Chapter Text
Dick spent most of the day an unsettled mess after all but fleeing Bruce’s company. Jason eventually woke up from a much needed nap, and they soon found themselves back in the living room, with Tim and Duke for company. Dick could feel the exhaustion and stress catching up with him, making him thankful that Jason’s focus was elsewhere.
“It’s a game with very deep strategy and tactics,” Tim said, gesturing to the screen. Several animated characters were stacked on top of each other on an isometric map that was divided into squares like a game board.
Dick raised his eyebrows. On the couch beside him, Duke shifted, shrugging his shoulders.
“Okay,” Duke said, skepticism dripping off the word. “But why are they all stacked on top of each other.”
“It’s just a gameplay mechanic,” Tim replied. “Think of them as game pieces.”
“Why am I have deja vu?” Dick shook his head. “Do all video games do this now? I do not remember any of this from the days of Crash Bandicoot.”
Tim and Duke both turned and stared at him for a moment, and Dick had never felt older than when two teenagers stared at him with vaguely pitying expressions.
“The higher the stack of people hats you have,” Jason said, from where he was nestled in close on Dick’s other side, “the more powerful you are.”
“That’s not strictly true,” Tim said.
Jason narrowed his eyes. “Damian said.”
“Damian lies.”
“Damian said.”
Duke snorted. “Well, seriously Tim, you got a better explanation for this one?”
“It’s wrong,” Tim muttered, but turned back to the game.
Jason made a face, but he didn’t try to attack Tim so Dick supposed the progress they’d made was holding out. He clambered over Dick’s lap and into Duke’s so he was within poking distance of Tim and reached for the controller. “I want a turn.”
“I’m teaching Duke first,” Tim said, nudging his hands away from the controller. “You’ll have to wait.”
Scowling, Jason slapped at Tim. “Duke is allowed up later than me, I should go first.”
“It’s not even five, we have plenty of time for you to practice patience.” Tim leaned away, holding the controller out of Jason’s reach. There was a slight smirk to his lips like he’d just figured out Jason was fun to tease; Damian probably wasn’t the best younger sibling for discovering that universal truth. “It’s a virtue.”
“I don’t have that one,” Jason replied.
“We can share,” Duke said, pulling Jason back from Tim. “I’ll probably need your help anyway, Jason.”
Jason chewed on his lip thoughtfully before finally nodding. “I’m good at helping.”
Tim gave a strangled laugh, turning it into a cough when Duke shoved him in the shoulder, his own lips twitching in amusement.
Dick had just decided that dozing off while his little brothers entertained each other was a fabulous idea when his phone started ringing. He patted his pocket a few times before remembering that Jason had taken it earlier to play with and it had disappeared inside the pocket of his hoodie soon after.
“Jay, phone.”
Jason glanced over at him, slipping one hand into his pocket and pulling the phone out. Instead of handing it over, his little brother tapped the screen and held the phone up to his ear. “Who is this?”
“Jay.” Dick let his head flop back against the back of the couch and let out a sigh. He should’ve taken his own nap when he had the chance, but his talk with Bruce was still circling through his thoughts on constant playback.
“No,” Jason said to whoever was on the line, “you are not allowed to speak with him. Goodbye.” Jason pulled the phone away from his ear and jabbed at the screen again before tucking it away in his pocket.
“That’s one way to screen your phone calls,” Tim said, and he and Duke started laughing.
Leaning over, Dick grabbed Jason around the middle and pulled him out of Duke’s lap and into his own, tickling his little brother mercilessly on his way to retrieving his phone. Once rescued he ignored Jason’s flailing limbs, giggles and protests and went through his phone to find out who had been turned away so abruptly.
Kory.
“Wow, Jason,” he said, sliding out from under Jason and getting to his feet. “If you’re not going to let Kory through, who would you?”
Jason scowled, rolling off the couch and following him out of the room. “I don’t know who that is.” He didn’t sound happy about it either. The more Jason was reminded that there were things he used to remember but no longer did, the more agitated he got about it. Even asking him simple questions now could provoke suspicious looks and foul moods.
“Kory’s…” Dick sighed, shrugging. “You’d like her, Jay. She likes you a lot.”
Jason followed him all the way back to his room, climbing up next to him on the bed as Dick sat down and looked through his bedside drawer. He knew there was a photo, somewhere—
“Here, that’s Kory,” he said, handing over the photo. “And that’s you. From before.”
It was hit or miss, reminding Jason of his situation. Jason didn’t like to talk about the memories he’d lost or retained. The photo Dick handed over was from the time before Jason had died, back when he’d helped out the Titans. It hadn’t happened often, but he’d grown close with Donna and Kory, who had probably taken to him as Dick’s little brother faster than Dick himself had. Maybe because both of them had siblings of their own, while Dick had been an only child, clueless about how to treat a new kid in Bruce’s life. Or maybe he’d just been an asshole about it. Or, probably, both.
“She didn’t sound like an alien,” Jason said, eying the photo dubiously.
Dick laughed. “How’s an alien sound, little wing?”
“I don’t know,” Jason replied. “She sounded nice.”
“Then why didn’t you let me answer?”
Jason handed the photo back and shrugged, looking away. He twisted the sleeves of his hoodie between his fingers. “What if she wanted to take you away?”
Dick ruffled Jason’s hair. “I wouldn’t leave you, I promise.”
“Arty left,” Jason said, sniffling and turning wide, tearful blue eyes on him. “Biz left. Even Damian is gone. Mom—” he shook his head sharply “—everyone leaves me.”
“I won’t, little wing.” Dick tugged him over, let Jason wrap shaky little arms around his neck and cling to him. “We came and found you, didn’t we? We were looking everywhere for you this morning and we found you, kiddo. We’re not going to leave you or let anything happen to you, Jason.” He could feel Jason’s racing heart against his chest, stuttering breaths near his ear, and rocked the boy from side to side until he started to calm, arms loosening marginally from around his neck. “Come on, Jay. What’s really got you all upset, huh?”
“Dick?” Jason asked, turning his head and burrowing close under his chin. “Am I real?”
Something that felt like ice shot through his veins. For the love of God, Bruce.
He closed his eyes and tightened his arms around Jason. “Of course you’re real.”
“Everyone wants me to remember,” Jason said, “and go back to how I was.”
Of course he knew, it wasn’t like they’d been subtle, asking him who and what he remembered, prodding at it despite Jason’s continued frustration. Nearly every new person got a ‘do you remember’ or some other variation and Jason had long since stopped talking about it at all.
“You exist right now,” Dick said. “You’re you, you’re just packaged a little differently at the moment and it’s jumbled your head up a bit. I know it’s scary, Jay. I know it’s frustrating having everyone questioning you all the time. I’m sorry if it’s made you feel like we want to get rid of you. We love you, Jay—all of you. Whether you remember us or not.”
“I used to remember,” Jason whispered, like a confession. “I remembered how it was before.”
“I know, but I think it’s better now you don’t,” Dick said, and kept rocking him slowly. “It doesn’t change who you are, Jason, whether you remember or not. You’re going to be fine.”
Jason shifted in his arms, pulling back and locking gazes with him like he did when he had something important to say. His bottom lip was between his teeth again, getting chewed on as Jason thought. “Can I tell you a secret?”
“Of course, Jay.”
For a moment, Jason just stared at him, frowning, like he was searching Dick’s face to make sure he could trust him with his secret.
“Everything hurt, all of the time,” Jason finally said, dully. “I don’t want to remember it. I don’t want to go back to that.”
Dick was immediately sure that he was not qualified to be having this conversation.
There was a pain in his chest like his heart had physically shattered into pieces. “Shit, little wing.” It was not what he’d expected at all. He licked his lips and tried to think of anything to say that wasn’t a useless platitude. “Jason, I promise. No one is going to do anything without your permission, okay?”
“Bruce will,” Jason said, sniffing. “He won’t care what I want!”
“I do and I won’t let him.” He’d made something of a career out of fighting with Bruce. Maybe it had all been leading to this.
Exhausted from a second emotional upheaval of the day, Jason dissolved into quiet sobs that quickly calmed as he dozed off on Dick’s shoulder. Dick continued to rock him slowly while his mind raced with the new wrench that had been thrown into the works. Did he even want to bring it up with Bruce? What could he even hope to get in response?
Jason was a child, Jason wasn’t real, Jason wasn’t objective…let him count the ways Bruce could argue against it.
Jason didn’t want to go back to normal.
It was a bitter pill to swallow, but all Dick could think of now were those moments when Jason had been unguarded since his return, the offhand, nearly casual comments that made his heart clench up because his little brother hadn’t been happy, didn’t seem to know how to be, anymore. Jason hadn’t made a single attempt to establish a life outside of his mission. There was the trauma and the conflict with the family but it was deeper than that, wasn’t it?
Jason hadn’t made any attempts to build a life, because Jason hadn’t been particularly happy to even be alive.
“What a fucking mess, Grayson.”
***
Aunt Agatha had a standing invitation to join Alfred in the kitchen during the evenings. Sometimes, it involved her actually cooking, like she had on at least one Thanksgiving that Dick could remember. Other times, it involved a bottle of brandy and gossip about the goings on in Gotham’s high society. Alfred was, somehow, both knowledgeable and interested in it, and Dick had spent a fair few evenings when he was a kid sitting next to Aunt Agatha at the kitchen counter and listening to frankly surreal and unbelievable stories about Gotham’s wealthy elite and being hard-pressed to buy into a single one of them.
He knew better now.
It was a bit nostalgic, sitting at the same counter next to Aunt Agatha, while she sipped at her drink and gossiped with Alfred about all the things she’d missed in Gotham and all the people she’d caught up with during the weekend, interspersed with new stories about her life down in D.C.
The most startling difference was the seven year old that darted around Alfred’s feet and insisted on helping. Jason hadn’t napped for long the second time around, but had been quiet most of the afternoon, trailing in Dick’s wake and uninterested in anything Dick tried to present to him as a distraction; his books, Lego and video games were all summarily dismissed as Jason alternated between lethargic and tearful. Five minutes in the kitchen with Alfred had changed all that, and Jason had bounced back, his mood lightening with heartening resilience.
“Alfie,” Jason said, tugging on Alfred’s sleeve. “Trust me. I am very good with knives.”
“I don’t doubt that for a moment, Master Jason.” Alfred nudged the boy gently out of his way, opening one of the higher cupboards and pulling out ingredients; flour, baking soda, a bar of dark chocolate. “Nevertheless, I would prefer if you instead assist by helping with dessert. I think you’ll find it to be much more entertaining.”
“I don’t know,” Jason said, tilting his head as he thought. “I’m really, really good with knives.”
Aunt Agatha laughed, clear as a bell. “You are very charming, aren’t you, Jason?”
“Yes,” Jason replied. “I’m very good at that too. But I’m better with knives.”
“Jay,” Dick said, because he could get away with a lot being that small, but eventually Aunt Agatha might notice and get concerned about a preoccupation with deadly weaponry. “Come on, eating cake batter is much better than knives.”
That got Jason’s attention.
“Do we have to cook the cake?” Jason asked Alfred, eying the ingredients he was laying out on the bench closest to Aunt Agatha and Dick, much more intrigued than he’d been a second ago. “I think they taste better not cooked.”
“Eating cake batter is not good for you, young sirs,” Alfred said, giving the both of them a disapproving eye.
“That’s not true,” Jason said, climbing up onto the stool Alfred dragged over to the bench and reaching for the flour. “If it was bad my taste buds would say so. I trust them.”
“Oh, if only that were true.” Aunt Agatha gave a wistful sigh, before turning to eye Dick. “It’s nice you finally have a moment to keep me company. Despite the assurances that you and your father are on better terms these days, he’s been surprisingly cagey when I ask about you. You’re not still living in New York, are you?”
“I, uh, bounce between a few places these days.” Saying he lived a significant amount of his adult life in Bludhaven was asking for Aunt Agatha to storm off after Bruce and start an argument about all the ways that Dick’s bad choices were his fault. There was nothing quite like Aunt Agatha to really make you feel like a kid still. “I usually stay at the Penthouse when I’m in Gotham.”
“And now?” Aunt Agatha asked, nodding at where Jason was chattering away at Alfred and stirring a bowl of cake batter vigorously.
“I haven’t decided.” The likelihood of Bruce permitting anyone to take Jason away from the manor was a big fat zero, but Aunt Agatha didn’t know that. “There’s also his mother to consider.”
Because God knew that confrontation was coming whenever Artemis returned to Gotham. Bruce may have let her leave fairly easily, but not even Diana’s intervention could make him accept her back. It felt like Dick was just adding to an endless list of reasons to fight with Bruce, like it would make up for the years they’d existed in relative peace while Dick lived mostly in Bludhaven and only showed up occasionally—and half the time he showed up he probably still shouted at him about something.
“Well, he really couldn’t do better than Gotham Academy for his schooling,” Aunt Agatha was saying, with a fond look over at Jason. “He does seem like such a bright little boy. And we know plenty of families with children around the same age that attend—the Hadley’s have one about his age, don’t they, Alfred? I can’t recall.”
Alfred glanced over. “The twins, I believe, are eight.”
Aunt Agatha snapped her fingers. “That’s right, darling things.”
“My friend Roy has a daughter around the same age,” Dick said. “They’re up in New York at the moment.”
“Roy? That wouldn’t be Oliver Queen’s boy, would it?” Aunt Agatha asked, narrowing her eyes. “I remember you were in the same circles as him, as a boy.”
“You really do know everyone, Aunt Agatha.”
Aunt Agatha snorted, shaking her head. “Well, I hope your friend doesn’t take after Oliver. A greater waste of braincells I’ve not met.”
Dick muffled his laugh against his hand. “No, Roy and Oliver don’t really get along.”
Lian had bridged some of that gap, but there were things that couldn’t be fixed.
“Master Richard, if you would be so kind?” Alfred held Jason back with one hand as the boy reached out and made a grabbing motion at the bowl of cake batter that Alfred was attempting to put in the oven.
Dick got up and rounded the counter, sweeping Jason up and away from his prize. “Jay, come on, don’t pick on poor Alfred.”
Jason pouted, but let himself be carried away, back to Dick’s seat. He settled happily enough in Dick’s lap, shuffling around so he could face Aunt Agatha.
“And how are you doing, sweetie?” Aunt Agatha asked, smiling softly at him. “It’s been a hard few days for you, hasn’t it?”
Aunt Agatha had mostly seen him in tears, as Jason had spent most of his time since Artemis left ricocheting between moods like a pinball. Dragging Damian into mischief one moment and then sobbing about Artemis or Bizarro the next.
Jason rubbed his sleeve across his nose and sniffed, nodding slowly. “I miss Mommy.”
Aunt Agatha cooed, reaching out to tap Jason on the nose. “Poor mite. I’m sure she’ll be back as soon as she’s able.”
“She sure will,” Dick said softly, brushing Jason’s hair out of his eyes and tightening his hold.
He honestly couldn’t tell if Jason’s words had been to maintain their cover or were a slip of the tongue. He got the feeling he’d be wondering that a lot more often, soon.
***
After dinner and before his bedtime, there was an hour set aside for Jason to read, usually with Cass. If Cass was busy, he would normally accept a substitute. But that night, looking down at the grumpy little boy clad in soft flannel pajamas and a scowl, Dick suspected a change in routine was not going to be an easy sell.
“Where is Cass?” Jason asked, voice dour with frustration.
“She’s busy tonight, Jay.” Black Bat was on patrol early, joining up with Batwoman to round up the last of the Joker’s gang and make sure his last plan didn’t come to fruition.
Jason stared between Steph and the book in her hands, mouth turned down at the corners. “Cass is supposed to read with me. She’s my sister.”
Steph crouched down in front of him and pouted. “But I thought I was your Steph?”
“You are my Steph,” Jason said, reaching out and patting her on the head. “But Cass reads with me.”
“Well,” Steph said, tapping a finger to her lips. “We could color instead?”
“I’m not a baby,” Jason said, but waited dutifully next to Dick as Steph went and pulled out one of her coloring books. When she returned and opened it to show him the tiger she was working on. Jason chewed on his fingers for a moment as he thought, but eventually nodded, slowly. “Okay. We can color.”
“Crisis averted,” Steph said to Dick, nudging him with her hip and leading Jason over to the bed, coloring books in hand. “You’re relieved of duty.”
The next crisis was waiting for him in the Cave, in the form of Harley Quinn’s mugshot taking up the entire screen of the Batcomputer. Red Robin stood at the bottom of the staircase, hands on his hips.
“Tell me that’s not what I think it is?” Dick asked, turning towards the cases where the uniforms were stored.
“Harley is expressing her mixed feelings over the Joker’s demise,” Red Robin replied. “So, yes, it’s exactly what you think it is. It’s not our problem though, Batwoman and Black Bat are already on it and from the news reports it honestly looks like Harley’s heart isn’t in it.”
“I would say I feel bad for her, but I really don’t.” Dick stripped out of his normal clothes and into his suit, listening with half and ear as Red Robin relayed the information on the case they’d be pursuing that night. “This is the one that the GCPD thought might have been connected to the Joker, right?”
Red Robin nodded. “Yeah, someone’s been going around and offing some pretty prominent members of Gotham’s underworld. It took a while before the GCPD noticed they were connected—they looked like natural deaths at first glance.”
“Poison?”
“Nothing obvious,” Red Robin replied. “But there are drugs that can do that, and it’s the most likely culprit. I’ve been looking into anything common the victims might have shared in common—a doctor, residence, anything—but I haven’t found anything yet.”
Uniform on, Nightwing picked up his escrima sticks and twirled them in his hands. “Right, then. Where do we start?”
It took all of thirty minutes, leaping from rooftop to rooftop through Gotham’s East End, before Red Robin paused and put a hand on Nightwing’s shoulder.
“I can handle this alone if you wanted to take the night off.”
Rolling his shoulders, Nightwing sighed and let his head fall back, staring up at the sky. No stars could be seen beyond the dark cloud cover. The night was humid, with no wind to speak of. He wouldn’t even need Jason as an excuse to not want to be out there, but even so— “I’m fine, Red. In case you haven’t noticed over the years, I’m pretty good at compartmentalizing.”
Red Robin’s lips twitched. “Too good, some might say.”
“Well, I learned from the best, after all.” He liked to think he wasn’t quite as obtuse as Bruce could be about it, but there were times that it seemed to be wishful thinking. “You don’t have to worry, Red. I’ve got my head in the game.” He could tell by the way that Red Robin’s eyebrows moved that his younger brother was rolling his eyes at him under the mask. “What?”
“I wasn’t worried about your performance, Wing. I just figured there was no point in you being out here and miserable about it when this job doesn’t really need the two of us.” Red Robin shrugged, looking off over the city. “I’m good enough to run solo—have been for a long while—and the Joker’s gone, not running around loose. Batman could maybe ease off the precautions at this point. Hell, Robin flew off to the Titans solo.”
Not something Nightwing approved of, but what could he say at this point that wouldn’t get both Batman and Robin mad at him? He was already fighting with Bruce enough about Jason without dredging up all the leftover issues with the way the man was raising Damian. Still, Red Robin had a point about the patrols. It probably hadn’t occurred to Batman that he needed to lift the emergency rules now that the Joker’s case had been so…abruptly solved.
“I’ll talk to him,” Nightwing said, “he’s been distracted.”
“You both have.”
“There’s been a lot going on.” There had been a lot going on even before Jason’s accident. The last few years had been one crisis after another, an infinite string of disastrous and traumatic events, and it was a wonder that any one of them was coping well under the strain. Sometimes it felt like instead of making things better, the presence of vigilantes and superheroes had only made the world worse.
Nightwing shook his head, sighing and giving Red Robin a considering look. It had been a while since they’d spent time together without little brothers underfoot. “What about you, huh? I notice you’ve been conspicuously absent from any room containing a certain visiting relative like you’re allergic.”
Red Robin coughed, and Nightwing swore he was blushing under the mask. “I really would prefer if the topic of school never came up again. My life flashes before my eyes every time it does.”
“She’s just an old woman, Red,” Nightwing said, trying not to laugh. It wasn’t like he didn’t understand the feeling. “It’s not quite as dire as you’re making out. She hasn’t even brought it up since.” Much, anyway. Only with Jason really, who at least wanted to go to school.
“Yeah, well, it’s not really about her, okay?” Red Robin shrugged his shoulders, looking off over the city. “My dad…he’d have hated me dropping out. My mother too. Especially my mother. They ran in the same kind of crowds, you know?”
“Yeah, I know.” There wasn’t much he could say to that. Nightwing could admit he had little idea what his parents would think about his current occupation, but school? He’d been put in the family business before he could even consider anything else. Maybe he would’ve grown up and wanted school instead, but whether they’d be disappointed about that? He’d not been old enough for any of those kinds of conflicts to come up.
That had all been Bruce, who’d always had strong opinions on the life that Dick should lead and had utterly hated him dropping out of college, despite the fact that Bruce’s own early adulthood hadn’t exactly been spent in a traditional educational institution.
There was a slight crackle over his comm and then Oracle’s voice in his ear: “Head’s up, boys. Harley’s given Batwoman and Black Bat the slip.”
Red Robin hung his head. “Just what we need.”
“How’d she manage that?” Nightwing asked.
“She had help. I just got word; Poison Ivy has escaped from Arkham.” He had enough experience with Oracle’s voice modulator to recognize Barbara’s dry tone under it.
“Y’know,” Red Robin said, “they should really consider replacing the revolving door in that place with, I don’t know, one that locks?”
“Might be helpful.” Nightwing chuckled. “Oracle, Red Robin and I are going to drop our case and help out—seems like this is priority one.”
Oracle’s normal acknowledgment was absent. Nightwing exchanged a glance with Red Robin and waited where he was. Oracle was practically military in procedures—she wouldn’t just drop out without a word.
The comm crackled to life.
“Nightwing, get back to the Cave.”
His stomach turned to ice. “What happened?” He started running, back towards the street he’d left his bike. He could hear Red Robin’s footsteps somewhere behind him and didn’t have it in him to tell his brother to go help out Batwoman and Black Bat instead.
“Sounds like he ran off again,” Oracle said, “but Steph wasn’t making a lot of sense.”
Red Robin sighed. “Can we limit him to one major episode a day?”
“He didn’t run.” After the next block Nightwing dropped down onto the fire escape on the side of the building and made it down to street level and the Nightcycle he’d hidden away. He didn’t wait for Red Robin before gunning the engine and pulling out onto the street.
They had been working in the East End, which made the return journey out of Gotham City and into Bristol County a quick and easy venture. Nightwing broke the speed limit on the way back but otherwise had no memory of the trip, his mind turning over in worry, Oracle’s voice occasionally breaking through over the comm to update everyone on Harley and Ivy.
No one was in the Cave when he returned and it took him twice as long as usual to get out of his Nightwing uniform and into sweats because he was rushing so much. The stairs up to the manor he took three at a time and nearly tripped. Somehow by the time he was through the darkened halls of the manor and up to Jason’s bedroom he was breathing heavily, as if he’d run a marathon and not a few staircases.
It was probably the panic, he thought dully. Steph and Duke were in the room—Steph was in pajamas, she’d been spending the night in the manor—while Duke was in sweats like Dick. He must have come in from patrol as well.
Steph’s eyes were red and puffy, she’d been crying. When she caught sight of Dick in the doorway she clutched her arms tighter around her middle and shook her head. “I’m so sorry, I don’t know how it happened—he was fast asleep, I tucked him in myself!”
“It’s fine, it’s not your fault.” He didn’t have much attention to spare but he wrapped his arms around her and hugged her close. His eyes drifted to Jason’s bed. The covers were still tucked in. “Is his bag still here?”
Steph nodded, sniffing and clearing her throat. “I thought that maybe he just went to get a drink or something. I was just checking in because the lamp was on—I was sure I’d turned it off when I left.”
Dick glanced over at the bedside lamp. Someone had moved it, it was closer to the wall than it had been earlier that day.
Duke jerked his head towards it. “Bruce already went over it for fingerprints. He, uh, doesn’t think Jason ran off.”
“Neither do I,” Dick replied, and he could hear his voice shaking like his hands were starting to, from the fury that was bubbling up in his chest.
Someone had taken Jason. It sounded like an irrational conclusion even in his own head, this soon, but he just knew .
“You guys sound pretty sure about that,” Tim said, and Dick looked over to see him in the doorway, dressed haphazardly in a large t-shirt and loose jeans. “I don’t mean to sound skeptical, but we are talking about the kid who literally ran away just this morning.”
“He was upset then,” Steph said. Her arms tightened briefly around Dick’s back before she let go and moved away, wiping at her eyes. “He also left a trail, took his bag and made sure we all knew what had happened. Now he’s just gone.”
“Not to mention the dog,” Duke said, nodding to the caged off area beside the chair near the window, where Jason’s dog was peacefully sleeping in the fluffy round dog bed. “That thing normally sleeps light as a feather. I think she’s been drugged. I was trying to wake her before and got nowhere.”
Tim frowned and walked over to the pen, leaning over and nudging Nessie in the side. She didn’t stir. “Jesus. I’ll take her down to the Cave and draw some blood. How the hell did someone breach the manor?”
“Good question.”
Dick glanced over to the doorway. Bruce was leaning heavily against the frame, shoulders weighed down.
“Bruce, tell me you have him tagged.”
“I had Alfred put trackers in every item of clothing he owns after this morning,” Bruce replied, and thankfully didn’t mention that he’d wanted to tag Jason nearly as soon as he’d been regressed but Dick had convinced him not to, calling it unnecessary and an invasion of privacy that Jason would be apoplectic about. Funny, how the tables turned so quickly.
“Under normal circumstances I would call that overkill,” Duke said, “but that was before someone abducted our seven year old right from under our damn noses.”
“And the reason you’re up here and not already on the trail is..?” Steph asked, voice still wavering slightly.
“They’re all offline,” Bruce replied, his fists clenched tightly at his sides. “I pulled the records of his location and they went haywire several seconds before going off completely.”
Dick pinched the bridge of his nose. “How haywire are we talking?”
“He was here, he was over the Atlantic ocean, he was in the Mediterranean sea…then he was gone.”
“We’re looking at magic, aren’t we?” Dick asked, grim. “The one damn thing Zatanna said we had to keep him away from at all costs.”
Bruce nodded. “Yes, I think it’s likely.”
He closed his eyes, running his hand over his face. They were in a race against time, then. Both to find Jason, and then to get to him before what Zatanna feared about his exposure to magic came to pass.