words of encouragement in his ear before they exited the car and Dick forced himself to keep those words in his head as Mrs. Haywood took his hand to lead him to the first class on the schedule the Dean and Bruce had agreed on. Dick knew that they had had trouble choosing classes for him due to the break in his formal schooling and his difficulty answering questions. Bruce would not hear of him being placed in anything less than fifth grade, despite the fact that most eight year olds were in the fourth. The Dean had looked very uncomfortable when Bruce made that demand and eventually Dick was sent out of the room with Alfred while they argued. In his first class Mrs. Haywood had settled herself in a seat at the front of the classroom half facing the rows of desks and half facing the board. She gestured for Dick to sit in the seat closest to her. He shook his head and made a beeline for a desk in the far back corner by the large windows.

Mrs. Haywood watched him for a long moment before she sighed and picked up her bag. She shifted the desk in front of the one he had chosen and settled back in. She handed him a small dry erase board and marker right as a tall, skinny man entered the room. Dick grimaced. He remembered what it was like to write without effort, to have the symbols flow from his pen as easy as could be. He couldn’t do that anymore. Now his handwriting was illegible at best and his head always ached afterwards.

“We have a few minutes before class starts,” Mrs. Haywood explained, “Let’s go over some basic signs in ASL. If you don’t know a word try and write it on the board.” Dick nodded, he was desperate to expand on what Bruce had been showing him.

The first few classes passed in a blur to Dick. Mrs. Haywood translated each teacher’s words as they moved from classroom to classroom. Dick stared intently at her hands and committed each new symbol to memory as it formed and moved. He never wrote on the dry erase board or asked any questions. A few other students tried to talk with him but when they realized that they would have to wait for his responses to be translated back they gave up and by the time the last class period of the day rolled around most of them were ignoring him. Dick much preferred that to the forced interest of before.

According to the schedule clutched tightly in Dick’s left hand his last class was Mathematics. It was the first one he actually felt any kind of interest in. The others had all been a mix of lecture and discussion and he felt very isolated. Worst of all though was how often the teachers felt the need to place their hands on him. He was sure that the motions were meant to be innocent. But, it was hard to suppress the urge to flinch violently and he found himself wishing for his claws, if only to warn them off. As the day had progressed he had wished more and more for a high place to perch, he wanted to be away from the masses of people and just have some time to himself to breathe. But, he had promised Bruce that he could do this and he did not want to disappoint the man who had given him so much.

But, math was numbers and numbers had always made sense to him. He only hoped that they still would. He wasn’t sure what he would do if they had stolen those as well.

The teacher said they were working in their study books and the other student groaned but got to work. Dick pulled cellophane wrapped book from his bag and quickly opened it. Then, holding his breath in hope, he pulled out a pen and got to work.

To his relief the numbers were just as familiar as they had always been and he was soon done with his first page. A quick glance around told him the other students were all still working so he started the next page.

Thirty minutes later Dick flipped the book closed and sat back in his chair.

“Mr. Grayson,” the teacher had noticed his actions and glided across the room, “If this work is too hard for you, you must ask questions like the other students. You can’t just give up!”

Dick stared at her. He would never give up on a math problem! But, before he could reply Mrs. Haywood reached over and slid his workbook around for the teacher to see.

“I think you’ll find that we need to have a meeting with the Dean,” she said with a smile.

The teacher opened the book, flipped through the pages with a wide eyed look and nodded.

The next day at the same time Dick found himself in a classroom with children two years his senior. He felt very small despite knowing that none of them could hold their own against him.

Would you like your normal seat? Mrs. Haywood asked.

Dick nodded, Yes please, I like being back there.

Once they were settled Dick studied the other students. Most of them ignored him, as had become the pattern around the school. But, one was staring at him with unabashed curiosity.

She had flaming red hair and a light sprinkle of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Dick realized he was blushing and had no idea why.

Hello. Me Barbara. The girl signed. Her grammar was atrocious but the fact that she had even tried endeared her to Dick.

He started signing.

“I’m not deaf,” Mrs. Haywood translated, “My name is Dick.”

Barbara grinned at him. He noticed that she had a gap between her front two teeth.

“Nice to meet you Dick. So, I guess you’re a nerd like me, huh?”

He cocked his head to the side in a wordless question. She giggled, “You’re in seventh grade math. You can’t be more than seven.”

Dick held up nine fingers with a light frown.

“Sorry,” she shrugged, “The other kids in here at all twelve. I’m ten. So, you and me, we’re nerds. But, that’s okay. Math is awesome.”

Dick decided he like Barbara.

So the first two weeks of Dick’s schooling passed. He stayed an extra hour after each day in the library and Mrs. Haywood gave him lessons on ASL and signed English. After the first week Barbara started joining them and soon her halting signs began to smooth ever so slightly. She was frustrated by the lack of progress but Dick was so delighted to be comfortable around another person his age that all he could do was beam at her when she tried to complain about how much quicker he was learning the grammar and signs.

On Tuesdays and Thursdays Dick skipped lunch to go sit in the counselor’s office and practice his writing with a therapist. He did not like the brisk man and he absolutely hated the sharp headaches he got after those sessions. But, at least he could force his way through a few sentences without wanting to cry.

Slowly, Dick grew more comfortable around Mrs. Haywood and his friendship with Barbara deepened quickly. When she pulled him aside five weeks after they had first met he followed without a second thought.

“Come on!” She dragged at his hand, “The library finally got the new Harry Potter book and I know you haven’t read any of them yet.”

Barbara had taken it upon herself to fix what she told him was a ‘true terrible’ knowledge of popular books. She spent a lot of time with baby-sitters because of her dad’s job and spent most of that time reading and was horrified to learn that Dick had never even hear of some of her favorites when they met.

They grabbed the book off the shelf and found two bean bags to sit in. Barbara scooted hers closer to Dick and curled up with the book, “I’ll read the first chapter,” she told him, “You can read the second.”

When it was Dick’s turn they used it as an opportunity to practice signed English and she would hold the book while he translated. He nodded his agreement. Barbara opened her mouth to start before she hesitated and looked thoughtful.

After a long silence she spoke;

“You know,” she muttered, “I think you’re the best friend I’ve ever had.” Dick stared at her. He didn’t know how to respond. The mere fact that she would hang out with someone like him was always amazing to the boy, he had never imagined she might actually enjoy his company above that of others.

Hesitantly he raised his hands, Me too. It was all he could bring himself to say but her massive smile told him it was enough. She stood from her bean bag and nudged at him with her foot.

“Move.” He did.

Mrs. Haywood found them thirty minutes later when the lunch bell rang. She paused as she entered and pulled out her cell phone. Across town Bruce had to excuse himself from his meeting so the board members would not see the tears fill his eyes when he looked at the picture he had just received from Dick’s interpreter.

The boy and the girl he had not been able to stop talking about for the last few weeks were squished into a single bean bag chair. They were wrapped around one another and Dick was signing animatedly while Barbara watched with wide eyes. Both were smiling and Bruce did not think he had ever seen Dick so relaxed. For the first time he was sure that they had made the right decision to allow the lad to attend school.

Later that afternoon, Mrs. Haywood was waving goodbye as Dick trotted towards Alfred and Bruce when Dick spun on one heel and signed;

Bye Sheila!

Dick did not see the tears in Sheila Haywood’s eyes when she saw what he called her, nor would he ever know about how excitedly she told her son about her new charge that evening. All he saw was her wave before he was chattering to Bruce about his day while Bruce nodded indulgently despite not knowing what was being said.

Chapter Text

Chapter 8: The Friends We Make, Part 1

When Dick was twelve Bruce decided he needed more friends. Dick thought that was a bit hypocritical; Bruce didn’t really have any friends besides Lucius and Alfred. He only barely tolerated the other League members and Superman had stopped coming around after he and Batman had had that big fight when Dick was ten. Besides, Dick didn’t think he needed any other friends besides Barbara. But, Bruce disagreed and Dick could never deny Bruce any request he made when he sat them down and explain that he thought it best for Dick’s mental health.

So, three days later Dick found himself in full Nightwing costume waiting in the largest conference room of the newly launched Justice League satellite. They had arrived almost an hour previously and Dick was bored out of his mind. He had taken to climbing and perching on the tall columns which surrounded the space. It was a challenge to scale the smooth surfaces without leaving behind any scratches from his claws, but, he had done more difficult things when he was with the Court. Once he had reached the top of one column he practiced his short distance acrobatics by leaping between the structures and doing progressively more difficult tricks. Some were ones he had always known, tricks he likely watched his parents doing when he was too young to fly himself, and others were ones he had learned under his claws.

His movements flowed seamlessly from one trick to the next and soon he had made two circuits of the large space. He was standing on one hand on the column he had first climbed when the door below opened. Dick debated dropping to the floor, but it was likely just Batman anyway and he was having fun.

A red clad head poked into the room, “I thought you said your kid was in here?” Dick felt suddenly shy. It wasn’t just Batman. It seemed at least one of the other super hero pairs had arrived, most likely the Flashes from the brief glimpse he had caught.

Dick could hear the smirk in Bruce’s voice when he replied, “He is.”

A yellow blur zipped into and around the room, sending a few of the rolling chairs around the large table spinning.

“Uh, Mr. Batman, I think you’re wrong.” A boy a few years older than Dick by the looks of him appeared in front of Batman, his hands on his hips and a pout so exaggerated Dick could see it even from his perch high above. Batman did not respond and Dick understood that it was up to him to decide what to do. He did not really want to reveal where he had been to the Flash. Batman already knew, Dick had seen the slight twitch of his lips when they entered the room that meant he was trying to contain a smile.

Deciding that it would be better to conceal his presence at the top of the columns just in case he needed the perch later, Dick pulled out his grapnel and secured it. Then he slid down the back of the column without a sound and landed in a crouch. He left the grapnel line hanging from the column to be retrieved later when he had more time. He peeked around the column. Neither of the Flashes had noticed his movements. Good.

He stepped out from behind the column and waited.

It was less than minute later that the yellow clad boy noticed his presence. Dick could not help but think of how terrible a beating he would have received had he been so terribly unobservant when he was still with the Talons. Even Bruce, comparatively lenient as he was, would have called for more training. Flash did not appear to care, in fact he only noticed Dick two blinks before his partner.

Dick waved at them.

The yellow clad boy yelped in shock, “How did you do that? Can you turn invisible? I thought Batman didn’t like people with powers in his city. That’s why Unc- I mean why Flash and I aren’t allowed in Gotham. What's your name? I’m Kid Flash.”

Dick looked to Bruce for help and when he saw that none was forthcoming silently promised retribution in combat training. Try as he might, Batman still could not defeat a truly incensed Nightwing. The light furrow in his brow told Dick that Bruce had received the message loud and clear.

“I….night…wing,” it was hard to say it that way. Dick had to think through his own mistakes and slips and find the words that corresponded to ‘night’ and ‘wing’ and then pretend those were the words he actually wanted to say all along. It gave him a terrible headache and he almost never did it. He had a few phrases memorized but mostly Bruce and Alfred just learned what he meant when he spoke normally and when it was unclear Dick used sign.

Kid Flash cocked his head to the side, “What’s wrong with you?”

“Kid!” Flash snapped. Batman’s neutral glare deepened to something real. Kid Flash blushed immediately, Dick supposed it was good that he at least realized how inappropriate the question was at some point. Though, it would be better if that sort of realization could be made before he opened his mouth.

Nothing. Dick could not help but scowl. He had a medical condition, but there was nothing wrong with him. Or at least, that’s what Bruce and Alfred were always trying to tell him.

Kid Flash looked to Flash for clarification. Flash shrugged and looked to Batman.

“He said ‘nothing’,” Batman translated. He reached into the largest pouch on his belt and withdrew a dictionary of sign. “Even if you can’t retain what you read at super-speed, you can at least translate what Nightwing says.” The tone of his voice told both Nightwing and Kid Flash that there would be no excuse for not learning the contents of the book at regular speed before their next meeting. Dick felt a quick flash of guilt, he didn’t what to be more work for people who were supposed to be his friends, but Kid Flash looked interested.

“You’re deaf?” he asked. Dick rolled his eyes.

No, I have aphasia. I hear just fine, I just can’t talk right. Kid Flash flipped through the book at his top speed and then nodded his understanding.

“Okay, this is actually super cool! It’s like I can understand a foreign language!”

Batman scowled. Flash lay a hand on his colleague’s shoulder to stop the lecture that he could see forming.

“Come on B, let’s go wait for the others in the Zeta room.”

Nightwing nodded when Batman looked to him. He would be fine on his own, even if Kid Flash was a threat he had staked out the room and knew the territory. If it came down to it, he knew to show no mercy when fighting a meta. He flexed his claws.

Batman and Flash left without another word and then Kid Flash was off. He babbled and chatted and tried out a few signs from the book. They were terrible. Dick sincerely hoped he never had to rely on them for communication. Dick was just starting to feel a little overwhelmed when suddenly Kid Flash fell silent. He stared at Dick with huge eyes.

“I’m sorry I said there was something wrong with you earlier,” he held out one hand, “Friends?”

Dick stared at him, was it really supposed to be that easy to make friends? Sure, he and Barbara had clicked immediately and he did like Kid Flash. It was refreshing to see someone so unaffected by the woes of the world around them. But, surely it wasn’t meant to be so sudden? Kid Flash was still waiting and Dick did not want to endanger whatever this was, so he took the hand and nodded.

1. He said with his free hand. Maybe one day he would actually mean it….

Before either of them could do anything except stare at one another the door slid open again. This time Wonder Woman, Aquaman, Green Arrow and the respective protégés accompanied Batman and Flash. Superman stood awkwardly off to the side. Dick wondered why he was even there. He and Batman hadn’t spoken outside league missions in nearly two years. It had been even longer than that since Dick had seen the other hero.

Wonder Woman was the first to usher her partner forward. “This is my younger sister, Wonder Girl,” the girl smiled at them all. Her cheeks were brushed by a slight blush when she noticed how intently Kid Flash was staring at her.

“Hi!” She chirped, “I’m so excited to meet you all.”

Not to be outdone by the Amazonian princesses, King Arthur nudged the dark haired youth next to him forward.

“H-Hi, your majesty,” the boy stuttered, “I’m King- I mean Aquaman’s partner, Aqualad.”

Wonder Woman smiled down at the boy, “No need for formalities here, young one.” She turned to the rest of the room as she continued, “We are all equals here,” Aquaman snorted and she shot him a sharp look, “We fight together and protect one another, no matter our personal differences.” Here she glanced to Superman and Batman, “It is our hope that you all might form a similar bond over time.”

Green Arrow nodded vigorously and shoved the boy next to him forward, “Meet Speedy.” Speedy yelped and glared at Green Arrow as he fixed his hat.

Superman stepped between the two, obviously hoping to put off the fight that was brewing.

“Well,” he clapped his hands was far too much cheer for the tense atmosphere, “How about we leave you kids to pl-” he was met with five identical looks and quickly amended his statement, “to talk. We’ll be in the Monitor room if you need anything.”

Wonder Woman, Flash, and Aquaman nodded their agreement and followed Superman from the room. Batman and Green Arrow watched them go in silence. The door whooshed shut behind them.

Finally, Batman spoke.

“There are very few people on Earth who know what you are about to learn. You are obligated to keep that number as small as possible or there will be consequences.” The children shivered at the promise in his words. Aqualad whimpered and shifted to hide more of his body behind Wonder Girl.

The silence stretched once more. Wally barely managed to restrain himself form groaning out loud. From anyone else he would think that the hesitation was fear, but that wasn’t even near the realm of possibility; this was Batman after all.

“Well?” The word burst forth from Wally despite his best efforts to remain silent, “Are you gonna tell us?”

Batman glared but began speaking. Wally decided to count that as a win.

“Nightwing’s speech is different.” Since he knew what was going to be said, Wally twisted to see how his new friend was reacting to Batman’s speech, “The details are not important for you all to know, simply that you will need to actually use your head to communicate. I will not tolerate failure in this regard.” Wally groaned. Batman was making friendship sound like a mission! It was ridiculous. Nightwing was staring at batman with an unreadable expression, one Wally had never before seen. He shook his head, these two were beyond confusing. No wonder no one wanted to go to Gotham.

“Wonder Girl,” Batman continued, “and Speedy should be able to understand with no issues. Kid Flash, you will use the dictionary you were given. Aqualad, you’ll have to make do. I suggest learning a signed language.”

With that he nodded once and swept from the room in a swirl of cape. Aqualad whimpered softly.

“Make do?” he whispered as the door slid shut, “What are ‘signed languages’?”

Green Arrow smiled at them all, “Batman isn’t the most…informative guy.” Nightwing snorted and Green Arrow shook his head, “Yeah, yeah, understatement. Anyway, Wonder Girl this is a chance to practice Hermes’ Gift,” he eyes grew large and she nodded her understanding, “and Speedy, I know it sucks but you can use PISL.”

Speedy spun to stare at Nightwing with wild eyes, “You know PISL?” he breathed uncaring that the others had no idea why he was suddenly so passionate. None save Nightwing noticed Green Arrow slip out of the room so intent were they on his response.

He made a twisting motion followed by a short jerk.

“Learning,” Wonder Girl translated for the others. Wally glanced at the title of the book he had been given and noticed for the first time that it was a PISL-English dictionary. He had no idea what exactly ‘PISL’ meant or why that was so important to Speedy but he was glad not to be left out.

“Why?” Speedy sounded absolutely shattered and Wally suddenly felt like an interloper.

“My papers run rotten,” Nightwing shrugged. The motion seemed forced and false on the otherwise entirely still boy. Wally stared as the words sunk in.

“What?” his own voice cracked and he blushed violently. Logically he knew what aphasia was (he had looked it up on his phone) but it was one thing to know and quite another to hear a terrifying boy speak so nonsensically.

Nightwing gestured to Wonder Girl who translated, “He said his words are broken.”

They lapsed into awkward silence and remained that way for nearly half an hour. Wally wanted to ask what PISL was and why Speedy knew it, he wanted to ask Wonder Girl what exactly ‘Hermes’ Gift’ was and tell Aqualad to stop flinching at ever little noise of the space station. But, he refrained. Barry always said he asked too many questions when he first met people.

They were still standing around in silence when Batman and Superman reentered the room.

“The League is leaving,” Batman said without preamble, “Do not leave this room until we return.” He glanced at Nightwing, who did not move, and then nodded. Superman sighed.

“There’s been a tsunami in Sri Lanka,” he explained, “We’re going to help evacuate and get search and rescue started. It shouldn’t take too long, but just in case there are survival kits in the cabinets over there. There’s food and water in them. If it looks like it’ll be a long one, we’ll send someone back to escort you all home. Have fun while we’re gone!”

They left and the door seemed much louder than before. Aqualad actually jerked when it shut. Speedy whirled to face Aqualad fully. Annoyed at the situation and at Green Arrow he decided to let off a little steam on the nervous boy.

“How come you’re so scared of everything?” Speedy jabbed a finger in Aqualad’s direction. The young Atlantian flinched and drank some more water. “Well?” Speedy demanded.

“I – uh – I’ve never been to the surface before,” Aqualad finally whispered, “I mean, I’ve surfaced and I’ve been on an island that was being attacked by C’thulu’s kid. But, that was an island. I’ve never been to a continent and this isn’t even that, this is space! And I just, there’s no water anywhere – what happens if we lose pressure, the air already feels so light and empty and-”

Wonder Girl launched herself across the space that separated them. “It’s okay, Aqualad!” She said, “I was so scared when I first came to Man’s World. But, I had my sister and you have us. It’s really not so scary, I promise.”

Speedy nodded, looking slightly ashamed of his demanding question, “I had to leave my home too, when I went to live with G.A.” He grimaced, “It gets better, I promise.”

Dick wanted to offer some piece of reassurance, but really his situation was so entirely different that he felt he couldn’t. So, instead he forced a smile and nodded along with Speedy and Kid Flash. Speedy looked vaguely ashamed of his harsh questioning. He too remembered what it was like to leave the only home you had ever known for someplace new and terrifying. He had been so scared of huge crowds and tall buildings when he first left the reservation.

Tag? Dick asked when the silence began to drag on again. It was one of the suggestions Bruce had made for bonding with the other children. Dick thought the game slightly silly but acknowledged that it was a good way to get a measure of the others’ abilities. Donna immediately nodded and so did the others after she translated. Dick slid his claws from his fingers, it really wouldn’t do to injure someone when trying to play a simple game. He didn’t realize that it had gone completely silent until the soft click of the metal claws against the table sounded far louder than it had any right to. He looked up, alert for a problem, but could only see that the others were staring at his weapons.

“I thought Batman didn’t kill people?” Kid Flash asked. Dick flinched.

Um, he doesn’t, I mean, we don’t. How could he tell them about the lives he had taken before he ever knew Batman, about the way their eyes haunted him in his sleep or their voices in the early hours of the morning. How could he tell these children how it felt to watch someone’s blood flow from their body and know it was you who had done that, or how the only way to silence the ghosts was to climb higher and higher and higher and to jump because then you were flying and the voices couldn’t be heard over the wind and the grasping, groping, hands couldn’t keep up. Instead he forced a smile and said, Bad guys are cowards. Half the time they see these and give up right away.

The others laughed and believed him. All save Donna who gave him an assessing look. He gazed right back, she was raised a warrior, of all the others she might be the only one to actually understand. After a long few seconds she nodded once.

“I am sorry,” she whispered so quietly the others would not be able to hear. They had moved away trying to find a landmark to call ‘base’. “I have never needed to take a life, thank Athena, but I am trained to do so. I have seen how heavily it weighs upon my sister. If you ever need to talk I am here for you.”

Dick smiled at her, his first real smile of the day, and for the first time thought that maybe this friendship thing wasn’t as over-rated as he had believed.

The game of tag was going better than Dick could have hoped. He and Barbara ‘played’ by practicing braking into the most advanced computer systems they could find. Sometimes Dick watched and gave suggestions as Barbara practice her gymnastics. He always declined when she tried to get him to join her on the equipment. This was the first time he could remember actually playing with other children.

Of course, it was not tag as most would recognize it. Dick had removed his claws, but since none of the others had deadly weapons on them (Green Arrow had made Speedy leave his sharp arrows behind) they decided that all powers and abilities were fair game. So, when she was ‘it’ Wonder Girl flew about above their heads using her lasso to trip her targets. Speedy liked to use his ice arrows to freeze the others in place while Aqualad preferred using a bit of water from the bottle he had grabbed right before the game to make them slip. Kid Flash just ran them down. Nightwing had yet to allow himself to be tagged and was currently being chased by Speedy.

Suddenly, Nightwing froze and Speedy was able to touch the top of his shoulder. “Ha!” The archer cried, “You’re it!” But, Nightwing was no longer paying attention to their game. His head was cocked to the side and his body tense. He stalked over to the table where he had left his claws. They slotted on his fingers with ease and Kid Flash realized with a start that he had looked incomplete without the weapons. It was a disconcerting realization, that someone years younger than him would look more whole with deadly weapons attached to his body than without.

“We run maybe lively,” Nightwing hissed. Wonder Girl gasped.

“He said there’s someone else in the tower,” she whispered, “Did the league come back?” Nightwing shook his head.

“Maybe,” he snarled, “Alert for home.”

Wonder Girl checked her bracers and grabbed her lasso, “Prepare for battle.”

Chapter Text

The Doors We Open

It happens like this;

Dick is four and happy, oh so happy. He’s flying through life on wings held together with wax and dreams and he doesn’t even know it. He laughs and talks and sings. His parents love him and they are happy.

Dick is four and a quarter and nothing is the same. The sun, or the spotlights he never can tell, have blazed too bright and his wings have melted. He’s falling, falling, falling and there’s no one to catch him, not anymore. Mr. Wayne tries. He tries so hard and Dick thinks that he would like to live with Mr. Wayne. His eyes are the eyes of a man who knows that wax wings fail. The eyes of a man who has built wings made of sterner stuff and could maybe show Dick how to do the same.

Dick is four and a half and he learns he has a great uncle. He is taken from the circus, from the only place he has ever wished to know. He wishes for something as reliable as wax wings and hot days as his world once again falls apart around him.

He is five and three quarters and he doesn’t remember his name. He knows he has one, everyone has one. Strangely, it doesn’t bother him. It’s like that riddle he can’t recall the answer to; interesting but not really all that important.

He is six and he has killed three people. They were bad, evil people. They hurt others, held flames to their feathers and burnt away everything good. Dick did not enjoy killing them, but he did enjoy the praise he received afterward. He was allowed to choose his meals after the first and given an extra hour of sleep after the second. After the third no one acknowledged him. But that was okay, he was helping and that was all that mattered. No one should have to lose their feathers. He ignored that his own felt ragged and sometimes he imagined he was molting, but nothing new would grow and soon he would only have bones for wings.

He is seven and he doesn’t remember what a name is. Sometimes he remembers loving hands and a soft voice but never the words and never names. He gets in trouble all the time for talking too much. Talons aren’t meant to talk, they tell him. Talons are silent. He isn’t sure he wants to be a Talon. He isn’t sure there is any other option. He tries to be quieter but words are just so much fun. They’re the only fun thing left.

Sometimes they beat him when he talks. He guesses he deserves it, but that doesn’t stop him from giggling in the dark of his quarters because hey, puns existed and were such a delight. Sometimes, after he kills his target he talks to them, gets to know them just to have someone to talk to. They don’t talk back. No one ever talks back. He’s starting to forget that other people can even talk.

He’s eight and lonely. Life is boring. His great uncle has stopped coming around, save to berate him for not living up to what he is meant to be. He’s not allowed to talk anymore, at least not when others are around. Great Uncle saw to that and Talons are nothing if not obedient. It’s sorta their defining feature. He’s finally learning that, finally starting to follow orders, and finally the Court is looking on him as if he were slightly more than mud. It’s kind of nice.

He’s eight and a quarter and his wings are almost gone, the feathers left behind at crime scenes and the wax melted and mixed with blood.

He’s eight and a quarter and everything changes again.

He wakes up each morning an hour before dawn. It’s the perfect time of day in his opinion. The older ones, the boring stuffy ones, aren’t up yet and he can have the training room to himself. He likes when he is alone. He can talk without anyone glaring at him and fly without anyone to tell him not to. They don’t like when he flies. He doesn’t really remember where he learned to do it, only that he feels something when he first leaps from the ropes high in the air. He doesn’t remember what happiness feels like, but if he did he might realize that his something is awfully close.

He doesn’t really think the others have any room to talk anyway. They aren’t Talons. No one is but him. The other Talons are all asleep. Waiting. For what, he has no idea. He is told only that he will know when he comes of age. They are an army, an army for him. He’s not sure he likes the idea of leading anyone but supposes it would be rude to say no.

Sometimes he wonders how he’s supposed to lead an army if he’s not allowed to talk. Surely one needs to speak to give orders? But, that is a problem for them, not him.

The morning that everything changes he was going through his normal routine. Twice around the room in a quick warm-up followed by a dance high above the ground, a dance of death lead by his claws. Normally, he is drenched in sweat by the time he allows himself to land back on the floor. But, this time is different. This time he glances down and Great Uncle is standing there. He lets go of the rope and lands in a silent puff of dust before the man.

He nods in greeting. He still has the bruises from the last time he accidentally said something to Great Uncle. Great Uncle tosses a wickedly curved blade between his hands and they fall into a familiar pattern. Neither bold back and after only a few moments each is bleeding from a dozen small cuts. Great Uncle’s blade has scored across his left forearm and the blood that drips down mingles with that on his claws. He allows a feral grin. None of the others ever have any facial expression but he thinks that sometimes a well-placed smile or glare are more threatening than anything else.

Finally, they are done. Great Uncle has pinned him to the floor with the curved blade against the divot between his collar bones.

“Fine, you win.” He snaps, annoyed at his morning routine being interrupted and the ease with which he had been defeated. Great Uncle presses the blade in deeper and he realizes that he should not have spoken.

“Stand up,” Great Uncle’s voice is soft and accented. He thinks the old man must not speak English very often, thinks perhaps he used to speak another language too. Something beautiful, flowing, something not many other people can speak. He still dreams in it sometimes, still understands what is said. But, there is not call to speak it when no one else does.

He stands.

“How are your lessons going?” Great Uncle asks and he has to force himself not to gape. He’s being invited to talk? It’s almost like a dream.

“Well,” he says promptly. Hesitation is not a habit he has been allowed to form, “The instructors you have provided are competent and I learn much.”

Great Uncle nods.

“I have another task for you.” Great Uncle hands over a small picture. It is of a child, one perhaps five years younger than he. “You know what to do.”

But he didn’t. Normally he was given a picture with a location written on the back and he went to that location and killed the person. The person was bad, evil, the scum that destroyed the city. But, this was a child. How could a child be evil? (Somewhere deep inside he wonders if the child is like himself, but that thought is quickly squashed.) He shakes his head.

“No sir, I do not understand.”

Great Uncle stares at him. “You are to kill this child,” his words are meant for someone far less intelligent than he is.

“Why?”

“Because I told you to. Do not question orders, Talon.”

Talon is a title, not who he is, but it’s all anyone ever calls him anymore.

For the first time in a long time he wants to argue, wants to rail against what they have turned him into. But, he doesn’t, it’s not in his make-up anymore to argue. So, instead he shakes his head. He will not argue, but he will refuse. Killing evil people is one thing, killing children is another entirely.

He never sees the blow coming. He feels it though, the dull pommel on the curved blade on the side of his head, hears the sharp crack and then the cool floor under his cheek. His last thought as the darkness descends is that perhaps he shouldn’t have protested, perhaps he should have just killed the child.

He wakes up back in his quarters. They’re really just an 8 foot by 8 foot space with an attached standing shower, toilet and sink. But, they’re sort of his and that is all that matters. He’s covered up by the thick quilt he stole from one of the men he was sent to kill and he counts himself lucky that whoever brought him back here did not take it. Personal items are forbidden. It’s not really a personal item, he reasons, after all it doesn’t belong to him but to the dead man rotting in the dump.

Even as he has this thought a sharp pain stabs through his temples and then back deep into his head. He groans and tries to curse.

“Kitten scramble.” What? Through the haze of pain he realizes that that wasn’t quite right. “Kitten.” He tries again, and again. After the third time he realizes that there is something broken in his head. It certainly hurts enough to be broken.

He spends the entire night trying and failing to say a single word (hello, how hard is that hello hello hello) but all that will come out is, “Carrot, carrot, carrot,” and he wants to cry more than he has ever wanted to cry before.

The next day he drags himself out of bed an hour before dawn and goes to the training room. He ignores the pain in his head (it’s just pain after all, nothing new and certainly nothing to be upset about) and climbs to the highest point he can manage. Then, tangled in the ropes and rafters he tentatively begins to move his hands. Great Uncle took his words with that blow, he’s smart enough to realize that they probably aren’t coming back, but he needs to talk. It’s all he has left. So, he will sign.

Hello, his hands say.

He decides that he will never be a Talon, he will never be anything that requires hurting children. A feral grin curls his lips. Soon, very soon, they will learn to fear what they had made.  

He gets his chance three months later when the winter is just beginning to lose its hold on Gotham. The others are more pleasant to him now that he doesn’t talk anymore and he has even been told he may sleep in the aerie with the other Talons. But, he doesn’t like the way the other Talons look; still and silent and frozen in time. He knows they are old, so much older than anyone he has ever met, and that they are waiting for him to grow up and lead them. When he was younger the thought might have made him proud but now it just makes him more determined to destroy everything they stood for.

His days are the same as they have always been; he wakes up early, he trains, he eats tasteless meals filled with nutrients, and he waits. They never tell him to hurt a child again and so he follows all the commands he is given.

Then, one morning he is given a command he cannot follow. He had gone out the previous night and eliminated the threat of a terribly corrupt politician (it was ironic how the man’s blood had stopped his silver tongue from calling for help, he muses) and when he arrives back they are waiting.

Batman is here, they say. He will be killed when the moon rises. You will kill him.

He nods and flees. He can’t help it and they do not follow. The rest of the day passes in a blur. He trains until he is too tired to think and then takes a long shower, far longer than the five minutes of hot water he is allowed. When he finally drags himself from the stall he is shivering but his mind is clear.

He’s Icarus, the abnormality who defied fate. Normally he doesn’t question this. The Court doesn’t like questioning, not unless you’ve been ordered to do so. But, now he can’t help it. They’re going to kill Batman at moonrise. Worse, they want him to do it. Well, he thinks, maybe this will be the time he refuses to their faces.

He goes to the ceremony room.

He’s seen Batman before of course. It’s difficult not to when one spends most of one’s time on Gotham’s rooftops. But, this time is different. The man is slouched, hanging from the grips of two huge men. They’ve obviously already beaten him.

When he approaches the man’s eyes raise and then widen.

“Richard Grayson?” he whispers, “Of God, I thought-” But his thought is cut off in a moan of pain when the large Court member holding him up gives him a hard shake.

He reaches out and places his left hand against Batman’s exposed chin. The moon is just cresting the horizon through the huge bay windows.

Kill him, kill him and take your place at our helm, they whisper to him in that soundless, motionless communication all members of the Court save him have perfected. For the longest of seconds he actually contemplates it, actually thinks about how it would feel to sink a single claw into the soft hollow just under the chin and how the blood would stain his hands for days. He thinks about how Batman had called him something besides ‘Talon’, of how his posture had slumped in defeat when his first saw him, and of how gentle his voice had been, despite the claws digging him his arms and the cuts marring his face. For the first time in a long time, since the picture of the child, he feels revulsion at the thought of killing.

He knows enough by now to know that it is the parents who are meant to survive, not the children. Daedalus was always better than Icarus, smarter, stronger, and it is Daedalus who should live. Obviously, Batman is not his parent (he doesn’t think he ever had one of those) but he might be someone’s and he finds he can’t take that away from the hypothetical child. He can’t leave them alone in the world to be found by the Court and unmade.

Icarus did not kill Daedalus, he tells himself, and he cannot bring himself to kill Batman. So, instead he twitches his fingers and withdraws his claws. Batman meets his gaze and nods.

The Court understands then that they have lost him; they vanish into the shadows at the edges of the room and none of Batman’s throwing stars find their mark when he finally manages to make his arms move to grasp them.

It is a strangely anti-climactic way to end his time with them, but he finds he doesn’t care. Batman asks him if he would like to leave with him and, unable to respond verbally, he simply nods. On their way out he takes the quilt from his room.

Batman says his name is Richard Grayson and that they had met once before, many years ago. Dick tries the name on and finds that it feels right, if too small, like he had grown and the name had not. He mentally shifts and twists and eventually asks if he was maybe called something else. Dick. It clicks in a way Richard had not and Dick feels a thrill of that emotion he has forgotten how to identify.

Batman is Bruce Wayne and Dick delights in the knowledge that the Court has sought fruitlessly for so long. Mr. Wayne takes Dick home with him and there are lots of police and cameras. Dick hates it, he spends the first weeks in the manor waiting for someone to connect him with the killings. No one ever does, though he knows that Bruce is aware of what he had done. Slowly, ever so slowly, he starts to relax.

Each morning he wakes and finds a new feather. They are simple things really; the way the sun looks as it crests the tree tops or the feel of Bruce’s hand on his shoulder as he introduces Dick to members of his company, but they are feathers and each one brings him closer to human, closer to who he thinks he is meant to be.

Eventually he can even look at the old man who works for Bruce without flinching and feeling the thunk of metal against his head. It helps that he drinks tea, Dick loves tea.

Dick in nine and a half and for once his wax wings seem stable. He flexes them and examines them and finally, finally realizes that wax is okay. It’s not the strongest stuff, or the most reliable, but it’s his and it is good.

Winter comes and, one snowy night just after the solstice, Nightwing flies for the first time. But, that is another tale entirely.

Chapter Text

Chapter 10: The Friends We Make, Part 2

“Kid Flash, Speedy, Aqualad,” Wonder Girl took charge after a brief glance to Nightwing, “Go to the armory and find the lock-down panels.”

Nightwing nodded his approval, they would need weapons and it was an obvious choice to send the less experienced three off together in a relatively safe task. There were only two ways on and off the Watchtower; the loading bay where the Javelin was stored and the Zeta terminal. Dick knew the slight shift of the giant space station when the airlock engaged well and had not felt it, so the path to the armory should be the one clearest of any danger.

“What are you two going to do?” Speedy challenged.

“Uh, yeah, are you sure it’s a good idea to split up?” Aqualad wrapped his arms around his stomach.

Yes, now go. They didn’t have time to coddle the others. Nightwing channeled a bit of the Talon-ness he typically kept under wraps around everyone save Bruce, it was a useful tool for making people do as he wished. Speedy stared at him for a long moment before he finally nodded.

“Come on, let’s go,” he muttered. Kid Flash disappeared in a blur of yellow while the others followed more cautiously. Dick hoped Kid Flash was acting as reconnaissance, otherwise his headlong rush might get the others killed.

Oh, tell them to get the comms from the yellow box. Wonder Girl yelled his command after the others. As soon as the door slid shut again Dick continued, You stay here. I’ll be – he gestured vaguely upward with a small quirk of his lips. She nodded and shifted to a fighting stance. The conference room was clearly marked and served as a pass-through for many destinations in the tower making it a logical base of operations for an invading force.

Dick waited until Wonder Girl looked ready before using the grapnel line he had left hanging from the column to make his way to the top of the room.

“We play to skip red of bones,” he whispered as he settled into place, “and hollow dell to sing the Knights.”

Donna nodded below to show that she had heard despite the distance between them. Dick added another ability to his mental list of her skills; incredibly sensitive hearing. Then, she tensed and Dick knew they were about to have to fight.

He withdrew a few of the modified bat-a-rangs that Barbara jokingly called ‘wing-dings’ when her father showed her one they had found at a crime scene. The name was silly, but he liked the idea of having something that was his so he had been mentally thinking of them as wing-dings more and more. He had also been toying with the idea of creating a non-lethal weapon to call his own. He did like the feel of staff fighting and escrima when Bruce had him learning Asian disciplines….. The sound of the door sliding open and men’s voices jerked him back into the present.

“See, like I said,” a thick Brooklyn accent declared, “The place is deserted, no damn-”

He and the two men following close behind came to a stuttering stop when they saw Wonder Girl in the center of the room.

“Hiya boys!” she chirped, whirling her lasso is large loops next to her.

The lead man snarled. Nightwing drew back his left arm and released the wing-dings. They found their marks at the same moment as Wonder Girl’s lasso. Both lackies were dazed by the blows and Dick raced around the room across the tops of the columns. By the time they were rising back to their feet and looking for their attacker Dick had dropped to the ground behind them and was creeping forward. The first fell without ever realizing that he had been there, sliding to the ground in a silent heap. Dick stepped over him and was approaching the second man when the leader glanced up from his fight with Donna and shouted a warning.

Nightwing dropped into a low crouch and launched himself at the man before he could turn around, slipping his claws around the arm that the man raised to protect his face. He ripped the arm down with his right hand and scored across the man’s face with his left. He cried out as blood sprayed into the air from the deep slashes.

“You fucking brat!” The man screamed. He pulled his gun from his belt, but Dick was two steps ahead. He used the wrist he still held as leverage to twist around the man and wrap his other arm around his neck. Sharp pressure over the course of a few short seconds and the man was collapsing to the ground with a gurgle.

Nightwing smirked. He nudged the down body with his foot as he waited for Wonder Girl to beat her opponent into submission. It was good to stretch his muscles after a series of fairly boring patrols in Gotham the last few weeks.

Nearly a minute passed before Wonder Girl slammed the final man into the ground with a sharp cry and a grunt. She straightened and brushed her hair out of her face.

“Erg, that’s so annoying,” she grumbled. She started tying up her hair with a leather tie that Dick had not noticed around her wrist. Once she was done she turned to him with a smile, “So, what now Nightwing? To the air ducts?”

Nightwing thought about it and then nodded, “That doubles far.” He used zip-ties from the compartments in his boots to secure the invaders. “This gourd.” He gestured upward. Since he had used his grapnel line he simply used his claws to scale the column back up to the top of the room. There was a small grate that lead to the ventilation system. They could take the ducts to the armory to meet up with the others.

The flood waters were finally contained and local search and rescue teams were starting to be effective when Batman’s comm beeped. He paused from wrapping a recently set leg to glance at the indicator light. Blue; that meant Nightwing. He depressed the button and went to back to wrapping. A small holographic screen popped up from his wrist. At first there was no image, then it wavered and crackled and Nightwing appeared. The twelve year old looked disheveled and Batman dropped the dressings he had been holding.

“Superman, get everyone else and get your ass down here.” He snapped to the sky. When they were on a mission Superman always listened for any utterance by any of the team so Bruce knew he would be heard despite the roar of the waters around them. “Nightwing, report.”

Early into Nightwing’s time as a vigilante they had decided that his sign usage needed to be completely different from that of Dick Grayson. To that end Nightwing would never speak in front of criminals and would use a blended language comprised of pieces from each of his most used sign languages with the sign redesigned to be recognizable on a single hand. Bruce had never seen Nightwing use anything but that blend when in costume.

Bruce! Can you see me? The image cracked and snapped. Nightwing looked edgy.

“Yes, report.”

An hour after - left fifteen men used the Zeta to get - Tower. He glanced over his shoulder. Bruce heard a distant explosion from the comm. We’re trying - take care - very well trained – Help would – great.

Bruce forced his more paternal feelings into the back of his mind. The video’s wavering connection meant that he missed most of each sentence, but the picture that was forming in his mind turned his gut to ice. Their children were alone in the watchtower.

“Do not engage Nightwing, do you copy? Do not engage!” He started checking the status of the Zeta tube nearest to the flooded area. Superman and the Flash appeared at his shoulder. The connection to the tower wavered so badly Bruce couldn’t tell if Nightwing had heard him or not.

“What’s up Bats?” Flash asked.

“The Watchtower is under attack,” he hissed, “Dammit! They’ve blocked the Zetas.” A horrible thought occurred to him, if they could block the Zetas they could…. He pulled up his connection to the Tower computers. “Shit, they’ve locked up out entirely. Even if Superman were to fly up there, the shields are up, he couldn’t get in.”

His own protections has been turned against him and for the first time in a long time Bruce felt out of his league.

“Nightwing,” he tried, but the connection had given out. The kids were on their own.

When the connection to Earth cut out Dick had to fight down a flare of panic, bright and choking.

No luck, he signed to Wonder Girl when he had his emotions under control. She sighed.

“Fine, we can do this on our own.” He raised one eyebrow (a move that Babs had always envied). She copied him with a slight smile, “Don’t give me that look Batboy.”

Nightwing. He corrected. She rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, I think Batboy fits better. You’re glaring just like him right now.”

Dick decided not to continue that line of thought. It was bad enough that people were always saying how much he and Bruce looked alike without other heroes doing it too.

We should go, the others have probably reached the armory by now.

“We should probably also figure out what that explosion was,” Wonder Girl noted.

Dick nodded, it had almost slipped his mind in the panic of the moment the connection to Earth disappeared, but they would need to ensure that nothing vital to the running of the space station had been damaged.

Though Aqualad felt better for having expressed his fears to the others and received their support he could still feel the panic rising in his throat. It took all he had not to whimper each time they turned a corner to find another empty hallway or when Kid Flash appeared without warning. Speedy did not seem bothered by either occurrence so Aqualad worked to put off the same air of calm competence. He wished he had a weapon to hold menacingly. Kaldur’ahm, his friend back in Atlantis, used water bearers with deadly accuracy but He had never gotten the hang of the devices. He sighed as they turned yet another corner (was the whole station corners!?) and thought about how calm Kaldur always was, no matter the task that their King threw at them.

But, Kaldur wasn’t here, he hadn’t wanted to leave the city unprotected. Aqualad was. He would have to show them what Atlanteans were made of. He squared his shoulders.

“The next few halls are clear,” Kid Flash whispered as he skidded to a stop in front of them. Aqualad gave himself a mental pat that he did not jump.

“Good,” Speedy nodded, “Map says we’re almost there. Hopefully they don’t know where it is.”

The rest of their trip passed quickly; two more turns and they were entering the small room that acted as the armory. The League was a relatively small group and most still kept their weapons at their own base of operations. To his disappointment, Aqualad saw no devices of Atlantean origin.  

“KF, search the boxes for comms,” Speedy ordered. He climbed to the top of a large pile of crates and nocked a blunt arrow, “See if Green Arrow ever brought up any sharp arrows while you’re at it.”

Kid Flash nodded and Speedy turned to Aqualad. “I’m not sure where you can get water to do it, but can you make us a shield?”

Aqualad thought it over, technically he could turn water into ice. The spell was easy enough and he used it all the time to freeze opponents in place in battle, but to do it on the scale that would be needed to cover the doorway in a thick enough layer to stop bullets….Speedy was staring at him and so, forcing own on doubts to the back of his mind, Aqualad nodded.

“There are pipes in this wall,” he patted the wall on the left side of the room, “Yes, I can do it.”

“Good, do it.”

The expected assault had not yet arrived when Nightwing appeared next to Aqualad. His hands moved rapidly.

“He says ‘nice wall’,” Speedy informed him from his perch, “Also, how the hell did you get in here?” Aqualad was wondering the same thing. In the ocean he could feel anyone approaching through the minute shifts in the water long before they reached him, the air did the same sort of thing, but not nearly as much and he felt partially blinded because of it.

“Air ducts,” Wonder Girl floated from the ceiling with a smile on her face, “Good idea with the ice.”

After Nightwing and Wonder Girl joined the others things moved rather quickly. Wonder Girl flew the most dangerous weapons up to the air ducts while Kid Flash passed out the earpieces he had found. They would be able to talk in case they were separated again. It was not ideal for Nightwing, but Wonder Girl would be able to translate for him to the others if they were not within eye-sight. Since he had finished reinforcing his ice barricade Aqualad joined Nightwing in pushing the crates to the most defensible positions the small room would allow. Speedy stayed in his perch, arrow knocked but bow string lax, watching the door for any sign of movement.

“Guys,” Speedy hissed just as Nightwing was positioning the last stack of crates and Wonder Girl was securing the duct cover, “I think they’re coming.”

Nightwing ascended the stack of crates with far greater ease than Speedy had and peered at the door. The archer could not help but compare the boy next to him to a bird of prey as he leaned out over the empty space, seemingly without regard for such things as gravity and center of balance. Nightwing nodded sharply in agreement with Speedy’s statement. He leapt from Speedy’s stack to the one closest to the ice. Already Speedy could see the center of the barricade glowing red; whoever had invaded had some serious tech. Kid Flash moved to the farthest point in the room; they had left a clear path from there to the entrance so he could build up speed before hitting anyone. Aqualad was next to the pipes he had used to get water for the wall. He was allowing it to slowly stream from the crack in the pipes and form into sharp daggers of ice which floated in the air around him. For the first time Speedy thought the other boy looked dangerous. Finally, Wonder Girl positioned herself in the air between Nightwing and Speedy. She looked over their preparations with a satisfied smile.

“Let’ show them why no one messes with the Justice League, yeah?”

Four identical determined looks met her own. They were ready.

The wall shattered and the fight began.

Later, Speedy would admit he quickly lost track of his compatriots when the fighting began. He had only been helping Green Arrow for six months and keeping track of one man clad in bright green was a lot easier than four people; one moving as the speed of sound, one flying, and one who he was convinced probably wasn’t even human (because no human could melt into the shadows so effectively). The only person he was able to watch and defend was Aqualad who remained in his placed by the pipes using water as a projectile in the same way Speedy used his arrows.

Twelve men had entered through the melted hole in the barricade. Two were immediately tied up in Wonder Girl’s lasso while another two fell victim to the whirlwind that was Kid Flash. Nightwing had vanished and every once in a while Speedy could hear the slither of sharp metal against guns. Speedy and Aqualad tried to defend the others as best they could but water and dull practice arrows were only so much use against armored chests and helmets. Eventually Speedy gave up using the arrows and dropped to the ground. His bow doubled as a staff when necessary and he was able to help the others far more by simply beaning the bad guys.

In the end the fight was over far quickly than any of them would have imagined it would be. Speedy found himself grinning wildly at the others and, to his surprise, they were grinning back. A full feeling was expanding in his chest as he looked between the downed thugs and the other heroes. Friends, this was what having friends was like. He vowed then and there to never do anything to lose this feeling.

Speedy clapped Aqualad on the shoulder. The other boy laughed sharply and shook his head. Speedy understood, this was all so surreal. Nightwing and Kid Flash were tying up the bodies as Wonder Girl brought them over to them.

“Good job, kid,” Speedy whispered. “Told you it gets better.”

Aqualad’s smile was radiant.

Nearly an hour after the invaders had been tied up and left in a cell Wonder Girl found herself collapsing in the pile the boys had made. Its base was comprised of every blanket they could find in the tower, with a few pillows thrown in for good measure. On the left side Nightwing and Speedy were curled up, their left shoulders and knees touching, gesturing animatedly to one another. On the right, Kid Flash and Aqualad were debating the relative merits of salmon and tuna. Wonder Girl smiled and settled into the blank space in the middle. Slowly, the others’ conversations petered off and they were left in a silence far more comfortable than the one just three hours previous.

“My real name is Donna,” she had not planned to reveal that, though her sister had said she could if she wanted to, but as the words left her mouth she decided they felt right. She felt the others shift around her and the silence stretch for another few moments before;

“I’m Garth,” Aqualad whispered, “It’s nice to meet you Donna.”

She smiled, “The honor is mine, Gar-”

“Wally! I’m Wally,” the words burst forth from the eager speedster in a blurred rush. He blushed violently and pulled off his cowl to reveal freckles and copper hair and eyes.

Speedy stared at the three of them as they giggled. He slowly reached up and removed his domino mask and hat.

“Roy,” he introduced, “Don’t tell G.A. I told. He sorta specifically said not to….” They all nodded in agreement and his shoulder relaxed.

Donna noticed that Nightwing seemed to be struggling with something. He stared at all them and then down at his hands and then back up at them.

“It’s okay if you can’t,” she hastened to assure him.

Roy nodded, “Yeah, Batman’s a lot scarier than Green Arrow.”

Nightwing snorted. Donna realized that in no way was the young hero afraid of his mentor’s wrath, even the parental wrath the others might fear from their own mentors. As she watched he seemed to steel himself against whatever he had been thinking. He reached up and slowly finger spelled: D – I – C – K.

Roy immediately sniggered. Dick glared at him, but there was no real heat to it.

It’s short for Richard you ass.

“Sure it is,” Roy laughed, “Dick.” The younger boy punched him in the shoulder hard enough to bruise. Then, after a short pause began laughing as well. The others did not know it, but it was the first time he had laughed with anyone save Bruce or Babs since his parents fell. It felt surprisingly good.

Batman’s tension increased the closer they got to the spacestation. Of course this was not a truly natural disaster, there had been no warning signs and the earthquake that registered was nowhere near strong enough to cause a tsunami that large. He knew the other Justice League members could see his worry, but for once did not care. They were each just as worried about their own protégé. However, Batman’s worry was slightly different than his colleagues’; he was far more concerned about Nightwing blowing his chances at friendship by killing the invaders in front of the other children. They had talked about killing and Nightwing had worked very hard to quell those instincts in the last four years, but there would always be slips and those claws were incredibly sharp.

They raced through the tower. Communications had never come back up and the mentors were frantic. What had happened here? The tower showed signs of a struggle, scuffs and broken places on the walls and two sections were locked down due to hull breaches.

The door to the conference room they last saw the children in slid open. Bruce immediately breathed a sigh of relief.

The kids sat in a small circle on top of the table, playing cards in their hands and large grins on their faces. They were a little worse for the wear; Bruce could see that Dick was going to have a rather spectacular bruise on the left side of his face and even from the door it was obvious that Speedy had some bruised ribs. But, they had escaped the attack with no major injuries and Bruce counted that as a win. Next time they would be more prepared, next time he would be more prepared, and they would emerge injury-free. Already training scenarios and simulations were spinning through his mind. Bruce knew he would not be sleeping for the next few days.

“Jog Trucks!” Dick declared, jerking Bruce from his thoughts. The others laughed. Speedy reached over and poked him.

“No! It’s Go Fish.”

“Go Fish!” Dick parroted. Kid Flash groaned and drew a card.

Bruce felt a hand on his shoulder, “Come on,” Diana whispered, “Let’s go before they notice us.” He followed her with only a nod, she had no need to know that Dick would have known they were there since right before the door opened. As soon as her back was turned Bruce allowed himself a small smile. It was more than he had hoped for when he arranged this ‘play-date’ to see Dick interacting with other young heroes so freely. Then, remembering his own security measures, he made a mental note to delete the video footage of his lapse.

He also reminded himself to ask about the large pile of blankets on the ground. Had they been used as a weapon? The idea was intriguing….

Chapter Text

Chapter 11: The Things We Forgive (Part 1)

The first time Jason truly understood Dick was when he woke up after his own death. He awoke with a howl of agony and rage and everything he would never be able to find words for. The feeling tore through his lungs and out his chest and he curled into a tight ball on the hard stone. Sobs ripped themselves form his body. There was a horrible taste in his mouth, something acrid and wrong. It seeped deeper into his being with every ragged breath.

He had died. That much he knew without a doubt. It was the only real thought he could form, he had died and Bruce wasn’t here and he wanted everything to just stop.

He felt hands on his shoulders, heard soft words, and shivered as the warm breath of a woman he did not know ghosted across his cheek. Jason opened his eyes, he hadn’t even realized they were closed. Amber eyes stared back at him and Jason was lost.

Time passed, it slipped and danced away from Jason’s understanding. Lucidity was a rarity at first, like water held in the palms of his hands dripping over the edges. Sometimes he could catch a glimpse, a reflection, of the real world. What he saw scared him. He knew he was out of control, a rabid beast without a master attacking all those who stood before him but he didn’t know how to stop.

His return to Gotham marked a similar return to a semblance of sanity. He still really couldn’t control himself, he still felt like rage given human form, but it was better, more contained. He could think again and remember. He planned and plotted and the scum of Gotham felt his wrath. Drug lords began to flee the city, dropping bodies behind them in trails of blood as they ran. Jason slept well at night.

His life had only just settled into its new pattern, its new normal, when he ran into Batman for the first time since his resurrection.

Suddenly he understood the inhuman look his brother sometimes got; the look that showed up when Dick thought of the Court, the look that meant Nightwing needed to be accompanied on patrol so no one would die, the look that put true fear into the hearts of Gotham’s black-hearted, the look even Batman sometimes quailed from. Because Jason wanted to tear and rip and destroy and Batman was his target. Why, why was the Joker still alive? If Dick had been killed Jason was sure the damn clown would never have been allowed to continue breathing.

So, his plans changed and he fell asleep at night, not dreaming of dead drug dealers but of Batman’s face when he realized just how terribly he had failed as a father.

For all his planning he was not prepared for the first sight of his older brother after nearly two years. The last time he saw Dick he was suffering through the absolute worst cold Jason had ever seen. He and Jason had had a movie night since Jason was grounded from Robin and Dick was too sick to fight. Or, at least, that was what he had told Jason. The younger man had always suspected that Dick just felt bad for him and was using the cold as an excuse to try and make him feel better. They watched some terrible sci-fi film that Dick said Roy and Wally had been raving about and Jason had nearly cried when Dick fell asleep and it was time to sneak out. That was the night he ran away to find the woman he thought might be his real mother. Three days later he was dead and the Joker had won.

Now, two years down the line, Dick looked old. It was terrible to see. He always seemed older than his age when you looked him in the eye, but his movements were so youthful that it wasn’t so bad. But, now he was all lethal grace and no joy. Without meaning to Jason thought of his own arrival at the manor and how Dick had been back then. The man he saw now was far too close to that boy than Jason was comfortable with.

So, instead of engaging Batman as he had planned before Nightwing showed up Jason waited and watched. Nightwing and Batman were too far away for him to see their hands but it did not look like they were getting along. Finally Nightwing kicked out at the fallen android and turned on his heel. Even from across the large distance between them Jason could see the obscene gesture directed at Batman. A sharp fondness for Dick rose in his chest.

Batman disappeared after that, melting into the night in a move Jason remembered from his days as Robin. Nightwing launched a line into the bridge Jason had so recently watched him leap from into the fight. Suddenly, Jason needed to see Nightwing up close. He ran across the rooftops as quickly as he was able. Despite his traditionally unpredictable nature of Nightwing’s patrols he tended to take the same path at the beginning of a route. Jason knew exactly which rooftop to wait on to encounter the older man.

He settled himself on the peak of a small water tower and waited. He did not have to wait long.

Nightwing crested the lip of the roof and froze. Jason smirked under his hood. It was not every day that one managed to surprise the most frightening man in the hemisphere after all; when one came back from the dead one really learned to enjoy the simple things in life.

However, after nearly a minute with no movement from Nightwing Jason’s thoughts slipped from ‘haha, I sure got him,’ to ‘oh god, I’ve broken him.’

“Uh, Wingster? You okay?” He tried for levity, “Wing Ding?” But neither nickname elicited a response. Jason crept closer suddenly hating himself for deciding that it would be a good idea to surprise Dick in this way. 

“Dick?” he whispered.

Nightwing flinched violently.

A few moment passed and Dick did not move, did not appear to breathe.

                Jason wished desperately that he had not gone about things the way he had. Dick had never handled change well and for all that Jason doubted Bruce’s feeling about him, he knew that Dick loved him with everything he had.

                “Dick?” He approached as slowly as he was able but Dick backed up. His was shaking his head slowly. Jason eyed the edge of the roof warily, Dick was awfully close and he didn’t appear to be paying attention to the world around him.

                “No,” Dick whispered, “You cried. I-“ He broke off and shook his head again. Jason had no idea what ‘cried’ was supposed to be. It wasn’t a word Dick used often before and suddenly the time that Jason had stayed away after waking pressed down around him. Regret rose like bile in his throat.

                In a sharp movement Dick spun on his heel and leapt from the rooftop. Complete silence rushed in to fill the void left by his departure.

                Abandonment was a feeling Jason was all too familiar with, but he had never expected it from Dick. The white noise in his head that he had been able to beat back when he saw his brother rose again. Fine. The family didn’t want him.

                His plans would go forward.

                “It runs Bar,” Dick muttered around four am. He had shown up in the cave looking pale and shaken. Every so often his hands would rise like he was about to say something but no words ever formed. He paced methodically back and forth, muttering to himself too quietly for Bruce to hear.

As much as he wished to, Bruce knew better than to disturb the young man when he was in this mood. Nightwing was always flighty, always more prepared to deal with an armed gang than with his own emotions. But, it had been worse these last two years. Bruce knew the arrangement the boys had worked out so long ago, right after Tim and Cassandra joined their family; Dick would protect their bodies, he would do anything and everything in his power to make sure they made it home each night, and Jason would deal with the aftermath, he would make them talk about what happened on the streets and help them process the horrible things they saw as Gotham’s protectors.

But, after Jason’s death all that had fallen to Dick, a man who could barely understand his own emotions, much less those of the people around him. Bruce knew that Dick had tried his best; he took Tim out to museums on the mornings after terrible nights and sat for hours with Cassandra in still silence when she had nightmares about her father. But, it seemed it was never enough and all three children were slowly falling deeper and deeper in despair.

Unable to help the children he loved so very much in the way they needed (there was only one person who could do that and he wasn’t exactly available) Bruce had found himself slowly distancing from the situation. It was not the correct response, he knew that with every fiber of his being, but he had no other idea about what he might do. Despite this, he did make sure to help Dick hide the worst of his bad nights from the younger ones. Jason had known exactly how bad things got, but Tim and Cass didn’t need to.

In fact, Bruce thought to himself as he watched Dick begin yet another circuit of the computer dais, it was a lucky thing their neither of them was here this weekend. Tim was in San Francisco with the newest incarnation of the Teen Titans and Cassandra was following up on a lead on the Alvarez drug cartel in Buenos Aires. They would not need to see Dick at his worst and for that Bruce was grateful.

“What?” he finally remembered to ask. ‘Bar’ was a word he had not heard in nearly two years. He shivered at the thought. Jason was on his mind often, but it seemed that he could think of little else recently. That’s probably what this was, surely Dick (who had not been able to speak the name since the funeral) had said something else….

Dick stopped his pacing and turned to Bruce, “I,” he paused and swallowed, “It runs Bar. He runs not tears.” When Bruce did not react he raised his hands, Bruce! I’m not crazy. I know you all think I’m going to snap one day and one day I might, but not today. I swear I saw him, he was wearing a red helmet and had two red guns. He- Here his hands faltered but he forced himself to continue. He called me Wingster and Wing Ding.

Bruce swallowed, “Dick,” he started gently, “I’m sure you thought-”

Dick glared viciously at him, “No.” The snapped word brought Bruce back to reality. Dick was the least likely to break under pressure of all his children. Despite the teen’s words Bruce trusted him implicitly; if he said that Jason was alive then, well- It was time to tell Alfred to turn down the bed in Jason’s room.

                Everything was so different. Tim was Robin now and that fact chafed at Jason in a way he had not expected it would. He supposed he had subconsciously hoped that they might see how very dangerous it was to send children to fight the great evils of the world. But, no, they had buried him and washed their hands of the whole thing. His feelings of rejection turned to sharp glass inside him, cutting at his insides.

                From what he could learn without directly asking anyone, something had happened to Barbara and she wasn’t Batgirl anymore. He had endured a painful few moments while the search engine loaded before he confirmed that she was at least still alive. He hadn’t the heart to look any further than that; there was only so much bad news he could take. Maybe next week.

                Listening to the street thugs told him that Cass was likely now Batgirl. Strangely that didn’t hurt him in the same way that Tim being Robin did. Cass was like Dick; it was hard to picture anything or anyone they fought ever truly beating either of them. But, Robin had been Jason’s the name given to him by Dick on a cold night after he passed Bruce’s gauntlet.

                Robin, Dick had whispered in a quick rush, his eyes pinched from the pain of forcing out a deliberate word. He had laid a hand on Jason’s head and offered a rare hug. It was a treasured memory, one he held close to his heart on the days when he didn’t think he could go on like this any longer. To think that the name had just been given away like an unwanted puppy to the next in line was agony.

                He snorted and shook himself to dispel the clinging tendrils of morose thoughts.They would learn the error of their ways. Soon.

                His plans came together quickly. He found the Joker and lured Batman to the abandoned apartment where his mother had over-dosed. They fought. Batman tried to talk to him, tried to explain, but Jason was having none of it. Excuses were all the man had and Jason did not care to hear them.

                Then, the Joker started laughing.

                Jason lost it. He grabbed his gun and pointed it at the Joker, begging, begging Batman do the right thing. But, he didn’t. He only stepped towards Jason with his hand outstretched and a pained look on his face.

                Jason was having none of it, “I don’t know what’s worse,” he snarled, “Your stupid fucking guilt complex or your double standard. Sure, it’s totally cool for you and Nightwing to put people in body casts, hell we both know Nightwing has killed people and you still let this fucker live!” His foot shot out and kicked the Joker in the side. He placed his gun against the clown’s head and leaned in close.

                “You’ll shut the hell up or I’ll put one in your lap first,” Jason hissed. He didn’t need to glance at Batman to feel the waves of disapproval rolling off him. Jason ignored the Jokers response and instead turned his attention back to the matter at hand.

                “I mean, even if you wanna ignore everything else he’s done, the people he hurt, the graveyards he’s filled – It was him who shot the commissioner’s daughter right?” Jason had guess at that one, none of the news stories said but somehow he just knew. His intuition was rewarded with a nearly imperceptible flinch from Batman. Jason forged on ruthlessly, “Ignoring all that, I thought maybe, just maybe you might do something because-”  His voice broke and he had to voice himself to continue, “Because he took me from you.”

                “You don’t understand,” Batman tried and Jason laughed.

                “Damn right I don’t! How is it that you can be so damn open with Nightwing and so-” He gestured to the stoic figure before him with the gun, “With everyone else?”

                He saw the cowl’s eyes widen and when he next spoke it wasn’t Batman, but Bruce Wayne who whispered, “Come home, son,” he whispered, almost too quietly for Jason to hear, “We need you. Batgirl and Ro-”

                “Robin?” Jason snarled, “Really? That’s what you’re gonna bring to the fuckin’ table? You replaced me with my little brother and expect me to be okay with that?”

                The slight tightening at the corner of the lips told Jason that he had hit a nerve. 

                “Fine,” Bruce hissed, “He needs you. He’s learning to drive now.”

                Jason drew a sharp breath. He had promised to teach Tim to drive. The kid was afraid of Dick’s driving (to be fair Jason was too) and they all knew the Bruce as a teacher would be a terrible idea. Driving the Batmobile was one thing, but actually learning the rules of the road was another altogether and Jason had been looking forward to it for years.

                “Who-?” Jason managed. He didn’t want to know he tried to tell himself, he didn’t need to know. But, when the corners of Batman’s mouth quirked in a smile and the gravelly voice said, “Agent A,” he felt something very small shift inside him.

                Jason nearly laughed, “Poor kid.” Alfred was of the opinion that the best way to drive was the exact opposite of the way Bruce and Dick drove. It made for a…peaceful driving experience.

                Bruce nodded, “Please, come home. I don’t care about anything you’ve done. You know Nightwing has done worse.”

                Jason huffed, “Well yeah, he’s a fucking psycho.” Suddenly Jason wasn’t so pissed, wasn’t so desperate to make Bruce hurt in the same way he did. The raw feeling deep in his chest had solidified into something a little less awful and he found he could look Bruce in the eye. He smiled, a tiny broken little grin but one that Batman returned. 

                “Aw, this is so touching! We should get a picture!” The Joker declared. Jason growled but Bruce moved before he could.

                Batman reached out and took the Joker from Jason’s grip. The clown was still dazed by the fight beforehand and offered no resistance beyond a few snide comments to being bound in tight wires. When he was done, Bruce simply dropped the miserable excuse for a human being to the floor. Jason gave in to the urge he had been fighting all night and kicked him. Hard.

                “Do you want to come home for dinner?” Bruce asked as if Jason had not just kicked a bound man into unconsciousness, “I’m sure Agent A-”

                Through the buildings a sudden sickly green light flared. Batman and Jason spun to face it. It took Jason a few second to recognize what he was seeing; Chemo, the living bio-weapon was plummeting through the air towards Gotham’s sister city of Blüdhaven. Batman let out a small pained noise and Jason felt like he was missing something vital.

                “Nightwing’s there,” Bruce whispered.

                Jason watched with renewed horror as Chemo impacted and a terrible cloud rose from the doomed city.

                “Uh, Rob?” Kid Flash sounded almost hesitant, an unusual state for him.

                “Yeah, Bart?” Tim did not look up from his computer. He really needed to finish this crime scene analysis for Batman before-

                “Was Nightwing in Blüdhaven?”

                Tim shrugged. The body had been positioned strangely and moved a few hours after death; the blood pooling patterns made no sense given the pictures Batman had sent, maybe if he –

                “Oh, that’s good,” Tim hummed absent agreement as Bart continued, “He might not be dead then.”

                That got Tim’s attention. He looked up. Bart was sitting on the end of the couch near him, TV remote in hand, slight tremors travelling over his body.

                “What?” Tim breathed.

                Bart turned the volume up on the TV.

                “Early reports are estimating at least 60,000 dead and the National Guard has been called in to assist with rescue and recovery efforts. Local police are asking that people remain calm and do not approach the city. They have set up trauma centers where information about loved ones can be found.”

                Tim grabbed up his laptop and raced for the jet. He needed to be in Blüdhaven. Now.

Chapter Text

Chapter 12: The Things We Forgive (Part 2)

The last two years had been the most difficult of his life. Of course, those he spent with the Talons were awful, but at the time he had had nothing to compare them to and in hindsight he could easily dismiss the horrors he had endured as less than the daily agony he now dealt with.

See, the thing was Dick was supposed to look out for the younger ones. That was his job, the only job he had that was worth anything (because being a sometimes bartender was fun and all, but it didn’t really matter). He stayed up later than any of the others, checking and rechecking the manor’s defenses, training in new disciplines, trying desperately to read books about human motivations to be a better hero, better brother. In some ways he was successful; the manor had never been breached and he could more easily recognize the desires of those they hunted down. But, in other ways, in more important ways, he failed. He still couldn’t believe that Jason had so easily slipped past him that night. Bruce told him it wasn’t his fault, that he had had a terrible cold (to be truthful at that point it was actually edging towards pneumonia, but no one talked about that), and that there was nothing he could have done. Dick knew differently. He knew with every fiber of his being that if he had just stayed awake a little longer, if he had just refused the dose of Nyquil from Alfred, then Jason wouldn’t have been able to slip out of the manor and he wouldn’t have been alone in his death.

This knowledge ate at him for nearly two years. He knew that Tim and Cass understood why he was suddenly so very overprotective of them and he appreciated that they did not protest. It helped some to be able to protect them on patrol and feel like he was doing something to maintain his family, fractured and stained as it was.

Bruce seemed to think that Dick needed to talk about things. He reminded Dick that they had always talked about things that were bothering him in the past. Dick couldn’t bring himself to admit his failings out loud though and his relationship with Bruce suffered for it. Eventually things got so bad that Dick fled the city. He saw how their tense silences and tense looks were affecting Cass and Tim and knew that the only way to solve it was to not be there. They were both competent, more than competent heroes, and maybe they would get better without him hovering over them all that damn time. Or, at least that’s what he told himself.

So, he moved to Blüdhaven where no one cared about the strange young man who never spoke. His apartment building was above a dingy little bar with a help wanted sign. He initially signed on as a dishwasher and, one night when the second bartender called in sick, eventually moved up to the front. It turns out people like barmen who don’t try to talk to them and just nod along with their tales of woe. He quickly became the most popular guy in the joint. It was kind of nice to be liked by people who knew nothing about him. Sometimes their smiles and thanks could even dull the terrible, ragged edge of his grief. Sometimes.

It wasn’t great, it wasn’t the glorious existence he had Jason had dreamed about so naively, but it was his life and Dick accepted that. Plus, Blüdhaven needed him. There was a cold satisfaction in slowly watching the city clean itself up. Even this far down the river the bad guys had heard of Nightwing and when he showed up a lot of them immediately decided that getting the hell outta dodge might be the best plan.

Some weekends Bruce would send Cass or Tim to him for what he called training but what they all knew was a sanity check. Dick didn’t mind, he loved his younger siblings with all his broken heart and soul and while he didn’t feel right living in the Manor anymore, didn’t felt like he deserved Alfred’s warm meals or the comfort of the plush chairs in the library, he was still their older brother.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Dick managed to go back to Gotham without the laughing ghost of Robin following him every step of the way. At first he would only pop in when one of his cases crossed city lines. Eventually he stopped by the penthouse to visit Alfred in the afternoon before Bruce threw his yearly charity event. He loitered around the Clocktower and kissed Barbara’s nose when she was frustrated with a case. She would smile at him and tell him how much easier it would be to do dinner (the and other things was heavily implied) if he were in town more often. He simply shook his head. Stolen kisses were one thing, but if he allowed himself the happiness and comfort of home he would mess up again and someone would-

He couldn’t handle another failure. So, he stayed away and watched them all from afar. It was for the best.

Then came the case at the docks with the android and Batman and they fought. Bruce was constantly trying to get Dick to come home and Dick just couldn’t. They parted, frustrated with one another’s stubbornness. As was his habit, Dick stayed behind to make sure Batman left the area unmolested before going his own way.

Then, his world rocked on its axis.

Jason.

His first younger brother, the one who held a special place in his heart, the only one besides Bruce prepared to deal with everything that was him, stood in front of him. He was taller and broader, bigger than Dick now and wasn’t that a strange thought? He almost giggled. Jason had always said he would be taller.

Jason was saying something, but all Dick could focus on was the blood red of the helmet in his hands. Blood and a crowbar and oh god Jason had been so limp, like a marionette with the strings set ablaze. He couldn’t do this, couldn’t handle the hallucination any longer. It was bad enough when it had been Robin following him around but this? This was just cruel; to see what Jason might have been had Dick been good enough to-

“Wing Ding?” That broke through the haze. No one in their right mind called Dick that (save perhaps Roy but no one had argued that Roy was sane in a long time) and the hallucination had never done it before.

“Dick?” the apparition whispered and it suddenly dawned on Dick that this was all real. Jason was alive. He flinched at the thought, how long had he been among the living? Did he blame Dick for his death, was that why he had never come back before now?

“Dick?” Jason was obviously becoming desperate for him to react. He moved closer and Dick could not help but back up. He was broken, dirty, Jason was too good, and oh god he had been dead. Dick had felt the cold flesh, the rigidity of dark bruises where his blood had pooled as his heart tried futilely to just… keep… beating.

“No,” Dick managed to croak, “You cried. I-” Whatever he wanted to say wasn’t important so Dick stopped. He couldn’t do this, not now. He fled.

After that things were a bit of a blur. He made it back to the cave somehow and tried to tell Bruce what had happened, but the words wouldn’t come and his hands were shaking too badly to be useful. Bruce kept trying to get him to go upstairs, having something warm to drink, but Dick hadn’t been back to the manor in nearly a year and he did not intend to start now.

Finally, he managed to force the words from his throat and when Bruce didn’t believe he used his hands.

Then, message delivered he escaped. Gotham was too small, too tight and he needed the relative openness of Blüdhaven’s more modest skyline. Maybe he would finally take Clancy up on that offer from a free drink. Or not, alcohol and claws did not a good combination make.

The next few days passed in a haze. He went to work (the early shift), made more money in tips than he had any right to given that he offered no advice was amazingly strict about cutting the drunk ones off, and patrolled as if nothing life changing had occurred. As if every waking moment he wasn’t going over his memory of Jason’s face on the rooftop.

He thought he recognized careful hope when he had first appeared and maybe despair when he turned to leave, but really it was hard to tell behind a domino mask and who was Dick to say that after two years in the ground Jason would even still have the same facial expressions. The inability to know what Jason was thinking tormented him. He had always known before. Always, immediately. He had been able to navigate the minefield of Jason’s issues when they took Tim and Cass in and could remember nights spent in the young boy’s room rocking him through another nightmare about his mom. But, he supposed he was out of practice. Without Jason Dick had to been the emotional rock for the others and he hadn’t been able to. He had run.

The fourth night after the world changed irrevocably Dick found himself climbing the tallest building in Blüdhaven for the sheer exertion of it. Crime had been slow since he came back from Gotham, a frustrating phenomenon because what he really needed was to sink his claws into someone to work though his own complicated emotions. The next best thing was to exhaust himself and since there were no bad guys to be found he was climbing up Wayfield Tower the hard way. The methodical action was as good as any breathing exercise for eliciting meditation and he felt calm than he had in a while.

Left arm up. He missed his brother.

Right leg up. He missed his bedroom.

Push. Alfred. Bruce.

Right arm up. Timmy and Cass and movie nights.

Left leg up. The tall tree where he and Jason would hide and talk after a rough patrol.

Push. Jason.

Thoughts swirled through his mind, never really coalescing into anything save the burning desire to go home for the first time in two years.

He reached the top of the building and paused. The view was amazing from up here. Wind whipped his hair around his head and he leaned into it. Flying was still the best thing in the world. It made him feel simultaneously close to the parents he couldn’t quite remember, the father he was currently at odds with, and the younger siblings he had failed.

His claws clicked against the casing of his grapnel gun. From up here he would be able to fall for 13.4 seconds before he needed to fire. Not the glorious 27.8 of Gotham’s highest building, but still pretty good.

Nightwing was about to leap when he saw it. A plane.

The thing was, planes didn’t really fly over Blüdhaven; the closest airport was on the other side of Gotham and most pilots refused to fly through the smog from the refinery just outside of Blüdhaven proper.

A sick feeling filled him but there was nothing he could do save watch as a bright green figure appeared at the side of the plane. It hesitated for a short moment and then it was falling towards the city below him.

After that everything was a blur. Chemo (he was amazed he remembered the name from deep within a file on the Bat-computer) fell without hesitation, without remorse. A green plume of death flared first upward and then out in a terrible wave. He could hear the screams from his perch and for the first time in a long time Nightwing had no idea what to do. This wasn’t something he could fight with claws and stubbornness.

The green splashed and rose against the building he had just climbed, approached ever closer. Nightwing shot his grapnel to the top of the radio tower just behind him and ascended another thirty feet. Green lapped at the edge of the building and he thought maybe it wasn’t enough, maybe this is how he would die.

Then it receded. Not much but enough for him to breathe a little easier.

Wails reached his ears. Sobbing from below as the people of the city he had come to love despite its flaws died in agony. Nightwing closed his eyes, trying to ignore their pleas, but he just didn’t have it in him.

He reached into the compartments on the side of his left boot. Hopefully he still had- Yes! His respirator. It wouldn’t hold for long, not in that toxic environment. But, maybe, just maybe he could save a few of the doomed people. If not, maybe he could at least given them a quick end.

He placed the respirator in his mouth. All the lights were green. Good, that was a solid ten hours of clean breathing.

Nightwing stood tall on the edge of his city, took one last breath of clear air and leapt from the building.

Things below were so much worse than he could have imagined. Already the streets were littered with bodies. Some were already gone from the world but others lingered in the green haze, hacking and coughing up bits of their lungs, their eyes wide with pain and fear. Those who seemed less damaged Nightwing helped. He ripped pieces from their clothing and fashioned makeshift masks. He helped them to their feet and sent them in groups away from the center of the city where Chemo had struck. Most wouldn’t make it, that he knew for sure, but some would. The young and strong would survive with only minimal scarring if they made it out of the deadly haze.

Some, he knew were beyond saving. Soon his claws dripped red and tears pooled under his mask.

Eventually he left the streets and started hunting through the buildings for survivors. The nicer, newer buildings’ air conditioner filters might have delayed the effects of the poison for long enough for him to help the people within.

But, instead of survivors he found people who had succumbed in their sleep. Deep breaths and peaceful dreams and they were gone. He supposed it was better than the people on the street.

He threw up for the first time that night in the lace trimmed wastebasket under a little girl’s desk. She was curled in her bed, stuffed bear held tightly to her still chest, and a slight grimace on her face. Her chest was still.

The tears could no longer be contained by his mask.

When he reached the third building on the block Dick noticed that his skin was starting to feel strange. He checked the filters on his respirator. Four of five green lights still going strong. The last was a deep, warning red. It should have lasted another hour before failing but Dick supposed that the toxic air was straining the device past its limits. He mentally revised his estimate of safe breathing from ten hours to six at most.

Faint, inhuman cries reached his ears. Dick cocked his head to the side, attempting to pinpoint the noise. There, the alley to his left.

It turned out to be a small puppy who had crawled away from the bodies of its newborn littermates and hid in its mother’s thick fur. It cried pathetically as its tiny chest heaved. Dick scooped it up without hesitation and placed it in the front of his uniform. The spandex would filter the air and hopefully save the little creature’s life.

He spared a moment to close the mother dog’s eyes. She was a pretty thing with soft dark fur, powerful haunches, and no tail. He silently vowed to ensure at least one of her brood would live to see the dawn.

After that time seemed to pass both impossibly fast and so terribly slowly. He found more people and gave out masks he had raided from the kitchen of a single father of two.

Some of them still had the breath to thank him, others stared blankly, the burns from the chemicals already showing on their skin and Dick knew that they wouldn’t make it out. He told himself that he could only save so many and kept going.

His skin began itching just as the third light changed from green to red. He ignored it and handed out the last of the masks to a group who had managed to climb high enough to avoid the initial wave. They stared at him in awe as he entered the room.

“Thank you so much,” one, a tall man with glittering blue eyes, sobbed. “We thought no one was coming.”

For the first time Dick realized that there were no emergency sirens. In fact, as those who had been caught in the blast perished a terrible stillness was falling over the city.

Already his head hurt too badly to even contemplate attempting to speak in a way that the man would understand so he simply nodded and pat him on the shoulder. He took a few moments to use some milk from the fridge (they were in an employee lounge of some sort, he realized) to feed the puppy. One of the survivors cooed at the little thing and said;

“Oh, what a cute little girl!”

He really looked at it for the first time and realized it was a girl. He wished he had looked to see if the mother had been wearing a collar. The pup had her coloration.

Dick smiled at the survivor and nodded. Though he knew it would be best to leave the tiny animal with this group, safe as they were high above the danger zone, he placed the pup back against his chest and continued his search.

Three hours later the last green light was flickering and Dick could feel the places that had itched the most slowly tearing open. He had not found anyone alive for the last forty-five minutes.

Worse, he no longer had the presence of mind to remember which way was out. Everything was fuzzy and awful.

He collapsed to his knees on the thirtieth floor of a building filled with the remains of people he had been unable to save.

He wanted Bruce more than anything in the world. He wished he had actually hugged Jason, ruffled his hair like he used to do.

Oh well, it was too late for regrets now. He fell onto his side before another thought had a chance to form.

The last light was red.

Darkness.

Chapter Text

Chapter 13: The Things We Forgive (Part 3)

The ride in the Bat-mobile was one of the strangest experiences Jason could remember having. Everything had happened so quickly. All his plans, his need to see Batman pay for his failings were set to the wayside in favor of saving his older brother and he found he couldn’t resent the man for that. Dick had always been different; even when Jason and Bruce couldn’t be in the same room for fighting they had always been able to suck it up and deal when it came to the eldest child.

So, he ruthlessly tamped down his own feelings. There would be time for all that when they made sure that Dick wasn’t in the wasteland that was Blüdhaven.

The tense silence was broken sporadically by Batman trying to raise Nightwing on the comms. He never replied or acknowledged their hails. Eventually, Batman gave up and raised a line to the Justice League.

“Batman!” Wonder Woman appeared. She looked ruffled and upset, “It’s good to see you.” The image wavered slightly.

“The radiation is causing interference,” Batman reported, “I can’t raise anyone in the city.”

Wonder Woman’s look turned soft. “Oh, Bruce.”

“No names,” Batman snapped. Jason rolled his eyes. She was on the Watch Tower, a place that had only been breached once in its history, and Batman was in the most secure car to ever exist and he still insisted on his damn secrecy.

Wonder Woman was used to Batman’s habits and instead of making a big deal about the situation she simply gave him the update he had called about, “Superman is there now. He’s trying to engage Chemo to force him to reabsorb the toxic waste. I’m sure he’s also looking for Nightwing and any other survivors.”

Batman nodded, “Keep us posted.”

“Us?” Wonder Woman asked, “Aren’t Batgirl and Ro-” Batman cut the connection. Jason smirked. It was good to know that the situation had Bruce just as off kilter as he was.

Despite his embargo against names Bruce seemed to understand that Jason was not yet ready to hear about a new Robin so when he spoke he said, “Tim is on his way,” he indicated the small computer screen next to the wheel which showed a countdown. 45 minutes. Tim would beat them there. It was the dead of the night but the roads were filled with people in their cars and on foot fleeing the city, it made for slow going at best.

They finally arrived at the top of a cliff that looked down on the river valley that housed Blüdhaven. The lower elevation was one of the main problems currently; the toxins had sunk and there wasn’t enough wind to clear them. But, even as Jason watched the edge of the disaster zone seemed to shrink ever so slightly. Whatever Superman was doing must be working.

Jason barely had time to process the scope of the destruction before he was hit from the side. Blindly he twisted to grab a gun and dispose of the threat. Then, the babbled words reached his ears;

“Oh god! Jason you’re alive!” He looked down to see the messy mop of dark hair Alfred had never been able to tame. The arms tightened around him. Robin’s costume looked different, he thought distantly, darker than it had been when he wore it.

Batman materialized behind Robin. He reached out and gripped the boy’s shoulder and pulled him back. Jason registered that the Batwing was parked behind them. The kid’s landings had gotten better (the last one he remembered had ended in a broken landing gear and Tim’s grounding from the plane for a month).

“B!” Robin cried, he leaned back against Batman. “Did you know-?”

“We don’t have time for this,” Batman’s voice was emotionless but the way his gaze strayed to the city below them told Jason and Ro- Tim everything they needed to know.

“Robin, were you able to detect anything from the air?” Ah, all business. Jason actually felt a sense of relief at that. This was the Bruce he knew and sorta hated. He could deal with this so much easier than he could deal with the over emotional man from the apartment in Gotham.

Rob-Tim shook his head violently, “No!” His voice warbled and Jason decided that it helped to think of him entirely as Tim, not as the Replacement Robin, “I tried every adjustment I know but the radiation is just too high, it’s interfering with everything. I actually had some trouble landing.” Ah, so two years hadn’t changed everything.

Tim appeared to be slowly scooting closer and closer to Jason. The older teen grinned despite the situation they found themselves in. It was one thing to hear from Bruce, a man not above lying to get his way, that the young ones missed him, needed him. It was quite another to actually see the evidence in front of his eyes.

Sure, it stung that Tim was now Robin, and that was something he would be rectifying at the first opportunity. That damned name had gotten him killed and he was not going to allow his baby brother to go in the same way. But, at the same time the costume looked different enough that he thought he could maybe deal (for at least the night).

With that thought in mind he opened his arms right as Tim reached him. The younger hero fit against his chest exactly how he remembered. He supposed they had grown the same amount over the last two years. Then, Tim’s shoulders shook. Just the once but it was enough. He might be grossly out of practice, but Jason remembered something about the care and feeding of younger siblings. He remembered exactly how hard Tim worked not to cry in front of Bruce. With this in mind Jason shifted so that he stood between Tim and Bruce.

“You okay kiddo?” He whispered, willing Tim not to question it. They could deal with the strangeness of all this tomorrow. For tonight, Jason hoped Tim would just accept the comfort as it was given. Tim sniffed.

“You’re alive,” the words were repeated, this time with wonder rather than joy. “I- It’s just-”

Jason chuckled, “Yeah, you’re telling me. It’s fucked up.”

Tim shook his head, “No, it’s wonderful. Di- I mean Nightwing is gonna be so happy.”

Jason snorted, “Yeah, I doubt that kid. He already knows. I tried to, well, let’s just say he didn’t look too pleased.”

Tim pulled away from the embrace, “That can’t be right,” he protested, “He was devastated when you died. He didn’t talk for months, didn’t sign for days. It was-” He swallowed and shook his head.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay kiddo,” Jason felt weirdly comforted by the knowledge. Even if Bruce hadn’t done what he should have, it was nice to know that his death had affected someone. It was awful to think of Dick feeling that way though. The two emotions warred within him until he forcibly tamped them down. Tomorrow. He was going to deal with everything tomorrow.

First, they had to find the idiot and then Jason could punch him. Or hug him. Whichever came first…

Bruce could not deny that seeing Robin and Red Hood (or, well, Tim and Jason) embrace felt like something that was broken had healed. He was grateful they were alone on the cliff edge because he did not even try and stop the smile that appeared. He had never dared hope to be so lucky as to have a second chance with Jason and yet here he was, embracing his little brother as if nothing had changed (even if absolutely everything had been fundamentally altered by a crowbar and a stack of explosives). But, despite his happiness they needed to get moving lest they fail to- Well, Bruce had no desire to form the thought of what might happen if they hesitated too long.

“Robin, you’ll stay here and coordinate between us and the League.” He knew he was retreating behind the Batman persona, but really they did need to get moving so Bruce didn’t feel too much guilt at it. Plus, the boys exchanged a smile at his tone and that was amazing to see. “I want updates every five minutes. Call Wonder Woman if the wind shifts and leave if you are in any danger.”

Tim nodded frantically.

“Yessir!”

“Red Hood, you’re with me.”

They climbed into the cockpit of the batwing in silence. Jason immediately picked up the long range sensor array and started scanning. He seemed uncomfortable and Bruce sympathized. This was all weird, beyond weird and he knew that there would be consequences in the morning.

“Scan for lower frequencies,” Bruce ordered, “They’ll have a better chance at breaking through.”

“Yes dad,” Jason sniped. He seemed to be shifting from quietly accepting to confrontational and Bruce readied himself for a fight. But, then Jason seemed to deflate.

“Look,” he muttered, “Just don’t order me around, okay? You and me, we’re still not good. I’m here for Nightwing and Nightwing only, once we get him out I’m gone.”

Bruce clenched his jaw but nodded without a word. There was no use in arguing when Jason was like this.

He did notice that Jason switched the settings on the sensor to detect low frequencies though.

Bruce decided to start in the center of the blast zone and circle outward. He knew that if Dick had been near ground zero he was dead, there was no question about that. But, that search pattern meant that the further out they moved the better their chances of recovering a still breathing Nightwing.

The first few circles passed in silence. Every five minutes Tim checked in, but he never had anything more to say than that the situation had not changed; Superman’s plan was slowly working and the authorities were still trying to get coordinated enough to be of any use. Then, as they stared their fifth loop Jason noticed it.

“B?” He asked, falling into the familiar nickname through sheer habit, “What’s this?”

Batman leaned over. His shoulder relaxed fractionally, “Nightwing’s emergency signal.” He redirected the plane towards the signal. “Try to raise him on the comms, we might be close enough to get through.”

“Nightwing? Nightwing come in!” Jason tried. Buzzing static filled the line. Nothing. Jason cursed and ht the dash.

“How far away are we?” He snapped.

“Here.” Batman set the plane hover.

If Jason had thought the city looked horrible from the cliff-side it was nothing to being inside the circle of destruction. It was eerily silent. Even from fifty stories up he could see the way that the gentle breeze caused the green death to swirl and twist in tangled motes. It looked like-

The sharp taste of Lazarus rose in his throat and Jason had to cough to force it away. Tomorrow. He would deal tomorrow.

Batman seemed to know exactly what he was thinking because he nodded once and said, “Let’s get inside. The air conditioner will have filter some of it and our respirators will get the rest.”

The top ten floors were penthouses, empty and silent. Relief filled Jason, maybe less people than he thought had died….

Then they reached the fortieth floor and the regular apartments. Now Jason did throw up. Everyone was dead. The first they found was a janitor, slumped over his mop and bucket, never to finish his night rounds. He had died with a smile on his face. Most weren’t so lucky. The burns alone were enough to make Jason gag again as they searched each and every apartment, but what was worse was the blood filled bile and evidence of people trying to escape their homes.

The lower they got the more Jason despaired of ever finding Nightwing. Maybe the signal had been warped by the radiation, maybe it was someone else calling for help, maybe-

Suddenly Bruce rushed ahead. Jason saw him only half a second later.

Nightwing lay curled on his side not fifty feet in front of them. He wore a respirator but from even this far away Jason could see that all the lights were red. Batman was on the floor now, cradling Nightwing’s head in his hands which were – oh god, Batman’s hands were shaking. Jason leapt forward, Nightwing couldn’t be, he wasn’t- A pulse, slow and weak but there and maybe the most glorious thing Jason had ever felt.

Assured Nightwing at least still lived Jason turned his attention to the wounds he could see peppering his older brother’s face and neck. They were weeping burns that extended down his next and under the edge of his suit. The red symbol on his chest and shoulders had holes burnt through it and his claws were covered in blood and rust.

Jason had to force the bile back again. Nightwing was such an invincible, immovable force in his life, it was impossible to imagine him so vulnerable.

Suddenly a lump moved on Nightwing’s chest. Jason jerked back.

Batman reached forward and into the suit. He withdrew his hand and Jason could hear a high pitched squeaking.

“It’s a puppy.”

It was amazing, Jason mused, that Batman could look so disapproving and grim while saying the word ‘puppy’.

Then, everything was happening quickly. The Batwing descended by remote to the closest window, Batman scooped up Nightwing as if he weighed nothing (and Jason could definitely admit to being impressed by the easy feat of strength). Jason used a small detonation capsule to blow out a window. The short distance between the edge of the building and the ramp into the Batwing was passed over with ease and they were racing back towards the cliff to pick up Tim.

Jason stayed in the cargo hold with Dick, his fingers pressed deeply into one of the only clear areas on his neck counting heart beats.

Never had any flight felt longer.

The first rays of sunshine found Jason perched on the edge of a chair in the Batcave infirmary watching Nightwing’s chest rise and fall, listening to the hiss-click of the ventilator, staring at the gauze covered burns. His hands were shaking. It was tomorrow and he was desperately trying to deal with everything that had happened over the last few days. He had expected his confrontation with Batman to end with either himself or the Joker dead. Now, Joker was back in Arkham (still unconscious, Jason had not held back in his final kick) and Jason was nursing a few minor chemical burns but nothing serious. It was…..disconcerting to have his plans so thoroughly thwarted. Worse, he found he didn’t really mind. For the first time since he woke in his grave the storm in his mind was calmed, he couldn’t tell if it was simply the eye, the deceptive calm before the truly went insane, or if he had made it through to the other side intact.

Dick shifted on the bed. He wasn’t waking, not yet. Leslie had given him enough sedative to keep an elephant down for a few days. But, the doctor said that small movements were normal given his injuries and state of mental unrest. Despite knowing all that Jason had to tamp down hope every time the older teen shifted.

The not-really-silent silence was beginning to bug him. He wished there would either be outright noise or complete stillness, not this halfway where he could hear the bats but they were too far away to be distinct and Tim was moving around the cave proper but Jason couldn’t tell what he was doing and the machines were beeping and clicking and-

He shook his head to clear it. Focus. That was what he needed to do. Focus on one thing.

It was nearly time to change Dick’s bandages and reapply the neutralizing cream Leslie had left behind. He could focus on doing that. He stood and gathered the supplies.

“Do you need help?” Tim appeared in the doorway. He was holding the tiny dog they had found with Dick. Alfred had not been pleased when Tim asked for some formula to feed the animal. But, Tim had explained how they found Dick and the dog and Alfred had produced the proper mixture without another word. The pup was currently wrapped in a soft blanket, suckling at a bottle held in Tim’s left hand. Jason hadn’t noticed how young it was before; its eyes weren’t even open yet. It was making soft squeaking noises as it tried to hit at the bottle with one clumsy paw.

Jason shook his head, “I got this. You take care of Tiny there.”

Tim hmm’d agreement and settled into the chair Jason had just vacated. Jason started peeling back the bandages and gently applying the ointment to the burns. He had to avoid looking past a quick glace to make sure his hand was in the right place. Otherwise he feared he might freak out.

As Jason worked he found himself focusing on the small sounds the puppy made as it drank. It was strange to think that something so small and weak had survived when so many others had died. Tim seemed to be focusing on the animal far more than Jason thought was necessary but then, Tim always had dealt with life changes in odd ways. If it made him feel better to care for the little thing then Jason was not going to argue (unless it was to get Alfred to buy more formula).

Jason could feel a confrontation with Bruce brewing, he knew that his problems and Bruce’s pigheadedness were going to clash and it was going to be spectacular. He was still really, really Not Okay with Tim being Robin (oh god his little Timmy out fight bad guys and the Joker was still alive and FOCUS. Focus.). They would need to have a chat about that and Jason knew that that chat would end with him going out and going to town on some thugs.

But, for now Jason was simply happy to be in the room with his brothers. Cass would be home soon and they would all be happy.

They would.

He would make sure of it.

Dick awoke to silence and the smell of dampness. He knew that smell, it was home and safety and everything he loved in life. There was a thin tendril of pain that he knew he should examine, but really he was just too happy to be here. That thought made him wonder why he thought he shouldn’t be- Oh, Blüdhaven. The thought crashed into him with dreadful force. He twisted and curled on his side.

He hadn’t been able to do anything, save anyone. Even the ones he had given masks likely hadn’t made it out. The same sort of empty feeling that he had hated so much during his time with the Talons was creeping up on him and Dick wanted nothing more than to embrace it. It was so much easier not to feel than to try and deal with emotions he barely understood and was no prepared to process.

He would never know how long he lay there in the half-dark, alone, thinking over all his decisions during the attack and trying to figure out if there had been anything else that he could have done to help the people he had sworn to protect. Eventually, he had to admit that he could not think of anything else he might have done. Woulda-coulda-shoulda was not a mentality that the Talons encouraged and it was one of their ideals that he still clung to.

With this in mind he forced himself to sit upright. Pain lanced through his body from multiple places. He knew that he had burns from the chemicals, but was surprised by the amount of his body currently covered in bandages. He slid his feet to the ground, suppressing grunt of pain. At least now he knew why he had woken, his pain meds had worn off. As quickly as he could, given his sore state he distangled himself from his IV and the various sensors. He needed to get out of here. As he moved away from the table his mind wandered over the events of the last week.

It hit him like a bolt of lightning.

His knees tried to buckle as the realization that his brother was alive hit him anew. Then, before he had a chance to recover the teen in question came skidding around the corner from the main portion of the cave. Jason didn’t meet his eyes as he moved to turn off the alarms that were blaring from the disconnected sensors.

“You realize this is kinda where we met, right?” Jason said after a bit.

Dick smiled at him. Yeah, though met might be a strong term. Maybe ‘where I kidnapped you to’ would be better. Oh man, it hurt to sign. He ignored the pain though. It was less than the aching pit in his gut when he thought about all the people who had been in Blüdhaven.

Jason laughed, “Yeah, well, I can’t say I regret you doing that.”

I got you killed.

“No!” Jason snapped, “I got me killed, the Joker got me killed, Catharine Todd got me killed. You don’t get to take responsibility for that, you ass.”

Dick. My name is Dick.

Jason stared at him for a few seconds before he reached out and punched the on unbandaged place on Dick’s shoulder.

“I cannot believe you just made that joke!” Dick grinned unrepentantly. He knew that the knowledge of everything that had happened would hit him again as soon as he was alone, but for now it was nice just to enjoy the conversation he thought he would never get to have.

“I mean, my god! I leave for a few years and you go cheesy on me!” Without warning Jason wrapped Dick in a tight hug. Dick returned the gesture as strongly as he was able. It hurt his burns but really the pain was kind of nice (you had to be alive to hurt after all). Jason’s head had found its traditional place in the crook of Dick’s shoulder, his nose pressed deep into the hollow just above his collar bone.

If his shoulder felt slightly damp after a few moments, well, Dick wasn’t going to tell anyone.

“You need to take better care of yourself, son.” Bruce said without preamble. He settled onto the edge of the roof next to Dick. The familiar position drew a small smile to Dick’s face. Anytime life got to be too much for Dick to process he would find himself on the roof and, inevitably, Bruce would join him. It had been a few years and for the first time Dick realized that he had missed the support of the older man. Life was so much easier to understand through Bruce’s no-nonsense lens. He leaned closer but did not close the distance between them. He had said some awful things over the course of the last few years and he really wasn’t sure why Bruce was here. He was actually expecting more of a lecture and less of a friendly chat (the thought nearly made him laugh, Batman chatting).

So, he said and signed nothing.

“I know we’ve had our issues these last few years,” Bruce finally continued, “I’ll admit that most of that is on me-” Dick shifted to stare at him incredulously. Bruce might be careful to always tell Dick exactly what he meant and always stopped to explain human motivations when he was confused, but he could never be said to be introspective.

Bruce chuckled, “Okay, Alfred might have pointed some things out to me.”

Dick’s small smile broadened to a full grin. He finally closed the distance between their shoulders. It felt sort of like they had been when Dick was younger and crime-fighting felt a little less life and death and a little more (and he hesitated to think it) fun.

“He’s right thought. I’ve been too damned bull headed to notice but you’ve been running yourself ragged. I know things haven’t been great in Blüdhaven, no,” he shook his head when Dick raised his hands to explain, “There’s no need to tell me what’s been going on if you don’t want to. All I wanted to say was that, well, I’ve lost Jason and while he might be back now… and I still can’t believe we have another chance but, I can’t lose you too.”

Dick shoved his forehead into Bruce’s shoulder. It was so nice to be home.

“Come on,” Bruce said after a few minutes, “Alfred’s making French onion soup and fresh bread for dinner.”

That brought a warm feeling to Dick’s chest. Jason loved bread (probably more than any normal person should) and French onion soup was an excuse for Alfred to make his famous crusty loaf. It was a dish that had been absent from the manor for the last two years.

You convinced him to stay?

Bruce chuckled, “No, he’s still not really talking to me. Alfred got ahold of him before he could leave after you two talked.”

And no one says no to Agent A on a warpath. Dick nodded.

Five minutes later they were settled at the large table in the informal dining room. Bruce sat at the head, Dick just to his left and Jason across from Dick. Tim had looked torn about which brother to sit by when he entered and had only decided on the seat next to Jason when Dick gave him a small smile. Dick desperately wished Cass had been able to come home. It would have been so nice for the entire family to be together, but she was on her way and would be home as soon as she could.

For the first time in a long time Dick felt whole. Jason met his eyes across the table and Dick could see that he felt the same way.

Alfred entered with the tray of food and they dug in without hesitation. None of them mentioned the way the old butler’s eyes were filled with tears when he looked out over the table. It wouldn’t do to ruin his stiff upper lip after all.

Chapter Text

Chapter 14: The Promises We Make

This was it. This was how he died.

Really, fourteen years was a good run. He had done a lot, seen a lot. Hell, he’d been to space. There were only what- a few hundred people who could say that in all of human history? Normally he could remember all their names, but then again, normally his stomach wasn’t trying to make an emergency exit through his mouth.

Tim swallowed reflexively and dared to open his left eye the barest slit. Nope. They were still hurtling towards their imminent doom. Cool.

Beside him his oldest brother laughed in that half-crazy way he had sometimes that made even Bruce look at him a little oddly (and really Tim wasn’t sure Bruce had any room to talk about mental health, the man dressed up as a giant bat in his free time). Tim gripped the harness that was all that stood between him and death tighter.

Nice harness. He thought, good harnesses keep their passengers safe. You want to be a good harness right?

It occurred to him that he was maybe a tad punch drunk.

Terror drunk? Was that a thing?

He had no idea.

“Uh, Dickie-bird?” Jason sounded way too calm for the situation they found themselves in. Tim hated him a little.

“Hmm?” Dick hummed. Take that back, Jason sounded properly tense, Dick sounded alarmingly relaxed.

“I think you’re gonna give the kid a heart attack if you don’t slow down to normal human speeds.”

The reckless speed seemed to lessen a bit and Tim dared to open his eyes. He did not let go of his harness however, there was a difference between bravery and stupidity after all. To his immense relief the trees outside the window had ceased to blur together and he could once more read the street signs as they passed them.

“You doin’ okay there Timbo?” Jason smirked when Tim glanced back to where he sprawled in the back seat, seemingly completely at ease. Cass was curled up next to him with a large book on her knees. They had been practicing reading when they crossed the city limits and Dick decided that speed limits were for mere mortals. Cass smiled at Tim. He returned the gesture as steadily as he could.

See, the problem was that Cass and Dick were crazy assassin types with no fear for things that normal human beings had issues with and poor Jason had been around Dick for two years (obviously it had driven him insane). Tim was really the only normal one there. It was a lot of responsibility being the only one who might look at the fifty foot cliff and say ‘you know, there are stairs right over there, maybe we don’t need to jump…’.

Dick reach over and patted Tim on the knee. The contact was brief and to an outsider might seem cold but to Tim it was better than most hugs he could remember receiving (not that he had ever received many hugs). He and Cass had only been living at Wayne Manor for two months and he was just starting to realize just how much better his life was now. Cass seemed to understand his emotions because she reached forward and yanked on his ear gently. It was a reminder not to get lost in the past, to focus on the moment and on everything he had.

“I’m fine,” Tim said. Dick glanced at him as they whipped around a tight curve and Tim had to suppress a flinch, “I’d be better if you would look at the road!”

Dick laughed and when Tim looked to the backseat he could see how very proud Jason was. He practically glowed as he first glanced at Cass (who had returned to her reading), then Dick, and finally at Tim.

“Hey Jay?” Tim ventured. He still wasn’t super comfortable using nicknames as freely as Jason did but every time he tried the two older boy’s eyes turned soft and fond and Tim really couldn’t get enough of that feeling.

“Yeah Timmy?”

“Promise me something?”

“Anything, kid.” Wow. That still hit him hard. His parents were gone so much, cared so little even before they vanished, that Tim still had a hard time wrapping his brain around the idea that people actually, genuinely cared for him.

He shoved those thoughts away, “When I’m old enough, will you be the one to teach me to drive?” Of course he was already learning how to drive the Bat-mobile (in case of extreme emergencies only of course) but actual cars were a totally different story.

Jason barked out a laugh, “Ha! See that Dickie! You’ve traumatized the kid.”

“You vacuumed the frog!” Dick sniped back in a sing-songy voice. Tim had no idea what he meant but Jason reached forward and flicked the back of Dick’s head so he supposed that was that.

Then, Jason turned his attention back to Tim, “Of course I’ll teach you, Timmy. There is no way I’d let this psychopath do it and then release you on an unsuspecting world.”

Tim grinned back. He wasn’t really sure what love felt like, it had been so long since his mother had kissed his forehead at night or his father had tucked him in, but the warm feeling that filled the vehicle was surely pretty damn close.

Dick whipped the wheel to the left and Tim was thrown against the door. Then again, maybe he was simply suffering from an adrenaline induced break-down. Surely that made sense as well.

He wondered if this was what Bruce had meant when he asked Dick to test drive the new Bat-mobile. But, no, the man wouldn't intentionally endanger them, right?

Tim shuddered as the car whipped around yet another hairpin curve.

Maybe Bruce didn’t know exactly how scary a driver Dick was?

Yeah, that was it.

Despite his fear, however, Tim was quite sure that he had never been happier in his life. It was nice to have a family.

Chapter Text

Chapter 15: Family Trees

There was a tree near the edge of the manor grounds that Dick loved to climb. Seventy-five feet tall if it was an inch with sparse branches near the bottom that made the beginning of the climb difficult enough to challenge him. The view from the top was phenomenal; all of Gotham laid out below him, a glittering sea of lives and deaths and love and everything that he struggled to understand on a daily basis. It was humbling and terrifying all at once. He made sure to climb to the very top at least once a week, more if things had been particularly awful on patrol.

He had been climbing the tree for nearly three years when the owls arrived. He had not been able to take the time away from the manor for nearly two whole weeks and when he finally reached the top he was horrified to see that two barn owls and their offspring had constructed a nest on the adjacent branch.

He hated owls. He knew it was ridiculous, the Talons were not really owls; they just dressed like them. Furthermore, Dick was quite fond of his claws and he had modeled certain parts of his Nightwing costume after his Talon uniform. Really, there was no reason for him to freeze and shake when he heard the faint hoo hoo. He just couldn’t get past the flat, pale faces, and dark eyes and the way horror would fill his gut.

Dick was so caught up in staring at the nest of owls that he didn’t hear the rustling below him. In fact, it was not until a small hand grabbed his foot by mistake (the owner was too busy looking down at the ground to realize that his next hand hold was in all actuality a foot) that he learned he was not alone. Before the knowledge had even had a chance to percolate from his subconscious to his conscious brain Dick had leapt up three more braches and twisted so that his claw-less hands were facing the threat.

The threat that turned out to be a very small little boy.

Dick uncurled his fists. The boy was staring at him with fear filled eyes and that just would not do.

Dick waved. The boy stared.

“Hi?” Dick ignored the sharp stab of pain deep in his head. It was difficult to use words that people understood. He had to first think of the correct incorrect word and then pretend that was the word he wanted to say all along and hope the one he really wanted to say came out right. It was awful and inevitably led to terrible migraines.

The boy did nothing. Maybe the word hadn’t come out right? He opened his mouth to try again. The boy cocked his head to the side.

“You’re Richard Grayson,” he said with wonder.

Dick scooted a little further away. Of course, a lot of people knew who he was because of Bruce and all the charity functions he drug Dick to, perhaps this child knew of his from that world. But, something told Dick that wasn’t right. He was already on edge due to the near constant hooting from the nest not twenty feet away and the only answer he could think of was that the boy was a Talon, his replacement in the Court. He desperately wished he had his claws, the cold weight on his fingers would have been a comfort just then.

“I’m not Them!” The boy protested and Dick backed up another few branches. Only Bruce, Alfred, and Jason (and hell, probably Babs, the girl was too damn smart) knew enough to know why Dick was cautious (read: freaking out). His lips curled in a snarl.

“I promise!” The boy whispered, “I saw you and your parents online and I-” Here he hesitated, took a deep breath, and met Dick’s gaze properly for the first time, “I saw you kill Tony Zucco three years ago.”

A branch broke beneath Dick’s grip. Not even Jason knew about that. He was sure Bruce did, but he had never said anything either way, only sent a disappointed glare in Dick’s direction and grounded him for a week for going out as Nightwing without supervision.

The boy seemed to take his continued silence as permission to continue, “I was on the fire escape above you,” he explained quickly, “My mom had forgotten to pick me up form school and I was walking home and got scared. I didn’t mean to see it, I promise!”

Things shifted in Dick’s view. Suddenly the kid wasn’t a threat. He fell in the same category as Jason; a boy left alone and in danger. Bile rose in his throat when he thought about the way he had killed Zucco; a child had seen that? He conveniently forgot that he himself had only barely turned eleven at the time. He had never really been a child anyway, at least not that he could remember.

“Name?” he croaked, ignoring the instant stab of pain.

The boy grinned up at him. He crawled closer by a few branches. Dick had to admire the kid’s bravery. Not many would come closer to the person they had just revealed they knew to be a murderer.

“I’m Timmy,” his grinned had revealed a missing front tooth and Dick’s heart was lost, “Timmy Drake. I live next door to you and Mr. Wayne.”

A terrible suspicion dawned on Dick.

“How-” The agony forced him to stop speaking. He rifled through his pockets, trust this to be the one day he forgot to grab the pen and- The flat pad met his fingers. He pressed one hand into his throbbing temple as he withdrew the pen and paper.

“Are you okay?” Tim scooted a few more branches closer. Dick waved his free hand dismissively.

How long have you been our neighbor? Technically he couldn’t write any better than he could speak. At least, not at first. His afterschool therapy sessions had been a wonder and now, while his spelling and handwriting were atrocious, he could at least be understood. He just hoped the younger boy could make out the mangled letters as he held the pad up to be read.

“Oh, always!” Timmy responded with another of those smiles that absolutely melted Dick’s heart. The sudden fondness was tempered by cold fury. He killed Zucco in an alleyway in Crime Alley, nearly nine miles from where they currently sat.

Are your parent’s home? Dick’s hand was shaking as he wrote but he found that the anger actually made it easier to concentrate on the letter shapes.

Timmy shrugged, “I don’t know. I like to play in the woods and when I saw you climbing the tree I wanted to say hi!”

Oh god, this kid was too cute to handle on his own. Dick decided then and there he was watching out for him. Kids shouldn’t be alone after all.

What grade are you in? They still had a few hours before sunset and dinnertime, Dick planned to take advantage of that time.

Timmy lit up and it was painfully obvious that no one had cared to ask about him in a long time. Dick felt the fury coalesce into something he could use. He would play this slowly, take his time to do it right, but Timmy wouldn’t need to worry about being alone anymore.

Three hours later Dick twisted his head slightly. A voice was filtering through the branches around them.

“Dickie!” Jason called from far below. He was the only one who knew about this tree. “Alfred says he’s gonna call some buddys from his army days if you don’t show up in the next fifteen minutes.” Dick knew Alfred had said nothing of the sort, the man was too proper to make such overt threats. But, Jason enjoyed his tales of his time in the army and often relayed them to Dick as if he had not been there when they were told. It was a strange, yet endearing, habit that Bruce told Dick was entirely normal for a child of Jason’s age.

Dick smiled at Timmy. He made a series of non-ASL gestures that indicated it was time to part. Tim looked devastated but nodded. He started to reach for the branch he would need to hold to descend but Dick shook his head.

Follow me down.

It was the work of less than a minute to descend the seventy feet to the bottom of the tree. Jason was waiting with his arms crossed.

“Hurry up!” He made to shove at Dick’s shoulder, “He made stew! He never makes stew!” That was true, Alfred seemed to think stew was beneath him. But, every once in a while, when patrols had been escpecialy terrible for Nightwing and Batman and training had been rough on Robin, he made an exception and it was amazing. Jason loved the crusty french bread that came with stew more than was entirely normal and even Bruce would smile as it was brought out. Dick just loved the warm feel of the bowl against his hands.

Timmy dropped to the ground. Jason leapt backward in surprise.

Jay, meet Timmy. Dick carefully finger-spelled the kid’s name. Apparently he’s our neighbor.

Jason stared at Timmy for a long moment before he turned back to Dick. I’m sorry, his movements wer sharp in the way that meant he was being sarcastic, Did you just make a friend? Like a normal human being?

Dick glared, he was perfectly capable of making friends, thank you very little. He had the Titans and Barbara and – okay, so that was it. But, he really didn’t want any more than that.

Jason smirked at him, “That’s what I thought.” He turned to face Timmy, who had been staring at the two of them with wide eyes. “Hiya.”

“Ummm, hi? You’re not related.” Dick and Jason exchanged glances. Most people thoought they were at first. They didn’t look past the black hair and blue eyes to Dick’s significantly darker skin tone and Jason’s high cheekbones.

“Not by blood,” Jason ceeded, “But, Bruce adopted us both so we kinds are….”

“Jason Wayne,” Timmy breathed.

“Umm, actually it’s still Todd.” For all her mistakes, Jason still loved his mother with all his heart and soul and had adamently refused to change the last name she had given him. Bruce had not argued past offering to have his name legally changed to Haywood if he wanted. It was a proposal Jason was still considering two years later.

“Sorry,” Timmy muttered.

Jason shrugged. “No skin off my back,” he said, “Question; how the hell do you know who I am?” Jason hated going to society events and his adoption hadn’t been nearly the front page news Dick’s was. The kid ducked his head and Jason had to fight off a gasp. Oh man, he was cute. That might be an issue.

He knows a lot, Dick answered for the boy who was suddenly looking very shy, As in, he knows who we are at night.

That was a surprise.

“How-?” Jason started to ask but Dick cut him off with a sharp glance. Fine, he could wait until they were alone.

Timmy, is there someone at home for you?

Tim nodded, “I have a nanny,” he explained, “She lets me play outside during the day so long as I’m home by nine.”

Dick and Jason exchanged glances, that was an awfully long time for a boy of Tim’s age to be alone. Dick was gratified to see that Jason seemed to be in complete agreement even without having been briefed on the plan. Timmy was theirs now. They would protect him.

Three months later Timmy found himself decorating a bedroom in Wayne manor and wondering how exactly this had all happened.

Chapter Text

Chapter 16: The Roles We Play

The Red Hood appeared in his bedroom nearly three weeks after Blüdhaven. He slipped in through the window and settled into the plush chair Bruce had gifted Tim on his first birthday in the manor. Tim glared at him, truly pissed at his big brother for the first time since he could remember.

                “Are you gonna make Cass stop too?” He snapped. The walls of the bedrooms were sound-proofed, no one would come even if he raised his voice. Besides, Dick was still staying at his apartment in Gotham and Bruce was already out for the night.

                Red Hood reached up and removed his namesake. Jason was staring at Tim and suddenly he found it very difficult to be as pissed as he had been.

                “I tried,” he shook his head ruefully, “She reminded me none to gently that if I wanted to keep her off the streets I would have to physically stop her.”

                “Great,” Tim sighed, “So because I’m not a freaking ninja I have to hang it up?!” He felt out of control and childish, it was not a happy feeling for someone as controlled as Tim prided himself on being.

                Jason grabbed his flailing hand, “Timmy,” he hissed, “You don’t think I’d stop her if I could? Hell, you don’t think I’d stop Dick if I could?”

                Tim stared at him. For the first time he was realizing just how different the man who had come back was from the boy who had died. Before, Jason had always promised Tim that he would get to join them out there on day, every night he promised. Every night. It had been Tim’s greatest dream, to fly alongside is family and protect the people of Gotham. Then, Jason had died and the only way Tim could think to be with him was to wear his costume.

                “You were gone,” Tim suddenly said. He clamped his mouth shut he hadn’t meant to say that; Jason’s eyes widened.

                “I know kiddo,” he shucked off his leather jacket and tossed onto the window seat.

                “No, you don’t.” Tim was vacillating between furious and desperate for comfort. It was an odd feeling and one he wasn’t quite sure how to compute.

                “Tim-” Tim shook his head.

                “No, you don’t know what it was like for us,” he attempted to put the horrible feelings into words, “I mean, I told you about Dick. But, it was awful for everyone. I barely held on, Cass was practically suicidal, Alfred didn’t bake bread for a year,” he paused and took a deep breath before continuing, “Bruce nearly killed a guy for shoplifting.”

                Jason sat back in the chair, he forced away the guilt. That wasn’t the point. It really only proved what he was trying to say; this was too dangerous for them and the family couldn’t handle losing people. They were all too messed up already.

                “How did you even convince him to let you wear the costume?” It was the only thing he could think to say that wouldn’t be actively insulting or horrible.

                Tim stared, he wondered if Jason knew the whole story he would be more open to the idea. A small smile took hold.

                “They brought you back, or well, I guess they brought back the wax model,” and that was something Tim still needed to deal with. Someone had made a model of his brother’s dead body and they had cried over it, it was a repugnant thought.

                “Ra’s,” Jason explained and that was all that needed to be said. The League of Shadows was ruthless. A dead child was nothing to them.

                Tim nodded, “Right,” his voice was tense, “We buried it and Dick vanished.”

                Cassandra had trouble expressing her emotions in words. It was something that Dick had been helping her with for the last two months. She thought the signs he taught her were better than the words the others liked so much. Words were limited; anger, they said, was the feeling she got when her hands shook and her breath sped up and she wanted only to hit someone. But, that was too small a word for the dark way the feeling roiled in her gut, for the way her vision sharpened and her heart raced. She much preferred the grabbing, lifting motion of the sign that represented the same emotion.

                But, the limited nature of language was not what was currently bothering her. The real problem was that she was feeling something she had never felt before. It was awful, a weight in her stomach, a squeezing in her chest, and a dark veil over her eyes and she wanted nothing more than to have a word for it. A word would reduce it to something smaller, something she might be able to handle.

                She stared down at the still face of the man who had accepted her so readily into his life. Jason had been the one to sit up with her at night when she was afraid her father would find them all and hurt them. He had been the one to hold her close when the world got to be too much, the one to explain pop culture to her in a way that didn’t make her feel too left out. The idea of him being gone was repulsive. She was used to death, used to killing, in a way that no one in the family save Dick was, but, she felt like the others were all dealing with their emotions better than she.

                Bruce and Dick seemed to be carved from stone where they stood. Bruce’s gaze was fixed on the preacher as he droned on and on, while Dick had yet to look away from the open casket. Alfred stood at the back of the room, his arms crossed behind him and his face stern.

                Perhaps if she had a word for it she could handle this feeling.

                “Tim?” She whispered. He jerked violently and she realized that he had been completely lost in thought. "Sorry.”

                He shook his head, “No, no, I was just,” he swallowed, “I was just thinking.”

                “What is this called?” She asked.

                “This?” he looked around at the small crowd of heroes in civilian garb and reporters, “A funeral?”

                Cass felt the urge to roll her eyes. She knew the word for funeral.

                “No,” she pressed two fingers into her chest, “This?”

                His eyes widened, “Oh,” he scooted closer and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, “That’s called grief.”

                “Grief,” she tasted it, rolled it about and decided that it was the first emotion word she had learned that didn’t diminish what it defined. She nodded.

                “Thank you.”

                He kissed her cheek in the affectionate gesture everyone but Dick had adopted from Jason.

                Then, the preacher was done and the casket was lowering into the ground and the grief was choking out any other thoughts or emotions.

                Everything had stopped. Bruce felt frozen inside. It was like the first few days after his parents, but so much worse because now he knew how grief and loss worked. It wouldn’t get better, he would always feel the crippling guilt and the chunk that had been torn from his heart with a bloody crowbar would never heal. Really, he didn’t deserve for it to heal.

He wanted his son back.

He wanted to not have fought with Jason so much over the last few months.

He wanted to have never allowed Jason to put on the damn costume. It was selfish and stupid and it was the reason Tim couldn’t stop crying and Cassandra was looking so lost.

Somehow, and he would never really be able to say how, they made it through the funeral. Then, Bruce watched as his family slowly fell apart.

Cassandra, despite barely having reached fifteen years of age spent much of her time with the Titans. At first, Bruce wanted to protest, to gather them all in the cave and never let them leave. Cassandra was still so new to the family, Bruce hadn't learned how to let her fly on her own. But, Cassandra had leveled a strong gaze at him and shook her head. She could take care of herself, her eyes told him as surely as if she had spoken aloud. She would not go like he did, but she did need to go. She needed time to process everything that had happened and could not do it down the hall from Jason’s empty room. So, she spent the weekends in Titans Tower and slowly (so, so slowly) healed. Eventually, she would return to spending the vast majority of her weekends at the Manor, but not for many months.

Dick, well, it was awful. He ghosted around the manor for a week after the funeral. Then, he left. It was not until he vanished that Bruce realized he hadn’t spoken aloud since they found Jason. Nightwing still joined Batman on patrols and distantly Bruce realized that might not be a good thing. They were both hanging on to their control, to their sanity really, by only the barest of threads and the number of thugs who visited the hospital after encounters with them was steadily increasing. Bruce thought it all would have been better if Dick would just talk to him, if he would just come home. But, that wasn’t in the cards and eventually Bruce stopped asking.

Tim, left alone in the house, withdrew into himself. When he wasn’t staring at old case files he was training or furiously reading any one of the thousands of book in the Manor library. He spent as much time as Alfred would allow in front of the Batcomputer, training, or talking with Cassandra on the vid-phone. They were frustrated, Bruce could easily see that, they wanted to get out in the world and fight the person (the thing) that had killed their brother. Bruce forbade it. He couldn’t stop Nightwing, but he would never allow the two younger ones to join their crusade, to be killed as Jason had.

He had failed once. He would not do so again.

It was okay if they hated him, so long as they were alive to do so.

                Jason moved from his spot in the chair to the empty half of Tim’s bed. The younger boy scooted to a sitting position and leaned heavily against his side.

                “It was like that for a few months,” Tim continued in a hoarse voice. Jason wrapped an arm around his shoulders, “It probably would have always been like that but the Joker escaped.”

                Jason tensed. Logically, he knew that the madman hadn’t been contained the entire time he was in the ground (and wandering the world trying to remember who he was, but he didn’t like to think about that time). Logic. Something that had never really applied to the Joker. It really just proved his point that he needed to be put down.

                “He, uh, well, has anyone talked to you about Barbara?” Tim sounded nervous so Jason tightened his hold.

                “Not really,” he said, “I figured it out when I was watching you all and saw Batgirl.”

                Tim nodded; Cass’ costume was vastly different from Barbara’s and she was nearly four inches shorter, it would be immediately obvious that something had changed.

“Sorry you had to find out that way,” he whispered and Jason felt a sudden surge of affection for the teen. No one else had so easily understood and articulated the deep sense of loneliness that had plagued him ever since his return. He pressed a kiss to Tim’s hair.

“Thanks.”

They sat in silence for a few moments before Jason spoke again, “I still don’t understand how Babs being attacked means you two are allowed to go out. Seems like it should have done the opposite.” He forced his voice to remain level. He was still pissed as hell at Bruce (and, against his will, a little at Dick) but not at Tim and Cass at all. He just wanted them to be safe.

Tim’s lips curled into a very tiny smile, “After that we didn’t give him a choice anymore. Gotham needed him and Nightwing and they needed us, or really they needed you and Barbara, but we were the only option.”

                As it always seems to in Gotham, everything fell apart again. The Joker escaped the hospital; like the rabid dog he was, he descended upon Gotham, ripping and tearing and driving everyone, already raw and broken from Jason, to the edge of madness. He stayed a step ahead of Batman and Nightwing (who was determined to just end it, to kill the bastard once and for all) and turned his fury on the Gordons.

                He tortured Jim.              

                He shot Barbara.

                He killed Batgirl.

                Bruce hadn’t thought anything could be worse than Jason’s death. He had been wrong. Knowing that Barbara was still living, but could no longer do what she loved…. Well, it hurt.

He hadn’t even realized before that how much he had enjoyed the nights when Batgirl, Batman, and Nightwing raced through the city together. Nightwing would make a joke with a quick twist of his hands and a quirk of his lips and Batgirl would giggle as they tied the captured thugs. There were times when even Batman found a smile trying to escape his rigid control.

                It had become even better when Cassandra and Tim joined Alfred on the radios. Suddenly fighting crime was less of an obligation and more of a family affair, more fun than he had ever expected it to be. It had made him feel like maybe the world could be right again, even if Jason wasn’t in it.

                Of course, Gotham wouldn’t allow him to have that happiness, that sense of fulfillment and peace.

                So, everything changed with the single crack of a gun and a cry of pain.

                Nightwing, who had been slowly starting to open back up shut down again. He left Gotham for Blüdhaven and it was only after Tim and Cassandra’s first visit that Bruce had any hope that his eldest child might make it through this without too many new scars, mental or otherwise.

                Without Nightwing and Batgirl by his side Batman found himself going further than he would have before in fights. There were times when he thought he was fighting the Joker, only to open his eyes to a bloody gunrunner or mugger. No one knew he was having those episodes though, and he intended to keep it that way. Weakness was not a luxury he would allow himself, never again.

                Clark tried to talk to him. Bruce ignored the calls. He didn’t need to hear the other hero’s feigned sympathy. They hadn’t been friends in years, there was nothing Clark had to give him to tell him that he didn’t already know. So, instead of going to Justice League meetings he spent time with Barbara and Jim in the hospital.

                Even as he mourned the loss of the razor sharp intelligence and bright presence Batgirl brought to a patrol, Bruce found himself thinking that perhaps it was best that only he and Nightwing were left. It was a horrible thought and one he would never voice aloud, but if Barbara being shot meant that no one else would die, well, then he would accept it.

                Alone was best, after all.

                “I’m almost glad I wasn’t around for that,” Jason murmured, “I bet Bruce and Dick were really fucked up.”

                Tim nodded, “I didn’t see Dick much for that first six months, only once every few weekends. But, his hands were shaking a lot the first few times I saw him afterwards and he lost a lot of weight. I’m pretty sure that even though he was living in Blüdhaven he spent a lot of nights watching her sleep and making sure nothing was going to happen.”

                Jason nodded, he really wouldn’t expect anything less from Dick. He might be shit at dealing with people’s emotions (really, Jason wasn’t surprised he had fled the city in the face of strong feelings) but he always had their bodies.

                “I still don’t see how all this is supposed to make me okay with you stealing my costume or Cass taking Babs?” Jason knew he was being a little belligerent, but he was determined not to allow the farce to continue.

                Tim shifted so he could glare, “You got impatient while you were dead.” Then, he seemed to realize what he had said and blanched.

                But, Jason, after a long moment of shock, started laughing.

                “Oh my god!” he shoved a fist into Tim’s closest shoulder, “You grew an attitude while I was gone!”

                Tim smiled shyly, it felt good to make Jason laugh. He continued his tale, happy that Jason had seemed so mirthful. Perhaps it would make the final part easier to bear.

                Six months after Barbara’s shooting Oracle had joined forces with Batman (and, more reluctantly, with the Justice League) and Nightwing had managed to reappear in Gotham a few times a month for patrols with Batman. Tim and Cass thought he was probably in the city a lot more than Bruce realized visiting the Clock Tower, but neither was going to say anything. Their only older brother had finally started to smile again and they would never do anything to risk that fragile happiness.

                Things might have been improving for the youngest members of the family, but they were steadily worsening for the elder. Bruce’s violence had started to be noticed. Barbara confided in Cass that her father had told her people were starting to whisper about bringing Batman in on charges.

                Tim and Cass spent many nights on the roof, Dick’s favorite haunt, trying to figure out how to help the man who had given them both a second chance at life.

                They were unsuccessful until Tim finally threw his arms up in frustration;

                “It’s like Batman needs Robin and Batgirl to stop him from becoming Nightwing!” He spun on his heel to begin pacing back and forth only to be stopped by Cass’ hands on his shoulders.

                “Tim!” Her eyes were glittering with the same kind of determined mischief he had previously only seen in Jason.

                “What?”

                Her grin, the first real one in months, curled the corners of her mouth and Tim found one of his own answering. He had no idea what she had planned, but Cass had never steered him wrong before.

                “Batman needs Robin and Batgirl,” she seemed to be waiting for him to understand something, but Tim’s notoriously fast brain felt steeped in molasses.

                Cass rolled her eyes.

                “He needs us.”

                Cass left for the Clock Tower immediately. Tim watched her go and then descended into the Cave. Bruce was already out for the night and Alfred had not been down to the cave since Jason’s death, so he knew he would be alone.

                He approached the glass case with Jason’s costume in it. He hated this stupid thing. Dick had thrown up the first time he saw it (though to be fair, he had lost quite a lot of blood at that point, it was the only reason he was even at the Cave). Tim felt the same sort of revulsion when he saw the costume Jason loved so much displayed in this way.

                He settled into a cross-legged position at the base of the case.

                “Hey, Jay,” he whispered, “I know it’s been a few nights since I’ve been down here, but Cass and I have been trying to figure out how to help Bruce.”

                He paused. Even if there was no one to reply he liked to pretend it was a real conversation.

                “We think we might have a way. She’s gone to talk to Barbara, to ask permission, but, well - I can’t really do that, can I?”

                It had always been understood between the children of the Bat that when Tim and Cass came of age they would join their father and siblings in the crusade. Cass had pages and pages of costume ideas, each cooler than the last, but Tim had only ever wanted to be Robin. Jason encouraged that desire, he said Robin was great, you got to joke and be happy and make people think you weren’t a threat and then BAM – take them down. He also explained that he thought that wouldn’t work forever, that once he started growing tall and broad, once his voice started changing for real then the costume might lose its effectiveness.

                One night, after Tim had been forced to listen to a hostage die while his family tried to get to them, Jason confided that he would be proud to see Tim in the red, green, and black. Tim, filled with hope, had asked what Jason would be if he were Robin.

                Jason had only smiled and laughed and said that that was up to Dick, after all he had given Jason Robin. He was sure the older man could come up with something appropriately awesome.

                “I guess Dick never gave you a new name,” Tim whispered to the fabric, “I wonder if he already knew what it was going to be?” Jason had shot up four inches in the year before his death and was only a few shy of Dick’s five foot ten. Surely, that meant he would soon have been moving on?

                “I know you said you would give it to me one day,” Tim continued, “But, I feel like I’m about to steal it. Like, I haven’t earned it or deserve it.”

                He swallowed and looked at the floor.

                “I hope you understand why I’m doing this. Bruce needs you, not me,” he scrubbed furiously at his face, desperate to rid himself of the tears that had appeared without his consent. He had never minded crying in front of Jason, but it felt awful to do so and not be comforted.

                “But, you’re not here,” he managed with a sniff, “I am, and I’m going to do what I need to - to protect our family.”

                He put the costume on.

                “So, yeah,” Tim finished. He was staring at his hands, too afraid to look at Jason and see his reaction to everything. “I took your costume and went out. Cass talked to Barbara and got permission to be Batgirl.”

                Jason’s arm had tightened around his shoulders. Tim had no idea what that meant. Was Jason proud of him? Was he furious?

                But, most of all, would Jason allow him to be Robin? It wasn’t really the older teen’s call, but if he asked, then Tim would stop in a heartbeat. Tim’s fury from not half an hour previous had faded to a sick nervousness. Robin was Jason’s, perhaps more than he was Tim’s.

                “We saved Bruce’s life that first night,” Tim knew he sounded defensive, but dammit! He was worried. “We’ve saved him a lot since then.”

                “What did Dick do?” Jason’s voice was strangled with something Tim couldn’t identify. It did not make him feel better.

                “Uh, he was in Blüdhaven. We didn’t call him because we knew he would try and stop us.”

                Jason snorted. “And now?”

                Tim raised his chin and met Jason’s gaze for the first time in a while, “Now, he accepts that we are doing what we need to be doing. He protects us when he can and when he can’t he, well you know what he does to anyone who hurts the family.”

                “I don’t like this,” Jason said, “I’m never going to like this. Robin got me killed. I won’t see the same happen to you or Cass.”

                “You don’t really have a choice in the matter, Jason. We’re going to do this whether you like it or not, as Batgirl and Robin if we can. If you say no to that, then we’ll come up with new names. But, no matter what, we are going to fight to protect our city.”

                Jason sighed.

                “Fine,” he finally said, though he didn’t sound happy about it, “But, you’re going to train with me for a while before you go back out on the streets.”

                “Thanks, Jay,” Tim smiled up at him. It was so nice to have everyone back in Gotham. Now, if only they could convince Dick to return to the manor for longer than a single night….

Chapter Text

Chapter 17: Family Trees, Part 2

Timothy Jackson Drake was a lonely child. Mostly, he loved being alone. People were confusing and illogical (Tim wasn’t quite sure the word meant, but he loved Mr. Spock and Mr. Spock said it all the time). When he was alone he didn’t have to think too hard about anything he didn’t want to think about. Instead of focusing on remembering the names of the people he met he could instead try and multiply three digit numbers in his head. It was so much more fun alone.

Of course, that didn’t meant that he wanted to be that way all the time. He cherished the stolen moments with his father, the gentle kiss on his forehead goodnight and the chuckle of pride when Timmy brought him his most recent report card. Janet Drake was harder to find time with, she had thrown herself wholeheartedly into her husband’s archeological firm and was often away overseeing digs. Even when she was in the city she was consumed by the business. Timmy was proud of his mother and father, but, he also missed them dearly when they were gone.

While they were away Timmy was left with a series of nannies and care-takers. He was still far too young for boarding school or to be left truly alone for long. Timmy never told anyone that some of the nannies left early and he got to spend a few hours by himself a few times a week. He really liked those times.

It was a nanny (Mrs. Prichard, a dowdy old lady with a stern face and a pocketful of caramel candies) who taught him to use the computer. He was four and so very bored by the assignments his daycare was giving him. She sat him down in front of her clunky laptop and pointed to the track-pad.

“This is how you move the cursor,” she explained, “You click this one to select the icon you want.” She showed him how to open a game and the internet and how to search for things he wanted to know. She changed his world.

There were a lot of things on the internet Timmy didn’t understand, but the best part was that he could do a search to explain them. In the four years between his first time using a computer and his current age of 8 (and two thirds) he learned more than he had ever thought possible. Mrs. Prichard stopped coming when he was six, but Timmy had an allowance and was a clever child. He bought himself a small laptop one day after school when the nanny who was supposed to be picking him up didn’t show up. Strangely, no one batted an eye at the tiny boy with the credit card and the expensive computer.

The circus came to town when he was six. He parents agreed to take him (and wasn’t that the greatest thing ever? A night out, just him and his parents, was a dream come true). Timmy immediately started doing all the research he could on the circus they were to see. Instead of the happy stories he expected to see about children playing with animals and clowns, the news websites were sad and sensationalist. Timmy searched for information about the “Flying Graysons”. What he saw amazed him. Oh, how he wished they were still around. The daring way they leapt into thin air, the graceful loops of their bodies, he wanted nothing more than to see it in person. Even more impressive was the little boy, two years younger than his current age who performed a daring series of tricks on a lower trapeze with a net below him.

Tim found videos of the family before and after shows. The mother would gather her son and husband up in her arms and her paler skin shone between the darker tones of her family. Her reddish hair made their messy raven mops even darker and all of their teeth showed in massive grins. The mother had grey eyes that reminded Tim of his own mother’s and sometimes he liked to imagine that Janet Drake looked at him the same way Mary Grayson looked at her son; with eyes full of adoration and tenderness. He liked to imagine John Grayson’s strong arms lifting him into the air and that the boy, Richard, was his brother. It was a happy little fantasy that Tim tried to tell himself was terribly illogical, it could never be, he only had the family he had and there would never be anyone else.

But, he never stopped looking up videos of the Graysons. He learned about the terrible accident that befell them and how their son had gone missing. Bruce Wayne, whom Tim had met a few times at fundraisers his parents dragged him to, never stopped funding the search for the boy according to the news stories Tim found. Then, Batman found him and brought him back to Gotham and suddenly Tim was neighbors with the boy he had idolized for so long. Tim found he was suddenly too shy to go say hello.

Years passed as they always did for Tim, he was bored in school but his parents wouldn’t allow him to be moved up a grade (or three).

Then, one day he met his hero. Or, rather, he met him officially for the first time. There had been that whole business with Tony Zucco and the alleyway and, well, Tim didn’t really like to think about that day.

But, meeting Dick in the tree had been a dream come true. The older boy looked at him like he mattered and that was something he couldn’t ever remember having had happen before. Then, he met Dick’s brother and was so jealous he thought he might explode. Though he knew it made them late for dinner Dick and Jason walked him home that night.

He thought that would be the end of it. Everyone else was okay with leaving him behind, so why not these two? Besides, Dick was Nightwing (which meant Bruce Wayne was Batman and wasn’t that just the coolest thing ever?) and Tim was sure he was busy. The more he thought about it, the more he was sure that he would never see either of them again, at least not outside charity functions.

Then, the next Saturday, his nanny of the week appeared at his bedroom door.

“Timothy, you have visitors.” She sounded disapproving and Tim wondered who in the world would be here to see him? Maybe the principle here to ask if he wanted to be moved up a grade (again, they never seemed to stop asking)? He made his way downstairs as quickly as he could, unwilling to let anyone who was here to see him wait any longer than necessary.

Dick Grayson and Jason Todd stood in the open doorway and Tim thought he might weep. Jason seemed to recognize that urge because he threw an arm around Tim’s shoulder and looked up at the scowling nanny.

“We’ll have him home by 5, ma’am.” Tim had never heard the term ‘ma’am’ sound so much like an insult before. The nanny didn’t say a word as Dick and Jason drug him from the front hall.

Once they were outside Jason let his arm drop from Tim.

“Have you ever ridden a horse before?” he asked. His hands were in the pockets of his light jacket and his head turned up to the sky. He looked so calm and confident. Tim wished for that kind of self-assured ease. He shook his head.

“Mom doesn’t like horses,” he explained. Dick nodded, he gestured for a few moments.

“Dick says we have a few that are your size over at the Manor, if you want to learn to ride?” Tim got the feeling that that wasn’t exactly what Dick had said based on the look of amusement on his face but the older boy didn’t protest so he supposed it had probably been close enough.

“That sounds awesome,” he managed to force out. The idea of hanging out all day with Nightwing and the boy it was only just dawning on him was probably Robin was a dream come true. He hoped he didn’t do anything to make them realize what a loser he was.

“Why are guys doing this?” Tim finally managed to ask after two months of Saturdays.

Dick stared at him for a long moment before raising his hands. He formed the words slowly and carefully and finger-spelled anything he and Jason hadn’t already taught Tim.

We – like – you. You – are – f-u-n-n-y – and – clever – and - your - parents - don’t - know - what - they’re - missing.

Tim sniffed a little and nodded his head despite his objections. If they really thought that he wasn’t going to correct them. He enjoyed spending time with actual people far too much.

But, despite being whip smart they never seemed to catch on and kept coming back. Tim spent his free time researching ASL and soon had a firm enough grasp on the language to understand Dick without needing Jason’s translations. He had started recognizing some of Dick’s scrambled words as well.

“Dick and Jason tell me we’re neighbors,” Bruce Wayne was everything Tim wanted to be when he grew up. Tall, with a kind smile and a happy family. He looked at Tim like Tim mattered and he thought maybe he would do anything for the socialite, if only he would ask.

“Y-yessir,” he managed to say.

Bruce’s smile widened just a tad, “No need to be nervous, Tim,” he crouched down to Tim’s eye level, “I swear I’m not like the tabloids paint me.”

Behind Bruce’s back Dick signed Nope, he’s actually a complete dork. Jason nodded agreement and Tim felt a smile appear on his face.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, you’re welcome anytime.”

Jason cleared his throat, “Bruce, Timmy knows some stuff.”

Bruce glanced back at him, “What ‘stuff’?” He said the word like a curse and Timmy had to suppress the urge to giggle.

Batman-type stuff. Timmy didn’t know the first sign but it gave him a thrill of excitement that he could see reflected in Jason’s smile and Dick’s steady gaze. Bruce’s face froze and for a moment Timmy thought that it was all over.

“How?”

Let him explain, Dick reached over and nudged Timmy forward, Timmy, tell him how you figured out who I am.

So, Timmy did. He explained how he was walking home alone and how he had seen Nightwing kill Tony Zucco. He told Bruce everything and in the end the man looked at him for a few long seconds before he spoke again.

“You are a very clever little boy,” he finally said, “Jason and Dick like you and that says a lot to me.” He stood from his crouched position, “Would you like to see the Batcave?”

Timmy would spend the next five years living a double life. He went to school like normal, did his homework, and then hopped on his bike and raced over to Wayne Manor. Bruce had absolutely forbidden him to even think about donning a costume, but he had conceded that Dick and Jason were going to teach Timmy to protect himself no matter what. He even joined them on a few occasions for sparring practice. Timmy relished the feeling of being cared for by so many.

Life only got better when Bruce showed him how to use the Batcomputer. Timmy was forbidden to wear a costume, but he wanted to help and knew he could be of use. So, he and Jason convinced Bruce to train Tim to man the radios while they were on patrol. Or at least, he was allowed to use the radio on non-school nights. Summer was the absolute best.

But, Timmy had never been meant to sit on the sidelines, he had never been meant to watch and not do. He was meant for great things and the universe would not allow the opportunity to pass him by.

It began with his mother deciding that he was old enough to accompany them on a short dig, as a present for his birthday.

It ended with Tim living in Wayne Manor permanently.

Tim woke four days after his fourteenth birthday to darkness and pain. He was sure he had opened his eyes, but the black was so complete he had to blink a few time to make sure they were actually open. He tried to raise his hands to his face, only to discover that his wrists had been bound tightly in rope. He would only admit it to Dick and Jason in the middle of the night weeks later, but he panicked.

He couldn’t see anything, the air was musty and close and he was sure the last thing he remembered was going to sleep in the same tent as his parents. What if they were-? He forced those thoughts away. What would Nightwing do in this situation? Nightwing wouldn’t be in this situation, he realized and he shook his head slightly to clear it, what would Robin do? Jason was always promising that he could one day be Robin, he would need to be able to keep a cool head.

So, first things first; where was he? He used his bound hands to push himself to his hands and knees. The floor was damp stone. He could only think of one place within a hundred miles of his parents’ camp that would have enough stone to form a room; the ruins they had been exploring.

“Mom?” He whispered, “Dad?” He had been in their tent, if he was here then they had to be as well. Or at least, that was the only thought he was going to allow himself to have.

No one answered his plea.

Tim crawled forward as quietly as he could until his head bumped against a wall crafted form the same material as the floor. Definitely in the ruins; he could feel a thin slime of moss against his cheek. Everything in the ancient site had been covered in the stuff. That was the job his dad assigned him; carefully scraping the moss from the carved writings and taking pictures. His mom had been translating them next to him. It was more fun than he could ever remember having with him parents.

He started crawling along the wall, searching for a way out or something sharp enough to free himself.

Even as he searched his found his thoughts drifting back to his birthday. His mom had presented him with his own set of archeological tools and his dad had praised his knowledge of linguistics. Tim had smiled at the attention and told them Dick and Jason had taught him. Really, it was part of Bruce’s training before he had been allowed to access the Bat-computer, but he couldn’t tell them that.

He made his way around four corners and back to where he thought he had started without finding an exit. He could no longer hold back the tears of despair. Nightwing or Robin would have already escaped. He was useless, stuck and captured like a little kid. He curled up in the corner and buried his head in his arms.

Dick and Jason were bored beyond all reason. Bruce had gone off chasing a lead on the League of Shadows in Hong Kong. Dick, who spent most of his time with the Titans since he had graduated high school the previous summer, was left in charge of Gotham with strict orders not to let Jason go off on his own. The sixteen year old was allowed to do solo patrols two nights a week, but neither Bruce nor Dick was comfortable with that happening when Dick was his only back up. Barbara would be coming back from college for a visit over the weekend and if Bruce wasn’t back yet Dick had promised Jason he could patrol alone while Batgirl was in the city.

So, on Thursday afternoon, with no major Arkham breakouts and crime in one of the periodic lows, the teens decided to go visit Tim. The kid had wormed his way into every aspect of their lives over the last five years, it was odd not to see him for more than three days, the seven that had passed was unheard of. Dick didn’t like that Tim was off in a foreign land without him and Jason wasn’t super pleased that he was with his parents. Tim would never say anything, but the signs were all there and the residents of Wayne manor were nothing if not intelligent. The Drakes were not good parents, they weren’t malicious, and they clearly cared for their son, but they didn’t give him the affection he needed or the attention he craved. Dick and Jason had done their best, and with Bruce’s approval they had made great strides. Tim had initiated a hug not ten days ago when Jason presented him with the birthday gift he and Dick had bought for the kid. It was a new training outfit, made in a mix of Nightwing and Robin’s colors, complete with a small grapnel gun of his own.

Bruce had given him a card with an inscription neither Dick nor Jason saw and a key to the Manor.

So, bored and missing Tim, Dick and Jason set off. Jason eagerly grabbed the keys to Bruce’s Tesla and was already in the driver’s seat by the time Dick left a note for Alfred.

You sure you want to bring down this level of wrath? Dick asked with a smirk. Jason had only received his license three weeks previously and was still forbidden from driving anything that cost more than one year’s tuition at Gotham Academy (the Batmobile was the obvious exception to this rule).

Jason ignored Dick’s warning, “What Bruce don’t know, can’t hurt me.” Dick didn’t protest further, but he also didn’t tell Jason that Bruce had taken to checking the odometers of each and every car before going to bed. It would serve as a good reminder of exactly how paranoid their adoptive father was.

“Now, come on, slow poke!” Jason cajoled, “Timmy said he was gonna bring us back souvenirs!” He started the car.

Are you sixteen or six? Dick asked. Jason did not dignify that with a response beyond peeling out of the garage.

Tim’s house was empty.

Tim’s house was empty and he had promised to be back by Wednesday.

Jason tried to stop himself from panicking, but it was a hard won fight. Dick was gone and the Nightwing was in his place, though no costume was present.

Go back to the Manor, he ordered, Prep the Wing and call Bruce.

Jason nodded and turned to leave. Nightwing grabbed his wrist as he passed.

Make sure the med-bay is fully stocked.

Jason fled.

Thirty minutes later Dick showed up in the Cave with the exact coordinates of the Drake’s dig. He changed into his Nightwing costume without a word. Jason was already clad in his Robin uniform and had been compulsively doing and re-doing the preflight checks.

Take us up, Nightwing commanded as soon as he was in his seat. He pressed the comm button.

“Batgirl here,” Barbara answered immediately. She had a pencil stuck in her hair and smudges under her eyes, midterms had been rough from what Jason gathered. The teal wall behind her told Jason she was in her dorm room (which had been fully and discretely sound proofed by Bruce before she ever moved in). “Don’t you normally call with phones this time of day?”

Robin and I are leaving Gotham, Nightwing told her, You need to come back early and watch the city.

To her credit Barbara immediately started gathering her things, “You got it,” she said, “Where are you two going?”

Coordinates are in the system. The kid is in trouble and we’re going to get him out of it.

Jason appreciated that Nightwing was as freaked as he was. It was irrational, they had no reason to be so certain that Tim was in danger. And yet, he couldn’t shake the sick feeling from his gut.

Barbara nodded, “I’ll be there in time for patrol tonight. Anything I need to know about in the city?”

Nightwing shook his head, No. Watch for the Carnelli Family, but Bruce doesn’t think they’ll make a move for a few weeks yet.

She zipped her bag shut, “Got it, keep me updated and if you need anything I’ll be on comms all weekend.”

Will do. Nightwing forced a smile at her and cut the connection.

Tim shivered and drew his legs up closer to his chest. He closed his eyes against the dim light that filtered into the room. His initial suspicions had been confirmed when the sun rose after his first night in the room. There was a single crack in the far upper corner that allowed a very small amount of light in. It wasn’t much, but it had kept him from going insane.

Three days had passed since he awoke. Once a day his captors shoved the large slab in front of the door out of the way. He was allowed to walk around and relieve himself in the woods. They would then force a stale piece of bread into his hand and push him back into the room. It was on the first of these outings that he realized they had killed his mother.

Well, realized might be giving himself too much credit. They had shown him her body, limp and bloody in the dirt. They said that if his father didn’t pay up then Tim would be joining her.

Tim wasn’t sure he cared what happened to him. All he could see was her glassy gaze, bright eyes dulled in death as the flies crawled over her.

He hadn’t slept since that first day.

On the third day he had glimpsed his father fighting against the men and that brief moment gave him hope that they might get out of this.

On the fourth day Nightwing and Robin showed up.

“Timmy?” Jason’s voice had slithered through the crack in the ceiling. Tim didn’t answer, he was dreaming, that was the only explanation. “Timmy, it’s Robin. Nightwing and I are here to take you home.”

Tim curled tighter against the cold and closed his eyes. Maybe if he went to sleep in the dream he would wake up in the real world?

Then, the slab was scraping away and starlight was filtering through the jungle behind two very familiar figures.

“Oh, Timmy,” Robin said. His voice wasn’t nearly as quiet as Tim thought it should be. He seemed to read that in his frantic expression because he smiled, “Don’t worry, Nightwing and I took care of them.”

“M-my dad?” Tim managed to ask. Robin was using a bat-a-rang to saw through the ropes around his ankles while Nightwing stood watch at the entrance.

“We got him, he’s alive, but- well, I’m really sorry Tim; he’s hurt really bad.” The ropes snapped and he moved to Tim’s hands.

“My mom?”

Robin’s gaze met his own. He seemed lost for words.

“I mean,” Tim continued, “I know they killed her. I- I saw her body.” Robin jerked through the last few fibers and gathered Tim in a tight embrace. “I meant, can we take her body home?” Tim muttered into his tunic.

“Of course, kiddo,” that was Jason speaking, not Robin. Tim appreciated it.

“Thanks,” he whispered.

They exited the room. Nightwing turned from his surveying of the tree-line. He took one long look at Tim gripped his shoulders. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. The gesture said more about his sorrow and relief than words or signs ever could and Tim found himself fighting tears for the first time since waking in the room.

Tim spent the entire trip back to the States strapped in next to his unconscious father. Unconscious wasn’t exactly the right word; comatose was more like it. Medicine had always interested him and he knew all the signs. Nightwing sat next to him in silence and stillness. Tim appreciated it. He wasn’t sure he was really up to talking about anything that had happened just yet.

They landed. Tim could hear Robin calling Batgirl, but the words were indistinct and Nightwing was already leading him to the showers.

Jason will call Leslie for your Dad. He pushed a towel and pair of sweatpants at Tim, Go get cleaned up.

Tim had never taken a more amazing shower. The warmth chased the last of the chill from his bones and helped him reboot his brain. For the first time he found himself able to think analytically about everything that had happened.

He knew he should be more upset about his mother and father than he was, but it as so easy to pretend that they were both simply off on another dig without him. He knew it would take a while before the knowledge that they were really gone sunk in. He hoped his father would wake up, but didn’t hold any high hopes.

When the water started to cool he turned it off and pulled the sweats on. Dick was waiting for him when he emerged.

He held out a bowl of tomato soup and a can of coke and offered a tight smile.

Your dad is being looked at now, he gestured to the med bay, Leslie seems hopeful he’ll survive. The coma is pretty deep though.

Tim nodded, he had figured as much out for himself.

“Thanks,” He whispered. Dick steered him to the large chair Bruce normally occupied and handed him a spoon.

Eat, He commanded, You’ll feel better.

Tim ate. He didn’t feel good after he finished, but at least he didn’t feel quite so awful. He spent the rest of the afternoon sitting by his father’s bedside.

That evening Bruce returned home with an assassin in tow.

“This is Cassandra,” he said without preamble, “She will be living with us now.”

Dick stared at the girl. He slunk closer in a fluid movement Tim recognized from his training routines. The girl stared back, unafraid. Her eyes narrowed infinitesimally and his head tilted slightly to the side. Then, she smiled and nodded. Tim had no idea what had just passed between them, but at least he wasn’t alone. Jason was staring back and forth between the two as if trying to complete a puzzle with half the pieces missing.

“I – not – harm,” she forced the words out and Tim heard Jason draw in a gasp of air. Dick did not react save to reach out and pat her on the shoulder. It was an awkward motion but one that Cassandra leaned into.

“Uh, just so you know,” Jason interjected, “Tim’ll be living here now, too.”

Tim might have loved Bruce a little more for not asking any questions just then. He was sure that Dick and Jason would be getting the full inquisition later, but in that moment Bruce simply nodded and said;

“Your room is always open to you, Tim,” he clapped his large hand down on Tim’s shoulder, “Welcome to the family.”

Tim had to fight back tears at the casual acceptance. He loved that Bruce didn’t feel the need to talk about everything, especially when it was still so raw.

That night, Tim ended up curled against Dick’s side as the older teen sat up and kept watch. Jason slept in a plush chair placed next to Tim’s bed for precisely that purpose. Halfway through the night, Cass peeked her head into the room.

Through cracked eyes Tim watched as she gestured to the bed. Dick stared at her for a long moment before he nodded and shifted so that he would be between her and Tim. As she settled under the covers Tim felt a faint tendril of contentment brush against his raw grief; his mother was gone forever and he didn’t truly believe his father would ever wake, but, he had people who cared for him and whom he adored.

It was enough.

Chapter Text

The Things We Forgive: Aftermath

Jason didn’t stay at the manor that first night. Instead he found himself following Dick back to the apartment he kept in Gotham proper. Alfred had tried to convince the two of them to stay, he cited Dick’s bandages and the need to observation throughout the night as the primary reason but they both knew that in reality he was speaking for Bruce. Jason felt a small pang at that; Bruce wanted him around (he had to ignore the insidious little voice in his head that said no, Bruce wanted Dick around). Dick had smiled and shaken his head at Alfred’s pleas and that was that. It was odd, another sign of the things that had changed while he was gone. Before he left Dick spent more time at the Manor than away, now he seemed uncomfortable in the opulent surroundings they had once called home.

Tim had watched them leave with wide eyes. He was still holding the puppy and Dick was having a hard time looking at him. Jason smiled at the kid, a silent promise that they would talk and soon (after all, he still needed to deal with the whole Robin Issue). Then, they left.

Dick’s apartment was in the tallest building in Gotham not owned by Wayne Enterprises. Even a quick glance around had revealed Alfred’s deft decorating hand. The only room that looked like Dick had had any influence was also the only bedroom. As in his room at the manor (and, Jason was quite positive the room in the apartment in Blüdhaven) he had shoved all the furniture into a small space close to the window. The colors throughout the apartment were a subdued mix of blues and greys. It was relaxing and despite Alfred’s obvious influence, obviously Dick. When they entered Dick snatched the car keys from Jason’s hand. Jason had absolutely refused to get in the car until Dick handed the keys over, he was not about to let the man drive when his eyes were still crinkled from an oxygen deprivation headache. He hung them from a small hook by the door and made a ‘make yourself at home’ gesture.

Jason watched as Dick moved to the kitchen and pulled out a four glasses. He filled them with milk, handed one to Jason, took one for himself and placed the other two at the empty barstools on either side of Jason.

“What-?” Jason started to ask but Dick cut him off with a weary smile.

Wait. It occurred to Jason that that was the first word from Dick since about halfway through dinner. He mentally added another tally to the Traumatized-But-Maybe-Sorta-Dealing column of his ‘Is Dick Okay?” checklist.

They did not have to wait long. Not two minutes after Dick poured the milk a hesitant knock sounded from the door that lead out to the balcony. Dick waved one hand and the door opened. Tim was clad in his Robin costume and had a large duffle slung over his left shoulder. The right one was occupied by a small pet carrier. Jason suppressed a snarl at the sight of the costume. Every time he saw it he felt a little bit worse. He held the door open behind him and Cassandra entered. Jason stood.

She looked different. Distantly he knew that was because she had only just entered puberty when he died. She was now sixteen and suddenly everything that he had missed hit Jason. Had Tim’s voice cracked yet? Did either of them have boyfriends? Girlfriends? Tim had always been close to Superboy, were they still friends? Had Cass ever been able to land her triple somersault?

He closed his eyes and forced the thoughts back into the carefully locked box he had kept them in up until this point.

Cass crossed the distance between them in a few long strides. She still moved with the same fluid grace Jason had always envied in she and Dick.

She stood before Jason and look him over carefully. Her eyes lingered on the shoulder holster he was still wearing and the bandages on his neck from exposure to the chemicals in Blüdhaven. Then, she reached up with her left hand and placed it on his shoulder. He stayed still, this was all a part of Cass’ method of assimilating new information. It occurred to him that they were all sorta fucked up and he smiled. Being fucked up was pretty okay with him, so long as he had company.

Then, a broad smiled crossed Cass’ face and she leaned in to kiss Jason’s cheek.

“I am glad you’re alive,” she whispered, “We need you.”

As always, her blunt statement of the truth hit him hard and he could only barely force an answering grin. Cass nodded sharply, as always she had read more in his body language than Jason was entirely comfortable with. She spun on her heel and moved to Dick, her lips curling in a snarl.

Hi. He signed tentatively. Cass looked pissed.

Don’t hi me you ass! She signed to him. Jason’s smile turned real. Cass and Dick had always had a special bond, different than Dick and Tim or Dick and Jason. She got him in a way that the other two couldn’t and he had always seemed to relish the opportunity to be with someone who had similar issues with communication as himself.

After the single signed exchange they two assassins ceased to communicate in a way Jason or Tim could understand. Dick’s shoulder hitched slightly, Cass’ frown lessened, she tilted her head and he gestured to the left, tiny motions, the lines of shoulders and brows and they could hold entire conversations that no one else in the world could ever hope to understand.

Finally, Cass sighed deeply, punched Dick on the shoulder, and picked up one of the glasses of milk.

“You know you two have gotten worse about that, right?” Jason asked.

Dick grinned at him and shrugged. Whatever- The puppy started to whine and Dick froze. He stared at the small bag Tim still held. She lived? His movements were small and tight.

Jason and Tim exchanged a look. Dick must have been more out of it at dinner than they had thought if he hadn’t noticed the puppy with Tim.

“Yeah,” Tim opened the bag, “You saved her. You saved a lot of people.”

Dick shook his head, Killed a lot of people. He reached out and took the pup from Tim. She wriggled and whined until he lifted her to his face and blew gently on her nose. She stilled.

The others exchanged looks at his statement. Dick wasn’t typically someone to linger on his decisions, no matter the consequences. Or, at least, he wasn’t one to mention that he was lingering.

“You helped people,” Tim said in a small voice, “They were hurting and scared and you helped them.”

Hearing it said in that too-innocent voice that Tim sometimes had seemed to shake Dick from his thoughts. He smiled at Tim.

Sure, Timmy. He slipped the puppy into the pocket of his hoodie so that only its head was sticking out, Movie?

Jason knew that they still weren’t really dealing with everything that had happened, but he also didn’t want to have to think about it so he wasn’t going to force the issue. He had all the time he would need (and wasn’t that an amazing thought?).

Slowly at first and then quickly months passed. Official body counts came from Blüdhaven (that had been a Bad Day), Dick stopped by the manor once a week for a check-up of his burns, and Jason avoided Bruce. He just couldn’t get the Joker’s continued existence out of his head. Some nights he patrolled with Nightwing and that was good, almost like old times, but others he went off on his own and continued the work he had started before revealing himself to Batman. He did, on Tim’s hesitant suggestion, switch out the bullets in his guns for rubber rounds though. Though, he always carried a clip of live rounds (because if he came across the damn clown he was going to use real bullets).

Cass and Tim spent a lot of time at Dick’s apartment. So much in fact that Alfred had sent a small schedule of when they needed to be at school and two camp cots for them to sleep on. The Puppy, which Dick still hadn’t named, loved having so many people around. Jason privately thought she simply loved having more socks to steal, not a day went by that he didn’t find her chewing holes in someone’s left sock (always the left one too, the animal was as weird as the rest of their family).

It turned out that the puppy was just what they needed. Dick was now unemployed (the bar he worked at in Blüdhaven had been destroyed and Jason never wanted to see the look on Dick’s face when he learned that ever again) and he spent a great deal of time lurking around the apartment. The puppy’s eyes opened and no one would ever say anything out loud, but Jason was convinced that she had the same bright blue as Dick. Soon, she was following him around wherever he went, dragging the numerous toys (that no one would admit to buying) behind her.

Three months after Blüdhaven the four found themselves sprawled around the living room of Dick’s apartment watching a marathon of James Bond. The pup was curled up on the couch beside Dick. She had started to grow a longer coat and Dick couldn’t help but see her mother when he looked at her. She had the same dark brown fur with white points and speckled snout. She quietly gnawed on a large plush bat Cass had bought as a joke that the pup was never without.

Halfway through Die Another Day Dick happened to glance out the window, he stiffened. A large owl sat on the railing of his balcony. It hooted, deep and threatening and suddenly Dick’s breath was coming in quick pants.

Jason stood to scare off the bird but the puppy had already leapt from the couch. She raced to the glass door with her fur fluffed. High pitched barks reverberated off the glass and the owl flew away. Jason scooped up the puppy and scrubbed his hand through her fur.

“Good girl,” he praised, “Owls are mean, we hate them.”

“Lola,” Dick whispered, his voice shook ever so slightly, “Her portrait runs Lola.”

Tim grinned wildly, “Lola, huh?” He swept her from Jason’s arms. “You look like a Lola, girl.” He handed her to Dick. The pup stretched up and licked Dick’s nose and for the first time since Blüdhaven, Dick laughed.

                Dick spent much of his free time on the roof of the penthouse. Being up where he could see the world passing below him had always been a source of comfort. It was nice to see that people could still go about their lives despite everything that had happened. He found that he could almost forget the deaths of the people he had sworn to protect when watching the teeming masses below.

               Mostly no one bothered him when he went up there, but every so often Jason would make the climb to sit in silence with him and maybe smoke a little, or Tim would bring his homework and ask Dick questions about the math (though they both knew he didn’t need the help), Cass simply nodded when she saw him heading up there and make sure he wasn’t disturbed if he had that look about him.

Jason visited the manor of his own volition for the first time nearly five months after his first run in with Nightwing. He needed a new helmet and Tim had been working on one for him. He entered through the cave and slipped out into the office, hoping to avoid Bruce and simply find Tim. It was not to be.

“Hello, Jason,” Bruce glanced up from his paperwork, “Tim said you might come by.”

Jason nodded, unsure of what he should expect. Batman and Red Hood had run into each other a few times in the last few months. It had always been weird. Bruce was obviously not super okay with Jason’s guns and Jason would never be okay with the Joker. But, both of those complaints were lessening with time and at this point Jason was more likely to think of the smile on Bruce’s face after his Gauntlet than the angry look when he grounded Robin. Likewise, Bruce looked less and less tense each time he ran across Jason on a patrol. Despite this, they had not interacted outside the masks in months.

“You look good,” Bruce set his pen down. “Alfred will be happy. He’s been making noises about you and Dick not eating enough.”

“He keeps sending care packages,” Jason muttered, “We’re okay.”

“Dick?”

“He’s better,” this Jason could do, he still remembered how to report on a sibling’s well-being, “Nightmares for the first few months but being up high has helped. He spends a lot of time on the roof. Lola has been amazing.”

Bruce nodded, “Good. Let me know if either of you need any help, you’re always welcome here.”

For the first time Jason truly believed that. Bruce might not be happy about the guns, but he had long ago accepted that Dick would slip and bad guys might die, it seemed he had reached that acceptance with Jason as well. The feeling of home rose in Jason’s chest.

“Thanks,” he forced out past the feeling that blocked his throat, “I- uh, I’m gonna go find Tim.”

Bruce nodded almost absently, “Stop by and see Alfred before you go.”

“Sure.”

Jason half ran from the room.

Man, it was weird when Bruce was understanding. He shuddered.

As Jason left Bruce allowed the smile he had been holding back to form. As usual, listening to Alfred’s advice was paying off when it came to his second eldest. Perhaps, with a few more months of allowing the young man to keep his distance and pretend they still hated each other, Jason would truly come home. For the first time in a long time, Bruce had hope that his family could one day be whole again.

Chapter Text

A/N: I promised I would write it and here it is; the story of Clark’s name and Bruce and Clark’s falling out. I really hope it lives up to y’all’s expectations. Enjoy! (Also, thank you all so much for the encouraging words/reviews, you guys are amazing.)

Warnings: none

Pairings: Clark Kent/Lois Lane established relationship (dating stage, not married)

Order of Chapters: The Doors We Open (Ch 9), How We Were (Ch 2 and 3), What We Say (Ch 5 and 7), When We Were (Ch 1), The Friends We Make (Ch 8 and 10), Family Trees (Ch 15 and 17), The Promises We Make (Ch 14), The Things We Forgive (Ch 11, 12, 13, and 18 (Aftermath)), The Roles We Play (Ch 16), Question Words (Ch 4), The Stories We Tell (Ch 6), The Names We Give (Ch 19)

Chapter 19: The Names We Give, Part 1

Damian sighed, a soul deep breath that (he hoped) expressed his utter disdain for the gathering he found himself forced to attend. Next to him he could feel Batman shift. He glanced over to see the white lenses of the cowl narrowed slightly as his brother stared at Black Canary. Oops. Despite his failings as Batman, Jason was eerily perceptive when it came to the emotions of his younger siblings. Damian was being far too obvious in his boredom and Batman was telling him to cut it out.

He ducked his head. As much as he might argue in the sanctity of the cave or over secure communication lines, he knew better than to allow even the slightest hint of disagreement to show when they were in public. The unified nature of the Bats was legendary among the younger members of the Justice League (the founding members knew better, but they also knew better than to reveal anything).

Black Canary finished speaking and Green Arrow stood to deliver his report. While he fumbled in his bag for something Batman leaned close to Damian.

“Nightwing is in the commissary with Robin if you want to join them, Crow.”

Damian stared at him in silent gratitude and Batman nodded, an almost invisible smile curling his lips. It pulled at the still healing cut from a sparring match with a pissed off Nightwing earlier in the week. Damian found himself smiling back. It was infuriating really, he had no desire to like the ruffians his father had collected before his death. And yet…. He could not help the feeling of respect that seemed to grow every day. It was disgusting.

He hopped up and fled the room without another backward glance. Nightwing was the most acceptable of the lot (well, Nightwing and Black Bat, but she wasn’t around much lately). Nightwing and Batman were being quite closed lipped about it all, but Damian thought she was hunting down leads on where Father might have been sent to. Or at least that was what Drake seemed to imply before Nightwing smacked him upside the head for talking. It stung Damian to be the only one left out of the loop in the matter of his own father, but Nightwing had made it very clear he wasn’t to be told and Damian was no afraid to admit that he was slightly afraid of Nightwing.

He walked into the commissary to see Nightwing standing in front of Superman signing animatedly. He had a broad grin on his face. It was the same sort of joy Damian had thought he saw when he first moved to Gotham. It wasn’t real back then, Nightwing had still be recovering from the destruction of Blüdhaven, and it wasn’t real now. The difference was, now Damian knew him well enough to know that Bruce’s death still weighed heavily upon him. He was just as good at pretending as the rest of them.

Sometimes Damian hated all the rules and restrictions of being a part of his family, but mostly he liked that they were so against showing any weakness in public.

He focused in on Nightwing’s hands as he approached.

-things have been good in Gotham. No Arkham- He noticed Damian approaching. Crow, have you had a chance to meet Superman, yet?

Damian had been living in Gotham for just over three years and had attended many of these sorts of meetings, but he had yet to meet Superman up close and personal. His and Batman’s fight was the stuff of legend and Damian had no desire to associate with someone his father found to be undesirable. In fact, Damian had a lot of questions about why Nightwing seemed so friendly with the alien.

“No,” he stared at Nightwing, “I haven’t.” He was sure his voice was more accusatory than he would like it to be. Under his cape he pinched the side of his leg viciously; it was stupid to reveal so much of his thoughts and emotions. Nightwing’s gaze narrowed and Damian knew he would be receiving yet another talk about that sort of thing.

Superman smiled at him, seemingly oblivious to the interaction between he and Nightwing. It wasn’t the sort of vacant smile Damian expected from the man he had heard described by Jason as a ‘wanna-be boy-scout in tights’. Instead, it was sharp and knowing and so kind that Damian felt a little uncomfortable.

“It’s nice to meet you, Crow,” Superman held out his hand. Damian stared at it and did not move. His father had not liked the man, why should he?

Nightwing looked between the two of them with an expression Damian couldn’t read.

Dami, he signed slowly, Have we ever told you exactly why your dad and Clark fought?

Damian shook his head.

“It’s not exactly a story I like to have told,” Superman looked suddenly sheepish, “It wasn’t my finest hour.”

Nightwing clapped him on the shoulder, It’s okay, Supes. All’s been forgiven a long time ago. At least by me. Superman smiled, but his eyes were still downcast.

It started with Bruce getting sick when I was ten. Nightwing narrated, Batman and I had been out the night before and arrested a man who had just come back from a prison in Siberia…..

Twelve Years Ago

Dick woke, as he did every morning, with the sun. He cracked his right eye and stared hatefully at the bright shaft of light that pierced his consciousness. The biggest disadvantage to moving his bed close to the window was the inability to avoid the early morning sun. Dick had decided that he would not allow the Talons’ training to control who he was; a part of this was refusing to wake when his body wanted to. He had never been allowed to sleep in before, save as reward for killing a target, so now he forced himself to sleep at least another thirty minutes after his brain wished to wake.

He had only just squeezed his eye shut again, burying his head in the soft pillow he had stolen from Bruce’s bed after a bad night (the smell was comforting and safe and it made him feel like maybe the world wasn’t closing in around him quite so quickly), when he heard it.

Light coughing filtered through the thick door to his bedroom. Alfred slept downstairs in a bedroom at the back of the house; Dick knew he would never have been able to hear the old man if he were to cough in the night. The only other person in the house was Bruce, but it seemed so strange for the man to show any kind of weakness not related to a night-time injury.

Dick forwent the few minutes of sleep he would normally be able to steal in favor of investigating the noise. He crawled from his bed and grabbed the blade from beneath his pillow. Bruce forbade any uniform pieces from leaving the cave, but Dick was uncomfortable without at least one set of his claws. So, they had come to an arrangement where Dick would leave all his other weapons behind but keep a plain blade with him. He crept across the large empty space between his bed and the door. Bruce’s room was directly across from his own so he was able to slip into the older man’s room only a few moments after he first heard the cough.

Bruce’s door clicked shut behind him. The room was still dark; Bruce liked to sleep in even more than Dick did, especially if he had been on a long patrol the night before. When Dick was smaller and more scared by the sounds in the night (he had often dreamed that Talons were coming to steal him away in those early days) he had slipped into this room for quiet comfort from the one human being he trusted above all others. The path between the door and the bed was as familiar as the motions of his favorite kata.

“Kham?” he whispered into the dark.

The mass on the bed shifted ever so slightly. Dick crept closer. Now he could hear a slight rattle as Bruce breathed in and out. He reached out and touched his guardian’s shoulder.

“Kham?” he tried slightly louder.

“Hmm?” Bruce mumbled. They had only been back in the Manor for three hours and Dick had discovered that Bruce preferred at least five hours of sleep a night. Dick actually enjoyed the few hours by himself before Alfred or Bruce rose for the day. The silence was broken by another cough and Dick started to worry slightly. Talons and their ilk did not get sick, he had never before seen an ill person. He shoved Bruce’s shoulder, suddenly desperate to see the man awake and coherent.

“Wha-?” Bruce jerked to a half-sitting position. His eyes were partially closed and his voice slurred.

Dick was suddenly terrified. What would happen to him if Bruce was to die? The thought filled him with horror and he turned to flee the room. Alfred would be able to solve this, he had fixed Dick last year when he had spent too long on the roof during a late summer storm.

“Kak!” He called as he raced down the staircase, “Kak, Kham runs ragged!”

Alfred appeared at the door to his bedroom, wrapped in a dressing gown and wearing the pair of dark slippers Bruce had helped Dick pick out as a Christmas gift last winter.

“Master Dick?” He queried.

Dick grabbed his hand without hesitation and it seemed his thoughtless touch told Alfred exactly how serious the situation was.

“Kham,” was all Dick said as he drug Alfred upstairs.

A rattling cough, deeper and wetter than the one which had stirred Dick from his bed, echoed through the hallway as they reached the landing. Alfred pulled his hand free of Dick’s and entered Bruce room.

“Oh, my dear boy,” he muttered to himself. A deceptively strong arm wrapped around Bruce’s shoulders and lifted him to a seated position.

“Alfred?” Bruce whispered, his voice rough, “Was Dick-” he paused to cough, “just in here?”

Alfred nodded. He produced a thermometer, from where Dick had no idea, Alfred was alarmingly good at hiding things on his person. Dick, who preferred to carry no fewer than three weapons at any given time, admired the skill.

“He,” Bruce hacked into his hand, “He needs to go.”

Dick thought his voice sounded weaker already. The terror curled in his gut.

“He is waiting outside the room,” Alfred attempted to reassure Bruce, but the younger man was having none of it.

“No,” he forcibly suppressed a cough, “tee-bee.”

Dick had no idea what that meant, what was tee-bee and why did Alfred suddenly look very grave. He backed away from Bruce and snatched up the phone with an urgency uncharacteristic of the normally unflappable man.

“Leslie,” he said into the receiver, “We need you here, now. Tee-bee. Yes. The full work-up. Good, thank you.” He hung up and dialed again. Dick tried to get closer to Bruce but Alfred stopped him with a sharp look.

“Clark, we need you to be here.” He hung up without another word. Less than three minutes later there was a gust of wind and Superman was standing on Bruce’s balcony.

Bruce glared at Alfred without heat, “I don’t need-” he broke off to cough again. This time the fit lasted longer and when he pulled his hand away from his mouth, Dick was horrified to see scarlet blood dripping from his lips. He ignored Alfred’s look and raced towards Bruce.

“Clark!” Bruce cried and suddenly Dick was scooped into the air. He shouted his fury, he just wanted to be close to Bruce! He fought against Clark’s hold, but there was no way he could break the grip.

“Get him out of here!” Bruce managed and then Dick was being pulled from the room. He twisted and managed to get one last glimpse of Bruce’s form. He was slightly hunched in pain as yet another cough tore from his chest. A faint spray of blood flew from his mouth and he grimaced in pain.

Then, Dick and Clark were in the hallway and Dick was breathing too hard. Bruce was, Bruce was everything and Dick couldn’t deal with the thought of losing him.

“Dick?” Clark was suddenly quite close to his face.

“Dick I need you to focus on me,” Clark tried again, “Focus on my voice.”

But, Dick couldn’t. All he could see was the cloud of blood in front of Bruce’s face. That had happened once when Dick was younger and didn’t know what he was doing, he had tried to kill a target silently (painlessly) and the knife had slipped. The man died choking on his own blood, hacking it in to heavy clouds in the frozen winter air. What if Bruce-

“-so surprised the first time I met you,” Clark was saying when Dick came back to himself, “Bruce had always been such an ass and then there he was with the cutest little kid any of us had ever seen.”

Dick realized he was tucked against Clark’s side in the informal sitting room. His face had that tight, worn feeling it sometimes got after a particularly terrible dream.

Is Bruce okay? Clark had started learning ASL after meeting Dick for the first time. He smiled down at Dick.

“I don’t know, kiddo,” he said gravely, “Alfred and Leslie say he has a disease called tuberculosis.”

TB. Dick tried out the acronym he had heard them using earlier. Clark nodded.

“Yes, Alfred tells me you haven’t had all your shots yet and tuberculosis is a very dangerous disease.” Then, Clark winced as he realized what he had just said. “I mean, it’s a dangerous disease, but Bruce is going to be fine. Leslie is the best and you know how stubborn he is.”

Somehow, that did reassure Dick.

After Leslie arrived things changed quickly. She took one look at Bruce and banished anyone who had not had their TB shot from the house for the foreseeable future. Alfred delivered the news to a silent Dick. The boy did not react beyond a single nod. He understood the need for the action, no matter how much he disliked being away when Bruce was so terribly ill. It was decided that Clark would watch him until Bruce got better (Dick realized that no one was even considering that Bruce might not get better, he wondered if maybe he should try and think that way too).

Less than two hours after he first woke Dick was standing in the doorway of Clark’s apartment, trying to pretend like the vents of the morning had not shaken him to his core.

Clark’s apartment was….well, Dick didn’t know a word or sign that conveyed the casual comfort of the décor. Dick could only barely remember the trailer his family had lived in before, but Clark’s apartment gave him the same feeling those vague memories did. It was a strange mix of comforting and disconcerting all rolled up in the desire to stay forever.

Clark stood by the entrance to the kitchen. He rubbed on hand across the back of his neck.

“It’s not quite Wayne Manor,” he said.

Dick forced his gaze from the plush sofa to his temporary guardian’s face.

It’s fine, he signed, Wayne Manor is a lot nicer than anywhere I’ve lived before. Something about his statement made Clark look uncomfortable, but Dick did not care to analyze it. He needed to get his computer out so he could find everything there was to now about TB, starting with how one contracted it in the first place.

“Well, make yourself at home,” Clark smiled (he did that a lot, Dick realized, it was weird). “We’ll be monitoring your temperature every few hours to make sure you didn’t catch it as well but otherwise feel free to use anything you find.”

Thank you. Dick started towards the room Clark indicated as the guest room.

“Oh! Let me know when you get hungry, we’ll order in tonight.”

Then, Dick was alone with his thoughts and his worries. What if they were all lying to him because he was a child in their eyes? Bruce knew better, but Clark was always so weird about his age. Normally, he wouldn’t worry about his ability to detect lies, but ever since he first heard Bruce cough his head had been fuzzy. So, instead of arguing or worrying about it, he simply pulled his tablet form his bag and got to work.

Clark was doing some reading of his own in the tiny office just off the kitchen. Human diseases were never really anything he had needed to know the specifics of before. Of course he knew the common ones, the ones that had affected his friends and family in Kansas and New York, but he tended to think about the evils he could fight rather than those he was helpless against. He had just opened a file to start taking notes on his findings when a knock sounded from the front door.

Three sharp taps.

He scrambled to his feet. It had made sense for his to take Dick; even if the child had contracted TB, Clark was immune. But, Lois did not have that luxury.

“Lois,” he said after opening the door the smallest amount he could and still be heard and seen by a human. “Now’s really not the best time….”

She glared at him.

“What is that supposed to mean, Hayseed? We have a date!”

He noticed for the first time how nice she looked; he hair was swept up in the carelessly messy style she favored when not at work and she had on the green skirt he had once overheard her tell Jimmy she thought made ‘her ass look fantastic’ (he really couldn’t say he disagreed with the assessment).

While he was distracted Lois took the opportunity to slip through the narrow opening and into his apartment. Clark groaned. Did the woman have no self-preservation instinct?

“Lois, I really think-”

“Hello?” Lois was staring across the living room to the doorway of the guest room where Dick stood. The boy did not move. Even from across the room Clark could see the fine tremors that shook his hands, the tension that tightened his shoulders.

“Clark, who is this?” She asked slowly.

Clark sighed, he really had no choice in the matter now. That had been her reporter voice.

“Lois, this is Dick Grayson, he’s-”

“The adopted son of Bruce Wayne,” she breathed, “Why is Nightwing in your apartment?”

Clark winced, it was one thing for Lois to have figured out his identity, he would have told her anyone once they because a serious couple. But, she had figured out Batman’s civilian identity after watching Clark and Bruce interact at a charity event the previous summer.

Dick’s eyes darted to Clark, Does Bruce know? He asked.

“Yes,” Clark hastened to assure the boy, “He’s not happy about it, and you really should it say it out loud,” he directed the last half of the comment at Lois who had the good graces to look mildly ashamed.

“Sorry,” she smiled, “I was just surprised. Is Bruce here too? It’s been too long since I’ve seen the big lug.”

Clark winced again as Dick’s expression closed off.

“Uh, no,” he explained, “Bruce is sick and we didn’t want Dick to catch it too. That’s actually why you shouldn’t-”

“With what?”

“What?”

“Sick with what?” Lois rolled her eyes at him.

“TB,” Clark empathized with Dick’s upset look. His own research had not been encouraging.

To his surprise Lois sighed and nodded, “Good, then I can stay.” She set her purse down on the table by the door, “I’ve had my shot.”

“What? When?”

“Before the piece in Siberia last year,” She nodded, “I told Perry you had yours by the way.”

She turned to Dick, “Now, let’s start again. Hi, I’m Lois. I’m Clark’s girlfriend.”

Dick looked between her and Clark. Clark shrugged.

Hi? He signed as Clark translated, I’m Dick.

“It’s very nice to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you. Now, let’s order some food, I’m starving, and then you can tell me what working in Gotham is like.”

Clark supposed that Bruce hadn’t expressly forbidden Dick joining him on a short circuit of the city. Superman typically did not patrol at night, he paid partial attention to the sounds of the city and went out to help those who needed it. But, he knew Dick was used to later nights than he and it would do the boy good to maintain a sense of normalcy. Plus, Bruce had changed so much since he had started patrolling Gotham with Nightwing. Clark could admit to himself that he was terribly curious about the boy. Dick was withdrawn and scared of what might be happening to his guardian, perhaps Nightwing would be more open.

So, once dinner had been eaten and the leftovers put away (Dick had hardly eaten more than three bites of his pizza) Clark smiled an apology at Lois and turned to Dick.

“Would you like to do a short patrol?” he asked. His offer was rewarded with the first true smile of the night. The boy nodded frantically and signed something so quickly Clark couldn’t translate. Then, he ran from the room.

As soon as he was gone Lois turned to Clark with a look he couldn’t read or understand.

“Clark, I-” she whispered and then faltered, unable to find the words. Suddenly Clark understood. Dick was so attuned to the needs and actions of those around him, he held himself in tight control and rarely showed emotion openly. When he smiled it was like the first ray of sunshine after a week of winter storms.

Clark leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead. She reached up and pulled him into a true kiss. “You complete dork,” she whispered as she pulled away, “Have fun tonight.”

At first Clark was able to follow Lois’ command. Dick was a delight to patrol with. The petty thieves and muggers had apparently heard of Nightwing, even though they were far from Gotham, and as soon as he appeared they tended to give themselves up.

Nightwing was everything Superman had always thought he would be, clever and quick and more silent than human being had any right to be. He allowed Superman to carry him from place to place and seemed to delight in swinging from a grapnel line below the Kryptonian high above the city.

Then, as midnight approached, the night changed. Later, Superman would have no idea what happened, later he would try and explain it away and not be able to.

Nightwing murdered a man in front of him and Superman had no idea how he was supposed to deal with that.

“I admit I freaked out a little,” Superman smiled at Nightwing who looked slightly sheepish.

“Wait!” Damian commanded, “What happened? Why did you kill someone, it’s not like you do that all willy-nilly.”

Willy-nilly? Nightwing smirked at Damian who blushed.

“I blame Batgirl,” he muttered. Recently Crow had been patrolling with Batgirl more than normal and he feared some of her more inane idiosyncrasies were rubbing off on him. “That’s not the point though,” he protested, “What happened?”

There was a kidnapper-

The door to the commissary opened. Batman and the other members of the League who had been at the task-force meeting streamed in.

Batman strode towards them.

“Superman,” he greeted, “It’s been a while.”

Superman smiled, “Nightwing and I were discussing that before Crow showed up. I hear things are going well in Gotham?”

Batman inclined his head. It was always strange to Damian. Jason was one of the more talkative members of their household, for him to be so stern and silent as Batman was jarring.

“That’s good to-”

“Enough of this!” Damian interrupted, “I wish to know what happened.”

“Crow, manners,” Batman reprimanded. Damian glared at him defiantly.

“I apologize,” he snapped, “Please continue the tale.”

Batman looked to Nightwing for an explanation.

Clark and I were telling him about The Fight, Nightwing made his motions large and strong to emphasize the importance of the issue.

A little of Batman’s gravitas dropped away from Jason, “That’s a good one,” he said, “I always like hearing about how you were a massive asshole, Clark.”

Superman’s gaze held no heat, he was used to Bruce’s acidic tongue; Jason really was no competition.

Anyway, Nightwing continued, We were on patrol….

 A/N: Obviously the next chapter will be what happened on patrol and the fight itself (as well as resolving sick!Bruce). They’re already written, but this chapter was getting so long I decided to split them up.

Chapter Text

Bruce Wayne was absolutely miserable. His head hurt, his chest felt tight and strange, and all he could seem to do was cough. He desperately wanted to sleep, but every time he relaxed the painful hacking fits kept him awake. He was sure he was acting like a spoiled child, but Alfred only looked at him in sympathy and so he didn’t bother to try and be dignified.

“Master Bruce,” the elderly Brit smiled as he entered the room, “How are we feeling this morning?”

Bruce grunted and then coughed.

It really wasn’t fair, he did good things, worked hard. Why did he have to get sick? Worse, it was because he had been stupid and assumed that he didn’t need his TB vaccine since there hadn’t been any confirmed cases in Gotham in decades.

“That good, sir?” Bruce glared. “Well, Doctor Thompkins will be dropping by later to check on your progress. I dare say she’ll be pleased, you are looking better by the hour.”

Bruce stared, that didn’t make any since. TB wasn’t the sort of disease one got over in a few days. He had resigned himself to feeling like shit and missing Dick for the foreseeable future.

“What?” he rasped. His thoughts were sluggish, perhaps he had confused the facts?

Alfred smiled at him, “You’ve been in and out the last few days,” he acknowledged, “We’ve told you a few times, but I’m not surprised you forgot.”

“Told me what?” Bruce cursed his Swiss cheese brain, not being able to remember things was not a phenomenon he was used to. It was uncomfortable to say the least.

“You do have TB,” Alfred explained, “But, it’s not a natural strain. We think you may have come into contact with a budding bio-terrorist.”

Bruce flopped back down on his pillows with a groan. Poison Ivy had already been making waves in the Gotham Underground, he didn’t need another chemical terrorist to contend with. Worse, he knew he couldn’t do anything about it until he was recovered, at least not without putting others in danger as well.

Except, maybe…

“Am I contagious?”

Alfred leveled a stern look at him, “Doctor Thompkins was very clear in her instructions for you to rest, Master Bruce.”

Bruce smiled for the first time since Dick left. That meant he wasn’t contagious. He never thought he would be grateful for the meddling of a bio-terrorist.

“I’ll need my suit for tonight, Alfred,” he suppressed another cough. It was time to stop wallowing and get to work. He could sleep later.

They were almost back to the apartment when Nightwing yanked on the grapnel line he hung from below Superman. When Clark looked down he was pointing down and to the north. Clark focused his hearing in that direction.

“Help!” The voice was high-pitched and frightened, “Momma! Help!”

“Hold on,” Clark called down to Nightwing. The boy nodded.

He zipped towards the voice. When they were nearly there Nightwing yanked on the line again. Superman dipped lower and the weight at the end of the line vanished. Trusting the boy to take care of himself Clark focused on rescuing the child in danger.

Upping his speed to one which would have killed a human he darted into the alleyway and scooped a little girl from the arms of a large group of men.

He set her down on the closest rooftop, “Are you okay?”

“Superman!” she giggled.

“Stay here,” he pat her on the head. Then, he turned back to the fight happening below. Nightwing might be able to handle himself, but Superman really wasn’t willing to risk Bruce’s anger.

Nightwing dropped to the rooftop, he knew that Superman would rescue the child first. He was going to make sure none of the men escaped while Superman was busy. The building he was on was only five stories tall so he latched an extra grapnel to the edge and repelled to the ground. The scene that greeted him was not one that was new to him; sadly human trafficking was all too common in Gotham. But, he had been lulled into a false sense of security in Metropolis and was not expecting something so vile.

Six men surrounded a small girl. They wore dark clothes with no marking save for a single green circle on the upper left arm. Vaguely he remembered that that was the symbol for a small trafficking ring run out of Madagascar. They were going to take the little girl and ship her off and Nightwing’s lips curled into a snarl. Children were to be protected, not molded into something they weren’t.

With this thought firmly in place Nightwing dropped into the fray. They never stood a chance.

There was a strange sound as Clark approached the alleyway for the second time, like a rake over concrete and Clark’s senses were overwhelmed by the scent of blood. He sped up, Bruce would never speak to him again if something happened to-

Nightwing stood over the largest of the men, claws drenched in blood and his shoulders strangely relaxed. The man had his hands clutched to his gut, a fearful look on his face. But, the worst was that Nightwing’s expression was blank and uncaring, he looked at the man as if he were a mosquito to be crushed. Clark felt ill.

They had won, there was no reason to maim the man. The others were all tied up and awaiting the police and the children were safe. Why had Nightwing-

The man’s heart beats slowed and Clark forced his thoughts away, there would be time for these questions after he got the man to the hospital.

Without meeting Nightwing’s challenging gaze he scooped up the injured man and flew as fast as he could to the nearest hospital.

He didn’t make it in time.

“What?” Damian stared at Nightwing. The older hero was always going on about Damian resisting his training and instincts and NOT killing the scum of Gotham, especially when they were unarmed and helpless. It was one thing to think that the elder hero had accidentally killed someone, for it to have been purposeful…. Nightwing grimaced.

Obviously, that’s bad, Nightwing signed quickly, I was- actually I’m not sure we ever told you this Clark. I had a flashback.

Damian nodded his understanding. There had been that incident with the Joker a mere two months previously and Damian still had nightmares about the lost look on Dick’s face when Crow and Robin broke into the warehouse.

But, Clark looked stricken, “I-I had no idea. Nightwing, you know I wouldn’t have said-” he swallowed hard, “Well, I never would have said any of it had I known.”

Nightwing chuckled, Of course you didn’t know. I didn’t even tell Bruce until weeks later. I should be able to control myself no matter what and I failed. You were right to say those things.

Clark shook his head, “I really wasn’t.” Jason nodded fervently, he wasn’t around yet, but he had seen how Nightwing internalized things like that and how people’s opinions still haunted him years later. Besides, it was good to keep Superman’s head from growing too big.

“Finish,” Damian demanded once more; they would get caught in a loop if he didn’t interrupt them and he wanted to hear the end of the story before the time for patrol approached.

“The man died on the way to the hospital,” Clark continued in a hushed voice, “I went back to the alley and got Nightwing….”

“Go,” Clark breathed as soon as he landed on the balcony of his apartment. “Don’t leave your room.” Dick vanished without a sound. Clark clenched his fist to stop the shaking that had started after he saw the man hit the ground. The events that had just occurred had rattled him to his very core. He hoped Lois was still in the apartment, he needed to talk to someone and wasn’t prepared to go to Bruce yet.

“Lois?” he called as he entered. She appeared at the entryway of the kitchen, wearing one of his Meteors t-shirts and a steaming mug in her hand.

“What’s going on? She asked, “Dick came through here but wouldn’t stop.”

“Good,” Clark muttered. He had no desire for Lois and Dick to be alone together right now. He didn’t really think he boy would hurt her, then again, before about half an hour ago he hadn’t thought Dick would ever kill anyone either.

“Clark?” Lois pulled him down onto the sofa.

“He- he killed someone, Lois,” Clark managed to force the words through his suddenly tight throat.

She gasped softly, “Oh, the poor boy, he must feel so guilty.”

“No, Lois, he killed someone on purpose.”

There was a long silence in which the wind that had blown up howled outside the building and Lois shifted closer to Clark.

“How? Why?” She whispered.

Clark could only shake his head, he had no idea why Dick had done what he did. The fight was won, they girl was safe, why had he-

“Why don’t you start by telling me what happened right after you two left?” Clark could tell she was using ‘reluctant informant’ techniques on him, but he was far too shaken to call her on it.

“We left and circled the city a few times,” he started, “The kid is really good at disappearing and he wanted to practice silent take-downs. So, I distracted people and he took them out. It was – It was fun.”

She nodded, “Okay, so what changed?”

“There was a kid,” Clark whispered, “A little girl. She called for help. I got her to safety and Nightwing started on the kidnappers.” He stopped speaking, unsure how to go on.

Lois gave him a few moments before reaching over and prodding his stomach, “And?”

He sighed, “And he killed one of them. I got back and the rest were already on the ground. He was fighting the last. He just, I mean he-” Clark sighed again, “He basically gutted the guy.”

Lois’ eyes widened, but she did not gasp or otherwise react.

“I mean, it’s not that he acted proud or anything,” Clark continued, “if anything he looked blank, maybe a little surprised after he saw me. But, that’s the problem! How can we trust him if he can’t control himself?”

“Clark!” Lois protested, after all Bruce was one of the smartest people on the planet surely he knew what he was doing…

“No, Lois,” he shook his head, “He can stay here and I’ll cover for him to the police. The man was a human trafficker. But, Bruce and I will be having a long talk when he’s better.” The idea of not reporting a crime left a terrible taste in Clark’s mouth but he knew that he could do nothing until Bruce had been informed of the situation.

A quick phone call to Alfred told him that it was safe to have Dick in the Manor again. The butler had tried to explain the situation, but Clark was so upset that he simply muttered a ‘goodbye’ and hung up. He could apologize later, right now he just wanted Dick out of his apartment. They arrived back in Gotham an hour later. Alfred sniffed disdainfully when he saw Clark but pat Dick affectionately on the back.

‘Master Bruce is in the library,” he told them, “He is still quite ill, though we have determined that he is no longer contagious. I’ll thank you not to get him riled, Mister Kent.”

Clark nodded and directed Dick to lead the way. There was no way he was allowing the boy he had just seen kill a man behind him.

Bruce was sitting in a large leather armchair by a roaring fire when they entered.

“Dick?” he rasped. Dick launched himself across the room. Bruce wrapped him in a tight hug, “What’s wrong, kiddo?” he asked, but Dick shook his head. He knew Bruce needed to be informed, but he would not be the one to do it.

“Bruce, it’s good to see you feeling better,” Clark started. It was true, he had hated how seeing Bruce sick made him feel.

Bruce nodded acknowledgement of the sentiment but did not allow himself to be distracted, “What’s happened?” he asked. Clark shook his head, sometimes being friends with a detective was really annoying.

“Bruce, I don’t really want to have this discussion in front of him,” Clark muttered. Dick desperately wished the discussion didn’t need to happen at all. He didn’t want Bruce to know how badly he had failed, he didn’t want to disappoint the older man.

Bruce looked between his friend and his son. He frowned, “No, I think he should be here. Obviously something happened between you two.” He coughed lightly.

Clark shifted and Dick scooted slightly closer to Bruce who rested a heavy hand on his shoulder. Dick savored the feeling, he likely wouldn’t get it again anytime soon once Bruce heard what he did.

“Fine,” Clark snapped. Dick turned his head away. He didn’t want to see Bruce’s face when he heard what had happened.

“He needs help,” Clark was obviously trying to be kind, but he sounded frustrated, “Psychiatric help.”

Bruce’s hand tightened.

“Dick, I need to talk with Clark, please go to your room.”

Dick stared between the two. He might not want to see Bruce’s face, but he did want to know what Clark was going to say.

“Now, Dick.”

Dick left the room, but he did not go to his room. Instead he trotted up the stairs (Bruce wouldn’t allow the conversation to continue until he was sure Dick was out of earshot after all) and then towards his room. Halfway there he stopped. There was a vent in the library where Clark and Bruce were that he could get to with very little effort.

“-to bring him back like this,” Clark was saying when he got within earshot. Dick froze, he knew the Kryptonian’s hearing was good, but he wasn’t quite sure how good.

“Explain,” Bruce snapped. His voice still sounded hoarse. Dick swallowed back a surge of guilt, Bruce was still sick and now he had to deal with Dick’s mistake on top of everything else.

“We were patrolling,” Clark began. Dick listened in horror as the entire tale was revealed. Clark did not embellish, nor did he try and make Dick out to be worse than he was, he just said the facts. But, the facts were damning enough. Dick wondered if maybe he should be packing his bags instead of listening in.

Finally, Clark came to the end of the story. Silence greeted him. Dick scooted a little closer to the vent. He needed to see Bruce’s face, needed to see if he still had a home.

“The boy isn’t right,” Clark said into the silence, “There’s something wrong with him, Bruce. He looked surprised when it happened, like he wasn’t even in control.”

Dick reached the vent opening. Bruce and Clark stood below him in exactly the same places they had when he left; Clark had his back to Dick but, Bruce’s face was clearly visible. It was completely blank.

“Bruce,” Clark tried again for a response, “I’m worried about you. What if he attacks you like he did that man? He’s a complete psychopath!”

Dick could not stop the snort that escaped, he would never hurt Bruce! His inability to do so had been what finally gave him the courage to escape the Court’s clutches.

Clark seemed too caught up in his examination of Bruce to notice the noise, but Bruce’s head whipped up. His eyes widened. He looked once between Clark and the vent before his gaze hardened.

“You will leave my city,” Bruce’s voice was very quiet. It was the first time that Dick had ever associated him with his Great Uncle, it was an uncomfortable realization.

“Bruce, be reasonable,” Clark tried. Bruce made an aborted gesture Dick recognized as one of his own. It was not a polite thing to sign to a friend.

“Now.”

Clark stared at Bruce for a long moment before he closed his mouth and nodded. He walked towards the front door and Dick pressed himself into the bottom of the vent.

When the sound of the front door slamming reached them Bruce raised his eyes to the vent again, “You can come down now,” he said quietly.

Dick reached forward and popped out the front of the vent. He slid to the floor and stood before Bruce, ready to accept any punishment the man deemed worthy.

“What Clark said was true?” Bruce questioned. His voice was still quiet and even.

Dick nodded.

They were still and silent for a long moment before Bruce kneeled down next to Dick. He grasped Dick’s chin in that familiar gesture that brought so much comfort.

“I don’t hate you,” Bruce whispered, “You did a terrible thing and you’re going to be punished for that, but I will never hate you, Dickie.”

What about Clark? Dick had to ask, he knew how important Clark was to Bruce.

Bruce shrugged, “What about him? You’re more important to me than some hillbilly farm-boy from Kansas.”

“I run still thirsty I grew Hayseed glow,” Dick muttered as he turned to leave. Bruce grabbed his shirt to stop him. His expression was suddenly quite a bit lighter than it had been.

“What did you just call him?”

“Hayseed?” A smirk curled Bruce’s lips.

“Good lad,” he praised, “Now, let’s go down to the Cave. We can go over your punishment.”

“I, uh, I eventually saw the issues with what I said,” Clark rubbed one hand across the back of his neck.

He means he took his head out of his ass. Dick’s smile was larger than Damian would remember seeing since their father died.

“But, you and father still aren’t, I meant you weren’t friends,” Damian protested the obvious flaw in their words.

Clark sighed, “Damian, do you have a best friend?” he asked, “Someone you consider family and who you would trust to the ends of the earth and beyond?”

Damian thought long and hard. His initial reaction was to glance at Dick, but he didn’t think that Clark meant actual family. There was Colin, but they had only met a few weeks previously, and while Damian liked the kid, he didn’t really trust him yet, at least, not in the way that Clark was implying. Silently, he shook his head.

“It’ll happen,” Clark promised, “That’s how Bruce and I were. He would never admit it, of course, but we were closer than anything. He was one of the very few people who was a part of both halves of my life and-” Clark broke off and stared into the distance for a moment. He cleared his throat, “Anyway, I messed all that up. I acted without thinking and I insulted the one thing in the world that meant more to Bruce than Gotham. He had every right to be mad and cut me from his life.”

“But, you never made up?” Suddenly the fact seemed very sad to Damian, if they had really been that close than to lose something like that was akin to a tragedy.

“Making up isn’t something that happens in a single moment, kid,” Clark confided, “It’s a process. Three years after it happened he sent me a birthday card. A few months after that he allowed Jason to meet me out of costume.”

It’s the little things with Bruce, Dick added.

“Yeah, it’s taken a long time, but we were finally starting to be what we were, I really thought that- Well, it doesn’t matter now what I thought,” Clark sighed, “I always figured we’d have more time.”

We all did. Dick clapped him on the shoulder, But, you’ve been great for the rest of us and Alfred really appreciates the help you give him. Bruce would too.

“Thanks, Nightwing,” Clark nodded.

For the first time Damian felt a little sad at the thought of his father’s and the Kryptonian’s failed friendship. It had obviously meant the world to the alien and he was obviously remorseful. Besides, if Dick – the insulted party- could forgive the man, then Damian supposed he was will to do so as well.

“How did you and my father meet?” he asked. It was the sort of peace offering his father would have approved of.

Superman beamed.

“Oh, you’re going to love this one,” he clapped his hands and glanced around to ensure no one else was within hearing distance, “It’s like this – I was in Kansas, Cinnamon was about to foal and Ma really needed the extra hands. Then, out of no-where Bruce Wayne swans into the barn. I found out later he wanted to talk to me about the league in a place he could be sure wasn’t bugged. Anyway, Ma sees him and then the foal decides it’s time. So, Ma grabs him, Armani and all, and says ‘Boy, you catch!’ and no one says no to Ma, so he did. I think he had to burn the suit.”

Thirty minutes later Stephanie finally managed to escape her own never ending meeting. She loved Beast Boy, she really did, but sometimes the changeling got on a tangent and just would not stop talking. It was nice to hear the news out of San Francisco though. Timmy was so caught up in his brooding-serious thing he never had any good Titans gossip. Stephanie loved Titans gossip, so much juicy stuff happened out in San Fran….

Stephanie entered the cafeteria to raucous laughter.

“Then,” Clark was gripping the edge of the table he sat by and wheezing as he spoke, “Then the bunnies turned on Batman and, I swear to God, he ran. I will never forget the sight of Batman running from a horde of rabbits.”

Gales of laughter greeted the end of the tale.

Dammit, this is why she hated meetings. She missed all the good stuff.

Chapter Text

Chapter 21: Translations

Damian looked up when the stillness of the room was broken by Grayson’s entrance. He and Drake had come to an understanding of sorts that meant they were able to sit in the same room together for extended periods of time. They simply ignored the other one’s presence unless absolutely necessary. It was distasteful to the son of Batman to cede even that minor battle, but it made Grayson smile when he saw them and Damian supposed that was an acceptable compromise.

Every member of their little clan was quite accustomed to watching Grayson out of the corner of their eye. They did not wish for him to have to speak if he did not want to to get their attention. So, when Grayson entered and immediately began signing in the carefully correct Signed English he used when he was upset both Damian and Drake paid attention.

Timmy, I need you to translate something to Damian for me? Grayson appeared even more distressed when Drake frowned, Damian noted. Obviously this was something of great import to his older brother.

“You realize I understand you perfectly well, despite your failings in the realm of communication, right?” Damian sniped, stung that the man he not-so-secretly respected thought he didn’t understand.

Grayson flinched almost imperceptibly and Drake cast a vicious glare at Damian. Even in the most heated altercation between Grayson and the others they never mentioned his voice. Damian ducked him head briefly in apology. Grayson accepted his gesture with a gentle pat on the shoulder and a smile which was half stern, half strained.

Of course I know can understand me, Dami. But, this is really important and I’m not so sure you’ll know all the signs or, well….. want to look at me.

Drake’s eyes widened, “Dick are you sure?”

Damian scowled, it seemed once again he was left out of the loop. Obviously Drake knew what exactly it was that Grayson want to talk about.

Yeah, the sign was hesitant.

Grayson paced as he began his tale. He angled his body as he moved across the room so that his hands were constantly visible. Drake translated along with the signs, his voice low and serious. Damian ignored him in favor of watching Grayson, desperate not to be proven incompetent. His face was still and hard, alarming given how important facial expressions were in ASL.

I know things have been very difficult for you since, Grayson’s hands hesitated but plowed forward, since Bruce died. Damian thought for a second he stopped breathing. His oldest brother very rarely actually used the ‘d’ word, at least around Damian. In fact, Damian knew that the word still pained the older man. I know that you were raised differently than what I’m trying to do. But, I want to tell you something I never told anyone except Bruce.

“Wait, Dick, are you sure?” Damian frowned as Drake broke from his direct translation. “I mean, I think I know what you are going to say and I just…. Are you sure?”

Grayson’s mask cracked and he cast the same fond smile at Drake that he so often used on Damian. It caused a flare of unwanted jealousy in the boy. Grayson was his partner, not Drake’s.

He needs to know. Drake finally ceased arguing and simply nodded.

Ok, don’t stop me while I’m explaining. I’m not sure I’d be able to start again. When I was four my parents were killed by Tony Zucco. Bruce was there, he tried to take me in but CPS found out that my great-uncle was alive and sent me to live with him. He, um, he wasn’t a good man. I didn’t know it at the time but he was one of the leaders of the Court of Owls. I’m not going to tell you everything that happened during the four and a half years I lived with them, suffice to say it wasn’t pleasant. He was the one who took my words and locked them behind the wall.

Tim flinched and wrapped his arms around himself but did not stop translating. Damian would never admit it, but he did need the translation. Only for a few words, but still. He would be pulling out his sign dictionary later so he would not have to rely on Drake ever again.

Anyway, it was in the second year of my time with him that he deemed me ready for what he called my final test. I was going to become a Talon, he gave me my claws and brought me to the room where the Court met. There was a bound man in the center of the room. Then he told me to kill.

There was a long, still moment before Dick continued jerkily, his face twisted with pain.

I did.

Damian reeled back in shock. Of course he knew that Nightwing had killed people before, everyone knew that. But, he had never seen it happen and no one had ever said it so bluntly. Dick’s face was once again blank as he continued.

I’ve killed people, Dami. Lots of people. I can still see their faces, list their crimes. I dream about them most nights. Some days I can’t eat because all I can smell in the blood pouring from their bodies. All I can feel is how sticky it is on hands.

Damian thought of the way Dick avoided red meat, of the days when he refused everything Pennyworth offered and instead picked at a single bowl of dry cereal all day, the mornings after they returned early from patrol and yet Dick looked as exhausted as if he had spent all night on the streets. Sudden guilt at his own flirtations with the darker side of their night jobs filled Damian.

But, none of that is the worst of it. The worst of it is that I know that no one else will ever be hurt by the people I killed. I know that if I were to kill the Joker or a serial rapist then they could never hurt another person. That temptation is always there because I once gave in. I’ve slipped a few times since then and every time I’m amazed your father doesn’t throw me in Arkham. I deserve it. Tim made a small protesting noise in his throat. Dick ignored him and continued. His motions were growing wild with passion.

Dami, killing is so very easy, living with killing is not. Your father and rest are so much stronger than I will ever be. YOU are so much stronger than I will ever be. I need you to be strong, baby bird.

For the first time since they buried his father’s skeletal remains Damian launched himself across the space separating himself from Grayson. He wrapped his arms around the older man, burying his head in the soft cotton of the ratty sweatshirt his brother wore.

“I will try,” he whispered, knowing Grayson could hear him. “I might not succeed, but if it will make you happy, I’ll try.”

Dick’s arms tightened around Damian. The boy felt his brother’s chin press against the top of his head and his hand form the simple fist that mean ‘thank you’ in Dick’s home-sign. Neither of them heard Drake get up, but the soft click of the door told them they were now alone.

Assured that no one could see his weakness Damian allowed his barriers to fall ever so slightly and he remained in the position they were in for far longer than he normally would. Finally, he pulled away.

Dick smiled tenderly at him.

Well, that was way too much emotion for one night, he joked tiredly, How about we round up the others and find something to watch?

At that moment, nothing in the world sounded better to Damian than a movie to take his mind off everything.

I’ll even distract Alfred so you can bring the kitten you’re hiding in your room down to meet everyone.

Damn. Damian had really thought he had been subtle enough that no one had noticed the new resident of Wayne Manor. But, there was no censure in Dick’s gaze so Damian only nodded his agreement. Anyway, it would be nice to not have to sneak food upstairs from dinner anymore.

“Her name is Asiqa,” Damian informed him, “It means-”

Ivy, Dick wrapped an arm around Damian’s shoulders, signing with one hand as he led them from the room, I know. Bruce made me take Arabic when I was thirteen.

I do have one question though, he said as they reached the bottom of the stairs, Does Pamela know you have a crush on her?

The wicked grin on his face forced a dark blush onto Damian’s cheeks. But, after the discussion they had just had, he really couldn’t fault Dick for trying to lighten the mood. At least none of his other adoptive siblings were around to hear-

“Our baby boy has his first crush?” Jason lounged at the top of the stairs.

Damian groaned. They were never going to let him live this down.

But, just then, he really wouldn’t have it any other way.

Chapter Text

Chapter 21: The Cables We Hang From

Long mornings spent in the office were a hazard of being the head of one of the most powerful companies in the world. Bruce despised the time spent signing forms which really didn’t need his approval for projects he had never before heard of. It was a complete waste. He would so much rather be personally checking in with the department heads or working on developing relationships with his counterparts at other companies. Bored and nursing a mild headache he flipped through papers while resting his head on the heel of his palm.

“This is ridiculous!” He perked up. His children could always manage to make things more interesting.

“Now, listen here, young man,” he didn’t know the second voice, but he did know that they had just made a terrible mistake. Damian did not take kindly to condescending tones or references to his age.

“Oh, bad idea, ma’am.” Ah, the logical, reasoned voice of his second youngest. Perhaps the situation was salvageable after-

“Aw, the pip-squeak can take it!” Nope. Trust Jason to make a tense situation worse. Bruce nearly groaned. But, he really couldn’t be annoyed with the boys, after all, he had been slowly dying of boredom before they arrived. It was a pity Stephanie and Cassandra were in California. It would have been nice to have everyone around, a situation that was becoming ever rarer as the girls grew up. At seventeen and eighteen respectively they were both asserting themselves as heroes and people away from Batman’s long shadow. Stephanie was even talking about college in Metropolis. Tim seemed to vacillate between the desire to distance himself from the family and be his own man and cling to Bruce, Dick, and Jason and never let go.

Bruce found that he was often at a loss when it came to dealing with the three middle children. Dick had made it very clear that he would not be leaving Gotham on a permanent basis again, not after what happened to Blüdhaven. Bruce was selfishly grateful that his eldest would always be close by. Jason had finally started to hang around the Manor again, though he was obviously more comfortable staying with Dick at his apartment in the city proper. Damian was still years away from leaving (and Bruce would never admit it, but he was absolutely dreading the day the Manor was empty again). But, Tim, Cass, and Stephanie were talking about college and maybe staying with the Titans for a while, and travelling the world, and Bruce just didn’t know what to do.

Dick told him to relax, that they would all come back home eventually, but the tension in his eyes and the way he hovered near the young ones belied his signs. He and Bruce made quite the over-protective pair now-a-days.

The door to Bruce’s office opened with a bang.

Damian stalked in, followed more sedately by Jason, Dick, and Tim (who didn’t appear to be trying hiding his snickers).

“Father, I demand you reprimand your secretary-”

“Administrative assistant, Damain,” Bruce corrected.

“Whatever her title, she disrespected me and through me, you!”

Bruce looked to Jason and Dick to ensure that it was nothing more serious than what he had overhead through the walls.

She called him young man, Dick’s eyes glittered in amusement, the Little Prince didn’t like that.

Bruce sighed, sometimes (most of the time, really) he hated how Talia had seen fit to raise their son.

“Damian, she did nothing wrong,” he explained, “You will apologize for your behavior before you leave.”

Damian stared at him for a long moment before he nodded grudgingly, “Yes, father.”

“Good, now, why are you boys all here? I seem to recall only asking Jason to come by today….”

“Timmy wanted to check in with some project he and R&D are working on before going to visit Jack,” Jason explained, “Hell if I know why Dick is here-”

I was bored and Lola wanted to go for a car ride. For the first time Bruce noticed the dog behind Dick’s leg. He mentally amended the boredom-haze caused by paperwork from merely annoying to actively interfering with his skills.

“Okay, that,” Jason continued, “The Dem- I mean this lovely child we call Damian just followed us.”

“I wished to know why Father is meeting with you!”

Bruce rolled his eyes, “Damian, Jason is my heir here at the company-”

“Even if I don’t wanna be.”

“-And I needed to go over some paperwork with him.”

Most wouldn’t understand why he had chosen Jason over the more analytical Tim to head the company should something happen to him. While it was true that Tim’s mind was like no one else’s, his heart lay in research and development. Bruce would never trap him on the Top Floor. For all his protests, Jason could read people like few others on Earth, an invaluable skill in the business world. Bruce also wished to ensure that Jason wouldn’t vanish into who he had started to become just after his resurrection, he hoped that the responsibility of the company might help to prevent that. Besides, when he asked just over a month previously Jason had only sat in silence before asking if Bruce knew what he was doing. The trust and awe that shone in the boy’s eyes had told Bruce more than any words could that he had made the right decision.

He had actually thought the decision would be met with resistance from Damian, but it appeared the boy had his eyes set on a far different inheritance. He was going to be disappointed; Bruce wouldn’t allow any of his children to put on the cowl. That was his burden, one he planned to have die with him. He trusted that Nightwing and the rest could care for Gotham when he was gone without the cape and cowl weighing any of them down.

Damian looked disappointed.

“There, see? You didn’t need to storm up here,” Jason drawled. “Now, how about you two go wreak havoc someplace else?”

“Would you like to see the prototype, Dick?” Tim asked. Bruce could tell his brain was already moving ahead of his mouth by the way his words seemed slightly rushed and blurred. Dick smiled fondly at him.

I’d love to, Timmy. Damian, come on.

“He doesn’t need to-”

“I do not wish to-” Both boys shut their mouths when they realized that the other was going to say the same thing.

Good, let’s go. Dick gestured at the dog by his feet, “Lola, wash.”

“I still don’t see why he’s here,” Tim muttered. He jabbed at the button to call the elevator.

‘Cause I like him, Dick smiled. Damian wasn’t looking at the two of them so he continued with, give him a chance Timmy, he misses his mom.

Then he should go back to her, But Tim’s signs lacked conviction. No matter how he didn’t like it, he knew Damian was better off with them.

Dick raised one hand to respond but stopped when his phone buzzed. He pulled it from his pocket and hit the button to start video chat. Tim leaned against the wall. What was the point in a private elevator if it was so incredibly slow?

Hello? Dick signed one-handed. Tim didn’t bother to hide that he was watching. Dick never cared about eavesdropping, if he didn’t want someone to know what he was saying his stepped out of the room or texted.

“Hi,” Babs chirped from the phone. Dick’s shoulders relaxed and Tim sort of hated that he hadn’t even realized Dick was tense before that moment.

Hi gorgeous, his lips had quirked in the little smile that made the scar at the corner pull ever so slightly.

                “So, you’ll never guess what’s happening this weekend,” Barbara continued.

                Dick shook his head.

                “I’m going to visit-”

                The elevator arrived. Dick flapped his hand at them to go on without him. Tim really didn’t want to, but he also didn’t want to see the disappointed look Dick would give him if he was childish enough to refuse to simply take a short elevator ride with Damain.

                The elevator closed on Dick grinning at something Barbara said.

The light for the 32^nd floor had only just lit when the elevator shrieked and shuddered. Tim gripped the handrail desperately. A deep ominous creaking sounded through the walls and the entire carriage jerked sharply down and to the left. Tim looked wildly around only to have his eyes caught by Damian’s terrified gaze. For the first time in Tim’s memory, Damian looked like the little boy he was. It was surprisingly disconcerting.

One final shiver and then all was still.

“Are you okay?” he managed to ask.

Damian pushed himself away from the wall he had fallen against.

“I am,” he paused, seemingly to assess himself, “unharmed.”

Tim nodded, “Good.”

They fell into an uncomfortable silence. Tim pulled up his mental schematic for the elevator’s operating system. They had long since moved past the realm of pulleys and into a more complicated system which used an energy efficient electric lift; though of course there were still steel cables as back-up in case of failure. It was those cables which he realized they hung from.

“Well, this could have gone better,” he muttered.

“Tt.”

                Dick signed a farewell to Barbara and slipped his phone back into his pocket. She was so excited about visiting Cassandra in Hong Kong for the next week. Honestly, he was a tad jealous. He knew it was ridiculous, but he just couldn’t shake the feeling that if he left Gotham something terrible would happen. So, he stayed. It had begun to wear on him though. Before, it happened he had always been travelling, spending weekends with the Titans, full days on the WatchTower, missions to other worlds, visits with Jericho and the other former Titans around the world, and business trips for Bruce all meant that he rarely passed a month without going somewhere. Being stationary for so long made his fingers itch and his nights restless.

                Bruce and Jason seemed to realize his difficulties and did their best to keep him busy. Lola helped as well; despite the violent storms Gotham had been enduring as Christmas approached she came up to him each evening before patrol with a tennis ball and a sad look. So, he spent at least an hour a day playing with her in the snow. It was exhausting, but the sort of exhausting that left him feeling exhilarated and ready for another night in the frigid temperatures of the long nights in the city.

                He sighed and pressed the down button on the elevator. Nothing happened. He pressed it again. Nada.

                Lola wuffed quietly from the door to the stairwell.

                Dick had made it halfway down the seventh flight of stairs when it dawned on him that the elevator hadn’t done anything. The button normally stayed lit even when it was in use. It must have malfunctioned sometime between Tim and Damian entering and Dick attempting to descend. Logically, he had been on the phone long enough that they had probably already arrived in the R&D labs when the elevator malfunctioned, but the same feeling which told him when to duck and when to dodge told him that they were still in the shaft.

                He shoved his fingers into the temples, this wasn’t going to be fun. They way those two got along, they would be lucky if both boys survived the next few hours.

                “Why does my father like you so much?” Damian spat.

                They had positioned themselves in opposite corners when it became obvious that rescue would not be immediately forthcoming. It was frustrating having to wait when they both knew they could easily free themselves, but there was no reason to reveal those skills in such a highly monitored building.

                “What?” Tim tried and failed to see how that was related in any way to their situation.

                Damian snorted, “Father is kind to you. He coddles you in the way that he does not anyone else.”

                Tim wrapped his arms around his torso. He knew that Bruce thought he couldn’t handle everything that the others could, but he had hoped it wasn’t quite so obvious to anyone else. He had tried so hard to overcome his insecurities, but it was still a battle he fought each and every day.

                “I wish to know why,” Damian continued, “I am his biological son. He should favor me above-” He trailed off, looking slightly lost. Tim realized what was going on.

                “Is this about us all working for the company?” It was technically true; Tim, Dick, Cass, and Jason all had jobs working for Wayne Enterprises in some capacity. Jason was learning the ropes of managing the entire behemoth, Tim worked with the R&D teams, Cass enjoyed testing the security systems and often consulted with them, and Dick did whatever he wanted. He had provided tech support in the computer science department and spent many hours of his life checking the math of the accounting team, though he staunchly refused any form of payment offered.

                Damian glared. “No,” he snapped.

                “Then what?”

                A long moment of silence passed before Damian spoke again, “You wish to visit your birth father.”

                Tim’s arms wrapped tighter around his torso. How was that related to the matter at hand at all?

                “Yes.” Tim would never deny that he still wished desperately for his father to awaken. For all that he had not been the most attentive or affectionate man, Tim had loved him. He wanted the man to see who he was now, to be proud of him and everything he’d done for Gotham and the world.

                The constant deep groaning from the wall of the elevator changed pitch and grew slightly louder. Damian pushed himself further into his corner. Then, he said the last thing Tim ever expected the vitriolic adolescent to say;

“Are- are we not good enough?”

Tim really had no idea how to respond to that. How did one reassure the child who had shown absolutely no desire to have a relationship with anyone in the family save Bruce?

“Damian-”

But, he had nothing to follow that up with and silence once again filled the elevator.

“Kham! Bar!” Dick called as he entered the office. His brother and adoptive father looked up from the papers spread across the large table set to one side of the office, The elevator is broken.

“Okay? Don’t you normally take the stairs anyway?” Jason nodded alongside Bruce’s comment.

Dick sighed, for two of the smartest men in the world they could be awfully dense.

Tim and Damian were taking the elevator to R&D.

Bruce tossed down his pen and stood with a deep sigh. He really didn’t want to deal with the fallout of those two trapped alone for who knows how long. He had just pressed the intercom button to call the maintenance department when there was a knock on the door.

“Mr. Wayne?” A scruffy looking man stood just outside the door, his left hand was visibly shaking and his gaze darted from person to person.

“That’s me,” Bruce replied. He didn’t bother to put on the full idiot-socialite mask; Dick had gone still and stiff beside him and Jason was staring at the man suspiciously. With Dick’s sense for danger and Jason’s ability to read people, he trusted their judgment about the newcomer. This was not an innocent meeting.

“I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure?” Bruce asked. He suddenly regretted the decision to work at the conference table across the room from his desk and the emergency button installed there. With one hand behind his back his made the sign for button at Jason. Perhaps the teen could contact security while the man wasn’t paying attention. Across the office Dick shifted so Lola was hidden behind his legs.

“If you’re thinking about calling security with some sort of clever hidden distress switch,” The man smirked, “Well, let’s just say they won’t be answering.” He sighed, “And this was all going so civilly too.”

“What do you want?” Bruce snapped. This office was a safe place. He had brought Dick here when the boy was small and oh so scared of the world, had watched Jason struggle with homework on the coffee table, and taught Tim and Cass how to play chess before the sweeping vista of Gotham through the huge windows. It was almost as much a home to his family as the Manor, to have it violated in such a way was disconcerting.

“What do I want!?” The man cackled, “Mr. Wayne, there is so much I want from you. But, first-” He gestured with the right hand, revealing the pistol he had previously hidden in the folds of his jacket. The mood in the room grew exponentially more tense. Mrs. Crown, Bruce’s longtime secretary and friend, came forward with a whimper.

“I’m sorry Mr. Wayne,” she whispered, “I tried to stop him, but-” The man shoved her forward. Bruce stepped out from behind the conference table and grabbed her elbow to prevent a fall.

“It’s alright, Caroline,” he muttered in her ear as he helped her into a chair.

“What is all this about?” Bruce asked.

The man ignored him. “Let’s see,” he said, “Who do we have here?” His eyes narrowed in thought as he looked at Jason. Bruce had to resist the urge to move protectively in front of the young man. They might be getting on better than they had in years, but there was no reason to test his luck by being over-protective or to reveal to the man how desperately Bruce wished to protect his children.

“Ah, yes, the heir apparent, Jason Todd.” His hand tightened on the pistol. “Tell me, Mr. Todd, how does it feel knowing you’re only in this position because daddy’s first choice was too fucked up to be trusted?” He jerked the pistol towards Dick as he spoke.

A brief moment of shocked silence passed before Dick laughed.

Bruce, tell this fucker that if he insults Jason again, I’ll kill him. He signed viciously. Jason’s snarl lifted slightly and Bruce breathed a sigh of relief. Even when he had been at odds with the majority of their family, Jason had never taken well to people insulting Dick. Things could have gotten bloody if Dick hadn’t diffused the younger man’s temper.

“Now, I was told you were here with four of your little orphan rats,” the man continued, “Where are the other two? I want everyone here to see their precious daddy pay for his misdeeds.”

Suddenly the malfunctioning elevator made perfect sense. Somehow the deranged man had been able to hijack the system to prevent help from coming quickly even if they managed to get a call out.

“They went home,” Bruce said as calmly as he could, “It’s a school night.” He could only hope they wouldn’t escape the elevator on their own before the situation was resolved and come barreling into his office.

He wasn’t terribly optimistic. If there was trouble to get into, the boys would manage to find it.

                Tim and Damian had reluctantly agreed to wait for rescue since the security cameras in the elevator could be seen by anyone with the proper level clearance and there was no reason to risk their secret identities when the only danger was a few minutes of boredom. But, god above, Tim was bored. He had tried working on a few lines of a code he had been playing with recently, but his heart just wasn’t in it and he knew better than to code when not paying full attention to the work. Damian appeared to be meditating, or sleeping, Tim had never really got the hand of either activity.

                Tim had just decided to remote log in to his computer down in R&D from his phone and start going over this quarter’s expense reports when the elevator jerked sharply downward. He experienced a terrifying moment of freefall before slamming painfully into the tiled floor. Damian jerked to alertness with a cry of terror.

                “What did you do, Drake?” He accused when it became apparent that they would not be falling again immediately.

                “Nothing,” Tim snapped. He closed his eyes and listened. The pitched of the elevator’s sounds of distress had changed again. Now, instead of a steady thrum, it had taken on a distinctly whining tone and seemed to be getting louder.

                “We need to get out of here,” he finally decided. For once Damian did not argue. His eyes were wide and he was obviously terrified by the idea of staying in the elevator for any longer than they had to.

Though it was a new design the elevator still had the traditional hatch in the roof. They made quick work of reaching up and pulling themselves from the chamber.

                Tim had just pulled himself up onto one of the steel beams that made up the elevator shaft when a horrible screeching noise came from the gears of the lift. He held on to the vertical beam with one hand and leaned out over the chasm with the other hand out to Damian who was too short to reach the beam without acrobatics.

                Damian grasped his hand in the tight hold they used on patrol to lift people. Then, without out warning, the elevator fell away.

                Tim cried out sharply in pain as his arm took Damian’s unexpected weight. The boy clung to him with wide eyes and panting breaths. Tim pulled him up as quickly as he could. When they both on the beam Damian pulled away from him and stared down the shaft.

                “Are you-?” Tim finally managed to whisper.

                Damian nodded. He we looking at Tim oddly, as if seeing him for the first time.

                “You saved my life,” he whispered. “I-” He didn’t seem sure how to continue from there.

                Tim nodded, “You’re my brother, even if you don’t act like it most of the time.”

                Damian did not respond. So Tim sighed and said, “Come on, let’s get out of here.” Suddenly he didn’t really feel like heading all the way down to R&D; he would much rather just go back to Bruce’s office and chill for a while before going home and preparing for a patrol.

                After the terror and shock of the elevator’s plunge to the earth, the climb out was strangely disappointing and they were in the stairwell back up to the top floor in only a few minutes.

                The antechamber to Bruce’s office was empty. It wasn’t unusual for Caroline to pop out for a cup of coffee for herself or Bruce, what was unusual was the fact that Bruce had the glass walls of the office darkened. He normally only did that when discussing something particularly sensitive with a client.

                “Bruce and Jay weren’t discussing anything important, right?” Tim asked. He had a slightly queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach.

                Damian shrugged. He fiddled with his phone, pulling up the music app. Tim rolled his eyes. So much for sibling bonding.

                “Do you think we should-”

                A sharp crack resonated through the space. Damian’s phone fell to the floor.

                “Was that-”

                “Yeah, a gun.” Tim turned a wide-eyed gaze on the door. On a patrol this would be no issue, they could burst in with a smoke pellet and fists and everything would be fine. But, there were security cameras everywhere up here and he didn’t know what to do.

                “The vents,” Damian murmured, “Grays- I mean, Dick was telling me about when he and Todd got lost in there when they were younger.”

                Despite the severity of the situation Tim chuckled, “They weren’t that much younger. It happened about a month before you arrived.”

                It was a good idea. They could climb into the vents and assess the situation in Bruce’s office before deciding how to act.

                “Let’s go.”

                The vents were easy enough to get into and they were soon approaching the grate Tim thought would probably give them the best view of what was happening. Just as he leaned forward for a look the gun went off again. Jason’s voice could clearly be heard shouting in fury and Lola was whining. Bruce and Dick didn’t make a noise and Tim was suddenly terrified. There had already been one shot, what if-?

                “Are they-?” Damian was staring at him, his breath coming in light pants. He looked more scared than he had when the elevator fell. Tim pressed his face to the grate.

                Bruce, Jason, and Caroline stood on one side of the office. Bruce looked petrified and furious all at once. Caroline was crying silently and Jason’s face was completely blank but even from across the room Tim could see the raw fury in his eyes. Across the space from them stood Lola and Dick. Tim almost turned to Damian to tell him everyone was okay, almost. Then, Dick swayed where he stood and Tim realized he had one hand pressed to his side. Lola wasn’t just standing beside him, she stood on guard growling at the man who still held a gun pointed at Tim’s eldest brother.

                “Tim?” Damian’s wavering voice asked him. Absently Tim noted that this was the first time he could remember Damian calling him anything besides ‘Drake’.

                “Bruce, Jason, and Caroline are fine,” he reported his voice as clinical as he could manage, “Dick is injured but still standing. There’s only one man.” Damian’s face hardened into a mask that looked alarmingly like Jason’s currently did.

                “Is anyone looking this way?” he asked. Tim shook his head. “Good, then let’s take the bastard down.” He held his hand open to reveal a number of smoke pellets. “If we act fast enough we can take out the man and get out of there before Caroline or the cameras see us.”

                It was one of the quickest take-downs either of them had ever accomplished. Damian threw the pellets and Tim slipped through the smoke to wrap his arm around the Man’s throat. As soon as the man was unconscious and tied they escaped back into the vent. By the time the smoke cleared there was no evidence they had been there save the unconscious asshole on the ground. Tim watched as Bruce suggested that Jason take Caroline for a glass of water to steel her nerves and call Security.

                The door to the office closed and they jumped back down to the floor. Bruce strode across the office to where Dick was standing (far straighter than he had been not a minute previously).

                “Is he okay? Are you okay?” Tim asked and Damian did not make a snide comment about his obvious fear. Instead he stared at the splash of blood on Dick’s side.

                Dick smiled at the three of them, I’m fine, he signed, Really. He had terrible aim. Lola pressed tight to his leg, looking carefully at each of them to ensure that no one would cause her person any more harm.

                Then, Jason and a full team of security personnel were entering the room and Jason was ranting about how cool it was that Robin and Crow had saved them even though it was daytime. The security people and Caroline looked suitably impressed and Tim knew their secret was safe. Especially when Damian put on his best spoiled brat face and said he never got to see anything cool and demanded that Bruce call the heroes back so he could meet them.

                Once Dick had been seen to by the paramedics (against his wishes) Jason and Bruce decided to forego the final few bits of work they had scheduled for the day and simply go home. Bruce wanted Dick to join them in going home, but he had shaken his head and indicated that he would be joining Tim. Damian looked between the two groups, seemingly unsure about what he should do.

                Dami, do you mind taking Lola back to the Manor for me? Dick asked.

                Damian sighed in relief at having the decision made for him, “Of course.”

Later that afternoon, after he returned from the hospital and his father, Tim found Damian sitting by the fire in the library. He clutched the book his carried tighter to his chest. When Damian did not look up at him Tim took that as permission to sit.

“How are you doing?” He asked.

Damian snorted, “No one was killed, why would I not be okay?” He did not look up to meet Tim’s gaze. But, Tim remembered the desperate lost look on the boy’s face when the gun had gone off for a second time in Bruce’s office, when he had heard that Dick was injured.

“He’s fine, by the way,” Tim reported, “He was making it look worse than it was so the man might stop paying attention to him. It’s just a small graze.” He fell silent for a moment before speaking again, “It’s different when it’s family, isn’t it?” Tim held out the book. Damian finally looked away from the flames to take it.

“What is this?” The sneer on his face was thin and so very obviously contrived that Tim felt a surge of unexpected affection for the boy.

“Do you know what happened to my parents?” Tim asked.

Damian shook his head wordlessly.

Tim nodded to the book, “That’s a family album from before I lived here.” Damian looked reluctantly intrigued. “Go on, open it.”

The first picture was from right after Tim was born. It happened to be Tim’s favorite in the book; his mother was gazing down at him with the intense affection he had always wished to see while she lived and his father stared at the camera with such pride. Damian reached out and lightly touched the image of Tim’s mom. There was a wistful look on his face Tim recognized.

“That’s my first family,” Tim whispered, “My mom’s name was Janet and my dad’s name was Jack.” He reached out and flipped the page to an image of his parents on a dig. “They were field archeologists, at first for Gotham U and later mom started a company for them.”

A few more pages filled with pictures from digs and formal photos from charity auctions passed. “They left me alone a lot,” Tim said and then carefully added, “You know what that’s like.” He could tell Damian was enthralled by his argument-free nod.

“I met Dick and Jason when I was eight. They made everything so much better than it had ever been before,” he explained, pointing to a picture of the three of them Alfred had taken on Tim’s first visit to the manor. Jason had Tim in a headlock and Dick, still very uncomfortable in those days with physical contact, stood slightly off to the side grinning at the others.

“How did you meet?”

Tim laughed, “I nearly pulled Dick out of a tree on accident.”

Damian snorted. “Typical,” he sniped, but there was no heat behind it.

Tim turned another page, “Bruce gave me a room here only a few months after I met Dick and Jason. They all knew that my nannies weren’t always around and wanted me to have someplace to go.” An image of Tim’s shocked face when presented with the room greeted them. “Things were great. Then, one year for my birthday my parents decided I would go on a dig with them.”

He turned one final page. A large photo took up the entire sheet; His mother and father on either side of him, all dressed in their jungle best and absolutely filthy. Tim was holding a large golden amulet in one hand and the strap to the set of tools he had received for that birthday in the other. His father’s right hand gripped Tim’s shoulder and his left was wrapped tightly around Tim’s mother.

“This is the last picture I have of the three of us,” Tim whispered. He pointed to a man in the background of the photo, “They hired this man to be the local guide while we worked at the dig site but he turned out to be a member of a prominent terrorist organization. He held me and my mother hostage for my father’s cooperation and, when he didn’t get it, killed my mother. They-” He paused to take a deep breath, “They showed me her body the next day.”

Damian had scooted ever so slightly closer over the last few moments and when Tim stopped speaking he made eye contact.

“I am…sorry about your mother, Dra- Tim,” he muttered, “I would be devastated if something happened to my own.”

Tim smiled at him, “Thanks, Damian.” He steeled himself to continue, “Nightwing and Robin found me a few days later. They had gotten worried when I didn’t arrived back home when I was supposed to and Nightwing had a bad feeling. My dad had been tortured and the wounds were infected. That’s why he’s in a coma.”

“What does this all have to do with today?” Damian asked quietly, “What are you telling me all this?”

Tim smiled at him, “I want you to understand. I don’t love this family any more or less because my first one is gone, but I also will not abandon my father. Bruce is my dad in every way that matters, but Jack is my father. Do you understand?”

Damian was silent for a long moment. Finally he said, “I do not love my mother any less because I am here and she is not. I would even like to visit her someday. I suppose that is no different than your situation.”

Tim grinned. “Exactly. Thanks, kid.”

Hours later, just before it was time to prepare for patrol, Bruce entered the library to find Damian curled up fast asleep in the chair closest to the fireplace and Tim in the chair opposite with a large tome in his lap.

“Is everything alright?” He asked in a hushed voice. It was, after all, highly unusual for these two to be found in the same place without some sort of fight.

Tim looked up from his book, “It’s fine,” he whispered, “Damian had expressed some concerns to me before everything happened in your office today. I was just reassuring him.” Bruce knew that was all Tim would say, so instead of prying (if it was important for him to know they would tell him eventually) he simply nodded and said;

“Good. Patrol in thirty.”

Tim nodded, “We’ll be there.”

Bruce left with a smile on his face. It was always so good to see the kids getting along. Dick would be disappointed he missed it.

Chapter Text

Chapter 23: Fightin’ Words

Batman hated when Nightwing left Earth; it was a well-known fact among the members of the Justice League and various other superhero teams. Of course, his displeasure never stopped Nightwing from doing something he was determined to do and there were a few missions with the Titans which required that he leave the planet. Mostly, he really enjoyed spending time away from all the responsibilities of Gotham and Blüdhaven (and in places that he knew the Court had never touched). Mostly. He did feel very cut off from everyone he met because no one understood him save for his team.

                So, when he caught a terrible cold on a stakeout in a rainy Blüdhaven two days before he was supposed to go to Tamaran with the Titans, Dick took the opportunity to beg out of the mission and go home to Gotham for a few days. Bruce made a point of ensuring that Robin spent at least one weekend a month with Nightwing, perfecting his hand to hand skills but, it had been forever since the seventeen year old had seen the younger kids. He missed Timmy and Cass and the cold was a great excuse to see them. (Plus, it meant Alfred would cook soup for him and to his cold ravaged brain that sounded like the definition of heaven.)

                He bid farewell to the Titans, a lingering kiss from Starfire left him with a small smile that didn’t fade for hours, and made for Gotham.

                “Pral!” he called as he entered from the garage, “Phen, Bar!” No one answered. He checked his watch, it was five o’clock on a Friday, at least the young ones should be home by now…

                “Kak?” Alfred appeared in the doorway. He took one long look at Dick and immediately moved to the stove. He pulled out a pan and a jug of milk.

                “Tim and Cassandra are in Jason’s room,” he said as he stirred cinnamon and vanilla. There was a tone to his voice that Dick had become all too familiar with in recent months. He sighed.

                They’re fighting again? Ever since Jason had hit puberty it seemed like he and Bruce could agree on nothing. Jason had begun spending as many weekends as possible with the Teen Titans. Tim had taken to hinting that there was a special someone Jason was interested in and Dick had to fight down the urge to threaten every member of the team into promising they wouldn’t hurt his first baby brother.

                Alfred sighed and nodded. He pulled four cups from the cabinet and distributed the warmed milk.

                I’ll talk to them. He coughed violently into the crook of his elbow.

                “Do not worry about Bruce.” Alfred paused, looking Dick over carefully. “You need to rest and recover, not deal with their ridiculous spats,” he chided. It was a sign of how well Alfred knew Dick that he did not even suggest that he not talk with Jason. He placed his hand on Dick’s forehead and sighed, “I’ll bring a fever reducer.”

                Bring it to the living room in about thirty minutes, Dick requested, We’ll be in there by then. He took the mugs of warm milk and made his way upstairs to Jason’s room.

Dick handed the two mugs in his left hand to Tim and Cass before he even looked at Jason. They were curled up together on Jason’s bed. Cass had a pad of paper and appeared to be drawing battlefield layouts for Tim to analyze. Dick smiled at them and suppressed a cough. He could feel it tickling the back of his throat and silently prayed it would hold off until he had comforted Jason. Tim smiled back and Cass pointed her pencil towards the window seat.

                Jason had arranged himself artfully; every portion of his body was placed to look casual, relaxed, and content. Of course, it was a lie and the other three occupants of the room knew it. But, Jason needed to feel like they couldn’t see how much his recent strife with Bruce hurt him and so they pretended.

               Hey, Jason. Dick greeted when Jason glanced up at his approach.

                Jason grunted but took the mug Dick offered.

                Jay, you know better than that, Dick scolded. It was not often he was forced into this position. Jason, for all his impetuousness and short fuse, was typically not stubborn in his anger. At least, not with Dick. He could stay mad at Bruce for days, but then that was pretty normal for people around Bruce. The man could be infuriating.

                Jason rolled his eyes but shifted so there was room for Dick to sit on the window seat next to him.

                So, Dick signed once he was settled, You want to tell me what Bruce did?

                Jason’s mouth stayed stubbornly closed, his hands still by his sides. He looked away from Dick.

                “Jay,” Tim whispered from the bed, “Please don’t.” There was just enough of the lost little boy they had met years ago in his voice to jerk Jason from his anger for a moment.

                “Fine,” he growled, “He fired me.”

                What? Dick asked. Who fired you? Did Jason have a job Dick didn’t know about? A sense of relief swept through him, maybe Bruce wasn’t involved at-

                “Bruce,” Jason snapped, “Or, I guess Batman did.” He voice was bitter and sad all at once.

                He fired Robin? Dick asked. Jason nodded. Dick reached forward and pulled the teen into a tight hold. Lucky thing he can’t do that.

                “What?”

                Dick smiled down at him, once again viciously suppressing the cough that threatened to rise in his throat. Did Bruce make you Robin? Did he give you that name or teach you to fly?

                Slowly, Jason shook his head. “No,” he whispered. “You did.”

                Dick nodded. So, why on Earth would you think he could take it from you? Bats and Birds are two totally different things, kiddo. He can ground you, but he can’t clip your feathers.

                Dick knew he would catch hell from Bruce for this, but he also knew that it was wrong to fire Robin, no matter what Jason had done.

                “Thanks, Dick,” Jason muttered. He turned his head into Dick’s shoulder.

                Anytime, little bro. Dick looked up at the other two, Why don’t you guys go grab a movie and set up the TV? We’ll be down in a few minutes.

                “You got it,” Tim hopped up. Cass nodded her assent and followed Tim from the room.

                Is anything else bothering you? Dick wanted to ask why Bruce had fired Jason, but he trusted that it was a case of Bruce over-reacting as he had been prone to do recently when it came to Jason. He could find out the truth of the matter in the morning. Right now, he was going to simply be there for his little brother.

                Jason was silent for a long time, “I-I found something out,” he whispered, “I’m not ready to talk about it yet though.”

                Ok, Dick smiled down at him, I’m here when you are. You know that you’re always welcome to come stay in Blüdhaven for a few days if you need to get away from Bruce, right?

                Jason smiled at him for the first time that night, “Yeah, I know.”

                Good, now let’s go make sure we’re not going to end up watching another documentary on Quraci military tactics. Tim and Cass had recently been obsessed with military tactics and theory and Dick could only imagine how tired Jason was of their movie choices; he had only been around for maybe half of their movie nights recently and he was going to go mad if he had to watch another special by the History Channel.

                Jason snorted, “Too late,” he muttered, “You told them to pick a movie. Luckily, we already watched one about Qurac. They’re currently caught up in a series about the Bialyan rise to prominence in the 20^th century.”

                Dick groaned. They are such weird kids.

                “Said the former assassin to the former sidekick.”

                You’re not a former side-kick. Dick protested, If Bruce doesn’t let you patrol Gotham, you can help me out in Blüdhaven. Nightwing and Robin has a nice ring to it.

                They descended the stairs together in companionable silence.

                The next morning Dick woke up in agony. He had fallen asleep on the couch with Jason, his mouth open and his neck twisted strangely. Breathing through his nose was currently impossible, but breathing through his mouth dried his throat and left him feeling worn and cranky. Surely, breathing was no supposed to be so very complicated?

                He shifted to look around the room for the teen who had been so very upset last night. But, Jason wasn’t there. Figuring the boy had just decided to head up to his bed (and the comfort of an actual place to sleep) Dick rose and went looking for him. The kitchen was empty. As was the cave. Briefly he wondered where Bruce was, but found he didn’t currently care. He and Bruce would need to have a long chat soon, but for right now all he cared about was finding Jason and making sure the kid was still okay.

                Tim and Cass were in their own rooms, fast asleep despite the relatively late hour. They had left after the first movie but had apparently been staying up pretty late recently training and watching patrols from the cave. They needed the rest, so Dick didn’t disturb them.

He steadied himself against a wall as a wave of dizziness passed over him. He was having trouble catching his breath and the chills that had started halfway through the movie last night were getting worse. Shoving his own discomfort away, Dick pushed the door to Jason’s room open. Empty, empty save for a box on the bed and papers scattered around.

                Most prominent of all of was a single sheet of notebook paper with a handwritten note scrawled across it;

Dick,

Please don’t hate me. I need to do this. I don’t think my mom was actually my mom. I wanted to ask you to come with me, I really did. But, you’re sick.

The next few lines were covered in eraser marks and splotches before the letter continued.

I’m going to find my mom. Please don’t try and stop me. I need to know.

Thanks for trying to make me feel better last night. You’re the best big brother a guy could ask for. Tell Timmy and Cass I love them and will call as soon as I know anything.

Don’t worry about me.

I love you, big bro.

-Jason

                Dick’s breathing was suddenly coming in distinctly harder pants. Jason was going off on his own to face something huge and Dick’s head was spinning. He pressed his left hand into his forehead hoping to steady the world, but it was dimming around him.

                He forced himself to stagger from the room.

                “Dick?” Bruce stood just outside Jason’s door. “Dick are you okay?” Dick’s knees wobbled and suddenly Bruce was supporting his weight.

                “God, son, you’re burning up,” he muttered, “Come on, let’s get you to the infirmary.”

                Dick shook his head, despite the way the movement made the world tilt and spin. He pressed the sheet of paper into Bruce’s hands.

                “Bar,” he whispered. The blackness at the edges of his vision encroached a little further and then he knew no more.

Chapter Text

Chapter 24: The Words We Can’t Find

“Are you sure about this?” Jason muttered to Bruce as they climbed into the jet. “I mean, you and me in a plane for a few hours with nothing to do but argue?”

Bruce tilted his head in acknowledgement of the possible issue. “It won’t just be us,” he assured.

Jason snorted, “Yeah, because Cass is such a chatty, tension relieving kinda gal.”

Bruce started the preflight checks. “If I can manage an entire Justice League meeting without punching Clark, I think you and I can manage a plane flight,” he muttered as he worked.

“Point,” Jason acceded, peering around the hanger. “Where is Cass anyway?” As he waited for Bruce to answer he pulled out his weapons and started cleaning them. Knowing Bruce’s feelings about the weapons, he had already taken care of his guns before leaving Dick’s apartment that morning. But, the rest still needed to be checked before he would be comfortable relaxing.

“She’s on her way.” Jason waited for more explanation but Bruce had turned back to the flight computer.

“Great conversation,” Jason muttered, “Real engaging.” Then, before he could stop himself, he asked, “Why did you ask me to come?”

Bruce sighed and turned away from the instrumentation for the first time. “Because, no matter our differences, you are my son and I want- Well,” he paused to clear his throat, “You know.”

Jason didn’t know, but he also wasn’t going to argue. The conversation had grown awkward far faster than he dreamed it possibly could.

“Besides,” Bruce continued to Jason’s relief, “I need two people other than myself on this mission. Tim and Stephanie are already in California with the Titans and Dick is still unavailable for missions outside Gotham.”

Jason nodded. Dick had had a hang-up about leaving the city ever since Blüdhaven. Jason was starting to plot about how to get him to venture forth, but he knew his elder brother still needed more time before he was ready. Besides, Dick had thrown himself into the pursuit of Damian’s attention and affection. It wasn’t working. Jason thought the boy was a complete tool. But, he didn’t have the heart to say that to Dick, who was finally engaged in something besides patrol and training. A spark was back in his gaze that Jason had only just realized was missing since they reunited.

“What about your real son? Why isn’t he coming?”

The look Bruce shot him told Jason he didn’t appreciate the chosen wording.

“Damian might be well trained, but he’s not ready for patrol or missions. Not until I can work with him myself and find out exactly what Talia and Ra’s taught him.” He paused and smirked, “Besides, Tim had a talk with Damian before he left for California. Damian finally realized Dick uses Sign.”

“Jesus, took the kid long enough,” Jason muttered, “So, this weekend is an intensive Sign language course for the kid?”

“Precisely.”

Suddenly Jason wasn’t feeling so nervous about his weekend away with Bruce. If the option was either awkward dead-son/distant-father bonding or trying to teach a spoiled miniature assassin ASL…. He’d take dealing with his own issues any day of the week.

Friday afternoon arrived far too slowly for Roy. He had been looking forward to the day for the last three weeks and found that as it approached he was unable to contain his nervous energy. The last time he saw Dick was right after Blüdhaven was destroyed nearly six months ago. His friend had been understandably in shock, distant and blank-faced. He had flinched at every sudden movement and refused to meet Roy’s gaze. Donna had had a little more luck, she was at least able to give him a hug and a kiss on the cheek. But, he still hadn’t responded beyond standing like a statue. Roy found it hard to imagine Dick without the bandages and burns, so scared was he by the wounds and the attitude.

That was the reason for their visit. Wally had called up Donna, Garth, and Roy and told them that he was tired of waiting for the invitation to Gotham. He was going whether the Bats liked it or not (but would the others please join him because Bruce was scary over-protective?). They immediately agreed.

“Now, Lian, remember,” Roy muttered into his daughter’s hair as Wally dematerialized on the Zeta platform in the Watchtower, “Uncle Dick might be a little upset so be extra good, okay?”

Lian nodded seriously and tucked her stuffed rabbit closer to her body.

“Why is Uncle Dick sad?” She asked. Roy closed his eyes; how did one explain to a three year old exactly what had happened?

Thankfully, Donna stood beside him, “He got hurt,” she explained, “Some bad people did a very bad thing and he got hurt trying to stop them.”

Lian’s eyes grew wide, “He okay?” she whimpered. Roy hastened to nod.

“Of course baby,” he smiled, “Remember, you saw him on the TV last week?” Dick and the rest of the Wayne clan had made the news for some sort of charity something or another. Lian, and Roy, hadn’t cared about anything beyond Dick; Lian, because he was her favorite uncle (though Wally might say something about that) and Roy because he hadn’t heard from his friend in far too long.

She nodded. “I ‘member.”

Donna stepped onto the platform.

“Good,” Roy said, “So, do you promise to be good?”

She nodded and Roy kissed her cheek. “That’s my girl.”

When they rematerialized in the Batcave Wally was already talking a mile a minute at Dick and the tiny, angry Bruce-clone next to him. Dick cast a wan smile at Roy and waved a hand to shut Wally up. The speedster stuck his tongue out at Dick and zipped off to greet Alfred.

Dick signed a hello to Donna and reached towards Roy and Lian. He swept Lian from Roy’s arms and kissed her forehead. With the hand not holding the little girl up he signed at the boy who still stood rooted and disapproving a few feet away.

Dami, this is Roy and Lian Harper. That’s Donna. You’ve met Wally before, yeah? The boy nodded. Good. Guys, this is Damian – Bruce’s son.

Relieved of his daughter Roy held out a hand to Damian, “Nice to finally meet you, kid,” he offered, “I’ve been hearing a lot of good things about your sparring.”

The boy snorted indelicately but took Roy’s hand after a long look from Dick over Lian’s shoulder.

Wally reappeared, “Hiya kiddo, it’s been too long. Linda and Bart want to meet you soon.” He didn’t wait for Damian to respond before spinning to face the others, “So, food now, right?”

Roy cast a glance over to Dick, Always with the food, this one. He signed in PISL. Though he could understand ASL and Signed English, PISL would always be the most comfortable for Roy. Besides, it was sort of the unofficial language of the Titans, teen and otherwise.

His joke was rewarded with a slightly more real smile from Dick and a sharp look of confusion from Damian. Huh, the kid didn’t know PISL. Roy filed that information away. It was always good to know that the seemingly invincible Bats had weaknesses.

So, how is everyone? How’re Joey and Garth? Dick asked once they got settled at the table of the restaurant. They were in a diner near the shore where the stewardess had greeted them with a treat for Lola (who Damian had learned was registered as a service dog despite being less than six months old) and menus covered in plastic. Damian was sure his father had no idea his eldest adoptive child was eating in such a plebeian establishment.

Roy handed Lian the children’s menu and crayons. Dick slid a stack of paper and a few crayons toward Damian. The boy took them without argument.

“They’re great,” Wally said through a mouthful of bread sticks. “I worked with Garth and that new kid, Kaldur I think his name is, just last week. He says hi and sorry he couldn’t be here.”

And Joey?

Donna spoke up from her place next to Dick, “He’s good, too.” She assured him, “I was at the Tower yesterday and he seemed to really be enjoying teaching the new kids the ropes.”

Damian wished to ignore the riffraff Grayson was friends with; but they more experienced than most vigilantes despite their ages. There was much he could learn by listening. So, he ducked his head to the paper and crayons. Plus, they sprinkled bits and pieces of a signed language he didn’t know throughout their speech. He was more likely to learn what that language was if he paid attention. If he was drawing they would talk more freely than if he was openly paying attention. Lola was curled up on the floor between he and Dick with her head on her paws. She would do as a subject for his drawing.

He had just finished the basic sketch in blue when the waitress (a bottle blonde named Sherri) gave him his water. He took a sip. It was lukewarm, but he was actually okay with that. It reminded him of the taste of water from a well during training expeditions with his mother.

“Hi!” Lian suddenly chirped from next to him as the waitress walked away, “I’m Lian. My daddy is Arsenal!”

Roy groaned ,”Lian, baby, what have I told you about saying daddy’s code name in public?”

She smiled at him, “Not to, but he already knows! His daddy’s Batman.”

Roy couldn’t argue with that. “Well, since Batman’s his daddy…. Just don’t say it again, ok baby?” He gestured for them to continue.

Damian stared at the small child in front of him, “Um, I’m Damian?” Dick had to turn around to hide the smile that wanted to stretch the corners of his mouth.

The little girl’s smile widened. “Will you be my friend, Dami?”

“It’s Damian.” He protested, his new brothers and sister might call him that terrible nickname, but he would be damned if he allowed a child younger than himself to do so.

She stared at him. Finally, Dick nudged his side and made a hand movement Damian didn’t recognize. Dick seemed to realize that, so he finger-spelled; B-E N-I-C-E. Then he repeated the hand movement so Damian would know it in the future.

“Um, sure?” he told Lian, knowing that was the response expected of him. He wasn't anticipating the smile of pure joy she would send his way.

“Yay! Let’s draw,” she shoved her paper over so it sat between them. “I’m drawing my daddy. He’s my favorite. Who are you drawing?”

Damian considered. He could have finished his picture of Lola, but she had changed positions. Maybe he could draw a family member? He knew that whoever he drew would be perceived as his ‘favorite’ by the little girl. Luckily, it seemed the others were caught up in sharing tales of their recent exploits purely in that language he didn’t know. They likely would not notice what he drew.

“I’m drawing my brother,” he finally decided. Not Drake or Todd, they were so far below him…. Though Todd had been raised from the dead by his grandfather. That needed consideration. If Ra’s Al Ghul believed that Jason Todd was worthy, then surely his grandson should as well?

Carefully he used the dark blue crayon to outline a figure lounging on a thin wire high above what he knew was the Batcave training room, but what anyone else would simply see as a gym. The drawing Dick was wearing the slouchy clothes he always wore during his morning workouts and the large smile that he always turned on Damian. His eyes were wide with that strange happiness that Damian struggled to place.

“Wow,” Lian whispered, “You’re really good!”

Damian considered the drawing. He supposed he was technically talented. It wasn’t something he had ever considered before; he enjoyed drawing and it was a skill his mother had fostered. Perhaps it was one his father would be proud of too? He glanced up in time to see Dick staring at the drawing with a strange look on his face. We he saw Damian looking at him he smiled and slowly signed; That’s really great, Dami. Damian resolved then and there to ask for a drawing notebook and supplies.

I’ll be right back. Dick extricated himself from the booth. Lola rose and followed at a trot.

Donna exchanged a quick glance with Wally as soon as Dick’s back was turned. He wasn’t his normal self at all. His movements were smaller than the last time they saw him, his cheeks were bordering on hollow, and his eyes were overly bright. He smiled, but the gesture was thin and tired. Even his usual deadly grace was somehow off as he stood and extricated himself from the booth to head to the restroom. Donna reached out and grabbed Wally’s hand. He leaned towards her and smiled.

“We’ll get him back,” Wally whispered to her.

She nodded, “Of course we will.” There was no other option. Dick was theirs as much as he was anyone else’s and they would stop at nothing to help him find who he had been before Blüdhaven.

The group had just stepped outside to wait for Alfred when the black vans pulled up. Wally felt the world slow down around him as his mind sped up. He forced himself to move at the same sluggish pace as everyone else. Ten men leapt from the vans, their hands clutched weapons and their faces were covered. Wally moved as quickly as a normal human could to stand in front of Roy and Lian. The little girl was terrified.

Wally glanced around to make sure the others were okay. Dick had a hand on Damian’s shoulder, a carefully incompetent fighting stance, and a half-feral look on his face, Lola crouched by his heels with her ears back and her upper lip curled. Donna looked alarmingly similar to Dick. Those two had always understood each other a little too well for anyone’s comfort.

“Donna!” Wally called. She shook her head and seemed to realize she was in civilian clothes.

The men had completely surrounded them.

“Wayne.” The largest and burliest man grunted.

Dick waved and pointed to himself. Wally could hear Roy groan behind him. He happened to agree with the archer; Dick was liable to do something stupid if he thought it would protect the others.

Then, something worse than Dick giving himself up happened;

“Not you.”

One of the other men reached out and grabbed Damian from behind Dick. When Dick spun to attack the men cocked their weapons. Wally watched in horror as the man holding Damian pressed a gun to the boy’s temple. The boy’s eyes were locked on Grayson, determined and scared and oh-so-young.

Dick raised his hands slowly. The men shifted their aim to follow.

We’ll get you back, Dami. Dick promised, But, you know we can’t-

Damian nodded rapidly. There was a large crowd in the diner watching fearfully and police sirens already approached. They couldn’t do anything that might reveal their identities or even that they were anything but the sons of a billionaire out to dinner with friends.

“Grayson, I-” But the men had had enough. The one holding Damain swung his weapon and knocked the boy out with a sharp crack. Donna grabbed Dick to prevent him from leaping at the men, no matter what they had just decided.

They watched helplessly as the men pulled their unconscious prize into the lead van and tore off just ahead of the three police cruisers rounding the corner. Two cruisers continued without stopping after the vans while the third screeched to a halt beside the shaking group of helpless heroes.

Wally had never felt so terribly human.

Roy clutched Lian close to him as Dick stalked around the opulent room. Donna stood in the middle of his path with her arms crossed, her eyes tracking Dick’s every move.

“You can’t go,” Donna said.

Dick didn’t respond. He turned on his heel and started back across the room.

“People saw it happen,” she continued, “You have to be here. Dick Grayson has to be seen. A snarl twisted his face at that. Donna sighed. She reached out and grabbed his arm as he passed. The look at that greeted her would have made most people back down, but Donna was not most people.

“Trust us,” she whispered, “We’ll bring him home, I promise.”

They stood frozen for a long moment before Dick’s shoulders slumped.

We just got him, he protested, Bruce can’t lose him without ever getting to know him. I can’t- He trailed off.

“You won’t have to,” she declared. “Now, get upstairs and get changed. The police will be here to set up a command base soon.”

“Do you want us to call anyone for you?” Roy offered.

Dick shook his head. No, just go find him. I’ll call everyone.

Dick forced himself not to hesitate. He snatched up a tablet from the desk and leaned it against a book so he could Sign with both hands. With a shaking hand he pressed Bruce’s icon. Lola hopped up onto th ewindow seat, she curled up in a little ball and stared at him.

Bruce answered on the third ring. He had obviously been asleep; his hair was ruffled and there was a crease on his cheek from a pillow.

“Dick?” He sat up and scrubbed one hand across his eyes, “What’s happened?”

Dick raised his hands, but found his could not form the words.

Bruce’s gaze narrowed. “Nightwing, report.”

That did it. Dick Grayson might be terrified, might be paralyzed by the possibility of losing another baby brother, but Nightwing was not. Nightwing was consumed with thoughts of the Court and how Damian would be a perfect apprentice. But, instead of letting those thoughts terrify him into inaction he would utilize them to goad himself onward. He took a deep breath before continuing.

Damian has been taken by an unknown organization. We were civilians at the time and others saw it happen. Nightwing cannot go after him.

“Are you okay? Was anyone injured?” Bruce’s tone straddled the line between concerned father and Batman on a case.

Damian was hit on the head hard enough to knock him out. No one else was injured.

“The police are on their way?”

Dick nodded.

“Good. Work with them. I’ll inform everyone else who needs to know. Can you send any of the Titans out to help with the search?”

Dick considered. Probably, he signed slowly, The police know they were there but the Manor is big enough we can say they’re somewhere else.

“Do it.” Bruce paused and his face softened, “We can’t leave Paris yet. Cassandra is undercover. I know you can get him back.”

Bruce, what if-

Bruce shook his head, “No. No what-if. You can do this. I believe in you, son.”

Dick swallowed against the sudden lump in his throat.

I won’t let you down, Bruce.

“I know.”

“How are you doing, son?” Gordon asked. He had always been fond of his daughter’s on-again, off-again boyfriend. Even when they weren’t officially dating they were best friends; when they had been younger Gordon had lost count of the number of times he walked into his home to find the two of them curled up on a couch watching terrible old sitcoms and signing to each other.

Dick shrugged.

Gordon rested a heavy hand on the young man’s shoulder. “We’ll get the kid back.” Dick smiled at him, but it was brittle and thin.

Everyone keeps saying that. Gordon’s ASL wasn’t great, but when it had become clear that Dick Grayson was going to be a part of his daughter’s life for a long time he had made the effort to at least be able to understand it. There were still times when he struggled but mostly he could understand without too many issues.

Gordon sighed, he knew that Dick had been living in Blüdhaven before the attack. Barbara had spent first few nights after the tragedy in her childhood home, crying herself to sleep and worrying for Dick. To have a brother kidnapped so soon after losing everything… Gordon shuddered. He knew Dick would be okay, he had seen the case file of the boy’s childhood after all and knew exactly how strong he was, but it was still terrible to have to deal with.

The phone rang. One of the red-heads who said they were Dick’s friends (he hadn’t caught their names, but his boys had cleared them as not having been involved in the kidnapping) grabbed it. The other friend, the raven-haired girl who looked like she and Dick could have been related were it not for the different shape of their eyes, had disappeared.

“Hello,” the red-head said.

The speaker hooked up to the phone crackled to life.

“Good evening.” The voice was heavily disguised. “I do not appear to be speaking with the boy’s family.”

Dick’s friend shook his head, “No, they’re out of town. The only one here can’t-”

“Well, that’s just too bad, isn’t it,” the voice said, “I’ve no use for the brat if I don’t get to talk to someone related to him.”

Dick snatched the phone from his friend. He pressed one hand into his temples and spoke;

“I…here.” Immediately a pained look filled his face.

“Ah, the broken one,” the voice chuckled, “No wonder your friend wanted to speak for you. But, this, this is so much more amusing, don’t you agree?”

“Y-yes.” Gordon couldn’t help but stare. He had heard Dick speak before, anyone who spent a decent amount of time around him, anyone whom he trusted, had heard the garbled mess of his normal speech. But, he had never before heard the lad speak intelligibly. The upset looks his friend’s shared told Gordon that it wasn’t a good thing, no matter how it may appear.

“Excellent, then we can get started. You likely desire proof that the boy is alive,” a pause and then in the background they could hear pained shouting and Arabic curses.

“There, now you know you still have a brother,” the voice continued. Gordon resisted the urge to step back from the snarl of rage on Dick’s face.

“Now, I will be calling you again in, oh, let’s say seven hours? Yes, that will do. In that time you will gather as much money as you have access to and we’ll discuss ransom later.” A short chuckle, “That is if the brat can manage to not piss off my employees. Say goodbye, big brother!”

“No! Wait-” But the dial tone rang throughout the room they set up the command center in.

Dick hurled the phone at the closest wall. He clenched the sides of his head in obvious agony. The red-head with the daughter wrapped his arms around Dick.

“Is he okay?” Gordon asked the other one who stood a few feet away, staring at the scene with large eyes.

The younger man shrugged, “He always is.” He seemed to realize who he was talking to, “Uh, sorry sir. I don’t think we ever actually introduced. I’m Wally West. That’s Roy Harper and his daughter Lian. Donna Troy is around here somewhere. We were in town visiting Dick when all this happened.”

“Wally West?” That name sounded familiar.

The younger man smiled, a broad happy gesture that seemed almost alien in its sincerity to the native Gothamite, “I’m a mechanic with the Central City Police Department. You might’ve met my uncle Barry Allen? He was a forensic scientist for the Department.”

“Ah,” Gordon nodded, “We worked a case together awhile back, before my promotion. He mentioned you. I was sorry to hear about what happened.”

Wally nodded, “Yeah thanks, he and my Aunt Iris raised me.”

“How did you and Dick meet? Billionaire’s sons and police mechanics don’t typically run in the same circles.”

Wally chuckled, “No, but then neither do billionaires and detectives, but you and Bruce are friends, right?” Gordon nodded, “We met when we were both kids. Bruce knows my uncle, I think they met when Bruce was in Central and got held up or something. Anyway, he thought Dick needed more friends than just Babs,” Gordon filed that away, obviously this man knew his daughter as well, “so he called up a few of his friends with kids around the right age. Roy is Oliver Queen’s adoptive son and Donna is Diana Prince’s sister. You know she and Bruce used to date? Diana, not Donna.” Gordon didn’t know, but he supposed it made sense. Diana Prince was often on the news for her strong stance on human rights in the UN and Bruce was always working with some charity or the other, they were sure to have crossed paths at least once.

“Is he okay?” Gordon asked looking back over at Dick.

Wally nodded, “He’ll need some time. Talking hurts.”

Gordon watched as Roy helped Dick to a seat. His daughter ran over to the group of water bottles set up on a table for the police officers and reached for one. The officer manning the computer next to the bottles smiled down at her and handed over a bottle. She ran back to her father and Dick.

“Thanks, sweetie.” Roy opened the bottle and handed it to Dick. “How you doin’ man?”

Dick drank a little and held up one hand, Fine. Did we get a trace?

Gordon moved closer, “No, they hung up before we could trace the call.”

Roy swore in a language Gordon didn’t know. Dick set the bottle down. The dog at his side pressed closer to him.

Where does that leave the search?

Gordon sighed, “To be honest, you should do as he says- gather the money. We won’t be handing it over, but it’s good to have it on hand.”

Dick nodded and then winced, I’ll call our accountant. Or, well- Roy?

“I’ve got it, Dickie,” Roy assured. “Will you watch Lian?” Dick quirked a small smile of assent.

Lian crawled up into the chair and curled up in Dick’s arms. She really was very cute, Gordon thought, and obviously loved her father’s friends very much.

“We’ll find Dami, Uncle Dick,” she promised with the innocent optimism of the very young. Dick held her tighter. Gordon wished he could feel that sort of confidence in their success.

This had to be the most cliché kidnapping ever. Damian stared at the dank walls and dripping pipes with disdain. Despite their obvious knowledge to have found the Waynes at the diner his captors had proved to be surprisingly lacksidaisical in their treatment of him. Yes, he was bound, but were he not attempting to appear a normal child he could have slipped the ropes in seconds. Really, they could have done a lot better.

Despite his disdain for their kidnapping techniques Damian could admit to himself that he was a little scared. His head hurt badly and he had no idea what had happened to his brother after his capture. What if Dick was here with him? What if they had hit him too? After he learned about the elder’s condition he had done as much reading on aphasia as he could and knew that Dick had to have sustained a fairly severe head injury in order for his expression of the disease to be so severe. Another such blow surely would not be advised. The thought occurred to him that perhaps Nightwing should be wearing a cowl of some sort on patrol, surely it wasn’t wise to tempt fate (and the criminals of Gotham) in such a way. He resolved to speak with his father on the matter when he was freed.

Unable to do anything to free himself from the situation Damian decided to at least make the best of his situation. When his captors came back they would be getting the full spoiled-billionaire’s-son treatment. He had some new insults he wished to test before using them on Drake….

Night had fallen by the time Donna and Wally managed to slip away and change into their costumes. The police presence in Wayne Manor was more of an annoyance than a help, but then, they couldn’t really say that out loud without risking discovery. Roy agreed to stay back since he couldn’t move as quickly as them. He and Donna had taken a few moments to divide the city into sections for a search grid before taking off.

“Is Nightwing really okay?” Wally was searching the northern half of the city, streaking in and out of empty buildings and straining his all too human ears in hope of hearing something which might tell him where the youngest Wayne was being held. So far, his search had turned up nothing. He heard Donna sigh over the comms.

“I’m not sure, Flash,” she answered, “We need to find Crow.”

“You know I mean more than that,” Wally paused on the roof of yet another empty warehouse. He scanned the next few buildings for entry points and signs that they might hold life beyond rats and roaches.

“I know,” she whispered. Thoughts of the look that would fill her best friend’s eyes should he lose anyone else haunted her. “He has Robin, well the original Robin, back now. That should help. But, losing Blüdhaven was a blow. Oracle and I have been watching out for him when we can and Batman watches him on patrols. But, he’s not talking about anything and that’s not great.”

Wally knew what she meant. While Dick was never the most talkative or expressive guy in the room, he was also never one to fade into the background of a conversation, not unless he really disliked the person he was supposed to be communicating with or something was wrong.

“Why can’t everything be like it was when we were kids?” Wally grumbled and then added, “Warehouse district is clear.”

“Almost done with the factories,” She replied, “And you don’t really want that. Everything is so much better now and you know it.”

Wally considered her words as he started searching the buildings near the docks. He thought about their little group and how they had all changed so much from that first ‘play-date’. He and Garth were each happily married (Linda had just started talking about kids, the idea both petrified and exhilarated Wally). Roy was a dad to the most perfect little girl Wally had ever met. Both Donna and Dick had become heroes outside their mentors’ shadows, heroes that the world knew and loved (or feared as the case may be). Sure, some stuff was worse, Barry being dead would never stop hurting and Wally wanted nothing more than for Roy to find peace with himself over who Lian’s mother happened to be, and that wasn’t even mentioning all the crazy shit that had happened in Gotham. But, he supposed on the whole everything was better than it had been. Or, at least they were better, more stable and more whole than they had been as children.

No, he didn’t really want to go back. But, he did want the innocent happiness again. It would be amazing to see Dick smile and know that it was real and brought about by the simple idea of having friends who loved him for him.

“We’ll make it through this, Wally,” Donna whispered breaking the taboo against real names in her attempt to comfort him, “We always do.”

“Yeah,” Wally started to reply but his thought was interrupted by the faint sound of metal on metal in a supposedly deserted dock-house.

“Hey, I might have something,” he told her. “Give me a sec.” He dashed through the building at just under the speed of sound, fast enough to go without being seen by the unobservant but slow enough to not create a sonic boom or a strong wind. “Found him,” he muttered as soon as he was sure the boy’s room was unwatched, “He’s in a dock house near pier 32.”

“I’ll tell Nightwing,” she replied, “Watch him, make sure he stays safe until the police arrive.”

Donna and Wally had been gone nearly thirty minutes when Dick excused himself from the main room. He nodded an assurance to Roy that he was okay and gestured to the library. Roy understood and distracted Lian from his departure. He resolved to check on the other man in ten minutes but to otherwise leave him be.

As soon as he was in the library Dick signed for Lola to sit outside the door and clicked the lock shut. Doors were rarely locked in Wayne Manor, but Alfred wasn’t here to admonish him and he felt like the world was spiraling out of his control. Being able to lock everything away for a few minutes and bring himself back to center before going back out and dealing with Gordon. Her claws scraped against the door once before falling silent.

He staggered over to the closest chair and collapsed. His chest had started feeling too tight around the time Donna and Wally left but it only became unbearable in the last few minutes. He pressed one hand into his sternum hoping to relieve the sensation. Panting breaths escaped him, scraping across a suddenly dry throat.

Sitting in the plush chair his world narrowed to a point. Thoughts swirled, confused and rambling. He thought of the careful way Damian had been smiling at him as they left the restaurant, the way the air had whistled as Chemo fell, the easy grace of Damian’s picture of him, the feel of the wind beating against his face when he leapt from the tower – desperate to save the people below. He had failed then. What if-

He was helpless to bring his baby brother home, helpless and alone and all he really wanted was Damian to be safe and Bruce to be back in the country. Bruce had a way of grounding him in reality that he really needed.

Giving up on relieving his aching chest he raising his shaking hands into head. Here and now. He needed to stay in the here and now. As the stench of acid burned bodies and the whimper of fear he couldn’t remember if Damian voiced or not filled his mind the idea of now slipped away.

He gripped his hair and let the world slip away in panting and pain.

“Dick?” Roy was suddenly there, gentle and close and Dick remembered where he was. Remembered who he was. Roy reached up and pulled Dick’s hands from his hair, he clenched them tightly in his own for a second before releasing them. Dick hated to have his hands held still and Roy understood the need to be able to communicate.

Are you okay? Roy asked in PISL. He pressed one knee to Dick’s thigh knowing how contact grounded his friend.

I’m fine, Dick signed back. He really wasn’t but he needed to be, needed to at least pretend he was. He had allowed himself to forget that for a moment, but it wasn’t a weakness he could afford to continue to give in to. He focused on stilling the shaking of his hands.

“Dick,” Roy called his attention back to the present again. Dick hadn’t even realized he was drifting again. “Wally and Donna found Damian.”

That cleared his head. He managed to look Roy in the eye for the first time. The raw concern there nearly had him flinching away again. Strong, he forced himself to think, I am strong. The love of a friend should not make him want to break down and weep.

He’s okay? Dick could barely bring himself to ask.

Roy nodded, “Yeah, he’s fine. I’ve got the address and Wally is gonna stay with him. How do you want to play this?”

Batman can call Gordon, Dick decided, What’s the address? The paper Roy handed him helped to clear his head a little more, to ground him a little deeper in the present. He held it tightly.

“I’ll wait outside,” Roy pat his knee and stood.

Dick snatched up a tablet and called Bruce. Unlike the last call, Bruce answered immediately. Dick could see sky behind him and wondered if Red Hood and Batgirl had turned anything up yet in their search.

“Report.”

We found him! Dick’s signs stumbled over each other in his haste to deliver the news, Batman needs to call Gordon with the address. He held up the paper so Bruce could see it.

Bruce nodded, “As soon as we hang up.” He started at Dick and then said, “Are you okay? You’re flushed.”

Dick nodded. Bruce needed to worry about Damian right now, not him.

I’m fine, call the Commissioner. Then, he hung up.

“Where’s Nightwing?” Damian demanded in a whisper. He rolled his eyes when Flash grinned. The man was a ridiculous excuse for a hero, but Damian wouldn’t deny that he felt better with the speedster hidden out of sight of his captors in the corner.

“He’s back at the Cave worrying his fool head over his little brother,” Flash muttered.

“Did- did they hit him?”

The infuriating grin widened.

“No, just you.”

Damian heaved a sigh of relief. “Thank you,” he said sincerely.

“Are you okay?” Flash asked, “Nightwing’s asking.” He gestured to his ear.

Damian nodded and immediately winced as his head throbbed mercilessly. Flash muttered something Damian couldn’t hear into his earpiece.

“How long?” Damian asked.

Flash shrugged. “You know more about the police response time in this town than I do. Plus, it all feels like forever to me anyway.”

Damian had never considered that before, perhaps that was why the speedster was so annoying? It was something to consider.

“I’m quite valuable,” Damian decided, “They will be quick.”

Somewhere far away in the warehouse a door slammed. Flash pressed himself into the shadows.

“It’s almost time to make the second call.” A voice from the hallway snarled. “Call the idiot and put it on speakerphone - that shit was hilarious.”

Damian snarled and the Flash’s fists clenched. No one got to talk about Dick that way. Damian might not know the man very well, might not have liked him or understood him at first, but he did respect him. His father had chosen Nightwing and Dick Grayson and that said a lot to Damian.

Damian heard a phone ring, and another, then-

“POLICE! GUNS DOWN HANDS UP!!” Damian jumped. Flash darted to his side.

“Not much longer kiddo,” Flash whispered. “I’ll leave as soon as everyone is in cuffs, just in case.”

Five minutes later two officers burst into the room. As soon as they saw Damian they lowered their guns. One tapped his radio twice and the other approached.

“Are you hurt son?” The officer asked.

Damian shook his head gently. “I’m fine,” he muttered, “Where is my brother?”

The officers shared a look Damian couldn’t interpret and the younger of the two helped him to his feet.

“He’s on his way,” she told him, “Let’s get you checked out by an EMT and then I think you can go home for the night. You’ve had a lot of people really worried about you.”

Huh. Damian supposed he knew that Dick’s friends might worry, but the thought had never occurred to him before.

Outside the EMT pronounced him safe to go home so long as he was checked out by his regular doctor tomorrow and promised to rest. Damian had no issue following those orders, he was absolutely exhausted.

The female officer who had untied him tapped his shoulder, “I think someone is here for you,” she whispered.

Damian shrugged off the ridiculous blanket that the EMTs had insisted on. Dick was stepping out of one of the cruisers, the picture of a worried family member.

Damian wanted to go to him, wanted to show that he didn’t feel the same way he had when he arrived at the Manor, but he couldn’t. The instructions of a childhood devoid of affection clung to him, ensuring that he felt far too awkward to do anything.

Dick rushed over. He ran his hands over Damian’s head, frowning deeply when the boy winced, and checked for further injuries. Damian reached up and batted the hands away. Dick’s gaze bored into his own, searching for answers.

“I am unharmed, Grayson,” Damian snapped. But he couldn’t help but lean into the warmth of the older man. He was safe.

Two days later Dick once again found himself sitting in a diner next to Damian and surrounded by his friends. This time Damian had enthusiastically started drawing on the same sheet of paper as Lian. The two had bonded over the last few days and Damian declared before they left the Manor that perhaps Harper wasn’t completely incompetent as a father after all. Roy had looked sarcastically touched. After watching Damian and Lian for a few minutes with a soft smile on his face Roy turned to Donna and the two chatted about their plans to help Garth with the Teen Titans. Around snacking on the packs of crackers left on the table Wally harassed Dick about visiting Central City in rapid fire Sign.

The waitress brought five slices of pie and a large bowl of cereal. Two of apple for Lian and Roy, one of blueberry for Donna, a peach for Wally, and a key lime for Damian (who had never tried that variety before, but Wally swore he would like it and Damian found himself strangely reluctant to argue with the man). Dick dug into his frosted flakes with gusto.

Bruce and the others were due back from France later that night and Tim had called to say he and Steph would be home the next day. Dick could feel his grip on his control growing stronger as that time approached. He was more watchful now than he had been before; he had learned his lesson, no one would ever take a family member from him like that again.

Chapter Text

Chapter 25: The Ones We Lose, Part 1

Now

The first thing Red Hood saw when he woke up was Batman on the floor in front of him. His hands and feet were tightly bound with chains, his eyes were pressed tightly closed under the mask, and, most alarmingly of all, a thin trickle of blood snaked out from under the cowl and down his left cheek. Jason jerked forward, attempting to reach the older man. Head injuries terrified him, especially when they were associated with the only brother he could currently stand to be around in costume for more than two minutes. He made it less than a foot forward before previously unnoticed chains yanked him back.

“Batman?” he whispered, because he was in his costume too and there was no reason to be throwing secret identities about willy-nilly.

No response.

“Batman, wake up,” he could hear the fear in his own voice and it was infuriating. He was the Red Hood, the scourge of Gotham’s drug runners, he didn’t fear anything (except, you know, Bruce’s disappointment and Dick’s injuries, and the little ones not loving him anymore, and when the hell did he go so damn soft?!).

Batman groaned. It was a soft noise, barely an exhalation of air and vocal cord vibration. It was maybe the best sound Jason had ever heard.

“Terror?” The word slipped from Batman’s lips and Jason wanted to cry. When he wasn’t ‘Bar’ now-a-days, he was ‘Little Terror’, it was embarrassing and he had begged (begged) Batman to simply use the second word.

“Yeah, it’s me, Wingster,” Jason reassured quietly, it was technically taboo to use any name related to Dick’s former identity, but right now he needed the familiarity to sooth his own nerves. He yanked once more at the chains which bound him to the wall. “Are you okay?” If it was any other member of their little family he would not have been able to bring himself to ask. Emotions had been a lot more difficult for him ever since Brue died. But, Dick had always been the exception to all the rules.

Dick’s head tilted to one side and Jason noticed for the first time that the cowl had a slight dent in the side, just behind his left temple. Whatever had hit the side of his head was worse than he had feared. Now that he was more alert Dick did not look like he was going to speak again. Jason expected as much. No matter what uniform he was wearing, Dick did not talk in front of criminals and they had no idea if they were being watched or not.

He stared at Jason for a while before slightly shaking his head. Jason’s breath stilled in his chest. Dick never admitted to being in pain, to not being okay at all times. If he was admitting to being injured….

“How bad?” he whispered.

Batman didn’t respond again and Jason started counting his eldest brother’s breaths. It was a relaxation technique Bruce had drilled into him all those years ago when he was just starting off as Robin. There was no way he could ever be relaxed given the circumstances, but he hoped he could maybe stave off the intense panic that was dancing around the edges of his consciousness.

A high, maniacal laugh echoed through the room and all hope of calming himself fled.

The Joker.

Time was a fluid concept for Dick. One moment he was chained on the floor across from the Red Hood his head aching viciously and his mouth dry. Then, he would blink and suddenly he was curled up in the tiny room he had called home for nearly four years before Batman and Bruce entered his life. He tried to focus on the present, but that was difficult when he wasn’t quite sure which was real.

The Court has always told him there was no escape, no way out. Truthfully, until he met Bruce he’d thought the same as them. But – but, what if he hadn’t really met Bruce? They’d drugged him before, made him live lives where his parents never fell (lives filled with warm embraces and empty faces, and why why why couldn’t he remember what his mother looked like?) and lives where Great Uncle loved him and held him and he wasn’t a constant disappointment (and he really didn’t know which life he wanted more).

Eventually, he gave up and the dreams took over reality.

THEN (4 years ago)

When Dick woke up Jason was gone, gone and all he had left behind was a note. Bruce still winced to think of what had been written there. He only read the first half of the letter before Dick snatched it back in an uncharacteristic show of petty anger. How had Jason not come to them with his worries? It hurt Bruce more than he thought it would to realize exactly how much their fighting had damaged his and Jason’s relationship over the last few months.

As he watched and worried, his eldest child paced furiously back and forth across the study. Dick’s breath wheezed and whistled as his fists clenched and unclenched. He seemed to be waiting for Bruce to speak.

Bruce sighed deeply. He forced his emotions about Jason being missing to the back of his mind. It wasn’t something he wanted to do; he would never wish to put his crusade before his family. But, it was necessary to save lives. The Joker was plotting something and Bruce was determined to stop him before those plans came to fruition.

“Dick, you need to understand,” he started to try and explain his thoughts, to promise that as soon as the Joker was apprehended he would devote absolutely everything he had to finding Jason and bringing him home.

No Bruce, Dick’s motions were sharp and small. He was furious. You need to understand. Jason just discovered something huge-

“What?” Bruce snapped. He was growing impatient with the secrets Jason had been keeping recently. The boy needed to learn to share intel.

Dick’s upper lip curled into a faint snarl, You’d know if you even actually talked to him. Instead of constantly criticizing and lecturing.

Bruce glared at him, “What happens between Jason and I is our business, you-”

No, Dick stopped him, What affects my little brother is my business. You know that.

Bruce did know that. Dick had always been unnaturally perceptive of Jason’s physical state and had worked hard to understand his emotional one as well. He could clearly remember the incident just after Jason joined them and was having trouble fitting in at school; Dick and Barbara had made the bullies regret ever even thinking about messing with the new addition to the Wayne household.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” he snapped, “Jason is acting out and needs to get it under control before he gets himself killed.”

I won’t let that happen.

Bruce sighed, “I know you’ll do your best but we can’t predict or prevent everything.”

Dick sighed and then coughed when the breath caught in his chest. Bruce eyed him with concern. “You should be lying down,” he muttered, “not worrying about an unruly teen.”

It’s my job to worry about them. Dick smiled at Bruce for the first time since he entered the room. I know that you need to stop the Joker. No one is arguing against that. But, I need to find Jason and it would do him a lot of good if you’re there when I do.

Bruce rubbed his forehead roughly, “I can’t. Stopping Joker is more important that dealing with a teenage tantrum.”

Fine, Dick snarled, I’ll find him on my own. He turned to leave the room.

“No, you won’t,” Dick stopped and twisted to face him, “You’re very sick and shouldn’t even be up, much less chasing Jason. I forbid it.”

Dick almost laughed. Did Bruce really think he could stop Dick if he set his mind to something? But, one look at Bruce’s face told him that the man was serious.

Bruce’s eyes caught his own, “Promise me.”

Dick didn’t move for a long moment. Finally, he turned on his heel and stalked from the room.

“I gruntle,” he tossed over his shoulder knowing that Bruce would understand what he was saying. He also knew that Bruce would understand that it was a lie. He might be sick (and feel like complete shit if he was being honest with himself) but nothing would stop him from getting his brother back.

Bruce left the Manor later that day. One of his contacts in Europe had called with a tip that Joker had just landed in Germany. Dick spent the time while he was preparing to leave acting the part of a sick person laid up to recover. He curled up on the most comfortable couch in the Manor with the worn quilt he had taken from his tiny room in the Court and a cup of soup brought by Alfred (and therefore almost ridiculously delicious, even for his suddenly sensitive stomach).

Tim and Cass joined him not long after he finished the soup. Tim settled into the plush armchair next to the couch with his algebra homework and a frown. Cassandra stood next to the couch for a long moment before leaning down and shoving him to the side.

Hey, Dick protested, You’ll get sick. Tim translated quietly for him since Cass was still trying to learn the various signed languages that Dick used regularly.

She rolled her eyes and the look on her face clearly expressed, even to Dick’s fever muddled mind, that she would not tolerate argument. He sighed and moved so she could get comfortable under the blanket. They sat in silence, listening to Tim’s pen glide across the paper and Alfred puttering about the kitchen preparing an early afternoon tea.

Then, Dick blinked and the sun was slanting through the windows at a much steeper angle than it had been before. He was suddenly freezing. Cass still sat under the blanket next to him, though she was now sketching away with a look of deep concentration on her face. Tim had disappeared but Dick suspected that he was somewhere close by.

Unable to resist the temptation Dick shifted to press more of his freezing body against Cass. She did not react and Dick drifted back off to sleep slightly warmer than he had been before.

The next time he woke up Cass was gone. Alfred was there, pressing a device to his forehead and tsk-ing lightly.

“103.6. Take this,” he ordered softly and Dick realized that he had a pounding headache. He accepted the medicine with only the barest sniff. Years ago, when he had been newly arrived in the Manor he had refused all medicines, terrified that it was all a lie and they were only just waiting to drug him and make him kill for them. Now, while he still hated the taste, he trusted that they would not give him anything that wasn’t in his best interests.

Need to make a phone call, he signed after handing back the cup. Alfred handed him a tablet. He pulled up the video-chat and clicked on Barbara’s image.

Hey Babs, he greeted when she answered, Need a favor.

“Hi, wow you look like complete shit,” she whistled.

He glared, Thanks. I need you and the Birds to watch Gotham. Bruce is out of town and I’m- He trailed off and gestured to himself. Technically he wanted them to watch over the city because he planned on hunting Jason down, but he wasn’t willing to share that quite yet.

She smiled, “Of course, you get some rest.”

Call us if you need help?

Her eyes told him she wouldn’t but she nodded anyway.

Maybe I’ll send Tim over to you for some training? He’s been working on acrobatic offenses and it would be good to spar with someone besides me.

“Both of them are welcome to come,” She assured him. “Helena has been asking to meet Cass and you know she and Dinah adore Tim.”

Dick nodded, Thanks, beautiful.

Her smile turned tender, “Get better soon, Dick. You and Kory better still be coming next weekend.”

She and the Titans are off planet, Dick informed her, But, if they’re back by then we will be. I’ll be there no matter what. I wouldn’t miss your birthday for anything.

“You better not.”

They said goodbye and hung up. Alfred took the tablet back. He handed Dick a tall glass of what looked like Gatorade.

“Drink and try to get some more sleep,” he ordered. “I’ll be in to check on that fever once the medicine has had some time to work.”

Dick nodded and drank. Once it was gone he set the glass on the floor and shifted to lay back down. He would sleep until nightfall and then leave. Surely Jason couldn’t have gone too far in that time….

Chapter Text

Chapter 26: The Ones We Lose, Part 2

NOW

“Well well well, who do we have here?” The grating voice of Harley Quinn asked as she entered the room swinging her hammer in slow circles around in the air.

Jason glared. He was torn between shifting back, as far away as possible from the hammer and the inevitable pain, and moving as far towards Dick as he could, desperate to protect. Batman’s head shifted slightly towards Quinn but Jason could tell his eyes were still squeezed tightly shut behind the lenses.

“What? No hello?” Quinn mocked. She tapped the hammer against the floor. “Hm!”

Jason hide the wince that wanted to escape. He knew she was looking for one of them to respond. Well, he wouldn’t give in quite so easily.

“Fine,” Harley sniffed, “I’ll just hafta soften you boys up.”

She swung the hammer and slammed it into Jason’s left shin. He grunted in pain and surprise but did not open his mouth. She frowned.

“Ooookay, we’ll try idiot number two.” She slammed the hammer into Batman’s left shoulder. Dick, dazed as he was by the head wound, did not respond in any way. Harley’s light frown shifted into a full glare.

“Well, that’s just rude!”

She tapped the handle of the hammer against her chin. “What can we do about this? See, Mista J isn’t happy. He knows your buddy over there isn’t the real Batman. He hasn’t even threatened to break Mista J’s legs once!”

Jason looked away. Harley he could deal with; she hadn’t been around the last time and as much as she liked her hammer she really didn’t pose the threat Joker did. It was her beau that gave him the sweats, as much as he didn’t want to admit that the clown had any effect on him at all.

Dick did not appear to fear Harley either, not that Jason expected him to; he could never remember seeing Dick show fear for himself, only for others.

Without another word Harley twisted the hammer around and slapped the handle against the fingers of Jason’s left hand. He sucked in a sharp breath in agony, unable to contain the small noise of pain as bones cracked between wood and steel. Harley’s smile was cruel. Batman stared at the two of them with a blank face.

Then, Harley twirled on her hell.

“Tata boys!” she giggled. She danced from the room. The click of the lock echoed in the silence that followed her exit.

Jason worked to regain his breath. Hot fire shot down his arm in pulsing waves. He tried to twist his head to see the damage, but the time he had already spent suspended from his arms meant he lacked the strength to move that far.

Exhausted, worried about Dick, and desperately wishing he had never stopped to check on the ‘damsel-in-distress” that had turned out to be Harley Quinn with a vial of knock-out drugs, Jason closed his eyes.

A short while later Jason heard Batman’s cape rustling. Forcing himself to open his eyes he peered across to the other man. Batman’s eyes were open and clearer than they had been in hours. Jason thought he might even be fully lucid.

“B?” he asked.

Dick made eye contact with Jason and quirked a small, apologetic smile. Jason rolled his eyes at the gesture.

“Head injury,” he muttered to his brother, “I’d be a dick if I got mad.” Batman snorted quietly at the pun. He twisted his hands in their manacles and finger-spelled.

Are you okay? He asked.

Jason rolled his eyes, “I’m fine. You’re the one who’s bleeding.” It was true. Jason could deal with a few broken fingers and a sore shin, but blood was still shining on the side of Batman’s face.

Report.

Jason grinned, “Right, Batman. As far as I can tell there’s no surveillance, but your cowl would see that better than my mask-”

Nothing showing up.

“Good,” Jason continued, “Harley has been here once. She says Joker thinks you’re not the real Batman. Obviously, they’re wrong.” There might not have been any surveillance on them, but Jason didn’t trust Harley or Joker not to be listening outside the door.

Obviously. Jason didn’t like the look on Dick’s face, but this wasn’t the place to address those sorts of things.

Jason fell silent after that. He could tell just by looking that Dick was nursing a terrible headache and they would both need all their strength to get through whatever Joker had planned for them.

While Dick was grateful to be able to distinguish between past memories and present situations, he missed the disconnected feeling that had filled him since he was hit over the head halfway through patrol. At least in that haze he had been free from the gripping terror of what might happen to Jason. He hadn’t needed to think about what would happen to his little brother because he was stupid enough to get captured in his second week wearing the cowl. Now, now all he could think about was the look of barely contained fear in Jason’s eyes and the flake of broken helmet in his hair, the way the fingers of his left hand were swelling and turning blue, and the way his knees knocked against each other every so often. This was not why had had taken up the cowl. HE did it so none of the others would be targeted, so that they wouldn’t have to face the terrors that Batman faced.

He had failed. Worse than that, he had failed and now Jason faced his worst nightmare and Dick couldn’t even sign properly to attempt to comfort him.

Dick closed his eyes and tried to center himself. He needed to get them out of here as soon as possible. But how? His belt was gone. His gloves and boots (with their built in lock picks) were gone. His hands were manacled together and to the floor with less than six inches of chain separating him from the cold concrete and his feet were similarly bound. Jason appeared to be in an equivalent position, save for the fact that he hung from a pipe.

He knew there was a way out of all this. He KNEW it. But, his brain was fuzzy and this thoughts flitted away before he could grasp them. It was a feeling he recognized from the terrible weeks after he lost his words.

He wished Bruce was there. If he were still alive none of this would be happening, of that, Dick was sure.

THEN

When Dick managed to drag himself out of the comfort of unconsciousness night had fallen. He forced himself to sit up and immediately had to pause for breath. The world slowly rotated around him in a vaguely sickening dance.

He allowed himself a few second to adjust before standing. Jason had been gone for nearly a full day and a sense of urgency was beginning to eat away at Dick. In deference to the shivers that still wracked his frame Dick kept his quilt wrapped around him shoulders as he descended into the Cave.

Tim was in the large plush chair in front of the computer tapping away at a code he and Dick had been working on for the last week. Cassandra perched on one of the counters nearby with the large book of stories Bruce bought her to practice reading. As Dick approached she twisted the book and pointed at a word.

“That’s penguin,” Tim told her, “What story are you reading?”

She flipped back a page, “Mister Pop-er’s Pen-guins.” The words, while difficult and stilted, flowed so much better than they had even two weeks previously. Dick smiled fondly at the two of them. He was so proud of how hard she was working to overcome the deficits her father had left her with.

“That’s a good one!” Tim enthused, “There’s a movie we can watch when you finish.”

“Thatreport runs scrawny,” Dick muttered as he draped his arms over Tim’s chair. The casual pose belied his need for the support of the chair.

Cass looked to Tim for translation.

“He says the movie is bad. But he also didn’t like Saving Private Ryan so you know, his taste is a little questionable.”

Cass smirked. Dick smacked Tim’s head lightly. Tim twisted to smile up at him.

“Why are you even up?” Tim asked. “You look like death.”

Funny. Dick smirked. So, you nerds want to help me or not?

Tim sobered, “With what?” Cass closed her book.

Jason is going through some shit, don’t ask what I can’t tell you yet, and I need to find him. Timmy I know you’ve been messing around with GPS trackers.

“Yeah!” Tim perked up, “I’ve been trying to make them small enough and discrete enough to get one on Bruce without him noticing.”

Dick rolled his eyes, I know. I found three prototypes on me last week.

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Tim muttered. “Cass and I had a bet about who could plant more on their target.”

Dick faced Cass, Jason was your target? She knew the signs for ‘Jason’ and ‘target’ so she nodded.

Good. Tim pull up those trackers now.

Tim clicked a few keys and a map appeared on the largest of the computer’s screens. Five dots blinked innocently at the three of them. Two appeared to be in the Manor or Cave. One was in Gotham proper, and two were in Israel.

I assume the ones in Tel Aviv are Jay, Dick signed slowly, but what are these three. He indicated the others.

“Got bored,” Cass explained, “One on Alfred. Other two fell off Jason.”

Dick nodded. Got it. Okay. Looks like I’m headed to Israel. Timmy, keep me updated if Jason moves. Forward the coordinates to the Batplane.

“Bruce has the plane.”

What? Nevermind, I’ll take the Wayne Enterprises jet.

Eleven hours later Dick woke up from a cough medicine induced nap as the plane descended into Tel Aviv. Tim had updated him with the address of a hotel near the center of the city and the room number that Jason was staying in.

“Frankly, I’m a little shocked by the lack of security in their system-” Tim had tried to tell him. But, Cassandra clapped her hand over his mouth and stared at Dick.

“Keep him safe?” She asked.

Dick smiled. Always, little sis.

Jason arrived back in his hotel room discouraged by how difficult it was to find Sharmin Rosen. Surely, with the resources of Batman behind him (even if the big man himself currently wasn’t) he should be able to find one woman?

He was willing to admit that perhaps the situation with Bruce had him a little off his game. Really, everything lately had just seemed to piss them both off. Jason couldn’t seem to forget Bruce’s disappointed looks and Bruce couldn’t seem to forgive any error on patrol. Jason sighed. He opened the door and immediately froze. The window was open. He had made sure to lock down all possible entrances before he left.

There were no lights on, but the moon was full so Jason was able to creep further into the room. There was someone in his bed. He grabbed up a knife from the room service cart.

No one was going to- Wait, was that-

“Dick?” he whispered. His elder brother was curled in a tight ball on the side of the bed nearest the open window. There were two spots of color high on his cheeks. Obviously his cold had not improved since the last time Jason saw him.

Dick’s eyes cracked open when Jason took a step closer. Jay?

“Yeah, what the hell are you doing here? You look like shit.”

People keep saying that. Dick shoved himself to a sitting position, There’s no way I was going to leave you to do this alone, kiddo.

Jason rolled his eyes to hide the feeling that was surging in his chest, “I’m not a kid, Dick.”

You’re my kid brother. Dick yanked him into the bed. That’s enough for me.

The next morning they would have to search for Sharmin Rosen, they would need to talk about exactly what Jason had discovered, and why Bruce was so angry. But, just then, Jason was happy to curl up with Dick beside him and bask in the knowledge that Dick would never let anything bad happen to him.

Chapter Text

Chapter 27: The Ones We Lose, Part 3

THEN

As it often did when members of their family were involved, the situation rapidly shifted to something almost unrecognizable. What Dick and Jason had hoped would simply be coffee and questions for Sharmin Rosen turned into a nuclear plot and a mission with Batman (who had given them a supremely unimpressed look upon first sight).

Four hours after they met up with Batman and Sharmin, Nightwing and Batman watched as Robin led Sharmin away to talk. Even from a distance Dick could see how the teen’s hands were shaking. He sent a plea to the universe that this went the way Jason wanted it to.

“Explain,” Bruce snapped at Dick. His eyes tracked Jason for a brief moment before he turned back to Dick so he could sign.

Dick knew it was time for Bruce to know everything, but it still wasn’t his place to explain. Jason will explain after they talk, he said.

“But, why does he need to speak with Rosen?”

Ask him yourself, Dick gestured to Jason who was turning away from Sharmin, his shoulders slumped and his face dark. Dick’s gut felt tight with disappointment. Obviously Sharmin wasn’t the woman they were looking for. The woman stared after Jason with an emotion Dick couldn’t comprehend in her eyes. Then, she turned on her heel and descended from the rooftop.

Well, all of this got weird quick, Dick jabbed Jason with his elbow as soon as the boy was close enough, and that from a guy who runs around in a bird mask and tights.

Jason, who had looked to be on the verge of tears, smiled slightly. Even the tense set of Bruce’s shoulders lessened. He moved slightly closer to the pair.

“We need to talk,” Bruce growled. It was a Batman voice, but not a I’m-about-to-drop-this-punk-off-a-roof voice, more of a don’t-test-me-you-adorable-idiot grumble. Despite that, Jason winced. Running away from home to chase what were probably just false hopes was probably number two on Batman’s Do Not Do list (Number One was ‘Do not die.’).

Nightwing grabbed them both and steered them towards the center of the rooftop they had gathered on after foiling the terrorists plot and turning the Joker’s nuke over to the local authorities. He suppressed the cough that wanted to rise in his throat. Now was not the time for a coughing jag, despite the dry air scratching at his throat.

No eyes, he signed. Then he yanked off his mask. Bruce immediately shifted to block the view anyone might have of Dick’s face. His neutral glare sharpened to something with slightly more censure.

You two can’t talk right with masks, Dick explained as he reached out to remove Jason’s domino mask, and you obviously can’t talk right as Bruce and Jay either. So do it like this.

He desperately hoped that the halfway state achieved by being in costume but not in masks might engender communication between the two. Dick stared at Bruce, hoping he would remove his cowl. Jason was very carefully not looking at either of them.

Finally, after way too long in Dick’s opinion, Bruce slid his cowl back.

Good, Dick grinned at them both, Now, talk. I’m going to go check in with the kiddos and drug myself unconscious.

With that he put his own mask back on and left.

Bruce and Jason stood in silence for a long moment before Bruce spoke.

“Why did you run away?” He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer. What reason could his son have for fleeing home like that?

Jason didn’t answer. Bruce felt the same ire he had been battling for weeks when it came to the boy rising in his chest.

“Answer me,” he snapped.

“Fine!” Jason had been wanting to tell Bruce for so long, wanted the gentle reassurance and encouraging words that only Bruce could give him. “I’m not sure my mom was actually my mom. Or, if she was, then I think I was almost adopted by another woman.”

Everything snapped into place for Bruce. The ire towards Jason melted away. “Rosen?”

Jason shrugged and wrapped his arms around himself. “No. She’s never had a kid and was very adamant that she never would have adopted me.”

“Was she the only one?” Bruce wasn’t sure how to respond to the pain in his son’s voce, but he could distract him, help to focus him on the task at hand rather than the pain of emotions.

Jason nodded, “Two. Shiva and Catharine Todd.”

Bruce jerked his chin towards the edge of the roof. “Show me what you have.”

They’ll work it out, Dick assured Cass and Tim. The younger teens were crowded into Bruce’s big chair in front of the computer in the Cave.

“They’re talking now?” Tim asked.

Dick smiled, They were when I left. Better than that- Bruce was listening.

Tim’s tense expression smoothed. He had always been uncomfortable when any of them fought. Alfred explained that it was likely because he had never experienced his own parents fighting and making up and thought that all arguments were then end of their affection for him. Dick didn’t understand, but the explanation seemed to make sense to Jason and Bruce so he accepted it as fact.

“Tim,” Cassandra prodded his side.

“Oh!” He grabbed up the mouse and clicked a few times, “I’ve found the location of the next two women on the list you gave me.”

Great, Dick smiled. Suddenly the exhaustion he had been fighting all day caught up with him. He wanted to curl up and sleep for a few hours before getting back to the search.

“I’ll send them to you,” Tim said, “You should get some sleep. You look like hell, Dick.”

Thanks, Timmy.

NOW

Time passed in fits and spurts. Dick’s head was killing him, making it hard to concentrate on anything. It was ridiculous, he was Batman now. Batman could not give in to this sort of weakness. It would be one thing if his inability to plan and plot only affected himself, but no, Jason dangled from a pipe not five feet in front of him. Dick had to get them out of here.

But, this knowledge was no enough to clear the fog from his brain and Dick continued to struggle between the past and present.

“Haha! I can’t believe you fell for the old fake victim gag!” The Joker’s voice suddenly cackled through the haze, “I mean it’s practically the oldest trick in the book! Ha!”

Dick jerked. He hadn’t even noticed the clown entering the room. His breath was suddenly coming in quick pants. Joker was standing next to Jason, a crowbar in his hands and a manic grin stretching his mouth. The lenses of Jason’s mask were wide with terror and his chest rose and fell in sharp little jerks. Dick began struggling against the chains, desperately attempting to free himself and get between Jason and his worst nightmare.

“Now, I know Harley got started without me,” Joker continued. He ran the crowbar across Jason’s arms as he spoke, “I don’t have a lot of time you see. So, I asked her to soften you boys up.”

Without warning he twirled and jabbed the crowbar into Dick’s ribcage. “You area liar!” he cried, stabbing out again, “You’re not Bats and I don’t think he’s going to be very happy with you for horning in on his turf. I know I’m not.”

He paused and considered the crowbar. “I’ve always liked this little beauty,” he confided, leaning in close. Dick waited, barely daring to breath. Joker leaned in ever closer, “I killed Robin with it you know.” Dick struck. He reared back and used what little momentum he could gather to slam his head into the Joker’s with a resounding crack uncaring that it made his own headache intensify.

Joker reeled for barely a second before he snarled, “That was rude!” He threw the crowbar at Jason, eliciting a pained grunt, and jabbed outward with his fist. At first Dick wanted to laugh, that was it? The crowbar would have done more damage than a fist- Then he felt the warmth start to gush down his side and realized that the hand had held a blade. Pain followed that realization in sharp bursts.

Joker snorted, a scowl twisting his face into something almost more terrifying than the grin. “You’re not Batman,” he declared and then smiled again, “Batman would have broken my nose with that little stunt.” HE sighed deeply, “You two are no fun. I was going to make this all last a little longer, maybe try and tempt the big man out of hiding, but I don’t think he cares about either of you. Well,” here he giggled madly, “I know he doesn’t care about Red over there. Proved that not too long ago didn’t he?”

He snatched up the crowbar again and proceeded to target Jason’s ribs and stomach for a few moments before sighing.

“This was not as much fun as it should have been. Work on that for next time,” He waggled his fingers at them, “I know I’m leaving but don’t let that stop you from having a blast!”

With that he swung the crowbar one final time at Jason’s ribs and danced from the room. Harley appeared and set down a large wrapped present with a digital timer strapped to the top.

“Tata!” she cried as the door clicked shut behind them.

Jason stared at the red numbers as they clicked down. He had thought if he was ever in this situation again he would panic, that he would be unable to handle the reminder of the worst event of his life. But, he found he was strangely calm. The pain that had been his companion since their capture faded away as he realized he had always been meant to die this way. Hell, he had died like this once. It was only a fluke that he was brought back.

Really, the only thing Jason would regret was once again leaving behind his family, especially so soon after they lost Bruce. Worse, Dick would be going with him this time. That was never something that Jason would wish for and he really wasn’t sure how the young ones would deal with the sudden loss of them both.

Across the room from his, Batman was sluggishly working at the manacles that bound him to the floor. Blood was once again streaming from beneath his mask along with the gaping hole in the body armor left by Joker’s blade. Jason watched for a long moment. He wished he had the ability to help, but with his hands bound above his head and his feet shackled to the floor he was helpless.

Jason allowed his head to fall towards his chest. He didn’t want to watch the last few minutes of his second chance at life tick away. He didn’t want to watch his brother struggle to stave off death.

Jason closed his eyes.

Chapter Text

Chapter 28: The Ones We Lose, Part 4

THEN

Tell me about them? Dick asked. He and Jason were settled into the cargo bay of the Batplane on their way to the coordinates for Lady Shiva that the WatchTower provided. Dick produced a large bag of food from the street vendor right outside the lobby of Jason’s hotel.

“Should we give some to Bruce?” Jason asked tentatively. He and Bruce might have come to an understanding, but he still felt like he was walking on thin ice. A grounding was in his future as soon as they returned home, of that much he was sure.

Nah, I only got enough for two and there is no way I’m giving up good shashlik, Dick grinned, Let him suffer.

Jason looked away to hide his own smile. He took a huge bite of his shashlik, chewed, and then swigged some soda. Dick reached out and kicked his shin.

“Fine!” Jason laughed, “Obviously you know about Shiva, probably more than I do.” Dick shrugged.

Tell me what you know. Why do you think she’s a possibility?

Jason picked at a small pieceof meat, shredding it to pieces before dropping them back into the pita with the rest.

“Her name was in my dad’s book. I couldn’t read the adoption papers but only four women in the book had stars by their names; Sheila, Shiva, Sharmin, and a woman named Catharine Todd.”

Todd? Dick sat a little straighter at that.

Jason nodded. “Yeah, she met my dad when they were both in Narcotics Anonymous. Dad was married to Mom, Sheila- hell.”

Sheila Haywood still raised you, Dick encouraged, It’s not wrong to call her your mom, even if she doesn’t end up being your bio-mom. Which is highly unlikely. You look just like her.

Jason nodded, “I know. I just- I feel like I don’t know anything anymore.” He pulled his feet up on the crate he was seated on, “Why would my mom hide all this from me? When did my dad date anyone seriously enough that they were thing about adopting me? Hell, when did my dad have custody of me after he and mom broke up?”

Dick shrugged, unable to come up with a satisfactory answer. They ate the rest of their shashlik in silence.

NOW

“That’s their fourth missed check in,” Tim muttered from his position at one of Barbara’s spare computers. He clicked into yet another search program and input his parameters. Across the room Barbara sighed.

“I know,” she sighed, rubbing one hand across her forehead. Stephanie entered the room with three large cups of coffee. She handed one to each of them before taking a long drag from her own.

“Okay, that’s truly terrible,” Stephanie complained. “What is this stuff? Motor oil?”

“I like my coffee strong,” Barbara shot back. She took a swing of the hot liquid without allowing her attention to stray from the screens before her where two surveillance feeds looped continuously. On the left side of the screen the video showed the Red Hood landing in an alleyway to help a huddled girl. As soon as he landed the girl sprang to her feet and jabbed a long needle into the gap between the collar of his tunic and his hood. He groped desperately for a weapon but it was not two second before his legs began to shake and he collapsed to his knees. The tape skipped a second after that and when the static cleared Red Hood was on the ground and three henchmen dressed as clowns were attempting to remove his hood. The second half of the screen displayed a similar situation. It began with a group of men menacing a young woman. Batman swooped into view and proceeded to lay the men out with little difficulty. He had only just begun to turn to help the girl to her feet when she produced a baseball bat from behind a trash can. He went down without a fight.

While Barbara was terrified for both boys, the limp way Batman had collapsed and the sharp contact of the bat with the back of his cowl meant the majority of her fear was reserved for Dick. It was ridiculous for someone so fearsome to be felled by something so mundane, but she knew that he had not been at his best since Bruce’s death and Tim’s stabbing.

“Anything yet?” Stephanie asked. She was very carefully not looking at the videos Barbara couldn’t tear her eyes away from.

“No,” Barbara sighed, “All their trackers are offline. There’s nothing in these videos to ID where Harley might have taken them. They were both unconscious so we have no verbal cues and I can’t trace their comms unless one of them gets turned back on.”

Tim sat upright with a light groan. He clasped a hand to his ribcage but waved off Stephanie when she approached, “What if I could turn on their comms from here?” The thought hadn’t occurred to him before, he blamed the fuzzy headedness that always seemed to plague him when he had to take any sort of painkillers.

Barbara spun her wheelchair around to face him, “If you can manage that, I can definitely get you coordinates.”

Tim nodded, “Give me fifteen minutes.”

“Steph, suit up and make sure Batgirl and Crow are ready to go when we get you the address,” Barbara ordered. Batgirl and Crow were currently sweeping the scenes of the abductions hoping to find clues Harley and the henchmen might have left behind. So far they had had no luck. “I’ll call Alfred and have him prepare the medbay.”

THEN

It wasn’t Shiva. She had been quite insistent about that. She had no idea why Peter Todd might have placed a star next to her name when they had only shared a few nights together. Jason was disappointed, but not as much as he had been when Sharmin Rosen. Shiva was not the sort of woman he would have wanted to raise him, no matter her skills or connections. He shuddered to think what he might be like had she had a hand in shaping him. By the harsh look on Dick’s face the same thoughts were running through his mind.

Bruce seemed pleased as well and they set off for their final destination, an aid camp in Ethiopia.

Catharine Todd was working in a war torn region to bring medical supplies and other aid to the innocent civilians caught in the crossfire. Jason couldn’t help but think that that was the sort of job he would be proud for his adoptive mother to have.

They landed near the camp and changed into civilian clothes. He tucked his costume into the satchel Dick handed him. Better to have it than not in such a dangerous region. While Jason was sure that an aid worker would not reveal their identities he also understood the need for secrecy, especially for Dick who would likely be arrested for murder if anyone ever found out he was Nightwing. Once properly attired for the crushing heat Jason ventured from the plane.

“I’m going to talk with the workers,” Bruce told them, “Call me if anything seems strange.” He wasn’t expecting trouble, but with the way it had seemed to follow Jason’s quest thus far it was probably best not to discount the possibility. “Dick, are you going with me or Jason?”

Dick glanced at Jason who was trying very hard not to beg and grinned, Jason I think.

Bruce nodded. “Rendezvous at oh-nine-hundred,” he ordered. Then, with a softer expression, “I hope you find what you’re looking for Jason.”

Jason’s throat was suddenly too tight to respond so he turned and made his way to the tent that seemed to be the hub of the most traffic. Dick followed closely behind, glaring at anyone who dared to look at Jason for too long.

“Can I help you?” A tall dark-skinned man asked them as soon as the tent flap closed behind them. When Jason didn’t respond for a few seconds Dick shoved him forward lightly.

“I –um, I’m looking for Catharine Todd,” he whispered, suddenly terrified. Why was he doing all this? He loved his family in Gotham. He didn’t want anything else. But, at the same time, he had to know. He knew his mother loved him, but the emotion from his father’s side had always been more absent. Had Peter once loved him? Wanted him?

“Who are you?” The man asked. He peered at Jason and then at Dick with a calculating eye. Jason looked away, but Dick met the gaze with one just as strong.

“My name’s Jason Todd,” Jason finally managed.

The man’s face lightened. “Little Jason?” he asked, “Why didn’t you say so? She’s back here.”

Dick and Jason exchanged looks at that. It seemed they had found the woman whose name was supposed to be on his adoption papers.

“Someone to see you, Cat,” the man said when they reached the back of the tent.

Jason stopped and stared. Catharine Todd looked like she had lived a hard life; despite her relatively young age she sported deep lines around her eyes and mouth. Her dark hair was streaked liberally with grey and she winced a little as she stood. But, the lines around her eyes framed clear blue irises and long lashes and her stance was strong. Jason thought she was lovely.

“Catharine, meet Jason Todd,” the man nodded to them both before withdrawing from the space.

Catharine’s hand had gone to her mouth at the announcement, “Is it really you?” She asked. “Oh, Jason, you’re father talked so much about you.”

Jason stared.

“Why?” He finally managed to ask.

Catharine smiled gently at him, “Oh Jason,” she whispered, “You’re dad loved you. For all that he wasn’t a very good man, for all his faults, he loved you more than anything.” She moved around her desk and clasped one hand to his shoulder, “We were only married for a few months before we divorced, but he wanted to make sure that if something ever happened to your mom and if he couldn’t do it, you had someone to look out for you. I would have been proud to be your mother, even if it was only on paper.”

Dick, seeing that Jason was finally getting the closure he needed, slipped from the room. He would give them some privacy and come back in ten minutes to see if Jason needed him.

“Why didn’t you sign the papers?” Jason asked, his voice hoarse with the emotions he had been suppressing for too long. He despised his father, it was strange to think of the man doing anything good for him.

She drew in a deep breath and let it out through her nose. “By the time they were ready your father and I were fighting. I was still attending AA, but he had stopped and was drinking again. I realized, as much as a loved him, that he didn’t love me the same way and I left. I’m so sorry.”

Jason shrugged. It figured that his dad had found a way to ruin yet another marriage.

“Did my mom know?”

Catharine nodded quickly, “Yes. She thought it was a good idea. Obviously if anything happened to her your father would get custody and she liked the idea of someone else being responsible, too.” She gestured to the flap of the canvas wall Dick had exited through, “Unless that’s just a friend, I’m guessing something happened?”

Jason nodded, “That’s my brother. Bruce Wayne adopted me after my mom died.” Catharine dropped the glass pitcher she had just lifted to pour two glasses of water from. She laughed, slightly nervously, Jason noted.

“Clumsy me,” she said in a strangled sort of way, “I’ll be right back.”

While Catharine went to find drink for them Jason amused himself by skimming the papers on her desk. Mostly they were financial statements from the various companies that appeared to donate supplies to the cause. Jason had always like numbers, not as much as Timmy, but well enough to find the idea of adding up the various columns on the pages amusing. It was only after adding the first fifteen pages that he realized the numbers weren’t adding up. Someone was embezzling money from the aid foundation.

Concerned now, he shifted through the papers with more purpose. The system was relatively simply and he had no problem finding the papers where the money went missing. Now, he only needed to look at who had signed for those shipments-

Before he could finish reading the columns, Catharine swept back into the room carrying a large pitcher dripping condensation. She poured two glassed and handed one to Jason. Over-heated and suddenly nervous about telling Catharine about his discovery, Jason gulped down half the glass.

The sudden feeling that he had royally fucked up swept over Jason. Catharine hadn’t drunk any of her water. She was staring at him in the same way he was used to seeing thugs holding guns, that half threatening, half confident gaze that they all had. There was something else behind her eyes, something he had never seen before in a criminal, but he couldn’t recognize it through his own sudden fear. He realized he had just found the embezzler.

“I’m so sorry, Jason,” she whispered, “You’re not going back to your brother.”

Jason shoved her away from himself and darted around the desk. He needed to escape, needed to warn Dick that not all was right in the camp. But, the drugs in the water were too powerful and he barely made it ten steps before collapsing. He felt someone rummaging through the bag at his side. Heard a sharp gasp and felt calloused fingers place his mask onto his face. He tried to reach up, to protest, but his arms felt like lead.

Voices could be heard, far away but coming closer. Someone slipped his shirt off.

The last thing he saw was a man with a chalk white face and a blood red grin, smiling down at him.

NOW

Once Tim and Barbara triangulated Batman and the Red Hood’s positions things moved rather quickly. Crow, Spoiler, and Batgirl piled into the Batmobile and tore through the city to the abandoned warehouse near the docks where the Joker had apparently set up shop. The entire time Cassandra was picturing the ride across the desert she knew Dick had taken in a similar situation. She desperately hoped this ride did not have the same outcome.

When they arrived at the warehouse, Batgirl took charge. She order Crow to scout around the upper floors while she and Spoiler took the lower. The Joker tended to gravitate towards the large rooms in these sorts of buildings. The upper floors would likely be clear of all but a few henchmen. It was a relatively safe area of Damian to search on his own.

As soon as they entered their section Spoiler and Batgirl began encountering the Joker and Harley’s lackeys. They engaged immediately, hoping to draw the clowns away from wherever Dick and Jason were being kept.

“I found Batman and Red Hood!” Crow’s voice burst through the comms, pitched high with fear. “They are both injured and-” he paused long enough for Batgirl to start to worry before continuing, “There is also a bomb. I am unsure of how to disarm it.”

“Shit!” Spoiler cried as she slammed two henchmen’s heads together and leapt for Harley Quinn who was loading her bazooka.

“Crow,” Tim’s voice broke radio silence from the Clocktower, “I’m turning on your lens camera. Okay, that’s not so bad. We’ve got three minutes so first you’ll need to cut the second wire from the end of the timer.”

Batgirl tuned out the instructions that flowed from their Clocktower bound compatriots and focused instead on fighting her way across the room to where the Joker was screeching orders at his rapidly decreasing number of lackeys. She felled the two largest who were supposedly guarding their employer with ease before allowing herself to slip into the shadows and sneaking behind the Joker. Waiting until he was distracted by Harley’s bazooka going off in her struggle with Spoiler, she stepped up close behind him and wrapped one arm around his neck.

True to form, the Joker would not be taken down easily. His emaciated form was surprisingly strong and he struggled mightily in her hold. His gloved hands scrabbled along her armor attempting to find purchase. Whenever he got the slightest grip he dug in and she knew she would be sporting bruising all along her arms and sides for weeks. In the end, however, the decreased oxygen began to show in his movements and his struggles slowed.

“At least I killed the fake Bat,” he giggled softly, “That’ll show you imposters!”

Batgirl smirked beneath her mask. He could not see the expression, but she knew he would be able to hear it, “They escaped fifteen minutes ago,” she hissed into his ear. It wasn’t true, but he didn’t know that.

“Impossible!” But he had no more air to protest. The Joker slipped into unconsciousness. Batgirl quickly zip-tied his hands and feet together and backed away. She would need to bath for far longer than normal to remove the taint she felt all over from touching the foul man.

“I’ve got the bomb disabled!” Crow reported, “Batman and Red Hood are injured. I’m calling the Batmobile to our side of the building.”

“Good,” Cass nodded her agreement with his plans. She wrapped her left arm around the windpipe of the closest henchman. “We’ll meet you back at the cave.”

“GCPD en route,” Oracle reported, “Four minutes out.” Despite the closed comms she was using her voice disguiser and they all suddenly realize how very affected the technical genius was by the events of the last six hours.

Across the warehouse Spoiler smiled at Batgirl, though she knew the actual gesture wasn’t visible through her mask, Cassandra always seemed to be able to tell. “Go to the cave,” she encouraged, “I’ll deal with the cops and these idiots and then head to Oracle.”

Batgirl hesitated. She was reluctant to leave Spoiler alone with Joker and Harley, even if they were unconscious and the police were set to arrive in less than three minutes. But, she remembered the fear in Crow’s voice when he reported on Batman and Red Hood’s condition. She needed to get to the cave as soon as she could possibly manage.

“Are you sure?”

Spoiler cocked her hip out, “Of course, B.G. I think I can handle two unconscious psychos. Besides,” she added when she saw how concerned Batgirl was, “the police are less than five minutes out and I’ll stay in constant contact with Oracle.”

Batgirl threw her arms around the younger girl in a tight hug before pulling out her grapnel. “Come to the Cave as soon as you can,” she ordered, “Agent A can check on that cut.”

Spoiler saluted sloppily. “Aye captain!” she chirped.

THEN

The warehouse was so close! Dick pressed the accelerator forward, faster, faster, he just needed to be a little faster. He crested a low hill. There! The warehouse was no more than a thousand meters away from him. He was going to make it. Bruce was less than five minutes behind him. They would break down the door. Bruce could comfort Jason. As for Dick, well, Dick was going to kill the Joker.

A savage smile appeared on his face at the thought. No one hurt his little brother with impunity.

His motorcycle suddenly sputtered and slowed. The engine had overheated.

“Argh!” He screamed. “Kittening heart of frog ball.” With less than two hundred meters left Dick leapt from the smoking bike and raced for the door he could see on the side of the warehouse.

He was going to make it. Jason would be-

An almighty explosion tore through the warehouse. Fire filled Dick’s vision. He flew through the air caught up in the shockwave, and landed with a painful slide across the rough ground.

He had been too late.

Dick shoved the thought that he had failed away, deep into the darker section of his mind. Jason was ok, he had to be. He struggled to his feet, pushing aside the rubble that had been thrown onto him and calling for his little brother.

“Robin!” he shouted. The sharp increase in his headache from the effort of saying Jason’s proper name was barely even noticeable past his fear. “Robin!”

No one answered his call.

Dick began shifting though the rubble, hoping against hope that his knowledge of the damage such an explosion would have caused to a human body was flawed.

He found Catharine Todd first. Her eyes were open and her chest was still. He felt nothing but cold vindication for the woman’s death. Jason might be willing to forgive her, he was a pretty understanding kid when it came to family, but Dick would not. She betrayed Jason to the Joker. He might not have been her biological son, but the two had obviously bonded over their shared connection to Peter Todd. In Dick’s mind that sort of meant you didn’t hand that person over to be ki- He cut that thought off viciously.

He left her body where it lay without touching her. He didn’t trust himself not to ensure that she was actually dead.

He had just begun to give up hope of finding Jason without proper equipment when the bright green of the boy’s leggings caught his attention.

“Bar!” Screw secret identities. No one else was here and no one paid enough attention to him to remember what he called the members of their family anyway.

He leapt over a beam. Even through the clouds of dust he could see that Jason was covered in dust and debris.

“Bar, I run often keen to fetch you,” Dick babbled as he cleared away the detritus of the explosion. It took him nearly a full minute to realize Jason wasn’t moving.

“Bar?” His voice shook.

Frantically Dick pressed two fingers into Jason’s neck, ignoring the blood that coated his gloved hand. No. No no nonononono. Dick’s breath came in ragged gasps. This could not be happening. He reached forward and yanked Jason from beneath the rubble and into his arms. Nothing. No breath. No heartbeat. Only the obvious evidence of a beating and an explosion.

Dick collapsed back onto his rear. He pulled Jason into his lap and wrapped his arms around the boy’s chest, burying his head in the crook of his neck and shoulder. Dry sobs yanked themselves from his chest.

It was over. Everything, everything he had wanted to protect and loved….. The future was a blank expanse stretching before him. Empty.

He was still in that position ten minutes later when Bruce found them.

Not Jason. That was the only thought in Bruce’s mind when he finally found his sons. He couldn’t have been too late. But, the evidence to the contrary was right in front of him. Rubble, settling dust, and the silent sobs of his eldest as he held the body of his little brother all told the story plain enough. He just couldn’t bring himself to believe it was true.

“Nightwing?” he whispered. But, Nightwing was too far gone to respond. He clutched Jason’s body tighter against his chest.

“Jason,” he whispered as he collapsed to his knees in front of the pair. Nightwing did not look up. Bruce reached out and touched three fingers to Jason’s still cheek. The boy’s eyes were closed, his face calm and peaceful. The cheek Bruce’s fingers rested against was unmarred, but the press of his touch forced Jason’s face to turn. The other cheek had obviously been broken, a dark bruise already covered the area. Bruce felt his heart stutter in his chest when he noticed the tear tracks through the dirt that covered Jason.

His son had been crying. Crying and probably hoping that Bruce would be there in time to save him, never giving up that hope even as the Joker beat him and the bombs went off.

Without thinking about it Bruce reached forward and pulled Jason from Dick’s arms. The boy was so limp, so empty. Freed of his burden Dick wrapped his arms around his knees, curling into the smallest ball possible for a man his size.

Bruce remembered the first night Jason joined them on patrol. The lad had been so eager, so idealistic. It brought a lightness to Dick and Bruce’s lives that had been absent before. For the first time Bruce witnessed Nightwing behaving like the boy he was; Robin could bring out the best in both of them. Patrols were downright fun at times. Stakeouts which had previously been a tedious chore suddenly became a time for teaching. Jason lapped up their tales and lessons with the wide-eyed eagerness of one who only wanted to make them proud and Bruce was. Oh, god. He was so proud of Robin and Jason and everything that the brightly colored hero meant to Gotham and the rest of the hero community.

How would he tell Tim and Cassandra? Or, his hands clenched around the body at the thought, Alfred? Clark would be so upset, even though he and Bruce hadn’t gotten on for years Clark had always loved Jason like a nephew and made sure to be there for all the important moments in the boy’s life.

But, worse than anyone else, Bruce knew without a doubt that Jason’s death (it was a knife in the gut to even think the word) would destroy all the progress Dick had made since leaving the Court. Bruce thought he should do something, move or call someone, do anything except sit there holding the rapidly cooling body of one of his children. But, he couldn’t. If he moved, if he called for help, then it would all be real and he would have to deal with the reality of a world without Jason in it.

When he finally managed to look up again the sun was beginning to crest the horizon sending delicate streaks of pink and orange into the sky. It was too pretty for the dark feeling in his chest. He wanted rain. He wanted a monsoon and earthquakes, he wanted the weather to reflect the agony he felt. Hell, at this point a meteor strike wouldn’t be an exaggeration for the desolation in his chest.

A sharp little noise jerked his attention back to Dick, who hadn’t moved since Bruce took Jason from his arms.

Instead of staring at Jason’s body has he had been since Bruce arrived, his eyes were closed. For the first time Bruce noticed the wheeze to Dick’s breathing and the sweat across his brow despite the mild temperatures of a desert dawn.

“Nightwing?”

Dick rose to his feet. He wasn’t acting like he had heard Bruce at all. In silence he leaned down and pressed a kiss to Jason’s forehead. Then, he turned and walked away.

He wouldn’t return to Gotham for a week. In that time Bruce would take care to make up a story about Jason’s death overseas and transport the boy back to Gotham for burial. He broke the news to the others and trusted that Batgirl and Alfred would tell the rest of the community as it was required.

Each night Tim and Cass received an email from Dick with a single word so they wouldn’t worry.

It didn’t work. They needed their older brothers to tell them that everything would be okay. But, one of them was dead and the other was struggling to deal with what had happened, to retain what was left of his fractured soul. He had failed at the only job he had ever given himself, the only job that had ever mattered.

Nothing was ever going to be okay again.  

NOW

Cassandra took one look at the group before her and grabbed Tim and Damian. She shoved them towards Jason with a warning glare. Tim shivered. Dick and Cass could say more with a single look than most could with full sentences.

“Take care of him,” she jerked her head in Jason’s direction, “I’ve got Dick.”

Then, she transferred Dick’s arm to her shoulders and took his weight from Tim. “We will be on the roof.”

Tim wanted to just nod and leave her to it, but blood was still seeping from the wound on Dick’s temple and the fear was curling around his throat. She followed his gaze to Dick and then smiled.

“We will not be long,” she assured, “But, he needs this.”

Tim trusted Cass with everything he had so he nodded and turned his attention to Jason and Damian.

“Come on,” he said to Damian, “Let’s get him cleaned up.”

They hauled Jason across the rest of the cave to the Med Bay. Alfred appeared at the doorway as they approached.

“Oh dear,” he muttered, his normally implacable mask cracked to reveal his concern, “Master Dick?”

“He’s with Cass,” Tim grunted. Jason was far heavier than he looked, and as he was easily the tallest and broadest of them all that was saying something.

They maneuvered Jason onto the nearest bed. He stirred a little as they lay him down.

“Ba-mann?” he muttered into Tim’s shoulder.

“He’ll be back soon,” Tim reassured. The words tasted foul in his mouth. Bruce wouldn’t be back soon and they all knew Dick wasn’t going to be Batman for much longer, couldn’t be Batman for much longer. He had stopped eating full meals nearly a week ago and his normally lithe figure was looking positively gaunt. If he didn’t give it up on his own, Tim was planning on hiding all the Batman costumes and staging a small rebellion.

But Jason was too out of it to know any of that. He simply nodded and allowed himself to be manhandled onto his side so Alfred could begin cutting off his uniform top.

Alfred rested one hand on Jason’s ribcage as he slid the industrial grade scissors under the edge of the Kevlar. He had only just made the first snip when Jason’s eyes shot open. He stared at them without seeing and shoved himself backwards. The scissors clattered to the floor.

“No!” He cried, his eyes wide with fear. He stared at his surroundings, shivers wracking his frames, as awareness slowly filled his eyes.

“Sorry,” he whispered to the room at large.

“No need for apologies, my dear boy,” the elderly butler assured him. Jason nodded. He pulled away from Tim and Alfred’s grips and eased himself off the bed.

“Jason, I must insist-”

“No, Al.” Jason stood and moved towards the door.

“Jason, you need help,” Tim protested. He and Damian moved from their positions next to the bed to follow Jason. Tim reached out and lightly touched Jason’s arm. The elder flinched violently.

Jason wouldn’t meet his gaze. Tim really wished he would look at him, or at least towards him. It would make it so much easier to know his mental state, to know what to say and how to act.

“Jay?” Tim whispered. Damian stood so close behind him Tim could feel the heat from his body. The younger boy was trembling.

Jason wrapped one bloody arm around his chest. He still wouldn’t look at them.

“Great rescue, kids,” he muttered finally, “Really. Thanks.” He turned fully away.

“I’ll, uh, I’ll be back later,” Jason continued, “I need some,” he shook his head, as if to clear it before continuing, “I need some time.”

He limped away without looking back.

Tim collapsed into a chair with his head in his hands.

Cass and Dick settled themselves on the roof in silence. Dick was shivering and Cass knew they couldn’t stay out for long. She just wanted the height and the dawn to erase the terrible, lost look in his eyes before they went back down into the cave and he needed to be strong for the others again. Damian had obviously been terrified and seeing Dick like this for longer than he already had would not help that situation.

A soft breeze had come up as the sun rose. It twisted the fog that lay over the bay into pillowy mounds, tearing off little tendrils which were burned up in the increasing warmth. The light coral of the rising sun cast an almost surreal glow over everything. Dick had turned his face to the sun, his eyes were closed and she could see the golden undertones of his ancestry in his skin. She could also see the beginnings of dark bruises and smell blood, though she did not know if it was his own, Jason’s, or their enemy’s.

“Okay?” She asked.

His left eye opened a slit.

Nope, he signed. Something had changed, she realized, something huge. I need to talk with everyone.

“They’re in the Med Bay.” His head jerked up at that.

What?

Cass stared, how did he not know? Dick always knew when one of them was in distress. Surely he was aware that Jason was not dealing well with encountering the Joker? That Jason had been injured badly?

Instead of voicing all that she simply said, “Come,” and helped him to his feet.

Though they moved as quickly as Dick was able, Jason had vanished by the time Dick and Cass made their way back downstairs

“I tried to stop him,” Tim was shaking, “He just, he woke up and freaked out. We didn’t want to do anything to make it worse.” Damian nodded. The boy’s eyes were wide and his normally dark skin was far too pale. He stood as close to Tim as his pride would allow him.

Cass prepared herself to take charge, Tim and Damian were obviously upset by whatever had happened while they were gone. Dick swayed suddenly.

“Alfred?” Cass nodded her head to Dick. The butler left Damian’s side and they worked to settle Dick on the bed Jason had occupied. He blinked blearily at them.

“Bar?” He squinted suddenly and reached up to grip at his hair. His left hand pointing and twisting at his head in the sign for ‘pain’. Alfred shot a sharp look at Cass and she nodded. She grabbed Tim’s hand and the hood of Damian’s cape.

“Come,” she said as she drug them from the room. Alfred moved forward to begin patching Dick up.

“May I remove your costume?” After Jason’s reaction Alfred wished to ensure that a repeat did not happen.

Yes, Dick signed. His cape and cowl had already been removed before he and Cass climbed to the roof, but the rest of the costume still needed to be taken care of. Before Alfred got to work he administered a mild injection of pain-killers, enough to dull the edge but not cause drowsiness.

As gently as he was able Alfred worked to remove the Batman costume. Each section he cut free revealed more bruises and blood. Most of the blood appeared to be from small cuts and scrapes, but just above his left hip bone an obvious stab would still oozed blood. Alfred pressed his lips together in disapproval and anger at those who would hurt his boy in this way.

“Are there any other injuries I should be aware of?” he asked once the entire costume had been removed.

Dick shook his head and shivered. The butler smiled softly at the boy. He pressed a pressure bandage to the stab wound and pulled out the materials to start an IV.

Dick watched him dully for a few moments before he seemed to register what Alfred was planning to do. He slid stiffly from the table.

No, no, he signed, “I screw to trace Bar.”

“Richard,” Alfred started to lecture, but Dick wasn’t having it.

He shook his head and grabbed up a blanket. Wrapping himself tightly he stumbled from the infirmary and towards the locker room. The only stop he made after changing clothes was to grab Lola’s leash and service dog harness from the landing closet.

Dick found Jason on the top of the tallest building in Gotham. The sun had just reached its apex and the heat radiating off the glass buildings made him feel slightly faint.

“Bar?” Dick whispered. Lola padded across the roof and settled next to Jason.

He didn’t look away from the sky-scape below his feet. “I had sorta hoped it might help,” he said gesturing to the vast expanse before him, “You always get as high up as you can when shit gets bad. I thought it might-” He shook his head. “Sorry I flipped out.”

Dick sat down next to him. Their feet dangled off the edge of the hundred story building, their hair buffeted by the constant breeze. Lola had her mouth open in a happy doggy smile. Jason tangled his unbroken fingers in her fur.

When I was with the Court I didn’t have anything or anyone. Jason shifted to watch him easier. Dick never talked about his time with the Talons, not if he could help it.

The other Talons are all asleep and my Great Uncle was only around every so often. I spent any time when I wasn’t on missions training. Sometimes the Court would send someone to watch me, to test me. But, mostly I was alone. In the training room was a – I’m not sure what to call it, a nest? A net of rafters and ropes. Since there were no other Talons, no one but me could climb it. When things got bad, when I couldn’t remember my name or what being human felt like, I’d climb up there and be safe.

“Why isn’t it working for me?” Jason whispered, “All I can hear is the explosion and his…. His laugh.”

That’s the point, Dick answered, Height is safe to me. It was where I could maybe remember that I had parents once and where no one could tell me to kill someone else. Jay, that’s not you.

“What if I don’t know who I am anymore?” Jason whispered. “Ever since Bruce died, I’ve felt so….” He trailed off again.

That’s why you’ve got me. You keep me sane and I’ll help you find you again.

They watched the people of the city pass by below them, oblivious to the turmoil their protectors felt high above.

“You’re not going to be Batman anymore are you?” Jason finally asked.

I can’t, Dick replied, I’m not good enough. I’m going to slip, I know it. Nightwing can be weak, but Batman can’t.

Jason nodded. He had known this was coming.

“Okay,” he whispered, “I think I can do it.”

I know you can, Dick smiled. I’ll be with you every step of the way and you’re going to be amazing, so much better than me.

Jason wasn’t sure he agreed with that. But, he knew that Dick was right in at least one regard; his older brother wouldn’t let him fail.

They sat on the edge of the building until Jason’s phone buzzed.

“Text from Cass,” he informed Dick, “She wants to know if you’ve bled out yet? What?”

Dick chuckled, I might have left before Alfred was able to break out the sutures.

Jason groaned, “Come on, you idiot.” He stood and reached down to pull Dick to his feet, “Let’s get back before Alfred sends the cavalry.” Dick grinned at him and for the briefest of moments Jason could forget everything; he could forget Bruce was gone and the Joker wasn’t, could forget their injuries and how the sound of laughter still echoed in his head. For a brief moment everything was okay.

Just before they exited the roof Jason paused. Mindful of both their injuries he wrapped Dick in a tight hug.

“Thanks, Dick.”

Dick nodded. Always, little wing, always. He was looking pale again.

To cover the sudden emotions rising in his throat Jason slipped an arm around Dick’s shoulders, “The shot’s wearing off, yeah?”

Dick hmm’d his agreement.

Alfred’s waiting downstairs with the car. His signs were more sluggish than they had been only a few second earlier. The kids sent him after me. Lola whimpered and nudged at the door from the roof.

“Then let’s get you down there and to Leslie,” Jason said, “I could use some of the good stuff myself.”

With his arm around Dick and his gaze focused ahead, Jason missed the sappy smile that curled Dick’s lips upward.

Chapter Text

Chapter 29: The Pack We Protect

Lola wondered if she had done something wrong. Has she not protected the pack well enough? Was her person mad at her? She had eaten that stupid green hopping-beast last week, but it wasn’t supposed to be in the pool! She was helping them keep Home-with-Outside free from vermin. The fact that it tasted delicious was beside the point, really…. They praised her when she barked at the hooting night birds, why should slimy (tasty) hoppers be different?

She huffed a frustrated breath. It was different and she knew it. Her person was scared of the birds and it was her job to protect her person above all others. Or, well, that’s the job she gave herself. He seemed to want her to protect the others before him.

Tall folk weren’t always the brightest. He didn’t seem to understand that they weren’t hers, not the way he was. Sure, they patted her and brought her soft toys and snuck her tasty treats. But, she didn’t curl up against their side at night. They talked at her, babbled away and she listened, but they never made sense. Her person made sense. Not when he talked, no tall person really did then, but when he used his paws. Lola understood exactly what he meant when he talked to her with his weirdly hairless paws.

She knew his name was Dick, but that name would never encompass all he was to her. She knew without knowing how that she wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for him, that she would have died in the terrible event she only barely remembered being discussed when she was tiny.

There was more than that though. The absolute trust he placed in her, the way he looked at her when the first hooting birds came back when she was tiny, the gentle tug on her ear to get her attention on the days when he didn’t make a sound…. It all added up to something that filled her chest with warmth, something that meant his tall folk name simply wasn’t enough. He was hers.

Maybe that was why they had inflicted this beast on her. Maybe it was punishment for preferring her person. If so, then she would simply have to endure, because that would not be changing anytime soon. Besides, Dick looked just as disconcerted about the new addition to their pack as she felt. His fingers were tangled in her fur and his side was pressed tight against her own.

“It’s just a puppy,” the one who smelled like acid and death told Dick. They called him Jay, her boy called him Bar.

Lola huffed again. That word she knew. They had called her ‘puppy’ before her person named her Lola. Puppy was such an innocent word for the absolute giant currently making a fool of himself with the youngest of their pack.

“A really big puppy,” TimmyPral added.

Her person moved his paws in patterns Lola didn’t know.

“Why are you so annoyed?” JayBar asked.

Lola stifled a low growl. Her person could be annoyed if he wanted to be! They were trying to replace her, she would be annoyed with him if he wasn’t upset.

He moved his paws again and this time Lola raised her head to watch. She didn’t know most of the motions, but she did recognize; No – DamiPup – dog. Lola blinked her agreement; DamiPup did not need a dog.

Then, the wind shifted. Her scent, which had been blowing away from the interloper and DamiPup, was now going towards the pair.

The puppy’s huge head lifted, his ears pricked and his nose twitched. Lola’s head thumped back onto her paws. Great, now she had to deal with the idiot.

As soon as he spotted her the pup abandoned his game and bounded toward them. Dick tensed. Well, that was simply unacceptable. She stood and shook her fur to fluff it. The puppy might be bigger than her, but she’d be damned if she couldn’t still put him in his place. She bared her teeth as he approached but did not make a sound.

Somewhere above them JayBar and TimmyBar were laughing. Dick’s fingers were now wrapped around one of her paws, tight and tense.

The puppy skidded to a stop and stared at her. DamiPup reached them, panting with exertion but smiling all same. He and JayBar started talking, but Lola wasn’t paying attention.

The puppy wagged his pointlessly long tail at her. She held her own stump still and stern. He tilted his head at her. Lola sniffed. No, she wasn’t going to accept a cute little head-tilt as a gesture of friendship.

Dick tugged on her paw. Once she was looking at him he stood and muttered, “Wash.” Lola settled into her spot at his side and they walked to the house.

As soon as the rest of the family left for a charity event downtown Lola trotted across the kitchen to her food bowl. The puppy had been eyeing the food ever since AlfredKak prepared their bowls, Lola would not allow him to take her food along with her family.

She dug in to the mix of dry food, egg, and other delicious things with gusto. Meal time was the best. The puppy ate with equal enthusiasm. Lola was annoyed to note that his bowl was far larger and far fuller than her own. That hardly seemed fair. As soon as her own bowl was licked clean she stalked over to the puppy. He didn’t look up from his own food. A bit flew from the bowl and landed on her foot. She licked it off and moved closer into his space. Finally, he looked up at her, tongue lolling out of his mouth and eyes bright.

Lola growled. She stepped closer again with stiff legs and head held high. He was taller than her, but she knew what she was doing. This interloper would not take her family. He needed to learn his place. Perhaps, they would even send him away. The puppy whimpered and lowered himself to the floor in a submissive pose. Lola huffed out a satisfied breath. Good. At least he knew his place.

She had just lowered her head to take a bite of his food when something hard slapped against her hip. Lola looked up in shock to see AlfredKak standing just behind her with a flat metal thing in his hands and a scowl on his face.

“Bad dog,” he admonished. Lola stared. She was bad? Why? The beast was in her territory eating food that should be hers! She was only doing what was right!

“You will be nice to Titus,” AlfredKak continued, “The young master needs him.”

Lola considered that. She had seen that the youngest of the pack was no handling BruceKham’s return as well as the others. He was more withdrawn than he had ever been and had spent more nights at the House-With-Sky than she could remember him doing before BruceKham went away and they all moved to the Penthouse.

But, that didn’t mean she should have to deal with a puppy. She watched in frustration as AlfredKak moved the food bowl away from her towards the puppy. The dark grey beast looked between her and the Tall One before tentatively beginning to eat again.

Lola sat and stared at him the entire time resisting the urge to growl again. She did not like being called a ‘bad dog’ and would not repeat the action that had led to the moniker. But, that didn’t mean she was happy about it.

When the pupp- Titus. AlfredKak called him Titus. When Titus finished eating he stood and licked the man’s hand before he could react and pull away. The disgusted look on AlfredKak’s face filled Lola with vindictive pleasure.

Something clicked in the next room. Lola’s ears perked. Neither of the others heard the noise. AlfredKak was scolding Titus while the puppy did his best to look ashamed. He was obviously faking. Lola left them and crept across the large kitchen as quietly as she was able with claws on tile floors. She reached the door to the room where the Tall folk all ate and peered around the corner.

Four figures in black stood before her. They were grouped tightly together and smelled like JasonBar did sometimes, like metal and smoke and oil. It was a smell that made BruceKham unhappy. These men couldn’t have permission to be here, of that she was certain. AlfredKak would have greeted them at the door.

She stepped out from the kitchen, snarling and snapping at the air. Maybe with a proper telling off they would leave.

The one closest to her shrieked in surprise and pointed something at her. There was a loud pop and the smell of smoke grew stronger. Then, all she could feel was the hot iron boring its way into her back left hip. She staggered to the side, collapsing against the door frame in agony. Through the haze she could hear the men talking.

“You shot a dog?”

“Yeah, what the hell man?!”

“You saw it! It was going to bite me!”

Dark shapes brushed past her.

“Shit, the old man’s still here!”

She heard sounds of a struggle right behind her, felt the breeze of movement and heard a snarl. Then something large thumped to the ground.

“Shit shit shit.”

“Shut up!”

“Is he alive?”

A brief silence. Lola gathered her strength and began to force her legs back under herself.

“Yeah. Looks like you just knocked him out.”

“What the hell, no one was supposed to be here!”

“Just take care of the other dog. Let’s get this over with.”

Lola finally managed to open her eyes. She turned around, forcing herself not to limp too badly. AlfredKak was on the floor with blood oozing from a wound behind his ear. Titus was crouched not too far away staring between Lola and AlfredKak with wide eyes.

Lola caught his gaze. She tried to project strength and confidence. It was her job to protect the family and the home. She had already failed in one regard and wasn’t sure she had the strength to complete the other task. The puppy needed to calm down and back her up. As soon as the panic in his eyes dissipated she lunged at the men.

The first went down with little effort on her part. He was shocked by the attack from behind and only managed to raise on arm in defense before falling to the ground with her on top of him. She bit down hard on the arm holding the metal thing that had hurt her. Blood rushed between her teeth and he screamed. Titus used his size to his advantage and clawed one man to the ground. The man Lola was biting tried to rise, but she bit down harder. She felt and heard a crunch. The man screamed. She let go and he curled up around the wounded appendage. Titus’ opponent stopped moving. As one the two dogs turned to the remaining men.

One was only just rising from the floor. It seemed AlfredKak had gotten in at least one blow while Lola had been out of it. The other was staring at the two of them with one of the metal things in his hand and a look of terror on his face.

Lola and Titus exchanged a single glance before leaping into action. Titus lunged for the more alert of the men, knocking the metal thing away and biting deeply into his side. Lola angled towards the final man’s ankles. Neither opponent lasted long against the dog’s fury.

As soon as she was sure that none of the men would be rising again Lola allowed herself to give in to the pain in her shoulder. It was radiating in sharp waves of fire down her leg and across her back. A whimper escaped against her will. She twisted to lick at the blood. Her thick fur had helped to slow the bleeding but she wanted to see how bad the wound was. Unable to twist far enough without irritating the area Lola gave up. She wanted to check on AlfredKak, but lacked the energy to do so. She limped over to the kitchen door and collapsed to the floor in as controlled a motion as she could manage.

Before she could really settle Titus approached. He was on his belly, eyes huge with fear. Once he was close enough he nosed at her hip gently. It hurt, but not badly enough for her to snap at him. As carefully as his puppy clumsiness would allow he began to bathe the blood form her fur. Lola allowed her eyes to slip shut; perhaps having a puppy around wasn’t so bad.

When he finished bathing the wound Titus shifted so he was curled around her. Lola lifted her head long enough for him to twist his neck around and over her paws. Then, he lay her head on his flank. She wanted her person more than anything, but he wasn’t here and the puppy was warm and comfortable.

She drifted to sleep.

“Come on,” Bruce called back to his kids as he pulled his sport jacket off, “Get changed and we’ll head out. Jason, Dick, are you boys staying here tonight? If not, Alfred can run Lola home for you.”

Dick and Jason exchanged a quick look.

“Here is fine,” Jason answered for them. He pretended to ignore the small smile on Bruce’s face. They entered the kitchen from the garage.

“Excellent,” Damian nodded, “Todd, you may explain my Spanish assignment to me tomorrow.”

“Pero, yo no qui-” Jason’s protest cut off at Tim’s strangled query.

“Are there supposed to be unconscious men on the kitchen floor?”

“What?” Bruce pushed forward, “Alfred.” He stepped over the bodies of the strangers and crouched next to Alfred. The older man stirred at Bruce’s touch. As soon as he saw them all gathered around him he started to sit up. Bruce supported him with gentle hands.

“What happened?” Bruce asked. There was the sort of steel in his voice that only appeared when a member of the family was hurt. Dick stood behind him with fire in his eyes and death in his spine. Jason moved to stand between Dick and Bruce and the intruders.

“No need to fuss,” Alfred muttered, “I’m fine. They just caught me by surprise.” Bruce helped him to his feet. Damian, who had been looking at the other men on the floor, reached out and grabbed Dick’s sleeve. He pointed to the men.

“What are those wounds?” he whispered, unwilling to disturb the others as they took care of Alfred.

Dog bites, Dick signed. He pointed to the seeping wounds on the largest of the men.

“They have guns,” Cassandra informed them from next to the largest of the men. She nudged a gun with her foot.

“Lola!” Dick called suddenly, “Lola wash!”

A soft whine came from the door that led to the rest of the house. Dick leapt over the prone men with Jason following close behind. The scent of blood intensified sharply as they entered the dining room. Dread filled Dick. The dogs were curled up together on the floor just outside the kitchen door. Titus was obviously relatively unharmed, his head was up and his eyes were bright. But, Lola did not appear to have reacted at all to his call.

“Is she-?” Jason wasn’t sure if Dick could handle Lola dying. Thy might have Bruce back now, but even two months after the man’s return Dick still seemed on edge, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

She’s alive, Dick reported with shaking hands, She’s been shot.

“Damian,” Jason called, “Call the cops.” He shifted so Dick’s route back to the kitchen was blocked. The intruders weren’t dead, Jason intended to keep it that way. Bruce was already on the phone with Leslie to come check Alfred and confirm his self-diagnosis that he had simply been stunned and did not have a concussion.

“Tim. The vet,” he ordered knowing they hadn’t been able to see Dick’s declaration.

Dick reached out and scratched Titus’s ear in thanks. The puppy stood and allowed Dick to shift Lola onto his lap. Her eyes finally cracked open. When she saw who held her, her stump of a tail began gently wagging.

“The vet says to move her to a clean room and make sure she gets some water,” Tim reported, “She’ll be here in less than thirty minutes.”

Dick nodded. Cassandra appeared at his side. He slipped his hands under Lola’s hindquarters and lifted while Cass supported her head and shoulders. At only fifty pounds she wasn’t a terribly heavy dog but the care they took meant that the trip to the study was relatively awkward. Lola whimpered when they set her down but did not try to rise. Dick settled himself in the chair next to her to wait. Though, he desperately wanted to go to the kitchen and show the intruders just exactly what happened when you hurt his family he squashed that desire, unsure if he would be able to stop himself. Cass squeezed his shoulder, silently communicating her support.

Forty minutes after they walked into the kitchen Bruce stood next to Jim Gordon, watching as uniformed officers took pictures and notes. Alfred had been cleared by Leslie and given strict instructions to rest and not do anything strenuous for at least a week. She also promised to come back out the next day and do a follow-up check. He promised her he would relax, giving Bruce a pointed look as he said;

“Of course, I would be a fool not to follow doctor’s orders.” Bruce looked away, unable to stop the grin that curled his lips upward. A great weight had lifted off his chest when their family friend reported Alfred had escaped the ordeal without a concussion. Now, if only they could hear such positive news from the room where the vet had been sequestered for the last fifteen minutes.

“So, your dogs took them out?” Jim was having a little trouble with exactly how everything had happened.

“Yes?” Bruce answered, “At least, that’s the way it appears.”

Gordon chuckled, “Wait ‘til Barbara hears.” He glanced over at Bruce, “Unless one of yours has already told her?”

Bruce shook his head, “They’re in with the vet. As far as I know, they haven’t called anyone.”

“Vet?”

“Dick’s dog was shot.” Bruce found it difficult to keep the steel from his voice as he spoke.

Suddenly the situation seemed much more serious to Gordon. Anyone who spent any amount of time around Dick knew how much he needed Lola.

“Will she be okay?”

Bruce’s jaw clenched. “We don’t know yet,” he gritted out.

“Bruce!” Tim called. The billionaire immediately turned away from Gordon. Tim appeared in the doorway.

“The vet says Lola needs surgery,” he reported, “She and Dick are going to her office.”

Bruce nodded, “Who’s going to translate?”

“I think Jason wants to go,” Tim said, “But, he also wanted me to ask you if you need him here.”

Once again Bruce was struck by how much Jason had matured during his tenure as Batman. He never would have thought beyond his own desires two years ago. It made him unspeakably proud.

“No, he should go. If something happens to Lola he’s the best one to help Dick.

Gordon wasn’t quite sure that was right. He had seen Bruce and his son interact many (many) times over the years that Dick and Barbara had been friends. No one would ever be able to convince him that Dick didn’t need Bruce. The skeptical look on Tim’s face told Gordon he agreed.

“Is Cassandra still in with them?” Bruce continued.

Tim nodded, “Yeah, Damian took Titus out to the Dog Run to help him work off some energy. He has his cell if you need him.”

“Okay. Why don’t you go keep him company? Cassandra can help me in here with the clean-up.” While the might see far worse things any given night on patrol, it was different when it was their home that had been violated. Bruce didn’t want any of them to be alone but found he was reluctant to leave Alfred’s side.

Tim agreed with Bruce’s intention, so, even if he didn’t want to spend the next few hours alone with Damian he agreed and left for the Dog Run.

Weeks later Lola found herself once again curled up on the back patio watching DamiPup and Titus playing in the yard. Dick sat perched on a branch high in the tree closest to the patio. While she preferred it when he sat next to her, Lola could scent how calm being up high made him. She was, however, careful to keep a close watch whenever he decided to act like a bird.

Her hip ached suddenly and she shifted to relieve the pressure of sitting in one place for too long. Her bandage had only come off a few days previously and she was still getting used to having freedom of movement again.

TimPral and JayBar exited the house. Each stopped off to give her a pat before continuing on. JayBar set down a bowl of water beside Lola and went to join Titus and DamiPup in their game. TimPral settled himself beneath the tree Dick was in and pulled out one of those stacks of paper the Tall folk were so obsessed with.

A breeze swept up across the hills, ruffling Lola’s fur. She turned her nose towards it. Her herd was content, safe, and whole. Her eyes slipped to half-mast.

After a little while, Titus abandoned his game to join her under the tree. The smooth warmth of his side against her aching hip relaxed Lola into a light doze.

Maybe the puppy wasn’t so bad.

She supposed he could stay.

Chapter Text

Chapter 30: The Wishes We Make (Part 1)

When it was all over they would swear never to speak of it again. The wounds were too raw, and really Alfred only needed to know that something terrible had happened and that he would need to do some damage control (and that they had run out of cereal, if he didn't want them cooking he would need to stock the pantry better before he left next time).

The problem was, normally they could see the clouds forming before the storm broke. Tim was especially good at reading the seemingly unrelated signs of coming danger. The way certain groups of criminals would ramp up their activity while others all but disappeared, or the logic in the inane mutterings of those imprisoned at Arkham. To the others these were points on a map lacking a reference key, to Tim they were explicit directions.

So, it was unusual that no one saw it coming. Patrols since Alfred left had been especially uneventful, much to the elderly butler's relief when he called to check in. Cass remained at the Manor for nearly an entire day before the boredom got to her and she fled to California for a weekend with the Teen Titans. Dick had to turn away to hide his grin as he watched Tim's wistful look as she flew away. He desperately wanted to go see his friends as well, but had agreed to cover the weekend's patrols for Huntress so she and Question could go on a romantic getaway. Perhaps it was her absence that threw Tim off enough for him to miss the signs, or perhaps his not-so-secret investigation into what he was beginning to suspect had happened to Bruce was affecting him more than he had thought. In the end it didn't matter why he didn't notice that something was happening, the result was the same.

It happened and they would just have to deal with the fallout.

Nightwing rolled his eyes beneath his mask as Crow once again demanded an explanation for their action not five minutes previously.

"I do not understand why we left them intact!" The young hero protested, "Those men were rapists and scum and do not deserve-"

"Anqa!" Nightwing stopped his rant, That's not our decision to make. He didn't add that he completely agreed with Damian. He had felt no guilt for murdering corrupt businessmen when he was with the Court, he would feel even less remorse for removing a rapist from the world. But, that was not the lesson he wanted Damian to learn.

"But-"

NO! Nightwing snapped the sign out violently, If you want to kill, you go back to the League. He forcibly suppressed the memories of his own slips and the people whose lives his claws had taken.

"Fine," Crow muttered. He pulled his hood down to cast a shadow over his face. "Why are we even over here?" he asked petulantly, "The schedule says we're supposed to be at the docks."

Nightwing grinned. He reached out and yanked on Crow's hood, pulling him closer, Because the schedule was wrong. Don't tell Oracle I said that.

That wiped some of the stubbornness from Crow's face.

See, I know there's something happening down there. I just haven't sussed out what yet.

Crow frowned, "What does that sign mean?" He copied as best as he could with fingers still unused to the complexities of signed languages.

Nightwing reached out and adjusted the boy's finger positions. He guided Crow's hands in forming the full sign.

Once the sign was complete to his satisfaction Nightwing explained, Suss out means to figure out the meaning or reason for something. He knew he could have simply typed the word on the small holographic computer in his gauntlet, but Damian had been struggling with learning the signed languages the rest of the family used so fluently and Dick thought that perhaps if he stopped focusing so much on translating he might find it all easier.

"Why don't you just say solve or figure out?" Damian griped.

I like suss more. Dick grinned. Now, be quiet. There's someone down there.

Three men and one woman had appeared out of the shadows the warehouses cast. They had the suspicious look Damian was learning to associate with people he was about to punch in the face. Eagerly he cracked his knuckles.

Wait. Dick cautioned. They haven't done anything yet.

"But, they're obviously going to!" Damian hissed, "Why must we wait for them to hurt someone?"

Innocent until proven guilty. It was a concept that Dick still struggled with at times. I know it doesn't make much sense, but we have to give people the benefit of the doubt.

Damian huffed but did not protest again.

They waited and watched. At first the group did nothing more suspicious than hang around an empty street in the middle of the night. Then, slowly, more people began to arrive. They came in groups of three and four, all seemingly confident that they would not be disturbed. Dick could feel Damian growing more and more tense at his side the longer they waited to act. Finally, when no one new had arrived for nearly fifteen minutes Dick nodded.

Without a sound they moved as one across the rooftop and onto a crane that jutted out over the apparent meeting place. Damian gripped the structure tightly, uncomfortable with balancing on the thin metal. He glanced over to see Nightwing lounging, it was ridiculous. Once they had moved close enough Dick reached up and activated the long-range listening capability of his earpiece.

"- here soon."

Damian leaned over to read the printout of the conversation as it scrolled cross he screen projected from Dick's gauntlet.

"He'd better. I hate being out like this."

"You scared?"

"Aren't you? You know the Night Wing works this area!" Damian glaced over to see Dick roll his eyes. He hated when they mispronounced his name like that.

"Nah man, that's Batman. The Night Wing is over by the docks."

"Is Batman really better, you moron?"

"Yes? I mean-"

"Shh, he's here."

A new man, rather rotund with a large bushy mustache and eyes that sparkled even from their position forty feet in the air, had appeared. The people who had gathered stopped talking and pressed in closer. Something in the air had changed. Dick pressed the button on his gauntlet that would tell the others to converge on his location. He might not know exactly what was about to happen, but he trusted his intuitions enough to know that they were going to need help. A message from Tim popped up on the screen.

R: Radio silence?

Dick quickly tapped out his response.

N: Come in quiet. Large numbers present.

Meanwhile, the man had continued to greet his followers by name.

"Harold, how did that presentation work out? Good? Excellent. Marcie, did you- Congratulations, my dear."

"Is this some sort of cult?" Damian asked.

Possibly. We wait for reinforcements and then we find out what the hell is going on here.

Robin arrived nearly ten minutes later. He landed next to Nightwing with a soft thump.

"Batman is on the next building over," he whispered, "What's going on? I'll go report."

Not sure, Nightwing responded, He hasn't done anything.

"Yet," Crow added. Nightwing nodded.

Tell Jay to wait for my signal. I'm going to try and find out what the man wants. Before either young hero could respond Dick allowed himself to topple from the girder.

"Ass," Robin muttered, "Stay here, Crow. I'll go back to Batman. Comm if something changes or if Nightwing needs us."

Crow nodded, his eyes fixed on Nightwing forty feet below.

Despite his similarity in appearance to the accountant Alfred had hired to do last year's tax return the mysterious man's gaze snapped to Nightwing as soon as he landed on the ground.

"Ah friends! We have a guest!" He gestured wildly, "Please dear boy, come closer. We only wish to say hello!"

Nightwing hesitated. This was an obvious trap, every sense was screaming at him to either flee or to use his claws. Unwilling to do either action he flexed his fingers, ensuring that the claws caught the light in an obvious threat. The man's vapid smile did not falter.

Nightwing stepped closer, making sure to keep his face shadowed from the people as he approached.

"Welcome, welcome precious child," the man went so far as to wrap a meaty arm around Nightwing's shoulders. Dick told himself that this man had yet to do anything, there was no reason to forcibly separate his head from his body (despite what his fingers itched to do).

"My name is Reverend Vance Votum," he smiled and for the first time Dick felt a small tendril of fear uncurl in his gut. Something was very not right here. "Say hello everyone!"

"Hello," the group chanted as one. Discretely Dick depressed the button on his gauntlet that told the others to prepare for conflict.

"Oh! You must have more friends here with you?" The Reverend's smile widened, "Surely they could come out of the shadows? What do you say, Charles?"

A little boy near the front of the group said, "Oh yes, please! I wish the Night Wing's friends would come out to play!"

The Reverend laughed indulgently, "Of course they will!" Night wing rolled his eyes; the others wouldn't reveal themselves. Not until he told- Batman landed on the ground not fifteen feet away. Robin and Crow appeared only a few seconds later. What-? Dick started to pull away, but the Reverend's grip had become crushing.

"Now, now, dearest boy, what have I done to make you distrust me so?" he asked. The twinkle in his eyes no longer seemed kindly, "Now, tell me, what do you wish?"

Nobody moved.

"Oh, so it's like that?" Nightwing jerked from the Reverend and stalked over to Crow. The boy stood stock still, as if pinned by some invisible force. What the hell was going on here? He spun back to the Reverend.

"Oh, dear," the man's infuriating smile was back, "I can see you're getting agitated. Let's fix that. Henrietta?"

"I wish Mr. Night Wing would be calm."

And just like that, Dick was. A glass had dropped around his heart and mind. He knew he should be concerned, should be terrified by a group with as much power as the one currently surrounding him, but instead all he felt was a terrible serenity.

"Now, let's grant some wishes, yes?" The group cheered at the Reverend's words. To Dick's horror the man turned towards Batman.

"What is it you wish for?" Jason did not respond, though the inaction appeared to pain him. The Reverend sighed. "Fine, what about you, young one?" Damian pressed himself into Dick's side to avoid answering. He shook his head against Dick's side. Now the Reverend frowned, "And you? Are you going to be as recalcitrant as your companions?" he asked Robin. Tim nodded.

"If that is what you wish." The man rubbed his forehead, "I only wish I had the power to help you all without you needed to tell me what you desire." A wicked smile curled his lips, "But, if I cannot have that, well, I guess our little gathering will have to disperse. That is what you boys came down here to tell us to do isn't it?"

"Yes," Jason snarled in his Batman voice. He might not understand what had just happened, but he knew it wasn't right.

The group immediately began to go their separate ways. Dick tried to keep his eyes on the Reverend, but Damian shifted and when Dick looked back up from checking on him, the older man was gone.

"Okay, everything about what just happened was fucked up, right?" Jason snapped. Then, he sighed and slipped back into his Batman persona, "Make sure to include all details in the reports. We need to get a file started on this freak."

The next morning dawned completely normally. Tim and Damian, as always, were up before the sun. Dick and Jason were never quite sure if Tim was just up early or if he didn't require sleep like a normal human. Damian insisted that to sleep any later was the pinnacle of sloth and he would not be compared to the likes of Jason (who reveled in late mornings when he could get them). As he had grown older Dick began to enjoy the time just after sunrise, before he had already been training for at least an hour by that point. Now that he controlled his own life he never woke up when his brain wanted to. He refused to give in to that aspect at least of his time with the Talons. Instead, he rolled back over and forced himself to sleep for another hour or two. He never managed to make it past 6:30, but each additional minute felt like a victory.

A fifteen minutes after six Dick threw himself at the breakfast table. Jason grunted a greeting but did not look up from his coffee. Dick appreciated the gesture. Communicating before 7 AM should be outlawed. He grabbed the box of cereal still sitting out from the previous morning. Alfred was going to be gone for three more days and he was running perilously low on cereal. Soon, the situation would be desperate and he might even have to venture into a supermarket. Still, despite the pending disaster he did not skimp in pouring the bowl. What was the point in even getting out of bed in the morning if he had to eat a half full bowl of cereal? He picked up the jug of milk sitting next to the box and dumped a liberal amount over the sugary flakes. A rancid scent rose to greet him and he realized in dismay that the milk had spoiled.

"Aw, fuck." Sometimes his condition worked to his advantage. He knew he was cursing, but to anyone else it would sound like a normal word, harmless, if a bit random.

A spoon clattered to the table across from him. He looked up to see Jason staring at him with a gaping jaw.

"Did you mean to say that?" The younger man asked breathlessly.

Dick raised one eyebrow. What? He signed one handed.

"You said 'fuck'."

Dick felt the breath rush from his own chest. He was still holding the milk so instead of signing he spoke again, "What? But I was trying to-" With each word out of his mouth Jason grew paler.

"Dick!" He cried suddenly, "Dick you make sense!" With a laugh he launched himself across the table, wrapping his arms around the frozen form of his big brother.

Dick was too shocked to protest when Jason grabbed his shoulder and propelled him from the kitchen.

Tim and Damian had come to a silent understanding about the Bunker under the penthouse; neither would acknowledge the existence of the other and no one would get hurt. Of course, nowadays they were on far better terms than they had ever been previously, and in private might even consider one another family, but neither believed they would ever really like the other. It was mildly awkward to pretend that there was no one else there, but both boys preferred it that way.

When Jason burst out of the elevator with Dick in tow, yelling something and obviously agitated they dropped what they were doing and rushed over.

"Jason what's going on?"

"What is the meaning of this Todd?"

Jason simply shook his head with a big grin on his face and punched Dick hard in the shoulder.

"Ow! Dammit Jason that hurt." Dick glared at his younger brother. Tim gasped sharply.

"Did he just-? Did you just-?"

"Repeat yourself immediately Grayson," Damian demanded. He had gone strangely pale.

"Damian, I am not going to repeat 'ow'," Dick grumbled, "Before you say anything Tim, no I have no idea what is happening to me."

"But, you can talk! I mean, you can always talk but now you make sense, not that I don't normally understand-" Tim's ramble was mercifully cut off by the ringing of his personal cell phone from his pocket.

"Uh, sorry," he mumbled and retreated a few steps away, obviously slightly grateful for the chance to escape and gather his thoughts.

Damian took the opportunity to begin circling Dick, one small hand on his chin. "You do not appear physically changed."

"No shit, Sherlock," Jason snapped, "It was his head that was broken."

"Jason! Language!" Dick snapped, "And my head wasn't- Tim, Tim!" He leapt across the room and caught Tim as he collapsed to his knees. "Tim, Timmy, what's wrong? Did you get hurt on patrol?" He started patting down Tim's torso looking for the wound he was sure was being hidden from him. When nothing save the normal small cuts and bruises revealed itself he leaned back.

"Timmy?" Then, afraid that Tim wouldn't recognize his speech in the haze he seemed to have fallen into, Dick began signing. Timmy, you're scaring me. What happened?

It seemed the familiar movements snapped Tim from his fugue and his eyes finally ceased their wandering and refocused on Dick. Jason and Damian approached the pair.

"Sorry. I – uh, that, that was my dad calling to ask where I was and why the house was covered in dust."

Dick found he really didn't have anything to say to that. Luckily, Jason had just the right words;

"What the actual fuck is happening."

No one could answer him.

Chapter Text

Chapter 31: The Wishes We Make (Part 2)

"I need to know."

Jason sighed. He understood, he really did. The desire to see his father would eat away at Tim until he made the trek over to the old Drake manor to find out what exactly had happened. But, every instinct in Jason's body was screaming at him that something was wrong with this whole situation. People don't just come back from the dead, diseases don't just heal themselves. He hated to think it, but good things didn't happen to their family.

"Tim," He glanced over at where Damian was peppering Dick with questions as they sparred. "I'm going with you." Tim looked up from his computer.

"You'd do that?" Normally Jason preferred to stay away from the limelight and he was sure to be interrogated by Tim's father as soon as they walked through the door.

Jason ruffled Tim's hair, "Of course, kiddo. You're my least annoying little brother." Tim beamed. "Even if you did steal my costume."

Tim shrugged, "You weren't using it."

Jason laughed. It was refreshing to hear Tim so relaxed, it had been so long since they had joked around. The warm feeling in his chest only grew when he heard Dick patiently answer yet another of Damian's questions. Please, he thought, please let this all be real. We can figure out what to do about Tim's dad if Dick gets to stay like this…. If things just stay good for once in our damned lives.

"Mr. Drake," Jason greeted with is best press conference voice. Jack Drake had never been too fond of Dick and Jason hanging around his young son, so they compensated by being as polite as possible (except, Dick was wont to say rude things with his hands and Jason had never been able to fully hide his glare).

When Jack Drake looked at him Jason had to force away the image of the elder man, pale and thin in a hospital bed with machines carrying out all the functions of life. The man in front of him was vibrant and so very alive. Jason still wasn't sure that this was all real, but he knew without a doubt that this was Jack Drake. Of course, he was far more likely to believe that someone had come back from the dead given his own experiences with the phenomena. Oracle running a discrete identity check using the contact lens Jason had popped in and confirming the identity didn't hurt, either.

Tim appeared to be frozen. Jason gave him a gentle nudge forward.

"Tim?" Jack opened his arms. "Don't you have a hug for your old man?" Tim gingerly hugged him before immediately backing away. He held his arms stiff by his sides.

"You've grown so big," Jack smiled. "Come on, we can talk over coffee." Jason followed the pair through the house. He might trust that this really was Jack Drake, but he would absolutely not be leaving Tim alone with the man. Not when he could still remember the lonely little boy he and Dick had befriended all those years ago. Besides, what if the other man had come back from the grave as insane as Jason himself had?

Jack gave him an odd look as they entered the kitchen.

"Jason, perhaps my son and I could talk privately?" he asked.

Jason shook his head, "Sorry, but that's not going to happen. No offense, but you've been dead for too long for me to leave my little brother alone with you." He suppressed the urge to wince. There was probably a more diplomatic way to say all that. Eh. At least Jack would know where they stood.

The elder man stared at Jason until Tim stepped between them.

"So, Wayne adopted you, did he?" Jack's voice was cold.

Tim nodded. He might be insecure about many things, but his place in his family was not one of them. Not anymore.

"Yes, Bruce was good to me," he winced and looked to Jason before forging onward, "Since his death Jason and Dick have been amazing." Jason wrapped an arm around Tim's shoulders.

"You're a pretty easy kid to love." The L-word was awkward and almost painful to say, but Jason felt the strange need to mark Tim as theirs in front of Jack. The way Tim almost glowed at his words told Jason that perhaps he and Dick weren't being quite obvious enough with their affection.

"I see," Jack was silent for a long time before he said, "Well, then I suppose I should invite you for coffee as well, Jason." There was an edge to his voice that said he wasn't entirely pleased with what he had just learned, but neither Jason nor Tim was inclined to comment on it.

"That would be great, Mr. Drake," Jason smiled without warmth. "I could use a cup of caffiene."

"What does it feel like?" Damian dodged a strike from Dick's left foot, only to be felled by the sweep of the right. He hit the mat with a grunt.

"What does what feel like?" Dick's face hurt, he was smiling so big. He had had the ridiculous expression on his face ever since that morning, but he just couldn't bring himself to stop.

"Talking like a normal person." Damian waved off Dick's offer of help and pulled himself to his feet. He grabbed up his water bottle and took a long swig.

Dick couldn't argue that he was a typical person, or even that he was in the range of what was considered 'normal' by most. But, he also didn't think that the way he communicated was all that strange. Deaf people used Sign all the time….

"Think about the words you use, Dami," Dick admonished. Really he had heard far worse from others, people who thought they were being sensitive and people who couldn't care less either way, but he didn't like thinking about how different he was at home.

Damian's eyes shifted to the floor. "I apologize," he muttered.

Dick pressed the fingers of his right hand to his chin before moving them out and down. Then, remembering why he had been smiling, said, "Thank you." This was all just so weird.

"My question remains," Damian said, more formally than even he was wont to do. Dick's smile turned fond; Damian was often more formal to cover embarrassment.

Dick thought about Damian's question and the intent behind the words. He didn't like to analyze his emotions, so instead of answering the question he thought Damian was probably asking he said, "Weird. I don't talk much and my throat is sore. I'd also forgotten I have an accent."

The last part slipped out before he realized he was going to say it, but it was true nonetheless. He couldn't remember his parents beyond impressions and vague feelings, but Bruce had told him that his father's first language was a Romani dialect and his names for most of their family members implied that as a child had at least conversational abilities in that language.

Suddenly uncomfortable and wishing he hadn't said anything Dick forced the smile back onto his face, "Hey, Dami, why don't you go work through a few exercises in the Forensic module?" Damian began to protest. Dick held up a hand, "I'm going to work in the ropes. You aren't ready for that."

Then, needing to escape emotion and thought, Dick climbed the ladder to the tangle of ropes high above the floor and began to work through one of his favorite routines. When he was sure Damian was occupied, he slipped away to his bedroom. There was something he needed to do.

Later, as afternoon shifted to evening, Jason stormed into the Cave. He hurled the cowl at the computer with a snarl.

"I was just- You know how I check in on the fucking clown, right?"

Dick nodded. There really was no point in reprimanding Jason for his language. At this point, Dick thought that 'fucking clown' might actually be Jason censoring himself from what he really wanted to say.

"So, I drop Tim off at W.E. after we left his dad's place. I decided to swing by Arkham and look in to that cell they keep him in. You know the big circular one?" Dick nodded again. "It's gone."

"He blew it up?" Damian asked from where he sat assembling batarangs. He raised his hand to his ear, "I'll summon Drake."

But, Jason was shaking his head. "No, gone. As in, it was never there."

"What?"

Jason threw his hands into the air, "I don't know! This weekend sucks! I'm about ready to take Roy and Kori up on their offer if it means getting out of this damn city."

Dick chuckled, "That might be a bit extreme," he said and Jason had to fight not to jump. It was still so strange to pay attention to Dick's words rather than his hands.

"Call Tim back and patch Oracle in," Dick told Damian. "We need to figure out what is going on."

They were unable to establish a connection to Oracle. Dick tried her cell phone and even called the WatchTower, only to be told that no one had ever heard of Oracle. He managed to suppress his panic, barely.

"Oracle wouldn't exist," Tim, who had arrived sometime during Dick's call to the WatchTower, muttered from his position by the main computer. Dick gestured for him to continue. "Think about it. If Joker doesn't exist, Barbara would have been shot. She's-"

"She's probably still Batgirl." Dick didn't think that Barbara would have ever given up the role were it not for the Joker. "Okay, so, no Oracle." He considered calling Babs anyway, the instant understanding of what he was feeling would be amazing, but decided against it. The fewer people they had to try and explain all this to, the better.

"List what we know," Jason commanded. He took a savage bite from the energy bar in his hand as he paced back and forth in front of the computer.

"Apparently we all made wishes without realizing it," Tim said, "Maybe the Reverend can read minds?"

Dick waved away the speculation, it didn't matter how the Revered did it. "You wished for your dad to be alive-"

"No!" Tim protested, "I mean, yes that was what I was thinking about, but I meant Bruce!" He looked to be on the verge of tears and Jason abandoned his pacing to wrap an arm around his shoulders. Tim sunk into his side.

"It's okay, kiddo," he reassured, "Seems like this guy has a really sick sense of humor."

Dick nodded, "Your bio-dad is alive. Jason obviously wished the Joker was dead." He raised one hand and continued in PISL where the young ones couldn't see, Which is dumb. You could just go shoot him and no one would care.

"Fuck you, Dick." Jason snapped. Tim was tense in Jason's grasp and Damian was watching the two of them with wide eyes, so Dick did not try and argue his point. He shrugged and continued.

"See, the place I'm stuck is this; I didn't wish for anything." That wiped the scowl from Jason's face and made Tim look up. None of them noticed Damian wrap his arms around his knees.

"Maybe subconsciously?" Tim suggested. He pulled away from Jason.

Dick shook his head, "Not that I know of. I mean, I don't care about talking. Everyone I lo- uh, care about can understand me just fine and if I really want to say something so someone else can understand I can."

"But, it hurts a lot, right? You get migraines," Tim asked. Dick hesitated before nodding. He and Jason had always sought to hide that from the others, but it seemed Tim was too clever to be fooled.

"Maybe-"

"It was me," Damian interrupted. He unfolded from his tight position as the others turned to stare at him, "I wished for a competent Batman. Obviously this is not Todd and Grayson proved he could not be Batman while damaged."

"You little brat!" Jason snarled. Dick placed a hand on his shoulder and stopped the curses they could all see brewing.

Look at him, he signed in PISL, which Damian had not yet begun to learn, he wanted me to stop hurting and for you to stop being stressed out all the time. It was strange, Dick thought, how Damian's motivations were so clear to him and not Jason. Perhaps their time as partners was helping his ability to read the taciturn boy's emotions.

Jason paused and looked. Damn it, but Dick was right. He wanted to be mad at what Damian said and now he couldn't. It was annoying.

"It's okay, Dami," Dick smiled at the boy, "Thanks for making the wish, but Jason is Batman."

Damian scowled at them both.

"We need to catch this guy," Tim said. He seemed to have gathered himself. The determined look was back in his eye, the one Dick remembered from when he and Cass were fighting to be allowed to wear Barbara and Jason's costumes. "And then catalog all the changes… Oh, Dick we should probably get an MRI of your head. I remember what your old one looks like so even if they're deleted we can compare."

Catching the Reverend turned out to be far easier than any of them expected. Robin barely made it a quarter of the way through his patrol when he spotted another large crowd, all chanting and singing. The others, who had been doing sweeping searched in the other three quarters of the city, converged on his location.

When the man saw them he did not react with anything worse than a wide smile.

"Hello, boys!" He called over the din of the crowd. "I hope you're finding your new world pleasant."

"Hardly," Batman snapped, "Come quietly and this will be much less painful for you."

The Reverend stared at them, "Ah," he smiled, "I see you don't appreciate my gifts. Oh, well. That happens. I do wish-" He collapsed to the ground. Nightwing stood over the limp body glaring down at the man and shaking out the fist he had used to knock him unconcious.

"I really wanted to do that earlier," he muttered. "Sorry I didn't let you do it Robin." Robin shook his head.

"No, it's fine," he glanced around at the crowd of the Reverend's followers, "What are we going to do about these people?"

The people, who had been chanting fervently not sixty seconds earlier, appeared frozen. Slowly, they were stirring and staring around themselves in confusion.

"What happened?" One man cried.

"Where am I?" "I was just-" "Carl!"

Batman grabbed up the Reverend, "I'll deliver this piece of scum to Arkham. Make sure no one leaves until the GCPD gets here. They should be able to charge him with kidnapping and coercion."

The others nodded. Nightwing, who was not known to be especially people friendly, used his grapnel gun to ascend to the rooftop Robin had perched on not an hour earlier. He would watch and ensure that there were no stray wishes that could harm his siblings.

Batman handed the man over to the current head of Arkham with strict warnings that he was not to be interacted with until a meta-human specialist could be out to evaluate him. He had almost made it out of the building when the head security guard called out to him, "Wait! Batman, aren't you going to check on the Joker?"

For the first time since donning the cowl, Jason was glad for the stoicism required by the Batman persona. He forcibly repressed the bile that rose in his throat and turned.

"What?" He choked out between gritted teeth.

"You always look in on the clown." The man, whose name Jason was having difficulty separating from the static that had filled his brain, frowned.

Jason inclined his head, "Of course." He gestured to the hallway, "Lead the way."

Ten minutes later Jason was on the roof of the building, vomiting up everything he had eaten in the last day. His hands shook violently. He fought to take deep breaths, he would not allow himself to have a panic attack, not over the Joker. Not again.

How could he have been so stupid? Of course, the Joker wouldn't stay gone.

It had been a wonderful dream and now he only wanted to cry. They hadn't even called Barbara while the Joker was gone. They didn't get to see what her Batgirl costume would have looked like. Hell, what if she had moved on? What if she was something else, a hero persona that would never exist because of the damn clown.

The chalk white face drifted before his eyes and he doubled over again.

Thirty minutes later he had managed to pull himself together and make it back to the Cave. Panic and self-recriminations could wait until he was alone in the dark of his room. He and the others had accepted an invitation to a late dinner at the Drake residence. He didn't want to be tardy and make Jack Drake even less pleasant than he was already likely to be. He exited the shower in the Cave and was about to start up the stairs when he saw Tim, Cass, Damian, and Dick gathered by the computer. Seeing Cass soothed something in Jason. At least one of them had been spared the worst of the fallout from their latest misadventure. Maybe, Dick and Tim would be able to keep their wishes….

Then, Jason noticed Tim was staring at the screen in that unblinking way he only had when something terrible had happened.

"What's going on?" He didn't want to break the Joker news if something else had occured…. Or, at least that's what he told himself. Really, saying it out loud seemed like he was making it all too real. Dick separated from the others.

"His dad's gone," his elder brother whispered into Jason's ear, "Everything in his house looks like it did last week."

Well, shit. Jason nodded. Strangely, he felt more in control than he had since the security guard called him back. Other people's issues he could deal with.

On his way to Tim's side he wrapped Cass in a tight hug. "I'm glad you're back," he whispered into her hair, "It's going to be a rough few days." She nodded.

"Dick called me yesterday and said I should come home for this meal," she bowed her head, "I am sorry not to have the chance to meet Tim's father." Jason kissed her forehead.

"Me too." He wasn't, not really. Tim's dad was a dick and Jason had never been able to feel bad for the man. It was an opinion he did not voice, at least not around Tim.

Speaking of Tim…. He approached the silent boy.

"Hey Timmy," Jason whispered, "You doing okay?" Tim shrugged. He had yet to look away from the case file pulled up on the computer.

"Okay," Jason waved for the others to disperse, "We can do the silent broody thing. It's good to keep in practice."

Dick pushed Cassandra and Damian towards the practice mats as Jason continued a quiet commentary on the weather and Gordon's new hairspray (it smelled like raspberries and Jason had to forcibly suppress a smirk every time the signal was lit).

Dick knew, knew, that his words would be going away soon. The other wishes had done so. He knew by the look on Jason's face that the Joker was back, and Tim had returned from helping his father set up for dinner with an ashen complexion. There was no reason why he should be any different. Despite this, he hoped it wouldn't happen. He wanted to talk, more than he had ever thought he would.

But, they stayed. He opened his mouth and the things he meant to say escaped, leaping over the empty ground where the wall in his mind had stood. Slowly and quickly all at once, twenty-four hours passed. Dick did not sleep, not really. Instead he talked to himself and to a video camera.

When the next night rolled around and Dick could still string words together in a coherent manner without effort they all began to relax a little.

Maybe, just maybe, this would be the time they were allowed something good.

Tim was determined to continue working on the cold case he had been taking comfort in. Though, it was technically a Batman-and-Crow night, Damian insisted on joining Dick on his patrol and neither Jason nor Dick had the heart to deny the boy that. So, while Batman and Batgirl prowled around the docks, Nightwing and Crow made their way to the city center. They had made it nearly four blocks when Crow broke the comfortable silence between them.

"I have a question," he said looking up at where Nightwing perched atop an old water tower.

"Shoot." Nightwing flipped off the water tower. He grabbed a pipe that jutted out over the street and, using the momentum from his jump, spun in a tight loop before continuing his descent to the rooftop with a fluid set of somersaults.

"Am I wrong to be happy this happened?" He seemed to take the look on Nightwing face for disapproval and continued hurriedly, "Its just, I am not skilled at signing and I-," he hesitated. Nightwing nodded for him to go on, "I have enjoyed speaking with you."

Nightwing flexed his claws, forcing them back from his fingers. He reached out and ruffled Crow's hair.

"I like talking to you too, kiddo." He smiled at Crow. The boy wished suddenly that Jason were present, there was so much more he wanted to say, so many things he wanted to hear Nightwing say. But, the words would not come and he knew that without Jason's prompting, Nightwing would never think to say the things Crow wanted (needed) to hear.

"No," Nightwing went on, answering Crow's question, "It's not wrong of you to be happy. I am. But, Robin and Batman are upset."

"Why?' Crow muttered, "Things are back to the way they should be!"

Nightwing thought about how he would feel if John Grayson showed back up and then vanished all within twenty-four hours. He thought maybe he would be devastated, but the feeling was distant and pale. The idea of Bruce doing the same tried to materialize, but he forced it away. There was no reason to think about what could not be. So, instead he shrugged, "I'm not them. Talk to Batman if you want, but I wouldn't mention any of this to Robin for a while." He knew that much at least, Tim was upset and Damian had a way of making things worse.

Crow contemplated that in silence. After a long silence, in which Nightwing thought he might have been thinking on his own father's death, he nodded, "I suppose I can do that." Then, he jerked his head toward the ground, "Are we going to talk all day, or are we going to do our jobs?"

Nightwing's smile turned dangerous, "I vote we knock some heads." He clicked his claws back into place.

They leapt into the night together.

The night would go down as one of Crow's favorites since he arrived on Gotham. Of course, patrolling with his father had always been educational, but it had never been fun. Nightwing was dangerous, he tended to leave men bleeding more often than not, and he had no mercy for those they stopped. But, he was fun. He laughed and danced through the air with such ridiculous ease that Crow found himself smiling and actually truly enjoying their night work.

Best of all were the jokes. Robin and Batman were always laughing at things Nightwing signed during patrol. Hell, even Batgirl would smile and sign something back. That was practically side splitting laughter from her! Now, for the first time, Crow was in on all the jokes. Observations about the criminals poor choices in hairstyle and clothing, scathing comments about their fighting abilities, hilarious puns that Crow was sure Nightwing was only making to elicit a smile from his younger partner. It was all so strange coming from the man he normally had to struggle to understand that, to Crow, the night took on a sort of mystical quality.

Then, as all things must, it ended.

They had just returned to the Cave, exhausted but pleased with their night's efforts, and Damian could only wish that the sun had held off for a little longer. He wanted every night to be like this one had.

Dick removed his mask. He scrubbed aggressively at the glue clinging to his cheeks. Crow noted that Batman and Batgirl's suits were back in their places. Neither looked to be in need of repair. Good, they had once again survived the night.

"Think Alfred is back yet?" Dick asked.

Damian shrugged. Alfred had left to deal with an unexpected family emergency in England and had not been able to say when he might return.

"I hope he is," Dick grinned, "I would kill for some pancakes."

"Tt. If you weren't completely incompetent you could make them yourself."

"Aw, come on, Crow! I dog green."

Damian froze. He turned to stare at Dick. It couldn't be. Just because they arrested the Reverend? Surely the mad old coot wouldn't be so cruel?

The Joker and Tim's biological father were supposed to be alive and dead respectively, it made sense that they had to be put back like they were. But Dick wasn't supposed to be silent or incomprehensible most of the time and in agony when he spoke so others could understand. He was supposed to be the bright, cheerful talkative man Damian had been getting to know over the course of the last few days.

The smile was still on his older brother's face but it no longer looked right. It was brittle and sharp. The sort of smile that made Damian want to curl up and cry, the sort that reminded him of opulent quarters and harsh deserts and the desperate need to be recognized and loved. It was the smile of a Talon.

"Grayson?" He queried softly.

Dick closed his eyes briefly, huffing out a short, sharp gust of air before turning on his heel and stalking away.

Damian immediately went to find Jason.

"Hey, kiddo," his second eldest brother said absently. He was putting his toothbrush back in its holder and picking up a filled coffee mug with the other hand. It was Monday and Jason was expected at Wayne Enterprises in less than, Damian checked the clock, an hour. When Damian did not immediately respond, Jason met his eyes in the mirror.

"Shit," he said when he saw Damian's pale face, "Dick's words?" Damian nodded wordlessly.

"Tell Timmy for me," Jason ordered, "I'll take care of Dick."

Jason did what he could, but Dick did not emerge for three days save for patrols and absolutely brutal solo training sessions. On patrol Nightwing was cruel and hard and by the third night so many criminals had been arrested with claw marks that Commissioner Gordon lit the batsignal.

For the last three days Nightwing had been patrolling by himself, so it fell to Batman to partner with Crow. Batman didn't mind, in fact he would normally have relished the opportunity to get to know his younger brother better. But these were not normal circumstances and the atypical arrangement had both heroes on edge. Jason wished Alfred would come home, he could really use the back up with the other three. Cassandra did her best, but she and Dick were more alike than either would willingly admit and Cassandra's form of 'talking about it' tended towards sparring until the problem went away. Tim, confused and upset by all that had happened, had thrown himself into a cold case murder and was finally making some progress with a new piece of forensic tech he had acquired through WayneTech.

When Batman and Crow showed up at the lit signal Gordon smiled. It was obvious to anyone with eyes that this was not the original Batman, he was far too slim and lacked a few inches of height, but the Commissioner was fond of all the vigilantes who helped keep Gotham safe. Besides, it was oddly comforting to know that the Bat's family had maintained his legacy.

"Everything alright, Commissioner?" Batman rasped.

Gordon sighed. He really hated what he was about to do, "Not so much," he fingered the pack of cigarettes in his pocket, "It's Nightwing."

Even under the cowl he could see the wince. It was the little things like that that had helped him adjust to the changing of the guard, the original Batman would never have shown that much emotion. It was good to know his protégé was not trying to be him in every way.

"What about him?" Crow asked aggressively. The boy's arms were folded tight across his chest, a scowl firmly entrenched on his face.

"He's out of control," Gordon explained, "The prison hospitals are starting to complain about the claw marks and my boys are scared to go to his GPS markers."

Batman sighed, "I'll take care of it," he growled. "Anything else?"

Gordon shook his head and they were gone in a flap of cape and shadow. At least they hadn't disappeared on him that time. It was the little things in life.

Batman sent Crow back to the Cave and started to search for Nightwing. Generally it was an impossible task; if he didn't want to be found there were very few people on Earth with the skills to track Nightwing down. But, criminals were less discrete. He simply had to find the place in Gotham with the fewest members of the criminal underbelly and assume that that was where Nightwing wasn't. If Tim had the uncanny ability to read the patterns in everything, then Nightwing's was the weirdly correct knowledge of where criminals were going to be. His route always seemed to coincide with the most volatile hot spots. It was impressive, to say the least.

So, Batman made his way across the city and when he decided that he was in a sufficiently dangerous area he sat down on the rooftop and began disassembling his armor. Not long after he unclipped removed his boots and utility belt Nightwing appeared at the edge of the rooftop.

What the fuck are you doing? Jason had noticed that Dick never used the sign for Batman when talking to him. He didn't think any of the others had noticed yet and he hoped they never would. In his mind, it was just one more sign that he wasn't worthy to wear the cowl, despite what Dick had told him (actions spoke louder after all). He forced a light smile hoping that it would look just strange enough to see Batman smiling that it might catch Dick off guard. It didn't. Nightwing stalked over and scooped the uniform bits into a pile. He grabbed Jason's hand and forced it into a glove.

Jason allowed him to work for a few moments before twisting his arm in Dick's grip and grabbing the other man's wrist. Nightwing froze, falling into that unnatural stillness that was typically the precursor to some kind of violent retaliation.

"Nightwing," he muttered in his own voice, not the one he affected for Batman, "You need to stop this."

Dick jerked his hand away. His upper lip was curled in a sharp snarl.

Stop what? It registered suddenly that Dick was using only the most proper Signed English, not the code-switched mix of ASL, SE, and home sign he typically used on patrol. Jason sighed, that really wasn't a good sign for his brother's mental state.

"Stop the maiming of common thugs to start with and then after that stopping the solo crazy act would be great." He could not help but allow a little bit of the frustration they all felt seep into his words. At Dick's confused look, he felt his own expression soften. He pulled off the cowl. Nightwing started and quickly stood to block any possible view of Jason's face. Jason snorted.

"Chill out man," he muttered. He yanked down on Dick's wrist, forcing him to the ground, "We're thirty stories up and there are no tall buildings nearby. I think we're safe." Nightwing did not remove his own mask, but he did look at least a little less edgy.

They're criminals. Nightwing finally said after a long silence, I thought you were okay with hurting them. He looked significantly at the pouch he knew carried a tiny hold-out pistol and then glared at Jason.

"Dude, hurting them is one thing, but you cut the achilles of a pickpocket." Nightwing had the good graces to at least look a little ashamed of that, "Talk to me, Dick."

Nightwing stayed still and silent. Eventually he lifted his hands and said, I just – Jay, he's gone and I thought that I was not broken for once in my damn life, I thought maybe things were getting better. He paused and Jason shifted closer. Physical affection would not be welcomed just then, but he needed to show he was listening somehow. I would have given my words up again to have him back but it wasn't for anything, just a fucking trick.

Jason thought about that. Would he have given up something so important for Bruce? Their relationship had not been the same for a long time, since before Jason had died really. Did he still have it in him to something like that for the old man? He really wasn't sure. If the question was about Dick then his answer was instantaneous and easy; of course. He would give up anything, everything, if it meant saving Dick's life. Hell, he was pretty sure he would do it if the only thing they gained was a cure for aphasia.

"Dick," he started but Dick cut him off.

I know I've been out of control, his motions were small, the signed version of a whisper, and for the first time since they started talking he was using ASL. It still wasn't quite normal, but it was better. I don't want to be anymore.

Jason smiled, "You got it. You and me can patrol together for a while. It'll do Timmy and the little demon good to have to work together. Plus, I think Tim almost has that case of his worked out. They can solve that while we find bad guys to beat the shit out of. I heard Penguin is plotting something big."

Dick bumped his shoulder into Jason and nodded. It was all the reassurance Jason needed that his older brother was going to be okay eventually. He stood. Now, to find some bad guys….

After a long patrol, Batman convinced Nightwing to ride back to the cave in the car. He had only just exited the bat-mobile when a black and blue clad bullet hit him. He jerked and raised his claws, but it was only Damian. His hood was down and he had the most sincerely remorseful look on his face Dick had ever seen.

"I'm sorry I wished it," he whispered into Dick's chest, "I didn't mean it. I promise, I-" Dick pulled away slightly and crouched down to the boy's level.

It's okay Dami. He forced a smile even though it felt anything but 'okay' just then. You meant well and it was nice to be understood for a few days. I'm used to being a little broken. He shrugged. Damian lurched back into the hug.

"You're not broken," he protested quietly, "You're my brother and an al Ghul would never claim someone unworthy as family. So, you have to be worthy or Mother will be mad at me."

That startled a laugh from Dick. Jason and Tim looked over from where they had very carefully been not listening in.

Is that right? Well then, we don't want to piss your mom off. Dick stood and wrapped an arm around Damian's slim shoulders. With his free hand he signed, Movie night anyone?

It was a well-known fact in the Wayne household that there wasn't much that couldn't be solved by liberal application of popcorn and a terrible 1950s spy movie so the others nodded and the next morning found them asleep in a pile on the largest couch the manor had to offer the title screen of the cheesiest movie they could find looping over and over in the TV.

Alfred would enter the room seven hours later and be once again thankful that he always carried a small camera around with him. Master Bruce would want to see pictures from when he was gone when he finally returned after all.

Chapter Text

Chapter 32: The punishments We Ignore

Damian crumpled the sheet of vellum he had spent the last three hours laboring over. He sighed deeply and thumped his forehead onto his desk, vaguely glad that there was no one else there to see his immature actions. Of course, that lack of companionship was part of the problem he currently found himself facing; he was bored, bored and nothing he drew looked right and he had never before wanted so badly to throw a fit like a petulant child. He didn’t even have his father’s other children to entertain him as they had all gone to a Wayne Charities Event. Even Alfred had gone with them, leaving Damian alone and possibly dying of boredom. (Something he was sure was possible, despite there being no recorded instances of it ever happening.)

Before they left, Damian had made a final plea to be allowed to accompany them. He might not enjoy the functions the elite of Gotham threw to make themselves feel better about ignoring the problems that plagued their city, but they were at least guaranteed to be more interesting than staring at the wall behind his desk. His plea was denied by his father without a second’s thought. Apparently, being grounded extended to attending public events. So, he had eaten the meal left behind for him by Alfred and retreated to his bedroom to try and draw away his frustration. Being grounded was just so… childlike.

At least the others had looked sympathetic as they abandoned him. Even Drake, dolt that he was, seemed to understand Damian’s frustration. Todd had reached and ruffled the hair atop his head as he passed Damian on his way out the door. Damian jerked back and glared, but the damage was done and Grayson was laughing. Imbeciles, the whole lot of them.

Damian gave up on drawing and moved to the stack of homework on the corner of his desk. If he couldn’t do anything fun, he would at least be productive.

The rising moon found Damian curled up in his favorite reading spot. His homework was complete and his drawings still weren’t cooperating with him. Normally, he might have delighted in a silent house in which to read. No fake siblings to bother him, no butler to make ridiculous requests of him, and no father to scold him. But, just then all he wanted was-

POP.

His head jerked up. The sudden noise that had disturbed the silence was gone as quickly as it happened. Damian marked the page in the book and stood.

Though it had never happened in his residence, he knew Wayne Manor had been attacked before. If this was one of those instances…. Damian peered out the window of his room before sighing in frustration. No attack, just Drake and Todd standing in the grass below his window with large, idiotic smiles on their faces. He pushed the window open.

“What?” Damian snapped down to them.

Todd put one hand on his chest, “So rude! Isn’t that rude, Tim?”

Drake nodded solemnly, “Very rude. Maybe we shouldn’t-?”

“I don’t know, Timbo. Dick’ll be upset if we don’t.”

Damian stared at the two of them. “What are you idiots talking about?” He hissed.

“Come down and find out, squirt,” Jason pointed to the large vining ivy next to Damian’s window. Damian considered not doing as they bid, but if Grayson wanted him to….

He climbed down the vine.

“Shall I prepare your evening snack?” Alfred asked from his position just behind Bruce’s left shoulder. Bruce nodded. His gaze was fixed on a small window in the corner of the largest monitor in the cave.

“Alfred,” He asked, “Have you seen Damian tonight?”

Alfred thought for a moment, “No sir, I don’t believe I have. The young master turned away his snack when I attempted to bring it to him.”

A faint smile curled the corners of Bruce’s mouth. “Good.”

Alfred did not question the seemingly odd statement and Bruce settled in to work his way through some genuinely baffling lab results. The children could watch Gotham for tonight, Barbara would call him if any issues arose that needed his attention.

“What are we doing?” Damian hissed. Drake and Todd had continued their little act as they led him though the Manor grounds towards the woods that surrounded the property.

“Patience, grasshopper,” Todd whispered. He had a large bag on his back and a huge grin on his face.

“I am not a-”

“Are you hungry?” Drake interjected.

Damian almost snapped at him for interrupting, but he was hungry. If part of their plan was to feed him then perhaps he could go along with it, at least until he received food. He subsided.

The three progressed deeper into the woods, on the path to a small clearing halfway in between the Drake estate and Wayne Manor. When they reached the clearing Todd threw himself down on a stump and started digging through the pack he had carried.

“Tim, here’s yours,” he said, thrusting a pile of clothes at Drake. “Damian.” Damian took the stack from Todd and stared. It was his Crow uniform.

“What are we doing?” he asked. “I’m grounded.”

Todd and Drake exchanged another of the looks Damian couldn’t read.

“Bruce grounded you,” Todd said slowly, as if Damian were missing something huge.

“That’s what I just said, you moron,” Damian snapped.

Drake shook his head and Todd repeated himself, “Bruce grounded you, Dick didn’t.”

The branches around them were swirling in a sudden wind. Damian clutched his costume tighter to his chest as a light appeared in the sky. He squinted against the wind, trying to see what was happening. Finally, the dark shape coalesced into a small jet with downward facing turbines. It thumped to the ground.

“Come on,” Todd encouraged, “Night’s not gonna last forever.”

He picked up the bag at his feet and entered the hatch of the jet with Drake close at his heels. Damian stared after them. Should he follow? He had already disobeyed, but if he left now he could probably make it back to his room before his absence was discovered by his father…. His father who hadn’t listened, hadn’t tried to understand, had just grounded him and told him to ‘think about what he’d done’.

Damian entered the jet.

“Pup!” Damian stared. Grayson was happier than he had ever seen him. Smiling and waving from the pilot’s seat of the small craft. Both he and Cain (who was in the copilot’s chair) were dressed in their uniforms.

“No problems?” Cain asked.

“Pshaw,” Todd scoffed, “What do you take us for?”

“People trying to sneak around Batman’s house,” she replied with a dry look.

“Fair,” Todd conceded. “No, no problems. We got him out through the gardens. The security cameras have an odd glitch where they turn off for five minutes randomly.” He glanced at Drake as he said this, “Weirdly, I think it’ll be cleared up by tomorrow morning.”

Good job. Let’s get going. Babs has a pizza waiting for us on the roof and I can hear Damian’s stomach from here, Dick signed slowly in deference to Damian’s rudimentary knowledge of ASL. He stared at them for a moment as no one moved, Well, aren’t you going to buckle up?

Drake immediately sat down and snapped his buckle into place. Todd reached forward from where he stood and thumped Grayson on the head before sitting in the seat closest to Cain. When Damian didn’t move, Todd reached up and yanked him down into a seat.

“You want food?” Damian nodded, “Then you have to sit.”

Uniforms on. Dick told them as the plane descended towards the hidden hanger atop the Gotham Clocktower. He slid his claws onto his fingers as he finished speaking. Damian had to stop himself from staring as the others changed from the relatively normal riffraff his father had taken in to the scourge of Gotham’s criminal underbelly. It was an unnerving transition. He wondered if he looked as powerful in his uniform as they did (he liked to think he did, but then he had yet to have the growth spurt genetics promised him and he wasn’t sure anyone could look truly powerful or intimidating at under five feet tall). They left their masks off in deference to meal-time.

Once dressed they exited the hangar. Dick paused at the large, reinforced door to the main area of the Clocktower. He clicked a button on the panel next to the door and Barbara appeared. Dick’s grin was large and loose, his hand movements happy as he signed something in ASL too fast for Damian to translate. The door clicked open after a few rapid signs from Barbara.

Damian had visited the Clocktower once before since his arrival in Gotham. Almost against his will, he liked the place. Barbara had decorated with a careful eye towards current trends and classic lines. Interspersed throughout the living area were pieces of technology that appeared standard until one activated them with the right passcode. Damian could easily understand why Cain and Brown chose to spend many of their nights here rather than at the more austerely decorated Manor. It felt like a home in the same way Dick and Jason’s apartment did.

Barbara wheeled out from the study. “You managed to sneak him out?” She raised one eyebrow at them.

“Why does everyone keep doubting us, Tim?”

Drake shrugged, “Apparently they just don’t have faith in our skills, Jason.”

Damian had to protest that. “Tt. It hardly takes any skill to throw rocks at my window.”

Dick snickered, You two actually threw rocks at his window?

Drake had the good graces to at least look abashed by the revelation, but Todd was unrepentant.

“Hey, it worked! Damian is here and Bruce has no idea he’s not asleep in bed like a good little boy.”

“As if any of you were ever good little boys,” Brown, who had been silently leaning on Cain since they entered the kitchen, threw herself into a chair and pulled one of the numerous pizza boxes close, “Come on, I want to eat before it gets cold.”

Dinner with the younger generation of vigilantes was a… different experience than a meal at the Manor. Conversation flowed freely, both verbally and gesturally. Despite the uniforms, his siblings were more relaxed than Damian had ever seen them. Damian could do nothing more than stare and try to suppress the strange desire to be a part of whatever it was they all shared.

“So, how long has this been going on?” Todd was ribbing Drake about a new member of the Teen Titans around a mouthful of pepperoni. Drake was bright red. He mumbled something incomprehensible and snatched up his can of Zesti.

Dick reached around and ruffled Drake’s hair. His hand didn’t linger in the contact any longer than necessary, but that same deep part of Damian wished it was his hair being tousled. Sometimes he disgusted himself.

Cain and Brown were deep in conversation about a case they had been working together. Barbara had abandoned her slice of pizza for a small laptop to help them puzzle through the final details they needed. Every so often one of them would jab at the screen excitedly while the others listened closely. Damian wondered what it was like to respect others so much, to learn from them and to teach in equal measure. He respected Dick, Bruce, and Barbara deeply, but he didn’t feel comfortable with the open exchange of ideas the way Cain and Brown seemed to be. Maybe that was something that came with time? It was an idea that needed considering.

After the last of the pizza had been consumed and the dishes cleaned up they tumbled out of the Clocktower and into the night. Damian realized suddenly that despite the costumes, they had still been his siblings at dinner. Now, with masks on and shoulders tense they were vigilantes. Spoiler immediately grabbed Batgirl’s hand and pulled her in the direction of the Narrows.

“We’ll see you at home!” Batgirl called as they moved away.

Nightwing nodded his assent to the plan and turned to the others. Red Hood, he instructed, I want you and Robin to follow up on the Corelli murders. Bruce thinks there might be a connection to Penguin’s latest acquisitions out in the warehouse district.

“Oh, murders!” Red Hood sounded more gleeful than Damian thought the rest of them should have been comfortable with, but no one batted an eye. Red Hood and Robin left towards the east.

You and I are going to work on your grapnel technique. Dick pulled his grapnel out and gestured for Damian to do the same, Come on, last one to the GCPD has to scrub the Batmobile.

He leapt from the building with a loud whoop. Damian followed without hesitation (scrubbing the Batmobile was the absolute worst, he told himself, he was not doing this because it looked fun… Nope.).

Dick shut the door to Tim’s room with a quiet click. The kid likely wouldn’t sleep for a few hours yet, but he was at least settled into his bed and in his night clothes. Dick took what victories he could get when it came to Tim’s sleeping habits.

He stepped across the hall to Cassandra’s room. Though she spent just as much time globetrotting or staying in the Clocktower as actually in the Manor now-a-days, Cass had always reveled in the large bed and plush luxury of her Wayne Manor bedroom. Dick wasn’t surprised to see that she was already curled up in a pile of comforters and pillows.

Okay? He signed when he saw that her eyes were open.

“Okay,” she whispered. Dick reached out and adjusted one of the blankets so it wouldn’t continue its slide from the bed. “Thanks.” Cass reached up and grasped his wrist before he could move away again, “Tonight was fun.”

Yeah, he responded with his free hand. She tightened her hold before releasing him, silent reassurance that they were all okay and that he had done well. Dick felt his tight shoulders loosen just a tad. Impulsively, he leaned down and kissed her forehead before turning on his heel and fleeing the sudden emotions filling the room.

Jason had elected to stay behind at the apartment he and Dick shared downtown. Dick would see him in a little bit, his confirmation of the younger man’s health could wait until the residents of the Manor were taken care of. Barbara had already texted to say that Stephanie was back at the Clocktower and uninjured. That left only Damian and Bruce to check on.

Light shone from the crack under Damian’s door so Dick didn’t hesitate to knock. Boundaries were important to Damian and, while Bruce or Alfred might enter without permission, Dick remembered what it was like to treasure privacy as a rare gift.

“Enter,” Damian sounded tired.

He was sitting in the window seat when Dick entered.

“Yes?” He asked. Dick mentally amended his assessment of the boy from merely tired to exhausted.

Are you okay? He signed carefully in deference to a tired mind.

Damian considered his question before answering, “I am- confused.” He admitted. Dick shifted a few papers and settled into a seated position atop Damian’s desk. He carefully didn’t look too long at the trash bin filled with crumpled drawings.

About? He hoped it was nothing too complicated. He would hate to have to call Jason at such a late hour.

“Why did you disobey my father?”

I didn’t? At least Dick couldn’t think of a recent example of his disobeying Bruce.

“Yes you did. Bruce grounded me and you arranged things to circumvent that.”

Oh, this Dick could work with. Knowing how disarming a well-placed smile could be, he grinned at Damian fondly.

Yeah, I did do that. Damian opened his mouth to say something, but Dick continued before he could form the words. But, the thing is Dami, Bruce knows that he’s not really in charge of you kids. Not at night. Most of the time he and I agree and it’s not an issue, you do what he says because he has your best interest in mind. But, sometimes he’s wrong and then you listen to me.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Damian protested, “He’s Batman and-”

And I’m Nightwing. Look, Dami, we agreed to this system a long time ago. Back when Jason was first training to be Robin. I was, well, I was a wreck. Every time he left the Manor I was convinced that he wasn’t going to come back and it was worse when Bruce and I disagreed about a command. Eventually, Bruce let me take over training Jason and I was better, not great, but better.

Dick knew he was being confusing, leaving out huge chunks of what had happened back then. He had no idea how to explain that when Bruce ordered Jason to do something he heard his Great Uncle’s voice and the old fear of other children being raised as Talons reared its ugly head.

“So, Robin was your responsibility?” Damian tried to understand, “How does that relate to me?”

You’re all birds. Bruce is a bat. Mostly, you listen to him and you follow his orders. But, if I tell you to do something that goes against what he says, you do that. Seeing how uncomfortable the idea made Damian, Dick leaned in close, I promise, I almost never go against what he says. He’s a pretty clever guy and he’s almost always right. I just- I worry about you kids and sometimes it makes me feel better to do things differently than he might. Does that make sense?

Damian nodded.

It’s complicated, but you’ll get the hang of it. Remember, you can always talk to any of us if you’re feeling confused. Bruce is a great dad, he’ll explain all this if you need to hear it from someone besides me.

“Thank you,” Damian muttered, “For explaining, and for tonight. I- I had fun.”

Dick beamed, That was the goal, kiddo. Now, sleep. You have lessons in the morning.

Several hours after Alfred had left him alone to work on his case files, Bruce felt a presence at his shoulder. He looked up. Dick, divested of his Nightwing uniform and claws, stood above him looking exhausted but pleased.

Morning, Dick signed with a smirk. Quiet night?

“Quieter than yours.”

Dick shrugged, Jason informed me long ago that it is a big brothers contractual duty to get the younger sibling in trouble. He paused for a moment before continuing more seriously, He needed this. He needed to know that were not always going to side with you on everything and that he’s allowed to fight with the family without losing it.

Bruce thought about the first few years after Dick’s arrival at the Manor, about how still and quiet and compliant the boy had been. He thought about the fierce joy and fear that had been on his face the first time he disobeyed a direct order of Bruce’s, and he thought about the relaxed set of Dick’s shoulders as he stood before Bruce now.

“I understand,” Bruce allowed, “We don’t need to let the others know I was aware of your little jaunt.”

Dick laughed, As if you being aware would have stopped them anyway. The need to rebel doesn’t go away with age you know. His eyes darted pointedly to the uneaten celery on the side of Bruce’s plate and Bruce grinned. Alfred might want him to eat more vegetables, but, honestly celery was just not going to happen.

I explained our agreement to him, Dick looked slightly more apprehensive about that. As if Bruce would argue because Damian was his biological son and that was different.

Bruce smiled to reassure him, “Good, I’ve been meaning to mention it. Did he understand?”

Dick shrugged, I think so? He wasn’t quite sure about me going against your orders, but seemed to at least be willing to think about it. You might want to have a chat with him to reassure him that you’re okay with it.

Bruce nodded, “I’ll do that this weekend.” He paused before continuing, “You did good tonight, Dick. You look exhausted, go check on Jason and get some sleep. I don’t want to hear that you were out of bed tomorrow before at least ten.”

Dick saluted, That’s an order I’ll happily follow, Bruce. With a final small smile and a sloppily signed, Night, Dick left the Cave and Bruce sank back into his thoughts.

While the observations about Damian needing to realize the family wasn’t going to abandon him sounded like the sort of thing Jason would have realized, that last piece of advice was all Dick. Bruce suddenly had an idea of exactly the sort of education Damian was getting from his siblings and found he approved.

He would, however, be ensuring that Tim couldn’t shut off the cameras as he had done again anytime soon. Can’t let them get away with everything after all.

Chapter Text

Chapter 33: The Battles We Fight: Part 1

Until the Zeta platform activated, the day had been like any other in Gotham. The hours before dusk passed in relative peace. Bruce was off on a League mission dealing with some huge threat he had refused to elaborate on, which meant Dick spent his day on the uneven bars attempting to work off his nervous energy. Jason worked his way through a few outstanding case files while the younger ones caught up on homework.

When the sun set, Jason sent Tim to stake out a warehouse that Oracle had requested be monitored. Then, he and Cassandra settled down at the computer to work through some data on a new group of crime lords that were attempting to set up shop on the borders of Two-Face’s territory. Dick decided to spend the night running Damian through his paces on the bars. Perhaps later he would allow the boy to spar with his sword (it had been forever since Dick evaluated Damian’s skill with the blade).

At the accelerating whine of the Zeta all motion in the cave ceased. If Bruce wanted information or had a task for any of them he would have called on the computer. The Zeta was for emergencies or coming home only. Damian dropped from the bars in anticipation of seeing his father again after nearly a week. The computerized voice announced “SUPERMAN, WONDER WOMAN”, then it hesitated before finishing with “BATMAN.” Dick and Jason exchanged a look across the cave, the computer had never paused like that before….

When only Clark and Diana materialized before the whine and light dissipated, the look between Jason and Dick sharpened.

“Damian, Cass,” Jason snapped, “Suit up and go fetch Tim. Be back in half an hour or less.” Damian started to protest but Dick placed on hand on his shoulder and shoved him towards the locker room. A large handprint in chalk decorated the boy’s shoulder from his gesture.

“Wait until they leave,” Jason ordered the visitors. Diana nodded, but Clark didn’t seem to have heard him. As they waited Dick and Jason took the opportunity to study their League colleagues. Jason noted the deep crease between Clark’s brows and the way Diana’s eyes shone. They kept darting to the dark bundle in Clark’s tight grip. Dick ignored their faces and instead looked to their shoulders and hips. Diana, the warrior, stood as if she was waiting for an attack despite the safety of the Cave. She had angled herself to minimize the target provided to her enemies and her hands kept drifting towards the hilt of her sword. Clark, despite his strength and position of leadership, was not a soldier; his posture was defeated and sad, his big hands clenched tightly and his head bowed. Dick moved across the cave to stand next to Jason. He pressed his shoulder to Jason’s. The younger hero nodded slightly; together all their observations painted a terrible image. 

Crow and Batgirl exited the locker room. Crow tried to pause, to ask what was happening, but Dick shook his head minutely and Batgirl grabbed their little brother’s shoulder and steered him towards the Batmobile. Before the car had even left Jason gestured to Clark and Diana to explain.

“We defeated Darkseid,” Clark started, “but, Bruce he-”

Silence fell.

Bruce died, Dick signed, sharp and harsh and everything Jason didn’t want to see ever. Clark flinched violently away from them.

“What?” Jason breathed, “No. No, he can’t have.”

Diana stepped towards them. Jason backed away, but Dick was frozen in his spot.

“He died a hero,” she whispered. Clark’s flinch was even more pronounced and Dick immediately understood that Diana wasn’t saying. They had been too late. They had been detained, or taken a wrong turn, or hesitated too long and Bruce had died alone.  

Diana shifted closer to Clark. He glanced at her and drew in a deep breath.  

“We brought you-” He held out the bundle in his hands.

Dick held out his hands without thinking about what he was about to take. The thick, treated leather in his hands was strangely…. He twisted the bundle slightly. The white lenses of Bruce’s cowl stared out at him, empty and lifeless. His breath caught in his throat. The feeling of blood running down his claws, of metal on bone, and of an empty aerie filled his gut. He shuddered, his fingers tightening convulsively.

Bruce was gone.

Gone.

Dead.

He dropped the cowl to the floor. A small sound escaped his throat and his fingers stuttered against his thigh but his mind was blank.

He nodded to Clark and Diana, cast a sharp look in Jason’s direction, and calmly walked from the cave.

Jason reached down and picked up the bundle. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes when he realized exactly what he held. No wonder Dick had visibly panicked. He forced the emotions back down, deep into his chest where he stored all the bad feelings from Lazarus and the Joker and everything. He could freak out later, later when the young ones had been told and their emotions dealt with.

“Um, thanks for telling us,” Jason swallowed against the sudden lump of grief in his throat, “I mean….” He trailed off, unsure of how to continue or even what he wanted to say.

Clark nodded, seemingly unable to find words for what he was feeling, and turned for the Zeta platform. Diana stepped forward and clasped Jason’s shoulders.

“We are all here for you,” She promised. “Your father,” Jason had to look away from the blank lenses in his hands at that, “died a warrior’s death and will find his place in the afterlife.”

She joined Clark on the platform and they left without another word.

Jason stared at the cowl for a long minute before he turned on his heel and moved as quickly as he could to the locker room. He shoved the cowl into his locker and changed the key code. The young ones did not need to see this, not yet. Let them come to terms with their father’s death before they had to deal with the evidence. He wasn’t ready to deal with the evidence.

Twenty five minutes after Jason told them to leave Batgirl and Crow arrived back in the cave with Robin in tow. Batgirl ripped her mask off.

“What is happening?” She snapped. Fear made her syntax stilted, more like her early days at the Manor than her current speech.

He wanted to tell them to put on civilian clothes, to make them comfortable and human in a way they could never be in uniform. But, the terrified gazes that greeted him told Jason that was not a possibility. They needed to know what had happened. The problem was, he knew that they were thinking someone was hurt, a teammate from the Titans or the League, a friend who might be out of the game forever…. What he had to tell them was so much worse than that.

He broke the news the only way he could, “Bruce died fighting Darkseid.” They didn’t need to know Clark and Diana had been there and failed to stop it, that they were too late. They didn’t need to feel the same sort of baseless betrayal that Jason felt roiling in the pit of his stomach.

They stared at him in silence.

“What?” Tim whispered, “No, he can’t have.”

Damian was nodding along with Tim, “Father would never be k-killed by one so, so…” Then, Cassandra was wrapping her arms around Damian and kissing his forehead and the boy was allowing her to do so for the first time in Jason’s memory. Jason pulled Tim into a hug.

“I’m so sorry, Timmy,” he muttered into the teen’s hair.

Tim’s shoulders shuddered periodically but his eyes were dry when he looked up at Jason and said, “Does Dick know?” Jason nodded.

“Is he okay?”

Jason had no answer for that. Of course Dick wasn’t okay, Jason wasn’t sure he ever would be again. None of them were. But that wasn’t what Tim needed to hear.

“I’m not sure,” he said instead of lying. 

Four days and fourteen hours had passed since Bruce's death and really nothing had changed. The sun still rose and set, Alfred prepared breakfast and woke the household with a stern but loving look, and Gotham was still Gotham. Despite these facts, absolutely everything was different and awful and so many other feelings that Cassandra had the sensation for but not the words to define. Grief, she knew that one far too well, sat heavy on the Wayne household and as much as she wanted to make it better for her siblings and Alfred, she had no idea how…..

Cassandra looked up from her tomato soup and sighed. Dick was still sitting where he had been when she arrived downstairs earlier. She checked her watch, four hours had passed without a single movement besides his shallow breaths. Lola sat at the entrance to the room. It was strange, Cassandra hadn't seen the dog approach closer than twenty feet to Dick since they found about Bruce.

Aware that, despite his apparent fugue, Dick was hyper-alert to her every move, Cassandra slipped from her stool and stalked across the room, Lola's eyes tracking her the entire way. She settled onto the footstool in front of the couch Dick was curled up on. Dick's eyes did not break from the window he was staring out of.

As was their way, Cassandra and Dick did not need to speak. She reached across the space between them and grasped his hand. He allowed the gesture but did not meet her eyes. Cassandra sighed again.

It bothered them all when Dick got like this; when all he would do is sit and stare, his breaths barely escaping his still chest and his hands clenched into tight barbs. Jason had once likened that stare to being studied by a particularly hungry hawk. Tim had snorted and murmured that a particularly hungry owl would be more appropriate. The idea was enough to send shivers down all of their spines. The Court was like a fairy tale, if fairy tales were meant to cause nightmares. Jason had never seen or heard of another Talon besides his older brother, though he was quite sure that they did exist. Sometimes Jason dreamed of the day Dick always swore would come, the day when the Court awoke from its hundred year slumber and Talons once again sliced through the night. He always woke drenched in a cold sweat after those nights. He loved Dick, he really did, but his older brother was damn scary when he wanted to be. The very idea of there being an entire army of people who were even more highly trained than Nightwing, and who possessed even less of Nightwing’s sometimes tenuous hold on reality…. Well, it really didn’t bear thinking about in the light of day.

 Cass could tell today was a Bad Day. Really, it was the fourth bad day in a row. That wasn’t what concerned her. She could deal with the staring at nothing and destroying of gym equipment when he eventually grew tired of sitting in one place. Hell, she felt like doing those sorts of things herself. But, the thing about Bad Days was that they led to Bad Nights. Unbidden memories of previous Bad Nights filled Cassandra’s mind.

The legend of the Night Wing, the bird of prey that descended from above with merciless claws and fury in his eyes, had grown quickly among the less auspicious members of Gotham’s population. Most days Dick groaned at the way they pronounced his name. He would sigh and sign that if he could manage to say it correctly, albeit only immediately after someone else had said it or with an intense headache, then surely people without his issues could at least try to do so. But, on Bad Nights he would only smile in that soulless, feral way he had and destroy them all the faster when they called him that.

As she sat across from her eldest sibling, Cass contemplated the blank look in Dick’s eyes. She knew Bruce’s death destroyed all the careful walls Dick had built between himself and his Bad Days. They had received no warning, no time to cope with the knowledge of what was coming. All they got was Clark and Diana and a scorched cowl. She decided to spend a little extra time with Dick on the training mats; perhaps if he could burn off some energy before patrol they could minimize the damage….

She wasn’t optimistic.

Chapter Text

Bruce’s private will is read one week to the day after Clark handed Dick the empty cowl. Clark and Diana show up ten minutes before the hologram is activated. Diana’s eyes are dry and her fists are clenched. Clark looks broken in a way none of them are quite comfortable dealing with, so no one says anything to him. Alfred simply smiles and nods and provides a steaming cup of tea to still the shaking in Clark’s hands.

Then, before anyone is ready for the moment to come, it does and they’re all in the Cave, Bruce’s children on one side, Barbara, Stephanie, Clark, and Diana on the other when Alfred presses the button.

A hologram appears from the small disc Alfred had placed on the ground. It’s Bruce, looking so very alive that it almost physically hurts them to look at.

In the holographic message Bruce tells each of them how very proud he is, how much he loves them, and how he wishes the world for them. Of course, he doesn’t use any of those words but they understand nonetheless. Cass spends the message with her arms wrapped around Damian, her fingers pressed to his collarbones and her eyes wide. Damian stares straight ahead, trying to pretend he doesn’t care even as silent tears stream down his face. He leans into Cass’ touch. Tim is standing as close to Jason’s side as he can manage, and Dick is holding himself carefully apart from the others.

For a small portion of the will, Bruce uses the homesign from Dick’s first few years at the Manor, though the signs are largely abandoned now on favor of ASL, the Patrol Blend, and Signed English. He uses the language no one but the two of them was ever fluent in to express everything he hopes for Dick and everything he wants his first child to know. Dick stops watching halfway through. Maybe one day he would be ready, he tells himself, but just then he can’t handle seeing Bruce’s naked affection.

To Diana he leaves the blade she gifted him on the first anniversary of the Justice League’s inception and to Clark a large sum of money simply labelled ‘farm’.

Then, without another word, the hologram winks out.

“There are individual messages,” Alfred murmurs from his position just behind Jason. Diana nods and turns on her heel. She’s lived lifetimes longer than anyone else in this room, but death is something that never gets easier. She thinks about the determined set of Bruce’s jaw, the tight pull of the muscles across his shoulders as they sparred, and something within her shifts. The grief settles deeper in her bones. She decides then and there that it’s time she visited Themyscira. It’s time to go home.

“Why would he do that?” Clark mutters to Dick as the others make their way to the elevator from the Cave. Jason pauses when he hears the question. He pats Tim’s shoulder and pushes him towards Stephanie, who wraps her arms around him tightly. Jason moves back to stand beside Dick again. After a long moment in which Dick doesn’t respond to Clark’s question, Jason presses his shoulder against Dick’s. It’s not much, but it’s an anchor to reality that he can tell Dick needs.

Clark keeps speaking, “We haven’t been the same in so long. I ruined everything years ago. Why would he do that for me?” Jason knows he isn’t talking about the gift of money. They all know money was nothing to Bruce. No, Clark is talking about the events that surrounded Bruce’s death. He talking about the fact that Bruce died in his place.

Dick shrugged. Jason gets what he’s trying to say; Dick barely understands his own emotions most of the time, how is he supposed to explain Bruce’s issues? But, the despairing tone in Clark’s voice has him trying to come up with something.

Superman’s important, Dick finally signs, more important than Batman. Bruce knew that.

Clark shakes his head, “That goes against everything I was raised to believe. No one person is more important than any other.” Dick looks to Jason for help and Jason snorts.

“Sure, in an ideal world, maybe,” he snaps, suddenly furious about everything that has happened in the last week. “But, we don’t live in an ideal world. Superman is a symbol of hope; Batman is… was a symbol of fear. Which one do you think the world wants around more?” He can tell his words are hurting Clark, but he doesn’t care. He wants the other man to leave, he wants the family to be alone, he wants….

He wants Bruce back.

Jason never gets what he wants.

Clark doesn’t say another word. Diana left and Clark leaves and soon all that is left is the family. Stephanie and Barbara wait just long enough to ensure the others weren’t going to do something reckless before going themselves. Barbara whispers to Alfred that Spoiler and Batwoman would take care of Gotham and that he should keep the boys and Cassandra from suiting up for as long as he could.

Before she goes, Barbara finds Dick in the upstairs gym. Perching atop a balance beam, perfectly at ease with his precarious position, he is staring off into space with a strangely vacant look on his face.

“Dick?” She mutters. She waits for him to drag his eyes from the distance to meet hers, then she signs, You will call me if you need to. It isn’t a question.

Dick stares at her. She reaches up and lightly touches his leg. He flinches.

You understand? She asks.

Dick’s head jerks in the semblance of a nod. It isn’t the sort of promise she hoped for, she wants him to sign and to smile and to be himself. But, she knows that sort of thing is a long time coming, if it ever happens again.

Barbara sighs and nods, “It’ll be okay, Dick.” The words curdle in her mouth, but she needs to say them almost as much as she thinks he needs to hear them.

She leaves, Dick silent and still behind her. It’s been years since Barbara felt like she was being watched by a bird of prey when she was around Dick, but the feeling of his gaze hot on her spine is impossible to ignore.

They don’t tell anyone that Bruce died. At first, it’s because they don’t quite want to think the words themselves, then, when the pain is less raw, they’re not quite sure what to say. It’s been too long to say a plane crash, the FAA would have needed to be brought in days ago. It feels cheap to say he just vanished. Anyone who knows him knows what a lie that is, but not many people really know Bruce Wayne and none of them think they can stand the idea that someone might believe Bruce ran out on his family. The gossip rags would be intolerable, especially when everyone’s pain is still so raw. So, they play the long game. It’s easy enough to convince the newspapers and the social elite that Bruce has taken an extended vacation on a previously secret private island. He’ll have a tragic plane crash in a few months when he finally decides to return to Gotham.

Despite his reluctance, Jason takes over as the majority shareholder and CEO of Wayne Enterprises. He tells anyone who asks that Bruce wants him to have a trial run of sorts. “Just in case,” he says to the board with a loose smile that makes him hate himself a little. The words burn like nothing quite has since the Lazarus pit and he wants to scream every time a Board member chuckles and slaps him on the shoulders. Everyone but Fox buys it without argument and Jason hates that almost as much. But, while there might have been murmurs of nepotism when Bruce first announced Jason as his successor, those have largely been quelled in the three years Jason has been attending board meetings. The board members like his no-nonsense attitude and knack for knowing when someone is trying to cheat them.

The days trapped in Bruce’s office crawl by, pressing down on Jason in an ever increasing burden of stress and responsibility. He feels like the madness of his first year out of the pit is licking at the edges of mind but never says a word about how the whole world is slowing turning green. The family isn’t ready for him to need them, not yet and maybe not ever again. If he leans on them, they might break and that’s unacceptable.

In a strange way, life moves on. Jason works at Wayne Enterprises during the day and fights simulations until he can barely walk at night. Tim, Cassandra, and Damian go to school like normal, arriving home every afternoon looking wan and exhausted from the trial of pretending everything was okay all day. Damian is called to the principal’s office three times in the four days they had been back at school.

None of them are quite sure what Dick spends his days doing, only that he reappears every evening looking more ragged than the night before. Cassandra fulfills her promise to herself and spars with Dick every evening until he’s too exhausted to even look at his claws, much less contemplate patrolling. It’s not much, but it’s what she can do.

Oracle, Batwoman, and Spoiler take charge of the nightly patrols, though Barbara confides in Alfred that Kate and Stephanie are starting to show the strain of holding the entire city in control on their own.

Now, nearly a week after Bruce’s will was read and two weeks after his death, Jason finds himself staring at the main map of Gotham city on the computer in the Cave. Everywhere he looks there are red dots; dozens, perhaps hundreds, of them and each represents a crime that happened in the last forty-eight hours. He hadn’t had the heart to load the crimes from the entire last week.

Barbara and her team were working themselves into exhaustion, but they just didn’t have the numbers to stem the flood now that the levy had broken. Batman hasn’t been seen for a week and the Underground is starting to realize exactly what that means.

Gotham is going to burn if things keep on in this manner.

Jason sighs. He knows what he needs to do, but Bruce’s Will had specifically told him not to do it. Jason might not have always gotten along with Bruce, but he would do his damnedest to respect the man’s final order. So, instead of putting on the Cowl, Jason suits up in the Red Hood uniform. It feels odd, purposely choosing the thing Gotham doesn’t need, but he just… he can’t be Batman.

He goes out into the city alone. He hasn’t patrolled alone in so long, it feels almost cleansing to be just the Red Hood again; to not have to worry about how hard he hits the bad guys or how many laws he’s breaking. For the first time in years he puts real bullets in his guns and relishes in the kick echoing up his arms.

That night, when he arrives back at the Manor, he sleeps without nightmares for the first time in two weeks.

The night after Jason went out as Red Hood, Tim makes a decision. He’s been watching the crime stats creep their way upward all week even as he has to prod Stephanie to keep her awake in class. This isn’t working. Jason as Red Hood would help a little, but the Red Hood isn’t what Gotham needs.

So, Tim does what he thinks (what he knows) is the right thing. He’s not going out as Robin, that’s not what Gotham needs. No, he’s going to be the thing his older brothers can’t be- Batman. Bruce had always been a bit of a packrat and Tim easily finds an old costume. It’s from when Bruce was years younger and far closer to Tim’s build and it fits Tim with only minor alterations needed. Then, he waits until Jason leaves again and slips from the Cave on his motorcycle.

He stole a copy of Spoiler and Batwoman’s planned patrols for that night from Stephanie’s phone when she fell asleep in history class, and he carefully times his route to avoid them. Black Mask had been making moves on Arkham and Tim plans to put a stop to that. Gotham can’t handle a breakout on top of everything else that is going on.

There is a perch on the building across from Black Mask’s hideout that Tim has always been fond of. It’s one of those gargoyles Gotham is so well known for, with an overblown snarl that he’s sure looks intimidating from the ground but which is just silly up close. As midnight approaches Tim makes his way across the city to the gargoyle. The trip isn’t a quick one, in the two weeks since Bruce’s death and Batman’s disappearance from the streets of Gotham, the criminals have begun to become restless. Tim is diverted first by a small group of teenaged boys attempting to break into an electronics store. All he had to do to stop them was to stand atop the roof, let the wind take his cape, and they flee without a backwards glance. Then, it’s a mugger with a knife and two swift punches from Tim. He leaves the man tied up with a beacon on his chest for the police. Three blocks later he has to duck behind a water tower while Spoiler and Batwoman pass. The mugger had delayed him enough that their paths were crossing and he had to hold very still to ensure that Batwoman wouldn’t notice him. Kate was terribly perceptive and Tim felt like he stood out, despite the shadows he had hidden himself in.

But, the other two pass by without even a glance in his direction. Tim holds his breath until they are long gone. Then, he pulls out his wrist computer and updates the algorithm with their last known locations. He doesn’t want to be caught after all.

Then, he reaches the gargoyle sees Black Mask in his office, ranting and gesturing wildly. Tim almost smiles, some things are nice in their predictability. But, he’s being Batman right now and Batman cannot smile.

So, Tim waits and he watches. His cloak, longer than he’s used to, ripples in the wind. Then, when the moment is right he pulls out Bruce’s grapnel gun and aims for the corner of the high rise.

“So, what’s the plan here?” The voice startles him and his right foot slips ever so slightly on the dew damp head of the gargoyle.

“Oof, and I thought I was tired.” It’s Spoiler, because of course it’s Spoiler. He’s been so careful, so precise, and Stephanie’s specialty is ruining those sorts of plans.

“Spoiler,” he starts to say, but Stephanie holds up her hand.

“Uh uh uh,” she says, “I don’t really care why you’re hiding or why you’re wearing Bruce’s shit.”

Tim stares at her. Stephanie often does this to him, especially when he’s feeling less than his best. She bulldozes over his higher thinking and suddenly it’s all he can do to respond coherently.

“All I want to know is whose ass we’re kicking.” She’s standing on the edge of the roof with her left hip cocked outward and her arms crossed over her chest, her smile is obvious even behind her mask. Tim allows himself a tiny grin of his own. Yeah, Bruce never smiled as Batman, but really Tim hasn’t smiled since Bruce died and it feels important to do it just then.

“His.” He jerks his head towards the other building. Black Mask is visible, yelling at a henchman and the Spoiler steps up next to Batman.

“Awesome,” she bumps his shoulder with her own, “Let’s go get him partner.”

They cross the space between the buildings in a smooth arcing motion, practiced and precise and just the sort of thing that had always made Bruce proud to see. When they are safe from the prying eyes of any guard Black Mask might have looking out the windows, Tim turns to Stephanie and taps her shoulder with his right hand.

She meets his eyes and nods. He loves her a little for that. He doesn’t have the ability to explain his actions just then, to put this plan into words that make sense to anyone except himself. He’s not sure how to explain how sure he is that if Black Masks is not punched in the next twenty minutes something terrible is going to happen to the city, but he is sure of that. Stephanie had been his friend for so many years that he doesn’t need to put all that into words, she just cracks her knuckles into the not-silence of a Gotham night and uses her multi-tool to open the roof vent.

They slip through the ducts with the stealth that Dick spent so many hours ingraining into them and soon find themselves looking down into the hallway that leads to Black Mask’s inner sanctum. Stephanie presses close to the vent and reaches back for his hand. She taps her finger three times on his knuckle and five times on the back of his hand. Three cameras, five armed opponents.

He nods his understanding and grips her wrist lightly for a moment. Wait.

He hasn’t planned this far ahead, hasn’t really thought anything beyond stop Black Mask, help Kate and Cass and Steph, help Gotham.

He closes his eyes to think. Tim can hear Black Mask yelling at some poor schmuck through the reinforced doors. He presses one hand to his temple, annoyed by the noise, frustrated that he hadn’t already- The plan suddenly coalesces in Tim’s mind. Anger. Black Masks is known for his nearly-rabid temper. If he and Stephanie can take out the guards without making any noise then it would be possible to shock-and-awe Black Mask. Catch him unaware, beat him up, take any papers or valuables they could get their hands on, and leave. The kingpin would be left off balance and furious, he’d be too angry to carry out anything approaching the calculated plan Tim currently fears is coming. It’s not a very ‘Batman’-like plan, but Tim thinks that Jason will approve of it if he ever finds out what they’re about to do.

His eyes are still closed and with his sight cut off he can hear the guards better. There are two directly below them, he can hear the leather of their boots squeaking as they shift in their positions guarding the elevator doors. One of them smells like cold air and cigarettes. A smoker. He’ll be easy to wind. The other three are guarding the door at the far end of the hall, one on each side of the door and one between them. The utility belt on the suit he took from the Cave has an entire pocket full of smoke bombs. If Tim moves through the vents to the other end of the hall, they have a chance to subdue all five before any of them make a loud enough noise to be heard through the thick door.

Tim taps Stephanie and tells her the plan with rapid flicks of his fingers. She nods, focused and slow and he’s glad that she’s taking this so seriously. They’re being almost unfathomably stupid right now, the least they can do it be serious as they risk their lives.

Then, Tim makes his way through the duct to the vent over the three men guarding the door. On the other end of the hall, Stephanie has her small, silent screwdriver ready to go. He readies his own, and they wait. None of the criminals in Gotham were particularly patient or well-disciplined and Black Mask’s goons were no different. They hardly need to wait five minutes before one of the guards below Stephanie starts muttering about some girl he and the other guard are both interested in. The other guard snorts and says something crude and the argument starts to grow in volume.

Tim raises his free hand and says I’ll do a three count. Stephanie nods her understanding. They set their tools against the first of the screws holding the grate to the ceiling and Tim watches and waits. Then, when one of the men steps towards the other, Tim starts the count.

Three.

He grips the crossbars of the vent cover.

Two.

He removes the screws holding the vent in place.

One.

He uses a strong magnet kept in the back pocket of Bruce’s utility belt to keep the vent from falling to the floor and holds up his fist to Stephanie can see. They drop to the floor, twin drapes of cloth and fists. Tim punches the smoker in the throat, dropping him to the hard tiles before he can react or make noise. The other two are stunned and Tim takes advantage of the few seconds between shock and action to dart forward, wrapping his arm around the neck of the shorter man. He tightens the hold and pushes off the floor, using the momentum to reach out to the last man and grasp his collar. He yanks the last man forward and slams the guard’s head into the reinforced section of the cowl. The guard grunts and falls limp from Tim’s hands. Then, all is silent save for the rasping gasps of the final man as Tim’s choke hold slowly sends him into unconsciousness. When the man ceases fighting, Tim drops him and looks to Stephanie. She’s standing over the final goon with a self satisfied smirk on her face.

As one they move to the door leading to Black Mask. Stephanie pulls out a handful of smoke pellets. Tim cracks the door open, Stephanie throws the pellets and, after a bare two seconds for the smoke to explode from the tiny devices, they burst into the room. Black Mask is standing where he was when Tim had been perched on the Gargoyle. He barely manages to turn around before Tim is on him. Stephanie sweeps across the room, dropping the guard closest to the door with a hay-maker Jason would have been proud to see before using the desk to propel herself up and over the other guard. She places her hands on his shoulders and continued over his head, yanking him towards the floor with a strangled shout.

Meanwhile, Tim is dodging the Black Mask’s wild punches. The crime lord always fought with an intense frenzy that made him unpredictable at best and outright dangerous at worst. On a normal day, Tim might have relished the opportunity to fight a Rogue who actually knew what they were doing, but today, with the weight of the cape pressing down on his shoulders, all he wants to to end the fight quickly so the sick feeling of doom in his gut goes away. He leans to the side to avoid another wild punch and lets his weight follow through on the move, waiting for the perfect moment to- There! Black Mask always left his right side open after a big blow. Tim shifts his weight back towards the other man, tensing his leg muscles. Then, when Black Mask is at his most unstable, leaned forward, his back lower than Tim’s chest and his eyes wide with rage, Tim throws his entire weight behind his elbow and drops him to the floor.

The blow isn’t enough to knock Black Masks insensate, but it is enough to daze him. Tim uses the flexicuffs Bruce keeps in all his belts to tie his arms behind his back and his ankles together and to the base of the marble desk. Then, he stands.

Stephanie is wiping away a small smear of blood from the corner of her lip, her eyes huge and staring straight at him.

You look like him she signs and it hurts more than Tim can say. He wanted to look like Bruce when he put the uniform on earlier that evening, that was the point of this entire affair. But, now that it’s been pointed out he just wanted to look like Tim again. The feeling of dread is slowly leaking from his chest he thinks he can probably breathe again. Now, he just wants to go home and to be, well, not Bruce and not Batman.

“You go,” Stephanie says. She’s read everything he was just feeling in the set of his shoulders or the tenseness of his eyes and she’s looking out for him. He wishes he weren’t in uniform so he could hug her. “I’ll wait for Gordon’s men to come take out the trash.” She nudges the fallen man at her feet and turns the intensity of her grin up just a little bit more.

“I got this,” she says and she means it. Tim nods.

It is time to go home. Time to tell his brothers that Gotham needs one of them to step up. He’s willing if they aren’t, but tonight has proven to Tim that they can’t go on much longer without Batman. He starts back towards the Cave.

The night air clears his head and rejuvenates him and it is flushed with the heady sense of victory he hasn’t felt in so long that Tim slips back into the Cave. He needs to hide the Batsuit before any of his siblings see him wearing it. He might be ready to tell them that Gotham needs Batman, but he’s not sure that they’re ready to see him wearing it. He wants Dick to eat at least one full meal before he has to deal with that. He angles across the room, thinking that his locker would be a perfect place to hide the suit. No one much liked opening anyone else’s locker, especially since Damian started booby-trapping his. As he steps down from the entrance platform he pulls the cowl back from his head, scrubbing one hand through his sweat-stiff hair. God, he thinks, a shower is going to feel amazing.

Tim is halfway across the room when a bat-a-rang slashes past his face and clatters to the floor behind him. He jerks back in shock.

“What the-?”

He turns to see Damian crouched in the shadows at the entrance to the locker room. His small face is twisted up in a snarl of rage and Tim’s heart hurts.

“Dami,” he starts to say, but the boy is beyond listening to him. He pulls another projectile from his belt. Before Tim can recover from his shock, Damian is releasing a volley of bat-a-rangs and Tim is forced to drop to the ground. It’s rough under his uncovered cheek, scraping against skin already worn raw by the brisk Gotham wind. The texture breaks him from his startled daze. Tim rolls to his feet and raises his hands into a defensive position.

“What the hell are you doing?” Tim shouts, “Damian stop!” His voice echoes from the spires of rock high above, repeating his plea back at him mockingly.

Damian does not stop, he reaches around his belt for more projectiles and, when he doesn’t find any, he grabs his sword from his hip. Tim almost doesn’t raise his bo staff in time. He’d tucked it into the back pocket of his utility belt so no one would notice Batman carrying the uncharacteristic weapon, but now the awkward place works against him. He fumbles for the release switch even as he dodges Damian’s first desperate swing.

“He was MY father,” Damian’s voice is choked and tight, “Mine!” He grips the hilt of the sword tight enough that Tim can hear the leather of his gloves creaking, even from feet away.

“He was all of ours!” Tim argues. He feels a little like it’s pointless to argue with Damian right now, the boy is so far past rational. But, he’d hate himself if he didn’t at least try. “He chose us. Just like he chose to keep you here with us!”

Damian pauses, his eyes wide and his chest heaving. He stares at his blade for a few seconds, his fingers tensing and releasing. Tim thinks he’s probably coming to a realization of some sort. Hopeful that the boy will listen now, he lowers his bo staff and takes a step forward.

“Damian,” he says, “We’re a family.” It feels cheesy as shit to say it, none of them ever really talk about their relationship so openly, at least not with Damian. But, Tim thinks, maybe that sort of emotional reticence has led to this. Damian looks up from his blade and meets Tim’s gaze. His eyes are chips of ice.

“No,” he mutters, “He had to take me.”

Damian jabs out towards Tim with the blade. Tim’s bo staff easily deflects the attack in a reflexive motion, they’ve sparred so many times before, this is almost like breathing. Then the only sounds in the Cave are their rough pants and the dull thump of Damian’s sword on Tim’s staff. Wearily Tim thinks that he’s going to need a new bo staff after this; it was never meant to take so many blows from a sword. The more Tim manages to deflect Damian’s blows, the more frenetic Damian becomes.

“I was supposed to inherit Batman. It’s the only reason I exist!” Damian says as Tim manages to twist away from a particularly vicious slash. That, that, doesn’t make any sense, Tim thinks. Damian is contradicting himself and, and suddenly Tim understands what is happening.

“Are you mad because I’m Robin?” How long had that been an issue? Tim has been Robin since, well, since just after Jason died. Damian might have complained a little, but Tim had thought he was pretty happy as Crow…

Damian sneers. “Robin is Batman’s heir,” he hisses, “I am the only true heir. I should be Robin. You don’t deserve it.”

Tim snorts. The irony that they are fighting about this while Tim wears a Batman suit is almost too much to bear. He shifts to dodge another wild swing of the sword, “Kid, Bruce didn’t choose to make me Robin. Hell, I had to convince Jason to let me keep it after he came back.”

“Father allowed it to continue!” Tears well up in Damian’s eyes. He flicks the sword forward, past Tim’s staff to catch Tim on the left cheek with the tip. Tim ignores the sudden stream of blood down his face. He has had enough. He bears down with his bo staff, twisting sharply to send Damian’s blade flying across the room.

“And what, you think you’re ready to be Robin now? Ready to be Batman?” Now that Damian’s blade is gone, Tim feels comfortable pressing his advantage. He moves forward, holding his staff against the flat of his left forearm.

A few tears escape to run down Damian’s flushed cheeks. He stoops and grabs up a previously deflected bat-a-rang from the floor. Blindly he flings it towards Tim.

“Of course I-” he trails off as he straightens and sees exactly what he has just done. “Drake?”

Tim’s ability to breathe is suddenly in short supply. He feels like a hand has descended from the stalactites high above to grip his lungs and wring every last bit of air from them. Damian is frozen in front of him, eyes wide and shining. His lips are slightly parted and Tim and see the faintest sliver of white teeth showing.

“Drake?” Damian says again. Tim realizes that Damian isn’t looking at his face, so he follows the boy’s gaze to his chest. Uh. The bat-a-rang is jutting from the center of his chest. The fabric of the bat symbol is pushed into his flesh, blood welling up around it, rapidly staining the yellow a deep red. It hadn’t hurt until he looked at it, but now it burns. He hears his breath catch raggedly as a low groan escapes him. Damian reaches forward and Tim leans away from him, unable to avoid the slight flinch.

“I – I think you should go get help,” Tim gasps. He’s collapsed to his knees now, hands pressed tightly into his midsection. There’s acid pulsing up his chest, burning away what remains of his breath. He raises his head, looking at Damian through the loose fringe of hair he’s been meaning to cut. He can taste blood. “Quickly.”

Damian flees.

The first light of morning finds Jason and Dick in the kitchen with Alfred. Dick is sitting cross-legged on top of the counter watching as Alfred flips pancakes. He’s been making them with buttermilk and eying the amount that everyone eats for the last two weeks. Jason appreciates the extra care, even if he always feels a little queasy when presented with a full plate.

Jason takes a bite of pancakes and jabs his fork towards Dick, “I just really think the docks are where it’s going to be crazy for the next few weeks,” he says around the mouthful of pancake and syrup. Alfred sends him a supremely unamused look.

“Sorry,” he mutters. Alfred turns to stir the stew he’s preparing for dinner that night. The smell fills the room and Jason puts down the bite he had just raised to his mouth. He’s starting to feel ill.

Dick, who hasn’t looked away from his own full plate in fifteen minutes, raises one hands and says, No. I’ll take the docks. He pulls the edge off the single pancake Allfred had tried to tempt him with and holds it out to Lola who snaps it up eagerly. She gives him a big doggy grin, seemingly immune to the pall that had fallen over the house.

Jason sighs. They’re never gonna finish this patrol schedule if Dick keeps being stubborn about where the rest of them are allowed to work. Ever since Bruce died Dick has been insistent that he take all the most dangerous patrols, no matter what any of the rest of them say.

“Perhaps, it would be good to work as a team,” Alfred says calmly. He adds another pancake to the solitary one in front of Dick. Jason watches as Dick picks it up, blows on it for a few seconds, and hands it to Lola. She’s going to get fat if Alfred keeps stress-cooking, he thinks.

“Dick,” Jason mutters. Dick looks up at Jason for the first time since he settled onto the counter nearly an hour previously. There’s something raw in his expression and Jason edits what he was about to say, “I’m not talking about you taking one of the kids, I’m talking about some quality you-and-me bonding time, bro.”

Dick sets his fork down, raises his hands to respond, and freezes as Damian pelts into the room.

Dick is off the counter and moving towards their little brother before Jason can push himself away from the table. Alfred clicks off the heat on the stove.

“I didn’t mean it!” Damian cries when he sees them, “It was an accident and he’s-” He breaks off when Jason grabs his shoulders. Lola is whining in the background, a high pitched sound that sets Jason’s teeth on edge.

“Dami, what are you talking about?” Jason asks.

“I hurt Tim,” Damian is almost babbling in his fear, “I didn’t mean it, we were arguing. He’s been going out at Batman and I was just so mad and I-”

Dick bolts from the room before another word can leave Damian’s mouth.

“Alfred,” Jason calls over his shoulder as he starts after Dick.

“I’ll call Dr. Thompkins,” Alfred cuts him off.

Jason can see Dick and Tim as soon as he enters the Cave. He bounds down the long staircase, darting across the wide space at the bottom to the large emergency medical kit attached to the side of the computer. By the time he reaches Tim, Dick has removed the cape from his shoulders and is using it to try to stem the blood flow from around the bat-a-rang that protrudes from Tim’s chest.

“Is he-”

“Clear heady,” Dick says. His hands are too busy to sign but Jason knows exactly what that phrase means; still alive.

There is still blood on his hands, Dick muses. He rubs his thumb back and forth across the tips of his fingers, flaking the dried blood off to fall in a gentle cascade to the floor. He’s used to there being blood on his hands, it’s almost inevitable after a patrol after all. But, it’s still a little strange. This is his brother’s blood.

He rubs at the patches a little harder. Lola presses her head down on his right knee. She watches his hands, entranced by the smell of the blood and the repetitive motions.

Tim is going to live. Leslie told them that much when she took a short break from the surgery to drink some water. He’ll have a large scar just to the right of his sternum and will need weeks of physical therapy, but he’ll live. Dick feels like his brain stopped processing anything after he heard that.

“I’m going to kill him!” Jason paces back and forth in front of the door that leads to the surgical theater. “That little-” He makes a violent gesture with his hands and whirls on his heel to start back in the other direction. Dick watches him for a few circuits. His thumb rubs a little bit harder at a stubborn patch of blood.

“I mean what the actual living fuck was he thinking?” Jason snaps, “Oh no, my dad died, time to kill my brother?”

Dick scrubs his fingers against his thigh. The rough fabric of his pants works a little better than his thumb. Lola allows him to do this for a few minutes before she scoots closer and rests her head on his hand, stilling its motion. Dick looks down at her and she looks up at him. He sighs.

Jason spins on his heel and starts back towards them. His eyes are bloodshot and his skin is pale. Dick thinks he probably looks the same way. They all accept that they might get hurt on patrol, they almost expect it to a degree, horrible thought that may sound. But, the idea that Tim might have died in the Cave where they were supposed to be safe was nightmarish. Even worse was the realization that it would have happened while they were eating pancakes and enjoying the first rays of weak Gotham sunshine.

When Jason gets close Dick pats Lola on the head and stands. He steps into Jason’s path.

Jay, Dick signs. He feels strangely calm. The last two weeks had been the worst he can recall experiencing, but suddenly sitting in the infirmary waiting for Tim to wake up from surgery- suddenly he feels clear headed.

Jason ignores him. He’s not looking anywhere near Dick’s hands and Dick isn’t feeling up to speaking just now.

“I just- How did the little brat think- He stabbed-”

Dick stands and moves closer to Jason. Jason he signs again, He didn’t mean to. He was-

This time Jason sees. He scrubs one hand down his face. “It doesn’t matter if he meant to do it. He stabbed Tim in the chest!”

Dick realizes that Jason isn’t going to understand what he’s trying to say. He rests a hand on Jason’s shoulder. Call me when Timmy wakes up.

“Dick?”

I’m going to check on Damian.

“Dick, wait.”

No, Jason. I’ll be upstairs. Dick taps Lola’s head and, when she looks at him, points at Jason. She moves to Jason’s side and lays down.

Damian is exactly where Dick had left him two hours previously- curled up in the window seat with his arms wrapped around his knees and his head pressed forward, hiding his face from the world. Cassandra is seated just inside the door, watching with an expressionless look on her face. It is the first time Dick has seen her in three days.

“Tim?” she asks when he came in. He doesn’t ask how she found out. He’s sure that Alfred has already taken care of informing the rest of their little family about what has happened.

Fine, sleeping. Dick allows the un-scarred side of his mouth to rise in a small smile. Leslie thinks he’ll wake up in a little while.

Cassandra nods. “Good. You should talk with Damian.”

That’s the plan.

She stands and stretches. Then she wraps her arms around Dick is a crushing embrace, “It’s hard,” she whispers into his chest and suddenly he feels like he can’t swallow. He blinks rapidly to hold off the tears that want to fall. Cassandra holds him for another moment before she steps back, scrubbing at her own eyes with her fist.

“I’m going to Steph,” she says, “We’ll get Barbara.” Dick nods. He knows the others have been told and that they’re first instinct is going to be to retreat, but he also knows they all need to be in the house, to be together.

After Cassandra leaves, Dick waits a moment to see if Damian is going to acknowledge his presence, but when the boy does not move he approaches the window seat.

“Go away,” Damian mutters when he draws close. He shifts slightly so he can see Dick’s hands. Dick wishes he had stopped to wash the last of the blood off. “Or are you here to kill me?”

Okay, that one hurts a little. Surely Damian knows that no matter how bad things get, Dick would never hurt any of them. After a brief hesitation, Dick sits down, keeping a careful distance between himself and Damian. He doesn’t want to make the boy uncomfortable after all.

Why would I be here to do that? He asks.

“That’s what you do isn’t it?” Damian snaps, “Kill the bad guys? Well, that’s me!” He looks up for the first time, his eyes red-rimmed and swollen. Dick’s gut lurches. It is always spectacularly painful whenever he is unable to hide his weaknesses or past from his siblings.

“It only makes sense,” Damian continues, seemingly blind to Dick’s sudden distress. “My mother is a villain. My grandfather is one. Why shouldn’t I be?”

Why do you think you’re a villain? Dick asks carefully. Jason had once told him that even when he wasn’t sure how to help someone with what they were feeling he could ask the right questions and they would work it out for themselves.

“Why wouldn’t I? I-” here his voice breaks raggedly, “I stabbed our brother. I nearly killed him.”

I’ve killed people before, Dick says. People who broke far fewer laws than Timmy.

Damian is staring at him, his face filled with the strange mix of emotions that Dick thinks they are probably all struggling with. He does not stop signing.

Do you think I should kill myself? he asks.

Damian’s eyes widen and he launches himself across the space between them. “No!” he cries, “No, you can’t!” His arms wind around Dick’s chest, gripping tightly. Dick resists the urge to smile. Damian really is upset if he doesn’t see that Dick is merely using the concept as a way to illustrate how flawed Damian’s thinking is. He uses one hand to tilt Damian’s head so he can see what Dick is saying.

Why not? He asks when he is sure that Damian is looking.

“Because,” Damian sniffs a little, “You’re a good person. I don’t care what you did when you were with them.”

But I still chose to do those things.

“But you didn’t want to!”

Did you want to hurt Tim?

Damian shakes his head, then after a moment, squeezes his eyes shut and nods minutely. “Not like that,” he whispers, “I didn’t want to hurt him like that. I just- How can he be so okay with everything?”

Damian’s eyes are still closed and Dick’s head feels too fragile to speak aloud just then, so he simply waits.

Minutes pass and the silence stretches between them, before Damian speaks again.

“I know what I did was wrong,” he says, “I know Father was also his father. He was yours and he was Jason’s and Cassandra’s and he was mine and I miss him. Dick, I miss him so much.”

Dick squeezes his arms tighter around the boy. Nothing about this situation is right and nothing he could say will make it right. All he can do is hold his littlest brother tight. The creeping thought at the back of his mind about Gotham and Batman moves a little closer to the front.

No one patrols that night.

The next morning, Dick gathers them all beside Tim’s bed in the infirmary. Tim is groggy and sore, but his eyes are bright and when he sees Damian he smiles a little. Damian smiles back but does not leave Dick’s side. He hasn’t been further than a few feet from Dick since the previous evening.

Dick sits down in the chair next to the door. Barbara is next to Tim, holding his hand with her left while she taps away at her tablet with her right. Stephanie is curled up beside Tim, awake but pretending not to be so he’ll feel comfortable resting his cheek against her hair. Cassandra is sitting with her legs draped across Jason’s knees, effectively pinning him to his seat. Alfred keeps poking his head in, ostensibly to check if they need anything, but they all know it’s a lie by the way his eyes linger on Tim.

This stops now, Dick says when they are all settled in. They stare up at him, each looking guilty in their own way. He starts with the easiest one.

Cass. She has the good graces to look apologetic before he even says anything. You’re going to stop disappearing. I want you on patrol with one of us, he points at Jason and then himself, or Kate.

She glares at him and that is all the confirmation he needs that she has been doing something that neither he or Jason would approve of. She opened her mouth to argue, but Tim shifts and his pained intake of breath is clearly audible in the quiet room.

“Fine,” she snaps out.

Thank you, Dick forces himself to smile at her. This isn’t a punishment; it’s just… circling the wagons. Letting all this fester has ended up with Tim being stabbed and nearly bleeding out in their home. That was a state of affairs he can’t allow to continue.

Stephanie, take off at least two nights. Your teachers are getting concerned, Alfred said three of them called yesterday.

She nods tiredly. Exhaustion rolls off her in waves and Dick once again feels the stab of guilt that they have been so blind. He is sure that Kate is in the same state, though she will never admit to it. He resolves to call her as soon as they’re done here. She needs the time off as much as Stephanie.

Jason he starts and then he pauses and sighs. You’re right about the Docks. We’ll talk about a plan later.

“You got it,” Jason doesn’t look happy per se, but he looks calmer than he has and that’s a victory in Dick’s eyes.

Now for the hard one. Dick looks at Tim. Timmy you can’t be Batman.

“I don’t want to be,” Time protests, “But you and Jason aren’t doing it and Gotham needs him. Hell, Black Mask was planning some huge shit before Stephanie and I-”

Dick cuts him off with a sharp gesture, I don’t care. You aren’t ready and I will not allow you to take that on.

“It’s not about if you allow it,” Tim says, “It’s about Gotham and Bruce’s legacy. We can’t just-”

I taking the cowl, Dick says and the room freezes.

“Dick are you sure?” Jason sounds half-hopeful, half-terrified.

Dick sighs, Yes. Tim is right. Gotham does need Batman and we can’t let everything Bruce worked for die with him. Here he pauses to make sure Tim is paying attention, But that doesn’t mean that he was right to go out alone. That was incredibly reckless.

“Sorry,” Tim mumbles. He doesn’t really sound all that sorry, but Dick knows it’s the best he’s gonna get.

Good. He says, Now, we’re going to do this right from here on out. No one patrols alone, everyone gets at least two nights off a week, and ALL patrols are approved by Babs, Jason, or Me.

Cassandra, Stephanie, and Tim murmur their agreement.

“What about Damian?” Stephanie asks. Damian, who is hovering in the door, arms wrapped tightly around his torso scoots ever-so-slightly closer to Dick.

He’s going to train more, Dick says, with me and with Barbara until we’re sure he can control his temper. No patrols until then.

Tim looks satisfied, though both Stephanie and Jason still look a little mutinous. The silence in the room begins to grow, steadily approaching oppresive before Barbara speaks.

“Come on, Damian,” she rolls forward away from Tim’s side. “We might at well get started.” Damian follows behind her meekly. Stephanie yawns and stretches.

“Well, this has been great,” she says, “But I’m going to go get at least another five hours of sleep. I only want to be woken up if Alfred makes waffles.”

“It’s nearly lunch time,” Tim says and Stephanie smiles.

“Well, then I guess I”m not waking up until tomorrow morning.” She grabs Cassandra’s hand and pulls her to her feet. “You too, girl of mystery. I know you haven’t slept in a few days.”

As they leave the room Cassandra leans over and catches Dick’s gaze.

“Thank you,” she mutters. He nods.

Then, it’s just Jason, Dick, and Tim left in the room. Lola takes the opportunity to jump up on the end of Tim’s bed and curl up into a little ball. They sit in companionable silence until Time drifts back to sleep.

“Are you sure about this?” Jason asks as soon as Tim starts snoring.

Dick nods, then pauses and shakes his head. No, he says, I think it’s a terrible idea. But it’s the only one I have.

“Yeah,” Jason agrees.

Yeah, Dick thinks. This is going to go terribly.

Chapter Text

Nearly eight months had passed since Batman was captured and sentenced to death by the Court and everything was different in Dick’s life. He liked that he got to pick what to eat and when to sleep. He liked creeping downstairs in the morning to share a cup of tea with Alfred, and he liked the peaceful evenings spent in Bruce’s study listening as Bruce read from the books that covered the walls in his measured voice. But, the biggest change in his life was that he no longer had to kill people. He never had to take a photograph and stalk that person, plotting the best way to end their life, the most appropriate message their blood could send. He liked that part most of all.

Of course, his life was also different in a thousand smaller ways. He had a bedroom, a real one with a four poster bed and a walk-in closet and everything. Bruce had let him to whatever he wanted to the room, so he had painted the walls a bright sky blue and shoved all the furniture into a ten by ten space by the largest of the windows. The bed had sheets made of the softest cotton Dick had ever felt and fluffy down pillows. He laid the large quilt he had stolen from a man he killed over it and the room was perfect. He spent entire afternoons laying on the quilt in the sunshine, feeling the way the rays warmed his skin, darkening it ever-so-slightly. Doctor Thompkins said he looked much healthier with a little color on his cheeks.

That was something else that was different; he had people in his life now. Alfred, who he finally fully trusted, Mrs. Haywood, who had been gentle and patient when he was still learning to sign, Babs, who had learned ASL and Signed English for him, and Captain Gordon who had sat him down the first time they met and pressed a crisp business card into Dick’s hands. Dick always felt a weird warm thrill deep him his gut when he thought about their first meeting.

“Call me if anyone ever hurts you or tries to make you do anything you don’t want to,” the graying man had said. His voice was serious and gravely but his eyes were kind. Dick remembered glancing back at where Bruce stood talking with a man he had only called ‘Mr. Mayor’ in Dick’s hearing. Bruce looked away from the other man long enough to give Dick a nod of encouragement.

Dick took the card.

“I also,” here the Captain had broken off and scrubbed one hand through his already disheveled hair, “I want to apologize to you, son.”

Dick knew Captain Gordon didn ’t know ASL or SE so he could only cock his head to the side in question, hoping that the man might understand that Dick had no idea what he was talking about. Luckily, the police officer was perceptive.

“I was one of the officers assigned to investigate your parents’ murder.” Dick appreciated that Gordon did not shy away from the word. So many people seemed to think that just because Dick was a child they needed to pad the truth around him. Gordon continued, “I’m the one who found your Great Uncle.”

Oh. Oh. So that’s why he felt guilty. The police might not have any idea that Dick was the wraith who had haunted Gotham for the last few years, but Bruce had needed to come up with some story about how he came to be in contact with the boy who had gone missing three months after his parent’s deaths. The story, as Bruce had explain to Dick one morning a few days after the Court, was that Dick’s Great Uncle had been abusive and cruel and Dick was injured so severely he lost his ability to speak- Bruce always said it was best to stick to the truth whenever possible.

Dick shoved the memories of his time in the Court down. He wished Gordon could actually understand him, because he needed to reassure the man. Dick might not be the best at interpreting human emotions, but he could tell that this was eating away at Gordon. He looked at Bruce again, this time his guardian seemed to understand that Dick needed him and he broke away from his conversation with the Mayor.

“Yes?” he said as he approached the two of them. Dick raised his hands and asked for a translation before Gordon could speak. “Of course,” Bruce agreed.

Don’t feel guilty, he signed and Bruce translated aloud to a slightly stricken looking Gordon. You thought you were finding my family. He hoped that was enough, because it was all the words he could find on the subject. Luckily, Bruce realized this and smoothly pivoted the conversation by asking Gordon about something to do with his recent transfer to the Major Crimes Unit. Bruce’s hand rested heavily on Dick’s head, warm and solid.

Even months later Dick still appreciated that Gordon had felt guilty enough to apologize and to give Dick the means to contact him if he ever needed help. The business card stayed on Dick’s nightstand, though the contents had long ago been memorized.

Really, Dick had everything he needed to feel as close to truly happy as he could ever remember feeling. His life was finally moving towards something he could be content with.

Then, Bruce told him that Tony Zucco had been released from prison early.

The day started like any other in Wayne Manor. Gotham was doing its best impression of sunny day which meant that there were still clouds and a fog still tried to cling to the corners of the world, but it was warm at least. Alfred had pointedly suggested that it would be healthy for both Bruce and Dick to actually spend some of the rare nice day outdoors and so they were walking around one of the only decent parks in Gotham proper. Dick wasn’t really sure he saw the point, there were much more productive things they could be doing, but lately he had found that he cared what Alfred thought of him. It was a disconcerting sort of sensation, but not an unpleasant one.

As they walked Bruce explained some of Gotham’s history. Dick knew most of what he was saying already, the Court was very thorough in their education on Gotham’s rise and fall. But, it was interesting to hear it all from Bruce’s somewhat more positive viewpoint.

“Then, the Second World War started. My grandfather, Patrick, didn’t fight but he became heavily involved in developing weapons and other technology for the soldiers at the front. My grandfather’s brother Silas fought the entire war.” Bruce and Alfred were very careful to never say ‘Great Uncle’ around Dick. He appreciated their care, but those words didn’t bother him. It was the feeling, the gut deep shame and hatred he felt when he pictured the stone face of his Great Uncle that made him uncomfortable.

“Silas was a good man,” Bruce continued, “He was an old man when I knew him, but always took the time to tell me stories about the war. He never talked about the bad times, only the funny or educational stories from the unit.”

They paused for Bruce to buy two bottles of water from a vendor at the side of the path. The man looked a little star struck that Bruce Wayne was buying tepid two dollar bottled water from a stand in the middle of Founder’s Park. Bruce gave the man a stellar smile along with a massive tip, and moved on before he could be caught in conversation. Bruce handed Dick the second bottle, waiting for him to drink a few sips before taking it back. Dick didn’t like to carry things when having a conversation with someone because it made using ASL awkward.

How old were you when he died? Dick asked. He wanted to ask if Silas had ever helped to liberate a concentration camp, if he had maybe ever helped to save someone Dick was related to. But, he wasn’t sure he really wanted to know the answer. Dick knew that some of his relatives had survived the Porajmos and he liked the idea of a different generation of Waynes saving a different generation of Graysons. It felt right.

“Oh, probably six or seven,” Bruce smiled down at him. “He was in his nineties and living in England with-”

His phone rang and Bruce gave Dick an apologetic smile as he shuffled the water bottles so he could pull his phone from his jacket. He answered the phone with a large, very fake, smile.

“Captain Gordon!” He had his the sickly sweet voice he used on other socialites on, “It’s great to hear from you.” Then, he fell silent as he listened to whatever it was Gordon was telling him. His face grew grimmer the longer he listened.

“I see,” he said finally, “No, no, I’ll tell him. Thank you for calling me.” He hung up.

He looked at Dick. Dick resisted the urge to take a step back. He wasn’t afraid of Bruce, he never could be, but there was something in Bruce’s eyes just then that made Dick want to run.

“Dickie,” Bruce almost whispered. He led them over to a fountain that was just off the path. A large bush would disguise them from passers-by. A sudden terror overtook Dick, he had never seen Bruce look like this, like someone had d-

“Kak?” he questioned quickly, too terrified to even lift his hands to sign.

Bruce sucked in a sharp breath. “No!” he said, “No, Alfred is fine.”

The tight feeling in Dick’s chest loosened. Okay, okay. So long as the family was fine, then Dick could handle anything Bruce was about to tell him.

“Do you remember anything about the night your parent’s died?” Bruce asked the question quickly, as if he thought if he said it faster it would hurt less.

But, it didn’t hurt. Of course, Dick had regained a few memory-like things about his parents, but he still didn’t really remember. He thought back as far as he could, trying to find the night Bruce was asking about.

I think I remember the tent, he signed slowly as he forced himself to think about memories that were nebulous at best, It was red and yellow. My parents- But, he couldn’t picture them and he couldn’t remember anything past that, didn’t even know if the impression of color and light and love was from the night they died or from the countless other nights before that.

“That’s okay, Dickie,” Bruce wrapped an arm around Dick’s shoulders and squeezed tightly. Dick leaned into his side, more for Bruce’s comfort than his own. Dead parents were a hard topic for Bruce, much harder than for Dick.

“The police were there,” Bruce told him, “They suspected foul play. Eventually, Batman and the Police found the man who did it. His name is Tony Zucco. He was just released from prison.”

Dick didn’t respond. He was confused. If they knew the man was a murderer, why was he free on the streets? The insidious little voice in his head, the one that kept him awake at night and told him he wasn’t worthy of the affection Bruce and Alfred and Barbara so readily gave, hissed that Dick was free and on the streets. If he could breathe free air, then why shouldn’t Zucco? Something deep within him rebelled at the idea though. He might not remember his parents very well, but he thought that anyone who took them away deserved the worst of what the Court had to offer.

Okay, he signed, ripping himself from his thoughts. Bruce waited, seeming to expect Dick to say more, so he continued with, Can we go home?

Bruce’s face grew soft when Dick called the Manor ‘home’. He nodded.

“Of course, kiddo.” He rested one hand on Dick’s shoulder in silent support. Dick leaned into the touch, unsure how to parse the emotions roiling in his gut but grateful for the comfort all the same.

When they got back to the Manor, Bruce ensured that Dick really was okay (he didn’t seem to believe Dick when he said he was) and then sequestered himself in his office to yell at people on the phone. Dick could see the ever so slight tremble in his hand as he walked away. He wanted to help Bruce, but something deep in his chest held him in place. The feeling in his stomach was stronger, all acid and bile and a strange sickly sensation. He thought it was maybe anger, but it felt different than the anger he had felt before, stronger, hotter, more dangerous than anything he had felt in a long time.

Alfred stood in the doorway of the entrance hall. He held a large dusting rag in his hands and looked at Dick with sad eyes. Dick turned away from him.

I’ll be upstairs, he signed above his head as he walked away. Alfred knew better than to follow either of them just then, he would simply ensure a meal was waiting when they emerged, something light and comforting for nervous stomachs.

The night passed slowly. Bruce, furious at the entire justice system, threw himself into investigating every part of Tony Zucco’s life to try and find something. All he needed was one slip up, one transgression against the people of Gotham and Batman would ensure that Zucco never again saw the light of day as a free man.

Over the next few days Bruce barely saw Dick. It wasn’t that he was avoiding the boy, except, well, it sort of was exactly that. He knew that Dick didn’t feel the loss of his parents in the same way Bruce endured the loss of his own, so he knew that Dick wasn’t going to understand why exactly Bruce was so insistent about this. On the second day Alfred rapped at the door to the office Bruce had ensconced himself in to study Zucco’s files. He had tried to work in the Cave, but the empty eyes of the cowl on his costume had felt like they were watching him and he found himself getting progressively more agitated. So, he decided to work in his study, where he had to be more Bruce Wayne than Batman and his emotions were always a little more under control.

“Come in,” he called.

“Oh, good,” Alfred said, observing the empty tray on the edge of his desk, “You ate your breakfast.” Bruce looked up at Alfred’s tone of voice.

“I take it Dick’s not eating?” He should have known, he silently berated himself.

Alfred sighed, “I’m afraid not. He didn’t touch his eggs this morning and refused to even look at his plate last night.”

Bruce jammed his fingers into his temples, roughly pressing against the pain of a sudden headache. He closed his eyes for a moment before forcing himself to look at Alfred.

“Okay,” he said, “Did he at least take a cereal box?”

Dick tended to hoard cereal in his room when he was feeling too upset to eat the food Alfred made. It didn’t happen often, but Alfred always kept a few boxes of the sugary cereals Dick favored on hand for just these sorts of days.

“Yes, the cinnamon granola.”

Bruce felt the corner of his lips curl ever so slightly, “Well, at least he took the healthiest option.” Alfred looked disapproving, but then, he was always disapproving of sugary cereals.

“Quite,” Alfred sniffed. He was looking at Bruce significantly, but Bruce wasn’t going to give in to what Alfred was hinting at.

“I need to finish this, Alfred,” he said by way of explanation.

“Bruce,” Alfred looked over the papers, “The police are working on this. Perhaps it would be best if you focused on Master Dick.”

Bruce didn’t respond. He picked up his papers and pointedly began to reorganize them into the case he was beginning to form against Zucco. Alfred stared at him for a long moment before turned and walking away. Even without looking up Bruce knew his shoulders would be tight with frustration.

He resolved to check in on Dick later.

Later never came. Day slipped into night and Bruce eventually made his way back downstairs to the Cave. There he compiled the research he had done into the computer and started working to find a link between Zucco’s movements and a racketeering scheme that had been haunting the GCPD for the last decade.

He never noticed the photograph of Tony Zucco slip from the pile of his papers to the floor of his office.

Alfred checked on Dick for the last time around midnight. He poked his head into the boy’s room and, upon seeing that Dick was ensconced in the window seat staring out at the rain, bid him good night. Then, he made his way downstairs and settled in to sleep, content in the knowledge that Bruce would not be going out to haunt the rooftops of Gotham that night.

Tomorrow was a new day and he would tempt Dick to eat with his favorite breakfast. Alfred fell asleep quickly, for once unconcerned about his charges physical wellbeing.

Dick waited twenty minutes after his door closed behind the elderly butler to move from the window seat. He wrapped a heavy coat around himself, cold despite the warm air blowing from the vents in the floor. He entered Bruce’s study on silent feet. The feeling he didn’t know how to classify had only grown stronger over the last few days. He thought maybe if he could talk with Bruce it could be soothed away. Bruce always made these sorts of feelings make sense. Dick would come back from his therapy sessions, feeling loose and untethered from the reality of the world he lived in now, and Bruce would lay a gentle hand on his shoulder and Dick could tie himself back to the world.

He had started towards the grandfather clock that led to the Cave far below the Manor when he saw the small sheet of paper on the ground. Despite his strange mood he felt a curl of amusement. Bruce was always so structured, so put together, the idea of him allowing papers to fall as he walked was almost absurd. His fingers gripped the paper, turning it over as he lifted it from the floor.

His breath stopped in his chest.

He knew this man. He had seen him many times before, when Dick was working as a Talon and this man was threatening people out of their hard earned money. Dick had never cared much about the man, he wasn’t on the Court’s radar and so Dick didn’t bother with him.

But now, well, now he had been going to therapy twice weekly and he had a few tenuous memories of his time before the Court.

Now, he could remember his parents’ love of rehearsal. He didn’t know what his mother looked like, not if he wasn’t looking at a photograph, but he could recall her joy when she and his father succeeded in a new trick high in the air. He could remember his father’s deep booming laugh when Dick first walked across the training tightrope, a mere two feet off the ground.

He could remember the face of the man in the photograph glaring down at his own, and the fear on his mother’s shoulders.

For the first time in his life, he remembered the snap of the high wires that had killed his parents. The sharp crack fractured something in him.

His hands started shaking. This man, the man Bruce had tried to tell him about before, Tony Zucco. He had killed the Graysons. Dick had known it, intellectually, he had known the name of the man arrested for killing his parents. But, he had never before felt it.

The feeling in his gut solidified into something terrible. Tony Zucco was a bad man, the sort of man he had killed for the Court. Dick knew exactly what he needed to do. He also knew that Bruce would never approve. So, he turned from the entrance to the Cave and retreated to his bedroom. Bruce had been trying to discourage Dick from keeping his claws anywhere but the Cave, but Dick was uncomfortable without a weapon, so he had been collecting small knives and now had a rather large pile of them at the back of his closet.

Once in his room, he pulled out the form fitting workout gear that Bruce had bought for him two weeks previously. Since coming to the Manor Dick had grown two inches, his old Talon uniform would never fit. But, he had black pants and a black undershirt that were plain and indistinguishable enough that no one would recognize them. He chose to wear the shoes Bruce had bought for him to use on the trapeze set in the Cave. They were flexible and strong and would allow him to move silently. Then, he pulled out a set of soft leather gloves. After a brief moment of regret, he stabbed a knife through the tip of each finger. They were crude and clunky, but he had worked with even less appropriate materials just fine. Once the set of talons had been created he shoved them into a small satchel along with a black scarf. He wouldn’t wear the makeshift claws until it was time.

Then, he slung the satchel across his back and slipped from the window into the night.

Timmy Drake was upset. His mom had promised to pick him up from school, she’d even told his nanny to take the day off, and she’d never shown up. He’d waited, shivering and sad, outside the school for nearly two hours until the already weak, winter sunlight had started to fade. Then, he had swiped his gloves across his face, wiping away his tears. His mom had forgotten him (again) but that meant he had time to do something he had been wanting to for a while.

The school for gifted youths that Timmy attended was on the edge of downtown Gotham. Next year, when he turned six, he would be moving to Gotham Academy which was high in the hills above the city. But, for now, his nanny braved the streets of the city to deliver him to the school every morning.

Timmy knew how to call a cab and he had a cell phone. But, he had a target in mind that he had been looking at for the last few weeks. Only two blocks from the school was a large, shiny fronted computer store. Timmy desperately wanted a computer all his own. But, when he had asked his mom for one she had procured a brightly colored children’s computer with only limited access to the internet and no capability of coding at all. Luckily, she had left her pocketbook out and Timmy, easily ignored child that he was, slipped a credit card from the leather folio.

So, upset at being forgotten again and with bright-eyed dreams of a sleek, silver computer filling his mind’s eye Tim set out. The night was falling swiftly, so he jogged the two blocks between the school and the store. His face burned with the chill wind that had started to sweep up as the sun sank lower in the sky. He made it to the store with no trouble, the trouble started when the teenage employee looked down his greasy nose at Timmy and rolled his eyes.

“Where’s your mom, kid?”

Timmy drew himself up as tall as he could get and mustered his fiercest glare at the older boy, “I want a computer, please.”

The teen snorted, “Right. No, we don’t sell to babies.”

Timmy stared, “I’m not a baby!” He was five years and six months old! He could remember the days just then, but it was a lot!

“Yeah, look kid, I’ll get fired if I sell a computer to someone who can’t even get dressed without mommy’s help.”

Timmy gaped at the injustice of it all. He had money, he wanted to use it buy something, that was how things were supposed to work. That’s how they worked when he went shopping with his nannies.

“Go on,” the teen said, turning back to the display he had been dusting, “Go find your mom.”

Timmy tried to get his attention again, but the older boy couldn’t be bothered to pay attention to him. When he realized that the boy currently ignoring him was the only employee in the store Timmy decided to retreat for the day. He’d be back, and next time he would get his computer.

He stomped out of the store into the night.

His anger carried him for a few blocks before the cold night cooled it enough for him to pause. He looked around. The streets were deserted, the cold having driven even the hearty Gothamites into their homes early. Timmy felt a sudden fission of fear. He wanted to be home now. He pulled out his cell phone to call a cab only to find that the battery had died at some point during the day. The fear grew.

He looked around, realizing that he had walked away from the roads he knew while trying to escape the computer store. Desperately, he looked around for anyone who might help him. The wind blew a sheet of paper across the deserted street. He tugged his coat tighter around himself.

Timmy thought over all the safety plans his teachers had talked about in school. If you were lost you were supposed to ask a friendly looking adult for help. There were no friendly adults around and he had ended up on a street with stores that were either closed for the night or permanently shut down. The one right next to him had a broken window. He moved slightly further away from the gaping hole in the glass, afraid without knowing why of the darkness inside the building.

Okay. Okay. He could figure this out. Everyone always told him how smart he was. He could get himself home without any bad people catching him. With this thought in mind he raised his chin and looked for a street sign. Gotham was on a grid system. Timmy knew that from his most recent tutor. He liked that the city was made up of all big squares and lines, it made something in him feel calm and clear. In his mind he pictured tracing his finger from his school to his house. He needed a long road that ran from the top of the map towards the bottom. Okay. He could do that. When he found the street sign he stared at it for a long time before deciding that he understood what it was saying and starting off.

The journey started off fine. He was cold and hungry and more than a little scared, but the road was sloping upwards and he lived on a hill so he was sure he was going in the right direction. The roads were deserted and Timmy hummed softly to himself to pass the time.

It felt like he had been walking forever the next time he saw a person. The man was huge and bulky in a way none of the adult men Timmy had ever seen were, his muscles strained against his tight shirt and his eyes were sharp and shiny under the knit cap he wore. Timmy shrank into the shadows next to a building.

“You lost?” the man asked. His voice was deep and booming and Timmy flinched away from it. The man stood from the stairs he was lounging on and started towards Timmy. He didn’t wait to see what the man wanted, he just ran.

He wasn’t sure how much time passed before he managed to stop running. He only knew he was out of breath and the sky was getting darker and he really just wanted to be home. He looked around. He was in an alleyway, surrounded by trash that had spilled from torn plastic bags and frozen to the ground. He couldn’t remember which way he had come from. The wind whistled through the alley. Timmy shivered in his coat. He was crying now and he wished he’d never left his school. He wanted his mom.

A loud crash sounded from the end of the alley. Timmy looked up, hoping for the friendly looking adult he had been told to find. What he saw was a man who was even scarier than the first man he had seen.

His face looked like it had cracked in the cold, deep ridges carved into his cheeks and dark shadows over his eyes. His shirt was large and loose and looked really cold to Timmy. He staggered into one of the walls, scraping his fingers against the frost dusted bricks. He was saying words under his breath that Timmy had heard one of the gardeners saying last week. Timmy shrank back into the shadows beside the pile of trash bags. He didn’t like this man.

The man continued walking towards Timmy, lurching between one wall and the other, talking to himself the entire time. Timmy looked around for a better place to hide. The alley was pretty empty except… The ladder of the fire escape on the building next to him was down. Timmy was really good at being quiet and unseen, he could probably climb the ladder and hide before the man reached him.

The man bumped into another wall.

“Fuckin weather,” he grumbled, taking a swig from the bottle in his hand. Timmy took the chance. He darted forward the few feet to the ladder and scrambled up it as quickly as he could. It creaked under his weight, the screetch of rusted metal that sounded louder than anything in the world to Timmy.

The man paused, but seemed to be getting back his balance, not looking for lost five and a half year olds.

“Fuckin Gotham, fu-”

He was cut off with a strangled cry when a dark shape dropped from the sky on top of him. Timmy pressed himself into the freezing grate. The black thing snarled something incoherent. Timmy could see bright point of light on its hands, claws that hooked into the man’s thin shirt.

“What the hell?” The man slurred. He raised the bottle and clumsily tried to hit the dark figure. One of the clawed hand released his shirt and slashed down his arm. Blood sprayed across the alley and the man screamed.

“Get off me you little fuck!” The man yelled. The figure did not get off him, it reached forward with its free hand and hooked the claws around the man’s collarbone, causing more blood to drip down his chest to the dirty asphalt.

The figure leaned in close and it was suddenly silent in the alley. Even the howling wind had ceased. Timmy found himself straining to hear anything, his heart was pounding and he dare not breath for fear of being spotted by the monster below.

“Gray… son….” The figure hissed at the man. Timmy had no idea what that meant but it obviously was important to the man because his face paled.

“No!” He cried.

He never got to say anything else. The monster raked its claws across the man’s throat, cutting off his cry with a strangled gurgle. Timmy’s stomach lurched. The monster dropped the man’s body; it made a wet squelch when it hit the ground. The creature stood up and Timmy realized the thing wasn’t even that much bigger than Timmy himself. He closed his eyes, wishing the creature would go away. He wanted him mom. He wanted his dad and his nanny and his bedroom and-

It was a long time before Timmy heard anything else.

“Hey, hey kid,” the voice was gravelly and kind, “You okay, kid?”

Timmy shook his head without looking up. If he looked up he’d see the body on the ground and the blood on the bricks and then he have to-

“Kid?” The voice said again. Timmy licked his lips but still didn’t look up. The fire escape shook a little as the person shifted.

A hand touched his shoulder. Timmy jerked away violently and found himself face to face with the scene in the alley.

“Come on,” the voice said, “Kids aren’t ‘pposed to see things like this.”

Timmy agreed. He didn’t want to see this. He didn’t want to remember the way the monster had moved, the smooth line of his shoulders to his legs, and the glint of the claws at his fingertips. His lower lip trembled just a little. He really, really wanted his mom. The person scooped Timmy up and climbed down the ladder.

“I want to go home,” his voice wavered.

The hands on his back were warm as the person made sure he couldn’t see the body as they walked away.

“Let’s get you inside and warmed up,” the voice said, “Then, we’ll see about gettin’ you back to your folks.”  

Dick came back to himself standing in the middle of the Cave, covered in blood and panting. He remembered seeing Zucco and the feeling in his stomach surging through his limbs and then… nothing. Thinking hard he remembered the sensation of his claws raking against the rough connections between the spinal bones in the neck. His hands started shaking. He couldn’t remember. What if he hurt Bruce or Alfred and couldn’t remember that either? He needed to leave, needed to make sure-

Bruce was suddenly there in front of the computer, eyes dark and serious, shoulders tense.

“Oh, Dicky,” Bruce whispered. He crossed the Cave in a few long strides, crouching in front of Dick with slow movements. “Are you hurt?” he asked, ghosting his hands over Dick’s sides and chest, where most of the blood was concentrated.

Dick jerked his eyes from the walls to Bruce’s face.

I killed him. His hands trembled. I killed him.

Bruce reached up and started to gently remove the makeshift claws from Dick’s fingers. Dick wanted to clench his fists closed, he felt thin and frayed, like the slick leather of the gloves on his fingertips was the only thing grounding in in the current moment and without them he might simply vanish. Then, a tendril of cold air from the cave touched his fingertips and suddenly he couldn’t get the claws off fast enough. He jerked his hands from Bruce and ripped the claws from his fingers, allowing them to fall to the floor with a clatter. The blood that had seeped through his gloves felt tacky and vile on his fingers and Dick scrubbed his hands against each other.

“Are you hurt?” Bruce asked again, reaching out to still Dick’s hands. He was speaking slowly, but not in the manner that the other members of high society used to talk at Dick. When Bruce slowed down it was because he was thinking hard about what he wanted to say, not because he thought Dick didn’t understand.

Dick shook his head. Zucco hadn’t had time to even contemplate fighting back before he was bleeding out. Dick heard the soft gurgle of blood in the esophagus echo through the Cave. He pressed his hands to the sides of his head. He had a headache.

“Come on, Dicky,” Bruce guided him to the locker room at the far side of the Cave. Alfred was waiting with a large grey towel and Dick’s favorite lounge pants.

Three weeks after Dick killed Zucco he found himself seated in the plush chair of Leslie’s office. She as seated across from him with a pad of paper and a gentle look on her face. Though he had overheard her and Bruce arguing not five minutes ago, there was no trace of her ire on her face now.

“Now, Dick,” she started, playing with her pen as she spoke, “You know I’m not a psychologist or a psychiatrist, right?”

Dick nodded.

“Good,” She smiled at him. “But, you’re in a bit of a unique situation since you can’t talk with someone who doesn’t know about the Basement.”

Dick nodded again. He would never want to risk Bruce’s secret by bringing someone else into the fold, even if they were only informed to help him.

“So, I’ll be doing my best to help you understand how you feel about and react to certain things. Are you okay with talking about what happened a few weeks ago?”

Dick wasn’t sure. He thought about Barbara, who had greeted him with a tight hug and the whispered promise that she’d always be his best friend when her father brought her to the Manor to visit the day before. He thought about Alfred and the gentle encouragement of a tea service every day at 3:30. He thought about Bruce and everything that Bruce was, to Gotham and to him. Finally, he thought about himself. He thought about how it felt to sink his claws into the soft divot at the bottom of Zucco’s throat, how he was scared to look at his own hands because what if they were covered in blood again? What if this time it was Alfred’s? Or Bruce’s? Dick still didn’t really remember anything after he found Zucco. What if that happened again?

He thought about how happy his Great Uncle would have been at Dick’s most recent kill.

Dick swallowed.

He raised his hands without looking at them.

Yes, he signed, I want to get better. Then, in the home-sign that he knew Leslie did not understand he swore, This will not happen again.

Never.

Leslie smiled at him. “Good,” she said, “Then let’s get started.”

Nearly a month after his additional twice weekly therapy sessions started, Dick approached Bruce in the Cave. They were both wearing their workout gear, though Dick had carefully stayed away from all black or grey since the night he killed Zucco. Bruce stood in the middle of the largest workout mat, his chest heaving with exertion from the kata he had just finished. When he saw Dick he smiled broadly.

“Hey, chum,” Bruce said, “How was school?”

Dick raised one hand and wiggled it back and forth in the universally ambivalent gesture that all middle-schoolers felt deep in their core. Bruce laughed.

“Yeah,” he said, “I know the feeling.” He eyed what Dick was wearing, “Would you like to spar?”

Dick hesitated for a long moment before nodding.

“Great, let me just get some water and we can go over a few new blocks.” Bruce started towards the edge of the mat where he had piled up a few water bottles and a towel. Dick reached up and stopped him with a hand on his forearm.

I want to try something, he said, Please.

“Whatever you need, kiddo,” Bruce looked vaguely worried, but not in a way that meant Dick was going to be denied what he asked. Dick held up one hand in the gesture that meant Bruce was to wait for him to return and dashed off to the safe located behind the computer. When he returned he saw Bruce’s eyes widened at what he held.

“Dickie, are you sure?”

Dick looked down. Gripped tightly in his hands were the claws he had taken with him when he left the Court. They had been meticulously cleaned and cared for in the year since he came to live with Bruce and still fit his hands perfectly. He swallowed and looked up again, shifting the claws to one hand as he did so.

Yes, he signed one handed, I did something horrible. Something I don’t want to do ever again, but I also want to help. Zucco didn’t deserve to live free and you keep people like him away without killing them. I want to do that too.

Bruce stared at him for a long few minutes before he nodded.

“Okay,” he said, “But, you will not go out until I am one-hundred percent sure you’re in control. Is that agreeable?”

Dick nodded emphatically.

“And we start training immediately,” Bruce continued, “I will not lose you out there.”

The thought warmed Dick’s heart a little. Bruce looked proud and worried and something else Dick didn’t know all rolled into one just then and Dick knew he was making the right decision.

“Do you know what you’d like to be called?” Bruce asked, “I won’t call you Talon.”

Dick nodded again, Call me Nightwing.

“Nightwing, huh?” Bruce said, “Batman and Nightwing.” His thoughtful expression shifted and he smiled, “I like it.” He clapped Dick on the shoulder. “Okay then, let’s get started.” He took one last swig from his water bottle and tossed it to the side. Dick slipped the claws onto his fingers and flexed them.

Seven weeks ago Dick had murdered a man. Four weeks ago he started atoning for it with therapy. Now, he knew he would spend the rest of his life ensuring that it never happened again, atoning for what he had done for the last few years in the only way he knew how.

For the first time in seven weeks, his heart felt whole.