Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Dick wheezed, resisting the urge to curl up in a ball and pretend he wasn’t here. Stephanie grunted in his general direction. Code for ‘get up, we don’t have time to be injured’. Groaning, he tried to get to his knees. Gravel pushed into his skin.

Yellow light flashed as Cass’ punch was deflected. It sent her flying into a chimney. She let out a silent scream as she hit it, back arching away on instinct. Dick winced in solidarity, and stupidly, wished Batman was here.

He grimaced.

“What do you want?” he yelled, not expecting an answer. He’d asked the same question over and over again, but got no response. The yellow light orb wordlessly flashed at them, sending them flying across rooftops.

His eyes slid over to Cass who was heaving in air, arm held shakily over her midsection. Steph had peeled herself off the floor and rushed over, even as Cass batted away the blonde’s fussing.

Something laughed. Dick whipped his head back and recoiled. The thing had a mouth. A horribly real mouth, attached to what was otherwise just a bit of light. Damian’s lip curled up as he stared at it.

“Oh my god, ew,” Steph said. Dick turned to give her a stern look, but the thing spoke again.

“Don’t be rude,” the thing snapped, light pulsing in her direction. Cass straightened and moved to get in front of her, but the light got there first. Steph let out a soft breath and a shudder, jaw tight.

Cass turned her back to the light, hands twitching as she stared at the girl. Dick almost did a double take.

“I’m fine, Cass,” he heard her say, in the cadence of someone who was about to pass out.

Dick swung his escrima around, hoping the movement would bring the light’s attention back to him.

“I asked what you want,” Dick said, taking a step forward. “Kind of rude not to answer.”

Something laughed. Instinctively, he looked at Stephanie, but found her fussing over Cass.

The thing laughed. Dick repressed a shudder. It had no dimples, no skin. Just lips that stretched over a wide grin.

“It’s not what I want,” the thing said. “So much as it’s something my boss wants. I’m just here for assistance.”

Well, that was stupidly vague. He swallowed down his frustration. He missed the days of the villainous monologue.

Behind him, Dick heard the tell-tale thunk of Jason’s boots on concrete. Despite himself, Dick relaxed a little. Everyone was here now, at least.

“Okay then,” Dick said. “What does your boss want?”

Light flashed out across the rooftop before Dick could get out another breath. Instinctively, he squeezed his eyes shut, reaching up to shield them. His chest tightened, making each breath rattle as it came out. Reflexive tears began to stream down his cheeks. He could work with this, he reminded himself. He just needed to be able to see-

His back arched before collapsing in on itself. A strangled half scream forced its way out of him.

“Dick!”

The world titled for a second. Distantly, Dick felt gravel scratch up his cheek as he watched Tim’s boots approach him. His head thudded with his heart, stinging with every breath he took.

He heard a voice, muted, like it was at the end of a corridor.

“Well, my work’s done here.”

–

Blinking took more effort than it should’ve when he came to. Steph was next to him. Her cheeks seemed bigger than usual. He chalked it up to a trick of the light.

He reached out to shake her awake, except he had to reach much further than he thought. Groggily, he wondered if he was concussed. He looked down at where his head was to look for blood, and on the way caught a glimpse of his hands. They were a lot smaller than usual.

“Oh, for fucks sake,” Jason said. Dick turned slowly, his head still heavy. The white was gone from Jason's hair. His skin, damp with the light rain that had made him shiver earlier, was noticeably paler. “Why are you taller than me again,” he murmured, leaning into Dick’s space.

“Oh fuck,” he heard someone whisper. He looked up to spot Tim, who was watching them, eyes wide. “We have to go, now.”

Even as he spoke, he remained motionless, arms stiff at his sides.

Cass instantly scooped Steph up in her arms, holding her close to her chest. Idly, Dick watched as the hood on the Spoiler costume fell. Steph’s yellow hair almost matched the yellow on Cass’ suit. It certainly blurred the lines of where the bat symbol on her chest started and ended.

“I can carry Grayson,” Damian said, trying to keep his voice level and failing.

“You and Dick are the same weight,” Tim mumbled, shaking his head. Damian’s jaw tightened at the dismissal. Tim bent down to pick Dick up.

Dick, for once, had no words for this situation. He settled into Tim’s arms, watching as Cass scooped up Jason too. Jason hadn’t seemed to notice that he’d immediately clutched onto her suit until Dick caught his eye. He released the fabric like it burned him, cheeks red.

The silence stretched on the rooftop. Sirens were approaching them. Dick could still hear the light rain splattering the ground.
“This is weird,” he said, unsure whether to rest his head on Tim’s bony shoulder. Tim huffed, his movements stiff and awkward.

“Yeah,” was all he said.

–

Cass had raced ahead even with two people in her hands. Dick suspected something was going on with her and Steph that would explain the urgent air around them. Tim and Damian took their time, Damian hovering unnecessarily close.

Dick waited for Tim to get defensive, to snap at the youngest that he was perfectly capable of carrying someone. But neither of them spoke until they got just past the cave’s entrance.

In the middle of the cave, Cass seemed to be having a silent battle with Jason.

They had finally stopped. Tim’s hold on him had been weirdly loose the entire way back, to the point where Dick found himself clinging to the younger boy for safety purposes. But now that they had stopped, Tim seemed to lose whatever reservations he had about touch, his arms tightening around Dick.

He shot Damian a questioning look. The boy's eyes widened, and then he looked away. Dick sighed, moving a little to get Tim’s attention. Tim adjusted his hold, not showing any indication of letting go.

“Tim,” Dick said softly, not wanting to interrupt whatever fight Cass and Jason were having.

Tim blinked twice before finally looking down at his brother. He placed Dick back on the ground with a hurried, ‘oh, right.’

“Thanks, Timmy.”

Both of them paused for a second. This was usually the point when Dick would ruffle his hair, but right now he couldn’t really reach. Tim had even slightly ducked his head out of habit. They looked at each other and snorted.

Out the corner of his eye, he spotted Cass shaking her head, jaw tight.

“What’s going on?” he asked, approaching the other three. Steph seemed to be groggily gaining consciousness, blinking slowly as she counted the people in the cave. Dick met her eyes and smiled gently. Her own smile wavered as she reached the end of her headcount, seemingly realising Bruce wasn’t here.

Jason took a step away from Cass, turning his attention to Dick. He seemed to pause for a second, shocked. Dick tried to not have the same reaction. Jason was just so small. Jason shook his head, as if to shake away his own confusion.

“She wants to call Bruce but won’t tell us what’s going on!” Jason shouted, his voice cracking halfway through.

Steph sat up slowly, eyes wary as they swept over the cave. Cass walked over to sit beside her. She reached to place a hand on Steph’s back, as if to keep her steady.

“Wait’,” Steph said. Cass’ hand froze. Dick zeroed in on it, but for the life of him couldn’t figure out what it meant. Steph didn’t seem to notice the motion. “You guys know wha’s going on?”

Cass seemed to realise Steph was speaking to the group at large, not her. She placed her hand on the girl's back.

Tim’s lips thinned, mouth twitching downwards in a way that indicated he was keeping a secret.

“Ohmygod yuh do!” Steph said, staring at Tim. “I can spot yur lying face from a mile away, dumbdumb.”

Tim’s mouth remained shut. Jason shot him a disbelieving look, his eyebrows raised. Dick took that as his cue.

“What is it? C’mon guys, we’re gonna have to deal with whatever this is at some point, and I’d rather it didn’t get dragged out.”

He realised after he spoke that Damian was silent. Had been silent since his offer to carry Dick. The boy’s brow puckered just slightly. He always looked up at Dick when he felt his brother's eyes on him, but now he kept staring straight ahead at the wall. Dick crossed his arms, heart clenching with worry.

“Cass, call B,” he said.

“What?” Jason yelled. “Do you not care that we have no idea what the fuck’s going on?”

Dick sent Jason a pleading look before realising that was a mistake. The boy seethed under it. Pointing to the corner, he motioned for Jason and Steph to follow him to it.

“Think about it, guys,” he murmured, though he was mostly addressing Jason. “Look at the way they’re acting. This is serious.”

Steph hummed, pinching the skin on her wrist.

“Cass wouldn’ let go of us earlier,” she admitted. “We’d literally just touched the floor when yous got here.”

Jason’s eyes flickered back and forth between the two of them. He looked over Dick’s shoulder. Dick could hear the other three at their stations, typing and whispering frantically.

“Tim was the same with me,” he said slowly, frowning. Jason put his helmet on the bench, and Dick kept his eyes on it. Their clothes had shrunk to fit them, by the looks of it. “Okay,” he continued, taking a breath. “Okay. Let’s figure out what we know.”

“We’ve all been physically sent back a few years, but we’re still mentally in this year,” Steph noted, still pinching herself. Jason swatted her hands away.

“Any idea how old you two are?” Dick asked. Jason hummed like Steph did, holding his hands out. Dick had no idea who had picked up the habit from who, but he found it sweet regardless. Despite himself, his mouth twitched upwards.

“Fingernails are long,” Jason muttered, eyes glazed over for a second. “Skin’s soft. I’m gonna guess I’m about twelve physically.”

Steph lifted up her arm and sniffed.

“What’re you doin?” Jason asked, laughter in his voice.

“Tryna see if ah stink like a kid or stink like a teenager,” she said, and snorted when Jason pushed her away with disgust.

Dick examined his own hands. They were darker than they usually work. If he was younger, that made sense. Gotham and Bludhaven didn’t offer much sunlight. His nails were clipped. He clenched and unclenched his fists. No consistent ache yet.

“Verdict?” Dick asked as Steph stopped sniffing her pits.

“Don’ know,” she sighed. “Oh! Ah know how to find out, hold on!”

She began to take off her costume. Jason and Dick both snapped their heads away.

“Warn a guy will you!” Jason cried. Steph cackled. Her costume rustled as she shimmied out of it.

“Relax, I’m just finding something on my thigh, yus can turn around.”

They did just that as she squeezed a bit of scarred flesh. It stood out, purple against her pale legs.

“Aha! Found it! Am about fourteen,” she said triumphantly.

As she stood there in her sports bra and underwear, Dick couldn’t quite suppress his alarm at her skinniness. Her ribs poked at her skin in a way that looked painful. Steph flushed under his scrutiny, covering her ribs with her arms.

“Jesus Christ you were a scrawny teenager,” Jason said, tactful as ever. “At least I’ve got the excuse of malnourishment.”

Steph sent him a blank look.

“And I don’t?”

Jason spluttered, seemingly putting two and two together. Warmth bloomed across Dick’s chest. Even if Jason didn’t see it yet, he was glad that Steph recognised their similarities.

“Oops,” he said with supposed nonchalance, though his flushed cheeks said otherwise. He reached into his locker and threw a jumper her way. “Don’t freeze.”

She barely caught it. Idly, Dick wondered how she ever fought crime in that state. It was a miracle she didn’t collapse on the spot.

He frowned, pushing down his worry. He still couldn’t place his age.

“Gonna try the same method as Steph,” he muttered, pulling off his costume. Without thinking, he folded it with military precision, and placed it on a nearby chair. He reached up to peel off his mask when a wave of fear struck him. He hesitated, turning to face the mirror.

An ashen face met his own. He remembered. Slade Wilson had slowly peeled it off. It didn't hurt. The gentleness alarmed him, pouring terror into him for a reason he couldn’t name.

He shook the thought away and ripped off his mask so quickly he was sure it’d burn. Jason and Steph both turned to stare at him. Jason seemed to recognise something in Dick’s eyes.

“I’m thirteen,” he said suddenly. Jason perked up, taking his own costume and rushing to the mirror. Dick didn’t want to stare at the boy’s torso, the way it was skin and bones, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away. His brother, his sister. He ached for them. After a few seconds, Jason huffed.

“Disappointed you don’t have a cool ass scar to identify your age?” Steph teased.

Jason was clearly trying not to sulk as he tugged a shirt over his head. He tossed Dick a shirt too. The fabric itched around his shoulders, but he felt less exposed by the second.

Dick heard Tim before he saw him.

“Could you all stop stripping?” he said, exasperated. “Also, Steph, I know you got that scar from falling off your friend’s bunk bed.”

Dick snorted, leaning on her shoulder. She scowled and pushed him off, muttering about her reputation.

“Sucks to suck,” he grinned. She pouted. “What’d you need Tim?”

Tim’s face hardened, fingers tightening around the tablet in his hand. Cass appeared behind him and put a hand on his shoulder. Dick zeroed in on it. Comfort. This was a situation where Tim needed comfort.
“Tim, tell us what’s going on,” Steph demanded, eyes burning into Cass’ hand.

“I, uh,” he said, suddenly struck stupid by Steph’s gaze.

Dick would’ve laughed if it had been any other situation. He did some mental maths; Steph must have been around the age they met. He couldn’t picture a body so frail as hers being able to lift a brick, let alone hit someone with it, though. Looking at her fiery expression, he supposed she did it through sheer willpower.

“Okay,” he shook whatever stilled him off. “I need to know what age you are at the moment, how you know you are that age, and whether your body knows what age you are.”

Dick was surprised that Tim didn’t address him first. He used to all the time, constantly turning to Dick for answers. Mildly, Dick wondered if it was because Tim didn’t trust him anymore. Maybe it was the resentment showing through, the resentment that flashed through at him that day in the kitchen, when he’d revealed that Bruce had hit Dick. Or maybe he just wanted to check in on Steph.

Either way, he turned to her first. Steph was also confused for a second, eyes landing on Dick, and then Tim.

“Am fourteen,” she said coolly. “‘Cos this scar is pretty recent, look,” she angled her leg to show gim. Tim looked over it for a few seconds, and then nodded. “Am all here mentally and everythin’, but ah keep nearly fallin’ over so me body hasn’t got the memo yet.”

Tim swallowed, quickly typing something in on the tablet. The blue light did his face no favours. He looked haggard, worse still with his lips in a thin line. He looked back up at Steph like he was going to ask another question, but then he slumped and turned to Jason.

“Twelve,” Jason said shortly. “Only had long nails when I was twelve, had to keep ‘em clipped after.”

Dick swallowed. He hated the cool gaze Tim had at that moment. It slid over from Jason to him, and he repressed a shudder. His tongue thickened around his words.

“I’m thirteen ‘cos I’m not pasty yet,” he began. Jason snorted and began to fiddle with the hem of his shirt.

It was something he used to absentmindedly do before he died, whenever he was unsettled. One time, Dick had found him dawdling outside the library, hands twisting in threads that were hanging on for dear life. He’d confessed he’d accidentally left a book in school, and Alfred was cleaning the library that day. He couldn’t remember how he’d distracted Alfred, but he did remember the soft smile pushing up Jason’s cheeks in a silent thankyou.

He continued to speak, purposefully keeping his mind preoccupied with Jason.

“I automatically fold my clothes military style. I only did that when I was thirteen.”

Jason had noticed whenever Dick came out of the shower, skin blisteringly hot. He’d offered him ice cream.

‘It helps,’ was all he said. At the time Dick was a little outraged that a kid could look through him and not say anything.

He was certain that Jason knew what happened, despite the fact that Dick had never breathed a word of it to anyone. His voice stopped in his throat when he thought about why Jason, a kid, would know that. Silently, he accepted the ice cream.

“I think my body kind of knows, but kind of doesn’t. When I go to reach for something I keep finding that the distance is different than I think it is.”

Tim nodded, forehead wrinkling as he typed the information in. He took a breath, and turned to say something to Cass, only to realise she wasn’t there. Dick hadn’t even realised she’d left. Tim tensed without her reassurance.

“Traitor,” he muttered. “Leaving the hard job to me.”

“Can we know what’s going on now?” Steph called, her arms crossed.

“Um, so, uh,” he paused. Dick could pinpoint the moment he shifted from Tim to an imitation of Bruce. No, not Bruce, Batman. “The spell that hit us sent us all back to the ages where we lost our virginity.”

Jason gasped. The echo of it reverberated across the cave. He pointed at Tim.

“Ohmygod you’re still a virgin!” he yelled. Steph cackled, lifting her hand up.

“Now ah know that’s not true,” she said. Tim put his hands up to his chest, face mildly stressed.

“Have I really grown that little?”

A delighted smile slowly pushed up Steph’s face.

“Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait,” she said, fully grinning. “You - when we - you never grew from that point onwards! Ohmygod did I curse you.”

Jason coughed into his first and said, “pussy curse,” in monotone. Steph burst into a fit of giggles. Dick valiantly tried to keep a smile off his face for approximately one second before joining Steph.

“I, wait, hang on,” Tim stammered.

Steh dramatically placed her hands on TIm’s shoulders.

“I am so sorry, I have ruined your life!” she cried, laughing more when Jason and Dick doubled over. “Now you will never grow another-”

Cass’s hand lightly chopped Steph on the head. Steph looked up and was met with the other girl’s fond smile. She playfully groaned and muttered something about her being a buzzkill.

Tim tried to clear his throat twice before Dick handed him a glass of water.

“What is it Tim?”

“Basically we don’t know exactly why that uh…thing did that. But we have confirmed that it’s boss is Hannah Tiburth, a reporter who for a long time has been known as a conspiracy theorist because of her uh,” he paused for a second. “For her unorthodox ways of trying to prove that the Waynes are the Bats.”

“And you think this is one of those methods?” Steph asked.

“Yeah, it lines up with her usual behaviour. Especially because she thinks Bruce is,” he hesitated again.

“A paedophile?” Dick supplied. Jason already had his mouth open. He gave Dick a sullen look, like he’d just stolen his line. “What? It’s not exactly a new theory.”

Tim cringed.

“Right. We usually can stop her stuff from being put out because no one is that eager to be sued by Bruce, but this time will be more difficult. She set up a livestream when we were fighting that thing, so anyone in that stream saw the spell. We’re guessing she’s gonna try and coax the Waynes.”

Dick breathed out slowly.

“Okay, so as long as we hunker down in here we should be fine, right?”

Tim nodded.

“There are clips from the stream that are going viral right now and we’re doing what we can to stop it from getting further popularity, but we’re guessing pretty soon a large part of the public will be demanding at least a statement of some kind from us.”

“And the spell?” Steph asked.

“We haven’t found a way to fix it yet. We’re working on it.”

“How can we help?” Dick asked. Tim turned off the tablet screen. Dick’s eyes were rooted to the shadows on Tim’s face that the blue light left in its wake.

“You don’t. I need you guys to be stable, and I don’t know how stable you will be when it comes to this. I don’t know if the spell is going to make you guys more grounded in the past over time or what.”

Steph narrowed her eyes.

“Says the guy who has also been affected by the spell!” Steph snapped.

“I know that, I do,” he said softly, “I’m helping out a little before Bruce gets back, and then I am also doing nothing, okay? I’m just less affected than you guys at the moment.”

“How do you even know that?” Jason demanded.

“Because I wasn’t shrinking like you guys were.” he said, suddenly pale. Dick got the feeling he was dancing around the issue at hand. “I…I just had to watch.”

Dick grabbed Tim’s hand and squeezed it, trying to not be alarmed by how small his hand was in comparison to his little brother’s. Jason and Steph fell quiet. They were all familiar enough with the helpless feeling of watching someone suffer and being able to do nothing about it. They didn’t need a reminder.

“It’s okay, all right?” Dick said. “We’ll look after each other.”

He meant for it to come out soft, lilted up at the end like a question. Instead, it came out more like an order. Luckily, his family was way more familiar with orders.

“Tim, do you want us to go fill in Alfred?” Jason asked.

“Ah, I hadn’t even thought about-”

“Gotcha. We’ll do it,” Steph said. Jason grabbed her and started to drag her behind him.

Dick recognised it for what it was. Jason’s need to be close with his younger siblings in times of trouble, to protect them. He had melted the first time he saw him do it with Duke, sticking firmly to his side while undercover to the point that Duke had to gently push him away. Steph waved a quick goodbye to the others before turning to keep up with Jason.

“It’ll be alright, you know,” he said, loud enough for everyone in the cave to hear.

Tim nodded.

“Of course.”

Chapter Text

“So, wha’ now?” Steph asked.

Dick fumbled. They’d told Alfred already. Now that there was no direct action for them to take, all they could do is stare at the elephant in the room. How young they were.

Both Jason and Steph turned to him with pleading eyes. He understood they didn’t want to guide this interaction. He settled into his familiar role as the eldest.

“Let’s just watch a film or something,” he said lightly. He watched their faces smooth out in relief. Steph hopped down to pick out a DVD. Jason seemed to want to protest for a second, but then stopped, staring at her. Dick examined her and found what made Jason pause.

Her hands shook as she dragged her finger along the DVD cases. Silently, they watched her finger travel over the titles. Finally, her finger came to a stop and she practically clawed a case out.

“This one, we gotta!” she exclaimed, holding up Despicable Me. Jason snorted, leaning back into the couch.

“Oh yeah,” he drawled. “It’s a classic.”

Steph grinned and put it in the DVD player. She hesitated as she approached the couch. The only seat available was in the middle. Dick shuffled over to the middle space, resigning his fate to that of a footrest. Immediately Jason smirked as she shoved his feet in Dick’s lap, wiggling his toes when Dick gave him a deadpan look.

The DVD player made a whirring sound as it started up.

“If anythin’ encapsulates Gotham, it’s this baby,” she said cheerily. “It’s like readin’ some reformed villain’s backstory but, like, funnier.”

A thought passed over Dick before he could stop it. That it was more like a film that depicted the difficulty Bruce had in prioritising his city or his children. Except, of course, funnier. Swallowing, he flicked his eyes over to Jason's face, who also seemed a tad uncomfortable. Maybe they’d had the same thought.

Steph perched on the couch, clinging to the arm.

As the movie played Dick closed his eyes, as always fascinated by the music. American movies in particular seemed to have an orchestra for practically every scene. After a childhood of live music being played around every corner, it was strange to hear such smooth transitions from one piece to the next, with nothing to fill the silence in between.

Margo told her little sisters that they’d eventually come to be happy with Gru. Dick opened his eyes and stared at her. He wondered how old Margo is in this film. She seems about thirteen, he thought to himself.

It struck him how unbearably childish she was. How they all were.

He swallowed.

Steph’s phone flashed as she opened it.

‘Despicable me kids age’ was up in her search bar. Dick leaned over to peek at her screen. Eleven.

“Thought she was older,” he said quietly, trying not to speak over the on screen dialogue.

Steph shot him a quick smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

“Me too.”

“Who?” Jason asked, scooting closer. Steph showed him her phone. Jason frowned, eyes flicking up to Dick for a second, and then back to the phone screen.

The TV lit up the room as the movie transitioned to a wide shot with the sky in it. The light flickered on Steph’s neck.

Dick inhaled. He pushed her hair out the way of her neck.

Steph sent him a questioning look. He couldn’t stop staring. An ugly bruise wrapped around it, settling on the skin like it’d been there for weeks.

“Steph,” he said, voice coming out more strangled than it had a right to. “Your neck.”

Jason slowly pulled his eyes up from the phone screen as Steph lowered her arm, reaching up to poke her neck.

Dick jumped off the couch and scrambled for the light switch, eyes glued to her neck. In the solid yellow light, it looked even worse.

Steph stood and walked over to the wall mirror.

“Huh,” was all she said.

“This isn’t a ‘huh’ scenario,” Jason snapped, walking over to her. Steph clenched her jaw, examining herself for other injuries. Jason loomed over her, his brow twitching. Dick reached out to steady Jason’s shoulders. When Jason turned to look at him, his face was fiercely protective, his eyes running over Dick for any sign of injury.

Dick gasped. Jason’s lip swelled. It looked like it had stopped bleeding just minutes ago.

“It’s not just her,” Dick said slowly, returning the favour and searching Jason for other injuries. Jason pulled away with a scoff, turning to the mirror and freezing.

“Oh shit,” he whispered. “That’s…”

Dick steeled himself, and then risked a glance at the mirror. Aside from looking shaken, there were no visible injuries. He allowed himself to relax a little.

“What-” he cut himself off. He could get explanations later. “I’m gonna get water and an ice pack, do you guys want anything else?”

Jason fiddled with his lip in a way that set off Dick’s older brother instincts, resisting the urge to swat the hand away. Jason shook his head, confusion clouding his features.

“It doesn’t hurt or nothin’,” Steph said warily, as if just saying that would jinx it. She pinched the skin on her throat for emphasis. Jason nodded.

“S’weird,” he muttered, prodding his lip.

A door swung open and banged against the wall. Dick braced himself for something even as he chided himself. It was Tim, he knew it was Tim.

By the time Tim stumbled into the room, mid-sentence, Dick had only just managed to pull himself out of a fighting stance.

“So freaky, shit, guys, found out tha-” he paused, eyes on Steph and Jason. They rested on Steph’s neck for a long time.

“Steph,” he said softly. It was moments like these when Dick remembered they dated. When gentle, intimate moments were called back to. Steph’s eyes watered as he took a few halting steps towards her. “Is this?...”

She nodded, silent. The silence didn’t suit her. He snuck a glance at Jason. It seemed to have finally clicked for him. How much he and Steph had in common. Jason’s face twisted up with hurt.

“I get why you were so mad at her now,” Tim said quietly, eyes floating down to her neck for just a second. “Not that I didn’t before, just…wow.”

Steph snorted. Her bitter smile made Dick frown.

“Yeah, she jus’ forgave ‘im again after this,” she said, pointing to her neck. “Like it was hers to forgive.

Pain fluttered in Tim’s unsure movements as he approached her, reaching out for her hand.

“I don’t want to have to ask you questions about this.”

She swallowed, and nodded.

“You have to. Ah get it. Not like you can get Damian to do it,” she said with a shaky smile. Her gaze travelled to meet Dick’s. He gave her a small nod.

“Tim,” Dick interrupted. Tim dropped Steph’s hand and stepped back, falling back into an imitation of batman. “What’s going on?”

“Our bodies are catching up,” he began, voice level. “As far as I can tell there’s no physical pain even where there are injuries, like this,” he pulled up his shirt to reveal a bruise on his side. “I remember getting this on patrol back when my suit wasn’t armoured on the sides. It was what made me change the design. It doesn’t hurt, but it’s here. And it was around the time that we-” he looked at Steph for a moment, and then flushed when she laughed. “Uh, yeah.”

“Smooth,” said a voice behind him. Cass appeared in the corridor, eyes on Steph’s neck. She still had her suit on, her expression too neutral to be real. Steph turned away from her gaze.

Jason huffed. Tim cleared his throat and let Cass rest her arm on his shoulder.

“My injuries have been logged, but I’m gonna guess that yours aren’t, um, patrol related.”

“Nice one, detective,” Steph commented, rolling her eyes. Jason gave her a funny look.

Dick brushed his arm against Jason’s. Instinctively, he felt his brother's eyes on him, waiting for something Dick couldn’t give. His own account. Injuries or not, Tim would want some kind of context. All context led right back to the man he couldn’t think about for more than two seconds without becoming nauseous.

Dick tried opening his mouth, to say something, anything. But his jaw remained clamped shut. After a few seconds of silence, Dick felt Jason’s gaze leave him. His brother sighed.

“Needed money,” he said gruffly. “Yknow what crime alley’s like.”

Steh nodded sagely. Dick swallowed the rage that bubbled in his chest. His baby brother. Not much older that Margo from a fucking kids film. Offering him ice cream, recognition in his eyes. Flinching away from unnecessary touches at galas. The way his face had hardened with barely hidden vulnerability whenever he had no choice but to trust someone. He was a child, through and through. At least Slade had the excuse of Dick being a hero. Jason, at the time, was just a kid.

Dick squeezed his shoulder.

“Don’t need your pity, Dickhead,” Jason snipped.

“Too late,” he said shortly. “You were in a shit situation and you were a kid. It sucks. I wish it didn’t happen.”

Jason nodded, inhaling deeply. He hummed in acknowledgement.

“Injuries,” Cass prompted. Jason bristled, deep breathing forgotten. He and Cass never got along.

“Cass,” Dick said quietly. “Can you go help Damian?”

“It’s fine,” Jason said in a tone that indicated it was very much not fine. “I chickened out after I offered and he got pissed. Shoved me against the wall, hence this.”

Tim nodded.

“Thanks.” Quickly, he moved on to Steph. Dick grimaced. He knew Tim was in bat mode, but the situation called for something more than a simple thanks.

He brushed his hand against Jasons, letting his own shake. He let his jaw tremble a little too. He wasn’t exactly faking his fear; he just knew that Jason was more likely to accept comfort if he thought Dick needed it too.

Jason raised his eyebrows until he spotted Dick’s jaw. Quickly, he grabbed his hand, squeezing it hard.

Surprisingly, Jason put his head on Dick’s shoulder. It was like he’d done when they were younger. Automatically, Dick used his free arm to encase him in a hug, clinging tighter when he felt his shoulder start to get wet. Over Jason’s frame, he sent the others a stern look, daring them to say something.

Steph stared at them with something like longing in her eyes.

“Injuries,” Cass prompted again. Steph fidgeted under her gaze. The birds chirped outside the window, too cheerful for the atmosphere in the room. Steph opened her mouth, and then closed it. She swallowed.

“You never told me,” Cass said. Steph shook her head wildly, eyes wide.

“No, it wasn’t like tha’,” she said, breath coming quickly. “This,” she pointed to her neck, “was from da- me dad. Ah never knew when to shut up,” she said with a weak laugh. Her fragile grin wobbled in the ensuing silence.

Cass turned to Tim with rage in her eyes. Tim, still in batman-mode, didn’t seem to notice, still typing on his tablet. Dick watched Steph’s eyes slid back and forth over the two of them before a realisation hit her.

“It wasn’t Tim,” she corrected, taking a step towards Cass. Tim looked up with a confused expression. Dick was almost in awe of just how unaware Tim was of being threatened. Almost, because he was mostly concerned. “It’s jus’ strangulation and bruised ribs,” she added quickly, her eyes back on Tim.

Cass paled.

“Thanks,” Tim said again, typing in the information.

‘If not Tim, then who?’ Cass signed, frustration visible in her halting motions.

“Boyfriend at the time,” she answered coolly. “He had his own place so ah went ‘round to his after me dad tried to uh,” she hesitated. “Shut me up.”

Dick raised his eyebrows. Old enough to have his own place. In Gotham. He really hoped he was wrong about his assumption.

“Steph, how old was he?” he asked, trying to keep his voice neutral. Cass had no such intentions. She stared at Steph with an intensity that made Dick squirm.

“You don’t need tha’ for the injury report,” she snapped, her face flushing with rage. Cass softened in the face of it. Dick hadn’t even realised his sister was in a fighting stance until that point.

‘Not asking as a bat,’ she signed.

Steph turned away from her, grinding her teeth for a few seconds. She breathed out slowly.

“He was like, nineteen,” she said briskly.

“You could not consent,” Cass said, her voice cracking. Steph’s mouth twitched.

“I wasn’t a child, Cass,” she said with an eye roll, trying and failing to pull off a lighthearted tone. Jason detached his face from Dick’s chest.

“Sure fuckin look like one from where I’m standin,” he said. Steph glared at him. He returned it, but with tear tracks still visible on his face it didn’t exactly have the same ferocity.

Cass seemed torn with herself. Dick recognised the look on her face. It was the look you get the moment when you recognise that you would do unspeakable things to protect someone. Every time he experienced it, it tore him up inside. Ate at his morals.

‘He should be in prison,’ she signed, looking furious.

“He’s not though, is he?” Dick said gently. He said it mostly to get her attention. She looked at him with that look still on her face, like she was contemplating things worse than prison. He tried to communicate with his gaze that he knew exactly how she felt. Her eyes widened just a little, and he hoped she had understood.

“Dick, I need to talk to you actually,” Tim said.

Dick visibly cringed at the incoming turn in conversation.

Jason squeezed his hand, and Dick tried to still his trembling shoulders. He could totally do this.
“You said you were thirteen. There are a few months that don’t have any reports at all, and I can't find anything that documents a big injury that would prevent patrol. I’m going to guess this is important knowledge in regard to possible injuries. What happened?”

Dick shuddered. He hadn’t meant to, and Jason looked up in alarm.

What happened. Dick could still remember the silence as it happened. Heavy breathing. Horrible wet noises. His heart thudded as he ripped himself away from Jason.

From the look of everyone in the room, the movement hadn’t come off as casual.

“My team,” he said with a rasp. He coughed, and shook his head when Steph offered to get him water.

“Deathstroke,” he said quickly, the name rolling off his tongue with difficulty. It felt useless in his mouth, and the fact that he knew Slade better by first name made it feel all the more slow and swollen. “Put nanobots into my team. The Titans. It’d kill them. They didn’t know, and I went after him on my own for an unrelated reason.”

He paused, waiting for a reprimand. Some kind of familiarity. When none came, he slumped his shoulders in disappointment. He’d give anything for a fight.

“He made me a deal.” As he spoke, he knew reality was getting further away. He almost zoned out. It reminded him of facing the wooden skirting board, head pushed to the ground.

Jason made a move towards him, seemingly without any thought. He hesitated halfway.

Any other time, Dick might have cooed at the open protectiveness and affection in his brother's expression. As it was, he could only swallow down nausea.

“You can put the pieces together,” he finally spat out.

Tim nodded.

“I need to go log this,” Tim said awkwardly, looking very much like he wanted to stay. Cass put a hand on his shoulder.

‘Bruce will be here soon,’ she signed.

Dick wanted to wrap Tim in about five blankets and cuddle him on the couch. But then, he didn’t know if he could stomach physical contact. Let alone cuddling. Cass remained in the doorway.

“Well,” he said, trying to keep his tone light. He knew from the look on Cass’ face that he failed. “That sucked.”

Jason laughed, loud and shaky.

“Right? No wonder we didn’t do that earlier.”

Steph swallowed. She didn’t look at them, hand wrapped up tight in her shirt. Her ribs were visible again. Dick wondered if they’d let him cook for them. Or if they were even hungry, considering.

She didn’t look up as she spoke.

“You guys knew about each other?”

Chapter Text

Steph swallowed. She didn’t look at them, hand wrapped up tight in her shirt. Her ribs were visible again. Dick wondered if they’d let him cook for them. Or if they were even hungry, considering.

She didn’t look up as she spoke.

“You guys knew about each other?”

He and Jason exchanged a look.

“Kinda,” was all he said. Steph looked back and forth between them. She exhaled sharply, her mouth turned up into an almost smile. Cass walked over to her, steps strangely slow.

“Am fine Cass,” Steph grumbled. Cass simply shook her head and allowed Steph to lean into her chest.

“None of you are fine,” she said. Steph huffed, but said nothing.

“Y’know,” Jason began. “The only reason Tim asked is that he’s too stressed to notice. That won’t last when Bruce gets back. Injuries, Dick?” Jason asked, looking at him with a strange vulnerability in his eyes.

He hesitated. It wasn’t something he wanted anyone to see. Ever. Boot marks on his chest and back, red crescents dug into his thighs. It’d be fine here, with his siblings. They wouldn’t ask to see. But Bruce. Bruce, unthinking in his worry? He would.

“I-”

Steph gasped, her breath stuttering. She lifted her hands up to her neck, close but not yet touching. They shook as she exhaled, reflexive tears rolling down her cheeks. Cass turned to her with wide eyes.

Cass quickly pushed her down to the couch to examine her. Steph groaned when she hit the cushions, eyes squeezed tight with pain.

“It’s gonna start to hurt,” Dick whispered to himself. Jason immediately tugged on Dick’s sleeve, guiding him over to the couch.

“Might as well get comfy,” Jason said gruffly, jaw clenched as he kept sneaking glances at Steph. She stared at the wall, not registering their presence. Cass returned with a bottle of water and nodded at the boys on the couch.

“Cass has water for you,” Jason said gently. Her eyes strayed from the wall to look at her brother. She adjusted in her seat, and then suddenly straightened with a loud gasp. Cass was on her in an instant, looking at her with emotion Dick couldn’t name.

Steph flushed under the other woman’s gaze.

“It’s not wha’ you think. Stop lookin’ like I’m something to be pitied,” she spat, still sitting unnaturally straight.

Cass’s brow furrowed.

“I don’t think you’re something to be pitied,” she said slowly. “I just know you’ve been raped.”

Jason frowned and muttered something about tact. Dick’s jaw tightened. Now would be a good time to check out. Not be present.

“Ohmygod it’s not tha’,” Steph groaned. “This jus’ happens when a girl loses her virginity. Like, it bleeds and tha’. It’s normal. I know you don’ know normal, but it is.”

Her words swiftly brought Dick back the present as he recoiled. He watched for Cass’ reaction. When he couldn’t pin the expression on her face, he opened his mouth.

“No it’s not,” he said slowly. “It’s not normal for anyone to bleed during sex.”

Cass seemed torn, looking back and forth between the two.

“You’re right,” she answered, eyes firmly on Steph. “I don’t know normal. But I don’t know how violence and sex can be together.”

Steph laughed, the sound grated up with her damaged throat.

“Clearly you haven’ heard of kinks.”

Cass settled on the floor, looking up at Steph.

“I’ve seen you around your dad.” Steph flushed and turned her face away. “You are not in your right mind after that. I understand that. He should have understood that too.” Steph clenched her teeth, staring at the carpet. “I’m sorry he didn’t.”

Dick remembered Steph’s carefree face as she cackled on a bouncy castle with Damian, her hair flying everywhere. She claimed that days out like that one were about giving him his childhood back, but Dick could see that it wasn’t just Damian who was robbed of a childhood. Dick ached for her.

“Cass is right,” he said softly. “We were all kids, Steph. It’s horrific to even think about doing that to someone so young and hurt.”

She sniffed, hands digging into the couch.

“Says you, Mr ‘blackmailed and raped by a literal assassin,’” She responded, voice wobbly and thick. Jason sat up properly, reaching forward for Steph’s hand. When she took it, he relaxed a little.

“We all experienced bad shit Steph, comparing th-” he cut himself off, suddenly loosening his grip on her hand. Dick wrapped an arm around his shoulders. Jason immediately stopped trying to hold himself up, leaning into Dick.

“Jay?”

Jason lifted his head slowly. Very slowly. The yellow light elongated the shadows on his face, making them look physically painful.

“Shit,” Jason whispered into Dick’s shirt. He shook as he clung to the fabric. Steph was staring at them with something like panic in her eyes. “M’fine, just malnourished,” he said, voice breathy. “Really malnourished.”

“Food,” Cass said to herself, and slipped out the room. Steph scooted closer, her face tight with pain. Without thinking, he nudged Jason into her waiting arms and pulled off his shirt to give his brother some warmth.

Cold sweat made the fabric stick to his body. The fabric twisted up around his waist, making him even colder. His head is against the floor, watching Slade. The man's stance is casual as he regards Dick. His face and eyes are the same as usual. An armoured boot comes one step closer. Dick’s breath hitches. Slade's eyes go to his mouth.

Dick swallowed nausea and pushed the shirt into Steph’s capable hands. Wordlessly, she pulled it over Jason’s head and quietly encouraged him to push his arms through the sleeves.

Cass entered the room, and froze, staring at him. Dick silently cursed himself for forgetting about the injuries. She stepped out of the room for another second before returning with one of her cardigans. She held it out to him.

Jason perked up at the smell of food. Dick slowly buttoned the cardigan, hands trembling.

“Dick,” Steph said quietly. He looked up, ready to tell her to not ask questions, when she reached out to do the rest of the buttons.

Cass steadied Jason’s hands as he tried to wolf down the food she brought.

“Slowly,” she warned. He scowled at her and slapped her hands away.

“Don’t touch me,” he snapped, snatching a cereal bar and then scrambling as far back as he could. It resulted in him being in Steph’s lap. His eyes flicked around the room rapidly for a few seconds. “Sorry,” he said quietly, not looking at Cass.

“Not your fault,” she answered. Steph examined the top of Jason’s head.

“Can ah try somethin’?” she asked. Jason looked up at her warily, and then nodded. She tugged the sleeve of his shirt as she adjusted their positions, until she was pushing his face into her chest.

Bruce used to hold Jason the same way when he was younger. Dick would find them in the library. Jason dozing off as Bruce fumbled with a sudoku puzzle. Jealousy had burned him hot then. Now, he wondered how Steph knew about the hold. If Bruce has held her like that, too. Held everyone but Dick.

Jason mumbled a ‘thankyou’ into her shirt. He snuck a glance at Dick. Dick met it, unsure what to say. He settled on some variant of ‘we’ll be fine, Jay,’ which seemed to be enough. He relaxed fully into Steph, allowing himself to doze off a little. Dick smiled as his brother snored. Steph sent him an amused look.

Cass signalled something to Steph and left the room.

“She’s gonna go check on the others,” she explained, leaning back into the couch. Dick nodded, and let the silence stretch over them. He never wanted Steph to find out what happened. He didn’t know if she even knew about Bruce, let alone this.

“Does Bruce know?” she murmured, eyes back on Dick.

Dick tried to keep his expression neutral.

“He knows about Jason. This guy showed up to one of the galas. Jason freaked out. I put two and two together.”

Steph’s face lit up with recognition.

“Tha’ was the time you almost got done for assault.”

Dick nodded, and grinned with his teeth.

The feeling of the man’s cheek beneath his fist, his ribs under Dick’s feet - for a second it felt like he was back in control. Until someone gripped his arms to wrench him away from the man. Dick instinctively cowered. In that moment, he had caught Jason’s eye. He still couldn’t figure out what that glance meant.

“Doesn’t know about you though?”

Dick shrugged.

“He suspects. We were fighting a lot at that time though.” Fighting was an understatement. When they fought, everyone knew about it. For months on end they’d wake up and scream at each other. Dick would randomly disappear, and then reappear again, as if nothing had ever happened. Like time and distance would bury all their issues without assistance. “A lot of unaccounted time for him to rifle through.”

“Okay,” Steph said. “When’re you gonna tell him?”

Dick blinked, and tried to figure out why she was asking. He had no reason to tell Bruce. More than that, he feared it.

“Dick, yuh gonna see ‘im in the field again. If nothin’ else, it’s worth mentionin’ for that reason.” Steph sighed as she said it, like she was talking to a child. Dick chose to not inform her that he had seen him in the field many, many times and been…relatively fine. Considering.

Jason shifted in her arms with a wince.

“Startin’ to hurt,” he mumbled. Dick frowned, wishing Cass was back. He wanted an ice pack for Jason’s lip, at the very least. Painkillers of all kinds. Jason huffed. “Keep hoverin’, Dickhead. Givin’ me shade.”

Dick relaxed a little and stayed exactly where he was, blocking the light for him. Jason frowned.

“Doesn’t even hurt that much. Just feels gross.”

“Wish ah could say the same,” Steph said wryly. Jason jerked, pushing himself away from her torso.

“Am I hurting you?” he said frantically, moving to pull himself off her lap. Instantly, she wrapped her arms around him.

“No,” she whined, “yur like a hot water bottle.”

Jason’s laugh was pitched too high to be anything but relief.

“Surprised Dickhead over there didn’t wanna be your hot water bottle,” he joked. Steph gave Dick an analytical look. Privately, Dick thought she’d been spending far too much time with Babs.

“For once, he doesn’ want cuddles,” she said softly.

Jason, thankfully, kept his gaze away from Dick. Tim appeared in the doorway, sweaty and pale.

Instinctively, Dick’s heart rate accelerated. He scanned Tim’s face for any Bruce-shaped bruises.

“Bruce is back,” he said. “Thought you’d wanna know before he comes barging in.”

Dick nodded, and gestured for Tim to come over.

“I-” Tim hesitated, glancing at the hallway.

“Work’s over, Boy Virgin, come ‘ave a seat,” Steph called. He didn’t know whether it was the teasing or Steph’s shaky voice that had Tim over in an instant. Either way, the boy pushed a glass of water into her hands.

“Why’s Jason wearing two shirts?” Tim asked, staring down at his big brother. Jason gave him the middle finger.

“Cold,” he mumbled.

Tim looked over to Dick. His eyes lingered on Cass’ cardigan.

“Oh,” Steph said to herself. “Ah dunno if Cass told yuh-”

“I know, it’s hurting now,” Tim said with a frown.

“Not yet for me,” Dick volunteered. “Maybe something to do with how quickly we woke up after the spell?”

Tim hummed. He looked like he was about to say something, but then snapped his mouth shut. Steph looked to be intensely focused on both holding Jason and sipping the water given to her, grimacing each time she swallowed. Jason snored.

“Dick,” Tim began. “I don’t think Bruce will react well to this.”

“Yeah, no shit,” he said with a slightly manic laugh. Tim’s eyes remained locked on Dick’s chest. Looking down, he spotted the edge of a footprint. He slowly adjusted the cardigan.

“No,” Tim said slowly. “I mean you specifically.” He took another breath. “I’m worried.”

Dick jerked, snapping his head up. He’d considered that Bruce may get violent about this. Not intentionally, obviously. In the panic, the worry, he’d fall back on old habits. Dick was more than prepared to face that.

But Tim’s concern, Steph’s needling questions - Jason feeling safe enough to doze off in the arms of his sister; all of this softness actually made it worse. He couldn’t make himself freeze over in the presence of his siblings' concern and affection.

He didn’t know how to communicate that to Tim.

“I can handle it,” he said instead. That, it turns out, was the wrong thing to say.

“Handle what?” said a low voice.

Bruce appeared in the doorway.

Chapter Text

Bruce appeared in the doorway. Anyone else would think he was calm, with his relaxed features and casual stance. But Dick spotted a tiny twitch in his brow as he paused, taking in the altered appearance of his children.

“B,” Dick faltered, giving Tim a quick glance. “You’re here.”

“Handle what?” he repeated. “Why is Tim worried about you specifically?”

Tim positioned himself between the two of them. Dick was half thankful for the protection, and half wished he would be more subtle about it.

“Me. You’re worried about me,” he said, brow furrowed. His face was crumpled with guilt as he looked between Tim and Dick.

The guilt was the worst part. It’d be so much easier if he didn’t care. If he didn’t hover around him after each hit, each argument, in his weird looming way.

Dick wondered if Bruce knew that he’d started to adopt the same look even before arguments. He wondered if Bruce had already accepted that this would end badly.

“Yeah let's not make everything about you B-man,” Steph cut in, head lolling back against the couch. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed but we kinda have a situation here.”

Dick had never been more thankful for her in his life.

Jason let out a quiet hum as he continued to cling to Steph.

Bruce remained in the doorway.

“Are you gonna keep stewing or are you gonna get an actual hot water bottle for Steph?” Dick asked, pointing at her with his thumb.

“Yes, I am. I wanted to check in with you all first.”

He approached the couch. He looked like he was aiming to sit down. Dick tried to swallow his dread.

“Jay?” he said softly, taking the empty seat between Steph and Dick.

Luckily, when he sat, he sat facing Steph.

“Steph,” he said softly, eyes on her neck. She frowned, turning away from him with watery eyes.

“Can we just act like this isn’t a big deal?” she asked, her voice thick with emotion. Dick nudged her foot with his own in a show of silent support.

Bruce nodded.

“You being hurt will never not be a big deal,” he said, tone hardened.

Dick swallowed his dread. Steph huffed.

“Then why don’t you fuck off and get me a hot waterbottle?”

Dick watched Bruce tense up, and got ready to intervene. Steph really was the worst of them when it came to disrespecting B. It wasn’t what any of them needed at that moment.

“You’re trying to get rid of me,” he said.

His guilt thickened the air around the couch. Dick wanted to sink into the fabric like Steph and Jason had done, wanted Tim to stop glaring when Bruce so much as twitched. Wanted Jason to feel safe enough to sleep.

Internally sighing, Dick sat up properly. He needed to remove Bruce from the situation if he wanted his siblings to have any peace whatsoever.

“It’s just a bit of a volatile situation, B,” he volunteered.

Bruce finally looked at him. Dick tried to push back a wince.

“Dick,” Bruce was staring at him, really staring. He sounded like he’d just been punched in the stomach.

“Can we do this somewhere else, B?”

“Dick, you don’t need to-”

“Tim,” he snapped, keeping his gaze firmly off his little brother's face. He didn’t need to see the disappointment, the rejection colouring his expression. Desperately, he needed to be useful. To diffuse. “You’re not helping me.”

It was both an order and a fact. Exactly the way Batman spoke.

“B, I wanna speak to you privately.”

—

He purposefully didn't lead Bruce to the cave. Not only was it the sanctuary of their worst arguments, it also meant running into Damian and Cass, who were still way too protective of him.

As they walked through the corridors, Dick contemplated each room, and wondered how he would feel about them if things got bad with Bruce.

Not the library. That was the room for peace.

Not the dining room. Even though they never used it for its intended purpose, it was where the pets would play.

Not the office. That’s where his siblings would linger when they were feeling dejected and needed Bruce’s approval.

Dick landed on a sitting room that was never used by him or his siblings. The pristine white fabric on the couches, the old-timey portraits that hung over every inch of the walls, made the room daunting to even look in on.

His skin itched. Bubbling energy clawed up at his chest, trying to push him into movement. Instead, he settled on the couch.

Bruce remained standing.

“You wanted to talk,” he said, staring down at his son. Dick fidgeted.

“Yes,” he began. “What do you know already?”

Bruce sighed.

“I know that Tiburth hired a magical creature to send you all back to the ages at which you lost your virginity. Jason, I know about. Stephanie…I was surprised.”

The silence that sprouted between them asked for answers.

“It was for me as well,” he said shortly. He wasn’t about to tell Steph’s secrets, especially not when she seemed to barely be grappling with them herself.

Jason had had time and support ever since that gala when the family found out what had happened to him. For Steph, the realisation that she had been raped was completely knew. He hoped that in his absence, Jason would help her through it.

“You…Dick, I had no idea.”

Despite himself, he huffed. He opened his mouth, and then snapped it shut. He thought he had long surpassed the childish belief that Batman knew everything. Apparently not.

“What happened? Who…” he trailed off.

Dick thought about lying. It was in his nature, at this point. Instinct. But Tim already knew. Had logged it. It was immortalised in the computer, stuck there in arial font.

“We weren’t talking then. I was with the Titans.”

“I told you you weren’t safe there-”

“B!” he snapped, trying to push down his outrage. “For two seconds, can you stop being such a raging asshole?” He took a deep breath, keeping his eyes firmly away from Bruce's (probably) static expression. “Just be quiet while I explain, otherwise I won’t explain anything at all.”

He was still standing there, stiff and unnatural.

“You would never endanger someone by withholding information, Dick.”

He stared up at Bruce’s face. He didn’t know how he could have so much faith in his loyalty, and at the same time, so little.

“Try me.”

Bruce’s jaw tightened as he locked eyes with his son. Dick didn’t look away.

In the distance, a door slammed.

Bruce moved towards the couch, and Dick braced himself.

Bruce sat next to him, stiff as ever.

“Explain.”

There were some things that couldn’t be put into words. Nausea, horror, violation, outrage. Those words didn’t cover it. Not at all.

“Deathstroke.”

Bruce inhaled, and Dick watched his expression.

“He was fucking with my team. I went after him, alone.”

Bruce’s face strained with the effort it took to withhold criticism. Dick almost wished he’d just fuck it up already.

“He’d put nanobots into my team. It’d kill them, if I didn’t do as he said. I became his apprentice.”

Expectant silence fell over them again. Bruce looked at him like he expected him to keep talking. To spill the grisly details.

“You never told me you’d been compromised.”

“Like I said, we weren’t talking.”

“And after?”

Dick shrugged.

“I didn’t want to talk.”

“Didn’t want-”

Dick watched him go red. His cheeks, the tip of his nose, always bright red when things got bad. When he received information that he could catastrophize.

Slowly, Dick let himself disassociate. Further and further away from his body, from this conversation.

“How many times have you encountered him in the field since then, Dick? How many times did you endanger not just yourself, but others too?” he boomed, gripping his thighs so hard his knuckles were turning white.

Dick stared at the knuckles with veiled disinterest.

“I was fine,” he said mechanically.

“You were compromised! Completely and totally compromised! And you didn’t think to tell me, out of what, some stupid idea of rebellion?”

Drops of outrage burned his body, bringing him slowly back to the present. Dick cursed his pride.

“This is exactly why I didn’t tell you. Maybe why no one tells you anything. Jason with his mum. Steph with the war. Why would we when-”

Bruce’s hand left his thigh, and Dick recoiled, automatically turning his face to the side.

“Do you want me to hit you?” Bruce whispered, hand in the air, eyes wide.

Dick gritted his teeth.

“I want you to stop acting like you’ve changed.”

“But I have, chum,” he said earnestly. “I have, you’ve got to accept that.”

Dick seethed. How could he claim to have changed, how? How when Dick still couldn’t fully relax in a room with him? How when he stressed every time a sibling spent time with him alone, terrified that he’d see bruises?

How, when Dick hadn’t even started to heal?

“Like I have to accept your forgiveness? Please. Just hit me, B. I prefer that over these mind games.”

Bruce looked vaguely sick.

“What do I have to bring up? Jason’s death? Losing Clark’s trust? Damian preferring me as a father?”

“Dick, I am furious, yes. But with myself, not with you.”

He rolled his eyes.

“Never stopped you before. What if I died again?” Bruce visibly flinched. “Yeah, that’s a sore point, isn’t it? Don’t you remember? The whole ‘prove to me that you’re-”

Bruce slammed a fist down on the glass table.

“I know I did all that, Dick,” he said, voice strained. His tone had a violent tinge to it. Despite himself, Dick settled back into familiarity. “You don’t need to remind me.”

Dick threw his head back, and laughed.

“Oh, sorry, I just thought you might, seeing as you, y’know, always gloss over your mistakes. Strange how no one else knows about Spyral still, right?”

“You know now is not the time for that.”

“Yeah, it never is.” Dick stood up. “And that’s exactly why I didn’t tell you about Slade.”

Chapter Text

Steph spotted him in the corridor. A lazy smile crawled up her face as she waved.

“Why’re you up off the couch?” he asked. “Where’s Jason?”

She waved him off, leaning heavily against the wall.

“Managed to get away for a second by convincing them ah need alone time. Ah wanted to check on yuh.”

She looked at him with the same poorly concealed interest she had on the rooftop, when she’d made the ‘Premium Dust’ chat. He felt a little embarrassed that he had needed her help, someone much younger than him. Though, he guessed they were about the same age now.

“I’m okay,” he said casually, shrugging his shoulders. She raised her eyebrows, arms crossed over her midsection. She still hadn’t gotten that hot water bottle.

“Can we stop pretendin’?” she murmured. “Ah just need some honesty for a minute.”

Dick swallowed. Her eyes welled up as she turned to look at the floor, nails digging into her arms. It hit him all over again that this was fresh to her. Understanding exactly how she’d been hurt. How she’d been used.

“I’ve got a kettle in my room,” he offered. “And it connects to the roof.”

She nodded emphatically, stepping a bit closer to him.

“You’re taking a jacket this time though,” he said lightly, leading her through the halls.

He decided to text Tim.

‘Give me and Steph a few minutes. Working through some things.’

He didn’t spend too much time looking at his room. Steph stood, stiff and unsure in the centre of it. She was still pinching at her arms.

For a moment, he was about to tell her to stop doing that, to stop hurting herself. But he remembered how comforting it was, to be the one in charge of that pain. Just for now, he’d let her continue.

When they settled onto the roof slats, he pressed the hot water bottle firmly to her stomach.

“This sucks,” she muttered. “Times like this ah wanna run to me mum.”

Dick stayed silent, listening to the water inside the bottle slosh as she squeezed it. The leaves shuddered in the night’s breeze.

“But she’s so full of guilt ah can’t stand it. She’s come so far, but if she has to really sit with wha’ she let happen to me, ah don’t know if she’ll be able to keep going.”

He nodded. A bird flew past a pylon, its silhouette tiny. It didn’t make any noise as it flew.

“It’s similar with Bruce,” he said slowly. “He gets so angry that I think he forgets how to feel anything else. I get it, that anger is useful, it helps him keep going. Hell, that kind of anger is what got me started as Robin.”

“T’s not just anger though, is it?” she countered. “It’s desperation too. To do somethin’ with yuh pain, I guess.”

He hummed. He was desperate. The world was so big to him then, and the murderer of his parents could have been so far away. He was prepared to throw his whole life away, mainly because he didn’t believe he had a life anymore. His parents, Haly’s, without them he wasn’t himself. If he wasn’t even himself, how could he possibly have a life?

Bruce was the one that showed him different. Bruce was the one that convinced him to live. He looked at Steph, shuddering with her arms wrapped around herself, and wondered who showed her different. She squeezed her eyes shut, curling up into a ball.

“Ah dunno how to deal with this,” she confessed. “Wha’ he did.”

“I don’t think you’re supposed to know,” he said lightly.

She shook her head.

“It’s different, Dick. Ah was a civilian. It happens on patrol, obviously, can’t be a female superhero without it. Hell, even being tortured to death Black Mask, he had to make it weird. But ah was just, ah was just me this time. Ah didn’t even do anythin’.”

“You didn’t do anything the other times either,” he pointed out, pressing his palms onto the cool slats.

She shrugged and chuckled.

“Apart from ruining a few careers.”

“Doesn’t entitle them to that.”

She sighed.

“Yeah, but that’s the world. Can’t do nothin’ about it really, can I?” she said quietly. “It freaked Tim out, when he was monitorin’ me from a distance. He was really protective back then, didn’t think ah could do it.” She rested her chin on her knees. “Or, didn’t want me to be in that kinda danger, ah guess. But ah told him, ‘what’s the alternative? Stay inside and do nothin’ in the hopes I don’t get harassed?’”

He leaned back on his hands and watched her speak, her chapped lips widening as she smiled.

“‘E said I was putting myself on the line for harassment,” she said with a shrug. “He wasn’ wrong, yuh know the risks when you go into it as a woman. Yuh know what they want to do to yuh.”

He grimaced.

“They aren’t exactly shy about saying it, are they?” he said lowly.

“Thee aren’t with you either,” she answered, looking at him with sympathy. For once, it didn’t offend him. She understood. He sighed.

“Yeah. I can’t figure it out. I’m not a woman, but I still get harassed. I don’t know what I’m doing-”

She kicked him gently, her pants rustling.

“Stop tha’. You have an androgynous look about yuh, Dick. Sometimes that’s enough for these creeps. Yuh can’t help that, just like I can’t help being female. It’s nothing we do. They see what thee wanna see.”

He huffed.

“Yeah, I guess.”

She stared off into the distance, digging her nails into her arms again.

“It’s about power, isn’t it?” he murmured, mainly to get her to look at him again. “He liked seeing me like that, powerless to stop him.”

She tugged on her sleeves, fiddling with the fabric with a blank look on her face.

“Ah wanna say no. Ah was so sure that he was sincere, y’know. He said it’d help me feel better.”

Pushing back his rage, he placed his palm on hers.

“He’s a manipulative asshole, Steph. I had something similar with an older woman when I was younger. Predators like that don’t deserve anything.”

“Yuh did?”

He nodded slowly. She laughed, a little manically, and squeezed his hand. It was so pale next to his.

“Sorry,” she said, giggling a little. “Ah just, it makes me feel better to know it happened to you too. If it happened to you, maybe am not so stupid.”

“What’d you mean?” he asked. The wind fluttered their clothes as he waited for an answer.

“I mean, yuh you. Everyone knows how competent yuh are, Dick. First Robin and all tha’.” She said with a dismissive hand motion.

He immediately began to shake his head, jaw tight with dread. Sometimes he couldn’t stand this reputation he’d built for himself-

“I don’ care if you’re messy, Dick,” she said, looking him in the eye. Tear streaks were still visible on her cheeks. “Yuh can be messy and competent. I mean, jus’ look at me.”

“He told me I was compromised,” he blurted out. Instinctively, he raised his hand to cover his mouth. Steph watched the halting movement, watched as he slowly let it fall back down to the rooftop.

She wrinkled her nose. The light disgust comforted him far more than the protective anger of his adopted siblings. There was no threat of change with it. The emotion was just there. He could just appreciate someone feeling on his behalf.

“He told me ah was incompetent so many times a’ve lost count,” she admitted. “Ah try to forgive him, but it’s difficult. Ah saved his life, and ah was punished for it.” Colour blotted her cheeks as she spoke. “You were not compromised. You were survivin’.”

Warmth wobbled through his body, unsure if it was welcome. Another possibility, another way of looking at what happened to him, burned through his chest. Surviving. He’d always thought of survival as the bare minimum, but she said it like something to be honoured.

“Thankyou, Steph,” he said quietly. “For this and the other time.”

She shook her head.

“This ‘elps me too,” she shrugged. “And it’s nice, to ‘ave your trust, even if it’s jus’ because am not part of the family.”

He opened his mouth to protest when she put her hands up.

“Oh no, ah don’t want to be,” she lowered them. “Ah have my own family. My mum. Even if it’s difficult, ah could never bail on her.”

He nodded in understanding. Because he did understand. He couldn’t imagine a future without Bruce. It would feel like being a kid all over again. He wouldn’t be himself.

Chapter Text

His phone buzzed. He opened the chat with Tim. It showed a picture of Jason, asleep and subconsciously clinging to Cass’ shirt. Dick chuckled and handed the phone to Steph, watching for the way the blue light highlighted her skin, but not her eyes.

“Think that’s Tim’s way of sayin’ come back,'' Steph mumbled, smiling at the picture and sending it to herself. A dog barked in the distance. A house over the field lit up yellow. Dick hoped they were calming the dog, not telling it off.

“Mm, probably.”

“You’re more relaxed at this age, y’know,” she said as she passed his phone back. “Usually it’s meant to be the other way round, isn’t it?”

Dick huffed.

“Ah, well, that’s what PTSD will do to you,” he said lightly. Steph laughed, and he couldn’t help but join her. It wasn’t funny, really, but what else could they do?

He shuffled, aiming to move back inside when Steph stopped him.

“I’m guessing things didn’t go well with Bruce. What can I do to help?”

“Honestly?” he said. “Nothing, except persuade Tim to chill out. I know what happened between me and Bruce wasn’t good, but I don’t need him acting like a guard dog every time Bruce comes near me.”

Steph shrugged.

“Have you seen how many times I’ve tried to persuade that dipshit? It never works.”

Dick mimicked her shrug and gave her a tight smile.

“Let’s go get fussed over,” he said, helping her up.

When they arrived, everyone was there except for Bruce. Dick snuck a quick glance at the clock and realised Duke was due to wake up soon. He wondered who was gonna draw the short stick and have to explain this whole spell thing to him. The things you wake up to in Gotham.

Damian didn’t directly call for him, but Dick knew by the open look on his face that he wanted to speak to him. Waving over at Cass and Tim, who were balancing orange peels on a sleeping Jason, he sat next to the youngest bat.

“Hey, Dami.”

Damian leaned close and scrunched his forehead a little. He scoured Dick for injuries for a few seconds before leaning back, apparently satisfied. He gave Dick a little nod of approval.

“The public have begun asking questions. What should I do?”

He appreciated that even after everything, Damian still referred to him for guidance. His weaknesses didn’t make him unreliable, or a point of contention. To Damian, he was still Dick.

Still the same Dick who packed hand warmers for nippy patrols, who was patient and didn’t laugh when Bruce was learning how to use a washing machine. The same Dick who went red when he was angry and literally flipped out when he was bored.

Being around Damian made him feel like himself, because Damian had never considered him to be anything else.

“What parts of the lifestream went viral? If the shrinking part isn’t recorded, we could send Tim out, seeing as he hasn’t changed much physically and he is W.E. staff.”

Tim sent him a small smile, which Dick returned.

“That’s what I was thinking,” Damian murmured.

“Great minds,” he said with a smile as he bumped the kid's shoulder. It was strange being able to do that.

Damian remained at his side even as he hopped up on to the couch next to the orange peel debacle.

Damian began to fidget as Dick pretended to watch his siblings. He waited for him to ask questions. The kid was patient, but he must be curious. He braced himself. Damian wasn’t known for mincing his words.

Instead, the boy looked at Steph for reassurance. She gave him a warm look and nodded. The look was so fleeting that Dick did a double take. In a second mischief flew over her features as she slipped orange peel into Tim’s pocket.

“Brown suggested physical contact. Is that okay?” he asked, voice small.

Dick tried to push back tears. For the first time all day, he felt it was okay to be vulnerable without purpose. Vulnerable, just because he could be.

“I would love that, Dami,” he said, voice wobbly.

Damian placed his hand on the couch between them. Dick immediately grasped it, squeezing when the boy wriggled closer.

He briefly wondered how his and Bruce's conversation went on for so long without an eavesdropper.

In reality, he already knew. His family didn’t want to know. They had already invaded his privacy once and discovered something terrible about his and Bruce’s dynamic. Something that in turn shifted the entire family dynamic, something that so many of them needed.

In order to draw a line under that, to move on and be a family again, they needed to not dig for secrets.

They all knew Dick and Bruce well enough to know that if they began digging, there would never be an end in sight.

His chest began to twinge. He didn’t know whether he was too stressed, or if the pain had started to settle in.

Before he could overthink it, he moved just a little. Not so much that Damian, unused to Dick’s subtle self-injury checks, would notice, but enough.

His entire torso throbbed. He tried not to stiffen with the sharp pulses of pain, swallowing a gasp when his wrist began to sting. He couldn’t even remember why his wrist would hurt.

He felt eyes on him.

Tim.

Tim was watching him, laser focused. Mentally, Dick cursed. He and Tim had been kidnapped enough together for him to know Dick’s subtle injury checks. Dick’s imploring look didn’t soften his brother’s expression.

“It’s starting to hurt you,” he said succinctly. Everyone fell silent.

Slowly, Dick nodded, not trusting himself to be polite when he spoke. The last thing he needed was everyone staring at him. Tim started to approach. Dick tensed when he saw regret flash across his brother's face.

“Can I speak with you privately?” Tim asked, eyes flicking between Dick and Damian, who was now squeezing Dick’s hand.

//

Tim chose the kitchen. The kitchen where Cass had screamed in Bruce’s face, tears in her eyes.

The curtains were a welcoming light green with embroidered robins all over it. They’d been hurriedly closed, as one curtain stretched over the other.

“You didn’t tell me about your injuries.”
“No,” Dick said coolly.

“Was that so I wouldn’t be able to identify the source?”

Dick blinked.

“What?”

Tim sighed, running his hands over his face. There were tiny little cuts all over his knuckles, like there always were every time the temperature dipped. Usually Dick would offer some hand cream. Usually.

“When will you stop protecting him? I know I shouldn’t push. I've read all the books about it. But how long do I have to keep watching you defend your abuser?”

He felt like he’d been slapped in the face.

“I have never defended Slade,” he hissed, feeling himself flush. Whether it was the anger or the fact he automatically used his first name, he had no idea. “You wanna see what he did? Then look! Be my guest! But I have never stood for anything that man-”

Tim put up his hands to his chest in surrender, rapidly shaking his head.

“Not what I meant,” Tim said quietly. “I didn’t mean Deathstroke.”

Guilt fizzled in his stomach as he realised.

“You meant Bruce,” he said mechanically.

“Obviously. He’s the only person you’d go against your morals for.”

Dick swallowed, clenching and unclenching his fists.

“We both know that’s not true, Tim.”

Tim’s gaze fell to Dick’s knuckles. The knuckles that had bashed Joker’s brains in. Dick could only imagine what he was thinking. They never talked about it much, but Tim had surely heard.

Dick was so loud, crying, screaming, inconsolable. He couldn’t remember the sound of his fist meeting flesh, or the Joker’s laughter. He could only remember the sound of himself, grieving for his dead little brother. His second dead little brother.

“I can’t act like I wouldn’t have done it,” Tim confessed.

Someone coughed, loudly.

Dick turned to see Duke hovering awkwardly in the doorway.
“Morning fellas,” he said with a mischievous grin. “What’re we talking about?”

“Killing the joker,” both Tim and Dick said in unison.

Duke let out a put-upon sigh.

“Have you guys ever considered that seven AM is way too early to be having emotional breakthroughs? I mean, God, schedule your therapy for anothe-”

“Oh shit it's seven?” Tim said, his voice cracking mid-way through.

“Uh, yeah?” Duke said, turning on the coffee machine.

Tim rushed out of the room without a word, leaving the door wide open in his wake.

Behind the steaming coffee, Dick could see the soft baby blue’s of Duke’s pyjamas. Nightwing pyjamas. Mentally, he added a point to himself. Four days this week. If nothing else, at least his pyjamas were proving to be Duke’s favourite.

Like a hero, he handed Dick a cup of coffee.

“So, you gonna tell me why you’re so uh…tiny?”

He decided to fake a very long yawn in lieu of a response.

“Ask Cass, I’m tired.”

Duke rolled his eyes.

“Seemed very awake before I started asking questions.”

“Everyone’s body clock is different Duke,” he said lightly. “Mine just reacts badly to responsibility.”

There was a whirring noise in the background as the coffee machine began to clean itself.

“Seriously though dude, are you okay? Looks like there’s been some big changes while I’ve been asleep.”

Dick shrugged.

“Not really,” he found himself saying. He was surprised at how casual it came out when it was the truth. “I’ll be fine though.”

He turned, coffee in hand, and almost spilt it, letting out a cry of surprise. Damian was right there. Not even in the way he usually was, hanging around Dick’s legs like a little shadow.This time they were nearly face to face. Freaky.

“You good buddy?” Dick asked, narrowly resisting the urge to ruffle the boy’s hair.

Damian swallowed as he examined Dick. He stood unnaturally stiff as he did so. The silence during the examination was only interrupted by the loud tick of the kitchen clock.

“Do you want to talk privately?” Dick pressed. Slowly, the boy nodded. Dick glanced at Duke.

“Oh no,” Duke said, shaking his head. “This is my allotted kitchen time, you can’t take this from me!”

After a minute of appeasing his brother, Dick decided to lead Damian to the dining room the pets usually played in. The door had barely shut when Damian began to speak.

“You told me I should communicate when I’m struggling,” he said quickly. The silence that rose after his statement was thick with tension. Dick tried to keep his expression as calming as possible.

“I did. I’m always going to be happy when you trust me with your wellbeing. Are you struggling Dami?”

The boy hesitated, furrowing his brow for a moment as he thought about his answer.

“I am,” he said finally, looking Dick in the eye. “I find out father has hurt you, and now an assassin too. I’m beginning to worry that I don’t know you, and that I don’t know how to protect you.”

Dick feared this day. He remembered begging Bruce to tell him how to help, terrified that one day he would return home to a home without the man who gave him life. He never wanted Damian to experience this pain.

“I see why that’d worry you Dami, I do,” he said softly. “But I want you to look carefully at the context of those two things. First of all, Bruce,” he hesitated. “Is someone I trust. Of course I would be unprepared to be hurt by him, but now that it has happened, I am very much prepared to protect myself. Then, with Sla-” he took a breath. “With Deathstroke, I was a child who made some very stupid decisions without any adult guidance.”

Damian slowly nodded.

“I couldn’t protect myself then, but that’s why I can protect myself now. Experience taught me what to look out for, so now it won’t happen again.” That last part, he knew, he was lying through his teeth. It probably would happen again. Probably.

“I still don’t know how to protect you,” he said quickly, panic in his voice. Dick scrambled for some kind of compromise he could come up with, like the kind he used to come up with for Bruce.

But then, Damian wasn’t Bruce.

“You have to trust that I’ll tell you how when I need you to,” he replied, placing a hand on Damian’s shoulder. The movement aggravated the thudding pain in his, well, who was he kidding, everywhere, but the pain was worth it to see Damian perk up.

“And you will tell me the second it’s pertinent?”

“You’ll be the first to now, Little D. We’re a team, aren’t we?”

Damian, like he always did when Dick brought up their duo, grinned. Dick couldn’t help but copy him. He would do anything to protect this boy.

Chapter Text

Tiburth had successfully roused the public with either outrage or curiosity. Although the Waynes were celebrities, purposefully little was said about their personal lives. So Dick, despite being there the longest, was still a little spooked by the crowd gathering at the manors gate.

He was glad he wasn’t Tim right now, who was nervously buttoning up his shirt.

“You don’t think they’ll notice any changes right?” he said to Steph, pushing his hair out of his face. Steph hummed and gave him a once over.

“You really shouldn’t give me an opening to make a small joke,” she said cheerfully. He poked her ribs.

“Says you.”

“At least I aged with grace,” she teased, gladly accepting the hot water bottle Cass had gotten her.

With Jason being more awake, there was a silent feud going on between him and Damian about who got to give Dick physical affection, with the understanding that he could only handle one person at a time. Dick ignored them.

Let brothers be brothers.

“Dick, could you?..” Tim trailed off, showing his tie. With a lazy smile, Dick got up off the couch. Tim knew full well how to tie a tie himself. They both knew this.

But that wasn’t what this was about. Tim used to pretend not to in order to get physical affection and attention from Bruce. When that wavered, Dick would step in.

Dick wasn’t sure if Tim ever offered Bruce that opportunity now.

“Remember,” Dick said. “We’ll be in your ear the entire time, so if an awkward question comes up we’ve got you.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “C’mon, we’ve all done this interview a thousand times. No, Bruce doesn’t touch us. Yes, he’s a great-”

Dick paused. Pulled the tie through its knot. There it was. He recovered quick.

“And that’s exactly why we’ll be in your ear, to avoid awkward pauses like that,” he said with a (probably) fake looking smile plastered to his face.

Tim tried to roll his eyes, but it didn’t come off as casual. Cass hovered, unusually stoic. It was understood that she’d be the main person helping out with the earpiece.

Dick didn’t know when any of these roles were decided, or if Bruce had any part of the plan. If he didn’t, it’d be a nightmare. It was enough to make Dick swallow a pre-emptive glob of guilt.

All he knew was that he was relegated to the couch to ‘rest’. Or, more accurately, breathe slowly through the pain that twinged all over. He could ask for something to help, a hot water bottle, ice, whatever.

He opened his mouth to ask. But Damian was sending worried glances at Steph who was trying to keep Jason in high spirits, occasionally twitching. The signature Steph twitch of pain. She rarely yelled out in pain like the rest of them. She was quiet; it was probably the only time she was quiet.

Cass muttered quietly to Tim, who was a shade paler than usual. Now wasn’t the time for himself.

Jason didn’t seem to notice Steph’s twitching. Yet another confirmation that Steph, Damian and Dick had a connection that couldn’t be properly enunciated.

When Batman was dead, when Dick could do nothing but move to keep the weight of his combined grief and responsibilities from crushing him, Steph was the only person he could reasonably rely on.

When Dick was on the verge of screaming, Steph babysat Damian and brought him a calming tea.

She was so loud and funny that even he sometimes forgot her steadiness. Always in a storm, there was Steph, at once earnest and deceptive.

“I want to help with the comms,” Jason said, staring down Cass. Her face remained unnaturally neutral as she looked back at him.

“Not that I doubt your abilities but we’re all a bit fucked right now, right?” Steph said, sending a pointed glance to Dick. All his energy has long since left him. Her eyes glinted with some hidden instruction.

Suddenly, he recognised it.

In their attempts to both liven everyone up and teach Damian about empathy outside of the league, he and Steph had taken on what they called the ‘pity play’. They’d spot goons who had a tendency to hesitate when fighting Robin, and pull a sob story out of their ass.

‘If you break my leg Mister I won’t be able to try out for scholarships this week. How will I be able to afford my future without it?’ followed my a bunch of dramatic backflips usually got a small smile out of Damian at least.

Dick let his body sag into the couch and opened his mouth. Good thing he didn’t need to do anything in order to look convincingly pathetic.

“I know I am,” he said, letting his voice catch mid-sentence. Jason swivelled around and gave him a once over.

Damian very carefully did not react, refusing to look at Steph or Dick.

Jason leaned a little more into Dick’s side.

“Good point, I should probably look after you two.”

He resisted the urge to ruffle Jason’s hair, instead leaning back into the boy. Damian glowered at him. Dick had a fantastic idea.

“Could we have access to the audio?” he asked, his voice quieter than usual, staring directly at Tim. Tim opened his mouth to decline, Dick could see it in his face. “I just-”

Tim closed his mouth.

“I’d just feel better knowing everything is okay on your end, Timmy.”

It was a little unfair to tug on Tim’s heartstrings when he was so clearly laden with guilt from their earlier conversation, but it was efficient. He nodded stiffly, like he has to force the movement to offset his instincts that howled for privacy. Dick understood it well. Good ol’ Bat training.

The preparation seemed to take forever. Dick didn’t remember much of the time he filled in as CEO of Wayne Industries, always floating between one responsibility to the other. His sense of time was only unkempt by Alfred’s too-gentle hands. He couldn’t have imagined it took this long to prep for an interview, though.

Once he was out, they all stayed seated aside Cass, who silently went into the next room.

Tim's voice crackled as he spoke to the crowd.

‘I’ve been made aware of the controversial livestream in which three vigilantes significantly shrink and seem to regress in age, and Miss Hannah Tiburth’s claims that it relates to my family. Not only is this claim unfounded, but it has implications that I shudder to even consider about mine and my siblings relationship to our father. Over the next few days we will be reviewing our legal options so as to ensure that this does not happen again.” He paused. ‘I will now be taking questions. Please keep them respectful.’

He couldn’t sound more professional if he tried. He wondered for a second about his decision to allow questions until he remembered the joys of Gotham journalism. There was no waiting out the storm with them.

There were so many loud voices coming into his ear that he almost wanted to rip it out. Tim seemingly picked a person, and the chatter died out to something manageable.

‘This is not the first time Bruce Wayne has been accused of abusing his children. If he’s not abusive, then why do you think this is?’

Tim didn’t immediately answer. There was an audible gap, a moment of silence. Shit. Dick should’ve been out there. He could wrangle a crowd like this with much greater precision.

‘Bruce, as a powerful man, has many allies and many enemies. Abuse is an easy accusation that is often difficult to prove or disprove. I imagine that is why.’

Dick inhaled a sharp breath. His wording was all wrong. A burst of questions confirmed this.

‘You imagine, or you know?’

‘How is he a powerful man? What does he have influence over?’

‘Can you give us evidence of his enemies?’

‘Abuse in many cases, can be easily proven-’

Damian began moving his thumb back and forth over Dick’s hand. He didn’t seem to notice he was doing it, focused on his earpiece.

Dick used to do the same thing all the time, when Damian first came to the manor. It was an easy way to soothe both the boy and himself.

“You sent Tim out,” Bruce thundered, rushing into the room.

Jason sunk into Steph’s chest, instincts driving him before his defiant front. Steph glared up at Bruce.

“Get yuh shit together, B-man,” she hissed. “Now’s not the time.”

He turned to Dick.

“Why would you let this happen?”

Energy seemed to flush in and out of him, surging only when Bruce came into the room. Strange, he only felt alive when he was in danger.

“Let it?” he said, exasperated. “I ordered it.”

“You need to stop letting your personal issues into the field,” he said firmly, like he was talking to a child. The condescension, the disappointment. It burned him.

There was a time when Dick was certain; if Bruce were to die, so would he. Dick Grayson would stop existing. Even when he found friends, lovers, purpose, that feeling still gargled in him like hunger, tugging him back to the manor.

Maybe because Dick was back in that time, muddled with forced subservience at a mercenary’s hand, his devotion to Bruce bubbled up his throat until all that came out was,

“Sorry, Sir.”

Bruce blinked. His version of his jaw dropping.

“What is wrong with you?” he said, words tight with panic.

Fuck if Dick knew. Bruce died. Dick didn’t. He existed without Bruce, and it sucked. He wanted to die, but couldn’t escape without causing the same pain Bruce did. Bruce came back. He couldn’t say whether things got better or worse.

But his misery stayed. He pulled out the earpiece.

“Want a list?”

Here he was, bouncing between all the traits he knew. An apprentice’s obedience, a Robin’s forced cheer, Dick Grayson's protective nature.

God, was there anything else to this life that could bring him some feeling of liveliness? Anything but danger and Bruce, who would slowly sink into each other over time?

‘Good job, apprentice.’

‘Quiet, boy’.

‘Robin, you almost got her killed’.

‘You did amazing, chum’.

‘My little Robin’.

Suit torn, desperate, he clawed at the door, but Slade locked it, he’d locked it and there was no way out without going near him. He smiled when he saw Dick’s face fall with the realisation that he was not going to escape. The clock in the hallway ticked on, faint enough to mock his efforts. But enough to make him understand how long Slade was willing to wait.

Slade said something, and Dick’s vision blurred with tears. He couldn’t do this again.

He pulled out a remote. Dick froze as he watched Slade’s thumb hover over it.

‘Please. Please, I’m sorry, I’ll do whatever you-’

“What’s going on in here?” Duke said, popping his head in the doorway with his arms crossed.

Dick slowly came back to reality, staring at Duke’s figure. He was on the couch, with Damian’s hand on his own, Steph’s body warmth at his side, with Jason on her lap.

He was here. His cheeks were wet with tears. Bruce hadn’t moved.

“What did you do,” Duke said, marching into the room. Placing himself between Dick and Bruce, he made a gesture behind his back. ‘Go’.

Before Dick could refuse, Damian tugged at his sleeve, concern scrawled over his face. His compulsion to ease the boy’s worries overrode everything else. He followed as Damian led him away.

They ended up in Damian’s room. Sitting on the hard floor, Damian reached for his sketchbooks, brow furrowed.

He’s is one smart kid. Always has been. Dick knew that at one point, he’d recognise his big brothers instability. Look at him as less dependable.

Luckily, Damian didn’t seem to mind. When Dick really needed it, Damian would pull out his sketchbook and talk about his drawings. Where he spotted the cat he’d spent so long shading, why he chose a particular skyline to experiment with colours, his tentative explorations of anatomy before the final sketch. It was such a soothing process that Dick couldn’t help but laser in on his boy’s progress. His talent.

It seemed to do something for Damian too. Like taking care of Dick somehow satisfied him. He wasn’t about to argue. Couldn’t anyway, with the state he was in.

His small hands opened the sketchbook Steph had gotten him for Christmas. The pages were thick and reliable, never folding even when the boy’s grip tightened.

His style was self-assured, each brush done in one attempt. The turn of a page revealed Batcow and Damian standing side-by-side.

“Brown took the photo,” he said quietly, voice almost too soft to be heard. “I know you aren’t meant to draw from photos but,” he hesitated. “I like this one.”

“Me too,” Dick said, his voice scratchy. “You look happy here”.

“You had just visited,” he replied, attempting nonchalance. Warmth fluttered in him as he leaned back against the bed, watching his baby brother carefully flip through pages.

Words lost him as he stared. He was just so young. Alarmingly young. He’d experienced so much, endured so much pain. Yet youth bloomed.

Watching cartoons, drawing pictures of his pets, following him and Steph around the arcade, laughing with delight.

Damian, though hardened to the worlds cruelty, was still a child.

Dick swallowed excess saliva, and began to choke on air. Damian dropped the book and immediately had his hands up to steady his brother.

Always so eager to help.

On the floor, the sketchbook was open.

Variations of family portraits were elegantly painted. Him, Steph, Alfred and Damian.

Bruce and Cass.

Tim and Damian in front of the TV.

Jason and Dick laughing in the doorway.

“M’fine,” he said when his throat settled. “Dami, is that a family portrait?”

The boy shrugged, shoulders hitched up. He seemed to take a breath before he answered.

“Yes and no. It’s the people I consider family, even if they don’t consider each other that way. This family changes so much that I thought this would be the easiest way to get a lasting drawing.”

He sucked in a breath.

“Does it not feel scary that we always change?”

Damian sighed, letting his head fall back against the bed.

“I used to think my future was fixed. Certain. I came here, to another country to live with another family. And still, it didn’t occur to me that anything would change. I couldn’t control anything, or anyone. I still can’t.”
A door slammed.

“I’m trying to come to terms with that. This,” he pointed at the drawings. “Helps.”

“You’ve come so far, Dami,” Dick said quietly, trying to suppress his joy. He huddled close to the boy, who for once immediately returned the embrace. Plates clattered in the distance as Alfred prepared food. The rooms above them creaked. Consciousness crept away from him.

Footsteps got closer. Dick shot up, arms tightened around his brother.

Cass popped her head in without knocking, face pale.

“Tiburth is here,” she said quickly, voice cracking midway through. “We need to go.”

Chapter Text

No one would let him see the interview between Tim and Tiburth. Every time he edged towards the computer his siblings appeared at his side to drag him away.

But she was here. In Bruce’s office. No one would tell him how that happened, either.

“She wants to see all of us in there,” Bruce said, crossing his arms. His jaw was locked with everything he didn’t say. Tim was clenching and unclenching his fists.

“I can go,” he said automatically. Steph poked him.

“No offence, but you look a wee bit different there Dick,” she said lightly. “Besides, why don’t we use this opportunity to shut her up once and for all? We could get one of our contacts with mind-altering powers over and brainwash her or something with all of us there. Boom, she loses all her credibility in one fell swoop.”

Cass stood up straight as she stared at Steph. Her expression softened.

“Not a bad idea,” Dick murmured. “I could call in a favour-”

“No,” Bruce said quickly. Everyone looked at him, deceptively approachable in his civilian clothes. At least, that’s what everyone said when they met Bruce in civvies. Dick found him foreboding, even in his turtleneck and jeans.

If Batman meant danger, and Bruce meant safety, then why did Bruce make him panic when all Batman could dredge up was irritation?

“Dick?” Tim said, close to his face. Dick tried not to jump. Tim should never be taller than him.

“Hm?”

“You were gone for a minute there,” he said, his voice a touch clinical. Everyone else seemed to be too busy to meet his eye.

“What did B decide?”

Tim dragged his hand down his face.

“He decided on Steph’s plan.”

“Then why did he say no?”

Tim stiffened.

“He said he needs to vet all of your contacts again after…uhm. After Deathstroke.”

“All my contacts are his contacts!” he muttered. He had a childish urge to scream into the nearest pillow. It’s not Dick’s fault that the ‘World's Greatest Detective’ couldn’t figure out when a creepy old man was creepy. He took a deep breath in.

“Okay,” he said with a sigh. Tim stayed close to him. “So we’re all going in then?”

Tim quickly glanced at Steph who pointedly did not look their way.

“Tim,” he repeated, sterner this time.

“There’s something you should know, Dick,” he said gently. Dick tried not to recoil.

All of the worst news he’d ever received had been given through this gentle tone. His parents, gone. Told to him by some officer like he hadn’t just watched it happen.

His first heartbreak, whispered in the corridor during a Gala.

Slade, praising him for his good work. Blood seeping through the skin on his knuckles.

Catalina, telling him to be quiet, her wet legs rubbing against his.

“Tim, he can’t hear you. He’s gone again,” Steph said, too loudly. Everything felt too loud. Like he was a kid again.

“All of you,” Duke said suddenly. “Scoot. You can plan over there, okay? Dick, let’s go to the kitchen, okay?”

Dick had always seen Duke as a leader, able to adapt to team dynamics and chaotic environments that would push Dick under. Duke walked ahead, but glanced back at Dick with a soft smile. His gaze was warm, but confident.

Dick allowed himself a moment’s reprieve. For now, Duke could take care of him.

They reached the kitchen. Duke flicked the kettle on, and then turned to look Dick in the eye.

“Okay, I’m not gonna dance around this. Tiburth has hired Deathstroke as a bodyguard.”

Dick pushed down a groan.

“Do you think she knows?”

“Don’t think so. Does he go around telling people what he did?”

The ‘to you’ was unspoken. Its absence made Dick feel it more.

“I don’t know.”

He opened his mouth to say more, when horror struck him. He had nothing more to say. He knows nothing about what Slade does or does not say about him. Bile nudged up his throat.

Duke hovered close, his mouth twitching.

“I want to help, but I don’t know how,” he admitted.

Dick looked up.

“That helps,” he muttered. “Makes me feel like I’m not the only one who has no idea what to do here. Everything feels like I’m back there again. I’m so on edge.”

Duke nodded and held up a teabag. Some kind of berry infusion. When Dick nodded back, he started to pour it into an old Christmas cup. The image of Santa had been slowly peeling off over the years, but Alfred won’t hear of it being thrown out.

“I mean, no one expects you to know what to do here. Literally no one knows what to do. Seeing Batman like this feels…it feels off-putting.”

Dick laughed before he could think better of it. Duke gave him a questioning look.

“Sorry, it’s just, B is always like this. You just got to know how to read him right. He’s kind of a disaster.”

He said it fondly, even as the pain came swooping in. Compromised. Would he even allow Dick to speak to Tiburth?

“He’s certainly in no state to negotiate with Deathstroke in the room.”
Dick sighed.

“Let me guess, is he insisting on it?”

“He’s fighting Stephanie and Damian over it, which has been super fun to listen to, by the way.”

Typical Bruce. Knowing him, they’d only reach a kind of compromise, go in there totally unprepared and piss Slade off. Even when Tiburth’s memory has been altered, Slade would still be a problem.

“You’re plotting.” Duke handed him a mug.

Dick looked down at the drink, unimpressed.

“You don’t seriously think I’m gonna drink this, do you?”

“Woah,” Duke put his hands up. “I’m not about to drug you, man. I know your family dynamics are kinda fucked up but you can count me outta that. Look.” He drank some of it, and then squeezed his eyes shut. “Hot, hot,” he whispered, fanning his mouth. “See? All it’s gonna do is burn your tongue.”

Dick took the mug back and took a huge gulp. It burned his mouth and throat as it rushed down, but he flashed a grin at Duke.

“Weak.”

Duke grinned back.

“Freak.”

Dick straightened up.

“You don’t think Bruce’s plan will work, do you?”

Duke shook his head.

“He’s gonna try and fight Slade here. Tiburth will be a casualty, and so will all of our identities if we don’t come up with a real good cover story.”

Dick agreed. Realistically, the physical damage done during the fight will extend beyond the manor, which would endanger more civilians. Slade has never been afraid of using civilian lives to win.

“I’m calling Zatanna.”

/////////

She was surprised when he contacted her. Dick rolled his eyes. He knew Bruce would never call her. Bruce spoke about her in a clipped way, sentences carefully practised and chosen. He didn’t trust her.

She’d haggled with him about taking on Deathstroke alone. Convincing her to stick to Tiburth was difficult, but when he told her he would negotiate rather than fight with Deathstroke, she seemed to relax.

She, like many others in the superhero community, heralded Nightwing, and by extension, Dick, as a beacon of communication. Their trust in him made him sick with deceit. He was not excellent when it came to Deathstroke. God knows Bludhaven had paid for that.

Duke had watched him on the phone.

“You’re not gonna stop me?”

Duke shrugged.

“You’ve dealt with him for years, haven’t you? You’re gonna do it anyway, so I might as well be there.”

Duke’s easy confidence allowed him to relax a little. He was right. For being ‘compromised’ he’d been able to negotiate with criminals for years.

////

Zatanna remained barely hidden in the garden. Slade would know she was just out the window. That was fine. He didn’t attack until something interfered with his contract, and she wasn’t going to.

Duke stopped him before he entered, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. He said nothing, but nodded at Dick. The confidence he conveyed was enough. Dick entered, and Duke remained by the door as security.

Tiburth has chewed the top of three pencils so much that the inner wood was visible. Everything else about her was still, professional and glossy. She dropped the pencil the moment she saw him.

“Take a seat, Richard,” she said.

It felt oddly like he was in the principal's office. Like he’d done something wrong.

He didn’t look at Slade. Slade didn’t take his eyes off him.

“I wanted to begin by apologising for outing you like this.”

Dick blinked. An apology was the last thing he expected.

“I’ve offered interviews to you and your family time and time again, and nothing was happening. I knew drastic measures had to be taken, but I didn’t enjoy enacting them.”

Her eyes were a light green, wide and had the capacity to be so expressive. He thought it was strange that she kept her face so stiff.

“I can see you’ve shrunk quite a bit. You don’t exactly look like you were in a state to lose your virginity.”

She was waiting for him to say something, but he couldn’t think of anything to say. He had been so concerned with Slade that he hadn’t even thought of how to handle her. He took a breath.

“You make a lot of assumptions, Miss Tiburth.”

She smiled and leaned back in her seat.

“That’s what you said last time we met. Do you remember?”

He felt like he’d fallen into a trap. He hardly remembered her at all.

“You were smaller then, kind of like the age you are now. You don’t remember at all?”

“No.”

“Y’know Richard, I know it’s difficult to say anything against your abuser when you’re so close to them.”

If God is real, he isn’t funny, Dick thought.

“Or financially tied to them. But truly, Richard, it’s the right thing to do, isn’t it? For your siblings?”

Dick thought about Bruce’s rage after Luthor had ‘killed’ him. As if Dick’s death was the greatest punishment of all. He hadn’t had the time to be touched by the sentiment before Bruce started beating the shit out of him. But he had told them. He told them the bits that matter, anyway.

Spyral was an exception. Bruce, Dick, they were messy then. Messier than ever.

Dick looked at Hannah Tiburth. Really looked at her. She was passionate about justice, like him. But so different. Her chewed pencils and squeaky shoes left a mark on every big publication in Gotham. And yet she was here, in Bruce’s chair, in Bruce’s office, interrogating him for a story that would be almost immediately contested.

“Why do you say Bruce did this?”

“It’s so obvious! That’s why! If people don’t notice this, what will they notice? Do you know how many tragedies I’ve had to turn away because they don’t pull in enough readers? How many names are forgotten? The Waynes, everyone will know forever. But don’t they deserve to know the truth?”

Dick sighed and leaned forward.

“Do you wanna know the truth, Tiburth?”

He looked at Slade.

Slade remained silent. Resentment bubbled in his chest. The silence felt like mockery. Brag, say something, do something so I can punish you, he thought. Otherwise the only thing I can punish you for is what you did. And that can never be adequately done.

“Deathstroke took my virginity, not Bruce.”

Tiburth paled. To her credit, she seemed genuinely sickened. It was a shame her memory was about to be wiped.

“Slade, I’m about to have Zatanna wipe her memory. Have you got a problem with that?”

Tiburth stood up and began to rush for the door. Slade remained still. Dick shot his hand up, and heard Zatanna begin.

Slade took off his mask. Underneath was the same face that haunted him. He stepped forward.

“I didn’t agree to this,” Slade said.

“Well, we’re on a bit of a time limit, so,” he said with a strained smile.

He took another step until he loomed over Dick. Over Robin.

“You look just like you did back then. Like my apprentice.”

“That’s what an ageing spell does, sure.”

Slade had a contemplative expression on his face.

“Let me see.”

Dick startled. He expected this, but not so fast. Everything felt too sudden. He kept his face calm.

“If you agree to leave the manor without any casualties or damage, sure.”

“Sure.”
All of a sudden, he hated cardigans. Undoing each button felt too slow, too painful. Especially when the only noise in the room was Zatanna’s chanting, and breathing. Duke was not to come inside without a keyword being yelled. Dick was never more thankful for precaution than now.

He shrugged off the cardigan and looked up at Slade. He wanted to snap something like ‘happy?’ but found his breath was caught in his throat. It felt like back then. He couldn’t speak.

Slade reached out and caressed the footprint left on his torso. It was sore. Dick’s adrenaline had been running so high that he’d pushed all his physical pain into the sidelines. Now though, everything seemed to come back at once. His ass, his hips, his battered legs and torso, his shoulder that burned through every movement; the sensations were overwhelming. He wanted to drop to the floor.

“Forgot about that,” he said, running another hand over his shoulder, where there was presumably a bruise. Dick swallowed. He was going to be sick.

Slade's eyes dipped below Dicks waist. Dick stepped back.

“You’ve seen it,” he said, his voice rough. “Now leave.”

Slade’s eyes rose up to his face, where they stayed, fixated.

“You’re crying, Robin.”

Breath came still, but with less ease. It stopped and started.

“Leave.”

Slade opened the door and looked down at Duke.

Duke was pretty calm, all things considered. He glanced away from Dick’s shirtlessness, and told Slade, ‘I’ll show you out.’

Tiburth was passed out on the floor. She blurred in and out of his vision. His ass throbbed. He clenched his teeth. Cold sweat slithered down his torso.

“Nightwing, you okay?” Zatanna asked. He nodded, and looked for Tiburth. She was gone. He was sitting down against the wall, head in his hands. He sat up, wincing a little when pain shot up his spine.

“Yeah. Just ill. Tiburth’s status?”

“She’s in bed, also ‘ill’. As far as she knows, she got dangerously ill from Gotham’s water which sent her into mad delusions about Bruce Wayne. I’ve left a few dozen documents about Gotham’s dangerous water supply next to her bed. Hopefully she’ll pick that up as her next story instead.”
“Thanks-” the door burst open.

“Dick!” Bruce thundered, marching over to him. Dick found himself pulled into Bruce’s tight embrace, snuggled into his shoulder. He was so exhausted he allowed the affection to seep in a little.

Then, Bruce pulled away.

Chapter Text

“Why did you do this?”

Dick stayed quiet until he realised that Bruce’s question wasn’t rhetorical. He was expecting an answer. Like Dick’s input wouldn’t be dismissed the moment he put it out there.

He wanted to crawl into his skull. If the man could be consistent his life would be so much easier. He chose his words carefully.

“I knew that I would have a better chance of resolving the situation with zero casualties.”

“By offering yourself instead?”

He said it in a gruff tone, not nearly as pained as Dick expected. Dick locked eyes with him. A pale blue, wrinkled with age and worry. Past that, a recognition.

There was no point dancing around this.

“Wouldn’t you?”

Bruce’s mouth twitched. Practically a full body flinch coming from him.

“You’re not-”

Dick closed his eyes. He wouldn’t sit here and listen to Bruce’s hypocrisy again. Thankfully, Bruce went silent.

Bruce inhaled, as though he was about to say something.

“Go on,” Dick said, opening his eyes. Bruce’s hesitation usually meant honesty. Usually.

“I-.” He took a breath. “You never rely on me.”

Dick stayed silent.

“You didn’t tell me this even happened.”

He had that guilty look again.

“I knew you wouldn’t be able to handle me telling you Bruce! I mean, c’mon. You-”

Dick paused. Saying it felt like an insult. It felt like betrayal, condescension and arrogance. But he was sure of this. He was sure.

“You’re suicidal, Bruce.”

The older man froze.

Despite their dangerous occupation, the Grayson’s never strayed into danger purposefully. They indulged in every sensation life could grant them. Their emotions, their love of life, plastered themselves all over their bodies.

Dick could recognise their horror, shock, and fading adrenaline the night they died. He had to be dragged away from their bodies. He’d wanted to claw it off of them.

It was partly why he put on the Robin suit, designed after their costumes.

If emotions could linger even after death, if they could plaster themselves to an emblem that could extend beyond life, then Robin could be a powerful symbol.

The relief and hope that so many felt after Robin rescued them would remain on the fabric and reach the next person faster and faster, until the colours became emblematic of hope itself.

After the circus, he knew he had no life. Revenge fogged his mind, and after that, there was nothing.

Bruce went through the same thing as Dick, but had the audacity to either want to live nor die. He’d tease both life and death, and then hop away from it, seemingly feeling nothing about either concept.

When you grow up with someone that teeters on the edge of living, you believe you can nudge them just enough that they land securely on the side of life. As their attachment to you grows, you become one of their reasons for living.

When someone’s life is dependent on you, you cannot depend on them.

“I wouldn’t have killed myself Dick-”

“No,” he interrupted. He had to push back a sigh. “That’s not what I’m saying. You just, you wouldn’t have done me any good.”

Bruce stayed silent.
He just wished he would ask what Dick would’ve wanted. But he watched as Bruce sank into his own guilt.

“I’m gonna go find the others,” he said. When he reached the door, he turned to face his dad, still kneeling on the floor. “B, you need help. I won’t rely on you until you get it.”

He left the room still shaking.

His hands wouldn’t stop, and the hallway seemed so long. The closest door was Cass’ room. She and Bruce always hung out at nighttime, when neither of them could sleep. Dick heard them laughing in Bruce’s office regularly.

He wondered about Cass’ loyalty to Bruce. It was staggering. He’d watched it pull Steph away from Cass, he’d watched her struggle with what it meant to have your father figure, mentor and saviour all in one.

He recognised something there.

He passed her door without going in.

He reached Steph’s door. He thought about her and Jason. The two with the most disgust for Bruce. It would make sense for them to never tell Bruce about what happened. Maybe Bruce didn’t regard it as such a betrayal like he did with Dick.

He reached Tim’s door. It was stupid, because Tim was most definitely not inside, but he knocked.

The door opened.

Dick frowned.

“Why’re you here?” he asked.

Tim didn’t respond. His eyes raked over Dick’s torso.

Right. Still shirtless.

“In my room?” he asked. His gaze lingered on Dick’s ribs. Dick didn’t look down. Some things he didn’t want to remember.

Tim shook his head.

“Come in, lemme get you a shirt.”

He tossed a hoodie at Dick and sank into one of his beanbags.

“Bruce ran to his office and I assumed you’d done something. I thought I’d stay nearby.”

Dick huffed.

“Ha. Yeah, good move. Can you text Duke and tell him I’m okay?”

“You can’t do that yourself?” Tim said, even as he began typing.

“I could, but he won’t believe it coming from me.”

Tim hummed and shut off his phone. He looked up at Dick, who was still holding the hoodie in his arms.

“I get the feeling he shouldn’t.”

Dick squeezed the hoodie, trying to keep himself present. The material was soft, but had gotten tatty over time. He assumed it was one of Steph’s hoodies.

Pulling it over his head, he tried not to wince. His shoulder throbbed and stung. No wonder Slade was fascinated by it.

By the time he had it on, he was sweating through the pain. Tim was staring at him.

“I want to kill him.”

Dick blinked.

He’d heard the stories, the lengths Tim went to to preserve life. How he’d had to persuade Steph to do the same.

“What?”

Tim swallowed. He didn’t repeat himself.

Dick slowly lowered himself onto the other beanbag. Pain clawed up his spine. His ribs were tender, protesting at the position. His shoulder was still fucking throbbing.

He breathed through it.

“I don’t want you to,” he said. Tim sat up straight.

“I know that-”

Dick shook his head.

“You don’t know why, I don’t think.”

Tim leaned forwards, expression open. He was nearly always like that with Dick. Open, ready to learn, to connect and understand Dick with such earnestness - it shocked Dick every time.
“When I was first starting out as Robin, I didn’t get it. I’d see rapists escape justice time and time again, and it frustrated me. The victims were always so…it was harrowing. I remember being extra harsh with this one guy, until the victim screamed at me to not kill him. I wasn’t going to obviously, but these were early days, so people didn’t know. I didn’t get it at all. I asked her why she was so worried about him. I mean, really, he had fucked her up. Badly. She told me he was her brother.”

Tim sucked in a breath.

“I know. She said she couldn’t imagine going to his funeral and facing her family. And I imagined it. Everyone mourning his life, celebrating his good moments. I wouldn’t be able to stand it either.”

“To be fair, I’m not sure Deathstroke has any good moments,” Tim said, trying for levity.

Dick laughed.

“Sure, but his kids might disagree with you.”

Tim nodded.

“Yeah, I didn’t think about that.”

“Not many people think of him as a dad like,” Dick said. “Point is, there are people in his life that are going to mourn him. They might not like that they mourn him, but they will. You know how Steph felt when her dad died?”

Tim raised his brows.

“She told you about that?”

“Yeah.”

“I remember she said how painful it was to know that he’d never improve. That was it for him, but also for her relationship with him. She and her Mum would never get another glimpse of the man that they loved.”

He said it softly, like he was repeating something he’d promised he wouldn’t. Sometimes Dick forgot how private Steph was.

“It’s a terrible feeling, to have that potential ripped away from you,” Dick said quietly. Tim nodded. Tim experienced it with his own father, and Dick watched him mourn.

It was why he came to Tim at this moment. Tim understood. It is something that Jason disregards in his work, something that they’ll never fully agree on.

Very few victims want revenge, very few want to watch their rapist be mourned. And yet, Jason causes those funerals in the victim's name.
Tim stared at the floor like he was trying to figure something out. Eventually, he sighed.

“I can’t figure out what I should do.”

Dick smiled.

“Have you considered asking me?”

Tim flushed.

“Uh, no, I didn’t,” he said with a small smile.

“Well?”

“What do you want me to do for you, Dick?”

Dick opened his arms up for a hug. Tim wrapped himself around his brother as gently as possible.

“I want you to be there for me.”

Tim leaned back.

“That’s it?”

Dick nodded.

“It’s not that I don’t want to or anything like that, it's just…I expected more to do.”

“I think we don’t value emotional labour very much in this family,” he said slowly. “We don’t see it as work, and we get surprised when it feels like work. It makes it very easy to turn away from it. Violence, revenge, even ‘saving’ someone, it’s all very physical with us. But have you ever gone back to check on a victim after the rescue?”

Tim nodded slowly.

“They’re always still recovering,” he mumbled. “It’s sometimes messy.”

“Very. I don’t need saving. I’m out. I may be dealing with some PTSD, but I’m physically safe. I just need help mentally, which will be a lot of work. There’s no ‘just’ about it.”

“You're right, I think,” Tim said. “I hadn’t thought of it like that at all.” He looked up at Dick. “I still want to help.”

Dick smiled.

“Thankyou.”