Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Stop him!”  

“He’s going into the main tent!”  

“Up on the tightrope!”  

“Get down here boy!”  

“I’ve got him...”  

CRACK!  

THUD.  

“Is he dead?”  

“Close enough. Let’s go.”  

Fremont, Nebraska – 10 years ago  

03:00 CST  

Blackness faded to the dark of night. Cold rain bounced off his face, but he couldn’t hear the storm around him. He couldn’t move, and even breathing brought agony enough that he wanted to succumb to the black once more.  

Clinton Francis Barton was going to die tonight in the mud. Another faceless carnie meeting his end after falling without a net.  

Something nudged his head, making Clint open his eyes once more.  They focused on a large pink nose a moment before a tongue washed his face.  Ew , cow , Clint thought. He wanted to reach up and push the animal away, but even twitching his wrist sent sparks of pain through his body and he cried out, unable to hear his voice but certain that it was pitiful.  

The cow kept licking him, moving up Clint’s face to grooming his hair. The rain started to lighten up, and a sliver of moonlight broke through the clouds, giving Clint enough to see where he was.  

He didn’t remember how he ended up in a muddy field. The last thing he remembered was watching the trapeze artists after he finished his act with  Trickshot . Then Jacques appeared, pulling his brother Barney away to help him with something.  

Two headlights turned in his direction as a truck approached through the mud. The light blinded Clint, but he could only close his eyes to try and block it out.  

The mud made it impossible for Clint to hear anyone approach, and without his aids or reading lips, he couldn’t understand if someone was speaking to him. He flinched at the feeling of someone gently touching his shoulder, gasping at the pain that followed.  

His eyes flew open, taking in the blurry vision of a gray-haired woman in a leather jacket kneeling in front of him. Off to the side, a man in a ballcap was on his cell phone. The woman shouted over her shoulder, then faced Clint again. Her head moved to block the light enough that it wasn’t trying to blind him.  

“-- tay  -- we’re -- am --?” He managed to make that out from her lips. Clint moaned, letting her know he tried to understand her. The man ran over with a blanket, pushing the cow away before gently placing the warm fabric over Clint.  

He wanted to thank them. Or tell them to leave him to die. Clint wasn’t sure which he would rather have, but anything was better than freezing in a mud pile.  

The woman threaded her fingers through Clint’s hair, then stopped and pulled back to look at it. He whimpered, wanting to feel the affection again even if her hand came away bloody. The woman looked over her shoulder; Clint guessed that she was telling the man about his head.  

Flashing lights started to color the side of the woman’s face. It was a steady pattern, hypnotizing? Giving in to the cold and pain, Clint let the pace of the flashing guide him back to unconsciousness.  

The next time Clint was conscious, it was in a hospital room. The smell of disinfectants tickled his nose as Clint dug his way through the foggy mess in his head. The world remained silent, but the pain was gone and he lay on a warm, spongy bed. It was already a better situation than last time.  

He opened his eyes, squinting even though the overhead lights were off. Only the headboard light and the soft glow of the television illuminated his surroundings. He tried to look around, trying to find evidence of how long he had been out.  

There it was, the whiteboard. Clint remembered it was in every hospital room he stayed in when he was a child—a clumsy one who “fell” too many times in his first eight years of life. The date was on the board, the name of his nurse and doctor, and then the smiley pain level chart.  

It had been a week since that night. A week since Carson’s left him to die alone in a muddy grave. No one sat in the guest chair, which meant that Barney hadn’t come to his senses and come back for his little brother. He had no one.  

Clint was still looking at the whiteboard when his bed was shaken. He tried to turn his head but realized that he only had limited mobility of his neck. Still, he was able to see the doctor and nurse standing at his bedside.  

“Can you hear me?” Clint got from reading the doctor’s lips. It was a familiar  phrase,  so he knew the lip motions by heart. He shook his head as best he could, then made to move his hand to sign that he was deaf.  

Only his hand... his arm was too heavy to move.  

His eyes left the doctor to look at his right arm. It was in a cast, starting up at his right shoulder and continuing down his body, engulfing the entirety of his chest, right arm, hips, and right leg. His leg and arm were both in traction.  

On his left side, his arm was in a soft brace, laying across his chest on a folded blanket, a sling strapping it down to keep it from moving.  

Clint tried to speak, a pitiful whine escaping his throat. It felt like he was trying to breathe through a coffee stir straw, unable to get enough air as panic started to set in. He looked back at the doctor, knowing he had to appear small and helpless in the bed. Years of neglect and scrounging for food had ruined his ability to grow like a normal child would have. He could only imagine what a week unconscious would have done.  

The bed was shaken again and Clint’s eyes went back to the doctor.  The nurse stood there with a handheld dry erase board now. When she had his attention, she asked him if he remembered his name. Clint nodded. She asked him what it was, and he tried to speak it, he really did, but nothing came out.  

He flexed the fingers on his left hand, feeling them move easily and without pain. That was a start, Clint thought, and he started to fingerspell his name.  

The nurse was about to put the dry erase marker in his hand when she noticed his fingers moving. Clint watched her get the doctor’s attention, pointing at his fingers. The doctor had the nurse leave the room, and Clint settled back into his bed, already exhausted from the effort.  

Clint must have dozed off because the sun was shining through his window the next time  he opened them. He looked at the whiteboard on the wall and another day had gone by.  

Someone touched his hand and Clint lazily turned his head to see who it was. A woman in a white jacket stood there, smiling. The doctor from last night was beside her. Clint looked between the two, unsure what was going on.  

Then the smiling woman moved her hands.  Hello, my name is Doctor Signora.  She did the motion for the doctor again—touching her right hand to her left wrist—but in doing so made her right hand into the S finger sign.  

Clint smiled. He looked at his left hand and slowly fingerspells his name. C-L-I-N-T. He couldn’t move his arm enough to show her his name sign, so she was just stuck with the spelling.  

Signora nodded.  Hello Clint. Do you know what day it is?  

Clint nodded, then purposely looked at the whiteboard on the wall, then back at Signora. He saw her laugh, and he gave her a small smile.  

Cute, but good job. Do you remember what happened to you?  

Clint remembered, but it was too much to fingerspell out. Not that it mattered, since they wouldn’t believe him.  No one ever believed him. F-E-L-L.  

Signora frowned, and Clint knew that look. Technically, he wasn’t lying. He had fallen, it had just been from a tightrope instead of down a staircase. She then looked at the other doctor, turning enough so that he couldn’t read their lips.  

He just watched them. Not that there was a lot he could do in his position. His eyes were starting to get heavy when they turned back.  

Where are your parents?  Signora asked.  

D-E-A-D.  

He looked away to avoid their looks of pity. His father was a piece of garbage. Clint was glad he was dead.  

Signora’s hand touched his again to get Clint’s attention.   

Who takes care of you?  

B-A-R-N-E-Y.  

Uncle?  Clint shook his head.  Brother?  Clint nodded.  Where is he?  

D-O-N-T-K-N-O-W.  

The doctors talked again.  Is there anyone we could call who would take care of you?  

Clint thought for a moment, debating on how to answer. His last foster family was using the Barton brothers as a meal ticket, and they had left when their father started advancing on Clint. They had already lived through one of those families, and Barney promised never to let it happen again. That was why they had run away.  

He didn’t want to go back into the foster care system. Not that he was going to get out of the hospital anytime soon from the near full-body cast. Clint knew he wouldn’t survive this time. No one ever wanted Clint...  

… except for those three winters down in Florida in winter quarters. His first three years with the circus when Carson’s used to put down stakes next to Haly’s . A colorful trailer with a family of three that welcomed Clint in for dinner almost every night. Parents who were nice and loved their son. A boy around Clint’s age who always laughed at Clint’s bad jokes and didn’t care if he was deaf.  

Clint nodded to Signora and the other doctor. G-R-A-Y-S-O-N.  

Chapter Text

When the phone rang in Wayne Manor, Dick Grayson was sitting at the kitchen table doing his homework. A sliced apple with a mound of peanut butter was at his elbow, headphones in as his iPod played music for Dick to do calculus to.

Alfred stopped his dinner preparations to pick up the phone from the wall. “Wayne Manor, how may I help you?” he asked.

“Good afternoon, this is Doctor Signora from Methodist Fremont Health. I’m looking to speak with a Mister Richard Grayson.”

Alfred turned to look at the teenager who was oblivious to the phone call. “And what is this concerning?”

“I’m sorry, patient confidentiality only allows me to tell Mr. Grayson that information.”

“You are aware that Master Grayson is a minor, yes?” Dick heard Alfred say his name and looked up at the butler curiously.

“We weren't, but we have a patient here who says that Mister Grayson is his next of kin.”

“My word. A moment, please.” Alfred motioned for Dick to remove his earbuds and join him, which he did. “There is a Doctor Signora from a hospital in Fremont that wishes to speak with you.”

“Fremont. As in Nebraska?” Dick took the phone and put it to his ear. “Hello?”

“Mister Grayson?”

“Yeah, that’s me.” Alfred stayed close, pulling an earpiece from his jacket pocket and turning it on, effectively listening in on the call. Somewhere below them in the basement, the Batcomputer was already recording and tracing the call.

“Are you acquainted with a Mister Clint Barton?”

Dick’s eyes went wide. “Yeah, I know Clint. He’s like a brother to me. Why is he in the hospital?”

“Mister Barton has suffered a number of fractures to his body, all of which he says is from a fall. We are in need of obtaining the authority to proceed with additional surgeries to correct non-life-threatening injuries.”

“I don’t think I can legally do that.” Dick looked at Alfred who slowly shook his head no.

“Yes, we understand the situation.” Signora sighed into the phone. “We were hoping that perhaps your guardian may help you in this regard.”

“Um, I can ask.” Dick would. He’d have to beg and probably play up the poor circus orphan card for this, but for Clint, it would be worth it. “Do you have a number I can call you back on when he gets home?”

Signora gave Dick the information he would need to contact her, as well as an assurance that Clint was no longer in danger of imminent death, before hanging up. Homework forgotten, Dick took the sheet of paper with the information and headed for the grandfather clock, intent on getting to the Batcomputer.

“Master Richard, I believe that we should contact Master Bruce immediately,” Alfred stated, following behind his teenage charge.

“I know, but I need to make sure it really is Clint first.” Dick ran down the stairs.

“Do you suspect ill intent?”

“The circus that Clint was in...,” Dick sighed as he sat down at the computer, logging in. “Alfred, it was a bad group of people. All the other troupes called them the Circus of Crime. My parents didn’t want me spending any time near them during the winter, but then Clint showed up one year. He wasn’t anything like those people. My parents tried to give him a safe place each winter until... they couldn’t.”

Alfred thought back to the times he had traveled with Dick to Florida for the Christmas holidays. When the car pulled up to what Dick referred to as “winter grounds”, everyone from Haly’s would run to greet him.

And then there was the blonde boy. Ratty clothes, a size too big, make him look even smaller than he already was. Unkept hair, dirt all over his face, and a hearing aid made the boy look like a poster child for welfare. It was the smile on his face, though, that Alfred remembered the most. It was the same smile Dick had before Two-Face beat it off the boy’s face.

Alfred remained silent, a stoic presence over Dick’s shoulder as the boy typed. He watched Dick hack into the security system of the hospital that Clint was in, then into the ICU nurses’ desk. He clicked through the rooms until he found the one he thought was Clint was in.

The person in the room was small and almost entirely covered in plaster. He took control of the camera and rotated it until the lens was looking straight down at the patient. When Dick saw Clint’s face, he stood up so fast that Alfred had to catch the chair before it crashed.

“Holy shit,” Dick stated, eyes wide.

“Language, Master Richard,” Alfred said, but he too was horrified at the image. The poor lad only had one arm and leg not in a cast, and what was visible of his face was a mixture of cuts and bruises. Clint was asleep, and Alfred counted too many IV tubes connected to the machine on the edge of the picture.

Dick looked over at Alfred, and he could see the fear in the young man’s eyes. “I need to get to him.”

“Then I believe it is prudent we contact Master Bruce at once.” Alfred reached over to tap the communicator on the Batcomputer and had it dial Bruce’s cellphone.

“What’s wrong?” Bruce’s voice asked in lieu of greeting them. Calling from the Batcomputer was never a social call.

“We have a situation with one of Master Richard’s friends from his time in the circus,” Alfred spoke as he rested a hand on Dick’s shoulder. He could see the teenager on the verge of tears, a mixture of fear and anger stiffening his shoulders under Alfred’s comforting touch. “Apparently he is listed as the next of kin and the hospital needs him to approve of medical care.”

“They realize Dick’s only sixteen, right?” Bruce asked.

“That they do, which is why your presence is required immediately.” Alfred sent the feed of the hospital camera to Master Bruce’s phone. “I believe time is of the essence in this matter.”

They watched as Bruce’s face narrowed, seeing the image of the broken teen in the hospital bed. “Dick, pack a bag. Alfred, tell the plane to be on standby for my arrival and get yourselves to the airport. I will meet you there.”

“Thank you, Bruce,” Dick said in relief, then took off running up the stairs back into the mansion.

Alfred waited until the boy was gone before looking back at Master Bruce. “I fear that this may not end well for the boy,” Alfred stated.

“Dick doesn’t have much left in the world, Alfred,” Bruce said. “I’m not going to let him lose some of the only family he has left.”

Alfred nodded. “Do you need me to pick you up on the way?”

“No, I’ll take the Porche.”

“Very good, sir.”

The flight to Nebraska was too long for Dick’s patience. He could barely sit still on a normal day, but the anxiety was he experiencing made him unable to sit still for more than a few minutes. Bruce swore that Dick was going to wear a hole into the carpeting from the constant pacing.

“Dick,” Bruce said, looking up from his laptop. “You need to relax. Your friend needs healing, and if you arrive anxious, he will pick up on it.”

“Sorry,” Dick said, plopping down into his seat across from Bruce. Fifteen seconds later, the boy’s leg started to bounce while he looked out the window.

Bruce sighed and closed his laptop. “Why don’t you tell me what’s really on your mind, chum? I can help ease your concerns and it’ll help you relax.”

Dick nodded, and he pulled his legs up so that he was sitting cross-legged in the chair. “I asked the hospital to email me his patient file so I would be prepared to make decisions when we arrived. I mean, what’s the point of being the power of attorney person if I don’t know what I’m dealing with, right?”

“That’s right, and to be forewarned is forearmed.”

“Right. So, I was reading his list of injuries, and something stood out that shouldn’t have been there if he had just fallen off a tightrope or trapeze. I mean, the way he looked fit for the kinds of injuries someone would have if they survived a fall like that.” Dick was babbling, his mind going in circles and trying really hard not to go back to the image of his own parents’ deaths.

“Dick.”

Dick stopped, then closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He really needed to work on his meditation skills. “Sorry. In the list of injuries, they said they removed a bullet from his shoulder.”

Bruce’s eyes widened just slightly. “A bullet.”

Dick nodded, rattling off the specifics on the caliber and damage. “It was fresh, so I think whoever shot him is the reason leading to him falling.”

“Which means that the person or persons who did this to him are still out there.” It was the Batman voice that spoke, and Dick felt his spine stiffening. This had gone from a horrific injury to attempted murder, which meant it was a case.

“He doesn’t know who we are,” Dick reminded Bruce.

“And we want to keep it that way.” Bruce opened his laptop again. “I want you to focus on your friend, Dick. He needs you right now, and if you stay at his bedside, you can also provide a level of protection in case someone comes to finish the job.”

“And what will you do?”

“Everything possible to make sure your friend can recover safely.”

Chapter Text

Alfred had booked a suite at the hotel across the street from the hospital. Bruce got them both checked in and had their bags taken to their room. After that, they crossed the street to check in with the hospital and meet with Clint’s doctor. It was late evening, but Bruce knew that Dick wouldn’t sleep until he was able to see his friend.

While visiting hours in the rest of the hospital were over for the day, patients in the ICU had a different schedule. They met the nurse at the ward’s entrance where they were asked to put on a gown, gloves, and a mask to protect the patients of the ward, then they were escorted to Clint’s room.

Doctor Signora stood next to Clint’s bed, writing something down in his file. The escort nurse knocked on the door, then left to go onto her next task. “You must be Mister Grayson and Mister Wayne.”

“Please, it’s Bruce and Dick,” Bruce shook the doctor’s hand, his other resting on Dick’s shoulder.

Signora smiled, nodding. “Alright. You both made great time getting here from Gotham City.”

“Helps when you have your own plane.” Bruce looked over the doctor’s shoulder, only able to see the leg up in traction from his current angle. “How is he?”

“He’s asleep right now. The injuries cause a lot of pain, so we keep him on a morphine drip to ease it, which leads to him spending most of his time asleep.” She waved for them to follow her as she approached the bed. Dick moved to the opposite side of the doctor and Bruce, being careful of the IV lines and monitor cords as he stood on Clint’s less injured side.

As Batman, Bruce had taken a lot of damage to his own body, as well as seeing Dick take major injuries from time to time. Nothing they suffered compared to this. He noticed the neck collar. “Is he paralyzed?” he asked, not having read that in the medical file.

“Right now, no. However, he does have a few discs that need to be realigned once he’s able to be laid on his stomach or side for the procedure.” Signora woke up the tablet in her white coat’s pocket and pulled up Clint’s x-rays. “We keep the collar on to limit his neck movement to prevent unnecessary shifts and pain along the spine.”

Dick looked over the bed to examine the x-rays with Bruce. Thanks to moonlighting as a vigilante, he knew how to read the images. “That’s a lot of screws in him.”

Signora nodded. “Most of them can be removed once the bones set.” She pointed out the multiple fractures along Clint’s right side. “We’re pretty sure that the point of impact was his hipbone, followed by his shoulder. His pelvis and collarbone were shattered there. There was an additional impact on his head, just behind his ear. We thought at first it was the cause of his hearing loss, but when he started to fingerspell, we knew he was deaf before the accident.”

“He’s been deaf since he was six,” Dick said. “His father used to...” he bit his lip, making sure Clint was still asleep. “His father hit him a lot. One time, it was bad and he lost most of his hearing in his right ear, and all of it in his left. He entered the foster care system shortly after that, and they weren’t much better to him.”

“Well, that explains a lot of the calcification on his bones,” Signora stated, looking at the x-rays.

Bruce just looked at the x-rays, then the small face in the bed. Dick said Clint was only a few months younger than him, but in the bed surrounded by machines and tubes, he barely looked older than Dick when Bruce took him as his ward. Bruises peeked out the edges of bandages on Clint’s head and face, as well as the one visible hand resting on a brace on his chest.

“Do you have hearing aids for him?” Bruce asked, seeing only water on the rolling table nearby.

Signora shook her head. “He still has some swelling in his brain, and the cartilage in his right ear was torn, probably from the hearing aid he was wearing when he fell,” she told them. “Once the swelling subsides, he could put one in on his left ear, but the right ear will need time to heal. I know sign language, so they assigned me to Clint since I could communicate with him.”

Nodding, Bruce made a mental note to send Lucius Fox a request for a set of hearing aids that would be mindful of the injuries Clint had. He could only imagine what it was like to be in this situation and unable to hear anything. “So, what’s next?”

“We need to work out a medical power of attorney for him. Child Protective Services are coming to speak with both of you tomorrow about what they would require for you to be able to make medical decisions. Once that is settled, we have a list of additional surgeries...”

A groan from the bed ended all conversations and Dick leaned over the railing to look at Clint’s face. Bruce saw clouded blue eyes appear as Clint woke up, his face showing that consciousness wasn’t going to last long. Signora reached over to gently touch Clint’s good hand, and his eyes followed her arm to find her. “Good evening, Clint,” she said slowly while moving her arms to sign at the same time. “You have company.” She ended her signing pointing at where Dick was standing, biting his lip in nervousness.

Clint turned his head and his eyes widened when he saw Dick. “Dickey,” Clint spoke, his voice loud and hoarse despite the smile spreading on his face. “You came.”

“Of course, I would,” Dick signed and spoke at the same time, and Bruce was shocked to see his ward using sign language.

“I’ll leave you two to catch up,” Signora told Dick and motioned for Bruce to follow her to the doorway. Bruce took one final look at his ward and the broken boy before joining the doctor just outside the room.

Signora sighed, leading Bruce to where the nurses’ coffee station was as she took her gloves off. “I take it you’ve never met Clint before today?”

Bruce poured her a cup of coffee before making one for himself. “I knew of him. Dick would travel during his winter break to visit him, and maybe once a month he would call. Dick tried to convince him to call collect so they could talk more, but I got that Clint is a bit stubborn.”

“That stubbornness is probably what kept him alive.” Signora smiled. “Clint’s a good kid, from what I’ve gleaned of him during his conscious moments.”

“How often are those?” Bruce asked.

“Well, we wake him once a day to let him know how his vitals are. We also try to get him to drink some water just to help his throat heal. Beyond that, he may resurface a second time, but only for a few minutes.” Signora sipped on her drink. “He has a monitor on him that lets us know when he’s waking up so someone can be in the room with him.”

“Well, I’m pretty sure Dick isn’t going to leave his side except to sleep for a few hours. At least until we get everything sorted out. Will that be ok?”

Signora nodded. “Of course, it will be up to Clint in the end. I’m hoping having a familiar face will help him relax. If it were up to me, Dick’s welcome as long as he doesn’t do anything to disrupt the other patients.”

“He won’t. Dick’s a compassionate kid. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if you find him visiting other patients to cheer them up.”

“So, he’s a little ray of sunshine. We could use some of that here.”

Bruce laughed. “You do have to give him back eventually.”

“Give who back?” Dick appeared at Bruce’s elbow.

“You.” Bruce turned to look at his ward. “Everything okay?”

Dick nodded. “He fell back asleep. But he’s glad we’re here and says thank you for bringing me.”

“Well, we’ve both had a long day,” Bruce said. “We should probably go to the hotel and get some rest before coming back in the morning.”

“I’ll be here at seven,” Signora told them both. “I normally work seven am to seven pm, but I wanted to wait for you to arrive before I left tonight.”

“We appreciate it.” Bruce put his hand on Dick’s shoulder. “We’ll see you then.”

They stripped off their personal protective equipment outside of the ICU ward, then made their way back to the hotel. Dick flopped onto the couch in the main room of their suite while Bruce went directly to the desk and pulled out his laptop.

“We going out?” Dick asked, looking at his mentor curiously.

“Not tonight,” Bruce replied, opening his e-mail. “I asked Gordon for a favor to get the local police to send me a copy of the incident report. I’m going to run it against robberies in the area the same night and see where Carson’s is right now.”

“So, research night. Fun.”

Bruce smiled. “For me. You need to get some sleep if you’re going to protect Clint tomorrow.”

“That’ll be easy if he’s asleep most of the day.”

“Maybe, but I’m also expecting you to keep up on your schoolwork while he sleeps.” Bruce chuckled at Dick’s groan. “Alfred had your teachers email him a weeks’ worth of classwork, and he’ll be available to call for help if needed.”

“This sucks,” Dick complained.

“What, did you think this was going to be a vacation?” Bruce looked at Dick. “Shower, bed. Now.”

Dick pulled himself up, muttering to himself as he walked past Bruce and into his side of the suite. The suite door closed, and Bruce shook his head as he heard the shower start. “Teenagers,” he said to himself, getting to work.

Chapter Text

Two Days Later…

Alarms broke the silence in Clint’s ICU room. Dick, who had fallen asleep while studying, jumped up. His textbook slid under the bed as he grabbed Clint’s hand and looked at the monitors.

In the bed, Clint’s eyes squeezed shut as he writhed in pain. A sound somewhere between a scream and a groan escaped clenched teeth. His hand clasped Dick’s in a death grip, and plaster crackled as his back arched.

“Someone, help!” Dick shouted, unable to leave Clint’s side. He then took his free hand and tried to press Clint’s chest back down. “Come on, Clint. Lay back down before you hurt yourself more,” he begged his best friend, only to feel Clint’s grip tighten.

Nurses ran into the room, quickly followed by Dr. Signora. One nurse helped Dick free his hand from Clint’s, then pushed Dick back against the wall as she claimed his bedside space. Signora looked in Clint’s eyes, then reached up to touch along Clint’s head.

When she pressed above Clint’s right ear, the injured teenager screamed in pain. Signora jumped back, looking at Clint’s vitals and seeing his blood pressure skyrocket. Sweat soaked his face, and then he started to shake.

“He’s seizing,” Signora stated. Dick watched the two nurses rolled Clint onto his less injured left side, giving him a perfect view as foam started to escape Clint’s mouth.

Dick crept into the shadows of the corner, his vision wavering as tears filled his eyes. Signora spoke numbers and statistics that Dick knew he should recognize, but terror gripped his heart and he could barely hear his own breathing. A nurse ran out of the room, returning quickly with two orderlies and a stretcher. Clint was transferred to it and rushed out by the orderlies and nurses with Signora quick on their heels.

Then there was silence. Nurses pushed the monitors and IV’s beside the stretcher, so even the constant beeps disappeared. Then, the hissing of the oxygen nasal tube grew in volume as it swung from the valve on the wall.

Dick stumbled away from the wall, his energy gone. He walked to the empty bed and stood there, looking at the spot his best friend—his brother—had just been a minute ago. What just happened?

He felt so numb that he didn’t jump when Bruce placed his hands upon Dick’s shoulders. Bruce turned him around, bending down to look Dick in the eyes. “Dick, are you okay?”

“He was just sleeping,” Dick said, trying to look back at the bed. Bruce released one shoulder to keep him from doing so, then brushed a thumb along Dick’s cheek.

“Tell me what happened.”

Dick swallowed, nodding. “We talked for a-awhile about the old days. Trying to remember… but he started getting a headache. So, he took a hit of morphine. Try to sleep it off. I started my science reading, but I fell asleep. Then there were alarms, and he…he was in pain.” Tears slid down his face. “He was in so much pain, Bruce.”

Bruce pulled Dick into his arms, holding his foster son tightly. “Shh, it’ll be okay, Dick. I’m going to make sure he gets the best care.” Bruce shifted to sit on the edge of Clint’s bed, easily pulling Dick up into his arms. He held Dick as his son cried, the shock shifting to fear and anguish; helplessness.

A side effect of loving so openly and easily—when Dick’s heart breaks, his entire soul breaks with it.

They sat there until Dick cried himself into a light sleep. Since Clint wasn’t needing the bed at the moment, Bruce shifted to lay Dick down in his place. Once he was sure Dick wasn’t going to wake up, Bruce pulled a sheet over the exhausted teenager, then turned off the lights and slipped into the hallway.

A woman sat in a hallway waiting chair, stirring her coffee. “I apologize for the interruption, Ms. Lee.” Bruce sat in the chair beside her.

“Not like you could have predicted that,” Lee replied, studying Bruce over the rim of her glasses. “But it does serve to show the urgency on finding a solution for the boy’s guardianship quickly.”

“I’m more than willing to make Clint my ward. After all, he and Dick already consider themselves brothers.”

“I’m afraid it’s not that simple.” Lee took a sip of her coffee. “Right now, Clint is considered a ward of the state of Nebraska. If he wasn’t in this condition, we would have sent him back to Iowa.”

“He ran away from Iowa,” Bruce pointed out.

Lee nodded. “To join the circus, from what we have learned. Due to his medical needs, Iowa transferred his residency, and case, to me.”

“That should make things easier.”

“Yes, and no.”

Bruce tilted his head, confused. “How so?”

“You could foster him, but you have no residence in Nebraska and Clint would have to remain in the state. Foster children here need departmental approval to leave the state for more than twenty-four hours and cannot move out of state until they are of age.” Ms. Lee sighed, rubbing her eyes. “You could try to file a conservatorship but, while he is a minor, Clint is competent, and no one would write a letter saying otherwise.”

Bruce nodded. His own lawyers had been researching already for him and had given him the same conclusions. “What options do I have? I’ve talked to Dr. Signora and this facility doesn’t have the capability to deal with some of his injuries. I’d like to transfer him to Gotham General, where I can bring in specialists and provide them whatever they need for his care.”

Lee reached into her briefcase and pulled out a folder, holding it out to Bruce. “The only way you can accomplish that will be to properly adopt Clint Barton.”

Bruce blinked. Fostering Dick was one thing, but Dick had turned down being adopted the only time Bruce brought it up. Dick had his parents, loved them, and didn’t want to replace them. Clint… from what Bruce had learned, anyone who could call the blond kid their “son” had treated him horribly. Would he even want to be adopted?

But could Clint afford to say no?

“Bruce?” Dr. Signora walked down the hallway to stand in front of Bruce and Clint’s social worker.

“Doctor. We were just discussing options for Clint.” Bruce stood up, offering his chair to Signora. She smiled and nodded, taking the proffered seat.

“That’s good because I don’t have the best news to share.”

Bruce nodded. He had been waiting for this since Clint was rushed down the hallway.  He reached over and closed the door to the room where Dick was still unconscious. “What happened to him?”

“We had hoped that the swelling on his brain would have eased by now.” Signora pulled her tablet out and pulled up new brain scans of Clint’s head. “It appears that the area where we believe his hearing aid impacted his skull on impact has created a mass. It has grown to a point that it started pressing on Clint’s pain receptors, interrupting the pain blockers.”

“Dear God,” Lee whispered.

“So that episode…” Bruce swallowed, figuring out the answer before he finished the sentence.

“It was caused by the withdrawal of the morphine coating his pain receptors.” Signora took a deep breath. “He woke up to feel every ounce of pain his body was in. In return, it added additional pressure in his brain... I’m just glad we got him to the OR in time. I’m just afraid of the possible damage it could have caused. There’s a chance he may not wake up again from the shock. Or worse. We may not even have the resources to help him if he develops too much more brain trauma.”

Lee looked up at Bruce. “If the boy has no chance of recovery, my department has a clear protocol on when we stop providing services and let God take over.”

Bruce nodded. “I’ll have my lawyers draw up the paperwork.”

“I’ll talk with a judge and get an expedited hearing.” Lee looked at Signora. “A medical recommendation letter would help move the process along faster.”

“If it gets Clint the help he needs, I’ll write as many letters as needed.”

Bruce sighed, looking into the ICU room where Dick slept. “I may need that, Doctor. I have a promise to keep to those boys.”

Chapter Text

Sarasota, Florida – Five Years Ago

Clint stood on the platform looking down at the practice ring. The net was up—a requirement for the winter grounds training areas—but it was so far away that Clint inched away from the ledge back to the pole.

“I know you’re not afraid of height,” Dick said, a teasing smile on his eleven-year-old face. He was dressed in his red Flying Graysons unitard, his hands tossing a powder bag between his hands. “What’s wrong?”

“The net is so far down,” Clint said, tugging at the collar of a black and silver unitard. Dick had outgrown it, and while Clint was the same age, he was smaller than his best friend. “What if I hurt myself when I fall?”

“You haven’t anytime you’ve fallen off the tightrope,” Dick pointed out.

“I know. But this is higher.” Clint rubbed his arm.

“Of course, it is. We have to be up high if you want to fly!” Dick unlatched the trapeze from the jumping platform and climbed up the extra distance. “Now I’m going to do it first, and then when I get back, you’ll try. Okay?”

Clint sighed but nodded, his hand signing yes even if he didn’t speak it.

“You ready Dad?” Dick shouted across the distance to where his father waiting, sitting on the other trapeze bar like a swing.

“Of course.” John Grayson said as he started to pump his legs, getting his side of the trapeze in motion.  When he was ready, he slid down and hooked his legs into place before letting his arms swing free. “When you’re ready, kiddo.”

“Now, first we’re going to do a simple changeover. You have to time when you jump off this for when Dad is over the platform. That way you both swing to each other at the same time.” Dick jumped off the platform and swung across the air, easily jumping from the bar to his father’s hands.

Clint watched, taking it all in as Dick and his father laughed. They swung back and forth as Dick helped them gain momentum. Then his father tossed him in the air and Dick twisted in the air before grabbing the empty bar and swinging back to Clint, who had a death grip on the powder bag.

“See, easy!”

“For you,” Clint mumbled, throwing the bag at the raven-haired boy.

“And it will be for you too. Trust us.” Dick held out the bar, which Clint took and climbed up on the jumping platform.

“Don’t let go until you’re ready, Clint,” John shouted from across the tent. Clint nodded, then took a deep breath. “There’s a net to catch me. There’s a net to catch me,” he repeated to himself before opening his eyes and jumping.

He swung across the air, screaming as he flew up and let go of the bar. When gravity kicked in, his eyes opened in panic, but a moment later two firm hands gripped his wrists and he was swinging again.

Clint looked up at John, who was smiling. “You did it, Clint. Next time, think you can do it without screaming?”

“Yes!” Clint laughed now, relishing in the feeling of swinging in the air.

“Good. Now, get us some height so you can head back to Dick.”

Clint did so, using his body like a swing until the empty bar was there and John let him go. When his hands landed on it, he grabbed tight and swung back. Dick caught him and when Clint let go, they fell into a pile on the platform, laughing.

“That was awesome!” they said in unison, dissolving into giggles again.

“Clinton Francis Barton!” The boom of Trickshot’s voice reverberated through the tent. Clint crawled to the platform edge and saw his mentor, Buck Chisholm, standing on the ground, arms crossed and glaring up at him. “Get down here now.”

Clint looked back and Dick, sad. “I have to go.”

“Well, if you have to get down, might as well enjoy it.” Dick pulled Clint up, and led him to the edge and turned, his back to the net. Dick then spread his arms and fell backward, laughing as he fell the distance to the net, bouncing back into the air before he tried to get to his knees.

Grinning, Clint followed Dick’s example and dropped, hitting the net. He sent Dick into the air, and they laughed and bounced until the net settled.

“Come on, boys. Don’t leave Mister Chisholm waiting.” Mary Grayson stood at the edge of the net, helping Clint down after Dick flipped off the net gracefully.

“Sorry, Trickshot,” Clint said. “Dick said he’d teach me how to fly.”

“The only thing flying during our training time is your arrows,” Trickshot stated, putting a firm hand on Clint’s shoulder. Clint winced, feeling the bruise under the unitard that was still fading from last week’s training. “You’re already an hour late. You’re lucky I was able to trade practice times with another troupe.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Now let’s get you out of this ridiculous thing and get to work.” Trickshot led Clint out of the tent, but Clint took a quick look over his shoulder to see Dick watching, Mary wrapping her arms around his neck from behind.

Later? Clint fingerspelled, and Dick smiled and nodded.

Gotham City – Now

The circus tent faded away as sunlight hit Clint’s eyelids. He groaned, fighting he way back to the land of the living. It was too bright, and he squinted, trying to open his eyes and see where he was.

“I believe the young master is waking up,” a strange voice with a British accent spoke.

Wait… spoke?

He reached up with his left hand to touch his ear, relieved to find a hearing aid resting there. A hand gently took his, squeezing it.

“Hey, Clint. I’m here.” Clint recognized Dick’s voice and turned to face him. His eyes were adjusting, so he opened them wider to take in his best friend.

“Give him a minute to get his bearings, Dick,” another voice—Dick’s foster father Bruce Wayne—spoke from somewhere in the room. “He’s been out for a while now.”

A while? Clint let his eyes drag away from Dick to take in the room. The ceiling was different, which was an immediate clue that Clint wasn’t in the same room he had fallen asleep in. His eyes went to find the dry erase board, and what he saw had him panicking.

He had lost four weeks. He was in a different hospital, in a new city—Gotham City—and Dr. Signora’s name was replaced with a Dr. Thompkins.

“Hey, Clint, breathe,” Dick said, squeezing Clint’s hand.

“Why is it four weeks later?” Clint asked, panting.

Dick looked at Bruce, who nodded and left the room. Dick focused back on Clint. “You had a seizure, but Doctor Signora was able to stop it. You’re okay now.”

Clint nodded, then looked down at his body. The casts were still there, but they looked different. “Something else happened,” Clint stated.

“Yeah. Bruce gave the okay for you to have the non-emergency surgeries you needed. That’s why you were out so long.” Dick explained. “He wanted you to only have to recover once, instead of spreading multiple surgeries over months.”

“Oh.” Clint swallowed, taking a deep breath. “Okay. That makes sense… I think?”

“Well, you’re no longer at risk of being paralyzed or dealing with debilitating injuries,” Dick explained. “You’re going to set off every metal detector you get within three feet of, but that’s just temporary.”

“Precisely.” Dr. Leslie Thompkins entered the room with Bruce, and a third man—Alfred, Clint’s memories spat out—closed the door and stepped off to the side. “Hello, Clint,” Leslie moved to Dick’s side, a smile on her face. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. Dick has talked my ear off about your childhood antics.”

Clint looked at his best friend who blushed and suddenly was very interested in what was happening outside the window. “Nothing too bad, I hope,” Clint said, amused.

“He stuck to the good stories.” Leslie looked up at the monitors. “Can you tell me how much pain you’re in right now?”

“Um…” Clint had to think about it because he felt something, but he wasn’t sure if it was pain or not. “I don’t know. I think my head is still clouded.”

Leslie nodded, making a note in the chart she was holding. “Well, you are coherent, so I don’t think it’s the drugs as much as having given time for everything inside you to heal. Can you wiggle your fingers and toes for me?”

Clint did so, realizing that his hand and feet didn’t ripple with pain at the movement. “No pain.”

“Wonderful.” She pulled out a penlight and checked his eyes and mouth. “I’m going to take off your hearing aids, one at a time, and put them back on when I’m done, ok?”  Clint nodded, and she examined his ears. “I don’t see any signs of damage from your seizure. If you weren’t still a pile of healing bones, I’d give you a clean bill of health.”

“Does that mean we can have him transferred back to the Manor?” Bruce asked.

Leslie nodded. “I can sign off on that, but I will expect progress reports.”

“I will be certain to remind Master Bruce to submit them in a timely manner,” Alfred replied.

“Which means Alfred will write them and forge Bruce’s signature,” Dick said before Bruce’s hand went on Dick’s shoulder, silencing him.

“We have been preparing a room for him where he will be able to relax, and I’ve invested in some therapeutic equipment to help with his recovery,” Bruce added.

“No rushing him into physical activity,” Leslie stated, looking Bruce in the eye. “I don’t want to fix things the other hospital already repaired. He’ll start therapy when I say so.”

Bruce held up his hands in surrender as Dick snorted in amusement.

Leslie sighed. “Also, Clint is severely malnourished for a young man his age. Alfred, I will give you a meal plan to build up his caloric intake slowly as he adjusts back to real food.”

Clint didn’t say anything, because he never got enough food, so he wasn’t sure what to do with this but just let the doctor give Alfred orders. “And what do I have to do?” Clint asked.

“You, my dear boy, are going to relax and let these three gentlemen answer your beck and call until you’re able to stand on your own two feet.” Leslie winked at Clint. “And if they say differently, you just tell me, and I’ll set them straight.”

Leslie tugged on Alfred and Bruce’s sleeves to follow her out into the hallway. Dick closed the door and started laughing. Clint joined him, then coughed a bit. “No, stop, it hurts to breathe.”

“Sorry.” Dick put down one of the guardrails and hopped up on the bed. “So, you’re going to come live with me for a while. Think you can handle that?”

“Pssh, having you at my beck and call? I’m going to enjoy every minute of it!”

“Honestly, it’ll be Alfred doing most of the work. I’ll be back at school during the days, and Bruce and Alfred are strict on my homework and night activities.”

“Night activities?” Clint asked.

“Yeah. Working on my aikido and doing gymnastics. Bruce thinks I could try out for the Olympics, but I’m just happy with my mad flying skills.”

“Once I’m out of these things, I can join you.” Clint lifted his cast-free arm and rotated his shoulder. “At least I have one limb free.”

“Technically two, but they cast the other leg to give better conditions for your hips to heal.” Dick slid a sharpie out of his sleeve and uncapped it. “Doctor Thompkins thinks your bones will be healed enough to remove the pins and plates in another month.”

“And using them?” Clint tried to look at what Dick was doodling on his leg.

“Depends on how much they healed under the plates,” Dick said with a shrug, focusing on his drawing. “You’re going to have pale, skinny legs when they take these off.”

“I already have pale and skinny legs. What are you doing?” Clint felt his neck straining and gave up trying to look. “You better not be drawing a penis on my leg.”

Dick looked up and grinned. “I wasn’t, but now I will.”

“I hate you,” Clint groaned.

Capping his sharpie, Dick admired his work. “I drew a bow and arrow for you.”

Clint sighed and looked up at the ceiling. “You think I’ll be able to use it again?”

“Of course,” Dick said with certainty. “Bruce is a drill sergeant when it comes to physical activity. If you want to get back your bow strength, you tell him, and he’ll come up with an entire plan to rebuild those muscles. You’ll be in pain and crying for it, but he will get you there.”

“That’s good. I guess?”

Dick nodded. “The bedroom they gave you is right next to mine. There may be a secret door between them, but I’m not certain.  I do know that I can climb out my window and to your ledge to climb in.”

“Instead of just using the door?”

“Of course.” Dick grinned. “It’s more fun that way.”

Bruce opened the door and reentered, closing it behind him. “I sent Alfred home so that he can prepare for Clint’s arrival. Leslie’s getting us transport.”

“Thank you,” Clint said. “You didn’t have to do all this.”

“I wanted to.” Bruce looked at Dick’s drawing and smiled. “I do have something to tell you before we leave here, so you are aware of certain things.”

Dick looked up at Bruce, squinting his eyes. Clint noticed it and stiffened a bit. “Like what?”

Bruce shook his head at Dick, then made Dick stand so he could sit next to Clint. “While you were unconscious, Dick gave me a background on what kind of life you’ve had.” Clint shifted uncomfortably at that, but Bruce continued, “but in order to get you transferred here, I needed to be able to make these decisions for you.”

“So what, I’m your ward now too?” Clint asked.

“Not exactly.” Bruce took a deep breath. The only way I was able to get you out of Nebraska’s juvenile system was to adopt you.”

Clint’s eyes widened. “You did what?”

“It was a life or death situation, Clint,” Dick explained. “I didn’t want you to die.”

“You’re less than two years from turning eighteen, so I felt it would work for the immediate need, and if you desired not to stay adopted next year, you could file for emancipation.” Bruce shrugged. “It was that or you entered child services, and Dick agreed this was the better of two choices.”

Clint turned his head to look at the dry erase board. He didn’t want a father. His own was a drunkard with a temper that left too many scars on Clint. The foster families weren’t much better, and even with Jacques, he had no experience with stellar parenting.

But Dick had lived here for four years now, and except for the typical father-son tiffs that Clint heard on the phone when Dick wanted to vent, Bruce had treated Dick well. Maybe he could give Bruce a chance as well.

“Okay,” Clint said softly, nodding as he looked back at Bruce and Dick. “But I’m not calling you Daddy.”

Dick burst out laughing, slapping his hands over his mouth to muffle himself. Bruce chuckled as well. “I appreciate that. The adoption, legally, is a sealed file and not public knowledge. You don’t have to acknowledge it at all, and in some ways, that may be for the best.”

“Let me guess, it’ll keep me from getting kidnapped?”

“That, and a few other things. On the plus side—you and Dick are now officially brothers.”

Dick beamed. “Not that was ever going to change.”

“Does this also mean I get your money if you die?” Clint asked.

Bruce laughed. “Legally, yes. As of now, you’re my heir. Though I’d hope you’d at least take care of Dick and Alfred.”

“Alfred, sure.” Clint looked at Dick and smirked. “I might make Dick beg a little.”

Elephant butt, Dick signed with a frown, and Clint just laughed.

Bruce smiled at both of them, then stood as Leslie entered with a small team of people. “Alright, you two in the hallway while we get Clint wrapped up for the ride.”

“Can I ride in the ambulance with him?” Dick asked.

“We’ll see.” She shooed the billionaire and his ward out and faced Clint. “Alright, kiddo. I’m going to give you a shot of morphine so that you don’t feel any pain during the trip. Feel free to sleep.”

“When I’m healed, I don’t think I’m going to sleep for weeks,” Clint said as he watched Leslie press the morphine button on his bed.

“Knowing how little sleep Dick gets, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Clint wanted to ask what she meant by that, but his eyes fluttered shut and he was asleep almost immediately.

Chapter Text

As Clint blinked his eyes open, he realized it was easier to wake up this time. His eyes adjusted faster, and he saw that he was, once again, in a different room. This time he had been expecting the change, so it wasn’t a shock.

He lay in a hospital bed, but the pillow under his head was softer than any he had ever slept with before. His legs were no longer in traction, and a heavy burgundy blanket was pulled up to his waist. A warm robe draped over his shoulders, his one good arm through the sleeve, the other sleeve empty as his healing arm remained in a cast.

The room he woke in was larger than any home he had lived in before, or at least how he remembered them being. Clint was certain he could practice archery in the room from how long it was between the entrance and the balcony door. Sunlight came through the silk curtains, brightening up the crimson red room while a ceiling fan spinning above him to circulate the air. Just beyond his feet on the opposite wall was a fireplace, a fire lit inside but the log just embers now. Two plush chairs framed either side of the fireplace, and a flatscreen television hung above it, turned off, and reflected Clint’s image on the black screen.

Between the bed and the main door was a desk and chair, and a bookcase next to the door filled with brown leather tomes that Clint could only guess what they were from his current spot. On his other side leading to the balcony stood different medical devices, including the heart monitor next to him with an IV bag hanging off a pole. He realized the cannula was in his nose again and pawed at it. He had gotten used to the oxygen delivery apparatus, but it always made him want to sneeze.

A rolling table was also in reach. Clint pulled it across his lap to see what was waiting for him. First were his hearing aids, which he carefully put in. It was still quiet in the room, but now he could hear the whirring of the fan above and the crackle from the fireplace.

Next was the remote to the television, then a cell phone, and finally a gold bell with a long black handle. There was a note next to it, but Clint couldn’t read the cursive handwriting. However, he was smart enough to know what happened when someone rang a bell, so he picked it up and gave it a few rings.

Immediately, there was a thump from the wall behind him, followed by heavy footsteps running. It took fifteen seconds for Clint’s door to open and Dick to run in. Dick’s hair was a mess and he was in his pajamas, but there was a grin on his friend’s lips. “Hey, you’re awake!”

“Mostly,” Clint said, putting the bell down. “Though not convinced I’m not dreaming.”

“Want me to pinch you?” Dick asked, walking to Clint’s bedside.

“Pinch me and you die.”

Dick’s grin grew and he found a spot of exposed flesh between Clint’s hips and ribs, squeezing the skin. Clint yelped, picked up the bell, and threw it at Dick’s head. He nailed his target, eliciting a “hey!” out of Dick while rubbing the spot where the bell connected with his forehead.

“Master Clinton, while I am sure Master Dick deserved the punishment, that is not the intended purpose of giving you the bell.” Alfred had entered the room and now reached down to retrieve the bell from the floor. He polished it with a handkerchief before setting it back on the table.

“Sorry Alfred,” Dick said, wrinkling his nose as his fingers came away with a small smear of blood.

“You may show your remorse by setting the kitchen table for breakfast.” Alfred stared at Dick, who sheepishly slipped out of the room with an apologetic look at Clint. When he was gone, Alfred stepped over to the monitor at Clint’s side, checking the readings. “And how are you feeling this morning, sir? Any nausea or headaches from the anesthesia? Pain?”

“Um, no.” Clint watched the butler closely. He knew of Alfred mostly from Dick’s stories, but Clint had faint, fuzzy recollections of the man standing over his bedside. “I mean, yeah, there’s some pain, but nothing a Tylenol can’t help.”

“Dr. Thompkins wanted you weened off morphine, but if you need some and are in significant pain, I can.” He turned to face Clint fully, watching the man’s eyes take in each cast. “We’re also starting you back on liquid foods today.”

“Does pizza come in liquid form?” Clint asked. “I’ve been wanting some for a while now.”

There wasn’t the hint of a smile on the butler’s face at the joke. “Dr. Thompkins laid out a very specific diet for you. When you are back to solid foods, then we can discuss obtaining you a slice.”

Clint nodded. “Were you a doctor once?” he asked.

“No, but I have assisted Dr. Thompkins on multiple emergency procedures and have learned a thing or two through them.” There was a hint of a smile on Alfred’s face now, but it disappeared as fast as it appeared. “If you’re hungry, I can prepare your breakfast.”

“Not really.” Clint didn’t want to see what a liquid diet consisted of just yet. “But… can I look out the window from here?”

“Of course. We kept you in the hospital bed so that it can be moved as needed.” Alfred went to the balcony and pushed the curtains open, then gently moved the bed close enough so that Clint could turn his head and see out.

The balcony opened to a large green space with hedges along the perimeter. Large shrubs were sculpted into animals to create the illusion of a green zoo behind Wayne Manor. Clint wanted to jump out of bed and climb all over them. He decided that it would be his first act once he was free of the casts. “That looks so cool.”

“Master Bruce had it made for Master Dick for his thirteenth birthday,” Alfred explained. “It had been months since his parents’ deaths, and he still missed his circus life. Master Bruce had the gardener sculpt them after animals he had seen at the circus that night, with the elephant directly under Master Dick’s balcony.”

“Zitka,” Clint said. “That elephant loved Dick. She’d pick him up with her trunk and carry him back to his parents if Dick fell asleep in the hay truck.”

“He is fond of her too.” Alfred stood there a moment longer, then pushed the table across Clint’s lap again. “I need to prepare breakfast for the masters before they leave for the day. If you need anything, use the bell. One ring for something to eat, two for something to drink…”

“Aren’t they the same thing?” Clint asked, flashing the butler a grin.

Alfred huffed, but the hint of a smile returned for another split second. “And three times for anything else.”

“Got it.”

“I will check up on you in two hours. If you desire anything to read or some other form of entertainment, you can let me know at that time.”

“Yes, sir.”

The Batmobile returned to the cave around nine in the evening. Alfred was waiting patiently at the bottom of the stairs as Robin hopped out first, still riding the high of the evening of kicking butt. Batman followed behind, pulling back his cowl and heading for the computer.

“You should have seen it, Alfred.” Dick grabbed the bottle of water and a sandwich waiting for him on a try beside the butler. “The team and I found where Captain Boomerang was hiding. Can you believe it? A guy whose power is throwing boomerangs?”

“Sounds exciting, Master Dick.” Alfred cleared his throat. “However, your absence has been noticed by the young patient upstairs.”

“Oh man, Clint! I totally forgot after I got the call from Wally.” Dick ran for the stairs.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Bruce called from his seat at the computer.

Dick looked down at his uniform and sighed. “Alright,” he muttered before heading for the changing area.

Bruce smiled to himself. “Remember, we need to keep this a secret from Clint. For his own safety, you must keep him in the dark.”

“I know, I know.” Dick reappeared in a pair of sweats, rubbing at his eyes with a wet washcloth. “You know, it only took me a month to figure it out on my own.”

“Clint is still confined to bed for six weeks, and then he’ll need therapy to be able to walk again,” Bruce stated. “I think we’ve got around three months before we need to Clint-proof the Batcave.”

“Might want to start now,” Dick said as he tossed the washcloth into the laundry bin. He ran for the stairs again, taking them two steps at a time. It didn’t take him long to get to the second floor. The door to Clint’s room was cracked, so Dick nudged it enough so he could slip inside.

The bed was still pushed up against the balcony doors. Dick moved toward the bed and saw Clint’s eyes closed, his head facing the moonlit garden. He sighed and stepped back, not wanting to wake Clint back up.

“You’re late,” Clint groaned, turning his head to face Dick.

Dick shrugged, then smiled. “What can I say, every time I tried to leave, I ended up just going back again.” He hopped up on the edge of the bed, and they talked late into the night until they both fell asleep, Dick curled up on the side with Clint’s good arm.

Chapter Text

Two Weeks Later…

Alfred stood in the doorway of Clint’s room, watching as the young master flipped cards with his good hand at a target on the wall. Dick had built the game over the previous weekend, making a contained target with a net to catch missed shots. It was connected to a sheet that went from under the target to Clint’s bed. The cards, after being flung and hitting the target, would slide down the silk back into Clint’s lap.

It was a simple game, but it was the only thing that seemed to interest the young man. The desk near the bed had books, a laptop, two different handheld videogames, the television remote, an art set, notebooks—anything Alfred could think of to occupy the young man during the days, and most evenings, of isolation. Yet they remained untouched, gathering dust Alfred was left to clean off every few days.

Something was wrong with this, as Alfred compared Clint to Dick. The blonde teenager should be vibrating with energy to get out of his plaster cocoon, trying to distract himself with everything and anything in reach. Not Clint, though; he either just stared out at the garden or practiced his aim.

With Bruce and Dick off for the weekend on a “business trip”, Alfred was the sole companion to the injured boy. With no one else to tend to, Alfred intended to get to the bottom of Clint’s lack of interest in any item of entertainment. The dust could gather on the library shelves for a day.

“Good afternoon, Master Clint.” Alfred checked the lunch tray, confirming that the boy had finished his protein shake. “I came to check and see if you would like some company.”

“Are you that bored today?” Clint turned to face the butler, then flicked the card at the target. Alfred noticed that it still hit the bullseye—a remarkable skill, especially for a boy still on the mend. He would mention that later to Master Bruce.

“I’ve decided that I could let the dust in the west wing gather for a day since the Masters won’t be back for a few days.”

Clint scoffed and tossed another card. “Like either of them spend enough time with me to notice.”

Alfred heard the frustration in Clint’s words and felt sympathy for the young man. Clint was bedridden, so his only interactions were when people came to him. Dick tried to visit at least once a day, but school and his Young Justice League responsibilities, as well as his duties as Robin in Gotham, kept him out to the early morning hours. It often led to a hasty breakfast with each other, and a dinner only once or twice a week.

“I would say to be patient with them, but I know it can be difficult in your position.”

“Ya think?” Clint put the cards down and scratched at his head, his hair starting to grow back from being shaved for surgeries.

Alfred pulled the lounge chair closer to the bed. “So instead, you will have to humor an old man aiming to fill their place.”

Clint smirked. “There’s ain’t nothing old about you, Alfred. I’m pretty sure you’d kick anyone’s ass.”

“Language, young man.” Alfred gave him a stern look, making Clint cower a bit.

“Sorry.”

Alfred chuckled. “It will take some practice to resist the slang from the circus, but you will be better off for it.”

Clint’s smirk returned. “Was Dick that bad?”

“No, he was much younger and hadn’t learned many of those colorful phrases.” He smiled at the memories of Dick and his childish exclamations and non-words that he came up with. Even living in the world of the Bat, Robin held onto joy and innocence longer than anyone expected.

“He also came from a better environment. Haley’s was an amazing place back then. After the Grayson’s died, it was like the magic left with them.” Clint picked up his cards again, flicking them occasionally. “Dick’s mom had asked me if I’d have liked to join them, that last winter. I couldn’t just leave my brother, Barney. If I had, I’ve been there that night.”

“You may be better off for that, young man. It was a horrific scene. Master Dick still deals with the trauma to this day.”

“I would have been there for him,” Clint said. “I’ve already dealt with losing my parents. I could have helped.”

“You did,” Alfred stated. “Those winter trips, being with you and his circus family helped recharge his spirit. I hate to think of how he would be now without them.” Alfred realized that Clint had spoken about his past—a topic he avoided with everyone, including his best friend—and he decided to try and get more. “How did your parents die?”

“Car accident.” Clint flicked the next card harder than the others. “Dad was drunk. Mom was along for the ride.” He shrugged. “Can’t really be bothered to shed a tear for them.”

“How come?”

Clint froze, and Alfred could see the wheels spinning in the boy’s head. “I can’t answer without cursing.”

Alfred raised an eyebrow. “I will allow it just this once.”

Nodding, Clint took a deep breath. “My dad was an abusive asshole. As far back as I remember, anytime something went wrong in his life, or in the house, he took it out on me or my brother. One time… I can’t remember the time leading up to it, but he slammed my head into the corner of the kitchen counter. I woke up in the hospital and couldn’t hear anything. My mom said I slipped on a wet floor. It wasn’t the first… or the last time he hurt me.”

Alfred wanted to ask why Clint never told anyone, but he knew better. Victims of abuse often fear retribution for seeking help, so they make excuses and stay silent. Instead, he placed a hand on Clint’s good shoulder and squeezed it gently. “I agree with your word choice in this instance.”

Clint smiled as he gave Alfred a grateful look, but the smile faded away quickly. “He wasn’t the only one. We never had a good foster family, and even after we joined the circus, if we didn’t pull our weight, Swordsman would punish us.”

“Is that how you ended up on that tightrope that night, Master Clint? Trying to escape punishment?”

“Kinda.” Clint bit his lip, looking out the window. “I saw something I wasn’t supposed to, and I ran. But I didn’t think they’d try to kill me.”

Alfred leaned over, his hand going to smooth Clint’s spikey hair. “Well, you are safe here, young man. Neither I, nor Master Bruce, and especially Master Dick, will let anyone harm you again.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” Clint tilted his head out of Alfred’s reach and reached up to rub at his eyes.

“Well, let us leave this discussion for another time. I think I’m going to get a nice book to read for the afternoon. Would you like me to grab you one as well?”

Clint shook his head, but there was something more to it, Alfred noticed. A sadness, or embarrassment? “Well, if you let me know what your current reading level is and some authors you like, I could purchase old favorites.”

“Reading’s not my thing.”

Finding the bottom of this issue was going to need a sterner tone. “What is your reading level, Master Clint?”

It took a moment of Clint thinking before he responded, “Ten.”

Alfred took a deep breath. That wasn’t a reading level. “Do you know how to read?”

“Yes!” Clint’s voice nearly squeaked with how fast the word jumped out of his mouth. He then looked abash. “Kinda. I know what some words look like on a page.”

“When was the last time you attended school?”

Clint sighed, then shrugged. “You have to have gone to school in the first place to have a last time to attend. Dick’s folks taught me how to sound out words and matching my fingerspelling to letters of the alphabet. A bit of math too. I’m pretty good at math, at least that’s what Mr. Grayson said.”

It all made sense now. If Clint couldn’t read, it would make video games difficult with on-screen instructions. He could flip stations on the television but would have no way to read a guide—and Alfred doubted that Clint had any favorite shows on the lack of televisions at the circus. Crosswords, word searches, any type of word game would be lost on the poor boy.

Alfred wasn’t going to let that stand, not during his watch. “Well then, young man, I think it’s about time we get you caught up to others your age.”

Clint gave him a wide-eyed look. “Um, do I have to?”

“I insist, and once Master Bruce knows of this, he will send out for the best tutors to aid in this endeavor.”

“But I’ve done just fine on my own.”

“Yes, but you are no longer limited to the life of a performer, young man.” Alfred stood up. “Your future can become whatever you wish, and with a proper education, you’ll have the tools to get you there.”

Clint turned his attention outside, looking over the garden. Alfred waited silently, letting the boy think. “I want to be someone who makes sure people can’t hurt little kids,” Clint said, conviction in his voice.

Alfred smiled. “Then that is what we shall help you become. And the first step is being able to read, as you’ll need to learn about the law and what you can and can’t do to help.”

“Alright.” Clint straightened himself in bed the best he could. “Let’s get going then, Alfie.”

Chapter Text

Two Months Later…

Alfred tucked the blanket around Clint’s legs and hips tightly, making sure no cold air would freeze the weakened limbs. Three days ago, the plaster was cut away, leaving fleshy noodles in the place of his legs. The lack of abs made it difficult for him to sit up on his own, and only one arm was strong enough to pull himself up in bed.

Now, with pillows and proper tucking, Alfred was allowing Clint to go outside in a wheelchair. All he needed was for Dick to get his ass downstairs so they could take a walk in the garden.

“He’ll be along shortly,” Alfred assured him, placing a cap on Clint’s head. “You know he is never good with being on time.”

“Yeah.” Clint rolled his chair forward to the door. “I still don’t see why I can’t do it myself. My arms are strong enough to push the chair on the paths.”

“If you get too tired, you’ll be stuck outside with no way of returning.” Alfred moved to the pantry. “I’m about to start cooking dinner and will not be paying attention to the time.”

“That’s a lie,” Clint pointed out with a laugh.

Alfred gave a rare smile as he pulled potatoes and onions out of wire baskets in the pantry. Out of Clint’s line of sight, he pressed a button on his watch that would signal to Dick that Alfred was waiting for him. “If you can open the door for yourself, I will agree to you rolling yourself out onto the patio where I can still see you.”

“Challenge accepted.”

Alfred poked his head out of the pantry to watch Clint. He saw the boy stare at the door a minute, eyes going from the hinges to the doorknob. Clint’s eyes widened when he figured it out, and Alfred watched as Clint turned his chair to the side, opened the door, then popped his chair up on two wheels. As the door inched open, Clint rotated the back wheels to spin with it, opening the door with his footrests.

“I’ll be outside!” Clint said with a laugh, rolling out onto the patio and pulling the door closed behind him.

Alfred shook his head. “At least he’s been doing his core exercises.”

The kitchen door from the Batcave burst open as Dick ran in. He was wearing his oversized hoodie and sunglasses, the typical casual “uniform” the teenager wore while spending time with his Young Justice team.

Without a pause, Dick opened the fridge and looked for a snack. Alfred reached over and slapped his hand with a wooden spoon. “Dinner is in an hour. You can wait.”

“But I’m starving, Alfie. We just got back from this awesome mission.” Dick hopped up to sit on the kitchen island, grabbing an apple.

Alfred hummed, looking up at the time. “Well, while you were off saving the world, you seem to have forgotten you were due home two hours ago.”

Dick blinked. “I got my homework done during study hall…”

“Good to hear, but I was referring more to a promise you made to Master Clint.”

“Shit!” Dick sprung from the table for the stairs. “Is he upstairs?”

“Language, Master Dick. And no, he got himself onto the patio, and I’m certain he is far into the gardens by now.”

Dick was about to curse again, but Alfred was still giving him the disapproving look. Instead, he grabbed a winter coat and his gloves. “I’ll go find him.”

Dick raced into the gardens, following the two lines that were Clint’s wheelchair path. It took him a good five minutes until he came upon the empty wheelchair under a tree. He looked up and saw Clint reclining on a large branch, the blanket wrapped around him as he stared off at the Gotham skyline.

“Dude, are you crazy? Do you want to fall again?” Dick shouted up.

Clint didn’t flinch or respond except for the tightening of his jaw. Dick sighed, then shoved his gloves in his pocket and proceeded to climb the tree. He stood on a branch a few inches below Clint’s and stared at his best friend. Clint still didn’t look at Dick, and now that he was close, Dick could see tear streaks dried on Clint’s cheeks.

“Clint?”

“If you didn’t want me here, why did you let Bruce adopt me?” Clint asked, still looking at the tall buildings in the distance.

“What? Of course I want you here!”

“You’re never here. You’re either doing some late-night gymnastic team meets or hanging out with your friends from school.” Clint’s eyes started watering up, but he took a deep breath and pushed them back. “You keep promising to keep me company, but I barely see you.”

Dick lowered his head, realizing that Clint was right. He had been a horrible friend. “I’m sorry, Clint.”

“I mean, I know it’s my own fault. I came crashing back into your life and you’ve got schedule or some crap like that.”

“No.” Dick moved into Clint’s line of sight. “This is not your fault. You didn’t ask to get hurt. You asked me for help. I’m the one being a crappy friend, and…” Dick bit his lip, his fingers clenching the branch he was using for balance. “I’m really sorry, Clint. You needed me here and I let myself get distracted with other things. That wasn’t fair.”

“I’m used to it,” Clint whispered.

Anger flashed through Dick at that. He hated seeing Clint like this. When they were together at the circus, Clint was always happy and mischievous, polite to a fault, but enjoys boasting about his skills. What had happened in those years to break that spirit?

“You shouldn’t be.” Dick sat on Clint’s branch by his feet. “Listen, I don’t know what Trickshot, Swordsman, or Barney did to you before the fall, but you’re far from them. And I know right now it doesn’t feel like it, but you aren’t a burden and I do want you here. I’ve always wanted you here, and I’ve even asked Bruce about taking you on as a ward as well long before this.”

“I haven’t even seen Bruce since I got here.”

“Yeah, he’s like that. I barely see him myself except for at night.”

Clint finally looked at Dick. “You know, I’m in a wheelchair now. I can come to your meets. I may not be good at school, but I’d like to meet your friends here. You talk about Wally and Roy and Kaldur a lot. Maybe they’d let me hang out?”

Dick smiled. “They’d probably would. It’s just… it’s complicated.”

Clint shifted his gaze to his hands. “Oh.”

“No, that’s not a no.” Dick struggled to clarify. “I just don’t know how to explain it.” He knew exactly how to explain it, but Bruce made him swear not to tell Clint about their other lives as Batman and Robin. “Maybe I could see if they want to come over here to hang out? We could set up the video game console in the media room and get pizzas and just chill.”

Thinking about it before nodding, Clint gave a hesitant smile. “That would be cool.”

“Then I’ll set it up. This weekend work?”

Clint laughed. “Do I look like I have plans?”

“Hey, just asking. You could have a hot date with a book.”

“Not yet,” Clint said. “But I’m getting there. Alfred’s really been helping me with that.”

“I know. He’s proud of you.”

“I meant to ask… is Alfred actually going to be raising us? Because I feel like Alfred’s more a dad than anyone else who tried to be that to me.”

Dick nodded. “Yeah, he basically raised Bruce, and well, me. I think since he never got to have a family of his own, he sees Bruce as his son, and we’re grandkids.”

“I like it,” Clint admitted. “I didn’t think I’d like having a dad ever again, but Alfred… I can get to actually liking that with him.”

“I think you’d make his day telling him that.”

“Maybe I will.” Clint sat up. “But I think right now, I need to figure out how to get back down.”

Dick looked down to see how far up they were. “How did you get up here anyway?”

Clint smirked. “My arms healed awhile ago. My legs might suck, but I know how to climb without them.”

“Of course you do.”

They laughed, then planned their way down. Once Clint was back in his wheelchair, Dick pushed his friend back home. Alfred waited at the door, checking Clint over with his eyes the moment they were in sight. “I hope you boys had a good talk in that tree. Master Clint, I must advise you to not put yourself in precarious positions like that until you know you can get yourself back up again.”

Clint nodded. “Yes, Alfred. Even though I know you’ll always be there to pick me up when I do.”

“Sometimes a young man must stop looking for others to help.” Alfred’s tone, however, suggested that Clint was right. Dick knew it too.

“Sure.” Clint smiled at the butler. “Thanks. You know, for everything.”

Alfred gave the hint of a smile and nodded. “Of course. Now, you both need to change into something warm for dinner. It’ll be ready soon.”

“Will do,” Dick said and pushed Clint to the elevator. “You know he doesn’t smile that often, right?” he whispered to Clint as they waited.

“I noticed,” Clint said, grinning. “That’s what makes them special.”

Chapter Text

The Next Evening…

It was quiet. Too quiet. True, it was three in the morning, but Clint knew that Dick snored like a polar bear with a stuffy nose, so not hearing a sound at all was concerning. He always heard it since they shared a wall, and not having the familiar sound was making it hard for Clint to fall back asleep. So, he decided to grab his arm crutches and take a stroll to Dick’s room.

Dick’s empty room.

Clint crutched his way to Dick’s bathroom, but his best friend wasn’t there either.

“Where the fuck are you, Dickie?” Clint muttered to himself as he noticed the door to Dick’s balcony was open.

Leaving Dick’s room, Clint decided to check the kitchen out. Maybe Dick was having a mid-night cereal attack? He called for the elevator to come to the second floor so he could get down to the main level.

As he entered the elevator and went to touch the down button, Clint noticed that the keyhole “for emergencies” had moved the pointer from left to right. He had never seen it in that position before, and his finger traced the lock… and accidentally pushed it in.

The elevator door shut and started to move. Clint stumbled against the side railing as the box lowered in the shaft. The light above the door changed from 2 to 1… and after at least thirty seconds, to B.

The door slid open silently, revealing a dim cavern just beyond the elevator threshold. Clint carefully stepped out, taking in the metal ground that was suspended in the middle of a cave carved into stone.

He stood in a shadowed alcove, another floor above casting down its shadow over him. Not knowing what lurked in the cave, he stayed in the darkness while he got to know his surroundings.

The ground he was on ended about ten feet from the end of the shadows with a staircase that went down to what looked like the main floor. There was also a set of stairs going up to whatever was on the floor able him.

The main floor was huge and covered almost the entire opening of the cave. There was a long, wide strip of ground leading to the mouth of a smaller cave on one end. On the other sat the largest computer station that Clint had ever seen. Monitors towered upward, dwarfing the office chair that waited near the controls. Focusing his eyes, he could see switches, buttons, input ports, scanning pads, and a few integrated machines on the right side of the monitor station that he had no clue to their purpose. A large conduit ran from the shadows of the cave ceiling down to the computer.

This place is powered by the mansion, Clint realized. He gripped his crutch handles tighter, feeling anger eating away at his curiosity. If that was true, which it had to be if the elevator brought him from upstairs to here, that meant Bruce Wayne, his new father, wasn’t who he said he was.

The roaring of an engine startled Clint from his thoughts, and he watched a long, black car drive into the cave along the wide strip from the cave mouth. It stopped on a circular design etched onto the floor, and the floor spun to point the car back at the road leading away.

The top of the car slid back, and Clint watched a red and black-clad teenager jump out, his face covered by a mask and trailing a yellow and black cape behind him. “Are you sure you don’t need my help for this?” he asked, and Clint stopped breathing for a moment.

That was Dick’s voice. Dick was the one in the costume with a yellow R on his chest. And if that was Dick…

An ominous figure glided out of the car, dressed in black and grays with only his lips and chin visible. Clint found himself taking a step backward because he knew who the masked man was. It was The Batman. The protector of Gotham, the masked vigilante, the dark knight.

“I’m sure, Dick. You need to rest before school.” Batman pulled back his cowl, and Clint’s eyes widened.

Batman was Bruce Wayne. His adopted father was a costumed vigilante.

Panic started to settle in his chest as he thought about Trickshot and Swordsman. They were both masked men while on stage, and while doing their crimes. They were dark men when they wore their masks and took their anger out on him. And now, in a place they promised he was safe in… by the one person on Earth he trusted fully… he was back in the crosshairs.

He retreated for the elevator, but his crutches and legs decided not to move in the same direction, so he crashed to the floor.

“What was that?” Clint heard Bruce… Batman say.

“Don’t know,” Dick replied.

Clint dragged himself under the stairs, trying to hide. Would they kill him now that he knew this secret? What had he gotten himself into?

Bruce found him first. “Clint?” he asked, becoming a dark void in the shadows blocking Clint’s escape.

“Clint?” Dick ran to join them as Clint grabbed his crutch to use as a weapon.

“Stay back!” Clint shouted, swinging at the empty space between the three of them in warning.

Dick tore the mask off his face, the black makeup around his blue eyes turning his best friend into a raccoon. “Clint, calm down. It’s us.”

“I won’t… I won’t let you hurt me. I’m not…not going to… to do this again!” Clint was breathing hard, his chest tightening as he tried to find another way out. He debated on if he could slip between the stairs, but he wouldn’t be able to outrun them. Maybe if I got to the car first…

“Breathe, Clint.” Bruce lowered himself down to Clint’s level, his hands up to show he was unarmed. Clint knew that didn’t matter. Batman didn’t need weapons to hurt others.

“You… you lied…” He struggled to breathe now, gulping air as his throat tightened. “I…”

Bruce gently pushed the crutch to the floor as Clint started to see spots in his vision. “Clint, I’m going to reach for you and pull you out of there. Don’t fight me.”

Clint stiffened, the urge to push away combating with the fact he was shaking and unable to move. Tears came to his eyes at how easy Bruce was able to grab him and drag him closer, pulling him against his chest and wrapping the cape around him.

“You need to take deep breaths,” Bruce ordered, guiding Clint’s hand to press against his chest. “In. One…” Clint took a shaky breath, eyes closed. He could feel Bruce’s chest start to expand, and he forced his lungs to try and mimic it. “Two… three… four… five…”

“My word,” Alfred spoke up as he walked up behind the trio on the floor.

“And out. One… two… three… four… five.” Bruce and Clint breathed out together. They repeated the exercise as Dick stood up next to the butler.

“Clint got into the Batcave somehow and started to freak out when he saw B in the costume,” Dick explained.

“Well, seeing a grown man dressed as a bat would send anyone into a panic,” Alfred stated. “I believe that’s the preferable reaction to seeing the Batman.”

Bruce shot a look over Clint’s head at Alfred as he counted. Clint knew that Bruce and Alfred could have an entire conversation in silence with just looks, and he was certain that was happening now. He didn’t look up, focusing instead on listening to Bruce’s steady heartbeat and feeling his lungs slowly fill and empty. Each breath relaxed him bit by bit, and soon he relaxed into his adopted father’s arms, pressing his face into Bruce’s chest so no one could see him start to cry again.

Alfred took a deep breath. “I will get the fire going in the den along with a carafe of hot chocolate. Master Dick, I will require your help with this.”

Dick looked confused. “But shouldn’t I…?”

“I think Master Bruce will agree that both you and Master Clint have come down with a stomach bug and need to remain home tomorrow to prevent spreading it further.” Alfred motioned with his head to the stairs. “You can also take a moment to shower and change into your pajamas,” he continued as Dick followed. “That uniform needs a good cleaning and some quick repairs, I think.”

As Dick and Alfred walked away, Bruce stood up slowly, cradling Clint to his chest. Clint felt embarrassed, knowing he had to look pathetic right now, so he kept his face hidden. He didn’t need Bruce to count to five anymore for him to breathe, so now Bruce just remained quiet as he walked them to the elevator.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” Bruce said softly as the elevator started its climb to the manor. “I just didn’t think you were ready to know. You needed to focus on healing, not on the problems that come from this kind of world.”

Clint didn’t speak, just clung to the edges of the cape. He didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t told Bruce yet about Trickshot or the Swordsman, or who they had made Clint become. Alfred and Dick knew only tiny pieces of a larger story, but he hadn’t told Bruce anything. It was partially because Clint rarely saw Bruce after moving into the manor, but also because he didn’t want this man, a man trying to actually be a father, to know how messed up Clint’s life had become when the Graysons died.

He knew exactly the kinds of problems that came when living behind a mask.

Before he knew it, they were in the den. The fire crackled, warming the room nicely. Bruce grabbed a thick blanket and used it to replace his cape before lowering Clint onto the couch. “If I go change, will you stay here? Alfred doesn’t approve of wearing the suits in the manor.”

Clint nodded, pulling the blanket tighter around himself. He couldn’t go far without his arm crutches anyway, and his wheelchair was back in his room. Bruce left, and Clint looked around the room. On the coffee table were two pens and a notebook. He quickly leaned over and grabbed the pens, wrapping them back in the blanket in case he needed a weapon. He was mostly certain that he wasn’t in danger, but he also knew that people could turn on you when you said the wrong thing.

Alfred entered the den a few minutes later carrying a tray with four mugs and a silver carafe. Dick was behind him, now dressed in his blue flannel pajamas, carrying a plate of sandwiches and cookies. “Here, we go. It’s dreadfully cold in that cave, so this should warm you right back up, Master Clint.”

Dick sat on the couch next to Clint, then blinked as Clint pulled his feet away from his best friend and curled up tighter. Before he could speak, Bruce entered wearing a black, long-sleeved shirt and sweatpants. He sat down in an armchair next to Clint, reaching for a mug and pouring Clint a drink. “So you discovered our secret a little earlier than I had hoped, but hopefully it’ll make it easier now to understand why Dick and I tend not to be around at nights.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to find out,” Clint said, staring at the mug Bruce was holding. “I won’t tell anyone, I swear. Please just don’t hurt me.”

“Hurt you?” Bruce looked at Dick for backup. “Clint, we’re not going to hurt you. I know you may have heard stories of the Batman, but I’d never hurt a child, especially one of my own. My job is to protect people. You see, the three of us have something in common: we all lost our parents. Mine died in an alley after being shot by a mugger.”

“You already know what happened to mine,” Dick said softly, sipping from the mug Alfred had handed him.

“I became the Batman to make sure that would never happen again. When Dick came to live with me, he wanted to kill the man who killed his parents, but I taught him that justice is better than vengeance.”

“I chose to become Robin,” Dick stated. “And it’s crazy and dangerous but I love it. Mostly. I’m not fond of the paperwork side.”

Bruce gave Dick a look, and it managed to draw a snort out of Clint. Bruce smiled, holding the mug out again. “I will never ask you to do this. I brought you here to help you heal, to be with Dick, and to discover who you want to be and what kind of life you want for yourself. I don’t need another sidekick. And if when you’re healed, you want to be a part of this world, we can discuss it then.”

Clint took the mug this time, not fully relaxed but his body was less tense. “I didn’t have a choice,” he stated before taking a long sip from the cocoa. “They made me.”

“Who made you?” Dick asked. “Trickshot?”

Clint nodded. “And Swordsman. And Barney. If I didn’t, they’d beat me.”

Bruce closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “The hospital noticed you had multiple scars with various levels of healing. Dick informed the doctors about your past so that they wouldn’t ask you about it right away.”

“It’s not that. It got worse.” Clint looked at Dick. “Trickshot gave me a costume and a uniform.”

“Yeah, the Amazing Hawkeye,” Dick said.

“I needed to be the best. I needed to draw a crowd during the shows, but I needed to also be the lookout.” Clint stared into his mug. “He and Jacques would take me and Barney to rob homes at night. I was the smallest so I could slip through windows or dog doors to open them from the inside. Then I’d sit somewhere high and keep an eye on the house and the streets until they came out with whatever they stole.”

“Dear lord,” Alfred stated. “They forced you to become a thief?”

“If I told them no, Trickshot would whip me with a stick until I agreed to help. Barney didn’t even try to stop them.” Clint knew he should be crying at this, but he was too spent from earlier and he’d become numb to Trickshot’s abuse a long time ago.

Dick punched the back of the couch, getting everyone’s attention at the sudden jump in anger. “We knew it! My dad kept trying to figure out how to make them stop. My mom wanted to kidnap you when we left for Gotham. I should’ve just brought you home on one of my winter trips.”

“You can’t get angry at yourself for the past, Dick,” Bruce said, then looked at Clint. “What happened that night, Clint?”

Clint finished his cocoa and put it back on the table before curling back up in his blankets. “They were doing a big job while the circus was winding down but before they started to break everything down. I was on lookout and could see in the bedroom of the kid. He was happy but there weren’t a lot of toys. Every other place we hit the people were uber-rich, but this kid’s family wasn’t.

“It didn’t feel right. I mean, it never felt right, but this time I couldn’t stand it. So when a patrol car drove by, I fired an arrow into the hood of the car to get them to stop and start looking around. I just didn’t realize Barney saw me do it.”

Dick shifted on the couch, picking up Clint’s legs and draping them over his own lap before getting close enough to snuggle. Clint shook his head in amusement but leaned into his friend. “They chased me back to the circus. I ran up the ladder to the tightrope. I thought if I stayed up there long enough, either the cops would follow us, or the others would calm down enough. Instead, Barney had a gun.”

Clint rubbed at his eyes. Guess I haven’t run dry after all. “I remember getting hit and losing my balance. The next thing I know, I’m in the hospital. I don’t even remember telling the nurse to call Dick.”

Bruce sat back in his chair with his arms crossed. “We should alert the authorities to arrest them wherever they are now.”

“I’d rather they think I’m dead,” Clint said softly. “Then they won’t try and find me.”

“I’m so going to punch your brother if I ever see him again,” Dick growled.

“Okay, I’ll let you do that.”

The joke eased the tension in the room and Clint yawned. He had no idea what time it was now, and the hot chocolate was making him sleepy. Dick felt the same as he leaned more into Clint. Bruce noticed and stood up, reaching for another blanket to drape over them.

“Well, I think for now, you two need to get some sleep,” he said. “We’ll talk about this more tomorrow at lunch. Just remember, Clint, this is your home now. And here, we take care of each other. And no one will hurt you again as long as I can help it.”

“Thanks, Bruce,” Clint said, shifting with Dick to find a good sleeping position as they shared the couch. Alfred picked up the tray of mugs and food and left, and Bruce followed, turning off the lights and leaving the den’s door open a crack just so be able to hear if they needed something.

When they were gone, Clint looked over at his best friend. “So, Robin?”

“Yeah. I was going to tell you eventually, I swear,” Dick stated.

“You know, your parents would be proud. Throwing a fit at you putting yourself in danger, but still proud.”

“Thanks, Clint.”

Clint yawned and snuggled into Dick more. “When we wake up, you’re totally telling me all about your adventures.”

Dick chuckled. “Sure. Night.”

“Night.”

Chapter Text

Robin waited at the zeta tube in Mount Justice, checking his watch. For how fast of a runner Wally was, he always managed to be late. He sighed, fidgeting a moment before looking up at Kaldur. “We could just go. It’s not like Wally doesn’t know where I live.”

“Yes, but then that would reveal his hero persona to your friend, and that is something he should choose to do,” Kaldur pointed out. The Atlantean was wearing a long-sleeved shirt, a rare sight, to hide his tattoos. It was something that they respected about Robin’s identity, so while Kaldur, Wally, and Roy knew who he was, Clint didn’t know who his friends were.

And after the disaster two days ago in the cave, it was better to introduce his best friends to each other as people and not masks.

Roy, the most impatient of the OG sidekicks—which was saying a lot considering Wally was a part of the group—pushed off the wall and dropped his arms. “He’s ten minutes late. He’s forfeited the tube ride.”

Just then, a streak of red and yellow appeared, running past them into the kitchen, then skidded to a stop in front of them. Wally had a banana in his mouth and a protein bar in his hand. “Sowwy,” he said around the banana before removing it. “Sorry. Flash wanted me to double-check a speed force theory.”

Robin shook his head while smirking. “Of course he did.”

“So, we going?” He had unpeeled the banana as superspeed and took a bite of it.

Typing the coordinates to the Batcave into the zeta computer, Robin nodded. “Yup. Hope you’re ready to get your butts whooped.”

“Where’re you guys going?”

The foursome turned to see Connor and Wolf standing outside the alcove that Sphere and the motorcycles lived in. He wiped his hands with a rag, having spent the afternoon working on his bike—a new habit he developed to help control his anger.

“We’re going to play games at Rob’s house,” Wally spoke before Robin could answer.

“Without the rest of us?” Conner crossed his arms.

Kaldur took a step forward. “We are also meeting Robin’s friend who has been living with him. We felt that the whole team might… overwhelm him.”

Artemis, M’gaan, and Zatanna slipped out of the lounge. “We’re going to meet Clint?” M’gann asked with a smile. “I just made fresh cookies. Let me go box some up for him.”

Robin looked at Kaldur, because there were multiple reasons why he had only asked the guys—they were the only three who knew who he was outside of the mask. Kaldur nodded, but as he opened his mouth to speak, Roy audibly sighed. “You’re going to have to tell them eventually, Rob.”

“Tell us what?” Zatanna tilted her head in curiosity.

“His identity,” Roy stated. “That’s why he only asked the three of us.”

“Oh.” Zatanna nodded. “I keep forgetting that we don’t know. I’ve gotten used to you just being Robin, and not actually being a real person.”

Wally laughed at that, which Robin punched him for. “You know why I can’t.”

“We know,” Connor moved to join the girls. “Batman ordered you not to. Well, Batman isn’t here right now, and how many times have you done the exact opposite of what he orders you to do?”

Kaldur licked his lips. “Robin revealing his identity will also reveal that of Batman, so it is a secret bigger—”

“No, screw it.” Robin took a deep breath as he reached for his sunglasses. “We’ve been a team for three years now. You all deserve to know the truth. Batman’ll deal.”

Robin took off his sunglasses and tucked them away. Dick Grayson looked up at them with his distinct blue eyes and waited to see who’d recognize him first. The teen magazines had been calling him “the hottie with a heart”, and knowing that people had his face on their walls was creepy, but he had been on posters since he was a child for the circus, so in a way, it wasn’t unfamiliar either.

“You have GOT to be kidding me.” Artemis laughed, then turned and punched Wally in the arm. “And you knew too! You’ve heard all my complaints about his from the Academy and you said nothing.”

“Sorry, babe,” Wally said while rubbing his arm. “I made a promise long before I knew ya.”

“The four of us knew.” Kaldur motioned at Roy.

“Five.” M’Gann raised her hand sheepishly. “You thought about your circus life back when we did that mission at Haly’s. I couldn’t help it. But I did keep it a secret!”

Dick smiled at that. “I always wondered about that. Thanks.”

“Am I the only one still in the dark?” Artemis asked.

Connor shook his head, staring at Dick. “I didn’t know. I still don’t know what you’re talking about. Who’s Dick Grayson?”

Zatanna crossed her arms, her eyes glaring at Dick. “He’s the boy acrobat turned teenage heartthrob who was taken in by Bruce Wayne, the billionaire, after his family died.”

“Yeah, about that…” Dick rubbed the back of his neck.

“Then Bruce Wayne is Batman,” Connor stated.

“What?” Zatanna asked as everyone spun to look at Connor.

Dick narrowed his eyes. “How did you know?”

Connor shrugged. “You said you started doing this as a kid. What parent would let their kid fight crime unless they were working with them?”

“That is a… good conclusion.” Dick nodded, then laughed. “At least now I can say I wasn’t the one who told you guys!”

“So, are we going or not?” Wally asked. “I’m starving, and Alfred always makes the best snacks when he knows we’re coming.”

Rolling his eyes, Dick went to the Zeta computer and confirmed the coordinates. The tube opened and the members of the Young Justice League walked through, arriving in the Batcave. He knew that Bruce was on duty at the Watchtower, so no one stopped him from giving the grand tour before heading upstairs.

They wove through the kitchen and hallways until reaching the outside of the screening room. “Now guys, remember that Clint is deaf, so if you all start talking all over each other, he might not follow.”

“I could just set up the mind-link,” M’Gann suggested.

Dick shook his head. “As far as he knows, you’re all friends from school. He knows I’m Robin but doesn’t know any of your superhero identities. And just… be patient with him. He’s got anxiety and…”

Kaldur put his hand on Dick’s shoulder. “We will be gentle with your friend.”

Dick nodded and took a deep breath. Time to share his brother with his friends and hope that they all play nice together.

* * *

Clint was stretched out on a double seat, his legs wrapped in a soft blanket and propped up on extra pillows Alfred insisted he use. His hearing aids were in but turned off as he dozed. A folding table was beside him with a package of pizza-flavored combos, two bottles of water, a protein shake, his tablet, and the brass bell.

He felt the vibrations from the floor and assumed Dick had returned with his friends. He yawned and sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “I’m awake, I’m awake,” he said as he turned on his hearing aids.

“Good, because I brought a few extra guests.” Dick vaulted over a row of seats to land next to Clint. Behind him, a group of seven teenagers followed. Clint examined each one, quickly taking in their faces and statures to see who, if any, might be a threat.

“Clint, these are my friends: Kaldur, Roy, Wally, Artemis, Megan, Connor, and Zatanna. Guys, this is Clint,” Dick said, then his eyes widened in uncertainness. “Oh, Clint, you like dogs, right?”

Now Clint was confused. “Um, yeah, I like dogs.”

“Good. Then last, we have Wolf.”

The large, white wolf moved down the last few aisles to stand beside Connor. Clint wasn’t sure if he was excited or if he should be terrified of a wolf that was larger than him. “So uh, ah, hi?” He waved to the group, but his eyes were locked on the dog.

“So, you’re the infamous Clint Barton, the Amazing Hawkeye. Dick has told me all about you over the years and I thought you’d be taller.” Wally stood in front of Clint, his mouth moving so fast that Clint couldn’t read a single word from his lips. He was suddenly very thankful he had turned his aids on a second ago.

“I’m taller when I’m standing,” Clint replied. “I just… can’t do that very well yet.”

“Oh, right, accident.” Wally slapped his own head. “Duh. Sorry, didn’t mean to bring that up.”

Clint smiled and felt himself relaxing. He could see why Dick and Wally would have instantly clicked. “It’s fine. All circus kids take a big fall at some point.”

The joke put the rest of the room at ease. Wally was nudged aside by a drop-dead gorgeous blond dressed in green. “Ignore him. We all do. Hi, I’m Artemis.” She held out her hand, and Clint shook it.

“Nice to meet you.”

“Dick says you’re an archer,” she continued. “So are Roy and me.”

Clint’s eyes lit up. “Really? I don’t know a lot of people who do that.”

“You’re in good company then,” Roy, the larger redheaded man said. “We were taught by the best.”

“Well, you think you were,” Clint said. “I’m actually the best.”

Roy’s eyebrow rose in amusement. “That so?”

“I’m not the Amazing Hawkeye for nothing.”

“Yeah, maybe for a carney,” Artemis teased. “We’re like, world-class level good.”

Clint grinned, giving all his attention to Artemis. “Well, I’m more than happy to show you what I got, sunshine.”

Artemis also raised an eyebrow. “Sunshine?”

Dick leaned closer to Wally. “Should you say something?”

“Nah. Artemis can handle it.”

“Care to put your money where your mouth is?” Roy asked, crossing his arms.

Clint shrugged. “If I had money, I would.”

“I’m sure you could borrow a few bucks from Dick.”

Dick looked up at hearing his name. “Why do you need to borrow money?”

“To put these rubes in their place as to who the best archer is,” Clint stated with a grin. He watched as Dick looked at Roy, then Artemis, then Clint before groaning.

“This is a bet I wouldn’t take for a billion dollars,” Dick proclaimed.

“I have some money!” M’gann stated, raising her hand. “I will put it on Artemis.” She then leaned to Connor and whispered, “That’s how you say it, right?”

Connor just shrugged.

“Mine too,” Wally proclaimed, which drew a glare from Roy. “Sorry, man. I’m a supportive boyfriend here.”

Kaldur put a hand on Roy’s shoulder. “While I am against inter-team competition like this, I believe Roy will be the victor.”

“I’m also going for Roy,” Connor spoke.

Clint looked at Dick, who held his hands up to signal his neutrality. “Thanks, Dickie.”

Zatanna, the last to pick an archer, stepped closer to Clint. She looked at him, then the others, then grinned. “I’m going with Clint. I have a feeling there’s more here we don’t know about him.”

“Thank you,” Clint said. “At least someone has taste.”

The group groaned at that.

“So, where are we going to do this?” Roy asked. “I’ll need to go back and grab my gear.”

“Same,” Artemis said.

Clint winced, having forgotten his situation at the moment. “I… don’t have gear anymore.”

“There are some spares back at base you can use,” Artemis said, and then blinked. “What I mean…”

Clint laughed. “You guys don’t have to pretend. I’m not nearly the idiot that Dickie thinks I am.” He picked up the tablet and opened the web browser. “I have a lot of time on my hands, so I started researching Robin and his allies once I knew who he was.”

He showed them the picture he found with the Justice League members and their proteges. “You guys really need better costumes. I mean, Kaldur, Connor, Zatanna--you don’t even wear masks. And the red hair just stands out a lot, Wally. Seeing that you’re both archers, that adds Roy and Artemis here.”

“Whoa, he’s good,” Wally said. “Probably a better detective than you,” he told Dick.

Dick punched Waly in the arm. “Shut up.”

“Why is everyone punching me today?” Wally pouted.

Clint just tilted his head and looked at M’gann. “You’re the only one I can’t place yet.”

M’gann looked at Dick, who just nodded. She shifted her appearance to her normal green state, then wrung her hands in front of her.

“Wow, that’s a cool trick.” Clint just kept grinning, unphased by the shapeshifter. He grew up in a circus—he’d seen weirder.

Kaldur looked at the shocked group, then Clint. “You realize that these identities are secret for a reason, correct?”

Clint nodded. “Of course. I’d prefer not to have my best friend outed and supervillains attacking this place in the middle of the night.”

Zatanna shook her head. “I knew there was more to you than a pretty face.”

“Aw, she thinks I have a pretty face.” Clint nudged Dick in the ribs. “Now I’m really excited to show up two superheroes with my simple carnie talents.”

“Well, since the big secret’s out, we could move this party back home?” M’gann said. “Show off Mount Justice and then we can watch movies instead and I can bake more cookies.” Her eyes opened wide. “Oh no, I left the first batch in the kitchen!”

“I’m a sucker for homemade cookies.” Clint shifted, pulling the blanket off his legs. They weren’t fully back to normal, but he was getting steadier every time he walked. “Who drove?”

Dick sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Um, yeah, about that…”

Kaldur shook his head. “Batman is going to kill us.”

“No he won’t,” Wally pointed out. “He’s the one all about no killing. It’s Canary who’s going to kill us.” M’gann leaned over and punched Wally’s arm. “Ow!”

“Everyone else was doing it.” She smiled innocently.

Dick helped Clint stand up and get his arm crutches on. Yup, he was still the smallest in the room, and that included Wolf. “Lead the way.”

Chapter Text

Three Months Later…

Clint walked slowly through the virtual training room, bow at his side. The quiver that sat on his back was heavy, full of carbon-fiber arrows that were so different from the wooden ones he grew up shooting. The VR glasses over his eyes projected a warehouse around him. He moved silently, checking down each row and into each shadow.

“You know that purple bodysuit makes you stand out,” Roy’s voice came in clearly through his hearing aids.

“Like your red and black isn’t,” Clint muttered as he kept his focus.

Wally’s laughter made Clint wince, ducking into an alcove while adjusting the volume on his aid. “He’s got you there,” the speedster pointed out.

“Get off the channel Wally,” the stern voice of Oliver Queen, aka the Green Arrow ordered.

“Fine, fine. Just don’t expect me to share my popcorn now,” Wally replied.

Clint waited a moment, but when all he got was silence, he snuck out of his hiding spot and continued his survey of the room.

The rest of the exercise went quickly. Mercenaries and thugs streamed out from places, firing guns at him. Clint found himself a secure spot to fire from, planting his feet to keep balanced as he pulled on the bowstring. He fired arrow after arrow, pivoting as needed to shoot at anyone that came within his eyesight.

“You can’t just stay in one spot,” Oliver said. “You need to move and fire.”

“You say that like it’s easy!” Clint shouted, his back pressed against the wall before he ducked behind a stack of crates. As he did so, he felt his ankle roll, and then he was on the ground, arrows spilling from his quiver.

“End exercise.”

The lights came on, revealing the gray walls of the training room. The door to the control room opened and Roy rushed out, getting to Clint’s side before Oliver. “Clint, what happened?”

“I’m fine,” he muttered through clenched teeth. He gripped his ankle with both hands, trying to massage the pain away.

“Dude, you look anything but fine.” Roy took the quiver off Clint’s back and helped him sit up against the wall. Clint watched him gently take off his padded boot and check it over. Clint tried to hold back the whimper of pain when Roy hit the tendon, but he couldn’t.

Oliver joined them, looking at the two young men. “It looks like a simple sprain,” he said. “Thank God. Batman would kill me if you broke a bone.”

“He won’t know it was you anyway,” Clint stated. “I kinda didn’t tell him I was training with the bow.”

“Oh, wonderful.” Oliver facepalmed. “I’m going to have monitor duty for weeks.”

A whirlwind of red and yellow entered the room, and Wally skidded to a stop next to them. “I’ve got a first aid kit!” he announced.

“Great. We can wrap this so that it doesn’t swell too much.” Roy opened the kit and pulled out the ace bandage.

Clint groaned and leaned his head back against the wall. “Guys, I said I’m fine.”

“Better to be safe than sorry,” Oliver said. “You’re still recovering from your accident.”

“I know, but it’s not the first time I’ve rolled an ankle. I’ve walked them off before.”

“Maybe so, but you don’t have to here.” Wally reached out a hand, helping Clint stand. “The team’s got you.”

Clint took the hand and, with Roy’s help, got to his feet. Grateful, he slung an arm over each of their shoulders and limped out of the training room and into the common room. “I’m not a part of your team,” Clint pointed out. “I’m not really superhero material.”

“Neither were we,” Roy said. “It just happens sometimes.”

“And even if you’re not on the team, we’re still friends,” Wally added.

They eased Clint down onto the sofa, then Oliver lifted the injured foot and put a pillow under it on the table. Roy walked off and returned a moment later with an icepack that he laid on top of Clint’s ankle.

“Comfortable?” Roy asked.

Clint shifted a bit more to get into a good position. “I could use a blanket and something to drink.”

Wally zipped off, returning with both three seconds later. Clint is about to request more from the three when the zeta tube announced Robin’s arrival. Dick wasn’t paying attention as he entered the base unmasked, muttering angrily to himself.

“Hey Rob, what’s wrong?” Wally asked.

“It’s just—he wants me to be perfect at everything. Do better in school. Pay better attention. Stay focused.” Dick looks like he’s about to scream, his face bright red. “He still treats me like a kid even though I’m turning seventeen!”

“And I’m out,” Oliver stated, backing away from the angry teenager. “I’ve got a meeting. Or something.”

They watch Oliver strategically retreat to the garage and Roy shakes his head. “I bet he’s having flashbacks to my senior year in school.”

“Yeah, but you were a holy terror. Rob’s like, the model student,” Wally said.

Dick snorted. “I’m flunking two classes.”

Clint watched instead, taking in the non-verbal clues Dick was giving off. His shoulders were hunched over so that he was all but hidden in his cape. His hands tightened into fists, and his eyes were red—probably from crying: this was something bigger than the normal father/son arguments that have become a regular occurrence in Wayne Manor. “What did he do this time?” he asked, concerned that Dick was in trouble.

Dick shook his head, lips pursed as if he didn’t believe it had happened. “He fired me from being Robin… effective immediately.”

The entire room stilled, so quiet that the sound of Oliver working on his motorcycle echoed off the main room’s walls. Of course, it was Wally to recover the fastest, firing off questions. “Is he insane? He can’t do that! You’re the one who made Robin, not the other way around! He thinks he can just take it from you?”

“Whoa, Wally, slow down,” Dick said, putting his hands up to calm the speedster down. As he rose his right arm, however, he gave a muted cry and used his left hand to pull the arm closer to his body.

Roy stepped forward and pushed back the cape from Dick’s shoulder. His arm was in a sling, and part of his suit was cut open, hiding a pressure bandage on his right side near the collarbone. “Shit, Dick, what did you do?”

“It was Joker,” he said, his eyes locked on the floor. “We were working on a case. Joker was stealing this set of diamonds and I snuck up behind him while Batman distracted him. But he knew I was there and turned and shot me. I fell off the side of the building but was able to grab onto my grappling wire. But I guess I was bleeding too fast and got lightheaded. He said by the time he could get to me, I had fallen a few feet onto a ledge.”

“He kept fighting while you were holding on for dear life?!” Clint pushed himself up, anger taking hold of him.

“It was the Joker…”

“That doesn’t mean shit when it’s your kid that was just shot!”

“He would have gotten away!”

“Not like he’s going to stay behind bars anyway!”

Wally and Roy got between Dick and Clint, pushing them apart and forcing Clint back onto the couch. “Alright, calm down,” Roy said. “Fighting each other isn’t going to fix this.”

Recognized – Artemis Be-zero-seven; Zatarra comma Zatanna Be-zero-eight.

Artemis runs into the main room and instantly grabs the television controller. “Guys, guys, it’s on every station!”

“What is, babe?” Wally asks, stepping away from the fight and unconsciously putting Dick behind him.

“This!” The screen lights up to a news report with the headline Did Robin Die Tonight? across the bottom. They show shaky video from someone’s cell phone as Robin, bloody and exhausted, hangs from where he’s tangled in the grappling wire. On the roof above him, the helicopter lights illuminate large shadows of Batman fighting the Joker, and his laughter echoes down to the crowd.

Robin tries to pull himself up, untangling himself from the wire. He gets the right arm up, streaked with blood, to grab the wire, but before he can grip it, his body wavers, then goes limp and he falls about twenty feet, disappearing onto a stone window ledge. The crowd gasps and screams, then there’s crying as the person filming cusses, “the fucking Joker just killed Robin!”

Zatanna is hugging her cell phone, tears streaming down her face. “I can’t reach Dick. I’ve been trying to reach him all day. Clint, have you seen him?”

Dick sighed and stepped out from behind Wally. “I’m here. Sorry, my phone broke in the drop—I think.”

“Oh, thank God.” Zatanna rushed over and pulled Dick into a hug, then jumped back when he gave a cry of pain. “I’m sorry. Sorry! How are you up and walking?”

“Pure stubbornness,” Roy said, stepping away to give them room.

“I’m not supposed to be,” he admits.

Zatanna went to the couch, making Dick sit while she checked him over. Clint shifted to make more room. Artemis and Wally are still watching the news, but they’re also on their phones texting. Clint assumed that they’re informing their team that Dick is not dead.

“This happened last night,” Roy said as the camera video played again. “How’d you not know about this?” Roy looked at Clint for an answer.

“I don’t sleep with my hearing aids in,” Clint replied. “I’m deaf to the world then. And then I snuck out this morning to get here without telling anyone, and do I look like someone who watches the news?”

Zatanna finished her observation. “Want me to fix you?” she asked Dick softly, her forehead pressed against his.

Dick looked at his hands, then shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Well, if you’re not going to, care to help with a sprain?” Clint spoke up, pointing at his elevated foot.

Smiling, Zatanna looked over at Clint, then held her hand over his ankle. “Laeh,” she ordered, and the pain in his ankle subsided.

“Where were you a year ago when I really needed that kind of magic?” he asked while flexing his foot.

Zatanna looked at Dick. “You never told him?”

Clint squinted at his best friend. “Told me what?”

“Um, I brought Zatanna to see you. Back when you were still in the medically induced coma.” Dick rubbed the back of his neck with his left hand, not nearly as graceful as normal. “I thought that maybe she could help.”

“I couldn’t,” Zatanna added. “Your injuries were too complex, and I was worried I’d do more harm than good.”

Clint nodded, relaxing back into the couch again. “Thanks, though.”

She smiled at Clint before refocusing on Dick. “Why wouldn’t you want to be healed? Something like this would put you on the bench for weeks.”

“I’m already benched. Permanently.” Dick walked them through what had happened when he woke up in the Batcave. How they had fought, how he was fired, and how he snuck away when Bruce retreated upstairs to deal with a meeting at Wayne Enterprises. “I’m done with him, and I don’t need him to support me,” he finished.

“So, what, we’re just going to pack up and leave?” Clint asked.

“You don’t have to come with me,” Dick pointed out.

Clint laughed. “Fuck no, you go, I go. You’re my family, not them.”

“I’d offer to let you guys crash with me, but my place is a mess,” Roy said.

Wally took Artemis’ hand. “And our place isn’t really meant for more than just us,” he stated.

Dick shook his head. “Guys, it’s fine. I figure I’ll just live here until I figure everything out. I mean, if M’gann and Connor can do it, a few weeks will be fine.”

“I can sleep on the couch just fine,” Clint said.

“Nah, Z and I’ll fix up one of the empty rooms for you,” Artemis said. “Can’t have you whining about your back hurting you.”

“Love you too, Artemis,” Clint replied with a grin.

“So it’s settled. Dick and Clint will move in here,” Roy said. “Need us to go grab your stuff? Wally can get in and out fast with yours, and I’ll help Clint.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Wally said, and the others nodded in agreement. “He can bench you from being Robin in Gotham City, but he’s not the only one in charge of the team and I doubt the others in the league’ll agree with him.”

“And if they do, then I’ll just stop being Robin and be something else,” Dick said.

“Well, it is a step in leaving the sidekick life,” Roy pointed out. “But why don’t we just focus on getting you healed and someone safe for now and go from there.”

Dick nodded, taking a deep breath and straightening his back. “Yeah, let’s do this. Thanks, guys.”

Clint watched the team huddle up with each other, hugging Dick gently. He’d only really known the team for about three months, but their ties ran deep. The energy they gave to one another was constant, and this was absolutely the place Dick needed to be. He had friends here, and they could help him through that kind of transition.

As for himself, Clint wasn’t sure how much longer he and Dick would be on the same level. While the team was friendly to him, the fact no one tried to drag him into the cuddle pile pointed out the fact that they were Dick’s friends, not his. Soon, the fact Clint didn’t plan to join their superhero life would force the two of them to make a decision… and Clint had a bad feeling that Dick would choose the team over him in the end.

He could only hope that he was wrong.