Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Wally had never seen anyone move like this guy. He was getting dizzy just watching all the backflips and twists and spins.

“Are you seeing what I’m seeing?” he asked Uncle Barry.

“Are you seeing some dude beat the crap out of Multiplex?”

“Yeah.”

“Then I’d say we’re seeing the same thing,” Barry replied, watching the action with his mouth slightly agape.

“Do you think we should help him?” Wally asked after another moment.

The man with the blue bird emblazoned on his chest used one of Multiplex’s clones as a springboard and then proceeded to break the laws of gravity with a set of flips that should not have been possible before taking down another three clones as he landed.

Barry cleared his throat. “I think he’s good.”

“Hey, Flashes!” the man in blue called cheerfully as he punched a clone in the face. “Boy, am I glad to see you! Just give me a sec, will you? I just found my guy.”

He turned and threw one of his escrima sticks clear across the room. One of the Multiplex clones went down hard and then suddenly fight was over. Wally shook his head, stunned, as he realized that this new vigilante had correctly spotted and taken out the real Multiplex in a room full of clones with very little apparent effort.

Just who the hell was this guy?

“Well, that was fun!” the man in blue grinned. “And I’m very glad that weird beam of light I got hit with earlier only sent me to Central City! I thought for sure I was a goner.”

“Beam of light?” Wally repeated, but Barry was quicker on the uptake.

“Were you the source of that weird energy reading we got earlier today?”

“Probably,” the blue man admitted. He glanced over at Wally. “I tried calling you once I realized where I was, but it didn’t go through. Did you change your number or something?”

Wally frowned. “I’m sorry, do we know each other?”

“Hilarious,” the man in blue said sarcastically. “Seriously, though. I need you to help me find the others.”

“There are others like you?” Barry demanded. “How many? Where did you come from?”

The man in blue’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Why are you guys talking like this? Why are you acting like you don’t…”

He trailed off suddenly, expression clearing. “Oh shit. I didn’t just hop cities, did I? Man, dimension travel is the worst.”

“Tell me about it,” Barry muttered.

The man in blue grunted in agreement. “Well, anyway. I’m Nightwing. And I could really use your help.”

*

“Roy…Roy, wake up! Nap time’s over. We gotta go.”

Roy groaned, reaching up to clutch his aching head. He felt like he’d just been punched by Superman. “Wha’…?” he managed, slowly blinking his eyes open. He was in a small, empty room with a tall man in red helmet and a brown, leather jacket looming over him.

“Yeah, you’ve definitely got a concussion. Let’s get you out of here, okay?” the stranger said.

“The fuck are you?” Roy asked, sitting up slowly so he wouldn’t throw up. He reached for his bow—only to realize all his weapons were missing. “What’ve you done with my bow?”

“I’ve done nothing. You got kidnapped, remember?” the man replied, sounding exasperated even through the voice modifier in his helmet. “You’re lucky I was out looking for you after Nightwing got in touch. Figured you and the other Arrows could get me to the JLA.”

While the rest of the stranger’s explanation didn’t make much sense—what the hell was a Nightwing?—Roy did, in fact, have vague memories of getting snatched during last night’s patrol and clobbered in the head with a brick.

“Right, yeah, I…hold up! How the fuck did you know my name?!” he demanded, trying to simultaneously scramble away from the stranger and check that his mask was still in place—which it was.

“We don’t have time for this,” the stranger told him. “I swear I’ll give you all the answers you want, but right now, we have to go. So come with me if you want to live, asshole.”

“Fine,” Roy agreed, since he didn’t seem to have any better options. He let the stranger help him to his feet and then support some of his weight as they hobbled out of the room together. Roy gaped at the still smoking wreckage of the reinforced doorframe as they passed through.

Then gaped some more at the dozen or so men collapsed across the warehouse floor.

And then gaped even more at the semi-truck that someone had driven straight through one of the walls as a battering ram.

“Did you do all this?” he asked.

“Yup,” the stranger replied.

“You wanna be best friends?”

The stranger laughed. “Dude, if only you knew.” He carefully helped Roy through the hole left behind by the truck. “Let’s get you back home and then I’ll tell you all about me and other you.”

“Other me?” Roy repeated, wondering if his concussion was starting to mess with his hearing.

“Yeah. Did I not mention I’m from a different dimension?”

“That is so cool.”

*

 “Ma, someone’s knocking at the front door!” Conner hollered from his spot on the couch.

“Then go answer it!” Ma shouted back from the kitchen.

Conner huffed a sigh and trudged over to the door, focusing his super-hearing.

“…get Central and Star,”  the visitor was muttering under his breath. He was definitely male and sounded close to Conner’s age. “Of course I get sent to the middle of a cornfield in Smallville. Couldn’t the universe have given me Metropolis, at lea—”

Conner yanked open the door, surprising the boy on the other side mid-mutter.

“Um,” Conner said, looking the boy over from head to toe. The red and black outfit complete with cape, crossing bandoliers, and domino mask was not what Conner had been expecting.

Though, from the look of it (and the sound of his heartbeat), Conner wasn't what the visitor had been expecting either.

“Conner?” the boy blurted.

Conner immediately tensed. “Do I know you?”

The boy opened his mouth and then closed it again. “I guess not,” he said after a moment. “I’m Red Robin.”

Conner frowned. “Like the restaurant?”

“The what?”

“The restaurant chain,” Conner clarified.

The boy stared at him for another moment. “Well it’s nice to have actual, physical proof that my life is just a bad cosmic joke,” he said finally.

“Are you alright?” Conner asked. He was starting to get concerned.

“Not really. But that’s actually par for the course, so…” the boy trailed off with a shrug. “Do you mind if I come in? I really need to talk to Superman. Is he here?”

Conner’s heart dropped like a stone.

How did he know?

“Um, dude, I think you’ve been out in the sun too long. Superman lives in Metropolis. This is Kansas,” Conner said, forcing a laugh as he shifted his feet into a better fighting stance.

“And now you’re in fight mode,” the boy sighed, which startled Conner so much that he nearly fell over in shock. How was this kid reading him so well? “Please don’t be in fight mode. I’m doing this all wrong. It’s just…it’s been a very long day and there’s been absolutely zero coffee in it and entirely too many cornfields. I’m sorry. Can we start over?”

“Sure?” Conner replied. He was starting to feel a little helpless.

The boy flashed him a tired smile. “Hi. My name is Red Robin. I’m a superhero from another dimension and I need some help contacting the JLA so that I can get home. I know the Kent farm is Superman’s home because I know Superman back on my Earth. I know you, too, Kon-El. Superboy. So if we could just skip past the part where you deny you’re half-Kryptonian and get to the part that involves you calling Clark, that would be really appreciated. Thanks.”

Before Conner could even begin to process all that, the boy made a small sound and rooted around in one of the pouches on his utility belt.

“Almost forgot,” he said, pulling out a phone and tossing it Conner’s direction. Conner caught the device instinctively. “I got bored while I was walking through the cornfields, so I hacked LexCorp’s servers. Found some information you and Superman might find useful.”

Conner gaped at him. “Who the hell are you?”

The boy sighed again. “Hi. My name is Red Robin and I’m a superhero from another dimension…”

*

Diana floated an inch above the ground to keep her movements silent as she watched the small figure in the hooded cloak sneak through the hallway.

“Being a thief in the Themysciran embassy is a bad idea,” Diana commented. The figure whirled, revealing the masked face of a young boy who couldn’t be more than ten or eleven. She made note of all the weapons he was carrying, particularly the sword slung across his back. “But carrying a blade you cannot use is much worse.”   

“I am not a thief,” the boy said, with much more confidence than Diana would have expected from one so young. “And I know how to use this blade.”

Diana’s eyebrow lifted. She let her feet touch the ground and drew her own blade. “Show me,” she commanded.

The boy nodded once and drew his weapon, taking up a defensive stance. Diana obliged by pressing the attack, mindful of her strength in case the boy was actually as human as he looked. He dodged her first strike, then used a glancing parry to deflect her second. Diana could tell by her third strike that the boy had indeed seen some training. She was more impressed when, after the fifth strike, the boy suddenly went on the offensive with a controlled slash that would have been too quick to parry had Diana been anyone other than an Amazon.

But it was there that the boy made his first mistake. Instead of disengaging, he allowed the hilts of their swords to become locked body-to-body, a move which heavily favored the taller, stronger opponent. Diana bore down, pressing her advantage.

“Surrender,” she counseled.

The boy grinned viciously.

And then suddenly, Diana’s blade was clattering down the hall and the tip of the boy’s sword was pointed at her jugular.

Diana went very still. “That was an Amazonian move,” she said wonderingly. “How did you…?”

The boy removed his sword from her neck and sheathed it in one graceful movement. “You taught it to me. Well, not you. The Wonder Woman of my Earth.”

“Your Earth,” Diana repeated. Realization struck. “Ah—you are the boy the Flash told me to look out for. Robin.”

Robin nodded. “Nightwing said you could help me get to the Justice League.”

“I can certainly do that,” Diana said, smiling. “And I am glad that the Wonder Woman of your Earth has a student such as you. She must be very proud.”

It may have been a trick of the lighting, but Diana was certain she saw the boy blush. “I’m not…she isn’t really my mentor. We’ve just sparred a few times.”

“You should do so more often,” Diana told him, ushering him down the hall. She paused for a moment to collect her own blade and sheath it. “I’m sure she has more to teach you. Besides, your footwork could use a little improvement.”

“My footwork is perfect!” the boy exclaimed indignantly, glaring at her.

Diana stifled a laugh. “I’m only teasing, little one. Your footwork is very good.”

“It’s perfect,”  the boy insisted.

Diana’s only reply was a smile.

*

“Zatanna and Dr. Fate are almost done with the spell,” Clark announced, walking over to the group.

“Good,” the one called the Red Hood grunted. “I can’t wait to get home.”

Red Robin inspected the mystical runes drawn on the ground that the boys were all standing on. “And they’re sure this will send us to our Earth? We won’t just go skipping around the multiverse? Because let me tell you, I tried that once and I did not enjoy it.”

“Zatanna and Fate are the best,” Barry assured him. “They’ll get you where you need to go.”

“I still can’t believe Batman trained all of you,” Oliver said, shaking his head. “I thought Batman was some kind of urban legend!”

“Hardly,” the smallest boy, Robin, scoffed.

“I hope your stay here wasn’t too arduous,” Diana offered, heading off Oliver when it looked like he was about to start arguing back.

“It was fine,” Nightwing assured her with a smile. “It was nice to see so many familiar faces.”

“And to find out the Replacement named himself after a restaurant chain,” the Red Hood added gleefully.

Red Robin groaned and buried his face in his hands. “I hate my life.”

“It’s time,” Zatanna announced as she walked into the room, Fate trailing behind her. “We’ll perform the final spell and then you’ll be on your way.”

“Thank you,” Nightwing told her. He glanced at the other heroes. “Thanks to all of you. We appreciate the help.”

“Of course,” Clark said. “It was our pleasure.”

Zatanna and Fate started chanting in some mystical language. The runes under the boys’ feet began to glow, the air quickly becoming charged with energy.

“Clark, Diana,” Nightwing said urgently. It was still odd for Clark to hear his name used so freely by someone who he’d just met yesterday. “Maybe Batman is just an urban legend here, but if he isn’t…” The boy shook his head. “Find him. Please. Don’t let him be alone. He needs friends like you, even if he says he doesn't.”

“If he’s real, we will find him,” Diana vowed solemnly. "The man who trained warriors such as you four would be a formidable ally."

Clark nodded. “Is there anything else you can tell us that might help our search?”

Nightwing thought for a moment. “I don't want to accidentally lead you off course--I don't know how different things are here. But I can tell you one thing about Batman, at least, if you ever do find him.”

“What?” Clark asked curiously.

“Puns,” Nightwing replied, completely straight-faced. “He really likes puns. The worse they are, the more he likes them.”

Red Robin and Robin both stared at Nightwing as Red Hood choked on what sounded like a laugh.

“Wing,”  the Hood said. “You did not just—”

There was a flash of blinding white light. When it cleared, the boys were gone.

Clark turned to Diana. “Puns?” he asked.

She shrugged at him, equally nonplussed.

“Well, I guess it’s worth a shot,” Clark said.

Chapter Text

His first run-in with a member of the Justice League took place on the outskirts of Gotham after a vicious fight with Killer Croc. Bruce had expected them to come looking for him eventually. He’d just thought he'd had more time.

“So you’re Batman,” Superman said, looking him over with unabashed curiosity. Bruce was grateful he’d taken the time to make his suit x-ray proof months ago. “I was beginning to think you really were just a myth.”

Bruce said nothing. He still wasn’t certain he wanted anything to do with the other heroes, no matter what Alfred's opinion was on the matter.

Superman seemed undeterred by Bruce's silence. The Kryptonian floated a little closer to Croc’s unconscious form. “Who is that?”

“Waylon Jones,” Bruce answered reluctantly. “Goes by the name Killer Croc.”

Superman tilted his head. “Is that a vest he’s wearing?”

“His coat ripped,” Bruce said shortly. He wanted to get rid of this interruption and being rude tended to put most people off. “You need to leave. I have work to do.”

"The fight's finished,” Superman pointed out. “I could help you take Jones to the police.”

“No,” Bruce growled before Superman could move. “I need to figure out what he was doing here.”

“Maybe he was being an investigator.”

“No,” Bruce said again. “That's not the kind of work he does."

Superman rubbed at the back of his neck, flashing a shy smile. “I meant…it was a pun.”

“What.”

“Because he's wearing a vest,” Superman explained earnestly. “He’s an investigator.”

Bruce blinked. “But he’s a crocodile.”

“No, I know,” Superman said, still smiling.

Bruce pulled himself together. “You need to leave my crime scene.”

Superman laughed. “Alright, I’ll stop bothering you. For now. If you ever need anything, just give a shout and I’ll come. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you around, Batman!”

Bruce watched Superman fly off into the night.

He frowned.

“Weird,” he said to himself. Then he got back to work.

*

Bruce never saw Wonder Woman's head-on approach coming. She simply turned on the Bat-Signal and waited for him to show up.

“You shouldn’t use that,” Bruce growled as he landed on the roof.

“Your friend Gordon didn’t seem to mind,” Wonder Woman shrugged. Bruce sighed internally. He supposed it was too much to ask that Jim Gordon resist a literal Amazonian princess’ charms.

“What do you want?” Bruce demanded.

Wonder Woman’s eyebrows went up. “Direct. I like that,” she said, surprising him. “Let me honor you with equal honesty. I would like to get to know you better. I think you could be a valuable asset for our team.”

Bruce’s gaze narrowed. So he’d been right. The Justice League was trying to recruit him.    

“What if I’m not interested in being part of a team?” he asked.

Wonder Woman looked him over slowly, as if evaluating the depths of his soul. “I think you are, even if you won’t admit it to yourself,” she said at last. “This life…it’s lonely. The burden of it doesn’t have to be yours alone to carry.”

Bruce stiffened. “I do just fine."

“Batman does,” she disagreed gently. “I’m not so sure about the man underneath.”

Bruce held his silence. It seemed safest.

Wonder Woman gazed at him knowingly. “I’ll let you return to your duties. Just know that Superman and I will be coming back. Just because you can fight alone, doesn’t mean you should.”

She began to float upwards, then stopped. “I almost forgot!” she exclaimed. “And after I spent weeks reading up on ideas.”

“Forgot what?” Bruce asked, curious despite himself.

Wonder Woman grinned at him, her entire expression lighting up. It was like staring into a small sun. “What do you call a bee that can’t make up its mind?”

Bruce floundered, caught completely off-guard by the question. “I don’t know.”

“A maybe,”  Wonder Woman told him proudly. She looked at him expectantly.

“Okay,” he replied, a little helplessly.

Wonder Woman nodded, seemingly satisfied. “Until next time!” she called as she flew off.

The encounter haunted Bruce for entirety of the next week.

*

Bruce regretted ever agreeing to join the Justice League. It wasn’t entirely his fault though. The combined power of Alfred, Diana, and Clark’s unwavering efforts had been too much to resist.

Bruce was only human, after all.

Besides, for all that he insisted otherwise, Bruce had grown a little fond of the alien and the princess.

The other League members…not so much.

“Oh! I’ve got one! What’s Batman’s favorite part of a joke?” Barry asked, almost vibrating with his excitement.

“What?” Oliver asked obligingly.

“The punch line.”

“Good one!” Hal laughed. “How about this? What does Batman put in his drink?”

Barry shook his head.

“Just ice. Get it? Like justice.”

“Ha! What about—”

“Enough,”  Bruce growled. Ever since he’d met Clark and Diana he’d had to endure an endless round of odd jokes and puns from them and seemingly every other hero he’d met. At first, he’d thought it was some kind of secret code. After that didn’t pan out, Bruce had just assumed everyone in the League just had a terrible sense of humor.

Until he’d realized that he was the only one getting bombarded with puns. Hazing was all well and good, but he’d reached his limit.

“Come on, Batsy,” Hal cajoled. “We were just having a little fun. Besides, we know how much you like puns.”

What?

Bruce hadn’t realized he’d asked the question out loud until Barry answered, “Yeah, we’ve known your secret for, like, a whole year. Geeze, was it really that long ago that we met those kids?”

“What kids?”  Bruce demanded.

*****

BONUS

Dick didn’t know what he'd expected when he'd entered the Batcave, but two different versions of Bruce glaring at him simultaneously wasn’t it.

“Um,” he said, wishing he’d brought Alfred down with him as backup. “What’s happening right now?”

One Bruce stepped forward. “This is me from another dimension,” he said. “The dimension you and the others visited about a year and a half ago.”

“Oh!” Dick exclaimed, his attention snapping to the other Bruce--Not-Bruce, Dick decided he'd call him. “So you are real there! I thought you would be! Did Superman and Wonder Woman find you? They must have, if you’re here and you know we visited your dimension.”

“Yes, they found me,” Not-Bruce said with forced calm. “You’re the one who told them I like puns.”

“Um,” Dick said again, doing his best to ignore the raised eyebrow Bruce was giving him right now.

Not-Bruce took a deep breath. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

“Made your life a million times better?” Dick asked hopefully.

“Everyone—and I do mean everyone—in the superhero community constantly makes puns around me,” Not-Bruce growled. “All the time. When we’re working cases, when we have team meetings—even during battles! And no matter what I say, I can’t get them to stop.”

Bruce coughed a little. If Dick hadn’t known any better, he would have thought Bruce was trying to hide a laugh.

“You’re welcome?” Dick tried, turning his attention back to Not-Bruce. “I mean, that sounds pretty awesome to me.”

It clearly wasn’t the response Not-Bruce was looking for. “One time, they actually made me judge a pun contest. I had to sit through at least ten different puns, each worse than the last, as they tried to see which would make me laugh out loud.”

Bruce cleared his throat. “But you’re saying that no pun in ten did?”

Dick could have heard a pin drop in the following silence.

"Did you just...?" he asked delightedly, eyes shining.

“I think I did,” Bruce admitted calmly, a mischievous glint in his eye.

Not-Bruce stared at Bruce with unwavering horror.

Dick was pretty sure this was the best day of his entire life.

Chapter Text

She doesn’t know how she got here.

One moment, Helena is fighting with some new mask and the next she’s lying on the ground half-blind, ears ringing, and moments away from unconsciousness. She can barely recall the blast the knocked her down, but knows it must have been one hell of a hit.

A shadow blurs into the edges of her vision. Helena trembles as the shape resolves into a familiar pointy-eared cowl.

It can’t be. It can’t be him.

“Stay still,” the man in the cowl urges. “We’re going to get you some help.”

Oh god. His voice.

Helena reaches out, but her arms are too weak to actually make contact. This can’t be real. It can’t be.

“Dad?”  she gasps.

The man in the cowl freezes.

Helena wants to say more—needs to say more—but the edges of her vision are tunneling rapidly into nothingness.

The last thing she hears before unconsciousness takes her is an annoyed, unfamiliar voice from somewhere nearby.

“Seriously, B? You were supposed to at least text us if you decided to adopt another one.”

And then nothing.

*

Awareness returns to Helena slowly. She keeps her eyes closed and her breathing steady as she tries to get a sense of her surroundings. She remembers being in a fight and that she’d taken a bad hit. She remembers…

She remembers hallucinating her dad coming to save her.

That’s what it must have been—a hallucination.

Because her dad is gone.

“So have you called her yet?”

Helena almost jumps, but manages to keep still. She’s both relieved and disappointed to find she doesn’t recognize the voice.

She doesn't hear a reply, but there must have been one, because the person she'd heard before huffs in annoyance and says, “You know you have to call her.”

“It’s not that simple.”

Helena can’t stop the spike in her heartrate.

That voice…

But it can’t be. Her father is dead. This can’t be—

“She’s awake,” a third voice says, this one much younger and much closer than the others had been.

Helena’s eyes snap open. There’s no point in maintaining the ruse anymore, not when she’s been called out. The first thing she sees is the familiar ceiling of the Batcave, drowning in shadowed recesses and dark corners.

The next thing she sees is a boy in Robin’s colors, but Dick isn’t that young and it’s the wrong uniform and why does he look so much like her father?

“Who are you?” she demands before she can help herself.

The boy draws himself up to his full height. “I am Damian Wayne, Ibn al Xu’ffasch.”

If the name Wayne hadn’t given it away, Helena’s rusty Arabic would have gotten her there eventually.

“Son…of the Bat?” she translates slowly. “But that’s not…”

Possible, she starts to say, before looking to her left and seeing the impossible standing before her.

“Dad?” she whispers.

But even as she says it, Helena knows something is wrong. The person standing before her is undoubtedly Bruce Wayne, but he’s far too young to be the same man Helena had buried.

The man who looks like her father grimaces faintly, something akin to pity in his eyes. “I’m not who you think I am," he says. "From what we were able to determine, you’re…a little lost.”

"That's a bit of an exaggeration, B.”

Helena jumps. She doesn’t know how she managed to miss the other, older dark-haired boy standing at her da—at Bruce’s side. She scrutinizes him closely, looking for traces of the Wayne features in his face too.

The boy catches her looking and smiles. “Bruce and Selina aren’t my parents,” he says. Helena realizes they must have tested her blood while she was unconscious to know who her parents are already. “We're not related. At least, not biologically. I’m Tim.”

Helena takes a breath and nods, filing the boy’s caveat aside for later examination.

“How much of an exaggeration?” she asks instead, getting back to the earlier conversation. She’s trying hard not to look at Bruce, but it’s nearly impossible not to sneak glances at him from under her lashes.

“You’re in the wrong universe,” Tim tells her frankly. “But don’t worry. We’re pretty sure we can get you back.”

Another universe.

It makes sense. But it doesn’t lessen the disappointment as Helena finally lets go of that last little bit of hope that her father was somehow back.

“Wait—what do you mean pretty sure?”  Helena demands, her brain catching up with Tim’s words.

“Like…ninety percent. Probably closer to ninety-five. It’ll just take us a week or so to get everything sorted out,” Tim assures her.

Helena glares.

“Wow,” Tim says, glancing at the man next to him. “I can definitely see the resemblance. To you and Selina.”

Behind her, Damian scoffs.

Meanwhile, her fath—Bruce—is studying her features like they’re the answer to a puzzle he can’t quite solve.

“What’s your name?” he asks softly.

Helena swallows hard. “Helena,” she answers, just as softly. “Helena Wayne.”

“Hi, Helena,” Bruce says, something vulnerable in his eyes. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Helena doesn’t know why, but hearing that makes her want to cry.

*

As it turns out, Tim’s seemingly innocuous statement of “At least, not biologically” carries a good deal more importance than Helena had anticipated.

Because the Bruce Wayne of this Earth seems to have made a habit of adopting children and it feels as though every single one of them swarms the intimately familiar and yet hauntingly foreign halls of Wayne Manor to come meet her in the ensuing days.

“Can you blame us?” Dick laughs when she mentions it to him. He’s got an arm slung around her shoulders because apparently Dick Grayson is a glutton for hugs in any universe and there’s something oddly comforting in that knowledge. “You’re from a different Earth and you’re Bruce’s kid? We were practically dying of curiosity.”

“Not all of you,” Helena mutters, watching as Damian stalks out of the room with one last angry glare in her direction. He’s ostensibly going to help Tim and Bruce work on building a device to get Helena home, but she’s half-convinced he’s just going off to stab some practice dummies with his katana instead.

He seems to have done that a lot since Helena’s arrival. She knows it’s not a coincidence.

A small hand pats her arm sympathetically. Helena has already decided to do everything in her power to find out if Cassandra Cain exists on her Earth and she’s only known the other girl for a day and a half.

“Not your fault,” Cass tells her.

Dick sighs. “Cass is right. This is between Damian and Bruce. They’ve only just started to really connect and I think he’s worried that your arrival could jeopardize that.”

Helena frowns. “What do you mean just started? Damian’s at least twelve years old.”

"Yeah, but we didn’t get him until a few years ago,” Dick says.

“Life was so much more peaceful back then,” Steph sighs from where she’s stretched out on the floor.

Dick laughs. “No, it wasn’t.”

Steph elbows his leg. Dick nudges her ribcage with his foot, grinning. Helena shakes her head. It’s strange to see how close Dick is with so many people she’s never met. He's so similar to the man she knows that it's sometimes hard to remember he's not actually the same person.

She gets back to the matter at hand. “If Damian wasn’t with you guys, then where was he?”

“With his mom,” Steph explains. “She didn’t even tell Bruce he existed for a long time.”

Helena stiffens angrily. “My mom wouldn’t do that,” she denies vehemently. Helena doesn’t care what universe she’s in. Selina Kyle would never keep a secret like that and Helena will fight anyone who says differently.

“Well, this is awkward.”

Helena’s eyes snap to the room’s final occupant. She doesn’t quite know what to make of Jason yet. Which is alright, because Jason doesn’t seem to know what to make of her either.

“What do you mean?” Helena demands.

“Selina isn’t Damian’s mom,” Dick explains, shooting a warning glance in Jason’s direction. “His mother is part of an ancient order of assassins who dabble in world domination.”

Helena’s eyebrows go up. That…actually explains a lot. She says as much out loud.

Jason snorts. “Understatement of the century.”

*

“Where’s Selina?” Helena asks Alfred on the fourth day. She’s stifled her curiosity for as long as she can, but she has to know where her mom is and, more importantly, why she isn’t here.

Alfred’s gaze is just as sharp as it is back home, even if his surname is Pennyworth and not Beagle.  

“Ms. Kyle doesn’t live at the Manor,” Alfred replies.

Helena frowns. She’d already gathered that this Bruce and Selina weren’t married, but she’d just assumed that they were still together.

Alfred’s tone is making her question that assumption for the first time.

“Are they…does she know…?” Helena tries to decide which question she wants to ask first and hopes she won’t regret the answers she receives.

“Why not speak to Master Bruce?” Alfred suggests.

Helena hesitates. It’s not that she’s avoiding Bruce—she can’t help gravitating to any room that he’s in before long—but talking to him is a different matter. She misses her father with her whole heart and she’s worried that getting close to this Bruce may just make it worse, especially since she knows she'll have to give him up in a few days.

Whatever emotion Alfred sees on her face causes his expression to gentle. “Talk to him, Miss Helena,” he advises. “Before you lose your chance.”

Helena nods slowly. It’s an unspoken truth on her Earth that Alfred Beagle is always right. She’d be a fool to treat Alfred Pennyworth any differently.

And Helena is not a fool.

*

“The device is almost ready,” Bruce tells her. He looks tired, but Helena can’t blame him for that. He’s been working around the clock with Tim and the others to get her home. “Maybe another day or two at most.”

“Thanks,” Helena says. Studying Bruce’s features, it’s hard to believe she ever mistook him for her father. It’s not just how young he is—there are other differences too. More scars. A weight to his shoulders that her own father stopped carrying after he put aside the cowl.

A light in his eyes that Helena hadn’t seen in her father since her mother died.

“Alfred talked to you, didn’t he?” Bruce asks suddenly and Helena realizes that he’s been studying her the same way she was studying him. He smiles ruefully at her nod. “He’s been after me, too.”

Helena can’t help but smile back, just as rueful. “Some things don’t change, I guess,” she says. She digs her fingernails into her palms nervously. “I wanted to…I’m curious about…”

“Selina,” Bruce finishes with a sigh. “I figured. She and I are…it's complicated.”

“I figured,” Helena parrots.

She gets another smile for that. It makes Helena’s heart ache.

“Was…” Bruce stops and for a moment Helena’s unsure he’ll continue, but she should have known better. “Was it like that where you’re from?”

Helena chooses her words with care. She hasn’t told the others much about her universe, particularly about her parents. It’s more for Bruce’s sake than anyone else’s. Helena thinks it would be a terrible weight to know what an alternate version of yourself did in another world—a curse of what ifs and doubt. Bruce doesn't need that on his shoulders. He has enough to worry about.

“There were complicated moments in my world, too,” she says, taking care with her tenses. She hasn’t told anyone that the Bruce and Selina of her world are gone either. “But in the end, they chose each other. It set them on a different path to yours.”

Bruce nods slowly, as if she’s confirmed something he’s already guessed. “The other Bruce…he never took in anyone except for Dick, did he?”

Helena startles. She’d done her best not to treat Dick any differently from the others.

Bruce sees her expression, the corner of his mouth curling upward. “You hid it well, but you weren’t surprised when Dick tried to give you a hug when you first met. Most people are.”

Helena scowls. Stupid Dick Grayson and his disrespect for personal boundaries.

“Dick is family in my world,” she admits begrudgingly.

“But not the others.”

“No,” Helena confirms.

Bruce nods. “I can’t say that I regret the choices I’ve made, then,” he says. “I can’t imagine my life without my children.”

Helena tries her best to hide how much that hurts. It’s not easy to be told by your father’s doppelganger that he doesn’t regret not having you.

“Hey,” Bruce calls softly and Helena’s eyes snap up to find him watching her. “I may not be him, but after knowing you for a week, I can guarantee he would have had no regrets about his choices, either.”

Helena bites her lip to stop it from trembling and wills herself not to cry.

“He’s gone, isn’t he?” Bruce asks gently, in the same tone her own father used to use when Helena was a child and scraped her knees playing. “In your world. Selina, too, I’m guessing.”

Helena nods wordlessly, not trusting herself to speak.

“I’m sorry,” Bruce says. “I don’t know what happened, but I know they wouldn’t have left you by choice.”

“It’s okay,” Helena manages, even though it really isn’t.

Bruce says nothing, but the next day, a young, beautiful, fierce Selina arrives at Wayne Manor. Helena cries into her shoulder, clinging as tightly as she can.

It’s the first time she’s seen her mother’s face in anything other than a photograph in years.

*

Saying goodbye is harder than Helena anticipates. She’s grown fond these people and it’s going to be difficult to go back to a world without them.

“Tell the other me I say hello,” Dick whispers in her ear as he gives her a final hug. Helena groans into his shoulder because apparently she hadn’t been able to fool anyone about anything.

“I will,” she sighs. He lets go and winks at her cheekily before going to stand with the others. Damian is glued to his side almost instantly. The boy had never really warmed up to Helena, but they’d managed some civil conversation in the last few days.

She takes a breath and turns to the last two people standing near the device. Selina moves forward and hugs her before Helena can even begin to think of what to say.

“You take care of yourself out there,” Selina tells her seriously.

“I will,” Helena promises, holding on for just a moment longer, before reluctantly letting Selina go. She turns to Bruce.

“Thank you,” she says, shifting uncertainly on her feet. She doesn't know if she should give Bruce a hug or not. “For everything.”

He clears his throat. “The device—it’ll travel with you to your universe. You should bring it back here sometime, let us know how it worked out.”

It takes Helena a moment to realize what he’s saying, what he’s offering. A huge grin breaks out over her face. “Really?” she asks breathlessly.

Bruce nods, a glimmer in his eye. “Might even have to come back a couple times.”

Helena’s grin widens. “Yeah,” she says. “Yeah, I might just do that.”

Bruce finally smiles. “I'm looking forward to it.”

Chapter Text

Clark was unusually worried as he knocked on the door to Wayne Manor. Having one or two of the Bats disappear for a few days wasn’t that odd.

But when almost the entire family vanished into the thin air, things started to get dicey. The Justice League was getting nervous that something big had gone down in Gotham, though it was equally likely that Bruce hadn’t answered their calls because he was being his usual stubborn self.

Either way, Clark was going to find out what was going on.

Clark heard Alfred’s footsteps long before the older man opened the door.

“Mr. Kent,” Alfred greeted with a somewhat tired smile. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“I’m here to check on Bruce,” Clark explained. “Is everyone okay? Are you okay?”

Alfred’s smile softened. “We’re fine, Mr. Kent. Would you like to come in? I’ll ring for Master Bruce. He’s downstairs at the moment.”

Clark nodded in understanding, slipping inside the Manor. When Alfred said "downstairs" in that particular tone, he was always referring to the Batcave.

“Thank you, Alfred. I appreciate it,” Clark said sincerely, a weight lifting off his shoulders at Alfred’s reassurances. While the other man busied himself contacting Bruce, Clark sent a quick text to Diana to let her know things were alright. The Amazonian warrior had been on stand-by to bring the full might of the Justice League down on Gotham if she didn’t hear back from Clark within the hour about the Wayne family’s whereabouts.

It didn’t take long for Bruce to make his way up. Clark did a quick scan with his x-ray vision, just to make sure his friend was fine. Though there were no physical injuries, Bruce also seemed more tired than usual.

“Clark,” he greeted with a nod. “Everything okay?”

“That’s what I came to ask you,”  Clark huffed. “You went completely radio silent and so did all the others.”

“We’re fine,” Bruce confirmed shortly. “Sorry you came out all this way. We won’t take up any more of your time.”

Clark raised his eyebrows at Bruce’s attempted dismissal. “Unless you’ve got some Kryptonite on your person, I’m not going anywhere until you explain.”

Bruce’s gaze narrowed. After a moment, he jerked his head toward the grandfather clock in the study, inviting Clark to join him in the Batcave. He didn’t say anything at all as he called the elevator or as they stepped into it.

Clark’s patience ran out as soon as the elevator doors closed. “So are you going to tell me why you all vanished off the streets?” he demanded. “Because everyone was really worried. I almost had to fight Diana to see which one of us would check on you.”

Bruce sighed. “Pulling everyone from active duty was a precaution.”

“A precaution against what?” Clark persisted.

“It’ll be easier to show you.”

“Show me what?”

The elevator doors opened right on cue to reveal a laughing Stephanie Brown pulverizing a block of solid concrete into dust with a single punch as Jason and Duke egged her on.

“Um,” Clark said, dumbfounded. “So that’s new.”

He could feel Bruce rolling his eyes. “A few nights ago, we were on our way back from patrol when someone claiming to be a wizard ambushed us. He said he wanted to give us ‘a gift’ and then he…did something—cast some kind of magic before we could stop him and vanished before we’d recovered.”

“Rao,” Clark swore quietly. “But everyone’s alright?”

“We’re fine. Constantine was just here. He confirmed the effects would wear off in a few more days.”

Clark frowned. “Effects? As in more than one?”

Bruce wordlessly gestured to the rest of the Batcave as he stepped out of the elevator. Clark followed distractedly, his attention caught by Babs sitting at the Batcomputer, lines of code flashing across the screen faster than even Clark could follow.

Which was impressive, considering Babs wasn’t even touching the keyboard.

Just beyond her, Tim and Cass were sparring on the practice mats—hardly an unusual sight, except for the fact that Tim was winning. Clark didn’t think he’d ever seen any Bat beat Cass in sparring match one-on-one.

“Careful!” Bruce called sharply, throwing out a hand. Clark stopped instantly, his foot inches from a sleek black cat curled up on the walkway.

“Sorry,” Clark said sheepishly, backing away. He peered a little more closely. “I don’t recognize this one. I guess Damian got a new pet?”

“This is Damian,” Bruce replied, bending down and gently scooping the cat up into his arms. The cat opened its eyes to glare at Clark with undisguised disdain as Bruce continued forward.

Clark stumbled after him. “The wizard turned Damian into a cat?!”

How on Earth was he going to explain this to Jon?

“No,” Bruce said impatiently. “Damian turned himself into a cat. He’s tried a few different forms, but he seems to like this one the best.”

It took Clark’s brain a moment to process everything he’d just seen and another for it to make sense. “Wait—do you all have powers now? That’s what the wizard did?”

Bruce shrugged wordlessly and settled Damian on one of the medical cots. The boy-who-was-now-a-cat didn’t stay there long, glaring once more at Clark, before jumping down and slinking away into the shadows.

“You’re going to have to do a little better than a shrug,” Clark informed his friend.

Bruce shot him a look not too dissimilar to the one Damian had just given him. “We’re still figuring it out ourselves,” he said. “Everyone’s abilities appear to be different. You’ve already seen Damian’s shapeshifting and Steph’s super-strength. Tim got some form of precognition. Barbara can control technology.”

“Cass?” Clark asked, eyeing the on-going sparring match with renewed interest. Tim having precognition explained a lot.

“She’s an empath. Able to sense and manipulate emotion.”

Clark glanced back at his friend. “And you?”

Bruce made a face. “I got this,” he said and turned his hands palm up. Clark startled as living shadows oozed from Bruce's skin, enveloping his arms completely in darkness.

“Holy crap,” Clark gasped quietly.

Bruce seemed to concentrate for a moment and then the shadows faded. “Duke’s been helping me learn to use it. I can sort of…teleport, I guess you’d call it, between shadows too.”

“Any side effects?” Clark asked.

“Not yet,” Bruce replied. “Constantine examined the spell, said it was benevolent. I was thinking about calling in Zatanna for a second opinion.”

“And it won’t be permanent,” Clark confirmed.

“According to Constantine,” Bruce said, his tone just a little doubtful.

“Well, the shadow powers are cool. And they do fit your aesthetic.” Clark snorted, a sudden thought occurring to him. “Oh man, now you have to say the thing. It’s too good not to.”

“What thing?”

"You know.” When Bruce continued to stare at him blankly, Clark dropped his voice into his best Batman impression and said, “I am the night.”

Bruce glared, entirely unamused. “I’m not saying that.”

“But it’s perfect.”

“This isn’t funny, Clark.”

“It’s a little bit funny.”

“Hey, Clark!” Dick’s voice interrupted. “Up here!”

Clark tilted his head back, mouth falling open in surprise as he caught sight of Dick hovering near the ceiling without a single rope or grappling line in sight.

“Is he…?”

“Flying?” Bruce said, still sounding grumpy. “Yes. What don’t you go say hi?”

Clark saw straight through him. “You just want me to stop teasing you.”

“Hn.”

Clark snorted and drifted upward, patting Bruce’s shoulder as he passed by.

“Is flying really this much fun all the time?” Dick asked as Clark approached. “Because if it is, then I am officially jealous. How do you not fly everywhere?”

Clark laughed. “It’s tempting,” he admitted. “How are you doing? I know learning control can be tricky at first.”

“Nah, I figured that out pretty fast,” Dick told him. “I would’ve come down to say hello sooner, but someone was being a total jerk about having powers,” he continued, his voice growing louder as he directed the last part of his sentence toward the cave floor. Jason looked up, grinned, and stuck out his tongue.

“What’s Jason done now?” Clark asked.

“He got telekinesis,” Dick sighed. “And he’s been practicing by refusing to let me land for the last hour.”

“It’s for your own good,” Jason called up to them, his voice far too smug to be convincing. “I’m just helping you get acclimated.”

“You’re being an asshole,”  Dick shot back. Jason gestured and Dick was suddenly plastered to the nearest stalactite, unharmed, but unable to pry himself away even with his new powers.

“Sorry!” Jason said. “I didn’t quite catch that!”

Before Dick could come up with a suitable response, Tim suddenly gasped, the distressed sound drawing everyone’s attention. Cass managed to pull the punch she’d been throwing before it smacked him in the jaw.

“Not again,” Tim groaned, mere seconds before Babs shouted, “There’s a breakout happening at Arkham!”

The flurry of activity was instant. Jason released his telekinetic hold on Dick, who shot toward the ground, Clark on his tail. The others gathered in close as Babs kept one hand on the Batcomputer, eyes flickering strangely as images and text raced across the screen at breakneck speeds

“Babs,” Bruce growled, clearly growing impatient.

“Sorry,” she said absently. “I’ve taken control of the Arkham security system. I’m doing what I can to help the guards there. I think I can keep most people from escaping, but the big names are already out. I’m running a program to track them through the city’s cameras. They won’t get away. God, this is so much easier with these powers.”

“We have to get out there, Bruce,” Dick said, all traces of levity gone from his face. Damian—who had at some point resumed his human form—stood at his side.

“I can help,” Clark offered instantly.

Bruce shook his head slowly. “No,” he said, adamant. “You stay here. We’ll handle this.”

“But your powers,” Clark protested.

“Exactly,” Jason said. “These assholes aren’t going to know what hit 'em.”

“You will let us use our powers out there, won’t you, Father?” Damian asked.

Bruce was the sudden focus of eight different sets of eyes. He hesitated.

“You always say surprise is one of our greatest assets,” Steph pointed out.

“And Duke uses his powers all the time,” Jason added.

“That’s a little different,” Duke said, making a face.

Jason made a face back. “Is it, though?”

Clark braced for an argument, but Cass placed one hand on Jason’s shoulder and another on Duke’s and suddenly both boys were calm.

“Could be useful,” she said quietly.

Bruce frowned.

A moment later, Tim started grinning.

“Alright,” Bruce relented. “But only as a last resort.”

Steph cackled in a way Clark did not find reassuring in the slightest.

“Oh hell yes,” she said, cracking her knuckles. “This is going to be so much fun.”

Chapter Text

“Oh dear. You’ve captured me,” the Red Hood sighed again. Though the vigilante was disarmed and tied to a chair, no one had figured out how to take his helmet off without getting tased. “I’m so helpless. Whatever am I going to do?”

Oswald’s eyes narrowed. The Hood was up to something. He was probably stalling until one of the other little masked freaks could arrive to set him free.

Too bad Oswald wasn’t going to let that happen.

 “Lester,” he said, naming one of his more bloodthirsty lieutenants. “Take care of this trash, will you?”

Lester grinned and pulled out his gun. “My pleasure, boss.”

The Red Hood tilted his head. “You sure you know how to use that?”

Lester’s grin widened. “You're about to get a firsthand demonstration,” he replied, moving closer as he pointed the barrel at the Hood’s helmet, right between those glowing eyes.

Oswald braced for his moment of victory. Instead, he watched as Lester somehow tripped over his own feet and managed to shoot himself in the leg. His lieutenant crumpled, howling in pain.

“Ouch,” the Hood said cheerfully, seemingly not surprised in the slightest by his sudden good fortune. “That looked like it hurt. Mind if I take over?”

Oswald’s eyes bulged as the Hood slipped his bindings with ease and rose, grabbing Lester’s abandoned weapon as he stood.

“Get him!” Oswald yelled. His men belatedly reached for their weapons, guns and knives emerging from holsters and pockets all around the room.

The Hood cracked his neck. “Let’s do this.”

The fight was short and bloody. Even without his gear, the Hood was a terrifyingly efficient fighter. Bullets and knife blades seemed to slide past him, as if driven off course by some invisible force before they reached him.

It was clear within the first few minutes that things were not going to go Oswald’s way. Unfortunately, the Red Hood was between Oswald and the exit. Even if he stuck to the edges of the room, the probability of Oswald getting caught was high.

And Oswald had no intention of getting caught. Not again.

He waited for his moment. As the Hood finished off the last of his men, Oswald slipped into position. The vigilante turned, only to find Oswald’s gun pointed squarely at his forehead.

“Goodbye, freak,” Oswald spat and pulled the trigger.

The bullet streaked past the Hood’s head and impacted on the wall behind him.

Oswald pulled the trigger again.

The second bullet curved the exact same way the first had and pinged off the wall behind the Hood.

Incensed, Oswald emptied the clip, closing the distance between him and the Hood as he fired. By the last shot, he was less than a foot away from the vigilante.

Not a single bullet had managed to hit the Red Hood.

“What the hell is happening?”  Oswald shrieked. He couldn’t understand it. The Hood was standing right there like a big lump and Oswald hadn’t hit him once.

“Guess you need some target practice,” the Red Hood said, sounding amused. “Too bad you won’t be getting any in Arkham.”

Oswald looked up in time to see the Hood’s fist heading right for his face.

“Oh fu—”

*

Bane was annoyed. He’d broken out of Arkham to find and defeat the Batman once and for all.

Instead, he was dealing with an annoying girl in purple who refused to go away.

“Come on!” the girl taunted as she somersaulted away from one of Bane’s men. “You too scared fight me yourself?”

“I am scared of nothing,” Bane growled back. “Least of all children playing dress up.”

“Then prove it!” the girl demanded, snapping out a kick that floored one of his newer recruits. “Unless you want all of Gotham to know you’re a big dumb coward.”

Bane made a sudden sharp gesture. His men immediately backed off, forming a loose ring around the girl. Bane pushed through them, joining the girl in the center of the open space.

“I will fight you,” he declared. “And after I kill you, I will leave your broken corpse for the Bat to find so he will know he is next.”

Instead of cowering in fear, the girl in purple whistled softly. “Wow do you have some issues,” she said, shaking her head. “So any rules to this fight I should know about?”

Bane chuckled darkly. “Just one: there are no rules,” he said and attacked.

The girl ducked under his first punch and narrowly avoided his follow-up jab. “That doesn’t make any sense,” she informed him, cartwheeling away from his next series of blows. “If there’s one rule, then there can’t be no rules. That’s literally against the definition of having no rules.”

Bane said nothing and charged instead. The girl was just fast enough to avoid his attacks, but not fast enough to land any hits of her own. Just as he’d thought, this girl was no contest at all. He would wear her down soon enough.

And yet she was still chattering away, seemingly unconcerned by the inevitability of her defeat, talking just loudly enough that Bane could hear her over the cheers and shouts of his men.

“I mean, I get that you’re trying to sound cool and all, but it really just makes it seem like you don’t understand how rules work—which, hey, maybe you don’t! Is that why you became a criminal? Do rules confuse you or something? We could help you with that!”

“Shut up,”  Bane hissed, throwing another punch and hitting only empty air. “The first thing I am going to do is break your jaw.”

“Um, rude,” the girl said, stopping for a moment to glare at him.

It was a fatal mistake.

With a savage joy, Bane put every ounce of strength into a punch that he knew would shatter the girl’s sternum. He relished the idea of watching this annoying girl die slowly and painfully.

Until the girl reached out with one hand and caught his punch mid-air.

The entire room fell silent. Bane gaped. His muscles bulged as he tried to move his arm forward.

His arm didn’t move an inch.

“Damn,” the girl said scoffed. “Do you even lift, bro?”

Bane swung at her with his other hand.

The girl caught that fist, too, stopping it cold. Her eyes narrowed and her grip suddenly tightened.

Bane screamed as the bones in his hands broke. He dropped to his knees. The headbutt that followed sent him crashing to the floor, ears ringing and nose gushing blood.

“Now that I have your attention,” the girl said, releasing Bane and raising her voice so that everyone in the room could hear. “It’s time for Spoiler’s lecture on why toxic masculinity is bad for you. Listen up, boys! This is going to change your lives.”

*

Scarecrow walked down the darkened streets, arms spread, a cloud of fear toxin and the screams of his victims following wherever he went. Tonight, he would bring Gotham to its knees. Tonight, he would unleash hell itself and watch as the city tore itself apart through fear.

The Batman would not be able to stop him. Not this time.

Not ever again.

Then Scarecrow would be the one who ruled this city. Scarecrow would be the one who…

The one who…

Scarecrow hesitated. Something had changed. It took him a several seconds to realize that the street around him was quiet.

The screams had stopped.

He turned, more fear toxin puffing out around him. If he still had toxin, then why had the screaming stopped?

He squinted into the darkness. A moment later, his eyes grew wide underneath his mask as a small figure in all black emerged from night, pacing silently toward him. Behind her, Scarecrow’s victims were staring around in confusion, their once-terrified faces settling into a deep, placid calm.

No. No. This was supposed to be his night of triumph! Scarecrow raised a hand and blasted fear toxin directly into the oncoming vigilante’s face. She continued forward, as inexorable as the dawn.

“This isn’t possible,”  Scarecrow hissed. “How? How?”

Though he could not see her eyes through her mask, Scarecrow knew she was looking at him.

“Not afraid,” she answered.

Her hand snaked out faster than Scarecrow could follow, grabbing him by the throat. Her voice, which had been calm before, suddenly hardened.

“But you will be.”

*

Edward took a deep breath. “What is the beginning of eternity, the end of—”

Red Robin folded his arms. “The letter ‘e.’”

Edward’s eye twitched. Fine. It was fine. His brain worked so quickly that it had already moved on to the next riddle anyway. “What belongs to you—”

“Your name.”

“How many sides—”

“Two. Inside and outside.”

“I have billions of eyes, but live in—”

“The human brain.”

“Stop doing that!”  Edward snapped, losing his cool.

Red Robin yawned.

Edward’s fists clenched. The brat had actually yawned. How dare he?! Edward was going to murder him. And then he was going to murder Batman for ever training such an insufferable little weasel.

“Look, it’s getting late, Eddie,” Red Robin said. “How about this? You try one more riddle. I guess wrong and you get to go free. But if I guess right? Then you have to go back to Arkham. Deal?”

Edward hesitated, but he already knew he would take the deal. He had to show this smirking child just who the smarter man was around here.

Luckily, he had the perfect riddle.

He cleared his throat. “I speak without a mouth—”

“It’s an echo.”

Edward gave a wordless cry of rage and charged at Red Robin. The kid neatly side-stepped him, sticking out a foot to trip Edward as he went rushing by. He hit the floor hard, groaning as all the muscles in his body tried to complain at once.

A second later, he felt strong hands pulling his arms back. The chill of handcuffs settling around his wrists was depressingly familiar.

“Come on, Nygma,” Red Robin said. “Let’s get you back.”

“I hate you,” Edward grumbled vindictively as the boy helped him stand.

“Yeah, yeah. Heard it all before.”

They started for the exit. Edward snuck a glance at the kid sidelong. “What has branches—”

“A library.”

“GAH! STOP DOING THAT!”

*

Firefly loved soaring above the city. He particularly loved watching the way his fires danced and snapped below, growing larger as he helped the flames spread.

Fire was the most beautiful thing in the world.

The screams of the people below him were a close second.

“It’s over, Lynns!” a voice called. Firefly looked down, spotting the electric blue of Nightwing’s uniform on a nearby roof.

Firefly laughed. “Only if you catch me,” he replied and shot off into the night. He glanced back, noting that the vigilante was racing after him across the rooftops of the city.

Firefly laughed again. Nightwing was a fool if he thought he could keep up on foot. Firefly had escaped the Batmobile with these wings. There was no way Nightwing would be able to catch him.

But when he looked back a second time, Firefly frowned.

Was it his imagination or was Nightwing gaining on him?

Firefly shook his head and put on a burst of speed, weaving around several buildings and diving out of Nightwing’s sightline for good measure. He looked over his shoulder, hovering for a moment over the roof of an apartment complex, and grinned. No sign of the vigilante. The idiot should have known better than to challenge—

“Hey, Lynns!”

Firefly started and looked down. Nightwing waved at him cheerily from the roof right next to the one Firefly was hovering over. Before Firefly could react, Nightwing took a running start and leapt, flipping over and over in the air directly toward him.

Reacting instinctively, Firefly shot upward, giving himself more altitude. There. No way Nightwing was going to reach. Gravity would pull him down long before that.

Except it didn’t. Firefly’s eyes widened in panic as Nightwing seemed to shrug off the effects of gravity and keep moving upward. The two of them crashed together and Nightwing struck fast, using his escrima sticks to destroy Firefly’s mechanical wings.

They plummeted to the rooftop. Firefly landed hard, crying out as his shoulder was wrenched from the socket. For a second, it looked like Nightwing would crash too, but he seemed to slow at the last possible moment and land gracefully on his feet.

“Guess you're feeling a little put out, right, Lynns?” Nightwing taunted.

Firefly groaned, clutching his hurt shoulder.

Nightwing sighed. “Absolutely no appreciation for my puns. Just tragic. Alright, let's get you back to Arkham.”

* 

Selina cracked her whip threateningly, forcing the men trying to encircle her to flinch back. “I warned you stay out of my territory, Dent,” she hissed.

Two-Face sneered. Or maybe it was a smile. It was hard to tell. “Once upon a time, that threat would’ve carried weight,” he said. “But not now. You’ve been…declawed by the Bat and we all know it.”

Selina smiled, showing all her teeth. “Come a little closer, Harvey, and you’ll find that my claws are real enough.”

Two-Face laughed, flipping his silver coin into the air with practiced ease. “Not interested. This isn’t personal, you know. I just want Batman to suffer. Killing you will take care of that nicely.”

There was a soft meow from shadows. Selina risked a glance down to find a slender black cat prowling toward her, fur bristling aggressively.

“Shoo,”  she hissed at it. She didn’t want the poor thing to get hurt.

The cat ignored her, positioning itself between Selina and Two-Face’s men, lithe body settling into a hunter’s crouch.

Two-Face look amused. “Kill them both,” he ordered his men. The one in front of Selina raised his gun.

The cat pounced. Selina cried out, leaping forward to try and stop it, and pulled up short.

Because where there had been just a plain black cat a moment ago, an enormous panther stood in its place, raking its claws down the face and arms of Two-Face’s goon.

If Selina was shocked, it was nothing compared to the way Two-Face’s men were staring, open-mouthed in horror. Selina recovered first, lashing out with her whip and taking out two more men before they’d remembered her as a threat.

Together, she and the panther made quick work of Two-Face’s men. Selina kept a wary eye on the beast, but it didn’t seem inclined to go after her. Indeed, when Two-Face cut his losses and took off down the street, the panther shot after him, bringing him down in a pounce filled with so much lethal grace that it almost made Selina jealous.

Two-Face struggled for a moment and the panther slashed down twice with its claws. Then man went still.

She made sure all the other attackers were taken care of and cautiously approached. She didn’t want to fight this wild animal—or whatever it was—but she also wasn’t going to let Two-Face die.

Not that she cared if Two-Face survived. But Bruce would be upset and a brooding Bruce was only fun when she was the cause of his frown.

The big cat looked up as she approached, eyes glowing in the streetlights. Its form blurred for a moment and then suddenly Damian was standing there in his Robin uniform, expression just as disdainful as the panther’s had been.

Selina stopped. It wasn’t often that she found herself at a loss of words, but right now, she was well and truly speechless.

Damian huffed at her expression and set about cuffing Two-Face’s wrists. That, at least, was enough to snap Selina out of her shock.

“He’s not dead, then?”

“Of course not,” Damian said, sounding annoyed. “He’s unconscious. I only lightly mauled him.”

“Only…” Selina shook her head. “Kid, what the hell was that?”

“You heard Dent,” Damian said. “You are now a target because my father. I was merely attempting to bolster your failing reputation. The story of what happened here tonight will spread. People will be less likely to attack you if they fear you.”

“My street cred is just fine, thank you very much,” Selina informed him, putting her hands on her hips. “I meant since when do you have powers?”

“Oh,” Damian said. “A few days ago, just like the others.”

Selina’s eyebrows shot up. Bruce and his kids got into all sorts of trouble when she wasn’t around. “What the hell is going on in that house of yours?”

“Nothing that concerns you,”  Damian snapped.

Selina hid a smile at the kid’s prickliness. He and Bruce were so alike. “You know I’ll just ask your dad.”

Damian made a disgruntled noise in reply.

She rolled her eyes. “Well, thanks anyway for the save—not that I needed it. It’s nice to know you care, though.”

Damian stiffened. “I do not. It made strategic sense to help so my family doesn’t have to keep wasting time protecting you.”

“Okay, kid. Whatever you say.”

“I don’t like you.”

“Uh-huh. Sure.”

*

The Mad Hatter giggled as Batgirl swung into the room, breaking the window in a shower of glass. His minions, safely under his control, didn’t so much as flinch at her entrance.

“Let them go, Tetch,” Batgirl ordered.

“I think they want to stay,” the Mad Hatter replied. “After all, we’re all mad here.”

His minions attacked. The Hatter grinned as he watched them. He’d figured out some improvements to his mind-control technology while wasting away in his cell in Arkham. Resisting was all but impossible now.

Batgirl danced around her opponents, looking for an opening. Hatter watched eagerly as she managed duck under the punch of one assailant and swipe the hat right off the head of another, hoping to break the connection.

But the man kept attacking, throwing Batgirl off-balance.

Hatter grinned. He’d finally done it. He’d perfected his mind-control mechanism to work even without the hats.

“The only way to stop them now is to go off with their heads!” he taunted Batgirl.

This was going precisely as he had hoped. Indeed, the Hatter could already see how this was going to play out. Batgirl would fight and lose and ultimately be overwhelmed, her desire not to hurt the civilians Hatter was controlling hampering her ability to get away.

And once she was subdued…

Well. It was going to be the feather in Hatter’s cap to finally have a Bat under his contr—

“Just need to isolate the code and…gotcha!”  Batgirl exclaimed.

Hatter looked up in time to see Batgirl release the arm of the hat-less man. The civilian blinked, clearly confused by his surroundings, and stopped attacking.

Hatter leapt to his feet. “No! That’s impossible!” he shouted. His control was absolute, the technology unstoppable.

Batgirl grinned at him, even as she knocked the hat off another assailant as he rushed by. Soon all of Hatter’s followers were sans hats and stumbling away, control broken after a simple touch of Batgirl’s hand.

Hatter was too incensed to realize that he should have slipped out the back ages ago. Before he knew what was happening, he was in cuffs and being delivered back into the hands of the GCPD.

“Impossible,” he kept muttering. “That was impossible!”

And it was. Hatter had tested the tech. Nothing should have been able to break his control. Nothing.

Batgirl winked at him as he was loaded into the back seat of a cop car. “I sometimes believe as much as six impossible things before breakfast,” she informed him.

Hatter gaped at her, staring back in her direction long after she’d disappeared into the night.

*

Chuckles hastily lowered his gaze as the Joker walked by, inspecting their handiwork. Even though he’d been a loyal follower of the Clown Prince of Crime for years, Chuckles knew it was better not to draw attention to himself. The Joker was brilliant and powerful and terrifying, but most of all, he was unpredictable. There was no telling what he might decide to do, even to his own people.

Which was how Chuckles knew the Joker would be the one to bring down the Bat and rule Gotham. None of the other so-called rogues stood a chance.

Take tonight, for instance. The Joker had only been out of an Arkham cell for six hours and he’d already set the perfect trap for Batman. They’d wired every single entrance with explosives linked to a civilian hostage tied up nearby. If Batman tried to swoop in and rescue them—boom!  Some innocent little nobody was gonna get their head blown off the second he opened a door.

And if he didn’t come within the set time limit, the Joker was going to kill them anyway.

Either way, that blood would be on Batman’s hands.

Some of the other men didn’t get it, but Chuckles did. This was a trap designed to break the Bat’s spirit.

Then they’d finish him off for good.

“Time’s almost up,” the Joker said, clapping his hands together excitedly. “He’ll be here any minute.”

A gruff voice spoke from the shadows, sending a chill down Chuckles’ spine.

“I already am.”

The room plunged into darkness.

Chuckles froze. Something was wrong. He couldn’t see anything—not even his hand when he cautiously waved it in front of his face. Panicking, he reached up and gently touched his eyes. Had he gone blind? But no, everything seemed fine. Besides, he could hear the panicked shouts and screams of the other men, echoing across the building. Whatever was the Bat had done, it was happening to all of them.

Fucking hell. Chuckles was not prepared for this. He’d faced down Batman before, but this felt different. Maybe the Joker had pushed Batman too far this time. Maybe this whole thing had been a mistake. Maybe they shouldn’t have—

As suddenly as they’d gone out, the lights were back. Chuckles flinched, shielding his eyes against glare.

Someone cleared their throat. Chuckles blinked tears from his eyes and looked up to find a boy in a bright yellow suit grinning at him. Beyond him, Chuckles could just make out the sinister shape of Batman taking down three men at once, his cape twisting and writhing like it was made of living shadows. The Joker was already unconscious and tied up not twenty feet away.

“How did you…the hostages…” Chuckles stuttered, stumbling back from the kid in yellow. The boy followed him, every step graceful and sure.

“Already free,” the kid said. Chuckles remembered belatedly that his name was the Signal. He’d never actually seen the kid in person before. “A word of advice? If you ever get out of prison, I’d leave town for a bit. Batman is pissed and he’s definitely going to hold a grudge. But for right now, I think it’s time for a little nap.”

Chuckles frowned. “A nap? What do you—”

Signal’s first punch caught him square in the jaw. The second sent him tumbling into unconsciousness before he’d even hit the floor.

Chapter Text

Diana settled lightly on the steel beam near the very top of the Watchtower’s meeting room. Below, members of the League mingled and laughed, sharing moments of quiet comradery after a long day of battle.

Even Bruce appeared to be enjoying himself, locked into conversation with Clark and Arthur. Diana could have joined them, but she’d noticed Damian hiding himself up in the rafters not long after the League returned to the Watchtower. Bruce was keeping an eye on him -- she could tell by the way he kept his body angled toward his son at all times -- but Diana didn't like the thought of anyone being alone after a battle. 

“May I?” she asked the boy politely, gesturing at the space beside him.

The corners of Damian's mouth turned down. "If you insist," he said, sounding annoyed. But he shifted over to make a little more space on the beam. Diana sat gracefully, letting her legs dangle into empty space.

“You fought well today,” she said, taking it upon herself to break the silence.

“Of course,” Damian said. He hesitated, then added begrudgingly, "You did as well."

“Thank you. That means a great deal to me.”

Damian looked a little surprised. “It does?” he blurted, seemingly without meaning to.

“My people respect skill when they see it,” Diana replied. “No matter the age of the warrior.”

Damian said nothing, but his posture relaxed considerably.

Diana smiled to herself and gazed down at the room, enjoying the sight of her brothers and sisters in arms finding peace in each other’s company. In many ways, man’s world was very different to Themyscira, but this…this felt familiar.

She mentioned as much to Damian. The boy made a soft noise of agreement. This time, when the silence fell, Diana let it. Many of her teammates couldn’t stand sitting in silence, but Diana didn’t mind it. Sometimes words were unneeded.

But, as Diana watched Damian’s gaze flick towards her and away, she realized that this was not one of those times.

“You can ask,” she said finally, when it occurred to her that he wouldn’t speak without prompting.

Damian started a little, as if surprised by being called out. “It’s nothing,” he said quickly. “Just…I’ve made a point of studying warrior cultures around the world and there are a lot of…discrepancies with the history of the Amazons. For example, it’s been suggested by scholars that the etymology of the word ‘Amazon’ comes from the Greek ‘a’ and ‘mazos.’ But that seems unlikely, given what we now know about your people.”

“You’re right,” Diana said, impressed both by the question and his obvious interest in the subject. “Like many legends about my sisters, that one isn’t true.”

“I thought not,” Damian replied, sounding self-satisfied. He sent another sidelong glance in her direction.

Diana stifled a smile. “You can ask another. Ask as many as you like, in fact.”

Damian needed no further encouragement. Indeed, it was as if the floodgates had opened. “Your training—did you begin with the sword? Who trained you? Do Amazons train to fight alone or as a cohesive unit? Do you favor Greek tactics or have you designed your own ways of fighting?”

Diana huffed an incredulous laugh. Dick had told her that the aloofness Damian often displayed was a front, but this was the first that Diana was seeing beyond it. She was honored that the boy felt safe enough to drop his guard around her.

“Let me see,” she said, trying to remember all his questions. “No, I didn’t start with a sword, but that was only because I was being trained in secret for the first few years—my mother didn’t want me to fight. I was taught by Antiope, my aunt. Amazons learn to fight both together and alone.”

“And your tactics?” Damian pressed.

Diana grinned. “The Greeks learned from us, not the other way around. Though we aren’t nearly as limited as they were. Greater strength and speed give us an incredible advantage on a battlefield.”

“Do all your people fight?” Damian continued. Diana began to wonder how long he’d been holding on to all these questions.

“We all receive some training, but no, not all are warriors," she said, shaking her head. "We also have artists and traders and healers and builders—people who keep our culture alive and strong. If you could see the great palace of Themyscira, you would know that Amazonian hands are meant for so much more than war. It is the most beautiful place in the world.”

Damian looked at her for a moment. “Do you miss it?” he asked, nothing but honest curiosity in his voice.

“Every day,” Diana told him. “Some days, I miss it so much that I can hardly breathe.”

“Then why stay here?”

“There are people here who need help,” Diana said simply. “I have the ability to help them. How could I not stay? Is that not the same reason you chose to remain with your father?”

“I wanted to learn from him,” Damian disputed. “His fighting style—”

“I’ve seen you fight, little warrior,” Diana interrupted. “There is little left for Bruce to teach you that you do not already know. I think you wanted to learn something else from him.”

Damian looked down. “Maybe,” he said at last.

Diana wanted to say more, but a shout from Barry distracted her.

“Hey, Diana,” the speedster yelled up to her. “Come settle this for us?”

“I’ll be right there!” Diana replied. She turned back to Damian. “Would you like to come down with me?”

“No.”

“Very well,” she said, nodding to him in farewell.

Damian’s soft voice stopped her.

"Thank you.”

Diana looked at him, genuinely surprised. “For what?”

“Answering my questions.”

“No need to thank me,” Diana told him warmly. “I enjoyed our conversation.”

“So did I,” Damian admitted, finally meeting her gaze again.

“Perhaps we can talk again sometime,” Diana offered, smiling at him.

Damian tentatively smiled back. “I’d like that.”

Chapter Text

Time seemed to slow.

Damian could see what was about to happen. The mugger’s aim was off. The store’s security guard, who was wearing a bulletproof vest and therefore would have survived, was not going to get hit.

No, based on the positioning of the mugger’s arm, it was the woman near Damian who was going to take the bullet--the woman carrying a small child, who couldn’t have been more than three years old.

Damian wasn’t in his Robin uniform. He wasn’t wearing any protective armor. He was simply Damian Wayne, son of Gotham’s wealthiest citizen, out on a walk with some friends after school.

None of that mattered.

Time seemed to speed up.

The mugger’s finger tightened on the trigger.

Damian stepped in front of the woman and her child.

The gun fired.

*         

Damian opened his eyes slowly. His head felt too heavy for his body, his thoughts sluggish and half-formed. Belatedly, he recognized the feeling of heavy painkillers numbing his system. Why was he on painkillers? What was going on?

He looked around. He didn’t recognize his location, but it had the stark, utilitarian feel of a hospital room. There was no light coming through the window—which meant nighttime, Damian’s too-slow brain informed him. But even so, he could make out a number of slumbering figures, slumped across various pieces of furniture in the room, lit by the glow of a single dim lamp.

The two closest figures were hunched over in uncomfortable plastic chairs, faces tired and pale and drawn. It took Damian a moment too long to recognize the man with the unshaven face and the deep shadows under his eyes as his father.

Beside him, Grayson looked no better, his normally handsome face haggard with worry. The skin around his eyes was puffy and red, as though he had been crying for some time.

If Damian hadn’t been so muddled, he would’ve been furious. Who had made Grayson cry? Damian would find them and make them suffer...just as soon as he got out of this hospital bed.

As if drawn by his thoughts, Grayson’s gaze snapped up to meet his. His lips parted in surprise. Then—

“You’re awake,” Grayson breathed, sounding more relieved than Damian had ever heard him. “Oh my god—Bruce. Bruce! He’s awake!”

*

Damian was relieved to walk through the front door of the Manor. The wound in his chest hadn't entirely healed—it would take months to get back to normal—but the thought of being in his own room again made the discomfort of leaving the hospital more than worth it.

Especially since going back to the Manor meant getting some peace and quiet at last. Looking back, Damian didn’t think he’d been alone for a single moment since he’d woken up in the hospital bed. At least one family member had always been present—usually two or more since his father and Grayson had practically been glued to his side the entire time.

Damian could appreciate their worry, but he was fine now. The doctors had assured everyone that a full recovery was well underway.

It was time for the hovering to come to an end.

He accepted Grayson’s help to get up the staircase and eagerly opened the door to his room. Damian pulled up short on the threshold, wincing as the sharp movement pulled at his wound.

“What is that?”  he demanded, staring at the mattress lying innocuously on the floor next to his bed.

“A trundle bed,” Grayson answered smoothly. “We should really get you lying down so you can rest."

Damian refused to budge. “Why is there a trundle bed in my room?”

“I asked Alfred to set it up,” Grayson told him.

“Why?”

“So I can sleep in here. Duh.”

Damian looked at him, annoyed. “You’re not staying in here.”

“Of course I am,” Grayson said, more than a hint of stubbornness creeping into his tone. “You were shot, Damian. In the heart. You need me.”        

“Near the heart,” Damian correctly automatically. It was practically becoming second nature.

“Point still stands,” Grayson said. “I’m staying. What if something happens during the night? What if your wound acts up? What if you’re in pain? I’m not taking that chance. I’m staying.”

Damian glared at him. Then he saw the genuine panic in Grayson’s blue eyes and relented. “You get three days,” he said. “Then I’m kicking you out.”

Grayson’s answering grin was dazzling, though a shadow of worry remained.

“We’ll see,” he said.

Damian silently resigned himself to a very long road to recovery.

*

“Here,” Drake said, setting a wristwatch down on the table.

Damian raised an eyebrow, nonplussed. “What am I to do with this?”

“Wear it,” Drake told him.

“I already have a watch,” Damian informed him. “And it’s much nicer than that one.”

Drake sighed. “It’s not just a watch, Damian. Babs and I made it.”

Damian’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. He was getting better by the day, especially with the physical therapy regimen his father was helping him through, but he still wasn’t well enough to defend himself if this was some kind of attack from Drake.

Though Gordon’s involvement significantly lessened the likelihood of foul play. She and Damian didn’t particularly get along, but there was no rivalry between them.

“What does it do?” Damian asked, still not touching the device.

"It tells time."

"Drake."

“We just...made a few modifications,” Drake said vaguely.

“What modifications?” Damian insisted.

Drake sighed again. “Nothing much, alright? It just has a panic button for if you get hurt. And a tracking device. And it’ll monitor your vitals. And provide some audio surveillance of your surroundings. You know, basic stuff.”

“Why would I need all that?” Damian wanted to know.

“You’re kidding, right?” Drake asked incredulously. “You were just in the hospital.”

Damian stared at him. “Are you…are you worried about me?”

The tips of Drake’s ears turned red. “Just wear the stupid thing, okay? Please?”

Damian slowly picked up the watch. “I suppose,” he allowed.

Drake smiled. “Thanks.”

Damian nodded once. “You’re welcome.”

*

“When I suggested going out,”  Damian grumbled, “I didn’t mean with everyone.”

“Cass and I are hardly everyone,”  Brown shot back. She glanced up and waved at someone in the crowd. “Oh hey—there’s Jason!”

Damian’s scowl deepened as his second oldest brother jogged up to meet them.

“Fancy seeing you here. I was just stretching my legs," Todd lied unconvincingly.

“This is ridiculous,” Damian spat. “I’m healed. I don’t need babysitters.”

“Almost healed,” Cain corrected him.

Damian shot her a look. It was true that he still got the occasional twinge of pain in his chest when he pushed himself too hard, but those days were few and far between now. He didn’t need to be escorted places like he was some kind of child.

“So are we getting ice cream or what?” Brown asked. Damian rolled his eyes and strode forward, forcing the others to hurry after him down the busy sidewalk.

“Do try and keep up,” he called over his shoulder. “If even an invalid such as myself—oof!”

Damian cried out as an elbow caught him in the chest, not too far from his surgical scar. He doubled over in pain, clutching at his chest. Small hands were around him in an instant, holding him upright and soothing him simultaneously.

“Hey, kid!” a brash, unfamiliar voice snarled. With Cain’s support, Damian managed to look up into the angry face of the man who had elbowed him. “You better watch yourself!”

“The fuck did you just say?”

The man turned. “I said he needed to watch where he was…” he trailed off suddenly, paling in the face of Todd’s heavily muscled frame, every inch of which was tense with fury.

“Apologize,” Todd said, voice cracking like a whip. “Now.”

“I-I’m s-sorry,” the man stuttered.

“You’ve got about ten seconds to get out of here or we’ll kick your ass so hard, you’ll be carried out on a stretcher,” Brown informed the man, her tone just as hard and unforgiving as Todd’s had been.

The man didn’t need to be told twice. He bolted down the sidewalk.

Todd watched him go for a long moment, tracking his movements through the crowd, before turning to Damian. “You good?”

Damian took another deep breath, the pain fading. He nodded to Cain, who cautiously let him go, and then nodded again to Todd.

"You want me to go after him?" the older boy asked.

"No," Damian said, a little bewildered by the offer. He hadn't thought Todd liked him very much--certainly not enough to take offense at such a minor slight to Damian's well-being. "No, that's alright."

“Alright,” Todd said, temper vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. He rubbed his hands together. “Now let’s go get that ice cream. I’ve suddenly worked up an appetite.”

*

After months of recovery and physical therapy and endless rounds of check-ups, Damian was finally cleared for patrol. He gleefully fired his grapple and swung after his father into the night, enjoying the feel of the wind tugging at his hair and clothes.

He’d missed this.

A dark shape flickered at the edge of his sight-line. Damian suddenly went on high alert, scanning his surroundings. He caught up with his father on the next building, subtly signaling a halt with a discreet gesture.

“We’re being followed,” Damian murmured quietly, in case of surveillance. “I’ve seen two men, possibly more. They carry themselves like Shadows.”

His father’s shoulders tensed.

Damian crouched on the lip of the roof, thinking furiously. “If we separate, I think we can take them by surprise—”

“No,” his father interrupted. “That…that won’t be necessary.”

Damian looked up at him, surprised. “What do you mean? It’s the League of Assassins. In our city. Why wouldn’t we…” he trailed off, realization striking. “Did you…did you tell Mother I was injured?”

His father sighed quietly. “You got shot. I had to.”

“How long has she been sending Shadows to look after me?” Damian demanded.

His father said nothing.

“The whole time?”  Damian groaned, correctly interpreting his silence. “And you just let her?”

“I would have let her do a lot more if I’d had to,” his father replied quietly.

Damian stopped. “The Lazarus Pit?” he whispered. “But you hate the Pit.”

His father reached down and grasped Damian’s shoulder with a trembling hand. “I hated the thought of losing you more," he said, still speaking in that same soft tone. "I'm so incredibly proud of you for what you did, but I can’t lose you again, Damian. I won’t.”

Damian felt an ache in his heart that for once had nothing to do with the proximity of his wound. He slowly reached up and placed his hand over his father’s.

“You won’t lose me,” Damian said. “I swear it.”

“Good,” his father replied, squeezing his shoulder gently.

They stayed on the rooftop for a long moment, sitting in a little bubble of stillness, until the wailing of sirens in the distance broke the spell around them.

His father cleared his throat. “Shall we?”

Damian grinned. “Race you there!”

Chapter Text

Tim’s new phone chimed.

“Finally,”  he grumbled. He’d dropped his old phone that morning and shattered the screen beyond repair. The accident—hot on the heels of him spilling coffee all over his laptop the day before—was almost enough to make him lose faith in technology.

Almost, but not quite. Tim was man enough to admit he had a bit of a screen addiction. He’d nearly driven himself to distraction in the hours between breaking his phone and hunting down a new one and transferring his data.

He knew that some people (AKA Dick “I’d rather just meet in person” Grayson) enjoyed getting off the grid sometimes.

Tim had found it unbearable.

He unlocked the new phone and winced at the alerts piling up. Over fifty new emails—mostly from Wayne Enterprises. He really needed to get over there—and twenty-three text messages.

He quickly scrolled through the texts first. He was relieved to see the majority of them were just general chatter from a group chat with his Young Justice friends.

The rest were from family—including some pretty funny memes from Steph about Alfred’s new swear jar. It was his latest effort to clean up the family’s language, especially over comms. Though the swear jar had been—and still was—mocked mercilessly out of Alfred’s earshot, it had been a surprisingly effective effort.

Alfred always seemed to know when you owed money to the jar. Always. At this point, it was simply safer to just fess up.

The last few texts on Tim’s phone were from an unknown number.

Yo

Water my plants

Not gonna be back for a few days

Don’t overdo it on the succulents

Tim shook his head. “Wrong number, pal,” he muttered to himself, deleting the messages. He sent a few replies to Steph and his friends, then opened his email.

Time to get back to work.

*

Tim woke after a long night of patrol to a missed call and voicemail from an unknown number. He groggily hit play on the message and held the phone up to his ear.

“Replacement. Hi.”

Tim startled at the sound of Jason’s voice. He couldn’t remember the last time Jason had actually called him on the phone. And that was ignoring the fact that Jason was supposed to be undercover on a case right now. That had to be the reason for the unknown number--Jason was using a burner phone to reach out.

The message continued. “Look I…I don’t know how long I’ve got. I need your help—”

Jason was interrupted by a loud, gruff voice that sounded like it was a short distance away from the phone. “Hey! Where do you think you’re going?”

“Oh shi—”  Jason started, before the voicemail cut off entirely.

Tim sat bolt upright, adrenaline pushing the last vestiges of sleep from his system.

He needed to go. Now.

Jason was in trouble.

*         

Tim knew making a move during the day was risky. But even riskier was the prospect of leaving Jason in a dangerous situation for twelve hours or more. Jason was more than capable of taking care of himself, of course, but the fact that he had called for help—the fact that he had called Tim for help…

Who cared that it was daytime?

Tim was going in.

He spared a precious hour preparing for the rescue. Going in with half a plan would only put Jason in more danger. The cartel that Jason had been investigating was relatively new on the scene, but had established roots with astonishing efficiency. Tim didn’t want to underestimate their competence or their man-power.

He set the finishing touches on his diversion and got into position. Jason’s emergency beacon was intact, but inactive. Tim had been able to ping it for Jason’s location—a small room in a house near the warehouses where the cartel conducted its business. There was a window, though it appeared shuttered and possibly barred.

A make-shift prison cell, most likely. Jason was lucky the cartel had decided to keep him prisoner rather than shoot him outright.

“Okay,” Tim said to himself, thumb resting on the slim remote detonator he held in his hand. “Here we go.”

He pressed the button.

He counted to one hundred in his head, then leapt toward the window feet-first, using his momentum to smash through the shutters and into the room.

A lone figure lunged to its feet, unnaturally fast. Tim barely had time to regain his balance before he was under attack, his assailant moving quickly and mercilessly. He blocked two blows and readied himself for a third, but his attacker suddenly stumbled back.

“Tim?”  Jason hissed, mouth dropping open in shock.

Tim slid out of his defensive position and looked Jason over for injuries. A knot of tension loosened inside him when he found none. “I got your message. We need to move. Now.”

“What are you talking about?” Jason asked, sounding bewildered. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m rescuing you,” Tim explained, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Maybe Jason had sustained some kind of head injury after all. “Now come on.”

Jason, conversely, refused to budge. “Why would you think I needed rescuing?”

Before Tim could answer, the door to the room burst open. Two men rushed through, both carrying guns. Tim and Jason moved in tandem, taking the men down in quick, efficient movements.

When both assailants were unconscious, Jason turned on Tim, clearly furious. “I just blew my cover on an op I’ve sunk three weeks into,” he hissed, gesturing at the unconscious men for emphasis. “I’d like to know why.”

“Your voicemail,” Tim replied impatiently. “Last night. You said you needed help!”

Jason shot him an incredulous look. “I meant with my plants. I only called ‘cause you didn’t reply to my texts.”

“Your texts? But...” Tim stopped, a sudden flash of realization striking him. He looked around the room for the first time and realized that it was literally just a bedroom. Not a make-shift prison. Not a torture chamber. Just a bedroom. “Oh. Oh.”

“Replacement…”

Tim cleared his throat. “So…there may have been a slight misunderstanding.”

“You think?”  Jason glared.

"Your voicemail made it sound so urgent! You said you didn't have much time!" Tim protested.

"Yeah because I didn't. Because it's considered unprofessional to make personal calls when you're out on a job," Jason shot back. "Besides, I thought you'd just see that the number from the call and the number from the texts matched up and put two and two together!"

Tim made a face. "I kinda...deleted the texts." At Jason's disparaging look, he added, "I thought it was a wrong number!"

Jason shook his head and started pacing back and forth in a tight line. “Is there any way to salvage this op? Maybe I can try and…what’s that noise?”

Tim bit his lip, trying to ignore the shouting in the distance. “That’s…probably the cartel noticing my distraction.”

“Your what now?”

“I didn’t know how hurt you were!” Tim said, shoulders hunching defensively. “I thought it might take us a while to get away, so I made a big, flashy distraction to buy some time!”

“How flashy?” Jason demanded flatly.

Tim winced as the shrill siren of a fire alarm split the air, coming from the direction of the warehouses.

“Let’s just say it’s hard to ignore,” Tim answered at last, studiously avoiding Jason’s gaze.

Jason pinched the bridge of his noise. “Okay. I’m cutting my losses on this one. Do you have a spare mask for me?”

Tim handed it over quickly, eager to be useful.

“Right,” Jason said, expertly applying the domino mask to his face. “In the second warehouse, there’s a set of offices. If we can get in there, we might be able to figure out who the buyers are. We can even use your ‘big distraction’ to help us slip by unnoticed.”

Tim hesitated. “About that. I have good news and I have bad news.”

“What’s the bad news?” Jason asked, his voice dangerously calm.

“The bad news is that I kinda set fire to those offices as my distraction.”

Jason tilted his head. “Guess the good news is you raided the safe in there first for the ledgers. Boy, am I glad to hear that. Otherwise, this whole thing would’ve been for nothing.”

Tim was silent.

Jason frowned.

“Replacement?” he asked softly, dangerous.

Tim fidgeted. “So it maybe turns out that I only have bad news.”

“Mother fu—”  Jason caught himself. “Okay,” he said, breathing out slowly. “Just…okay. If we can collect some samples of the product the cartel’s moving, we might be able to trace—”

Both Jason and Tim flinched at the sound of a muffled explosion from somewhere nearby.

“Samples…might be difficult,” Tim offered after a long moment.

Jason didn’t catch himself the second time.  

*

Bruce looked up, barely managing to hide his surprise as they rolled into the Batcave and parked their bikes. “I thought you were on a case,” he said to Jason, brow furrowing.

Tim grimaced as Jason strode toward Bruce wordlessly, jaw set in angry line.

“Jason?” Bruce tried again. Jason ignored him and stalked smoothly toward the Batcomputer. He stopped in front of a large mason jar, contents partly full with some dollar bills and loose change.

“It’s a dollar per swear, right?” Jason asked, finally meeting Bruce’s gaze.

“…Yes,” Bruce answered cautiously, still frowning.

Jason fished his wallet out of his back pocket. “Great. Stop me at two hundred.”

“Two hundred?”

Jason paused in the act of rifling though his wallet to glare at Tim. “Ask him.”

Tim grimaced again as Bruce’s sharp gaze cut in his direction.

“Okay,” he said, fidgeting nervously. “Look. This is really just a bit of a misunderstanding. We're gonna laugh about this someday...”

Chapter Text

Damian wakes up in pain.

He grimaces and slowly pulls himself from the bed, each movement sending a wave of dull agony radiating along the length of his spinal column. He hobbles toward the bathroom, gritting his teeth so he won't cry out. Damian reminds himself—as he often does on days when the pain is bad—that he’s lucky to be in pain, lucky to be walking at all.

Most people don’t take bullets directly to the spine and manage to walk away unscathed.

Of course, Damian hadn’t really managed it, either. If it hadn’t been for his mother, he would have been paralyzed.

Instead, he has an entirely new spine, functioning limbs, and a perpetual, chronic ache every waking moment of his life.

Mother had assured him the pain would fade in time.

Damian isn’t so certain anymore.

He finishes his morning ablutions and dresses—slowly, stiffly—finishing just in time for Pennyworth’s knock at the door.

“Breakfast is served, Master Damian,” Pennyworth informs him. “Master Dick is waiting for you at the table.”

Damian takes a slow breath and wills his expression into its typical stoic mask, burying all signs of his pain deep, where no one will see them. He strides across the room, ignoring how each step brings a spike of pain with it, and yanks the door open.

“Thank you, Pennyworth,” he says, brushing past the older man. “I will join him now.”

“Very good,” Pennyworth says, trailing behind him. “Are you feeling alright, Master Damian? You’re usually up before the sun—”

“I’m fine,” Damian cuts him off sharply. He doesn’t need Pennyworth knowing how drastically his sleeping habits have changed, how he sometimes can’t sleep at all because of the way his back aches.

“Of course, sir,” Pennyworth says, managing to convey an impressive amount of skepticism in just three words.

Damian ignores him. Pennyworth may have his doubts, but he doesn’t know the truth. Neither does Grayson. If they did, neither one of them would allow him out on the streets night after night.

Damian will do everything in his power to keep it that way. He won’t have them thinking he’s incapable.

Robin is his. No one is taking it from him.

He knows what it will cost. He knows it means he will go to sleep tonight in worse pain than when he woke up.    

It’s a price he’s willing to pay.

*

Damian is slow on the training mats today. He knows it.

Worse, Grayson knows it.

“You alright?” Grayson asks, quirking a quizzical brow in his direction. “It’s not like you to miss an opening like that.”

“I was attempting not to embarrass you,” Damian shoots back, proud of the way his voice doesn’t shake even though the waves of pain radiating from his spine are making him nauseous.

Grayson smiles at Damian’s retort, but the concerned look hasn’t left his eyes. “Maybe we call it for today, huh? There’s some casework that needs catching up on.”

Damian barely manages to hide his relief. “Getting tired already, old man?” he taunts as a cover, turning away so that he can simultaneously stow his sword with his gear and get his nausea under control. He refuses to fall apart under Grayson’s watchful gaze. He refuses to let the pain get the best of him.

“I am in my prime,”  Grayson informs him loftily, though there’s an undercurrent of something in his voice that Damian can’t quite place.

“I could cover patrol for you tonight,” Damian offers, keeping up the light-hearted charade despite the way his body is practically begging him to lie down. At least his stomach is starting to settle. “It will most certainly be past your bedtime. I’ve heard senior citizens like you enjoy retiring early.”

“Hilarious. You're a real comedian,” Grayson says sarcastically.

"Who said anything about comedy?” Damian shoots back. He forces himself to turn around. Too long avoiding Grayson’s gaze would be suspicious. “Your rapid slide into decrepitude and obvious denial over it read more like a tragedy.”

Grayson huffs a laugh. It used to confuse Damian that Grayson would laugh at his insults, but now he regards the absurd response with something akin to affectionate amusement himself.

It’s just so Grayson.

“Alright, you whippersnapper,” Grayson says, shaking his head. “Let’s do some casework. You get to log the old cases, though.”

Damian groans, but for once it’s not from pain. “Why can’t you do it? Logging old cases is boring.”

“Well, I would, but my old, decrepit eyes just can’t make out the fine print anymore,” Grayson answers, those self-same eyes sparkling with mischief.

Damian doesn’t deign to answer, just bites his lip as he finally takes a seat to stop himself from whimpering at the change in position.

“You sure you’re okay, kiddo?” Grayson asks softly, his worry almost palpable.

Damian pushes past the pain and draws himself up until he’s sitting ramrod straight in the chair.   

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he asks dismissively, mustering all his considerable powers of deception for those four words.

Grayson gives him a long look, but holds his tongue.

Damian congratulates himself on another successful obfuscation and turns his attention to the casework in front of him.     

*

Damian grits his teeth through every swing of his grapple, wishing desperately he’d tried harder to convince Grayson to take the Batmobile instead of the rooftops. The strain on his arms, core, and neck as they whip through the air are exacerbating the low, steady thrum of pain in his back into something much worse.

It’s enough to make Damian want to scream.

But he doesn’t. He can’t. There’s too much at stake.

He just needs to push through. He’s made it this far. He can keep going.

Damian is so focused on not giving himself away, that he’s surprised when Grayson changes directions without warning, twisting his body to make a sharp right turn in the air. Damian moves instinctively to follow, twisting as Grayson had.

A white-hot screech of pain ricochets up his back. His vision tunnels. Distantly, Damian is aware that he’s lost hold of his grapple. He’s falling. He’s falling and he can’t stop it. He can’t move, he can’t think, all he knows is pain pain pain—

Flashes of coherence seep through.

Strong arms wrapping around him.

Cold concrete under his back.

“He’s non-responsive. What should I—?”

A sharp puncture in his thigh.

A cool sort of numbness spreading through him, quenching the molten fire in his spine.

Damian’s ashamed to admit it later, but it’s not the pain that makes him lose consciousness. It’s the sheer relief of it ending that finally allows him to slip away into the darkness.

*

The first thing Damian notices when he wakes up is the pain.

Or rather, the absence of the pain.

He almost cries in disbelief.

Mother had been right, after all. The pain had gone away.

Then he registers the tug of an IV in his arm, the brace around his neck, and he realizes the pain isn’t really gone, he’s just being medicated.

Which means at some point, the pain will come back.

He almost weeps again, bur for an entirely different reason.

“Dami? How do you feel?” Grayson’s voice asks. It sounds close. Damian forces his eyes open and blinks a little against the sudden light. Grayson is close; he’s sitting in a chair at Damian’s bedside. Pennyworth stands behind him, a worried frown wrinkling his brow.

“Drugged,” Damian answers, his voice a little slurred.

The lines at the corners of Grayson’s mouth pull downward. “Do you remember what happened?”

Damian looks away. “I fell.”

“You…” Grayson stops and swallows hard, taking a moment to compose himself. “How long were you hiding the fact that you're in pain?”

Damian says nothing. It seems the safest course of action.

Grayson makes a noise in the back of his throat. Damian can’t tell if it’s frustration or dismay. Maybe a little of both.

“You should have come to us, Master Damian,” Pennyworth chides. “We could have helped you.”

Grayson puts a hand on Damian’s arm. “Do you understand how badly this could have ended? What if your back had given out in the middle of a fight?”

Damian pulls his arm away and maintains his silence.

Grayson sighs heavily. “I have to take you out of the field. It’s too dangerous for you out there.”

Damian stares stonily up at the ceiling, though he can still see Grayson from the corner of his eye. “I understand,” he says, choking the words out past the sudden lump in his throat. Everything he’s worked so hard for—it had all been for nothing. “When will you be calling Drake in to take my place?”

“Wait, what?” Grayson asks.

Damian forces himself to repeat the words, though they hurt more than his spine ever had. “Drake. When is he coming to replace me as Robin?”

“Tim? He’s not—” Grayson stops. “Is that what this is all about? You didn’t tell us because you were afraid I’d replace you?”

Damian bites his lip to stop it from trembling. “If I cannot be Robin, then I am useless to you. I have no place here.”

Grayson looks like he’s been smacked in the face. Pennyworth clears his throat.

“You will always have a place in this house, Master Damian,” he says, enunciating each word with proper care. “Robin or not.”

“Will I?” Damian asks, without meaning to. It must be the pain medication. It’s lowering his guard.

“Yes, yes of course you will,” Grayson gushes, stumbling over his words in his rush to get them out. “Dami, I’m not—I wouldn’t—”

He stops and takes a breath. “Let me do this right,” Grayson says, holding up a hand. “First, I am not taking Robin from you. You’re my Robin, I’m your Batman. End of story.”

If Damian had thought the pain medication had brought relief, it’s nothing compared to hearing those words coming from Grayson’s mouth.

But the older man isn’t done.

“Second, I’m still pulling you off patrol until your spine recovers completely,” Grayson continues. “I should never have let you back in the field so soon. That’s my fault. I shouldn’t have…I should have seen how you were—”

Pennyworth clears his throat. “Master Dick,” he says sternly. “I thought we’d agreed that you would stop blaming yourself.”

“Sorry, Alfred,” Grayson says, scrubbing his hands over his face. “I’m…I’m trying.”

Pennyworth nods his approval and waves a hand for Grayson to proceed.

“Right,” Grayson says, pulling himself together. He looks at Damian again. “Third, and most importantly, even if you were never Robin again—which isn’t going to happen—you would always belong here. Us wanting you here has nothing to do with your usefulness or you being Robin or how well you fight. We want you here for you. If you spent the rest of your life as a civilian, we would still want you here. I would still want you here. Do you understand that?”

Damian searches Grayson’s blue eyes for a long moment and realizes that the other man actually means it. He’d meant every word of what he’d just said.

And Damian--Damian believes him.

Something inside him eases, a knot of tension Damian hadn't even realized he'd been carrying. He nods slowly.

“Okay. Good,” Grayson says, his blue eyes still intense with emotion. “Now let’s focus on getting you better, alright?”

“Alright,” Damian replies.

“You’re going to be fine, you know that, right?” Grayson persists.

“I know,” Damian says.

And for the first time in a long time, he actually believes it.

Chapter Text

Dick hid his nerves behind a smile as Raya, Clay, and the others walked through the restaurant door.

“They’re with me,” he told the hostess, who dimpled at him in a way that made Raya laugh and throw an arm around his shoulder.

“Still a charmer, I see,” she teased, kissing him on the cheek.

Dick made a face at her, which only made Raya laugh harder. She moved out of the way just in time for Clay to barge in with his signature spine-cracking hug.

“Sorry we’re late. It’s a madhouse out there,” Bryan said, jerking his thumb toward the door. The sidewalk wasn't visible through the restaurant’s tinted windows, but he knew what the circus owner was talking about.

“Must be someone famous here,” said Marc, Raya’s new partner. He craned his neck trying to get a view of the restaurant floor. “I’ve never seen so many paparazzi!”

“Oh, they’re here for Bruce,” Dick explained apologetically as Clay finally set him down. He gestured for everyone to follow him toward the back of the restaurant. “We have a private room though, so no one will bother us.”

Jimmy rubbed the back of his neck. “Huh. Guess I didn’t realize Bruce Wayne was so famous. Thought he was just some rich guy. Uh, no offense,” he added hastily after Clay’s warning nudge almost sent him sprawling.

Dick smiled. “It’s alright. It’s not so bad when we go other places, but here in Gotham, Bruce is a pretty big celebrity.”

“Weird,” Jimmy said, stumbling as he was nudged by Alastair on his other side.

“So is it just you and Bruce today?” Raya asked as they approached the door to the private dining area.

“Um. Not exactly,” Dick said, his nerves returning with a vengeance. “It’s turned into a bit of a family gathering. Everyone wanted to meet you guys.”

He took a deep breath, reminded himself it was too late to make a break for it, and opened the door. A cacophony of sound washed over them, the hallmark of any Wayne family gathering.

“Didn’t you just say this was a small family gathering?” Raya muttered in his ear, eyes wide as she took in all twelve people engaged in raucous conversation at the table.

“I did say family,”  Dick replied, a little helplessly. “I never said small.”

“Hello! Come in!” Bruce called, the tone of his voice pitched somewhere between his Brucie persona and the real thing. “I’d be delighted if you’d sit by me, Mr. Haly,” he continued, gesturing to the empty seat between himself and Alfred.

“Bryan is just fine, Mr. Wayne,” Bryan said, straightening his tie. "Mr. Haly  is more my father than me."

While they exchanged pleasantries, Dick snagged Alastair’s arm. “Would you mind sitting next to my brother Damian?” he asked quietly, pointing out the chair near Damian and Jason. “He was really impressed by your knife-throwing act and had some questions he wanted to ask you.”

“Of course,” Alastair nodded gravely and made his way to his assigned spot. Dick smiled at the way Damian’s face lit up at his approach. He turned back to the others to find Raya raising an eyebrow at him.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she shook her head. “Where do you want the rest of us?”

Clay ended up bracketed by Kate and Luke and was almost immediately sucked into an arm wrestling contest with Kate—which he won, but perhaps not as easily as he’d anticipated. Dick surrendered Marc to the clutches of Steph, Cass, and Harper. Tim and Duke welcomed Jimmy to their end of the table, while Dick claimed the last two empty seats for himself and Raya, with Babs on Raya’s other side and Jason sitting squarely across the table from them.

“So,” Raya said to Babs as she settled in. “You’re Dick’s sister?”

“Ex-girlfriend,” Babs replied at the same time Dick said, “Best friend.”

Raya looked between them. “So, basically, if I want embarrassing stories about Dick, you're the one to ask,” she said to Babs after a moment.

“I knew this whole thing was a bad idea,” Dick groaned, only partially joking. He’d almost canceled the dinner at least twice before Alfred had talked him down. He hadn’t spent much time with his old friends at Haly’s Circus since he'd been taken in by Bruce. The thought of them interacting with the whole Bat-clan, even as civilians, was incredibly daunting.

Because the person he’d been then was definitely not the person he was now. And for some reason, the thought of Raya and the others realizing just how much he’d changed scared him worse than an Arkham breakout.

Jason leaned forward in his seat and flashed a charming smile in Raya’s direction, unintentionally breaking Dick’s panic spiral. “You could ask me for embarrassing stories about Dick,” he offered. “I’m Jason, the better-looking brother. So are you single or…?”

Dick grabbed a roll from the bread basket and chucked it at Jason, who dodged it neatly. “Don’t flirt with my friends, please,” he complained.

“I was just asking a question!” Jason protested. “Besides, Harper was curious, too!”

“Traitor!” Harper hissed from a few seats over. She recovered herself and smiled at Raya. “Sorry about Jason. He never learned any tact.”

“I’m direct,”  Jason informed them. “It’s one of my many attractive qualities.”

“You’re shameless,”  Harper corrected.

Jason shrugged. “You can take the boy outta Crime Alley…”

Raya frowned. “Is that a real place? Like there’s an actual place called Crime Alley here?”

“There is,” Babs confirmed.

 “Gotham is…” Dick searched or the right words. “…special.”

“If by special, you mean a fucking shit-show. Then, yeah. It’s special,”  Jason said.

“Language,” Alfred chided from all the way across the table.

“Sorry, Alfie,” Jason sighed.

Dick saw Raya bite her lip to keep from smiling. “So, no offence or anything,” she said when she’d gotten herself under control, “but if it’s so bad here, why do you guys stay?”

“It’s home,” Babs said with a shrug. Jason nodded.

Dick spread his hands wide when Raya glanced his way. “Don’t look at me,” he said. “I live in Bludhaven.”

“Yeah, the only place that gives Gotham a run for its money in terribleness,” Babs said sardonically.

“Ah, come on, don’t betray Gotham like that, Babs!” Jason said. “You know we’re still the best at being the worst. We’ll never give up that title!”

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” Babs said, bowing her head in contrition.

Raya shook her head. “You Gothamites are so strange.”

Dick chuckled, but it came out sounding forced even to his ears. Next to Jason, Damian frowned and shot him a concerned glance. Several seats away, Cass did the same. Dick smiled as reassuringly as he could and shook his head minutely. Damian turned back to his rather animated conversation with Alistair, but Dick could feel Cass’ gaze lingering.

“Speaking of strange," Raya continued, pulling his attention back. "I still can't believe you've settled down somewhere. You used to love being on the road."

"I still do," Dick replied quietly. "But it's nice to have a place to come home to."

"Yeah. I could see that," Raya said in an odd tone of voice, glancing around the table. Before Dick could even begin to figure out what she meant, Raya was smiling again and reaching out to gently tug a lock of his hair. "Bet it would be even nicer if Bludhaven had barbers."

Dick made an indignant noise. "We've already been through this. My hair is wonderful, thank you very much."

Jason snorted. “It’s better than the mullet, I'll give you that.”

Raya’s eyes widened. “The what?”

Babs smiled evilly. “I have pictures.”

“If you’re trying to embarrass me, you won’t succeed,” Dick informed them, letting the familiar rhythm of their banter soothe his nerves. “I rocked that mullet.”

"I'll be the judge of that," Raya said, leaning over to take a look at Babs' phone. She considered the photo for a long moment.

"You know," she said at last. "You do kind of rock it."

Dick raised his fists in victory as Jason and Babs stared at Raya in horror. 

"Please tell me you're joking," Jason begged.

Raya shrugged. "Sorry."

"And here I was, thinking we could be friends," Babs sighed. "It's really too bad."

Raya smirked. "So a man cosplaying as a bat works for Gotham, but a mullet is too far?"

"We have standards,"  Jason joked.

"Ah but what if Batman has a mullet?" Raya asked. "You'd never know under that cowl he wears!"

Babs, Jason, and Dick looked at each other and then burst out laughing.

"Oh my god, yes,"  Dick gasped, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes.

"That would...he would look..." Jason couldn't even get a full sentence out.

"I'm tweeting this," Babs said, already typing on her phone. "This theory is going viral. Raya, I take everything back. We're best friends now."

"Glad to hear it," Raya said, chuckling. She looked a little bemused by the strength of their reaction, but ultimately entertained.

Babs hit send on the tweet. A moment later, Dick heard Tim's phone chime and then a snort of laughter from the far end of the table. Dick looked over at him. 

"Photoshop it,"  he mouthed. 

Tim's grin grew wider. "Done,"  he mouthed back, even as he showed Duke what was on his screen. Duke had his phone out a moment later, no doubt retweeting the message.

Dick turned back to find Raya watching him again, that same strange look on her face as before. When Dick frowned, she simply smiled at him.

"Just realized something," she explained vaguely.

"What?" Dick asked, curious.

Raya said nothing, but her smile widened and she patted him on the arm reassuringly. "So who wants to hear about the time Dick almost set my family's trailer on fire?" she asked Jason and Babs.

Jason raised his hand, recovering himself. "I absolutely do."

The rest of the dinner went smoothly. Dick found himself regretful and relieved in turns when it was over. They said their goodbyes near the door to the private room as the Haly’s crew was going to leave via the front entrance while everyone else snuck out the back to avoid any lingering paparazzi.

“Thanks for a lovely evening, Mr. Wayne,” Bryan said, shaking Bruce’s hand as Dick finished saying his farewells to Jimmy, Alastair, and Marc. Eventually, Bryan turned to Dick. “You know there’s always a place for you at Haly’s. You’re welcome back anytime.”

Dick felt a rush of warmth as Damian immediately glued himself to one side while Cass wrapped herself around Dick’s other arm.

“He’s ours,” Damian said, glaring defensively.

“Yeah,” Steph laughed, leaning on Cass’s shoulder. “No refunds or take-backs.”

Bryan held his hands up in surrender. Dick’s siblings scattered as Clay stepped up and spread his arms for a hug.

“It was so good to see you, kiddo,” Clay said, lifting Dick off his feet. Clay set him down after a moment, but left his large hands on Dick’s shoulders. “I was real worried about you after they took you away that terrible night. I prayed so hard that you’d find a family. I can’t tell you how happy I am to see that you did.”

Dick blinked against the sudden sting of tears in his eyes. “Thanks, Clay,” he said, a little hoarsely. Clay squeezed his shoulders comfortingly and moved back so Raya could say her goodbyes.

“It suits you, you know,” she said without preamble.

“What does?”

“This,”  Raya said, sweeping her hands wide as though to encompass Steph, Harper, and Kate laughing at something on Harper's phone; Bruce and Alfred locked in quiet conversation with Luke; Damian scowling up at Jason as the older boy told some joke; Cass leaning her head on Duke's shoulder; Tim and Babs conspiring together in the corner. 

Dick shrugged. “I’m lucky to have them.”

Ray smiled crookedly. “Other way around, Grayson. They’re pretty damn lucky to have you.”

Dick released a deep, shuddering breath, the knot of anxiety in his chest finally loosening. He reached out and wrapped Raya in a big hug.

“I’m gonna miss you,” he said, voice muffled as he buried his face in her shoulder.

Raya patted him on the back. “Me too. Don’t be a stranger, alright?”

Dick pulled back so he could smile at her.

“Never,” he promised.

Raya pulled back and gave him one last kiss on the cheek before darting out the door after the others.

A hand on Dick's shoulder made him look up. Bruce tilted his head. "You alright, chum?"

"Yeah," Dick said, knowing that as he said it, he meant it. "Yeah, I'm good."

"Good," Bruce said. He patted Dick's shoulder once, then turned to the rest of the family and took a deep breath. "Now will someone please explain why the hashtag 'Batman has a mullet' is trending on Twitter right now?"

Dick threw back his head and laughed.

Yes, things really were good. 

Chapter Text

Tim ran his fingers through his hair, staring at the boxes strewn across the living room floor.

Officially getting his own place had seemed like such a good idea at the time. He barely stayed at the Manor anymore anyway, choosing to crash at safe houses or at Steph's or with the Young Justice crew instead. It was a lot more convenient and had the added benefit of not having a certain assassin child glaring at him from every corner.

But now that Tim was actually here, the condo just seemed big and quiet and empty. Not at all like the Manor. Not at all like home.

He’d mentioned it to Dick the other night after patrol, but the older boy had just clapped him on the shoulder and advised him to “give it time.” Tim had noticed Damian lurking in the shadows, so he’d declined to say anything more, but he wished they’d been able to have a longer talk.

Maybe he should call Dick now. Or Steph. Or Kon. Or maybe Cassie or Bart. They could help him unpack at least. And with them around, Tim wouldn’t feel so alone. At least, not for a little while.

Or he could go back to the Manor for a bit. Bruce and Alfred would never kick him out. But Tim knew he'd feel foolish running back to them so soon.

There was a polite knock at the door before Tim could make up his mind. He went to answer it and was positively shocked to find Damian standing in the doorway, dressed in a dark button-down and slacks.

“May I come in?” he asked.

Tim was far too surprised to answer. Damian frowned at his silence, then shrugged and darted past him into the room. Tim closed the door on autopilot.

“I’d have thought you would have finished unpacking by now,” Damian sniffed, surveying the room.

Tim finally recovered himself. “What do you want?”

“I believe it’s customary to bring a house-warming gift when someone moves,” the boy replied. And as he turned around, Tim noticed the thin, rectangular package wrapped with brown paper in Damian’s hands for the first time.

“You…what?” Tim asked eloquently.

Damian raised an eyebrow and proffered the package. “Here,” he insisted, all but shoving it into Tim’s hands when Tim just blinked at him uncomprehendingly.

Tim slowly ripped open the wrapping paper. His lips parted in surprise as he realized what lay underneath. The framed photograph showed Gotham’s skyline at night, the city lights shining brighter than the stars. The photograph had clearly been taken from a rooftop and there, just in the corner, was a tell-tale flash of red and green beside a patch of deep black.

Batman and Robin.

Bruce and Jason.

“I took this,” Tim said wonderingly, after a moment. “It was the one of the first times I ever got a picture of them.”

“I know,” Damian said. “Grayson helped me obtain a print. I thought you might like to hang it up. It’s inconspicuous enough that it shouldn’t give away your identity.”

“I…I don’t know what to say.” Tim shook his head. He was genuinely nonplussed. Sure, Damian had stopped trying to kill him a while ago, but that didn’t mean he’d ever been nice before. “It isn’t booby-trapped, is it?”

“Contact poison on the frame. It should already be working its way through your system.”

Tim nearly dropped the picture before he noticed the smirk on Damian’s face.

“That wasn’t funny,” Tim informed him.

Damian’s smirk deepened. “It was a little funny.”

Tim snorted, unable to help himself. He looked down at the picture again. “Seriously, this is really cool. Thank you.”

“No need to get emotional, Drake,” Damian said, looking a little uncomfortable. “It’s just a picture.”

Tim shook his head, smiling to himself. Damian had a heart after all.

Who knew?

*

Dick curled his knees into his chest, hugging the pillow tighter. A brush with Crane’s fear toxin always put him off-kilter for a few days afterwards. The after-effects of the toxin made him feel fragile, like cracked glass that was a moment’s notice from shattering. He knew it would go away eventually, but that didn’t help him feel any better now.

There was an exasperated sigh from the doorway. Dick forced himself to sit upright on the couch and hustled up a smile.

“Hey, Dami,” he greeted, hoping his voice was chipper enough to fool the young boy. There was no sense in worrying anyone. He could deal with this on his own.

Damian raised an eyebrow. Dick knew instantly that the kid was onto him. He shouldn’t have been surprised. Damian could read him about as well as Bruce could.

“It’s alright,” Dick assured him, switching tactics. “I’m alright.”

Damian made face. “You’re obviously not," he said. He appeared to reach a decision. “I’ll give you one minute.”

Dick’s eyebrows shot up. “Are you serious?”

“One minute,” Damian repeated. “Take it or leave it.”

“Ten minutes,” Dick countered, leaning forward intently.

“Two.”

“Five.”

Damian hesitated, studying Dick's face. “Five,” he agreed after a moment.

Dick grinned—a real smile this time—and opened his arms wide. Damian sighed again and walked over, allowing Dick to pull him down to the couch and into a cuddle pile.

“This is so undignified,” Damian complained without any real heat, his voice partially muffled by Dick’s shoulder.

Dick tightened his hold. “It’s the best,” he corrected, already feeling more like himself than he had since his run-in with Crane.

“Tt.”

“That’s not disagreement,” Dick pointed out.

“Whatever,” Damian said, snuggling closer. “You only have four minutes and forty seconds left.”

“Or we could just round up to ten minutes and call it good?”

“Don’t push your luck, Grayson.”

*

Jason grumbled in annoyance as he simultaneously tried to balance his grocery bag and fish around for his keys. It wasn’t exactly the easiest task when one arm was set in a cast and bound with a sling.

“Fucking just…” Jason growled to himself, before finally admitting defeat and setting the bag on the ground so he could dig his key out of his pocket.

He shouldn't have bothered to go grocery shopping. He should’ve just ordered take-out again, except he was sick of the stuff.

He also could’ve gone to the Manor, but he wasn't up to enduring Bruce’s lecture about how “falling off buildings is bad blah, blah, blah” even if it did mean he’d get a meal from Alfred in exchange.

So here he was, trying to get his groceries inside so he could finally start cooking dinner. Being injured sucked.

The key turned in the lock and Jason kicked the door open with slightly more force than he’d meant to. Movement jumped at the corner of his eye, coming from his kitchen. Jason was already dropping his keys and reaching for a weapon before his brain processed that it was Damian standing in his apartment, brandishing what looked like a kitchen knife in his direction.

Jason stopped. So did Damian.

“Are you…is that my apron?” Jason asked at last, bewildered.

“Yes,” Damian answered, relaxing out of his defensive crouch and setting the knife down. Jason belatedly realized that his kitchen island was absolutely covered in ingredients and cooking implements and that something smelled amazing.

“Are you going to come in or not?” the kid asked crossly, in a way that made Jason feel oddly wrong-footed in his own damn apartment that Damian had broken into. He scooped up his keys and groceries and stepped inside, kicking the door shut behind him.

“Okay, what are you doing here?” Jason demanded.

Damian shot him a look. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

“Breaking and entering,” Jason replied promptly. He moved closer to the island and set down his groceries, all the while inspecting the ingredients Damian had laid out. “Are you making lasagna?”

“Gold star, Todd,” Damian said sarcastically. “One day you may even be a match for Father with detective skills like that.”

“I’d dial back the attitude by about ninety percent,” Jason warned him. “And I’m still waiting for an answer to my question.”

Damian made a frustrated noise. “You are injured and refuse to come to the Manor. You need sustenance. And I do not like being indebted to people.”

“Indebted?” Jason frowned. “Is…is this because I made you soup that one time when you had a cold? You know you don’t owe me anything for that.”

Damian looked down. “I…am aware,” he said at last.

Jason felt a smile tugging at his lips. “So does that mean you’re doing this out of the kindness of your heart? Gee, kid, I think you’re going soft.”

Damian’s head snapped up. “I am not.”

“Are too.”

“Am—this is ridiculous,” Damian huffed. “If you don’t want the lasagna…”

“No, no,” Jason said, holding up his hands. “I want it.”

“Fine,” Damian replied, Jason’s quick answer seemingly deflating some of his ruffled feathers.

“Here, I’ll help,” Jason said. “Just let me put this other stuff away.”

“Very well,” Damian allowed, turning back to his cutting board. “But understand that if you tell anyone about this, I know twenty different ways to murder you.”

“Only twenty?” Jason snorted, dipping his fingers into a nearby bowl and flicking some marinara sauce at the kid. Damian dodged it with an acrobatic twist he could have only learned from Dick. “You really are going soft.”

“Todd!  I am not!”

Chapter Text

The night had certainly taken an interesting turn. Not only had Kyle been allowed to fight alongside the Bats in Gotham for the first time ever, but he’d also been invited back to Wayne’s castle for a post-fight dinner.

Even more interesting—it appeared Stephanie Brown was actually single.

“Tim and I are really good friends,” Steph continued, tossing her hair over her shoulder and giving him side-long glance that made Kyle’s heart beat a little bit faster. “But that’s all we are. It’s really for the best.”

“Well in that case…” Kyle glanced around to make sure the others were all still occupied with setting the table and wrangling Damian’s pets out of the room, before sidling closer. “Ever been flying with a Green Lantern before?”

Steph smiled. “No.”

“Do you want to?”

Steph laughed. “You aren’t subtle at all, are you?”

“Who needs subtle?” Kyle asked. “I think you’re pretty cool and I’d like to take you out. What do you say?”

Steph raised an eyebrow. “Only pretty cool?” she teased.

It was Kyle’s turn to laugh. “Okay, very cool. And badass. And hot.”

“That’s more like it,” Steph said. She gave him a considering look. “I suppose I could—”

“Excuse me, Mr. Rayner?” a polite British voice interrupted from the far side of the room. Kyle and Steph jumped apart guiltily though they hadn’t been doing anything wrong. “Might I have your assistance for a moment in the kitchen?”

“Sure thing,” Kyle called back, trying not to feel too disappointed by the interruption. He glanced down at Steph. “To be continued?”

“To be continued,” Steph agreed, eyes twinkling.

Kyle winked at her and headed in the direction of the kitchen, dodging Dick and his too-knowing gaze.

“What can I do to help, Mr. Pennyworth?” Kyle asked at he stepped through the swinging door. The kitchen was quieter than the other room, but significantly warmer, with several pots bubbling merrily on the stove that smelled positively heavenly.

“You may call me Alfred,” the old butler told him. “I’ll be bringing out the first of the serving plates in just a moment. As they’ll be heavy and rather hot, I was hoping to put your ring to work.”

“Sure, no problem,” Kyle said. “Anything I can do in the meantime?”

“No, no, just have a seat,” Alfred said, gesturing to one of the countertop stools. Kyle got settled as Alfred returned to his preparations, lining up some carrots on a cutting board.

“This was your first battle in Gotham, was it not?” Alfred asked, picking up a dauntingly sharp knife.

“Yes,” Kyle said. “First trip to the Batcave, too. You’ve got a cool set-up here.”

“I’ll pass along your compliments to Master Bruce,” Alfred replied, his knife moving so quickly it was almost a blur as he sliced the carrots without breaking eye contact with Kyle for a second.

“That’s impressive,” Kyle said, giving a low whistle. “Were you a professional chef?”

“I’m afraid not,” Alfred chuckled. “I never had time. Though you’d be surprised by the things they teach you in MI-5.”

Kyle’s eyebrows went up. “You were in the British Security Service?” He’d never heard anything of the sort—not even in rumors from the other Leaguers. 

“Oh yes,” Alfred answered. “For many years before I was taken on by the Wayne family. I was excellent at making problems disappear.”

Kyle blinked in surprise as the carrots on the cutting board seemed to vanish. “Where did…?”

Alfred tilted his head toward the bowl to Kyle’s left. Kyle shook his head in amazement as he gazed at the sliced carrots inside. He hadn’t even seen Alfred’s hands move.

A timer on the stove-top beeped. “Ah, first course is ready!” Alfred said. A few short minutes later, Kyle was concentrating carefully as he hovered several large serving trays, the contents of which made his stomach growl audibly.

He turned toward the kitchen door.

“One moment,” Alfred called. Kyle turned back, wondering if he’d forgotten a dish.

“A word of warning,” Alfred said instead. “If your interest in Miss Brown continues, you should expect a visit from Master Bruce at some point in the near future.”

Kyle’s heart swooped in embarrassment at having gotten caught so easily and then dropped entirely as he realized what Alfred was trying to tell him. “You’re saying I’m going to get the shovel talk from Batman.”

“Indeed.”

“Awesome,” Kyle muttered. He was not looking forward to that. “Anything else I should know?”

“Only that Master Bruce has limits, even when it comes to protecting his family,” Alfred said, setting up another row of carrots on the cutting board and picking up the knife again. He looked Kyle directly in the eye. “I, on the other hand, don’t.”

He brought the knife down.

Kyle's concentration stuttered enough to make the serving platters wobble in the air.

“Best be careful,” Alfred said, nodding toward the serving platters. His voice was pleasant, but his eyes glittered as dangerously as the knife in his hand.

Kyle steadied the plates and hurried out the door.

He didn’t care what anyone said. Alfred Pennyworth was way scarier than Batman.

*****

“Kinda need you out there, Big Blue!” Guy said, taking shelter behind the upturned city bus with Clark, ring at the ready in case he’d been followed by the rogue Kryptonians. “Zatanna and the Hawks are doing what they can, but they can’t hold them forever.”

Clark made an aborted movement toward his cape and collapsed back against the ground, face pale and sweating.

“Can’t,” he groaned. “Kryptonite…in my back.”

“Shit,”  Guy cursed. He abandoned his position and helped Clark roll onto his side, hissing in sympathy when he saw the deep wound between the other man’s shoulder blades.

“Can you…?” Clark couldn’t even get the rest of the sentence out.

“Yeah,” Guy said, flexing his ring hand. “But it’s gonna hurt like a bitch.”

“Already…hurts,” Clark gritted out.

“Fair point,” Guy allowed. He concentrated the power in his ring and took a steadying breath. “Alright, try to stay still.”

The procedure took about two excruciating minutes. Guy was impressed when Clark neither screamed nor passed out on him.

“It’s done,” Guy said, flinging the glowing green shard as far as he could as soon as it was out of Clark’s body. The big guy gave a shuddering sigh of relief and slumped against the pavement.

“Need…a minute,” Clark said weakly. “Healing has to kick in. Where are…the others?”

“Bats is down,” Guy reported grimly. “Zod the Clod went after him as soon as that hot Kryptonian chick took you out of play. Stewart’s trying to get him off the field. The princess is covering them.”

Clark pushed himself up on his elbows, wincing at the effort. “Batman has Kryptonite weapons. We need to—” he stopped suddenly. “What’s that noise?”

“What are you…?” Guy trailed off, hearing the whine of thrusters in the distance. He and Clark both looked up and saw a large shape approaching rapidly from above. “What the hell is that?”

Before Clark could answer, a slight figure in black hurtled toward the newcomer like a comet.

“Faora,” Clark muttered, trying to get up.

“Is that the hot one?” Guy asked, helping him into a sitting position. “If it is, whoever’s up there is in trouble.”

“Lantern, you have to go,” Clark said urgently. “You have to…” he stopped again, eyes going wide. “What in the world?”

Guy’s attention snapped upward in time to catch both figures plummeting toward the earth at an alarming speed. The hot Kryptonian—Faora, whatever—hit the ground hard, pavement cracking beneath her body.

She didn’t get up again.

Looming over her was the coolest mech suit Guy had ever seen. Standing taller than a man, the suit radiated menace from the tips of its spiked shoulder plates to its glowing blue eyes. Guy had never seen a suit like that before and though there was absolutely no way to see through the gray armor to the pilot underneath, the thing had a big black bat painted on it, so Guy went ahead and made an educated guess.

“One of the Bat-brats?” he asked. It wasn’t unheard of for a few of Bruce’s ten thousand kids to show up whenever he was in serious trouble, though they usually traveled in packs and didn’t bring sweet suits of armor with them.

Clark frowned. “Most of them are halfway around the world right now.”

“Then who’s in the suit?” Guy asked. Or, at least, he started to. He was interrupted as a roar of rage echoed through the street. Zod sped toward the Bat-mech, almost faster than Guy could follow. Before he could even think about getting a shield up around the newcomer, Zod’s heat vision activated.

Both Clark and Guy cried out, but the Bat-mech took the blast head-on. A few seconds later, Zod halted mid-air, heat vision blinking off in confusion as he stared at the entirely unscathed suit of armor.

The Bat-mech lunged forward faster than Guy would’ve thought possible and seized Zod with one hand. The other hand clenched into a fist, a bright red glow emanating from the knuckles. Zod flinched as if he’d been struck.

And then the Bat-mech’s fist actually came down.

Over and over and over again.

Guy cleared his throat. “Are we sure that’s one of the Bats in there?”

“Yes?” Clark replied uncertainly.

The Bat-mech finally released Zod. The Kryptonian fell to the ground in an unconscious heap. At least, Guy was pretty sure he was just unconscious. It was hard to tell around all the blood.

“Seems like they’ve got a handle on things,” Guy commented as the Bat-mech raced toward its next victim. “Regroup with the others?”

Clark pushed himself to his feet, wavering unsteadily for a few moments before finding his balance. “Probably a good idea.”

The fight didn’t last much longer. Between the magic-wielders, the Lanterns, and the absolute fiend in the Bat-mech, the rogue Kryptonians didn’t stand much of a chance.

When the battle was done, Diana approached the Bat-mech, flanked on either side by Guy and Hal. With the tip of her sword, she rapped on the armor’s chest plate.

“Declare yourself,” she demanded.

There was a moment of tense silence. And then the headpiece slid back just enough to reveal an elderly man with a thin mustache.

Guy stared. This was not what he’d been expecting.

“My apologies,” the old man said with an impeccably clipped British accent. “The suit’s comms appear to be malfunctioning.”

Diana’s eyebrows went up. “Agent A,” she stated with clear recognition. “I was unaware Batman had called for backup.”

“He didn’t,” the British dude said disapprovingly. “But I felt my presence was needed.”

“Wait, wait,” Guy interrupted. He felt like his brain was exploding. “You’re Agent A?”

Hal threw up his hands in frustration. “Supes told me you were the butler!  I can't believe I fell for that!"

“I am the butler,” Agent A replied calmly.

“You just took down some Kryptonian heavyweights like it was nothing,” Guy protested. At almost the same moment, Hal added, “You almost murdered Zod!”

“Yes,” Agent A agreed. “It's a pity he’ll survive. Now if you’ll excuse me, Batman’s injuries need my attention. Farewell, Princess. Lanterns.”

The headpiece slid back into place and the Bat-mech lumbered off to the League’s make-shift medical station.

“Great, just great,” Hal muttered. “Even Batman’s butler is stronger than the whole League put together.”

“This is getting ridiculous,” Guy agreed.

Diana sheathed her sword and put a hand on each of their shoulders. “It’s alright,” she told them. “You get used to it.”

“Don’t think I’ll ever get used to that,”  Guy said, pointing at the Bat-mech. He perked up after a moment. “Hey, think I can convince Bats to make me one of those suits?”

“Definitely not,” Hal and Diana said at the same time.

“I’ll take my chances.”

“Your funeral,” Hal said.

Guy rolled his eyes. “Come on, we all know Bats is non-lethal.”

Hal shook his head. “With a butler like that, I think he can afford to be.”

Chapter Text

Jason watched Shazam fall, trailing parademons like the tail of a comet. He grabbed his rifle and started running. DeSaad was long gone, but he’d left a veritable army of minions to cover his escape. No heroes had been killed in the fighting so far and Jason would be damned if they lost even one person when the end of the battle was in sight.

Even if that person was as annoying as Shazam.

He tracked Shazam’s trajectory to a rooftop a few blocks over. The remaining parademons in this sector were heading in that direction, which meant the man was probably still alive. Jason leapt and grappled his way closer, taking a few shots to thin the herd when he could.

He picked out a vantage point just slightly higher than the roof Shazam was most likely on and grappled to the top, getting his first visual of the hero since he’d been knocked from the sky. Shazam was indeed still alive and fighting, white cape spattered with parademon blood, fists crackling with arcane energy.

Jason put his eye to the scope and got to work, firing as quickly and cleanly as he could. Bruce’s no-kill rule wasn’t an option here—you either put parademons down or they ripped you into a thousand tiny pieces.

Perhaps sensing their dwindling numbers, the parademons suddenly swarmed Shazam en masse, hoping to overwhelm the hero.

Jason cursed, hastily reloading. Shazam needed to end this. Why wasn't he using his powers?

As if he'd been heard, a massive bolt of lightning arced from the sky. Jason flinched away, closing his eyes as the electronic readouts in his helmet flared wildly. When he was finally able to blink the lights from his eyes, Jason found the parademon swarm was completely decimated, with nothing left but burnt-out husks and splatters of sickly green blood.

And in the center of it all, a kid with dark hair and a red sweatshirt lay on the rooftop. From this distance, Jason couldn’t tell if he was unconscious or dead.

Jason blinked rapidly, wondering if there was something wrong with his eyes. Where the hell was Shazam? Where had the kid come from? And was he really dea—?

No. Jason wasn’t going to let himself think like that. No dead kids. Not on his watch. Not ever.

Moving as quickly as he could, Jason rushed to the rooftop, keeping his rifle ready just in case. He could find Shazam later—the big guy could take care of himself with all that speed of Mercury, strength of Hercules bullshit.  He’d be fine.

He drew closer. Underneath all the grime and blood—all of which appeared to be from the exploded parademons—the boy only looked to be about eleven. Jason dropped to his knees and reached out, searching for a pulse. He let out a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding when he found a strong and steady thrum against the tips of his fingers.

Okay. Okay good. Jason took another steadying breath. His hands shifted so he could look for any life-threatening injuries, starting with the head and working his way down.

In the meantime, Jason’s mind buzzed with theories.

Maybe the kid had already been on the rooftop and Shazam had been protecting him? But then why hadn’t Jason seen him through the scope of his rifle? It didn’t make any sense—

Jason stopped, attention caught by something in the kid’s ear. He delicately pulled it out.

“What the fuck?” he muttered to himself. What the hell was this kid doing with a Justice League comm? How had he gotten one? And how the hell had he gotten in the middle of Shazam’s blast zone…

“Holy shit,” Jason breathed as an idea that seemed too crazy to be real suddenly occurred to him.

Was…was this kid actually Shazam?

Was that even possible?

Bruce--who had to know everything about everyone all the fucking time--had never been able to figure out Shazam's civilian identity. Jason knew because he sometimes liked to rub it in the old man's face. It was pretty satisfying to see Bruce stumped.

Maybe it wasn't because Shazam was secretly some kind of genius.

Maybe it was because they'd all been looking for an actual adult, rather than a child.

Jason rocked back on his heels. Seriously, though. Could Shazam really be a kid? There had to be some kind of explanation, because what the hell kind of fucked up system would that be if--

Last of the parademon threat has been neutralized,”  Clark’s voice crackled over the comms, interrupting Jason's thoughts. “We’re all clear, people.”

“Leaguers and Titans report in,”  Bruce’s gruff voice added.

“Shit,” Jason said again, only half-listening as heroes from all over the city started calling in that they were safe and alive.

Whatever the hell else was going on here, Jason knew for a fact that the League had no idea what Shazam’s true identity was.

Which meant he had about ten seconds to decide what he was going to do here. On the one hand, the League could help the kid if he was actually injured.

On the other, Jason knew exactly how badly the League could react to getting blindsided.

And Jason had always had a soft spot for kids.

Mind made up, Jason dropped Shazam’s comm and smashed it with the butt of his rifle. Then, he activated his own communicator.

“This is Red Hood,” he said, working hard to keep his voice calm and steady. “My sector is clean. I just saw Shazam—his comm was damaged in the fight. Said he’d catch up with you guys later and dipped out.”

“Where did he go?”  Bruce demanded.

“Hell if I know,” Jason replied snippily. “Why don’t you check your tracking devices?”

“Hn.”

“Hold on—I thought we’d talked about this,”  Oliver Queen butted in, right on schedule. “You are not allowed to put tracking devices on us, Bats.”

There was a chorus of agreement over the line. Jason tuned them out, satisfied that Bruce would be distracted for a while.

Which was good, because Jason needed to smuggle this unconscious kid to a safe house without the Justice League finding out about it.

And then he was going to get some goddamn answers.

*

Jason was ready with a bottle of water as soon as the kid opened his eyes. “Drink this,” he ordered.

The kid had downed half the bottle before it seemed to occur to him that he was in an unfamiliar place with an unfamiliar person. He leapt to his feet, bottle spinning from his grasp. Jason caught it before it hit the floor and made a mess.

“Who the hell are—?” the kid blinked at the red bat on Jason’s chest, then at the helmet on his head. “Are you the Red Hood?”

“Yep,” Jason said. He reached up and took his helmet off, breathing a sigh of relief to feel fresh air on his face. After a moment’s hesitation, he removed the secondary domino mask as well. “You can call me Jason.”

The boy’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head. “Are you…? What are you…? Why?”

“Figured it was fair,” Jason shrugged. “So is this a shapeshifting thing? Like a defense mechanism if you go unconscious? Or do you really look like this when you aren’t all Shazamed up?”

The kid froze, his eyes wild with panic. “Look, dude, I don’t know what you’re talking about—”

“Save it,” Jason interrupted. The kid flinched and then tensed as though he was expecting a blow, hands curling into fists at his sides. Jason’s eyes narrowed. He gentled his voice considerably and added, “I saw you on the roof.”

After a long moment, the boy’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “This is me,” he admitted in a small voice.

Jason clenched his jaw, fighting down a sudden burn of anger. He didn’t have all the facts yet. He’d save his temper until he knew who he needed to be angry at.

“You got a name?” he asked instead, keeping his voice calm through herculean effort.

“Billy,” the boy answered after another moment. “Billy Batson.”

“Okay, Billy Batson,” Jason said. “You hungry? I’ve got pizza and salad.”

Billy looked up, surprise written all over his face. Jesus, the kid was the world’s most open book.

“You aren’t…don’t you have questions?” Billy asked, bewildered.

“Food first,” Jason said firmly, beckoning toward the table.

The meal was short and tense with silence. Billy packed away an impressive amount of food for someone his size. Jason idly wondered if that was due to a post-fight calorie deficit, a metabolism change from the transformation, or if the kid just wasn’t being fed enough at home.

Or maybe all three.

“Here,” Jason said, sliding him the last slice and passing him another bottle of water.

Billy frowned at Jason. “So when is the League coming to get me? I thought they’d be here by now.”

“The League’s not coming,” Jason replied. “I didn’t tell them.”

Billy was so surprised he actually choked on the bite of pizza he’d just taken. When he’d cleared his throat, he asked, “But…why?”

“‘Cause I wanted to get some answers first,” Jason told him. “For example, what kind of parents would let a ten-year-old kid go fight parademons on his own?”

Billy glared. “I’m twelve,” he informed Jason. “And I don’t got parents. And the…other guy…is in the Justice League when you’re just sidekick, so I’d watch it, alright?”

Jason pursed his lips and didn’t respond. No parents and twelve years old were ringing a lot of alarm bells in his head.

“Where do you live, Billy?” he asked carefully.

The set of Billy’s mouth turned mulish. “None of your business.”

Jason kept his body posture relaxed, careful not to make himself appear threatening. Which was hard to do considering Jason was over six-feet tall and wearing a shit-ton of armor covered in dried parademon blood. But he did his best.

“I don’t need an address,” Jason told him. He could always look it up himself later. “But I do need to know if you’re sleeping on the streets or not. It’s nothing to be ashamed of—I’ve done it myself. But I can’t let you walk out of here unless I know you have someplace safe to go.”

Billy blinked at him, stubbornness forgotten. “You’ve slept on the streets?”

“Yeah,” Jason told him. “More than once.”

“Oh.” The kid bit his lip. “I…I’ve got a place. Foster parents.”

Jason studied his face for a moment, but it seemed like the kid was telling the truth. “And they treat you alright?”

“What? Yeah. Yeah, they’re fine. They don't know about any of this though,” Billy said hurriedly. Again, Jason was pretty sure he was telling the truth, but he’d follow up later just to be safe.

“Okay. So how’d you get all lightning-y?”

“Um,” Billy said, taken aback by the abrupt change in subject. “There was this wizard…”

Jason listened to the story quietly, trying to ignore the storm growing inside him. Some asshole had thrown god-like powers at a kid that turned him into a full-on adult and told him to go and save the world?

No matter how fucked up Bruce’s parenting had been, at least it hadn’t been that.

“And where is this wizard now?” he asked, when Billy took a breath.

“He, uh, died,” Billy told him.

“How fucking convenient,” Jason muttered to himself.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Jason said quickly. “Look, kid. I’m gonna be honest with you. I don’t like this. I don’t like that you’re running around out there without a support system, trying to take the big bads all by yourself. That’s a pretty easy way to get yourself killed. I would know.”

“You would?”

“Yeah,” Jason said, waving a hand dismissively. “Long story. The important thing right now is figuring out what we’re going to do about this.”

Billy's expression turned dark, though Jason could see the panic swirling in his eyes again. “You’re gonna tell Batman, aren’t you?”

Jason sighed heavily. God, he should tell Bruce. He should tell the whole fucking League. Kids deserved to be kids. They did not deserve to be magically thrown into an adult’s body to fight monsters and villains.

But that apparently wasn’t the way the world worked. And if Jason told the League, they would kick Shazam out of their ranks faster than the Flash could blink. Which meant when Billy inevitably kept fighting bad guys, he really would be all on his own.

And that would lead to a number of bad things—the most likely of which was Billy would pick a fight that was too big for him and get himself killed.

Jason was not going to let that happened to anyone else.

“I’m not going to tell Batman,” Jason said. Not yet, he added silently. If there was a way to safely get Bruce involved, he would. But that was a problem for later.

Billy eyed him suspiciously. “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

“Trust me, if Batman knows, you’ll know,”  Jason promised him. Bruce wouldn’t be able to keep it to himself. Besides, this kid would be like adoption catnip to Bruce—an orphaned trouble-maker with dark hair and a tragic past. Christ, the kid’s name was literally Batson. Bat. Son. He was practically part of the family already.

“But my silence has some conditions,” Jason continued. “First, you and I are meeting up three times a week so you can get some actual training under your belt. I’m not talking about your flashy lightning shit. I mean self-defense and lessons in tactics and strategy. And we’re gonna practice while you’re in both forms, not just the strong one.”

“I guess that’s okay,” Billy agreed warily. “What’s the second condition?”

“You tell me anytime you’re going up against someone solo.”

Billy glared. “I don’t need a babysitter. I’ve been doing this on my own for—”

“If you get hurt and have to transform, no one is going to know who you are or where to look for you,” Jason interrupted him. “Think about what happened today. What if I hadn’t been there? What if someone else had found you? They could have killed you before you’d regained consciousness.”

Billy fell silent. Jason shook his head. “Kid, I’m not trying to scare you and I’m not questioning your capabilities. I’m just trying to tell you that going out there alone is not smart. I mean, Batman has backup when he goes into the field. I like to work alone too, but I always know there are people I can call if something gets too big for me. Everyone needs a safety net. Even Superman. Even you.”

“I…fine,” Billy said sulkily. Jason could sense that wasn’t the end of the argument, but he’d take the win for now. “Anything else?”

“Yeah. I’m gonna introduce you to some of my friends—no one in the League,” he added hastily as Billy looked like he was about to freak out. “Just Arsenal and Starfire.” And maybe a few others, if Barbara, Dick, and Tim could be trusted not to tell Bruce. Cass could probably safely go on the list right now. “I want you to have a few people you can call in case I’m not available or something.”

“This is a lot of demands,” Billy said, clearly disgruntled.

“Yeah, well, I’m mean like that,” Jason answered. “Oh and before I forget, you’re going to have to figure out what to the tell the League about where you’ve been. I lied and said you took off after the battle. They’re kinda pissed.”

Billy put his head down on the table. “Fuck.”

“Hey. Language.”

Billy’s head popped up. “You said shit like two seconds ago.”

"So? My house, my rules,” Jason retorted.

“I don’t like you.”

“You don’t have to,” Jason said, keeping his voice serious. “But I need you to know that no matter what, if you get in trouble and you call me, I will come for you. You're not alone, okay?”

Billy regarded him with surprise. “Yeah,” he said after a moment. Jason didn’t think he was imagining that the kid sounded a little choked up. “Okay.”

Chapter Text

Jason glanced at the clock on his phone as Billy touched down in the forest clearing, trailing sparks of lightning. It was still disconcerting as hell see the powerful adult body of Shazam and know there was a twelve-year-old kid at the helm.

“You’re late,” Jason said getting to his feet and stretching his back. He’d been sitting still for too long.

“Sorry,” Billy shrugged. “Took me a while to find this place.”

Jason supposed that was fair. He’d chosen this spot out in the wilderness precisely because it was so difficult to find. He didn’t want to give Bruce any chances to spy on them.

“So how does this training thing work?” Billy continued, rubbing his hands together. “Do you want me to transform or…?”

“Not so fast,” Jason said, holding up a hand. “We have some stuff we need to talk about. You were in a fight this week in Fawcett City.”

Billy tried to play it casual, but even in Shazam’s body he seemed defensive. “So?”

“We had a deal. You tell me before you fight solo or I go to the League.”

Billy shrugged. “Sorry,” he said unconvincingly. “Guess I just forgot.”

Jason’s eyes narrowed. This kid thought he could bullshit his way out with an I forgot?  Jason had practically invented that move.

“You have to contact me, Billy,” he said. “That’s the only way this is gonna work.”

“I did just fine before you showed up,” Billy snapped. “I don’t need your help.”

Jason folded his arms. Fine. Time for Plan B.

“Oh really?” he said, letting a taunting edge creep into his voice. “Then how about you spar me for it?”

“What?” Billy asked, surprised.

“Spar me for it,” Jason repeated. “You knock me down and I’ll drop the whole thing. But if you get knocked down, then you have to stick to the terms of our deal. No more bullshit. No more lies.”

Billy eyed him suspiciously. “Do I get to use my powers?”

“Sure,” Jason shrugged. “Go crazy. This should be easy for you—I’m just a sidekick, after all.”

Billy cracked his knuckles. “So all I gotta do is knock you down?”

“That’s it,” Jason confirmed, shifting his stance. “You in?”

“I’m in,” Billy said. “Ready?”

“Bring it.”

Billy grinned and suddenly vanished into a flash of color streaking across the clearing too fast for Jason’s eyes to follow. A split second later, a blast of green energy rocketed past Jason’s ear, heading right for the blur that was Shazam. Jason yawned as Billy reappeared, tumbling across the grass before skidding to halt flat on his back, the front of his red uniform smoking faintly.

“What...the hell...was that?” Billy wheezed, gasping for air.

“Billy, meet Kory,” Jason said, half-turning so he could smile at the Tameranean princess as she touched down beside him, fists still glowing green. “Kory, Billy.”

Kory waved. “Hello, Billy.”

“So about that bet you just lost…” Jason continued.

Billy caught his breath and sat upright. “What? I didn’t lose! You said you had to be the one to knock me down!”

Jason made a face. “Did I, though?”

Billy opened his mouth. Closed it again. “That…that’s cheating!” he growled at last, outraged.

Jason rolled his eyes. “Yeah, it is. Which brings us to our first three lessons of the day.” He strolled across the clearing and crouched down by Billy’s side. “Lesson one—always, always be aware of your surroundings. Kory was barely hiding. You could have seen her if you’d actually bothered to look. Lesson two—just because you fight fair, doesn’t mean your opponent will. And lesson three—don’t always feel like you have to fight fair. You don’t. Sometimes the best thing you can do is end a fight and end it fast.”

Billy frowned up at him. “Seriously? That’s your advice? You’re a terrible role model.”

Jason caught and held the kid’s gaze. “I’m not trying to be your role model,” he said seriously. “I’m trying to keep you alive until your eighteenth birthday…hopefully longer. That is the only thing I care about.”

“Why?” Billy asked, sounding more than a little nonplussed. "Why do you care so much what happens to me?"

“I was your age when I became Robin,” Jason told him. “I got all the best training, got to fight at Batman’s side. And by fifteen, I was dead.”

Billy’s eyes went wide. Jason patted his wrist reassuringly and continued. “I got a second chance, but not everyone does. So I’m going to make damned sure that you never need one. And since I know you’ll never quit being Shazam, this is the next best thing I can do. You understand?”

Billy stared at him, his face older than Jason’s but his eyes so terribly young. “Yes,” he said softly, voice a little wobbly.

Jason kept pushing, even though his heart ached for the kid. “So are you going to stick with our bargain or what?”

“I’ll do it,” Billy agreed. This time, Jason actually believed him.

“Good,” Jason said, sticking out his hand. He helped pull the boy up to his feet. “Think you can go another round?”

Billy cleared his throat. “Yeah. Yeah, I can go again. As long as you don’t cheat this time.”

“Scout’s honor,” Jason answered, moving back toward Kory. “Let’s see what you got, kid.”

Billy rolled his shoulders back and dropped into a runner’s stance. It was patently obvious he was going to charge again.

Jason readied himself.

Billy made his move.

He hadn’t gotten more than two steps before an arrow exploded at his feet, encasing Billy in high-density polyurethane foam.

“Damn it!” Billy swore, fighting to free his arms. “How did…?”

“Billy, this is Roy,” Jason said as Roy came jogging over. “Roy, meet Billy.”

“Yo,” Roy greeted, waving his bow.

“You said you wouldn’t cheat!” Billy fumed, finally managing to tear one arm out of the foam.

“Geeze, it’s like he wasn’t even listening to you earlier,” Roy said mournfully.

“I know, right?” Jason shook his head. “Kids these days.”

*

Jason entered the dark safe house, gun held at the ready.

“Kid?” he called softly. “You in here?”

There was a soft sob from the kitchen. “Jay?”

Jason raced forward, holstering his weapon. A small shape tumbled out of one of the cabinets, left arm dangling uselessly.

“Guys, I got him,” Jason called into the comm as Billy scrambled over to him and grabbed his wrist like he couldn’t quite believe Jason was really there. “Fall back to the safe house.”

“Understood,”  Roy replied. “We’ll do a final sweep and head your way.”

Jason turned his full attention to the boy in front of him. Billy looked decidedly worse for wear, his face a mess of tears and bruises. Jason was beyond grateful that he and the Outlaws had spent a number of weekends setting up safe houses in Fawcett City and teaching Billy how to find them.

“I couldn’t stop him. I couldn’t…he almost killed me when we fought. I tried to run, but...” Billy looked down. "I only barely got away like this."

“Hey, it’s okay,” Jason shushed him gently. He crouched down to get a better look at the kid’s hurt arm. Even without touching it, Jason was pretty sure it was broken. “You’re okay. We’re gonna keep you safe.”

Billy wavered on his feet. Jason helped him sit on the floor, his back to the kitchen island. “How’d you get here so fast?” the boy wondered.

“Roy and Kory hitched a ride from the Flash—the younger one,” Jason clarified. “I used the League transporter in the Batcave.”

Billy looked at him, eyes wide and horrified.

“Don’t worry,” Jason said, correctly interpreting his expression. “Flash doesn’t know why we came and he won’t say anything. And I’ve been hacking into Batman’s systems for years. Your secret is still safe. Now why haven’t you transformed and healed that arm?”   

Billy shook his head. “I...I can't,” he said, fast and scared. “He has magic. What if he can sense when I turn? I can't risk it."

Jason frowned. He still wasn't sure who the he was that Billy was referencing, but they'd get to that later. “Your arm looks broken. I'll have to splint it. It’ll hurt.”

“Do it,” the kid said, not hesitating for a second.

Once Jason was finished tending Billy's injuries and Roy had forced the boy to eat something, the whole story came spilling out. Apparently, there was some demon named Satanus who was turning humans into monsters and wanted access to the Rock of Eternity--whatever that was--and wasn’t afraid to go through Shazam to get it.

“Satanus is a dumb name,” Roy scoffed. “He could at least put some effort into it.”

Billy half-smiled at that. Jason felt his spirits lift at the sight. “It is a dumb name,” the kid agreed, sounding a little bit more like his old self.

“We must make a plan,” Kory said, shaking her glorious hair back.

Billy’s smile disappeared. “But I don’t know how to beat him,” he said. “He’s too strong for me.”

“We’re not asking you to run right back out there,” Jason said. “And if you want to sit this one out, that's okay, too. But we can't let this asshole keep hurting people. Someone has to fight, kid, and I think you're more than up for the task. So let’s put our heads together and figure out how to do it right."

Billy took a deep breath. “Okay. Right. We can do this. I can do this," he said, more to himself than anyone else. After a moment, he straightened in his chair, gaze determined. Jason had never felt prouder. "Here’s everything I know…”

*

“So what exactly are we doing here?” Dick asked, folding his arms as he glanced around the clearing where Jason typically held his training sessions with Billy. “And why is Shazam here? Nice work with that Satanus guy, by the way.”

“He was no match for me,” Billy boasted. Jason was glad his helmet hid his smile.

“Does this have anything to do with why the Outlaws were in Fawcett two days ago?” Tim chimed in.

“Just two days ago?” Babs laughed. “You’ve been slacking on the tracking, Red. The Outlaws have been making regular trips to Fawcett for weeks now.”

“Huh, Flash only mentioned the one trip to me,”  Dick frowned.

“Mentioned?” Tim repeated, raising an eyebrow. Cass folded her arms.

“Confessed,” Dick corrected himself. “After some pointed snooping.”

Jason glowered. “Why is everyone in this family so goddamn nosy?”

Dick flashed him a grin. “Aw c’mon. Stalking is caring in this family, Little Wing.”

“Um,” Billy said, tugging at the sleeve of Jason’s jacket. “If they know, does that mean Batman knows?”

“He knows Orphan’s been covering the Hood’s territory on occasion,” Babs answered, though the question hadn’t been directed at her. Jason glanced at Cass questioningly.

I said nothing, she signed at him.

“She didn’t,” Babs confirmed. “And I’ve been keeping the Fawcett City trips off B’s radar. As far as I know, he thinks you’re just traveling with the Outlaws again.”

“Thanks,” Jason said, grateful and a little surprised.

Babs shrugged. “B tends to overreact. Figured I’d keep an eye on things until I knew there was something to actually overreact about.”

“Speaking of…” Dick jumped in. “What is it that we're supposed to know, but Batman can't?"

Billy looked at Jason with pleading eyes. He still wasn't fully convinced they needed to tell more people, but after the incident with Satanus, Jason was more sure than ever. The more help Billy had available in times of trouble, the better.

“First things first,” Jason said, buying the kid a little more time. “You all have to swear you won’t tell anyone what you’re about to see tonight.”

Tim frowned. “Did you murder someone? Because I am not helping you hide the body.”

“Wish I’d murdered you when I had the chance,” Jason muttered. Tim scoffed, utterly unintimidated. Both of them got disappointed looks from Cass, which was impressive considering her face was completely covered.

"Hood?” Dick pressed, voice uncharacteristically serious. “What is this about?”

“Just promise,” Jason told him, dodging the question. “It’s worth it. It’s more than worth it.”

“Okay,” Dick said slowly. “I swear.”

Cass nodded.

“Alright, fine,” Tim sighed, sounding put-upon.

Babs pursed her lips. “I swear I won’t tell anyone—unless I think them not knowing will put them in danger.”

Jason hesitated, but that was probably the best he was going to get from Barbara. He nodded and turned to Billy.

“Alright, kid,” he said. “Show ‘em.”

Billy cleared his throat nervously. “Maybe take a step back and close your eyes,” he advised. When everyone had moved to a safe distance, he shouted, “SHAZAM!”

Even with his eyes closed, the flash of lighting was incredibly bright. Jason blinked the spots from his eyes to find Billy in his true form, wearing his familiar red sweatshirt and ringing his hands nervously.

“So, um, hi,” the kid said. “My name’s Billy.”

There was dead silence around the clearing.

“What,” Babs said after a long moment, “the hell?”

“Is this for real?” Tim asked, barely contained fury in his voice. Jason could tell it wasn't directed at the kid. He remembered feeling the same way when he’d found out.

“Yeah,” Jason answered as Billy shrank into himself. He walked over and put a steadying hand on the boy’s shoulder. “It’s real. And you know what’ll happen if the League finds out. The kid needs some people in his corner. He needs us. Will you do it?”

“Of course we’ll do it,” Dick said instantly and a knot of tension Jason hadn’t even realized he was carrying suddenly relaxed. “How is that even a question?”

Jason squeezed Billy’s shoulder reassuringly. “See?” he said softly when Billy looked up at him. “Told you there was nothing to worry about.”

Billy smiled hesitantly, then took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. “You guys probably want some answers,” he said. “I'll tell you what I can.”

Later—much later—when Billy had transformed back into Shazam and flown home, Babs grabbed Jason’s arm. “Are you sure this is the right play? Can we really be responsible for sending a kid to fight League-level battles?”

“We all fought with the League when we were around his age,” Jason pointed out, pulling his arm free. “And the Teen Titans do it all the time. Do I love the idea? Hell no. But I also recognize none of us have a fucking leg to stand on. Besides, the worst thing we can do is isolate him from the hero community if he plans to keep fighting. He needs people watching his back.”

“Alright,” Babs relented, though Jason wasn’t sure she was totally convinced. “We do it your way. For now. But you’re not going to be able to hide your connection to Billy from Bruce forever.”

“I know,” Jason sighed. “I’ll figure something out.”

“Why not just let people know you guys are friends?” Dick shrugged. “Teams of heroes work together all the time in a professional capacity and no one ever questions it.”

“Dick’s right,” Tim agreed. “The more you try to hide it, the more suspicious it’ll be. Just put it out in the open.”

“That…” Jason trailed off, resisting the urge to smack himself in the forehead. It was so fucking obvious. He’d just been so wrapped up in trying to keep Billy’s secret that he’d forgotten that hiding in plain sight was always the better option. “That is definitely what we’re going to do.”

“Good. Do that. Just so long as we’re all clear about what’s actually going on here,” Tim continued, smirking in Jason’s direction in a way that Jason did not like.

What?  Cass signed.

“Jason is pulling a Bruce.”

Say what now?

“Ohmygod, he’s totally pulling a Bruce,” Dick gasped. “Have you tried to adopt Billy yet?”

“No one’s getting adopted,” Jason growled. “And I am not pulling a Bruce.”

Babs’ lips twitched. “You kinda are.

“I’m just training him!” Jason exclaimed, frustrated.

Dick snickered. “That’s what Bruce said when he took me in. Look how that turned out.”

“This is not the same thing at all,”  Jason insisted.

“Look at him denying it,” Tim said, shaking his head. “That’s a classic Bruce tactic.”

“Cass, help me out,” Jason complained.

“Can’t,” she said simply. “They’re right.”

Dick high-fived her.

Jason groaned. “This is why I never hang out with you guys.”

“We get it,” Tim said, his shit-eating grin doing nothing to soothe Jason’s fraying temper. “The life of a single dad is tough.”

“Wow, you just made Bruce a grandfather,”  Babs teased. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

“I hate all of you so much,”  Jason growled.

His family was the worst.

*****

BONUS

“There have been rumblings about the Injustice League being active again,” Barry added. The official League meeting was over, but a few of them had remained behind to talk.

Clark shook his head, making brief eye contact with Bruce. “We need to be careful with them,” he warned.

“I don’t know,” Shazam shrugged, unconcerned. “I heard the Injustice League are a bunch of punk-ass bitches.”

Clark gaped at him. Shazam wasn't always the most eloquent of speakers, but Clark had never him talk like that before.

“Who…who told you that?” Barry asked, sounding as nonplussed as Clark felt.

Shazam waved a hand. “It was just something Red Hood said the other day.”

Clark frowned. “Are you friends with the Red Hood?” He hadn’t been aware that the two heroes knew each other except by reputation.

“Oh sure,” Shazam said eagerly. “Him and all the Outlaws. They are so cool.”

“Uh-huh,” Clark agreed, glancing over at Bruce to try to get a read on him. His friend was even more impassive than normal.

“Well, I’m gonna head out,” Shazam said, oblivious to the tension. “See you guys later!”

“See you,” Clark responded automatically. He waited until Shazam was safely out of earshot before whirling on Bruce. “Did you know about this?”

“Hn,”  Bruce replied noncommittally.

Which meant no in Bat-speak.

How odd.

“I don’t see how they would have much in common,” Barry said.

“I actually think it’s really nice,” Clark said after a moment.

He felt Bruce’s stare burning a hole in his forehead.

“What?” he shrugged. “Shazam’s a good guy. A little over-eager sometimes, sure, but I think he’ll be an excellent role model for Jason and the other Outlaws. Don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Barry said thoughtfully. “Maybe you’re right. I think that could be a really good friendship for them.”

“Hn,”  Bruce said again.

Clark figured that was the best answer they were going to get.

Chapter Text

“This isn’t working,” Bruce snapped over the comms as he narrowly avoided a blast of heat vision from Amazo. There were too many civilians packed into the city streets, too much potential for people to get hurt and the League to get killed protecting them. “We need to get off these streets.”

“I’m open to hearing ideas,”  Clark shot back, his voice uncharacteristically tense. He always got pissy whenever he got sidelined in a fight. But it was better than the alternative. Fighting an Amazo with all the powers of Superman would be a nightmare.

Bruce opened his mouth to reply, but someone else beat him to it.

“There’s a park ten blocks west of here,”  Shazam said, his voice focused and thoughtful. “Saw it when I was scouting the area.”

Bruce paused. Since when did Shazam scout terrain? 

Not to mention the fact that Shazam had been wise enough to keep outside Amazo’s radius from the very start, preventing the android from copying his abilities—something that couldn’t be said for more veteran members of the League.

“I see the park,”  Clark replied over the comms. “It’s a good location.”

“Flash, go clear out the civilians,” Bruce ordered.

“On it.”

“Still need to figure out how we’re going to get Amazo there,”  Hal reminded them.

“I can draw him off,”  Diana offered.

“Too risky,” Bruce grunted. “We’ve no guarantee he’ll follow the path we choose.”

Shazam cleared his throat. “What if Lantern blocked off any streets we didn’t want him on? We can herd him down the straightest path. Superman clan fly ahead and pull the civilians out of the way.”

“That…that might actually work,”  Hal said, sounding impressed.

“We’ll take him straight up the main avenue,” Bruce said decisively, already moving. “Superman, take care of the civilians. Lantern, Manhunter, Arrow—you’re on herding duty. Keep your distance, but don’t let him stray. Everyone else, get to the park. We’ll set up an ambush.”

“Nice work, Shazam,”  Barry added. There were murmurs of agreement from the others.

Bruce held his tongue. It was nice work, but it showed a level of tactical thinking that Bruce hadn’t seen from Shazam before. Bruce didn’t like to be surprised by his teammates, even if the surprises were good ones. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was going on here. It was a feeling that had been plaguing him ever since Shazam mentioned his friendship with Jason.

But he could worry about that later. Right now, there was a fight to finish.

*

Bruce checked the logs a second time, just to be sure. It had to be some kind of mistake.

But no. It was there clear as day.

Jason had accessed the League transporter in the Batcave dozens of times over the last few months. He’d tried to cover his tracks—and done it rather successfully—but Bruce was onto him now.

He examined the data again. Every single trip had been to Fawcett City.

Fawcett City.

Home of Shazam.

Bruce’s mind spun with questions.

This had to have something to do with Shazam's sudden friendship with the Outlaws. But why so many trips? And why the effort to hide it? Jason had admitted to visiting Shazam on occasion, but he'd never made any mention of this.

Which meant this was something different. Something Jason really didn’t want Bruce to know.

Well. If it was something Jason didn't want Bruce to know, then it logically followed that the secret was something he knew Bruce wouldn't approve of. A friendship with Shazam--while odd--wasn't enough to warrant this level of stealth.

So there had to be something about the friendship that Jason didn't want Bruce looking at too closely.

Maybe Jason was trying to recruit Shazam for the Outlaws?

No, that didn't make sense. Shazam’s power made him a formidable ally, but Bruce had seen for himself that there were lines the man wouldn’t cross. Besides, Shazam loved being in the Justice League more than practically any other member. He would never leave.

But what was it, then? What would be worth the risk of drawing Bruce’s notice by using League tech Jason knew he was banned from? And why go to Shazam in particular?

Shazam, who acted far younger and more impressionable than his age. Shazam, who was far too trusting for his own good, except when it came to his identity. Shazam, who tried so hard to please those around him…

Oh.

Oh Jason.

They were going to have words about this one.

*

“We need to talk,” Bruce began unceremoniously.

“Do we really need to do this right now?” Jason groaned. “I’m tired and I smell like the sewer I chased Killer Croc through tonight. I just want to shower about a million times and then go to bed.”

Bruce was unmoved. “I know about Shazam.”

Jason’s expression didn’t change—Bruce had trained him too well for that—but he couldn’t hide the tension in his shoulders.

“I think the whole world knows about Shazam,” Jason snarked, a beat too late. “He’s been fighting in the League for, like, a year now.”

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with him recently,” Bruce continued, undeterred. “I’ll give you one chance to come clean.”

“Come clean?” Jason repeated, but Bruce could tell he was nervous now. “About what? Think maybe you’ve finally lost it.”

Bruce sighed. So they were going to do this the hard way. “The Outlaws are still banned from using League tech and the League database, Jason. I know that’s a point of frustration for you and Roy, but I will not allow you to manipulate Shazam into giving you access codes. I’ve already laid out the terms for the Outlaws to get the League’s approval and I will not allow you to circumvent them, especially by taking advantage of a Leaguer’s generosity. This stops now.”

Jason blinked at him, lips parting in surprise. “You think I…” he trailed off for a moment. “Yes. Yes, that is what this is about. League tech. You caught me.”

Bruce shook his head. “You can’t keep doing this, Jason. You’re going to need the League on your side one day and antagonizing them now will not help you.”

“Fine. I guess I’ll stop,” Jason said, sounding less aggravated than Bruce had anticipated. Perhaps even he’d realized how unlikely it had been for his plan to succeed.

“And you’ll leave Shazam out of this?”

Jason tilted his head, considering. “I can’t cut ties completely, not after spending so much time with him. That’ll be too suspicious. We wouldn’t want him to think something was up. And he's a good guy. Don't want to hurt his feelings and all that.”

Bruce didn’t like it, but Jason had a point. “Very well,” he agreed. “But I’ll be keeping an eye on things.”

“Right. Well. Glad we had this chat,” Jason said, moving to straddle his bike. “Can’t believe you caught me. I’m going home now.”

Bruce let him go. He was honestly a little relieved at how well that had gone. Most of the time when he caught Jason doing something he shouldn’t be doing, his son refused to confess. Having Jason actually admit something was progress, at least.

Bruce’s gaze narrowed suddenly.

Jason had admitted to something. Without a fight or name calling or storming out.

Shit.

Bruce had missed something, hadn’t he?

*

“He’s how old?”

“Five years older than Dick was when you started training him.”

“Don’t turn this on me,” Bruce snapped.

“Then stop being a hypocrite,” Jason snapped back.

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. “How many people know?”

“Um,” Jason hesitated, which was a very bad sign.

“How many?”

“At this point? Basically everyone who isn’t in the League. The Titans really love him. Alfred sends him cookies sometimes.”

“Alfred  knows?” Bruce asked, aghast.

“Yup.”

Bruce forced himself to take a calming breath. If Alfred knew and hadn’t told him, then he must have believed the situation was under control. He sorted through the possibilities and came to a rather obvious conclusion, one he should have considered when he'd started noticing Shazam's rapid improvement on the battlefield.

“You’ve been training him.”

“Yeah,” Jason said, his tone heavily implying the unspoken duh.

“And all those trips you made to Fawcett?”

“Setting up safe houses and just generally checking in,” Jason replied. “We have a schedule now that there are enough of us in the know. He’s always got someone in the city he can call if he needs help. Not that he needs it much anymore.”

“Hn.”

“Holy shit,” Jason breathed. “That’s your I’m impressed  noise. You’re actually impressed by us. Damn it, that means Dick was right."

“Hn,”  Bruce said again, admitting nothing.

Jason laughed amazedly. “Holy shit,” he said again. “You’re not going to tell. You’re going to help, aren’t you?”

“I’m still angry."

Jason raised his eyebrows. “Angry enough to tell the League?” he challenged.

“Hn.”

Jason grinned. “Fucking knew it.”

Chapter Text

“Straighten your legs—you can do it!” Dick encouraged as little Deandra pushed herself into a shaky handstand. She almost managed to get both legs upright, before she wobbled a little too hard and fell to the mat. A moment later, she was bouncing to her feet.

“Did you see, Mr. Grayson?” she beamed at him. “I did it!”

Dick couldn’t help but grin in return. “You were so good!” he replied, giving the little girl a high five. “A bit more practice and you’ll be better than me!”

Deandra’s eyes went wide. “Really?”

“Really,” Dick confirmed with a wink. As Deandra giggled, Dick glanced at the clock on the studio wall. “Alright, you guys. It’s almost the end of our session, which means it’s time to start stretching!”

There was a chorus of disappointed groans from Deandra and her classmates. Dick hid a smile. He’d been holding free gymnastics lessons for underprivileged kids for about two years now and he didn’t think he’d ever get tired of it. He loved working with the kids and taking time to do something nice for other people without putting a mask on.

Besides, it felt right to pass along the skills his parents had taught him to a new generation. Dick knew they would have approved.

When the class had finished stretching and Dick had made sure all the kids were picked up by their parents, he put away the equipment and started wiping down the mats.

“Hey, Dick!” Phoebe called from the small office attached to the main gym. “Come look at this!”

“Be there in a second!” Dick called back, finishing his cleaning and stowing the supplies. He trotted over to the office.

“What’cha got there?” he asked, nodding to the thick manila envelope in Phoebe’s hands. She passed it to him wordlessly, eyes glimmering with excitement. Dick peeked inside.

“Are these tickets to the circus?” he gasped, pulling one out to get a better look at it. “I though they were all booked up!”

“Guess not! We’ve got enough there for the two of us, your whole class, and their parents,” Phoebe told him. “And there’s a receipt for a bus service to take everyone to and from the show.”

Dick shook his head in wonderment. “Did you do this?” he asked. Phoebe owned the gym and was kind enough to loan Dick the space for an hour each weekend so the kids’ parents wouldn’t have to pay, but he hadn’t thought she had the money for something like this.

“Nope! Not me!” Phoebe laughed. "These came from the circus. Apparently, some anonymous donor caught wind of what’s happening here and decided to give back to the community!”

“That’s amazing!” Dick laughed incredulously. He hadn’t realized they’d been making enough of a splash in Bludhaven to even get on someone's radar like this.

“Your students are going to be so excited!”

Dick grinned at the thought. These kids didn’t have many good things in their lives. A trip to the circus was going to be eye-opening for them. “Oh man, I can’t wait to tell them!”

This was going to be the best. 

*

Steph pulled up short on the sidewalk, throwing out an arm to stop Cass as well.

“What the hell?” she demanded, goggling at the large moving van parked in front of the women’s shelter they volunteered at once a week. Cass frowned and darted toward the open doorway, where Ada, the site director, was standing with a clipboard.

Steph quickly followed. Ada finished checking something off on her list and glanced up.

“Oh, hey girls!” she said. “Glad you’re here! Exciting things happening today!”

“What’s going on?” Steph wanted to know. Cass pulled her to one side as several workers passed by, carrying a couple old mattresses out the door and into the truck.

“Some businesses in Gotham teamed up and donated enough funds to refurbish almost every women’s shelter in the city! We’re getting all new furniture, fixtures, paint—the works!”

“Whoa,” Steph said, exchanging delighted glances with Cass. “I can't believe it! That's...that's awesome!”

“Which businesses?” Cass asked.

“We don’t know!” Ada replied. “It’s all anonymous. You know, it’s moments like these that really make living through all the crazy clown fiascos worth it.”

Steph snorted. “I don’t know…the clowns are pretty terrible.”

"Okay, that's true," Ada shook her head, still smiling. “Why don’t you go on inside? There’s a lot to get done today!”

*

Babs eyed the invoice with suspicion. “Someone just donated fifty top-of-the-line PCs to the school?” she asked again.

“Yep,” Maddox replied.

“And it was an anonymous donation?”

“Completely.”

“Hmm.”

“Why don’t you seem happier about this?” Maddox wondered. “I’ve been trying to get funding from the school district for better computers for a long time now. Think how much better this will make your after-school coding club!”

“Sorry—I am happy,” Babs told him, looking up from the paper and smiling. “This is incredible and the kids really deserve it. I was just surprised, that’s all.”

“Our IT guy could use your help setting them all up—if you’re interested,” Maddox told her.

“Yeah, I can lend a hand,” Babs said, setting the invoice back down on the desk. “Just gotta make a quick call first.”

She stepped outside Maddox’s office, pulled out her phone, and started typing quickly. Within ten minutes she had the answer she was looking for.

“Six shell companies?” Babs muttered to herself. “Really?”

She pulled up her contact list and dialed Bruce’s cell phone.

He answered after the third ring. “Hello?”

“Thanks for the computers,” she told him.

There was a pause. “I don't know what you're talking about."

Babs laughed. “Sure, you don't. Just like you don't know anything about the recent donations made to the women’s shelters all over the city--including the one where Cass and Steph volunteer--or the tickets someone sent to Dick’s gym. Let me guess—Jason’s group home and Damian’s animal shelter are next, right?”

“I'm very confused by this conversation."

“Wow, you are not convincing at all,”  she informed him. “You know you don’t have to support people you care about in secret, right? You can do it publicly. That’s allowed.”

“I have a meeting,”  Bruce said and hung up the phone.

“Weirdo,” Babs snorted and put away her phone. She'd get in touch with the others later and let them know who to thank. In the meantime, she had some work to do.

Chapter Text

“Do you need a ride to school?” Bruce asked as Damian started to gather up his things from the breakfast table.

“No need. Drake has agreed to take me,” Damian replied, slinging his bookbag over his shoulder and heading for the door. “I shall see you this afternoon.”

Bruce frowned. He continued frowning long after Damian was out of sight.

“Master Bruce?” Alfred asked, clearing Damian’s place at the table. “Is something wrong?”

“They’re plotting something,” Bruce replied immediately.

“Who is?”

“My children.”

“I’m afraid I’m not following.”

“It’s been a week since any of them got into a fight,” Bruce said, laying out the evidence. “Two days ago, Dick showed up from Bludhaven with no explanation. Then Jason sent the Outlaws off on a mission without him. And now Tim’s driving Damian to school? Something's up.”

“Perhaps they simply enjoy spending time with each other,” Alfred suggested mildly.

Bruce’s gaze narrowed. “You’re in on it, aren't you?”

Alfred’s expression didn’t change. “There’s more coffee in the kitchen. Would you like another cup?”

“Hn,”  Bruce grunted. He watched Alfred disappear back into the kitchen and settled deeper into his chair. He was going to figure out what everyone was up to, but knowing Alfred was involved gave Bruce some measure of peace. The old butler would never let things get out of hand.

Still though. What could his family possibly be working on all together? Why the secrecy?

Bruce was going to find out.

*

The unfortunate problem with teaching people how to avoid surveillance was that they were actually able to do it.

At first, Bruce tried to follow his children on their mysterious daily outings, but then Tim would swing by to distract him with updates on a case or Babs would call about upgrading the Batcomputer’s systems or Jason would set one of the safe houses on fire and by the time Bruce had everything sorted out, it was far too late.

Investigating on patrol was a non-starter as well. Damian stuck to his side like glue, surreptitiously updating the others on their position at all times.

Once, fed up with being stymied, Bruce had snuck out of a WE meeting early, only to be kidnapped by Cass and Steph who “happened to be in the area” and took him out to lunch.

After a few days, it was clear that he wasn’t going to get any answers until his family was good and ready.

Bruce would be lying if he said he wasn’t proud of them.

*

“Your presence is required in the home theater,” Alfred announced, eyes twinkling behind his typical stoic façade.

Bruce stood. “So it’s finally time?”

Alfred offered him a bland smile. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Uh-huh.”

Bruce was hardly surprised to find his entirely family waiting for him in the movie room, but it still made his heart warm to see them all in one place, looking so happy and healthy. He ignored the knowing and excited looks his kids were exchanging in favor of raising his eyebrows at Kate.

“Et tu?” he asked.

She grabbed his arm and towed him to a chair. “I did some work behind the scenes. Your kids are hard to resist.”

“I trained them well.”

Kate snorted. “Maybe too well. They’re little terrors when they want to be—which is all the time, now that I’m thinking about it.”

Bruce couldn’t help a small smile at that. “I’m a very good teacher.”

“Alright, quiet down!” Dick yelled, bounding to the front of the room to stand in front of the projector screen. He was razzed a few times by Steph in the back, but eventually everyone complied.

“So, um,” Dick said, rubbing the back of his neck like he always did when he got really nervous. “I was nominated to speak for the group—”

“Weird way to describe losing a rock, paper, scissors tournament, but okay,” Jason interrupted, muttering under his breath.

“I was nominated,”  Dick continued, glaring at Jason before shifting his attention to Bruce. “And so, uh…well, basically Babs told us how you’ve been supporting us in secret, sending us funds and helping the people and programs we care about. So we decided to do something to show our appreciation. We hope you like it.”

Before Bruce could panic at being found out, Dick had already popped back into his seat as Alfred hit the lights. A moment later, the screen flickered to life, showing a young woman wearing medical scrubs that Bruce had never seen before.

“Hi, my name is Ellie,” the woman said. “And I received a Wayne Foundation scholarship when I was in high school. That scholarship changed my life—I was able to go to college and med school. I’m going to be a doctor because you helped me, Mr. Wayne. Thank you so much.”

The image on the screen changed. “Hey, Mr. Wayne. So weird saying that. Um, my name is PJ. I got put in the system when I was eight and I figured I'd stay there until I aged out, because no one wants to adopt an older kid. But then the Wayne Foundation got involved and they helped find me some amazing foster parents. They ended up adopting me. I'll always be grateful."

And another. “I’m Alicia. I always knew I wanted to be an artist, but I never would’ve gotten the chance if not for the Wayne Foundation. I’ve got my first show next month thanks to the grant your foundation gave me. Thanks for believing in me!”

And another. And another. And another. Bruce lost count after a while. And then—

“My name’s Dick. When my parents died, I thought my whole world was over. But then you took me in and turned my life completely upside-down. You gave me a home again. A family. Thank you doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

“I’m Babs. And I just wanted to say thanks for keeping my dad safe. Thanks for giving him hope that things could change. I remember when he didn’t have that. Thanks for making a difference.”

“My name’s Jason and I was kidnapped by some crazy rich guy off the streets when I was just minding my own business. Ugh do I really have to—okay, okay. Fine. Look, we don’t always get along, but you’re trying your best and I can respect that. And…I know you didn’t have to give me a chance. You had no reason to. But you did anyway. So thanks—or whatever. Are you satisfied now, Dickhea—"

“I’m Cass. You helped me find my voice. No one else would. Thank you.”

“Hey, B. It’s me. Um. It’s Tim. You inspired me, back when I was just a kid with a camera. And you still do.”

“I’m Steph. You and I rarely agree on stuff, but…I know that if I called you and asked for help, you’d be there. You’d always be there. And that’s not…not everyone does that. That means something to me. So thanks.”

“I am Damian, your son and heir. Mother used to tell me stories about you when I was small. Even though I did not understand your methods, I was proud to carry your name. I still am. Though I did expect you to be taller. Am I doing this right, Dra—”

“Hey, it’s Duke. I’m…it would’ve been easy for you to turn me aside. Thanks for making a different choice.”

Bruce didn’t even realize he was crying until Alfred gently passed him a tissue box.

“Was it worth the wait?” Alfred murmured in his ear.

Bruce wiped at his eyes. “Yeah,” he whispered, voice rough. “It was more than worth it.”

Chapter Text

“Alright, target’s inside,” Jason confirmed, checking the tracking data one last time. “We’re moving in. You remember the plan?”

“Plan feels like a bit of an overstatement,” Artemis scoffed, leaning on her greataxe, Mistress.

“What are you talking about?” Jason asked. “I distract, you grab! It’s a perfect plan!”

“Me am not part of Red Him’s plan,” Bizarro pouted dejectedly.

“Good point,” Artemis acknowledged. “He also doesn’t seem to realize that we are faster and stronger and a lot less likely to be taken down by bullets. Which is why Bizarro or I should be the distraction.”

Jason scowled, forgetting they couldn’t see his expression through the helmet. “I can handle myself just fine,” he reminded her, before turning to Bizarro and patting the Superman clone on the arm. “And I didn’t forget you, big guy. You’re backup. You get to come to the rescue if someone gets into trouble.”

Artemis tossed her long red hair over her shoulder. “So, really, you’re just here for Jason.”

Jason flipped her off. “Everyone just get in position, alright? And be careful—there was talk of a new protection detail coming in. Shouldn’t be anything we can’t handle, though.”

“Fine,” Artemis said, grabbing Mistress and launching herself off the building. “Don’t die.”

“Same to you!” Jason called after her. He patted Bizarro on the arm again and then rappelled down to street level. He wanted to make sure security stayed focused on him—might as well make a big, flashy entrance using the main door.

Which he promptly did by smashing the glass door to the lobby and tossing a flash bang inside. He timed his takedown of the security guards perfectly, making sure they were able to call out his position before heading deeper into the building—and, coincidentally, farther away from where Artemis was currently breaking into the penthouse apartment.

And it was all going perfectly, too, until Jason rounded the corner and caught a glimpse of long white hair and twin swords.

“Oh shit.”

“Wow,” Rose said, shaking her head. She glanced at the man beside her who Jason belatedly recognized as her brother. “It’s like he’s not even happy to see me.”

“Hey, Rose. Joey,” Jason greeted, not bothering to hide the way he put his hand on his holstered gun. Rose had pre-cognition. The element of surprise wasn’t going to work on her. “What are you doing here?”

“Working a job,” Rose answered. “You?”

“Same. Let me guess—protection detail?”

“Yep,” Rose said. “And you’re the one who’s here to kidnap my client?”

“Looks like.”

“Well, this night just got a whole lot more fun.”

Artemis’ voice suddenly cut in over the comms. “The target isn’t here. Something’s wrong.”

“What?” Jason hissed back. “What do you mean? The tracking data—”

“Oh we spotted your tracker ages ago. Our client is safe and very far away from here,” Rose cut in helpfully, taking a couple steps towards him. Joey shadowed her every move.

Jason pulled his weapon. If he was going to have any chance of escape, he needed to keep Rose and Joey at a distance. “Back up,” he warned them, not realizing his comm line was still open. “Now.”

“Red Him need help! Bizarro am on the way!”

“Fuck—Biz, no! I’m fi—”

But it was too late.

Rose—sensing what was coming—lunged forward, closing the distance between herself and Jason too fast for him to counter. A moment later, Bizarro exploded into the hallway in a shower of plaster as he came bursting through a nearby wall.

When the dust had settled, Jason found himself taken hostage, with the edge of one of Rose’s swords pressed against his throat.

This mission was so not going according to plan.

“Let go,” Bizarro growled, fists clenching.

Rose only tightened her grip. “One more step and he’s a dead man.”

“Okay, maybe we take it down a notch,” Jason suggested, mind working busily. He’d already considered and rejected about a dozen ways to break free of Rose’s grip. He could definitely get away, but not before being stabbed—which was one of the definite downsides of tangling with a pre-cog trained by Deathstroke. He took some comfort in knowing Rose wouldn’t actually kill him, no matter what went down.

Well. Probably not, anyway.

Of course, the real problem wasn’t Jason shedding a little blood. It was the knowledge that as soon as he tried anything, Joey would go for Bizarro. Jason really didn’t want to give the kid an excuse to try to possess Biz. That would be bad no matter what the outcome.

Which meant Jason needed to talk his way out. And since Rose wasn’t going to release him without some assurances, Jason decided to start with his own teammate.

“Hey, Biz? Buddy? It’s okay. I’m okay. She won’t do anything to me. Let’s all just stand down.”

Bizarro frowned. Jason wasn’t the best at de-escalation, but he was almost ninety-nine percent certain Bizarro was actually going to listen.

Until Artemis came crashing down all thirteen stories through the ceiling, Mistress at the ready.

“Unhand him,” she ordered Rose, voice hard and uncompromising.

“Jericho, go for the big one,” Rose counter-ordered. Joey took a step forward, positioning himself for an attack.

“You really don’t want to do this, Ro—Ravager,” Jason corrected himself. “We can all still walk away from this.”

“Yeah? And how do you figure that?” Rose asked.

“All you’ve gotta do is let me go. That’s it. You have to see that it’s the best play here.”

Rose paused. Jason felt a thrill of hope that she was actually going to agree.

Which was of course the moment that Cass decided to make an appearance, swooping through the hole that Artemis's entrance had made above them and landing directly between the two opposing groups, fists at the ready.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”  Jason snarled as Rose jerked him back a step. He hadn’t realized Cass was following them tonight, but he supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised. Someone in the family always seemed to conveniently turn up whenever the Outlaws started causing too much property damage in Gotham. “Is there anyone else who wants to get involved? Batman? The fucking Justice League?  Maybe the Legion of Doom would like to pop by and get in on this!”

Unperturbed by his outburst, Cass glanced his way.

Are you hurt?  she signed. It was mostly a courtesy. Cass would have been able to tell just by looking at him if he were seriously injured.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Jason started to say, but Cass’ attention had already diverted to Joey, who had pushed himself forward. The boy’s hands moved and Jason braced himself to pull away from Rose—imminent stabbing be damned—but after a second, he realized that Joey wasn’t attacking.

He was signing.

The angle didn’t permit Jason to see what Joey was actually saying, but Cass’ enthusiastic response was impossible to miss.

I didn’t know! How have we not met before?

“Jericho,” Rose called to her brother, sensing her control of the situation beginning to slip. “Jericho, focus!”

Her orders were completely ignored.

“I think our siblings just became best friends,” Jason commented.

“Can’t really complain about that, though the timing could have been better,” Rose sighed. “He needs more friends.”

“So does she,” Jason agreed. “It’s nice to see them getting along.”

“We should have introduced them ages ago.”

“I’m sorry—do you two know each other?” Artemis interrupted. She and Bizarro were still holding their defensive positions, but both of them were beginning to look increasingly confused.

“We’ve…crossed paths,” Jason said cautiously as Rose blurted, “We used to date.”

Artemis gaped at him. “Seriously? Her?”

“I know,” Rose said. “I’m way out of his league.”

“Red Him…still am needing help?” Bizarro asked hesitantly.

“I think we’re good, buddy,” Jason told him. “As long as Ravager here will let me go. We can all agree there’s no battle to fight here,” he added, tilting his head just slightly to indicate Cass and Joey’s excited conversation.

Rose sighed again. “I guess,”  she allowed ungraciously. In one smooth movement, she released Jason and sheathed her sword.

“So what now?” Artemis asked, still sounding a little disgruntled. Jason already knew he was going to get a talking down for letting himself get caught whenever they got back to base.

Jason looked at Cass and Joey, still engrossed in getting to know one another, and then back at Rose. “Maybe we take this somewhere else? There’s still other security in the building.”

Rose seemed to mull it over. “You got a safe house nearby?”

“Nice try,” Jason snorted. “I’m not burning one of my places. We’ll go to one of yours.”

“There’s the paranoia I know and love,” Rose teased. “Alright, I’ve got a place I don’t mind showing you. But all of us are going. I don’t want your team sneaking off to finish the mission.”

“Fair enough,” Jason said. “We’ll follow you there.”

“Outlaws am making new friends?” Bizarro asked somewhat hopefully as Rose walked over to her brother.

“It’s more like a truce, Biz,” Jason shrugged. “But we can be friends with them for tonight.”

“You really want to do this?” Artemis demanded.

“We’ll get our target another night,” Jason shrugged. “Besides, it’d be kinda hard to get the information we need from the guy with Orphan hanging around, ya feel me?”

Cass turned smoothly toward him. “Heard that,” she warned.

“Heard what?” Jason said innocently.

He could sense Cass glaring at him. I’ll tell the family you dated Ravager.

Jason paused. “You wouldn’t.”

Cass hummed noncommittally and then took out her grappling gun, following Rose and Joey as they disappeared out the hole Artemis had made in the ceiling.

Artemis raised an eyebrow. “I take it you’re in trouble?”

“Maybe,” Jason said. He really hoped Cass had been joking. The last thing he wanted was Bruce finding out about his relationship with Rose.

Or worse, Dick.

“Hmph,”  Artemis said, taking off after Cass. “I almost feel like you deserve it.”

“Red Her am mad?” Bizarro asked, watching Artemis head out.

“She’ll be alright,” Jason assured him. “Probably. What do you say, buddy, want to give me a lift?”

“Yes! Flying with Red Him am fun!”

“I agree, Biz. It’s the best.”

Chapter Text

“Nice digs,” Jason said, glancing around the penthouse suite. He’d honestly expected Rose to take them back to some dingy studio that could be abandoned without fuss. A place like this would be a shame to burn in a hurry.

“It’s our dad’s,” Rose informed him. “So break back in here at your own peril.”

“Noted.”

“And your father is…?” Artemis asked, helping Bizarro squeeze through the door while Joey and Cass headed over to the living room. They were already signing to each other again. Jason did his best not to watch too closely, wanting to give them a little privacy.

“Deathstroke,” Rose answered, removing her mask without any hesitation. Jason thought about following suit with his helmet, but he’d already gotten enough judgmental looks from Artemis tonight.

“And I’m supposed to be scared of him?” Artemis asked skeptically.

Rose paused and gave the Amazon a measuring glance. “Okay, I like you."

Artemis glared, but Jason snorted. “You would be impressed by that.”

“Please. As if you wouldn’t have had the exact same reaction if someone said that about the Bat.”

Jason didn’t dignify that with a response. He also ignored the quiet, entirely coincidental laughter coming from Cass’ direction.

“Bizarro am hungry,” Bizarro announced suddenly.  “New friends have food?”

“Help yourself, big guy,” Rose said, waving a hand at the kitchen. Bizarro floated over to investigate the fridge. “I’m going out on the balcony. Want to come?”

“Sure,” Jason shrugged, following her across the apartment. Artemis made a noise of discontent and followed, leaving her greataxe by the front door. Jason knew better than to think that meant she was happy about being here.

“So…” he started when they were outside admiring the view. “What the hell are you doing in a protection detail? You’re way over-qualified to be a security guard.”

“You’ve got that right,” Rose smirked. “But a girl’s still gotta eat and the price was right.”

Jason tilted his head. “So this just about the money for you?”

“I’m not friends with the guy, if that’s what you’re asking,” Rose laughed.

“Did he pay you upfront?”

Rose shot him a look. “Where are you going with this, Jace?”

“Yes, Jace,”  Artemis said, with dangerous emphasis. “Where are you going with this?”

“You’ve already got the money—why not just tell us where he is? Think how hurtful it will be to our siblings’ budding friendship to have us fighting each other all the time,” Jason pointed out, gesturing at Cass and Joey through the windows. “And really, what have you got to lose?”

Rose scoffed. “My reputation, for starters. I’d have a hard time getting hired if word got out that I was willing to sell out my clients.”

“Come on. You know how I work,” Jason said. “The guy won't ever reveal I got to him.”

“It’s too risky.”

“I’ll owe you a favor.”

Rose’s eyebrows shot up. “What kind of favor?”

“No questions asked. Anytime, anywhere.”

Rose grinned wolfishly. “Okay now I’m interested.”

“Jason,” Artemis growled. “What are you doing?”

“Finishing the job,” Jason replied. He re-focused on Rose. “So?”

She tapped her chin thoughtfully. “I’ll need to consult with Joey, but you may have yourself a deal. We’ll also need to have a discussion about reparations if there's any blowback.”

“That’s fair,” Jason allowed. “Let me know tomorrow if you’re in or not.”

“Deal,” Rose said.

“Jason, this is a terrible plan,” Artemis said. “Do you really want to be in her debt?”

“Relax,” Jason told the Amazon. “It’ll be fine! Besides, when has one of my plans ever gone sideways before?”

Artemis stared at him. “Do you not remember what happened earlier tonight? When you got held hostage? By her?"

“I had that under control.”

Rose snorted. Jason ignored her.

“Fine. What about—”

“Don’t say Paris.”

“—Paris?”

“Paris does not count and you know it,” Jason said heatedly.

“What happened in Paris?” Rose asked curiously.

“Only an international incident,” Artemis replied. “That could have been completely avoided if you’d listened to my advice.”

“It was only a small  international incident,” Jason protested. “Barely noticeable. And everyone ended up being totally fine—even the chickens weren’t permanently injured.”

“Okay,” Rose interrupted, struggling to contain her laughter. “Now I have to hear this story.”

*****

Two Months Later

“You know, it’s kinda nice having these meet-ups,” Rose said as they wandered down the street. She and Jason had volunteered to grab coffee and bagels while Joey and Cass caught up. “Normally, I don’t like spending any more time in Gotham than I need to, but Joey’s been smiling a lot more recently.”

“Yeah, same with Cass,” Jason acknowledged. “It’s good to see them happy.”

Rose hummed her agreement. “So your team didn’t want to join us?”

“Biz did, but Artemis still doesn’t like you even though everything worked out just fine. He stayed back to keep her company.”

Rose half-smiled. “She doesn’t like that I still have my favor to use.”

"She’s worried you’ll use it for something nefarious.”

"Oh, I’m definitely going to use it for something nefarious.”

“Exactly. So there’s no point in worrying about it. It’s inevitable.”

Rose rolled her good eye. “You have no sense of self-preservation,” she told him as they entered the café and stepped into line.

Jason shrugged. “Nothing’s been able to keep me down so far.”

Rose shook her head. “You are so—”

“Jason?” a familiar voice asked. A very familiar voice. “Rose?”

Jason looked up to meet Dick’s shocked stare. The older boy was carrying a to-go cup of coffee in one hand and a wrapped bagel in the other.

Fucking shit. What were the odds that Dick would be at the same bagel place at the exact same time as the two of them?

Practically zero. Which meant Cass had tattled on him.

So not cool.

“Oh,” Rose said. “‘Sup Deathwing.”

Dick frowned at her. “I told you not to call me that.”

Rose smirked. “Whatever you say, Dick.”

Jason paused mid-freak out, struck by their familiar exchange. “Wait, how do you two know each other?”

“He trained me for a bit,” Rose shrugged.

Jason’s eyebrows shot up. “He what?”

Dick made a face at Rose. “She was a bad student.”

She stuck out her tongue at him. “You were a worse teacher.”

“When the hell did this happen?” Jason asked, feeling like his brain was having a melt-down.

“This is seriously old news, Jay,” Rose informed him as she gently nudged him to the side. “I’m gonna keep our place in line. Feel free to keep yapping while I get the food. See ya, Dickie.”

“You’d best believe I’ll be checking in with you later,” Dick warned her. Rose flipped him off as she shuffled along in line.

Jason shook his head. “How did I not know about this?”

“You don’t know about a lot of things,” Dick said. “So. You and her.”

Jason winced. “Look—it was a long time ago. We’re just friends now. It’s really nothing.”

Dick’s face made a complicated expression, like it was trying to show five emotions at once. “Just friends now?”  he repeated. “As in…you were more than friends before? Did you two…Ohmygod, did you two used to date?”

Jason paused. “…Cass didn’t tell you?”

Dick’s eyes went huge. “Cass knows?! Before me?!”

Well, shit.

Looked like Cass hadn’t sold him out after all.

“You have to tell me everything!” Dick demanded. “Man, now that I’m thinking about it, you two would be a total power couple! Do you still like her? Is that why you’re out with her right now? Oh my god, is this a secret date?”

Jason resisted the urge to bang his head against the wall. From the counter, Rose shot him an evil grin that told Jason she knew exactly what was happening right now.

At least Artemis would get a kick out of his suffering. Maybe she’d finally let him out of the proverbial dog house when he told her.

All he had to do was figure out a way to get rid of Dick. Too bad murder wasn’t on the table.

“…and I have to tell Babs. She’s gonna freak. This is so cute! I can totally give you some tips about dating if you need them. Like these are not good date clothes. We gotta expand your wardrobe, Little Wing. Now let's talk about flirting. Do you have any good lines? Do you need some? How many puns are you using?”

Who was he kidding? Murder was definitely still on the table.

Chapter Text

It starts with a particularly rough night on patrol that sees Tim nearly getting crushed as Two-Face collapses a building on him.

Almost two weeks later, Tim forces himself to go out in public, despite his still-healing injuries. He needs the tabloids to stop speculating about his whereabouts or else he risks damaging an incredibly important deal Wayne Enterprises has been working on for almost a year.

His goal is to let the paparazzi get some shots of him going into the office, which should put an end to the whole affair. At this point in his life, Tim is pretty familiar with paparazzi. He’s prepared for them to swarm as he steps out of the car and onto the sidewalk in front of WE.

He’s not prepared for the panic attack that follows as the crush of people and cacophony of noise puts him right back in that collapsing building that had almost put an end to his vigilante career.

Lucius, thankfully, gets him into the building and away from prying eyes. But there’s nothing anyone can do to stop the tabloids from printing the photos the next day. Tim finds his fear-filled face on what feels like the cover of every magazine, newspaper, and website.

Sometimes it really sucks to be part of the Wayne family.

But Tim has about a million other things to do with his life, so he does his best to move on and forget it ever happened.

His family takes a different approach.

*

“Wear this,” Cass says, pushing the hat into his hands. It’s one of the first times that Tim is back out and about in the city since The Incident and he’s both touched and annoyed that Cass has insisted on escorting him.

“They’re still going to know it’s me,” Tim points out. He’s tried wearing hats before to hide from the paparazzi, but the tabloids usually end up printing the pictures anyway.

“Trust me,” Cass tells him. She’s already wrapped up in a large scarf despite the warm night air outside.

He shrugs and puts that hat on. It never hurts to stay on Cass’ good side.

As expected, the paparazzi start snapping photos as soon as they get the chance, flashbulbs blindingly bright against the darkened street. Tim ducks his head beneath the hat and tries not to pay attention to them. Even though it hampers his movement somewhat, Tim is grateful when Cass links her arm with his in a silent show of support as they walk to the restaurant for dinner.

The next day, Tim expects to find the tabloids full of pictures of their outing, but he’s shocked to find none.

“How'd you do it?” he demands of Cass when they meet up for patrol that night.

She grins. “Reflective clothing. Babs made it. Ruins flash photography.”

It takes Tim a moment to realize what Cass is telling him. “That is so cool!” he exclaims. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of that!”

“No more pictures,” Cass informs him.

“They certainly won’t have any tonight,” Tim agrees. He feels better than he has in a long while.

*

Tim’s phone buzzes in his pocket. He pulls it out to find an alert on his phone—the name Dick Grayson is trending online. He immediately goes looking, trying to figure out what the fuss is about and whether Dick will need any damage control.

What he finds…

It turns out that his older brother has been protesting the paparazzi following him around by wearing a paper bag over his head whenever he goes out in public. The people of Bludhaven seem to be supporting his efforts one hundred and ten percent, judging from the comments Tim is seeing. 

He fires off a quick message to Dick.

What’s with the bag??

Dick’s answer comes back quickly.

No more pics. Not gonna make it easy for them anymore.

“Huh,” Tim says out loud, remembering Cass saying something similar. He’s beginning to suspect this is a family plot.

But he doesn’t voice any of that to Dick.

Don’t forget to cut eye holes in the bag, he texts instead.

Dick sends him the middle finger emoji as a response.

*

It doesn’t take long before the paparazzi start congregating outside the Manor gates. The Wayne family is their favorite target—guaranteed to make tabloids fly off the shelves. They’re getting antsy that no one’s been able to get a clean shot of a family member for three months.

“I can call Gordon,” Tim says, eyeing the security feed from the gates with Alfred. “Have him send them away.”

“Master Damian and Miss Stephanie are dealing with the problem,” Alfred informs him.

Tim gapes at Alfred, thinking about the unholy alliance those two make.

“Ah yes,” the old butler says. “There they are now.”

Tim’s gaze shoots back to the screen. He frowns, inching closer. “I don’t see them.”

Alfred points to the top right corner. Tim squints and barely makes out the shape of an arm and maybe a foot poking out from the truly impressive foliage of a large oak tree near the Manor gates.

“What are they—?”

He doesn’t get any further. Small projectiles start raining down from the tree toward the ground at the paparazzi’s feet—water balloons, Tim realizes as the first few burst on the gravel drive. The paparazzi skitter back, instinctively protecting their expensive cameras from the spray. Damian and Steph keep up the barrage—careful not to actually hit anyone—until the majority of the paparazzi have moved back toward the sweeping lawns that flank driveway.

Which is precisely the moment the automated sprinklers come on.

Five minutes later, there’s not a paparazzo in sight.

Alfred pats Tim on the shoulder. “That’s that, then,” he says. He sounds more smug than Tim has ever heard him.

*

Tim isn’t really surprised to find that Bruce is in on the scheme. He’s always been featured in the tabloids more than the rest of them and hates the paparazzi, despite the fact that he’s often used them to his advantage to keep up his playboy image.

And like everything Bruce does, he picks a strategy and commits.

“Are you wearing the same outfit as yesterday?” Tim frowns when he sees Bruce coming out of a meeting at WE.

“Yes,” Bruce replies, sounding pleased with himself for some reason.

Tim studies the outfit—simple dark slacks and a button-down. It looks very familiar. “Did you wear that the day before yesterday too?”

“And the day before that,” Bruce tells him.

Tim tilts his head. Now that he’s thinking about it, he’s seen this outfit a lot over the last few months. “Are you…are you just wearing the same outfit over and over?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I’m an eccentric billionaire. Do I need a reason?”

Tim’s gaze narrows. “This has something to do with the paparazzi, doesn’t it?”

Bruce flashes him an encouraging smile. Tim puzzles it out until the answer suddenly occurs to him. “Oh my god,” he laughs. “They can’t use any new pictures of you.”

“Nothing’s worse for a tabloid than a boring picture,” Bruce nods. “Hard to sell copy when it looks like they’re using the same photos of me over and over and over again.”

Tim shakes his head. “How long are you going to keep this up?”

“As long as it takes for them to get the message,” Bruce says, just a hint of Batman’s growl in his voice.

Tim shakes his head. “You guys didn’t have to do this.”

Bruce places a hand on his shoulder. “Sure we did.”

Tim smiles at him.

Sometimes it’s really great to be part of the Wayne family.

Chapter Text

“And that concludes the safe houses in this district. Next, we should head out for—”

“C’mon,” Duke interrupted. “I’m starving. Can we pick up the tour after lunch?”

Damian sighed heavily. “Fine,” he acquiesced, like it was some great burden to stop for food. “There’s a small establishment a few blocks away that’s not terrible.”

“Awesome. Lead the way,” Duke said, grabbing his coat and giving Damian no time to reconsider. Bruce had volunteered Damian (in what Duke suspected was some kind of scheme to make them bond) to take him on a tour of the Bats’ many safe houses tucked throughout Gotham. It wasn’t exactly the most fun way to spend a weekend, but it was practical, so Duke didn’t complain.

He drew the line at skipping meals, though. Being a vigilante required a lot of calories.

Damian’s “not terrible” establishment turned out to be a nice little sandwich shop with bright red awnings. As they got in line, Duke glanced at Damian. The two of them didn’t get along super well, but it was clear to Duke that Damian had been making an effort not to pick any fights with him today. Duke figured he could return the gesture.

“So, any menu recommendations?” he asked.

“They have several vegetarian options that I’ve enjoyed in the past,” Damian replied.

Duke’s eyebrows went up. “I didn’t know you were vegetarian.”

Damian shrugged. “You never asked.”

“Oh, hey look! It’s the freak!” a new voice suddenly called. “Thought they kept you locked up at Wayne Manor for your own safety.”

Duke’s head whipped around to find a gaggle of kids about Damian’s age standing behind them. The boy in front smirked as he reached out for a high-five from one of the other kids.

Duke’s gaze narrowed. He turned back to Damian. “Do you know those kids?”

Damian’s jaw clenched. “They’re in my grade at school.”

“And you let them talk to you like that?” Duke asked incredulously. He knew Damian had a short fuse. The kid had once threatened him for breathing too loudly while they watched a movie.

“Father said I’m not allowed to pick any fights at the Academy,” Damian said hollowly, his expression closing off even further.

“I think he’d make an exception for bullies,” Duke pointed out. “Does he know?”

Before Damian could answer, the kid behind them called out, “Man, I bet they have a padded cell all ready for you at Arkham, freak. Bet your dad can’t wait to get rid of you.”

Damian grabbed Duke’s arm, stopping him from spinning right back around. “Don’t,” he hissed. “It means nothing. It’s nothing.”

Duke looked at Damian. He wasn’t as good at reading the kid’s emotions as Dick or Alfred, but he could tell that it wasn’t nothing, no matter what Damian said.

“It’s not,” Duke said and pulled his arm out of Damian’s grasp. He turned to face the kids. “Hey—don’t talk to my friend like that.”

The boy in front laughed. “Are you serious? I didn’t know Wayne even had friends.”

Duke sized the kid up. He looked like a typical Gotham Academy trust fund baby, the kind that were a dime a dozen at their school. Duke had dealt with plenty of them since Bruce had taken him in.

“Oh wait,” Trust Fund Baby suddenly said, glancing at his friends. “I know who you are. You’re that orphan Bruce Wayne took in a few months ago.”

Duke took a step forward, fists clenching. The smiles faded from the kids’ faces as they realized that Duke was taller and stronger than any of them.

“I’m not an orphan,” Duke told Trust Fund Baby softly, keeping his voice low and even. “And you’re gonna leave Damian alone from now on.”

“Or what?” Trust Fund Baby demanded. “You’ll hit me? I wouldn’t expect anything less from street trash like you.”

Duke forced himself to smile. “I’m not gonna hit you,” he said. “Nah, man. I feel sorry for you.”

His words had their intended effect. Trust Fund Baby gaped at him, almost speechless with shock and indignation. “You what?"

Duke’s smile came a little easier. It was always the same with these rich kids. There was nothing more damaging to their stupid little egos than having someone like Duke say he felt bad for them.

"I feel sorry for you,” Duke repeated. “I feel sorry that the only way you can make yourself feel good is to put other people down. I don’t know what’s going on in your life that makes you think that’s the only way you can get people to like you, but it seems like a pretty miserable existence. I can’t even imagine being so insecure that I need to make someone else feel like shit just to make my life seem a little less sucky. I really pity you.”

“I…what?” Trust Fund Baby blustered, completely off-balance. His friends didn’t seem to know what to do, either. “I don’t…my life is awesome. I don’t need your stupid pity!”

“Whatever you need to tell yourself to make it better,” Duke shrugged, tucking his hands into his pockets. “Just leave Damian out of it, alright? You're only making yourself look more pathetic.”

“I’m not—!” Trust Fund Baby fumed. “Ugh. Let’s just get out of here. This restaurant is dumb anyway.”

And he stormed off, bringing the whole posse of kids with him. Duke watched them go, then nodded at the restaurant patrons who had watched the confrontation. At last, he turned back to Damian. The kid was staring at him, his expression unreadable.

“Sorry,” Duke told him, in case Damian was mad he’d intervened. “I know you can look after yourself. But even if it wasn’t a big deal to you, it was a big deal to me. People shouldn’t talk to you like that.”

Damian’s brow creased. “I didn’t realize that you would—” he cut himself off and cleared his throat. “That was an…interesting strategy, Thomas.”

Duke let him take the out. “Just let me know if they bother you again, okay? I got your back.”

Damian gave him another look and then nodded slowly. “Well,” he said, clearing his throat again. “I suppose this lunch was not a complete waste of time.”

Duke shook his head, smiling for real this time. He knew what Damian’s version of gratitude sounded like by now. “Yeah,” he agreed. “I suppose not.”

Chapter Text

Miles wakes with a splitting headache in an unfamiliar dark alley with no clue how he got there.

It would be terrifying, except this is not the first time this has happened during his brief tenure as the new Spider-Man.

(Okay, it’s still a little terrifying, but he’s getting pretty good at the whole crime-fighting thing. He can take care of himself.)

Miles winces as he slowly gets to his feet, stomach roiling as his headache throbs stronger than ever. The nausea settles after a moment and Miles slowly climbs the nearby alley wall, hoping to gain some altitude and figure out where the hell he is and how long it’s going to take him to get home. He can already tell it’s far later than he normally stays out. His parents are going to be pissed if they catch him—or worse, frantic with worry.

But all thoughts of parents and headaches disappear the second Miles reaches the roof.

Because the twinkling skyline in the distance is definitely not that of New York City.

“Oh shit,”  Miles groans.

This is so not good.

*

“You wanted to show me something?” Tim asks as he drops into the Clocktower. Babs doesn’t even glance up from the bit of code she’s writing on one of her many monitors.

“Yeah,” she says. “Saw something odd today. Wanted to get a second opinion.”

Tim’s eyebrows go up. This is either going to be very good or very, very bad.

He waits as Babs pulls up grainy footage from a security camera somewhere in the city. There are few men on the screen wearing balaclavas and attempting to break into a jewelry shop.

“Caught this earlier,” Babs says as the video plays out. Tim leans forward as a new figure leaps into view, taking out one of the would-be thieves with an impressive flying kick. Babs pauses the footage so Tim can get a closer look at the newcomer.

“Is that Black Spider?” Tim asks hesitantly. The costume isn’t quite right for the assassin, but it’s entirely possible the villain has updated his look. The figure on the screen is also smaller than Tim remembers Black Spider being, though that could be explained by the angle of the camera or the admittedly poor video quality.

“That’s what I thought at first,” Babs replies. “But just wait.”

She presses play. Tim watches as the newcomer polishes off the other thieves, taking mental notes all the while (impressive strength and speed…maybe enhanced? Sloppy technique on his punches; inadequate training).

And then the last thief goes down and the newcomer simply vanishes.

Tim clears his throat. “So. Definitely not Black Spider.”

“Nope,” Babs agrees. “Now look at this.”

She shows him another video of the same spider-themed vigilante, but this time the man is swinging across rooftops using some kind of grapple that releases from his wrists.

“Cool grapple,” Tim murmurs.

“Not a grapple,” Babs corrects. “I noticed the rope was detaching after each swing, so I went out to take a look. Took me a while to get an actual sample.”

“And?” Tim asks. His adrenaline is starting to spike, the same way it does whenever he’s presented with a new mystery.

“It’s webbing,” Babs says, the same excitement glimmering in her eyes. “At least, that’s what it looked like. I took some readings before it degraded, but they’re still running through diagnostics.”

“A meta with some kind of…spider powers?” Tim hypothesizes.

“It could all be tech,” Babs counters.

“He turned invisible.”

“Or shrunk. Or teleported. That video was inconclusive,” Babs counters again. “We need more information.”

“Think he has anything to do with that weird energy surge last night?” Tim asks.   

Babs grins. “Let’s go find him so we can ask.”

*

Jason’s in a shootout with some drug dealers when a lithe figure in black and red drops into the middle of the fire-fight and starts taking wild swings at the thugs. 

He curses and activates his comms. “That spider guy just showed up at my crime scene,” Jason informs Babs. “We following the plan?”

“Yes. I’m sending Red Robin to your location. And leave your comm on,”  Babs orders.

Jason huffs, but obeys. It’s been about a week and the family isn’t certain where Spiderling stands on the hero-villain scale. He hasn’t committed any crimes that they know of (other than beating the shit out of other criminals with some rather impressive acrobatics. Jason certainly doesn’t begrudge him that), but he has conveniently disrupted several active investigations run by Bruce and Babs respectively, setting their work back for weeks, possibly months.

It could be coincidence.

Or it could be something else.

Until they know which, Bruce has given the order to take the newcomer in. Jason disagrees with Bruce about a lot of things, but this is probably the right call. Even if the vigilante is just trying to help out, it’s only a matter of time before he tangles with one of the Arkham regulars and gets himself killed.

None of them want to see that.

Jason plunges back into the fight, keeping an eye on Charlotte’s Web. The guy fights a little like Dick—all breathtaking fluidity and flexibility. But Jason’s battled with and against enough metahumans to recognize when someone is relying on enhanced strength and speed more than training. This guy seems to be no different.

But the drug dealers go down easily enough. Jason keeps his guns in hand as he steps out into the open. 

Itsy Bitsy Spider hesitates for a moment. “Okay, are you a good guy or a bad guy? Because I genuinely can’t tell.”

Jason feels his eyebrows go up. It’s the first time anyone has heard the newcomer’s voice and he’s much younger than Jason was anticipating. Probably only a teenager.

“I get asked that a lot,” Jason replies, deciding to keep the kid talking and see what he can learn.

Spiderboy tilts his head. “And what do you answer?”

“Depends on the day,” Jason says. “How about you? Good guy? Bad guy?”

“Uh, good guy. Obviously.”

“I don’t know,” Jason shrugs. The motion causes his leather jacket to shift and reveal the red bat symbol underneath. He can feel the kid’s eyes on it, even though he can’t see his face. “You’ve made a mess of a lot of our ops in a surprisingly short amount of time.”

“Look, I don’t know who you Bat people are, but I’m just trying help, okay?” the kid says.

“Incoming,”  Tim’s voice crackles in his ear. “Distract him.”

Jason barely pays attention. He’s too busy mulling over the kid’s last statement. “What do you mean you don’t know who we are? You’re in Gotham. Everyone knows Gotham belongs to the Bats.”

The teen never gets a chance to answer. Tim doesn’t make so much as a sound as he drops, but the Spider Kid jumps out of the way preternaturally fast. Jason lunges for him just as the vigilante flickers out of sight. Jason’s arms close on empty air.

“Fuck,” he curses. Tim rolls to his feet, looking just as disgruntled. They spend a few minutes searching the street, but it soon becomes clear the guy is long gone.

“Did he sound like a kid to you?”  Babs asks over the comms.

“Yeah,” Jason replies. “He’s young. I mean, older than the Demon Spawn, obviously, but I’m thinking younger than Replacement here.”

“Did you see the way he reacted?” Tim jumps in. “It’s like he sensed me coming.”

“Yeah, that was weird,” Jason agrees. “Didn’t think he was a pre-cog, but who knows?”

“We need to figure out a way to catch him,” Tim shakes his head.

“Maybe. Something seems off about this, though,” Jason says. “Did you hear what he said right before he ran? It was like he’d never heard of us.”

“I've been analyzing the readings from that energy surge a week ago and I've got a theory,”  Babs says. “In the meantime, I think we need to bring in someone with a little more experience with meta-teens.”

Jason groans, immediately seeing what she’s getting at. “Just tell him to stay out of my territory, will you? I’ve got enough headaches to deal with.”

*

“I know you’re there,” Dick says, keeping his voice light and easy. “Why don’t you come out?”

He swishes his legs through the air as he sits on the edge of the rooftop. It’s the third night he’s parked himself on this spot, but the first that the kid has approached him. The building Dick’s sitting on—and the surrounding ones for that matter—are owned by Bruce and retrofitted with all sorts of motion sensors and scanners. Babs had alerted him the second the kid was nearby.

Sure enough, a figure in black and red flickers into view, clinging to the wall of the building directly across from Dick. The kid climbs the short distance to the roof and mirrors Dick, taking a seat on the edge and dangling his legs over the narrow alleyway between the two buildings.

“I’m Nightwing,” Dick introduces himself. “I don’t think we ever got your name.”

“Spider-Man,” the kid offers. Dick smiles and gives the kid a once-over. He’s looking a little worse for wear, costume smudged with dirt and grime. Dick wonders if the kid’s been sleeping in it—if he has someplace to go at night. If Babs’ current theory is correct, Dick doubts it.

“Hi, Spider-Man,” Dick says. “Nice to meet you. I hear you’ve been helping out some friends of mine.”

Spider-Man tilts his head. “You know those Bat dudes?”

Dick resists the urge to laugh. “Yeah, I do,” he says. “They’re Gotham’s protectors. Have been for years. And the fact that you don’t know that makes me think you might not be from around here. Am I right?”

Spider-Man hesitates. “I…might be a little lost,” he concedes.

“That’s alright,” Dick tells him with another reassuring smile. “We can help you figure it out. I know a safe place we can go to talk. Or we can talk right here, if you aren’t comfortable going with me yet.”

“You can really help me?” Spider-Man asks and Dick’s heart hurts at the raw and aching hope ringing in the kid’s voice.

“We’ll do everything we can,” Dick promises.

“Okay,” Spider-Man says, shoulders slumping a little. “Let’s talk.”

*

Bruce watches as Miles disappears in a flash of light, a combination of Zatanna’s and Constantine’s magics at work. He knows they will be able to get the boy back to his own universe, but that doesn’t stop him from worrying a little.

“I’m gonna miss that kid,” Steph sighs, leaning companionably on Cass’ shoulder.

“Me too,” Duke seconds. “He was cool. I liked those web-shooter things.”

“Training with him was fun,” Dick adds. “We traded a couple of moves. He can pull off stuff I never could with that enhanced strength of his.”

“Do we still not know what sent him here?” Damian asks.

Bruce watches Tim and Babs exchange glances. “He couldn’t remember, but Babs and I compared data from the original energy surge to the scans Miles let us take of himself," Tim says. "It was some pretty advanced tech. Easy to track once you have the signature, but ultimately unstable. A blast would be just as likely to kill you as to send you somewhere."

“And we just sent him back without any way to stop it?” Jason asks, sounding furious. "What if he goes up against it again and gets killed?"

“That won’t happen,” Bruce says gruffly.

“How do you know?” Jason demands.

“Because we sent old Brucie here through the portal this morning,” Constantine jumps in. “All dressed for stealth, too.”

Dick’s lips curve upward. “You didn’t.”

“It was dangerous technology,” Bruce states, only a little defensively. “It needed to be destroyed.”

Dick’s smile grows even wider. “You big softie.”

Bruce grunts at him and turns away. Constantine is still in the room, after all. A smile now would absolutely ruin Bruce’s reputation.

Chapter Text

“Ignoring what he’s done in the past. Blindly, stupidly disregarding the entire graveyards he’s filled, the thousands who have suffered, the friends he’s crippled. You know, I thought…I thought I’d be the last person you’d ever let him hurt. If it had been you that he beat to a bloody pulp, if he had taken you from this world, I would’ve done nothing but search the planet for this pathetic pile of evil, death-worshiping garbage and then sent him off to hell!”

“You don’t understand. I don’t think you’ve ever understood.”

“What? That your moral code just won’t allow for that? It’s too hard to cross that line?”

“No! God Almighty, no. It’d be too damned easy. All I’ve ever wanted to do is kill him. A day doesn’t go by that I don’t think about subjecting him to every horrendous torture he’s dealt out to others, and then…end him. But if I do that, if I allow myself to go down into that place…I’ll never come back.”

“Why? I’m not talking about killing Penguin or Scarecrow or Dent. I’m talking about him. Just him. And doing it because…because he took me away from you.”

“I can’t. I’m sorry.”

--Batman: Under the Red Hood

*****

When the dust and rubble settle, Bruce searches through the remains of the building. There’s no sign of Jason. No sign of the Joker.

But he knows, somewhere deep in his bones, that this isn’t over.

*****

“Gordon. I…” Bullock hesitates and Jim’s heart drops. Bullock never hesitates. “There’s something you need to see.”

Jim and Bullock walk in silence down to Bullock’s car. The drive is also tense and silent. Jim tries to break it, but Bullock shakes his head.

“You just have to see it,” he says, hands trembling on the steering wheel.

Jim’s driven to Arkham enough times to recognize the route. His mind is racing as they approach the asylum, wondering what fresh hell is awaiting him there. Things have been quiet since the fiasco with the Joker, Black Mask, and the Red Hood.

Jim should have known that the quiet wouldn’t last long. It never does in Gotham.

There’s a semi-circle of squad cars surrounding the closed gates to Arkham, headlights on, but sirens off. There are asylum staff on the other side of the gates and his officers are making no move to clear them from the scene. In fact, everyone seems oddly still, staring up at something chained to the gates.

Jim follows their gazes as Bullock slows to a stop. His eyes narrow and then widen as he realizes what he’s looking at.

“That…that isn’t…” he whispers.

“I know,” Bullock replies, his voice just as hushed.

Gordon slowly gets out of the car and walks forward. His officers part without sound to let him through.

Jim stops five feet away from the tall asylum gates and looks up, letting the headlights from the patrol cars shine past him.

The corpse of the Joker stares back down at him, hands and feet chained to the metal bars to keep the body aloft. From here, Jim can see the cause of death: a single gunshot wound right through the center of the forehead.

Close-range execution.

It takes Jim a moment or two to find his voice. “Cut him down. Get him to the coroner. Make sure it’s really him.”

“If it isn’t?” Bullock asks, because no one else seems to want to.

“Then we figure out what the hell is going on and why,” Jim replies. He can’t stop staring at the corpse.

“And…if it is him?”

A muscle jumps in Jim’s jaw.

“If it is him,” Jim replies slowly, “then good fucking riddance.”

He allows himself one last look at the gruesome scene in front of him. Then he turns on heel and walks away.

*****

Alfred is alone in the garden when he senses a presence behind him. He knows Bruce is at Wayne Enterprises and Tim is at school, so he grabs the nearest possible weapon—a trowel he’d been using to plant flowers—and whirls.

The trowel drops from nerveless fingers when he sees the figure standing in front of him.

“Oh my,” he whispers, breathless with unshed tears.

Jason shoves his hands in his pockets. He’s so much taller than Alfred remembers and the dark stubble on his face is entirely new, but it’s him.

“Bruce didn’t tell you?” Jason asks. His voice is deeper now. How had Alfred not realized his voice would be deeper?

“He did,” Alfred says, not even caring that the tremor in his own voice is audible. He wants to reach out, to touch Jason, to hug him, to make sure he’s real. But he doesn’t want to scare Jason away either. “I just didn’t think…it is very good to see you, my boy.”

Jason takes a shuddering breath and there’s the boy Alfred remembers, staring out at him through eyes that are so much older, yet just as vulnerable as they’d been all those years ago.

“You too, Alfie,” Jason says quietly.

“Will you come inside for some tea?” Alfred asks.

Jason shakes his head, visibly pushing his emotions back. “I can’t stay long. I just…I don’t owe Bruce a goddamn thing. But you…” he trails off for a moment and then collects himself again. “I’m not sure I’m ever going to get another chance to say this, so I wanted you to know that I’m grateful for everything you did for me. And if you ever need my help—you, not Bruce—you can count on me.”

The boy starts to turn away, but Alfred’s nowhere near ready to see him go. He calls out after him. “Please come inside.”

Jason stops, glancing back over one shoulder. “I’m pretty sure I’m not welcome. Not after what I’ve done. Not after what I’m planning to do.”

“What are you planning?” Alfred asks. He already knows that Jason killed the Joker. He’d known the moment the news broke. He hadn’t lost a single moment’s sleep over it. But this…this seems like something more.

The determination in Jason’s eyes is familiar, too. “I’m going to save this city.”

*****

Tim frowns at the screen, trying to figure out what to do next.

The thing about fighting Jason is that it’s like fighting a shadow. Jason knows every move, every contingency, every plan that Bruce already had in place. He knows that in order to have any hope of outwitting the Bat, he’s going to need some serious resources.

Black Mask is first to fall—well, the first after the Joker. Jason stages a very public, very violent takeover of Sionis’ territory and suddenly every gun-runner, smuggler, and dealer working for Sionis now works for the Hood.

From there, it doesn’t take Jason long to start creeping into the mob’s territory. Gotham’s oldest crime families try to retaliate, but soon enough they’re wiped off the map too.

And the Red Hood Gang grows.

Tim would be lying if he said he wasn’t impressed by Jason’s efficiency.

But mostly he’s just heartbroken.

Tim and Bruce and Dick and Babs do what they can to limit Jason’s spread, but it’s not like crime has stopped elsewhere in Gotham and there’s only so many of them. Jason faces far fewer setbacks than victories.

Which eventually puts him in a position to take on the Penguin and win.

And Tim starts to notice things changing.

Bruce becomes more and more withdrawn. He takes every one of Jason’s kills as a personal failing. He doesn’t seem to know whether he wants to save Jason or imprison him. Perhaps the two aren’t mutually exclusive in his mind.

Meanwhile, the people of Gotham are taking notice of the Red Hood. And not all of them are of the opinion that the Hood is bad. Word’s gotten around that the Hood is the one who permanently took the Joker off the streets. And however much bad shit the Red Hood Gang get up to, crime statistics have actually gone down overall in the territory that Jason oversees. Jason’s utterly ruthless method of dealing with anyone who defies his will does seem to have results in the short term. Tim's not so certain about what will happen in the long term.

Like, for example, what happens if Bruce actually does take Jason down? The resulting power vacuum would bring war to Gotham’s streets. Perhaps that’s all part of Jason’s plan—he’s making himself too valuable and too dangerous to get rid of.

Of course, every day they don’t catch Jason brings him closer to another kill. Even though Jason has spent the majority of his time taking over organized crime in Gotham, Tim knows his ultimate goal is to go for the big names. Jason has basically told them as much—that locking up some villains was only a temporary solution. That more lives could be saved by killing people like the Joker than incarcerating them, only to have them break out again and again and again.

And the thing is…

Tim’s not so sure Jason’s actually wrong.

But Tim will keep fighting anyway, because that's what Robins do. It's what Bruce needs him to do.

He'll keep fighting, even though Tim knows, somewhere deep down in his soul, that this will only end in blood.

*****

Jason tilts his head, considering the trembling man on the floor before him. It’s not a very impressive sight.

“Show me,” he says to his men. One of them reaches down and yanks the bag off the head of the prisoner.

Jason looks down into the waxen face of Jonathan Crane. The Scarecrow doesn’t look so scary without his costume. Or his fear toxin.

Crane’s gaze latches onto Jason, taking in the shiny red helmet, the unholstered gun resting on his lap.

“I can give you information,” Crane rasps, climbing to his knees.

“I don’t want information,” Jason tells him.

“I know where the Riddler is hiding."

“So do I.”

"The Bat will never let you kill me."

Jason rolls his eyes. "Batman and Robin are halfway across town foiling an assassination attempt on Two-Face. They have no idea you're even missing."

“The fear toxin!” Crane blurts. He’s desperate now. “I can show you how to make it.”

Jason pauses. “Does anyone else know how? Or just you?”

Crane’s eyes gleam. “I have guarded the secret for years. I am the only one who can give it to you.”

“Good,” Jason says. He raises the pistol and fires twice—one in the head and one in the heart.

“Tell everyone to move out,” Jason orders his men as he stands and holsters his weapon. “Leave the trash for the police to deal with.”

He doesn’t so much as glance at Crane’s corpse as he walks past.

There's still more work to be done.

Chapter Text

“You shouldn’t have come here.”

Dick winces as Leslie sterilizes the gaping wound in his side. “Didn’t have a lot of options, Doc,” he gasps through the pain. “It was either take my chances in the Hood’s territory or bleed out before I reached the Batcave.”

Leslie hums in reluctant agreement and steps back, gathering supplies to stitch him up. “It’s getting worse out there, isn’t it?”

Dick laughs, though there’s nothing funny about Gotham’s current state of affairs. “You tell me. I’m sure you’re seeing plenty of new patients these days.”

“Unfortunately,” Leslie frowns. “A lot of people are getting caught in the cross-fire.”

“Yeah,” Dick agrees, grimacing down at his own wound, where a high-powered rifle had torn through the armor of his suit like it was nothing. “Gotham was no picnic before, but now…”

“It’s turned ugly,” Leslie states, finishing his thought as she starts suturing his skin back together. Dick breathes through the pain the way Bruce taught him to.

“That’s the problem with the Hood’s philosophy,” Dick says. He rarely uses Jason’s name anymore when talking about the Red Hood’s exploits. It hurts too much to think about the fact that it’s his baby brother out there who’s responsible for all this. “He thought changing the rules would end the game. Instead, it just raised the stakes.”

The criminals who had ruled Gotham's underworld had been some of the toughest in the world. The ones left after the Hood's bloody takeover had decided the only way to survive was to follow his example. Gotham's streets are a warzone now, one that's left the GCPD and the Bats stretched too thin. Particularly with the new "vigilante hunters" out there--armed and armored individuals who had decided the Hood's strategy of executing Arkham's former residents should be applied to anyone wearing a Bat symbol. And while the Hood made sure the Red Hood Gang left civilians mostly alone, the other major players had no such compunctions.

“I know this is a sensitive topic, but have you tried talking to him?” Leslie asks.

“Of course we have,” Dick says, pushing down the familiar burn of grief and anger. “Even Alfred’s tried and Jason likes Alfred more than all of us put together. He turned everyone away.”

“I see,” Leslie says. After a moment, she pulls away from his side. “All done. Normally, I’d advise you against moving, but it’s really not safe for you here.”

“I know,” Dick replies, slowly getting to his feet. He sways for a second, before finding his balance.

“Do you have an exit strategy?” Leslie asks, concerned.

“Get on my bike and ride like hell,” Dick tells her. “Can’t ask Bruce for a pick up. The Batmobile draws too much unwanted attention these days.”

“Be careful,” Leslie says. At Dick’s look, she adds, “As careful as you can be while being a vigilante in Gotham.”

“You got it, Doc,” Dick says, saluting. He heads for the back entrance to the clinic, toward the alley where his bike is stashed.

“Hey, Dick,” Leslie calls after him. “Is there a chance…is there any hope that Jason might come back to us?”

Dick smiles, the expression small and wistful. “There’s always hope.”

*

The city burns.

Bruce and Jason face each other on a rooftop, the air between them hazy with smoke and ash. Bruce pushes past the pain of what will probably turn out to be a fractured collarbone and draws a batarang. A short distance away, Jason clutches at his ribs with one hand and holds his gun with the other.

“Please,” Nygma begs in a small voice. He’s cowering behind Bruce. His days on the run have left him looking haunted, but he’s managed to stay alive despite nearly a dozen close calls. “Please don’t let him kill me.”

“Is this really what you want, Batman?” Jason laughs bitingly. “To be stuck protecting murdering scum while your city crumbles? Is that what Batman stands for?”

“You think I like saving men like him?” Bruce shoots back. He’s angry. Or, more accurately, he’s forcing himself to be angry so that he doesn’t feel other things.

Grief.

Despair.

Guilt.

Oh god, Jason. What have you become? What have I done to you?

“I hate it,” he continues. “But we have to be better than them. We have to show people there’s a better way. How can you still not understand that?”

“I understand that I was never enough for you,” Jason says bitterly. “That I never mattered enough for you to save.”

Of course you were enough.

Bruce can’t choke the words out past the lump in his throat. He knows he failed Jason. He knows. But the pain in Jason’s voice cuts him to the quick all the same.

Jason shakes his head. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter. I’ve done what you never could. I’ve made an actual difference. You may not kill, but I’ve saved more people than you ever have by ending the lives of assholes like him,”  he spits, gesturing at Nygma. “I’ve made a better Gotham.”

"Look around,” Bruce says, finding his voice. “Does this look like a better Gotham to you?”

Jason hesitates and Bruce presses onward. “It’s not too late. Put the gun down. It doesn’t have to be this way.”

Jason draws a long, shuddering breath. His hand trembles as it holds the pistol, but he doesn’t lower his arm. “I made my choice a long time ago. Made it the moment I realized you’d watched me die and let the monster who put me in the ground keep on breathing,” he says. “I’ve done things I’m not proud of. I’ve made mistakes. But this isn’t one of them.”

“Don’t make me hurt you,” Bruce begs. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You already did,” Jason tells him. He cocks the gun. “It ends tonight.”

“Yes,” Bruce says, feeling the last pieces of his heart crumble into dust. “It does.”

Chapter Text

"It’s called a funnel cake,” Steph explained with infinite patience and more than a hint of exasperation as Bruce stared at the powdered sugar monstrosity on the paper plate in front of him. He’d already admitted that coming to the street fair had been a fun idea, but this just seemed unnecessary. “And it’s delicious.”

Bruce poked at it with his plastic fork suspiciously. He pretended not to see Steph rolling her eyes at him. “I’m sure it’s wonderful,” he deadpanned, earning himself another eye roll.

“Just try it,” Steph ordered. “I’m going back for kettle corn. The others should be back soon, so just hold down the fort.”

She patted the wooden picnic table for emphasis and skipped back into the crowd. Bruce poked at the funnel cake again, wondering if he should call one of his other kids and beg them to grab him something else to eat.

Bruce was just about to go for his phone when he felt something ruffle his pocket, right where his wallet was. He reached out and grabbed the would-be pickpocket’s wrist in a smooth, instinctive movement.  

“What do you think you’re—” he stopped as he turned to face the thief fully, finally cataloging how small  the wrist in his grasp was. The boy staring back at him was scruffy and thin, wearing ill-fitting clothes and looking absolutely terrified at being caught. Bruce had seen enough kids from troubled homes to know when he was looking at one.

“You were trying to steal from me,” Bruce stated, gentling his voice considerably. The kid trembled a little, but didn’t deny it.

Bruce tilted his head. “Are you hungry? I have funnel cake.”

The boy blinked. “What?”

“Have a seat,” Bruce replied, pushing the plate to an open space at the picnic table and releasing the kid’s wrist.

The boy’s gaze darted around, like he was considering making a run for it. But in the end, he sat. Bruce could tell the boy only meant to pick at the funnel cake, but after one bite, he was practically scarfing it down.

“What’s your name?” Bruce asked when the boy had finished his last bite. The kid paused in the act of brushing powdered sugar off his face.

“Joey,” he said, the lie so obvious that Bruce could’ve spotted it a mile away. Still, Bruce was impressed that he’d tried.

“Where are your parents, Joey?” Bruce asked.

The kid clamped his mouth shut. Not surprising. Kids who were forced to take care of themselves were typically closed-lipped about their situations.

But it was clear that the boy was going to bolt any second and Bruce still wanted to help. He couldn’t do much in the short term except give the boy some money, but that would run out eventually or, depending on the kid’s living situation, not make it into the his pockets at all. What Bruce really needed was a way to find out more about this kid and get him some actual help.

What happened next wasn’t, perhaps, his best plan, but it was all he could come up with in the moment.

“Here,” Bruce said, taking out his wallet and passing the kid one of his credit cards.

The boy’s eyes bulged. “What are you doing?”

“Take it,” Bruce said again. “You clearly need it more than I do right now.”

“Is this a trap?”

“No trap,” Bruce assured him. “Take the card. You’ve got three days before I report it missing to the credit card company, so make it count.”

“You’re crazy,” the boy said, but he took the card anyway.

“I’m not—” Bruce didn’t even get to finish the sentence before the kid was gone, sprinting off through the crowd.

“Fair enough,” Bruce sighed, putting his wallet away.

“Oh wow! You ate the whole thing!” Steph exclaimed. Bruce looked up to see her and the others approaching with more snacks. She ran to the table and held up the empty paper plate in triumph, showering the picnic table with powdered sugar. “I knew you’d like it!”  

Bruce didn’t have the heart to correct her.

*

When the first purchases from the credit card came back from the Bowery, Bruce knew he needed to call in an expert.

“So let me get this straight,” Jason said, folding his arms. “This kid tried to steal from you and when you caught him, you just gave him your credit card.”

“If I’d given him cash, he would’ve just disappeared,” Bruce explained. “He clearly doesn’t have a good home life. I wanted to check in on him.”

Jason shook his head. “I guess we’re lucky you didn’t turn him into your new Robin on the spot.”

“I don’t do that.”

“Um,” Jason said, gesturing at himself pointedly.

Bruce cleared his throat. “Can we get back to the issue at hand?”

Jason gave him another look, but asked, “What do you need from me?”

“The purchases were made at these stores,” Bruce said, indicating the map he’d pulled up on the Batcomputer. “I need to know if there are cameras in the area so we can track the boy home. Maybe figure out who he is.”

“And you’re sure the kid’s in trouble?” Jason pressed. “You didn’t just get played.”

Bruce leaned back in his chair. “I handed a twelve year old my credit card and all he’s done in two days is buy food and clothing. What does that tell you?”

Jason’s expression turned serious. “That he’s not being taken care of. Alright. I’ll find him. And fast.”

Bruce smiled at him. “I knew you would.”

Jason looked away, embarrassed. “Yeah, well. No one’s ready for a new Robin yet.”

Bruce huffed. “I don’t do that.”

“You so do.”

*

Jason found the boy.

His name was Jacob, not Joey. Mother deceased. Father with a gambling addiction, who sometimes went missing for days at a time. Jacob had spotty attendance records at the local public school—unsurprising, given his living situation.

Even though he’d reached the three-day deadline, Bruce kept the card active as he formulated his next move with Jason.

“He can’t continue like this,” Bruce said.

Jason nodded. “His father’s not equipped to take care of him. Might be, if he ever kicked that gambling addiction. But not now. Not like this.”

“Alright, I’ll start talking to some people in a more…official capacity,” Bruce said. “We’ll let them handle the assessment—”

“My people will handle it,” Jason cut in. “They’re the only ones I trust.”

“Alright,” Bruce nodded slowly. He should have anticipated this. Jason was fiercely protective of children in his territory. “Your people. I’d still like to help, though.”

Jason gave him a hint of a smile. “I’m sure we can figure out some use for you.”

*

“Hello, Jacob. It’s nice to see you again.”

Jacob startled at Bruce’s entrance. “Oh—it’s you. Are you really Bruce Wayne?”

“Yes,” Bruce said, chuckling a little as he took the seat opposite across from Jacob. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.”

“Yeah, well, the social worker lady said it was important,” Jacob said, scowling now that the surprise had worn off. “Are you the one that told them about me? ‘Cause I want to go back to my dad.”

“I know,” Bruce said sympathetically. “But the state has determined that your dad isn’t in a position to take care of you right now. I know that seems unfair. I’m so sorry.”

Jacob’s lip trembled, but he didn’t cry. “And what about my dad? What happens to him?”

“The Wayne Foundation has already reached out to him with some resources to help and he's accepted,” Bruce explained. “I can't make you any promises, but I have hope that things are going to turn out okay."

Jacob looked down at the table rather than respond. Bruce gave him a moment, before pressing onward.

“To that end,” he said, “I wanted to inform you that I’ve started an education fund in your name. Anything you need for school will be provided for. If you decide to go to college at some point in the future—and I sincerely hope you do—the fund will pay for your tuition as well.”

Jacob’s head shot up. The kid gaped at him. “But…I robbed you!”

“Technically, I gave you the credit card,” Bruce quibbled, smiling a little.

Jacob shook his head. “You really are crazy.”

“You’re not the first to say so,” Bruce assured him with another laugh. “I doubt you’ll be the last.”

Chapter Text

In a family of detectives, surprises were difficult to pull off. Bruce had all but given up hiding Christmas and birthday presents in the Manor or the Batcave. Decoy gifts now went to the Fortress of Solitude. The real presents were carefully hidden at the Kent’s farm in Kansas or—on one memorable occasion when Diana had gotten involved—Themyscira.

Yes, surprises were difficult, but not impossible.

Except when it came to Cass.

Bruce rubbed his chin thoughtfully. With Cass’ birthday coming up, Bruce wanted to actually surprise Cass with a gift for once. And with the charity gala invitation he'd received last month, there was actually a chance that he could do it.

The problem was that it typically took Cass the space of one glance to know you were plotting something.

So Bruce had to be strategic. He needed to think through each step carefully, thoroughly—like he was solving a case. He would need accomplices who—and this was key—had no idea they were helping him so that Cass wouldn't get suspicious.

And he had exactly one month to pull it off.

Bruce smiled.

This was going to be fun.

*

The first step was setting up a smokescreen.

“I’m sending you to Bludhaven,” Bruce told Stephanie out on patrol one night when he was sure they were alone.

Steph raised her eyebrows at him. “Excuse you?”

“It’s for Orphan’s birthday party,” Bruce explained, before Steph’s defensive hackles could be raised too high. “I want you and Nightwing to plan it. We have a better chance at keeping things under wraps if you’re in a different city. Nightwing will call you tomorrow about needing help on a case—all you have to do is accept.”

Steph shook her head. “And what’s to stop her from spying on us in Bludhaven?”

“I’ve already spoken to Batgirl,” Bruce said. “She’s fully prepared to keep Orphan busy with cases here.”

Steph snorted. “You know she’s gonna see right through all that.”

Bruce sighed. “I know. But it’s the only chance we’ve got.”

“True.” Steph adjusted her hood. “Guess I’m packing a bag tonight.”

“Try not to go overboard with the party,” Bruce cautioned.

Steph glanced at him, amused. “You realize that you and I have very different definitions of overboard.”

“I’m aware,” Bruce said, weary and fond all at once.

“Don’t worry,” Steph said, patting him on the arm. “We’ll make it good.”

“I know you will,” Bruce said. Steph shot him an ironic salute and made a running leap to the next rooftop to finish off her patrol route.

Bruce nodded to himself.

If all went well, Cass would be too distracted trying to figure out Dick and Steph's plans to realize there was something else going on.

Which was exactly the way Bruce wanted it.

*

The second step needed some precise timing to pull off.

A little less than two weeks before Cass’ birthday, Bruce made a few anonymous calls to the police in New York about cases he’d been monitoring. Afterward, he suited up and took the League teleporter up to the Watchtower for monitor duty with Clark, spending the first half-hour sitting silently with his jaw clenched as he stared at the screens in front of him.

“You’re broodier than usual today,” Clark observed after a while. “What’s wrong?””

Bruce let his shoulders slump the tiniest fraction. “It’s Damian.”

“Is he alright?” Clark asked, instantly concerned. “I know he had that knee injury…”

“He’s fine,” Bruce said. “But he’s pushing through his recovery too fast. He wants to get back out into the field and it’s only going to make him re-injure himself.”

“Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, I guess,” Clark smiled.

Bruce shot him a look, but otherwise didn’t deign to respond.

“You know…” Clark said, like something had just occurred to him. “Jon’s been missing Damian lately. Maybe he could come and stay with us in Metropolis for a weekend?”

“Damian’s perfectly capable of sneaking out in Metropolis,” Bruce said.

Clark rolled his eyes. “I think I can manage to keep both our sons from fighting crime for one weekend.”

“Will Lois be there?”

Clark mock-glared. “I can handle two children.”

Bruce met his stare flatly until Clark sighed. “Yes, Lois will be there.”

“Great,” Bruce said. “I’ll let Damian know he has plans this weekend.”

“Maybe we should just ask Lois to be in the Justice League, too,” Clark grumbled good-naturedly.

“If I thought there was a chance she’d say yes, I’d have already asked,” Bruce assured him.

*

The third step took place a week before Cass’ birthday and was by far the most dangerous. If he failed to pull it off, the whole game would be up.

“I’m going to run into the office today,” Bruce said, popping his head into the kitchen, where Alfred was doing his usual Saturday morning baking. “Lucius will murder me if I don’t get those papers signed soon.”

“Indeed,” Alfred agreed. “Just so long as you’re back in time to get ready for the gala tonight.”

Bruce froze. “…the gala. At that art gallery downtown. That’s tonight.”

Don’t tell me you forgot."

“Of course not! I just thought Tim could…” he stopped. “No, Tim’s in New York with his team working a case--something came up that was too big for the police to handle. And Damian just left with the Kents.”

Bruce sighed, hoping he wasn't laying it on too thick. “Guess I’m going it alone.”

“You could always ask Cassandra to accompany you,” Alfred pointed out.

And there it was. The suggestion Bruce had been hoping for.

Bruce kept his expression carefully thoughtful, just like he'd practiced in the mirror. “You think she’d say yes? She hates the small talk.”

“She’ll do just fine,” Alfred assured him. “Shall I inform her that her presence is requested?”

“Please,” Bruce said, hiding his glee. Alfred suspected nothing. Which meant Cass would suspect nothing. “And let her know she can buy a new dress if she wants, as a thank you for coming last minute.”

Alfred’s expression turned amused. “Resorting to bribery?”

“Always,” Bruce smiled. “I’ll bring my suit with me to WE and leave for the gala from there. I can send a driver for Cass as well, if you have things you want to get done today.”

“I’ll make the arrangements,” Alfred promised. “Enjoy the evening.”

“I’m sure I will,” Bruce replied.

He refused to let his grin of triumph show until he’d walked back to his bedroom and closed the door.

*

The car that Alfred had sent for Cass pulled up to the curb at almost the same moment as Bruce’s. Even so, he managed to get to Cass’ door in time to help her out of the car.

“You look beautiful,” he told her. Cass smiled, brushing her fingers against the sleek red and black skirt of the dress she’d picked out for herself. “Do I want to know how much the dress cost?”

Cass’ smile widened. “No.”

Bruce laughed. “Fair enough.” He held out his arm. “Shall we?”

Cass threaded her arm through his and walked beside him toward the art gallery.

And then stopped and frowned at him as he walked straight past the steps.

“Oh sorry,” Bruce said. “We’re not going to the gala. I’ve already written them a big check to apologize. Hopefully, they won’t mind.”

Cass’ frown deepened, her gaze demanding answers.

Bruce reached into his suit pocket and pulled out two tickets. “The ballet’s just across the street. Thought we’d go there instead.”

Cass blinked at him. Then, a slow smile dawned across her face. “You set me up.”

“I wanted to surprise you for your birthday,” Bruce explained, somehow both nervous and excited now that his plan was all out in the open. “And I know you love the ballet…”

Cass stood on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek, interrupting him. “Good job,” she told him.

“Really?”

“Really,” Cass confirmed. She grabbed the tickets with her free hand and tugged at his arm with other. “Let’s go!”

Chapter Text

Damian didn’t look up. “Whatever it is that you and Harper want, the answer is no.”

“Just hear me out,” Todd said. Harper, wisely, remained silent.

That was how Damian knew the request was going to be a big one. He’d never known Harper to do anything wise. Or remain silent.

“There’s this mission—”

“No.”

“—and we need some backup—”

“I’m not helping you.”

“It’s not your help we want.”

“Then why are you here?” Damian asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

 “We need to borrow Goliath.”

Damian blinked, processing for a moment, and then stood. “This conversation is over.”

Todd jumped into the doorway, blocking his exit. “He’d only be in a support role. He’d be safe, I promise.”

“Goliath isn’t the Batmobile, Todd,” Damian snapped. “You can’t just take him whenever you feel like it.”

“There are lives in danger,” Harper said.

Damian glared. “Yours will be among them if you don’t drop this immediately.”

Todd and Harper exchanged a long glance. Todd’s shoulders slumped.

“Fine,” Todd groaned. “You can come with.”

“Why would I want to do that?” Damian asked incredulously.

“Because our target’s holed up in a little island mansion and he has a private zoo you can liberate.”

Damian paused. “Have the animals been mistreated?”

“Knowing this guy?” Todd said. “Probably.”

Damian’s fists clenched. “I’ll need access to your intel. And we’ll need to discuss transportation and accommodation for the animals once they’ve been freed.”

“And we get to use Goliath?” Todd pressed.

“After  I approve the plan,” Damian specified. “And you’ll throw in some new toys for Goliath when this is all over.”

Harper grinned. “Making toys for a dragon bat sounds like a fun challenge. I'm in.”

“Alright, then,” Todd said. “You’ve got yourself a deal."

*

Two Days Later

"Oh, hell yes!" Roy exclaimed, sliding off Goliath's back and stretching both fists towards the sky. He kept his voice relatively quiet, given they were still in enemy territory and the mission wasn't even close to being over. "We have got to get ourselves one of these."

"I know. He's awesome, right?" Jason agreed, dismounting as well. Kory landed silently next to him.

"Robin is in position," she said, eyeing Roy with a smile as he came around to the front of Goliath and started enthusiastically scratching him behind the ears.

"Who's a good boy? You know it's you," Roy murmured to the dragon bat, who rumbled in contentment. The archer looked up at Jason. "I'm calling it. We should just steal him. Damian can't possibly murder all of us."

"Yes, I can,"  Damian informed them over the comms. Jason and Roy winced. They'd both forgotten the comm lines were open.

"He was joking," Jason replied quickly. 

"Don't listen to him," Roy whispered to Goliath. "We're totally going to steal you."

"Harper!"

"Perhaps we should focus on the mission?" Kory suggested mildly.

"Right," Jason sighed. "Everyone know the plan?"

"I'm mopping up any roving patrols in the area, then joining Starfire," Roy said.

"I'm waiting for your signal and then blasting through the gates," Kory told Jason.

"I am also waiting for the Hood's signal,"  Damian said, still sounding a little angry.

"And I'm riding a fucking dragon bat to take out those tower defenses," Jason said, crackling his knuckles. "God, I love my life."

*

Three Weeks Later

Drake cornered him in the Batcave.

“Since when are you loaning out Goliath for missions?” he demanded. “And since when does Jason get first dibs?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Damian sniffed, re-stocking his supply of batarangs.

“Please. Did you really think I wouldn't notice?"

“Do you have a point?” Damian asked. “Or do you just enjoy the sound of your own voice?”

Drake shot him a withering look. “I have a Young Justice mission I’d like to use Goliath for. It requires precise timing and more maneuverability in the air than the Batplane can give me.”

"Have the clone fly you in,” Damian suggested. “I thought that’s what you kept him around for.”

“The clone has a name,” Drake scolded. “And Connor will have his own objective to complete. As will the other members of my team. Using Goliath is the best option for me.”

“The arrangement I made with Todd was a one-time thing,” Damian said, turning to face Drake fully. “It won’t be happening again.”

In answer, Drake pulled out a flash drive from his pocket and waved it in Damian’s face.

“What is that?” Damian asked.

“Just the names and locations of the most wanted poachers all around the world,” Drake said. “Along with a travel itinerary and details about safe houses, supplies, etc. I thought it might be a fun summer vacation for you.”

Damian’s eyes narrowed. “You’re bribing me?”

“I’m showing my appreciation for your generosity in letting me use Goliath,” Drake corrected. “The bribe is that I’ll bankroll getting Goliath’s treats for the next year.”

Damian looked at the flash drive and then at Drake. “If Goliath is harmed…”

“He won’t be.”

“I need to see the mission details.”

“Already have them up on the Batcomputer."

Damian hesitated a moment longer, before giving in and grabbing the flash drive.

 “Fine,” he said. “But the treats you purchase had best be of the highest quality.”

“They will be,” Drake promised.

*

Later That Week

“What is that?” Connor asked, staring up at Goliath in confusion.

“My ride,” Tim answered smugly. “I borrowed him from Damian.”

“Every time I think you Bats can’t get any weirder…” Cassie shook her head.

“Ohmygod he’s so fluuuuuffy,”  Bart cooed, burying his hands in the dragon bat’s fur. “Can we keep him?”

“Um, no,” Tim said. “Did you not hear the part where I said I borrowed him from Damian? He would murder me.”

“Can he come to our sleepovers?” Bart continued, not listening. He was too busy giggling as Goliath sniffed him from head to toe.

“Only if you want Damian there too.”

“So that’s a no,”  Connor said flatly.

“When do you have to bring him back?” Cassie asked, cautiously petting Goliath’s side. She startled and then grinned when the dragon bat began to purr.

“I’ve got twenty-four hours before Damian—and I quote—‘hunts me down and feeds me my own entrails,’” Tim said. “As you can imagine, I’d like to meet that deadline.”

“So, what you’re saying is, we’ll have time to cuddle with him after the mission is over,” Bart said.

Tim marveled at his selective hearing. “Yes, I suppose so.”

Bart let out an inhuman squeal and threw his arms around Goliath’s neck. “Best day ever!”

*

24 Hours Later

Damian laughed as Goliath tackled him to the ground.

“I missed you too,” he said, managing to get his arms around the dragon bat’s neck. “That’s the last time I let you fly with someone else.”

Goliath whuffed and settled down contentedly, his length of his head taking up the entirety of Damian’s chest. Damian gently petted the soft fur on his nose, eliciting a rumbling purr that made the boy grin. He almost didn't hear the footsteps in the grass over the sound.

“Ah, there you are,” Pennyworth said, approaching the two of them. Damian tilted his head back just far enough that he could see the butler standing a few feet away on the Manor’s lawn. “Dinner is ready.”

Damian said nothing, disappointed by the prospect of having to move anytime soon.

Pennyworth came a little closer. "I see Goliath has returned."

"Drake did manage to meet his deadline," Damian allowed begrudgingly.

“I thought it was very kind of you to help your brothers these past few weeks,” Pennyworth said as he reached down to scratch under the dragon bat’s collar. Goliath’s purr grew even louder in response. “Though you can be sure we’ll be discussing this summer trip Master Timothy put together for you.”

“Yes, well,” Damian said, embarrassed by the praise and by the fact that Pennyworth knew what they’d been planning. “I’m just glad Goliath was unharmed.”

“Your brothers would never have let anything happen to him,” Pennyworth said confidently. “For his own sake and for yours.”

Damian didn’t quite know how to answer that, so he chose silence instead. Thankfully, Pennyworth didn’t seem to need a response.

“But come along now, Master Damian,” he said. “I won’t allow your dinner to grow cold. And I believe Master Timothy has set up some treats for Goliath as well.”

As the word treats, Goliath’s ears perked forward excitedly. Damian couldn’t help the smile on his face.

“Yes, alright,” Damian said. “Goliath has earned something special.”

“He certainly has,” Pennyworth agreed. "Come, Goliath."

The dragon bat licked Damian's cheek affectionately, then bounded after Pennyworth. Damian scrambled up after him, wiping the slobber away with the sleeve of his shirt. Harper may have come through with the new toys, but Damian needed to inspect those treats Drake had purchased.

Goliath deserved nothing but the best.

Chapter Text

“So I did exactly as you said,” Steph huffed into the comms. “Followed the plan to the letter. No improvising.”

Cass didn’t answer, but Steph knew she was listening all the same.

“Infiltrated the building, cracked the safe, stole the intel,” Steph continued, skidding around a corner. Bits of plaster exploded around her as the goons chasing her opened fire, spraying bullets into the wall and narrowly missing Steph herself. “And now I’m being chased by about a six teams of well-armed, pissed off private security assholes. Did I do something wrong?”

“Part of the plan,”  Cass’ voice buzzed in her ear.

“Oh goody,” Steph enthused. “So glad I didn’t screw things up. By the way, did we ever go over the extraction plan? Because I’m wracking my brain and I don’t remember an extraction plan.”

“Next left.”

Steph turned just in time and sprinted full-tilt toward the door at the end of the hall.

“Up,”  Cass commanded as Steph entered the stairwell.

“Up?” Steph repeated, glancing longingly at the steps leading downward.

“Up,”  Cass insisted sharply. Steph heaved a sigh and started running, taking the steps two at a time.

“Really wish my grapple wasn’t broken,” she grumbled, mostly to herself. “I’m gonna be sooo sore tomorrow.”

“Get to the roof,”  was all Cass had to say about it.

Steph made a face and kept running, spurred by the sound of bootsteps behind her. She tossed a couple smoke grenades over her shoulder to provide cover and generally cause confusion. And also because tossing smoke grenades was just plain fun.

A few minutes later, she burst onto the rooftop, sealing the door behind her with one of Tim’s latest gadgets. Steph caught her breath for a moment and glanced around. The rooftop garden was utterly mundane…and completely useless for any sort of escape.

“What now?” Steph asked. “You want me to fight my way out? The door will act as a bottleneck, but if enough of them get through, this is going to turn ugly.”

“Don’t fight,”  Cass said, just as the door shuddered, like someone had thrown their entire weight against it. “Jump.”

“Don’t have a grapple, remember?” Steph hissed, reaching for a batarang. “Please tell me you changed the plan to account for my grapple being broken!”

“Trust me.”

Well, that was just unfair.

“Ugh,”  Steph groaned. “You so owe me for this.”

She tucked the batarang away, took a deep breath, and sprinted for the edge of the roof.

Falling from eighteen stories up was glorious.

Having no means of landing safely was supremely terrifying.

“I really, really hate your plans!” Steph yelled into the comms over the sound of the rushing wind.

“Incoming,”  Cass promised. Steph didn’t have time to ask what that meant before something huge gripped her shoulders in a bruisingly tight grasp. Her plummeting descent came to an abrupt stop and Steph disconcertingly felt herself starting to rise in the air.

“What the…?!” she gasped, gaping at the enormous black talons latched around her uniform, before swinging her head back to see the red underbelly of Goliath. “You borrowed Goliath?”

“Had to,”  Cass said over the comms. Even though Steph could just make out the bottoms of Cass’ boots on Goliath’s back, she still couldn’t hear the other girl without the commlink over the noise of the wind and Goliath’s wingbeats.

“Not that I don’t appreciate the save,” Steph said, “but what exactly did you promise Damian?”

“Help.”

“With what?” Steph asked suspiciously.

“Goliath’s bath-time.”

Steph groaned. “Oh god. For how long?”

Cass said nothing.

“How long, Cass?”

“Six months.”

“That’s an eternity!” Steph complained.

“Saved your life,”  Cass reminded her.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever,” Steph grumbled. “Next time, we’re going with my plan.”

*

Hal folded his arms. “No.”

Bruce turned toward him. “No?” he repeated, a bit of confusion slipping through his normally austere tone.

“No, you don’t get to have a giant devil-bat to ride around on,” Hal expounded, glaring at the enormous red-furred creature at Bruce’s side. “I put up with all the gadgets and the vehicles and the know-it-all attitude, but this is just ridiculous.”

“Yeah, I’m with Hal on this one,” Oliver piped up. “You don’t get to have all the cool stuff. It’s not fair!”

“Exactly!” Hal said. “I mean, maybe I want to ride into battle on a hell-beast. But do I get to? No, I don’t. You shouldn’t get to either.”

"He's not a hell-beast," Diana scolded, getting right up in the creature's face. The thing started honest-to-god purring as she scratched under its chin. "He's beautiful."

Clark approached cautiously from the other side, running his fingertips along the beast's flank. "So, what now?" he asked. "Does he come back to the Watchtower?"

"Robin will be along shortly to collect him," Bruce said. "Goliath belongs to him."

“That thing belongs to your kid? The stabby one?” Oliver clarified. "Makes sense."

Clark's chuckle quickly turned into a cough as Bruce glared at them all. Hal and Oliver traded knowing looks. Diana was too busy murmuring to the demon-bat to pay attention to the conversation.

There was a zip of lightning and then Barry had returned, Bruce's youngest with him. The kid immediately went to Goliath, who nudged Diana aside so that he could enthusiastically lick Damian's face. 

"He's unharmed?" Damian demanded. It always surprised Hal to hear such a young kid taking that kind of tone with Bruce. Most Leaguers still  wouldn't talk to Batman like that, even though he deserved it more than half the time.

"He's fine," Bruce assured him. 

"Hey, kid!" Hal called, seeing an opportunity. "Think we could borrow your friend here for another mission? I've got some fun ideas for him."

Damian turned and regarded Hal, his expression devoid of any emotion. "Do you have a proposal?"

Hal frowned, confused. "I'm sorry?"

"A proposal," Damian repeated, enunciating each syllable with annoying precision. "I will need a written mission plan--with no grammatical errors--and, of course, a detailed list of proposed compensation. Any deviation from an approved plan will result in pain. Lots of pain."

"Isn't that a little extreme?" Barry asked.

"It's standard operating procedure," Damian sniffed. "There are no exceptions."

"Even for your family?" Clark wanted to know.

Damian leveled him with a flat stare. "Especially for them." He turned back to Hal. "You may submit your proposal to my Father. Once I have reviewed it, we can set a time and place to negotiate the terms. I recommend you think long and hard about what you're willing to give up. I drive a hard bargain."

Was Bruce smiling? Hal could have sworn Bruce was smiling as the kid nodded politely to Diana and hopped on Goliath's back. The Leaguers took a step back as Goliath unfurled his wings and shot into the sky, heading for Gotham.

"Every time I see that kid, he gets more and more terrifying," Oliver said to no one in particular. 

"Amen to that," Hal agreed.       

*

Tim added another comment to the report he was scrolling through from Wayne Enterprises. Across the room, Damian perched on the window seat, sketching something in a notebook.

“Hey!” Dick bounded into the room, shattering the peaceful silence.

“Shouldn’t you be in Bludhaven?” Tim asked, eyeing him warily. His older brother was buzzing with barely-contained energy, which always spelled trouble.

“Bruce asked me to stick around,” Dick explained. “But I’m bored.”

“A tragedy,” Damian drawled. Tim hid a smile.

“Dames,” Dick said cajolingly, gaze zeroing in on the youngest. “Don’t be cruel. I’m suffering.”

“Are you,” Damian replied flatly, without looking up from his drawing.

“Yes! But you can make it better,” Dick promised him. “Take me flying on Goliath!”

“No.”

Tim snorted. As if that was going to happen without a stack of paperwork, an intense negotiation, an enormous amount of bribery, and a good deal of—

“Please?” Dick asked.

Damian sighed. “Fine.”

Tim gaped. “What?”

Damian closed his sketchbook and stood. “No skydiving this time, though.”

“But that’s the best part!” Dick said.

Damian sighed again. “Alright. But just one time.”

“Awesome!”

“That is so unfair!” Tim complained. Last time he’d asked to borrow Goliath, Damian had actually made him sign a contract. Tim had considered hiring a lawyer just to make sure he wasn't accidentally signing his soul away.

Damian threw him a smirk as he followed Dick out the door. Tim scowled after him.

Damian was the worst. 

Chapter Text

There were certain moments about the job that Dick wished he could forget.

There were certain things that he never could.

The six words Danny Chase said to him upon his return to Earth from a Teen Titans mission were burned into his brain.

“I think Jason Todd was killed.”

For a while, it hadn’t felt possible. It wasn’t possible that Jason was dead and Dick hadn’t been there to protect him. It just wasn’t. Jason was Robin. Dick had given Jason his old uniform. He would’ve been there if Jason was in danger.

He should’ve been there.

He should've...

Jason had died. Jason had been murdered.

And Dick hadn’t been there.

But somehow worse was the fact that Bruce hadn't been the one to tell him.

*

“I’m not here to fight,” Dick said. He meant it, even though there was a spark of something dark and ugly and terrible that had been growing inside him ever since he’d learned Jason was dead and Bruce hadn’t even bothered to let him know.

“Then don’t,”  Bruce snapped, taking the cowl off, and something in his tone made Dick pause.

“Are you blaming me?” Dick asked incredulously. Sure, he was no stranger to self-recrimination, especially in the darkest hours of the night when what if and I should have been there ruled his thoughts. But he’d never thought Bruce would…that he’d actually…

“I left, so Jason replaced me, and because I left, he died? No way, pal,” Dick informed Bruce, that ugly emotion burning stronger by the moment. “Jason wasn’t me. I was a trained acrobat. I could think quickly in perilous situations.”

And then Dick said something he knew was unforgivable. He knew it before the words even left his mouth.

He said it anyway, because a part of him couldn’t help but wonder if it was true.

“But why did you let him become Robin before he was ready?”

Bruce’s punch caught him by surprise.

Years later, Dick wondered if it caught Bruce by surprise, too.

“Don’t you dare blame me for Jason’s death! Don’t you dare!”

Dick stayed down, the cold of the cave floor seeping through his clothes, as he watched the man who’d saved him after his parents died fall to pieces in front of him.

“Why did I think I needed a partner?” Bruce practically spat at him. Dick saw the pain in his eyes, heard it in his voice. It was the same pain and grief and anger that raged so strongly in his own heart that sometimes he just wanted to tear it out of his chest and be done with it.

“They slow you down!” Bruce continued, hurling every word like stone. “They make you worry about them rather than doing your job. He wouldn’t listen. He wanted to do everything his way. He was just like you.”

Dick bit his lip so hard he felt it split. Just like me. Jason had been so much more than Dick—bright and eager and tough as nails.

But that wasn’t what Bruce meant.

He said just like you and he meant unruly. He meant disrespectful. He meant out of control.

All the insults he’d launched at Dick before the Big Split, when Dick had left Gotham for good and taken up with the Teen Titans.

And Bruce wasn’t done. “In a few years, I would’ve had to fire him as I did you. Why are you pretending to be concerned about Jason? You told me you resented it that I had adopted him and not you.”

“No,” Dick protested. Pretending to be concerned?  How could Bruce even think such a thing? “I didn’t. I only asked why you adopted him.”

Adopting Dick had never been on the table. Which was okay. His relationship with Bruce…it was different. They were—had been—partners. It wasn’t the same as what Bruce had with Jason.

Dick had made his peace with that. It hadn’t been easy, but he had.

“We’ve gone over this before, Dick. I’m not interested in continuing this conversation. I suggest you leave. Give your key to Alfred on the way out.”

Dick blinked back a sudden burn of tears. Bruce couldn’t mean that. He couldn’t.

But apparently, he did, because the next words out of his mouth were: “I don’t need a partner. I never should have had one. And I never will again.”

And then he was gone, sweeping up the stairs and out of the Batcave.

The grief, Dick reminded himself as he put his head down on his knees and broke down crying. It’s the grief talking. He didn’t mean it.

It didn’t make his heart hurt any less.

*

Worst of all, the Joker got to keep walking the Earth, while Jason was buried inside it.

*

“All the deaths! All the pain! When is enough enough, Joker?”

Dick pulled back, fists bloody. He had to stop. He was going too far.

But Tim was dead. Another Robin gone. Just like—

“Aw jeez,” the Joker wheezed, spitting a mouthful of blood onto the floor. “I hit Jason a lot harder than that. His name was Jason, right?”

In books, the hero always conveniently blacked out when they went into a murderous rage. It was only after, when the deed was done, that they witnessed what their anger had wrought.

Dick didn’t black out.

He remembered every blow.

He enjoyed it.

The remorse came later, of course. After Tim had turned up alive. After Bruce had resuscitated the Joker. After the weight of what he’d done finally caught up with him.

He told Bruce that he regretted it. Bruce had been furious, but he’d accepted that Dick had made a mistake. He could see the guilt in Dick’s eyes and knew it was real enough.

Dick was just lucky that Bruce never asked what he regretted.

Because Dick regretted giving the Joker exactly what he wanted. He regretted letting his anger get the best of him. He regretted losing control.

But sometimes—when Dick was being honest with himself—his biggest regret was that the Joker didn’t stay dead.

*

And then, miraculously, Jason came back.

Chapter Text

Jason watched the timer tick down the seconds of his life and thought about all the things he would never get to do. He would never be old enough to drive, or vote, or drink. He’d never find out if Bruce would forgive him, never learn to use the trapeze like Dick had promised, never figure out the secret ingredient to Alfred’s chicken noodle soup.

He was fifteen and he was going to die.

If destiny was real, it was a fucking asshole to deal him this hand of cards.

But as the timer reached zero, Jason took some small comfort in the fact that his death would guarantee the Joker’s end. As trades went, that wasn’t a bad one. If anyone deserved to die, it was that sadistic piece of shit.

As for his family…Jason hoped they would be okay. He hoped they wouldn’t blame themselves.

He hoped they would miss him as much as he would miss them.

*

And then, in some hellish twist of fate, Jason came back.

*

Turned out, returning to Gotham to find some other kid wearing his uniform and living his life fucking sucked. Jason wondered if Bruce had bothered to hand-pick his new sidekick or if he’d just grabbed the first dark-haired boy he’d laid eyes on.

Maybe Bruce had been planning to replace him all along. Maybe Jason’s death had been a relief.

It certainly seemed that way. Because somehow Jason’s family was more whole than they’d ever been when Jason was still living. Dick and Bruce were talking again and Dick apparently adored the new Robin, with the way he hovered like an anxious mother hen whenever he was around. He’d never hovered like that for Jason. He probably hadn’t even cried at Jason’s funeral.

Good riddance to the street trash and all that.

But the real proof that none of them had ever cared about Jason wasn’t the fact that Jason had been replaced. It wasn’t even that the Waynes were a happy family again.

It was the fact that the Joker was still alive.

That fucking monster was still breathing, even after everything he’d done. Even after he’d murdered Jason.

Jason really should have known better. After all, if you really wanted something done, you had to do it yourself.

*

Jason let his pain and rage roll over Gotham like a tidal wave.

 In the end, it didn’t matter.

Bruce won.

The Joker lived.

And Jason…Jason gave up the killing.

Not because Bruce was right. Jason would never concede that.

He gave up the killing because Jason was tired of being alone. He wanted his family back.

Even if he cared for them more than they’d ever cared for him.

*

“Little Wi—”

“Don’t call me that!” Jason snapped, beyond furious. He paced back and forth in front of the medical cots in the Batcave, watching with the intensity of a caged tiger as the Replacement cut away the remainder of Dick’s shirt to get at the bloody wound beneath it. “What the fuck were you even doing there? It was my op!”

“Tim said—”

“Oh Tim said,” Jason snarled, throwing a glare in Tim’s direction for good measure. “Yes, we all know the Pretender’s word is gold.”

“Don’t call him that,” Dick said breathlessly as Tim sanitized his injury.

Jason scoffed in disgust. “You always fucking take his side. Don’t you remember when I told you that I had things handled tonight? But then, I’m not to be trusted, am I? That’s what you thought when Bruce took me in, wasn’t it? Good to know some things never change.”

“That’s not—”

“Why do you even pretend to care?” Jason continued mercilessly. It felt good to finally let go and say all the things he’d been thinking since he came back, all the doubts that had weighed down his soul for years now. “Everyone here knows I don’t mean a goddamn thing to you. I mean, you don’t trust me and you sure as hell don’t like me. You never have. I bet your life was a lot easier when I was dead. So how about you just leave me the fuck alone from now on and we’ll all get on with our lives.”

“Jay, wait—”

But Jason was done. He climbed onto his bike and rode out of the Batcave without so much as a glance back.

He wasn’t going to give Dick the satisfaction of seeing him cry.

*

The Replacement found him first, breaking into his safe house via the window and letting himself in despite Jason’s threat of death and dismemberment.

“For once in your life, shut up and listen,”  Tim growled at him in reply.

Jason shut up. He really hadn’t thought the Replacement had that kind of fire in him. He was almost impressed.

Tim took a breath, obviously calming his temper. “There’s something you need to know and the others are never going to tell you. So can we just sit and talk for a moment?”

“Fine,” Jason snapped, curiosity piqued despite himself. He sat down at the worn kitchen table and watched Tim sit across from him. “But if this turns into a lecture, I’m throwing you out the window.”

“You can try, asshole,” Tim snapped back. Jason’s gaze narrowed. If Tim kept this up, Jason might actually end up liking the kid. Who knew timid little Tim had some bite in him?

“Well?” Jason prompted. “What’s the big secret?”

Tim took another breath. “Not long after I became Robin, I was taken by the Joker."

Jason’s blood chilled in his veins. Whatever he’d expected Tim to say, it hadn’t been this.

“Killer Croc got to me before anyone else could," Tim said. "I escaped, but no one else knew that. Everyone—Bruce, Dick, Babs—they all thought I was dead.”

“So?” Jason asked, trying to sound nonchalant, though he knew wasn’t fooling either of them.

“The thing is,” Tim continued, “even though Croc was the one they thought had killed me, Dick went after the Joker. He went in alone against an army of the Joker’s men. I watched the footage from the camera in Dick’s suit after it was all over. The fight was…” Tim swallowed hard. “I’ve never seen him fight like that.”

Jason wondered if he dared to go find that footage for himself. What exactly had spooked Tim so badly?

“And then he got to the Joker,” Tim said. “And he…it wasn’t a fight. It was a beating. He blamed the Joker for what he thought happened to me—”

“So this whole saga is about how Dick went after the Joker for you, when he wouldn’t do the same for me?”  Jason interrupted. He was so fucking done. How many times was he going to let himself get fooled? “Even though it was Croc’s fault? Great story, Replacement. Really awesome. Way to make me feel better—”

“He stopped, though,” Tim said, continuing loudly enough to drown out Jason’s protests. “He beat the Joker bloody and then he stopped. Just like we always do.”

“Cool,” Jason sneered, rising to his feet. He wasn’t going to listen to a second more of this. “Thanks for the time waste. Let’s never do it agai—”

“And then the Joker said your name,” Tim soldiered on, voice shaking. “He said, ‘I hit Jason harder than that.’ And Dick killed him.”

Jason sat.

Or, more accurately, his legs gave out from under him.

“…what?”  he croaked. He couldn’t…he didn’t…

“Dick killed the Joker,” Tim repeated, holding Jason’s gaze with those serious blue eyes of his. “And he did it for you.”

Jason stared, utterly speechless. His brain couldn’t compute what Tim was telling him. It was like finding out that two plus two actually equaled five, despite all evidence to the contrary.

Dick killed the Joker.

And he did it for you.

Dick couldn’t have killed someone. He couldn’t have killed the Joker. And certainly not for Jason. That was…he couldn’t have.

Besides, the Joker was still alive. Jason knew that. He's seen it. How could Dick have killed the Joker if the Joker was still alive? It didn't make any sense.

“Bruce resuscitated him,” Tim continued, as if he knew Jason couldn’t formulate any coherent thoughts at the moment. “I don’t think he wanted to, but he knew the guilt of taking a life—even the Joker’s life—would’ve killed Dick. Maybe not right away, but it would have. We all know it’s true.”

And putting aside for a moment the blindingly bright fury and betrayal at the words Bruce resuscitated him, Jason could kind of see where Tim was coming from. Dick had a darkness inside of him that would surprise most of the hero community, but he wasn’t like Jason—or even Bruce, when it came down to it. Even in his lowest moments, he was still better and brighter than the rest of them.

No matter how justified the killing, the guilt would have caught up with him eventually. And Tim was probably right in the fact that it would’ve killed him.

“Why didn’t anyone tell me?” Jason asked, finally finding his voice. He was surprised by how hoarse it sounded.

“I think Bruce just wanted to forget it ever happened,” Tim said. “And we got so used to not talking about it, that when you came back, it was just habit to never bring it up.”

“Then why are you telling me now?” Jason wanted to know.

“Because you deserved the truth,” Tim said, leveling him a look. “Question is, what are you going to do about it?”

*

Dick stumbled out of bed about thirty seconds after the smell of bacon started wafting through the apartment.

“Jason?” he gaped, blinking sleep from his eyes as he beheld Jason at the stove. Jason glanced at him and then frowned at the blood-stained bandage wrapped around his side.

“Go change your bandages,” Jason ordered, turning back to the bacon. “I’ll have breakfast ready when you’re done.”

“Huh?” Dick asked idiotically, somehow sounding more confused than before.

Jason rolled his eyes and repeated his instructions. After a moment, Dick stumbled away again, clutching at his side. True to Jason’s word, breakfast was piping hot and sitting on the table by the time Dick returned.

“Not that I’m complaining,” Dick began gently as he sat across from Jason at the table, “but what exactly are you doing here? After last night, I didn’t think you’d want to see me.”

Jason had meant to ease into it. He really had. But instead, he blurted, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“About what?”

“About how you killed the Joker.”

Dick’s eyes went wide with surprise. He was speechless for all of a minute before he pieced it together. “Tim told you.”

“Yeah,” Jason said. “But why didn’t you?”

Dick looked down at his hands, at the table, out the window—anywhere but at Jason. “Because I didn’t…because even though I ki—” He stopped and took a breath, before starting again. “Even though I killed him, he didn’t stay dead. And I just…I thought telling you would only bring you more pain. I mean, in the grand scheme of things, what difference did it really make?”

“It made a difference to me,” Jason told him, voice just as shaky. “It makes a hell of a difference to me.”

Dick finally met his gaze. “When you died, I…” he trailed off, tears spilling down his cheeks. He wiped them away quickly. “I know we’ve had our ups and downs, but please don’t think, even for a minute, that you don’t matter to me. You do. You always have, Little Wing. Always.”

Jason swiped at his eyes with his sleeve. “Well, okay then,” he said gruffly, clearing his throat a little. “We should, um. We should eat before it gets cold.”

Dick picked up his fork when Jason did, but didn’t start eating right away. “Are we good, Jay? Because if we’re not, tell me how I can—”

“We’re good,” Jason interrupted him. “I promise, we’re good.”

Dick let out a huge breath of relief. “Okay. Okay, good.”

Jason cleared his throat again. “Don’t think this means we’re not gonna fight in the future, though. ‘Cause we are.”

Dick gave a watery chuckle. “Understood,” he said. He looked down at his plate and paused. “Hold on. Where did you get eggs and bacon? I don’t remember having any of this stuff in my fridge.”

“You didn’t,” Jason said around a mouthful of eggs. “Your eating habits are a crime against nature. Cereal and bread are not acceptable meals.”

“Both of those things are objectively delicious.”

“I’m telling Alfred on you.”

“What? No! I eat a balanced diet, I swear!”

“Save it for the tribunal, Dick-face. You are in sooo much trouble.”

Chapter Text

“You’re sure you want to do this, squire?” John asked. “No shame in backing out. Magic’s not everyone’s cup of tea.”

Jason shrugged. “Neither is getting thrown in a Lazarus Pit. But I survived that, so I’ll probably survive this. Survived Ducra’s training too and that was no picnic.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t,” John conceded. “I still can’t believe that old bat parted with the All-Blades.”

“I was surprised too,” Jason said, holding out his hands. John nearly yelped as twin golden blades appeared in his grasp.

“I thought those could only be summoned in the presence of evil,” he said, recovering what little of his dignity he had left. “I know I’m a bastard, but I didn’t think I was that bad.”

Jason laughed. “Don’t take it personally. I can summon the blades at will now—no evil required. Took me a while to figure it out, though.”

“They’re beautiful,” John said, inching closer to get a better look at the swords. “An exquisite piece of magic. Weapons like these would make my work a lot easier.”

“I can help if you need it,” Jason offered, dismissing the blades with a thought. “I don’t really play nice with others, but I think I could manage a team-up with you.”

“Good to know,” John said with a wink. Jason flushed a little in response.

How adorable.

Jason was certainly good-looking, though with rougher edges than his older brother. John sighed internally at the memory of Dick Grayson.

How dare a man that beautiful have the stupidly over-protective Batman for a father. It was practically a crime against nature, John fumed as he absentmindedly patted down his coat pockets, searching for a pack of smokes and coming up empty.

“Here.”

John accepted the cigarette Jason offered him with more than a little surprise. “You smoke?”

Jason shrugged again, grabbing a cigarette for himself before putting the pack away. “Only to piss off Bruce. He hates it.”

“That he does,” John agreed, lighting both of their cigarettes with a snap of his fingers.

Jason stared at the little flame, delighted. “Can you teach me how to do that?”

“Oh, sure. Nothing to it,” John said. “I’ll throw in a few other useful tricks as well. How to hide that aura of yours, basic mental shielding against psychic and empathic attacks—things like that.”

“Works for me,” Jason said. “I’ve got plenty of embarrassing stories about Bruce for your payment. When do we start?”

“No time like the present,” John said, taking another drag. “Now what do you know about magical theory?”

*

“How about the Cluemaster debacle. Did I tell you that one yet?” Jason asked as they took a break on the Gotham rooftop where they’d been practicing mental shielding.

“Don’t think so,” John said. He’d been enjoying his time with Jason more than he’d anticipated. Especially given the fact that all their lessons took place in Gotham. John didn’t think it was unfair to call the city a hell-hole.

He’d seen hell, after all.

“Oh this is a good one,” Jason said. “Bruce was working a case—trying to piece together all the clues Brown was leaving for some heist or other. All evidence pointed to an address in the Diamond District. So Bruce goes tearing through the city, trying to get there in time. Except he’d accidentally written the address down wrong.”

“Oh no,” John said, already smiling. “Where did he end up?”

“He came crashing through the window of a bachelorette party in one of the penthouse suites,” Jason laughed. “Scared the shit out of everyone there. We had to help him scrub all photos and videos posted online afterward. It was amazing.”

“Please tell me you saved them somewhere,” John begged.

“Babs did, I think,” Jason said. “She’s got a whole file.”

“I need to meet her,” John declared. “It’s very important.”

Jason laughed again. “We’ll figure something out,” he said. “But you’ll have to get past Bruce first.”

John cocked an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“You haven’t noticed him watching us?” Jason replied, tilting his head toward a rooftop a respectable distance away. “He’s off running his patrol right now, but he keeps dropping by. Should be back in the next ten minutes or so.”

“Of course,” John sighed. “Brucie’s not really big on trust, is he?”

“No, he is not,” Jason agreed, sounding disgruntled.

John glanced over at him. “Want to teach him a lesson, then?”

Jason shot him a measuring look. “What did you have in mind?”

“Depends,” John said. “Think he can hear what we’re saying when he drops by?”

“Yes,” Jason answered instantly. John really shouldn’t have been surprised. Bats always had the oddest tech.

“Excellent,” John grinned. “Let’s have a little fun, shall we?”

*

Bruce paused on the rooftop. Something was…different.

“Are you sure?” Jason was asking. Bruce’s surveillance equipment had bugged out a little earlier, but it was working perfectly now. “I wouldn’t mind showing you a couple moves. It’s only fair.”

Bruce’s eyes narrowed. Had Jason and Constantine always been standing that close together? And why were they smiling at each other like that? Weren’t they supposed to be practicing magic?

“Don’t worry about me, luv,” Constantine said, swaying a little closer to Jason. “I’ve got one or two moves of my own.”

“I bet you do,” Jason smirked.

Alarm bells started blaring in Bruce’s head.

“I hear you travel for cases,” Constantine continued. He was practically on top of Jason now. “You should feel free to stop by any time you’re in my neck of the woods. I’m sure I could think of something for us to do.”

What.

“I may just do that,” Jason replied.

No.

This was not happening.

“Constantine!”  Bruce yelled, rising from the shadows like a vengeful spirit. He reached for his grapple gun. “I warned you!”

Constantine had the audacity to grin over in his direction, not looking the least bit surprised by Bruce’s sudden appearance. “That’s our cue, squire,” he said to Jason.

“I think you’re right,” Jason replied. The two of them disappeared into a portal seconds before Bruce landed on the rooftop.

He hissed his frustration to the empty air and tapped into his comm. “Oracle. Find Constantine. Now.”

“Why?”  Babs asked cautiously.

“Because I’m going to kill him.”

“…He was flirting with Jason, wasn’t he?”

Bruce growled wordlessly in reply.

“Jason’s a grown man, B. He’s allowed to flirt.”

“You’re no help at all,” Bruce snapped, turning off the comm. He glared out over the city. “I’ll just have to hunt him down myself.”

Chapter Text

The portal opened directly into Jason’s safe house. As Constantine had just warded the shit out of Jason's home on a previous visit, Jason was pretty sure he knew who was about to come visit. But he summoned the All-Blades just in case because Jason had learned the hard way that trusting things to luck got you killed.

“Don’t shoot,” Constantine said, emerging from the portal with his hands raised. “Or stab. Whichever.”

Jason rolled his eyes and dismissed his weapons. “Thought I told you to call ahead.”

“Afraid I didn’t have time for that,” Constantine replied. “One of the Untitled popped up on the Bialyan border. Could use a spot of assistance from an expert.”

Jason was already reaching for his armor before Constantine had finished his sentence.

“Get me to the fight,” he commanded. “I’ll do the rest.”

Constantine smiled. “Glad to have you on our side.”

*

“He’s really alright?” Dick asked again. John willed himself not to get lost in those blue, blue eyes.

“Yes he’s—”

“I’m right here,” Jason interrupted bad-temperedly. He was at least lying down on the cot—though John suspected that was only because he was completely wiped from the fight with the Untitled. “And I can speak for myself. I’m fine and ready to go back to my own apartment. I told Constantine not to bring me here.”

“You might have a concussion,” John reminded him.

“I’m perfectly capable of maybe having a concussion at my own place. I'm leaving.”

Dick shook his head. “Not until Alfred clears you, but hopefully it’s nothing. We all know Jason’s got a hard head.”

“Exactly!” Jason agreed emphatically. He paused. “Wait…”

“So we’re good here?” John asked, feeling relieved. He didn’t know what he would have done if Jason had gotten seriously hurt.

“We’re good,” Dick said, with an emphasis on the word we that John didn’t like at all. “You’re still going to have to convince him.”

John turned in the direction Dick was pointing. His heart plummeted at the sight of Bruce racing down the stairs of the Batcave.

“What happened?” Bruce demanded.

“He’s fine,” John said hurriedly, moving to intercept him. “I only brought him here as a precaution. He’s mostly just tired.”

“Tired? From what?” Bruce wanted to know as he scanned Jason for visible injuries. “You were only supposed to be teaching him a few magic tricks!”

“I needed him for a mission,” John explained. “I asked and he agreed.”

“John’s had some practice getting me to say yes recently,” Jason added. John didn’t know who was more surprised by the use of his first name: himself or Bats. “And this isn’t the first time he’s worn me out.”

And everything might have been fine except for the enormous, lusty wink that Jason threw in John’s direction at the end of the sentence.

Bruce froze. Out of sheer self-preservation, John did the same.

“That’s not…” John tried. “We haven’t…”

“I guess I just don’t have the stamina to keep up with someone like John,” Jason sighed. Dick made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a cough. “That’s one of the things we've been working on. Together. When we’re alone.”

Bruce’s gaze slowly rose to meet John’s. John took an involuntary step back.

“Um,” John started, “Jason. Lad. Maybe we stop joking around now.”

Pulling Brucie’s pigtails was all well and good, but John didn’t actually have a death wish.

“I assure you,” Jason said, laying it on thick. “You have never been a joke to me.”

There was a low rumbling sound. It took John a moment to realize that Bruce was actually growling at him. Jason gave John an evil grin from behind Bruce’s back.

Ah. So that’s what this was about. Jason had promised retribution if John brought him to the Batcave to get checked out. John probably should’ve taken that threat more seriously.

“Well, I think I’ve outstayed my welcome,” John said hastily. He side-stepped Bruce and moved to Jason’s bedside, leaning down to whisper in the other man’s ear, “You’re a real bastard, Todd.”

Jason batted his eyelashes and said nothing. John glanced at Dick, partly for some sympathy and partly because Dick Grayson was too beautiful to ignore.

“Thanks for bringing him back. Let me know if I can ever help with a mission,” Dick said, offering a hand. John took it gratefully, ignoring the icy glare he could feel Bruce giving him.

“I'll be in touch,” John said, starting to pull back his hand.

But Dick only tightened his grip. “Good,” he said with an angelic smile. His eyes, meanwhile, promised nothing but holy hell. “I do appreciate a man with stamina.”

“Constantine!”

John had never opened a portal so fast in his life.

Going to Gotham had been a huge mistake. Those Bats were far more trouble than they were worth.

Chapter Text

“I can’t believe you dragged me here,” Jason grumbled, surreptitiously watching the carnival crowd. Dick understood that instinct, at least. It was hard to turn off Bat training, even when you were taking the evening off.

“The whole family is here, Jay,” Dick reminded him. “You had to come.”

“If I see a clown, I’m out,” Jason warned.

“No clowns,” Dick promised. “We checked. The city actually made it a requirement for the carnival coming to town this year.”

“Wow. Gotham actually did something right.”

“I know,” Dick said, laughing a little. “It’s practically a miracle—”

Dick stopped dead in his tracks. Jason stopped too, instantly on the alert for trouble.

“What?" he demanded in a low voice. "What is it? What do you see?”

Wordlessly, Dick pointed. Up ahead at one of the carnival booths—ring toss, it looked like—Damian stood with a group of high schoolers. Dick assumed they were classmates, though he didn’t remember seeing any of them before. One of the girls was smiling up at Damian as he talked to the group. She was standing close.

Very close.

“Huh. Guess the demon brat made some friends,” Jason said.

Dick said nothing, merely watching as Damian picked up a handful of rings and looked down at the close-standing girl. He tossed all five rings without once glancing at the targets, grinning as the other teenagers gasped when every ring found its mark.

And then he winked at the girl close to him.

He winked.

Jason laughed. “Hell, that was pretty smooth. Didn’t think the kid had it in him.”

Dick kept staring as the girl close to Damian tucked a strand of hair behind one ear and glanced up at him coyly, blushing faintly.

“Um, Dick?” Jason said. For some reason, his voice sounded like it was coming from a long way off. “You alright?”

Dick tried to answer, but only managed a faint squeak in response.

Jason paused.

“You know humans are supposed to breathe, right?”

Dick sucked in a huge gasp of air, lungs suddenly unfreezing. He put his hands on his knees as his head dropped, trying to fight off the light-headedness.

“What the hell is going on with you?” Jason asked.

“He was flirting,”  Dick managed.

“Yeah? And?”

“He’s a baby!”  Dick snapped at him. Or tried to, anyway. His hyperventilating took away some of the impact.

Jason snorted. “He’s—”

“Hey, there you are!” Steph’s voice interrupted. “We’ve been looking for…whoa. What’s wrong with Dick?”

Dick was suddenly surrounded by his family, some pushing the crowd back, some helping him sit on the ground before his shaking legs gave out.

“He’s having a panic attack because Damian was flirting with a girl,” Jason explained derisively.

“Wait, what?” Steph asked, sounding delighted, though Dick couldn't understand how that could possibly be true.

“Damian was flirting?” Tim demanded. “Damian. The kid who will stab you for looking at him the wrong way. He was flirting.”

“Stop saying it,” Dick moaned. “It’s terrible.”

“He’s fourteen,” Babs said, crouching next to him. She was far too amused for Dick’s liking.

“No,” Dick said, shaking his head. “No, he’s far too young.”

“Was she flirting back?” Bruce asked, a hint of a growl in his voice.

“Oh yeah,” Jason replied. “Big time.”

“Cute,” Cass grinned.

“We’ll need to run a full background check on her,” Bruce said. Dick was glad someone had the good sense to take this seriously.

“You absolutely will not,”  Babs said.

“Hn,”  Bruce grumbled in response.

“Perhaps we should move to a different area,” Alfred suggested calmly, though Dick could detect a hint of amusement from him as well. “We are drawing quite a bit of attention.”

“Come on, Dick,” Babs said as she and Tim helped pull him to his feet. “You’re gonna be just fine, you over-dramatic goober.”

“This is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me,” Dick groaned. “Dami can’t be grown up. He can’t be.”

He could feel the others rolling their eyes around him.

“Let’s go find a place to sit or something,” Tim suggested. The others followed his lead down the street. Bruce hung back a little, positioning himself until he was side-by-side with Dick.

“You’re still going to run that background check, right?” Dick murmured to him.

“As soon as we get back.”

“Oh thank god.”

Chapter Text

“…and then I was thinking we could go try that new ice cream place downtown,” Dick continued, glancing out the window of the coffee shop as he and Damian waited for their drinks. “There’s a lovely park we can sit in for a while and feed some ducks or something. Then I was thinking we’d head home and join Cass for a training session—”

“Wow, you weren’t kidding when you called me,” a familiar voice interrupted. Dick spun to find Jason standing just behind him, arms folded, looking both amused and exasperated at the same time. “Alright, kid. Give us a minute. I’ll take care of it.”

“Thank you,” Damian said fervently as he walked away, going to stand at the other end of the coffee shop where the barista was calling out completed orders.

“Jay? What are you doing here?” Dick asked, staring at Jason.

“Dick. Dickface. Listen to me,” Jason said, taking a seat at an empty table and gesturing for Dick to do the same. “You’re driving Damian crazy. You have to leave the poor kid alone.”

“What are you talking about? I’m just trying to spend some time with my little brother!” Dick protested. “What’s so wrong with that?”

Jason shot him a look. “So this isn’t some kind of deranged plan to monopolize every spare second the kid has so that he can’t possibly meet someone, let alone flirt with them?”

“Whaaaaat?” Dick gasped, hoping he wasn’t laying it on too thick. He couldn't believe someone had figured it out so fast. He and Bruce had spent a long time devising this plan. “That’s crazy! I would never do that! Besides, Dami’s much too young for flirting with anyone so it’s a moot point.”

“He’s literally flirting with someone right now,” Jason informed him.

“What?!” Dick exclaimed, whirling in his chair. And sure enough, Damian was chatting it up with a well-dressed teenaged boy who also appeared to be waiting for his drink. Dick half-rose to his feet as Damian shot a sideways glance and a smirk at the boy, who blushed faintly in response.

This was not happening agai—

Jason grabbed Dick’s arm before he could get any further. “Sit down.”

Dick sat.

Jason shook his head. “Seriously. You’ve got to cut it out. Damian was so desperate that he actually called me for help. Me. Think about that for a moment, will you?”

Dick’s shoulders slumped. “I just…he’s the baby! I’m not ready for him to be grown up yet! It feels like he barely got a childhood as it was.”

Jason rolled his eyes. “He’s in high school, Dick. You’re going to have to come to terms with it eventually.”

“I know,” Dick said. “You’re right. I’ll stop.”

“Uh-huh. Sure.”

“I’ll dial it back,” Dick amended with a glare. “And you can let me know if I’m stepping over the line again.”

“Good,” Jason said, leaning back in his seat with a satisfied air. “You should apologize to the kid, too. Though I expect he’ll forgive you for having some eccentricities in your old age.”

Now it was Dick’s turn to roll his eyes. “I’m not old.”

“You’re in your thirties,” Jason pointed out. “You’ve already got gray hairs.”

“What?!”  Dick panicked, hands reaching up to protectively cover his hair. “I do not!”

“You totally do. Steph even mentioned she noticed a few wrinkles the other day.”

“No, she didn’t!”

“What’s wrong with Richard?” Damian asked, rejoining them at the table. He set Dick’s coffee in front of him and took a sip of his own.

“I was just reminding him of his advanced age,” Jason said cheerfully, stealing Dick’s drink as he stood. “He’s in denial.”

“I’m not in denial!” Dick growled at him. “I’m not old!”

“See? Classic denial.”

“You don’t think I’m old, do you, Dami?” Dick asked, sending a pleading glance at his little brother.

“Um…” Damian hesitated.

 “Oh my god,”  Dick groaned as Jason cackled.

“No! No, of course you’re not old, Richard,” Damian placated, far too late. “You’ve barely slowed down on patrol at all!”

“Oh my god,”  Dick said again, horrified, as Jason fully doubled over in laughter. “I’m slowing down on patrol?!”

“Barely! I said barely!”

Dick groaned again, wordlessly this time.

“Just accept it, Dickie,” Jason said, patting him on the shoulder in between bouts of laughter. “You’re ancient.”

“This is the worst day of my life,” Dick said plaintively.

Jason grinned at Damian. “See? Told you I could fix him!”

Chapter Text

Lois hung her press badge around her neck like a lucky talisman and dialed Clark’s number one last time. She sighed when the call went straight to voicemail again.

“Hey, hon. I know you’re still out of range. That’s okay. I can handle this. But if, for some reason, I’m not home with Jon by the time you get this message, something may have gone wrong,” Lois said into the phone. “The first place you should look for us is—”

The window creaked as it opened behind her.

Which was fairly disconcerting considering Lois was on the second floor and Clark was on a deep space mission with the Justice League.

Lois ended the call, dropped her phone, and grabbed the pepper spray from her purse, whirling to face whoever had just entered her house.

The well-groomed, frankly stunning woman with a sword strapped to her side was not what Lois had been expecting.

“I mean you no harm,” the woman said, glancing pointedly at the pepper spray. “My name is—”

“Talia al Ghul,” Lois breathed. “Daughter of the Demon’s Head.”

Talia’s expression didn’t change, though Lois got the impression that the assassin didn’t appreciate being interrupted. “I see my reputation precedes me, Ms. Lane. We need to talk.”

“About what?” Lois asked warily. She hadn’t lowered the pepper spray yet and didn’t plan to. She knew from conversations with Alfred, Clark, and Jon—as well as her own investigations—just how dangerous this woman was.

“About how your son has dragged mine into trouble again and now they both need rescuing,” Talia replied.

“My son?” Lois gaped at her, stunned by the audacity. “Damian’s the one who’s always convincing Jon to break curfew and go on secret missions. But that’s beside the point. What do you even care about Damian’s welfare? You’ve tried to kill him before. Hell, you’ve succeeded. So give me one good reason I shouldn’t call my husband’s name and have him throw you into the sun.”

Talia smirked at her, the expression achingly reminiscent of Damian. “You can call Superman’s name all you like. We both know he’s not on the planet. As for your…accusations,” she continued, amusement fading into something much darker. “It’s true that I’ve acted out against Damian in the past. But he is still my heir and when someone attacks him, it is an attack on me and my training and my legacy. And that will not stand.”

“I see,” Lois said, doing some quick mental calculus. If Talia had tried to feed her some line about being a good mother after everything she'd done, Lois wouldn’t have believed it for a second. But Talia coming to Damian’s rescue as a matter of honor—that had a ring of truth to it. It certainly coincided with everything Lois knew about the other woman.

Still. It was a risk to trust her.

But, given everything Lois thought she might be facing, it might be more of a risk not to.

“Alright,” Lois said, finally lowering the pepper spray. “But if you hurt Damian or my son at any point during all this, I will burn you and the League of Assassins to the ground.”

The faintest of smiles graced Talia’s lips. “You would fail. But I almost think I would enjoy watching you try.”

*

“This facility hardly seems capable of holding the son of Superman, let alone Damian,” Talia asked, eyeing the sprawling LexCorp building distastefully through the car window.

“There’s more to it than meets the eye,” Lois said. “There’s an entire underground section to the building where Lex keeps his secret labs. My guess is they’ll be down ther—where are you going?” she hissed, grabbing Talia’s arm as the other woman started opening the car door.

Talia shook her off. “To rescue our children,” she replied in a positively venomous tone.

Note to self: Talia did not like to be touched.

“You can’t just waltz in there and kill anyone who gets in your way!” Lois argued.

“I can and I will.”

Lois floundered for a moment. She’d forgotten she was dealing with a literal assassin here. “Well…you shouldn’t,”  she said, recovering herself. “If we go in there guns blazing—or swords, whatever—they’ll just lock down the whole facility and we’ll never get to where they’re holding Jon and Damian.

Talia paused, then closed the car door. “What do you suggest?”         

“I scheduled a tour with the director of the facility,” Lois said. “He thinks I’m here for a story on the genetics research they’re doing. Once I’m inside, I’ll scout the building and figure out how to access the lower levels. Then we can sneak back in tonight and try a rescue.”

“And what about me?” Talia wanted to know.

Lois took a breath. “I think you should wait in the car.”

“No.”

“We’re trying to keep a low profile.”

“Either find a way for me to get inside or I will make my own way,” Talia threatened.

“Fine,” Lois said frustratedly. “You can…you can be my photographer. My camera’s in the trunk.”

“Excellent,” Talia said, reaching for the door handle again. “Let’s go.”

Unfortunately, the addition of a camera bag did nothing to make Talia less threatening. Lois supposed she was lucky Talia had shown up in street clothes rather than medieval armor in the first place.

“Is there any way I can persuade you to leave the sword?” Lois asked without much hope.

Talia smirked at her and simply readjusted her ankle-length coat to cover the weapon. “I think not.”

“Yeah,” Lois huffed. She took another steadying breath and strode toward the building with all the terrifying confidence of a Pulitzer Prize winner, shoving aside the dizzying fear of a mother who had no idea if her child was okay. The panic could come later. Jon needed her now.

Lois had no idea how Talia made it through security with her hidden weapon, but soon enough they were inside the lab and shaking hands with a smiling Dr. Williams. The skinny, waspish man looked harmless enough, but Lois knew how deeply his ties to Lex Luthor ran. Even if he wasn’t directly responsible for Jon and Damian’s disappearance, he was certainly culpable in imprisoning them. It was all Lois could do not to grab him by the lapels of his lab coat and shake him until he admitted to everything. She vowed to find a way to take him down as publicly as possible.

No one took her child and got away with it.

“I’m so glad you’ve decided to write about the work we’re doing here, Ms. Lane,” Williams said as they started off. “We’ve made some pretty significant breakthroughs in the last few months.”

“I’m sure,” Lois said, dredging up a smile. She managed to keep her pleasant mask in place the entire tour, despite her mounting frustration over finding anything that looked like it might lead to a secret lower level. Lex had evidently gotten sneakier over the years. Or else Williams was deliberately keeping them away. There were a few labs on the main floor they hadn't been allowed into for "security reasons." Entirely plausible, but also frustrating.

But Lois had gotten the measure of Williams by now and she was pretty sure there was one more place they could check.

“I have a few more questions I’d like to ask,” she said as the tour wrapped up. “But I think it best we do so in private.”

“Oh?” Dr. Williams frowned at her.

Lois moved a little closer and lowered her voice. “There have been some…troubling allegations about your research here. I’d like to get to the truth of them. Is there somewhere we could talk? Your office, perhaps?”

“Yes, we can go to my office,” Dr. Williams said, shooting her another smile that made Lois want to grind her teeth together. “I’m all for setting the record straight.”

Williams had barely ushered them inside and closed the door before Talia said, “Ah,” in a quiet voice and whirled to plunge some kind of dart into the doctor’s neck. Williams slumped instantly, but Talia caught him before his body hit the floor.

“What the hell!” Lois hissed, stunned by the sudden burst of violence. “Did you just kill him?”

“Relax,” Talia said. “He’s merely unconscious.”

“What did you inject him with?”

“Just a little something to cloud his memory when he wakes,” Talia explained. “I have no desire to be implicated in this mess. I’m certain you don’t, either.”

Lois didn’t disagree, though she did check the doctor’s pulse, just to be safe. "I thought we were waiting until tonight to make our move!"

"No time like the present,” Talia said, before dragging Williams’ body across the office. She fiddled with something on the far wall. A moment later, a biometric scanner slid into view.

“I knew it!” Lois said jubilantly. "I knew he'd have a private entrance."

“Yes, he did seem the type,” Talia agreed shortly, placing Williams’ hand on the scanner. The entire wall slid back revealing a secret elevator. “My guess is there’s an additional point of entry in one of the labs we passed, but this seems easier, given you’re so set on leaving witnesses.”

“I won’t apologize for saving lives,” Lois informed her.

As they piled into the elevator, Lois could have sworn Talia rolled her eyes. “You sound like the Detective.”

“If you’re referring to Batman, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“I must have said it wrong, then,” Talia replied. Lois glared at her.

After a short descent, the elevator doors slid open to reveal several armed guards in the hallway beyond. Lois and Talia immediately hid on either side of the open elevator doors.

“What now?” Lois whispered.

Talia pulled out some kind of smoke grenade from her coat pocket--just how many other weapons was she carrying?--and tossed it down the hallway. “Now the fun begins.”

She was gone before Lois could protest. The fight only lasted a few seconds despite the fact that the guards had guns and Talia only had a sword. By the time Lois emerged from the elevator and stumbled down the smoke-filled hallway, Talia was long gone.

“Shit,” Lois cursed under her breath, blinking through the cloud of smoke and deciding to follow the trail of screams. She eventually caught up with the assassin in some sort of control room, hunched over the security monitors as two more guards slumped in the seats beside her.

“Are they—”

“Everyone still has a pulse,” Talia interrupted, sounding faintly annoyed. “I’m handling their security system. See if you can find our sons.”

Lois stepped up to the second computer and, after a few tries, managed to access the security cameras. Her heart leapt as she saw a small shape in familiar red and blue huddled in the corner of a cell. Jon was moving sluggishly, seriously affected by the Kryptonite collar around his neck. A second cell held a very angry Damian, who appeared to be yelling abuse at a guard through the locked door despite the heavy restraints on his arms and legs.

“I have them,” Lois said breathlessly. Oh she was going to murder Lex for putting these kids through this, no-kill policies be damned.

Talia glanced at the screen, then pressed a few more buttons. The cameras went dark.

“Then let’s go get them,” Talia said.

Ten violence-filled minutes later, Lois had her bewildered and still weak son in her arms.

“Are you alright?” Lois demanded, clutching Jon close. “Did they hurt you?”

“I’m okay, Mom,” Jon said, hugging her back. He seemed a little better now that he was away from the Kryptonite. “I can’t believe you’re here right now!”

“I’ll always come for you, sweetheart,” Lois promised, pressing a kiss into his hair. “Always.”

Not far off, Damian and Talia were having their own reunion.

“Son.”

“Mother.”

“It took you far too long to escape. Your father’s training has made you soft.”

“I had a plan. You always underestimate my abilities.”

“I eagerly await the day you prove me wrong.”

“Tt.”

“Are you okay, Da—Robin?” Lois corrected herself, looking up from Jon. She would've given the other boy a hug too, but she didn't think Damian would appreciate the gesture in front of Talia. She wasn't sure Talia would appreciate it either, come to think of it.

“I’m fine, Ms. Lane,” Damian replied, flushing a little. He busied himself by retrieving his weapons and utility belt. “Only my pride was wounded.”

Talia raised an eyebrow. “And what do you intend to do about it?”

Damian met his mother’s gaze. “Hurt them worse.”

Talia smiled.

“We need to get out of here,” Jon said.

Lois exchanged glances with Talia. “We need a cover story,” Lois corrected. “I came here as a reporter and everyone saw us go into Dr. Williams’ office. If we leave things the way they are, Lex will know I had something to do with this.”

“Get back up to the office,” Damian instructed, his voice growing a little deeper. Lois wondered with some amusement if he knew he was mimicking Batman. “We’ll take care of the rest.”

Jon nodded and pulled away from Lois. “We got this,” he assured her.

“Okay,” Lois said, though it hurt to let go of Jon so soon. But he was a strong and capable hero. She trusted him. “There’s an empty parking lot a few miles west of here. You should be able to see it from the air. We’ll meet there when this is over.”

Jon grinned at her. “See you soon, Mom.”

Lois and Talia exited the way they had come. Lois had some inkling of what Jon and Damian intended and her suspicions were confirmed when the first explosion rocked the foundations of the building. The boys ripped through Lex’s secret labs like a whirlwind, then burst their way into the main building. Lois and Talia ran when the rest of the staff did, allowing Jon to get the stragglers clear of the building—including a still-unconscious Dr. Williams—while Damian continued causing mayhem.

“Well,” Lois said loudly to the gathered employees in the parking lot as they watched the superheroes work. “You can be sure I’ll be writing about this in the Daily Planet!”

Talia snapped a few pictures for emphasis.

Soon enough, Lois was driving into the abandoned parking lot and watching Jon and Damian descend from the sky. Lois immediately pulled Jon into another hug, holding him close against her side. Damian and his mother regarded one another silently. Lois sensed there was more being communicated in their gazes than she could read.

“I’m driving you home,” Lois informed her son. She looked over at Damian. “You too.”

“Mom, I can fly us—” Jon started. Lois cut him off.

“You were just kidnapped,” she reminded him. “I’m not letting you out of my sight again for at least a week.”

Jon sighed, but she could tell he wasn’t really upset. “Yes, Mom.”

Lois smiled at him. “Go wait in the car. And Damian? You might want to check in with Alfred.”

“I suppose,” Damian acknowledged as Jon stepped away. He shot another glance at Talia. “You’re leaving?”

“For now,” Talia answered. To Lois’ ears, the statement sounded like both a promise and a threat.

Damian inclined his head gravely and followed Jon to the vehicle, leaving Talia and Lois alone.

“I was right to seek you out,” Talia said, breaking the silence first. “I would not mind if our paths crossed again.”

“Well, I  would,” Lois said frankly. “Though I do appreciate your help today.”

Talia’s lips twitched, but her expression quickly turned serious once more.

“Take care of my son,” she said.

Lois met her gaze squarely. “I will. I promise.”

Talia nodded once to her and walked away. Lois waited until she was certain the other woman was gone before getting into the car.

“Alright,” she said, glancing into the rearview mirror to double-check Jon and Damian were safe and sound and buckled in. “Let’s get you boys home.”

Chapter Text

It was a good thing that Lois had gotten used to having people with super-speed around, because otherwise Clark bursting through the window and wrapping his arms around her all in the span of about two seconds would have given her a heart attack.

“Are you okay?” her husband asked frantically, pulling back and scanning her with his heightened senses for any sign of injury. “Is Jon? What happened?”

“Jon’s fine,” Lois placated. “I’m fine, too. He’s upstairs—”

Clark was gone again in an instant, no doubt rushing upstairs to see Jon for himself. Lois sighed and gathered up the papers Clark’s whirlwind entrance and exit had displaced.

There was another blur and then Clark was back. He seemed marginally calmer than he had a moment ago.

“Better?” Lois asked, just to be sure.

“Yeah,” Clark said, pulling her into another, much slower embrace. Lois closed her eyes and hugged back for all she was worth. She’d missed this. She’d missed him.

“And you’re alright, too?” Lois asked. “Space wasn’t too terrible?”

She felt Clark huff a laugh. “Space was fine,” he said. He pulled back again. “What happened?”

“Like Jon didn’t just fill you in at super-speed,” Lois said, shooting him a look.

Clark smiled, but his gaze still held a glimmer of worry. “He did. I still want to hear it from you. I mean, Talia al Ghul? That can’t have been easy.”

“It wasn’t. But she was…she wasn’t what I expected.”

And it was true. Yes, Talia had been proud and cruel and distant. But she’d also respected Lois’ wishes about sparing lives, even though she’d clearly disagreed—even though it would have been so easy for her not to. And the way she’d been so singularly focused on saving the boys, not even having the patience to wait until nightfall to break into the facility, didn’t seem to jive with the cold and calculated nature Lois had expected based on the stories.

And then at the end…

Take care of my son.

For a woman who had once orchestrated the murder of that very same son, that statement had shown a remarkable degree of interest in his well-being.

“Uh-oh,” Clark said, interrupting her thoughts. “I know that face. Tell me you aren’t going to start digging into Talia’s life.”

Lois bit her lip. “Um…” she said, stepping aside so Clark could see the research spread across their dining room table.

Clark groaned. “I know you can take care of yourself, but please, please don’t go poking around in an Al Ghul’s life. They tend to poke back. Violently.”

“I know.”

“With swords.”

“Yes, I understood."

“Lois,” Clark said, deadly serious. “I mean it. Talia is dangerous. If you knew half of what she’d put Bruce through…”

“Clark. Darling. Light of my life,” Lois said, reaching up to put her hands on his broad shoulders. “Do you really think I’m unaware that learning more about one of the world’s most deadly assassins could be dangerous?”

“No. Of course not. I just meant—”

“You’re worried,” Lois interrupted. “I get it. Hell, I’m worried. She was in our house, Clark. I panicked so badly at one point that I actually offered her a cup of tea. Like she’d popped by for a social visit. It was embarrassing.”

Clark frowned. “That’s not quite what I—”

“I know who she is,” Lois interrupted again. “I know what she’s done. I’m not trying to redeem her. I’m just trying to…something doesn’t add up, is all. I have questions.”

“And once you have questions, you need answers,” Clark sighed. He looked resigned. “Alright. Walk me through it from the beginning. Tell me what you saw that made you so curious.”

Lois nodded. “From the beginning. Right. Well, for starters, she didn’t use the door. Why is that every mask associated with Gotham—good or bad—never uses a door?”

Clark’s lips twitched. “Must be something in the water.”

“Must be,” Lois agreed.

*

Ironically, the next time Bruce and Damian came to visit, they both used the door.    

Clark shot Lois a meaningful look as he welcomed the Gothamites into their home.

“Dressed as civilians,” Lois muttered, too softly for anyone but a Kryptonian to hear. “Doesn’t count.”

Clark just barely managed to hide his smile.

“Lois,” Bruce started, moving forward to shake her hand. “I can’t thank you enough for what you did.”

“You would have done the same,” Lois replied. “You have done the same.”

“Still,” Bruce said, finally releasing her hand. “I’m grateful.”

He glanced down at Damian and cleared his throat.

“Thank you for coming to our aid,” Damian said, sounding a little put-upon. “And for driving me home.”

Lois smiled. “You’re very welcome. Why don’t you head upstairs? Jon’s waiting for you.”

Damian immediately headed for the stairs.

“No sneaking out!” Bruce called after him, a hint of his Batman growl coming through. “I mean it.”

Damian made no indication that he’d heard the command before disappearing to the upper level of the house.

“I’ve got ears on them,” Clark assured Bruce. “They aren’t going anywhere.”

“Good,” Bruce said. He looked at Lois again. “Why are you investigating Talia?”

“Straight to business, I see,” Lois said, shooting a glare at Clark. He at least had the decency to look embarrassed for ratting her out, though she really should have known better. Clark and Bruce gossiped like old fishwives. “And investigating is a strong word for it.”

“If your intention is to write a story about her, I’d urge you to reconsider,” Bruce said.

“It’s not for a story,” Lois assured him. “It’s just…”

Take care of my son.

“Just what?”

“There are certain things I don’t understand,” Lois said. “But I’d like to.”

“What things?”

“Okay, pause,” Clark interjected. “I suggest we move to the living room and have a seat. Once Lois starts asking questions, well…this could take a while.”

Lois hid her amusement behind a raised eyebrow. “Are you calling me nosy?”

“Never, dear,” Clark replied blithely, pressing a kiss into her hair as he slipped past her into the kitchen. “I’ll just go prepare some refreshments while you interrogate my friend.”

The corner of Bruce’s mouth twitched upward for a second. Lois shook her head. “Come along,” she told him, leading the way to the living room.

“I don’t want to get your hopes up,” Bruce said as they settled in. “Even I can’t always predict what Talia will do. She’s…”

“Complicated?” Lois suggested.

Bruce nodded.

“See, that’s just it,” Lois said, leaning forward in her chair. “From the stories I’d heard, there’s no love lost between Talia and Damian. But when she came here…I don’t know. There was this moment when I could’ve sworn she genuinely cared for Damian.”

“I think a part of her does. I’ll never forgive her for—” Bruce cut himself off, staring down at his hands. Lois' heart went out to him. She couldn’t imagine the grief he must have felt, holding Damian’s body in his arms. After a long moment, Bruce collected himself and continued. “But. I have to accept she has some regard for Damian. If she hadn’t, she never would’ve let him leave the League. She would’ve let Ra’s use him as a puppet for the rest of his life.”

Lois frowned. “Do you think she can be trusted with Damian?”

Bruce smiled tightly at her, the expression a little pained. “You’re looking for a straightforward answer. But there’s no such thing when it comes to Talia.”

“Thanks, but I’d already figured that out.”

Bruce shot her a look. “You want to know what I know about Talia? She believes in loyalty and honor, but will betray you without hesitation if your goals and hers no longer align. She will fight to the death for a cause she believes in and kill without mercy those who oppose her—no matter who they are. You could ask for no fiercer ally—or worse enemy.”

“But why seek me out?” Lois pressed. “Why help me save Damian and Jon? She’s tried—and succeeded—at hurting both of them before. Why go out of her way to save them now?”

“My best guess?” Bruce offered. “Partly for honor’s sake. Damian carries her name and her blood. Letting him be vanquished by Lex Luthor would have reflected poorly on Talia—at least in her eyes.”

“And the other part?”

“This could just be wishful thinking,” Bruce admitted, “but I think she did it partly because, unlike Ra’s, Talia does have a heart. She would be the first to tell you that she considers love an unpardonable weakness—and, to be sure, her understanding of love is very different than yours or even mine—but she does feel it. For Damian, yes. I think she does.”

Lois nodded slowly. “That’s kind of what I thought, too.”

“Does that mean you’re done with your inquiry?” Bruce asked.

Lois smiled. “It means I’m done with you. At least for the moment.”

“Hn,”  Bruce glared at her.

“Annnnd that’s my cue!” Clark called from the kitchen, bringing out a tray filled with lemonade and cookies. Bruce politely took what he was offered, but looked genuinely surprised when he bit into the cookie.

“Is this Alfred’s recipe?”

“Don’t tell Ma,” Clark begged. “She’ll murder me.”

“How did you get him to surrender a recipe?” Bruce demanded.

“Have you met my wife?” Clark replied. “She’s terrifying.”

Lois grinned.

*

"By now you’ve been warned to stay out of my affairs,” Talia said, sliding into the chair opposite Lois. Despite the fact they were in a public space in broad daylight, Lois didn’t let her guard down. She knew Talia could and would kill her out in the open if she wanted to. “By both the Detective and your husband, I’m certain. So I’m puzzled as to why you’re still digging.”

“It was the only way I could think of to get your attention,” Lois said.

“Well, you have it,” Talia replied, leaning back in her chair. Her relaxed pose did nothing to ease Lois’ nerves. “Start talking."

Lois took a deep breath. "Two things," she said. "First, I wanted to thank you again for helping me and I...I guess I wanted to tell you that it’s an honor to be a part of your son’s life. Yes, he can be infuriating at times and he’s always dragging Jon into trouble—not that Jon couldn’t find trouble on his own. But Damian is an incredible person and the best friend my son could ask for. Our kids—they’re going to change the world one day.”

She pressed on. "I want you to know that Damian is happy and he’s healthy and…” Lois floundered for a moment. She’d practiced this in her head, but it wasn’t coming out quite right. “Maybe you have regrets or doubts about sending Damian to Bruce. Maybe you don’t. I don’t know. But for what it’s worth, Damian has a good life. Whatever else you’ve done, you gave him that. We all love Damian and we’re going to spend our whole lives looking after him. I promise.”

Some emotion glimmered in Talia’s eyes, but a moment later, it was gone. The assassin gave Lois a barely perceptible nod before rising gracefully. "Was that all?"

"No," Lois said, stopping the other woman. "I said two things. The second is that I've been told by many people that you are a dangerous woman. I’m not so naive to think we’ll always be on the same side in the future. So you should know that I’m dangerous too. And if you ever come after me and mine, there will be consequences."

Talia stared at her for a moment. Then she smiled. "I like you, Ms. Lane. You're quite brave. For a paper-pusher."

Lois snorted. What a positively Damian thing to say.

Chapter Text

Tim struggled with his bonds, straining to get his wrists free even though the wire was cutting deep into his skin. The pain of it was excruciating, but it was better than doing nothing. It was better than waiting to die.

He glanced over at the two figures strung from the ceiling next to him. Jason was still unconscious, whether from the blow to the head he’d taken during the escape attempt or from blood loss, Tim wasn’t sure. Either way, Tim didn’t think Jason was going to be waking up any time soon. Even if he did, he’d be in no condition to fight. Damian was moving a little—which was a very good sign—but Tim knew he wouldn’t be much help, either. The boy had at least three broken ribs, a concussion, and probably a sprained knee. Of course, Damian was still a force to be reckoned with, even when injured. Tim wouldn’t count him out yet.

Of the three of them, Tim was probably in the best shape, but he was far from fighting fit. He’d been beaten pretty thoroughly; bruises were already forming on his skin and one of his eyes was swollen shut. He didn’t think he had any broken bones, but his entire body ached abominably. His left shoulder was definitely dislocated and the stab wound on his leg was still seeping blood. He was starting to get woozy. Tim thought it wouldn’t be long now before he passed out himself.

He couldn’t quite remember how it had all gone so wrong. A routine patrol had turned into a pitched battle down by the docks with the Riddler and his men. Jason had already been taken by the time Tim and Damian got there, lured in by a series of riddles connected to a case the Hood had been working. Tim and Damian had attempted a rescue which had quickly gone south.

And now here they were, trussed and tied, dangling from the ceiling and waiting for the Riddler to decide exactly how he wanted to kill them. Tim pulled at the wire around his wrists a little more urgently, biting his lip to keep himself from crying out in pain. He really didn’t want to die tonight.

He really, really didn’t want to watch his brothers die.

Suddenly, the far end of the warehouse plunged into darkness, all the lights going out simultaneously. There were screams as the guards on the perimeter encountered something deadly in the shadows and then a haunting silence. The thugs below Tim murmured worriedly, hands reaching for their weapons.

“What’s going on?” the Riddler snapped. “Who’s playing with the lights?”

Tim started laughing, his whole body going limp with relief.

“Shut up,” the Riddler snarled.

Tim ignored him.

“I’ll give you a riddle,” he chuckled. “Who dresses in black and is about to kick your ass?”

The Riddler shook his head. “Everyone knows Batman is playing with the Justice League tonight.”

Damian’s voice was thick with savage satisfaction. “He wasn’t talking about Batman.”

A lithe figure dressed in black and blue dropped from the rafters like a vengeful spirit. Dick looked up at where Tim, Damian, and Jason were hanging, staring at them for a long moment. When he lowered his gaze again, there wasn’t a shred of warmth to be found in his expression as he fixed his eyes on Nygma.

“Don’t just stand there!” Nygma shouted at his men as Dick stalked forward, each sinuous step like that of a jungle cat—confident, graceful, and carrying the imminent promise of violence. “Shoot him!”

Tim expected Dick to say something back. Dick always said something back. Bantering was as much a part of his superhero identity as the mask or the escrima sticks.

But Dick said nothing as he continued his inexorable progress forward, barely slowed by the storm of bullets pelting in his direction. Tim winced as Dick’s escrima sticks found their first victim, the unmistakable crack of bones breaking echoing through the air. The man went down screaming, but Dick had already moved on to the next attacker, flowing from one strike to the next with a kind of fluid precision that Tim associated with Cass or Lady Shiva. Dick had always been graceful when he fought, but this...this was something else entirely. Something much more brutal and deadly.

Dick had almost always been a warm, unrepentantly cheerful presence in Tim's life—like an over-large puppy trapped in human form. Tim knew his older brother was a skilled fighter and damn good hero, but he’d never really considered him to be frightening. Not in the way that Bruce, or Jason, or even Damian could be.

But here, tonight, Tim understood for the first time why criminals spoke the name of Nightwing with real fear.

He watched as Dick mercilessly and methodically tore apart the force that had overwhelmed Tim and the others. And when it was over, only one person remained standing.

Dick strode over to the Riddler. Tim sucked in a breath as his brother grabbed the terrified villain by the neck and slammed him against the nearest wall, letting Nygma’s toes dangle helplessly in the air.

“You see those boys?” Dick asked, nodding to Tim and the others. It was the first time he’d spoken since dropping into the warehouse, his voice frigid and harsh. If Tim hadn’t seen Dick’s lips move, he wouldn’t have recognized his older brother’s voice at all. “Those are my Robins. You don’t ever fuck with my Robins. You understand?”

Nygma clawed uselessly at the hand squeezing his throat. “…yes…”  he managed to croak.

Tim expected Dick to release the Riddler, but instead, his hand squeezed tighter, fully cutting off Nygma’s air supply.

“Nightwing,” Tim called urgently. “Wing.”

Dick’s hand flexed and then released completely, dropping Nygma to the ground in a crumpled heap. He let the villain draw two great gasps of air before knocking him unconscious with a savage kick.

A moment later, Dick was at Tim’s side. “Are you alright?” he asked urgently, cutting through Tim’s bonds with the sharp edges of a batarang. Dick caught Tim’s weight as he fell, settling him gently on the ground before going for Damian and Jason. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I should’ve—”

“We’re fine,” Damian cut him off, speaking in a slow, reassuring tone that he must have learned from Dick himself at some point. “Or we will be. I promise.”

Tim staggered to his feet to help Dick lower Jason to the ground.

“You could’ve…” Dick trailed off. His voice was shaking, but his hands were steady as he started to tend some of Jason’s wounds. “I was almost too late.”

And there he was again, the big brother that Tim knew and loved, who worried over them all incessantly and always had their backs. Tim knew he wouldn't be forgetting this night any time soon, but it was good to have Dick back. “We’re fine,” Tim said, repeating Damian’s words. “You’re here. Everything’s going to be fine now.”

Chapter Text

Jason awoke with a splitting headache to the familiar shadowed ceiling of the Batcave. Which meant he was no longer Riddler’s captive.

Awesome.

He tried sitting up, wanting to take stock of his injuries, but was immediately pushed back down into the medical cot.

“Whoa,” Duke said. “Take it easy. We just finished stitching up your wound. What’d you get hit with, anyway?”

“I honestly can’t remember,” Jason said, his voice coming out raspy and dry. “Where are Tim and Damian?”

“Here,” Tim’s voice called. Jason turned his head to the left and saw his two brothers stretched out on identical cots. Both had seen better days, but at least they were all still breathing. Cass and Steph moved between their beds, checking for additional injuries and cleaning up medical supplies.

“Thanks for getting me out,” Jason said. He hated admitting that he’d needed help, but he’d give credit where credit was due.

“Yeah, that wasn’t us,” Tim replied. And it might have been the headache, but Jason could have sworn something in Tim’s gaze turned almost haunted.

“Then who—?” Jason started.

“Drink.”

Jason blinked as a stony-faced Dick practically shoved a cup of water at him. He cleared his throat.

"I'm go--"

"Drink."

Jason sucked down a few gulps through the bendy straw, studying Dick as the older man loomed over him, his body language stiff and locked down. The second Jason was through, Dick whisked the cup away and stalked off. Jason tracked him through the Batcave, watching as he leapt up to perch on the chair in front of the Batcomputer. Dick's gaze continuously flicked between the three cots, checking on all of them continuously with an overly intense focus. 

It had been a long time since Jason had seen this kind of behavior from Dick, but he still knew what it meant.

Nygma was probably going to be in the hospital for a long time. Jason wished he'd been awake to see the beat down Dick had given him.

Especially since he was going to have a front-row seat to the aftermath.

“He’s been weird ever since he called us in from patrol to help with you guys,” Duke whispered in his ear, bending down so Dick couldn’t read his lips.

“Yeah,” Jason sighed. “This weekend’s about to get real interesting.”

*

After a long night in the Batcave, the three of them were cleared to finish their recovery in the Manor. Jason would have preferred a ride back to his apartment, but Dick had literally growled at Steph when she’d suggested it.

“Call Bruce,” Cass ordered Dick, shoving a phone into his hand and nudging him toward the door.

“You call Bruce,” Dick shot back, knots of tension visible in his neck and shoulders.

“No,” Cass said firmly. When Dick’s expression went a little frantic, her tone softened. “I’ll watch them. Promise.”

Dick’s gaze flicked to Jason, Tim, and Damian, propped up on various couches in the lounge, and back to Cass.

“Okay,” he said with some effort, gripping the phone tightly enough that his knuckles turned white. He walked stiffly out the door, though Jason knew he wouldn’t go farther than a few steps into the hallway.

But it was enough. Dick’s absence allowed some of the lingering tension in the room to dissipate.

“What is up with him?” Steph demanded quietly. She, too, seemed to sense that Dick hadn’t gone far. “Did Dick get body-swapped or something?”

“Yeah, I thought he was supposed to be the non-broody one,” Duke added.

Jason snorted. “Are you guys being serious right now?”

Duke gave him a wide-eyed look. “Um, yes?”

“Huh,” Jason said, his curiosity getting the better of him. “Quick vote. If you had to pick, who would you say has the scariest temper out of all of us?”

“Bruce,” Duke answered quickly.

“I’m scary,” Damian said sleepily. The kid was barely keeping his eyes open, having refused to get any rest earlier despite Dick's threats and glowering.

“Jason,” Steph nominated with a pointed glance in his direction. Jason tipped an imaginary hat at her in reply.

“If you’d asked me before tonight, I would have said Alfred,” Tim said, his tone thoughtful. “But now…I mean, the way Dick went after Nygma…I don’t know.”

“It’s Dick,” Cass said, in the self-assured way she said everything.

“No way,” Duke disputed. “One time, he came on patrol with me and told a knock-knock joke to every single criminal we arrested. How can you say he’s the scariest?”

“It’s Dick,” Cass insisted. "He hides it. Inside."

"He wasn't hiding it tonight," Tim said, the haunted look returning to his face. "He tried to strangle Nygma."

Duke and Steph exchanged surprised glances. "Don't get on Dick's bad side," Duke said finally, clearing his throat. "Got it."

“Dick’s temper is the stuff of legends," Jason agreed. "But he doesn’t really lose his shit over the little things. When it’s something big—like his family being in danger—that’s when you gotta watch out.”

“So why’s he still acting so weird now?” Steph wanted to know.

“You think you can just shake off that kind of feeling in a couple of hours?” Jason asked incredulously. His experience with the Lazarus Pit had given him an appreciation for how long it could take strong, negative emotions to leave your system. Even without the Pit, all that tension and anger and stress didn't just vanish the second the crisis was over. “He’s had everything dialed up to eleven since the moment he found out we were taken. You don’t just walk that off.”

“Sounds like you’ve had some experience with this,” Tim said, gaze sharp.

“Duh,” Jason snarked. “My early days as Robin were wild, man.”

“So what do we do?” Duke asked.

“Bruce will help talk him down a little,” Jason said, nodding his thanks to Cass for getting Dick on the phone. Cass smiled back. “As for the rest, best we can do is just hang tight until he comes out of it. There’s gonna be a lot of staring. And growling. And don’t even think you’re going to be leaving anytime soon. He likes everyone to be within arm’s reach.”

“You’re being weirdly cool with all this,” Steph said.

“I’m resigned,”  Jason corrected, settling deeper into the couch. “I suggest the rest of you follow my lead. Resisting only makes it worse.”

*

Sure enough, a few days later, the Dick they all knew was back. The older man rubbed at his neck sheepishly as they all sat down to breakfast.

“Sorry I’ve been so…” he trailed off, making a face. “I appreciate you guys indulging me. I’m officially backing off now. So if you want to…” he sucked in a deep breath and then continued, “if you want to head back to your own places, that’s fine.”

“Finally,” Tim muttered. Surprisingly, Tim had chafed the most under Dick’s constant attention, though Jason supposed that was because Dick had strictly limited the other boy’s caffeine intake while he was recovering.

“I’ll probably go this afternoon,” Jason said. “Though I doubt the three of us will be on patrol for another couple days at least.”

“Honestly, things have been really slow out there,” Steph said. Dick had resisted letting any of them--even the non-injured ones--go out on patrol, but Alfred had managed to talk him down. It hadn't been pretty, though, and Jason could tell by the look on his older brother’s face that he was going to be apologizing for that too. “We’ve barely done anything the last few nights. It’s been weird.”

“Maybe we finally fixed Gotham’s crime problem!” Dick joked weakly. It was hardly his best, but everyone seemed to appreciate that he was making an effort to get back to normal.

“Doubtful,” Damian scoffed. “This city is horrible.”

“The absolute worst,” Jason agreed.

“Maybe we should all move to Metropolis,” Duke said.

Jason caught Steph’s eye and burst out laughing. The others weren’t far behind.

“God, Metropolis sucks,”  Jason wheezed.

“I could barely say that with a straight face,” Duke admitted, still chuckling.

“Look at us and our clean streets and shiny buildings,” Steph mocked, adopting a truly atrocious Metropolitan accent. “I mean, who do they think they are?”

“Such losers,” Tim agreed.

Dick grinned at them all. Though Jason would never admit it, it felt good to see a smile on his brother’s face again.

“I love this family,” Dick sighed happily.

“Sap,” Jason teased.

Dick’s answering grin was blinding.

*****

BONUS

Clark put his hands on his hips. “I don’t understand,” he said, for about the fifth time that weekend. “Where did all these new criminals come from? I’ve stopped more muggings and petty theft these last few days than in the past two months!”

“Yeah, I’ve been digging into that,” Lois said. “Some of Bruce’s kids got kidnapped a few days ago. Apparently, no one wanted to stick around for the aftermath.”

“Ah,” Clark said, everything suddenly making sense. “You know, I don’t know why anyone even bothers to kidnap those kids anymore. I’ve seen some of the hospital bills. It’s just not worth it.”

“They’ll learn eventually,” Lois shrugged, unconcerned.

“Let’s hope so,” Clark agreed.

Chapter Text

“What are you doing here?” Jason scowled as Dick climbed off his motorcycle. He hadn’t seen much of the former Robin since Jason had taken over the gig and nearly all of their interactions had been…well, they’d been kinda shitty, if Jason was being honest.

“Patrolling,” Dick answered shortly.

“What, with me?”  Jason asked, horrified. With Bruce out of commission with a bum knee for the next week, Jason had thought he’d finally be cleared for a solo patrol.

Apparently, he’d thought wrong.

“Take it up with Alfred if you’ve got a problem with it,” Dick answered, sounding just as unhappy as Jason.

“As if,” Jason grumbled. Did Dick really think he was going to start an argument with Alfred? He wasn’t an idiot.

“Then suit up,” Dick told him. “We’re wasting time.”

“I don’t take orders from you,” Jason growled at him.

“Alright, then,” Dick said. “Go out in your civvies. Then you can explain to Bruce how his secret identity got outed.”

Jason let out a little growl of rage. So maybe Dick was right, but that didn’t mean Jason had to be happy about it. “Fine.”

“Fine,” Dick shot back.

Jason stomped over to grab his uniform.

Tonight was going to suck.

*

“Okay,” Dick whispered, eyeing the Penguin’s men as they started packing up crates for an arms deal scheduled to go down by the Gotham docks later that night. “Here’s the plan. We need to wait for an opening—”

Jason grabbed his bo staff from his belt. “Yeah, I already see one,” he said and leapt from the rafters.

Dick’s quiet “No! Wait!” was too late to stop him. In a matter of seconds, Jason had landed among the goons and taken out two of them with well-placed hits from his staff.

“What the—!” one of the remaining thugs exclaimed, recoiling from Jason’s sudden appearance.

“Aw, shit! It’s Robin!” another cried.

Jason grinned at them. He loved this part of the job. “‘Sup, buttheads. Who wants to surrender first?”

Predictably, that’s when the bullets started flying.

Jason dodged for cover as Dick dropped down on the other side of the warehouse with an easy grace that made Jason more than a little jealous. He had the sinking feeling that all the training in the world wouldn’t help him move like that.

“I said to wait,”  Dick snapped as he threw a baton with unerring precision at one of his attackers. The man went down and stayed down.

“Yeah, and for the second time, I don’t take orders from you,”  Jason snarked back.

It was Dick’s turn to let out a little growl of frustration. Jason smirked to himself as he tossed a batarang at one of the assholes reaching for knife. It was good to know he could get under Dick’s skin just as easily as Dick could get under his.

Bang!

Jason hardly had time to register the gunshot before a white-hot line of pain burned through his leg. He dropped instantly, leg buckling beneath him. The panic set in a moment later.

He had to get up. They were in the middle of fight and staying still meant dying. He had to get up, he had to get up now—

“Robin!”

And suddenly, Dick was there, punching the shit out of the guy Jason presumed had just shot him. The guy went down like a sack of bricks and Dick spun with a practically feral yell, throwing himself at the remaining goons with a ferocity that left Jason speechless.

Jason had seen plenty of beat downs in his life—in Crime Alley, as Batman’s partner—and he’d delivered a few himself.

But he’d never witnessed anything quite like this.

The fight was over faster than Jason could believe possible. And then Dick was at his side, already pushing Jason’s hands away to get a better look at the wound.

“Ow,”  Jason hissed as Dick started poking around. “That hurts.”

“It’s a through and through,” Dick said, ignoring him. His voice was tight and business-like, with no hint of the exasperation he’d shown toward Jason earlier. “I’m going to sterilize and bandage it.”

“This never woulda happened if I’d had real pants,” Jason grumbled, grinding his teeth against the sting of the antiseptic. “These green panties are just ridiculous.”

Dick, who’d never, not once, allowed Jason to snark his former costume and get away with it, said nothing. He simply pulled out a pressure pad and applied it to Jason’s wound with a gentleness that Jason hadn’t been expecting.

It was all a little too off-putting for Jason. Why wasn’t Dick acting like his normal, annoying self?

“I can—” Jason started, reaching for the tape to help keep the bandage in place. The sooner they could get this over with, the better.

“No,”  Dick growled at him. The sharpness of his tone made Jason pull his hands back in shock. Did Dick really think he was incapable of dressing a bullet wound? Or maybe Dick was mad at him for getting shot in the first place. Maybe this had been all the proof that Dick needed to believe that Jason was an incompetent little nobody who didn’t deserve the name Robin.

Jason ignored the rising hurt in the pit of his stomach that had nothing to do with the open wound in his leg and opened his mouth to give Dick a piece of his mind.

Except, someone beat him to it.

“Hey, fuck you,” one of the Penguin’s goons slurred from where he was lying slumped on the ground about three feet away. As Jason watched, the man pushed himself up into a sitting position, weaving dangerously back and forth like he was drunk—or like he had a really bad concussion. “You’re gonna…you kids are gonna get it, you hear me? The Penguin…he’s gonna get you. ‘Specially, Robin. Oh yeah. Penguin’s got big plans for—”

Dick crossed the space faster than Jason could blink. “Don’t you talk to him,”  Dick snarled, backhanding the man hard enough to send him back into unconsciousness. “Don’t you even look at him.”

Jason gaped at Dick. And then gaped some more as the older boy walked back over to Jason and gently helped him to his feet.

“Let’s get you home,” Dick said, his voice still tight with emotion, but nowhere near the rage-filled growl he’d used on the goon.

Well, huh.

Jason was still learning how to be a detective, but it was maybe possible that Dick’s weird behavior wasn’t as much about Jason as it was about the assholes who had hurt him.

Just maybe.

How weird.

*

“Can you leave me alone for, like, five seconds?” Jason demanded, beyond exasperated.

“You are going to injure yourself,” Dick replied, forcing Jason back down onto the couch. “Now sit.”

“I hate you.”

“I’m going to get your lunch,” Dick replied, unfazed. “Stay here.”

Jason settled back against the cushions with a scowl. Dick was an even bossier nurse than Alfred. This was the worst.

But if he was being completely honest with himself, it was also kind of nice to know that Dick cared.

And that he would apparently beat the shit out of anyone who messed with Jason.

That was nice, too.

*

 “Are you leaving?” Jason asked, hopping toward the front door with the crutch Dr. Thompkins had brought him.

Dick fidgeted with the motorcycle helmet in his hands. “Yeah,” he said, with an unusual amount of hesitance. His gaze darted up to meet Jason’s and then away again. “I think I probably overstayed my welcome a bit. I’m sorry about…um. I just wanted you to get better. Sorry if I was a little too much.”

“Too much is an understatement,” Jason informed him. But when Dick’s shoulders slumped, Jason found himself hastily adding, “But, um, thanks. For looking out for me.”

Dick half-smiled at him, his tentativeness making the gesture somehow more heartfelt. “Any time,” he said. He cleared his throat awkwardly. “I—uh—I got you something. It’s in Batcave..”

Jason blinked, too surprised to say anything. Dick had gotten him a present?

Dick fidgeted with his helmet a little more and then ducked toward the door. “I’ll just see myself out.”

“Are you gonna come back?” Jason found himself blurting.

Dick stopped and turned back toward him. “Do you…do you want me to?” he asked, something bright and incredulous dawning in his voice.

Jason shrugged, trying to play off his moment of insanity as nonchalance. “I mean, if you want to. I guess it’d be okay. Or whatever.”

Dick grinned at him, big and bright and blinding. “Shoot me a message when you’re cleared for patrol again. I’ll be there.”

“Cool,” Jason said, with a tiny answering smile of his own.

He hadn’t thought it was possible for Dick’s grin to get any bigger.

He was wrong.

*

When Jason finally managed to hobble his way down to the Batcave, he found a plain, white box with his name written on it near the Batcomputer.

Jason impatiently tore the lid off. He stopped.

Then he burst out laughing, pulling out the length of fabric inside.

Pants. Dick had gotten him pants. Bullet-proof ones, too, by the feel of them.

Oh Jason couldn’t wait to get back out there.

Chapter Text

“Master Bruce,” Alfred’s voice called from down the hallway. “Come down this instant. It’s not polite to keep a visitor waiting.”

Bruce huffed a sigh and closed the book he’d been reading. He knew he was being rude, but he just didn’t have the energy for dealing with people today—especially not Alfred’s sister who was sure to be all prim and proper, like the socialites Bruce hated spending time with.

And maybe that was unfair. Alfred was Bruce’s favorite person in the whole world, after all. But Alfred could also be distressingly British at times and Bruce didn’t know if he could handle that from two people today.

“Master Bruce,”  Alfred said again, with a hint of warning in his tone. Bruce scrambled to his feet. When Alfred used that tone, disobeying was not an option.

“Coming!” he shouted back as he headed for the door. Maybe Alfred would take pity on him and let him escape after the introductions. And it would only be polite to let Alfred have time to catch up with his family alone, right?

“Sorry,” Bruce said as he descended the grand staircase into the foyer. He drudged up some of the manners Alfred had been drilling into him. “I didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”

“Master Bruce, this is my sister, Margaret Pennyworth,” Alfred said as Bruce reached the main floor. “Margaret, this is Bruce Wayne.”

“A pleasure,” the woman beside Alfred said. She was tall and thin and bore a striking resemblance to Alfred himself. She held out a hand for Bruce to shake. “I was so sorry to hear about your parents.”

Bruce swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat. “Thanks,” he said softly, the burn of phantom tears in his eyes. It had been a full year and it still hurt whenever people said that to him. He wondered if it would ever stop hurting.

“Master Bruce, please show Margaret to the sitting room while I go get some tea,” Alfred instructed as Bruce got a hold of himself. All of Bruce’s plans for a quick escape went out the window.

“Yeah, of course,” he said, trying not to let any sullenness show in his voice. After everything Alfred had done for him, Bruce owed him this much. “This way, ma’am.”

Bruce escorted Margaret to the couch before selecting a truly uncomfortable chair for himself. He was afraid he’d slouch too much in one of the comfier seats. At least this chair would force him to remain straight-backed and proper.

“I hope your travels here went smoothly, ma’am,” Bruce said on autopilot, falling back on the lessons Alfred had taught him.

Margaret pursed her lips. “It was a bloody long trip, but not too bad,” she said. “And stop this ‘ma’am’ business at once. You make me sound ancient. Everyone calls me Peg and you shall, too.”

Bruce blinked, caught completely off-guard. “What?”

“Peg,” Alfred’s sister repeated. “It’s my name. And I shall call you Bruce. None of that ‘master’ business for me.”

“I keep telling him not to call me that,” Bruce said, startled into honesty. “He never listens.”

“Typical,” Peg sympathized. “Are you sure you’re comfortable in that chair, Bruce? You look like you’re sitting on a pinecone.”

Bruce felt the corners of his lips twitch. “Not really,” he admitted. With one hesitant glance at Peg, he switched to one of the comfier seats.

“There,” Peg said with evident satisfaction. “Much better. Now, how many embarrassing stories about Alfie do you think I can tell before he gets back?”

Bruce lit up. “Alfred has embarrassing stories?” he asked delightedly.

“Loads,” Peg assured him. “Let’s start with the water fight in our mother’s garden. Oh, she was furious.”

Bruce leaned forward in his seat eagerly. Peg was about to become his new favorite person.

*

“So,” Peg said, watching Dick practice his handsprings across the Manor’s grounds. “You’re a father now. How’s that going?”

Bruce shot her a look. It was still weird to him that he was taller than Peg, even though he’d surpassed her all the way back in high school. “He’s my ward, not my son,” he said. It sounded unconvincing even to his own ears. Dick had him wrapped around his little finger and everyone knew it.

“Alfie said something similar to me once about you,” Peg said. “He was lying through his teeth, too. I hope he’s gotten smarter since then.”

Bruce smiled. “We know where we stand.”

“Hmm,” Peg said, with only a little disapproval. “It doesn’t hurt to say it every once in a while. Out loud. Where people can hear you.”

Bruce rolled his eyes. “I thought you British people were supposed to be all about stoicism. Stiff upper lips and all that.”

Peg sniffed primly at him. “And I thought you Yanks were supposed to be overly emotional about everything. Do you need a moment to yourself for a good cry or are you alright?”

“Touche,” Bruce chuckled. “Don’t worry, Dick will have enough emotions for the both of us.”

“You may be right about that,” Peg said, eyeing Dick as he collapsed with breathless laughter on the lawn. “Well, bring him over here! I want to meet him properly.”

“Dick!” Bruce called, waving the boy over. Dick bounded to his feet and sprinted toward them. Bruce helped slow his momentum at the last moment when it looked like he might go skidding past.

“Dick, this is Aunt Peg,” Bruce said, keeping his hand on Dick’s shoulder. “She’s the greatest.”

“I am,” Peg agreed solemnly. She reached down a hand for Dick to shake.

“Nice to meet you!” Dick exclaimed, completing the handshake enthusiastically. “You look just like Alfred!”

“I prefer to think that he looks like me,”  Peg replied. “Now you must sit by me at lunch. I have plenty of embarrassing stories to tell you about Bruce.”

Dick’s whole face lit up. Bruce, on the other hand, paled.

“You wouldn’t,” Bruce said, half-pleading.

Peg smirked at him. “I betrayed my own brother. Did you really think I wouldn’t do the same to you?”

“Well, Dick, I think it’s your bedtime,” Bruce said, scooping Dick up and throwing him over one shoulder. Dick laughed and squirmed, trying to get out of Bruce’s hold.

“Nooo!” Dick protested. “It’s not even noon! I want to hear the stories!”

“Nope, there are no stories!” Bruce said brusquely, marching toward the Manor and carrying Dick all the while. “I’ve never done anything embarrassing ever.”

“No?” Peg said, following along. “Not even that time you decided to make Alfred breakfast in bed and almost burned down the Manor?”

Bruce whirled, spinning Dick with him. “He told you about that?”

“That’s not even the worst one I know,” Peg threatened.

“Right,” Bruce said decisively. “Say goodbye to Aunt Peg, Dick. She was just leaving.”

And maybe he didn’t manage to stop Peg from gossiping with Dick, but hearing the boy’s bright laughter made every second worth it.

*

“Tell the one about the charity dinner and the shrimp fork again!” Steph begged. “Please!”

“In a moment, dear,” Peg promised. “I want to drink this tea before it goes cold.”

Bruce shook his head. “You could at least tell them some good stories about me to balance the scales,” he muttered at her, sliding another scone onto Peg’s plate. She gave him a look, but didn’t protest.

“They wouldn’t believe them if I tried,” Peg informed him. Bruce laughed despite himself.

“Probably true,” he conceded, lounging back in his chair a little further. He cast his gaze out across the sitting room, feeling a contented glow at the sight of all his children together in one place, happy and healthy.

“You’ve come a long way from that lonely little boy I met all those years ago,” Peg said quietly. Bruce glanced over to see her watching him. “I’m very happy for you.”

“Thanks, Peg,” Bruce said. “But I can’t take all the credit. I wouldn’t be anything without your brother. I couldn’t have asked for a better guardian—a better father.”

“Yes, he’s alright,” Peg said, the warm look in her eye betraying her true feelings. “I’m glad he found you, too, you know. You were good for him. And he’s so very proud of you.”

Bruce smiled at her. “I think that's the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Peg smiled back. “I'm glad you think so. I’m not sure I could think of a higher compliment if I tried. Alfie really is the best of us, isn’t he?”

“He really is,” Bruce agreed wholeheartedly.

Chapter Text

“Oh good!” Grayson said, panting as he reached the bottom of the steps. “You’re here. Wasn’t sure if I was going to have to track you down.”

Damian turned up his nose in reply. Of course he was here. As the only remaining Wayne in the household, it was Damian’s duty to greet all guests who stayed under the Wayne Manor roof. It was important that all protocols be properly maintained, despite Grayson’s complaints about stuffiness and boredom.

Father would have wanted nothing less. Of that, Damian was sure.

Grayson seemed to want to say more, but was interrupted by the front door opening, revealing Pennyworth and a woman who very much resembled him.

"Aunt Peg!” Grayson cried before the woman was fully across the threshold. Before Damian could stop him, Grayson had darted for the woman and wrapped her up in one of his incredibly annoying bear hugs. Damian sighed.

So much for displaying a proper welcome. He couldn’t quite see Ms. Pennyworth’s face, but he was certain the woman was horrified.

She hid it well, at least. “It’s so good to see you,” Ms. Pennyworth said, placating Grayson with a partial hug in return. “I tried to come sooner, after I found out about…after Bruce passed. I’m so sorry.”

“I know. It’s okay,” Grayson assured her, pulling back a little. “Come meet his son.”

Ms. Pennyworth allowed Grayson to lead her toward Damian, who came to meet them halfway.

“Welcome to Wayne Manor, Ms. Pennyworth,” Damian said, proffering his hand. “I’m Damian Wayne.”

Ms. Pennyworth shook his hand firmly, surprising Damian a little with the strength of her grip. Then she pulled back and studied him for a moment.

“You are the absolute spitting image of your father at that age,” Ms. Pennyworth said finally.

Damian puffed up proudly.

And then, the woman continued, “But I can’t believe Alfie let you raid his closet. You shouldn’t take all your style cues from an aging butler.”

Damian blinked down at his pressed gray slacks and black turtleneck sweater.

What.

“I’m not aging,”  Pennyworth stated mildly.

“Well, I am,” Ms. Pennyworth returned frankly. “Which means you are, too. Perhaps that explains why you let the boy dress like that.”

“I tried to convince him to get something with color,” Grayson said apologetically.

Damian glared. He’d carefully chosen this outfit to convey that he was the man in charge, a person to be taken seriously. How could the others not see that?

Ms. Pennyworth patted Grayson on the shoulder. “No offense, my dear, but your taste in clothes is just as tragic—though a good deal more vibrant.”

Grayson laughed. “It works for me,” he shrugged, unoffended.

Ms. Pennyworth patted him on the cheek. “Glad to see you’ve kept that sense of humor,” she said fondly. She turned once more to Damian and seemed to evaluate his affronted expression. “Now, now. Don’t take me too seriously, Damian. It’s my job to remind the people in this family that they’re mere humans like the rest of us.”

“Except me,” Grayson said, smiling angelically. “I’m perfect.”

“Oh yes,” Ms. Pennyworth agreed. “You were certainly perfect when you knocked over that table full of champagne glasses at that gala a few years ago. And all because you were trying to impress a pretty girl…”

“Aunt Peg!” Grayson groaned. He reached over to cover Damian’s ears, but Damian swatted him away. “Don’t sully his ears with such lies.”

“Please, everyone knows how emotional you are, Grayson,” Damian said. Despite the insult, Grayson winked at him. “Father would never have done such a thing.”

“Uh-oh,” Grayson said with quiet amusement as something bright sparked in Ms. Pennyworth’s gaze.

“My dear, the stories I could tell you about your father…” Ms. Pennyworth trailed off, shaking her head.

Damian folded his arms and scowled. “What stories?” he demanded.

Ms. Pennyworth smiled. Grayson laughed. “You asked for it,” he warned.

It was the first time during Ms. Pennyworth’s visit that Damian would wonder if he’d made a mistake.

It wouldn’t be the last.

*

“…of course, this was in his teenage years, you have to understand, and he was at that terrible boarding school. Your father had a rebellious streak a mile wide. Why, the number of times they caught him sneaking off the school grounds…” Ms. Pennyworth chuckled. “The more they tried to make him into a proper young man, the more he acted out. And since he was so blasted rich, he usually got away with it, too.”

“I’m sure my father was a model student,” Damian informed her. “He had one of the greatest minds in the world.”

“Oh, he was a clever lad, no doubt about it,” Ms. Pennyworth agreed. “Probably too clever for his own good. But he truly did hate some of his teachers—justifiably so, in most cases. He used to prank them all the time. Alfie once wrote that he’d unleashed…what did he call it? Oh yes, an ‘avalanche of frogs’ into a teacher’s classroom. I’ve no earthly idea where he got all the frogs from and your father would never say.”

Damian tried—he truly tried—to equate the Batman, a symbol of justice in an otherwise corrupt world, with a frog prank and just couldn’t. His brain refused.

“That story can’t be true,” he said.

“No?” Ms. Pennyworth raised an eyebrow at him. “I’m sure Alfie still has the complaint letter he received from the school somewhere. He kept a big file of them. Bruce always showed them off to me when I came to visit. He was rather proud of some of those pranks. Like the one with the helicopter—oh, this is a good one. It all started when Bruce ran afoul of the school’s biggest bully…”

*

“My mother would have you killed for such insolence,” he muttered in a particularly bad moment.

“Oh?” Ms. Pennyworth said, with absolutely no terror whatsoever. “That’s nice, dear. I suppose she’ll have to get in line. Mary from the flower show claimed my head a long time ago. Not that it matters. She’ll never beat my roses. Oh, but that does remind me of a wonderful story about Bruce and a patch of poison ivy. Now you have to understand, Bruce wasn’t much interested in plants before this…”

*

“Are these stories going to end any time soon?” he demanded after two days of non-stop nonsense.

“I haven’t even begun to tell you about Dick,” Ms. Pennyworth replied. “That’s a whole saga on its own. Did I tell you he used to have a mullet?”

“I don’t want to hear…” Damian paused. “A mullet? Truly?”

Ms. Pennyworth smiled. “Alfie has a picture somewhere, I’m sure.”

“I…” Damian frowned, battling with himself for a moment. “Do you think he could find it?”

“I’m sure he can,” Ms. Pennyworth said. Damian did his best to ignore the triumph in her tone.

*

“Why tell me all these stories?” Damian asked near the end of the week. It was a question that had been bothering him for some time now.

“I thought you might like to hear about your father,” Ms. Pennyworth replied.

“No, I mean…why these stories?” he asked again. “You could have told me about his philanthropy work or his time traveling the world or everything he’s done for Gotham. Why stick to such…silliness?”

Ms. Pennyworth paused, considering the question. “Your father did a lot of good for a lot of people,” she said seriously. “He was one of the best men I will ever have the privilege of meeting and I loved him dearly. He was an incredible person. And that’s how I want to remember him—as a person. Not as some mythic figure, not as some kind of paragon. Just as the imperfect, wonderful man that he was. It was such a gift to be able to know him like that,” she continued. “And I wanted to give that gift to you.”

“I see,” Damian said, though he wasn’t entirely certain that he did.

“If it truly bothers you, I can stop,” Ms. Pennyworth said.

Damian hesitated. Pennyworth and Grayson did their best to keep his father’s memory alive, but in the short time that he’d known her, Ms. Pennyworth had told him more about his father than either of the others. And yes, the stories were utterly ridiculous, but they were still about him.

“Maybe…” he ventured, “…maybe you could tell me one more? About when he was my age?”

Ms. Pennyworth smiled. “Of course, dear. Have I told you about how he once bleached his hair? I believe someone at school with ill intentions convinced him it would be a good idea. Don't worry, your father got them back. Alfie was his co-conspirator on this one. Actually, I do believe Alfie helped with a number of conspiracies back in the day…”

Chapter Text

“You’re not going to stop me,” Ivy hissed, her eyes glinting green in the fading light. Babs heard the rustle of leaves behind her and knew Ivy was preparing to attack. Normally, Babs wouldn't have gone after someone as powerful as Ivy without backup, but things were different now. Batman was different. 

And Babs could handle things on her own. She hoped.

“If you were truly a hero, you wouldn’t even want to stop me," Ivy continued. "If you knew even half of what this company has done to the environment—”

“So tell me,” Babs said, interrupting Ivy’s flow. It was a play for time—the longer Babs stalled Ivy, the more time people had to leave the chemical plant Ivy was planning to destroy—but Babs was also curious. She wanted to know what Ivy knew, wanted to know why the woman had chosen this place as a target for her vengeance.

The little voice in the back of Babs’ head that sounded like Bruce told her to take Ivy down and be done with it.

But Babs had never been one to listen to Batman anyway. Especially now that he had driven Dick halfway across the country.

Ivy scoffed. “I thought you Bats were supposed to know everything.”

“It’s a big city,” Babs replied. “Sometimes things escape our notice. I’d be grateful if you shared what you know about this place.”

Ivy tilted her head, evaluating Babs. “You actually mean that, don’t you?” she said at last. “Fine. Here’s what you’ve been missing while you’ve been running around hunting down people like me instead of the real monsters.”

And, to Babs’ amazement, Ivy started talking. She told Babs about the pollution, about the way the chemical plant had been dumping hazardous material into the water system, about how the owners were ripping resources from the earth without any regard for the natural world.

“We can’t let them get away with this,” Babs said, glaring at the chemical plant in the distance. She knew it was technically possible that Ivy was lying, but Babs didn’t think she was.

“You…you’re not going to stop me?” Ivy asked, surprise coloring her voice.

Babs re-focused her attention on the other woman. Was she going to stop Ivy? She probably should. The woman killed without remorse and used her powers to manipulate countless others.

But, infuriatingly, Ivy was right. What was happening at this chemical plant was a crime.

And besides, no one was here to talk her out of it, so...

“I’m not letting you kill anyone,” Babs said, heart pounding. When Ivy opened her mouth, presumably to argue, Babs continued, “That’s non-negotiable. But if you give me time to hack into their systems, I’m sure I can find proof of what you’ve been saying. I’ll get the information to the right people.”

“Why should I trust that the law will do anything?” Ivy demanded. “They haven’t so far.”

“I know. But we have to start somewhere,” Babs said. “If we can show people that the system actually works, maybe that will encourage someone to come forward next time something like this happens. Maybe we’ll eventually get to a point where Gotham doesn’t need people like you and me at all anymore.”

“You’re incredibly naïve,” Ivy said, shaking her head.

“Not naïve,” Babs corrected. “Hopeful.”

Ivy pursed her lips. Then, the plants surrounding her slowly drew back. “Alright. I’ll try it your way. No killing. But what about the building? It’ll take time for your people to build a case and in the meantime, that chemical plant will keep on polluting.”

Babs bit her lip. She had the feeling she was about to make what was possibly a very dumb decision.

“I’m going to find the evidence I need and then I’m taking it straight to the police,” she said, making a mental note to check every inch of the facility for lingering employees before leaving. “What happens after that is not my responsibility.”

Ivy raised her eyebrows. “That’s a lot of trust you’re putting in me.”

“Like I said,” Babs replied. “We’ve got to start somewhere.”

*

“You let Ivy destroy a building!” Bruce growled. He’d been in a bad mood ever since Dick had struck out on his own. Actually, he’d been in a bad mood even before then, but now he was almost unbearable. “I’m taking you off the streets. No more patrolling.”

“First of all, you don’t get to give me orders,” Babs shot back. “I work with you, not for you. I’m going back out there and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“You can’t trust Poison Ivy,” Bruce continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “She’s a criminal.”

“The same way Selina is a criminal?” Babs retorted. Bruce fell silent. “Yeah, I know about your little team-ups.”

“That’s not the same—”

Babs cut him off. “Isn’t it, though? I mean, isn’t the point of the no-kill rule to give criminals a chance to change? To become something better?” she asked. “How can we say that and then not actually give them that chance? Besides, Ivy was right. That place needed to be taken down.”

Bruce shook his head. “You don’t understand, Barbara. These people are dangerous. Ivy is dangerous. Just because she played nice once, doesn’t mean she’ll do it again.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Babs asked. “I’m not a child, Bruce, and I’m not an idiot. I took a calculated risk. It paid off this time. I know that it might not pay off again in the future. That doesn’t mean we should stop trying.”

And with that Babs turned on heel toward the exit to the Batcave. Bruce called after her.

“We aren’t finished here!”

“Yeah, we are,” Babs replied over her shoulder. “You know, ever since Dick left, it’s like you’ve forgotten how to have any kind of optimism that things can get better around here. But if we don’t have hope that things will change, then what the hell are we doing this for?”

She didn’t wait for Bruce’s answer.

She honestly wasn’t sure he had one.

*

“I was beginning to forget what you looked like,” Babs joked as Dick gave her a big hug in greeting. She was surprised to see him back in Gotham so soon. When he’d left, he’d made it seem like he wasn’t coming back for a long, long time.

“Ruggedly handsome and unbelievably charming?” Dick grinned at her as he pulled back.

Babs rolled her eyes. “In your dreams, Boy Wonder,” she told him. Dick laughed and followed her to the edge of the rooftop so they could sit. “What are you doing here? Did you and B make up?”

Dick’s smile disappeared. “No. Though he’s free to apologize anytime he wants,” he said, anger and unhappiness radiating from every line of his body. Babs put a hand on his shoulder, trying to comfort him. Dick reached up and gripped her fingers, squeezing them for a moment in thanks. “Actually, I came to see you.”

“Oh?” Babs asked. “And what can I do for you?”

Dick turned to face her more fully, still keeping hold of her hand. “I want you to come with me. I want you to join my new team.”

Babs sucked in a surprised breath. She should have expected this, but somehow, she hadn’t seen it coming at all.

“Before you say anything,” Dick said, filling the silence before Babs could, “let me just tell you a little bit about them. They're incredible, Babs. Having a team is incredible. We’re finally the ones calling the shots. No more Leaguers looking over our shoulders, no more mentors telling us we aren’t ready or we’re not good enough. We are good enough. We’ve been doing such good work and we could use someone like you to help us do it. I mean, just think what you could accomplish without Bruce’s shadow looming over you all the time?”

God, she could see it. Could just picture joining Dick’s team and working with people her own age, who actually understood the struggles she went through every single day. She could imagine how easy it would be not to have to worry about Bruce second-guessing every decision she made. To actually have a team that she trusted and who trusted her in return.

And yet.

If Babs hadn’t been here, Poison Ivy would never have been given a chance to do the right thing. And yes, maybe that was just a drop in the bucket. Maybe it had been a fluke.

But maybe it hadn’t. Maybe there were other people who were ready to make things a little better, if only given a chance.

And if Babs left, then who would be here the next time? Who would dare to actually believe people could change?

“I’m flattered,” Babs said, choosing her words with care. “I really am.”

Dick’s bright expression drooped. “It sounds like there’s a ‘but’ coming.”

“Yeah,” Babs agreed as gently as she could. “I’m really, really sorry. Your team sounds amazing and I’m so happy that you’ve found what you’re looking for. But I…I can’t leave Gotham. Bruce…he’s a good man--however unbearable he may be at times. But the Batman doesn’t bend. Once he makes up his mind about something or someone, that’s it.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Dick grumbled. Babs smiled at him.

“When Bruce started, Gotham needed that. It needed him. And it still does. But now...I think this city needs someone who can look at things a little differently,” Babs continued, speaking from her heart. “Who’s more willing to trust. Someone who never forgets that things can be different, who never forgets what we’re fighting for.”

Dick’s lips quirked in a small smile. "Ah, the 'Gotham needs me' speech. I've heard it many times."

"I didn't mean it like that,"  Babs complained, elbowing him in the side. Dick elbowed her back until they were both laughing.

“I kind of figured it was a long shot," Dick said eventually, only a little rueful. "But I had to try. If you ever change your mind…”

“You’ll be the first one I call,” Babs promised.

"Hey, Babs," Dick said, and something in his voice made Babs look at him for real. "Gotham does need someone like you. You're going to change things around here."

"You think so?" Babs asked, touched by his faith.

"Duh," Dick replied, nudging her with his elbow again. Babs grinned and turned her gaze out to Gotham's twinkling skyline.

There was a lot of work to do.

Chapter Text

“You can’t stop me, Batman,” Freeze said, stalling for time while his freeze gun fully charged for a devastating blast that would knock Batman out of commission for good. “Not this time. I’m too close to saving her. And I won’t let you—”

Freeze stopped, blinking in surprise as a tiny figure in red and green and yellow dropped from the ceiling and rolled to a stop at Batman’s side.

“Freeze, Mr. Freeze!” the child yelled, his face set in what he clearly thought was a threatening expression. “You’re under arrest!”

Freeze eased his finger off the trigger. He had no idea how some civilian child had found them, but he wasn’t going to murder a kid just to get his shot at Batman.

“Do you want to take care of this?” Freeze asked Batman, with a pointed glance at the boy. Maybe while Batman was busy sending the kid home, Freeze could steal the equipment he needed to finally complete his experiments and bring his wife back to him.

Batman hesitated for a moment, no doubt reading Freeze’s less aggressive body language, and then knelt by the kid’s side.

“I told you to stay out of sight,” Batman growled quietly.

Freeze frowned. Batman had known this child was here the whole time?

“You needed my help!” the boy protested. “I was just doing what you trained me to do!”

“I’m sorry,” Freeze said, surprised by his own interruption. “Is this…is he a sidekick?”

“I’m his partner,”  the boy informed him.

“Batman,”  Freeze said, unable to help the chiding tone his voice had taken. “This is a child.”

“My name’s Robin,” the boy shot back, not cowed in the least. “And we’re going to bring you to justice!”

Freeze looked at Batman helplessly. The vigilante gave the smallest shake of his head and then turned to the boy once more.

“Follow your training,” he said quietly, trying and failing to exclude Freeze from the conversation. “And stay behind me. Do you understand?”

The kid brightened, obviously thrilled by the prospect that he wouldn’t be sent away. “You got it!”

Batman straightened, squaring off with Freeze once more and using the motion to edge slightly in front of the boy.

“You can’t be serious,” Freeze said, glancing between the vigilante and his supposed partner. This could not be happening.

“You could always surrender,” Batman suggested.

Freeze shook his head slowly. “You know I can’t leave here without the equipment.”

Batman dropped into a fighting stance. Behind him, the boy did the same.

Freeze reluctantly raised his gun.

When it was all over, and Batman was handcuffing Freeze for the authorities, the man leaned in close and whispered, “You pulled your punches.”

“He’s a child,”  Freeze whispered back reprovingly, furious at how this whole night had turned out.

Batman grimaced just slightly, one of the few facial expressions Freeze had ever seen him make. “Still. Thank you.”

“Hey, Mr. Freeze?” the boy called. Freeze turned to see him hefting the freeze gun. “This thing is really cool.”

“That is not a toy,” Freeze scolded, ignoring the pun.

“Robin,”  Batman said, in almost the exact same tone.

The boy made a face and set the gun down with exaggerated care.

Freeze exhaled sharply. This was definitely going down as one of the strangest nights of his entire life.

*

“Well, well, well,” Harley said, arching her eyebrows at the unexpected sight in front of her. “Freezy was telling the truth. You do have a little bird following you around.”

Batsy said nothing, but Harley could tell she’d hit a nerve by the speed at which he launched his little bat ninja stars at her. She sprang into action, throwing in a little acrobatic flair because life was too short to be boring.

“Whoa,” the kid breathed when Harley came to a stop.

“Robin,” Batman said warningly. The kid ignored him.

“But she just did a roundoff handspring layout!” he said, sounding suitably impressed. “In heels.”

“Hold up,” Harley said, throwing out a hand. “You know gymnastics?”

For an answer, the boy threw himself into the exact same combo Harley had just completed, except that he finished his combination with a double layout.

The little showoff.

“Oh yeah?” Harley said when the boy turned to her with a proud grin. “Try this!”

And launched into the most dizzying combination of flips that she could imagine.

“So cool,” the kid said, before copying her exactly and adding in a couple extra skills for good measure.

Oh hell yeah! This kiddie had moves!

“Ooh ooh, okay, try this one!” Harley said, shaking out her legs and mentally mapping out her routine. She didn’t realize until the click of the handcuffs that Batsy had slipped behind her.

“Hey, wait!” Harley complained. “I was just about to do a real stumper!”

“Aw, B!” Robin protested. “Can’t we do one more?”

“No,”  Batsy growled at both of them. He looked at the kid. “Go contact the police.”

“Fine,” the kid sighed, reaching up for his comm.

Harley smiled at Batsy, “Where’d you get the kid?”

Batsy’s lips thinned. He said nothing.

“No, seriously,” Harley pressed earnestly. “Were there more? I want one!”

“He’s mine,” Batsy finally growled.

“Couldn’t we work out a time-share or something? Batsy? Hey!”

*

Selina folded her arms and tried her hardest not to laugh. “Hello, little Robin. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Finally!” the kid grinned. “Someone who knows my name! See, I told you it was catching on, B!”

Batman grunted, his eyes trained on her. Smart man. He knew she’d run the second he looked away.

“I take it you’re here for the diamonds?” she asked, patting a pouch on her belt.

“You are paw-sitively correct!” Robin said, his grin widening.

She snorted, throwing another glance at Batman. The most close-mouthed man she’d ever met had chosen this child as his protégé?

This was going to be wonderful.

“I won’t go easy on you just because you’re little,” Selina informed the kid, though the threat was softened somewhat by the smile she couldn’t help throwing his way. That little grin was infectious.

“Then I won’t go easy on you either!” Robin declared.

“It’s a deal,” Selina replied solemnly. The kid puffed out his chest proudly.

And there it was. At the corner of Batman’s mouth. The tiniest little smile Selina had ever seen. It was gone in an eyeblink, but it had been real.

Even if she lost the diamonds, Selina had a feeling this was going to be a night for the ages.

Chapter Text

There had been a collective sigh of relief among Gotham’s self-proclaimed villains when little Robin had finally grown up and flown the nest. Obviously, the boy was a delight, but even Ivy had to admit it was hard to get anything done when he was around. She could spend weeks planning to bring down the corrupt earth-killers in Gotham only to be foiled when Robin appeared, looking so incredibly disappointed in her that she didn’t even have the heart to kill anyone.

Ridiculous.

But now the kid was on the other side of the country and things were starting to return to normal. Which was why Ivy didn’t feel too bad about throwing Batman against the wall and pinning him there with some vines when he broke into her greenhouse in the middle of the night.

“You really shouldn’t have come here,” she told him. “Though it's probably best you learn early that things are going to be different now—”

“Let him go!” someone yelled as a couple of sharp gadgets (what had Robin always called them? Batarangs?  Absurd.) sliced through some of the vines attacking Batman. Ivy winced and whirled, ready to murder whoever would dare harm her plants--and paused.

“Robin?” she asked, frowning at the dark-haired boy in the red and green uniform standing before her. But no, this boy was smaller and younger and built differently. “You’re not Robin.”

The boy scowled at her, which only confirmed Ivy’s suspicions. Robin had never been capable of making a face as vicious as that.

“I’m the new  Robin,” he informed her.

“The new—” Ivy whirled back to Batman, just as he managed to free himself of her vines—without cutting them, which Ivy did appreciate. She would have thanked him if she hadn’t been so annoyed at the moment. “Batman. You didn’t. Not another one.”

Batman ignored her in favor of getting as close to his new Robin as quickly as possible. Ivy allowed it, mostly because she wasn’t sure how the rest of this night was going to play out. She really hadn’t expected Batman to bring a child into her lair.

Well, another child.

“Hey, I’m right here!” the new Robin called, interrupting her thoughts. “Why don’t you talk to me instead of just about me? And get these dumb weeds out of my face while you’re at it!”

Ivy spluttered, speechless for a moment. “Weeds?”  she repeated when she’d recovered herself. “My plants aren’t weeds. Humanity is the real weed—growing unchecked and trampling everything else in its path. I’m trying to preserve what’s left of nature. And if you had any sense, you would too!”

The boy raised his eyebrows and seemed to glance around the greenhouse, taking in all the plant life that Ivy had nurtured there. “I guess some of these plants are kinda pretty. Like this flower. This one’s nice,” he said, reaching for a patch of tread-softly flowers nearby.

“Don’t touch that!” Ivy and Batman said at the exact same time, though Ivy accompanied her warning with a little snap of vines against the new Robin’s wrist, forcing him to pull back.

“What?” the boy asked, alarmed and annoyed. “It’s just a flower!”

“A flower that can cause itching and stinging if you touch it,” Ivy retorted.

“I’m wearing gloves,” the kid pointed out sulkily.

“Still,” Ivy said, shaking her head. She looked over at Batman. “Haven’t you taught him anything?”

Batman’s shoulders hunched every so slightly. “We’re still working on botany."

“What’s the big deal?” Robin demanded. “Plants are just plants, right?”

“Plants are just…” Ivy trailed off, flabbergasted. The disrespect! “Now you listen here, young man. Nature is the most incredible resource in the entire world—it has adapted to survive in the most innovative of ways. Take the tropical pitcher plant—scientific name: Nepenthes—for example. Yes, this one right here. Yes, you can get closer, it’s fine. This is one of nature’s carnivorous plants. Yes, I agree, it’s very cool. Now, let’s talk about where you can find these plants…”

*

Oswald finally got back to his private office in the Iceberg Lounge after a long, frustrating, and—at-times—violent conversation with some of his wayward suppliers. It was always so disappointing when people thought they could take advantage of him. As much as Oswald liked proving them wrong, it would’ve been much easier if they’d just followed his orders in the first place.

At least there were no more crises for him to fix tonight. He was very much looking forward to relaxing—

“So did you build the umbrellas yourself or do you have someone who does that for you?”

Oswald jumped, raising the umbrella in his hand threateningly as he realized he wasn’t alone for the first time.

Sloppy, he chided himself. Sloppy gets you killed.

His posture went from defensive to exasperated when he realized who had come to visit him.

“Kid, you can’t keep sneaking up here on your own!” Oswald informed the newest Robin. “It’s dangerous. You do remember what happened to your predecessor, right?”

The kid looked down and away, clearly upset. Oswald felt guilty for throwing the second Robin’s death in his face—it was still a touchy subject for Batman’s crew and the villains themselves—but the new kid had to learn some tough lessons fast if he wanted to survive.

And, much to Oswald’s surprise, he did want the kid to survive. No one else asked him questions about his tech with such genuine interest.

“I know,” the kid said quietly. “Batman gets mad when I go off alone.”

As he should, Oswald agreed silently. Now, if only Batman would stop putting kids in the middle of his war on crime, that would be great.

“Where is the Bat, by the way?” Oswald asked. "Do you need to call him so he can come pick you up?"

“Oh, he’s downstairs,” Robin said, waving his hand vaguely at the floor below. “He should be just about finished raiding that illegal stash of weapons you’ve got stored down there.”

“What! He can’t do that!” Oswald screeched, wondering if he had enough time to get some boys together and stop him. It probably wouldn’t make a difference. This was Batman.

“He definitely can. You won't be fast enough to stop him,” Robin said, like he was reading Oswald's mind. “Anyway, how’d you get the flamethrower apparatus in your umbrella so small?”

Oswald pinched the bridge of his nose. Life had been so good  before the Batman and his children. It was really unfair how much that man had messed things up for him.

The boy continued, oblivious. “But actually, aren’t you worried about it misfiring? How many prototypes did you have to go through? And how did you manage to solve the weight problem? I’ve always wondered about that.”

So unfair.

*

“That was a good fight today,” Robin said, pushing a few stray strands of blonde hair out of her face. “You had some good riddles. I almost didn’t get the one about the woman and the welder.”

“Really?” Edward asked, perking up a little from where he was sitting on the ground, arms handcuffed behind his back.

“Yep!” Robin nodded. “That one stumped me for a bit, for sure.”

“Well, that’s nice to hear,” Edward confided since Batman wasn’t currently in ear-shot. “I’ve really been working hard on them.”

“Were there any we didn’t get to?” Robin asked. “Unless you’re planning to save some for your next breakout.”

Edward hesitated, but it was hard to say no in the face of such earnestness. “Alright. I can give you one,”  he said. “Why is an orange like a bell?”

Robin frowned, puzzling it out. She was still working on the riddle when the police showed up to take him back to Arkham.

“Robin, let’s go,” Batman growled, pulling Robin away.

Edward smiled at the girl. “Guess our time is up!” he winked, allowing the cops to escort him to the patrol car.

“Wait!” Robin called after him. “I got it! It’s because they both need to be peeled. Ugh—that was good!”

Edward laughed, not even disappointed that she’d managed to work out the answer. “I’ll have more for next time!”

“You better!” Robin shouted back, just as the cops closed the car door.

Edward settled into his seat and started plotting.

*

Freeze sighed at the sight of the small, unfamiliar boy standing next to Batman. “Are you ever going to stop with this nonsense?” he demanded. “I mean, really. Child endangerment is not a joke, Batman!”

He didn’t even wait for the caped crusader to respond, instead leaning down to speak directly to the child. “Look here, boy. You don’t have to do this. I know this seems fun and exciting, but it is dangerous in Gotham.”

The boy turned up his nose in the haughtiest expression Freeze had ever seen. “I see no danger to me here."

Freeze sighed and ignored the insult. “I’ll do my best not to hurt you.”

The boy smirked. “I won’t extend the same courtesy,” he replied and drew his sword.

Later—though to Freeze’s shame, not much later—when the fight was over and Batman was helping patch up the rips in Freeze’s suit so he wouldn’t die from the exposure, Freeze scowled up at him.

“He’s much more bloodthirsty than the others,” Freeze complained.

Batman said nothing.

“You could’ve warned me.”

Batman said nothing.

“Do I even want to know where you found him?”

Batman sighed ever so slightly. “Probably not.”

Freeze shook his head. “This had better be your last one.”

Batman said nothing.

It was probably for the best. They both knew that was a promise Batman would never be able to keep.

Chapter Text

“Who called this meeting anyway?” Harvey growled from the back of the Iceberg Lounge. “I have things I need to do.”

“I called the meeting,” Selina said, keeping her voice steady and strong through sheer force of will. “And you will wait until everyone gets here.”

Harvey looked like he wanted to argue for a moment, but something in her face must have convinced him not to.

It was another half hour before the club was full to the brim with the worst Gotham had to offer.

No, not the worst, Selina corrected herself. There was no doubt in Selina’s mind who that title belonged to.

“Selina. It’s time,” Ivy said softly, her voice surprisingly gentle. She seemed almost nervous for Selina to begin, almost like she sensed something terrible was coming.

Selina nodded and stood, her face grim. She took a deep breath.

“It’s about Robin,” she started. God, she wanted to cry. She wanted to cry and scream and rage.

But she couldn’t. She needed to stay focused. For Robin’s sake, she needed to see this through.

“Where is that little rascal?” Edward asked, the fondness in his voice only breaking Selina’s heart more. “Been a month since he’s been out and about!”

Selina took another breath and forced the next words out of her mouth. “He’s dead.”

The silence that followed was almost a tangible thing.

“You’re wrong,” Victor rasped, his hands curling into fists.

"I'm not." Selina met his desolate stare for a moment and then turned her gaze on Harley. “The Joker did it.”

Harley blanched. Ivy wrapped a protective arm around her.

“She didn’t know,” Ivy said. Her eyes were bleak and grief-filled, but she stood tall.

“I’d like to hear it from her.”

“I didn’t know,” Harley whispered. She cleared her throat. “I woulda never—you gotta believe me.”

Selina studied her for a long moment, but she saw no trace of deceit in Harley’s face.

“I do,” she said softly. Harley’s shoulder slumped. Ivy pulled her in even closer.

“I’m with Freeze,” Oswald said, drawing Selina’s attention back to the others. “This isn’t true.”

“And why not?” Selina asked, trying to remember to be patient. She hadn’t processed the news well either when she’d heard.

“Because the Joker is still alive,” Waylon rumbled from the back of the room.

“Exactly,” Oswald nodded. “We all know he’s back. And if he’d…if he’d done what you said, he wouldn’t still be breathing. The Bat wouldn’t allow it.”

“Batman doesn’t kill,” Selina reminded him.

“But…it’s Robin,”  Edward said, sounding lost.

“I know,” Selina said. When she’d learned what happened, Selina had fully expected to give Bruce a piece of her mind for letting the Joker walk.

But when she’d actually seen Bruce…when she’d seen that abyss of grief in his eyes, Selina had let it go. Just one look had been enough to tell her that Bruce wanted to kill the Joker more than anything, but that he couldn’t. Because his code, his oath to the city were the only things still holding him together.

Luckily, Selina had no such compunctions.

“That’s why I’m here,” Selina said. “That’s why I brought all of you here. Batman may not kill, but I do. The Joker crossed a line. We’ve spent long enough letting him do what he wants, no matter how much it hurts us and everyone else. I’m done.”

She looked out across the assembled rogues. “Question is,” she asked, “are you?”

*

Oswald leaned back in his seat and did his best not to fiddle with his umbrella as the Joker skipped into the Iceberg Lounge.

“Ozzie!” the Joker grinned at him, eyes glinting dangerously. “Long time, no see. So honored you’ve invited me to plot some murder and mayhem.”

“Ah, yes,” Oswald said. “About that. There’s been a slight change of plan.”

“Oh?” the Joker said, now close enough that Oswald knew he’d be in real trouble if the Joker decided to attack.

“See, the thing is, we already plotted the murder,” Oswald said as Ivy’s vines snapped out and wrapped the Joker up faster than an eye-blink.

“Ozzie, what is this?” the Joker asked. He wasn’t panicking, but the manic look in his eyes had grown more pronounced.

“Robin was off-limits,” Victor said, emerging with the others from the shadows. “We all agreed.”

“You broke that agreement,” Selina hissed, sounding angrier than Oswald had ever heard her.

Harley stalked forward, baseball bat in her hands. The Joker frowned at her.

“Harles,” he said. “Is this one of your jokes? I’m not finding it very funny.”

Harley smiled brightly at him, an expression that didn’t reach her eyes. “The only joke here is you. And I am over it.”  She raised the bat, lining up her swing. “Night night, Puddin’.”

*

“I know you’re there,” Ivy called out, sensing the intruder’s footsteps in every vibration of the intricate root system supporting her greenhouse. “Come out before I make you.”

“I come in peace,” a man’s voice said. He stepped out from behind Ivy’s rainbow eucalyptus tree. He was in his late teens, wearing a brown leather jacket and carrying a duffle bag. His face, which was uncovered, seemed strangely familiar, though Ivy couldn’t quite place it.

“You’re very stupid to break in here,” Ivy warned him. “Leave now and I’ll only hurt you a little bit.”

The man chuckled. “Good to see you haven’t changed,” he said. “I’ll get out of your hair soon enough. Just wanted to bring you a gift.”

He slowly put the duffle on the ground. “I’m going to open it now so you can look inside,” he told her, still moving with exaggerated caution. He unzipped the bag and Ivy could sense the contents even before she could see them.

“Seeds,”  she said wonderingly, reaching out with her power to examine them more closely.

“Did a lot of traveling while I was away,” the man said. “Got these for you.”

Ivy looked at him, frowning. “Why?” she demanded.

“To say thank you,” the stranger replied. “For your part in killing the Joker.”

Ivy kept her expression blank even as her mind raced. Very few people actually knew about the Joker’s demise, even if some suspected. The last thing they’d wanted was to make a martyr of that child-killing psychopath. And since no one was positive the Joker wasn’t coming back, no one had stepped up to take his place, just in case.

All in all, the system worked.

But it still left the lingering question of who this man was and how he knew what he knew.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she told him.

The man smiled. “Yeah,” he said with a wink. “Yeah, of course you don’t. Anyway, the seeds are for you. I even included some pitcher plants. You know, for old times’ sake.”

He was gone before Ivy could ask what he was talking about. The meaning behind his words wouldn’t hit her until much later, when she was partway through sorting all the seeds the man had brought her.

“Oh my—” Ivy gasped, finally placing where she’d seen the man’s face before. “Robin?”

*

It had been a while since Harley tangled with Batman and Robin—since anyone had tangled with them—but it was officially playtime again.

“Batsy!” Harley exclaimed, reaching for her baseball bat. “You’re back! I was heartbroken without ya!”

She took a swing at him and was surprised when he flipped over the bat instead of redirecting it with his spikey little gauntlets like he usually did.                         

Harley stepped back and frowned, squinting at Batsy. He stopped when she did, sliding into a defensive stance.

“Did you shrink?” Harley demanded.

“What?” Batman growled. “No.”

Harley tilted her head. “And how come yer voice is different?”

“It’s not.”

“This is ridiculous,” Robin snarled, drawing his sword. Batsy threw out a hand, signaling him to stop. Reluctantly, the little bird pulled back.

Harley was already circling. “No, see, you’re definitely smaller,” she said.

“Harley. That’s enough.”

“And so much more talky!” Harley continued, undeterred. She got right up in Batsy face, studying his mask and what little of his jaw she could see. The man drew back, trying to get into the shadows.

“Yep, not Batsy,” Harley concluded. “But Stabby Robin wouldn’t follow just anyone around…” she continued, ignoring the indignant splutter coming from Stabby Robin’s direction. “And that flip you did…are you Robbie?  Flippy Robbie, I mean.”

“First night out and she already knows who you are,” Stabby Robin tsked. “This is going great.”

Flippy Robbie—er, Flippy Batman—sighed. “Not helping, Robin.”

“What happened to the real Batsy?” Harley asked.

Stabby Robin glared at the floor. Flippy Batman sighed. Harley felt her heart sink. She knew what grief looked like when she saw it.

“Oh no,” she said. “Oh no, no, no. Have a seat, boys. Let’s talk this through.”

“I don’t think that’s entirely appropriate, Harley,” Flippy Batman said, his voice sounding heavy.

“Why not? I’m a licensed therapist!”

“You’re not actually licensed anymore.”

“Do you have a Ph.D.?” Harley demanded. “I don’t think so. Now sit down and let me therapize you.”

*

“Dick,” Bruce said, his voice dangerously calm. “I’d like you to explain something to me.”

“Okay,” Dick replied cautiously, sensing the trap.

“Why does every villain I encounter keep trying to have a conversation with me before we fight?”

Dick’s face remained studiously blank. “Do they? How odd.”

“I’ve been called some variation of rude four times tonight," Bruce added.

“Well, were you being rude?”

Bruce shot him a look. Dick ignored him.

“Seems like you should have probably just talked to them,” Dick said, already walking away from him. “It wouldn’t kill you to be nice.”

“Batman isn’t supposed to be nice,”  Bruce called after him. “He’s supposed to…oh, never mind,” he grumbled. Dick wasn’t listening anyway.

None of his kids ever did.

Chapter Text

“Here you are,” Alfred said, setting Bruce’s breakfast of eggs, bacon, and toast in front of him. “I have to step out for a moment to make a call. Please let the children know I’ve left their meals prepared in the kitchen.”

“Thanks, Alfred,” Bruce said. He folded the newspaper he’d been reading and reached for the carafe to fill his coffee mug. He took a sip and sighed as Alfred exited the room. There was nothing better than a piping hot cup of coffee and a warm breakfast after a long night of crimefighting.

He set down the mug and grabbed a fork, ready to dig in.

“Heya, B!” Dick said as he bounded into the room. “Just wanted to say I’m heading out!”

Bruce set the fork down. “You’re leaving for Bludhaven already?”

“I want to beat the traffic back,” Dick said, hauling his duffel bag over one shoulder.

“Have you even had breakfast yet?” Bruce asked. “Alfred set out some things in the kitchen.”

Dick laughed. “I’m fine, Bruce. I’ll eat when I get home.”

“You should really have something,” Bruce frowned. He grabbed a napkin and half-wrapped his two pieces of toast up for Dick to take. “Here.”

Dick rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “Ugh, fine. I’ll eat the toast,” he said, grabbing the two pieces and immediately stuffing one in his mouth.

“Don’t choke!” Bruce warned as Dick headed for the door. “And safe travels!”

Dick mumbled something incomprehensible around a mouthful of crumbs and gave Bruce a thumbs up in acknowledgment. He nearly bumped into Jason on his way out.

“Watch it,” Jason grumbled at him, though without much bite. Dick waved the remaining slice of toast at him and disappeared down the hallway.

“You’re leaving, too?” Bruce asked, raising his eyebrows at the backpack slung over Jason’s shoulders. He was touched Jason had come to see him before he left--not so long ago, Jason would have bolted without a word. 

“Yeah,” Jason said. “Stayed too long anyway.”

“Alfred left some breakfast for you in the kitchen,” Bruce offered.

“Okay. I’ll grab something before I go,” Jason said. “Hey, are you finished with that newspaper?”

“Sure!” Bruce said, even though he wasn’t. “You want it?”

“If you don’t mind,” Jason said, stepping up next to him. Bruce went to hand it to him, but Jason moved faster, reaching across Bruce’s plate to snatch the paper for himself.

“Too slow,” Jason grinned, backing up toward the door. “I’ll see you around.”

“Wait! Your breakfast!” Bruce called after him, but Jason was already gone.

And so was Bruce’s bacon.

Bruce sighed. At least the eggs still looked good.

He was just about to dig in when Cass slipped into the dining room and took the seat next to him.

“Morning,” Cass said softly, laying her head down on her arms.

“Sleep well?” Bruce asked, smiling fondly. Cass made a so-so gesture. 

“I’m sorry. You hungry?” Bruce continued. Cass nodded again.

“There’s food in the kitchen if you want it,” he said.

Cass looked at him with big, pleading eyes.

Bruce held out for five whole seconds, which was definitely a new record.

“Here,” he said, sliding his plate over to Cass. She dimpled at him and dug right in, stealing Bruce’s fork for good measure.

“You’re welcome,” Bruce said pointedly. Cass grinned in reply.

“Hey, Bruce? Got a second?”

Bruce startled—he hadn’t even seen Tim standing in the doorway. “Yeah, of course. What’s up?” He took a closer look at Tim as the boy came closer. “You didn’t go to bed last night, did you?”

“I’m fine,” Tim said, brushing aside Bruce’s concern. He moved Bruce’s neglected coffee mug to one side so he could sit on the edge of the table facing Bruce. “Take a look at this.”

Bruce took the tablet Tim offered him. “These are your suggested modifications to the Batmobile?” he asked, skimming the schematic.

“I think we can get some more speed out of it, especially in the tight corners,” Tim said. “I want to get Lucius' and Jason’s opinions too, but I thought I should show it to you first.”

“I like it,” Bruce said. “Can I keep the tablet? I want to add some notes.”

“Yeah, sure,” Tim said, standing. “I’m going to message Lucius right now. I’ll copy you so you can see the discussion.”

“Thanks,” Bruce said distractedly, still glancing over Tim’s redesigns. “Oh, hey! Alfred left you—”

He stopped, realizing Tim was already gone.

Along with Bruce's mug of coffee.

"Unbelievable," he huffed. Bruce stood, studiously ignoring Cass' quiet giggle at his predicament. 

At least there was plenty of food left in the kitchen.

Chapter Text

“Ah, shit,” Steph cursed quietly, checking her shoulder and finding a ragged hole in her uniform, already damp with blood. She’d felt the knife go in, of course, but in the heat of the moment—and with a helpful dose of adrenaline—she’d mostly been able to ignore the injury.

Unfortunately, the wound was starting to assert itself with a vengeance now. Trying to grapple anywhere across the city was going to be a bitch and a half.

Steph grabbed some bandages and taped them against her shoulder as best she could. She needed to get off the street and into a safe house with a first-aid kit so she could stitch up her wound. She squinted at a nearby street sign, trying to get her bearings. From here, the closest safe house would be…

“Shit, shit, shit,”  Steph cursed again. Pretty much the last thing she wanted to do after a night like tonight was break into Jason’s apartment. Tim’s predecessor might technically be on the side of the angels now, but Steph still had some misgivings about the guy.

And who wouldn’t? He’d tried to murder Tim. Ok, yes, there had been some extenuating circumstances involving a Lazarus Pit and whatnot, but still. It wasn’t something Steph was going to forget about in a hurry.

But her options were either Jason’s apartment or potentially bleeding out on the way to the next nearest safe house, so Steph mentally squared her shoulders and set out.

There’s a good chance he’s not even home, Steph tried to convince herself along the way. He’s probably still out patrolling. Or crashing at one of his other safe houses. It’ll be fine.

It didn’t take her long to find the place. Steph breathed a sigh of relief when she saw the lights were off in the living room and got to work picking the locks on the window. After a frankly embarrassing amount of time, Steph slipped noiselessly inside.

“Huh,” she murmured under her breath, doing her best to ignore the throbbing in her shoulder. “Weird he doesn’t have an alarm system.”

“I prefer to handle intruders myself when I’m home," said a low voice behind her.

Steph spun, cursing wildly as the lights popped on to reveal Jason leveling a gun at her head.

“If you murder me, I swear I’ll haunt you for eternity and make sure you never get laid again,” Steph warned him, wondering if she should just cut her losses and dive out the window.

Jason snorted. “Not the worst thing I’ve been threatened with, but alright. I won’t shoot,” he said, lowering the gun.

The threat of imminent death now removed, Steph relaxed enough to notice Jason wasn’t wearing his uniform. In fact, the older boy was wearing nothing but a pair of baggy sweatpants.

“Oh my god, why aren’t you wearing a shirt?” Steph demanded. “You should really be wearing a—”

She stopped suddenly, eyes going wide as she noticed the scar tissue covering Jason’s torso. Every single person in the hero community had scars—and the Bats had more than most—but this…this was something else.

Jason mumbled something under his breath too quietly for Steph to hear and quickly stepped through the door behind him into another room. Steph had just enough time to process the equally terrifying amount of scars on Jason’s back, before the other boy had returned, this time wearing a long-sleeved shirt.

“Was there a reason you broke into my apartment or was it just for the thrill of committing a crime?” Jason asked, his voice sharper than it had been a moment ago.

Steph cleared her throat. “Uh, yeah,” she said belatedly. “My shoulder—it’s…I think I need stitches. Do you have a first-aid kit?”

Jason’s gaze zeroed in on the rough patch job she’d done in the alley. “Damn,” he said. “Alright, I can stitch you up. Can you get the outer layer of your body armor off?”

“I got it,” Steph said, startled by his offer to help. She’d honestly thought he’d just shove the first-aid kit at her—if he let her use it all. She debated arguing over letting him stitch her up, but the position of the wound would make it pretty awkward to fix on her own. In the end, Steph sat on the couch and started the complicated process of removing her body armor without hurting her shoulder even more. She was sweating bullets by the time Jason returned, but at least she’d managed to work her shoulder free.

“If you bleed on my couch, you’re buying me a new one,” Jason threatened as he inspected the wound. “You need pain meds?”

“Nah, I’m good,” Steph told him. It wasn’t all bravado—she’d need to get herself home after this and it was safer to cross Gotham with a clear head.

And besides, she still wasn’t entirely sure she trusted Jason.

“Stop looking at me like you think I’m about to murder you with antiseptic.”

Steph jumped guiltily, then glared as Jason prepared some gauze to clean her wound. “After what you did to Tim, I think I have some right to be wary.”

Jason huffed, but his touch was surprisingly gentle as he wiped away the blood on her shoulder. “Yeah, yeah. I’m the bad guy. I get it.”

“Uh-huh,” Steph said, trying to get Jason’s measure. She really couldn’t tell if he was brushing her off or if he genuinely meant it. They sat in silence for a while as Jason finished cleaning her wound. It was deeper than Steph had thought. She’d made the right decision going to Jason’s apartment rather than a safe house that was farther away.

“Alright,” Jason said, holding up a freshly-sterilized needle. “This part might sting a bit.”

“Son of a bitch,”  Steph swore as Jason completed the first suture.  

“You’re the one who refused the drugs,” Jason reminded her.

Steph gritted her teeth. “I’m fine. Just…distract me or something.”

“Okaaaay,” Jason replied slowly, most of his attention focused on her wound. Steph forced herself to take deep, steady breaths as he dug the needle into her skin a second time. “What do you want me to say?”

Later, Steph would blame the pain for her lack of tact. But in the moment, all she could think to say was, “Tell me about the scars.”

A muscle in Jason’s jaw jumped, but his hands never stopped moving. “What about the scars?”

Steph raised her eyebrows. She’d half-expected Jason to shut her down. But if he was inviting her to ask, well…

“I thought the Lazarus Pit healed all wounds and scars and stuff.”

“It does,” Jason answered shortly.

Steph paused, waiting for more. When Jason said nothing, she prompted, “Then how come you have so many?”

Jason blew a short breath of air out of his nose. “I got them after I went in the Pit.”

“Jesus,” Steph breathed. She’d assumed most of the scars were from the Joker’s torture. But if they’d come after… “What happened?”

Jason’s chuckle was cold and mirthless. “I asked Talia al Ghul to teach me everything Batman wouldn’t. Her methods were…harsh.”

Steph frowned. “Bruce trained with the League, but even he doesn’t have as many scars as you do.”

“Maybe I’m a worse student,” Jason muttered.

“I don’t think that’s true,” Steph said without thinking. Jason looked up at her for the first time, something like surprise in his gaze.

And maybe it was because of that surprise that Jason’s next answer sounded less begrudging than the others. “The knowledge I was looking for…I needed to understand the worst of the worst—how they thought, how they moved, how they killed. So Talia found the worst of the worst to teach me.”

“Did they…did they hurt you on purpose?” Steph asked, unable to help herself.

“Some of them did,” Jason shrugged, as though the thought didn’t concern him. “I killed them after, so I suppose that made us even.”

“Not sure this story is making you look like less of a bad guy,” Steph told him honestly.

“You’re the one who asked,” Jason pointed out. “I don’t kill anymore. You know that. But…if you asked me if I regretted killing those scumbags? No. No, I don’t.”

Steph studied Jason’s face as he finished up the last sutures. The way he talked so openly and honestly about what he had done—about what had been done to him—she hadn’t expected that.

“Do you regret hurting Tim?” she asked, keeping her eyes glued to his face.

Jason looked up and met her gaze. “Yeah. That one I do regret.”

Steph searched his expression, but could find no trace of a lie there.

“Alright,” she said at last. She knew Tim had forgiven Jason a long time ago for what he’d done. So had the rest of the family. Steph had always been less sure—probably because she’d never known Jason before he returned as a crazed murderer.

But maybe there was a reason why everyone was so interested in keeping the guy around.

“All done,” Jason said, breaking Steph’s train of thought. He bustled about, cleaning things up and generally keeping busy while Steph cursed her way through putting her body armor back on.

“I’d offer you a place to sleep tonight, but I don’t think you’ll take it,” Jason said when she’d finally suited up again.

“I can make it home,” Steph said. “Thanks for patching me up.”

“No problem.”

Steph headed for the window, hesitating before she climbed out. “See you around out there?” she asked, looking over her shoulder.

Jason blinked at her, startled. “Yeah,” he said after a moment. “Count on it.”

Steph half-smiled. “I will.”

Chapter Text

"Four of a kind,” Damian declared, laying his cards on the table.

Jon nearly choked on his soda at the sight of the king of hearts. “That’s…that’s not possible!” he spluttered. He noticed Dick, Jason, and Tim all exchanging glances around the table, but ignored them.

There was something fishy going on here and he was going to figure it out.

Damian was unflinching in the face of Jon’s indignation. “It pretty clearly is.”

“But I had the king of hearts,” Jon said and flipped over the hand of cards he’d folded in disgust two turns ago.

“Odd,” Damian sniffed, unconcerned.

“Odd?”  Jon repeated. His brain struggled for a moment with what he was seeing -- maybe it was just a glitch in the Matrix -- before something about Damian's too-smug expression sparked a realization. “You…you’re cheating.”

“How dare you,” Damian replied, not even trying to make it convincing.

Jason snorted. “Aw, I think you hurt his feelings,” he said to Jon.

Tim glanced at Damian. “I didn’t know you had feelings.” 

“Thank you,” Damian said, looking gratified.

Jon stared at them, utterly baffled. “Why isn’t anyone more upset by this?”

Dick sighed and reached out, flipping over the cards that Damian had just laid down to reveal that several of them came from a different deck entirely. Jon blinked. He hadn’t even noticed Damian make the switch and he’d been staring right at him.

Jeez, but Bats were scary.

“I’m sorry, Jon,” Dick said plaintively, eyes wide and sympathetic. “Some people just hate following rules.”

Jon was touched by his sincerity. “Thank yo—”

“Um, you better be including yourself in that statement, Dick,” Tim interrupted before Jon could finish. “You think I haven’t noticed you dealing from the bottom of the deck to get better cards?”

Jon gaped at the older man, but Dick simply laughed, unabashed at being caught out. “It’s no worse than you using that mirror on the wall to see all of Jason’s cards.”

“Hey!” Jason exclaimed, clutching his cards to his chest and glaring viciously at Tim.

“Hold on. Just…hold on,” Jon said, feeling a little light-headed. “Have all of you been cheating this entire time?”

“Duh,” Jason confirmed lazily.

Even Tim was nodding. “Keeps it interesting.”

Jon whirled on Damian. “You could have warned me!”

Damian was unaffected. “Why would I do that?”

“Come on, Dami,” Dick said. “It's standard operating procedure to give people a head’s up.”

“I considered it a training exercise,” Damian replied. “He needs to be more observant.”

Jon folded his arms. “Stop designing training exercises for me when we’re just supposed to be hanging out!”

“How else are you going to learn?” Damian shot back.

“Okay, that’s enough,” Dick told them both. He gathered up all the cards. “Let’s play something else. Family game night is no time for fighting.”

“You and I have very different memories of family game night,” Jason muttered. Dick shot him a look.

“Pictionary?” Tim asked, fishing a box out of an impressive stack of board games. He looked at Jon for approval.

“Uh, sure,” Jon said. “It’s not like you can cheat at Pictionary.”

An uncomfortable silence settled around the table. Jon sighed. Apparently, you could cheat at Pictionary -- if you were a freaking Bat, at least.

“Am I at least allowed to use my superpowers?” he asked. "Drawing at super-speed might give me a fighting chance."

“Now you’re starting to understand,” Damian said, nodding approvingly.

Jon was unable to stop his answering smile, even though he was still a little miffed at Damian. “Alright,” he said, cracking his knuckles. “Who wants to be on my team?"

*****

Tim carefully climbed down the fire escape, trying not to make too much noise. He’d gotten a lot of good pictures of Batman and Robin tonight—including a spectacular shot of the duo sitting on a gargoyle overlooking the city. Batman had actually been smiling. It was practically a miracle.

Even though the vigilantes were still out and about, Tim had decided to head home. It was pretty late and he had already snuck out three times during the week to follow Batman’s patrol. It wouldn’t hurt to get a little more sleep so he could actually stay awake in school tomorrow. The last thing he wanted was one of his teachers to send a note home to his parents.

Tim dropped the last couple of feet into the alley and hiked his backpack up around his shoulders. Without the kind of equipment Batman and Robin had access to, Tim had limited options when it came to running around on rooftops. He’d need to cover at least four blocks to get to his usual rooftop route that would take him most of the way home.

Clinging to the shadows, Tim moved as quickly and quietly as possible, aware that this was the most dangerous part of his night so far. He felt a lot safer when he was up above the streets. Only Batman and Robin regularly used rooftops for traveling. And Catwoman, Tim reminded himself. But she wasn’t really that bad once you got to know her.

He approached the end of the alley and paused, listening hard for any noises coming from the intersection ahead. After a few moments, he continued on, confident he was alone.

…and bumped right into a man in dark clothing who’d evidently been trying to be just as stealthy as Tim.

“Hey, now,” the man said, grabbing Tim’s arms before the boy could dart away. “What’s this? Why don’t you show me what you’ve got in that backpack?”

“Yep,” Tim agreed, his heart pounding at a hundred miles per hour. He tried hard to remember the self-defense lessons he’d begged his parents for. “Love to. I’ll just…” He punctuated the sentence by stomping down on the man’s foot as hard as he could.

The stranger yelped in surprise and Tim was able to wriggle free. He took off back the way he’d come—never mind that it was the opposite direction of his home. Right now, he just needed to get away.

“Come back here, you little shit!” the man yelled after him. Tim could hear his heavy footsteps giving chase, but refused to look back. He couldn’t afford to waste any time or speed. “I’m gonna—hrgh!”

There was a clang and a heavy thud. Even though Tim knew he shouldn’t, he couldn’t help it. He looked.

And came to a sudden, screeching halt.

Because that was Robin standing over Tim’s would-be attacker, bo-staff still in hand.

Holy Moly, Tim had just been saved by Robin.

Oh god and now Robin was turning to look at him. Robin was looking at him.

“Hey, you okay?” Robin asked.

Answer him, ordered the only remaining rational part of Tim’s brain.

“Uh, yeah—yes,” Tim managed to stutter out.

His answer must not have been that convincing because Robin put away his weapon and approached slowly, like he was worried he might spook Tim.

“What are you doing out here all alone?” Robin asked him.

“I’m…” Tim faltered, grasping for a believable answer since I was stalking you and Batman was not a viable option. “…I ran away from home?”

Robin’s expression cleared. Up close, the domino mask did little to hide Robin’s identity. How had no one guessed Robin was Jason Todd yet? Or that Dick Grayson had been the previous Robin? It was some kind of miracle, especially with how often the two were featured in pictures with Bruce Wayne.

“Why’d you run away?” Robin asked, his voice still careful. “Is everything okay at home? You can tell me if it isn’t. I’ll help you get somewhere safe.”

“What?” Tim startled. “No! Everything’s fine. Well, not fine. I mean, I ran away, obviously, so it’s not all great. But it’s mostly great. I mean, you know, it’s, like, normal.”

Stop babbling, Tim tried to tell himself, but it was far too late.

“But, yeah, anyway, I just…I guess I just got into this fight with my parents about…um…stuff? Yeah, stuff. And it wasn’t, like, a bad fight. It was just a fight. Seems stupid now. I was actually trying to go back? But I got lost? And then that guy showed up and then you showed up and just…yeah.”

Robin waited a moment. “Anyone ever tell you that you talk a lot, kid?”

Tim flushed. “I’m nervous, okay! You’re…I mean, you’re Robin!”

And whoops, he really hadn’t meant to say that last part out loud.

But Robin only grinned at him. “Always happy to meet a fan,” he said. “Now let me call the police and see if we can get you home.”

“No!”  Tim practically shouted, startling both himself and Robin. “Er,” he said, adjusting his voice to a normal volume. “I just mean…there’s no reason to involve the cops. It would make my parents more worried. I can walk back.”

“I thought you said you were lost,” Robin pointed out.

“…Right,” Tim agreed belatedly. “But I’m sure I’ll be able to find it. Just need to get my bearings.”

Robin frowned at him and then reached up to one ear. “Batman,” he said and Tim’s eyes went wide because Robin was talking to Batman. “Found a lost kid. I’m gonna make sure he gets home.”

Robin paused. “Yeah, fine. I will.” Another pause. “Ugh, I know, B. Yes, I’ll check in.” And another. “Okay. Robin out.”

“Well,” Robin said, looking back at Tim. “Where do you live? Do you know the address?”

Oh boy. Tim hadn’t thought this through. This next part was going to be a little awkward.

“Drake Manor,” he said.

Tim couldn’t really tell, but it seemed like Robin’s eyes widened behind the mask. “Holy shit. You’re the Drake kid. I knew you looked familiar!”

“Have we met?” Tim asked innocently, because apparently he couldn’t stop himself.

Now it was Robin’s turn to flush. “Nope. Definitely not. You just…I’ve probably seen you in the news or something. Your parents are famous.”

“Not as famous as Bruce Wayne or anything,” Tim’s mouth said before his brain could stop it. “We live near him, though. Him and his son, Jason.”

“That’s…cool,” Robin said faintly. He cleared his throat and reached for the grappling gun on his belt. “Right. Well. Fastest and safest way to travel at night is the rooftops and I think you’re small enough for me to carry. That okay with you?”

“Yes!” Tim shouted excitedly. Robin grinned at him and Tim ducked his head sheepishly. “Too much, right? I’ll try to tone it down.”

“Nah, it’s alright,” Robin told him. “I was excited the first time Batman let me try it too.”

“Really?” Tim asked, stars in his eyes.

“Really,” Robin confirmed. “Now, come on. Let’s get you home.”

Chapter Text

“Act natural.”

Jon jumped, nearly spilling the contents of his lunch tray all across the cafeteria floor, and whirled to stare at Damian. The other boy was dressed in civilian garb—he’d even had the gall to grab a school-branded sweatshirt from somewhere.

“What are you doing here?” Jon demanded. His gaze darted wildly, wondering if anyone else had already noticed Damian's presence.

“Wow, Kent. This is the opposite of natural.”

“Someone’s going to notice you don’t belong here,” Jon replied in undertone.

“They are if you keep acting this suspiciously!” Damian shot back, glaring at him. “Now turn around and keep moving. You’re holding up the line.”

Jon swallowed back his retort and begrudgingly followed Damian’s instructions. He couldn’t quite get his shoulders to relax, but he keep moving down the line, barely paying attention to what food he grabbed.

“What if you get caught?” Jon muttered as they moved along.

Damian clicked his tongue dismissively. Jon rolled his eyes. Damian never believed he’d get caught.

Which was exactly when he always got caught.

Jon made it safely through the lunch line before asking his next question. He steered Damian toward an empty table at the back of the cafeteria, hoping none of his usual friends would notice and try to sit with them.

“How did you even get here?” Jon wanted to know as he settled into his chair.

Damian stayed standing, looking at Jon expectantly. Jon stared back, uncomprehending until Damian cleared his throat and flicked his eyes to the left. Jon groaned, but obligingly shifted one chair over so that Damian could sit with his back to the wall.

“I took the bus,” Damian explained shortly, as he sat down without so much as a thank you.

“I was on the bus,” Jon informed him. “You weren’t there.”

“I was the bus driver.”

Jon gaped at him. Their bus driver that morning had been a little old man who Jon had never seen before…

Oh. Stupid Bats and their stupid disguises. Jon had seen some of the realistic masks, prosthetics, and bodysuits they had in the Batcave. It was honestly terrifying how well it all worked.

“Wait,” Jon paused. “What happened to our regular bus driver?”

“Nothing,” Damian said quickly. Too quickly. “He’s fine. Well…he will be.”

Jon was aghast. “What did you do to him?”

“He’s fine, alright?” Damian said, sounding annoyed. “He’ll be back tomorrow. Now do you want to hear about the mission I found for us or not?”

Jon frowned. “I can’t go on a mission.”

“Why not?”

“Uh, because I’m at school?” Jon said, spreading his arms wide as if to encompass the whole building. “I can’t skip class.”

“But…you don’t even know what the mission is,” Damian said, sounding a little nonplussed. “The world could be about to end!”

Jon put his arms down. “Well, is it?”

“Maybe!” Damian said, but Jon could tell he was blustering.

But just in case, Jon focused his super-hearing and listened as hard as he could to the outside world. “Nope," he said after a moment. "World’s fine. Just checked.”

“You can’t possibly be sure.”

“I totally can.”

“But the mission—”

“Can wait until school is out,” Jon informed him.

Damian glared wordlessly.

Jon shook his head. “Do you know how much trouble I got in the last time I cut class to sneak off with you?”

“No.”

“I’m not risking it again.”

Damian muttered something scathing under his breath.

It was Jon's turn to glare. “I heard that.”

Damian scoffed. “I meant you to.”

Jon folded his arms. “Do you want to explain to my mom why I skipped school?” he demanded. “Because if I go with you, then that’s exactly what you’ll have to do.”

Damian opened his mouth. Closed it again. Scrunched up his face like he’d smelled something unpleasant.

“No,” he admitted at last, in a tone that implied it was against his will.

“I thought not,” Jon said smugly. Even Damian Wayne, son of Batman, was scared of Lois Lane.

Which was…yeah. That tracked. Jon loved his mom, but she could be terrifying when she wanted to be.

Damian scowled. “Listen, this is—” he started.

“Who’re you?”

Jon whipped around to see his friend, Lizzy, standing beside their table. She plopped herself down into an empty chair next to Jon despite his warning look and raised her eyebrows at Damian.

Oh no. Oh no. Jon wasn’t sure it was physically possible for him to have a panic attack, but this might just do it.

Damian gave Lizzy a slow, assessing once-over that had her reflexively stiffening in her seat. He turned back to Jon.

“Send her away,” he commanded. “Her presence is both unwanted and unnecessary.”

“Yeah…well…your face is unwanted and unnecessary,” Lizzy snapped back. She looked at Jon. “Who is this rude kid?”

Jon ignored her question—mostly because he wasn’t quite sure how to answer it—and turned to Damian instead. “You need to be nice,” Jon told him. “She’s my friend.

“Friends are a liability,” Damian sniffed.

“What do you call us, then?” Jon wanted to know, pretending not to see the confused look Lizzy was sending him.

Damian pushed his chair back and stood. “This line of questioning is a waste of time,” he said to Jon. “Come find me when you’re ready.”

“I don’t know,” Jon said, pretending to be uncertain. “I’m not sure I want to meet up with someone who’s not my friend.”

Damian paused and glared. Jon just waited.

“Fine,” Damian huffed at last. “We’re friends. Happy now?”

“Ecstatic,” Jon smiled at him. Damian rolled his eyes and stalked away.

“I’m sorry, who was that?” Lizzy asked as Damian disappeared.

“A friend,” Jon repeated.

“Does he go here? I’ve never seen him before.”

“Uh…”

*

Later—much, much later—Jon stifled a gasp and turned to Damian from where the two of them were surveilling one of Intergang’s hideouts.

“The bus!” Jon exclaimed, careful to keep his voice down.

“What about the bus?” Damian asked.

“You were the bus driver! How were all those kids going to get home?”

Damian blinked, his expression going blank in the way it always did when he’d messed up and didn’t want to admit it.

“Oh no,” Jon groaned. “Those poor kids! We stranded them!”

“They’ll be fine,” Damian said dismissively. “The school will call their parents.”

Jon buried his face in his hands. “This is the last time you try to recruit me from school, got it?”

Damian said nothing.

Jon looked up. “I said, got it?”

“Oh look, Intergang is here!” Damian said. “Time to get the mission started!”

“Damian!” Jon hissed as the other boy jumped off the roof. “Get back here!”

Chapter Text

Sergeant Amy Rohrbach put down the phone and marched herself into the captain's office.

“Grayson’s missing,” she said without preamble.

The captain looked up from his computer. “Have you called him?”

“Four times,” Amy replied. “It’s going straight to voicemail. Vega and Everett run patrol in Grayson’s neighborhood, so I asked them to stop by his apartment. No answer. Is there anyone we can contact? Try to find out where he is?”

The captain frowned and toggled over to a new screen. After a few seconds of typing, he seemed to find what he was looking for and reached for a pen.

“Grayson’s emergency contact is a Mr. Alfred Pennyworth in Gotham,” the captain said, writing down the name and number on a sticky note and passing it to Amy. “Try to get a hold of him. And keep me updated, will you?”

“Of course,” Amy said. She headed straight back to her desk and grabbed her phone, dialing the number the captain had provided.

After three rings, someone answered. “Wayne Manor. How may I help you?” an elderly British voice asked.

Amy blinked. “Wait, the Wayne Manor?” she blurted. “The one Bruce Wayne lives in?”

“Yes,” the man replied, sounding a little annoyed now. “May I help you?”

Amy shook her head speechlessly for a moment. What were the odds she’d misdial Grayson’s emergency contact number and hit fucking Wayne Manor by accident?

“I think I’ve got the wrong number,” she said when she’d recovered her voice.

“Who is this?”

“Sergeant Amy Rohrbach with the Bludhaven PD,” she admitted. “I’m so sorry to disturb you.”

“Sergeant Rohrbach!” the man said, all traces of annoyance gone. “Yes, of course. You must be calling about Master Dick. I’m so sorry we didn’t reach out before—things have been very hectic around here.”

Amy’s normally quick brain short-circuited.

Master Dick? What the fuck?

“I’m sorry—wait, please," she said, struggling for words. "You know Dick Grayson? Officer Dick Grayson?”

“Yes, that’s correct,” the man confirmed. “I’m Alfred Pennyworth. I assume Master Dick made me his emergency contact if you’re reaching out via this number.”

“Yeah,” Amy said numbly, wondering when the camera crews were going to jump out and tell her this was all some sort of elaborate prank. “Do you know where he is?”

“He’s staying with us, I’m afraid,” Alfred told her. “He came to visit this weekend and fell very ill. The doctor has put him on strict bedrest. I’m sorry we didn’t call to inform you sooner. Would you like to speak to Bruce Wayne? Master Dick is his ward, after all.”

“He’s Bruce Wayne’s what?”  Amy asked, slightly louder than she meant to. Several other officers sent her curious looks across the floor. Amy waved them off, embarrassed.

“I see that Master Dick never informed you of his family,” Alfred said, sounding amused. “I apologize for the shock. If you give me your number, I’ll be happy to keep you updated on Master Dick’s prognosis.”

“Can I speak with Grayson—I mean, Dick? I’d feel better if I could check in with him,” Amy said.

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” Alfred said firmly. “Master Dick is asleep at the moment.”

“But—”

“Your number, Sergeant Rohrbach?”

Amy gave Alfred her number and allowed him to gracefully exit the phone call. She hung up her receiver and frowned.

Something wasn’t sitting right with her. She didn’t know what it was yet, but Amy’s instincts were never wrong.

*

Amy stared up at the enormous, looming structure of Wayne Manor for a long moment. She could not believe that Dick Grayson—who had once answered the door wearing a t-shirt with four different holes in it—had grown up here. It defied all logic and explanation.

The massive door to the Manor suddenly swung open revealing an elderly gentleman in a suit. Amy hurriedly got out of her car and pretended like she hadn’t been sitting in the driveway gawping for the better part of five minutes.

“Sergeant Rohrbach. I’m Alfred Pennyworth,” the man introduced himself. Amy recognized his voice immediately. “We weren’t expecting you. I’m sorry you took the trouble to drive all this way. It must have been a terrible inconvenience.”

“It wasn’t so bad,” Amy shrugged, not letting him put her off. After about a week of vague updates and not one opportunity to speak with Dick himself, Amy had decided to drive out and see her partner for herself. “I am sorry to just drop in on you like this, but we’re all very worried about Dick at the precinct. I was hoping I could check in on him—see how’s he doing.”

“He’s still very sick, but I’ll check if he’s awake,” Alfred said. “In the meantime, would you follow me to the sitting room?”

“Sure,” Amy said and tried not to stare as Alfred led her through a monolithic foyer into a slightly smaller room with a roaring fire in the fireplace and some expensive-looking chairs and couches.

“Do you need anything while you wait?” Alfred asked. “Water? Tea? Coffee?”

“No, thank you. I’m fine,” Amy replied. “Just want to lay eyes on my partner.”

Alfred gave her a shrewd glance. “I understand,” he said. “Please make yourself comfortable. I’ll return soon.”

Amy watched Alfred close the door firmly behind him and then busied herself taking a seat. She had no intention of leaving this place until she saw Dick and that was that. Amy was settling in to wait when a loud crash echoed through the hall outside.

“What the hell was—” she started to mutter to herself.

“FOR THE LAST TIME, GET DOWN!” a voice yelled. It was followed by another crash.

Amy debated for all of two seconds before following the source of the noise back across the foyer and into a kitchen that was bigger than her entire apartment. She stopped in the doorway, trying to make sense of the scene in front of her.

Three dark-haired boys were standing in the kitchen. There were a couple of pots and pans on the floor, which Amy guessed had been the source of the loud noises. As she watched, the smallest boy rolled into a handstand and began walking across the kitchen island upside down.

"You know you're not allowed on the counters! Don't make me spray you!" the largest boy growled, holding up a spray bottle for misting plants. Just as he pulled the trigger, the boy on the counter flipped out of the way, landing on a different counter partway across the kitchen.

“Ha!” the kid exclaimed. “Guess you mist me again!”

“Okay, that’s it,” the boy with the spray bottle said. “I’m going to kill him.”

“Come on,”  the final boy said, sounding annoyed. He seemed closer in age to the larger boy than the smaller one. “You know you’re not allowed.”

“I won’t tell if you won’t.”

Amy cleared her throat. She felt it was probably the right time.

All three boys looked at her. The older two immediately moved between her and the littlest, body postures defensive. The smallest boy flipped upright and sat on the edge of the counter, staring at her with open curiosity.

“Are you another sibling I don’t know about?” he asked.

“Uh…no?” Amy replied, surprised by the question. “I’m Sergeant Amy Rohrbach, Bludhaven PD. Didn’t mean to barge in, but I heard a noise.”

“You’re a police officer?” the little one asked excitedly while the two older boys exchanged glances. “That’s cool! My name’s D—”

“Ric!” one of the other boys exclaimed, cutting him off. “His name’s Ric. And I’m Tim. Tim Drake-Wayne. It’s nice to finally meet you, Sergeant Rohrbach. Dick’s told us a lot about you.”

“Huh?” Ric said, looking at Tim in confusion. “No, I didn’t—”

“Kid,” the largest boy cut him off urgently. Amy still hadn’t gotten his name. “Remember that conversation we had when you tried to, uh, fly the coop the other night with B? About how things are different right now and you need to trust us? This is one of those times.”

Ric’s face folded into an enormous pout. “I don’t get why I hafta listen to you,” he complained. “You don’t even like me!”

“I like you just fine,” the oldest boy gritted through his teeth. “Just not when you’re being a little monster. I don’t understand how you have so much energy all the time.”

“If you’d just let me go out with you guys—”

“No.”  The answer came from both boys simultaneously.

Ric pouted some more. “Steph and Cass are way more fun than you.”

“Well, why don’t you go bother them, you little a—”

“Jay!” Tim said sharply. The largest boy—Jay—cut himself off with an angry huff. Tim cleared his throat and turned back to Amy, his face smoothing into a polite expression that Amy often associated with businessmen and politicians. “So sorry about that. Ric’s new to the family. And we didn’t realize we had company.”

“I dropped by to see how Dick was doing,” Amy said. “Alfred made him sound so sick over of the phone.”

“Yeah, it hasn’t been easy for him,” Tim said. “But we’re hoping things will go back to normal soon.”

“Really soon,”  Jay muttered under his breath, which made Ric stick his tongue out at him for some reason. Jay returned the gesture without hesitation.

“Did Alfred leave you in the sitting room?” Tim asked brightly, ignoring the two of them. “I can help guide you back.”

Before Amy could protest, Tim was escorting her out of the room.

“Wait, no!” Jay called after them. “Don’t leave me alone with him!”

“You'll be fine!” Tim shouted back over his shoulder as the door swung shut behind them. He smiled at Amy a little sheepishly. “Jay’s not used to babysitting.”

“Seemed like it,” Amy replied. “So, you’re Dick’s foster brother, right? He talks about you a lot.”

“Does he?” Tim asked, his face lighting up.

“Yeah. He talks about all of you a lot,” she told him. “I knew he had a big foster family, but he never mentioned he was a Wayne.”

Tim shrugged apologetically. “Dick really wanted to build something of his own in Bludhaven. That’s pretty hard to do when you’re Bruce Wayne’s kid. Bruce…he casts a long shadow, if you get my meaning.”

“Yeah,” Amy said. “I think I understand.”

Or, at least, she was beginning to. Dick was exuberant and outgoing and probably the most extroverted person Amy had ever met, but never in a way that excluded others or made it feel like he wanted to be the center of attention. Telling everyone about his connection to Bruce Wayne definitely would’ve put the focus on him—and probably not in a way Dick would have liked.

Alfred caught them before they actually made it back into the sitting room. “Ah, there you are, Sergeant Rohrbach. I just checked on Master Dick. He’s asleep at the moment, but if you’d like to peek your head in, I’m sure that would be fine.”

Amy figured that was probably going to be as good an offer as she was going to get. She followed Alfred up the grand staircase, only a little surprised that Tim tagged along as well. They passed a concerning number of doors before Alfred finally stopped in front of one and held a finger to his lips. The door swung open noiselessly and Amy stepped inside the dark room. Her partner was stretched out on the bed, sleeping peacefully. He looked pale and thin and undeniably tired, even in the dim lighting.

...which lined up exactly with what Alfred had been telling her for the past week. Maybe Amy really had overreacted in driving all the way to Gotham. 

“Okay,” she whispered, backing out of the room quietly. Alfred closed the door. “Thanks for letting me see him.”

“Of course,” Alfred said. “We appreciate your concern.”

“If I can ask, what kind of illness does he—”

“Sergeant Rohrbach!” a warm voice called from down the hallway. Amy gaped as Bruce Wayne came strolling up, looking exactly like he did on all the tabloid covers. “I’m so glad I’ve caught you. Thank you so much for driving all this way to check on Dick! You’re a true friend.”

“Well, I…” Amy floundered. Bruce’s smile—which was charming enough on magazine covers—was frankly overwhelming in person. Had she been asking Alfred a question? She couldn’t remember. “…it was nothing, sir. He would’ve done the same for me.”

“Why don’t you come downstairs and have some coffee with me,” Bruce invited, taking Amy by the arm and leading her back down the hallway. “I’d love to hear more about where Dick works.”

“I…um…okay,” Amy said helplessly. She knew she should probably refuse, but she really didn’t know how.

“Alfred, can you get some coffee going for us?” Bruce asked over his shoulder. “And Tim? Do you mind sitting with Dick for a bit? Just in case he wakes up and needs anything.”

“No problem,” Tim replied.

“So, Sergeant Rohrbach—may I call you Amy?” Bruce asked, turning the full force of his very blue eyes on her. “Tell me about Bludhaven! Dick says his job is perfectly safe, but sometimes I think he’s just placating me. What’s it like being on the force?”

Amy shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. Maybe it was a good thing Dick had never told her about his connection to Bruce Wayne before. The man was far too charming for his own good.

*

Tim slipped inside Dick’s room. He waited until he heard Bruce’s voice disappear down the hallway before saying, “So. Is it J’onn? Or M’gann?”

“It’s J’onn.” Dick’s form shimmered and was replaced by Martian Manhunter’s. “Clark flew me here. I believe he is waiting in the Batcave.”

“Thanks for the save,” Tim said. “We didn’t think Sergeant Rohrbach would actually come here.”

“It is no trouble,” J’onn replied. “Any luck restoring Dick to his proper age?”

Tim sighed. “We’ve got a couple leads. Hopefully, something will pan out soon. Jason and Damian are not handling this well.”

Damian, in particular, had taken Dick's current predicament pretty hard. And it hadn't helped that de-aged Dick kept trying to sneak out in the Robin costume to patrol. Tim remembered all too well Damian's opinions about who Robin belonged to--which directly contradicted child Dick's thoughts on the matter. To say the two of them hadn't gotten along in the past week was a bit of an understatement.

“I am sure he will be fine,” J’onn said sincerely.

"Yeah,” Tim agreed. “We just had no idea he was so…wild as a kid.”

J’onn chuckled. “He caused quite a stir among the Justice League, I can tell you. He had a lot of time to grow up between then and when you met him.”

“I guess so,” Tim said. “I just don’t know how Bruce handled him.”

“He didn’t,” J’onn replied. “Dick had him wrapped around his little fingers.”

Tim laughed. “Yeah,” he said. “That makes a lot more sense.”

*

“I can’t believe you were sick for two whole weeks,” Amy groused as Dick settled into his desk. “You owe me big time for covering for you.”

“Yeah, sorry,” Dick said, rubbing the back of his neck. “It was a bit of a doozy. I’m glad to be back.”

“Glad to have you back,” Amy replied seriously. Dick smiled at her. “But I still can’t believe Bruce Wayne is your foster father. How could you not tell me?”

“Sorry?” Dick offered, making a face. “I heard you guys met.”

“We did,” Amy said. And because she couldn’t resist a little teasing, she added, “He’s dreamy.”

“Amy!” Dick spluttered, sounding shocked. “You’re married.”

Amy shrugged. “I’m just stating facts.”

Dick groaned and covered his face with his hands. “I can’t believe you just said that.”

Amy grinned to herself. She was going to get a lot of mileage out of this.

Chapter Text

“You’re thinking about taking him in,”  Tim says over the Batcomputer’s speakers. He knows Bruce is alone in the Batcave right now, because he's hacked every system that Bruce owns. “The Grayson boy.”

Bruce sighs, but doesn’t deny it. He hasn’t slept since the incident at the circus, wondering if this is the right decision. “He doesn’t have any family. I looked. And I…I know what he’s going through. I think maybe I can help.”

“What about Damian?”  Tim asks, striking right at the heart of the matter.

Bruce rubs his face with his hands. His relationship with Damian is…complicated, to say the least. Bruce knows several other people who have discovered previously unknown children later in life. Unfortunately, none of those children were raised by the League in the meantime, so Bruce is on his own when it comes to figuring out how to parent a teenage assassin who is more capable of taking care of himself than most adults.

“He and Cassandra made their decision,” Bruce replies. It’s true, too—Blackbird and Black Bat haven’t killed anyone in a year and show no signs of wanting to go back to their lives with Ra's al Ghul.

“But you’re worried bringing in someone new might make them question their place with you,”  Tim correctly deduces. “And, by extension, their choices.”

“Damian has nothing to be afraid of.”

“Are you planning to train the Grayson kid?”

“I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”

Tim snorts. “Yes, you do.”

“It’ll be fine,” Bruce replies. “Like I said, Damian has nothing to be afraid of.”

There’s a pause. “Sounds like you’ve made up your mind.”

“Yeah,” Bruce says slowly. “I guess I have.”

*

Damian steels himself before he knocks on the door. He’s no idiot. He can see the parallels that his father has drawn between what happened in Crime Alley and what happened at the circus. He can understand why his father might want to give this child a home, a chance at something other than anger and pain.

That doesn’t mean he has to like it. His father has only known about Damian for two years. And even though it might not be fair, Damian can’t help but feel like this child has been brought in to replace him--to give his father a real shot at parenthood, instead of starting in the middle with a teenager who doesn't need parenting.

But Cassandra is right. Damian will win himself no favors by attempting to drive the boy away. Outwardly, at least, he has to show his father that he's trying to be welcoming.

Cassandra clears her throat from over his shoulder. Damian shoots her a look and then knocks on the door.

There’s the sound of quiet footsteps and then the door opens. Damian looks down at the diminutive figure of Richard Grayson. The boy is small for an eight-year-old and looks even smaller in the baggy sweatshirt he’s wearing.

“Who’re you?” the boy asks, his voice quavering. Damian notes how red his eyes are, the blotchy patches on his face.

“I’m Damian Wayne. Bruce’s son,” Damian introduces himself. His voice comes out softer than he’d intended, but perhaps it’s a good thing. He’s not the best at handling tears and the boy looks like he might start bawling again with very little provocation. “This is Cassandra Cain. She also lives here.”

“Oh,” the boy sniffles. “I’m Dick.”

Damian wrinkles his nose. “You don’t go by Richard?”

The boy frowns. “No?”

Damian resists the urge to sigh. “You should really go by Richard.”

A petulant expression crosses the boy’s face. “I don’t like Richard. My name is Dick.”

There is no way in hell Damian is using that ridiculous name when the boy has a perfectly respectable option at his disposal. “I’m going to call you Richard,” Damian informs him. “Would you like to go on a tour of the Manor with us?”

Richard crosses his arms. “Not unless you use my real name.”

Cassandra steps forward before Damian can say anything he’ll regret. She really is a superb bodyguard.

“Hi, Dick,” she says, smiling. Her speech is halting, but much better than it used to be. The lessons and speech therapy and hard work are paying off.

Richard looks her over, suddenly shy. “Hi,” he says back.

“Come…with?” Cassandra offers, holding out a hand. Damian is surprised. Cassandra doesn’t initiate a lot of physical contact. But then again, the child in front of them is hardly a threat.

Richard’s gaze darts between her and Damian. He chews at his lip for a moment, then cautiously takes Cassandra’s hand. “Okay,” he says. In a quieter voice, he asks her, “Does the mean one have to come?”

Damian throws his hands into the air. “I’ve been perfectly polite!” he protests. When Richard and Cassandra both shoot him looks, Damian shakes his head. “Whatever. I’ll lead, you follow.”

He gives the full tour. And if he maybe goes a little too into detail about the history of the Manor, just to make Richard’s eyes glaze a bit, it's not like his father can get mad at him for being thorough.

They wind up in the sitting room. Richard plops onto the couch looking small and thoroughly miserable. Damian feels a twinge of guilt—the boy did just lose his parents. But what did his father honestly expect? That he could bring some newcomer here and everything would just work out for the best?

A quiet meow from the open doorway has everyone turning their heads at once. Alfred the Cat slinks into the room, making a beeline for Damian’s chair. Damian graciously makes space, allowing Alfred to jump up onto his lap. He absentmindedly scratches Alfred under the chin and looks up to find Richard watching him, somehow looking smaller and more miserable than before.

Damian’s guilty conscience pings again and before he can consider what he’s doing, he’s picking up Alfred the Cat and gently depositing him in Richard’s tiny lap.

“This is Alfred,” Damian explains as he sits down next to the boy. “He likes to be scratched behind the ears.”

Richard reaches out and carefully pets Alfred as directed. He’s awarded with an immediate purr of satisfaction. Damian smiles as Alfred wriggles in delight and settles more comfortably in his new perch.

“He’s so soft,” Richard says wonderingly.

“Yes, he is,” Damian agrees. “He’s a very good cat.”

“Is he yours?” Richard asks, keeping his voice low, almost like he’s worried he’ll spook Alfred. Something inside Damian melts a little, but he pays it no heed.

“Cats belong to themselves,” Damian replies. “But I look after him. You’re welcome to pet him whenever you want.”

“Thanks,” Richard says softly. After a moment, he peeks up at Damian and adds, “Sorry I said you were mean. That wasn’t very nice.”

Damian nods gravely, accepting the apology. “That’s quite alright, Richard.”

Richard’s frown returns. It’s actually quite adorable, to see a scowl like that on such a tiny face. “It’s Dick.”

“Isn’t that what I said?” Damian asks innocently. Richard huffs at him in frustration, but his hands are still gentle as he pets Alfred the Cat. Damian notes smugly that he looks marginally less miserable than he did when he sat down.

In the chair across from them, Cassandra laughs quietly to herself. Damian ignores her. He doesn’t need to see the knowing expression on her face to realize that he might just be in trouble.

*

Jason’s working on his motorcycle in the garage when he hears furtive footsteps behind him.

“It’s alright, kid,” he calls, without looking up. “You can come out.”

After a moment, Dick ventures out from his hiding place and cautiously comes to stand by Jason’s side, a too-serious expression on his little face. It's the third time in a month Jason has been to the Manor, which is pretty unusual for him. He and Bruce usually just meet up on patrol, if they see each other at all. But Jason's been making an effort to come over more frequently ever since Bruce took in Dick. It's partly out of curiosity--in all the time Jason has known Bruce, the man has never sought out parenthood, even though he did attempt to rise to the occasion when Damian presented himself. 

But it's also partly for Dick. Jason has seen a lot of kids like Dick out on the streets--lonely and hurting and having absolutely no idea what to do with it all. Jason has always had a soft spot for kids, especially the ones who have been through hell and back.

And there's no doubting Dick has been through hell. In all the time he's known him, Jason has never once seen Dick smile.

“You wanna give me a hand?” Jason offers. 

Dick shrugs like he doesn't really care one way or another. “Okay."

“Cool,” Jason replies, keeping his own tone casual. “Hand me that Phillips head screwdriver.”

Dick hesitates, looking over the vast array of tools that Jason has laid out on the ground next to him. Jason stops what he’s doing. “It’s okay to say you don’t know something,” he says, wiping off the grease on his hands with a rag.

“Sorry,” Dick says, looking down. “I’ll get out of your way.”

“No—hold on!” Jason calls him back. He smiles at the kid as reassuringly as he can. “You aren’t fired yet! Let me walk you through what we’ve got here.”

Dick crouches down by Jason’s side, glancing at him sidelong. Jason pretends not to notice and takes his time picking up each tool and explaining what it’s called and what it does. He lets Dick hold each one and encourages him to ask questions. He can tell instantly that Bruce is right—Dick is clever and he’s got an excellent memory. He retains almost everything Jason tells him on the first try. Since the kid seems interested, Jason keeps talking, walking him through what he’s doing with the bike and why it’s important. He even lets Dick tighten a few screws here and there, letting him get his hands dirty, so to speak.

When they’re done, Jason starts the motorcycle and grins when he hears the engine sing. He looks down at Dick. “You want to go for a short test drive with me?”

Dick’s eyes widen. “Really?” he asks breathlessly.

“You helped fix it, so it’s only fair!” Jason replies. “You in?”

Dick’s smile takes Jason by surprise. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything so bright.

“Yeah!” Dick exclaims. “Let’s go!”

*

It’s everything Steph can do not to grin like an idiot when a tiny figure in red and green lands on the rooftop next to her.

“Spoiler! Spoiler!” Dick calls excitedly. “Look! It’s me! Bru—I mean, Batman finally took me out on patrol!”

“Congrats, buddy!” Steph tells him. She subtly looks around. “Is he, uh, nearby somewhere?”

“Robin!”  Damian’s voice hisses seconds before he appears on the rooftop. Cass materializes from the shadows to his left. Steph still has no idea how she does that, but it is so freaking cool. “You were supposed to wait in the Batmobile.”

“But it’s Spoiler!” Dick protests. “I wanted to say hi!”

“We talked about this,” Damian replies sternly. Steph isn’t fooled. She knows Damian would kill for the kid without hesitation. “When you are out on patrol, you have to…?”

“Follow orders,” Dick finishes glumly. “I know, okay? But I’m fine.”

“Why’d Batman leave you in the Batmobile anyway?” Steph asks.

“He and Jayhawk went ahead to scout the scene,” Damian replies before Dick can. “They should be back shortly.”

“Are you gonna come fight with us?” Dick asks, his exuberance back with full force. “We’re taking down some bank robbers!”

Steph raises an eyebrow. A team consisting of Batman, Jayhawk, Blackbird, and Black Bat is already overkill for a mere bank robbery. It's fairly unusual for Gotham's vigilantes to work together unless it's a really big case anyway. They've all got their own stretches of territory to cover. 

But then she sees Dick's puppy-dog eyes--somehow still effective, even with a domino mask on--and she caves hard. 

“As if I’d miss your first day on the job,” Steph grins at him. Dick darts in to give her a hug and then he's gone again. He does a couple handsprings to pick up speed and then he’s leaping the gap to the next rooftop over.

“Robin!” Damian calls after him, already giving chase. Cass follows close behind. “Come back!”

“Quite the handful, isn’t he?”  Tim’s voice says in her ear. Steph instantly knows they’re on a private channel. “He’s going to give Damian gray hairs at this rate.”

“Quick question,” Steph asks, barely able to hold back her laughter as she watches Damian try to wrangle the squirrely ten-year-old. “Why the hell doesn’t his uniform have any pants?”

Tim groans. “We all tried to talk him into it, but he just wouldn’t listen.”

“And the bright colors?” Steph presses.

“His idea, too.”

“Oh boy,” Steph says. “He’s really the one in charge of this operation, isn’t he?”

“Seems that way,”  Tim sighs. “But I think he’ll be a benevolent ruler.”

“This is going to be amazing,” Steph chuckles.

“Yeah,”  Tim agrees. “I kinda think so too.”

Chapter Text

Dick has been Robin for two whole years when he meets Slade Wilson on a starless winter night. He’s not supposed to be out alone—even though he’s perfectly capable of taking care of himself, no matter what the others say—but everyone is out on patrol and busy with different cases, so it’s the perfect time to sneak out and get some practice in.

Things go surprisingly well at first. Dick had been sure Tim would catch him within three seconds of leaving the Batcave, but even the legendary Mimir has his attention elsewhere tonight. Dick stops a car robbery and returns a lost dog to its owners. He’s looking for his next adventure when a large man in orange and black steps out of the shadows.

Well. Seems like the next adventure has found him.

“Don’t come any closer,” Dick warns, readying his bo staff and placing his feet in the defensive position that Damian has drilled into him over years of training.

“Well, aren’t you brave?” the man says, his voice as deep as Bruce’s. “Do you even know who I am?”

Dick may be small, but he’s not an idiot. He’s read most of Bruce’s case files by now, using the hacking skills Tim’s been teaching him on the sly. “You’re Slade Wilson—Deathstroke.”

“Very good,” Slade says condescendingly. His body language hasn’t changed one bit, like he’s not afraid of Dick at all. “Now run along, kid. It’s way past your bedtime.”

Dick grips his bo staff tighter, determined. The voice that sounds very much like Bruce in his head is yelling at him to disengage and call for help, but Dick has a responsibility to this city and its people. He can’t just let Slade walk. The guy's an assassin.

And Dick won’t let someone else die when he could have prevented it.

So, instead, Dick squares his shoulders and says in his most authoritative voice, “You’re under arrest.”

Slade laughs. Dick deflates a little but holds his position as the other man takes a step closer.

“You really don’t know what you’re asking for,” Slade warns. Dick braces for an attack, but even so, he’s almost not quick enough to parry Slade’s first strikes. He’s reminded of his sparring sessions with Damian and Cass—the way they move like quicksilver from one blow to the next. Slade moves the same way, except he's stronger than the others, maybe as strong or even stronger than Bruce.

“Not bad,” Slade says when Dick flips away and gives himself some breathing room to get ready for the next attack. The assassin almost sounds impressed. “You’ve got some talent, kid. I could see myself taking a student like you.”

Dick wrinkles his nose. “No, thanks,” he replies. He’s pretty sure that everyone would be sad if he left, even if some of them wouldn’t say it out loud. Bruce and Damian in particular are terrible at admitting when they have emotions.

Also, he really doesn’t want to go with Slade. He likes his new home. He’s almost got everyone behaving like a family now, but that’s taken him two years of hard work. He’s not giving that up.

“Fair enough,” Slade says. He cracks his knuckles. “Just know this next part isn't personal."

Before Dick can ask what he means, Slade has closed the distance between them and kicked Dick in the stomach so hard that he goes flying across the rooftop. Dick tries to cushion his landing the way that Cass showed him, but he doesn’t quite get his arms in the right position. He eventually skids to a painful stop, gasping for air and feeling like half his face has been scraped raw.

He sees Slade’s boots approaching from a distance. Dick struggles to push himself upright. He needs to get up so that he can fight. He can’t let Bruce down. He can’t.

Suddenly, Slade curses and dodges back as a hail of bullets rain down from above them. A man in red and black swings onto the rooftop, followed closely by a girl in purple. Two shadows materialize behind Slade, swords gleaming menacingly in the dark.

A third shadow looms over Dick’s fallen form. Dick only panics for a moment before he sees the pointed ears of the cowl and knows he is perfectly, wholly safe.

“Don’t you fucking touch him,”  Jason snarls in a tone Dick has never heard before. He’s got both guns trained on Slade’s chest, though Dick’s not entirely certain what rubber bullets will do against Slade’s body armor.

“He asked for it,” Slade snarks. Dick knows instantly it’s the wrong thing to say, because Cass and Damian both lunge in tandem, going on the attack. Slade leaps away and the fight begins in earnest. Dick tries to stand, wanting to help the others, but Bruce’s hands on his shoulders stop him.

“They have it handled,” Bruce says quietly, his voice is rough, but it’s not the same as his usual Batman growl. “Let me take a look at you.”

Dick allows Bruce to inspect his body for injuries, his touch so gentle that Dick barely feels it.

“We’ll need to disinfect these scrapes,” Bruce says, examining the scratches on Dick's face. “And you might have cracked a rib.”

“It was a lucky shot,” Dick informs him, though he’s not sure it’s very convincing with the way his breath is still wheezing in and out of his chest.

Bruce shoots him a look and Dick wisely shuts up. He can already tell he’s in heaps of trouble.

“I’m going to kill  you!” Damian screams at Slade from the next rooftop over. Dick startles. Damian says things like that all the time, but he rarely sounds like he means it. Bruce hurriedly gets to his feet.

“Stay right here,”  he warns and takes off after the others. Dick sighs and stays put. He wishes he could go help, but he knows Bruce is right—they have it handled. He finds a more comfortable position and waits for them to finish up. His face is throbbing in the cold air, but Dick feels very warm inside.

His new family came for him. Everything is going to be fine now.

*

“…stupid, reckless, irresponsible, immature—not to mention disobeying direct orders and abandoning your post—”       

“You guys didn’t notice I was gone for two hours,”  Dick interrupts petulantly, trying not to hiss as Alfred cleans the cuts on his face with something that leaves them stinging and raw. “Don’t think I had much of a post to abandon.”

The answering glare Damian shoots in his direction lets Dick know in no uncertain terms that his point, no matter how valid, is not welcome.

Dick ignores him. “I was totally fine out there,” he continues. “I had everything handled."

Jason laughs shakily. He seems to have mostly calmed down from the fight, but there’s still a frantic look in his eyes that hasn’t gone away yet. “That was Deathstroke, Dick,” he says, as if Dick didn’t know who he’d been fighting. “You could’ve gotten yourself killed.”

“You can’t take risks like that,” Steph agrees. Her face is very serious, which is weird for her. Tim is pacing tightly by her side and keeps glancing at Dick with a guilty look on his face. “What if we hadn’t gotten there in time?”

“But you did,” Dick shrugs and then wishes he hadn’t. Bruce was right about the cracked rib. It hurts every time he moves.

“But they might not next time,” Tim says, finally standing still. He looks at Dick with pleading eyes. “We have a check-in system for a reason, Dick. Everyone uses it, even Bruce. If I don’t know where you are, I can’t help you. I almost wasn’t able to help you tonight. Please. You have to understand that.”

Cass puts a hand on Tim's shoulder. "Not your fault," she says quietly. Tim shakes his head and says nothing, face pale.

Dick looks at Tim’s haunted expression and abruptly feels guilty. He’d just wanted to show what he was capable of. He hadn’t meant to make anyone feel bad.

“Okay,” he says and sees everyone’s shoulders relax. “I’m sorry. I won’t go off on my own again.” He pauses and then adds, “At least, not without checking in at some point.”

Damian mutters something under his breath. Cass and Steph exchange glances. Tim looks like he might faint.

“Oh my god,” Jason groans, covering his face with his hands. “He’s going to go out alone again. He’s already planning it. I can’t handle this.”

Alfred clears his throat pointedly and looks at Bruce. “Perhaps you’d like to say a few words, Master Bruce?”

Bruce shoots Alfred a look in return and then turns his attention to Dick.

“Dick,” he starts. His voice is still rough. “It isn’t a game out there. I know you have training, but we’re not infallible. And I couldn’t bear it if…if…” his voice cracks and breaks.

Dick is on his feet in an instant, ignoring the sting of pain from his ribs, and throws his arms around Bruce’s middle. Bruce’s arms close around him and Dick can feel the way he’s shaking.

“Sorry,” Dick says again, putting every ounce of meaning he can into the word. Bruce hugs him even tighter. Dick feels that overwhelming sense of safety again, just like he had on the rooftop.

Bruce holds onto him for a long moment. When he lets him go, Dick steps back and catches the fragile look in Damian’s eyes. Dick represses a sigh. Looks like his work isn’t done here, yet. He walks over and throws his arms around Damian without a second thought.

Damian squawks a protest, but Dick ignores him. He turns his head so he can see Bruce again.

“More hugs,” he declares. The corner of Bruce’s lips twitch and he hesitantly approaches. Damian half-heartedly tries to free himself, but Dick holds tight. Soon, both of them are encircled by Bruce’s arms. Damian relaxes infinitesimally and stops trying to get away.

His voice somewhat muffled by Damian’s chest, Dick calls out to the others, “Everyone else, too."

“He’s a menace,” Steph mutters, but then a bunch of other bodies are coming close and glomping onto the hug.

It doesn’t last long, but by the time it’s over everyone seems to be feeling a little better. Dick nods to himself. He definitely needs to give out more hugs. It’s very important.

“Let’s all go upstairs for something hot to drink and then bed,” Alfred suggests, heading for the elevator. Everyone shuffles after him.

Bruce gently taps his knuckles to the crown of Dick's head, prompting him to look up. “You’re still in trouble,” Bruce reminds him.

“Okay,” Dick says, smiling up at him. Bruce’s punishment is tomorrow’s problem. He’s not going to spend any time being worried about it now. “So can you teach me how you guys took down Deathstroke? Those were some really cool moves!”

It’s Tim who groans this time. “Don’t you want to rest at all first? You’re injured!”

“Resting’s boring,”  Dick complains. “Besides, you guys never rest when you get hurt!”

There’s an awkward silence in the elevator.

“We may need to change some of our policies around here,” Alfred says at last.

"Yeah,” Bruce agrees in a long sigh, sounding put-upon.

Jason snorts. “Let’s be real, everything’s changed since the kid showed up.”

“Was it a good change?” Dick asks curiously, when no one disagrees with Jason.

“Definitely,” Bruce says as the others nod.

Dick beams at them all.

Chapter Text

“Kory, hey!” Dick called, waving from the table. Kory waved back and made her way to where Dick was sitting. Even in disguise as a civilian, there was no masking the regal way Kory moved. Dick chuckled as he watched heads turn to follow her progress.

“It’s so good to see you,” he said, standing to give her a hug. She returned the embrace—squeezing just a little too tightly for comfort—and then released him. Dick took a moment to catch his breath as they sat down.

“Sorry. Was that too hard?” Kory asked, eyeing his expression. “I still forget sometimes.”

“I’m okay,” Dick promised. “I can’t believe you’re actually here! It’s been so long since we caught up. How’re Jason and Roy?”

Kory rolled her eyes a little. “Jason told me that if you asked after him, I was to tell you...well, I'm not actually certain I should repeat it in public. Basically, he said to fuck off."

Dick shook his head. “Sounds like Jason,” he sighed. “I’ll take it that means he’s doing well.”

“He’s fine,” Kory assured him. “We’ll be back in Gotham for a little while, so I imagine you’ll run into him sooner or later.”

“Good! It’s been a while since we’ve had a family reunion,” Dick said. “And Roy?”

Kory fidgeted and said nothing. Dick’s eyes narrowed. Kory never fidgeted except on the very rare occasions that she was nervous. Dick found himself beginning to get nervous as well. It took a lot to spook a warrior like Kory.

“Is...is everything alright?” he asked. “Is Roy…I mean, he’s not hurt, right? I feel like I would’ve heard if—”

“Roy’s fine,” Kory said, interrupting his panic spiral. She took a short, fortifying breath. “We’re dating.”

Dick blinked. “Oh,” he said, before what she’d just told him finally clicked into place and he grinned. “Oh! Kory that’s—that’s awesome! I’m really happy for you guys!”

Kory sagged a little in her chair, obviously relieved. Dick was surprised and a little touched that she’d been so nervous about telling him. It had been a long time since the two of them dated and, even though that relationship had been plenty serious, Dick was genuinely happy she’d found someone else.

“I wanted you to hear it from one of us,” Kory said quietly. “Actually, Roy wanted to tell you, but I asked if I could do it. It felt right.”

Dick reached out and clasped one of Kory’s hands gently. “I appreciate that, Kory. I really do. But you don’t owe me anything—and neither does Roy. If you guys are happy, then I’m happy. That’s all there is to it.”

Kory squeezed his hand back and smiled. “Thanks, Dick.”

“So tell me how things have been going otherwise!” Dick commanded, pulling back. “What’s it like being an Outlaw?”

“It’s very different than being a Titan,” Kory admitted. “But I like this team. I like the work we’re doing. It’s important.”

Dick nodded. “I’m glad Jason has you and Roy watching his back. We were all kind of worried about him for a while since he kept going off on his own. It’s a relief to know he’s got people looking out for him.”

“We look out for each other,” Kory smiled.

“Maybe not so different from the Titans, after all,” Dick smiled back.

“Maybe not,” Kory allowed. Her smile deepened. “Though we followed a lot more rules as Titans. The Outlaws don’t like to be hindered.”

Dick took a deep breath. “Not gonna ask, not gonna ask, not gonna ask,” he muttered to himself. Kory laughed.

“So what about you?” she wondered. “Are you—?”

Kory’s phone buzzed audibly from her pocket. She pulled it out, frowning at whatever she saw on the screen.

“Everything okay?” Dick asked.

“Jason just called us in,” Kory said, her expression promising trouble. “Even after he swore to give us a night off.”

“Things happen,” Dick shrugged. “It’s alright if you have to go.”

“It took so long for us to find time for this dinner,” Kory complained. “This is not the way I wanted this evening to go. I wish we didn’t have to end things here.”

“Kory, it’s really alright,” Dick said again. “It’s not like I can go with you on an Outlaw mission.”

Kory’s entire expression lit up with a mischievous smile that Dick hadn’t seen in an age.

“Oh no,” he said. “We’re not.”

“It’s his fault for interrupting,” Kory said. “He knew tonight was off-limits.”

“Kory,” Dick groaned. “You’re gonna get me in so much trouble.”

“Come on, Dick,” Kory said, getting to her feet. “I think it’ll be fun! You did want a family reunion, right?”

*

“Stop pacing,” Roy complained from where he was sitting on the rooftop, checking over his supply of arrows for the thirtieth time. “You’re giving me whiplash.”

“Kory’s late,”  Jason replied. “Can’t you text her to hurry up? She’s your girlfriend.”

Roy snorted. “Just ‘cause we’re dating doesn’t mean I’m her keeper. And you’re the one who gave us the night off and then reneged. She’s gonna be pissed.”

Jason shot Roy a sour look and said nothing. He was well aware that he was risking Kory’s ire by pulling them in for a mission tonight, but it had to be done. Technically, he’d agreed to stop calling random missions at all hours of the day to give his team some notice, but sometimes things happened and time-tables shifted. It wasn’t like criminals respected scheduling conflicts.

There was a flicker of orange in Jason’s periphery and then Kory was alighting on the rooftop next to them.

“Glad you could make it,” Jason said, with only a touch of sarcasm. Kory shot him an unimpressed look and refused to answer.

Yeah. Roy was right. She was pissed.

Roy ignored their exchange, pushing all the arrows back in his quiver and scrambling to his feet. “How was dinner with Dick?”

“Never even got the chance to order food,” Kory said grumpily.

Ah, shit. Jason was going to be apologizing for weeks. And for something as stupid as Kory missing dinner with Dick. She should be thanking him for saving her.

“But don’t worry,” Kory continued, in a tone that very much made Jason worry, “I found a way to make it up to him.”

Jason went numb with horror. “Kory,” he croaked. “You didn’t—”

“‘Sup, Roy! Hey, Jason!” Dick flipped himself up onto the rooftop and grinned at all of them with his stupid, too-perfect smile. “Hope you don’t mind if I join in on this one. Kory said it was okay!”

“No! No, it’s definitely not okay!” Jason shot back, only to be drowned out by Roy’s effusive, “Hey, nice! It’ll be fun to have you along!”

“Cool!” Dick said, walking over to give Roy a hug. “Congratulations, by the way! Kory filled me in.”

“Thanks, man,” Roy said sincerely. “That means a lot.”

“How could you?” Jason hissed at Kory.

“You made me miss dinner,”  Kory growled back. “Fair is fair.”

“Fair? This isn’t fair!” Jason groaned. “This is me asking you to skip one meal and you ruining my life because of it!”

“Whose life is ruined?” Dick asked, emerging from his little meet-and-greet with Roy.

“You stay out of it,” Jason told him, pointing an accusatory finger in his direction.

“Missed you too, Jason,” Dick grinned at him. “So? What’s the game plan?”

“Nope, mission’s off,” Jason said, shaking his head. “This isn’t happening.”

“Aw, come on, Jace!” Roy said. “You dragged us all the way out here already! Besides, didn’t you say this was a now or never kind of scenario? You’ve been waiting months to get these guys!”

Dick walked over to the edge of the roof to survey the warehouse at the end of the street. “Seems like standard security,” he said. “I think it shouldn’t be too difficult. Kory, if you would—”

“I already have a plan!” Jason snapped, storming over to where he’d stashed his helmet and jamming it on his head. He pretended not to see the wink Dick traded with Roy. “Kory, Roy, you bust in and make a distraction. Meanwhile, I’ll go in the back and lay some charges so we can blow this place to kingdom come. None of these drugs are ever gonna hit the streets.”

“Where do you want me?” Dick asked.

“Ooh, sorry, looks like there’s no position for you!” Jason said, not even trying to sound sincere. “Guess you should just head on home!”

“You can come with us,” Roy offered.

“Great!” Dick said. “And Jay—make sure to save some evidence for the police when they come to make arrests!”

Jason glared at Dick and then at Kory. “See? He’s already killing the vibe! Ugh, I hate this.”

“Oh no. Someone ruined your plans,” Kory said flatly and without mercy. “How terribly inconvenient.”

“You’re an awful friend,” Jason informed her. He pointed at Roy, who was covering a laugh behind one hand. “And you’re just as bad. You’re both fired from the Outlaws.”

“Does that mean we’re getting the Titans back together again?” Dick asked brightly.                                                                             

Jason scowled at him, wishing he could see it through the helmet. “Hands off my team."

“But I thought you just fired them?” Dick replied, his tone far too sweet.

“Shut up,” Jason said. It wasn’t his most elegant retort, but it got the point across. He jumped off the roof, beyond ready to be done with this conversation. “No fuck ups and no deaths--not like I care or whatever. You complete and utter assholes.”

“Is that his usual pep talk?” Dick’s incredulous voice followed him on the way down.

“Eloquent, right?” Roy laughed. “He always knows how to tug at your heartstrings.”

“Assholes,” Jason muttered to himself again, just for good measure. He should have known better than to become best friends with people who liked Dick Grayson. It was absolutely the worst mistake he’d ever made in his entire life.

Chapter Text

“Well, that was a complete and utter failure,” Jason grumbled, taking off his helmet and tossing it onto the couch next to him.

“What are you talking about?” Kory asked, shooting him an incredulous look. “We completed all mission objectives.”

“Yeah and then he stuck around chatting with the police for like an hour,” Jason said, shooting a glare in Dick’s direction. Not that the other man noticed. He was too engrossed in his conversation with Roy. “My reputation is totally ruined!”

“You know, you get at least ten times more dramatic whenever we’re in Gotham,” Kory informed him.

Jason gaped at her, affronted. “Do not!”

“Do too.”

“Do not,”  Jason insisted.

“Really?” Kory raised an eyebrow at him. “Remind me what you said when we decided to invite Dick back to our safe house for some pizza?”

Jason grumbled something under his breath.

“I’m pretty sure it was I’d rather be rotting in my grave again,” Kory quoted at him.

“That’s just one example,” Jason sulked.

“Would you like me to provide more?”

Jason slunk lower on the couch. “No.”

“I’m going to get changed and go grab the pizza,” Roy announced to the room, mercifully changing the subject. “Anybody need anything while I’m out?”

Jason thought about making another pointed comment about Dick's presence, caught Kory’s warning glance, and wisely chose to say nothing.

“Cool,” Roy said. “Be right back!”

Jason sighed and started removing some of his own gear. Sitting on the couch with a dozen weapons strapped to him wasn’t the most comfortable. Kory curled up in a chair nearby, unfortunately leaving the spot next to Jason open for Dick to take.

“That was a good mission,” Dick started, glancing at Jason with a hopeful smile. “You had a good plan.”

“Duh,” Jason snarked.

Kory cleared her throat pointedly. Jason sighed. “I mean, thanks. Or whatever.”

Dick laughed. “Look, I get it. You’re not thrilled I’m in your space. But I really appreciate you letting me tag along. It means a lot.”

“Just don’t get used to it,” Jason warned, though with less antagonism than before. To compensate, he added, “And don’t get all mushy on me. I’ll break your face if you try to hug me.”

Dick snorted. From her chair, Kory shook her head. “See? Dramatic.”

“I am not!”

*

Dick hadn’t realized how much he’d missed hanging out with his old friends—and with Jason, after he stopped being such a sourpuss. It felt good to laugh and hang out without some supervillain crisis hanging over their heads.

It was pushing three in the morning when Roy glanced over at Jason on the couch and chuckled quietly. “He’s out,” Roy whispered.

Dick craned his neck to look. Jason had slumped down so that his head was pillowed on the armrest. He was clearly fast asleep.

“Finally,” Kory said. Noiselessly, she floated up out of her chair and grabbed a blanket from a corner of the room. Together, she and Roy draped the blanket over Jason without waking him—a move which Dick instantly knew must have taken them a long time to perfect, since Jason was such a light sleeper.

Roy looked over at Dick and motioned his head toward the window. The three of them slipped out onto the fire escape, closing the window behind them so as not to disturb Jason.

“You guys do that often?” Dick asked, still keeping his voice low.

"Occasionally,” Roy shrugged. “The kid doesn’t look out for himself. I mean, he’ll throw a huge fuss if one of us is injured, but runs himself ragged every chance he gets.”

“We’re working on it,” Kory assured Dick. “I know he’s lost a little weight recently, but we’re making sure he’s not skipping meals anymore.”

“Oh, that reminds me—I need to get groceries tomorrow,” Roy said. “I’ll bug Jay for his list in the morning. He still hasn’t gotten it to me. Is there anything else you need?”

Dick sat quietly for a moment, letting the conversation flow around him. His eyes wandered back to Jason’s still form on the couch, trying to identify what he was feeling. It hurt, thinking about his little brother not taking care of himself. But more than that, Dick felt guilty. He felt guilty that he and the family weren’t there to take care of Jason when he needed it—that they’d put Jason in a position where he felt like he couldn’t come to them for support. He’d never meant to do that—none of the family had.

And yet.

“Thank you, guys,” Dick said, surprised by how hoarse his voice sounded. Roy and Kory immediately stopped and turned to look at him. “For looking out for him. I know I haven’t...” Dick trailed off, not sure how to even end that sentence. He settled on: “I’m glad he has you guys.”

“Hey, of course,” Roy said, bumping shoulders with Dick companionably. “We’ve got him. God, remember those days when he used to follow us around as Robin? He was so little and scrappy.”

“He always swore he’d be taller than me,” Dick said, the curl of his smile only a little melancholic.

Roy brushed away a fake tear. “Our baby’s all grown up now.”

“And causing mayhem,” Kory added. “I’m so proud.”

Dick laughed. “Well, he was always good at that.”

“Yes, but he’s really perfected it now,” Roy said. “It’s thrilling to watch.”

Dick shook his head, still smiling. “You guys really are the perfect team.”

“Trust me,” Kory said. “We know.”

Chapter Text

“This is where you were trained?” Artemis asked, peering around with an unreadable expression. Even though Jason had told her they were visiting a place called the Batcave, Artemis hadn’t expected it to be a literal cave. With literal bats.

She probably should have known better.

“Yeah,” Jason answered warily. “Why?”

“No reason,” Artemis replied. Jason scowled at her. It was a pretty standard response for him. Artemis ignored it.

“You’re half an hour late!” a voice called. There was a man with dark hair and blue eyes leaning against a table there, his back to a giant computer screen. Another boy with dark hair was sitting in the chair next to him, though his attention appeared to be focused on the screen itself, fingers flying across the keyboard as line after line of code appeared on the screen.

“I’m Dick, by the way,” the first man added. He gestured to the boy sitting next to him. “This is Tim.”          

“Artemis, Biz,” Jason said, concluding introductions hastily. Bizarro waved when Jason said his name. Dick waved back. “And who cares if we were late? Some of us have important things to do.”

“You were finishing up a movie,” the one called Tim shot back, not even bothering to turn around.

Artemis blinked. How the hell had he known that?

“No, we weren’t,” Jason replied, lying through his teeth. But he didn’t seem surprised at all by Tim’s impossible knowledge. Perhaps Tim was some sort of telepath? Or seer? Artemis had met plenty of those before.

“But Small Him am right,” Bizarro corrected Jason, tugging gently on his sleeve.

“Small Him!” Tim muttered, sounding indignant.

Jason snorted. “Serves you right for hacking my laptop again. And hey, stop hacking my laptop!”

Artemis’ gaze narrowed. So Tim wasn't a telepath or a seer. Just a spy.

Artemis didn't like spies.

“Guys, come on,” Dick cajoled, looking between Jason and Tim. “I called us here so we could talk about the Lex Luthor case.”

Artemis refused to let herself be distracted. "If you wish to remain allies, you will cease spying on us at once," she warned Tim, voice dangerous. "I can see now why Jason does not trust his so-called family."

“Oh please, like Jason has any right to complain,” Tim said, brushing her off. Artemis bristled at his tone. Very few people spoke to her like that and Tim hadn’t earned the right. “He bugged four of my safe houses!”

Artemis paused, glancing at Jason to assess the truth of that claim. "Well? Did you?" she demanded. 

“What?” Jason gasped, feigning innocence. “That sounds very unlike me.”

Oh.

Oh, Jason.

"Why would you bug his safe houses?" Artemis asked.

"How else am I supposed to know what he's getting up to?" Jason shrugged, completely unrepentant now that he'd dropped his innocent act.

Artemis shot him a look. Walking into the Batcave, she'd thought she had a pretty firm grasp on the dynamics. Jason had often described his family as being unreasonable to the extreme. 

She hadn't stopped to wonder if Jason might be just as unreasonable.

"Oh, don't look at me like that," Jason said, flapping a hand at her dismissively. "Bugging five or six safe houses is nothing." 

Dick groaned as Tim swiveled around in the chair, finally giving Jason his full attention.

“Guys, please,” Dick tried. “Let’s focus—”

"Five or six?"  Tim repeated, incensed. "But I only found four--did you bug more of my safe houses?"

Jason gave an enormous, annoying grin and said nothing. Tim’s gaze narrowed, analyzing every inch of Jason’s expression and body language. Artemis had rarely seen a look so sharp.

“No,” the boy declared at last. “You’re just trying to get in my head. I got them all.”

“You’re right,” Jason said. “You did. Which is why I couldn’t possibly know about how you’ve been living off energy drinks and granola bars for the last three days.”

Artemis frowned. Why would Jason bring up something as trivial as—

“Fucking fuck,” Tim cursed under his breath as Dick's face transformed into one of deep concern.

“Have you been skipping meals again?” Dick demanded. Jason started grinning like he'd just won the lottery. "I know that we all work odd hours, but that's no reason not to look after your own health, Tim. And you know how Alfred feels about those energy drinks you like. They're not healthy for you! He's provided some perfectly viable options for you to try instead. Why do you insist--

“Jason wrecked one of Bruce’s Batmobiles and blamed you for it,” Tim blurted at Dick, in an obvious attempt to change the subject.

And--somehow--it worked.

“Seriously, Jason?” Dick sighed, sounding aggrieved. “Is that why Bruce has been so passive-aggressive toward me lately? He keeps making all these pointed little comments and it's been so annoying. You owe me big time for having to deal with that!”

Jason’s grin disappeared. “That was below the belt,” he hissed at Tim, ducking Dick’s disappointed gaze.

“Am confused,” Bizarro said, looking over at Artemis for clarification. “Red Him am spying on Small Him? Or Small Him am spying on Red Him?”

“Both, I think?” Artemis replied. She shook her head at Jason. “You know this isn’t healthy behavior.”

“What do you mean?” Jason asked, clearly grateful for the distraction.

“Isn't this how all families keep track of one another?” Tim asked. "How else am I supposed to know when he needs help with stuff?"

"As if I'd ever need help from you,"  Jason muttered.

"I've saved your life so many times," Tim countered.

"Please,"  Jason scoffed. "If we're keeping score, I'm way ahead of you."

"We don't keep score of saving each other's lives," Dick said. He paused. "But if we did, I'm totally winning."

Artemis looked at all three of them. Jason had told her that none of his siblings were actually related to him by blood. She was starting to doubt that. The resemblance was uncanny.

“You could simply ask each other questions when you want to know something,” she suggested mildly, breaking up the argument. “That’s what normal people do.”

“Okay then, here’s a question,” Dick said. He was looking pointedly at Jason, but still talking to Artemis. It seemed like he was still upset about the Batmobile thing. “Are you and Jason dating?”

Jason’s eyes went wide. Artemis caught his frantic hand gestures, but ignored them. If this is what it took to show Jason what healthy communication looked like, then so be it.

Besides, what did it matter if the others knew? It wasn’t like she or Jason had anything to be embarrassed about.

“We kissed,” she answered. “I don’t know if that counts as dating. We haven’t talked it out yet.”

Jason closed his eyes in defeat as silence descended over the Batcave. Dick and Tim gaped at her. Bizarro giggled at their expressions. Artemis almost felt like doing the same, though she wasn’t really the type to giggle.  

“Biz,” Jason said weakly. “You wouldn’t mind murdering me right now, would you?”

“Why would Bizarro hurt Red Him?” Bizarro asked, sounding wounded at the mere suggestion.

“Sorry, buddy. My bad,” Jason said, patting him on the arm. “Artemis? Maybe you could…?”

“No,” she said flatly.

“Cool. Thanks.”

“Oh my god,” Tim said, his shock transforming into a slightly hysterical laugh. “I can’t believe this. Wait until Babs hears! She totally called it.”

“You are not telling Babs anythi—who the fuck are you texting?” Jason demanded, jumping forward to try to stop Dick from using his phone. But he was too far away and already far too late.

“Roy says congratulations!” Dick informed him, dodging Jason’s half-hearted swipe.

Jason groaned. “You didn’t.”

But Jason’s phone was already buzzing in his pocket. He pulled it out and stared at it. After a moment, he looked up and shoved the screen under Artemis’ nose.

“See what you’ve done?” he demanded.

Artemis scanned the barrage of texts.

dude

WTF

how could you not tell me??

i thought our bond was stronger than this

i have to hear it from DICK???

TELL ME EVERYTHING

when can I meet her?

seriously

tomorrow work for you?

i can be in gotham by tomorrow

just bought my plane tickets

don’t you dare run

“I’ll make sure our schedule is clear for tomorrow,” Artemis said mildly, returning the phone.

Jason groaned again and glared at her. “This is exactly why we don’t tell each other things! It only ever makes everything worse.”

“Every time I think I understand you, you just get stranger,” Artemis informed him.

Jason scowled.

Artemis smiled back. This, at least, she recognized as normal behavior. It was comforting to know that some things never changed.

Chapter Text

Bruce didn’t know how much longer he could remain standing.

Everything hurt. His left arm had stopped working some time ago. He was weaving on his feet, barely managing to keep his balance. He wasn’t sure if that was due to the exhaustion, the toxin running through his veins, or the blood loss.

It didn’t really matter.

All that mattered was that when the next blow came, Bruce was ready to meet it. He had to be.

Because there was no way in hell that these alien creatures were going to get through him to his family. He’d die first.

No. Dying could wait. Dying meant leaving his children alone and defenseless on an alien world.

And that was unacceptable.

A low snarl alerted Bruce to the next wave of attacks. He barely dodged a swipe of razor-sharp claws, but took a rib-cracking blow to his side as he launched a retaliatory exploding batarang. The flash of fire and smoke forced the creatures to retreat a few steps and Bruce took the respite gratefully.

Bruce had never really believed in miracles, but he needed one right now. He’d tried to signal the Justice League—who were completing a critical mission on the other side of the planet—but that had been hours ago. Bruce was beginning to suspect his message had never gone through. Someone would have been here by now if it had.

Which meant Bruce was on his own.

Fine. He’d fought alone before. He could do it again. He had to.

He’d lost his family once, when he was small and powerless to stop it.

He wasn’t going to let that happen again.

The next wave of attacks came.

And the next.

And the next.

Bruce tossed out the last of his smoke grenades and struggled to get back on his feet. He felt like he was back fighting the Hordes of Gehenna for the Gentle Man. The enemy was relentless, their numbers seemingly everlasting.

He’d kept going then, in that hellish dimension where time passed without mercy.

He could keep going now.

His ankle was definitely broken, but Bruce dragged himself upright anyway.

“Come on, then,” he growled at the monsters in front of him, pulling the last batarang from his belt. “Let’s finish this.”

The beasts rushed him. Bruce stabbed down on the first one and screamed as the second one clamped onto his already injured arm, shredding through his body armor and flesh like it was nothing.

Bruce lashed out wildly. He wasn’t going down like this. He wasn’t going to let his family down. He wasn’t.

There was a sharp crack and a flash of heat. Bruce stumbled back as Clark’s heat vision burned through his attacker and superheated the air around Bruce, forcing the other alien beasts back.

“Batman?” Barry gasped, blurring into view. The speedster’s suit was torn in places, with smudges of soot and grime staining his signature red and gold. Things apparently hadn’t been going very well for the rest of the League either. “Oh my god—can you…? How do I…? You need help!”

“I’m fine,” Bruce lied through his teeth. He was already turning away, every ounce of will he had left pouring into his ability to stay upright. “The others—”

“The Lanterns have them,” Barry said. And indeed, Bruce watched as Hal and Jessica carefully levitated the prone forms of Bruce’s children toward the safety of the Javelin airship, which was hovering nearby.

“Good,” Bruce managed. He was barely aware of his body collapsing and Barry catching him at the last second.

“Shit, shit, shit! I need immediate medical assistance here!” Barry’s voice sounded so far away. “Batman’s down! I repeat, Batman’s down!”

There were panicked voices all around him, but Bruce himself was calm. His children were going to be alright. That was all that mattered.

Bruce’s eyes fluttered closed and he let the darkness take him.

*

“I’m sorry,” Clark said for the thousandth time.

“They were jamming our communications,” Bruce replied. “It’s not your fault.”

“I still should’ve—”

“If you try to apologize again, I will get out of this bed, re-injure myself, and tell Alfred it was all your fault,” Bruce warned.

Clark wisely shut up.

“You did an incredible thing out there,” Diana said, filling the ensuing silence.

Bruce ignored her praise. “Everyone’s tox screens came back alright?”

“Barry’s running some more tests right now to be sure, but all the kids are in better shape than you are,” Clark said. “Everyone’s made a full recovery.”

“I want to see the results of those tests,” Bruce said, but he relaxed back against the pillows, some piece of him that was still tense with worry finally going quiet.

Diana shook her head and laughed quietly to herself, eyeing Bruce with a kind of fond amusement that he’d long since grown used to.

“What?” he asked tiredly.

“I just don’t understand,” Diana said, still smiling gently.

“Understand what?” Clark wondered, frowning at her in confusion.

“How anyone can think Batman doesn’t have a heart,” Diana replied. “He’s got the biggest heart of all of us.”

Bruce made a grumpy noise, finally making Clark smile too.

“Agree to disagree, princess,” Bruce said.

“Very well,” Diana said gravely, though Bruce suspected she was just humoring him. She leaned down and kissed his cheek. “But I’m onto you. You’re a good father, Bruce. And an even better man.”

“You two are bothering me,” Bruce grumbled. “Go away so I can rest.”

Clark snorted, but got to his feet. “I love how bad you are at taking compliments.”

Bruce called out to them before they made it to the door. “Clark? Diana? Can you—?”

“We’ll watch your family, Bruce,” Diana promised instantly. “They are safe in our care. I swear it.”

Clark nodded, equally solemn.

Bruce sighed and finally allowed himself to rest.

Chapter Text

“Hey, take it easy. You’re safe,” a familiar voice said as Steph blinked awake.

“Flash?” she asked groggily. “Where—oh,” she gasped as her headache manifested with a vengeance.

“Headache?” Barry guessed. “I thought that might be a side effect. I’ll be able to give you something for it in a little bit.”

“Side effect of what?” Steph asked, fighting to sit upright. She was in the med bay of the Javelin, though she had no memory of how she’d gotten there.

“Toxin.”

Steph carefully looked to her left. Jason was in the bed next to her, wincing as he rubbed his temples. “It was airborne,” he continued. “You guys were closest to it when it was released. Your rebreathers failed instantly.”

Steph nodded slowly, a hazy memory swimming to the surface. “Right,” she said. “So how’d you wind up in here?”

“Someone had to drag your sorry asses out of there,” Jason grumbled.

“We tried to wait for the toxin to dissipate, but there wasn’t any time,” Tim’s voice piped up from her right. Steph turned and saw the remaining beds in the room. Relief immediately swept through her at the sight of Cass, Dick, Tim, and Damian all alive and well.

Mostly well, at least. Everyone seemed to have the same headache Steph did.

“Bruce bought us as much time as he could so we could try to get you, Cass, and Damian out,” Tim continued. “We were successful—sort of. We were exposed to a less concentrated dose of the toxin, so we had enough time to get you guys to cover before we succumbed to the effects.”

“We should have anticipated our rebreathers might not filter alien compounds before we went on this mission,” Damian muttered, cranky as ever. “We will need to re-design them.”

“Agreed,” Tim said.

“Wait—why did Bruce need to buy us time?” Steph asked, her brain slowly catching up with everything that had been said.

“We weren’t alone out there,” Dick said bleakly.

Steph’s eyes went wide. “Oh shit,” she gasped, remembering. “Those creatures. They were hunting us.”

“Where’s Bruce?” Cass asked suddenly. Steph blinked and looked around again. How had she not noticed Bruce wasn’t in the room with them?

“He’s fine,” Barry said quickly, but there was something in the way he said it that made Steph’s heart feel uneasy.

“Barry,” Dick said, uncharacteristically solemn. The speedster looked at him. “If Bruce was fine, he’d have been here waiting for us to wake up. If he’d been knocked out like the rest of us, he’d still be in here so you could monitor us all at the same time. But he’s not here,” Dick continued, drawing a steadying breath. “Which means you put him in a separate room. There’s something you don’t want us to see.”

Barry smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You’ve always been too smart for your own good,” he said. “Yes, Bruce is in another room. It was easier for us to treat his injuries that way. And…Clark thought it would be better if we could talk to you first.”

“What happened?” Steph asked, forgetting the throbbing in her head. Everyone was looking at Barry now, with the kind of intense focus that Steph only really saw among her own family.

“Bruce called for an extraction,” Barry said. “But our communication signal was jammed. So he had to fight.”

“How long?” Dick asked at the same time Damian demanded, “How many?”

“Too many,” Barry answered, sounding guilty. “Too long.”

Steph felt her heart rate rapidly increase and forced herself to take some calming breaths. Barry had already said Bruce was fine. He wouldn’t lie about that.

Would he?

“I want to see his chart,” Tim declared, pushing himself out of his bed. Barry sighed and handed over a tablet. Steph watched as Tim paled, her heart sinking at his expression.

“That’s…” Tim started. He stopped himself. “Is he…?”

“He’s going to pull through,” Barry promised, his voice gentle. “We’re keeping him sedated at the moment. As you can see, his injuries were extensive.”

“Where,” Cass said, her tone making it less of a question and more of a demand as she got out of bed. Dick and Jason were right behind her.

“Next door,” Barry told them. “But you really shouldn’t be—”

“Don’t,” Damian informed him, his eyes glittering dangerously. Barry wisely stepped aside.

Steph followed the others out into the passageway and into the room next door. The first thing she saw was Clark, standing to one side with a grim expression.

And then all her focus went to the still form lying on the medical cot in the center of the room, machines beeping steadily around him.

Steph swallowed hard. It was wrong seeing Bruce like this. Bruce didn’t get knocked down. He didn’t get hospitalized. He took the punch and then he got back up again. It was infuriating, sometimes, how stubborn he was. Especially when that stubbornness was turned against her or one of the others. He could be so intractable, especially when the shields he wore around his heart went up. Those had been the moments when Steph had wondered, in some deep part of herself, whether Bruce truly cared about her—or any of them—at all.

But as she took in all the bandages and casts, the bumps and bruises, Steph could see exactly how hard he’d fought for her—for all of them—like it was a message written directly onto his skin.

“He didn’t let himself collapse until he knew all of you were safe.” Clark’s voice startled Steph out of her reverie. “I don’t even know how he was still standing when we got to him. I’ve seen Bruce do a lot of incredible things, but this was…” he trailed off, shaking his head.

Steph blinked away the sudden burn of tears in her eyes and cleared her throat. “Can you get some chairs in here?” she asked.

“You sure you don’t want to rest some more?” Clark asked, frowning a little. “We can watch over him while you recover.”

“We’re staying,” Dick stated firmly, before Steph could. The others nodded. “We’ll watch him until he wakes up.”

Clark’s frown turned into a rueful smile. “Guess I should’ve expected that,” he said. “You guys really are alike.”

“Yeah, well, he’s a bad influence,” Jason muttered as he leaned against a nearby wall, getting a clean line of sight on Bruce’s bed.

“Whatever you say,” Clark chuckled. “I’ll be right back with those chairs.”

Cass stepped up beside Steph as Clark slipped out the door. “He’ll be okay,” she said, looking at Steph, but speaking to all of them.

“I know he will,” Steph replied, determined. “We’ll make sure of it.”

*

Bruce fought his way to consciousness and forced his eyes open.

"Where--?" he rasped, ignoring all the aches and pains clamoring for his attention.

"We're here, Bruce," Dick's voice came from somewhere to his left. "We're all right here. We're fine."

Bruce blinked to clear his vision and let his gaze drift from one face to the next, making sure every single person was accounted for. The relief that swept through him afterward was better than any painkiller. 

"Go back to sleep," Jason told him gruffly, using the tone he always did when he was feeling something big and wanted to hide it. "You shouldn't be awake yet."

"Okay," Bruce said tiredly, eyes already fluttering closed. 

"We'll be here when you wake up," Steph said. "Promise."

Bruce drifted gently back to sleep.

Chapter Text

“Okay, Jon is officially adorable,” Cassie grinned at Conner. “And he’s clearly awestruck by you. How’s it feel being a role model?”

“Weird,” Conner admitted. Tim snorted. Conner always thought of himself as a bit of a rebel, but he was much closer to Clark in temperament than he’d ever admit. “Anyway, thanks for letting him tag along today,” Conner continued. “Clark thought it was a good idea for Jon to get some experience working with a bigger team and Jon really wanted it to be you guys.”

“Smart kid,” Tim smiled. “We’re way cooler than the Justice League.”

“I mean, obviously,”  Bart agreed. He fidgeted a little, his gaze darting over toward where Jon was standing and away again. “But, like, did Robin have to come too?”

Tim sighed and shot a quick glance in Damian’s direction, making sure the kid wasn’t listening in. He seemed fairly engrossed in whatever Jon was saying, so Tim figured it was safe.

“Jon insisted,” Conner shrugged.

“I don't understand how those two are friends,” Cassie said, openly staring at the duo.

“I’m not even sure Damian understands it,” Tim admitted. The few times Tim had seen Jon and Damian together, Tim had caught Damian staring at Jon when Jon wasn't looking, an expression very like bemusement on his face. Tim suspected that Damian had never intended to become best friends with Jon and couldn't quite figure out how things had ended up that way. 

Dick, on the other hand, hadn't been surprised at all--though he sometimes liked to jokingly bemoan that Jon was stealing Damian away. Even though Tim knew that Damian knew Dick was just kidding around, he could tell the kid was flustered by Dick's comments. It was as though he wasn't used to having people fight over who got to spend time with him outside of training and missions. 

It was as though he wasn't used to people caring much about him in that way at all. The thought made Tim sad. He knew what it was like to be lonely and he wouldn't wish that on anyone.

"It's Jon," Conner said, startling Tim out of his thoughts. "He has that effect on people. Kinda wish he didn't sometimes, though."

Tim frowned at him, confused. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing,” Conner replied. “Just didn’t expect him to bring Damian along. I actually thought this day was gonna be fun.”

“He’s so bossy,” Bart said, wrinkling his nose. “And does he have to scowl all the time? Even Batman doesn’t do that.”

“I don’t trust him,” Cassie added, her expression serious. “I feel like I can’t focus on the mission when he’s around because I always have to have one eye watching him. He’s too influenced by his training with the League of Assassins.”

Tim stared at her—at all of them. “Hold on,” he said. “I’ve trained with League members. So has Cass. And Jason. And Bruce. You can’t hold that against him.”

"That’s different,” Conner told him. “I mean, you’re you. It’s not the same.”

“Damian hurt you,” Bart agreed.

Something hot sparked in Tim’s chest. He understood that his friends were trying to protect him—to show their loyalty and love for him. He even understood that he’d made similar arguments about Damian before—to Bruce and to Dick.

But, somehow, hearing it all said out loud in the here and now made him want to scream. He had no idea what that feeling was and why he was feeling it now, but it was so strong that he couldn’t ignore it.

“Whatever problems Damian and I have had, it’s in the past,” Tim informed them. “He’s changing. He’s genuinely trying to do better and I don’t think you appreciate how hard that is for him, given his upbringing with the League—which he didn’t ask for, by the way. Unlike Bruce and me, who actually went looking for League training.”

“Tim—” Cassie started, looking both guilty and earnest.

Tim held up a hand to stop her. “I get it. You guys are just looking out for me and I love you for that. But I don’t want to hear you talking about Damian like that again. I’m not saying you have to forgive him for everything he did to me, but I do expect you to treat him with respect and trust that his intentions are genuine. And if you can’t do that, then trust my judgment that what he needs right now are people supporting him the same way that we always support each other. Got it?”

“Got it,” Bart said, hanging his head.

“Yeah,” Conner said. “Got it.”

Cassie met Tim’s steady gaze. “He’s really changing?” she asked.

“He really is,” Tim said.

Cassie nodded slowly. “Okay.”

Tim let out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. All at once, it hit him that the feeling he hadn’t been able to identify before was the same thing he’d seen from Dick a hundred thousand times when someone went after the other members of the family—that big brother instinct to protect.

Which was…huh. Tim had never particularly felt like a big brother to Damian, but he supposed that was exactly what he was. And sure, he and Damian had a rocky past and a hell of a lot of ground to cover before the two of them would ever be considered close, but maybe…just maybe…this was a good place to start.

Tim turned away, his head still buzzing with the realization, to find Damian’s eyes locked on him. Tim blanched a little as he realized that Damian had heard the entire exchange between him and the others. As had Jon—if the disappointed look he was shooting Conner was anything to go by.

For a long moment, Damian’s gaze traced Tim’s face, seemingly searching for something—though Tim had no idea what. Then, Damian dipped his head in a nod.

Tim felt his lips twitch in a smile as he nodded back.

Yeah. This was definitely a good place to start.      

*

Dick cornered him a few days later. 

"I heard what you did for Damian," he said. "Thank you."

Tim startled. "He told you?"

Dick snorted. "Nah. Jon told Clark and Clark told me."

"Yeah, that makes way more sense," Tim agreed. "And it was nothing."

"It wasn't nothing," Dick replied. "Not to me and not to him. It's good for Damian to know he's got more people in his corner."

"Yeah, well," Tim said, scuffing his foot against the ground. He didn't know how Dick still had the power to embarrass him with his earnestness, but he did. "It was the right thing to do."

Dick smiled. "You've got a good heart, Tim. So does Damian, though he'll never admit it. I was worried when I went to Bludhaven that I wouldn't be able to help Damian when he needed it. I'm so glad to know that he has you watching out for him."

"Okay, sheesh," Tim said, ducking his head so Dick didn't see how he was blushing. "I get it."

Dick chuckled. "A little praise is all it takes to embarrass you?" he asked, seeing right through him. "Aw, Timmers. I'm going to have to work on that."

"Please don't," Tim practically begged.

Dick shook his head, but mercifully changed the subject. "So how does it feel to be a big brother?"

"Weird," Tim admitted.

"You're gonna be great at it," Dick informed him. "And anyone who messes with Damian is gonna be in a heap of trouble."

"I'll do my best." 

Dick caught and held his gaze. "Your best is amazing, Tim."

Tim felt his whole face light up bright red. "Oh my god, stop."

Dick laughed. Tim glared at him.

"But Tim," Dick complained, laying it on thick. Tim could tell he was being teased, but he could also tell that Dick meant every word, which made it so much worse. "It's true! I'm so proud of you and everything that you've become!"

"I'm leaving," Tim informed him. "Don't follow me."

"Wait! I haven't told you how good your detective skills are yet! Tim! Come back!"

Chapter Text

Tim rolled his left shoulder a few times, a dull ache already forming. At least it hadn’t been dislocated during the fight. He glanced around the street, scanning his teammates for any sign of injury. Everyone looked alright—though admittedly, it was difficult to put a dent in a Kryptonian, an Amazon, and a speedster.

It had helped to have Jon and Damian along, too. After the first time, Tim had made a point of inviting the two of them back to run the occasional mission with Young Justice. Jon certainly enjoyed it and Tim was pretty sure Damian did too, even if he’d never admit it--at least, not to Tim. Dick had given Tim all the confirmation he needed. Along with an effusive helping of praise every time they spoke. Tim had started screening his calls in public. He was getting tired of people asking why he was blushing. 

As for Tim’s friends, they’d taken what Tim said to heart. Maybe they hadn’t warmed up to Damian quite yet, but they’d stopped badmouthing him and genuinely listened when he’d laid out a plan for today’s mission. It was a start, at least, and Tim appreciated that they were trying to—

“Hey!” Bart said, nudging Damian with an elbow. “That was a nice move you did back there—you know, the sword thing? I liked that!”

Damian startled, but recovered himself quickly. “That was—it was nothing.”

“No, Impulse is right,” Conner agreed. Jon beamed at him. “It was cool.”

“Excuse me!” one of the patrol officers who’d just arrived at the scene waved at Tim. “They said you could give me a statement about what happened here?”

“Be right there!” Tim called back, lingering as Damian shuffled his feet a little awkwardly.

“Wonder Woman actually showed it to me,” Damian admitted, dodging their praise.

“I thought it looked familiar!” Cassie exclaimed. “I didn’t know she trained you!”

“It was just one sparring session,” Damian shrugged.

“Sir!” the patrol officer called again.

“Yes, of course!” Tim replied, pulling himself away. He couldn’t stop smiling.

He’d known his friends would come around. This was definitely a good start.

*

“Ohmygodohmygod, he’s baaaaaaack!” Bart squealed, throwing himself at Goliath. The dragon bat huffed at him affectionately. “Hello, you absolute beauty! Did you miss me? Huh? Did ya?”

“Hey, quit hogging him!” Cassie said, elbowing Bart out of the way just in time to get an enthusiastic lick from Goliath. “Yes, hello lovely. Oh, it’s been too long!”

“Incoming!” Conner warned, before picking Goliath up in a bear hug. The dragon bat countered by climbing on top of him, practically smothering Conner in red fur.

Tim approached Damian, who was watching all of this with a bemused look on his face.

“Not so terrible, are they?” Tim said, nodding toward his friends.

Damian cleared his throat, smoothing his expression into impassivity. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “Uh-huh. Sure.”

“Well. Anyone with a modicum of good sense would like Goliath,” Damian sniffed.

“They like you too, you know,” Tim informed him.

“Tt,”  Damian said. But Tim caught the glance he threw in the team’s direction, his expression unusually unguarded.

Tim hid his smile. “Come on,” he said, heading for the others. “We better get in there before they try to kidnap Goliath.”

“They’d better not,” Damian said, collecting himself.

“Not sure you could stop them,” Tim said.

Damian scowled, but he didn’t seem to mean it. “I know where the Kryptonite is stored,” he started to threaten, before Goliath caught sight of him and tackled him to the ground, nuzzling his giant head into Damian’s chest.

“Awwww,”  Cassie and Bart cooed at the same time.

Tim snorted. He’d been right—bringing Goliath along had been an excellent idea.

*

“Please!”  Jon begged. He was so upset that he’d started talking at super-speed. Only years of dealing with Bart allowed Tim to parse through some of what he was saying. He caught the words Damian, trouble, and help, and he was already heading for the door, grabbing his utility belt as he ran.

“Wait!”

Tim pulled up short as Bart zipped in front of him, blocking the exit.

“Get out of my way,” Tim said, surprised at how calmly his voice came out, given what he was feeling inside.

“It’s Faust,” Conner said, putting his arms protectively around Jon. Tim wasn’t entirely sure if he was doing it to keep Jon from flying off or to keep him upright. Tim had never seen the younger Kryptonian in such rough shape before. “We can’t go charging in. You know how we are against magic. We need backup.”

“Fine,” Tim said. “You get backup. I’ll go.”

“Tim—”

“I’m not leaving him!” Tim shouted, losing his temper. He took a deep breath and at a normal volume, added, “I can’t do nothing.”

“No one's asking you to leave him,” Cassie said, stepping forward. "We just need a plan."

"You don't get it," Jon said softly. "He--Faust wanted me. Said something about 'making me a sacrifice' or whatever. Damian got me out--took my place. Because he thinks...he thinks..."

Tim took over when Jon broke down. "He thinks it's a better trade. That everyone is worth saving except himself."

Jon nodded at him, the tears in his eyes spilling over. "It's not true."

"I know it isn't," Tim replied. 

"That is the stupidest--!" Cassie started, sounding indignant. "Of course it isn't true! Damian's a good kid! How could he not know that?"

"We gotta get him," Bart said with renewed urgency.

Conner looked at Tim, grim determination in his eyes. "What's the play?"

Tim took a breath, his teammates' resolve calming him somewhat. He spared a moment to marvel at their change in attitude toward Damian. He was so grateful they'd given the boy a chance to show them the heart that he hid beneath that hard exterior, that he wasn't the same person he used to be.

"Okay, okay. Cassie and Bart come with me. Bart and I get Damian out while Cassie distracts Faust--you handle magic better than the rest of us. In the meantime, Conner and Jon will get Zatanna or Raven or Constantine or just whoever you can find first, basically," he said. "Just get me someone with magic."

"On it," Conner said. He looked down at Jon. "Can you fly?"

Jon steeled his spine and nodded. "Yeah. I...I might not be as fast as normal, but I can do it." He glanced over at Tim. "Just get him back."

"We will," Tim promised. 

*

“Are you alright? Are you hurt?” Tim asked urgently, not even waiting for Damian’s reply before checking him over for injuries. Raven, Cassie, and Bart were still battling Faust inside the building, but this was where Tim needed to be.

“I’m fine,” Damian said, gently pushing his hands away. “Is Superboy…?”

“He’s fine,” Tim promised. “He’s with Kon. I told them not to get too close in case Faust tried something, but they'll come if we need them."

“Good,” Damian said, his shoulders sagging a bit with relief. He glanced at Tim. “I, uh. Thanks. For coming.”

“You know I’d never leave you to get hurt, right?” Tim said, looking Damian in the eye and willing him to hear the truth in his words.

Damian looked at him and then down and away. “I wouldn’t leave you, either,” he said softly.

Tim smiled. Damian glanced up, saw Tim's expression, and quickly scowled.

“Even though you’re insufferable,” the boy added, trying to sound like his usual self.

“Yep. That’s me,” Tim grinned. “Completely insufferable.”

“Tt,”  Damian clicked his tongue at him. He glanced toward the building where the other Young Justice members were still fighting. “Your friends are…they’re adequate, I suppose.”

Tim snorted. “Yeah, alright. Adequate,”  he muttered playfully. “Shall we give them a hand?”

“More like show them how it’s done,” Damian said, throwing a tiny daredevil smile in Tim’s direction.

Tim laughed. “You’re on!”   

Chapter Text

The first time they meet up, it’s to trade information. Jason goes in uniform, hoping there won’t be a fight, but ready for one just in case. He finds Tim lounging around on the balcony, dressed in civvies and eating breakfast. To the casual observer, Tim would appear perfectly at ease.

But Jason’s not a casual observer. He can tell Tim has a few batarangs on his person, a grappling gun hidden under the table, and some smoke grenades within easy reach. Jason doesn’t begrudge him the precautions. Some of their past encounters have been…less than ideal, to say the least. Jason regrets his hostility, now that the Lazarus Pit doesn't loom quite so large in his mind.

He's thought about apologizing, but unfortunately, I’m sorry doesn’t usually mean a whole lot to people you’ve tried to kill before. At least, not in Jason’s personal experience. So instead Jason keeps his mouth shut and braces for a fight.

Despite Jason’s fears, the meeting goes pleasantly enough. There’s tension, but not as much as Jason had been expecting.

Even so, Jason’s frankly stunned when Tim invites him to stick around and eat something. Tim seems the teeniest bit surprised at the offer himself—like maybe he hadn’t quite meant to say it out loud—but he hides it well.

“You realize if Bruce were here he wouldn’t appreciate you being so nice to me,” Jason says, giving Tim an out if he wants one. He hadn’t meant to sound quite so bitter when he said it, but he can’t help himself.

“You realize Bruce isn’t here,” Tim counters, sticking by his invitation.

The gesture impresses Jason enough into a moment of honesty. “I…wasn’t always the nicest guy in the world to you, either, Drake.”

And yeah, it’s a shit apology, but Tim’s never really going to forgive him for what went down, so what’s the point?

But Tim surprises him again. “You came back to life, Jason,” he says. “After you were murdered. That was a lot to digest. I get it. Maybe we’ll all get it some day.”

Jason blinks at him, grateful the helmet hides his expression. That’s…well, it’s a hell of a lot more understanding than anyone else in the family—except maybe Alfred—has shown him since he returned. And to hear it coming from the Replacement of all people…

Jason sits down at the table. He eats breakfast with Tim. It’s a little awkward, the conversation stilted and stumbling between them. There are a lot of weird silences.

But, Jason admits to himself after he’s back with the Outlaws, it wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

In fact, it was kinda nice.

*

The second time they meet up for breakfast is sheer coincidence.

Calling it breakfast might be a stretch since it’s actually about 4 a.m., just after Jason’s wrapped up an exhausting patrol in Gotham. But it is technically morning and there’s food involved. So, yeah. Breakfast.

He doesn’t intend for it to be a thing. He hadn’t even known the Replacement was going to be there until he’d literally bumped into him coming through the door of his favorite doughnut shop. Tim gapes at him, clearly caught off guard, clutching a pastry box to his chest.

“I…uh…” Tim stammers nervously. He looks incredibly young when he's not wearing the Robin uniform. Had Jason ever looked that young? “I wasn’t…I know I’m not supposed to be here. I’m sorry. I promise I’m leaving—”

Jason frowns at his reaction, before remembering that they’re technically in Jason’s territory at the moment and he’d made a very public, very violent point about Bats being on his turf when he first started up as the Red Hood.

“It’s okay,” Jason tells him, intentionally relaxing his own body posture so that he’s not giving off any signals that he might attack. “You’re obviously not here to mess with me.”

“I’m not,” Tim agrees fervently. “I just love this place.”

“Best doughnut shop in the city,” Jason says, grinning despite himself.

“Also the only one that’s open right now,” Tim adds.

“Hey, no qualifiers,” Jason tells him. “It’s the best. Period.”

Tim shakes his head, smiling. “You wanna share?” he offers, holding up the doughnut box.

Jason feels his eyebrows going up, still just as surprised as he was the first time Tim had offered to share a meal with him. “You sure?”

Tim shrugs. “I may have gone a little overboard. I always buy too much food.”

“I…” Jason hesitates, but he can’t really find a reason to say no. “Alright.”

They end up splitting the box between them, sitting with their legs dangling over the edge of a nearby rooftop as they wait for the sun to rise. It’s weird hanging out on a roof, dressed in civvies, with Tim of all people, but then again, Jason’s life is full of weird.

Their conversation this time is…well, it’s still awkward, but it’s slightly less awkward than the time before. Tim is actually kinda funny, which Jason hadn’t been expecting. He also doesn’t take every opportunity to lecture Jason about his life choices like Bruce or Dick would’ve done.

“I’ll see you around,” Tim says when they decide it's time to head back to their respective safe houses and get some sleep.

“Sure,” Jason says, a little bewildered by the idea that Tim might want to see him around. “See ya.”

*

Jason starts bumping into Tim a lot after that. At least once every time he’s in Gotham, sometimes more than that. The first couple of times he thinks it’s an accident, but it becomes too regular an occurrence for Jason not to realize that Tim is seeking him out on purpose.

He genuinely doesn’t understand it. He’s tried to put himself in Tim’s shoes, but that doesn’t really help. A lot of people have tried to kill Jason, but Jason doesn’t want to hang out with any of them. He certainly wouldn’t want to have breakfast with the Joker.

So why the hell is Tim making so much of an effort to be around him?

*

The dam breaks early one morning after a horrid night of patrolling. Jason blames the lack of sleep and the build-up of stress he’s faced from the last few Outlaw missions.

But the reality is that he and Tim are just sitting on a roof, chatting idly as they share another box of doughnuts, when Jason blurts out, “Why are you here?”

“Um,” Tim frowns at him, pointing to the box of doughnuts between them in response. “I’m hungry?”

Jason folds his knees into his chest, frustrated. “No, I mean, why are you here?  Why are you talking to me? Why would you ever even want to talk to me if you didn’t have to?” A sudden idea occurs to him. “Did…Are you here because of Bruce? Did he put you up to this? If he’s making you check up on me, you can tell him to fuck right off—”

“Whoa!” Tim says, sounding alarmed. He throws his hands up in an effort to get Jason to stop talking. “Bruce didn’t send me. He doesn’t even know I’m here. I promise.”

“Then…” Jason looks at him helplessly. He doesn’t know how to finish that sentence. He barely knows what he’s trying to ask.

“I just like hanging out with you,” Tim says with a shrug.

“Why?”  Jason demands, the question sounding harsh even to his own ears. “Tim, I tried to kill you. Why the fuck would you want to be anywhere near me?”

Tim is silent for a long moment, his sharp eyes studying Jason’s face. Jason ducks his head a little, uncomfortably under Tim’s gaze.

“That wasn’t you,” Tim says at last, his voice quiet. “Not really.”

“Tim—”

“It wasn’t you,”  Tim insists, cutting him off. “The Lazarus Pit—”

“Tim.”  It’s Jason’s turn to interrupt. “I know the Lazarus Pit was influencing me. I know that. I can feel the difference. But underneath, it was still me. The Pit gave me the rage, but I gave it direction. I chose to go after you. I chose.” Jason shakes his head, voice choking in his throat. “And that’s…it’s unforgivable.”

“Is that what you really think?” Tim asks softly.

Jason looks at him bleakly.

Tim returns his stare. “Are you sorry?”

Jason makes a sound somewhere between a sob and a laugh. “Of course I’m sorry. God, I’m so sorry. Whatever else I was mad about, you didn’t deserve that.”

Tim nods. “Then I forgive you.”

Jason blinks at him. “You can’t…it’s not that easy, Tim.”

“What you did was really shitty and terrifying and I definitely had nightmares about it for months afterward,” Tim informs him and Jason winces. Here it comes--the blame he rightfully deserves. “But I thought about it and I looked into it, and it became pretty clear that you weren’t fully in control of yourself. You were also going through a lot of shitty things yourself at the time. So I decided to give you another chance. And since then, you haven’t given me any reason to be scared of you at all.”

“So, you’re right,” Tim continues, seemingly unaware of how Jason’s gaping at him. “It’s not easy, but it is simple. I forgive you. I actually forgave you a long time ago, if you want to know the truth.”

It occurs to Jason in that moment that Tim might possibly be one of the best people he’s ever met.

It also occurs to him that, short of intentionally scaring the kid off by hurting him, Jason’s probably not going to convince Tim to leave him alone.

He’s…surprisingly okay with that.

“I’m going to be out of town for a month or so,” Jason says abruptly, his voice still rough with emotion.

Tim looks at him. Jason sees the glimmer of disappointment before Tim carefully tucks it away. “Yeah,” the kid says. “Okay.”

Jason takes a breath. “Breakfast together when I get back?” he offers.

And Tim…his entire face lights up. It sparks an answering smile on Jason’s face because how could it not?

“Yeah,” Tim says again, with a lot more enthusiasm this time. “I’ll see you there.”

Chapter Text

Tim comes to slowly, automatically cataloging the aches and pains all over his body. He can tell he’s in the Batcave before he opens his eyes, just from the feel of the medical cot underneath him. His bed in Drake Manor is way more comfortable.

“You’re alright, Master Timothy,” Alfred’s voice soothes from nearby as Tim rubs his eyes and shifts fully into consciousness.

“Good to know,” Tim rasps. Alfred is instantly there, handing him a cup of water. Tim accepts it gratefully. “Concussion?” he asks in a clearer voice once he’s had a few sips.

“It doesn’t appear so, but I’d like you to take a few days off from patrol, just to be safe,” Alfred replies. “Master Bruce concurs.”

“Where is Bruce?” Tim wonders, glancing around.

“An urgent matter called him away,” Alfred says, his expression soft. “He did everything he could to get out of it, but…”

“It’s alright,” Tim tells him. He even means it. He and Bruce had come a long way since those early days, when Tim had taken up the Robin mantle in direct opposition to Bruce’s wishes. He knows Bruce would be here if he could, even though seeing Tim get hurt is difficult for Bruce. Jason’s death had left a lot of scars, many of which Bruce was still healing from.

Tim startles suddenly, realization flashing through him.

Jason.

“What time is it?” he asks, striving to keep his voice casual.

“Almost noon,” Alfred answers. “I decided it best to let you sleep.”

“Right. Thanks,” Tim says, hiding his disappointment as best he can. He’d had plans to meet Jason for breakfast after patrol. Hopefully, Jason wouldn’t think Tim had ditched him on purpose. Tim really doesn’t want things between them to backslide, especially now that he’s finally gotten Jason to trust him a little.

Which means Tim probably has some groveling to do in the near future. He’d text Jason to tell him what happened, but Tim doesn’t have his number.

It doesn’t matter. Tim will figure something out. He always does.

*

Tim has already made a plan—and several contingencies—when a soft tap-tap-tap on his bedroom window at Drake Manor that night throws everything into disarray.

“Jason?”  Tim hisses in disbelief as the boy in question slides his window open without any trouble at all. “What are you doing here?”

“Heard about what happened,” Jason says, choosing to sit on the windowsill instead of entering the room. He seems…hesitant, almost embarrassed, though Tim can’t for the life of him figure out why.

He also doesn’t know how Jason might have heard about Tim’s little accident on patrol, but Tim can only deal with one thing at a time right now.

“I’m alright,” Tim says. He can tell he's smiling like an idiot right now, but he can’t quite get his face muscles to stop.

Jason came to check in on him.

Jason did.

Just…wow.

“But sorry I missed breakfast,” Tim adds hurriedly. “I would’ve texted or something, but—”

“It’s cool,” Jason says, throwing up a hand to stop him mid-apology. “Not your fault. I just wanted to…I don’t know. Say hi, I guess. I can go now.”

“No, wait!” Tim calls after him, taking two quick steps forward. “You can come in. There’s some stuff in the kitchen if you’re hungry. I was gonna make dinner soon anyway.”

Jason pauses on the windowsill and gives him a funny look. “Isn’t your dad home?”

“Business trip,” Tim shrugs. “It’s just me here.”

Jason’s expression dips into a frown. “Then why aren’t you staying with Bruce?”

Tim shrugs again. “I, uh, don't really stay at the Manor with them.”

“That’s bullshit,” Jason says instantly and with feeling.

“I don’t…” Tim struggles. He has no idea how to respond. “It’s safer for both of us. If I stay here. So my dad won’t get suspicious.”

Jason takes a breath and looks away for a moment, hiding whatever expression is on his face. When he turns back, he seems calm again.

“Dinner sounds nice,” he says and hops into Tim’s room. It takes Tim a moment to respond because holy shit Robin is standing in his room and his brain just can’t handle it.

“Uh, yeah!” Tim finally manages. “This way!”

He leads the way down to the kitchen, feeling like he’s floating with every step.

Jason wants to hang out with him.

Jason stayed.

This is the best day ever.

*

Tim doesn’t really understand how or when he and Jason became friends, but now that it’s happened, Tim is going to do everything in his power to keep it that way. Too many people have hurt Jason.

Tim’s determined not to be one of them.

*

“I didn’t bring him here,” Tim says, pleading for Jason to understand. “I swear I didn’t bring him.”

He feels like he’s on the verge of a panic attack. He can’t tell if he’s more furious at himself for not paying more attention to his surroundings or at Dick for fucking following him.

“Tim,”  Jason says sharply and Tim stops. He realizes that his freakout is probably not helping Jason, who looks like he’s pretty damn close to a freakout of his own.

Dick studies them both, face unusually impassive.

“You’re friends with him?” Dick says after a moment. Tim honestly isn’t sure which one of them he’s talking to, but decides to answer anyway.

“Yeah,” Tim says, desperate to make Dick understand without saying anything Jason doesn’t want him to say. “I’m…he’s…we’re good now. It’s all good.”

Dick hesitates. And suddenly Tim realizes that the tension he’s seeing in Dick’s frame isn’t the precursor to an attack. It’s something else—something Tim thinks might be closer to longing.

“I want to…” Dick starts and then stops, looking at Jason. He shakes his head. “Tim has my number if you want it. I’m…I’d like to hear from you. If that’s what you want too. I understand if…if you don’t.”

Jason says nothing. He seems frozen in place.

Dick studies him for a long moment before turning to Tim. “Bruce asked me to check in on you. He knows something is going on. I’ll stall him if I can, but…just be ready. You can’t hide things from him forever.”

“Thanks,” Tim says fervently—for the warning, for understanding, for…well, everything.

Dick casts another long look at Jason and then turns and walks away. Tim can tell how hard it is for him to leave, but the older man doesn’t look back.

Jason sucks in a huge gasp of air the second Dick is out of sight.

“You okay?” Tim asks tentatively, hoping he still has the right to ask. Hoping Jason still considers him a friend after this.

“Sure,” Jason lies. He doesn't ask Tim to leave or try to run off, so Tim thinks maybe, just maybe, the two of them are okay.

And though he knows he probably shouldn’t push, Tim feels like it owes it to Dick to offer, “Do you want his number?”

Jason shakes his head. “I…no. I don’t know.” He pauses. “Maybe.” After another moment, he settles on: “Not yet.”

“Okay,” Tim says, backing off. “Whenever you want it, it’s yours. If you want it.”

“Okay,” Jason agrees shakily. “Okay.”

*

A month later, Jason asks for Dick’s number.

A few weeks after that, Tim gets a short text from Dick that warms him all the way down to his toes.

Thank you.

*

And then, one morning, Bruce is just…there.

He doesn’t approach—doesn’t even really show himself—but both boys have been trained well enough to know he’s lurking nearby.

“Do you want to leave?” Tim asks quietly.

Jason’s jaw clenches. He looks decidedly uncomfortable, but doesn’t move an inch. “No. Fuck him. I’m not leaving just because he wants to be a creep.”

Tim can’t help it. He snorts. “He is being super stalker-y right now."

Jason’s lips twitch a little. “Classic him, right?”

“Totally.”

“Wouldn’t know how to handle an emotion if it came with an instruction manual.”

Tim laughs. He probably shouldn’t, but he can’t not.

Jason’s smile grows a little. “Come on, just ignore him. I’m starving.”

*

Bruce stalks them for another two months before Jason breaks.

“Oh just get over here, you asshole!” he yells across the rooftops, startling Tim and almost making him choke on his bite of doughnut.

Bruce emerges from the shadows and cautiously joins them. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t sit down—just ends up hovering over the two of them like he’s not quite sure if he’s allowed to do anything more.

Tim looks at Jason, wide-eyed and desperately curious to see how this will go.

But Jason just rolls his eyes. “Sit down and have a doughnut,” he orders Bruce.

Bruce meekly sits and accepts the doughnut he’s offered.

“This doesn’t mean I forgive you,” Jason informs him. “And don’t even try to talk to me. I’m not ready.”

Bruce takes a bite of his doughnut and says nothing. Jason watches him warily for a moment, then turns back to Tim and pretends like Bruce isn’t there.

Tim follows Jason’s lead, but he can’t help but smile to himself a bit.

For the first time, he thinks things might just end up alright.

Chapter Text

Jason doesn’t know what comes over him when he invites Bruce over and hands him a doughnut. Later, he rationalizes it as a test. He wants to see if Bruce can actually respect the boundaries he’s setting or if the old man will do what he always does—which is whatever the hell he wants.

(It certainly isn’t because Jason misses Bruce. He doesn’t. He can’t. Missing Bruce would hurt too much.)

To his surprise, Bruce does exactly what he’s told and leaves when Tim leaves.

Jason doesn’t really know what to do with that. He goes home feeling all sorts of mixed up inside. After a long day and a restless night, Jason decides it might be best if he gets out of town for a bit. Though he knows in his heart he’s more a Gothamite than Bruce will ever be (the outskirts where the disgustingly rich build their mansions is not Gotham, no matter what Bruce claims), it’s undeniable that the city belongs to Batman. Bruce has left his mark on every building, every street corner, every dark alley.

Which means it’s not exactly the best place for Jason to sort through the storm of emotions churning deep in his chest whenever he thinks about Bruce. He needs some space from it all.

Not waiting to second-guess his decision, Jason calls up Roy and Kory, packs his things, and gets the hell out of Dodge.

After a couple weeks and a long conversation with his friends (and a phone call with Dick that he’ll never, ever admit to having), Jason goes back to the city.

When he and Tim have breakfast, Jason invites Bruce over long enough to tell him, “I decide when or if we talk. If I say go, you go. And I don’t mean back to skulking nearby. I mean you walk your sorry ass all the way back to the Batcave. Got it?”

His heart is beating so fast in his chest that Jason thinks he might pass out. Or throw up. Or pass out and throw up.

Bruce opens his mouth like he’s about to say something, but then flicks his eyes at Tim and back to Jason. He closes his mouth. He nods.

Barely able to speak around the lump in his throat, Jason tells him hoarsely, “Go.”

Bruce goes.

Jason watches him, shocked.

Bruce listened.

He actually fucking listened.

Jason doesn’t know what this feeling is in his chest, but it feels light and free and dangerous.

*

Hope, he realizes later.

It’s hope.

*

He can’t think for very long about his relationship with Bruce or how to mend it (or if he wants to mend it). It’s too much.

Instead, he thinks about Tim.

He’s…confused by the arrangement Bruce and Tim have. Granted, things are a little more complicated because Tim’s father is still around. It makes sense that Tim can’t live at the Manor all the time without people starting to ask some dangerous questions.

But still. As far as Jason can tell, Tim’s father is frequently gone, leaving Tim to rattle around alone in a giant house when he’s not training or going to school or fighting crime.

And sure, living alone in a mansion is still better than being out on the streets, but Tim—for all that he’s Robin—is a kid. Kids shouldn’t be left alone like that. It’s not safe. It’s not healthy.

So why is Bruce letting Tim do it? Jason remembers how Bruce used to take care of him, even if he can’t think about it for too long without wanting to cry or punch something.

It just doesn’t make sense.

Though Jason may not be the detective that Bruce is, he still knows his way around a mystery. He’s going to figure this one out all on his own.

*

Okay fine.

Maybe he can’t do this one on his own.

Fucking shit.

*

Dick looks out over Bludhaven’s skyline, gaze distant and unseeing.

“Bruce changed when you died,” he says in a tone that Jason can’t quite place. “He wasn’t…I mean, I thought I’d seen him at his worst when he kicked me out. But after Ethiopia, he just…he wasn’t Bruce anymore. He was just Batman—all the worst parts of Batman. And he kept sinking deeper and deeper. We could all see he was headed for a place where either he’d kill someone or get himself killed.”

Dick falls silent. Jason doesn’t dare interrupt. He doesn’t know what he’d say anyway.

“I couldn’t help him,” Dick admits softly, turning his face down and away, but not before Jason glimpses what he thinks is shame. “I was in a pretty bad place myself. I knew if I tried to help, Bruce would end up dragging me down with him.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Jason offers, surprised to find himself in a position to offer comfort. Surprised he wants to offer comfort. “It wasn’t your responsibility to save him.”

Dick laughs, but it sounds strangled and miserable. “Wasn’t it? Isn’t that Robin’s job, to save Batman? Isn’t that why Batman needs a Robin?”

Jason feels the weight of that shared responsibility between them, the burden Dick took upon himself that he never meant to pass on—the one Jason stole and died carrying.

“You weren’t Robin,” Jason tells him. “I was. And I failed.”

“You didn’t fail,” Dick says, suddenly fierce as he turns to Jason. “Never think that. Never. We failed you, Jason. All of us—we failed you.”

Jason feels the burn of tears in his eyes and turns away so that Dick won’t see them. It takes a long time for Jason to calm down, but Dick doesn’t rush him. At last, when Jason feels somewhat in control of himself again, he asks, “So how did Tim get the job?”

Dick shakes his head ruefully. “He came to me—knew who I was, who Batman was. Said he’d figured it out when he was nine, can you believe it?” he laughs incredulously. Jason stares at him, waiting for him to claim he’s joking, but he never does. “He asked me to be Robin again, but I…I couldn’t. You were right, just now. About me not being Robin. No matter how much I beat myself up over it, I knew even then that I’m not that person anymore. I don’t think I ever could be again.”

Jason nods slowly. He knows what Dick means. No matter how badly he sometimes wants it, Jason knows the Robin uniform isn’t for him anymore. It doesn’t fit—and not just because Jason has grown a lot since he came back from the dead.

He’s just…he’s not Robin.

“Bruce had sworn never to take another Robin, not after you,” Dick continues and Jason hurriedly pays attention. “And once Tim realized he wouldn’t change my mind, he started going out on his own. He forced Bruce to accept him—forced him back into the light step by step—and swallowed a lot of shitty treatment doing it. I tried to help, but Bruce has drawn some weird lines in the sand.”

“Like not letting Tim stay in the Manor?” Jason confirms. He’s still reeling from the idea that Bruce hadn’t wanted another Robin, that Jason hadn’t been replaced. Tim had said—over and over—that he hadn’t replaced Jason, but Jason hadn't understood what he'd meant until now.

“Exactly,” Dick nods. “You know how Bruce is—he’s so terrified of losing someone that he’d rather not let anyone in. After you…that got taken to a whole new level. I think he’s even convinced himself that this is healthier for Tim, in some weird way.”

“He’s wrong,” Jason says. “The kid shouldn’t be alone.”

“I agree,” Dick replies. “Alfred agrees. But we can’t change his mind.”

Jason says nothing.

But the whole way home, he keeps thinking: I can.

*

If Bruce is startled that Jason has voluntarily set foot in the Batcave, he does a good job hiding it.

“I want to talk about Tim,” Jason tells him, as clearly and firmly as he can. “All the shit between us is off the table, got it?”

“Alright,” Bruce agrees slowly. “But if you’re here to ask me to fire Robin, I—”

“Goddammit, Bruce,” Jason swears at him, caught somewhere between exasperation and fury. “Listen to me. I’m here to talk about Tim. Not Robin. You do remember there’s a difference, right?”

Bruce looks chastised. It’s a fucking miracle, in Jason’s book.

“Sorry,” Bruce apologizes. “I…I’m listening.”

“Right,” Jason says, trying to settle himself again. “Anyway. Stop neglecting the kid. He deserves better and you’re being selfish. Get over it.”

Bruce frowns. “Neglecting?”

Jason rolls his eyes. For such a smart man, Bruce is an idiot sometimes. “Yes. Neglecting. Like when you send him home to that big, empty house after patrol, even when his dad’s not there. Neglecting.”

Bruce shakes his head. “I appreciate your concern, but Tim and I have an understanding—”

“Of course, Tim agrees with you!” Jason bursts out, unable to hold his temper in check anymore. “He’s a kid and he practically fucking worships you. Like I did!” Bruce flinches, but Jason continues mercilessly. “You’re the adult, Bruce. You’re better than this—or, at least, you used to be. You’ve got a responsibility to that kid so fucking see it through.”

Jason doesn’t wait for an answer. He just leaves. And even though he may want to, Jason doesn’t make any ultimatums—doesn’t threaten do this or we’re done—because if Bruce needs conditions to take care of Tim the way he should be, then he’s really not the man Jason thought he was.

*

Tim starts staying at Wayne Manor on the days his father is out of town.

Jason smiles to himself.

He might consider talking to Bruce again.

Might.

*

It takes time to rebuild trust. A lot of time, as it turns out.

But they work at it. It’s hard. No one had warned him how hard it would be. But Bruce and Jason are nothing if not stubborn. At the end of the day, they both want this. So they work through the stumbles and false starts, work through the blame and recriminations, work through the sucky feelings that leave them both crying.

Luckily, Tim is there to help. As are Alfred and Dick.

And eventually, Jason wakes up one morning and realizes he’s got a family again.

It feels pretty fucking good.

Chapter Text

Dick doesn’t visit Gotham very often anymore. Mostly, it’s because he’s busy with the Titans.

It may also have something to do with the fact that he and Bruce don’t get along very well right now. To be fair, things are better than they were when Dick first left—they can sometimes have whole conversations now without one of them yelling or storming off. But still. Lots of space seems to be the healthiest thing for their relationship right now.

Unfortunately, it means that Dick doesn’t spend a whole lot of time with Jason. The initial dislike between them—sparked by Dick’s grief and shock at seeing someone take over an identity so deeply tied to his parents and Jason’s resentment over always being compared to Dick by Bruce—has dissipated somewhat. Enough that Dick feels guilty for not being around for Jason more than he is. He knows how isolating it can be in the Manor. And Dick’s not certain that Jason has any friends who know the Big Secret, which is hard in a whole different way.

So, when he can stomach it, Dick makes the long trip to Gotham and tries to be there for Jason. Alfred—enabler that he is—sometimes manufactures outings for them, so that they can bond without Bruce’s looming shadow. Dick takes Jason to an amusement park, the movies, and—on one memorable occasion—a jazzercise class that they had signed up for on a whim and were kicked out of for trying to upstage one another.

This time, Alfred has convinced Dick to take Jason on a camping trip outside the city limits. Jason has never been camping, so Dick shows him how to set up the tent and prep the campsite.

Jason’s unusually quiet throughout the whole experience—Alfred had mentioned something about Jason needing cheering up—but Dick doesn’t feel like he’s earned the right to pry about specifics. Instead, he watches the kid from across the fire as they roast marshmallows and says the first thing that comes to mind.

“You need a nickname.”

“What?” Jason’s head comes up, startled out of whatever thoughts he’d been having.

“A nickname,” Dick repeats. He has no clue where the idea came from, but his instincts are telling him that Jason needs a distraction and this seems as good a one as any. “You know, an awesome name I can call you.”

“I already have an awesome name,” Jason protests.

“But, like, you could have an even awesomer one,” Dick informs him. “Like T-Bone or something, ‘cause your last name starts with a T.”

“T-Bone?”  Jason repeats incredulously, half-laughing with disbelief. “You are not calling me that.”

“Okay, okay,” Dick waves him off, laughing himself now. “That was a bad example.”

“Can’t you just call me Jay?” Jason asks. “That’s a nickname.”

Dick considers it. “Yeah, but I can’t call you that in the field. It’s too close to your real name.” He thinks some more. “Ooh, what about Jaybird? Cause, like, Robin is a type of bird! And you’re Jay!”

“Super creative,” Jason snarks. “Doesn’t that have the exact same problem as Jay, though?”

“Ugh, you’re right,” Dick frowns. “I’m gonna have to think about it.”

“Why do I feel like this is gonna end up really terrible for me?” Jason wonders.

“You wound me, T-Bone,” Dick manages to say with a straight face. “When have I ever led you astray?”

Jason throws a marshmallow at him. Just to be annoying, Dick catches it in his mouth. Jason rolls his eyes, but he's smiling more than he was before.

Dick counts it as a success.

*

“How about Sparky?” Dick asks next time they meet. It takes every ounce of control Dick has not to burst out laughing at the offended face Jason makes in response.

“Like I’m a dog?”  Jason complains. “No way!”

“It was Roy’s idea,” Dick admits. “To be fair, he did walk in mid-way through the brainstorming session, so I’m not sure he understood the name was for you.”

“Wait, you’ve got your whole team working on this?” Jason asks, cheeks turning red. "I thought you were just joking around about the whole nickname thing."

Dick shrugs. It had started out as a bit of a joke, but now Dick can't stop thinking about it. He doesn't know why, but he really does want to find a nickname for the kid. Plus, it's hilarious to watch Jason squawk in protest every time Dick makes a purposefully bad suggestion, so that's a bonus, too.

“Kory’s top pick was Blossom," Dick says. "But she was just kind of picking words she liked the sound of.”

Jason shudders. “Hell no. You are not calling me Blossom in front of Gotham’s underworld. I'll be laughed out of the city.”

“Donna’s pick was Babybird,” Dick informs him.

Jason pales. “I’d rather be called Blossom,” he says flatly.

“That can be arranged,” Dick replies cheerfully. He dodges Jason's retaliatory swipe with ease.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Jason warns him.

“Alright, alright. I’ll keep looking.”

*

“Feathers.”

“No.”

“Lil Feathers.”

“Still no.”

“Beaky.”

“No. And why are all of these bird-themed?”

“It just feels right! I’ll figure it out eventually.”

“Please stop.”

“I have heard your complaint and I am choosing to ignore it.”

“Great. Thanks so much.”

*

“I’ve got it!” Dick crows triumphantly, rushing into Jason’s room an instant after he’s given permission to enter.

“Got what?” Jason asks distractedly, his nose still buried in his book. Dick flops on the bed, ignoring Jason’s noise of protest.

“Jason. I’ve got it,”  Dick repeats significantly. Jason finally looks up, concerned by his tone.

“Got…oh no,” Jason realizes. He visibly braces himself. “What is it?”

Dick lets the suspense build until he can’t take it any longer. “Little Wing!”

Jason’s answering expression is not properly awed, but Dick generously assumes it’s because the true brilliance of the name has yet to sink in.

“No need to hold your applause,” Dick hints.

“Um…no?” Jason finally replies. “First of all, I’m not little.”

“You are objectively little,” Dick informs him. Jason scowls.

“I am not!”

“You are, though,” Dick says. “Look, you clearly aren’t appreciating how genius this is. Because it is. Pure, unadulterated genius.”

“I don’t think you understand what the word genius means,”  Jason mutters under his breath.

“Stop being so grumpy!” Dick says, ruffling Jason’s hair. He has to somersault off the bed to avoid Jason’s answering attack, but it’s worth it. “You’ll thank me for this later! Everyone’s going to be very jealous of your super-cool nickname.”

“Can’t I just not have a nickname?” Jason pleads.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Dick says as he heads for the door. “I’ll see you on patrol, Little Wing!”

Jason groans.

Dick shakes his head. Jason will come around eventually.

Little Wing is an awesome name.

Chapter Text

“Hey, Little Wing! Over here!”

Jason crosses his arms and refuses to budge. It takes Dick a moment to notice.

“What?” the older boy asks, head tilting inquisitively.

Jason holds his ground. “You know what.”

Dick tries and fails to smother a smile. The bastard. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Little Wing.”

Jason glares. “I’ll just come up with a terrible nickname for you if you don’t stop,” he warns.

Dick’s smile shifts to an annoying smirk. “Oh yeah? Like what?”

“Like…” Jason thinks hard. He needs to pick something that will make Dick see just how terrible Little Wing is as a nickname. “Like what if I called you Big Bird all the time?”

Jason knows he’s made a horrible mistake when Dick’s entire face lights up.

“Oh fuck,” he mutters.

“I LOVE it!” Dick exclaims. “We are totally using these names on patrol tonight!”

Jason puts his face in his hands to muffle a groan.

*

The truth is, Jason kinda likes having a nickname--even if it is a stupid one.

He’ll die before he admits it to Dick, though. He’d never hear the end of it.

*

Jason comes out of the Lazarus Pit with a lot of pain and rage and not much else. The Pit burns so bright and hot within him that it’s hard to find space for anything else. Even his memories from before he died are hazy and distant, dissolving like mist on a warm day when he reaches for them.

But he knows enough.

He knows Dick resented him.

He knows Bruce regretted taking him in.

He knows the Joker killed him.

He knows no one cared enough to avenge him.

He knows he’s been replaced.

Why the hell would he want his memories back? He’s got enough pain to deal with for two lifetimes.

*

Jason squares off with Dick on a rooftop somewhere in the heart of the city. Dick looks uncharacteristically grim, but then, Jason does have a loaded gun pointed at his chest.

“Give up now, Hood,” Dick orders. “This isn’t going to end well for you.”

“I’d be more worried about you,”  Jason snarls back. “Robins drop like flies around here.”

The expression on Dick’s face darkens. If Jason was capable of feeling fear anymore, he might’ve actually been scared. But with the Pit rage numbing his system, Jason doesn’t feel anything at all.

“Don’t you fucking dare talk about him,” Dick growls, sounding more like Batman in that moment than he ever has. “You don’t know anything.”

It takes Jason a moment to process this and then he’s laughing.

Dick doesn’t know yet. He doesn’t know who the Red Hood is. Bruce didn’t tell him.

Oh, this is going to be fun.

“I know everything,”  Jason counters, savoring the way Dick frowns in confusion. It’s so rare to catch the golden boy off-balance. “I know how you resented him, how you ignored him, how you blamed him for taking your place.”

“That…that’s not true,” Dick protests, his voice filled with hurt and anger and bewilderment. “I didn’t…who the hell are you?”

“Oh, come on,”  Jason taunts. “You were always the better detective—at least, that’s what Bruce used to say. You were always better at everything, according to him.”

Dick’s expression goes slack with shock. Jason watches him, feeling the same savage satisfaction he felt when he revealed his identity to Bruce.

That’s right, he gloats, eyes never leaving Dick’s face. You did this. You turned me into this.

Jason braces for what comes next: the denial, the anger, the pity—and then, sure as the sun rises, the self-righteousness thick enough to choke on.

I can’t let you hurt anyone else, Jason. I have to take you in.