Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

   Tim dumped Jason onto the hotel bed, barely avoiding falling on top of him. “Well that sucked.”

   Jason groaned as he sank into the mattress, his face squished an an awkward angle. “I’m just gonna… stay here. For a while.”

   Tim shook his head, mildly annoyed even through his tired stupor. “That was the longest stakeout I’ve ever had to do in Germany. Ever. Sit up already; gotta get that bullet outta your leg.”

   Jason gave him a particularly nasty look. The effect was lost, since he was half-smothered in a nice silk bedspread.

   Tim mustered a frown as he pulled the med-kit from beneath the bed, where it’d been stashed before their week-long stakeout. “It’s not my fault you got shot.” A pause. “Actually…”

   “Oh my God.” Jason hauled himself into a sitting position, hissing through his teeth. “You can not possibly blame tonight on yourself.”

   “I could have recalibrated my scanner. Or pulled their location sooner. Or---”

   “Yeah, we get it, you’re not good enough.” Jason huffed tiredly as he settled on the edge of the bed. “Hurry it up; ‘m getting blood on the blanket.”

   Tim couldn’t help a snort. This high-profile hotel was the kind that unhinged mega-rich supervillains used when on vacation. Blood was not something the maids would be entirely shocked by. “I don’t know whether to be insulted that you said that or flattered that you know how my brain works.”

   “Be flattered. I don’t have the energy for an argument tonight.”

   Tim took a moment to steady his hands before getting to work on Jason’s leg. It didn’t take long, but the blood, which normally would have done nothing but alarmed him, caused some nausea. He stayed silent as he concentrated, and the only sounds that followed were Jason’s occasional complaining grunts.

   “Thanks,” he sighed when Tim was finishing up the stitches.

   Tim glanced up, attempting another glare. “You could have died.”

   Jason raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, no shit. So could you. That’s why we’re here, isn’t it?”

   Tim squeezed his eyes shut for a moment before continuing his work. “Yeah. I just. It just would have sucked, if you died. Again. Since, y’know, I never said sorry.”

   Jason was silent for a very long time. When Tim finished bandaging the wound, he finally glanced up. The older man’s face was a hilarious mix of astonishment & indignation.

   “What?” Tim asked warily.

   “What are you sorry for?” Jason finally spluttered, forgetting about his leg for a moment as he twisted to follow Tim’s movements around the room. “Putting me in danger on the mission I recruited you for?”

   Tim slid the kit under the bed again, smiling bitterly as he left to wash his hands. “Sorry for taking your place.”

   A cacophony of angry sound-effects came from the other room for a moment, and Tim absently wondered if he should have stopped while he was ahead. He stared at the pink-tinted water swirling down the drain, suddenly too exhausted to do anything else.

   “Soap,” Jason suddenly growled, limping to his side to pump an unhealthy amount onto his hands. “Now be thorough. I don’t care about whatever inferiority complex has you messed up right now; you’re not going to bed with my blood under your nails.”

   Tim shook with a laugh, feeling mildly hysterical. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

   “Adrenaline comedown an’ a lifetime of self-blame? Scrub.”

   Tim absently obeyed, cleaning his hands as thoroughly as he could. “I’m still sorry.”

   “You didn’t take my place, kid. We covered this.”

   Tim went for the towel, then sighed as Jason gestured. He held them up for inspection, suffering through the scrutiny before his older brother jerked an approving nod. “We did. Logically. But I still feel like…” He dried his hands, noting absently that the shakiness hadn’t gone away. “Like I’ve got something to prove. Like I haven’t succeeded until you’re impressed.”

   “Kid, you’ve outsmarted Ras, lost your spleen an’ survived a lifetime of bad family-members & suicidal ideation. It’s safe to say I’m pretty impressed.”

   Tim shook his head, letting Jason lean on him on their way back to the main room. “I still wish I could have done something different. If I’d said hi to you one of those nights taking pictures, would we have become friends? Would you have decided not to go to Ethiopia when the opportunity came? Would I have been able to stop you or save you? Even a minute might have made a difference. What about when you came back? Is there something I could have said to snap you out of it? Could I have done something to win, to bring you home, that I just didn’t think of? Maybe I could have predicted who you were before you decided to kill me; what then?”

   Jason gave him a borderline pleading look as he sank onto the bed, back against the headboard. “You can’t wonder things like that, Tim. It’ll drive you insane, alright; I’d know.”

   Tim offered a wry smile as he slipped back to the bathroom. “It almost did, once. And I’m sorry, y’know? Maybe I couldn’t have helped not being enough, but I’m still sorry I wasn’t. It might have saved you a lot of pain.”

   Jason was quiet for a while. When Tim returned, now dressed down in Jason’s PJs (because they were way comfier than his own), the older man fixed him with an unimpressed stare. “You look like a midget.”

   “I didn’t get shot,” Tim snipped back, perching on the edge of the bed with one leg drawn up underneath him.

   Jason shifted to get more comfortable, sighing. “Look… You don’t have to say any of this stuff… now.”

   Tim looked down at his lap, picking at one clean nail. “I know. There’s just a lot. All the things I’ve never said… to so many people. They just keep coming back.”

   Jason shifted again. “Yeah. Okay. But… the middle of an overseas mission isn’t… ideal. You get emotionally compromised, you’re easier to kill tomorrow.”

   Tim shot Jason a deadpan look. “We’re already emotionally compromised, Jason. I’d take a bullet for you tomorrow.”

   “Tomorrow, why not tonight?”

   “Tonight you get to suffer through my post-mission meltdown.”

   Jason quirked a small smile. “Honestly can’t complain. Don’t take a bullet for me, though.”

   “Why? You’d do the same.”

   “I’ve died once already.”

   Tim’s expression turned exasperated. “That’s not a get-out-of-jail-free card, Jay.”

   Jason just laughed. Asshole.

   It was quiet for a while after that. Tim still felt jumpy, so he turned on a cooking-show, keeping it at a low volume. A nice background hum. Jason probably understood more of the language than he did.

   “Alright,” the older man finally muttered. “What are the things you wish you’d said?”

   Tim gave him a glance, smirking. “There are a lot.”

   “Well, save mine; I’m not sure I wanna be sober for all of it.” Jason offered a gentle smirk. “Pretend I’m the others. Alright, pretend I’m Dickiebird.”

   Tim rubbed a hand over his face, groaning. “Oh my gosh, no.”

   “C’mon, we’re too deep now. What’s the most important thing you wish you’d said; the one that bugs you the most? I know you’ve got it. You thought of something soon as I said it.”

   Tim contemplated the patterned carpet for a moment, his face heating up. “It’s stupid.”

   “Stop overthinking it; just tell me.” Jason shifted a little, grumbling. “What would Dick say… Talk to me, Tim. I can’t know what to do if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”

   Tim almost snorted. That did sound an awful lot like Dick. It also cracked the wall of his resolve, allowing his resentment and frustration and hurt to trickle through.

   He looked up, staring Jason in the eyes. “I wish you’d believed me. I wish you hadn’t shut me out. I wish you cared enough to fix it.”

   Jason’s teal eyes swirled with glowing green, but he clutched a hand to his chest, gasping. “Ouch.”

   Tim couldn’t help a smirk. “I’ve got worse.”

   “Fine. How about Damian?”

   “Please. There’s nothing effective I could say.”

   “C’mon. You’ve got something.” Jason’s voice raised in pitch. “You are such a disgrace, Drake.”

   Tim glanced up with a smirk. “You sound like an idiot.”

   “Perfect.”

   A moment of thought. Tim eventually narrowed his eyes, glaring at Jason with far too much vehemence. “Screw you for ruining my self-esteem. I’d make a better son than you ever did. Try to kill me again, I’ll dump you on a family that can actually help your emotionally-stunted ass.”

   Jason chuckled quietly. “What a threat. Bruce?”

   Tim blinked for a second, then shook his head. “I’m not ready for that one.”

   “Fair. Steph.”

   Tim choked for a second, but he forced his voice to stay steady as he looked Jason in the eyes again. “I wish you’d loved me.”

   Jason’s expression softened, but he gestured. “How about your parents?”

   Tim’s vision blurred, and his voice didn’t quite make it without a small crack this time. “I wish you’d loved me enough.”

   Jason hesitated for a moment. Then, much quieter, “And Robin? YOUR Robin?”

   Tim looked down, choking. “I wish you’d loved me at all.”

   Jason didn’t say anything else. Tim suffered in silence with a too-thick throat for about five seconds before he was tugged down by one large hand & tucked firmly against Jason’s side.

   “Sorry,” the bigger man muttered, rubbing absently at Tim’s arm. “Took that too far.”

   Tim sniffed a few times, shameful of the tears that dropped on Jason’s shirt. He curled in on himself, resting his ear over a comforting heartbeat. “It’s okay. It was nice.” A thoughtful pause. “Cleansing. In a way.” Another long pause. “Thanks.”

   Jason chuckled quietly; a deep rumble that Tim could hear in his chest. “I’ll take it.”

   Tim closed his eyes. His emotions didn’t seem quite as suffocating now, and he was so physically drained. An unexpected shootout after a week of sitting still will do that to you…

   “You’re not alone anymore, kid,” Jason whispered as Tim drifted off to sleep.

Chapter Text

   Boom.

   Hood suppressed a flinch. This was not... ideal. Normally he could handle loud sounds. Heck, he'd set off his fair share of explosions in his lifetime. It was just...

   Boom.

   There were so many of them.

   Securing a tracker onto his last target for the night, Hood slipped away from the nearby meeting & into an alleyway. There was his bike, safe & sound. He was too wired to do anything else in a remotely useful fashion tonight; he would just go home and...

   Boom.

   The emergency light went on over the display in his helmet. Yellow, an RR right next to it. Help, medium priority, caution. Hood waited for a moment, but it didn't go off, which meant no one else was answering it.

   Dammit.

   Hood eased his bike out of the alleyway, gunning it once he was clear of his target's earshot. Why was the kid in the Bowery? It wasn't even his night to patrol.

   "Hood checking in," he growled once he'd turned on his com. "I'm converging on RR's position now. ETA four minutes."

   "My system's damaged, but I'm on the way, too," Nightwing's voice replied. "I'm a bit far out, and he's not responding to coms. ETA fifteen."

   Hood grumbled some sort of answer as he sped up. If some bastard was ruining his plans for the night by torturing Red Robin in cold blood, that bastard was going to sorely regret it.

   It took him precisely three minutes & twenty-four seconds to find & breach the safehouse. As soon as he had, a shadow swung at him from the left. Hood immediately cursed, blocked the blow on his forearm, and aimed his right pistol all in one motion.

   Tim stared at him, panting, the whites of his eyes barely visible in the dark. His staff was frozen inches from Hood's neck. Hood's gun was jammed under Tim's chin.

   Hood cursed one more time before yanking his gun away, shoving it into the holster. "Damn, kid, what are you thinking? Are you even hurt?"

   Tim flinched back, eyes still wide, staff still ready. He held his other arm close to his chest. He was not, upon further inspection, wearing his uniform; only the thin pants & undershirt beneath.

   Hood hesitated for a second, unsure. Then he reached up, unclasped his helmet, and tugged it off.

   "Jason?" Tim whispered as the helmet lowered.

   "Yeah." Jason peeled off his sweaty domino, eyeing his brother with more scrutiny. "You tagged with something?"

   Tim seemed to wince. "I'm handling it."

   "That's why you called for help, right?"

   "I didn't."

   "Bullshit, now lemme see your arm." Jason leaned closer, gently snagging Tim's wounded limb.

   Tim released a tense whimper, and Jason froze. He... was maybe miscalculating.

   "Hurts?" he queried quietly.

   "J... Just a li... little."

   "What's scaring you?" Hood dropped Tim's arm, suddenly understanding. "Fear toxin. You were on that stolen goods case, and you had a lead, and even though it wasn't your night..."

   "I'm handling it," Tim whispered tersely, a mix of fear & healthy annoyance in his inflection. "I didn't mean to call for help."

   "Well, you did, and here I am, so here we are." Jason slid his gloves off, slow & steady. "You got the antidote?"

   Tim hugged himself with his bad arm, shivering. "Yeah."

   "Is that a bruise or a fracture?"

   "Burn. I, I already cleaned it. I'm good."

   "What's still triggering you?"

   "The..." Tim flinched as another boom echoed somewhere outside.

   "Jeez, they're getting on my nerves, too," Jason sighed wearily. "Anything else?"

   Tim's voice was barely even a whisper now. "Your... Uhm... suit."

   Jason shedded his armor without complaint, making a pile by the door & stashing one pistol in his waistband. Then he slowly reached out, gently dragging Tim to his chest.

   The kid almost instantly relaxed, shivers easing. Jason had found out once, when trying to lock Robin in a closet for laughs, that the kid actually liked being in small tight spaces. He felt comforted there. Like a little bird in their nest.

   "Why do you not like them?" Tim whispered softly, slowly melting against Jason's chest.

   Jason rocked a little, heaving a sigh. "I don't not like them. Used to love watching fireworks when I was a kid. Me an' my mom would go up to the roof, and we would watch 'em all night, just the two of us."

   "Mmm."

   "It's just... a bit much, tonight, y'know?" Jason paused for a moment, flustered. "You?"

   "Toxin," Tim whispered quietly, swaying easily with Jason's heavier weight, back & forth, side to side. "And. Just loud noises. I guess."

   Jason hummed thoughtfully, resting his chin in Tim's hair. He couldn't stay annoyed with this kid. Like. Ever.

   "Hey," Nightwing said quietly, entering through a window.

   "It's just Wing," Jason explained softly, smoothing a hand down Tim's back to ease the sudden trembles.

   "Bad night?" Nightwing questioned gently, peeling off his mask as he crept closer.

   "Toxin," Jason offered in a grunt. "Edgy night for all of us, I guess, 'cept you."

   "Nostalgia," Dick explained with a soft smile.

   Ah, of course. Fireworks at the circus. The Big Bird's home.

   "Help me get him to bed," was all Jason replied, moving towards what he knew was a comfy mattress in the next room just begging to be slept in.

   "I can walk," Tim groused sleepily, but he stayed close as Jason ushered them in.

   It didn't take long to get buried under the covers. By that time, a smaller shadow had slipped in & crawled up on Dick's side, silent & stealthy.

   "Dami?" Dick questioned softly.

   "Tt," the kid clicked, hiding under the blanket. "I do not enjoy being left alone on such a loud night."

   Dick chuckled fondly, hugging the Damian-sized-bundle close. "Looks like none of us do, kiddo."

   Jason hooked an arm around Tim's shoulders, sighing tiredly. The teen burrowed further into his arms, completely caged by brothers now. Safe. Held. Secure.

   The next time a boom sounded outside, no one flinched. A quiet calm settled over them, everyone's breaths evening out. Jason could feel a heartbeat thudding gently against his ribs, a bit too fast, but slowing down now. They were all here. It'd be okay.

   "Happy Independence Day," he whispered softly, rubbing his fingers on Tim's scalp.

   Dick hummed some kind of answer, and Tim contentedly sighed. Jason mentally listed reasons he was happy to be an American until he drifted off to sleep.

Chapter Text

   Tim rubbed a hand down his face, blinking burning eyes at his three monitors. This was getting him nowhere. Hours of hacking, of encrypting new code and bypassing security trips and knocking down firewalls like a boss, just to be stopped by a stupid program that didn’t make any sense???

   This should have taken him half an hour. Maybe forty-five minutes. Tops. Instead, Tim had been sitting here for… he glanced at the clock in the bottom right corner of a screen… almost ten hours. It was two AM. And Tim was stuck.

   This project wasn’t helping to ease the deep emptiness he felt in his chest… the aching numbness that sometimes caught up with him & seized control of his bones. Tim shoved himself to his feet, scrubbing at his eyes. He needed to do something else. Sleep was out; he wasn’t exhausted enough that he wouldn’t have night terrors. (Though that would be feeling something, at least, so maybe he should… attempt?) There were lots of other projects to hyperfocus on; he only had to pick one. He could also take a walk in the blizzard outside & hope he wouldn’t freeze. Though that would make him sick, especially since he hadn’t eaten in---

   Tim clutched his stomach, wincing. He’d blipped right through the past four alarms on his phone reminding him to eat. How long had it been? His stomach hurt, screaming at him that he needed cupcakes. Right the fuck now.

   Tim blinked at his reflection in the hallway mirror. Hm. He looked dead, and there most likely wasn’t anything appealing in the fridge. He could afford to go out for cupcakes. So he grabbed his keys & the first longsleeved garment he saw, a red plaid buttondown, and booked it.

   Huh. The ground was frozen. That would have been a problem if Tim didn’t have special treads on his high tops. (Yes, he prepared for Gotham’s winter. He wasn’t an idiot.) Unfortunately, the streets were too dangerous for a motorcycle. Fortunately, that did not stop Tim Drake. There was a corner-store nearby, but he didn’t want the cruddy stale cupcakes they sold. He wanted Walmart cupcakes.

   Premium.

   Dumbass, a familiar tone hissed in his head. It sounded like Jason. Jason wasn’t actually here to clock him for his stupidity, though, so Tim ignored it.

   Cupcakes.

   The visibility was terrible, actually, and Tim’s ears were freezing even inside his helmet. Whatever. No cars were out at this time of night in this storm, so he survived the trip with minimal skids & managed to cross the parking lot without falling on his butt. The inside of the Walmart was unnecessarily bright, but it was empty. Only a few stragglers wandered around, dressed a lot like Tim in mismatched winter gear & clutching supplies to their chests with weary fervency. One guy walked past with a package of two ply toilet-paper in one hand & a six-pack of Coca Cola in the other.

   Tim looked up at the monitor above the entrance, watching the grainy discolored copy of himself for about five minutes & wondering who had the audacity to wear a dirty wifebeater under a crookedly-buttoned plaid. Surely that wasn’t really him. He had better grunge style than that.

   Whatever. Cupcakes.

   His phone pinged. Tim checked it on autopilot, glazing over the messages & only reading the names. Bruce, Dick, Tam, and Jason. He took a second to read Tam’s… nothing urgent, it seemed; just a question after his health… before dropping his phone back into his pocket & making a beeline for the baked goods section.

   Finally.

   Pretty red-and-yellow-sprinkled cupcakes acquired, Tim allowed himself to relax. He wandered around in a spaced-out haze for about an hour, finally coming to in the fishing aisle, where he was comparing the merits of two pink lures, apparently. One was sparklier than the other. Tim pocketed it with a shrug… His brain most likely had a good reason, probably. Maybe. He’d figure it out later… and began to head to the checkout.

   He wanted to eat his cupcakes.

   Halfway between his destination & a distraction in the form of a new stand of peanut-butter… How much fulfillment could people really be getting from Extra Creamy Smooth, honestly?… someone brushed past Tim’s left shoulder at a speed reserved for your-kid-is-puking situations. (Not that Tim had ever been in that situation.) It did snap him out of his trance enough to look up. The woman didn’t even say sorry, she just---

   She looked awful.

   Tim blinked a few times, watching the stranger make a beeline for the bathrooms. A panic attack. Or… trying to ward one off. He was all too familiar with that expression.

   That lady needed chocolate, stat. Checkout. Buy a chocolate. Head back to the bathrooms. Wait.

   “Tim,” someone scolded.

   “Sorry,” Tim instantly muttered, hunching his shoulders.

   “You,” Jason seethed at him, offering a light smack to the back of his head. “are a complete dumbass. The hell would you drive out here, Tim? At night? In a blizzard? Alone?”

   Tim looked up, making what he hoped was a grumpy expression. “You want me to answer, like, all of those? Or just the one?”

   Jason crossed his arms, staring at Tim with a strange mixture of anger, relief & discomfort. “Why are you holding cupcakes?”

  Tim looked down at the slightly smushed box under his arm. “I wanted cupcakes.”

   Jason opened his mouth to say something… probably the stupidity of risking one’s life for sugary store-bought pastries… when the woman emerged from the bathroom, marginally calmer & a bit too pale. Tim pounced forward like the stalker he was, proffering the chocolate.

   The woman froze, staring at the chocolate, at Tim, and at Jason, who probably looked more threatening than he actually was.

   “You need chocolate?” Tim asked her. He internally winced & amended the poor statement to “You need chocolate. Here.”

   That… just about broke the poor lady. She clearly wasn’t expecting to get cared for in a Walmart at three AM by a homeless-looking stranger, as evidenced by the tears gathering in her eyes & the fervent way she grasped the chocolate. Tim listened in mild concern bordering on horror as she babbled on about how she was a truck driver & had been on the road for hours in the icy blizzard outside, trying hard to get a delivery done on time so she could earn this promotion. She’d finally gotten too scared to keep going--- near-accidents on a frozen interstate will do that to you, Tim wanted to say, but didn’t--- and here she was.

   “God loves you,” Tim told her as soon as she drew breath, because the Word Machine was currently broke & that seemed like a safe if not wholly appropriate thing to say to this kinda lady in this kinda situation.

   The woman teared up again, engulfing Tim in a hug. Tim patted her back with his free hand & tried not to reveal how awkwardly touch-starved he was.

   It wasn’t even very good chocolate.

   “God bless you, sweet boy,” the woman enthused, finally pulling back. “Wait a moment, I’ll get you something.”

   “You really don’t---” Tim tried to caution. It didn’t matter. The woman hurried off, diving back into the slippery parking lot outside.

   “Damn,” Jason muttered appreciatively. “Do all your late-ass excursions go like this?”

   Tim shrugged helplessly, because yeah, kind of, but he wasn’t going to admit that aloud to his annoying older brother who’d only come to---

   The woman appeared at the entrance once more, hurrying back & shoving a loaf of… cinnamon bread… into his free hand. She was a Pepperidge Farm driver, obviously. Then she gave him another hug before bidding a smiley & tearful goodbye.

   Tim looked down at the bread in his arms. Well.

   “Dumbass,” Jason said again, but the bite was gone.

   Tim offered a weak glare. “Why are you here, anyway?”

   “Looking for you since you missed your last six check-ins, three calls from Dick, and a text from Tam. You don’t ever ignore Tam.” Jason crossed his arms again, glaring at Tim like Tim was the problem in this situation. “You look like a drowned rat. When’s the last time you ate?”

   Tim’s glare got easier to hold. “I have depression, asshole.” He shook the box he’d bought. “And I’ve got cupcakes.”

   Jason’s expression spasmed with a mix of pain & amusement before settling on gentle defeat. He grasped the collar of Tim’s shirt like a kitten’s scruff, firmly dragging him back towards the parking lot. “I know you do. C’mon. Let’s get something hot to eat.”

   Tim tripped after him, a spark of warm emotion lighting in his cold empty chest. “And then cupcakes?”

   “Yeah Timbo. Cupcakes after.”

Chapter Text

   “Kid?” Jason rapped his knuckles lightly on the door of the third bedroom down. The sound echoed in a way it most definitely should not in a place that housed living things, and it made the back of his neck prickle. This was why he didn’t stay the night at the manor when he had a perfectly cozy safehouse.

   Tim, however, did. For. Some strange reason. He had a whole-ass mansion all to himself, which was actually maybe the problem--- Even Wayne Manor was better than that empty mausoleum--- but everyone was downstairs milling through the kitchen for food, and then the living-room every time they were inevitably expelled by Alfred. Dick had wanted to come up to see why Tim wasn’t joining their... festivities... but he had a busted ankle, currently, and there were a lot of stairs. Damian wasn’t going to do it, and Jason wasn't that mean. He’d volunteered to go instead.

   “Timbo,” he called again, impatient. “Dickhead wants to know why you’re not downstairs. There’s, like, food and stuff. C’mon, it’s fucking dead up here.”

   The words echoed in the same empty way as before, and Jason was suddenly rubbed a very wrong way. Like, the wrongest way possible. Yes, his sense of humor was amazing, but maybe he should… save it for other people. Like. People he didn’t mind being dead. And also himself. Not. People who were most definitely alive & should still be alive.

   He decided to chance being an asshole--- If anyone in this family was going to get away with that, it would be him--- and turned the doorknob, shouldering the door open. He almost had a heart-attack before realizing that the room hadn’t, in fact, been ransacked; it was quite literally probably supposed to be this way. It was organized in a… strange… fashion. But it was organized, he found upon his third double-take.

   “Asshole,” Tim muttered from the bed, alive & well. His back was turned, which was maybe kind of nice, since you didn’t turn your back on someone you didn’t trust.

   “Yup,” Jason agreed amiably, popping the p. (He was honestly just glad the kid hadn’t disappeared again. Bad things happened when Tim disappeared. For. Everyone.) He picked his way carefully across the room, past the piles of old schoolbooks as thick as his head & mounds of clothes that looked like they had never been worn ever. “What are you doing in here? It’s freezing. And it’s raining. Do you have any idea what this is doing to my joints?”

   “I didn’t ask you to come up,” Tim muttered, tapping at his screen, which was quite literally the only light in the room besides what came from the hallway.

   “Tsk. Ungrateful brat.” Jason sat down on the edge of the bed, because standing alone in such a huge mess was giving him the heebie-jeebies. And the bed was even made. It was the only thing in the entire room that looked like it hadn’t been touched. It was wrong.

   Tim finally turned to look at him, blinking bloodshot eyes in the blue screen-light. “Why would I be grateful about you invading my privacy?”

   “I knocked first,” Jason reminded him. It was an important distinction to make.

   Tim snorted, looking very unamused, and turned back to his--- what even was that? Blueprints? “Go away, Jason.”

   “Why?” Jason sprawled out on the bed. Someone had to mess it up. “Sick of me already?”

   “I'm not coming downstairs.”

   “Fine. I’ll just stay up here.”

   The statement surprised both of them, judging from the following silence. They weren’t like that, Jason & Tim. They were the only ones in the family that didn’t have a defined relationship, for better or worse. They weren’t enemies & they weren’t friends. They just... were.

   “I thought your joints were killing you,” Tim finally reminded.

   “I never said that,” Jason contradicted him, because A, he had a reputation as an asshole to protect, and B, he was not too keen on the idea of dead things right now, even his poor joints.

   Tim offered a glare. It was actually kind of effective. Tim had the best glares besides Bruce. “What do you want, Jason?”

   Jason blinked at him, then turned his gaze to the ceiling. “I don’t know.”

   “You don’t know.”

   “I don’t know.”

   “How can you not know? You obviously don’t care if I come down or not, and you don’t wanna go back down yourself. Why are you here?”

   “I dunno.” Jason frowned at the ceiling, trying to keep a lid on his growing frustration. “Maybe I don’t like the idea of my little brother sitting alone in a room reading blueprints that are four months old as an excuse to avoid his family.”

   He… hadn't really meant to say that. Another statement popping out of his mouth to surprise him.

   Tim’s answer was just as surprising. “Why do you care?”

   They sat there in silence for a minute, Jason mulling over the crack in Tim’s voice & Tim no doubt mulling over Jason’s odd out-of-character compassion. Or maybe what he might be pretending to hide. Something more sinister.

   Jason turned to look at him, suddenly anxious. “You know I don’t hate you. Right?”

   Tim looked away. His screen had gone dark. Jason couldn’t see his expression in the dim light from the hall. “I know.”

   “Do you?” Jason pressed. This felt important, somehow. Maybe he blamed himself for the kid still being in his room.

   “I know you, Jason,” Tim answered simply.

   And. Well. That was that. Because Tim was right. He did know Jason. He probably knew Jason better than Jason knew himself.

   Still… it bore saying aloud. “I don’t hate you. I maybe actually care for you a little. You’re not too bad, y’know? Just… don’t tell anyone I said that. I haven’t told ‘em they’re not bad yet, and they might get jealous.”

   Tim bowed his head, shaking with suppressed laughter. It was only when an ugly sound escaped that Jason realized. Oh… oh no. Suppressed tears.

   “The hell?” Jason sat bolt upright, panicked. “I didn't even say I loved you!!! It barely qualified as a compliment!!!”

   “I know,” Tim’s voice answered, watery & frustrated. “I was checking out. You ruined it.”

   Jason threw his hands up. “You're welcome?! I’m tryna help you, dumbass, not make you cry.”

   “Mentally unhealthy people do that, Jason.”

   “Not in my experience. The fuck is wrong with you? Just---” Jason clasped Tim’s shoulder, acting on his impulses now, because he’d lost all remaining functional brain-cells as soon as “Why do you care” had crossed the kid’s tongue. “Just come down with me.”

   Tim scrubbed his face on his sleeve. He didn’t answer for a while. Then, very softly, he muttered, “Do you?”

   Jason frowned at him. Keeping up with this conversation was exhausting. “Do I what?”

   “Love me,” Tim answered even quieter, and oh.

   “Shit,” Jason complained softly. “I dunno how to answer that question. I think so. You’re my brother.”

   “I was their son.”

   That… bore some thought. “Yeah. I was theirs, too.”

   Tim looked up, his eyes still watering despite his best efforts. He looked fucking miserable. “What's wrong with us?”

   Jason heaved a deep sigh, because it looked like they were an “us”, now, on account of “I think I love you” & “You're not so bad”, which also meant that whatever he was about to say would have to apply to him as well.

   He pulled Tim into a hug to buy himself some time. Surprisingly, Tim didn’t resist. He melted almost immediately, clinging to Jason like Jay was a dry piece of land after a shipwrecking storm.

   Jason didn’t know what to do with his hands. He’d never been good at the whole hugging thing. He finally decided to rest one on Tim’s upper back & the other in his hair, pressing the kid’s face into Jason’s shoulder; helping Tim hide. It’s… what Jason would have wanted, once. A long time ago when depression was just a bad day & not a lifestyle.

   “Nothing's wrong with us,” he finally muttered. “Not… inherently. We’ve been fucked up & screwed over, and yeah, that’s made parts of us a bit twisted. Hard to go through life without getting broken, kid. People are fucking fragile.”

   Tim gave a watery chuckle, his grip tightening on Jason’s shirt. “Unfortunately.”

   Jason huffed another sigh, closing his eyes & listening to Tim’s heartbeat. He had good hearing, and he could feel it if he tried hard enough. It was reassuring to know the kid was alive. This wasn’t a dream. (Jason couldn’t feel heartbeats in his dreams.) “So, yeah, maybe something’s wrong with us, but it’s not… our fault. It wasn’t up to us. How we deal with it is. And I’d argue I’ve dealt with mine much worse than sitting in a room looking at four-month-old blueprints an’ spacing out.”

   “Oh my God, please stop about the blueprints,” Tim groaned softly. “I can’t dissociate properly if I’m reading anything else.”

   Jason tightened his hug. “The fact that you have dissociation down to an art is very disturbing. I hope you know that. I hope you know I could also use lessons.”

   Tim laughed again. It was weak, but it was real. The little things, right? “Sure. Whatever. Is this an apology for almost killing me?”

   “No.” Jason finally pulled away, holding Tim’s shoulders in an iron grip & looking him dead in the eyes. “This is me lowering your guard and dragging you downstairs so Dick can do the whole mental-illness-thing properly.”

   Tim released a theatrical whine. “I like you better.”

   Jason offered his heaviest scowl, getting up & catching the kid’s hands, because Tim’s fingers had spasmed when they’d been forced to let go, and contrary to popular belief, Jason actually wasn’t going anywhere. Not this time. “You’re only saying that cause I’m too awkward to do the mental-illness-thing. C’mon. Up.”

   Tim didn’t exactly comply, but he didn’t exactly fight, either, as he was hoisted up & flopped over Jason’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes. No… a sack of feathers. As if worrying about his state of mind wasn’t more than enough. Jason would have to check the kid’s eating habits, too, but he’d be more careful about that. He. Had. A. Reputation.

   It was no effort at all to haul the kid downstairs, present him to Dick, and tip him over into the surprised oldest boy’s lap.

   “You,” Jason pointed at Dick, then at Tim, growling. “fix that. I will be getting snacks from the kitchen, because I am Alfred’s favorite. If I come back in here an’ no one is crying from emotional catharsis, I will make them cry. Capiche?”

   Tim looked like a very grumpy cat for all of two seconds as Dick took his time registering what was going on. Once the guy did, he smiled at Jay & gathered Tim closer against his chest, running fingers through the kid’s hair. Tim’s grumpy expression instantly shuttered. He was trying to resist it. To put a cap on being human before the vulnerable squishy emotions all escaped.

   Jason left for the kitchen. Dick could handle it. And sure enough, when he came back with mugs of hot-chocolate in tow, Tim was softly sobbing into Dick’s shoulder while the older boy bundled him in blankets & murmured soothing conversation into his ear. He gave Jason a sappy thank-you look, to which Jason rolled his eyes, because… wait… that’s right. He had a reputation.

   Well, mission fucking accomplished. He passed Dick his mug and sat down and waited patiently for Timmy to stop crying long enough to take his own. One night handled. Self-destructive crises averted. And the next time Tim felt so bad that he decided turning into a mushroom was better than reaching out for help---

   The Red Hood would be ready.

Chapter Text

   Dick startled awake, gasping. His chest was too tight. His hands shook.

   The night terrors never got easier to deal with.

   It took a minute to remember to breathe again. As soon as Dick got up to move to the kitchen for a grounding snack, though, he found himself unable to move past his doorway.

   Tim’s room was right next-door.

   No… No interrupting anyone’s sleep. The rest of the family patrolled almost every night. Dick couldn’t do that to them. (He wouldn’t.)

   A sob tore from his chest before he could stop it. Not a second later, the door flung itself open, revealing a sleepy panicked-looking Tim in the doorway. “Dick? Are you okay?”

   Dick wrapped his arms around his own chest, trying to still the tremors. He felt horribly exposed, and he tried to explain that he was okay, really, just headed to the kitchen for a snack--- but another sob was all he managed before tears clouded his vision.

   “Oh Dick---” Tim touched his arms, rubbing up & down. Gentle. Clearly wanting to comfort, but hesitant of crossing any lines. “Nightmare?”

   Dick struggled to breathe. Oh God---

   “Dick?” Tim came closer, slipping a hand to the back of Dick’s neck & squeezing. “It’s okay. Breathe with me. Breathe.”

   “What’s going on?” Jason’s voice muttered down the hall, mildly alarmed.

   “Dick’s had a nightmare, I think. He’s panicking.” Tim rubbed Dick’s arms again. “Breeeeeeeeathe.”

   “Shit,” Jason cursed quietly. “Look at him. Dick, can we help you? Are you okay with a hug?”

   Dick jerked a nod, choking through another gasp. Snapping falling screaming running smiling even as he faded away to his death a death Dick had sentenced him to---

   Strong arms wrapped around his body, one around his waist, one around his shoulders, anchoring him close to heftier bulk; a bigger body. “Shhhhhhhhh. It’s okay. Stay with me. In… out… good job. Tim?”

   Tim pressed in on the other side, squishing Dick in a big-brother-sandwich. He snaked one hand around to rest over Dick’s racing heart & pressed a gentle kiss to the back of Dick’s sweaty head. “It’s okay. We’ve got you.”

   Dick pressed his wet face into the juncture of Jason’s neck, releasing a noise that sounded a lot like a grieving keen.

   A door flung open behind them. “Boys?!”

   “It’s okay,” Jason said in the same tone, low & soothing. “Dick’s had a rough night; he’s panicking a little bit. It’s okay.”

   Bruce crept closer, his tone overflowing with worry. “Can he breathe?”

   “He can.” Tim emulated a deep breath, and Dick stuttered along, willingly accepting the guidance for what it was. “He’ll be okay.”

   A large hand landed in Dick’s hair, gently tipping his head back & brushing the sweaty strands from his forehead. “Oh son.”

   Dick sobbed aloud. “I’m sorry.”

   “Don’t be sorry, Dick,” Jason rumbled gently, resting his chin in his little brother’s hair. “It’s okay. We’re here now, we’re good. We’re not going anywhere.”

   Dick closed his eyes, stuttering through another breath. He focused on Jason’s exhales in his hair and Tim’s hand over his heart and all four arms around his body, pressing in and holding tight and staying close.

   “More,” he whispered. No, that’s too demanding. “… please?”

   “More of what, Dickie?” Jason asked him, but Tim understood; Tim always understood. He pressed in even closer, squishing Dick as hard as he could.

   “Oh,” Jason breathed out, and he braced his legs, leaning in & using his weight to crush Dick from the other direction. “Better?”

   Dick sobbed in relief, finally able to go slack. He wasn’t holding himself up anymore. All of his weight was firmly supported by his older brothers. “Yeah… yeah.”

   Tim pressed his nose to the back of Dick’s neck, gently rocking them. “We’re here.”

   “We’re here,” Bruce repeated softly, planting a firm kiss in Dick’s hair.

   Dick faded away, drifting helplessly in the overwhelming unconditional love that wrapped around him like a nest of blankets. When he came to, he was being settled into bed, Bruce’s bed, and piled with actual blankets; the softest ones in the manor.

   “Tim,” he begged softly, because no one was holding him. It made the receding panic claw ruthlessly at his chest.

   A lithe body pressed in against his left, hugging him close, and a warm hand cupped his face, stroking some of his tears away. “I’m here; we’re all here.”

   “We’ve got ya, Dick,” Jason soothed gently, wriggling into the blanket nest & hugging Dick firmly from behind. “You can let go now.”

   Dick pressed his face against Tim’s shoulder, shuddering through another breath. The one after that was a little easier. And the one after that, too.

   “You’re safe here, son,” Bruce rumbled quietly, leaning in over Jason’s side & running his hand through Jason’s hair. “It’s all in the past now. Rest.”

   Dick choked again. “Love you guys.”

   “Shhhhhhhhhh.” Jason rubbed his back, then trailed his knuckles down Dick’s arm, creating a soothing tactile rhythm. “We love you, too, Dick. So much.”

  “Go to sleep,” Tim murmured into his hair, cupping the back of Dick’s neck & gently stroking with his thumb. “It’ll feel better in the morning.”

   Dick couldn’t help drifting off, held and warm and safe. When he woke up, he was still warm; still hugged close to two steadily-breathing frames. Bruce was gently rubbing his shin, massaging the aching muscles there.

   Dick closed his eyes again, puffing a relieved sigh. “Jay?”

   “Hm?” Jason replied easily, brushing a hand through Dick’s hair but stopping halfway through, leaving it there.

   Dick smiled tremulously, unable to reconcile the aching peace in his heart to his reality; to what he really had & would continue to have from now on. “I’m home.”

   “Damn straight.” Jason hugged him closer, humming. “Y’know… I’m glad I’m your Jason.”

   “Yeah,” Dick breathed softly, relaxing back into the warmth. “I’m glad I’m yours, too.”

Chapter Text

   Jason eyed the mansion before him, dubious. Why was he being such a coward about this? It was easy; a quick in & out. Ask for the info he needed… make sure the kid was alive for the satisfaction of the other Bats… and get on with his night.

   He was going to list for the record, though, that Dick, Bruce, and Alfred all being sick at once was simply Very Unfair, and he was just going to hack the kid’s unresponsive devices next time instead of visiting him in person.

   Sighing, he tore himself free of the shadows surrounding the driveway, walked right up to the front door,
and hesitated.

   He wasn’t sure why, at first. Something was amiss. Maybe it was the fact that there was a car in the driveway, but no light on over the porch. Maybe it was the fact that it was only ten-thirty at night, and everything was deathly silent for a big mansion that should have otherwise been bustling with servants settling down for the evening, or, at least, some lights should still be shining from the windows. Maybe it was the fact that he smelled---

   Omega. In-heat omega.

   Jason stiffened up, his nostrils flaring. Now that he’d caught it, his trained sense of smell zeroed in, trying to find more. Tracking. It was Tim, and it smelled distressed.

   Panicked.

   Jason’s heart leaped into his throat, and he tried the doorknob. Locked.

   Fortunately, that would not stop an alarmed Pit-influenced alpha like him.

   Jason lost no time in drawing his knife & jimmying the lock. No alarms went off, which was nice, but also concerning for the overall security of the mansion. The smell of old-empty-abanoned hit him as soon as he walked in. Tim was living here?

   A sharp cry of pain drew him back to the present, and he flipped the knife in his palm, dashing through the house. The mansion was huge, but Jason’s sense of smell was next to no one’s; all he had to do was follow it. Scared-heat-please-help-me---

   Jason had barely rounded the last corner before his eyes zeroed in on the belt, on the pocket-knife, on the savage eyes of an intoxicated alpha and the smell of liquor and the surprised expression of someone who had been caught beating his own son---

   Jason lunged forward in a surge of green, knocking aside the petty weapons & pinning the smaller, thinner, weaker alpha to the wall by his fucking throat. “What are you doing?!”

   It was a silly thing to ask a man too drunk to think straight; an alpha whose pupils were dilated with the intoxicating sensation of preying on a helpless omega---

   Jason drew his gun & shot the man between the eyes. Then he stepped back, leaned over the handy trash-bin nearby, and vomited all of his lunch, heaving until the phantom feeling of euphoria disappeared from his pounding head. He remembered that high. He remembered the kid cowering away from his own attacks, from his own twisted alpha instincts.

   But the kid had never cried then like he was crying now. Desperate. Frantic. Like he was about to be gutted & couldn’t do anything to change it.

   Jason wiped his mouth on the back of his glove, then shucked both gloves completely. The helmet, the jacket, and the holsters soon followed. He had to trust that he was okay for this, that his instincts were rational enough, now, after so much re-training, to do the right thing.

   He got on his knees, gently rumbling, and peeled off his scent blockers. He didn’t know how far into heat Tim was; just that he was curled against the wall, shirtless, crying hard enough to cough up a lung. His back was stretched tight, revealing his bony spine & ribcage; the awful red welts on his back. The scars from multiple other assaults.

   Jason fought down the nausea & tried to chuff. It wasn’t a sound alphas were great at making, with their vocal-chords better at rumbles than purrs, but he’d had lots of practice with the kids in the streets, and it worked. Tim raised his head a little, choking, sniffing the air. Jason hoped to God that his smell of anxious-furious-protect-avenge-keep-safe was enough---

   And then Tim lurched closer, whimpering.

   “Baby bird,” Jason muttered softly, hating the way his voice cracked. “It's okay; you’re safe now. He’ll never hurt you again.”

   The alpha was not expecting Tim to lunge across the remaining distance, and the impact made him plop back on his butt. And then he had a sobbing, trembling, terrified omega in his lap, clinging to him like he was the last good thing on planet Earth---

Jason wrapped his arms around heaving shoulders, squeezing tight. “It’s okay. I’ve got you… I’ve got you.”

   “He---” Tim tried to gasp, to explain. “He wishes I wasn’t--- ‘mega--- I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I---”

   “Kid,” Jason growled lowly. “He’s wrong.”

   He said it with enough conviction that Tim fell silent, even his sobs. He just trembled, breath hitching.

   Jason closed his eyes, cursing himself mentally with much heartfelt emotion. Well, he’d let his instincts go for this long. He might as well follow though. “I killed him. I’m sorry.”

   Tim didn’t say anything, of course, but a guilty desperate gratefulness entered his heat scent.

   Jason tightened his hug, nuzzling the kid’s hair. He raised a wrist to gently scent the kid’s shoulder, then his upper-arm, then his neck.

   “What are you doing?” Tim whispered shakily, already relaxing into Jason’s hold.

   “Claiming you,” Jason answered honestly, ignoring the curl of embarrassment at the admittance. He stopped moving for a moment. “As my pack-brother. Mine. Unless… you don’t want it.”

   Okay, sue him for being a little manipulative, but Jason would deal with any & all fallout later. All he wanted right now was full & complete charge, was a bond with the kid he used to hate, wanted now to take care of. To protect. It was working, too, because Tim shuddered at the growled “Mine” & leaned back a bit, tilting his neck open for better access.

   Jason felt a thrill of victory as he leaned forward & gently bit Tim’s shoulder, avoiding the scars. (The scars he would ask about later.) Tim twitched fearfully for exactly one second before going limp, giving in hard to the natural wave of claiming submission. His scent went from scared-frantic-numb-please-help to submit-helpless-sick-heat-please-protect. Jason’s instincts sharpened in response, roaring happily as a new bond snapped into place, strong in the way that only a trusting omega could cause.

   He gently moved Tim into his jacket, zipping it up, and gathered the skinny omega into his arms before standing. They could finish this at home.

   Tim was never coming back here again.

************

   Tim woke up with a splitting headache & a brand new bond thrumming in his chest.

   He tried to curse, but all that came out was a high whine.

   Oh, he remembered, heat.

   “Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.” Someone gently set him down. It was soft, what he laid on. His back was bandaged, but he could still feel---
a nest.

   Tim chirped in sleepy delight, rolling over to more thoroughly bury himself in its soft depths. It was big, and it smelled like Jason. And that was good, probably, cause he was pretty sure he’d been claimed as part of Jason’s pack.

   Someone laughed deeply, a low rumbling sound, and sat next to him, running a hand through his hair. It felt good. It smelled good. Jason had scented him so thoroughly while he slept that Tim wasn’t sure he was even awake. “You like it?”

   “Yeah,” Tim breathed out before taking another deep sniff of warm-protect-alpha-safe-mine. “‘s so much better than mine."

   “I know,” the voice muttered, and it sounded angry. Had Jason found all the pathetic piles of blankets Tim had made in the halls of his empty house? The little corners he’d tried nesting in, feeling safe in, to no avail? “You're safe now, baby bird. You’ll never be alone like that again.”

   Tim made another chirping noise, and then he was crying, and he couldn’t stop. “What's wrong with me?”

   Gentle arms pulled him up, gathering him close to a broad chest, to warm strength. “You’re in heat, kiddo. You've been beaten; you have serious trauma. I also committed murder right in front of you, which… I am still a little sorry about. You shouldn’t have seen that.”

   “Didn’t see it,” Tim denied through his tears, because he hadn’t, and he wasn't even upset about that. “Not mad.”

   “Yeah, well, point being… it’s okay to cry.” Jason carefully brushed his face, stroking his tears away with one gentle thumb. “Cry all you want. I’m not going anywhere.”

   So Tim curled tighter, and he clung tight to this dream, this strong alpha brother that he’d literally always wanted, and he sobbed.

   “Kid?” Jason asked softly when Tim had wrung himself dry.

   “Hm?” Tim hummed in response, trying to pry his heavy sticky eyelids open & spectacularly failing.

   A big hand rubbed the nape of his neck. “May I scruff you?”

   Tim's heart leaped hopefully. This wasn’t Jack & his penchant for abuse. This was Jason. Jason probably wanted to protect, not render him helpless. Plus… Tim was pretty helpless already. “Really?”

   “Course.” Jason shifted to a more comfortable position, gently stroking Tim’s nape, but still nothing else. “Course; you’re mine, aren’t you?”

   Tim turned his burning eyes against Jason’s neck, where the protective alpha scent was strongest. “Yeah. Yes. Please.”

   Jason rubbed his nape a little more vigorously, relaxing Tim’s muscles, then clamped down & squeezed. Tim made a small sound reminiscent of a sleepy kitten, then went entirely limp, dropping hard. The claiming submission coupled with actual submission covered his mind in a heavy blanket of submit-content-loved-warm-safe.

   “Rest,” Jason told him, rumbling with vindictive pleasure. Something gentle brushed his face… a washcloth wiping away his tears. “I've got you… you’re safe.”

   Tim nestled closer, allowing his face to be pressed to Jason’s scented collarbone, to cradle him close with a gentleness Tim had only ever dreamed about.

   Safe?

   Tim believed him.

Chapter Text

   It was quiet at night. To most people, empty. They did not understand that nighttime had a different language, a softer way of speaking. The night could be soft, peaceful, and safe, or it could be dangerous. Your outcome depended on your preparedness.

   Cass flinched at a moving shadow on the floor. Tree. Moonlight. Not-a-threat.

   Your outcome depended on your preparedness, and right now, Cass was not prepared.

   On bare feet she crept, moving along the edge of the hallway towards her target. The boy had come to them only two weeks ago. He had come angry, spitting like a cat; he fluffed up indignantly at every perceived challenge to imagined authority, and thought himself a king.

   He was scared.

   Cass frowned at the living-room, then the staircase, giving her eyes a moment to adjust to darker darkness. She must be alone. Catching the boy unawares was of the utmost importance to her---

   “Cass?”

   Jump, spin, throw. Someone yelped loudly, dropping to his knees, and the knife thunked into the wall.

   A wave of horror washed over Cass’ spine. “Dick?”

   “Hey, princess,” the man chuckled, breathless. He stayed down, but offered one hand in the faint moonlight, open. Trusting. “It’s just me.”

   Cass dropped down with a soft whimper, feeling over his right side. The knife had passed right by, missing only by virtue of Dick Grayson’s agility and Cass’ frayed nerves, but---

   “I’m okay.” Dick pushed her hands down, gentle. He was always so gentle, with Cass. With all of them. His body spoke a language that was safe. “You missed me, sweetheart; I’m alright. I shouldn’t have snuck up on you like that. Nightmare?”

   Cass lowered her head, nodding. She clasped her hands in her lap to keep from continuing a fruitless inspection. She had missed. She had missed, and that was the end of it.

   Dick reached out, slowly, and cupped Cass’ face. Her eyes slid closed, and she breathed deep. He smelled good, like… like training on hot rocks, exploring the cool depths of pyramids, and drinking straight from the Nile. He smelled like the best moments from her childhood, the few years she’d spent training in Egypt. The man who had raised her, he had been busy, at the time, with Batman’s attacks on the League; too busy to hit her every day, to keep her from attempting communication with the locals.

   Cass wondered when Dick had gotten a new lotion. She wondered how he knew.

   “Yeah,” he murmured, stroking a thumb under her eye. “Yeah, you’re okay. Let’s go to the kitchen for some hot chocolate, okay? I’ve got the munchies.”

   Cass took his hand, standing. It was cold. Clammy. His fingers shook, and oh. He wasn’t hungry. He was scared, too.

   Cass didn’t say anything--- Words were not her strength. She did loop an arm around his slim waist, however. She hugged close against his side, eyes on the floor, and almost smiled when he placed a gentle hand on her opposite shoulder.

   Almost.

   The kitchen was dark except for the light above the oven; a warm light by darkness, a white light by day. Cass liked the warm light. It reminded her of cozy campfires instead of sterile operation rooms.

   “You like it strong, right?” Dick pulled out the cocoa, then a few spices. Sugar, some whipped cream from the fridge. “I can’t make it as well as Alfred, I’m afraid, but…”

   Cass perched on the edge of the island, nodding. She had not been allowed sweets growing up--- They were bad for you, apparently--- so she liked most of her foods without sugar. Dick was the opposite, she’d found. He heaped at least three spoonfuls into his cup even now.

   Restless, Cass switched positions, perching on the other counter Then, when that wasn’t safe enough, she climbed to the fridge. There she crouched, watching the shadows, and waited.

   Dick looked up at her when he was finished, holding up her mug. It was overflowing with whipped cream, a dash of cinnamon across it. Just the way she liked. “Come join me.”

   Cautiously, Cass slid off of the fridge. Dick handed over her mug, then nestled on the floor of the kitchen, back to the wall. He patted the ground right next to him. It was so low, unsafe, but it was a corner. Cass squeezed herself into it, wedging her body between the wall and her older brother’s muscled side. She clutched the warm mug between both hands, and finally--- finally--- she relaxed.

   Dick breathed slowly, his eyes on the shadows that draped the edges of the room, and sipped his drink. No one could harm them here--- Wayne Manor, Cass’ home, was the safest place she’d ever slept. Still, her jitters stayed, and still her older brother watched. Not for safety’s sake… but for her.

   Cass leaned into his side, sipping her hot chocolate, then licking at the mountain of whipped cream. She could hear her heartbeat settling down. The problem was far from solved--- it was, in fact, only delayed--- but right here, right now, everything was peaceful. She could rest.

   “Do you wanna talk about it?” Dick asked her quietly, eyes still on the dark doors of the room. He was giving her privacy; a safe space to fall apart.

   Well, Cass didn’t need to fall apart. She needed to help.

   Considering the question, and whether at all to answer, she finally lowered her warm mug. “Damian.”

   Dick didn’t say anything at first, but the twitch of his face muscles told Cass more than his words would. Guilt.

   Cass sat straighter as a wave of fresh desperation overtook her. “I want to help.”

   Dick finally looked her in the eyes, brow lifted. “Help?”

   “He… lost.” Cass took a deep breath. It was harder to speak when she was distressed, and she already knew very little vocabulary in the first place. “I… remember. Understand.”

   A sad smile spread over Dick’s face. “You’ve been exactly where he is, huh?”

   Cass nodded vigorously, relieved. “I remember. Death. Chaos. Wanted… hurt.” She mimed throwing knives, making a face of anger. “Attack.”

   “You were angry, too,” Dick supplied eloquently, knocking his head back against the cabinets. “You were lost and empty and hurting, so you lashed out at whoever you thought deserved it, right?”

   Cass nodded again, settling back against her brother’s side. “I hurt, hurt others. Impulse.” She glanced up to check; she’d just learned that word last week. Dick gave her an encouraging smile, so she quietly continued. “I know… understand… impulse. Hurt, lash out. Stab.” She pounded her fist over her heart, miming another knife. She had felt that pain of not belonging, and worse, the impulse to make it better through someone else’s pain. Sure, her victims had been criminals instead of the preceding Robin, but the point stood. The pain was a double-edged sword, and unlike Damian, Cass had had the empathy to draw herself out of the dark.

   Dick nodded silently, gaze distant. Cass knew that he understood what she could not say, so she left him alone, returning to her drink. It was warm now, not hot. She liked it better this way. Easier to taste.

   “You understand Damian,” Dick finally ventured, hands tightening around his mug. “You’ve lived a dark life, and you’ve come out the other side with your soul still intact.”

   Cass stared down at her own hands, noting how her fingers trembled, but unable to stop them. “I… still. Today. Impulse. Hurt, make pain. Doesn’t… go away.”

   “Oh, Cass,” Dick looped an arm around her shoulder, squeezing her close into the warm space against his side where she fit so perfectly. He sounded sad. Cass was going to cry. (Cass was not going to cry.) “You have an impulse to do bad things sometimes, but that’s not who you are. Everyone has a little darkness inside them. It’s what you do with it that determines how good you are, and you, princess, are so good. You choose most often to follow your best thoughts instead of your worst. You are so badass for that.”

   Cass sniffed mightily, hiding her face against Dick’s chest. His shirt was warm. All of him was warm, all the time. Or… perhaps… Cass was always cold.

   “It takes so much strength to deny the things inside of you that you know are wrong.” Dick rubbed her shoulder, slow. Soothing. “You’ve learned that strength the hard way, and you wanna share it with Damian. You wanna let him know he doesn’t have to be alone.”

   Cass nodded once more, throat thick. The pressure in her chest felt less like fear, now, and more like grief.

   Dick rested his cheek against her head. Then, softly, he began to sing. “When you close your eyes… what do you see? Do you hold the light, or is darkness underneath? In your hands, there’s a touch that can heal, but in those same hands, there’s the power to kill. Are you a maaaaaaaan or a monster?”

   Cass smiled against his shirt. Dick was silly. He always found the perfect song to end his discussions with, leaving Cass giggling, and everyone else rolling their eyes.

   Dick gave her an extra squeeze, dropping a kiss to her hair. “I believe in you, princess. If you wanna talk with Damian… go for it.”

   Cass looked down at her cooling drink, blinking the pressure from her eyes. “… Scared.”

   “It’s okay to be anxious. Do you think he’ll hurt you?”

   Cass shook her head. “Hurt… himself.”

   Dick bonked heads with her, affectionate. “Y’know Cass… sometimes… actions are louder than words. I know you’ll find the right thing to… say. Just remember why you wanna talk to him in the first place, right?”

   Cass straightened up, setting her jaw. “Help. Share… strength. Not alone anymore.”

   Dick smiled proudly, ruffling her already-mussed hair. “Good girl. Drink your hot chocolate, ‘kay? Serious talks with demon children can wait.”

   Cass settled back against Dick’s side, smiling as she sipped down the rest of the yummy drink. Maybe her akhi was right. Maybe… everything would eventually be okay.

Chapter Text

   There was a point of panic where all one could hear was their own heartbeat. Jason was far too acquainted with this fact. He also knew he’d passed that point maybe half an hour ago.

   He kicked down another door, searching with ever-increasing urgency through another abandoned apartment. His best friend was in this building, but the trackers had malfunctioned in whatever fight the archer had survived hours before; the only information Jason had managed to get from a brief SOS call was the name of the street.

   That was okay, though--- He was fast.

   The next apartment was empty, too, and Jason pressed back against the green. His eyes had started glowing a long time ago, and to some extent, the green influence helped him to focus. He couldn’t afford to move past active paranoia into fight or flight, though, and he was beginning to struggle.

   What if he was too late?

   An arrow suddenly whistled quietly out of the darkness of the thirteenth apartment, and Jason ducked to the right, throwing his hands above his head. “Friendly, friendly, don’t shoot.”

   No more arrows followed, but Jason could hear the subtle sound of the bow being drawn. “What do you want.”

   “What the fuck do you mean, what do I want?” Jason blinked cautiously around the green-tinged shadows, hands still raised. “You called me.”

   A shaky sigh sounded from the dark corner by the window. “Oh.”

   Jason couldn’t stop himself from darting closer, moving by starts and stops and half-formed steps, because he didn’t know if he still deserved to be shot at--- If he was scaring his friend. “Roy?”

   The archer stepped out into the room, quirking a shaky half-grin. “Hi Jaybird.”

   Jason froze in place, breath seizing in his chest. Roy was straight out of a worst nightmare. Blood coated his entire left hip, one hand with two broken fingers was holding slash marks in his ribs, he favored one ankle, an old bandage covered most of his neck, a poorly-stitched bullet hole oozed from one shoulder, and his domino was mostly shattered, revealing one eye swollen shut, one eyebrow scratched through, and a sluggishly bleeding temple. His skin was pale, his face was covered with stubble, and his hair was down to his shoulders.

   “Take a picture,” the archer wheezed as he swayed on his feet. “It’ll last…”

   Jason was already darting forward, catching his friend under the arms, because Roy had known--- Roy had stayed standing until he knew he was safe. Jason didn’t know where to put his hands, so they hovered for a minute as he awkwardly took on his friend’s weight. For one agonizing second, he froze. No. NO. Don’t do this to me. Don’t---

   The second passed. Jason quickly lowered Roy to the ground, lying him flat on his back. “Stay with me, buddy. Talk to me. What’s the worst?”

   Roy laughed weakly. It sounded like a wheezing cough. “Hurts.”

   Jason’s throat ached, and he started removing Roy’s top armor to deal with his bleeding hip. His hands didn’t shake, but his voice did. “I know, bud. I know.”

   Five hours and thirty-two stitches and a dozen dirty rags later, not to mention the painful cab drive, Jason lowered Roy carefully onto his real comfy couch in his warmly lit home, sighing. Only one blood transfusion had been required, thank God, but the archer looked worse for wear. There wasn’t a single part of his body that had stayed functioning besides his back shoulders, which, coincidentally, were what he relied on the most to draw his bow. Small mercies.

   Jason stroked the older man’s ginger strands out of a sweat-damp face, checking over his eyes. Concussion, of course, but the head wound hadn’t gone deep.

   Roy’s green eyes, much duller than Jason’s neon glowing ones, flickered with exhaustion, but he cracked a small smile as he reached up to brush shaking fingers over Jason’s brow. “Y’ get wrinkles wh’n y’re upset.”

   Jason pushed his hand away, gruff, and left the room. Glass of water, cool wet rag, more painkillers. He took the opportunity to breathe, steel his nerves. Something about Roy being this fragile was… really shaking. Normally they were exchanging jabs and noogies and near-deadly roughhousing. Normally Jason wasn’t afraid of breaking his friend with the barest touch.

   Roy gratefully accepted the water when Jason returned, but he was hardly sitting up, let alone able to hold the glass. Jason caught it underneath, helping tip it to Roy’s mouth. He payed careful attention, watching for any hitch in breath.

   Roy downed the whole glass, then leaned against the back of the couch, letting his hand fall uselessly to his side with a sigh. “Y’re patient.”

   “Always,” Jason muttered before his throat closed back up. He took another deep breath, stroking the rag over Roy’s clammy skin, then over his sheetrock-dusted hair, gently scrubbing out as much grime as possible. Roy probably wouldn’t be taking a shower anytime soon.

   “Thanks,” Roy whispered into the silence, eyes sliding shut. He looked washed out. (Dead.)

   Jason grunted uncomfortably, pressing two fingers to Roy’s neck. Now they were shaking. Joy.

   Roy reached up, gently hanging his hand off of Jason’s wrist. He didn’t say anything else; either he was out of quips or he was just too exhausted.

   Jason still didn’t know what had happened.

   He tossed the rag to the floor, carefully stretching out on the couch before nudging Roy down on top of him. The man had been smaller for years, almost a decade, but he seemed especially small now, as he gingerly laid on his better (less injured) side. He shoved his nose into the crook of Jason’s neck with a satisfied grunt, because he knew how much that usually annoyed the younger vigilante. Roy’s nose was always cold.

   Jason pressed his hands to Roy’s shoulder blades, counting the sluggish heartbeats against his (much faster) own. After a few minutes of silence, everything finally started to slow down. Roy’s breaths deepened, Jason’s heartbeat leveled, and more details started to softly filter in. The dumb popcorn texture of the ceiling. The twitch of Roy’s fingers as they curled into the fabric of Jason’s t-shirt, clinging. The tickle of the ginger hairs against Jason’s chin.

   Jason turned his head, pressing his cheek against Roy’s head. It was warm. Fever, probably, but warmth meant life, and the extra reminder finally grounded him enough that he could mutter, “I’m glad you called.”

   “Mmm,” Roy hummed sleepily. “Yeah. Bad service ‘n that part’f town. One an’ a half stars.”

   Jason closed his eyes, hugging his friend tighter as the wave of emotion--- both relief and annoyance--- washed away the last of the green. “Go to sleep, dumbass.”

   Roy’s body went completely slack. He felt safe here. This level of relaxation was… not something you could fake. “Ay ay cap’n.”

   Jason waited until the rise of his best friend’s ribcage had slowed in sleep. Then he finally allowed himself to cry.

Chapter Text

   There he was… Hiding beneath the jib sail. Tiny. If Jason hadn’t known exactly what he was looking for, he would have missed the kid between the coils of rope.

   “It’s midnight,” he felt compelled to note, flopping down on one of those coils to rest. He still had a limp despite over a day of Lazarus Pit magic at work in his system, but go figure. It was always the underwhelming injuries that took the longest to heal.

   Tim shifted subtly, dipping his hand into the water gliding past below. The boat was too small for its use, really, but they had no choice. After sinking that Russian cruiser--- and getting separated from Kori in the process---

   “Is he okay?” Tim whispered hoarsely.

   It wasn’t your fault, Jason wanted to snap, but he’d tried that a few hours ago. Hence why Tim was up here, alone, while everyone else was resting. “Yeah, he’s okay. He can’t move it super well, but you only need one arm to steer in weather like this. He’s taking a crack at it.”

   Tim nodded briefly. That was that, wasn’t it? God… Jason was not very good at this. Dick would have been better. Dick’s not here.

   “Some initiation ritual,” Tim finally croaked.

   Jason scoffed quietly. “We’ve all been right there, kiddo.”

   “Endangering each other’s lives for a ‘great’ new idea mid-mission?”

   “Uh, have you met us? We’ve caused each other much worse than some burns.”

   “Third degree burns.”

   Jason swallowed bile. He hadn’t been able to treat Roy’s wound without intermittent breaks for throwing up. He remembered what it felt like to burn down to your bones. Roy wasn’t that badly off, but they didn’t have any pain meds on hand. His suffering was… hard… hard to watch.

   Tim glanced around as the silence spiraled, staring through pale starlight. That must have been some expression Jason was wearing on his face; it took less than two seconds for the kid to close the space, tucking himself furtively against Jason’s side. “I’m… I’m sorry.”

   Jason closed his arm around a trembling body, breathing out. He didn’t know who was shaking worse. “We’ll be okay.”

   “You’re not gonna…”

   “What, kill you?”

   “Kick me off.”

   “Of the team?”

   “Killing is preferable.”

   “We will talk about your messed up priorities later.” Jason’s burning eyes slid shut. He was so damn tired. “Kori will find us soon.”

   “Roy goes first.”

   “Roy goes first. I’ve got a contact waiting at the hospital on the coast--- We just have to get that far without alerting the guard that we’re still alive.”

   “They wouldn’t appreciate that we’ve sunk their ally’s ship.”

   “I don’t think so, no.”

   “Jay?”

   “Hn.”

   “Be honest with me. Is he really…?”

   “He’s in a lot of pain, kiddo, but he’s had worse.” Jason took another steely breath. “He’s got a lot to fight for. Lian… us… pizza.”

   “Pizza?”

   “Oh my God, he won’t shut up about it.”

   A rewarding giggle bounced from Tim’s throat. “Whatever keeps you most lucid, I guess.”

   “I probably shouldn’t be letting him steer.”

   “Probably.” 

   “He was just so bored.”

   “I’ll bet.”

   “This is sorta… nice.”

   “Yeah.” Tim’s head rested against Jason’s shoulder. “I guess.”

   “I could stay a minute longer.”

   “Yeah… you could.”

   “A minute or two.”

   “Two.”

   “Two?”

   “Two.”

Chapter Text

   It was a sixth sense that pulled him from sleep. Roy peered at the alarm clock next to his bed. Four AM, and it was pouring outside. He felt good, like he could roll right over, could fall right back into the comforting black, and he knew…

   Of course it was. It always was on nights like these. Nights he was sleeping well, nights the shadows weren’t quite so dark and the memories weren’t quite so loud and the anxiety didn’t send aching jitters on a perpetual cycle through his veins. (Really, hadn’t his veins suffered enough?)

   It always was on nights like these.

   Roy rolled up to sit on the edge, yawning, and toed around for his slippers. They were monster bunny slippers that he’d gotten as a birthday gift. Lian had been so delighted by their ugly faces; he’d decided to keep them. They’d chase off any monsters under his bed at the very least. Maybe even keep his toes warm when he got up to make tea instead of nuzzling back into his soft, deep, warm bed…

   He got up to make the tea.

   It wasn’t immediately clear why he’d woken up, or what, maybe, had woken him. Maybe it wasn’t here yet. That was fine--- He’d forged patience in the earliest dirt-covered memories of childhood, first hunts filled with nothing but waiting, careful creeping that sometimes resulted in a morsel to eat.

   He could have patience.

   The water started boiling before too long. Roy dropped two teabags into mugs--- Not very bougie, but it was the best he had. This wasn’t his HOME-home, just a more comfortable safehouse. He was between missions right now. He’d be home very soon.

   The tea was Jason’s favorite kind. Roy didn’t bother to question it. If his sleepy instincts were wrong--- Well, more tea for him. Two warm drinks, then a warm bed. A win-win situation, really. He popped some bread into the toaster, pulling out the garlic butter. It was a crude snack, but he could never get enough of it, and some of his friends--- his family--- had learned to love it, too. Kinda helped when you were too injured to bother with roast duck. (What did fancy people have cooked these days? Goose?)

   Roy scrubbed a hand down his face, glancing at the oven clock. Almost half past. That was fine. Maybe he would put on some ambience or a dumb TV show. He loved the sound of rain… It felt like life, like a breath of fresh air no matter where in the world he was caught in a downpour… but some people didn’t. Some people he really cared about.

   He wondered briefly if this supposed sixth sense was actually expecting the older of his two best friends. This question was answered by the gentle slide of his living room window, the window that very few people knew how to get into without setting off a trap on their way. Combat boots landed softly inside. Then the window slid shut.

   “You’re dripping on my carpet,” Roy pointed out, keeping his voice low. He didn’t see any blood. The list of Most Worrying Things To Worry About was already getting smaller. “Hit the shower.”

   The figure shuffled from side to side. Jason’s breathing was… not okay. Sharp, like he couldn’t afford to relax his stomach. Roy took a better look. Hood getup, but still no blood. Maybe he’d busted a rib. His eyes were pretty neon, though, and he didn’t hold himself with the delicate balance of someone who’d learned to hide their injuries from prying eyes.

   Okay, so no physical shit. They could take their time with the rest. If worst came to worst… Roy had a sourdough starter that Jason could vent on. Some muffin fixings, too.

   “Bath?” he prompted softly. Jason finally moved, walking with smooth, unhurried steps toward the bathroom. Dissociation. Not the worst, but that all depended on how strongly he would react when he came back to reality. What was his brain protecting him from?

   Roy clicked his tongue as he buttered the toast. He hoped it was only about the rain. Judging by the weight of his brother’s shoulders, that was not to be.

   Jason emerged in his own clothes, because of course he did--- Roy always kept some on hand. Nothing else fit. (Well, Kori’s crop tops, but some people didn’t enjoy showing that much skin. Especially when it came with a ropy autopsy scar attached.) Jason glanced at the coffee table, saw the tea snacks, and ducked his head. Tears pit-pattered softly between his bare feet.

   Roy invaded Jason’s personal space, firmly combing his hair back from his forehead. Gentleness tended to break things easier than a strong touch did. At least on nights like these. Jason still hadn’t said anything; fifteen minutes of silence was tipping the scales toward “really bad headspace” and away from “horrible traumatizing disaster”.

   He missed Jason’s snarkiness in moments like this. Fortunately, the muteness also made him a bit easier to deal with. At least to manhandle into self-care. Small wins an’ all that.

   “C’mon,” he coaxed quietly, sitting down. He didn’t watch Jason as he started on his own tea. The guy took his time. He joined Roy on the couch, holding the hot mug in both hands for a while. When the silence grew tense with nerves, Roy turned on a cooking show for background noise. It was in German.

   You came a long way, he didn’t say. When Jason was finally done nibbling on the garlic toast, shoulders easing under exhaustion, Roy did murmur, “You don’t feel safe tonight.”

   Jason swallowed hard, glowing eyes angled at the stain in the carpet below them. Roy’s heart broke just looking at him. It was like watching shattered glass fall in slow motion, and God, it hurt, it hurt worse to see the beautiful mosaic in the process of being destroyed than to know he’d cut his hands picking up the pieces.

   Nothing was really safe for people like them. Friends, sure, even family, sometimes locations, but nothing that really felt right. Nothing that wouldn’t occasionally trigger the anxiety, the dread that wrapped around your spine for hours afterward. Nothing that made you settle down… deep in your bones. Like the finest dust decorating a deserted home, shining golden in the light.

   Roy had seen a movie once that had started with so much dust. It had meant to be a bad thing, but it was so beautiful when it was still. When the atmosphere allowed everything, even the slightest weight, to sink into its rest. 

   Maybe he’d missed the point.

   Jason finally pressed his thumbs together, pinkies out, and shoved his hands down toward his lap. STAY.

   Roy pointed his finger to the sky, gently but quickly spinning his entire forearm in a circle. Big for emphasis. ALWAYS.

   Jason dropped his face into his hands, finally caving under the pressure of the waves. Roy wrapped his arms alllllll the way around, squeezing Jason sideways into his chest. He cupped Jason’s tear-streaked jawline with one hand, pressed him to a familiar shoulder, and just… held him.

   Because someone was here. Someone was watching; someone saw. “You’re not alone” didn’t mean as much as “I see you, I feel you, and I’m here”. Something… safe. Something that felt like home in the middle of the everything that didn’t.

   Maybe. Hopefully. It could be that Roy was kidding himself. He wasn’t really all that. Still… the loosening anguish under his hands? The tears that fell freely, uncaring of judgment; the lengthening breaths that meant emotional freedom you couldn’t fake? The quiet whimpers that no one else in the entire world would ever be allowed to hear?  

   Maybe he was doin’ somethin’ after all.

Chapter Text

   “Fuck,” Jason complained as he paced, stalking in dizzying circles across the safehouse floor. “Where IS he?”

   “He will get here when he gets here,” Kori reminded him, but her prim, nearly annoyed tone was undercut by the uneasy aura surrounding her glow. “Arrow has promised.”

   Jason couldn’t help a snort. Arrow’s promises were worth jack shit. They hadn’t been--- not recently--- but in a moment like this one, words meant very little. He wanted positive proof of life. A personal text. Something.

   He’s in bad shape, Arrow’s last message had read. Mission was accomplished. Bringing him to you.

   Jason scrubbed a hand down his face, suppressing a groan. He almost jumped out of his skin when someone kicked on the door. Flinging it open, the first thing he did was inhale the scent of blood. The second thing he did was snarl.

   “No,” Roy slurred grumpily, shoving at Jason’s chest.

   “What did you DO?” Jason demanded heatedly, pulling Roy in for a bracing hug--- Holding him up more than anything.

   “Fuck you too,” Arrow replied irritably, handing Roy over like delicate glass. His scent was exposed despite the fact he was still in uniform, edgy and anxious and almost paternal. “The win took a turn; it always does. He went in to save my ass. I ordered him not to.”

   “Roy doesn’t really do orders,” Jason muttered aside, with feeling. He knew this struggle a little too well. The archer was very good at getting himself into trouble when others’ lives were at risk. He scented his packmate’s nape possessively, earning himself a weak, wounded purr.

   “I did the best I could,” Arrow said next, a little quieter, and he scrubbed a bloody hand through his blond hair. (Jason briefly checked over Roy’s body. He had been changed into a fresh set of sweats, and whatever wounds he had weren’t actively bleeding. Where had the blood come from? Had Arrow just… not gotten a chance to wash his hands?) “He's all stitched up, but he won’t take pain meds. He kept saying he wanted you. I flew him as fast as I could.”

   Jason gave the elder archer an appraising look. He did seem out of breath, and Jason couldn’t smell any anger on him or annoyance on Roy. The younger archer actually seemed… relieved. Grateful.

   “Thanks,” he finally staid, softening, and held out a hand. “We’ll take it from here. He’s in good hands.”

   Arrow took the handshake, squeezing, and Roy’s blood seeped between the grooves of Jason’s fingerprints. “I know he is.”

   “Roy,” Kori scolded softly as soon as the door was shut, pouncing on the two of them with no small amount of fussing.

   “Heyyyyyy, princess,” he slurred, grinning painfully as she cupped his face with warm hands. “Y’re so hot…”

   Jason clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “How much blood did you lose, loverboy?”

   “A lot. Ollie’s bein’ stupid. Hadta haul’im out.” Roy’s eyes brightened. “He gamme a HUG, Jay.”

   Jason swallowed past the lump in his throat. Damn. “You deserve it, bud. I’m gonna check your wounds, okay? Do you want me to bite you, or Kori’s aura?”

   Roy suddenly looked upset at the thought of having to choose, head lolling against Jason’s shoulder. Kori stepped into the breach with a gentle smile. “You take him, Jason. You need the bite as well. I will be here when he can handle both our care at once.

   Jason rumbled with the force of his relief. “You're a gem.”

   “I know.” Kori tossed her hair over her shoulder, sauntering away. “I shall order the food.”

   “You do that. Well, buddy, lemme get a look atchu.” Jason sat Roy down, prying him off gently (He got clingy when he needed rumbles. Or cuddles. Or when he was sad. Or for literally anything else.) to push up his shirt. He was bandaged around his entire torso, and his upper arm sported a clean field patch. Other than that, just bruises. An isolated hit or two, then. “The good news is you’re still in one piece.”

   “Jay,” he whined shakily, pawing at Jason’s arm to be picked up. “Bed.”

   Jason melted on the spot. Roy almost never got to this point of neediness, the point that he was willing to ask for what he wanted instead of joking. It was a bad sign that he’d reached this stage, but now Jason knew what he wanted, and who was he to say no?

   “Alright, alright, hang on,” he murmured, hauling his pack brother ever so gently to his feet. They hobbled at a steady pace toward the bedroom, the comfy heated nest, and the homey pack scents. “Easy.”

   Roy flumped into the blankets with a pained grunt, already reaching. Jason lowered himself carefully inside, gathering his injured packmate into a firm side hold, and nuzzled into his shoulder for scent. Roy was already going slack with a steady self-soothing purr. It was addictive. Having his injured, submissive omega here in his arms was going a long way toward disarming Jason’s anxiety. “Ready?”

   Roy only purred louder as the venom hit his bloodstream. The remainder of his self-control dissolved, allowing the tears he’d been holding back to stream unchecked down his face. Jason didn’t shush him or tell him to be quiet. He didn’t cut off the omega’s pained keen, didn’t leave, didn’t even shift away. He closed ranks, pulling Roy more snuggly into the satisfied alpha rumbling, and breathed.

   Slowly, steadily, Roy’s nervous system shut down. He settled with a very shallow purr, tears still streaming across his cheeks. Jason gently swiped them away, scenting Roy’s freckle-covered skin, and held him close.

  Everything would be a little more bearable in the morning.

Chapter Text

   In her experience, it was not often that these mornings came.

   It was raining outside. It was always raining outside, Kori thought, when her boys found peace. Not the heavy, pouring kind of rain, but the drizzle that pattered merrily on the wood of the front porch. It was gentle, lulling in its waves of variation. She could hear it on the grass, and the sand on the beach. She could even, if she listened closely, hear it joining forces with the roar of the sea. The consistent white noise playing softly in the background tended to coax them, unawares, to sleep.

   She looked down at her lap, legs crossed on the bed in front of her. Roy had laid down to text, Jason to scroll. The elder of the two had passed out first, tugged relentlessly hence by all the sleep he hadn’t been getting. The circles under his eyes were dark. Jason had followed not long after, restful unconsciousness sneaking up on him as he scrolled himself into a purple haze.

   Both were thoroughly knocked out, heads pillowed firmly on her thighs.

   Kori reached down, stroking her fingers through the top layer of Roy’s hair. She consciously warmed her skin, smoothing her fingertips down to his scalp, and the nightmare-onset frown lines eased in his sleep.

   Her precious boys.

   She must have huffed or chuckled out loud, because Jason stirred, squinting bloodshot eyes up at her face. “Whz’happen?”

   “Nothing,” she whispered, taking a lock of his white hair between her ring and pinky finger and tucking it behind his ear. “Go to sleep.”

   “Nuh th’n sleepin’,” he denied, rolling over so his face was pressed against her stomach before wrapping an arm around her waist. “Jus’… restin’…”

   Kori huffed a little more quietly this time, allowing him to settle before resting her heated hand on the back of his neck. He had been having problems lately with his spine. Quick healing abilities did not mean that everything healed correctly, and sometimes sinew or tissue would catch or twist in a way it wasn’t supposed to as it firmed back into place. She wished she could locate it for him, the piece of bone that was so gratingly painful every time he rose his right arm, and reach past his flesh to pop it free.

   It was hurting him, this piece of his own body; something that was wrong, that was taking forever to fix, and she could do nothing about it.

   Kori smoothed her hand thoughtfully down the length of his spine, watching the skin around his neck ease. The vein near his collarbone disappeared. His breathing deepened in true sleep.

   Well… nothing but this.

   “Guh…” Roy mumbled fitfully, twitching, flinching from an unknown assailant. Memory, perhaps, or something else entirely, something worse. Something he could not nor had ever been able to touch. He had not slept well as of recent. Kori did not know which battle he was fighting now, but he had not allowed it to suck him under. If he needed them… WHEN he needed them… he would let them know.

   “Shhhhhhhhh,” she whispered, then started to hum. It was an old tune, one she had used to sing to the life she had so briefly carried. No one else knew the lyrics; the boys only ever heard it when they were on the threshold of asleep. It did not seem right to utter aloud.

   Roy’s brow eased beneath her low voice, her warm touch. He slipped quietly, almost unnoticeably, into a deeper sleep. She watched his eyelids flutter… and still. His flexed fist slowwwwwwly opened, fingers uncurled. Unconsciousness touched him almost like death, she thought. He was so very pale, so still when he slept. So concerningly cold.

   She was stroking both hands down their backs now, gently smoothing her fingertips into the grooves of Jason’s spine, then bumping her folded knuckles into the dips of Roy’s. Their rest deepened as she attended so subtly to their needs. The rain filled the background, a gentle, soothing companion. Pit… patter… spash-pit-splash.

   She could not reach into their bodies, their minds, and pull free what was causing their pain. But she could do this. She could smooth them out, rough edges melting ever so slightly under her warmth, and she could take care. She could be unwaveringly, fondly, protectively present.

   That, she thought, might have been what mattered most of all.

Chapter Text

   “Tim.”

   Tim raised his staff to create a barricade. His fingers trembled.

   “Tim.”

   It sounded heartbroken. Tim wet his lips before snapping back. “WHAT?”

   Jason held his hands up in the dim hallway, all sleep-ruffled pajamas and messy bedhead and dark under-eye circles superimposed over a shiny helmet and blood-covered boots and holstered guns. “You’re having a---”

   “I’m not crazy,” Tim defended as a scarier form emerged from a bedroom further down. Bruce. Bruce was seeing him lose his shit. The day Jason had moved back in of all days--- “I’m not.”

   “You’re not crazy,” Jason whispered with his empty hands held out, palm up. Surrender. “You’re just panicking.”

   “I’m not,” Tim denied vehemently, vision blurring as his hands tightened around his weapon of choice. He wished he had a gun. Then he felt sick all the way down to his feet. “I’m not, I just… I heard someone, someone was laughing… They broke in, they… they broke…”

   “Your right arm,” Jason murmured quietly, softly, like whispering cotton. Like an admission of sin. “And they broke your left leg. And they shot you and punched you and pinned you like a butterfly in your own damn blood.”

   A traitorous tear spilled down Tim’s face. He heard himself speaking with breath he didn’t have through lungs that weren’t his. “I don’t want you to leave.”

   “Then I won’t.” Those hands softened. They were so… so clean. They used to be covered in Tim’s blood. “I won’t leave, but you’re gonna have to meet me halfway.”

   Tim stood frozen, trembling. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t shake off the feeling of a cold gun barrel to his forehead.

   “Someone broke into your safe space,” Jason whispered hoarsely, choked. “to break you. And I am so… so sorry.”

   Tim dropped the staff from nerveless fingers, flinching as it clanged against the wood floor, and stepped over it as it rolled. A sob escaped from his tight throat as he reached out. Was it detestable? Weak? Would anyone even reach back?

   Jason closed the gap with soft, soft hands, gently murmured words, reassuring phrases that didn’t promise too much. “I’ve got you. You’re safe here. I’ll keep you safe. Tim… I will keep you safe.”

   Tim buried himself in Jason’s shoulder, making himself small, and cried. The hold wrapping around him with zero hesitation was so tight, so warm, and he couldn’t bring himself to care about the scrutinizing gaze of his new dad. “Please…”

   “Anything, baby bird.” Gentle fingers stroked through his hair, teasing the tangles apart, scratching at his scalp. “Anything.”

   Tim clutched handfuls of Jason’s shirt, hanging on, and caved into the safety that had promised protection. A trust he could never believe. “Don’t leave me.”

   “Okay.” Jason pulled up, taking Tim’s weight, and sighed across Tim’s hair as it settled his own. He rubbed a hand down Tim’s back, then gave up the petting, squeezing him tightly, solidly, with both arms. He waited for a minute as Tim’s spine stretched out. A tear dripped against Tim’s ear. “I won’t leave.”

   Tim pressed his face into sleep-warm skin, exhaled, and remembered how to breathe.

Chapter Text

   It hadn’t been Tim’s plan to get shot on patrol. Those things just happened. Roy could stop mother henning him any time now, please.

   “If you don’t stop fucking moving,” the archer threatened, tone dipping toward edgy impatience as he pinned Tim’s good shoulder back down against the couch.

   Tim meant to snarl at him, but what escaped was closer to a whine. He was tired. “I wanna sleep in my own bed.”

   “Tough.” Roy held up a colorful role of bandage tape, measuring some out, cutting it, and wrapping it around Tim’s upper arm before Tim could get a really good look. “You’re staying where someone can make sure your bleeding ass doesn’t decide to take spontaneous trips to Walmart for cupcakes in the middle of the night.”

   Tim eyed the Batman print on the decorative bandage tape, then scowled at Roy very judgmentally. “I’m not three.”

   “It pisses Jay off,” Roy offered by way of explanation, putting on a sharp grin that was a little too dangerous to land in Gremlin Territory. “Little bitches get themed stitches. Them’s the rules; I’m just the enforcer here. You wanna complain some more? I’ve got a Green Arrow themed cast.”

   Tim smirked boldly, sinking back down into the warm cushions against his will. “I guess Jay makes you wear that one.”

   “Only,” Roy repeated firmly, holding up one finger. “when I’m a little bitch. I’m gonna start the transfusion; you’ve lost a lotta blood. What’s your type again? Oh, that’s right, I don’t care.”

   “You’re gonna kill me with all your ‘caretaking’, asshole.”

   “Not with my blood I’m not.” Roy slapped Tim’s scraped up knee on his way into the kitchen. “You’re getting O-flavored. Want me to pour you a glass, too?”

   “On the rocks,” Tim agreed drowsily, yaaaaaaawning. He hadn’t lost that much. He was just… a little burned out… that was all. “An’ a lollipop.”

   “You have not been a good boy,” Roy quoted deadpan.

   “‘Course you’d know that movie, Dad.”

   Roy clattered around in the kitchen for a minute, oddly quiet. When he popped up again in Tim’s field of sight, the skin around his eyes had softened. “Here’s your juice. Hold still while I hook this up.”

Chapter Text

   Bruce did not wake up on three hours of sleep prepared for a manor-wide ‘hide-an’-seek-turned-Nerf-gun-war.’

   In hindsight, he should have expected it.

   “How---” He lifted his foot as Damian shot between his legs at a slide, aiming between the stairs’ banisters. “---did you keep this so quiet?”

   “Practice,” Jason shouted as he somersaulted onto the couch in the living room below, dodging Damian’s shot while coming up with both hands firing. Foam darts peppered the wall around Bruce’s feet. He danced out of the way, alarmed, and tripped on the rug.

   “Noooooooo!!!” Dick, mid-swing over the banisters, lunged to catch Bruce. His shoulder rammed into Bruce’s side, restoring his balance in the same movement that took away his breath, but one of Jason’s shots hit the boy squarely in the chest, then another in the eye.

   Bruce pressed himself back against the wall in blinking befuddlement as Dick sank to the floor, wailing. “Cheater, face shot, face shot!!! Cass!!! AVENGE MEEEEEEEE!!!”

   Cassandra, from absolutely nowhere, landed on Bruce’s shoulders. She used him as a springboard over the banisters into open air, a blood curdling war cry echoing off the ceiling as her hair brushed its wood. Jason was so startled by her death dive that he fell backwards off the couch, three darts nailing his throat. Bruce lunged for Cass’s feet, heart in the roof of his mouth as she brushed past---

   A purple blur tackled Cass out of the air before she hit the ground, yelling Tarzan style as they were both caught in a pile of well-placed pillows, gym mats, and blankets. Cass popped her head up from the nest, unharmed, and high-fived Stephanie. Damian leaned over the banister to shoot at them, enraged, but they dove out of sight in opposite directions down the hallway before he could land any hits.

   Bruce pressed his hand over his heart, staring down at his eldest as the boy gasped dramatically, one hand on his chest, one on his eye. He grasped at Bruce’s pant leg with a gurgle, imploring.

   Bruce turned around, heartbeat thundering behind his ribs. “I’m going back to bed.”

Chapter Text

   Alfred suppressed a longsuffering sigh. “Maybe if you didn’t want to spend your Saturday helping me repaint the dining room and garden the roses, Master Tim and Master Jason, you should not have started a food fight with food that stains.”

   Jason threw Tim a truly devious grin, flicking a moist clump of dirt at the back of his neck. Tim dodged it by a hair, whipping around to give Jason a snarl. He was decidedly not having as much fun in this as Jason was.

   “Well, many hands make light work,” Alfred continued cheerfully, refusing to let the ill-tempered children (because their brains, he had decided, had stopped growing at ages fifteen,) ruin his mood. It was a beautiful day, the sun was shining brightly on the petals of his translucent yellow roses, and his grandchildren were getting some sorely needed dirt therapy.

   What more was there to ask for?

   Another clump of dirt sailed past Alfred’s ear. He patiently pulled a dead leaf from his rose bush. “Master Tim.”

   “Sorry Alfred.”

   The subtle noises of raspberry-blowing issued from behind Alfred’s back. He clipped off an infected stem, sighing. “Master Jason.”

   “Sorry Alfie.”

   “Well well well,” Dick strolled down the vegetable garden’s path, smirking blithely as he sipped from a juice box. “If it isn’t the consequences of our own actions.”

   “Master Dick,” Alfred said immediately as the two troublemakers shared stony looks of a silent mutual agreement. “Just in time. I rather think I’ll need help hauling all these weeds off to the bin…”

   “Ah,” the boy said predictably, backing up with his hands raised. “I wouldn’t want to interfere. Important lessons being learned an’ all that.”

   Alfred proffered the significant pile of pulled weeds right as two hefty clumps of dirt sailed over his shoulder. Besieged on all fronts, the lad beat a hasty retreat, shooting a mischievous grin at his brothers as he went.

   Alfred reminded himself that these boys were blessings--- nay, treasures, MIRACLES--- as he returned his back-aching toils to his beautiful garden.

   The only missing component to an otherwise perfect morning was quiet.

Chapter Text

   “Do you think it was worth it?”

   “Whaddya mean, Jaybird?”

   “Dunno. Me, I guess.”

   Roy lifted his head to squint across the dark expanse of the mattress on the floor of this Godforsaken non-air-conditioned safehouse. It was too hot to exist, let alone to sleep, but that last mission--- The fallout had caught both of them on flat feet. They’d resorted to the closest safe space they could find before turning on a fan, shedding most of their bloody clothes, and crashing.

   Roy had had to kill a lot of people on their way out. He’d only gone to rescue Jay after refusing to see the mission through in the first place. He was to blame for this mess, too good for some of Jay’s dirty work, but too soft not to pull him out an’ leave a trail of bloody good intentions in his wake.

   Jason was probably hogging it all, come to think of it. “---What?”

   Slightly luminescent green eyes raised from the darkness with a scowl. “How many times do I gotta repeat myself?”

   Roy blinked rapidly, undecided. “How many times have I asked you to?”

   The eyes disappeared as Jason heaved a bone-weary sigh. “Nothin’.”

   “Yes,” Roy said quietly in answer to the first question. He rolled over, changing their sprawled thighs-across-legs position to lying catty-corner with his knees crooked over Jason’s waist. Was close enough to reach over now, to comb careful fingers through his brother’s sweaty hair. “You will always be worth it.”

   The green fluttered out as Jason’s eyelids shut. The only sound they could hear was the fan. For a while. Eventually, beneath the labored breathing of nerves on fire, Roy could hear the sound of his own heartbeat beginning to slow.

   He realized his hand had moved down to cup Jason’s throat, pads of fingers gently pressed into his brother’s skin. He didn't bother moving them. Jason’s muscles seemed pretty relaxed.

   “Are you sure?” Jason slurred in the quiet, sharp edges that were slowly sheathing into something else. An almost peaceful letdown.

   “Yeah.” Roy rubbed his thumb gently across Jason’s collarbone. “Positive.”

Chapter Text

   “It was bullshit.”

   Dick could hear the sound of a seasoned archer purposefully announcing his presence ten yards behind him, crouching in the gravel on the roof. “What?”

   “The mountain scene. With Zuko.” Dick kicked one heel against the side of the building. It kinda hurt. “The lightning storm. It doesn’t actually hit you, y’know? Not when you want it to.”

   Roy’s weight shifted, gravel crackling. “How long have you been up here, Rob?”

   Dick huffed out through his nose. It was getting harder to breathe in, being frozen an’ all. At least he didn’t have to smell the unbearably fresh rain.

   It was so untainted up here. It hadn’t been sullied by rust and dry streets and old tires yet.

   “I’m not a flight risk,” he said instead of answering. It was fuzzy, the distance between them. And the distance to the ground.

   “I’m more interested in the fall risk, to be perfectly honest.”

   “How’d you know where to find me?”

   “It’s raining.” A stilted pause, heavy with unspoken understanding too soft to touch. “And you’re alone.”

   Dick breathed out one more time. It was humiliating. Being so known.

   Roy finally lowered himself down to Dick’s right. He didn’t reach out or pick up a grapple arrow. He just leaned against Dick’s shoulder, quiet.

   He was dressed in soaked civvies. He hadn’t even bothered to suit up before running out to chase Dick down.

   Not that Dick was running.

   “You don’t have to stay out here,” he whispered, and it was almost lost to the rain.

   Dick kicked his heel against the brick again. “You don’t have to, either.”

   “I don’t like leaving my friends behind.”

   “I guess we’re stuck, then.”

   “I guess so.”

   Guilt was a familiar shiver in the pit of his stomach. It wasn’t Roy’s fault. It wasn’t anyone’s.

   Still… it was kinda nice to have company.

Chapter Text

   The panting had finally grown quiet. Steady.

   Roy pressed the back of his hand to the side of Jason’s sweaty temple. Jason didn't acknowledge him beyond a grunt, eyes fluttering shut. His forehead was buried in his palm. Fluffy white peeked between his fingers.

   “Gotchu,” Roy repeated in a whisper. Like it needed to be said.

   Jason’s smile flickered. As far as panic attacks went, this had been a really bad one. Like “Can’t even cope by raging across the rooftops or going green on traffickers” kinda bad. After hours of talking him down, giving him space, and walking the razor thin edges of his sanity like only Roy knew how, Jason had finally dissolved into full-blown panic followed quickly by tears.

   He was breathing again now. Steady an’ slow.

   Roy watched him for a minute, watched the way he sort of sank, defeated, into the cushions of the couch. The way his aching back bent over his knees, the way he hid his tears ineffectively in his hand. He wasn’t trying, not really. He was just so damn tired of being seen.

   Boy was THAT relatable.

   Roy bent over, pressing his lips briefly against Jason’s crown. A soft noise of surprise, but nothing else. Jason probably didn’t need to question the feral instincts that made Roy see a kid, a family member in considerable distress, and want to dismantle life’s ability to harm.

   God--- Jason was too young for this shit.

   He raised his head automatically when Roy moved, leaning. Roy shifted to stand in front of him, letting Jason’s skull thump against his ribs. He rested his hand on his brother’s trembling back, listening to his shaky breathing. He just waited.

   He was here. That, at least, he could do something about.

   Jason shifted uneasily.

   Roy lifted his arm up, hazy purple giving way to contented half-sleep. His voice only managed to raise to a whisper. “I’s okay… get comfy.”

   Jason slowly twisted, tucking himself snugly into Roy’s space. Roy pulled up the blankets with his foot, scooping the big guy as close as he could get. “Gotchu.”

   Jason gently bumped his head up under Roy’s chin, hiding. His exhales were steady against Roy’s collarbone. It was amazing how small he could get when he really tried to take up less space. He wasn’t really that big. Attitude made him look bigger.

   Roy huffed fondly, sadly, rubbing steady strips of pressure up an’ down Jason’s back. Muscles unwound beneath his hand, vicious adrenaline easing up now that the nightmare was over. Jason sighed heavily, ribs expanding, and pressed his nose against the middle of Roy’s chest.

   Roy would never get over the way Jason pinned his arms between them like that. Like he felt… safe.

   Suddenly aggressively affectionate, he squeezed his brother tight, rolling over to crush him under inadequate weight. Jason melted beneath the added pressure anyway. Now… he wasn’t anything he’d forged. Anything dangerous or edgy or tragic. Just… Just Jason. Just a kid who needed the hug of someone safe.

   Roy breathed slowly as their combined body heat ensconced them in gentle comfort, allowing himself to sink back into the haze of sleep. “Gotchu…”

   Jason sighed deeply. “Alw’s.”

Chapter Text

   Dick flopped face-first onto the Clocktower’s couch. His day had started off great, but then… He wasn't sure, honestly. His head was killing him, patrol had grown worse by the hour, and trying to put on a brave face was just… beyond his acting abilities at the moment. He didn’t really want anyone to see him like this, but his brothers knew all of his Gotham safehouse locations and enjoyed breaking in at ungodly hours just to steal his Alfred-approved and specially made sugar cookies, so the Clocktower it was.

   Soft rain pit-pattered against the reinforced clock face. The entire tower had been rebuilt in the aftermath of twenty-eighteen’s invasion. Superman himself had tested its endurance upon fervent request from the Batgirls. This place was a sanctuary impervious to everything but Superman-worthy threats. It was a safe stronghold for the Birds of Prey.

   Nightwing wasn’t hiding from anything as strong as all that. Just from something on the inside of him, maybe. Something he hadn’t been able to leave at the door.

   Long fingers carded through his hair, calloused fingertips that hadn’t yet grown smooth again from hours of tap-tap-tapping on computer keys. She still worked out and wielded weapons and cleaned guns in her free time. Every gentle movement belied her strength. She would slit his throat in a heartbeat if she thought she needed to.

   She paused at his crown, rubbing gentle circles into the part in his hair that never seemed to disappear beneath the hair gel. He hummed softly, barely a breath. Or maybe he just thought really, really, really hard about it.

   “You should rest,” she told him. Like it wasn’t completely obvious.

   He knew her, though. He knew her as well as the contours of his calloused hands. He wasn’t as pretty as everyone assumed underneath the kevlar and spandex and leather. He was just… a man. A man who had put himself through so many hells, so many lives, that his skin had built shells out of scars, smirks where there should have been smiles in order to protect what was inside.

   It got hard sometimes to remember what was inside still.

   He knew her, so he knew that she wasn’t telling him the obvious. You should let it go, she wasn’t saying, because you’re still hard at work. You didn’t leave whatever you were fighting at the door.

   “I can’t,” he whispered, and his throat ached.

   “Sure you can,” she told him, tugging gently on his hand. Her fingers wrapped around his pulse point. “Just look up.”

   He squinted at her face through the pain. She had freckles on her nose. They faded in the winter sometimes. They wrinkled at the corners of her eyes when she smiled.

    She smiled at him so much.

   Instead of answering his unspoken question, one of the only moments that might have required verbal communication instead the peace that came from quietly being known, she tugged again at his wrist. It was weak, his joint. All of his joints were. He had flexed them so hard in so many ways, breaking them each time they refused to bend as far as the world needed them to. It was enough that sometimes his bones threatened to crumble like Jenga blocks beneath his skin. Beneath the weight that he couldn’t leave at the door.

   Realizing that she was still watching him, still waiting patiently for him to join her in the land of the present, space, and time, he forced those bones to move. He sat up, pressing his hand to his throbbing skull, and rose carefully on unsteady feet. Followed her through the Clocktower that echoed with an empty cacophony of stampeding water on the roof. A distant roar.

   A few staircases, pully systems, and levers later, he found himself stepping out onto the narrow palisade circling the top of the Clocktower. The rain washed over him, soaking his suit against his body, and his heartbeat thundered in time with the lightning in his ears. For half a second, he was on another rooftop, another time, another place. Another present that he was unable to leave at the door.

   Then warm fingers laced through his. Not to hold--- Not to restrain--- Just to touch. Her thumb stroked the groove of his palm, digging gently into the old bullet scar that always ached in the middle of summer, and he found all of a sudden that he could breathe.

   “Yes,” she repeated quietly, “you can.”

   He peeled his mask from his face, blinking water that tasted like the chilly sky from his long eyelashes, and pretended for a moment that the earthbound clouds on his cheeks weren’t mixing with salt water from his body. He laughed to let the emotion go. It burst into an overwhelming spark, skittering across the aching nerves of his heart before dissipating on the air.

   The little boy on the high wire with a thin strand of metal pressing into the pads of his feet--- That little boy used to know what to do with emotions like these.

   “I don’t know how to,” he told her, because he didn’t. If he had, he would have set it down at the door. Whatever it was. However it appeared. Wind in the rustling treetops, sparking sensations of pain across his fingertips that were so calloused they shouldn’t have been able to feel anything.

   They felt her. Her warmth and her gentleness and her softness, the softness that hadn’t quite come back all the way beneath the callouses built through hours of clawing her way through a world that was not built for her.

   It would crumble beneath her feet if she ever stood up again. He told himself that he would watch her destroy the world with tears in his eyes. Fate, maybe, had known that it would not survive its encounter with her soft hands if her feet were allowed to stay on the ground.

   “Let it go,” she told him, and her words danced exactly the way her body used to. “Dick… look up.”

   He tipped his head back, blinking at the sky, the sky that cried. He couldn’t see where it ended. He couldn’t see anything at all. He closed his eyes while he waited, waited for her to explain, to tell him why this would help him to set it down.

   Something slid from his shoulders. He breathed out, pressure on his lungs from a sob that refused to let itself be known, and listened to the rainwater wash across his skin. His hair flowed off of his forehead; his ears filled with dampness, a muted storm, and thunder rumbled through his ribs.

   The sky opened up as he exposed his face, washing off the grief that clung to his sweat, the pain that lingered behind his skull. The rain swallowed him in a thousand points of pressure, in a steady whirlpool of sound, and shifted the burden pressing down on his spine. It sloughed off, shifting beneath the care of a single raindrop multiplied.

   The consistency of time standing still, and he was drowning in it.

   The soft fingers were warm in his hand… and the sky’s tears destroyed themselves at his feet… and the fight set itself down at the door.

   He could breathe.

Chapter Text

   An SOS text from your best friend usually meant an SOS kind of situation. So when Roy had received “Bad Titans mission; Wall will explain. Check on Dick.” with proper punctuation an’ everything, he had assumed the worst. A death, maybe. It wasn’t like he could tell what was going on across their bond; Dickie was free with his love, but completely locked down on the job. His bonds were always religiously regulated. If not for the fact that a broken bond was a very distinct sensation, one he knew too well, Roy might not have known he was alive at all.

   His fears weren’t exactly soothed when he entered Dick’s apartment. Disabling the security when they’d gotten no answer to a knock had been easier than spitting. His pupils constricted as soon as he stepped inside.

   No one had DIED, Wally had just been explaining. They just hadn’t been able to get all of the civilians out in time. Seven people had been sent to the hospital, one to intensive care, and two of the newer team members, fresh, ungainly teens, had been caught in the crossfire.

   Everyone was technically… reportedly… fine. With your back up against the wall, though, and only bad choices to pick between and no one you really trusted to have your back when the buck stopped at the top with you--- God. Roy knew what that felt like. Probably not enough. Probably never to the extent that Dick did. But…

   “It’s bad,” Wally summarized as he zipped through the kitchen, pulling open every door to every cupboard. “What, a pack of ramen? That’s IT?”

   “Don’t knock a good staple,” Roy mumbled right as a tangled head of hair popped up from the shitty couch nest.

   “Fuck?” Dick said eloquently.

   “Dude,” Wally gestured harshly, jerky body language giving vent to the obvious anxiety arcing through his system. “The food in this place is nonexistent. What the hell are you eating? This is a war crime!!!”

   “And we’re the authorities,” Roy said dryly, pulling off his scarf to let his concerned omega scent unfurl into the air. “Although that’s nothing compared t---”

   Dick reared back with an actual hiss.

   “Bitch?” Roy answered automatically.

   Wally zipped into the room. This proved to be a huge mistake. The anxious humor in the air cracked like a whip, morphing into a sharp warning as Dick rolled clumsily, launching himself backwards off the couch, and slammed his back into one of the windows when he stumbled. The glass cracked.

   “Stop,” Roy ordered urgently, and the young alpha froze, wide green eyes sparking with electricity. They watched Dick for several agonizing seconds. Roy clocked the shivering and the flat alpha scent and the panicking. Dick’s pupils were almost pinpricks.

   They were on the seventh fucking story.

   “No speed,” Roy murmured lowly, crouching to set his weapons on the ground. He took everything out from the hidden pockets on his civvies, every knife and throwing star and arrow, raising empty hands. “No pointy things. It’s just us... and a feral packmate... and seven stories.”

   “Shit,” Wally mumbled sadly. “Dick, man, what happened to you?”

   “Burnout?” Roy’s eyes narrowed as they flicked around the apartment, taking in every detail. Depression. Damn, he forgot. Robin had always been so private about therapy or meds. It was still hard to see past that smile sometimes.

   “Augh, his parents... the anniversary. It’s next week.”

   Roy stared openly. “Well SHIT, Wall. That might have been helpful to know thirty seconds ago.”

   Wally made a face at him, flicking his fingers in Dick’s general direction. “I can catch him.”

   “No need." Roy took a step forward, ignoring his packmate’s feral snarl, ignoring the creaking glass, and projected his soothing omega scent. “We’re gonna do this the kind way. Niiiiiice an’ easy.”

   Dick shrank back, blinking in confusion when he heard the chuffing. Wally watched sharply, but he stayed put as ordered. Roy closed in, slowly, gently, his every movement calculated for non-confrontation.

   To this specific Bat... everything he could be. Everything he knew how to be. Everything Dick wasn’t getting from the packmates he wasn’t letting in.

   “I gotcha,” Roy murmured fondly, reaching out to wrap his fingers around Dick’s wrist. He didn’t squeeze, didn’t pull, just slid that grip by intermittent touches up Dick’s arm, shoulder, the back of his neck. When he pressed his palm protectively over Dick’s chilly nape, the alpha released a heartbreaking keeeeeeen. “Yeah… I know. I gotcha.”

   Wally padded over at normal speeds, cutting Dick off from the window, and hugged him from the other side. “It’s okay.”

   “Guys...” Dick choked on his breaths; his inhales were picking up speed. His body shook, nervous system finally falling apart in their arms. “Guys, I can’t---”

   “Easy,” Roy murmured as he squeezed tigher, keeping Dick’s arms raised above his waist in a safety hold. “Breathe.”

   Dick keened again, and the redheads winced at each other, but they didn’t let go. Their alpha packmate shook and shivered and sobbed until he was a limp mess in their arms, held up only by a sandwich hug, and cried freely. Roy’s shoulder grew damp with bitter alpha tears; his instincts sharpened as his body picked up on the injured, sick pheromones, quickly priming to heal. Wally, for his part, was flexing his jaw. Probably trying not to bite.

   Dick panicked so damn quietly for five agonizing minutes. Then, as quickly as a flare, the light suddenly went out. He slumped dizzily, hiding in the crook of Roy’s shoulder where the omega scent was strongest. A self-soothing rumble started up in the pit of his stomach; Roy could feel it through his spine. Wally pressed his nose protectively against Dick’s nape, rumbling back.

   “It’s okay; we’re here,” Roy said quietly. He took his packmate’s weight, swaying. “You got tea?”

   “Yeah, and cleanup.” Wally winced dramatically. “I’ll find you some clean blankets for a nest.”

   “Find some marshmallows, too, please. His blood sugar’s crashy an’ he won’t eat anything else like this.”

   “Gotcha.”

   Getting the nest in the bedroom fixed once Wally ran him the materials (at a normal speed) was easy. Roy had trained for quick nest-building like he’d trained for making a field patch or changing suits in sub-thirty seconds. He was nestling his sick packmate into its warm depths in no time at all, restlessly combing Dick’s hair into place.

   Getting him to sleep would be the hard part.

   “Marshmallows,” Wally announced as he zipped back into the bedroom, slowing down, “and water bottles. The apartment’s clean an’ groceries are on their way.”

   “C’mon,” Roy invited quietly. The young alpha anxiously climbed in, kicking off his shoes to curl up between Dick an’ the wall. Sheltering his back, essentially.

   It was always the little things.

   “I can’t,” Dick whispered weakly.

   “Hey.” Roy hooked his fingers around his oldest friend’s jaw, steely. “It’s just us, man. There are no more kids, no Leaguers, no one to see your show. C’mon down from the highwire, huh? It’s okay to cry; you’re backstage.”

   Dick curled into Roy’s shoulder, body shaking with fresh tears. They were relieved sobs now, though; the kind that released pressure. His flat scent was already lifting out of illness just from being around someone else.

   Of course the guy with the most fucking packmates in the whole fucking world isolated like he didn’t have any at all.

   Roy took his time scrubbing his scent into his injured packmate’s skin, covering him methodically in protect-soothe-home-safe-mine. Wally’s fierce alpha scent wasn’t long in following--- protect-avenge-fight-keep-mine. The two mixes ballooned together into a bubble of safety, creating a force field that no one in their right mind would even try to breach. It was a warning. STAY AWAY. RECOVERING PACKMATE. DANGER.

   Dick released a shuddering sigh into Roy’s shoulder, relaxing. Roy had been waiting for that. He tucked the exhausted alpha under his chin with a surge of brotherly affection. Safe-nurture-heal softly stole over the protective nesting space. Wally’s electric warmth was what finally had Dick’s alpha instincts shutting off. Roy grinned at the matching freckled face staring back at him over a messy head of black hair. Alpha stand-in was here to take over. Score.

   “Gonna bite you,” Wally warned grouchily, but his smile was already trying to make a comeback. Dick dropped his shoulder in answer, not even bothering to look up. Wally almost drew actual blood when he bit down, snarling possessively.

   “Don’t HURT him,” Roy said sharply, exasperated.

   Wally bit harder, flipping Roy the bird. Roy rolled his eyes, focusing on making Dick comfortable. The alpha was scared; of course he was. This was a lot of healing, a lot of vulnerability all at once. Roy had not survived everything for nothing, though. He brushed his presence across their bond, smoothing down the metaphorically ruffled feathers with a practiced touch. You’re safe here. SAFE.

   The omega’s influence gave Wally’s venom the opening it needed. Dick slumped bonelessly with one last shiver as the younger alpha’s fiery venom swept through his nervous system. He tipped his chin back, dropping slowly into full submission, and slow-blinked.

   His body recognized them now. His oldest friends.

   Roy’s purr deepened into a healing tone as he finally relaxed. He adjusted his grip to allow Wally more space, giving the alpha plenty of room to smother Dick in aggressive nuzzling and manhandling and scenting. Once Dick was properly dizzy from all the physical affection, Wally subsided, burying his face against Dick’s nape.

   It must have been a lot like being attacked by an incredibly large, overly eager, somewhat impatient dog.

   Roy massaged the place Dick had been mauled, making sure the venom just under the bite was getting enough circulation. Dick sighed shakily, sinking past the drop zone of true submission toward real sleep. He’d given in. They had him.

   They’d just have to get to those marshmallows later.

Chapter Text

   Everything was very… hazy. Tim chirped impatiently for caretaking. Where was alpha? Omega??? They should’ve been there and they weren’t and Tim was going to make his grievances known. He chirped again, angrily.

   “Oh my GOD---” Omega stumbled into view with a toothbrush in his mouth, scowling. “I left for TWO MINUTES, you little brat; you expect me to come off patrol with onion breath? The absolute fuckin’---”

   “Jay,” Alpha’s voice rumbled, and there he was, steady and calm and big-big-big. Tim reached for that bigness from the comfort of his nest, chirping happily. Alpha handed over an armful of fresh blankets. That was not what Tim had been chirping for.

   “Be NICE,” Alpha chided with a distinct frown at Omega. “He’s in heat.”

   “He’s a pain in my ass is what he is,” Omega grumbled under his breath, disappearing briefly before reappearing sans shirt. “What are you standing around for?”

   “Hn?”

   “He chirped for--- Oh my God. HOLD him.” Omega stalked over, grumpy, and hauled Tim into a full-body squeeze. “Like THIS.”

   Tim squeaked as his bones melted into liquid gold. This was the best possible way to go. His purr was loud enough to vibrate through the wood of the bed frame.

   “Hn,” Alpha repeated distantly, and then Tim was being handed away, abandoned, left all on his own---

   Huge arms closed around his wriggling body, pulling him close. “Shhhhhhhh. I’ve got you, son.”

   Tim stilled with his cheek pressed against a broad shoulder, purrrrrrrring. This was so much better, actually. Bigger was superior. Now he was very protected. Nothing could touch him here. Nothing.

   Alpha squeezed him a little tighter. “You’re rather small, aren’t you? Please don’t chew on that.”

   “Adorable.” A camera shutter clicked. “I’m sending this to Alfie. You’re gonna need to iron out that shirt once it’s done being used as a chew toy.”

   “Send it to me also, please.” Alpha combed his strong fingers through Tim’s hair, rumbling softly. His eyes were so full of--- something. Maybe it was--- pride? “Some memories are worth advertising on the fridge, lad.”

   Tim just slow-blinked with an extremely giddy purr.

Chapter Text

   “Are those Dick’s Oreos?”

   Jason froze instantly, caught in the act of replacing each of the Oreo centers with mint toothpaste. Dammit. Maybe Timbird would be a willing accomplice?

   Tim stared at him for a long stretch of awkward silence, blinking first one eye, then the other. Like a Goddamn lizard. His cowl hair was truly something to behold. Jason got so distracted watching it while he waited for a verbal accusation that Tim eventually broke the silence with a sigh, apparently resigned. “Not my circus. Not my monkeys. Not my circus. Not my monkeys. Not…”

   Jason watched him totter toward the espresso machine, vaguely amused. “Is that blood?”

   Tim waved his bandaged hand in a “Shoo” gesture. The movement exuded so much Tired Dad energy that Jason decided, with a snort, to mind his own business. THIS time.

   A mutual agreement to fuck with anyone but each other tonight.

   “Tomorrow’s the anniversary.” Tim tapped the fingers of his working hand against the top of the machine, watching a fourth shot drip into the mug with lidded eyes. Jason, down to his last few cookies, frowned. Waited. Went back to his work. Continued to wait.

   “And?” he finally muttered when no further explanation was forthcoming.

   “And.” Tim finally removed the mug, dipping a splash of milk into its black depths before downing the whole thing like Vodka. He blinked at Jason presently, fully aware for the first time all evening, and frowned back. “Is that why you’re doing this?”

   Jason shrugged one shoulder as he carefully resealed the bag, pocketing the toothpaste evidence. “Anything to take his mind off’a things, y’know? Spicy minty fresh.”

   “Presence.” Tim nodded solemnly, licking the rim of his empty mug. “Groundedness. I added a bunch of soft blankets to his bed for the same reason.”

   Jason almost grinned, mournful. “Sad, really, how different our approaches at loving distraction tend to be.”

   “Tragic.”

   “Almost completely unrelated.”

   “You don’t think…?” Tim eyed Jason solemnly, giving up on scavenging for leftover coffee taste. “You don’t think one of us is adopted, do you?”

   Jason laughed loudly, throwing his head back. He couldn’t help it. “Not a chance.”

   “Hey, guys,” Dick’s weary voice greeted through the doorway. His slumped shoulders were already lifting as he shucked his work jacket. “What’s so funny?”

   “Nothin’.” Jason abandoned the sealed package of prank cookies, cuffing Tim on the back of the head. “C’mon Dickie. We’re going out for McDonald’s an’ you’re coming with.”