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Chapter Text

In his mind, Kiran Devabhaktuni plotted out the things he would do to stay busy and not be a nuisance while he stayed at the Manor. There were files to update in the med bay of the cave, protocols to review and make sure were written legibly, formulas to move from scratch paper to digital record. If the recent scare had done anything, it had reminded him how much would be lost if he was suddenly gone. His failsafes and backup plans weren’t as developed and thorough as Wayne’s.

He had, unfortunately, failed to account for how unwell he still was. Simple things like standing or holding the 3DS Damian brought him wore him out. The poison was no longer a looming threat, but it had burned through him like a scourging fire. It had worked its ravenous appetite for destruction on his lungs and his muscles and he was smoldering ash, nothing more.

The second day in the hospital, he’d had another panic attack– this time alone in the bathroom, when he couldn’t get the shower temperature to cooperate– and had barely slept at all.

He’d known between the lack of sleep and the ledge of full-blown paranoid panic he was careening toward in ever-smaller loops that he was doing poorly, but he’d thought he was hiding it well enough. Then, Alfred arrived that midday and took one single look at him before sitting down and saying, quite firmly, “I think, considering our resources, that perhaps the Manor would be more conducive to a prompt recovery.”

It was the invitation and encouragement he’d been desperate for all morning. He called for his nurse and, despite protests and barely veiled criticism, signed himself out AMA.

He dozed in the car on the way to the Manor, half-expecting with the fuzzy hope of sleep deprivation that he would arrive and get a second wind and go to work. Sitting down, of course, but working.

The reality was that he could barely rouse himself when they pulled into the loop by the side door most often used as an entrance, and he fell into his bed and slept for sixteen hours.

When he woke, the room was dim, daylight just peeking around the edges of the curtains. It took a moment to process that he’d woken because of the desperate, insistent need to piss. He dragged himself to the bathroom, hauling the IV pole with him. He left the pulse ox on the bed, the machine beeping furiously at the sudden absence of signal. He didn’t remember anyone placing the IV, or hanging the bag of saline, or adjusting the pulse ox lead on his finger.

He had to lean most of his weight on the sink to keep himself upright to wash his hands after.

There was a furious knocking from the other room, and then the outer door flew open.

Alfred’s voice rang out, clear and sharp and full of alarm: “Kiran?”

“M’alright,” he mumbled, pushing the bathroom door open. It was a good thing the walk to the bed wasn’t far or he wouldn’t have made it. His legs fairly gave out as soon as he was close enough, as it was.

Alfred’s expression was plainly relieved, and he busied himself straightening covers. He caught Dev’s hand with nimble fingers and reattached the lead without a word of rebuke, but the contact gave away his minute tremble.

“I’m alright, Alfie,” Dev said, chagrined now. He hadn’t even thought that someone might be watching the monitor from another room.

Alfred patted Dev’s hand and didn’t exactly look at him when he answered.

“I’m very glad to hear it. Do you feel up to a bit of breakfast?”

Dev was starving, and it hit him so suddenly it was an actual sharp pain in his stomach. He nodded mutely, still watching Alfred with bemused scrutiny. He buried the feeling to examine later and cleared his throat. The pillows were holding him up now, because he’d already drained his meager resources.

“Is Wayne about?” he asked, trying to hold cave notes in his head.

“No,” Alfred said. “He’s still working. I doubt he’ll rest much until he’s brought things to a satisfactory conclusion.”

Dev’s stomach, empty as it was, did an odd little flip. Bruce was out hunting his attempted murderer. It dispelled a little of the current of panic, thinking that Batman was working on it like it was a regular case.

“I’ll be back momentarily with something to eat,” Alfred said. “Master Timothy might look in, if that’s quite alright.”

“Bloody fine by me,” Dev said, but he was nearly asleep again already.

Tim did arrive before Alfred, with a duffel bag and Dev’s mobile.

“I found this in your office,” Tim said. “And I swung by your place to grab some stuff. Let me know if you want anything else.”

Tim bent over the side table to plug a charger in, and he plugged in the mobile and set it on the table.

“On or off?” Tim asked, finger hovering over the mobile buttons.

“On,” Dev mumbled sleepily.

A few minutes later, the mobile vibrated. And then again, and then again. And again.

Tim, who had already settled into a chair and pulled his hoodie up around his head, strings drawn til the hood covered most of his face, sat up from his brief attempt at a nap and stared at it.

It was enough to rouse Dev into reaching for it, and he saw the screen, and adrenaline flooded him like a dam breaking.

“Oh, bloody fuck,” he swore, snatching up the mobile and swiping through the passcode. “Bloody fucking hell. Leena.”

Tim watched him with wide eyes.

Dev pressed his finger against the call button and mouthed the words to Tim while it briefly rang.

“Fifteen missed calls.”

“Was she your emergency contact?” Tim asked, just as the ringing stopped and Leena answered.

“Lee,” Dev started, but that was as far as he got before she cut him off with a half sob.

“Kiran Sidney, where the fuck are you? What the bloody fuck happened? I’ve rung a hundred times and your flat is empty and fucking hell, I don’t even know what the hell happened. We got back to base camp and I’d missed a call that you were on fucking life support.”

“I’m alright, I’m bloody fine, it’s fine,” Dev said quickly, rubbing at his face. “It’s a long story. I’ll fill you in, I promise, just, I’m sodding sorry.”

“You’re sorry,” Leena echoes, with a note of disbelief. “Sidney, you scared the shit out of me. I still don’t even know where you are.”

“Did you say my flat is empty?” Dev asked, comprehension dawning now, his processing power on a delay and struggling to catch up.

“Yes!” Leena shouted through the phone.

Dev winced.

“Lee, where are–”

“I’m in fucking Gotham. Where do you think I am? I got a call saying my brother was on life support, and then the fucking hospital wouldn’t say a fucking word about how you were, and of course I came. I didn’t know if I was coming to buy you soup or arrange a funeral.”

She was crying. Leena, who hardly ever cried, and his chest clenched with remorse. He tried to take in a breath and he couldn’t, he couldn’t breathe deeply enough.

He would have spiraled entirely except Tim’s warm, steady hand landed on the back of his neck. Tim leaned over until he was eye level.

“Breathe, Dev,” he said, in such a hushed whisper the mobile probably didn’t pick it up.

Dev fought through the blinding pain of forcing his tender lungs to cooperate. He listened to Leena take in a sharp breath of her own, and the shuddery exhale that followed. He could imagine her without effort, the way she pinched the bridge of her nose to stem any tears.

“Give her the address,” Tim said, lifting his hand away.

Dev should argue about this, argue to ask Bruce first, to consult Alfred. But he was too tired and he could still hear the mental echoes of his sister crying, like aural ghosts drifting through the mobile.

It was only when he spoke again that he realized how hoarse he still sounded from the intubation.

“Lee,” he said, “I’m staying with friends. I’ll text the address. Is Kenji with you?”

“No,” she said. “He stayed to finish the climb we were guiding. It’s just me.”

“Does she have a rental?” Tim asked, not keeping his voice pitched as quiet now.

Dev looked at him and tried to parse why this mattered, but his head was thick again.

“May I?” Tim asked, gesturing for the mobile.

“Lee,” Dev said. With no warning the adrenaline dropped off and he felt faint. “I’m…it’s Tim.”

Tim took the mobile before it slipped from Dev’s grip, and Dev was motionless while he listened to Tim talk to Leena, coordinating transport and other information.

After a while, Tim set the mobile down on the table again. He knelt beside the bed, brow furrowed in concern.

“Hey,” he said. “Alfred should be in here any minute with breakfast, but I’m going to check your blood pressure, then I’m going to pick up Leena.”

“I scared her,” Dev said hollowly, as Tim worked the cuff around his arm and velcroed it in place. Tim twisted to press a button and the hiss of the cuff inflating filled the room.

“You scared all of us,” Tim said bluntly. “But we’re not holding it against you.”

Dev shut his eyes.

“Dev,” Tim said, a moment later. “Does that look a little low to you? It looks low to me.”

Dev had to concentrate to focus on the numbers. Interpreting them took less effort, just from rote memory of guidelines.

“Yeah,” he said. At least that explained the swimming head.

“I’m going to get Alfred,” Tim said. “Maybe you need something other than saline.”

Dev hummed in agreement.

“Okay, stay here. I’ll be back with your sister in a bit.”

Tim left and Dev slept, again.

By the time Tim returned with Leena, Dev had managed to eat toast and eggs Alfred brought him. He would have gone back to sleep, but knowing she was on her way kept him awake and upright.

Aside from that, his blood pressure had come back up with food, but he knew he still felt a little shocky and didn’t want to sleep through it.

Leena came into the room like a hurricane, talking ninety miles a minute. She threw her arms around him, squeezing him in a tight hug that crushed the breath out of him, and then sat on the bed as if she’d been there a hundred times before.

“How are you feeling, though, really? What happened? Was it an accident?”

Dev could see Tim hanging back in the hallway, hovering near the door but not coming in. He swallowed, but the dryness in his throat didn’t abate.

“I’m alright,” he said, with a shrug. “I’m on the other side of it, at least.”

“You look like shit,” Leena said, brushing his hair back from his temple with the ease of familiarity. She gave the monitors and IV pole a sidelong glance. “And this doesn’t bloody look like the other side of things.”

“Thanks ever so bloody much,” he said dryly. He waved a hand in dismissal. “They’re just keeping an eye on things. A precaution.”

“Was it pneumonia?” Leena asked. “A heart attack?”

Dev knew she wouldn’t stop until he’d given her an answer, and suddenly, I was poisoned sounded patently ridiculous. He bit his lip and considered lying to her, but then he met her eyes and knew he couldn’t– not to her face.

“I was, ah, poisoned.”

Leena laughed, and nudged his leg with her knee.

“Honestly, though–” she started, then she paused, studying his expression. “Fucking hell, you’re serious? What the bloody hell, Sidney?”

“Something in a gift of tea bags. There’s an investigation,” he said. “But I’m sodding fine.”

“Why would someone fucking poison you?” Leena said, her body now tense.

There was a flicker of movement in the hall– Tim drifting close but still hanging back. It made Dev feel more at ease to know he was there, even though that didn’t make sense either. He wasn’t afraid of Leena.

Dev shrugged.

“I lose people, Lee. Sometimes, their family blames me. They need someone to be sodding angry at.”

Leena scowled but didn’t argue. She sighed, a short huff of irritation, and then she leaned forward and kissed his cheek.

“Well, I’m glad you’re on the mend. And you’ve got posh friends now. This is much better than a flat by yourself.”

“I was argued out of going home,” Dev said. A yawn cracked through him, despite willing himself to stay alert and upright. He was exhausted, but he hadn’t seen Leena in person in months, and he had missed her.

“I should let you rest. I’ll go ring for a ride and find a hotel,” Leena said.

Tim leaned on the doorframe and gave a light knock.

“Alfred’s got a guest room ready for you,” he said. “And dinner is at seven. You’re welcome to stay near Dev, or I can give you a tour and show you where the library and den and pool are.”

“Very posh,” Leena said, giving Dev a pointed look. “I feel like you’ve left out some things about your…situation right now.”

Dev, already drowsy, heard an alarm bell go off in his head at that.

“I’m not dating anyone, Lee,” he mumbled. “Just friends. Alfie’s like my da.”

Because he was half-asleep, and his head felt like candy floss someone was plunging into water, he was simply honest without thinking about what he was saying.

He saw, from the corner of his eye, Leena’s odd flinch, a stutter in her transition to standing.

“That’s lovely,” she said, her tone indecipherable to Dev. It could have been wistful or critical, and he simply couldn’t tell. “Get some sleep. I’ll be about when you’re up again.”

Chapter Text

It was well after midnight when Bruce Wayne showed up at the threshold to Dev’s room. He lightly knocked on the half-open door before stepping in.

Dev, after sleeping most of the day and evening, had roused enough to eat a very late dinner and talk to Leena for a bit about her latest climb. She was curled in an armchair near the bed, pleading jet lag as a reason for being awake.

Though he hadn’t been in the dining room, Dev had already heard that the family had turned out in full force for dinner, and Leena had met them all. She’d been overwhelmed by it, her own circles tending to run small– she and Kenji, a few friends, her in-laws and Kenji’s only brother. She hadn’t said as much, but he could tell, and it still startled him that easy-going, adventurous Leena shirked from crowds. She’d always been surrounded by people when they were younger.

When Bruce stepped into the room, he nodded politely to her, but his gaze turned quickly to Dev.

“I’ve just heard from the police,” he said. “They caught her. I thought you’d want to know.”

“Already?” Dev asked, the same time Leena sat up and forward to demand, “Are they sure?”

Bruce nodded, expression grave. “She confessed,” he said. “Her husband had been a patient of yours.”

Had been.

Dev had guessed it would be something like that, but it still caught him in the chest like a rod of rebar. There were questions he wanted to ask that he couldn’t ask in front of Leena, so he exhaled slowly and saved them for later.

“Can I get you anything?” Bruce asked, looking first at Dev and then at Leena.

Dev shook his head, and Leena followed suit, so Bruce nodded to them both and then left.

“He’s a bit creepy, isn’t he?” Leena asked, as soon as he’d gone.

“What?” Dev said, turning to her, his turmoil at the news interrupted. “Wayne?”

“Yeah,” she said. “He was so charming at dinner it felt like a play he was putting on. I don’t know how you stand it.”

“He isn’t like that for…” Dev stopped, because he realized he’d nearly said family, and though he didn’t think his place there had a specific label it did feel true right now, talking to Leena, who was somehow both his sister and an outsider to the people who had tucked him into their circle.

“He isn’t like that around me,” he finished lamely. “He gets bloody nervous around new people.”

Leena gave him a flatly disbelieving look.

“I don’t think men like him get nervous. And anyway, I wanted to ask– are you alright here? I mean, are you safe? They’ve got you tucked away in this bloody massive house, they’re screening your calls, you said that sweet old man was like da.”

She sat on the edge of the bed while she was talking, one hand on his arm. She lowered her voice.

“Do you need help?”

Dev stared at her a long moment. He nearly laughed in her face, and had to cough to hide it, but fake coughing set off real coughing and all the chest pain that came with it. When he recovered, he was still wheezing, and he looked up into her honest and worried face.

“I’m fine, Lee, I bloody swear. They weren’t screening my calls. I’d dropped my mobile in my office and nobody thought to grab it until today.”

Leena chewed her bottom lip.

“You said he was like da,” she said, her fingers tucked around his hand.

“He’s nothing like da,” Dev said honestly. “I only meant he’s more of a da to me than da ever was. I’m safe. Poisoning aside.”

Leena pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed, and then leaned and kissed him on the forehead.

“They do seem rather nice. I would have hated for it to be a lie,” she admitted. “I’m glad I don’t need to rescue you.”

“No,” Dev agreed. “I’m not in bloody need of it here. Thanks, though, for checking, honestly.”

She didn’t look entirely convinced but he didn’t have the energy to fight her.

“Get some sleep, Sidney,” she said. “We’ll talk more in the morning.”

Leena slept in.

Dev made himself get up. He was going to start to atrophy if he didn’t move around more, and soon. He didn’t plan to go far, maybe just the lounge room down the hall.

He reached a chair there without incident and settled into it, cataloging all the ways he ached now. He just sat for a while feeling worn out and frustrated that so little activity left him winded.

The room was quiet and cool, and bars of sunlight fell across the floor from the tall windows. He dozed, rousing only slightly when Alfred spread a blanket over him with a murmur of warning.

He lost sense of the passage of time. He knew it was moving, but he felt outside of it– there were snatches of voices in the hall and the distant shrill of a tea kettle, but none of it touched him.

Leena stopped in at one point, looking groggy and relieved to find him, and sat for a moment before excusing herself to find some breakfast.

Somewhere, a telephone rang.

Dev stopped breathing.

It was like he could taste that sour, stinging poison again.

He had to get help.

He tried to stand and his knees gave out, just like before, when he couldn’t hold himself up.

The next thing he was really, fully aware of was Bruce in front of him, holding Dev’s hand against his own chest.

“-safe,” he heard, above the roaring in his ears. “You’re safe. You’re in the manor. Focus. Feel how I’m breathing.”

Dev struggled to pay attention to that rhythm, the steady rise and fall of Bruce’s chest under his palm. It meant Batman was alive and breathing; it meant he was somewhere with Batman.

“Bloody hell,” Dev bit off, before he really had breath for it.

“It’s alright,” Bruce said, voice low. “Take your time.”

Dev’s body felt too heavy. He wanted to lie down right there on the floor. The rug was a woven masterpiece and he knew at least one spot on it that had a hidden bloodstain. His other hand, braced against the floor, could feel the bundles of threads pressing into his skin.

“I’m going to move,” Bruce warned, “so you can lean on me. If you want.”

Dev nodded, still not wanting to look up and face anything, not even concern.

Bruce shifted from kneeling in front of him to sitting beside him on the floor. A soft grunt escaped him at the movement. He was shoulder to shoulder with Dev, offering, but not pushing.

There was a remnant of stubborn self-reliance in Dev that kept his head upright instead of leaning, but the contact was grounding and reassuring all the same. He focused on keeping his breathing even, the hitches in the rhythm now from the pain in his chest. He pressed two fingers to his wrist, closed his eyes, and counted.

Bruce was quiet.

Dev’s heart rate was slowing, leveling back out, so he brushed away worry about the chest pain and rode out the waves of it.

“What was her name?” Dev asked when he could trust himself to speak.

Bruce was still quiet for a long moment. Tim might have hedged and stalled, as much like his father as he was. It was one of the ways they diverged. Bruce said nothing, weighing it out.

Then, he sighed. Dev could feel the shift of his shoulder beside him.

“Megan Rhodes,” Bruce said crisply.

There were so many cases behind him now that Dev sometimes struggled to put a name to the case. There were times he needed something to spark his memory to forge the connection anew– a face, a voice, an item held during a consult.

He didn’t need anything like that this time.

“Fuck,” he said, his chin dropping to his chest. “I remember her.”

It wasn’t exactly true, but it wasn’t a lie. He couldn’t remember quite what she’d looked like– only the way her mouth had twisted in grief when he’d given her the news. He did remember her husband, in a wheelchair, his skin sagging on a bulky frame that had lost weight very rapidly. He had looked ill, but it hadn’t diminished the fierce determination in his eyes.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Bruce asked.

“No,” Dev said, the word choked.

They’d come to him on a referral from another hospital for a spinal tumor. It had been nearly inoperable when they’d reached him, and he’d been blunt with them about the risks. Death, a possibility. Spinal cord damage, a possibility. He hadn’t even hesitated to take the case on, knowing the alternative was a creeping and painful death.

Nolan Rhodes had already lost most of the use of his legs and it would continue– the tumor would press on the spinal cord like a heel grinding into dirt as it grew upward, robbing him of other functions while increasing pain. Radiation might slow it or prevent pain, but his case had already refused to respond to less invasive treatments.

Surgery would have given him a chance at prolonging life, at trying radiation again with more success.

But Nolan Rhodes died on the table.

Dev had told Rhodes’ wife and then locked himself into his office to cry alone.

He wasn’t alone now, and when he turned his wet face to press it into Bruce’s shoulder after all, Bruce’s arm slipped around his back and held him tight while he wept.

Despite all the panic attack crying jags, it was the first time he felt like he was really, truly grasping that he’d nearly died, and he’d nearly died because another person was in so much pain from a loss he’d had a hand in. He hadn’t promised her anything, but he knew every patient heard an implicit promise anyway– that was one of the risks of his work. He was supposed to fix things.

Somehow, he’d found another human who understood without ever having been a surgeon. And he knew Bruce understood, he knew in his bones that Bruce would understand Dev was broken for her as much as for himself. He was furious and terrified of her and hated that he didn’t know how long it would be before he could drink a cup of tea without fear, but he hurt for her, too. He hurt for the woman whose face he couldn’t remember who had sat beside her very sick husband in his office and hoped they’d finally hit rock bottom and could start climbing back up.

“Dev,” Bruce said, the syllable stuttering with Bruce’s own observant grief.

Dev simply shook his head.

Bruce put his other arm around him, enclosing him in a hug, and rested his cheek on Dev’s hair until the crying fizzled into shaky breaths.

“M’bloody sorry,” Dev mumbled, wrung out.

“No,” Bruce said softly but firmly. His arms were a sturdy and warm loop holding Dev in one piece. “It’s alright. This isn’t your fault.”

“He died on my table, under my–” Dev started, the flare of anger a welcome change.

“Yes,” Bruce cut him off to agree.

The anger slipped away. Dev sniffed and pulled away to sit up and roll an aching arm.

“I know,” he said. “I know what I’d bloody tell you. You don’t have to say it.”

“Good,” Bruce said. “Want help to bed?”

“If I say no, you’ll accuse me of being a bloody hypocrite,” Dev said.

“That’s correct.” Bruce gave him a lopsided smile, one of the real ones. If Leena had seen it she wouldn’t have had any complaints about plastic behaviors, Dev knew.

Dev managed a thin smile in return.

“Spot me,” he said, even while he let Bruce help pull him to his feet. He swayed unsteadily for a moment and then found his balance and his legs. “Just be there in case I start to go down.”

“I’d like a warning,” Bruce said. He kept pace with Dev’s slow steps.

“Warnings are bloody nice, aren’t they,” Dev commented mildly.

“Hn.”

He made it back to his room without needing to lean on Bruce, and even felt like he could have kept going. He was extremely tempted to push for a lap around the nearby ballroom, but decided to quit while he was ahead.

He sat on the edge of the bed and pressed his fingers to his wrist again.

“That’s the second time you’ve done that,” Bruce said, eyeing him while he was adjusting a cord on a nearby machine. “Do we need to go in?”

“No,” Dev said. “The poison…”

His mouth had been dry before but now it felt bone dry. His tongue stuck to his teeth.

“As long as you aren’t having a heart attack,” Bruce said. “Or monitoring yourself for one without saying anything.”

It was a chance to drop the topic.

Dev didn’t take it.

“I thought it was,” Dev said. “In my office. I thought it was a cardiac event. Only a cardiac event, I mean. I remember thinking it was very stupid that I was going to die in my own office because nobody would know to check until it was too late.”

“And then you called for help,” Bruce said. He held out the pulse oximeter and Dev clipped it on his own finger.

“I had someone to call,” Dev answered, his dry throat tight again.

Bruce uncapped a water bottle from the side table and handed it to him. Dev sipped it before he pulled it away from his lips.

“So, you’re not monitoring yourself?” Bruce asked when he took the water bottle back.

“Only a little,” Dev said. “Not seriously.”

“Keep that on,” Bruce ordered when Dev started to unclip the pulse ox. “You can’t say that and then not let us monitor you, too.”

Bruce was adjusting brightness on the monitor when he said it, so Dev kicked out a foot to nudge Bruce’s ankle.

“I’m alright, Wayne,” he said.

Bruce twisted his foot to gently kick back.

“You damn well better be,” he said gruffly. “Tell someone if the pain is worse.”

“I’m not particularly fond of this role reversal,” Dev admitted, drawing his legs up so he could sprawl across the bed.

“To be honest, I’m not either,” Bruce said, facing him with his arms crossed. His brows slanted with a contemplative air. “I don’t mind taking care of you. Don’t make that face– you aren’t a burden, and you know that isn’t what I meant– but I prefer when I’m the one down.”

“I prefer when nobody is down,” Dev said.

“Or that,” Bruce said amiably but flatly.

“Wayne,” Dev said, when Bruce turned.

“Dev?”

“Thank you,” he said. “For everything.”

For everything he didn’t risk saying upstairs when Leena was in the house.

“Hn,” Bruce said, still looking like he might go.

“I’m bloody sorry I frightened you,” Dev added.

“I’m not,” Bruce answered. He dragged a chair over and sat in it beside the bed and something in Dev settled in relief. “I’m not sorry, if it means you called. I want you to call every time you need to. We’ll answer.”

Dev closed his eyes and hummed the assent he couldn’t put into words without crying again. He was too worn out to cry again.

“I’m staying here to keep an eye on your heart rate,” Bruce said.

“You don’t have to,” Dev replied.

“No, but I’m going to. Just in case.” His tone turned slightly teasing. “Want a bedtime story, darling?”

“The story of how you can bloody fuck off, sweetheart,” Dev said into his pillow. “Read one of your sodding technical manuals. That’ll do it.”

Bruce laughed.

Dev lifted his head to fix a steady eye on Bruce, suddenly remembering something. “Kent says you have one of those memorized. Was he having me on?”

“Ah,” Bruce said, too stoic to look embarrassed. “No. The 1982 Suzuki GSX 1100 S Katana Service Manual. It’s a motorcycle.”

“You memorized it,” Dev said. “Ought I even bother asking why?”

“At fourteen, I had some…misguided ideas about what it meant to be an expert on anything,” Bruce said, steepling his fingers in front of his face. He still didn’t look even the slightest bit embarrassed.

Dev found this, somehow, reassuring, for reasons he couldn’t quite identify.

“Well, you could recite that, then,” Dev said, rolling over with his blanket pulled around him. He was joking, and he knew Bruce knew he was joking, but he wasn’t entirely surprised when a monotone voice broke the silence.

“Foreword. The SUZUKI GSX 1100 has been developed as a new generation motorcycle to the GS-models. It is packed with highly advanced design concepts–”

“I’ll throw a bloody pillow, Wayne.”

“I’m only doing what you told me to do. Aren’t you always after me to listen to you?”

Dev threw the pillow and didn’t even have the satisfaction of hearing it hit. Bruce caught it out of the air and returned it to the bed, fluffing it as he did.

“Wanker,” Dev grumbled.

“I’m fond of you, too,” Bruce said, with that serious glint behind all the humor. “Get some rest, Dev.”

Chapter Text

Dev waking to find things or people had changed around him was becoming a pattern and he didn’t like it.

This time, he woke and knew it was very late or very early. A soft glow from the corner of the room caught his attention.

“Sorry, did I wake you?” Leena asked. “I fell asleep in the chair earlier keeping you company and now I’m wide awake. Jet lag’s fucking brutal.”

Dev wasn’t sure what had woken him. A few years ago, he would have said the light didn’t bother him, but now he wasn’t sure. He slept more lightly, more sensitive to his environment now than he had been during residency.

He shrugged and reached over to flick on the side table lamp.

Leena’s face was drawn in the shadows cast from the lamp and her own book light. She folded the book shut and he patted the side of the bed.

She crawled in beside him and sat, her back propped against the headboard. He had the acute awareness he’d spent more of his life missing her than with her.

“Kenji’s well?” Dev asked, when Leena didn’t hurry to fill the silence. He remembered now that she could be quiet when thinking, quiet when absorbed in her own plans– he always thought of her as talkative, but he was realizing that it was shaped by childhood memories of her chatter and a lifetime of phone conversations.

“Yeah,” Leena said. “He’s well. He sends his regards.”

“I’m sorry I interrupted your climb,” Dev said.

Leena glanced down at him– down, because he was still lying on his back and she was sitting up. It wasn’t an angle he was used to seeing her at and he noticed the little laugh lines at the corners of her eyes. It filled him with an aching sort of warmth. She was getting older, and somewhere, she was happy, and he wasn’t very much part of it.

“Sid–”

“Don’t,” he said, the warmth fading quickly. “Don’t call me that.”

“I’ve always called you that,” Leena said, her brow furrowed.

“Only because it irritated da,” Dev said. “He hated it. Still hates it, for all I bloody know.”

“It’s your name, Sidney,” Leena said, with some wounded exasperation. She drew her knees to her chest.

“Mum only picked it to try to appease grandmum. You only started using it because grandmum did, and it pissed him off, and I’m sick of hearing you trying to fucking annoy him every time you say my sodding name.”

Dev used his arms to leverage himself up, to sit beside her, his chest heaving from the heat of his anger. He was surprised as she by the outburst, judging by the way the shock on her face echoed the bewilderment in his own head.

“That’s not…” Leena started. “Sid…it’s just your name to me. I don’t have to use it. But bloody hell, don’t tell me it’s fucking bothered you all this time. I’ve not thought about da being annoyed with it since we were in primary school.”

“It hasn’t been…all the time,” Dev said lamely. “I don’t know when it started. Forget I said anything. I’m just shattered right now, Lee.”

“No,” she said, stubbornly. “No, you don’t get to take it back, if that’s how you feel. I’ll adjust.”

“I don’t know if it’s how I bloody feel,” Dev protested. “That’s why I said to forget it. I’m sorry I sodding said anything.”

She glared at him and he glared back at her, and then he dropped his gaze first. She turned away a second after, exhaling harshly. He’d forgotten, somehow, until just that moment, that it hadn’t just been Rani she’d fought with all the time– they’d picked at each other, too, with the pressure-point accuracy of siblings. He wondered now why he’d forgotten how often they’d fought, why it didn’t overshadow their entire relationship the way it did for Rani.

They sat in uncomfortable silence for a few minutes before she turned her head, resting it on her folded knees to study him. Her hair was pulled back into a tight braid and it was easy to imagine her with a knitted cap on, her deep brown eyes warm in a sea of snow behind her. It was how he was used to seeing her.

Far away, out of reach.

He reached up and tugged her braid. It dispelled a little of the chill in the room and she gave him a slight smile, a hint of fond annoyance in it.

Leena had always been an open book to him– volatile, stubborn Leena. Maybe he’d forgotten how often they fought because it hadn’t felt like fighting, just spiraling around each other and finding solid ground in the end.

“The more time I spend here, the more I realize I don’t really know you anymore,” Leena said quietly. “And I’m not sure it’s a bad thing.”

“Lee,” Dev said, her name breaking in his throat.

“No, you nearly died, and I realized we haven’t really talked about it. The whole flight to Gotham I couldn’t even think about it. But we need to talk. You deserve an apology,” she said. “I left. I left you behind. It’s good you’ve moved on. I don’t think I–”

“You aren’t poison,” he said sharply, heedless of the word choice until she flinched. He barreled on, feeling like a monster for the way she pulled back for even that split second. “I could have followed you. We went different directions, is all. It was never because I wanted to get away from you.”

She worried at her bottom lip with her teeth and stared at him, eyes wide like they were both young again.

His chest was cold, his hands suddenly numb.

“But you wanted away from me,” he said, realizing.

She was shaking her head to deny it but he’d seen the flicker of panic on her face, like he’d caught her snooping in his childhood desk.

“It wasn’t like that,” she protested. “It wasn’t to get away from you. It was…everything. I had to get away from all of it.”

“Including me,” Dev said, voice hollow.

“We were kids,” she said. “You left and I was terrified every day I stayed at home that you’d come back for me and he’d really, truly kill you. Every time the front door opened, I’d worry it was you. I dreamed your blood was on my hands. And you fucking lied to the doctors, to everyone. I get it now, but I didn’t then. I thought if you were still willing to protect him, you’d keep doing it, and maybe I’d be the reason you came home.”

Dev wanted to say she was wrong, but he wasn’t sure. He might have gone back if Leena had been there. He’d missed her, his anchor, more than anyone else at home. He’d drifted for years, anchorless, without her.

He sat, mute, trying to get his breathing back under control. His lungs were doing a piss poor job of handling any change at the moment.

Leena sniffed and rested her chin on her knees, watching him.

“I saw you earlier,” she confessed. “In the room down the hall. That isn’t the first time he’s calmed you down from a panic, is it?”

So she’d seen him with Bruce. Somehow, it didn’t surprise him, even though it mortified him. It almost made explaining anything feel easier. He still wished she hadn’t seen.

“How much did you see?” he asked, voice hoarse.

“Not much,” she said. “Enough to know I wasn’t needed.”

“Lee,” he said, shrugging. “I’ve always needed you.”

“And I fucking abandoned you,” she said bitterly. “I thought I had to, but it wasn’t just for you. I wanted to get away, too. Then I stayed away.”

“I never blamed you for going,” Dev said. “I missed you, but I didn’t blame you.”

“That’s because you only ever bloody blame yourself,” Leena said acidly, tossing her head back. “And it doesn’t matter, because I fucking blamed me. I ran away and I found a life I love and a man I love, and a whole damn family, and I left you out of it. I could have dragged your arse over for holidays, or come to visit more often, and I didn’t. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“How could you have hurt me?” Dev asked, stunned. His hands were clasped tightly and his muscles were so tense his joints ached.

“Kenji’s parents are the sweetest people alive, but they’re so reserved,” Leena said, sniffling. “And you were so fucking alone, all the time. No girlfriend, no boyfriend, hardly any friends. I felt like it would be rubbing it in your face that I’d found something you weren’t part of. What if I tried to share it and you didn’t get along?”

“That’s the most fucking mental thing you’ve ever said,” Dev said flatly. His heart was twisted into knots. “Look at me, please bloody look at me.”

It took her a long time but he was used to waiting out Bruce. She finally raised her eyes to his.

“All I wanted was for you to be happy and safe. That’s it. You’ve given me that. You told me over and over, and I can see it when you call, and the way you talk to Kenji and the way he looks at you. I wouldn’t let anyone close, not for a long time. I was running as much as you were.”

Leena covered her face with both hands.

“You’re right, it’s fucking mental. I ought to have tried.”

“And I wouldn’t have come,” he said. “You know I wouldn’t have. There would have always been an excuse. I don’t even fully know how I ended up here, and it only happened because I didn’t realize that it was happening. I needed someone but it wasn’t fair to make it you forever and I knew that, even then.”

“They’re good to you, though, yeah?” she asked. “I thought Wayne was a creep, but when I saw him sitting with you– that man loves you.”

“It’s not like that,” Dev warned.

“I don’t care how it’s like,” Leena shot back. “As long as they love you and you’re happy. You are happy?”

“Poisoning aside,” he said, lifting his arm. She curled up against his side. “Yeah. I am. I’d die for the lot of them. They’re bloody brilliant, you’ve no idea.”

“Good,” she said. “And I’m sorry. For everything.”

“I never blamed you, but you’re forgiven, if that’s what you sodding need,” Dev said.

“And Bruce? Who is he to you? You’re clearly not just the family doctor,” Leena pressed.

“He’s the person who comes when I ring,” Dev said. “So’s Alfie. And Timothy. All of them, I think, and I’m only just finding it out.”

“So for a while, then,” Leena said. She reached up and patted his head. “I love you, but you can be a little bloody thick, sometimes, you know.”

“I know,” Dev agreed. “Please don’t tell Kenji I’m dating Bruce Wayne, because I’m not, Lee, please.”

“What do I bloody tell him, then? After all this?” Leena demanded. Her sniffle this time was tinged with a laugh she was trying to swallow.

“Tell him they’re my family,” Dev said.

“You deserve a family,” she said quietly. “You deserve more than just me, half a world away, and Kam who hardly talks to you.”

He didn’t bring up Rani. It was still a sore spot that she and Leena weren’t really in contact, even now.

“I’ll need to leave tomorrow,” she said. “Kenji’s done with the last leg of the tour and we’ve another group coming soon. I don’t mean to run.”

“Thank you for coming,” he said. “It was bloody good to see you. Let’s not wait until I’ve nearly died next time, yeah?”

“Yeah,” she agreed.

His heart still ached but he hadn’t really expected her to stay long. They’d stay in touch, like they always did, and that would be enough.

They sat for a while, his arm around her, cuddled like they’d done watching movies on the boxy telly when they were kids. She was unfamiliar against him, not like Tim or Bruce or even Jason when he was making a pest of himself on purpose and then got comfortable by accident. But she still fit and he was willing to keep adjusting to hold on to what they still had.

“Poisoned,” she said, suddenly. “Fucking hell, that’s like something in a crime novel. After you were kidnapped last year? You still haven’t told me all that story.”

“It’s just Gotham, really,” he said.

“Why does anyone live here?” she asked.

“Why do you climb mountains?”

“Touché.”

“Lee, I’m serious.”

“For the adventure,” she said, giving in. “Because I can. Because I like the challenge. But that’s not where I live. We have a very nice house in Hokkaido. Not as nice as this, mind you, but a calm little place. A rest.”

“Maybe I’m the more adventurous one after all,” he said.

“Sid, you cried the first time you got on a bike because it was too fast. Shit, I’m sorry.”

“You can keep calling me that,” he said. “I told you I was being sodding petty. I’m out of sorts. It’s always what you’ve called me. And I don’t remember the bike at all.”

“It had training wheels,” Leena said blandly. “But you wouldn’t get on without a helmet.”

“That’s just bloody common sense,” Dev said. He pressed a kiss to the top of her hair. “I’ve missed you.”

“Let them take care of you,” she said, quietly. “Please? Let them do what I couldn’t. Don’t shove them away.”

“I will,” Dev promised. “I’m trying. It’s why I’m here instead of at my flat.”

“Good,” Leena said, sitting up. “I ought to let you rest.”

“No,” Dev said, throwing back the blankets. “I’m going to show you how to raid one of the most beautiful kitchens in the world.”

“I didn’t know you cared about interior design,” Leena said, with a conspiratorial smirk.

“I don’t,” Dev said. “It’s only that it’s Alfie’s.”

Chapter Text

The midnight kitchen raid should have wiped him out by the time he reached the kitchen, but it didn’t. He counted it as a sign that he was actually getting better.

Tim found them in the kitchen in the pre-dawn hours, sharing biscuits while Dev laughed at Leena’s account of a tent that wouldn’t stop collapsing. It felt good to laugh, even if it hurt.

“We’re all insomniacs,” Tim mumbled, when Leena asked what he was doing up. He started a pot of coffee and offered Leena a cup, and carefully didn’t offer Dev any tea.

Tim leaned on Dev’s back while the coffee brewed, arms crossed atop Dev’s head while he chatted. Tim was comfortable around him, but rarely demonstrative for its own sake, and he wondered at it until he saw the warm smile Leena gave him and felt Tim relax even just that bit more.

When he handed Leena her coffee, Tim took up his own to go, and Dev called him back. He’d come to the house in part because Tim had insisted, had been frightened for him, and then Tim had mostly stayed out of the way since Leena had arrived.

“Timothy, let me check your wrist.”

The sprain was weeks old and didn’t warrant a check, but Tim came back and sat beside him and held out his arm. Leena watched them as Dev had Tim turn the joint and flex his hand and then, satisfied with something he’d known wasn’t going to be a problem, let Tim’s arm go.

He didn’t think the excuse was transparent to Leena, but it was to Tim, and Tim stayed anyway.

Dev almost immediately regretted it.

Leena propped her chin on her hand.

“Does he still eat oranges like they’re apples?” Leena asked.

“I sodding peel them first,” Dev defended.

Tim gave him a sidelong glance, his eyes bright.

“Yes,” he said to Leena. “I thought he was messing with me the first time I saw him bite into a whole one.”

“It saves time and you only need the one hand, after you peel,” Dev said.

“Does he still do this when he’s thinking?” Leena asked, sliding the chair out just enough to drag her toe in a figure eight on the floor.

“Yes,” Tim said, nudging Dev with his elbow. “All the time.”

“Mum used to say, ‘Oh, Kiran’s stuck in a loop again,’ remember?”

“Barely,” Dev said, frowning.

Dev leaned on the table and pillowed his head on his crossed arms. Tim’s hand snaked over and he pressed two fingers to Dev’s pulse point.

“You okay?” he asked, his humor replaced by tension.

“Bloody fine,” Dev grumbled. “Carry on mocking me with my sister, then.”

“We’re not mocking you,” Leena said lightly. “We’re sharing. So, Timothy, did he tell you that when he was little, he’d steal Rani’s Barbies and pretend they’d died horrifically so his toy soldiers would have sad backstories?”

Tim’s laugh was low and scratchy and very, very Tim. It was a real laugh, and it made Dev smile despite himself.

“You fridged them?” Tim asked.

“That was one time,” he muttered into his arms.

“Oh, no, it wasn’t,” Leena said. He could hear her glee and he knew the wicked sparkle in her eye without lifting his head to see it. “It was many times. And Rani never stayed mad at you, only me, for some reason.”

Wisps of memory came back to him, tinged with dread but mostly mundane– it wasn’t the memories themselves as much as it was fear of what lay around the corner. A mundane thing could stumble into dark ravines all too quickly.

These, however, came and then went, leaving only an edge of sour anxiety.

“Oh,” Dev said, lifting his head. “It’s because you teased her. They all had names, remember– Shabana, Paige, Aisha. But you’d call them Explosion Girl and Friendly Fire Woman.”

For a moment he was afraid he’d triggered Leena’s own tripwire and he’d lose her to more guilt, more anger, more bitterness about Rani. But Leena just laughed.

“That’s right. I was such a little arse.”

“Bloody hell, I’ve not thought about that in years,” Dev said. “Well, I don’t steal Barbies anymore. I’ve quite grown out of that one.”

“I’m so glad you gave up your life of crime,” Tim said, with the ghost of a knowing smirk. Dev scrubbed his knuckles hard into Tim’s hair so Tim ducked away, brushing the hand off.

“Prick,” he said.

“Wanker,” Dev returned.

Leena was watching them with an inscrutable expression.

“Did he always hum when he’s thinking or working?” Tim asked.

“No,” Leena said, surprised. “No, he was as quiet as a fucking mouse. Do you remember when mum didn’t even realize you’d stayed home from school?”

“Yeah,” Dev said, tone a bit subdued at that memory. He’d had an ear infection and had meant to only wait until he heard his da leave to go talk to her, but he’d fallen asleep on the bed for over an hour. He’d woken and decided to pretend she’d missed him coming in when school was out.

It would have worked except the school rang.

“Does he now?” she asked, curious.

“I’m right here,” Dev said. “Just sodding ask me.”

Leena wasn’t phased but Tim gave him another sidelong look, this one with a question in it. Dev knew he only had to look away or shake his head, or even maybe drop his gaze, and Tim would redirect the entire conversation.

“It’s alright, Timothy,” he said. “Leena doesn’t frighten me.”

Leena stuck her tongue out at him, like they were kids again.

“He hums when he’s reading, when he’s writing notes, when he’s thinking or doing almost anything,” Tim said.

“It’s not that often,” Dev protested.

“Oh, yes, it is,” Tim shot back. “Ask Alfie. Sometimes, you’ll hum something classical and he’ll start, too, the whole rest of the day. Jason played that Mussorgsky record for Cass last fall when you were over and it was like both of you got stuck on repeat for a week.

“He sings, too,” Tim said, turning to Leena.

“Does he?” Leena asked, raising her brows. “Are you any good, then?”

“No,” Dev grumbled. “I’m not.”

“Bruce wouldn’t go to bed once and Dev followed him around singing Frere Jacques at the top of his lungs until Bruce gave up and asked for sleep meds. It was great.”

Dev laughed this time, too, with Leena and Tim. His chest ached and he was tired but he didn’t mind that much. It was worth it to have them together and talking, even if he didn’t especially like being the topic of conversation.

Maybe Tim sensed it, maybe he didn’t, but when Dev pillowed his head on his arms again, Tim asked, “How’s climbing been, Leena? Did Kenji get the new crampons he was thinking about?”

If Leena was surprised that Tim remembered a detail from midnight coffee after a funeral over a year ago, she didn’t say. She answered and Tim asked more questions until their voices faded into a pleasant drone in the edges of Dev’s awareness.

The next thing he knew, Tim was gently shaking his shoulder.

“Dev. Wanna go to bed?”

“Hm? Where’s Lee?” Dev asked, lifting his head. He’d fallen asleep and didn’t know how much time had passed.

“Kenji called. She went to talk. I told her I’d make sure you made it back to your room.”

Dev yawned and then shoved himself to his feet. When he swayed a little, Tim offered his shoulder to lean on. Dev put a hand there just to keep himself from blacking out while his head swam.

“I’m alright,” Dev said after a moment. “Bloody hell, but my legs are like jelly. I’ve barely done anything today.”

Tim was silent, walking alongside him, and Dev risked a glance down. Tim’s face was a careful blank.

“What’s up with you, then?” Dev asked.

“Nothing,” Tim said, shaking his head.

“I’ve nearly blacked out again,” Dev said, though it wasn’t true. “Give a mate a hand, would you?”

Tim slid closer to let Dev lean on his shoulder again, glancing up with a pinched expression. He chewed his bottom lip.

“You overdid it,” Tim said flatly.

“I only went to the bloody kitchen,” Dev replied. “I’m alright, then, Timothy.”

When they’d reached Dev’s room and Dev had flopped across the bed, Tim spoke again.

“You almost weren’t alright,” Tim snapped, crossing his arms. There was a tremor in the words that made his anger an ineffective ruse. He kept going, his voice pitching up and the words rushing together. “They intubated because you weren’t breathing, Dev. Alfred said your Glasgow coma score was 7. We didn’t know when you were going to wake up, or if you would at all. They discussed tests to rule out brain death. I had to make Bruce promise if it came to that, he’d let me stay in the room at the end.”

“Mate,” Dev said, sitting back up. He meant to go through the chart at some point but he hadn’t yet, and he hadn’t known more than half of those details.

“I’m sorry,” Tim said miserably, rubbing his face with his palms. “I was trying to give you space to see your sister, but I can’t sleep.”

“Timothy,” Dev said, pointing. “Sit down.”

Tim crawled into the spot Leena had occupied only an hour or two before, back pressed against the headboard. Dev sat beside him, put an arm around him, and pulled him in to hold him in a hug for a minute. Tim sagged against him like a rag doll.

“I did wake up,” Dev said, quietly. “I’m sodding fine. I’m going to be fine.”

“I don’t want to bury anyone else,” Tim said thickly. “Not for a long time. I feel like I finally stopped losing people.”

“Ah, bloody hell, Tim,” Dev said in a near-whisper. He rubbed a hand up and down Tim’s arm, trying to think of what to say. He settled, lamely, on, “I’m alright now.”

“I had to stop doing research because I kept finding stories about the plug being pulled and people somehow staying alive anyway. I didn’t want to give myself false hope,” Tim said, a bitter waver in his voice. “And now I’m not even letting you sleep.”

Dev’s arm tightened when Tim started to pull away.

“You stay right here,” he said. He pressed a rare kiss to the top of Tim’s head. “You’re alright, mate. We’ll talk about healthy research habits later, but I don’t mind you being about right now. I’m bloody sorry I gave you such a fright.”

Tim tried to say something else, but it dissolved into incoherent gulping for air.

His chest had ached on and off all day, but hearing Tim cry was a new kind of shearing pain. It cut through him like a scalpel, carving without killing. He’d known they cared, or he wouldn’t be in the Manor to recover, but being faced with the depths of Tim’s concern made it real somehow.

For the first time in a long time, the idea that someone might actually grieve him when he was gone wasn’t simply an abstract concept. He’d assumed he’d be missed in some way– but the way one might miss an old favorite jumper or a summer holiday. A fleeting sense of regret and a nostalgic longing, both brushed aside in the next minutes.

He’d told Leena the truth: They were his family. But that was how he felt.

Somehow, it hadn’t occurred to him that they might feel the same way about him.

With a sharp breath, he looked back at the past two years with the clarity of a microscope focusing properly on a subject. The room in the house, Tim shadowing him after Zsasz, the holidays he’d been drawn into, the late night movies with Bruce.

Leena had even said it: That man loves you.

Leena was right. He was bloody, fucking thick.

“Are you okay? What’s wrong? Why are you breathing like that? Is it your heart?” Tim sniffed hard and sat up, terror in his expression. He looked so fucking young, for a moment Dev had a wild pang of guilt. What had he done, letting anyone get attached to him?

“This is going to sound bloody mental,” Dev said, with a choked half laugh, “But I’ve only just realized you lot might not merely be tolerating me.”

Tim, eyes rimmed red, stared at him.

“Dev,” Tim said, with his own choked noise. “Dev, I love you, but are you literally stupid?”

Dev stared back at him while Tim’s face clipped through emotions like a lagging cutscene. Confusion, annoyance, shock, fondness, bafflement.

He couldn’t help it. He started to laugh. He laughed, sinking against the headboard and sliding down, until he was coughing.

“Dev, are you serious?” Tim sputtered, laughing, too, despite himself. “Like, I don’t even know, do you want me to write a note for your fricking fridge so you don’t forget?”

Dev coughed and laughed until suddenly, he wasn’t laughing anymore. He was crying, or trying very hard not to, and he threw an arm over his face to hide while he caught his breath.

“Geez,” Tim said, sitting beside him still looking stunned. “And I thought I was bad at people.”

“Look,” Dev said, but then he couldn’t think of anything to say. He took in a long breath through his nose, trying to calm the riot behind his ribs. “Timothy, mate…”

“No,” Tim said, scrunching himself down until his face was level with Dev’s. “I’m going to remind you like, once a week at least, how dumb you are so you don’t forget or think you made it up. Tolerating you, holy shit, Dev. If Alfred only tolerated you, you’d know.”

“I know,” Dev croaked, and the terrible thing was, he did. He’d had all the pieces and just somehow failed to ever take the time to put them together. “I’m sorry.”

Tim slung an arm over him and curled up, his ear pressed to Dev’s side.

“I think–”

“Shh,” Tim said. “I’m listening for abnormal rhythms.”

“Timothy, I’m alright,” Dev said. “But I think Leena thinks I’m dating your da.”

Tim huffed, amused.

“I told her I wasn’t, but I don’t think she sodding believed me.”

“You won’t convince her protesting more,” Tim said, sitting up. He patted Dev’s sternum, almost like he was slapping the hood of a car. “Sounds good in there. Keep it that way.”

“Thanks, doctor,” Dev said drily. “Dames left his 3DS in here somewhere if you fancy a game. The table drawer, I think.”

“Oh, excellent,” Tim said, leaning over Dev to open the drawer. His elbow dug into Dev’s stomach and Dev grunted. Tim’s elbow dug a little harder, and then he retreated, the 3DS and a game binder in his hands. He paused, resettling against the headboard. “Shit, I didn’t hurt you for real, did I? Are you sore?”

“No,” Dev said, though he was sore. It had been a reassuring kind of contact and he didn’t mind it.

Tim flipped through the little sleeves of cartridges.

“Hey, Dev,” Tim said, tugging a game out of a tiny mesh sleeve. “I’m really, really glad you’re okay.”

“Me, too, mate,” Dev said, drawing a blanket up around his shoulders. He was exhausted and it was slamming into him like a truck. “What’d you find, then?”

“Radiant Historia.”

Despite his fatigue, Dev lifted his head. “How long’s he had that?”

“He just got it last week. I’ve already bargained for a save slot for us.”

“We could just get our own console,” Dev said, letting his head fall back on the pillow. “Or, you know, two of them.”

Tim slid the game into the slot and shrugged. “I thought about it. But it makes me work on being nice to Damian, and he’s nicer if he feels like he’s doing me favors, and since I’m usually asking for you, too, he always says yes.”

“Why would he–” Dev stopped.

Tim looked down at him, a single eyebrow raised.

“Actually, literally stupid,” Tim said archly.

“Mhm,” Dev mumbled. “I’m bloody aware.”

Tim slouched down, chin tucked against his chest. Dev turned his head so he could see the screen at an angle while Tim clicked through the opening screens.

“M’gonna fall asleep,” Dev warned.

“Good,” Tim said. “I’m going to be here, listening to you breathe, unless you tell me I have to go away.”

“Stay as long as you bloody want,” Dev said. “Sleep, even, if you can. Just don’t sodding tell Alfie how stupid I am.”

“Dev,” Tim said, patiently and gently. “I think he probably knows. And no promises.”

“Yeah,” Dev sighed. “Night, Timothy.”

“Night, Dev. Wait, no, before you fall asleep, game music on or off?”

“On,” Dev said, his eyes closed.

He drifted off, Tim’s warm arm pressed against his forehead, and music pouring from tiny speakers nearby.

Chapter Text

It was midday, or later, when Dev woke. He knew instinctively it was past morning, with the keen sense of time developed over years of midnight shifts and on-call hours. He rolled over in bed with a groan and then didn’t try to move again for some time.

Eventually, there was a slight knock on the door.

“C’min,” he mumbled, half into the pillow.

“Good afternoon,” Alfred greeted him, coming into the room with a tray balanced on one hand.

“It is, then,” Dev replied, trying to decide if he wanted to risk trying to sit up. There was a very real possibility he wouldn’t be able to stay upright. He gazed listlessly at the tray, and the things it contained– bottled water, still sealed; a bowl of steaming soup; some toast.

Alfred reached for the lamp and paused, waiting for consent. Dev nodded his permission and then winced against the soft glare. His head was swimming.

He’d overdone it. He knew he had, and he knew Alfred knew, but the older man didn’t say it aloud.

“A few bites, if you please,” Alfred urged, while turning on a monitor that had been left off overnight.

“Dunno,” Dev managed, though he’d meant to say a full sentence.

At that, Alfred turned to look at him more sharply, taking in the whole of him and then details with a steady, surveying sweep.

“Kiran,” Alfred said, taking up his wrist.

Cool fingers pressed against a pulse point and Dev closed his eyes to keep the room from spinning any faster.

“Bother,” Alfred muttered under his breath.

A blood pressure cuff was slipped around Dev’s arm and he let it happen, his limbs like wooden attachments.

“Low,” he guessed, as the cuff squeezed. “Ox, too.”

He dozed while listening to Alfred move around the room and the alarmed beeping of familiar machines.

“Correct,” Alfred confirmed. “On both counts, I’m afraid.”

“Bollocks,” Dev mumbled, after he remembered what exactly Alfred was confirming. “M’sorry.”

“Kiran,” Alfred said, with just the slightest note of reproach.

Dev tried to shrug. He wasn’t sure it looked like anything.

“Saline, and oxygen, first. And then I’ll ring Dr. Thompkins.”

“Wayne’ll be put out,” Dev protested. “M’fine.”

“He can be put out all he likes, if he so desires,” Alfred said. “But you’re in no condition to make assessments, and what’s more, you shouldn’t have to.”

Dev gave up a faint hope of arguing.

A nasal cannula was tucked around his ears, into his nostrils, and within minutes he could tell the difference it was making. He was more alert when Alfred placed the IV.

“When did you drink something last?” Alfred asked quietly, sitting beside the bed and taping the IV tubing in place. He didn’t meet Dev’s gaze when he asked and Dev winced.

It would have been one thing if he’d been avoiding it on purpose, but the truth was, until that moment it hadn’t occurred to him that he was avoiding it. He simply kept not thinking to pick anything up, or take more than a sip of the water bottles he broke the seal on himself.

“I’m not quite sure,” he admitted, grudgingly. “That’s going to be a bloody problem if I’m not careful, isn’t it.”

It wasn’t really a question, but Alfred’s expression– something between frustration and sorrow– answered it for him anyway.

“Fluids for now,” Alfred said. He ventured a rare gesture of outright affection and placed a palm along Dev’s bristly cheek. “Rest and mend, Kirry. The house isn’t quite the same without you in good health.”

“Alfie,” Dev said, as he turned to go out.

“Hm?”

“Timothy said my Glasgow was a 7,” Dev said, still half-convinced that Tim had misheard.

“I’ll call Dr. Thompkins and be right back,” Alfred said.

So, Tim had been right.

Dev wondered at that while he drifted in a hazy place between sleep and wakefulness. It wasn’t long before Alfred returned, he thought, but Dev’s instinctive guess at time or its passage was dulled in that odd state.

“Ah, she’s arrived,” Alfred announced after sitting for more indeterminable time.

He went to greet Dr. Thompkins and as soon as he left, Leena slipped into the room.

“Sid,” she said, in a single breath.

“I’m alright, just being difficult for attention,” Dev said, blinking at her as she sat on the edge of the chair Alfred had just vacated.

She sneered at him with sisterly disgust, and then her lips flattened into a worried line.

“You ought to still be in hospital,” she said bluntly. “Why aren’t you?”

This was the Leena he knew and remembered so fondly, unlike the uncertain anxiety of the past day or so. He knew if he didn’t dissuade her, she’d get into a row with someone about it, possibly even Bruce himself. He was morbidly curious what the result of that would be, but not especially eager to actually find out.

“I’d rather be here,” Dev said honestly. “It’s alright, Lee. Alfie’s called an old friend of his, a doctor.”

“Someone who still has a license?” Leena asked, her eyes glittering hard and determined.

“Why wouldn’t she?” Dev asked.

“You know that type, that old boy loyalty. It doesn’t matter what someone does wrong, they’ll still be an old friend.”

Dev, a little more lucid and alert with some hydration and oxygen, stared at her curiously. What a different picture of Alfred she’d already formed, different even from the one he’d made back when he’d barely known him. It was so unlike his own first impression that he wondered what on earth she’d seen or heard that had led her down the wrong path.

“No,” he said. “Alfie’s not like that.”

Even as he said it, he remembered that he himself had been inclined to argue Alfred out of calling Dr. Thompkins, but those reasons felt like a different kind of history than what Leena meant. He’d only even called Dr. Thompkins Alfred’s friend because he didn’t know how else to refer to her.

Fortunately, Leena didn’t press on the issue. She merely sighed and said, “No, I suppose he wouldn’t be, would he? Not if he’s one of your friends. I can’t see you tolerating it. You’re sure you don’t need to go back, though? I can make it happen if you’re afraid of hurting feelings.”

“Why would you think I’d be bloody afraid of hurting feelings?” Dev demanded.

Leena raised an eyebrow, her look pinning him in place.

“I’ve known you nearly your whole life. You asked me if I could help you fake your death so you wouldn’t have to break up with Nicki Cole, because you said she might cry.”

“I was fourteen,” Dev said, his arm over his face.

“Bloody hell, I’ve not thought about her in years,” Leena said, as if she hadn’t heard. “Nicola Cole. Who names a child Nicola Cole.”

“Her brother was Noel,” Dev said.

“He wasn’t,” Leena said. “How do you know that? Wasn’t he ages older? I never met him.”

“He was, too. He had a Nintendo. He let me play it when I was about.”

“Did she cry?” Leena asked. “You never said.”

Dev had to think. “I don’t remember,” he admitted. “But I don’t think so. She did hit me with her maths book, though.”

“She was that miffed?” Leena sounded surprised.

“I asked if she thought Noel would let me come over for the Nintendo, still.”

Leena laughed outright. “You sodding little cunt,” she said.

“I know,” Dev agreed cheerfully. “But honestly, Lee, I’d rather be here. I don’t like hospitals.”

“You’re a doctor,” she said flatly.

“As a patient,” he clarified.

“No,” she said, looking at him more carefully. “I don’t suppose you would, would you? You’re looking a bit better than the last time I peeked in, anyway.”

“I think I was bloody fucking dehydrated,” Dev admitted. “I don’t feel as poorly as I did half an hour ago, even.”

“I’d stay another day,” Leena said, “but Kenji needs a second for this climb.”

“It’s alright,” Dev said, propping himself first on one elbow to test his strength, and then sitting all the way up. “Honestly, Lee. I’m sorry you had to come all the way.”

“I’m sorry I came in a fucking panic, but I’m not sorry I came. Give me a ring, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said, leaning into the hug she wrapped him in.

Leena held on for a long moment, her cheek tucked against his hair, and then sniffled. She swore in Japanese.

“No,” she said. “I’ll ring Kenji. He can get someone else. I’m staying another day, even if I need to get a hotel.”

“You won’t need a hotel,” Dev said when she let him go, instead of are you sure? which was his first impulse. A weight he hadn’t known was sitting on his ribs dissipated. “If you’re not comfortable here, I’ll get you the key to my flat.”

There was a rap on the door and Dr. Thompkins peered in, Alfred behind her in the hall.

Leena gave Dev a quick kiss on the cheek and then mumbled something about ringing Kenji again and left.

“You wasted no time fitting right in, did you?” Dr. Thompkins said by way of greeting, moving into the room.

Dev shrugged a shoulder, his equilibrium of fifteen minutes before thrown out of balance again by Leena.

He didn’t fuss while Dr. Thompkins examined him, though she frowned and tutted the entire time.

“He caught her?” she said, when she folded her stethoscope to put it away in her small leather bag.

Dev nodded.

“Good,” she said sharply. She patted his hand and then sat in the chair beside the bed, to look him directly in the eyes. “In case these repressed but well-meaning idiots haven’t told you, it’s not your fault– not even if it’s because you lost someone on the table. We aren’t gods, Dr. Devabhaktuni, and we were never meant to be. You don’t deserve to suffer for having limits.”

“Kiran,” he said, the sound rough and dry from his sore throat. He hadn’t thought he’d needed to hear it, but maybe he had. “You can call me Kiran.”

“Leslie,” she offered in return, with a small and tight smile. He got the impression it was a generous one, for her, and could see now the traces of her influence in Bruce.

“I was dehydrated,” he said.

“Yes,” she agreed. “And still recovering. Alfred showed me the hospital’s chart, nothing else, so if there’s a pre-existing condition that complicates things, now’s the time to say.”

Dev shook his head. “Nothing.”

“Good. Keep the saline IV for today. Walk a little, if you can, but not too far. It’ll take time, but I think you’re out of danger as long as you don’t develop pneumonia. And talk to someone, if drinking fluids doesn’t get easier.”

“Thank you,” Dev said. “For driving out.”

“It isn’t often this house calls me for favors anymore,” she admitted with a wisp of weary guilt. “It’s a privilege to be welcomed back, even if I wish it was under better circumstances. I owe you more than you can know.”

Dev shifted, uncomfortable with the idea of a debt he didn’t choose. His professional and personal anger with her was second-hand and he’d followed Bruce’s lead there, letting it recede as long as Bruce was trying to repair things. The more time he spent with her, the more he respected her despite himself. He knew what it looked like when a doctor refused to admit fault, and he didn’t see that flaw in Leslie Thompkins.

“Thank you,” he said again.

“Call if you need anything,” she said, standing and taking her bag with her. “Do you want a script for something for anxiety? Something temporary? Normally, I’d refer you out, but I think it’s pretty obvious dehydration could be a serious problem.”

Dev wanted to say no. He wanted to say he could handle it, but he glanced at the water bottle on the bedside table and knew that as dry as his mouth still was even with the saline drip, he didn’t want to pick it up.

The idea of explaining to Bruce or Alfred that he’d said no wasn’t a pleasant one– the idea of explaining it to Tim, when he kept on top of Tim’s med schedule like it was a matter of international security, turned his stomach.

“Yes,” he said, after she watched him internally debate. “I ought. We probably have it in stock, but it’s better if you write the dosage out.”

She nodded, and set her bag back down to withdraw a pad.

“You take anything else?” she asked.

“No,” he said.

She left the script on the bedside table beside the water bottle and bid him a curt farewell, and then he was alone.

He picked up the script and looked at it, and then deliberately left it on the table top, face up. Alfred would probably fetch it without being asked if he saw it set there, an obvious invitation to look.

When Alfred did return to the room before anyone else, Dev was restless and close to spiraling. It wasn’t the medication– it was the idea that maybe for the rest of his life he wouldn’t be able to just drink something without being afraid it would kill him.

“How’s the weather?” Dev asked.

“Pleasant,” Alfred answered. “Sunny and mild, a bit of nippy wind now and then.”

“Perfect,” Dev answered, untangling IV line from blanket. “I’m going out. I need some sunlight.”

“The north patio is ready,” Alfred said, unperturbed. He flipped open a nearby duffel Tim had hauled into the room and left, and tucked one of Dev’s jumpers over his arm.

Dev, standing with one hand on the IV pole, stared at him.

“Alfie, how in the bloody hell did you know I was going to go out? I didn’t know I was going to go out.”

“You are often a sensible person,” Alfred replied. “It’s a sensible thing to do to recuperate.”

Dev frowned at him suspiciously and then left the room, Alfred behind him.

Alfred drew alongside him in the hall and confided in a low tone, as if sharing something sensitive,

“And perhaps because if you hadn’t been sensible, I meant to suggest it.”

Outside on the patio, Dev sat in the sunshine instead of under the shade of the generous awning. The IV pole was to the side of the cushioned bench and beside him was Alfred.

Dev hadn’t quite expected Alfred to sit down at all– he’d been making himself scarce since Leena had shown up, and Dev had guessed it was out of respect for privacy. He had been even more surprised and not at all upset when Alfred had elected to sit beside him on the bench and lift an arm in rare offering.

With a grateful sigh, Dev had sunk against him, letting his head fall on Alfred’s shoulder. A thin, strong arm encircled his shoulders and held him in place. For the first time in days, he felt like he wasn’t just treading water.

Alfred cleared his throat after several minutes of companionable silence.

“Kiran,” he said, and Dev hummed a quiet acknowledgement, too comfortable against Alfred and in the sun to risk shifting and disrupting it.

“I’m awake,” Dev mumbled a moment later, when Alfred didn’t go on.

There was a fond huff, and then in a voice pitched very quiet and low, though they were the only ones on the patio, Alfred went on:

“We– I– rather care for you quite a bit, you know. We aren’t very free with our confidences or trust, and I think we all assumed that inviting you into them would convey that meaning to you as much as it did to us.”

“Timothy bloody ratted me out,” Dev whined, turning his face to press it more into Alfred’s shoulder. He relaxed again when Alfred clicked his tongue at him in mild reproach or comfort– Dev wasn’t sure which.

“Timothy made me aware that some situations and persons need clear words, not the inferences and implications we are often most comfortable with here. It is a fault– don’t say it isn’t– for it often leads to erroneous assumptions, like the belief that one is perhaps only merely tolerated.”

“I know now,” Dev said, his chest tight with something that wasn’t at all a medical issue. “It just took me some time. I thought…well, I kept bloody telling myself that…that I was useful. And it was convenient.”

“You are useful,” Alfred said. “And yes, it is convenient to have you about. It’s convenient because we love you as one of our own.”

If Dev kept his eyes closed tightly enough he could pretend he wasn’t almost crying again.

“You’ve told me more than once, with some humor to spare me any discomfort, that I have been like a father to you– I wouldn’t presume to mention it now without the conviction that you have not meant it entirely in jest.”

“No,” Dev said, very quietly.

“Then let me be clear: I have no desire to press you into using labels or definitions, but you deserve to know the place you have, not just with the family but with me.” Alfred’s voice, still low, had grown a little thick. “You are like a son to me, Kiran, and nearly losing you frightened me very much.”

“I’m sorry,” Dev said, rasping the words.

“Whatever for?” Alfred exclaimed.

“I drank the tea,” Dev said. “I knew it tasted off and I drank it anyway, even though you’ve been on me to be more careful.”

“Oh, hush,” Alfred said. “I’m not quite certain the most important lesson we could impart is paranoia. It isn’t a happy way to live. I’ve no desire make you feel guilty.”

“I know,” Dev said, exhaling softly. “And thank you. You know I love you, yeah? I’m just sorry to have frightened you. I still don’t feel like I’m quite worth the bloody bother.”

“I retract my earlier claim that you are a sensible man,” Alfred said, sounding slightly put out. Dev laughed against his shoulder but stayed there, limp in the sturdy, warm support of Alfred’s hold.

Chapter Text

Dev and Alfred hadn’t been sitting for much longer when the patio door opened behind them.

“That’s where you sodding got to. I thought maybe they’d rushed you off to hospital after all,” Leena said.

Alfred lifted his arm, just slightly, to give Dev room to move away. Dev stubbornly stayed where he was and the arm resettled around him.

“Tea?” Alfred offered.

“Don’t let me chase you off,” Leena said, settling on a chair near Dev. “I can share.”

“I ought to see to dinner soon regardless,” Alfred assured her. “I can serve tea first if you’d like, when I go in.”

“Oh, don’t bloody bother for me,” Leena said, casting a look at Dev. “Unless you want something?”

“No,” he said, closing his eyes again. “Thanks, Alfie.”

“What did the doctor friend say?”

“Dehydration,” Dev said. “I’m well on the mend. You don’t have to keep Kenji waiting.”

“I’ll go in the morning,” Leena said. “I can catch up with him. If that’s alright, that is, to keep your guest room tied up another night?”

“It’s no trouble at all,” Alfred assured her. When he spoke, louder than the low whisper from earlier, Dev could hear the words rumbling in his chest.

“I want to eat with everyone tonight,” Dev said. “I’m tired of being shut up in that room.”

“I thought we might eat out here,” Alfred said. “Unless the evening chill settles in too quickly.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Leena offered, looking around.

“Enjoy your time with your brother,” Alfred said. He disentangled himself from Dev, who barely managed to hold back a faint whine of protest. “I’ll return shortly. Dinner won’t take long to prepare.”

Before he went inside, a blanket settled around Dev’s shoulders and Alfred dropped a kiss in his hair.

As soon as the door shut behind him, Leena claimed the spot on the bench and adjusted the blanket so it was wrapped around both of them. The sun was dipping lower toward the tree line and there was a cooler edge to the breeze.

“Fuck. You look content,” she observed happily.

“Hm,” Dev replied neutrally, though he made no effort to chase the tired smile off his face.

“I’m chuffed,” she said. “Honestly. I’m glad you’re happy here.”

“And you? Things are still well? I asked after Kenji but I’ve not asked about you, not properly.” Dev felt the loss of Alfred beside him, but Leena leaning against him was another kind of nice.

“I’m well,” she said. “I like my work, my husband, my life. It’s not what I expected it to be but it’s been bloody marvelous all the same. Not that I’m never unhappy, but you know– it’s the whole of it that matters.”

“Good,” he said.

They sat looking across the lawn, watching as Damian appeared in the distance, walking with both of his dogs. He turned at one of the towering oaks and cut across the yard on a path parallel to the house, toward a tall row of lilacs.

“How is Rani?” Leena asked quietly. “I don’t need details, just…is she alright? I know you’ve been talking to her. I’m not ready to try yet.”

Dev thought maybe she meant she wasn’t ready to find out that perhaps Rani wasn’t ready to talk to her– he hadn’t prodded Rani to know himself what her answer might be. His content was marred by the twist in his gut, a sting like irritated scar tissue.

“She’s well,” he said, treading carefully. “Happy, too, I think.”

“Is she still with that boy? The one she ran off with?” Leena asked, craning her neck to look up at him. She read his hesitancy in his face before he could find the words to deflect.

There was a flash of hurt that drew her brows together and she looked away.

“No,” she said. “Don’t answer that. I shouldn’t have asked. Kenji told me not to, and he was right.”

“I can…ask her,” Dev said slowly, knowing it was a risk and committing to taking it anyway. “About what it’s alright to share, yeah?”

Maybe he’d ask Uriah first, about whether or not he should ask Rani, and how to do it.

He rubbed idly at his knee, hating the bubbling tension of navigating this part of his life. He fought against a simmering resentment at Leena for bringing it up now, though he guessed she’d been putting it off for a while if she’d talked it over with Kenji. He tried to direct the anger toward his da and was only partly successful.

“Don’t ask,” Leena said, her own knuckles pale as she gripped her hands together. “I don’t…I don’t want to ruin whatever you have with her. Kenji told me to be bloody content with knowing she’s well, if that was the answer, and he’s right. But if…if she asks after me, tell her I miss her? And I’m sorry. For everything. Only if she asks, though.”

Dev had a suspicion she needed the act of confession more than for Rani to actually hear it. He pushed her gently from his side and ignored her sharp, bewildered look. He turned her by the shoulder and hooked a finger through the ponytail elastic in her hair and tugged it out from the black, curling locks. Her hair was going gray, strands of it shot through.

Her shoulders slumped, possibly in relief that he wasn’t just shoving her away.

When he carded his fingers through her hair and separated it into three cords, she sighed.

“I’m surprised you remember how,” she said.

“It’s like riding a bloody bike,” he said. “And I’ve had recent practice again.”

“A girlfriend? Before Bruce Wayne?” she said, hopefully and teasingly.

“It’s not bloody happening, Lee,” he said plainly. “I don’t want that. With him or anyone. I never have.”

It felt easier to say than he thought it would, and for once, she didn’t tell him he was wrong.

“Huh,” she said, as he braided her hair. “You’ve known for a while, then? You’ve not been trying to date and hating it?”

There was a hitch in her breathing.

“But you’ve never said to me, even when I’ve given you an awful time?” she asked.

He put the elastic on the end of the braid, looping it over and over until it was tight enough, and then he gently turned her back to him on the bench.

She resisted for a second and then looked at him, her brown eyes brimming with tears that hadn’t spilled over.

“There are some things you know and stop looking at, and you stop thinking that you even bloody know them. You only think about them when someone else trips over it. I didn’t tell you for a half-dozen reasons– I didn’t mind being teased by you, and I didn’t think about it often at all, and I didn’t know how to bloody talk about it, and I didn’t think you’d understand. I didn’t want you to worry.”

“You don’t think much of my ability to understand,” Leena said, a little bitterly.

“I was afraid you’d think something was wrong with me,” Dev admitted. “Because there was something wrong with me.”

“Sid, whatever bollocks thing you–”

“I was lonely. I was so lonely I think it was bloody killing me. I was afraid you’d understand enough to tell me being asexual was why, that I was the problem, and that you’d maybe be right. That I needed to find someone like you found Kenji and it was my fault I hadn’t. The only reason I can even talk about it now is because I’m not alone anymore.”

“I wouldn’t have said that,” Leena said, rubbing tear tracks off her face. “You know I wouldn’t have told you that.”

“You were all I had left,” he said. “I couldn’t risk it.”

Leena buried her face in her hands and growled in aggravation.

“You act so confident now that I forget you were afraid all the time, and you still are, aren’t you? Just like I am. I started climbing mountains because it scared me and I hated that. Every time I think I’ve gotten to the end of how he fucked us up, I find a whole new thing that goes back to him.”

Dev’s blood turned to ice.

“Lee,” he said, a little desperately. “Lee, it’s just who I am, it’s not because of–”

She didn’t let him finish. She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him so fiercely it was a pleasant kind of hurt.

“I’m sorry, no, of course not. That’s not what I meant.”

She pulled back to catch his gaze. She cupped his cheeks in her hands to hold his attention, while the ice in his limbs thawed.

“You nearly died, you cunt. What if you had? We both will, someday. We aren’t going to lose the next twenty years like the last twenty to being bloody afraid of each other all the time, not even afraid of hurting each other.

“I want you to come to Hokkaido someday soon, and meet my in-laws. I want you to ask Rani if I can ring her, and I won’t ask again if she says no. I want to hear more about you now from Tim and I want you to tell me about yourself and not just listen to me talk.”

He swallowed, hard.

“Look,” she went on. “We both have very different lives. I’m going to keep leading climbs with Kenji and you’re going to keep living in Gotham with these lovely people you’ve found. That isn’t going to change. But if I only get a handful of hours with you every year, maybe a few days, I don’t want to waste them being afraid.”

Dev nodded and tried twice before he could manage to speak.

“I’m glad you stayed the extra day,” he said. “I wanted to ask you to.”

“Next time, ask,” Leena said. “I’ll work on hearing it. I’m sorry, that was a lot. Are you alright?”

“I’m bloody fine,” he said, the fraught stiffness seeping out of him now.

“This house is so bloody quiet,” Leena said, twisting to look over one shoulder and then the other. “I’ve barely seen anyone since that first night.”

“They’re trying not to sodding scare you off,” Dev said. “Here, you ought– no, I’ll do it, just hold still.”

He put his hands over her ears to dampen the noise and then shouted, his lungs protesting at the effort but not refusing to work.

“Oi, you bloody wankers! Come out.”

He let go of Leena and turned with her to see Cass slide down the roof to the awning, and then drop gracefully to the ground. She stared at them, unrepentant, and a second later the door opened and Tim slipped out looking guilty but stubborn.

“Were they there the whole time?” Leena whispered, and Dev held up a finger.

“Wait,” he said.

Tim claimed a seat nearby and Cass picked her way across the patio to sit down cross legged in front of Dev and lean against his shins, where she was a warm and grounding weight.

“Again,” she said, voice so hushed it was little more than a breath of air.

“I bloody said come out!” Dev bellowed, and this time, Leena winced without her ears covered.

“I was finishing a chapter,” Jason said petulantly, when he climbed out of the ground floor window ten yards away.

“He wasn’t,” Dick said, climbing out behind him. “I caught him in the hall. He tried to bolt.”

“Hullo, zombie boy,” Dev said to Jason, the boy’s glower more fierce than simple annoyance at being caught.

“Don’t fucking try to join my stupid club,” Jason said, his expression turning positively murderous.

“I won’t,” Dev promised. “I’m sorry.”

Leena tilted her head at the exchange but didn’t comment on it. She surveyed all of them, looking just the slightest bit uneasy.

“You were all eavesdropping, then?”

“No, no,” Tim said quickly, face paling. “We weren’t listening.”

“Just watching,” Cass said, tipping her head back on Dev’s knees. “Guarding.”

Leena gave Dev a searching look.

“You knew they were all there,” she said. “You didn’t mind?”

“I’m bloody used to it,” he shrugged. “They’d let me alone if I said to.”

“Maybe,” Cass agreed.

“Yes,” Jason said firmly.

“You let Damian and Steph off the hook,” Tim complained.

“I’ve not,” Dev said. “Steph isn’t here, is she?”

“She is,” Tim said. “For a few hours now.”

Cass covered her ears and nudged Leena with her elbow in warning a half second before Dev shouted again.

“Steph-love!”

“I’m sunning by the pool, not spying!” came the yell from past the privacy wall that split the back lawn and protected the herb garden.

“You’re so fucking loud,” Leena laughed.

“She’s lying,” Tim and Cass said in unison.

“He knows,” Dick said, while Dev coughed and decided he was done with shouting for the night.

When he caught his breath he accepted the water bottle Jason shoved in front of his face. He unscrewed the cap, breaking the seal, and forced himself to take two long sips.

He wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep it down, but when he started to get up, Cass didn’t slide out of the way. She often anticipated his movement before he himself knew, so it surprised him. He had his teeth clamped against the nausea. She looked up at him, her dark eyes steady and sympathetic but unworried.

“We go out together,” she said, taking the bottle and draining half of it. It startled a laugh out of him and the rising bile abruptly dropped.

“Dames went off into the bushes a bit ago with his dogs,” Dev said. The treeline was fading from distinct trees to a blurred silhouette as night fell.

“Did your house tour include the gym?” Dick asked Leena. He took one of the chairs near the bench, opposite Tim.

“I don’t think so,” she said. “It was just enough to not get lost between my room and the dining room.”

“I’ll show you after dinner,” Dick said. “We’ve got a rock wall. It’s good for warm ups.”

“Oooh,” Leena said, her politeness morphing into genuine interest. “Do you climb?”

“We all do,” Dick said. “Even Bruce. We’re sort of adrenaline junkies.”

Her face, when she turned to Dev, was full of hopeful question.

“I’m not,” he said. “I hang back with Alfie and provide sodding medical care when something inevitably goes wrong. The most adventurous I get is still just bloody hiking.”

She shrugged, as if to say she wasn’t surprised, and Dick asked about a specific climb and within seconds they were deep into conversation about ascents.

Dev closed his eyes and listened to the chatter, hand absently resting on Cass’ head, fingers buried in her hair.

Chapter Text

Leena and the others were talking about a climb she’d done in Argentina when at his feet, Cass’ spine went ramrod straight, her attention on the bushes.

A dog burst from the foliage, sprinting across the lawn toward the pool. Damian leapt out of the row behind him, shouting orders at Malcolm to stop. He followed it with curses in at least four languages, running after the dog.

They disappeared behind the wall and then there was a shriek of fury and terror, wild barking from Titus who bounded along, and a crash and the distinctive ring of shattering glass.

“Oh, fuck,” Steph said loudly, and then, “Dick!”

Dick took off, vaulting the gate in a leap rather than slowing to unlatch it.

Dev sat up, listening, and Leena had gone rigid beside him.

“Don’t touch me,” Damian snarled, words clear over the garden.

Whatever Stephanie and Dick were saying in reply was too low to hear, aside from the murmur of voices.

“Jay,” Steph said, appearing at the gate. “Would you get a spill kit from the house? Someone took the pool house one and didn’t put it back.”

“Blood?” he asked, rising to his feet.

“Cass, love, fetch my bag,” Dev said, tapping her shoulder.

She studied him, making some evaluation of her own, and then nodded and disappeared into the house after Jason.

Tim looked like he might protest, but pressed his lips together when Cass didn’t argue.

“Timothy, go and see how bloody bad it is, will you? I ought to let Alfie know if we need scans.”

Tim nodded and met Dick at the gate. He unlatched it, letting Dick through. Damian limped after him, one hand holding a beach towel to his side.

“Head?” Tim asked.

“No,” Dick said, at the same time Damian snarled wordlessly.

Steph called to Tim and he went through the gate after all, looking glad to get distance from Damian.

Damian followed Dick with a sullen glare directed at the ground.

With a pat on Leena’s knee to reassure her, or to advise her to stay put, Dev rose to his feet and was relieved to find that he wasn’t shaky.

With a hiss, Damian sat on the edge of the coffee table.

“I’ll get Alfred,” Dick said. “He can look at it.”

“It’s alright,” Dev said. “I’m not that much of an invalid. Dames?”

The boy was hunched over, lines creasing his brow.

“Shall we go inside, mate?” Dev asked.

“No,” Damian snapped. “I’m not going inside.”

“Damian,” Dick said.

“No,” Damian said, scowling at his brother.

Dick yielded with a raise of his hands, palms out, in voiceless surrender.

The door opened and closed. Jason was talking to Steph and Tim in the distance. Cass reappeared at Dev’s side and dropped the bag on the patio tiles.

Alfred, from back near the door, asked, “Kiran?”

“I’ve got it, Alfie,” Dev said, considering Damian. “You might want to wake Wayne, though. I’ll send someone in if we need equipment, but I’ve a bloody feeling we’ll be fine without.”

The saline bag on his IV pole was empty. He clamped off the tubing and detached the line, locking the end for later, so he could leave the pole behind.

He slid the bag across the tiles and knelt in front of Damian, so he was looking up at him.

“You’re more angry than hurt,” he said gently. “What happened?”

At first, he didn’t think Damian would answer him.

In the background, just visible in the dimming yard, Steph and Tim went toward the trees with something in a towel.

“Malcolm caught a rabbit,” Damian said through clenched teeth. “I slipped by the pool. He dropped it. I had to flip so I wouldn’t land on it. A table was in the way.”

“Let’s see it, then,” Dev said, rubbing sanitizer on his hands.

“It doesn’t fucking matter,” Damian said, not moving. “The rabbit was already dead. It was pointless and stupid.”

“Dames,” Dev said, his hands on his lap. “You didn’t know that until after, yeah? It wasn’t stupid to try and bloody save it.”

Damian was glaring at the table but he nodded tersely, and lifted the towel away.

Blood still seeped from a laceration above his hip, several centimeters long. It wasn’t gushing, which was a good sign. Dev pulled gloves on and prodded at the cut.

“I’m going to kill him,” Damian said, but he didn’t sound like his heart was in the threat. It was a script he was following, maybe to avoid crying.

“This’ll need sutures, but only superficial ones,” Dev said.

“Tt,” Damian answered.

The daylight was fading but the patio lights were on now.

“Inside for sutures or out here?” Dev offered.

“Here,” Damian said.

Dick moved closer. “Need a spotlight?”

“Please,” Dev said, unzipping the pocket in the bag that held prepped local anesthetic.

“I don’t need that,” Damian said, frowning.

“You don’t,” Dev agreed. “But you also don’t need to punish yourself for your dog’s sodding natural instincts, yeah? The rabbit was a prey animal. A sodding tragedy, but a normal one. And I won’t suture you without local when we’ve got time for it– I’m not going to help you punish yourself for something outside your control.”

He waited until Damian looked directly at him. The scowl was as fierce as ever when Damian tore his gaze away and muttered, “I should have thought to screen gifts.”

“No,” Dev said, lowering his voice. “It’s not your fault. The person responsible is in custody. You didn’t bloody fail anyone, least of all me. Or is it my fault that her husband died on my table?”

“No,” Damian growled, his lithe body still hunched like a predator waiting to spring. “Don’t be stupid, Kiran.”

Dev wiggled the syringe and Damian sagged with a resigned little huff. He tugged his bloodied shirt over his head and tossed it aside. Dev wiped more blood away and then injected the local.

“I’ll get another shirt,” Dick said. “Cass, can you hold the light if I’m not back?”

Dev looked around while he waited a few moments. The others had gone ahead and started setting the table, and he assumed that meant the mess by the pool had been cleared away.

Leena was still on the bench, watching Dev with a soft half smile. When their eyes met, she stood, and went to insist on helping with food.

“What happened?” Bruce asked, stepping around Dev to crouch beside Damian. He sounded alert, but his expression was still bleary with sleep. “How bad?”

“Not bad,” Dev said. “Dames decided to take up fighting tables and the table won.”

“Tt,” Damian said, the sound harsher than usual. He swore at Dev in Urdu but he was clearly trying not to sound amused.

“I slipped near the pool. I was pursuing Malcolm, who captured a rabbit. The rabbit did not survive.”

“I’m sorry,” Bruce said, putting a hand on his son’s head. He let his hand fall to Damian’s neck and pulled so their foreheads touched. He whispered something in Arabic and Damian made a noise in his throat like a wounded animal, and nodded rapidly against Bruce.

Dev looked away while Damian collected himself, his forehead against his father’s. He caught Leena watching all three of them again, frozen as if stricken. She turned away quickly toward the table.

“It is sufficiently numb,” Damian announced, tugging away from Bruce.

“Sufficiently or thoroughly?” Dev asked.

“You made it clear that only ’thoroughly’ would be sufficient,” Damian replied archly, if a little shakily.

“Alright, you plonker,” Dev said. “Don’t be bloody rude or I’ll throw away all the Pokémon plasters.”

“An idle threat,” Damian said, his tone closer to normal now. “You enjoy them as much as I do.”

Bruce excused himself with a bitten off grunt when he stood– Dev guessed his leg was giving him trouble again.

Suturing didn’t take long, and Cass held the light very still. Dev taped gauze over the area when he was done and peeled off his gloves.

“You’re set,” he said. “You know the bloody rules. And don’t wait to say something if it’s red or more sore than it ought to be, yeah?”

“Yes,” Damian agreed. A shirt hit him in the face, thrown by Dick, and he pulled it over his head. “Thank you. For helping while you, while you aren’t yet…well.”

“I’m nearly,” Dev said. He ruffled Damian’s hair and Damian ducked away after a second, hissing, as was tradition. Damian bolted to claim the seat next to Dick. It was nice to have some things feel normal.

“Do you still feel up to dinner at the table, or shall I bring a tray to your room?” Alfred asked, pausing by the bench.

“Table,” Dev said, zipping the medkit closed.

“I’ll take it in, darling,” Bruce offered, sweeping the bag off the tile. He’d come back looking slightly more dressed than the sweats and worn tee he’d come out in earlier.

“My bloody thanks, sweetheart,” Dev said, and he didn’t miss the way Leena’s brow shot up across the patio. He made a face at her.

“After dinner, we start another bag,” Alfred said before they joined the crowd around the table.

“I’ll start it myself,” Dev said. “Unless you insist. I have no bloody desire to be difficult.”

They’d saved him a spot between Leena and Tim and he sat, exhausted but feeling like he was where he needed to be.

“You’re good at that,” Leena said conspiratorially when a salad bowl stopped in front of them.

“It’s my bloody job, Lee,” he said, not taking much salad.

“But it’s nice to see you in action,” she said, raising an eyebrow at Tim as he speared the mushrooms out of Dev’s salad and took them.

He slid his own plate closer and Dev, with the ease of habit, collected all the peppers out of Tim’s salad and moved them to his own.

A basket of rolls went by and Dev caught Leena staring at him again with a pleased grin.

“What?” he asked, suddenly defensive.

“I’m not allowed to be happy?” she asked. “My beloved older brother is alive and has friends and I’m not allowed to be happy?”

“Dev never lets me be happy,” Jason complained.

“Every time I look too happy he drags me on a hike to bring me back down to earth,” Tim chimed in.

“Traitors, all of you,” Dev whined, poking at a mushroom Tim had missed. It was whisked away.

“When I look happy, he accuses me of faking,” Steph added with glee. She looked at Leena. “Wait until he’s really grumpy and then smile at him. He gets so pissed he can’t talk.”

“The last time I smiled at Dev,” Bruce said, and the table went just a degree quieter, waiting, “He asked me if I had been drugged.”

The voices rose as everyone started talking at once.

“You were drugged,” Dev said, nearly shouting. “It was a drugged sort of sodding smile.”

Leena’s grin split her face in half and she shoved Dev with her elbow.

“What a little cunt you are,” she said, and the table went dead silent. Leena froze, realizing that her American audience of mostly teenagers was staring not at her but at Alfred.

Dev knew Alfred was far too polite to leave anyone feeling bad at the dinner table over a cultural difference, so he wasn’t very worried for her. He forced himself to take a sip of water from the new bottle at his place on the table. It was only after he swallowed that Alfred inclined his head.

“He rather can be,” he said, and the table exploded in laughter, Steph’s screaming laugh of delight above all of them, mingling with Leena’s high pitched cackle.

Dev cast Alfred a wounded look of utter betrayal and Alfred gave him the slightest shrug of apology, as if to say Dev wasn’t exempt from family traditions.

Chapter Text

After dinner, Dev waved Leena off to explore the gym with Dick and Cass. He knew he was too tired to be good company at that point, and he felt like the empty saline bag on the pole.

His throat and chest and head hurt again, and even if he didn’t regret staying for all of dinner, he knew he was going to be paying for it.

The table was cleared around him, various kids helping Alfred and then drifting away to their own activities or sneaking downstairs to the cave.

“You want some help to your room?” Jason asked when Dev was alone at the table, enjoying the breeze blowing across his too-hot skin. “Alfred is gonna ask next, so I guess you get to pick him or me.”

“I’d bloody take company,” Dev said. He looked for the IV pole and found it already gone– someone had taken it inside.

He stood and braced his hands on the table while a wave of dizziness passed, and then he was upright and walking through the interior halls. Jason walked alongside him as he gradually slowed.

When he lifted an arm to steady himself with the wall, Jason grumbled.

“You’re as fucking bad as Bruce. Just let me help.”

Dev slung an arm over Jason’s shoulders and they moved forward.

“Thanks,” he rasped, when he could finally sink down onto his own bed.

Jason sat in the chair and crossed his arms.

Dev dragged himself the rest of the way onto the bed and rested his cheek on the blissfully cool pillow case.

“So,” Jason said, with a wicked grin. “Your sister. She’s pretty cool.”

“If by cool you mean ’willing to make her big brother look like an arse,’ then, yes,” Dev said.

Jason’s foot was tapping rapidly against the floor.

“I’m glad she got to visit,” Jason said, with a bit more sincerity. “It’s been a good visit, right? Like, she’s not trying to guilt-trip you into updating your dad or some shit?”

There was a burst of fondness in Dev’s chest that Jason would check, even if it wasn’t a concern.

“No,” Dev said. “Leena hates him as much as I do. Maybe more.”

“Good,” Jason said. “You know I’m going to be fucking pissed if you die.”

Dev blinked at the turn. “Zombie boy, I didn’t know you cared so much.”

“Shut up,” Jason said, and he abruptly folded over to put his face over his crossed arms, resting on his knees, like a collapsing frame readied for storage.

With a frown of concern, Dev sat back up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

“Jason,” he said gently. “I didn’t die. I’m right here.”

“Dying sucks,” Jason said, face still buried. “It really, really sucks. And you got really fucking close. Alfred said it was bad, and he wouldn’t say that unless he fricking meant it.”

“I know,” Dev said cautiously. “It was close. I’m alright.”

“You aren’t,” Jason insisted, lifting his head. “How could you be? It just hasn’t hit you yet, so I wanted to tell you that you could…you could…”

Jason’s breathing shifted to something like hyperventilating.

“You could…talk…talk to me,” he ground out with effort. “Oh, fuck, I thought I could do this.”

He stood and then went down, sinking into a ball on the floor, arms wrapped around his legs.

The fatigue Dev felt could still, he was finding out, be overpowered by adrenaline. He stumbled from the bed and knelt in front of Jason just as a keening sound escaped the boy.

“B said…he said…your door was…locked, it was locked, the window was the only…the only way in and it was fucking locked and I was locked in, I don’t remember…remember every-every-everything but I know that, that he locked me in, and my hands were shattered, so even…even if I could…if I could have reached…”

“I’m going to touch you,” Dev warned, hoping Jason didn’t have the usual knives hidden on him right that moment. He put a hand between Jason’s shoulder blades and tapped his fingers in a slow percussion.

“In. And then when I tap, breathe out.”

“I can’t…can’t feel…it,” Jason said through chattering teeth. “M’freezing.”

There was a knock at the door and Dev called, “Hold a bloody minute, unless you’re Wayne or Alfie.”

The door opened the width of a handspan, and Alfred peered in with a bemused frown. His eyes widened in understanding.

“An ice pack,” Dev said, over Jason’s ragged gasping. “Something bloody cold, and fast.”

Alfred vanished from sight.

“M’sorry,” Jason cried. “Sorry.”

“Shh,” Dev said, shifting to sit crosslegged. “I’m alive and so are you. Give me your hand.”

Jason was wheezing, so violently Dev thought he might pass out any moment, but he offered his hand, his whole arm shaking.

He caught Jason’s hand and held the palm to his own chest.

“Your da did this for me in hospital,” Dev said. He took deliberately slow and deep breaths, even through the twinge in his lungs. “After you lot left for the night. It wasn’t even about the bloody poison. You know what it sodding was?”

Jason, face buried in his knees as he struggled for air, shook his head.

“I thought I’d heard my da yelling at me,” Dev said.

Jason’s breathing was still labored but it was starting to develop a more even rhythm.

“Your da did this same thing. He sat with me on the floor and put my hand on his chest. Because I bloody nearly died and I decided to have a panic instead about the last time.”

Alfred returned and shut the door behind him. He handed Dev an ice pack and went into the bathroom, and shut that door, too. Dev could hear him moving around, opening a cabinet and closing it.

Dev kept Jason’s hand in place and used his own free hand to nudge Jason’s knees out of the way.

“Loosen up,” he said, with the sternness of a direct order.

Jason obeyed automatically, drawing back from his knees, looking lost. Dev slid the ice pack against Jason’s sternum and patted his knees.

“Right, then. Fold back up. Don’t mind my arm; I’ll just keep the ice in place.”

Jason retracted into a tight ball again, Dev’s hand and the ice pack trapped against his chest.

After several long minutes, Jason’s breathing eased and evened out except for little occasional hitches. His face was still buried, the top of his head visible but nothing of his expression.

Carefully, slowly, Dev lifted Jason’s hand and pulled it up toward his forehead.

“You a bit less numb, now?” he asked. He ran Jason’s fingertips along the ridge of scar tissue close to his hairline, the one almost always covered by his hair. “Can you feel that, then?”

Jason nodded and lifted his head just enough to see. His expression was open, plainly terrified and so young.

“He broke my bloody skull open on the kitchen sink. Then I lied for him, because I was fucking petrified, and I don’t think Lee has ever really forgiven me. That time scared me more than being poisoned because I didn’t have you lot– I hadn’t gotten to know you yet.”

“We won’t always make it in time,” Jason stuttered, the words coming with effort. He withdrew his hand and gripped Dev’s wrist, like he was afraid Dev would let go of the ice pack. “Bruce didn’t make it in time for me.”

The sentence knocked the wind out of Dev and left him in agony, and maybe that’s what a gunshot wound felt like– it couldn’t be worse than this, than that admission. He’d known the events around Jason’s death had been brutal, but he didn’t know many of the details– even at Bruce’s most self-loathing moments he had never verbalized those hours.

Quickly, he schooled his face into a calm he didn’t feel– that at least, he could do.

“Do you blame him?” Dev asked, rolling with the reckless abandon of a gambler.

“No,” Jason said miserably. “I blame the fucking cl-clown. I did blame him though, for a long time.”

“Zombie boy,” Dev said, with unmasked affection. “You’ve had a rough go of it. It’s sodding alright if it’s a bloody mess to sort it out.”

“When…when B had…when there was that fear toxin a few months back,” Jason said, gulping like he was at the edge of another spiral. “He told me he…he can’t carry victims anymore without…without thinking about carrying my…my body.”

“Because he sodding loves you,” Dev said with conviction. “Not because it’s your fault. He loves you and I didn’t need to be there the first time to know that it was like his world ended. I’ve never seen him as bloody scared as he was that time with Zsasz.”

“I keep fucking up,” Jason said, pressing his face hard into his knees. “I was going to help, not need you to coddle me.”

“You’ve helped me,” Dev said. “Knowing you’re not off rotting in misery helps. I’m not used to it either, to my life mattering to others so much that it hurts them when I’m hurt.”

“Can I kill your dad?” Jason asked, his voice muffled. “We don’t have to tell Bruce.”

“I don’t ever plan to see or talk to him again, so let’s let him alone,” Dev said with a choked laugh. “He’s not worth the trouble.”

Jason released Dev’s wrist and unfolded, peeling away the ice pack and letting his elbows rest on his knees.

“I’m sorry,” Jason said. “I thought I could just…fricking offer to listen. I’ll still listen, if you need me to. Not everyone fucking gets it, you know?” He rubbed at his brow. “I won’t fall apart every time.”

“Thanks, mate,” Dev said sincerely. “And it goes the other way, yeah? I’ll listen if something’s eating you and you need an ear.”

Jason nodded.

“Alfie, you can stop hiding,” Dev called. He shoved himself off the floor and Jason stood, too, and then gave him an embarrassed glance.

“Could I, uh…” he started, and Dev hugged him.

Jason melted into the hug, his forehead heavy on Dev’s shoulder. He retreated a second later, and Dev sank gratefully onto his bed.

“Sorry, Al,” Jason mumbled, when Alfred emerged with a water bottle and a small bottle of pills.

“You haven’t been sleeping, my dear boy,” Alfred said, with faint chiding. “Go wait for me in the kitchen and we’ll have hot cocoa, hm?”

Jason nodded and left like he was glad to escape.

“I am sorry, Kiran,” Alfred said, setting the pills and water on the bedside table. “Not sorry that he required aid, but that we are incapable of not putting you to constant work.”

“I don’t mind,” Dev said. He stretched his arm out for easy access while Alfred hung a fresh saline bag.

“It might be that you don’t mind, but I don’t want you to believe you have to earn your place here, or time to rest. You would be welcome and cared for regardless.”

“Yeah,” Dev said, when Alfred held his gaze.

“Dr. Thompkins left a prescription. I’ve taken the liberty of filling it from the supply downstairs, but you might want to fill it properly at the hospital pharmacy later, for the paper record.”

“Thanks,” Dev said, digging his fingers into his temples. Now that the adrenaline dropped off, his headache was coming back in full force.

“Ah,” Alfred said, observing the motion. “I take it pain medication would also be in order?”

“Bloody fuck,” Dev sighed. “Yeah, I think so. I’ll lose all tomorrow to a migraine otherwise.”

It took a sip of water to get the meds down, but Dev was almost too tired to be anxious. He was nearly asleep before Alfred left the room and could only manage a pleased hum when a kiss was pressed to his forehead.

Chapter Text

Dev wasn’t sure where he was but he knew there was blood everywhere. There was a door but he couldn’t get a grip to turn it, because the blood was on his hands, too, and they kept slipping. There was something behind him, something terrible, and he knew if he slowed down or even turned around he would die.

He came awake with a gasp, startling Leena, who jumped back.

“Sorry,” she said. “I’m sorry. I snuck in to get my book and you were thrashing, I didn’t know if I should wake you or not, I’m sorry. Can I get you anything?”

Dev couldn’t answer. The blood was still everywhere, all over his arms and the sheets, and it was creeping across the floor toward Leena. He knew it wasn’t real, he knew, and he couldn’t clear it from his vision.

He groaned, sitting up to try to catch his breath, pressing his chest. The IV tangled around his leg and he tugged at it irritably and when it didn’t give, he yanked mercilessly at it and it tore out of his arm.

The best he could manage was a frantic clicking in his throat, like his lungs had collapsed.

He was distantly aware that Leena was saying his name, trying to talk to him, and he felt a swell of self-hatred mix with everything else. She was his little sister and he’d been falling apart in front of her his entire life and he didn’t know why he couldn’t fucking get it together.

Dev knew he’d been dreaming but that presence was there, behind him in real life– if he looked at it everything would be over, and he didn’t understand how Leena couldn’t see it. Something touched his shoulder and he wrenched away with a howl before realizing it was just her hand.

She was covered with the blood now, too.

He could feel it, hot and slippery on his arm, and maybe he was wrong, maybe it was real.

She was still talking, upset and trying to stay calm, but it was just a buzz in his ears.

She left.

Bruce was in the den near Dev’s room, staying in for the night and keeping an eye on things. He’d not thought much about Leena slipping into the room, other than registering who it was, but a moment later he heard a howl and put a finger in his book.

When he heard the door fly open, he stood and tossed the book aside. He went as far as the threshold of the den, looking down the hallway, and Leena was there. She spun, and when she saw him, a flicker of relief interrupted the panic on her face.

“I don’t know what’s wrong,” she said quickly. “I’ve never seen him like this.”

Bruce didn’t wait to be asked. He strode down the hall, stomach in knots, and shoved the door open.

Dev was huddled on the bed, blood splatter on his arm from a pulled IV, and he was shaking like a leaf. Bruce didn’t forget that Leena was behind him, but he stopped paying any attention to her. He knelt on the edge of the bed.

“Dev,” he said, “Dev, look at me.”

“Can’t,” came the rasp. “Blood. Everywhere.”

“Not everywhere,” Bruce said. “What happened?”

Dev’s hand fluttered in the air and landed on Bruce’s sleeve. He tangled his fingers in the fabric and a sob cracked through him.

“Dunno, but it’s wrong, it’s all wrong. There’s something here, can’t you feel it?”

All the words were slurred.

Bruce looked back at Leena only long enough to order, “Turn on that light. Go to the end of the hall. There’s a panel. Press the third button down. It’ll alert Alfred.”

“There’s nothing here but us,” he said, turning back to Dev.

Dev’s hand twisted in the shirt fabric and he gagged.

“We’re getting up,” Bruce announced, dragging him to the edge of the bed with an arm hooked around Dev’s waist. He got him onto his feet and propelled him across the room and into the bathroom.

They made it just in time. Dev collapsed to his knees on the tile floor with an audible crack and vomited into the toilet.

Bruce kept a hand on Dev’s back while he sat back, crying, and then leaned forward to puke again.

Dev was on round four by the time Alfred appeared, Leena behind him looking very worried.

The back under his hand shifted and Bruce caught Dev before he slid down all the way to the floor. He lowered Dev’s head to his lap, listening to Dev struggle to pace his breathing.

“What the hell did Leslie prescribe him?” Bruce demanded.

Alfred looked every bit as upset and concerned as Bruce felt, but he didn’t look defensive.

“Lorazepam,” he said.

“Call her right now and tell her to get here ASAP,” Bruce said, too tense to be polite. “I think it’s a reaction, but I’m not sure.”

Dev, curled up on the tile, moaned.

“Symptoms?” Alfred asked. “She’ll want to know.”

Something about the calm in Alfred’s bearing helped settle Bruce. He steadied himself internally, burying one hand in Dev’s hair.

“Night terror, I think,” Bruce said.

“Yes,” Leena agreed from behind.

“He’s hallucinating and slurring words, and the nausea is bad.”

As if to punctuate that, Dev struggled back up. This time, it was just dry heaving.

When Bruce glanced toward Alfred again, both he and Leena were gone.

Dev coughed and then spit and slumped back again. He leaned into Bruce with an exhausted sigh.

“You’ll be alright,” Bruce said. “You just have to ride it out. I’ll be here the whole time.”

“Bloody fuck,” Dev said, the words more clearly enunciated this time. “I don’t even know what’s medication and what’s migraine and what’s flashback. You bloody promise there isn’t blood everywhere? Nothing in the other room?”

“I promise,” Bruce said.

Dev scrambled forward again.

It was a miserable hour. Bruce made him sip water when he could, just so Dev wasn’t dry heaving his throat raw. He was more certain now it was a medication reaction, having survived a few similar experiences.

By the time Leslie got there, Dev had managed to keep the last mouthful of water down for ten minutes. He was sprawled on the bathroom tiles, head on Bruce’s lap again. Bruce scrubbed gently with an alcohol pad at the blood on Dev’s arm around the IV site.

It was only then, when he had stopped puking, that Bruce began to get worried again– Dev could barely lift his own head.

“I suppose he doesn’t tolerate Ativan very well,” she said, which felt like a terrible understatement. “I’m sorry. We’ll just avoid the benzo class altogether for now, I think.”

Bruce bent forward to look and Dev’s eyes were closed. His breathing was shallow but steady.

“He said he thought he had a migraine, too,” Bruce said. “If he does, I’m sure it’s not helping.”

“I’m surprised you called,” Leslie admitted, sitting down on the floor with them. She grimaced when bending her knees.

“I didn’t want to,” Bruce said honestly. “But I’m trying not to be stupid about this.”

“I appreciate that,” Leslie said.

Bruce rolled his neck to work out a sore spot, and Leslie got her stethoscope out from her bag. It was small compared to Dev’s kit.

“Kiran,” she said, shaking his shoulder. “It’s Leslie. I’m going to look you over, okay?”

He blinked at her. Bruce could tell he was struggling to place himself and then he watched the confusion clear.

“Mm,” he mumbled in agreement. He didn’t try to get up, but he winced at the penlight she shone in his eyes.

Bruce realized he was rubbing gentle circles with his thumb at the nape of Dev’s neck. He stopped, and Dev made a distressed noise, so he started again.

When Leslie tried rousing Dev to ask him questions, he muttered, annoyed, and waved listlessly at Bruce.

“Ask or tell him,” Dev said.

“That sounds like consent to me,” Leslie said, unbothered.

Leslie asked Bruce about the last hour and Bruce answered, his mind half on the questions and half on Dev’s pulse point under his fingers.

“I take it he’s about as good as you are about resting?” Leslie asked, finally, tucking her tools away.

“Maybe a little better,” Bruce said. “Not much.”

“I told him to walk around some,” Leslie admitted. “But I’m amending that now. Make him stay in bed for another day. Then, play it by ear. I think you’re right that it was the Ativan– I’ll write another script for gabapentin, but keep a close eye on that one, too. If he’s sleeping all the time after seeming alert, tell him to stop taking it and let me know.”

“Hn,” Bruce said.

“He might rest better in bed,” Leslie suggested.

“I’ve got him,” Bruce said, shifting. “Dev. You’re going up.”

He adjusted, hefted Dev into his arms, and stood. He thought Dev felt lighter than he had in the hospital even, but maybe it was just his imagination.

“Need anything else?” Leslie offered, when Bruce lifted the cover off the tray Alfred had left. It had fresh IV supplies and Bruce nearly ignored her.

He nodded to it instead and she said, “I’ll wash my hands and be right back.”

While he waited, he straightened and folded back the clean linens on the bed. Alfred must have changed them already, because they were crisp and sweet-smelling and didn’t have blood splatter.

Dev was watching him, eyes hooded with pain.

“Leslie’s going to start a new IV. Just for fluids.”

Dev’s gaze flicked down to his own arm and he seemed faintly surprised.

“You tore out the other one,” Bruce said, and Dev’s surprise faded. “How are you doing?”

“Head,” Dev said, the word cottony and dry. “Hurts.”

There was a knock on the door and Alfred came in, something folded in a thin towel in his hands. He gave them both a tired smile and then addressed Dev.

“Ice pack?”

“Thank fuck, yes,” Dev mumbled.

Alfred adjusted it on his forehead and then stepped away, catching Leslie as she came out of the bathroom.

They spoke quietly for a moment and Bruce eavesdropped shamelessly, so he knew what Leslie was going to say before she said it.

She sat to place the IV, grumbling about old bones and feeling stiff, and then said, “I’m afraid I’m keeping you up a little longer. Alfred mentioned a concern and I don’t want to overlook anything– I’m going to run an ECG before I go, and draw some blood for labs before I start the saline.”

Bruce could tell Dev was fighting to not argue– the way his face shuttered closed beneath the shadow of the ice pack, the tension in his jaw. He felt a pang of sympathy, even if he agreed with Leslie and Alfred. He knew all too well what it was like to feel outnumbered on such matters.

“Can we wait til Lee is gone?” Dev finally pleaded. “She’ll wonder why you’ve the equipment, and worry and feel rotten for leaving.”

“It’s in the closet already, dear boy. I moved it while you were on the patio. She’ll never have to know unless something’s wrong, and I wouldn’t insist if it wasn’t worth checking,” Alfred said, before Bruce could open his mouth with a less effective argument.

Bruce gave him a grateful look.

“Right, then,” Dev said, his voice low, with resignation. “I might need a sodding bin if I’m staying awake.”

Bruce climbed onto the other side of the bed, to be nearby and give Leslie room to work. He held a bucket, but set it aside when he helped Dev sit up for a moment. Dev tugged ineffectually at his own worn tee and Bruce helped him work it over his head, and then held the bucket again when the effort cost Dev the little fluid in his stomach.

Otherwise, Dev barely made a sound, which unsettled Bruce more than almost anything else. He had seen Dev sick or hurt enough times by now to know he was only really quiet when the pain was bad– like he’d regressed to a boy afraid to make a noise.

Leslie tried to work quickly, Bruce knew she was trying and tried not to be irritated at everything, but it felt like hours later when she and Alfred pushed the ECG cart back into a closet– a closet that had some of Dev’s clothes hanging in it, a bag, random little things lined up on the shelves.

“It looks clear, but I’ll run the bloodwork, too,” she said. “I’ll call when I have results.”

She left the room ahead of Alfred, and after a wordless query in Bruce’s direction, Alfred turned off the lights as he followed her.

Dev exhaled.

The table lamp light glinted off Dev’s cheeks, wet with tears, and Bruce reached over him to flick that light off, too.

“Need anything?” Bruce asked into the dark.

“New skull,” Dev whispered back. And then, “No. Just want to bloody sleep.”

“Should I stay or go?”

“Stay,” Dev said, and that settled it.

Bruce moved the bucket and laid down, his own fatigue catching up with him.

“You’ve worked through bad med reactions,” Dev groused, but it didn’t have the usual heat or volume.

“You don’t want to be me, Dev,” Bruce said. “You really don’t.”

“I know,” Dev said, curling onto his side. “Bloody hell, now I’m dizzy. I’m not even on my fucking feet.”

It was a plaintive whine.

Bruce slung an arm around Dev, keeping his hold light to see if Dev would protest. When Dev scooted closer, Bruce relaxed.

The ice pack, no longer cold, had been discarded. Dev pressed his forehead against Bruce’s collarbone, clammy skin still faintly chilled.

“S’ry,” Dev breathed, but he didn’t move.

“I don’t mind. Is it helping?” Bruce asked.

“Mhm,” Dev said. “Less…tilting.”

“Good night, Dev,” Bruce said.

There was no answer. Bruce thought about a world where he was burying Dev instead, and then he inhaled the scent of Dev’s shampoo, chased away the worn out fears, and fell asleep.

Chapter Text

When Dev woke, he knew he was in his room at the manor but that was all. He felt an arm around him, felt soft exhales on the back of his head, and knew it was Bruce.

Leena was crouched in front of Dev’s face, apologetic and amused. She whispered when she spoke.

“Alfred said you’re on the mend and just need rest. I didn’t want to wake you, but I’ve got a flight to catch, and didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye. I’ll stay longer if you want, but I think you might get more rest if I’m gone.”

“I’m alright. I’m gonna bloody sleep for days, I think. Have a safe flight, tell Kenj I said hello.”

She nodded and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, and then looked over his shoulder and back at him with a delighted grin.

“You’re cute,” she said. “Ring me, yeah?”

“I will,” he agreed. She didn’t say that he’d scared her– if she didn’t say it now, she probably never would. He was perversely grateful it spared him all the work of reassuring her.

“Lee?” he said, when she was almost through the door. She turned back. “Thanks for coming. Honestly.”

“Yeah,” she said, something tight and sad around her mouth. “Of course.”

She left and Bruce rolled away with a groan. It sounded like he’d moved to stretch out on his back.

“How long were you up?” Dev asked, knowing it had been since Leena opened the door.

“Since she was in the hall,” Bruce said. “If you don’t need anything, I’m going back to sleep.”

“M’good,” Dev said, which was mostly true, except that he didn’t think he could lift his head off the pillow to save his life.

He didn’t try very hard.

He dozed, on and off for hours. At some point he woke enough to go piss, but that short walk was almost too much and he collapsed back into bed like it was the end of a sixty-hour shift.

Sometimes, he slept more deeply than others– he would wake to find a fresh saline bag, or a more recent time stamp on the vitals monitor.

Eventually, he woke and found Bruce gone. Steph was sitting in the chair, scrolling on a mobile. Her eyes were rimmed red.

“Steph-love,” he said, in greeting.

“Oh, you’re up,” she said, pocketing her phone. “I have instructions to give you updates.”

“Let’s have them,” he said, deciding that maybe today wasn’t a day for sitting up at all. Horizontal was more comfortable.

“Dr. Leslie called and said labs looked fine and no, I don’t have details, so don’t even try to grill me. Leena texted Tim and said she made it to her connecting flight okay. Alfred is making potato soup and do you want bacon in it or no, I’m supposed to tell him before he brings a bowl and if you want my advice you should say yes to bacon.

“And I’m not going to cry on you like everyone else, but I want you to know it’s because I’m trying to be considerate of your energy levels and not because I don’t want to, and finally, you are not allowed to fucking die. Okay?”

There was a sheen over her eyes that she was not letting spill over, and her smile was so cheerful and so very Steph that he teared up in return.

“Bloody fucking clear,” he said, sucking in a breath. “Yes to bacon.”

“Hold on,” Steph said. “I’m texting him.”

She typed on her mobile and then set it aside. There was a bag at her feet and she tugged a tablet out of it.

“I would leave you alone but we have a babysitting schedule. I’m not supposed to tell you, but I am, so you have to pretend like I didn’t say anything and just let it happen until Alfred says you’re safe to be ‘left unattended.’”

“Deal,” Dev said. He couldn’t decide if he felt smothered or loved, but either were safer than alone, he supposed.

“So, I can ignore you and pretend I’m not here, or I can offer entertainment. This tablet is logged into every subscription streaming service known to man.”

“Bloody entertain me, then,” Dev said, and Steph nodded.

“That’s what I thought you’d say, so I invited Cass, and she’s smuggling in candy. Alfred will have my head if he knew I gave you candy before soup, so that’s another thing you can’t tell on me about.”

“The price for your entertainment is high,” Dev said. “But I’ll pay it.”

Stephanie went to the window and rapped on the glass, then pushed open the casing. Cassandra crawled in from outside with the grace of an otherworldly creature, a cotton tote on her arm.

They took Bruce’s abandoned spot on the bed, on their backs. Cass claimed the middle and held the tablet directly above their heads so nobody had to sit up.

“Hit me,” she said, and Steph put a twizzler in her mouth.

“P,” Steph said, and then stopped with a look of horror. “I almost said pick your poison, but that’s really bad timing, isn’t it? Anyway, we’ve got, uh, twizzlers, cadbury bars, gummy worms, gummy frogs, mini reese cups, sour patch kids, wine gums, and some valentine’s mini packets of skittles I found in my desk.”

“Give me the bloody children,” Dev said, and Steph gave him the box of sour patch kids. “What are we watching, then?”

“Your pick,” Cass said. “Sick pick. That’s the rule.”

“I know the rule,” Dev said, “but I’m not properly sick. It isn’t the flu.”

“Sick pick, sick pick, sick pick,” Steph and Cass chanted in unison until he relented.

“Bloody hell, you’re both wankers. Fine. I’ve a youtube playlist of surgical techniques, it’s under–”

“Picks,” Steph interrupted, “cannot include work. That’s been a rule since Bruce got hand foot and mouth from that kid he saved. Try again.”

Dev considered fighting them on the point that he actually thought the videos were fun, but inwardly conceded he probably would want to take notes.

“Alright. Tron. The first one.”

Steph groaned and Cass shrugged. “Sick pick,” she said, and Steph typed while Cass held the tablet up.

They were still watching when Alfred delivered soup, and rearranged themselves so that Dev could sit up long enough to eat. Alfred didn’t comment on the candy.

Dev sank back down after and Steph took a turn holding the tablet.

When Tim showed up not long after, he scowled at all of them.

“You didn’t even tell me you were going to watch something?”

“There isn’t room for you on the bed,” Steph said sweetly. “You can have him next but he probably needs a nap.”

“He’s not a toddler, Steph. I’m sorry she’s like this, Dev.”

“He’s not sorry,” Steph retorted. “He’s keeping secrets for me because he thinks I’m delightful.”

“You are delightful,” Dev said, watching the screen instead of Tim.

Tim sulked in the chair until the credits rolled. Steph collected all the wrappers and shoved them into the tote and gave Tim a reconciliatory gummy frog.

As soon as the girls were gone, Dev yawned.

“M’sorry, Tim, but I’m shattered. I meant to stay up and play a game with you.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Tim said. “I planned on you sleeping. I want to play more Radiant Historia. I just like fighting with Steph.”

Dev drifted again, in and out of deep sleep. He marked the passage of time by who was in the chair beside the bed until finally, he really woke and knew it was the dead of night and the room was dark, the chair empty.

He flicked on the bedside lamp and dragged himself to the bathroom, and then went back to bed.

“Okay?” something asked from under the bed.

“Bloody fuck,” he hissed, his heart leaping into his throat. The IV pole clattered under his grip.

Cass slid her head out from beneath the bed, her mouth bent with concern.

“Okay?” she repeated.

“Bloody fucking hell,” he said. “You scared the shite out of me.”

“Sorry,” she said, wriggling out from beneath the bed.

Dev sat down heavily and then curled up beneath a blanket. His pillowed head was only inches from Cass’ face.

She twisted a cap off a water bottle, drank from it, and then offered it to him.

Watching her, he propped his head up enough to take a long sip, and then handed it back.

“I’m sorry you’re hurt,” Cass said. “I don’t like it.”

“Me either,” he said. “Thanks, though. I’m on the bloody mend.”

“Poison,” she said, “eats you. Takes time to fix.”

“You?” he guessed, dreading the answer.

She nodded. “First dad. A test.”

Dev thought maybe he’d be comfortable redirecting Jason’s offer toward another father.

“You fix things,” Cass said, with confidence. “You can fix this. With help.”

“Sometimes I don’t,” Dev said, rubbing at his eyes and trying not to think about lost patients like Nolan Rhodes.

“Oh, never mind. Always a failure, then,” Cass said easily, with a resigned sigh. He laughed and was rewarded with a pleased smile.

“I get the bloody point,” Dev said.

“Don’t give up?” Cass prompted, and Dev wondered what she had seen in him that made her afraid he might. It took a moment longer in the dim lamplight, studying her pinched face, to realize that for once it wasn’t something she had seen in him– it was her own fear she was voicing.

“No,” Dev promised. “I won’t give up, love.”

Cass looked long and hard at him, at his face, and then nodded, satisfied.

“Good,” she said.

She climbed onto the chair and closed her eyes.

Dev slept again.

Chapter Text

The next few days passed in a crawl. Dev spent most of it in bed, but was up for longer and longer stretches. The others kept him company and it was a consolation to recognize the pattern of care they applied to anyone recovering– even if it was starting to grate, it was at least the standard treatment and not something for which they’d singled him out.

He hadn’t realized how tense he’d been with Leena around until she was gone. The only thing that kept him from outright despair about it was knowing that the manor simply had secrets he didn’t want to betray.

Right as he was reaching the point where he was going to truly shout at someone if he wasn’t let alone, Alfred cleared the others out and left a packet of notes from a conference he’d missed months ago and been meaning to catch up on.

Dev could have kissed him.

The others hadn’t made him talk much, or talked much themselves– often, they’d sat and entertained themselves off in the corner of the room unless he initiated conversation. But he’d always known he was being watched and it morphed from a comfort to a pebble in his boot, even if he understood.

There was his flat to escape to, but he didn’t even want to bring it up, much less really fight for it as an option. When he did briefly toy with the idea, he thought of all the things he’d have to do on his own. He grew weary just considering it. If anything else went wrong, he’d have to ring again, and it would be inconvenient for them. He knew they would come and he hadn’t anticipated the guilt that would come with the relief of knowing that.

In the end, it was easier to just stay where he was and let himself be fussed over.

As long as he had some space.

He could hear Alfred working in the halls near his room, passing by occasionally while Dev read, but not stopping in.

Hours went by without anyone so much as knocking on his door. He read, regained some sense of humanity with a shower, and played Damian’s 3DS until he felt almost bored.

He’d been getting better at drinking water and even managed a few protein shakes. That afternoon he drank a whole bottle in ten minutes without thinking much about it, realizing only after it was empty.

He stared at it, the 3DS in one hand, and then got up and took out the IV site. There was a pokémon plaster in the bathroom and he used it, wondering if it had been Damian to leave it there or someone else.

It occurred to him that maybe, like each of them waiting until he’d initiated conversation, they might not come back to his room now unless he went and found them.

Dev stood on the threshold of the hall, suddenly feeling very small and lost. He hadn’t felt well enough at first to even think of the outside world, and then he’d put it off– now he knew he was improving. He was better than he’d been when going around the house with Leena. It struck him that he couldn’t avoid it forever.

Someday soon he’d have to go back to the rest of his life– his flat, his work, his lab. He’d have to see which cases had been taken over by others and which were still waiting for him.

He’d been poisoned in his own office, in his own hospital. He wasn’t sure which of the ED doctors and residents had worked on him, but he’d find out when he looked up his files. The chance that he knew each of them was so high as to be a certainty.

He knew Morowitz, the pulmonologist, who had been on the floor when he signed himself out with Bruce Wayne beside him, and bloody hell, but if Leena assumed they were dating, what were his colleagues going to think? The entire sodding family had shown up and camped out in his room and he knew the staff talked.

Tim stopped by his office now and then, as did Steph, but Bruce had visited him there as a friend instead of a patient only once– anyone could have assumed it was a follow up. The one person Dev was reasonably certain knew that he was close to any of the Waynes was Tony, and Tony didn’t talk. For all the ways they didn’t get along, Dev appreciated that much about him.

But now there was no way in hell staff at Gotham Memorial didn’t know that he’d been poisoned and that the Wayne family had come out in full force.

Megan Rhodes was in police custody, presumably awaiting a trial where he might have to testify, and that meant it might have even been in the papers. Hopefully, it had gone to press without his identity being disclosed, but he wasn’t sure how the hospital handled things that happened on their own campus. He’d never needed to know before.

If his name had been in any papers, the others hadn’t mentioned it yet. He could snatch his mobile and do a search himself, but if he did that, then he’d lose his ignorance and have to genuinely deal with it.

Another thought struck him with the force of a meteorite. If his name was in Gotham papers, which were as good as international papers, and it was in connection with a murder attempt, then it wasn’t just people in Gotham to worry about. Any number of people might notice and mention it to his da.

Bloody hell, it might not even be the papers. Leena never talked to their da if she could help it, but she did still talk to Kam, and he knew Kam still talked to him even after the funeral. Had he asked Leena not to say anything? He was rather sure he hadn’t.

He glanced at his wrist and found it bare– his watch was another thing he hadn’t gotten around to wearing again. It was still in a plastic sack of personal belongings from hospital. Someone else had taken it off his wrist and set it aside when he’d been in the ED, being intubated. The tan line from the band was already fading in the days he’d been inside.

He didn’t know what time exactly it was, or what time it was where Leena was, or even where she was. He couldn’t remember if he’d been told.

But maybe he didn’t need to bother Leena at all. If his da did find out, he might not even do anything. Then again, if others knew, and said something to his da, then maybe he’d try to call. Dev couldn’t believe he’d try to visit, but he could imagine it under the right impetus, and racked his brain for any reason his da might have his address.

Kam had it.

Kam would give it to him if he asked.

Dev had just counted on him not asking after so many years of his da not even trying to reach out.

The security system Bruce had set up at his flat was still armed, as far as he knew. Maybe if– and it was a big if– his da flew all that way after hearing he’d nearly been murdered, Dev would at least get a head’s up from the security system.

It would help if he knew whether or not Leena had called Kam. He couldn’t just call Kam, because if Leena hadn’t called her but Dev did, she would know something was up and ask. He could avoid telling her the truth, but he tried to be honest with Kam when he could be, and if she thought he was hiding something she might mention that to their da. Who knew what he would do without Dev’s mum alive to talk him down?

Dev went back for his mobile and texted Leena.

[Did you update Kam?]

He chewed his lip, waiting.

He opened the browser while he waited and searched his own name– nothing but research papers and other professional mentions. He checked news and found nothing; searched instead for murder attempt and Gotham hospital and found two short articles that didn’t name him, the method, or his title.

Dev’s chest loosened a little. That was good news, then.

A notification dropped down, a message from Leena.

[Yes she knows. i told her you were on the mend. you should ring her]

His stomach cramped, full of gravel.

He threw the mobile in the bedside table drawer and slammed it shut, then sat on the edge of the bed willing his vision to not go black around the edges.

If he rang, if he talked to her and said, Kam, don’t tell da, she would want to know why and they would fight. They’d fought the last time he talked to her, because she was still angry he’d hit their da. It didn’t matter that their da had slapped her first, that she’d been crying, that Peter might have finally grown a spine if Dev hadn’t.

It didn’t even matter that Dev had regretted it, and said as much. He wouldn’t call his da to apologize, and Kam still lived in a world where their da was a grumpy old man, maybe with a bit of a temper, but worth humoring out of respect.

Kam left Tyler alone with him, for football and cricket match outings and school holidays where Tyler came home stuffed with sweets and in new trainers. Dev knew that because she’d offered it as proof that Dev was the one being harsh and irrational.

And Dev couldn’t well say “Kam, I wouldn’t leave myself alone with him,” without Kam seeing it as a criticism of her parenting. He knew because he’d tried before, working himself up to it with a pounding heart, afraid for Tyler, and she’d yelled at him until he hung up.

So, no. He couldn’t ring Kam. He couldn’t ask her not to say anything and he didn’t want to give her any more details. She would press for them, he knew, and he would give in because part of him saw the world through fogged lenses as much as she did– he still saw her as his sweet, needy baby sister.

He was glad Leena wasn’t still there, because the flush of rage would have made it hard to stay civil. He’d say things he regretted, or say them in a way he regretted.

With a growl of something between fury and terror, he left the room.

The first person he came across was, predictably, Alfred. He was touching up paint on a wall that had fresh plaster filling gouges.

“Hullo,” Dev said, doing his best to unclench his fists and not sound as angry as he felt. “Any guests or staff about today? Is it safe to go downstairs?”

Alfred opened his mouth like he was going to say something, and then he looked more carefully at Dev. His mouth closed so it was a thin, flat line. He smoothed out a bubble of paint with the brush before answering.

“No, we haven’t any company at present. Do mind yourself, if you please.”

“Thanks,” Dev said, with the stiff monotone of a man who would much rather scream into the woods like a rabid dog, and was instead playing at being polite.

He twisted on his heel and headed for the lift.

Chapter Text

The cave was empty and dim. Dev breathed a bit easier when the lift door closed behind him. He hit the switch for the lights above the med bay and listened to the hum as the old halogens warmed up, shifting from dull yellow to crisp white.

The server fans and climate control were always on– they were a background buzz he’d learned to tune out years ago, and only noticed occasionally now when the cave was very quiet.

Breathing came a bit easier down in the cave, but the tangled knot behind his ribs remained. There were two neat rows of water bottles in a mini fridge in the med bay, separate from the medical storage, and he took one and drank half of it. A ferocious determination to make it simply not be a problem helped, but it was more that for a heady moment he didn’t really care.

There was a filing cabinet under the desk of paper notes waiting to be digitized.

He woke the computer, grabbed the folder of antitoxin formulas and treatment plans, and started typing.

The handwritten notes had clarifications in margins and strikeouts and corrections– it was a puzzle, but not a difficult one, to organize them into a coherent document someone else could easily follow. It kept his brain busy as long as he kept working.

He was on the second folder, one of modifications to various exposure protocols, when Tim stepped off the lift. Dev kept working and hoped Tim was downstairs for some other reason, any reason that wasn’t trying to talk.

“Hey,” Tim said. “Uh. Are you–”

Dev stilled, hands on the keys, and Tim rapidly rerouted.

“Did you want to come up for dinner?”

“No,” Dev said. “Not bloody hungry, thanks.”

“I can bring something down,” Tim said.

“I’ve just said I’m not…” Dev trailed off and rubbed the ridge of his brow. “Thanks, but no.”

“Okay,” Tim said. He was confused and not hiding it. “Need anything else?”

“Some bloody quiet,” Dev snapped, frowning at a nearly illegible margin note. “I’m trying to work.”

“Sure,” Tim said, now even more uncertain. A honed edge of steel came through when he spoke again, crisp and slicing and frustrated. “Sorry to bother you.”

He was at the lift when Dev managed to swallow the fraying threads closing his throat.

“Timothy,” he called.

“No, I get it,” Tim said without turning. “You want space.”

The lift door shut.

Dev put his head in his hands and roared into his palms, then got another water bottle and went back to work.

A few hours later, his energy was severely flagging but he ignored it to go through a cabinet dumping expired meds. There was a line of empty water bottles on the counter and he had a sour satisfaction that at least that didn’t seem to be a problem anymore. Plain, uncarbonated water felt like a hollow victory when he would have given his arm for a cuppa, but right now, he’d take even hollow victories.

He must have missed the sound of the lift because he didn’t know Bruce was downstairs until Bruce was standing in front of him.

“Bloody hell, Wayne, don’t do that,” Dev said, pitching a half-empty bottle of codeine into the bin. He’d incinerate them all after he’d finished cleaning the cabinet out.

“Tim said you were down here,’” Bruce said, not moving.

“I’m not miffed at Tim,” Dev said, sighing. “But I don’t want to talk.”

“Alright,” Bruce said.

He left him alone.

Bruce suited up, sat at the computer for a few minutes, and then left.

The cave felt emptier than it had before, when Dev had first come down.

He finished cleaning out the cabinet and burned the meds to ash. His hands shook turning off the incinerator and he knew if he didn’t sit down in the next ten seconds, his body was going to make him.

Words on the computer screen blurred, so he sat without comprehending them, finally so exhausted he didn’t risk thinking as much.

It still wasn’t enough.

He went to the main desk and turned up the volume on the primary comm link channel. There was a ping on the computer, while he leaned heavily on the desk, unwilling to sit in Bruce’s chair. He dragged the second desk chair over and sank into it, then replied to the message.

[Oracle: ? on cave line. ID.]

[Cave: doctor. listening in. no emergency.]

She left it at that.

He leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes, listening to the now-familiar chatter.

Red Hood was on, making a case for graffiti as poetry. It sounded like he was on a stakeout.

The filters took out most of the wind, but some would occasionally slip through in a crackling whisper. It was on Black Bat’s line, so he knew she was up high.

Batman cut in and Jason stopped, while Batman asked Oracle for directions about a security system bypass.

It was a quiet night.

Dev didn’t realize he’d drifted off until a burst of noise came from the speakers– pops of gunfire and then shouts, a string of swears, and then a crash and a crunch.

“I’m good,” Red Hood announced. “Not hit. Got Kashmir. B, Walter’s coming your way on ninth. Brown hat, jean shorts, tan shirt.”

“Got him,” Black Bat said, crisp and soft. There was a whistle of wind as she dove, and the snap of a grapple as it caught.

“Where is Sergei,” Batman asked.

“Inside,” Red Hood said. “Maybe dead. Eyes on after Kashmir is secured.”

“He isn’t?” Batman asked.

“Well, his hands are ziptied and he’s making friends with this fire escape railing, but dude’s got a lot of heat on him. I’ve found four pieces and some knives.”

“I’ll get Sergei,” Batman said.

“Ooh, hot damn,” Red Hood said. “A Fallkniven Embla. You won’t be needing this in prison.”

“Hood, don’t steal knives from perps,” Oracle said.

“It’s not theft; it’s repossession,” Red Hood answered. “He’s proven he can’t be trusted with it.”

“Keep the knife, bag the guns,” Batman said. “Sergei is alive, but needs medical attention soon if he’s going to stand trial.”

“Ambo enroute,” Oracle announced. “Police alerted for pickup.”

Dev let the sounds fade into a haze, his focus drifting and untethered.

The rumble of an engine approaching the auto bay roused him. He glanced at the clock– an hour had passed.

He didn’t want to talk. He felt like if he opened his mouth now, hornets would spill out and he’d hurt everyone around him. The anger still hadn’t cooled, hadn’t faded with work or sleep.

Before the car parked, he went to the lift and went up.

Upstairs, he felt exposed, though the house was quiet and the lights were mostly off. He didn’t want to run into Alfred, he didn’t want to find Bruce coming upstairs behind him, and he desperately wanted a cup of tea.

He decided he might as well get it over with.

The kitchen was empty. He took a tea bag from the pantry and went instead to the catering kitchen, the hall-like galley with warming drawers not far from his room, off the ballroom.

He heated the water in the microwave, dropped the sachet into the steaming mug, and watched the brown tendrils of tea swirl.

Then, he sat down with it.

Chapter Text

Alfred woke with his alarm. He dressed for the day, hoping that the night had been kind to Dev. His gut had told him to give it time, even before Tim came to him to report that Dev was in a foul mood in the cave.

It didn’t surprise him– Alfred had known the first days were a fog of survival, a sort of honeymoon phase after near-death, and that there would be fallout with which to reckon. He just prayed Dev would weather it without much more pain.

He opened his door and knew immediately someone was nearby.

Dev was sitting at the end of the hall on the floor, much like another boy did so often many years ago, and did occasionally even now. Perhaps it was penance for something, that both of the men he considered sons wouldn’t knock on his door but would haunt the hall outside it, miserable and patient.

Dev had a clear bottle of vodka in one hand. He startled when Alfred’s door closed, but didn’t look down the hall to see him– his gaze was resolutely fixed on the sunrise outside the tall window.

“Hullo,” he said, voice hoarse.

“Good morning,” Alfred said. He took the cushioned armchair in the window alcove across from Dev.

“I made tea,” Dev said, running the edge of his thumb over the embossed label of the bottle.

“How did that go?” Alfred asked, though he supposed he could guess, if Dev was nursing vodka at six in the morning.

“It wasn’t a bloody problem,” Dev said. “Drank the whole cuppa. I wasn’t even bloody sick.”

“That’s wonderful,” Alfred said, now confused. There was something else, then, going on, something he hadn’t caught yet.

“Is it?” Dev asked. He looked directly at Alfred when he asked. The shadows beneath his eyes were like fresh bruises. He looked away quickly, his mouth pursed in a bitter sulk, and he played with the cap on the vodka. It spun looser, then tighter, then looser again.

Alfred realized abruptly that Dev wasn’t drunk, hadn’t been drinking– he’d been sitting there with the bottle for God knew how long, completely sober.

“Leena said something when she was here,” Dev went on. “She said she’d forgotten how afraid I am all the time. But I haven’t forgotten. The tea ought to have bothered me but it didn’t. I sat there waiting to feel ill or have a panic, but I felt like I always do. I’ve been frightened for so long I don’t know what it’s like to not feel afraid every bloody fucking moment I’m awake.”

His nimble fingers worked, twisting the cap back and forth.

“I stole Wayne’s vodka from the cabinet and sat here to drink it, so when I was properly smashed, it would at least be you that found me and not Timothy.”

“But you didn’t,” Alfred said.

“I didn’t,” Dev said. “I don’t know why. I wanted to. I want to. I want to be sodding plastered, and to not think or feel any of it. I’m bloody tired of being afraid. But the safest I feel is when I’m with you lot– near you or Wayne, with Timothy or any of the others, or in the cave. And maybe I go off on the piss and nothing happens. But maybe I do something phenomenally stupid, say something truly mental, and hurt someone, maybe lose what I have here. It isn’t worth it. So, I sat here instead, fucking terrified, because at least that I can live with.”

“My dear boy,” Alfred said. “I’m so very sorry.”

“I nearly died,” Dev said. “People keep saying it and it doesn’t feel like much at all to me. It ought to, I think. It ought to bother me far more than it does. The truth is I’m surprised I’ve made it this far. I’ve been half-convinced since I was a lad that any day could be the next time he bashed my head in.”

There had only been a few times when Dev had confided in Alfred so bluntly, so free of guise or attempts at self-deprecation. He had learned to let him talk with minimum nudges, like lancing a wound to let infection pour out. It was how Alfred had gotten most of the first real details about what Dev’s childhood had been like, the first brushstrokes painting the picture of his wretched father.

Alfred had been tempted to call in old favors from SAS friends that first time.

For now, he listened.

“It’s like poison,” Dev went on. His knuckles were pale now from his grip on the bottle. “He’s like poison. I can’t get him out of my head, my blood. Leena told Kam I’d been in hospital and I spent half of yesterday in a panic because she might tell him. I don’t even know what he might do. I don’t think he’ll try to visit, but then that means…that I’m not…that…”

He trailed off and unscrewed the cap and took a swig of the vodka, coughing after it went down.

“I’m terrified he’ll show up and I’m terrified he won’t,” Dev said. “That’s it. I can ignore it for stretches, but that’s always what it comes down to. What’s a bloody cup of tea, to that? At least she’s going to stand trial.

“In surgery, I don’t have to think about anything else. Outside of surgery, the only place I feel even close to safe is with you, with any of you. Doesn’t that mean that I’m using you? You’re being sodding kind and lovely and taking care of me, and I’m taking advantage. Bloody hell.”

He tipped his head back against the wall and held out the bottle of vodka, already recapped.

“Take it, before I change my mind and down the whole thing.”

Alfred took it and took a swig himself before setting it down beside the chair. It burned, not like a morning cuppa but bracing all the same.

“Kiran,” he said. “If you are using us, then it is certainly mutual. You are providing unpaid medical care at all hours. If your sister had questioned if you were being taken advantage of, it would have given me pause because she would not be far from the mark. It’s only that I believe it to be genuine friendship and mutual care that I am not concerned for you.”

“I love the lot of you. I’m starting to understand that it goes both ways,” Dev said, eyes closed. “I just don’t understand why.”

“Because you are more than the poison,” Alfred said. “You aren’t the worst parts of him anymore than you are that cursed cup of tea. You’re the best parts of your maternal grandparents and your sisters, and all the things you made yourself to be. You’re not just the fear that eats you alive. It’s a thing harming you, but it isn’t you, for all that it lives inside you.”

Dev scrubbed at his face with the back of his hand, barely breathing.

“This won’t be fixed with a conversation,” Alfred said. “But perhaps through many conversations, and with time and other aids, it might grow to be less of a burden.”

“What did I do to deserve you?” Dev asks, looking at Alfred now.

“I don’t think it’s at all about deserving or not deserving,” Alfred says. “You know my thoughts on the human condition and the mercies of Christ and His salvation. I choose to love you, Kiran, because I think you are precious and sacred. It is a joy if you choose to care for me, and the rest of our family, in return, but it isn’t about you earning anything. That’s what you know deep down you ought to have had from him, and part of the wound is that he failed so grievously to treasure you. You were there for him to love.”

“Give me back the vodka,” Dev said, into his palms.

“Truly?”

“No,” he said, in a voice like crumpled newspaper being fed to a fire.

Alfred watched the sun break over the treeline outside the window, the rose and peach sky turning to vivid yellow gold as it rose. A flock of starlings lifted into the air and wheeled one way, then twisted sharply as a single unit.

“I told myself I wouldn’t cry, no matter what you said,” Dev sniffled, after several minutes. “I’m bloody sick of crying. I need to go on a hike but I’m fucking shattered.”

“It is the most uncomfortable part of recovering, I’m told,” Alfred said. “One step and day at a time, and you will get there. Have you eaten?”

Dev shook his head, his expression a bit clearer though he was lined with exhaustion.

“Shall I tell Master Bruce to put an alert on your father’s name, so we know if he chooses to fly?”

“Please,” Dev said. “I don’t think he will, but I’ll feel better knowing.”

“And if he does come,” Alfred said, sounding and looking as stern as he felt. “Now, or at any time in the future, you do not owe him an answered call or an opened door. You ring us, day or night, and I will deal with him. Understood?”

Dev nodded, a quick little jerk of his head, and then he climbed to his feet.

“Breakfast,” Alfred said, standing. “That’s the first thing. And some tea, I think, if you’d like.”

“Bloody hell, I’d very much like that,” Dev said. “I’ve missed your tea.”

Chapter Text

The character on the screen zoomed through the landscape on a motorcycle, swerving as Dev nudged the thumbstick. He was leaning back on the couch, his socked feet propped on a coffee table, his ankles crossed. There was a cup of tea down to dregs near his feet.

He could at least feign much more ease than he felt, and some of it was real ease after talking to Alfred a day ago.

Dev had missed five calls from Kam, but he wasn’t ready to deal with that.

“Can I join or do you need space?” Tim asked from the edge of the den.

“You better bloody join,” Dev said. “I’ve only been killing time with this until you got back. Fancy a game?”

Tim jumped over the back of the couch and settled beside Dev, bag of crisps in hand. He tilted the bag in offering and Dev paused the game and took a BBQ crisp.

“Heck yes,” Tim said. “Anything you wanted to play?”

“Your choice,” Dev said.

“Sick pick,” Tim retorted.

“My pick is that you’d bloody pick,” Dev said.

Tim screwed up his face in thought. He drummed his fingers on his knee and then shrugged.

“I think that’s cheating but I really want to play Baba is You co-op. I’ll get my laptop.”

Tim sat on the back of the couch and backrolled off to land in a crouch. He left with the crisps and Dev resumed his long motorcycle ride on the screen.

“Timothy!” Dev called, a second after Tim left.

“Yeah?” Tim’s voice came from down the hall, disembodied and muffled by the wall.

“Get a mate another cuppa, would you?”

“Alfred has spoiled you!” Tim called back. “Sugar?”

“Please! No lemon!” Dev answered.

“I will make the tea,” Damian called from the opposite direction down the hall. “Drake will be sure to ruin it somehow.”

“Damian,” Tim complained.

“He’s offered to spare you work, mate! Let him free you!” Dev commented, and he heard Tim’s aggravated huff and sigh.

“Fine,” Tim said. “Next time just say you want to, instead of insulting me to do it.”

“Very well,” came the grudging reply, a long second later. “But I am more proficient at it.”

Tim’s growl sounded like it was smothered by something, maybe his own arm, and then his stomping footsteps receded.

He returned a moment later with the laptop and hopped the couch. He slid the laptop so he and Dev could both see, half of it on Tim’s lap and the other half on Dev’s.

“I had a mate in secondary, a lad called Ali. We’d go for chips after school and Rani’d tag along.”

“Rani is one hundred times nicer than Damian,” Tim said, clicking through screens on the laptop.

“Ali would share his chips with her. She had him wrapped around her little finger, and if I so much as looked at her sideways she’d cry on purpose and he’d buy her biscuits. I tried leaving her at home once and Ali went back and got her and told me I was beastly for leaving her out. He didn’t have any little sisters.”

“He was just being nice,” Tim said.

“I didn’t get over it until I was at uni and saw him again, out with his own kid.”

There was a long silence.

“I really hate when you lecture me like Alfred,” Tim said. “You make me do all the work myself and then I can’t argue.”

“Mm? Was I, then?” Dev asked. “I’ve not given a lecture. Dames is nothing like Rani, you’ve said so yourself.”

Tim shot him a look of such utter disgust that Dev laughed.

“Are you going to be Baba or Keke?” Tim asked. “Oh, I guess I have to be Baba?”

“Is it mapped to WASD?” Dev asked. “Yeah, I suppose I’m Keke with the arrows, then, unless we swap sides.”

They bent over the puzzle, quiet except for the occasional comment to coordinate or solve.

“Timothy,” Dev said when they finished the first puzzle. “I’m sorry I was so short with you the other night.”

“It’s okay,” Tim said with a shrug. “You needed space. Recovering from anything sucks, especially if you feel smothered. I wasn’t really upset.”

“Good,” Dev said, relieved. “But just because I’m getting over something doesn’t mean I get to be an arse, yeah? Tell me if I’ve done something to hurt you.”

“Okay,” Tim said, clicking on the next puzzle.

“Timothy.” Dev tapped a key and the game went to the menu. “I’m serious, mate. Don’t write yourself off as a punching bag, then.”

The slight hunch to Tim’s shoulders slowly relaxed and Tim, his bright eyes focused now on Dev’s face, nodded.

“Yeah,” Tim said. “Okay. I’ll say something. But you’re allowed to be cut some slack, too. I’m not going to fall apart just because you shout sometimes.”

Dev rubbed his brow with one hand and sighed.

“I don’t like you being bloody sacrificial about this. The right answer is that I just don’t hurt you.”

“When you’ve figured out how to be perfect, we’ll reevaluate,” Tim said easily. “And I promise I’ll say something before anything’s a pattern, okay? But I really don’t think I have to worry about it. You aren’t like that, even if you get frustrated or angry sometimes.”

“Living around other people is so much work,” Dev said, slouching down onto the couch. He hit a key to resume the game.

“Yeah,” Tim agreed. “It’s a lot.”

“Move your feet, you imbeciles. That table is over a hundred years old,” Damian said, coming into the room with a tray. Dev and Tim’s socked feet withdrew from the table.

“I brewed PG Tips,” Damian said, kneeling beside the table to pour tea from a teapot. “There is brown and white sugar, milk, and honey. Drake?”

“Oh,” Tim said, looking over the laptop. “Uh, yeah. I’ll take tea. Thanks.”

He scrunched down behind the screen to raise his eyebrows at Dev.

Damian poured a second cup.

“I will leave the tea things. I am not responsible if they are not cleared away,” he said.

“Thanks, mate,” Dev said. “Want to join us for a bit?”

“I am going out with Richard while he’s still home,” Damian said. “Perhaps we can have tea later.”

“Yeah, of course,” Dev said.

“Thanks, Damian,” Tim said, with an air of faint bewilderment.

As soon as Damian was safely out of earshot, Tim whirled on Dev and his cup of tea.

“What the heck was that? Is he trying to impress you? What did you bribe him with?”

“Nothing,” Dev said, sipping hot tea and wincing. It was still steaming, too hot for comfort. “I’ve told you he’s coming ‘round about you.”

“Huh,” Tim said. He moved the laptop aside and reached for sugar. “Maybe he put salt in mine.”

“Timothy,” Dev said. “Take the bloody win.”

When his tea was half-gone, Dev tipped his head back on the couch, enjoying the warmth of the cup in his hands and Tim nearby and a lazy afternoon to spend. For a few minutes, he could pretend his mind and life weren’t still a ravine full of briar patches.

“So,” Tim said, dragging out the syllable. “I actually need to apologize for uh, possibly violating your privacy.”

“I’ve told you I don’t mind if you look at the chart,” Dev said.

“No,” Tim said. “Something else.”

Dev turned his head to look. Tim was sitting forward, running a finger on the rim of his cup in loops.

“I didn’t think it was a big deal, because you had said she could stay there, or that’s what she told me, but I took Leena to the airport the other day and I let her into your apartment. I went with her, so she didn’t like, poke around– she just wanted to clean out your fridge for you. She said she’d forgotten her own before going on long trips and wouldn’t wish it on her worst enemy.

“I thought it was fine, because she’s your sister and you guys mostly get along, but when I mentioned it to Alfred he seemed to think I’d overstepped or something, or like, should have checked with you first, and he’s probably right.”

Dev didn’t answer immediately because he was trying to figure out what he felt about that amid all the ways he felt wretched, but the longer he waited, the more tense Tim seemed to get.

“Oh, I hecked up,” Tim finally said. “I’m so sorry.”

“No,” Dev said, thinking it through. He set his empty cup down. “No, I think I’d be miffed if she hadn’t a reason except wanting to poke about. But it was lovely of her, and I was shattered and barely awake when she left. I don’t mind. I had already told her she could stay there if she wanted. Don’t let Alfie know I think he was wrong about something, though.”

Tim exhaled and melted back against the couch.

“Oh, good. Are you sure? Next time, I swear I’ll ask first or just tell her no. Well, not next time like if you get poisoned again, but if I’m hanging out with Leena again.”

“You’re alright, Timothy. Bloody brilliant, even. More Baba?”

“Yes,” Tim said, grabbing the laptop. “Let’s.”

They hadn’t even finished the next puzzle when Dev cleared his throat. The tangle of thoughts kept dropping sticky strings onto his attention and it was getting harder to shake them off and focus on the game.

“Mate, I’ve a question,” Dev said. He ought to maybe wait and talk it through with Alfred or Bruce, but every time he tried, it was like his tongue shriveled in his mouth. Sometimes, it was just easier to talk to Tim.

“Yeah?” Tim asked, tapping rapidly on a key.

“When I, uh, go back. To work, that is. People will have talked. Hospitals are petri dishes for gossip. There’ll be rumors, some questions, mostly rumors. But rumors can travel.”

“Don’t answer anything about the case. Just say you’re not allowed to discuss it,” Tim said, nudging Dev with an elbow.

Dev navigated part of the puzzle before he went on, his fingers feeling too warm on the keys.

“It’s not that,” he said. “Bloody hell, it’s that Leena thought I was dating your da and I only just managed to convince her otherwise. I don’t bloody care what people think or say, even if they’re wrong, but will it get back to your da? I know he’s got a public image he manages.”

“I mean, yeah, probably,” Tim shrugged. “But it won’t be a problem for him, not really. I’m sure he’s already talked to his PR guy about it. I think he was going to have him talk to you, too, before you went back.”

“So it’s already a problem,” Dev said. The sticky strings on his attention were solidifying into metal links, heavy and cold.

“It won’t be,” Tim said, with confidence. He jabbed a key and then looked sidelong. “Kinda feel like maybe it would bother you, though.”

“I’ve said it won’t,” Dev said. “It doesn’t offend me.”

“Like, it won’t bother you because you really don’t care, or it won’t bother you because Dev isn’t allowed to have feelings that inconvenience other people?” Tim asked.

Dev pushed some blocks around on screen, scowling fiercely at them.

“Bollocks,” he finally muttered.

“Thought so,” Tim said. “Okay, level complete. Wanna switch to something else?”

Dev nodded, staring at the teacups without seeing them, and Tim shut the laptop.

“So, it bothers you,” Tim said, shrugging as stood. Across the room, he pulled controllers out of a drawer. “Do you know why? I have a guess but like, it might be wrong.”

“What’s your bloody guess, then?” Dev asked. He caught the controller Tim tossed to him underhand.

“I think you don’t like it when people don’t believe you, when you’re telling the truth,” Tim said. “And you know some of them won’t.”

The weight of the controller was familiar in his grip. It grounded him, the rubber and smooth plastic. Dev toyed with some of the glossy buttons.

“That’s a bit of it, I suppose,” Dev conceded. “A bloody lot of it is that he was my patient. I can handle people thinking I’m an arse, but I hate knowing people might think less of him because of me.”

“Dev,” Tim said, sitting beside him. “Aside from how little you think of yourself and what a problem that is, don’t you think Bruce knew? He told us that first hour at the hospital that if we all stayed, it meant risking connections going public. I’m pretty sure he still feels guilty about it, because you’re the only one who didn’t get to opt-in, and you’re the one it’ll impact the most. We keep a low profile but you work there. Even if it stays out of social columns, you’re the one who has to go back to work. I promise Bruce isn’t upset with you about shit people might think.”

“I’m going to smother myself with a bloody cushion,” Dev said, reaching around Tim to grab a pillow. Tim snatched it back and threw it across the room.

“Don’t joke like that yet,” Tim said. The laughter in his voice was soured by real unease, close to the surface and threatening to break. He kept talking before Dev could apologize.

“I mean, if they do think you’re dating Bruce, fewer people will hit on you,” Tim said.

“People hit on me?” Dev asked.

“I dunno,” Tim said. “Dick said they do. I always miss it. Well. Except for that lady who had the table next to us at Yama, the one who thought I was your son.”

“She was just being polite,” Dev said.

“She was not,” Tim said. “She tried to send me to get napkins so I wouldn’t be at the table. And there was the guy at Arcade Arcade, the one who spilled his coke on the Galaga machine.”

“What coke?” Dev protested.

“Not a drink coke, coke coke. That’s why he stopped flirting, because he panicked about it. I picked him up later that night because he was selling behind Arcade Arcade.”

“A woman from out of town and a drug dealer, bloody wonderful,” Dev said.

“Okay, okay, coke guy was a bad example, but I’m sure I could think of others I’ve noticed. And that’s not even asking Steph or Dick or anyone else. My point is that it could get people to leave you alone.” Tim exhaled, head thrown back on the couch.

“I’ve always thought I liked my private life being private,” Dev said after a few minutes of scrolling potential race tracks. “The sodding truth is, I didn’t have much of a life to talk about before. And now I do. I’ve people I care about I see more than once every two years.

“I’ve liked that being private because it means when I go to work, it’s just work. I go into surgery without anyone asking me things because they know me. And I’m not dating your da but I do care about him, quite a bit. What if I’ve just done surgery on him here and I’m worried about him and then have to take that worry into surgery there because someone asks how he’s been? I could bloody learn to cope, but what if I sodding can’t?”

“I think you can learn,” Tim said. “But, like, you’re allowed to still have privacy. You don’t have to answer questions about us. Being cagey will drive some people crazy but they will probably leave you alone after a while.”

“I don’t want you to bloody think I’m ashamed of you lot,” Dev said. He turned more fully to face Tim on the couch, ignoring the game after pausing it. “Timothy. It’s not that I don’t want people to bloody know I know you. I’m sodding terrified I’ll spill something I don’t even know is compromising and put you all at risk, because the bloody truth is, if people at work start asking me about you I won’t be able to sodding shut up.”

Tim exhaled, fingers stilled on the controller.

“Not gonna lie, I was a little worried maybe that was part of it, the not wanting people to know how close we are,” he said.

“Bloody fucking hell, no,” Dev said. “I swear, mate. I’ve just not navigated this before and I don’t even know what I want. I’m trying to sort out a half-dozen bloody internal crises on top of it. That’s all.”

“You’re talking to Alfred, right?” Tim asked. “Like, about some of the other stuff?”

“Yeah,” Dev reassured him. “Let’s play, yeah? Give me a sodding hour outside my own head?”

“I can do that,” Tim said, with a lopsided smile.

He bumped Dev’s shoulder with his own, and Dev returned the favor.

Chapter Text

The poolside was pleasantly sunny, warm and a little muggy, with a hint of salt on the breeze from the distant bay.

Dev stretched out on a lounge chair with a book he’d found in the library. Dick was doing backflips off the diving board– the same flip over and over, like he was perfecting something.

A few seats down, Damian was sitting with his sketchbook, brow creased in concentration as the pencil swept across the paper.

Dev read until he saw movement from the corner of his eye. He looked up– Damian had moved to the chair beside him.

“The sun was in my eyes,” Damian said.

“How’s the side?”

“Lacerated,” Damian said. “Healing without complication.”

“No popped stitches?” Dev asked.

“Only one,” Damian said.

“Mate.” Dev started to sit up.

“Father examined it. He determined it was not serious enough to replace.” Damian’s pencil didn’t stop moving on the paper.

Normally, Dev wouldn’t concede a medical opinion to Bruce unless he agreed with evidence himself, but he supposed Bruce had enough experience with sutures and protecting his son that he could let this time slide.

“What are you drawing?” Dev asked.

“Motion studies,” Damian said, tilting the book. The page was full of a curved human form, some more distinct than others– it was Dick, mid-flip.

“Brilliant,” Dev said. He went back to his book.

He lost track of time until a shadow fell across the pages.

Dick stood in front of him, a towel around his waist, dripping water onto the concrete.

“Hey, Little D,” he said. “Can you go get me a Gatorade, and take your time?”

Damian tutted in disgust. “Richard, there’s no need for subterfuge. Just say you wish to have a private conversation.”

He flipped his book shut and gathered his pencils.

“Good kid,” Dick said. “Gimme fifteen, twenty minutes. And watermelon, if we have any.”

Damian sighed, the long-suffering noise of a patient young teen.

“Cut or uncut?” he asked.

“Gatorade, Dames. Watermelon gatorade.”

Damian scowled like the exchange had been a trap. He stomped off toward the house, muttering under his breath.

Dick dropped into the vacated chair.

“Hullo,” Dev said.

Basked in sunlight, Dick closed his eyes and then ran a hand through his damp hair.

“Hey. How are you doing?” Dick asked. The way he looked at Dev, Dev knew it wasn’t a polite formality– Dick was asking the way he asked anything, with genuine intent.

And Dick, unlike Bruce’s other kids, had always read firmly as an adult to Dev– he’d never felt the same impulse to protect or shelter him that he did sometimes with Tim, when he wouldn’t let himself say things because of an acute awareness that Tim was young and didn’t deserve that weight.

“Eh,” Dev said, lifting a hand to waver his palm back and forth. “Cycling through all the potential stressors in a steady rotation, but I’ve heard routine’s bloody important, yeah?”

Dick laughed and then picked at the tassel on the towel, his fingers in constant motion.

“Yeah, so, I wanted to check, because, well, maybe you don’t know this, but that used to be my job. Checking in on everyone. All the time. And I don’t know if I’ve ever thanked you for being around and sharing a lot of that.”

“I don’t do it to be bloody thanked,” Dev said, hoping he sounded more consoling than gruff.

“I know, I know,” Dick said. “But you should still hear it. We’d all miss you if you were gone, but it wouldn’t just be missing you. There’d be a hole in us, you know? We’d keep going, but we’d all feel it.”

“Thanks,” Dev said, meaning it.

“When I was nineteen, I got hurt pretty badly. It was a hard recovery. I’d just left home and then I was back and I could barely do anything for myself. I kept thinking I was supposed to finally be independent and there I was, being more work to take care of.”

Dev glanced sidelong at Dick, who was steadfastly gazing at the lawn, seeing something else entirely.

“My friend Donna came to visit and she listened to me whine, and then she said something I’ve thought about every time I’ve been stuck in a bed. She said the burden of caring for me was way better than the burden of learning to live without me.”

Dick looked at him then, gaze piercing and intent– Dev’s breath was caught in his throat and all he could think was that Dick’s honed focus was somehow a mix of Bruce and Clark Kent.

“I’m saying that to you, now. It would suck to learn to live without you. Don’t rush getting better and don’t push us away.”

“Feels a bit like there’s a bloody ‘or else,’ tacked onto that,” Dev said. His finger traced the embossed lettering on the spine of his book.

“There is,” Dick said. “My family really likes you. Damian likes you. Damian doesn’t like many people. If you need them to lay off, call me? I can run interference but I’m going to be pretty pissed if you just shut them out. I don’t think you have, but I know you’re still dealing with stuff and might be for a while. I like not being the only one checking in on everyone, but I can do it again if you need a break.”

“Deal,” Dev said. “Yeah. I can do that. And thanks.”

“Oh, and I don’t know if Al or Bruce said anything, but fair warning: they held off the cops leaving the hospital, but Jim is out of town and so you’re going to have to talk to someone soon and give a statement. It’ll probably be Harvey Bullock or Renee Montoya– they’re both good detectives, some of Jim’s trustworthy ones. Bullock called again last night and Al convinced him to wait, but it’ll have to happen. Grab me if you want to talk about it first?”

“Bloody hell, I’d not even thought of that. I’m so used to things being handled from, well, downstairs, and not thinking much about what would happen after. I will, though, but it’s just the truth, yeah? I drank the bloody tea, I rang Alfie.”

“Yep,” Dick said. He folded his arms behind his head to make a pillow. “You didn’t call for Batman, you didn’t know he was on his way, so don’t mention it. They’re used to not being able to explain how he shows up at the right time.”

“Brilliant,” Dev said, though thinking about Batman breaking his office window made his stomach flip again. “My turn, while I’ve the energy for it. You’re doing alright, then?”

“Ish,” Dick said, still sprawled on the chair. “I don’t want you to feel guilty, but Dames is, uh, he’s a lot, when he’s upset and doesn’t know how to deal with it. But he’s getting better, I think. I’ve got some stuff on the back burner til I know he’s alright, but it’ll all burn if I put it off too long. You know. Just life.”

“Yeah,” Dev agreed, trying to fend off sudden thoughts of patients and projects he’d been carefully not thinking about, now swirling with the other things he’d been worried about. He firmly shut the box of work thoughts.

“Need anything?” Dick offered.

“Nah, just…” Dev made an inarticulate motion with his hand in the air. “I’ve a question. I don’t know who else to ask that has experience.”

“Shoot,” Dick said.

“How, uh, do you navigate possibly hurting one sibling to help another?”

“Sucker punch questions before the bell’s stopped ringing,” Dick said. “Oof. Man, do I ever have experience with that one. I think I’ve fucked it up a lot though, fair warning.”

“So you know what not to do,” Dev said. “Spare me the bloody heartache if you can. I’ve already bollocksed enough up, being a sodding poor excuse for a brother for most of my adult life.”

“I think Lee would disagree with that,” Dick commented, crossing his legs at the ankles. “And, well, I don’t know the details, and I’m not asking, but first off, be honest? Ask them what they’re willing to take. Sometimes, you can’t avoid hurting one of them, because the stuff you’re trying to fix isn’t all your fault. You’re just trying to minimize damage but you can’t avoid it.

“So, let people opt in. I think I could have done a better job with some stuff if I’d just thought to tell Tim, or Jay, or even Damian what I was trying to do. I sort of act first and then try to explain after, and sometimes it’s too late for someone to hear it. Used to drive me crazy in Bruce and then the number of times I’ve caught myself doing the same thing? Anyway, be upfront if you can. And give people space to be angry about it, even if it sucks. Don’t take it as a sign they never want to hear from you again.”

“Thanks,” Dev said. “I bloody mean it. And Dick?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you certain you’re alright, mate? You’ve been in that chair the whole time we’ve talked. Not a single handstand or stretch.” Dev watched him carefully, looking for tells that there was something more, but Dick could be harder to read than Bruce when he wanted to be.

Sometimes, Dev thought, Bruce simply forgot to show things– Dick was more likely to outright try to hide them.

Dick shrugged one shoulder.

“Exhausted, I think. I didn’t sleep at all last night. I came out here to stay awake.” Dick rubbed one side of his temple with the heel of his hand and yawned. “Man. I could sleep right here.”

“Go in and sleep,” Dev said. “I’ll spend the afternoon with Dames. I’m not doing very much anyway. I’ll get him to watch something with me.”

“You’re sure?” Dick asked. “He doesn’t need to be babysat babysat, but he doesn’t like being alone when he’s anxious, not really– he just won’t say it. Bruce is going to take him out tonight, and I was trying to hold out til then.”

“What’s Wayne doing, then?” Dev asked.

He realized belatedly Dick might hear it as criticism, but Dick just yawned again, words warped by his gaping mouth.

“I told him to go in and take care of some business stuff he kept grumbling about. I don’t know why, because I knew I hadn’t slept.”

“Because you’re a bloody compulsive volunteer,” Dev said, yawning in reply. “You sodding do it to each other. Go have a kip before you make me tired again, just as I’ve gotten some energy back.”

Dick rolled off the lounge chair and to his feet, flipping the towel around his shoulders again as he moved.

“There he is,” he said, face breaking into a wide grin. He caught the gatorade Damian threw at him from the doorway. “I’m going in to sleep, Little D.”

“Fancy a movie, Dames?” Dev asked from his chair.

Damian looked from Dick to Dev, and then back, and nodded, something satisfied in his expression.

“Yes, if Richard doesn’t wish for my company.”

“I always wish for your company,” Dick said, wrapping Damian in a hug from behind when he slipped by him, and dropping a kiss onto his hair. “But I’m good. Go have fun.”

Damian ducked away from the attention, squirming away from the hug, but he had that same satisfied little smirk.

As soon as the door closed behind Dick, Damian sat beside Dev, his spine stiff and his voice low as he excused his apparent clinginess:

“I appreciate your offer but I did need to check. When Richard is anxious, he doesn’t like to be left alone.”

Chapter Text

Detective Bullock was chewing on a toothpick, tie and collar both askew like he’d dressed without looking at himself.

Alfred had shown him into the foyer with Detective Montoya and left them to wait for a few minutes. Dev lingered near the parlor door, out of sight, listening to Bullock and his partner talk.

Dev would have been fine meeting them in the foyer but Alfred was in one of his moods to be a stickler for his idea of protocol and Dev didn’t feel like arguing with him about it. That protocol apparently involved letting people hang about, waiting for some indeterminate time, until Alfred thought they’d felt their own unimportance– at least that was Dev’s guess, because he wasn’t entirely certain.

When he had raised a single feeble protest at the plan, after insisting he was well enough to talk to the police and they might as well not put it off any longer, Alfred had sounded offended when he retorted, “But Kiran, you’re our guest,” and Dev had let him have his way. It was, after all, not his house. If Alfred wanted to move them all about like chess pieces in some social game Dev didn’t understand, Dev was content to let him work.

He wasn’t going to waste an opportunity to observe, either.

“I can’t see those stairs without thinking about the Fairchild case,” Bullock said in the foyer, to Montoya. “How many has it been now? Her, that St. Cloud woman, Jezebel Jet. That reporter, the pianist with the helicopter. Did you work that case?”

“Yep,” Montoya said. “But the reporter didn’t die. That was Charlotte Rivers. It was an attempted. She left town.”

“Really? Huh. Could’ve sworn I pulled her autopsy. Must’ve been someone else. But he’s gotta be the unluckiest son of a bitch in Gotham, in all New Jersey. Dangerous man to date.”

“Yeah,” Montoya agreed.

“More or less dangerous than Dent?” Harvey said, like he was teasing.

Montoya sounded bored rather than hurt when she muttered, “Low blow, Harv.”

“Someone should warn this new guy.”

“Might be a little late for that. I think if attempted murder doesn’t make him bail, there’s not really a point.”

“Fair enough.”

Then Alfred returned and Dev bolted across the room to drop into a chair, trying to look like he’d been lounging there for a while when they entered. His head was swimming, which made it hard to look nonchalant– he hadn’t realized Bruce had dated so many people before he’d started hanging about. As far as he knew, Bruce’s recent dating life was casual or non-existent except for occasional stretches with Selina Kyle.

Dev stood back up, feeling silly for the pretense and not certain it had worked.

Alfred stopped himself short of actually announcing anyone, and let Harvey Bullock step forward himself.

“Nice to finally meet you, Dr. Devabhaktuni– am I saying that right?”

“Devabhaktuni,” Dev corrected, shaking Harvey Bullock’s meaty hand.

“I’m Detective Harvey Bullock and this is my partner, Detective Renee Montoya. We just have some– wait, I remember you,” Bullock said suddenly. “You were the doctor. I got a statement from you when Mr. Wayne was just out of the hospital.”

“Yeah,” Dev agreed. He hadn’t been sure Bullock would remember. He barely did– he’d been distracted by trying to decide how to manage vitals checks and medication adjustments for a man he ought to have been including in his usual rounds, getting reports from a nurse’s charting.

“Were you his doctor then?” Bullock asked, and Dev heard the unspoken And are you now?

“His neurosurgeon,” Dev said. He wasn’t going to give Bullock anything he didn’t directly ask for, and maybe not even that if he could help it. He trusted Dick that Bullock and Montoya, at least, were the better of Gotham’s police, but what he’d told Tim was also true: he had no idea which tiny thread could unravel everything and leave a ruin if he let himself run his mouth.

“We’re just here to ask some questions about the recent attempt on your life,” Montoya said, shooting Bullock a sidelong glance. “Not dig into your personal life, not unless it’s somehow relevant.”

“What?” Bullock said with a shrug at her look. “I like a bit of social gossip, so sue me. The office gets boring.”

Dev felt an inkling of suspicion, a faint memory he couldn’t quite place– it set off some alarm bell.

Across the room, Alfred fumbled an empty cup on a tea tray he’d brought in. Dev glanced up, startled, because Alfred didn’t fumble things.

The tea tray was set on a side table and Alfred gave them a sedate, blank smile, and then as soon as the detectives turned back to Dev, Alfred tutted at the tea things like he did when Damian was being rude and invasive.

That’s when it clicked.

The detectives were doing it on purpose– maybe not the conversation in the foyer, but definitely the questions about his relationship with Bruce and the assurance it wasn’t an intended topic. It was its own kind of good cop, bad cop, and if Alfred hadn’t been in the room at right that moment Dev would have had a weird feeling and nothing more, no realization.

There was an oil spill in his gut, slick and cold. He looked at Bullock and Montoya with some new measure of respect and fear. He took in their serious but reassuring smiles, wondering how on earth he had been so stupid as to hear Dick Grayson call them some of Jim Gordon’s best and still not realize that meant they were both sharply intelligent people– smart enough to stay alive in Gotham and smart enough to hide their own intelligence.

He could truly fuck something up here if he wasn’t very, very careful– his palms grew slick with sweat. How in the bloody hell did Bruce trust him?

Harvey Bullock was consulting a small notebook stuffed with loose pages and bent corners. He settled on a page, tapping a line with a thick finger, and said, “Tea. It was tea. Did you know that already? Did anyone tell you it was tea?”

Dev nodded.

“You aren’t in trouble,” Montoya said, mistaking whatever had given away his nervousness for anxiety about something else. “That’s not what this interview is about.”

“Yeah,” Dev said. He wished he could have this conversation working in his lab where there was something to do.

“So, tell me about this tea,” Bullock said. “Anything you remember.”

“It was a gift,” Dev said. This part he could do. Facts. “I don’t remember exactly when. Former patients send gifts sometimes, so it wasn’t unusual.”

“Did she– or anyone– give it to you directly?” Bullock asked.

That Dev would have remembered, because it didn’t happen often. He shook his head.

“No, it would have been left in the neurology department. There’s a table by the mailboxes. I must have gotten it from there, because I remember putting it in my desk drawer with my other tea. The box had a tag with my name on it I didn’t take off.”

Bullock scribbled something down and glanced at Montoya.

“How long ago? As a guess?” Montoya asked.

“A few months ago, at the most. I’d cleaned out my tea drawer sometime in March, so it was after that.”

He didn’t say he’d opened the drawer one day near the one year anniversary of his mum passing away and one of the new teas had a spice that made him think of her and he’d pitched the whole drawer in the rubbish bin in some fit of desperate escapism.

Tim had gone to the store with him later for more tea, unquestioning about Dev’s excuse that he just needed to restock.

“You didn’t try it before? Last week was the first cup?” Bullock asked.

“No,” Dev said. “I drink a lot of tea but it’s mostly black. I only made it because I was out of my usual.”

“Were you alone?” Montoya asked. “In the office, I mean.”

Dev narrowed his eyes at that, and looked from one detective to the other. He suddenly wasn’t sure what they were suspicious about or searching for, and it made him uneasy.

“We just want to know if anyone else had an opportunity to put something in a mug,” Bullock said, at Dev’s hesitation. “Were you alone, did you leave the tea alone?”

That was more comfortable territory, at least.

“I was alone. It was after a long day. I’d locked my office to sleep.”

Bullock scribbled more and Montoya nodded.

“Are you doing okay?” she asked. “Is there anyone you’d want to sit in here with you? I’m sure it’s not an easy evening to revisit.”

“I’m alright,” Dev lied, but that lie was one he could do well.

“Okay,” she said. “Just let us know if you need a break. Did you know something was wrong right away, that night?”

“No,” Dev said. “It tasted off, but I thought it was just stale. I fell asleep for a while. I woke up sick.”

He didn’t remember everything with perfect clarity but he remembered that much. It was only after he called Alfred that his memory went very fuzzy and then blank.

“Why didn’t you unlock the door? Go for help?” Bullock asked.

Dev had tried to prepare himself for the moment he’d have to decide between his own dignity and the family’s secrets– every time he did so, he was never as prepared as he thought. His skin crawled at the idea of admitting the truth to these detectives, but he knew it wasn’t really a choice. If it was between his reputation and the family’s trust, he knew which one would take the blow every time.

The thing that made it sting was that it was the truth, or almost. Close enough. It would have been easier if he’d been making it up.

“I, uh, didn’t bloody realize I was ill,” Dev said. “I rang Alfie because I thought it was a panic attack.”

“Has he helped you with that sort of thing before?” Bullock asked. The toothpick was waving in the corner of his mouth as he chewed on it.

“Yes,” Dec said. He wondered if he wished hard enough, or prayed the right way, if the batcave beneath the floor would swallow him whole.

Telling Alfred he was afraid all the time was one thing– admitting to professionals and strangers that he was afraid so often that he couldn’t quite tell a panic from a case of poisoning was another.

“Anything after that?” Montoya asked gently.

“No,” Dev said. “Nothing. I don’t even remember him answering the call, to be bloody honest. The next thing I knew I was waking up in a hospital room.”

“So, Mr. Pennyworth? Not Bruce? That’s your friend, I mean,” Bullock asked.

“Harv,” Montoya said.

“They’re both friends,” Dev said evenly. “They’ve been friends of mine since Wayne’s surgery.”

“Close enough friends to stay with them after a murder attempt?” Bullock persisted. Montoya rolled her eyes but didn’t interject again.

“I don’t know if you’ve bloody noticed,” Dev said, trying to keep his tone even, “but I’m not from around here. I’ve no family in the area. Alfie and Wayne offered a room so I wouldn’t be alone at my flat.”

“It’s really none of our business,” Montoya said, before Bullock could say anything else. “Unless it’s important to the case. None of them were there when you drank the tea, or handled the tea in any way?”

“No,” Dev said, not feeling especially charitable toward her display of kind intervention when he was fairly certain she had wanted the information as much as Bullock.

“I’m not prying for no reason,” Bullock exclaimed at her. “You know why I gotta say something. Look, Dr. Devabhaktuni, Mr. Wayne’s…partners have a habit of being killed or almost killed when they’re with him. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think he’s doing anything on purpose, but the man has the shittiest luck. It’s like he’s been cursed. You might not be so lucky next time.”

Montoya sighed like she was irritated, and maybe she actually was.

Dev, though, was a little furious. Maybe more than a little.

For the first time since they’d walked into the room, he wasn’t nervous. He was blindingly angry that anyone would dare try to caution another person away from Bruce Wayne, even though some part of his mind squawked a warning that Bruce cultivated that image.

If it hadn’t been for Alfred’s chat with him the other day, the fact that he was in the manor, and the need to make it clear the warning was entirely needless and even offensive, he might have done what he was supposed to do and said basically nothing. That would have been the smart thing to do.

Dev, sometimes, was not a smart man.

“You think I’d bloody cut ties because of something with one of my former patients? You can take your bloody curse and shove it up your arse. Wayne is like a brother to me, and even if you told me being nearly murdered again was a certainty, I’d stay around for him and his family.”

“Brother, hm?” Bullock said, raising both eyebrows. “To Bruce Wayne?”

Dev could apologize to Bruce for the presumption later, when he wasn’t irate.

“They’re my sodding family,” Dev said. “And I’m bloody fucking pissed you’d suggest I ought to leave them. Maybe if you’d done your sodding jobs, he wouldn’t have had to bury so many people.”

There was a ringing silence in the room and it took Dev a second to process that the ringing was just in his own ears.

Bullock and Montoya were both staring at him. Montoya’s face was a mask of carefully filtered frustration; Bullock’s was plain fury.

It was the fury rippling along Bullock’s bulky frame that did him in, struck some self-preserving fear back into him.

“I’m sorry,” Dev said. “That was too bloody far.”

“You’ve been through a lot,” Montoya said, either unoffended or hiding her feelings well. “We’ll get out of your hair. Harv?”

“Yeah,” Bullock said, standing. “Thanks for your time.”

“We’re just checking off boxes right now, making sure your case is solid. We already have a confession, and evidence, so I wouldn’t be too worried. We’ll be in touch,” Montoya said.

Alfred materialized at the door to see them out.

Dev slumped back onto the chair, exhausted like he’d just finished a ten mile hike.

A moment later, Alfred returned to the room and poured tea and handed him a cup. He sat nearby.

When Dev lifted his head, Alfred had a pleased little smirk.

“Oi, you heard all that?” Dev asked, burying half his face behind his tea cup.

“Only the very end. I drew closer when you raised your voice, to ensure you were alright,” Alfred said. His eyes sparkled with amusement, the lines near the corners crinkled together.

Dev put a hand over his eyes to hide the rest of the way and slouched down further in the chair.

“Don’t tell Wayne,” he pleaded.

“Don’t tell me what?” Bruce asked from the edge of the room.

“Nothing!” Dev said, in nearly a shout.

Alfred outright laughed.

“Kiran told Detectives Montoya and Bullock off, rather thoroughly. Accused them to their faces of not doing their jobs.”

Bruce hissed through his teeth, but the sound had that same tinge of humor.

“Dev,” he said. “Well. Bullock will be over it by lunchtime, but I don’t think Montoya will ever forgive you.”

“She didn’t seem as mad,” Dev protested, pressing his palm harder against his eyes.

“Hn,” Bruce said. “She’s good at what she does. Anyway, Clark’s here, if you’re up to seeing someone else.”

“Hiya, Dev,” Clark Kent said. Dev could tell without looking that he was standing right next to Bruce, and probably had been the entire time. “I don’t have to stay long. Just wanted to swing by and check on you, and my ma wanted me to drop off a pie.”

Dev moaned and sank further down into the seat.

“Come, it isn’t that awful,” Alfred said. “Don’t ruin your spine over it.”

Dev grumbled but sat up and said hello to Clark, who was, in fact, holding a pie in a foil pie dish.

“It’s apple,” Clark offered. “She said I had to tell you she’ll make another if you don’t like apple.”

“Apple’s bloody lovely,” Dev said, wishing he had a blanket to hide under for a few hours. “I’m not sure I’ve her number– leave it so I can ring her to say thanks?”

“Of course,” Clark said. “You up for it now? The pie, I mean, not the call. It’s sort of tradition. The get well pie.”

“It’s tradition,” Bruce confirmed. “He’s not just trying to steal your pie.”

“Ma will hardly make them for me! I don’t need ‘get well’ pies, I guess,” Clark complained. “But he’s right, I’m not trying to steal it. I don’t even have to have any.”

“What she said,” Bruce corrected, “was that Alfred spoils you enough, which is true.”

Clark shot Dev a pained grimace, like he expected to find an ally against unfair treatment.

“Of course you can bloody have some pie,” Dev said.

“Thank you,” Clark mouthed, while Bruce beside him called after Alfred, who had excused himself to get plates.

“How many times just this year have you made coconut cream cake for Clark?”

“He makes that for you,” Clark muttered.

“Five times,” Alfred replied. “Once a month, on the second Tuesday.”

“He had the last one delivered to your office, Clark, how was that for me?” Bruce said.

Alfred ducked his head back into the room.

“Did I mention Kiran told Detective Bullock he could shove his words up his arse? I did rather enjoy that bit.”

“What the hell did he say to you?” Bruce asked, distracted now and turning on Dev. “Was he that rude?”

Dev mumbled a reply, knowing it wasn’t clear enough for Bruce to hear him.

“Dev, don’t be a child,” Bruce said.

Clark took a butter knife from near the scones on the tea tray and set the pie on the side table to cut it.

“I said he was being an arse about you,” Dev spat out. He followed it with something bordering on a contrite look. “I might have also told him you’re like a brother to me, which is true for me, but I won’t be bloody bothered if you correct it if anyone asks. I was just sodding annoyed at something he said.”

“Why would I correct that?” Bruce demanded, leaning around Clark to break a piece of crust off the end of one piece of pie. “How did he piss you off so fast?”

“This is Dev’s, you animal,” Clark said, frowning at him. “You act like nobody ever feeds you. Ma adds an entire extra stick of butter to mashed potatoes if you’re over.”

“Don’t tell me that,” Bruce groaned. “I don’t need to know that. Let me eat in peace. Dev. What did Bullock say?”

“Do you honestly want to know?” Dev said. “Because I don’t want to sodding tell you, but I bloody will if you insist.”

Bruce and Clark exchanged a look and Bruce pointedly chose to ignore Clark’s wordless communication.

“Tell me,” he said. “In case I need to do damage control.”

“No,” Dev said, watching Clark carefully. “I’ve changed my mind. I’d rather bloody not.”

“Don’t be petulant,” Bruce said.

“Don’t be so fucking nosy,” Dev retorted.

Bruce glared at him and Dev glared back.

“Will both of you stop so I can give you pie?” Clark asked.

A piece of pie on a plate was held in front of Dev. He set his tea down nearby and accepted the plate. He hadn’t even noticed Alfred coming back into the room.

“Want a piece, Al?” Clark offered.

“That’s quite up to Kiran,” Alfred said.

“Alfie,” Dev said, exasperated. “Of course it’s bloody fine. Sit with us.”

“How are you doing?” Clark asked a few minutes later, poking at crumbs on his plate. Bruce and Alfred were speaking quietly to each other, some aside Dev hadn’t caught.

“Well enough,” Dev said. “Thanks for asking.”

“Of course,” Clark said, as if it was the most natural thing in the world for Superman to ask someone how they were doing, and Dev supposed that for Clark it was. “Bruce said it was close. I’m so sorry. Let me know if you need anything, okay?”

Dev nodded at his pie.

“Tell your mum I said thanks. I’ll ring her when I can.”

“Ope,” Clark said, tilting his head.

Bruce’s attention switched to him like a magnet clicking onto metal.

“Gotta go,” Clark said, apologetically, and then he was gone in the space of a blink. A slight rustle of curtains was the only sign anyone had moved at all.

“I’ll clear away the tea things,” Alfred said, rising. “Kiran, no, don’t get up. You look near falling over.”

Dev made an ineffectual noise of disgust at this observation, but it was true. He was well and truly wiped out, again, by simply walking around and talking to people.

“Will it be in the papers?” Dev asked Bruce, as soon as Alfred had gone.

“Probably,” Bruce said. “Gotham loves a trial. Someone will pick it up. We can ask Clark to get ahead of it if you want, but that’s only to control the narrative a little. The best thing to do is to keep your head down, say no comment a lot, and they’ll eventually move on.”

“So, Rani might see it,” Dev said, sighing. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “So much for avoiding that conversation.”

In some ways, he was beginning to resent Megan Rhodes as much for the triage he was having to do after the fact as he did for the poison itself.

“It’ll eventually fade,” Bruce said. “Maybe in a week, maybe in three. There’ll be something else soon enough.”

Bruce rolled his neck one way and then the other, wincing slightly.

Dev slid his chair back from the low table and pointed at the ground.

“Come on, then,” he said. “Before you fracture a bloody vertebra from muscle tension.”

“Dev,” Bruce replied.

“I can sodding manage this. Let me do something bloody useful. I’m nearly going mad with it, just sitting around entertaining myself. I’m not bloody broken.”

“I know,” Bruce said quietly, shoving himself to his feet with a groan. “Fuck.”

He sat in front of Dev’s chair with his knees drawn up to his chest, arms wrapped around them. Dev always wondered at the way he could make himself look so small, and so young, for such a brick wall of a man– there was some remnant of childhood in him, some part that had never left it behind, and it came through sometimes in his posture or his fondness for roughhousing with his kids.

Dev dug the pads of his thumbs into Bruce’s shoulders and felt a little spike of delighted satisfaction at the surprised and pained yelp.

“You’re so bloody tense, it’s like trying to massage a marble slab,” Dev complained, happy to be complaining about it.

“The marble slab has nerve endings,” Bruce said dryly.

“Hardly,” Dev said, but he relented and worked without merciless prodding. It took a solid five minutes before Bruce’s shoulders felt like something human under his hands.

He knew the moment he’d worked out a particularly stiff knot because Bruce made an inarticulate noise of relief and his head dropped forward onto his knees.

“I haven’t been able to move my neck this way for a week,” Bruce grumbled, as Dev dragged two knuckles up and down the spot.

“It’s because I’ve been off,” Dev said. “I’ve made you sodding dependent. Now you can’t get rid of me.”

It was a joke, it was just a joke, and any other week it would have stayed that. This time, as soon as Dev said it, he felt it sting.

“What did Bullock say?” Bruce asked quietly, head still bent forward.

“It doesn’t bloody matter,” Dev said.

“It bothered you,” Bruce replied.

“Because it was sodding stupid,” Dev retorted. “He thought I could be scared off. And I won’t be.”

“Hn,” Bruce said. “Alright.”

Dev knew he probably had guesses but he wasn’t willing to confirm any of them, so he let it go and hoped Bruce would do the same.

“Ow,” Bruce said a moment later, when Dev’s fingers hit another knot.

“Ow?” Dev echoed incredulously. “I’ve put sutures in you without anesthetic while you typed up a report and a bloody massage gets an ow?”

“I wasn’t expecting it,” Bruce said defensively, a little sulking. “You could be gentler.”

“‘You could be gentler,’” Dev mocked, working over the granite muscle. “You could be less tense, Wayne.”

“I do not know how to be a thing I am not,” Bruce said.

“That is absolutely not bloody true,” Dev said. “You worked on my car for three hours as roadside assistance last winter and I didn’t even know it was you until you told me.”

“That was a test and you failed it,” Bruce said evenly.

Dev needled his elbow into the knot and Bruce yelled, twisting like a rattlesnake to grab Dev’s wrist while Dev laughed. Dev would have been worried, but Bruce was already laughing, too.

“You wanker,” Dev whined, meaning both the failed test he hadn’t been prepared for, and the grip on his wrist. “Let me finish. You’re still half-statue.”

Bruce let him go and put his head back on his knees with a sigh.

“If you insist.”

Chapter Text

The east wing of the manor was quiet, but Dev locked his door anyway. He had spent half the morning wandering the house, trying to prepare himself and unable to focus on anything. He wished he’d gone down to the cave instead and done work, but it was too late– if he did that now he’d lose himself in a project and put it off another day.

He’d already texted Rani to let her know he wanted to talk, and despite text assurances it wasn’t news about terminal illness, he knew she was worried and he didn’t want to make her spend another night with that dread.

Dev pressed the call button before he could find an excuse to wait.

Someone answered on the third ring, but it wasn’t Rani.

“Uncle Kevin!” Hayley greeted. “Mommy said she didn’t want to miss your call but she’s pooping right now so I answered.”

Dev laughed and some of the tension in tight bands around his throat loosened.

“Hullo, then,” Dev said. “How’ve you been?”

“It’s hot today and it burned up all my energy,” she complained. She shrieked suddenly, and Dev pulled the phone away from his ear a second too late, and then her shriek turned into words. “I am NOT playing with mommy’s phone, it’s Uncle Kevin and I’m talking to him! Brayden, no, Brayden, I can take it to her! You’re so MEAN.”

The word rose into an indecipherable wail of rage and there were sounds of scuffle, then an older voice saying, “Ow, stop it, don’t bite me, this is why I won’t play with you, you little turd.”

Dev sat with his chin in one hand, listening and happy for the distraction.

“I’m telling Mommy you’re calling names!” Hayley shouted. “God and his angels and Uncle Kevin as my witness! You heard him, Uncle Kevin, he called me a butt word!”

“Let go of the stupid phone!” the older voice shouted back. “You’re going to break the pop socket off the back!”

Two voices rose in unison calling for Rani, and Hayley was crying.

“Sorry, Uncle Kiran,” Brayden said breathlessly into the phone. “I’m getting mom.”

“It’s alright,” Dev tried to say, but Brayden wasn’t listening. He was pounding on a door.

“Mom, mom, mom, I have your phone, Hayley had it and she broke the pop socket and she bit me when I took it from her, and Uncle Kiran called. Mom! Mom!”

“What?” he heard Rani say, from a distance, exasperation clear. A door creaked on its hinges.

“Why are you just in a towel?” Brayden asked.

“I was in the shower, Brayden,” Rani exclaimed. “Is someone bleeding? Dying?”

“Hayley broke your phone and bit me,” Brayden said. “Uncle Kiran called.”

“Hullo,” Dev said, though he could imagine the scene that rendered it pointless– the phone at Brayden’s side, arm swinging in the careless inattention with which he approached anything that didn’t have wheels or engines; Rani, dripping, looking like their mum when she’d been interrupted.

“She bit you? When did he call? What did you tell him? Brayden, is he on the phone right now? Give me that.”

“Ew, you’re wet,” Brayden said.

“Hi, Kiran?” she said, breathless.

“Hullo,” he said again with a chuckle. “I can ring again later.”

“No!” Rani said quickly. “Just. Give me a second, okay? I’m so sorry. Hold on, I need to…okay, you’re on speaker phone for just a second so don’t say anything…well…”

“Inappropriate?” Dev suggested.

“Sensitive,” Rani corrected. “Brayden. Go get a popsicle and go outside and do not say anything to Hayley, do you understand?”

Dev could hear the mumble of an answer.

“Okay, okay,” Rani said. “Whew. I’m dressed now and going down to put the fear of God back into my daughter.”

“I may be called on as a witness,” Dev warned. “I’d rather not, if it’s all the same. I’ve not got enough clout yet to be choosing sides.”

“Oh, I don’t need a witness, there were teeth marks,” Rani said. “I mean, I’m sure Brayden said something, but…oh, hold on. Hayley! Hayley Inaya! We do not hide in the dryer. Go to your room, I’ll deal with you when I’m done talking to Uncle Kiran, or your dad will.”

“But Brayden was being mean!” Hayley wailed.

“I’ll listen to your side when I come talk to you. You can play but stay in your room. We do not bite people, Hayley.”

There was the sound of stomping feet on wood stairs and then Rani exhaled, long and slow.

“Need another minute?” Dev asked.

“No,” she half-laughed. “Maybe? I knew as soon as I got in the shower, that’s when the phone would ring. Joe was supposed to be listening for it. Sorry. We’re mostly past the biting stage except for Porter, I don’t know what got into her.”

“I was bitten last month,” Dev said. “I’m not judging.”

Rani laughed, like it was a joke, but it had been Cass with a toxin in her.

“Okay, I’m good. Everything is quiet for now. You needed to talk?”

“Are you sure it’s a good time?” Dev asked, hoping she’d say no.

“Yes,” Rani insisted. “Sarah’s watching Porter. Nobody’s bleeding. I’m sitting down in my room right now.”

“So, I…uh…” Dev said, suddenly uncertain. Maybe he didn’t have to say anything. Maybe she never had to know.

“Can we video chat?” Rani asked suddenly. “I need to see your face to judge what kind of bad news this is.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dev said, tapping a button.

Rani’s face filled the screen, brows drawn in worry. Her hair was damp and loose, and what he’d imagined was true– she did look like their mum, interrupted.

“You’re sick,” Rani said flatly.

“No, no, I’m bloody fine,” Dev said. “I’m nearly well again. I wanted to talk before details are in any of the Gotham papers, otherwise, I wouldn’t bother you at all, but I didn’t want you to find out like that, if one of you stumbled across it. The important thing is that I’m alright and I’m going to be bloody fine.”

“You are fine or you will be?” Rani asked, and she looked so serious, so deflated, that he nearly tried to play it off as a bad joke on impulse.

“I was poisoned,” Dev said. “A former patient’s wife. It’ll be an attempted murder charge, but it’s not the sort of thing that’ll keep causing problems– the poison, I mean. So, I’m alright. That’s the important thing, yeah?”

“What’s her name?” Rani asked, and for a second there was such cold fury in her voice that Dev thought it was good she was in another state.

“Doesn’t matter,” he said.

“Kiran,” Rani replied.

“Megan Rhodes,” he said, folding. “She’s already in custody.”

Rani put a hand to her forehead, the iciness thawing, and she sounded much warmer and far more distraught when she finally said, “Oh my gosh, Kiran, poisoned. Are you sure you’re okay? Where are you now? Do you need anything, any food or, I don’t know, anything?”

“I’m staying with Timothy’s family,” Dev said. “They’ve been brilliant. I’ve been well-fed and looked after. I’ll come visit soon, yeah?”

“You better,” Rani said, and he was horrified to hear the break in her voice. “I just got you back!”

“I know,” Dev said. If he could have ground himself beneath his own heel he would have. “I’m sorry.”

“No, no, it isn’t your fault,” Rani said. “That’s just, I mean, that’s a big deal, right? Someone trying to kill you? Are they sure she was alone, that it won’t happen again?”

“She was alone,” Dev said, instead of the false promises he wanted to give and shouldn’t.

“Does Leena know?”

Rani didn’t bring Leena up, as a rule, so it was a sign of how shaken she was that she was even asking.

“She came and spent a few days,” Dev said. “I felt bloody awful about that, too. She was my emergency contact and the hospital rang her, and then I’d left by the time she got there and they wouldn’t give her info. My mobile was off so I missed all her calls.”

“Hospital? So not, like, puke it up at home, maybe have a bad rash kind of poison?” Rani asked, her voice going thin.

“Ah, no,” Dev said. “It was…a bit more than that.”

“So it was bad,” Rani said. “Not just attempted like a try, but attempted like she got really close to doing it.”

“Yeah,” Dev said quietly. “But I’m alright, then. I’m bloody–”

“Don’t say it again,” Rani said, one hand over her eyes. She set the phone down so all Dev could see was a white ceiling. He heard a sniffle, then she picked the phone back up. “I’m okay. But don’t keep telling me you’re fine. I’m glad, but it sounds like it was awful. You’re sure you don’t need anything?”

“I do, actually,” Dev said. “I’ve another question and not an easy one, and you don’t have to answer, and you can get mad if you need, and stop talking to me for however long you want.”

Rani raised an eyebrow at that.

“Alright,” she said.

There was a pounding on the door, someone yelling, and Rani rolled her eyes.

“Hold on,” she said. She took the phone with her, so Dev could hear her when she cracked open the door. “Brady, I’m still talking to Uncle Kiran. Can it wait?”

“Jesse wants a popsicle, too. He said I should ask because I also needed to ‘fess that I called Hayley a turd, so I’m telling you so I’m being honest and I’m not in trouble as much and she bit me first.”

“I will deal with it later,” Rani said firmly. “Yes, Jesse, and anyone else who wants one, can have a popsicle.”

The door closed.

Dev had been watching what little he could see from the angle, Brayden’s animated face, his close-cropped curls and brown nose with a spot of peeling sunburn.

“How old is he again?” he asked, thinking of Tyler. He hadn’t seen Tyler except in pictures for years.

“Ten next month,” Rani said. “Okay. What terrible thing did you want to ask me?”

Tyler was eleven.

“I never told Kam. About why I left,” Dev said suddenly, though he hadn’t meant to discuss that at all.

Rani was quiet.

He looked at her and he hated himself, he hated watching her confidence fall away, knowing that with a few words he could strip away her hard-won stability and leave her looking like a child.

She worried her bottom lip and finally managed, “That’s not a question.”

“No, it’s not, I’m bloody sorry. I didn’t even mean to bring it up.”

“But you did for a reason,” Rani said. “So what is it?”

Dev was silent, hoping she’d let him drop it and suspecting she wouldn’t.

“Kiran,” she said gently, wavering somewhere between much older and wiser than he and still a little girl– he could see how hard she was trying. “You just survived something awful. I’m sure it’s made you think of things. You caught me off guard, but I’m telling you now I want to know.”

“It’s only that I keep thinking about Tyler, her son,” he admitted. “Da was different around her– Lee says he barely paid attention to her at all– and I didn’t want to hurt her or give him a reason to be mad at her. But she leaves Tyler alone with him, and now mum isn’t around, and sod it all, but I’m a fucking coward. I ought to have told her. I ought to tell her now. You’d want to know, wouldn’t you?”

“If it was one of my kids?” Rani asked, that icy hardness creeping into her words again, like spreading frost. “Yes. I would want to know. Leena hasn’t told her?”

“No,” Dev said. “I don’t think so.”

“This isn’t on you,” Rani said. “I pray to God that little boy hasn’t been hurt, but this isn’t just on you, Kiran. Mum could have told her. Leena could have told her. Da could have said something, if he really cared. He could have been honest years ago.”

“You think I ought to tell her now,” Dev said, and it was less a question and more something he’d known in his gut for a long time.

“I don’t think you should have to. But yeah, I think you should. I’m sorry. If Kam’s a good mum, though, she’ll want to know. She really hasn’t guessed something’s off? She doesn’t remember anything?”

Rani propped the phone on something and began braiding her hair. His own fingers itched for something useful to do.

“She thinks da has a temper, that’s all. She’s always been mad at me– she thinks I’ve stayed away because I’m selfish, I think. I let her think it because it was easier. I’m a sodding idiot, though, and if he’s hurt Tyler it’ll be my fault. I ought to have told her the truth years ago.”

“No,” Rani said. “I don’t think this one is on you. Not just you, anyway. You had another question for me, though, the one you thought I’d be mad about.”

“It can wait,” Dev said.

“And I’ll just spend all that time wondering what you’d think would make me so mad I’d stop talking to you,” Rani retorted. She flipped the tied off braid over her shoulder.

Dev shouldn’t have rung. He should have just hoped they’d never see anything online, and avoided this altogether. He’d hurt her bringing up the past like that and he knew it.

He barreled on anyway.

“Lee wants to know if she can ring you,” he said. “She says she’s sorry for everything, and misses you, and I told her I’d ask but I wouldn’t make any promises because I wouldn’t fucking coerce you. You can say no.”

Rani’s lips pressed together in a pensive frown.

“What have you told her?” she asked quietly.

“Nothing,” Dev said. “That you’re still with Uriah and that’s all I’ve said. Nothing about the kids. We hadn’t talked about it, so I didn’t want to make that decision for you.”

“I appreciate that,” Rani said. “I really do. I’ll think about it, but I don’t know. I want to talk to Uriah. It’s been really lovely knowing you again, but there’s…there’s a lot between me and Lee, and I’m gonna be honest, I’m mad at her all over again right now because she could have said something to Kam. She always wanted people to like her more than she wanted to be honest. ‘Keeping the peace,’ she called it.”

Dev, who had thought of Leena as fearless for years, felt this summation of Leena like a slap in the face. He remembered Leena as someone who had been willing to fight for him, never caring what anyone else thought– but he couldn’t argue with Rani, either, now that he thought back on Lee’s school friends and then how she’d stayed in touch with their parents later. Somehow, he thought, he and Rani were both right.

“That’s alright, Rani,” he said. “Take all the time you need, and it can still be no. Lee’s promised that once she has your answer, she’ll never ask again, and even if she doesn’t keep that word, I will.”

“She assumed it would be no, then,” Rani said, a little wryly. “I’ll think about it, though. You’re sure you’re okay? You have someone to talk to, people to be with?”

“I’m sure,” he said. “I’m sorry it’s been such a horrid call.”

“Visit soon,” Rani urged. “I really want to give you a good hug.”

“In case you don’t hear it enough, you’re a bloody marvel,” Dev said. “The best of us, I think.”

“We’re not going to argue that one or we’ll never get off the phone,” Rani answered. “I should get back to my munchkins. Love you, Kiran.”

“Love you, Rani.”

Dev ended the call and sat in his room for a long time, not crying, not moving, not feeling.

When there was a knock on his door, the quiet announcement of dinner, he mustered a reply and rose quickly to fling the door open before Alfred walked away.

Alfred took a single look at him and opened his arms, and Dev stood there in the hug with his head on Alfred’s shoulder for a long time, saying nothing, but feeling now the ache of how broken the world was around him.

Chapter Text

Dev had been expecting the call when it finally came– he could put off answering Kam for a while, but not Leena. His sense of guilt wouldn’t let him. He still didn’t answer when the screen lit up.

He thought, with some self-destructive longing, of Bruce's liquor cabinet, and then went to make a cup of tea while he braced himself to ring her back.

Alfred was in the kitchen running a sheet of pasta through a press. He worked at the large table, well out of the way of the counter with the kettle.

“Want a cuppa?” he asked, while fetching down tea from the cabinet.

“Please,” Alfred said. The press cut the pasta into thin strips that Alfred twisted into little mounds like nests as he cut them.

Dev watched, mesmerized, as he waited for the beep of the electric kettle.

He only turned to pour the boiling water into cups.

“Earl Grey?” he asked, over his shoulder.

“Mm, I think I’d rather the ginger mint if it’s not too much trouble.”

“Not at all,” Dev said, reaching for another tin. He measured out the loose leaf into a tea strainer, talking as he worked. “You’re not coming down with a spot of anything, are you?”

“I’m in perfect health,” Alfred said, dusting his hands in fresh flour. “Merely in the mood.”

Dev leaned a hip on the counter, arms crossed, regarding Alfred while the timer counted down.

“Quite certain? I’ve not run you down caring for me on top of the usual duties?”

Alfred paused in his work long enough to give Dev a calm smile.

“Quite certain,” he said. “You’re hardly any trouble at all.”

“Hmm,” Dev said, doubtfully.

It was a welcome distraction from the impending talk with Leena and he clung to it. Worry about Alfred was comfortable, if unpleasant, instead of the prickly terror surrounding the conversations he knew he ought to have with her and with others.

The timer chimed and Dev turned back to his task– tea bag and tea strainer lifted out, sugar stirred into his own cup.

“Lemon and honey?” he asked.

“Only the lemon,” Alfred said. “I can see to it myself.”

“It isn’t a bother,” Dev said, tugging the fridge door open. He fished a lemon slice from the clear tub of them and gave the fridge door a gentle shove with his knee.

He picked up his cup and took a sip, while squeezing the lemon over Alfred’s tea. The juice hit the steaming liquid, sour lemon and sharp herbal ginger mint mingling together, bitter and astringent in the air.

His mobile buzzed in his pocket.

Stop shaking, he heard from far off. Someone was calling his name, concerned or angry, and the tighter he shut his eyes the more he knew in his bones it was anger.

He was fevered, so fevered his heart was racing and he was trembling all over. He’d been crying from the pain of it and the humiliation of gagging on the cup of medicine his mum had given him.

There was worry in her eyes, real and open, and it was for him and not for Leena or Rani or his da. He almost didn’t mind being sick if she looked at him like that.

He hated the awful taste of the syrup but he could have swallowed it anyway if it wasn’t for his sore throat, his traitorous fevered mouth and cracked lips.

One sip and he’d gagged, reflex spraying the medicine all over his shirt and hand and mum’s dress like spittle.

“Kiran,” she said, that tone that was more distressed than disappointed. He hoped. “Mera beta. You need it to get better.”

“I know, I know,” he cried, and he did– he was old enough to understand. He hadn’t spit it out because he was being rebellious. “I’ll try again.”

The cup was still half-full in his shaking hand when his da’s silhouette filled the doorway.

“Sunita, don’t baby him,” he said harshly. “Kiran. Stop shaking and drink the bloody medication.”

“I’m trying,” Dev protested, sniffling to stop the flow of tears. He was too sick to realize what a terrible decision it was to talk back.

His mum scrambled out of the way on her knees when his da crossed the room in long strides. He squeezed Dev’s cheeks in his rough, strong fingers, forcing his mouth open and tilting his face up.

Dev didn’t fight because what was the point, and he didn’t have the energy, and he was still shaking all over.

The medicine was poured down his throat, a hand clapped over his mouth to keep it shut, and this time when Dev gagged there was nowhere for it to go. His da’s hand didn’t relent, but pressed harder against his jaw and cheekbones. The fever-tender skin stung under the callouses.

Helpless, Dev whined behind his teeth, squirming in panicked animal instinct. He swallowed acidic bile and the acrid medicine together.

His da waited another moment until Dev swallowed a second time and then his da released him, with a slight shove.

The same hand clapped Dev’s cheek, patting brusquely.

“There,” he said. “Not so hard. Be good for your mum.”

He left as abruptly as he’d come.

“He’s worried because you’re sick,” his mum said, returning to his side. She straightened out the blanket, smoothing it over his legs.

Dev was barely in his right mind, fevered and upset and still feeling the ghost of the grip on his cheeks, and that’s why he dared to say what he usually didn’t: “He wouldn’t have done it to Leena.” He was crying again, and trying very hard not to, in case his da came back or was still in the hall.

There was a look on his mum’s face he didn’t understand, something there and then gone before he could study it, and it made him feel furious and very alone at the same time.

“Because you set such a good example for her, she knows what to do. You’re a very good brother,” his mum said, and for the first time in his young life, he knew she was lying to him. He just didn’t understand why.

“I wish I was at naani’s,” he said, because it was true, and it was the cruelest thing he could think to say– that he wanted to be away from her.

She picked up his hand and where she held it he felt seared by her touch, like her fingers were little flames eating away at his skin.

“Me, too,” she confided, with a weary smile instead of the hurt he had wanted, and already felt ashamed for wanting.

His da was shouting in the hall and he pulled his hand back from hers, wincing at the burn of it.

“Kiran,” she said, faint and far off.

“Kiran,” another voice said, blending with hers, and then overtaking it. “Kiran? You’re in the kitchen. Can you hear me?”

Dev blinked at the sink.

He stared, mute and confused, at his hand, and the stream of cool water running out of the faucet and over the pink blisters of burned flesh. A small field of them covered the back of his hand, near the base of his thumb.

Then he looked at Alfred.

He couldn’t do that for long, though. He quickly dropped his gaze back to the burn, and away from the concern in those grey eyes.

“Do you know where you are?” Alfred asked gently. He had one hand on the faucet knob and another on Dev’s wrist, holding the scalded skin under the water.

“Kitchen,” Dev said, but it was nothing more than brittle tree bark in his throat. He tried again and got out clear, if low, speech: “Kitchen. In the manor.”

“Excellent,” Alfred said. “Welcome back. You weren’t quite with me for several minutes. Shall we?”

Dev gave a small and rapid nod, sucking in a breath, trembling like half of him was still in that childhood bedroom.

“Water,” he said. “There’s Timothy’s mug in the drying rack. You’ve olive oil out, and flour. The tea I spilled on the counter. Your tea.”

He closed his eyes.

“I’m so sorry, Alfie, can I…uh… might we…pour out…” His words sounded more pleading to his own ears than he had anticipated.

“The tea,” Alfred guessed. “Mine? Can you manage your hand?”

Dev nodded.

Alfred moved around him and left with the tea. Dev didn’t know where he’d gone, but Alfred returned a moment later without the cup, smelling faintly of hand soap.

“Are you still with me?” Alfred asked.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m sorry,” Dev mumbled.

“Not at all your fault,” Alfred said. “I’ve burn ointment in the cupboard. Do you think you can make your way to a chair unaided?”

Dev said that he could and turned off the water.

At the table, Alfred took up Dev’s hand and studied the blisters.

“How does it feel?” he asked.

“Like it’s not third degree,” Dev said. “Bloody hell.”

His hand was shaking again, this time from pain.

“Ointment and a wrap?” Alfred asked. “Or shall I ring for Dr. Thompkins?”

“Don’t bother,” Dev said, examining the blisters and the skin around them carefully. “It’s mostly first, some second. It just needs to be covered.”

“It was the tea, then?” Alfred asked, pulling on a glove. He opened the ointment and put some on, very gingerly. “Not the burn, first?”

Dev hissed through his teeth and then motioned for Alfred to continue.

“I’m alright,” he said. “It was the tea, I think. The smell.”

“Ah,” Alfred said. “Is it something you’d like to discuss?”

“I don’t even sodding know,” Dev said. “It’s more of the same shite it always is. I wasn’t even thinking of my bloody office.”

“I am here to listen,” Alfred said. “But you know I won’t press.”

“Let’s not,” Dev said. “I’m bloody shattered and I still need to ring Lee. She’ll want to know why I’ve not talked to Kam, and I’ve been avoiding it, but I bloody shouldn’t because I need to apologize and I think finally tell her why I left because I never have and I don’t think Lee has either, and she leaves Tyler alone with him sometimes and I left her with him, we all just left, and she was alone with him and mum in that fucking house. Why the bloody hell did I do that? She’s my little sister and I just left her.”

Alfred was halfway through covering the burn with gauze smeared liberally with more burn ointment, but he stopped while Dev caught his breath.

“Kiran,” Alfred said, softly. “You were also a child.”

“I think I need to go see her,” Dev said. “I need to talk to her in person.”

The pain dampened some when the burn was covered. Alfred wrapped it to keep the gauze in place, taping the ends down.

“Pain medication,” Alfred said. “I cannot require it, but I will strongly insist.”

“I won’t fight you on it,” Dev said, listless and exhausted now. “This bloody hurts.”

“Shall I keep you company while you make your calls?” Alfred asked. His pasta was abandoned on the other end of the table and Dev hoped the delay hadn’t ruined it.

“I don’t need to be minded,” Dev said, guilt making him irritable.

“I’m not fond of disagreeing with you, Kirry, but I’ll point out that you might, as distasteful as it is to you. I think you’re not quite in the right spot to be making sound decisions for yourself. You do not need to go to London right now, or make any plans to do so in the next few days.”

The muscle in Dev’s jaw worked while he tried very hard not to shout or go straight to outright panic, because his heart was thudding so hard it made his ribs ache.

“I’ve put it off too long, already. What if he’s hurt Tyler?” Dev finally ground out, and Alfred put pain tablets on the table with a glass of water, and reclaimed his seat.

“It’s not solely on your shoulders, and I think you ought to give it some time to plan the best course of action. It may be that you need to discuss things with her more honestly. But right now, you need rest and safety. Safety that you will not feel if you go to London alone, if you could even physically make it that far without collapsing.”

Dev bit the inside of his cheek to keep his mouth shut.

“Ring Leena,” Alfred said. “There are some things you can do now.”

“I suppose I’ll just let you plan out the whole bloody recovery schedule for me, then,” Dev said. “Down to when I can leave the house again or make my own fucking plans to travel.”

He had drawn his hand against his chest and it made him feel a bit like a caged beast, snapping at anyone too close. He knew he was being unfair and he couldn’t seem to stop himself, because everything hurt so much. He couldn’t tell where he ended and the hurt began.

“It would be easier,” Alfred said mildly. “But you know that isn’t what I want.”

Dev looked at the drying pasta down the table and his resolve and anger crumbled together.

“I’m sorry, Alfie,” he said, his face in his uninjured palm. “I’ve gone off on you and shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, I’m well-inoculated to the flares of rage that come with bouts of temporary mental crisis,” Alfred said. “Rest assured, Master Bruce has seen to that more thoroughly than you would ever dare.”

Dev laughed at that, a rueful little shot of laughter, and some of the tension in his shoulders eased.

“I’ve got to talk to her, though,” Dev insisted. “And she deserves it in person.”

“Ring Leena,” Alfred said again. “Start there. And then rest before you decide anything else.”

Chapter Text

Alfred worked across the kitchen, busying himself in a way that meant he wasn’t listening in very intently.

Leena answered on the first ring tone.

“Kiran Sidney, you better have not been in another fucking coma,” she said right off.

“Hullo, Lee,” Dev said. “No, I’ve been mending. I’m better than I was.”

“Then tell me why you’ve not called Kam, and why she’s been ringing me bloody crying saying she can’t get a hold of you.”

Leena sounded truly pissed and Dev couldn’t entirely blame her. He tipped the mobile away from his ear for a second, wondering if maybe he ought to have given himself more time before ringing. He felt hollowed out and his hand was a dull, throbbing block.

“I’ve put off calling Kam,” he admitted. He tried to gather his anger back to him, but all he felt was a sort of resignation. “I rather wish you hadn’t told her, to be honest.”

“You nearly died,” Leena said flatly.

“Yeah, I nearly did,” Dev said. “And then I had a panic that she’d tell da and give him my address and I don’t even know what I thought he’d sodding do, but I don’t want him to know. You didn’t even bloody ask me, Lee.”

On the other end of the line, Leena had gotten very quiet. He could hear her breathing.

“He wouldn’t do anything,” she said after he let the silence sit.

“Probably not,” Dev said. “But I don’t sodding know for sure.”

“I’m sorry,” Leena said. “That it scared you. She won’t tell him, though, and she won’t give him your address.”

“How do you even know that, Lee? She doesn’t see him the same way we do. You haven’t ever told her, have you?”

Some selfish part of him hoped it was out of his hands.

“No,” Leena said. “I haven’t. But I told her if she gave him information about you or where you lived, I’d never speak to her again, and, uh.”

“Yeah?” Dev prompted.

“I’d kidnap Tyler and hide with him in the Himalayas.”

He tried not to laugh and laughed anyway, pinching the bridge of his nose. He could hear her laughing, too, the near-hysteric laughter at something absurd in the midst of heartbreak.

“You didn’t,” he said.

“I did,” Leena said. “I told her she had to listen to me about this or I would ruin her life. Ring her, though, Sid? She’s worried. She just wants to know you’re alright.”

“We just left her there,” Dev said. “We should have done something. Mum couldn’t even protect herself.”

“I know,” Leena said, very soft. “Fuck. I know, and I don’t…I don’t know what we could have done. We should have done so much differently, I’m just not sure what, and I can’t think about it for long or I start to feel a bit crazy. I don’t think he was too awful to her, though. He ignored her, like he ignored me and Rani. Tyler doesn’t want to spend time with him anymore, anyway.”

Dev’s heart, sore already, dropped like a stone.

“Is she trying to make him?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Leena said. “It’s uh, a sore spot. She doesn’t like when I have opinions about how she’s bringing up Tyler. I don’t have a lot of experience, though not for lack of bloody trying.”

There was a bitterness there Dev hadn’t expected, hadn’t been prepared to field. He filed that mentally away to poke at later because he really didn’t have the energy today.

“I’ll ring her,” Dev said. “I promise. I’m sorry you’ve been in the middle.”

“And get better, yeah?” Leena said. “I’ve got to go, but keep me updated. Love you.”

“Love you, too, Lee,” he said, and she ended the call.

He kept the mobile in his hand and scrolled to Kam’s name in his contacts. It was getting late there, but not too late to ring, and he had to stop putting it off. He didn’t know if he believed Leena, that Kam wouldn’t say anything to their da, but the possibility that she was right helped a bit.

“Are you alright?” Alfred asked quietly.

“Mm,” Dev nodded, though he didn’t feel alright at all. He tapped the call button.

“Kiran?” she answered almost immediately. “Kiran, thank god, Lee told me someone tried to murder you, and I’ve been ringing for days. Were you back in hospital?”

She sounded so genuinely distraught that Dev’s throat tightened– he was so used to Kam sounding angry at him that it hadn’t occurred to him she would be actually worried.

“I’m on the mend,” he said. “Well and truly. I’ve just still been out of sorts. I’m sorry, I should have rung you sooner.”

“No, no,” Kam said. “It’s okay. I can’t even bloody imagine. Almost murdered. Of course you need time. You’re really alright, though? You’ll be okay?”

“Full recovery,” Dev said. “I’ll get there. There’ll be a trial; they’ve already caught her. Her husband was a patient of mine.”

“Oi, that’s so dramatic,” Kam said. “You’re safe now, though? It can’t, I don’t know, make you relapse or anything?”

Dev wondered suddenly if all the years she’d sounded so irate at him, if he hadn’t somehow played some role in that. Her concern now sounded real, and he realized he missed her.

“No,” he said. “I’m bloody fine now, just tired, I promise. Can we talk later, though? I’ve some things I want to talk to you about but I’m sodding shattered right now.”

“Yeah, of course, of course,” Kam said. “You’re well, though? Sorry. I’m just, I don’t know, I still expect the worst every time the phone rings, after mum.”

“Kam, I promise I’m well. It was right terrifying but it’s over, yeah?”

“Right,” she said. “Yeah, ring me again soon?”

“I will,” he said. “How’s Tyler?”

“He’s fine,” Kam said, still a little breathless and sounding confused. “Why?”

“I’ve been thinking of him,” Dev said, while wondering what kind of uncle he was if that question surprised her. “I’ve not seen him in a while.”

“He’s well, yeah,” Kam said. “He’s asleep now. Should I wake him?”

He had really scared her– a few months ago he would have gotten a ‘Sometime, try ringing when he’s not asleep or at school,’ and he would have thought it was her right to be miffed at him for hardly ever doing that.

“No,” Dev said. “Next time, then.”

They said goodbye and then the mobile was in his hand, a timestamp for the call on the screen.

“Bloody hell,” he said.

“Sleep on it,” Alfred advised. “Shall I bring dinner to your room? I was in a mood and made fresh linguine.”

“It’s not ruined?” Dev asked.

“Not at all,” Alfred said. “I’ve learned a few tricks for abruptly abandoned pasta. I’ll bring you some when it’s ready.”

The offer of room service had shifted to a certainty, but Dev didn’t mind. He wanted to hide and he wanted to sleep, though he wasn’t sure he could sleep.

In his room, he crawled into bed and fell asleep before Alfred brought dinner.

Chapter Text

The tea was steaming and he knew he shouldn’t drink it. He couldn’t stop himself, his own movements in slow motion. He tried to turn his head, then it was pouring into his mouth and tasted like bitter old lemon.

He choked.

He could hear his da again.

He had to get out of his office.

The door was locked and he couldn’t quite grab the knob– his hands missed it over and over again, like he was drunk. No matter how hard he focused, the door knob eluded his grasp.

His da was shouting now and there was liquid in his mouth, salty and coppery. He tried to spit it out on the floor and when it hit the carpet, his da roared. He abandoned the doorknob to scrub at the spot.

Someone hauled him up by his collar and threw him into a wheelchair. There were shoes sitting on the footrests, and he knew they belonged to Nolan Rhodes.

His legs wouldn’t work and his lungs wouldn’t work and the office was tilting. His da was still behind him and no matter how Dev twisted, he couldn’t catch a glimpse of him.

He was going to die.

He woke drenched in sweat and panting from terror.

It took several long minutes and all the lights on in his room and the bathroom to convince himself he was awake, that he wasn’t in his locked office, and his da wasn’t looming and ignoring him while he struggled to breathe.

He turned on the shower, hoping it would clear his head and the remnants of nightmare.

He stood in the spray, running the water as hot as he could stand it, his bandaged hand kept out of the spray.

When he kept hearing his da’s voice and the sound of his own laboring breath, the way it had sounded like a ricocheting echo in his office– too loud in his own ears– he didn’t think about what he meant to do.

He slammed his head against the tiled shower wall.

It was hard enough that he saw sparking stars and his vision started to go black at the edges. He had to sit down in the middle of the shower to keep from falling over and it was then that he realized that in his post-nightmare stupor he’d never taken his clothes off.

There was a pounding at the door, the scratch of a key trying a lock, and he thought I’ve got to stop locking doors.

“Dev? Dev, are you okay?” Tim called through the bathroom door. The knob turned– Dev hadn’t locked that one– and Tim shoved it open.

Despite his attempt to talk, Dev couldn’t– his teeth were chattering too hard.

“Shit,” Tim said, grabbing a hand towel from near the sink. He turned the shower water off and pressed the towel to Dev’s forehead, above his eyebrow. “Give me your hand. Here, hold this. Press it. I’m getting Alfred.”

Tim left as quickly as he’d come, and Dev sat, wet and miserable and full of dread.

He closed his eyes and when he opened them again, Alfred was there with Tim right behind him.

Dev wanted to apologize but words were too much and he thought if he forced himself to speak, something would break inside him like a collapsing dam and he would be undone.

“Oh, Kiran,” Alfred said, gentle and full of grief, taking the towel and peeling it away to examine Dev’s forehead. He pressed the towel to damp skin again. “Master Timothy. Fetch your father.”

Tim nodded and left, worry in his pinched face.

“Did you fall? Lose consciousness?” Alfred asked.

Dev shook his head, accidentally pulling away from the towel. Alfred followed the movement to keep it in place. His gaze flicked up to the wall and then back down– Alfred followed that, too, with his eyes, and surely saw the smear of blood on the tiles.

“Intentional, then?” Alfred said, and it was hardly a question. He sounded very old and tired.

Dev shrugged a shoulder. He would have answered if he could– that it wasn’t quite, but it wasn’t not, and it was only that his da was so bloody loud in his head.

For the first time in a long time, Dev let himself simply check out.

He was distantly aware of people talking over him, to him. He nodded or shook his head at the right times, let someone shine a penlight into his eyes.

There were dry clothes brought from the room. He changed, with gauze taped to his forehead, and then sat on the edge of the bed while there was more talking about a hospital, concussion protocols, Dr. Thompkins, stitches.

They asked him things less and less frequently. Everyone sounded tense and upset but there was nothing he could do about it.

Then Alfred sat near him and asked a series of questions. Dev knew they were gauging his awareness, trying to decide if his skull was broken under the skin, if his brain was swelling and making him stupid. Dev nodded or shook his head, shrugged when he could, and did his best to convince them he was fine– his head didn’t feel like it was that kind of broken. He could see, and hear, and think, and understand.

When it became clear that his not-speaking was going to get him taken to the hospital, when he knew he didn’t need to go and hadn’t met the threshold for scans, he summoned a few words.

“I don’t want to go,” he said.

Maybe he was wrong. Maybe they’d go in anyway and he’d never come out of surgery, never wake back up.

There was more talking, some arguing, and he let it drift over him, untouched by any of it.

There was a wheelchair and he walked past it, refusing to sit down. If he sat in the wheelchair he thought he might be sick and it wouldn’t be from his head.

To his relief, they went downstairs.

Time passed without Dev knowing how much.

Dr. Thompkins was there after a while, talking to him, looking concerned. He just stared at her unless she asked questions he could answer without speaking. She examined his forehead, asked about and looked at the recent burn on his hand.

She didn’t look happy.

They did head scans and the machine was so familiar it was like a friend, oddly comforting as it hummed and worked.

When Dr. Thompkins stood in front of him, he understood she was saying his skull and brain looked fine– he knew that from the scans on the computer behind her. He understood she was going to numb and suture the gash above his eyebrow, that she didn’t think glue would hold the cut, and that was all fine with him.

Then the local anesthetic syringe pierced his skin and he flinched so hard it wrenched the needle out of her hand and sent a tray next to him on the table crashing to the floor.

Suddenly, despite his best efforts, he wasn’t drifting anymore.

His head ached, his hand ached. His skin stung all over like he was fevered and he wanted to get up and leave.

Bruce spoke quietly to Leslie and then sat where she had been sitting.

“Dev, if I do it, it might scar more,” Bruce said. “Should Leslie try again?”

“No,” Dev rasped, and Bruce nodded, a flicker of relief on his face.

“I’m going to try the local again,” Bruce said. “You ready?”

Dev nodded, grip tight on the edge of the table he was sitting on. He didn’t flinch the second time and eventually he could feel the numbness spread across his brow and down toward his eyelid.

Bruce sutured and Dev studied him. Bruce’s face was close, his expression focused and intent. There was something else there, something deep and hard and held at bay. Dev could feel it in the air like buzzing electricity.

“I’m sorry,” Dev said, when Bruce tied off the last suture.

That energy in the air crackled. Bruce dropped the tools on the tray, turned abruptly, and stalked off.

Tim was left behind, wide-eyed at Bruce’s retreating back. He hurried into the space Bruce had left and hopped up on the table beside Dev, leaving a few inches of table between them.

“He isn’t mad at you,” Tim said, while Dev’s heart was still struggling to climb back down from his throat. “He’s mad at other people because you’re hurt. He just needs to walk it off.”

If Tim hadn’t been sitting there, explaining and interpreting, there was a very real chance Dev would have found the nearest car with keys and driven himself to his flat and hid there for days, rather than face the fact that he’d ruined things for himself here.

“You okay?” Tim asked, his voice oddly small.

“No,” Dev said.

He wanted to say he was sorry– sorry for causing trouble, sorry for being work, sorry for scaring them. He thought of Dick sharing words a friend had given him and he swallowed, hard.

“Yeah, didn’t think so,” Tim said. “Can I touch you?”

Dev glanced sidelong at him and then nodded.

Tim scooted over on the table and put his head on Dev’s shoulder.

“I thought this would be better than a hug right now,” Tim said. “Shake me off if you want me to move, okay?”

Dev held perfectly still.

Chapter Text

They didn’t let him go back to his room.

It would have been easier if he had still been locked away in his head– being told what to do and where to go would have been almost welcome, then.

He couldn’t disconnect again, though, even when he tried, so being told what he could and couldn’t do irritated him.

It didn’t even help that what Alfred and Leslie told him– he wasn’t going to be left alone, he was going to be under observation for signs of a decline– was exactly what he would have prescribed if he hadn’t been the patient. Somehow, that made it worse.

The anger coursing through him was turning profound, corrosive and complete. He’d already run Bruce off saying the wrong thing, being the wrong way, and if he didn’t get Tim to leave soon he was going to hurt him, too.

Tim stuck near him all the way upstairs and into the den and Dev tried to think of some excuse to send him away.

“Mate, my mobile,” he said, while sinking onto the couch.

“Are you sure? Usually you say to avoid screens,” Tim said, pulling at his hoodie sleeves.

“Bloody hell,” Dev muttered.

Tim left and Dev sank deeper into the cushions, his stomach fizzing with shame. Across the room, Alfred gave him a warning look and Dev buried his face in the arm of the couch, avoiding pressure on the fresh sutures.

“Here,” Tim said, not much later.

Dev mumbled his thanks and then took a breath, and another, steeling himself.

“I’m going to be rot company, mate. Go get some sleep.”

“It’s okay, I can–”

“Please, Tim,” Dev said, his eyes closed so he didn’t have to see Tim’s face.

There was a silence, and then Tim had the audacity to sound confident instead of shaken and wounded.

“Okay. Get some rest. Let me know when you want me around again.”

When Dev did open his eyes, Tim was gone.

He risked the mobile screen long enough to send a single text to Dick: tapping out for now sorry

The reply was almost immediate: i’ve got it. take it easy

He turned the mobile off and set it on the nearby side table, lining up the boxy lines of the mobile with the corner edges of the polished surface.

“Try to rest,” Alfred said, setting a blanket near the mobile in offering.

“What do you bloody think I’ll be doing?” Dev said.

Across from him, Alfred sat in an armchair and opened a book of crossword puzzles. There was no look of censure, but the exhaustion in Alfred’s bearing and the utter blankness of his expression did that work for him.

The inside of Dev’s skull was a fierce ache and an echoing howl of self-reproach. It curdled his stomach– it would be easier, he thought, if they just sent him home.

He was starting to understand they wouldn’t and that terrified him more than being sent away, somehow. There was so much damage he could do before anyone stopped him if he didn’t stop himself.

They would let him get away with too much, they were too kind. He had seen how deep Bruce’s mercy ran and it was an ocean he could drown himself in– but then he’d be a rotting corpse, poisoning the water.

Alfred deserved an apology and Dev couldn’t even give it, because he suspected he knew the answer– the calm, “It’s quite alright. You’re having a hard time.”

He couldn’t bear forgiveness right now.

The morning inched onward through sunrise. Dev dozed, waking in little jerks from fragments of nightmare until the entire stretch of time he’d spent on the couch felt like one fractured fever dream. He was exhausted but could only chase rest.

When he woke, he was stuck in the same rutted loops.

He was going to hurt them and they weren’t going to stop him. It was inevitable that he would, because Leena was right, they were so fucked up from their da that he was still finding ways he was broken.

And if he was still a mess at his age, what had he possibly consigned Tyler to by never saying anything? Maybe if he said something now, soon, it wouldn’t be too late and he could avert some of the damage.

Then maybe Tyler wouldn’t be in his forties and still picking his way through the fallout, a ruined person. He hardly knew Tyler because he’d avoided home and Kam. He’d been around more when Tyler was little, an uncle showing up after birthday parties when Dev’s own parents were gone, pleading work as an excuse. Every memory he had of him was in snatches, fifteen minutes where he could avoid anyone else, never able to stay because Kam’s house was a place their parents were welcome.

And then he’d moved to Gotham and dropped out of their lives like a stone. He’d abandoned Kam twice now, left her behind like Leena had left him, and maybe Tyler was paying the price for his silence and avoidance.

He was going to fuck this up. Barbara Gordon had been right, maybe she’d seen what he wouldn’t let himself see– the only way to protect them was to leave before he hurt them more.

Then again, that hadn’t solved anything with Kam.

He went in circles, from sleeping nightmares to waking ones, and back again.

Now and then, Alfred got up to check his eyes, or asked him a question from across the coffee table. Dev cooperated with as few words as possible, not trusting himself with more than a few syllables.

The only interruption was from Damian, who stalked into the room abruptly and dumped a dark shape onto the couch on top of Dev, and then left without explanation.

It was black fabric and it felt like Batman’s cape– for a moment, Dev thought it was a cape, but the edges were hemmed into a rectangular shape like a blanket.

He spread it out, a reverent hand smoothing the material, and a catch in his chest.

By accident, he glanced toward Alfred, who was watching him with a pensive expression. He knew that single moment of eye contact gave away so much, more than he had intended. He stretched out under the heavy blanket and attempted to sleep again.

This time, the nightmares were muted, like a snake held pinched behind its fanged mouth, writhing and neutralized. The scraps of old terrors were still there, but he observed them from a distance.

He had to go talk to Kam, somehow. He had to get himself out of the manor before he made everything worse. Maybe Bruce would go with him, if he begged, and then he could cut ties when he got back.

But Bruce was angry, furious enough to walk away and stay away.

He could handle Kam on his own and let Bruce’s fury make it easier for him– it would be like a kind of death, letting them go, but maybe he could survive it if he went far away.

Dev didn’t realize he’d fallen asleep again until voices woke him.

Alfred was talking quietly to Bruce, and the older man looked grey and weary. Their heads were bent in a whispered conference and then Alfred left.

He was the reason Alfred hadn’t gotten much sleep and Bruce, if he was anything, was protective of Alfred. That didn’t bode well for Dev.

Somehow, in his internal crisis, he’d forgotten the one reason any of them might actually terminate the relationship was in defense of each other.

With a pounding head and heart, he sat up, the blanket drawn around his shoulders as a shield.

Then, seeing he was awake, Bruce approached, leaned over, and kissed the crown of his head.

Dev wilted.

He was like a man coming out of a thick, toxic fog and all his resolution to leave them felt very foolish indeed.

“How are you,” Bruce asked, sitting down beside him. “I sent Alfred to rest.”

“Bloody awful,” Dev said.

Bruce’s jaw was tight, a muscle working in little jumps. It would have been a warning sign if he hadn’t also taken Dev’s hand in his, their fingers intertwined between them. That meant whatever Bruce was about to say was something like an emotional confession– his contact was like a barometer, Dev had learned, from talking to him and watching him talk to his kids.

If Bruce was angry, he didn’t touch people, or let himself be touched, not if he was trying to talk to them. Dev assumed it was different if he was out as Batman, and Dick had told him once Bruce could be pushed to a breaking point– he had warned it was ugly, infrequent, and a sign of severe crisis.

Dev had even later come to understand that was code for ‘not long after Jason died.’

“Do you feel up for a short chat,” Bruce asked.

“Can’t bloody sleep anyway,” Dev replied.

“Tim talked to me,” Bruce said. “He wanted me to tell you that. He wanted to make sure you knew it wasn’t Alfred.”

“The wanker,” Dev muttered, but it was full of affection.

“I’ve brought people into the household before,” Bruce said. “Alfred has cared for all of them, to some degree, whether it was a child or a friend. But Alfred doesn’t invite people in very often. He’s welcome to– this is his home– but he doesn’t. He made an exception for you.”

Dev swallowed hard, thinking about snapping at Alfred just hours before.

“Alfred is, for all intents and purposes, my father, even if we don’t say it in explicit terms so often. My household isn’t adept at labels, and perhaps that fault lies with me. But he’s the man who raised me for more than half of my childhood, has stayed beside me nearly the entirety of my adult life, and taken my children as his grandchildren.

“I’m telling you all this, even though I suspect you already know from observation, because I want to make it clear: Alfred regarding you as something of a son makes you a kind of brother, by traditional arrangements or understandings. But that isn’t why I feel that way about you.”

Dev looked sharply at Bruce and Bruce lifted his gaze from the coffee table to meet Dev’s eyes. He gave Dev’s hand a squeeze.

“It isn’t a joke, Kiran. You’re stuck with me now. I don’t let go of people very easily. And that’s why I left, earlier.”

“You left because I’m like a brother?” Dev asked. The crease in his brow pulled at the stitches on his forehead, making them sting.

“I know people have…complicated relationships with parents who abused them,” Bruce said. “I don’t want to damage what we have by putting you in a position where you feel like you have to defend your father. I’ve made that mistake before and I hope I’ve learned from it.”

“Why would I sodding defend him?” Dev exclaimed.

“I was afraid you might feel you had to, if I told you that sometimes, when I’m reminded of how badly he hurt you, I fantasize about being alone in a room with him. And if there’s blood covering every wall of that room after I’m done with him, then maybe, I might consider that something close to justice.”

Dev thought of his da showing him how to kick a football, of the way his da cried at grandmum’s funeral when he thought he was alone. It was the only time Dev had ever seen him cry, and he’d been old enough then to think, ‘Oh, so he can feel things,’ with a teenager’s sarcastic bitterness– he’d felt bad about it later.

“Bloody hell,” he sighed, a second later. “I’d let you, though, if he’s hurt my nephew.”

“So, you’d allow it for Tyler, but not for you.”

“Tyler’s just a sodding lad,” Dev said, angry for some reason he couldn’t define.

Bruce ran a thumb over the back of Dev’s hand and Dev deflated like an old balloon.

“Oh,” he said, quietly. “It’s like that, then.”

“It’s like that,” Bruce agreed. “I’ll leave him alone if he leaves you alone. If he comes looking for you, though…”

“Blood covering every wall,” Dev said, mouth dry. There was a spark in his chest of relief, too, to have the fierceness of his protection so plainly laid out.

“I have it on good authority that if you get tired of living in the same world as him, you only have to say the word, and Alfred will handle it,” Bruce added.

Dev laughed, and then he stopped laughing.

“Oh, you’re bloody serious,” Dev said.

“Arkham could be emptied in a weekend if I asked,” Bruce said. “That would cost him something, and it wouldn’t be justice, so I don’t ask.”

“I’m not going to ask,” Dev said, feeling a cold tremor run down his spine.

“I know,” Bruce said, his grip tightening in reassurance. “He does, too, which is why he isn’t in London right now– why he didn’t go a year ago.”

With a sigh, Dev leaned his aching head on Bruce’s shoulder.

“I bloody love you,” he said. “I don’t say it enough. I owe you more than you could possibly sodding know.”

“I love you, too,” Bruce said, shifting to make his shoulder a better pillow, “And I think we can say that feeling is also mutual. And speaking of London, Alfred said you mentioned needing to go.”

“I’ve got to talk to Kam,” Dev said. “And if I try on a call, she’ll hang up on me.”

“I’m going to use one of your own methods against you,” Bruce said. “Fair warning.”

“Thanks for that,” Dev said. He inhaled the sweat-and-soap smell of Bruce’s shoulder, letting it ground him.

“What do you need to do right now?” Bruce asked.

Dev, for some reason, hadn’t been expecting that. It was the question he always asked Bruce, because getting Bruce to rest was always a negotiation with warring parties: the medically advisable minimum rest period, Bruce’s own unusual tolerance and rebound speed, and whatever it was Bruce was driven by that week. There were things that couldn’t wait, sometimes, things that would cost someone else health or life.

“Dev,” Bruce said gently. “What do you need to keep this from happening again?”

He tapped lightly on the gauze covering the sutures.

“In all the time I’ve known you, this hasn’t been a risk. Something changed. You’ve had other coping mechanisms in the past. Is it because you’re afraid to get drunk here?”

Dev shook his head against Bruce’s shoulder.

“No, that’s…I told Alfie, it’s never been very often. Always about patients. I think what I’m missing is work. It’s always work that’s been my distraction. If I’ve a surgery to think through, or cases I’m considering, I stay busy. It doesn’t get so loud.”

“How often before the poisoning was it getting loud?” Bruce asked.

“Not very,” Dev said. “It’s been worse since. It’s all muddled together now, the tea and my office and my da.”

“I’m going to ask something else and I want an honest answer,” Bruce said. He rested his cheek on Dev’s hair. “Can you give me that?”

“I can bloody try,” Dev said.

“Do you think it’ll happen again? If I make sure everyone leaves you alone, is that going to be a mistake?”

If Bruce had said, ‘We can’t leave you alone right now,’ Dev might have argued and shouted. But being asked was being given a responsibility he wasn’t sure he wanted at the moment, because he had to look carefully at himself.

“No,” Dev said. “I’m not sure why I did it this time, but it’s not a thing I usually think of doing. But I’m not sure being left alone is very good for me right now, either, not without work.”

“Work to do, and Kam,” Bruce said. “Let me make some arrangements.”

“I’m the older brother, then,” Dev said, after a moment.

“Don’t get any ideas,” Bruce warned.

“Too bloody late,” Dev answered. He yawned, and winced at the throbbing in his head. “But I’ll save it for later, bloody fucking ow.”

“Is this my blanket?” Bruce asked, when he let go of Dev’s hand to slide down the couch. He patted his thigh and Dev gratefully stretched out to use him as a pillow.

“Damian threw it on me,” Dev said in self-defense. “You can have it back.”

“You can use it for now. Alfred made it for me, before…before my surgery.”

“Our surgery,” Dev corrected. “I did all the bloody work.”

“Hn,” Bruce said. “I’m not going to argue, but only because you have a concussion.”

Chapter Text

That afternoon, Dev was back on the couch, after a brief foray to find Alfred had left him feeling dizzy. He’d given a proper apology, though, and given a hug– he was sure he’d hugged Alfred more in the past week than the entire last year, and he found he didn’t mind the sudden increase.

When he made it back to the den, he found a stack of files waiting on the coffee table with a sticky note. Bruce’s handwriting filled the note: This might keep you busy.

The top file was transcripts and case notes from various conferences and research studies over the past year.

He left them there for later, when his headache receded some.

Dev had only been on the couch for a few minutes when there was a knock on the door jamb.

“Heya,” Stephanie said. “Can Tim and I come in?”

He said yes and they came in with their arms full.

“Is now a good time for me to be around again? And don’t apologize for earlier, just say yes or no,” Tim said, putting two white boxes down on the table.

“Yeah, mate,” Dev said. “What’s this, then?”

“Well,” Stephanie said. “We have become aware that you’re worried people at work will think you’re doing the dirty with Bruce.”

“Steph,” Tim moaned.

“I’m sorry, I’m being too crass for Tim. You’re worried people will think you’re having passionate intercourse with Bruce, because they assume he’s your boyfriend.”

“He’s my dad!” Tim wailed into his hands, which were plastered over his face. His ears were turning red.

“Steph,” Dev said, pleading.

“I’m just conditioning you to handle other people being weird,” Stephanie said. “You can thank me later. Anyway, we’ve workshopped three approaches for you to consider. Tim. Box one, please.”

Tim glared balefully but then recovered with a flick of his wrist, opening the first box, which was packed full of items in gray, purple, black, and white. He withdrew the first item and shook it out.

It was a t-shirt.

“What,” Dev said, looking at the text, which read ASEXUAL IN THE SHEETS, ALSO ASEXUAL IN THE STREETS in bubble letters.

“Approach one is the direct but silent rebuttal,” Tim said. “There’s a whole week’s worth of t-shirts and a bunch of other stuff.”

Stephanie was lining items up on the coffee table.

“Badge lanyard, keychain, tea mug, shoelaces, hat, another keychain, a wallet, a belt, a temporary tattoo sheet, a pen.”

“If you wear and use it all at once,” Tim said, “people will eventually get the message, some faster than others. You don’t have to say anything unless you want to. Let the shirts do the talking.”

He was holding another shirt. This one said, I’VE GOT AN ACE UP MY SLEEVE. IT’S ME, I’M ACE.

“No,” Dev said flatly. “Absolutely not.”

“I told you,” Tim said, looking at Steph.

“No? I told you, and you had already ordered the shirts.”

“Because you told me to!” Tim said.

“When have you ever listened to me unless you already wanted to do something,” Steph complained.

“Next box,” Dev said, accidentally rubbing at the spot where his sutures were and then jerking his hand away.

“Sorry,” Tim mumbled.

“No, it’s sodding lovely of you,” Dev said. “I’m just not ready. But can I keep the mug? And the pen?”

“You can keep all of it,” Stephanie said, shoving items back in the box. “For whenever you want it.”

“You open the next one,” Tim said, sliding the box to Stephanie.

“No, Dev should,” she said. She put the box on his lap.

He opened it.

It was a ring.

It was a wedding band.

“The bloody hell,” he said.

“We’re resurrecting Amy,” Steph said. “She’s undercover.”

“That was a bloody secret,” Dev said.

“Steph didn’t tell me about it. You did,” Tim said. “That time I picked you up from work and you hadn’t slept in two days.”

“Bloody hell,” Dev said, pulling the cape blanket over his head. “Go on, then, make it make sense.”

“Your wife is overseas. Undercover. You say Bruce is a friend but you keep talking up your wife, say she’d be so hurt if you let people think you were cheating on her.”

“I don’t think this fixes anything. People will still bloody talk,” Dev said from inside the blanket.

“I talked her into Amy,” Tim said. “Her original suggestion was to just tell people you were married to Bruce.”

“Well, then they aren’t talking about him dating Bruce, are they?” Steph said. “And we can fake a divorce in a few months. You’ll get so many sympathy snacks.”

“Nope,” Dev said. “Next box. I’ve little hope for it, though.”

“Take the blanket off your head. It’s a visual effect.”

“Not bloody reassuring,” Dev said.

“It’s not a jump scare,” Tim promised.

Dev pulled the blanket down.

Tim was holding the open box at an angle, so Dev could see inside.

It was empty.

“It’s empty,” Dev said.

Tim nodded.

“You don’t say anything,” Steph said. “That’s the third option. Well, almost nothing. Just, ‘I’d rather not discuss my personal life,’ and leave it there.”

“That one,” Dev said. “That’s bloody fine. Why didn’t you lead with that?”

“You gotta admit, you probably feel better about that one now after the first two options,” Tim said.

Stephanie smiled innocently at him.

“I do,” Dev said, aggrieved. “But for the record, I sodding hate when the two of you play psychological games. You’re too bloody good at them.”

“But we use our power for good,” Steph said. “I think that counts for something.”

“Hey, twerps,” Jason called into the room. “Scatter.”

“Make me,” Tim said.

“Hey, Dev,” Jason said, “I brought audiobooks, if you’re bored. Reading with a concussion sucks.”

“I can listen to audiobooks,” Tim said.

“If you and Steph are in here, you’ll talk to each other the whole time,” Jason said.

Stephanie sighed as she stood. “Don’t fight, little boys. I’m going to hang out with Cass.”

“Dev?” Jason asked.

“Audiobook sounds lovely, mate,” Dev said. “But Timothy stays.”

Chapter Text

The mobile buzzing on the bedside table woke him. He grabbed at it, blinking blearily at the caller ID.

It was Kam.

“Hullo?” he said, falling back into the pillows.

“Oh, good, you’re up. I hoped 8 your time wasn’t too early to call. Is your friend serious about school for Tyler?”

“What?” Dev asked, rubbing at his eyes. “Kam. What friend?”

“Bruce Wayne. Leena said he was your mate and he told me he was, but is he the real Bruce Wayne? I thought he was having me on, but a courier just dropped off plane tickets.”

“What are you bloody on about, Kam?” Dev sat up, trying to clear his head in case he was still mostly dreaming. “He’s the real Bruce Wayne– what do you mean plane tickets?”

“He’s not trying to kidnap us, is he?” Kam asked.

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” Dev said, though he was beginning to have a suspicion he did. “I’ve not even had a morning cuppa. Start at the beginning. Assume he’s told me nothing, because he’s like that.”

“He called me early this morning. He told me you needed to talk to me, but you weren’t in any shape to fly to London, and he’d pay for Tyler to go to any school he wanted for secondary and uni. He wants us on a plane for Gotham by tonight. He didn’t tell you? I thought maybe you’d asked him, if it was for real. Is it for real? Because bloody hell, but we could really use that right now, Kiran.”

“Ah,” Dev said, his suspicion solidifying. “No, he’s not told me. But it’s for real, Kam. And if you need money for Tyler, why didn’t you say? I can pay for his school.”

“And be the baby sister who begs for money?” Kam retorted. “No, we’re fine without it, it’s just…if he’s offering and all we have to do is travel for a few days, it’d be stupid to tell him no. If it’s safe, that is. Is it safe?”

“It’s safe,” Dev said. “I’m at his house now. If you’re coming, do you want to stay at my flat?”

“He said we could stay there, that he had plenty of room. He said he has a pool Tyler can use. You’re sure it’s alright? This must be a bloody serious conversation you want to have. You’re not ill, are you?”

“Not ill,” Dev said. “But it’s bloody important, yeah.”

“Well, if you say he’s telling the truth, I’ve got to go pack. He said he’d send a car ‘round for the airport.”

“I’ll see you soon, then,” Dev said, bewildered. Kam hung up and he sat in bed, staring at his mobile, and then he was up and heading down the hall.

He pounded on Bruce’s door with enough force to make it rattle in the frame.

“Wayne!” he bellowed. “We need to bloody talk.”

“Come in,” Bruce called, sleep thick in his voice.

Dev shoved the door open and found Bruce still sprawled under blankets in bed.

“You’ve bribed my sister to come all the way to Gotham for a chat?”

“You were going to go all the way to London for one,” Bruce said.

“I thought we were going!” Dev shouted. “I thought you meant you’d come with me.”

“It’s easier for you if she comes here,” Bruce said. He yawned. “I only went to bed an hour ago.”

“It doesn’t need to be easier for me,” Dev said, sitting in a high-backed chair with his arms crossed.

“I said I would make arrangements, to help you do what you needed to do. This is the one I made. Your sister flies here, Tyler never has to worry about school, you don’t have to deal with London. I can afford it.”

“Let me pay for Tyler’s school, if they want to send him somewhere nice. I ought to, and I have the money. I didn’t know she needed it.”

“She didn’t want you to know,” Bruce said. “She told me.”

“Bollocks,” Dev said. He dragged his foot along the carpet pattern, exhaled sharply, and stared up at the ceiling. “I thought they had money for Tyler.”

“That’s not the point,” Bruce said, sitting up. His elbows rested limply on his knees and his hair was terribly mussed on one side. “I would have found something else if she had said no to that.”

“It’s so bloody disruptive, though,” Dev said. His annoyance wasn’t dispelling, despite his own wish for it to fade. He knew it was a kind thing Bruce was doing and he had no idea why it was bothering him.

“Dev. I tell you what I need to do, and you make it happen. That’s how it usually is. Let me do that for you this time. If your sister had resisted, if I had any inkling she was truly opposed, I would have found another plan. I don’t force people.”

“If they need money, it’s as good as,” Dev said, scowling.

“I told her I’d pay for your nephew’s school either way,” Bruce said. “Just for hearing me out. She wants to come see you.”

“Let me pay you back,” Dev said, a last ditch effort.

“No,” Bruce said, with steel in his voice, though it never raised to a shout. “I’m not letting you pay me back for a thing I decided to do, an offer I decided to make, and can easily afford. You think you don’t deserve it because you know I did it for you. I say that’s bullshit. You do deserve it.”

Dev glared at him and tapped his foot, arms crossed tightly, and then dropped his chin to his chest and sighed.

“Bloody hell,” he said. “Fine. Have it your way. But I get to remind you of the same the next time you have a crisis about how often I’m about to stitch you back together.”

“This isn’t about me,” Bruce said, exasperated. “If it was about me, you’d let me go back to sleep.”

“You’re sleeping in, then?” Dev asked. “If you’ve only had an hour?”

“I’m glad to hear you’re feeling better, but you don’t have to be a doctor about my sleep habits right now.”

“I didn’t say I was feeling better,” Dev said. “Auditory hallucinations, then?”

Bruce was lying down, blankets pulled over his head when he answered.

“You woke me yelling. You came in, yelling. And you haven’t coughed or needed to catch your breath once.”

Dev realized it was true– he could take a deep breath and that itch in his chest wasn’t there. There was still a dull ache in his head and his hand occasionally throbbed sharply where the burn was, but breathing had been easier for days.

“Then I’m nearly fit to do my job again. Sleep in, you sodding need it,” Dev said.

Bruce grumbled from beneath the covers but Dev ignored him and left the room, pulling the door shut.

He stood in the hall, thinking.

If Kam was coming, that meant he would have to talk to her. He knew he needed to– but he also didn’t particularly want to.

What he needed was a distraction, or he was going to think himself into a panic a dozen times before she was stateside.

He went to find his keys.

Chapter Text

Dev stared at the yellow tape with a forlorn confusion.

It read CRIME SCENE DO NOT CROSS in bold black type and it was criss-crossed over his office doorway.

“I thought they’d arrested her, already,” he said to Tim, who was right beside him. “They’re still not done with my office?”

Tim threaded himself through one of the tape gaps with all the ease of someone strolling. He put a hand on the carpet on the other side and pulled the rest of himself through without even touching the tape.

“Timothy, no,” Dev hissed, grabbing at thin air as Tim righted himself from his handstand. “It’s a bloody crime scene.”

When Tim looked back, his expression was pure incredulity.

“Are you for real right now?” he asked.

“We shouldn’t be in there,” Dev said. “Isn’t it against the law? What if someone walks by?”

That he hadn’t run into anyone yet was something of a miracle. He’d wanted to just get it over with, before he was supposed to be back to do actual work.

“Are you…acting?” Tim asked. “You’re overdoing it a bit.”

“What?” Dev exclaimed. “No, Timothy, I’m legitimately bloody concerned I’ll get in massive shite for tampering with my own bloody crime scene.”

“Was that sarcasm?” Tim asked. He looked around the office and bent to study the desk. “I genuinely cannot tell right now. Why are you being so weird. What did you need from in here, anyway?”

“Nothing,” Dev said, though he’d meant to take some files. “Nothing, I just wanted to see it, come on.”

He tapped his foot impatiently, checking one way down the hall and then another.

“Oh, shite,” he said. “Tony’s coming. He’s seen me.”

“You’re joking,” Tim said.

“I’m bloody not,” Dev said, forcing a smile and a brief wave at Tony. When he turned back to look at the office, Tim was gone.

“Dev,” Tony Fabriello greeted, offering a hand.

Dev shook it and together they looked at the tape.

“How are you doing?” Tony asked, in that gentle way Dev had been dreading– the voice that said you poor fragile thing.

“On the mend,” Dev said, frowning at the tape. “You?”

“I’m fine, but nobody’s tried to murder me recently,” Tony replied. “I didn’t expect you back for another week or two.”

Dev was grateful in a way he hadn’t been for a long time, for Tony and his abrasive bluntness. At least Tony would come right out and say it, instead of dancing around it. He hadn’t expected to appreciate that, but he did.

“I’ve just stopped to pick up some things,” Dev said, gesturing at the tape. “That hasn’t gone as well as I’d bloody hoped.”

“I’m supposed to ask if you want a new office,” Tony said. “Administration wants to offer.”

“No, I think I’m–”

Something sharp and wet hit Dev just below the ear and he slapped at it.

“Are there flies in here again?” Tony asked, looking around him and at the ceiling. “I thought they’d handled that.”

“Must’ve missed one,” Dev said, shaking his hand off and then wiping it on his slacks. He hoped Tony didn’t notice the spitball on the floor.

“So, new office?” Tony asked.

“Yeah, that’d be bloody brilliant,” Dev said, not willing to ignore a hint that came soaked with saliva. He didn’t dare hope it was merely water.

“I’ll let them know,” Tony said.

They stood for a moment in awkward silence. Tony seemed in no hurry to go and Dev didn’t know how to shoo him away.

“So, that’s why you said no to Chicago,” Tony said.

“What?” Dev asked.

“The Waynes,” Tony said. “I thought you’d like Chicago, but I think I misunderstood your…connections.”

“I’d rather not discuss my personal life,” Dev said quickly, before another spitball hit him.

Another hit him on the top of his ear, the side away from Tony, and he stoically ignored it.

Tony’s face had shuttered closed, something almost hurt in the pinch of his mouth.

“That’s fine,” he said.

“With staff,” Dev amended quickly. “But if you’ve got anyone’s ear, put it out that I’m not dating Wayne? He’s got a girlfriend who properly terrifies me. And I’d rather it not get around that I date patients, former or otherwise. They were here because they’re my family.”

“Family?” Tony’s eyebrows raised, but he shrugged. The hurt expression had vanished. “Yeah, if anyone asks, I’ll tell them what I know.”

“Thanks,” Dev said.

“When do you think you’ll be back? It’s okay if you don’t know, and we’re bringing in someone from Metropolis on a three month contract for the surgical schedule anyway–”

“Why?” Dev snapped, surprised. He felt off-guard, like he’d slipped on mossy stones.

“Didn’t Shriver call you?” Tony asked, looking like he was as unbalanced as Dev felt. He recovered more quickly.

“No,” Dev said, certain that if he’d missed anything recently it absolutely wasn’t a voicemail. He’d watched those with the laser-focus of a prey animal avoiding a predator.

“Hospital policy,” Tony said. “All victims of criminal attack have to go to counseling and be cleared by a psych eval before resuming surgical duties. They’ll let you research, they’ll let you consult and advise and do post-op rounds, but you gotta be cleared to wield a scalpel.”

“Bloody hell,” Dev burst out. “They know I wasn’t the one who planted sodding poison, don’t they?”

“Usually, there’s an assumption that even in Gotham, being a victim of something might also be destabilizing,” Tony said dryly.

“Yeah, yeah, bollocks,” Dev said, taking a breath. “Sorry. Thanks for the heads up– do you know if they’ve a psych in mind or if I’ve got to find someone?”

“I don’t know,” Tony said. “Call Shriver. It’s supposed to be his job to hold your hand through it.”

“Fuck,” Dev said, sighing. “I need a bloody therapist just to deal with him.”

“You know he suggested I play show tunes in the operating theater?” Tony asked. “For OR morale.”

“No,” Dev said, laughing despite himself and the churning in his gut. “The wanker.”

Tony laughed and clapped Dev on the shoulder.

“Get well soon,” he said. “Get back to work before this Metropolis guy melts my ears off with whatever toxic optimism they have going on over there. Oh, and stop and get your mail while you’re here.”

Tony left and as soon as Dev was sure he was around the corner, he hissed.

“Mate.”

Tim reappeared at the doorway and slipped through the tape again.

“What the bloody hell was that for?” Dev demanded. “I thought you told me to use that sodding line.”

“With most people,” Tim said. “I didn’t mean the guy who is kinda your boss and a useful ally.”

“An ally?” Dev said. “Tony?”

“I don’t know why you hate him,” Tim said, brushing a cobweb off his shoulder. “I think he’s nice.”

“I don’t hate him,” Dev said.

“Okay,” Tim said. “Barely tolerate.”

“Yeah, that’s it,” Dev said.

“He’s nice,” Tim answered. “You talk about him like he’s out to get you.”

“He asks me questions,” Dev said. “He talks about his grandkids and vacation plans. And he complains about radiology and the cafeteria.”

“Oh,” Tim said. “Like, I dunno, a friend.”

Dev had been battling the distinct impression that he was being ridiculous and it washed over him in a rush.

“Bloody hell,” he said. “I’m a sodding idiot.”

Tim extended a hand. “I know this and I love you.”

“Don’t use your memes at me when I’m having a bloody personal crisis. I’ve thought he hated me for eight years now.” Dev sighed.

“It’s okay,” Tim said, sounding more sincere. “Guess when I realized Bruce actually thought of me as a son, and not like, a partner he had some obligation of responsibility to?”

“It can’t have been after eight bloody years,” Dev said. “You’re barely ten as it is.”

“Ha. No, it was only four months after he adopted me. I forgot to tell Alfred I was out of sour cream and cheddar chips before he ordered groceries and Bruce stopped on his way home from work to get them, and got a case of Redbull for me, too. I dunno why it was that, but it was. He brought them to my room and I sat on the floor and cried like a heckin’ baby. It was embarrassing.”

Dev narrowed his eyes at him.

“And you told me I was stupid, and told Alfred and Wayne?”

“Yeah!” Tim said, throwing his arms in the air. “You were being stupid. So was I. But that’s why I got it. That’s why I knew you’d need to actually hear people say stuff.”

Dev scrubbed his knuckles in Tim’s hair and when Tim tried to duck, he hauled him closer to hug him around the neck.

Tim stilled there and Dev knew he had about half a second before Tim did some sort of flip or slippery maneuver to escape, so he didn’t waste time giving Tim a light squeeze and saying, “You’re a brilliant lad, Timothy.” He let him go.

“So, what else do you need to do here?” Tim asked. He’d looked away but Dev could hear the grin in his voice.

“Say hullo to the neurology nursing desk and check my mailbox, stop by the lab for some papers. I think that’s all.”

Tim waved Dev’s keycard in the air, lifted from Dev’s pocket.

“I can do the lab,” Tim said. “Tell me what to look for.”

“You wanker,” Dev complained, patting his pockets. “What else did you take? No, we can go to the lab together. I need you to extricate me if someone stops me to talk, and not with spitballs. Where’d you even get a straw?”

Tim blinked at him.

“Right,” Dev said. “Always be sodding prepared.”

“A straw is multipurpose tool,” Tim said. “I pretty much always have one.”

“How many ‘tools’ do you have on you at the moment, then?” Dev asked, curious despite himself. Sometimes it was better not to know, but he liked knowing anyway.

Tim’s brow wrinkled in thought. He lowered his voice and dipped his head toward the floor, like he was interested in the carpet. “Civie ones or other ones, or both?”

Dev knew the tilt wasn’t shyness– it was habit to keep any security cameras from seeing his lips and giving someone a chance to read them. It was one of the first things Bruce had drilled into Dev, back when he was still surprised by things like any of the bats being walking arsenals.

“Both,” Dev said. “Including shoes.”

Tim shot him an aggrieved look and flipped his hair out of his face.

“Let me have some secrets,” Tim complained. “You’re just stalling because you don’t want to go to the desk.”

“I am stalling, because I don’t know what it’ll be like, but I know it’ll be bloody awkward,” Dev said. He crossed his arms. “Right, then. How many?”

“Fourteen. Or fifteen, depending on what you count as a ‘tool.’ Including what’s in my shoes,” Tim said, bending to brush imaginary dust off said shoes. He straightened and looked up at Dev. “Enough stalling.”

Dev considered Tim’s outline, the way his pockets looked mostly flat. Nothing about his appearance betrayed that he was a human swiss army knife.

“Enough stalling,” Dev agreed. “Give me back my badge.”

Tim put it in his hand.

It wasn’t a long walk to the neurology nursing desk, but he was slowed twice by hospital staff that wanted to tell him it was good to see him and they hoped he was feeling better.

They both glanced at Tim, who smiled benignly at them and offered no comment or explanation for his presence.

Dev had been expecting well wishes of a sort, but he hadn’t quite been expecting them to seem so genuine, and he didn’t know what to make of that.

They rounded the corner to the desk and there was a second where no one had seen him yet. It looked like any other day at work.

Tony was leaning on the counter, frowning at a tablet. Two of the nurses– Naasir and Chelsea– were at computers, and there was a cluster of neurology floor nurses talking with one of the OR coordinators– Dana– and OR nurses.

One of the residents, Dr. Powell, was taking bites off a celery stick while scrolling on his phone. Next to him, the charge nurse, Candi, was sipping an iced coffee from the cafeteria and going over papers on a clipboard with a highlighter.

It was almost normal and it made his chest ache. He’d worked alongside some of these people for years– he knew their names, how they handled patients, when to trust their intuition or skill. They hadn’t become friends outside of work, but they were important to him in their own way, and he might have never seen any of them again.

The only thing not normal about it was how many of them were standing around the desk, doing nothing.

Then, Candi saw him and she lit up like a neon sign, called, “Dr. Dev!” and started clapping.

They all started clapping when they realized he was standing there. Tony caught his eye, smirking, and Dev knew he’d said something. They’d been waiting around for him.

There were cheers and whistles.

Dev stood there, feet planted to the floor, flushed with a warmth that bordered on uncomfortable. It was like the feeling of laying out beside the pool at Wayne Manor, basking in sunshine and the moment he started to tip from pleasant to overheated.

“Bloody hell,” he said, raising his hands in something like surrender, while trying not to sound gruff instead of like he was nearly laughing. “Bloody hell, enough, thanks.”

The noise died down for a moment and then several people were talking to him at once, asking him how he was and when he’d be back.

“I’m well enough,” he said. “On the mend. Next week, I think.”

He narrowed his attention to individual questions and accepted a hug from Rhonda, who he had known would hug him from the second he saw her.

“Uncle Dev,” Tim said, after Olivia left abruptly to check on a patient. “Did you want me to run down and get those papers?”

Several people looked at Tim, as if him speaking had given them permission to acknowledge him or notice him. Dev hadn’t missed the curious glances before but had ignored them.

“No,” Dev said, because he couldn’t think of what papers Tim meant. He realized they were waiting for an introduction and even Tim was looking at him expectantly, with a pleasant and innocuous smile.

“Uncle Dev?” Tim prompted.

“Sorry,” Dev said, to the general but thinning crowd, as people drifted away to focus on their actual work. “This is Tim Wayne. Tim, this is Candi, who keeps everyone here alive, and you’ve met Dr. Fabriello, before. This is Naasir, and Rhonda…”

He made introductions and Tim shook hands and was hugged by Rhonda, who told him it was so nice to meet one of Dr. Dev’s people.

Things were winding down. Tim chatted with a nurse before she left for a call. Dev tried logging into one of the computers to check a file and Candi shooed him away.

“Don’t,” she said. “We’ve got it. I promise. “Check your mail before you leave.”

“I’m not working,” Dev said. “I only want to see about a post-op condition.”

“Next week,” Candi said, and then Tim tugged on his arm. Candi gave him a gentle shove from the other side. Her gaze lingered a moment on the plaster on his forehead. “Go. I don’t know how much longer I can keep people from stealing the good snacks.”

“Snacks?” Dev echoed. He let Tim pull him away from the desk and called a goodbye, then stopped in the little office room on the way down the hall.

His mailbox– a narrow rectangle meant for a few envelopes and flat papers– was stuffed with cards, and the counter beside the mail sorter was covered. There were two gift baskets and a pile of smaller packaged goods and two plush bears and a plush Gotham Knights mascot. The plushes were holding GET WELL SOON signs or plastic balloons.

“So,” Tim said from the doorway. “Should I close the door before you start crying?”

“I’m not going to bloody cry,” Dev said, but the words were thicker than he’d expected and they scraped against his teeth. He picked up a thicker card envelope with a plastic baggie taped to the front. There was a string of bright plastic beads inside, teal and orange and pink. “Naasir’s daughter made me a bracelet. I didn’t even know half of them liked me.”

“Silver lining of almost dying, I guess?” Tim offered. The words went flat at the end, like he’d regretted it as soon as he started speaking. He cleared his throat. “Bruce is going to pitch a fit if you eat this stuff without it being tested first, just so you know.”

“I know,” Dev said, turning over a package of chocolate biscuits in his hand. “I don’t think I could eat it without testing it first, right now.”

“Want me to help you carry it all to the car?” Tim offered.

“Yeah, let’s skip the lab today,” Dev said. He didn’t think he could handle much more interaction, but it had been an effective distraction.

Kam had called again and said she’d text when she and Tyler were about to board their flight, while Dev was still hunting for his keys. He’d been roped first into breakfast and helping Damian with a model for an art project. Tim had insisted on going to the hospital with him when he heard Dev’s plans, but he’d needed to finish something for work and then shower before going, so Alfred had strongly hinted they ought to stay for lunch before leaving.

Bruce had made an appearance at lunch and Dev guessed from Alfred’s glances and comments that half the reason Alfred had talked him and Tim out of getting lunch in Gotham was that he wanted Dev’s help in chasing Bruce back toward bed or at least convincing him to stay home from the office.

Dev had obliged, with shouting, and Bruce had retreated into his study, grumbling. He’d been asleep on the couch before Dev and Tim left.

Alfred had looked grateful and also exhausted, so Dev had delayed leaving again to have a cup of tea with him and to pointedly suggest Alfred nap. Tim had sat by a window in the parlor, playing a game on his Switch, and had snorted his Gatorade through his nose when Dev advised “sleeping when the baby sleeps.” Alfred had given him a scolding sort of smile, lips pressed together against his laugh, and agreed.

Tim had needed to change his shirt before they went, so it had been nearly two when they finally left the manor. Kam texted while they were driving.

Tim’s fresh shirt was disappearing now behind the two gift baskets and plushes Dev was piling in his arms.

“Wanna get dinner out?” Tim suggested, from behind the cellophane sticking up in his face. The crinkly material covered a pile of chocolate-covered fruits and skewers of dried fruit and cake pops.

“Nah,” Dev said, trying to make a pile of biscuit and candy boxes that wouldn’t fall over while he carried them. “I want to pick Kam up myself, so I should sleep before her flight lands– Alfie looked well knackered, too, so why don’t you ring your da and see who’s about the house? We can get take away on the way back, give Alfie the night off, yeah?”

Chapter Text

The alarm on his mobile woke Dev. He rubbed at his eyes, still heavy with sleep, and shoved himself to sit up. He ached all over– maybe the hospital visit had been overdoing it. He was glad he’d already made plans with Alfred to go to the airport together.

He dressed again, went to the kitchen, started the kettle for tea. Jason came in while he was pouring water into a travel mug.

“Mind if I tag along with you and Al?” Jason asked, reaching into a cabinet for a glass.

“Tag along for fun or because your da is twitchy about safety?”

“Both,” Jason said. “I want to win your nephew over before the others get to him, and Bruce wanted me to play bodyguard. If you’re cool with it. And I’m sorry for falling apart on you the other day.”

Jason kept his face bent toward his water glass as he stirred electrolyte powder into it.

“It’s no sodding problem at all, Jay,” Dev said gently. “And you coming along is bloody fine by me. I’m not going to say no to security in Gotham, not when we’re picking up my baby sister. Does Alfie know?”

“Al!” Jason yelled out of the kitchen. “Did you know I’m coming with you?”

“I suppose I do now,” Alfred’s voice carried ahead of him into the room. He appeared in the doorway, looking much refreshed and less drained than when he’d had tea with Dev. “We ought to take the van, then, for space.”

“Cuppa?” Dev offered. The kettle was still hot.

“Only if it’s not any trouble,” Alfred said, with a considering frown. “Whatever you’re having is fine.”

Dev wanted– and needed– to do normal things again without forever avoiding them because they might go south. The burn on his hand needed to be an anomaly, the result of a trigger he could learn to live around. He plucked another PG Tips bag out of the box and took the other travel mug Jason handed him.

“We should take the Escalade,” Jason said. “It sits higher.”

“Unless you have legitimate concerns this evening about safety, I’d prefer our immediate impression on Kiran’s sister not be that of gangsters on the telly,” Alfred said, tutting when Dev offered a wrapped sandwich from the fridge. He accepted the sandwich anyway. “I think we’ll take the minivan.”

Jason shrugged.

Almost an hour later, they were standing in the airport entry hall right outside of the security gate. Dev spotted Kam as she rounded a corner, dragging a suitcase on wheels. Tyler, who was shorter than Dev had expected, was trudging after her with a duffel, yawning.

“Kam!” he bellowed, and her head shot up, one hand flying to Tyler’s arm. She hurried them both through the gate. A second later she was hugging Dev, holding tight, while Tyler tried to look bored beside her.

He wasn’t doing a very good job, because he’d spotted Jason and Alfred. Alfred was unremarkable, in slacks and a cardigan, but Jason had worn his leather jacket with patches and his combat boots.

Tyler gave up on looking bored and was openly gawking when Kam shoved him toward Dev for a brief hug, with a, “Say hullo to your uncle.”

Dev caught himself just before he said something about Tyler being small for his age, and pivoted instead to introductions.

“How was the flight?” Dev asked, after they’d been made.

“Long,” Kam said. “I’m bloody shattered. I could sleep for ages. But the seats were so nice– your friend is so posh. He put us in first class. Tyler about drank his own weight in fizzy drinks and had to piss only a dozen times.”

“Mum,” Tyler complained, casting a side glance at Jason. “I didn’t!”

“I told you no more, but did you listen, then? No. And then I kipped off and you watched that awful film when you know I would’ve told you not to.”

“I’ve seen it once already with da,” Tyler protested. “It was only The Purge.”

“Come crying when you’ve a nightmare, we’ll see if your da’s the one who calms you, yeah? But look at us, being rude to your uncle and his mates. We’re ready if you are, Kiran, Mr. Pennyworth, Mr. Wayne.”

“Alfred, please,” Alfred said.

“Just Jason is good,” Jason said. “Can I get your bag?”

“Thanks,” Tyler said, handing him the duffel, oblivious to Jason’s outstretched hand for Kam’s suitcase.

Dev and Jason exchanged an amused glance and Dev took Kam’s bag. She shot him an apologetic smile.

At the van, there was some confused shuffling of the seating arrangement– Dev insisted Kam have the front passenger seat to avoid getting car sick, and she said she’d grown out of it and how did he even remember, and Tyler said she hadn’t outgrown it and didn’t she remember their holiday last summer.

Tyler ended up taking the back row alone and Kam had to tell him three times to buckle while he pretended not to hear her. Jason and Dev took the middle row after trying and failing to convince Tyler to move up into one of the seats that reclined.

Alfred looked amused instead of annoyed or Dev’s stress would have been through the van roof by the time they pulled out of the airport parking lot.

“Hey, Al, take the city route,” Jason said when they were on the road.

It meant a turn south across the bridge into Gotham, through part of the city, and back north over the Sprang bridge instead of straight east from the airport– it was a significant detour and Dev knew immediately something was up.

“Oh?” Alfred said, without visible alarm.

“B says there’s some traffic just before Bristol,” Jason said, pocketing his phone. “Dunno why. Maybe overnight construction. He said it doesn’t look serious, just slow.”

Alfred hummed and took the road going south.

The detour was almost immediately worth it, for the way Tyler pressed his face against the window to see the neon-lit Gotham streets.

“Hey kid,” Jason said. “Ask your mom if you can stick your head out the moon roof, like they do in movies. I’ll hold your legs.”

“Mum!” Tyler said. “Mum, please, please, please, please, mum?”

Kam yawned and turned to look back at them.

“You’re sure it’s safe?” she asked.

“If Jay says it’s safe, it’s safe,” Dev said.

Jason leaned forward in his seat and tugged his jacket open, showing the holster with one of his guns.

“I have experience in security. I’m trained and licensed. If there’s a problem, he’ll be back in the car and I’ll be up there before you can blink. And I really don’t want to pull tonight, so I wouldn’t suggest it if I thought I might have to.”

Kam’s eyes widened a bit at the gun and then she looked again at Dev, and then Tyler, who was still begging, practically out of his seat already.

“I gue–” is as far as she got before Tyler sprang forward, unbuckled, and stumbled.

Jason caught him, jacket still open, and Tyler went, “Is that a fuckin’ gun? If you shot at someone, would their head just explode?”

Dev steadied Tyler between the seats and Jason bit his lip, clearly deliberating.

“If you know, go ahead and bloody tell him,” Kam sighed. “Maybe some reality will be good for him, instead of those sodding video games.”

“No,” Jason said. “Not this gun. It would make a small hole. There would be a pink cloud, like a puff of smoke, when it came out the other side.”

“Gross,” Tyler said appreciatively. “Have you killed anyone?”

“My god, Ty!” Kam burst out, twisting in her seat to scowl at him. “You can’t just ask someone if they’ve killed people! Of course he hasn’t or he’d be in prison, yeah? I’m so sorry. Ty, tell him you’re bloody sorry, or so help me you will be.”

“Sorry, Mr. Jason,” Tyler said, looking accordingly contrite. Dev suspected it had more to do with being reprimanded in front of Jason.

“No worries,” Jason said, humor in his eyes. “You ready? Let’s do this so you can buckle in again.”

He reached up and opened the moon roof. Tyler clambered up, one foot on each of the middle seats, with Jason’s arm around his waist. Tyler stuck his head out the moon roof and howled like a wolf.

“Tyler, ohmygod,” Kam said, sinking down into her seat and using her hand like a visor to shield her eyes. She was laughing and hiding it. “You bloody little animal.”

Alfred drove without comment and after a minute, Jason tugged Tyler down, hefting him toward the back like he was a light kitten.

“Buckle again, kid,” Jason said, keeping a hand on Tyler’s arm until Tyler was back in his seat. Dev kept a hand outstretched in case he fell, until Tyler was buckled again.

When they pulled into the manor drive, Tyler was slumped over asleep on the back bench.

Kam sighed when she saw him.

“He’ll be a monster when I wake him,” she said.

“I can carry him,” Dev said. “Will he sleep if I lift him?”

“Like a bloody rock,” Kam said. “You’re sure, though? You’re not still recovering?”

“I am,” Dev said. “But I’m not that poorly. He’s what, 4 stone? I’ve not seen him in so long, I thought he’d be bigger.”

“He takes after his da,” Kam said, a little bitterly. “He’s just over 4 even, soaking wet.”

“Jay, can you reach his buckle, then?” Dev asked. He hunted for the latch that let the middle seat slide forward out of the way, and then hauled Tyler out and into his arms.

A warm little head lolled on his shoulder. Tyler was a boneless weight and hardly anything, not compared to the bodies Dev was now used to lugging toward tables or couches or beds.

“The second floor of the east wing,” Alfred murmured to him. “His name’s been put upon the door.”

The east wing had guest rooms with temporary placards inset on the wooden doors– Dev wasn’t sure he’d ever seen them actually used.

Dev led Kam through the foyer and up the east stairs, Jason trailing them with bags he’d insisted on carrying.

There were two doors at the top of the stairs at the beginning of the hall, one with Kam’s name and the other with Tyler’s, in Alfred’s calligraphy script.

Dev put Tyler on a bed and let Kam arrange covers around him, and then waited in the hall for her.

When she emerged, she pulled the door shut with a quiet click, and then motioned him closer.

“I don’t mean to be a bloody pest, but the guns are all locked up here, yeah? I can take Tyler to a hotel if I need. He’s not ever around them and I’m afraid he’ll think they’re like a game.”

“Jay, the guns, they’re locked up, yeah?” Dev asked, calling to Jason, who was waiting down the hall.

“Yep. Biometric fingerprint locks on the safes,” Jason said easily, stepping closer. “They’re all secured, or will be when I’ve put away this one. We only have a few– my dad doesn’t like guns. Do you want us to pack away the decorative swords and spears? It’s really not a problem, Damian and I can go do it right now.”

“Are they sharp?” Kam asked, apologetic.

“Not really, but we’ll pack them anyway.”

“I don’t want to put you out,” Kam said. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be trouble.”

“You’re not,” Jason said, giving her a lopsided smile. “You’re Dev’s family. We want you to be comfortable here. Let me know if there’s anything else you need, okay?”

“Thanks, Jay,” Dev said. He turned back to Kam. “That’s alright, yeah? If not, say the word– I’ll take you to my flat.”

“No, no, that’s fine. I know your mate flew me all this way to talk but can it wait, do you think? Just til I’ve slept some?”

“Bloody hell, of course,” Dev said. “It means a sodding lot that you came all this way. Sleep. My room’s down those stairs, to the left and then the first right. You’ve both your own loo and showers, sleep as long as you like, and have Tyler howl again if you get lost, then.”

Kam laughed and pulled Dev down to kiss his cheek.

“It’s good to see you, Kiran,” she said. “Is there any chance of a cuppa, before I sleep?”

“Of sodding course,” Dev said. “Come along, unless you want me to bring it to your room?”

“And make you play maid while they’re all off for the night?” Kam teased. “Let me consider it.”

“They don’t have maids,” Dev said, chuckling. “There’s a service that comes once a week for some cleaning, but they do things themselves, mostly. They’re bloody private. I don’t mind bringing a cuppa, though, if you want to get off your feet.”

Kam looked at him, her amusement fading to a thoughtful frown.

“You’re comfortable here,” she said. “You’re not, in London, are you?”

“No,” he said, shifting on his feet.

“Yeah,” she said. “Nah, I’ll come with you. Show me about so I’m not lost in the morning or Ty will never let me hear the end of it. The mouth on ’im, now, Kiran, god. If I’d mouthed off to mum the way he talks to me, I would’ve fucking died of shame.”

Dev started down the stairs, Kam beside him, and she went on, her hands knotted in her jumper sleeves.

“He’s a good lad, honest, he is. But he won’t listen, not til I’m screamin’ at him, and him screaming back. Peter wouldn’t tell him no about a sodding thing and gave him whatever violent game he wanted, and now I’m the bitchy mum if I take things away. He’s already had one mate’s mum tell me Tyler isn’t allowed at their house anymore. It’s one reason I want him to start secondary at a school with new people.”

“My room,” Dev interrupted to point to the door. Kam nodded, took a breath, and went on.

“I’m at my wits end with him. I told him I’d pitch his Xbox in the rubbish if he didn’t watch his language here– he’ll make me look like a horrid mum. I can’t ask mum what to do with him now that she’s gone, and if I say anything to Leena she tells me what I’ve already tried, like I’ve not thought of it myself, like she’s the expert and I’ve not been bringing him up his entire life.”

Kam stopped and put a hand over her mouth.

“I’m getting too loud, aren’t I?”

“No,” Dev assured her. “Not for this part of the house.”

He didn’t know why she was telling him any of this, things she never told him, except that he was there beside her and she clearly wanted to talk to someone. Maybe it was trying to assure him ahead of time she didn’t approve of whatever Tyler did when he was awake.

He ventured a question when she stayed quiet, her fingers curled over the cotton cuffs of her jumper.

“What’s Peter say about it?”

Dev was hoping he didn’t fumble a chance to sympathize with her or validate her– he was lost here, in the landscape of responsibilities intermingled with the kind of attachment and love he assumed a good marriage had. Leena and Kenji didn’t have problems they talked to him about, not like that.

Kam’s silence went deeper, her fingers tighter on the fabric, and she slowed to a stop in the hall before the kitchen.

“Kam?” he asked, stopping beside her, looking down.

She sniffed and pressed at the corners of her eyes with her fingertips.

“Look at me,” she said. “Kept my face nice the whole bloody flight and now my makeup’s going to run.”

“Kam,” he said, more gently. “What’s happened? Why didn’t Peter come?”

“Your mate offered,” she said. “I told him Peter was busy.”

“But he’s not,” Dev said. She had the same look on her face she’d had when she was four, stealing sweets from his desk. Her face was older, lined in places, but it was the same guilty twist to her mouth.

“I threw him out,” she said quietly, watching the floor. “Four months ago.”

“What?” Dev said. “Leena’s not said a word, or I would have said something sooner!”

“Lee doesn’t know,” Kam said. “I’ve not told her, because she’s always telling me what to do, and I’m always disappointing her.”

Dev bit his tongue on his instinct to defend Leena, to explain her, like he’d been doing all his life– she was a lot, but she cared. She was intense, or distracted, but she was just focused, or passionate. He was realizing as much as he loved Leena, she was maybe someone different to him than she was for other people.

Kam sniffed hard. “He was drinking again, always off on the piss. I was a bloody idiot. I thought it was his mates buying him the second and third and fourth drinks, he’s got some friends with money, yeah? He’d not touched it in a few years, not since I last put my foot down, but he started again, a little at first. He’d go out and who was I to keep him from his mates, from having a good time?”

“Did he hit you?” Dev asked, and he didn’t have Bruce’s control, the way he could make his voice soft when he felt like thunder. His voice was hard and he knew it.

She startled, looking up at him.

“No,” she said, quickly. “No, not me, not Tyler. He’s a quiet drunk. He cries a lot. I kept most of it from Tyler, when Peter would come home late. We weren’t getting along, but I could have let him stay on, if it was just that.”

Dev was still trying to keep the storm in his chest from erupting into something that was for her, and would only scare or anger her. He took a measured breath and reached for her hand, led her to an armchair back several yards in the hall.

He crouched in front of her.

“Kam,” he said. “What did he do?”

“His uncle left money for Tyler,” Kam said. “For a good school. Not a lot, but enough that if we put some in, he could go somewhere nice. I was looking at schools this winter and checked the account, to see what we could afford, and it was gone. Peter drank every last pound.”

She started crying. Her makeup was running, just like she’d predicted, and he grabbed a tissue from a nearby box.

“I’m a bloody idiot,” she said. “I should have noticed sooner, I should have stopped him, cut him off, gotten him help.”

“No,” Dev said. “No, it’s not your fault. Peter’s an adult, yeah?”

“I’ve been sick from stress nearly every morning for a month because we’ve failed Tyler, and then your mate called and it was an answered prayer. I’d prayed to everyone and everything I could think of,” Kam said, hiccuping a sob.

“Kam,” Dev said, like a plea.

“Don’t you start,” Kam snapped through her tears. “I’m bloody pissed with you right now, and I’ve not forgotten I am, even if I’ve not been acting it. You’ve not had time for me or my son for years, not ‘til you almost died. When mum was sick, you didn’t even stay long enough to see us.”

Dev sat back on his heels, stung. He couldn’t protest, though, not in good conscience. He had his reasons, but none of them were about her, really, and it wasn’t her fault he hadn’t ever told her.

“That’s bloody fair,” he said. “You’ve a right to be angry and hurt. I’ve not given you the time you both deserved.”

“It’s only that with mum gone, I don’t have anyone,” Kam said, her hand grasping in a futile, empty gesture on her lap. He slipped his hand into hers and she let him, she held on to him and squeezed. “I’ve not got anyone except da, and he’s gotten so sour. I should be about more but I just drop dinners off sometimes and leave. Tyler won’t even come in with me– he won’t see him at all now that mum’s gone. He only ever went over for her, really.”

Despite his own guilt, Dev felt a bit of relief at that.

“I’m sorry,” Dev said, dipping his head to catch her eyes. “I’ve not been a good brother, or a good uncle. I ought to ring more. I will.”

He hoped she didn’t cut him off after they talked, but he wouldn’t blame her if she did. For now, though, he could at least give her his word.

“You’re not dying?” she asked, her voice breaking. “Lee said you were on the mend, and you did, but you’ve not been lying to me, yeah?”

“I’m not,” Dev said, his heart sore, “I bloody promise. I bloody swear I’m out of danger, and not ill. Let’s get a cuppa, and if it helps you feel better you can shout at me all you want, and I’ll sit and take it, yeah?”

Kam snorted and patted her face with a fresh tissue.

“Maybe just a little more,” she said, nodding. “You could cry a bit, too, if you wanted to make it up to me.”

“I’ll wail like a bloody infant,” Dev said. “If that’s what you need.”

“I need to wash my face,” Kam said. “I can’t see anyone else like this.”

“There’s a toilet right there,” Dev said, pointing down the hall.

He waited, sitting in the chair beside the one she’d left, chest tight with something that wasn’t damage from being poisoned. If he hadn’t been in the manor, if he hadn’t known Alfred was nearby, the mess of their lives would have overwhelmed him and paralyzed him.

How was he supposed to fix any of this? He couldn’t change his mind now, not when Bruce had flown her and Tyler all the way to Gotham, but he suspected now it would make things worse. It would sound like he was making excuses, and in a way, he was.

She returned with a clean face, more visibly exhausted, but composed again.

“It’s been the longest day,” Kam said. “You’ve promised me a cuppa and I might scream if I don’t get it soon.”

Dev led the way to the kitchen, where they found Alfred working at the counter, rolling out dough.

“Don’t mind me,” he said, rolling a pin across the dough. “I thought I might as well get a start on scones for breakfast. I suspected there would be a want for tea, so I took the liberty of preparing some chamomile. It’s only just finished steeping. Kiran, if you don’t mind pouring?”

“Oh, that’s so kind of you, thanks,” Kam said, sitting at the table.

“It’s no trouble at all,” Alfred said, as Dev poured tea into the waiting mugs.

Dev’s despair ebbed like a receding tide. He didn’t know for certain things would be alright with Kam, but he dared to hope again, and that in itself was something, he supposed.

Chapter Text

Dev waited just long enough to make sure Kam was actually in her room before heading straight back to the kitchen and Alfred.

The detour they’d taken wasn’t because of construction and nobody had been about the house when they arrived– he’d let himself give Kam his attention, but he’d feel better knowing nobody was in pieces in the Cave.

“Are they downstairs?” he asked.

“Yes, but they can manage without you tonight, I daresay,” Alfred said. He was arranging scones on baking sheets.

“And they bloody won’t have to, anyway,” Dev said. “I’m alright, Alfie.”

He went down, checking three times that he was alone before accessing the elevator.

“Oh good,” Tim said, when he stepped off. “You’re awake.”

Stephanie was sitting in the medical bay, cradling an arm, holding a towel to her bare chest. Bruce was beside her, examining her shoulder. They both looked up when Tim greeted Dev.

“You don’t have to if you’re worn out but if you aren’t, I’d love for you to clean my shoulder because I really don’t want Dr. Thompkins to do it, and Bruce always looks so sad at me when I’m bleeding, like I can feel his brain crying,” Steph said in a rush. “But only if you’re really up to it.”

“It’s what I came down for,” Dev said. “What sodding happened? All the way up in bloody Bristol?”

“Those bank robberies Cass was following,” Tim said. “They’re apparently trying to claim some of Roman’s old turf. They hit again tonight, literally right in front of me and Steph.”

“We weren’t even looking for them,” Steph said, complaining. “I was just drinking my milkshake. It was peanut butter and I had to leave it.”

“I’ll get you another,” Bruce said, his tone flat the way it got when he was upset.

“Anyway, they ran, and we chased them over the bridge into Bristol and turns out, they had some kind of lair near the old Sears, the one by Puccini’s? They had a frickin’ grapple gun and dragged Steph right off her bike.”

“I kicked that fucker’s teeth in once I got up,” Steph grumbled. “But I’ve got pretty nasty road rash.”

“I think they’re trying to run weapons,” Tim said.

“Drugs,” Steph said.

“Both,” Cass said from her perch on top of the parallel bars across the cave. “Got greedy. Stupid.”

“And where are you sodding hurt?” Dev asked, watching how stiffly Bruce was moving.

“Nowhere. I wasn’t out.” Bruce said, at the same time Cass called, “Ribs.”

Dev was half a syllable into his shout when Bruce growled, “It was last night.”

“So, they’ve been neglected, too?” Dev asked, voice rising.

“Leslie taped them,” Bruce said, lining up tools on the stainless steel tray. “I didn’t want to bother you.”

“Oh,” Dev said, glancing back at Tim, and then Steph, who both made bemused grimaces at him. “You stopped to see Dr. Thompkins? Voluntarily?”

“I haven’t been drugged, I’m not ill, I’m not having a dissociative break, I didn’t threaten her. Now that we’ve gone through all the things Alfred already asked about, we can move on,” Bruce said. “I’m not replacing you, Dev. Leslie and I needed to…talk.”

“Right, then,” Dev said. “I’ll not give you a hard time about it. She did scans?”

“She’s a doctor,” Bruce said. “She did the things a doctor would do.”

“Stop trying to skip pain meds,” Dev said. “Take a bloody edible if you don’t want to use the vicodin. Go sit down before you collapse on my med floor, since you’ve not eaten, either. Timothy, run and fetch your da a protein shake from the mini fridge.”

“Hello, I am bleeding here,” Stephanie said.

“I’m sorry, love, I’ll look at it.”

Dev washed his hands and snapped on gloves, tracking Bruce’s movement until he sank into his desk chair.

“You didn’t hit your head, did you?” he called.

“No. Chest plate caught a slug,” Bruce said. “My chest ‘looks like an oil spill,’ according to Damian.”

“He asked if he could draw it,” Steph added. “And he’s right, it does look like an oil spill. Bruce has a scar that looks like a peninsula if you squint from the right angle.”

“Damian was calling it the white cliffs of father,” Tim said, giggling. “It was actually pretty funny, for Damian.”

“Are you mocking my electrical scar again,” Bruce asked.

“We’re appreciating. It’s art now,” Steph replied.

Dev poked gingerly at a spot around the seeping, raw shoulder wound. It was packed with bits of gravel and torn costume.

“Steph, how’s your range of motion?” Dev asked.

“I don’t want to move it but I can. I checked earlier before I peeled the suit off. I didn’t feel any pops.”

“Good,” Dev said. “I’ll run the imager over it to be certain. I’m putting lidocaine jelly on it and letting it sit. Give me the bloody signal if you want something stronger.”

“Local’s good,” Steph said. “I think I can handle it, if it’s you. You’re gentle, unlike some people.”

“I didn’t mean to step on your foot,” Tim sighed.

“Then you shouldn’t have done it,” Steph answered.

Under Dev’s hand, dabbing the numbing jelly on, Steph tensed her shoulder and she hissed.

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” she said quickly.

“You want a minute, then?” Dev asked.

“Maybe yeah,” Steph admitted.

“I bloody fucking hate those bikes,” Dev said, tapping his foot while he waited.

“I’m on your side right now,” Steph said, shivering. “Tim. Go burn my bike before I change my mind. Bruce!”

“Hn?” Bruce asked from the computer.

“I want a car. Like a Batgirlmobile. I’m retiring the bike. Dev was right about them. I’ve decided.”

“And me,” Cass chimed in.

“Done,” Bruce said, to Steph. He looked at Cass. “You. Stop breaking the limiters on the house cars. You know my conditions.”

Cass spit on the ground and Bruce swiveled back to the computer.

“It’s about bloody time,” Dev muttered.

“Do you hate them that much?” Steph asked.

“You’ve no sodding idea,” Dev answered, resisting a shudder. He’d had a motorcycle accident come in a few months past and had nightmares about Dick or Jason for weeks.

“My mom hates them, but I always thought she was just being dramatic,” Steph said. “I’ve never wiped out this hard before though. It went through my armor plating.”

“You got bloody lucky,” Dev said seriously. “If it’d been your head, we’d be burying you this week.”

“Team Narrow Escapes,” Steph said weakly. “Yay. Tim. Timothy. Timmers.”

Tim finally looked up from the tablet he was typing on.

“Hm?”

“Go get another milkshake for me. Please.”

“Yeah,” Tim said, distracted again by the tablet. “Hey. Do you want a spoiler?”

“For…my milkshake?” Steph asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Your car,” Tim said.

“Spoiler for Spoilermobile, hell yes,” Steph said. “Don’t you dare order anything until I get to see it.”

“Mhm,” Tim agreed, wandering off toward the car bay. “B, can I take the Batmobile out to get Steph a milkshake?”

“No,” Bruce said. “Go change and take a house car.”

“Worth a shot,” Tim said, shrugging.

“Is he gone,” Steph asked, after the elevator doors closed. “Please say he’s gone, I’m gonna fucking cry, and it makes him feel like shit.”

“The good drugs,” Dev said, throwing open a cabinet. “I knew that looked sodding deep. Sorry, love, I should have insisted.”

Cass slipped off the parallel bars and went over to the table, and hopped up beside Steph.

“What can I do?” Bruce asked, from right behind Dev. Dev almost flinched and dropped the bag of meds– he could feel the ghost of the movement in his nerves, the way his hands were ready to catch a thing he didn’t even fumble.

“Not bloody that, for starters,” Dev gasped. “Then hang this while I get a line in her. Did you put a saline wash with the debridement kit, already? I’ve not looked at the tray.”

“It’s there,” Bruce said, catching the IV drip bag Dev tossed him.

“Log that, then, on the chart by the cabinet,” Dev said, dragging the stool over to sit in front of Steph. She extended her good arm and he scrubbed with an antiseptic wipe.

“There is no chart by the cabinet,” Bruce announced.

“Bloody hell, I’m not down here for a week, and it’s gone to chaos,” Dev complained. He was gauging Steph’s alertness while he talked, watching for tells when he raised his voice. He flushed the new IV and she shivered again.

“Found it. Drawer,” Bruce said.

“Who sodding put it there?” Dev demanded.

“Looks like Leslie,” Bruce said.

“Oh, then bloody never mind,” Dev waved a hand in dismissal. “Steph, you’re doing alright, yeah? Look at me. Steph, love, look at my face.”

She lifted her gaze with effort. There were tear tracks on her cheeks.

“I’m not going to let you start using,” Dev said. “Do you understand? You need this right now. But the second you stop needing it, you’ll be done. We’ve logged the one bag out, the whole bloody family knows what to watch for, and you are going to be harder on yourself than any of us bloody would be. I’m going to be checking that shoulder every few days for weeks. I’m not going to let you go there. Cass, am I lying?”

“Not lying,” Cass said firmly to Steph. “I’m watching, too. I can beat your ass in a fight if you decide to be dumb brain.”

Steph nodded rapidly, little jerks of her head, and then she tucked her head against her chest.

“Holy shit,” she breathed. “Ohhh, I don’t like this feeling but it’s already working.”

“Fancy a lie down?” Dev asked.

“Things are very spinny and floaty so I’ll say yes,” Steph said. “I think Cass is … is …flagpole for me.”

“Cass is holding you up, yes,” Bruce confirmed, throwing a pillow across the bay to Dev.

Cass had both arms around Steph’s waist, keeping her upright. She helped ease Steph down with her injured shoulder up.

“Skin graft?” Bruce asked, looking at it beside Dev.

“Mm. Dunno. I don’t think so. It’s not deep enough, and it would be hell to get it to take on the joint unless it’s perfectly stable. I think debridement, then Chlorostat, and then Xeroform and a gel pad. See if we’ve any Chlorostat in the cupboard? I might have to grab some from storage.”

“Where would it be?” Bruce asked, searching the cupboard.

Dev closed his eyes to think. “Uh, bloody hell, it’s…um, white bottle, blue horizontal lines, ought to be left side of the third shelf down?”

“No,” Bruce said. “I don’t see any. Only yellow bottles of betadine, and boxes of gauze pads. Storage, you said? The lockers by the server room?”

“No, the ones by the armory,” Dev said. “I think. Want Cass to run for it?”

“Moving is keeping me from getting stiff,” Bruce said.

When he walked away, Dev bent over to be near Steph’s face.

“Hullo, love,” he said, petting her hair. He left his hand tangled in the blonde locks off her forehead. “How’re you?”

Steph started crying.

“Better,” she said, through tears. “It’s nice to have you back down here.”

“I bloody agree,” Dev said. “Cass, love, want to come talk to her while I work?”

While he picked gravel and fabric out of Steph’s shoulder, Cass talked. He tuned out the murmur of Cass’ stream of conversation, which was surprisingly verbose for someone who often spoke in fragments. Bruce came back with an armful of bottles and then stood nearby, adjusting the light as Dev needed.

When her shoulder had been cleaned, washed, bandaged, and scanned, he sent her upstairs with Tim and Cass.

Dev scrubbed down the med bay as exhaustion crept along his limbs. He dropped into a chair near Bruce’s when he was done and leaned back as far as the desk chair allowed.

“You should go sleep,” Bruce said, without pausing as he typed.

“I’m waiting til you come up with me,” Dev said. “And I’ve a question for you.”

“You still can’t pay me back,” Bruce said.

“It isn’t that,” Dev said, and Bruce stopped typing to study him instead of the screen.

“Oh?” Bruce said, after a silence.

“I’ve found out I have to be cleared via psych exam to perform surgery again,” Dev said, pressing the heel of his hand against his forehead like that would dispel some of the irrational irritation. He accidentally pressed on sutures and slowly, deliberately, lowered his hand.

“That isn’t a question,” Bruce said.

“I’m sodding getting there,” Dev said. “You’re the most bloody impatient man for someone so fucking patient.”

“That makes no sense,” Bruce retorted.

“You sat on a stakeout for three days last month,” Dev said. “But I take longer than thirty seconds to think of how to say something…”

“Point taken,” Bruce said. “Go on.”

“I’m not asking you to help me avoid it,” Dev clarified. “I’m not even sure if I get to pick who I bloody see, or if there’s a list, or someone in particular. But I do know I’m going to be bloody nervous about spilling secrets I don’t mean to share, and I’m worried about how that will look if I’m being observed.

“I won’t spill, but letting most people think I’m lying about something embarrassing or innocuous isn’t the same as another doctor thinking that I’m hiding something else entirely.”

Dev drummed his fingers on his knee and exhaled.

“Maybe it’s sodding presumptuous of me, but do you have anyone who’s enough in the know that it won’t be a concern? Someone through the Watchtower maybe? I thought maybe they wouldn’t even have to know you’re you, as long as they know I’ve got secret identities that aren’t mine to share. I need to talk to someone who won’t let that get in the way of actual assessment.”

Bruce’s face had gone from granite to something more like sandstone– the curves a bit smoother and less imposing.

“There are some options,” Bruce said. “I can get you a list.”

“Thank you,” Dev said.

“How is your sister.”

“She threw her husband out. Don’t let her know I’ve said something. He was drinking again.”

Bruce stilled, a kind of predatory stillness.

“He didn’t hurt her,” Dev said. “Bloody trust me, I checked. But she’s having a sodding hard time and I’m about to make it harder.”

“Or easier,” Bruce said. “You might validate concerns or suspicions she’s always had.”

“Eh, I dunno,” Dev said. “Perhaps. I hope it doesn’t make it worse for her. I think she’ll be alright, I just don’t know if I’m a part of that, in the future.”

“You know what Alfred would say,” Bruce said, reaching up and turning the monitor off. He winced when he did.

“Let’s have tea?” Dev asked.

A corner of Bruce’s quirked upward.

“Don’t borrow trouble,” Bruce said. “One day at a time, Dev. Just like everything else.”

“Yeah,” Dev said. “Ready to go up?”

“No, but I can be,” Bruce said. “I’m not doing any more good down here.”

Chapter Text

Kam, if she was being honest, was bloody overwhelmed.

She was also enjoying the break.

Instead of waking at six to get Tyler up and rush him through breakfast to get him to the childminder before she went to work at the shop, while he begged to stay home alone and complained he was almost twelve, Kam slept in.

It was only 8 local time when she woke, but her internal clock thought it was much, much later and it was the latest she’d slept in for years.

She went to check on him and found him in the toilet in his room, knees on the counter, facing the mirror to examine a little scar on collarbone from when he’d not tied his trainers and tripped onto a camp chair after his football match. He was freshly showered, a small miracle, and was all skinny little ribs and spine without his shirt.

“Do you think he’ll believe me if I tell him it was a knife fight?” he asked.

“No,” Kam laughed, running her fingers through his damp hair to shape it. He needed a cut and with her new hours at the shop, they just hadn’t had time.

Tyler frowned at the scar and nodded to himself. “Nah, he’ll believe me, if you keep your fuckin’ mouth shut, mum.”

“You watch your mouth,” Kam said. “There’s soap right here, yeah? You mind yourself ‘round Uncle Kiran’s mates, especially when you meet Mr. Wayne. He’s paid for our trip and he’s going to pay for your schooling– and when we get home, that’s not a thing to brag to your mates about, Ty.”

“Because it’s charity?” he asked, suddenly cautious.

“Nah, it was an agreement we reached. But you don’t want to make your mates jealous, yeah?” Kam pushed a stubborn lock of his hair over.

“Don’t embarrass me, mum, I’m bloody serious,” he said. His brown eyes were clouded by his scrunched up brow, so intense for a young face.

“Don’t embarrass me, I’m serious,” she answered, swatting at his shoulder and pinching his cheek.

“You’re making fun,” he complained.

“No,” Kam said, meeting his eyes in the mirror. “These are powerful people, Ty. They seem nice but I don’t know them, not like your uncle does. You be bloody polite, you ask before touching things, you don’t whinge about being told no or told off. And tell me if you don’t feel safe, yeah?”

“Mum, Jason’s got a gun. I’m safer with him than I’m with you,” he said, rolling his eyes.

“I mean it,” Kam said sharply.

“Yeah, alright,” he said, studying her uncertainly. He lowered his voice. “Why? Are they bad guys?”

“No,” Kam said, though what she thought was, I hope not. She wouldn’t have wondered, not if Kiran was friends with them, not until she’d seen the gun last night. She twisted the fake diamond stud in his ear and he swatted her hand away. “Get dressed, we’ll go down together. Did you take your pill? I’ll get it from the bag, you can’t skip it.”

She found her way to the kitchen without getting lost. Mr. Pennyworth was there with an apron on, and he greeted them with a warm smile and led them to the dining room and made introductions. Bruce Wayne was there with coffee, and a boy named Damian who seemed close to Tyler’s age, and a young woman named Cass.

“Is Kiran up?” she asked Mr. Pennyworth quietly, while Tyler was loading a plate from the buffet board along one wall.

“Ah, I’ve not seen him yet this morning. Master Bruce, do you know if Kiran’s awake?”

“He said he was setting an alarm for nine,” a new boy said from the edge of the room. “I’m supposed to send Tyler and Damian in with water guns if he’s not out by 9:30.”

It took a moment, but Kam remembered his name.

“Tim?” she guessed. “You were at mum’s funeral.”

“Hi,” he said, giving a wave. He was still groggy from sleep and shuffled toward the coffee carafe. “Can I get you a cup or are you like Dev?”

“Please,” she said. She’d been too on edge to think of eating, but the room’s atmosphere was so casual and familial that some of her tension was dissipating.

Tyler was already halfway through a plate, though his head had shot up at the mention of a water gun.

“Are you serious,” Damian asked, the same time Tyler asked, “Really?” with his mouth full of scone.

“Sugar? Cream?” Tim asked Kam.

“Tim,” Bruce said, with a familiar sigh.

She knew that sigh. It was the way she sounded when she knew Tyler was lying to her.

“What?” Tim said. “So, he didn’t specifically request it. It would be good for him. Good bonding.”

“I agree,” Damian said abruptly.

“Me, too,” Tyler chimed in, not willing to be left out.

Tim looked expectantly at Kam.

“Sugar, lots, and cream, please, thanks,” she said.

Bruce was holding a newspaper, dressed in a threadbare pink robe over pajamas. He’d flipped the paper down to look over it, and now he flipped it back up.

“I’m not aware of any plans,” Bruce said. “Officially.”

Kam sat with the coffee Tim handed her. The girl, Cass, was gone. Tim noticed nearly the same moment Kam did and he crossed to the doorway to the hall and shouted down it.

“Cass, you traitor! Spoilsport!” Tim wheeled and addressed Bruce. “You sent her.”

“Hn,” Bruce said from behind his paper. He bent the corner and winked at Kam, who couldn’t help but laugh into her sleeve.

“It would have been good for him,” she dared to say.

“See?” Tim said, gesturing. “Kam agrees.”

“I agree,” Tyler put in, looking from one adult to another.

“You owe your sister an apology,” Bruce said to Tim. “She went to load the water guns before Alfred hid them.”

“It’s 8:58 now,” Damian said, pushing his plate back and standing. “Come, Tyler. We have to strategize.”

“Mum?” Tyler asked, shoving a spoonful of cereal into his mouth. Milk dribbled down his chin and he swiped at it with his shirt sleeve.

“Yeah, go on,” she said, waving him off.

Tyler scrambled to his feet and tore off after Damian into the hall.

“Will he sleep in, do you think?” Kam asked.

“I turned off his alarm,” Tim said, with a crocodilian grin. “And Damian won’t wait til half past. He’ll go in ten minutes early for the element of surprise.”

“Can I get you anything?” Bruce asked, setting his paper aside.

“I was considering a scone,” Kam admitted. “But I can fetch it, it’s just lovely to sit and not be rushing off to work.”

“It’s no trouble,” Bruce said, standing. “Sit and enjoy the break.”

Kam sat, sipping her coffee, mute with surprise. She watched Bruce Wayne, the wealthiest man she’d ever met, stand at the sideboard and make a plate for her. He put clotted cream and jam on the scone, then added fruit and sausage on the side.

Bruce set the plate on the table in front of her, with silverware wrapped in a napkin.

“If there’s anything you don’t like, feel free to leave it. Dev couldn’t remember any allergies you or Tyler had, but if there are any, don’t feel bad saying something. Alfred’s the best person to tell, but you can tell Dev, too, and he’ll make sure Alfred knows.”

“Thanks,” she said, faintly.

“Can I top off your coffee?” he asked.

She nodded and let him take the mug. He filled hers and his own, but didn’t add anything to his, and then he sat back down.

Alfred returned with another tray of scones and stopped to survey the empty seats.

“Master Bruce,” he said, somewhere between reprimanding and distressed. “You didn’t allow it?”

“Officially,” Bruce said, burying his face in his paper. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Unofficially, I had nothing to do with it.”

Alfred tutted and Tim looked unrepentant.

“You told me to be nicer to Damian,” he said.

“Horrid child,” Alfred grumbled good-naturedly. “I suppose he’ll dry.”

“I’ll do the laundry,” Tim offered. “As penance.”

“Yes, you shall,” Alfred said, moving the last of the scones to the sideboard tray with tongs.

“Al,” Bruce said. “Sit and eat.”

Alfred murmured and then obliged, untying the apron strings, saying he was going to hang it in the kitchen and return.

“My father wants everything to be perfect for you,” Bruce said. “If there’s anything you need, just mention it near him, and it’ll happen.”

Kam chewed the flaky scone and sweet jam and made mental readjustments for the map of relationships in the household. She was doing a lot of mental alterations this morning, she found.

“How’s Steph?” Bruce asked.

“Sleeping. Sore,” Tim said. He turned to Kam. “Steph’s my friend. She wrecked her bike last night, so she’s sleeping upstairs.”

“Oh, god, is she alright?” Kam asked. The house was huge– she hadn’t even heard a sound last night, not of anyone coming in or going out.

“She tore up her shoulder but nothing’s broken,” Tim said. “She’ll probably be down later. She wanted to meet you.”

Alfred returned and joined them, sitting beside Bruce with a cup of tea and his food.

“Where’s the new kid?” Jason asked from the edge of the room. He drifted to the sideboard and plucked a scone off the tray. “B. I’m taking the Bugatti this morning. That is, if Mrs. Curtis is okay if I give Tyler a ride.”

“Please, please just call me Kam,” Kam said. “Is that a car?”

“A very fast car,” Jason said. “In which we would be going the speed limit.”

“Why are you trying so hard to win over Tyler?” Tim complained.

“First, I’m not trying, I already have. Second, I’m a great role model. Third, it’s my turn to get a buddy. Dick has Damian, you have Conner.”

“How does Conner count?” Tim protested.

“He’s like, eight, Tim.”

“He’s nineteen,” Tim shot back. “Adjusted.”

“Jason is a very safe driver,” Bruce put in, interrupting his boys. “But he won’t be taking your son anywhere unless you’re actually comfortable with it. Right, Jay?”

“Of fricking course,” Jason said. “I’m asking, aren’t I? I even made sure the kid wasn’t in here, if you want to say no. No hard feelings.”

“Ty would love that,” Kam said. “Tell me if he’s rude, yeah? I’ll have him apologize.”

“No worries,” Jason said. “He’s not gonna scandalize me, I promise. You should have heard how I talked to Bruce when I met him.”

“Is that permission,” Bruce asked, without the inflection of a question.

Jason shrugged. “Sure.”

“I met Jason,” Bruce said, looking at Kam, “Because, at twelve years old, he was boosting the tires off my parked car. When I caught him, he hit me with a tire iron, and ran off.”

“‘Try and catch me, you big boob,’” Jason muttered, looking pleased.

“You’re editing,” Bruce said. “What you actually yelled was, ‘Try and fucking catch me, you pussy bitch.’”

Tim choked on his coffee.

“I’ve only heard the edited version,” Tim said, grabbing a napkin. When he wiped himself off, he added, “Yeah, I met Bruce once, and then broke into his basement and stalked him for a day.”

“You were also twelve,” Alfred added.

“I assure you, Tyler will not shock me or my children, and we won’t see it as a reflection on your parenting,” Bruce said. “He’s a child with a will of his own. We understand that.”

Kam swallowed hard and nodded, thinking without meaning to of when Leo’s mum had rung her in the spring and told her Tyler wasn’t to come over anymore. She said he’d become a bad influence on Leo, and she was sorry because she knew Tyler was having a hard time without his da about, but she had to think of Leo and didn’t Kam understand that? The call had ended and Kam had hid in the toilet at the shop to cry on her break, her cheeks flushed with shame, because she was a bad mum.

Jason had sat next to her with a second scone and he leaned over to whisper, “I just want you to know, I’m not carrying today. We locked up everything but the lightsabers and nerf guns.”

“Thanks,” Kam said, pretending she was very invested in spearing bits of strawberry on her fork.

Alfred asked Jason about his afternoon plans and Kam listened as they plotted out parts of their day. Her son was included in so much of it– she’d been worried he’d be bored or overlooked, worried about how to manage him if Kiran needed to talk alone. She hadn’t wanted to presume any of them would keep an eye on Tyler, but it seemed they’d anticipated doing just that.

“Did Tyler bring swim trunks?” Bruce asked, folding her into the conversation she was staying at the edge of. “If he didn’t, Tim can run to the store.”

“He did,” Kam said, nodding quickly. “And he can swim, like a bloody fish. He’d love the pool. You’ll all spoil him– I won’t be able to drag him home.”

“You’re welcome to stay as long as you like,” Bruce said.

Kam was about to plead off, to explain she couldn’t actually stay long– she had work and bills to pay, a house to look after. She was interrupted.

There was a roar from far down the hall, faint but distinct. Another bellow followed it, nearer this time.

Kam heard Tyler’s squeal of laughter before she saw him– Damian went by the doorway first, sprinting down the hall with a water gun. Tyler was on his heels, with his own water gun. The single second she could see his face, it was lit up with joyful terror.

“Timothy fucking Wayne!” Kiran yelled, rapid footsteps bookending his voice.

“That’s my cue,” Tim said, rising quickly. He made it out of the doorway just before Kiran skidded into view, barefoot, in shorts and a tee, soaked and dripping onto the hall runner.

“Cass-love!” he shouted behind him. “Do that nerve block! Hullo, Kam, I’ll be back in a bloody moment.”

“Cass, no!” Tim shrieked. There was a thud, a muffled yell, a groan.

Kiran stalked down the hall and Kam made out a grunt. When Kiran stomped by again, he had Tim thrown over his shoulder, limp as a sack of potatoes.

“What will he do?” Kam asked, looking to Bruce.

Bruce had the most pleased little smirk turning the corners of his mouth.

“Oh, probably throw him in the pool,” he said. “It’s overdue.”

“Children,” Alfred said, sipping his tea.

“You told Tim to make Tyler feel like family,” Bruce said. “Don’t play innocent.”

Alfred hid his own small smile behind the tea and then spread butter over toast.

“I’ve no idea to what you’re referring,” Alfred said archly.

Tyler and Damian ran back down the hall after Kiran with the water guns– Tyler whooped like a banshee. Far off, there was the slam of a door.

Kam finished her scone and drew her legs up on the chair, to sit and nurse her coffee.

After a few minutes, Kiran returned, Tyler clinging to his back like a koala. Tyler was grinning like a fool.

Kiran shrugged Tyler off to the floor, and then dropped into a chair, his clothes and hair still damp but no longer dripping.

“Hullo, again,” Kiran said to Kam.

“Can I go swim, mum?” Tyler said. “Damian is in and that girl said she’ll watch us.”

“You did fish Tim out?” Bruce confirmed.

“No, I left him,” Kiran said. “Of course I bloody did, who do you think I sodding am? Cass got him before he’d been under two seconds.”

“Yeah, babe, you can swim,” Kam said.

Tyler cast a glance at Jason.

“I’m coming too,” Jason said. “I can throw you even further than Dev can throw Timmy. Wanna go for a ride in a Bugatti later?”

Tyler’s eyes widened almost comically and he glanced at Kam.

“I already said yes,” Kam said. “Behave yourself, yeah?”

Tyler grabbed Jason’s arm and dragged him out of the room, talking a mile a minute about cars and footballers.

“Sorry,” Kam said sheepishly, while Kiran scrubbed at his hair.

“No, you’re not,” Kiran said, without real ire. “None of you are. I ought to have known Timothy was plotting.”

“Tea, Kiran?” Alfred asked.

“Yeah,” Kiran said, tapping at the edge of a bandage on his hand. “I’ll be right back. I’m going to bloody change this. Kam, after I get a cuppa, can we talk?”

“Yeah,” she said, some of her unease returning.

“You won’t be disturbed in the library,” Alfred said. “I’ll see to it.”

“Right, thanks,” Kiran said, standing.

Bruce tossed the paper on the table.

“I’ll come help,” he said, following Kiran out of the room.

Kam was left alone with Alfred, wondering why Kiran could chase boys with water guns in the states but not ever visit to play with Tyler.

“Is it always like this, or is it a show for me?” she asked.

“Oh, I daresay they’ve toned it down for you,” Alfred said. “If you weren’t here, Kiran would have been in the pool as well.”

Chapter Text

The library was massive. Kam was sure there were more books on the towering shelves than there were in the neighborhood library she used to take Tyler to, when he was small.

It didn’t distract her from her anger, the pain and rage that had been building since he’d left the dining room.

Kiran led her to plush chairs on a thick rug on one side of the room and sank into one, a mug of tea in his hands.

Her hurt was still sharp. She remembered when she was small and he’d played with her– he’d been her hero, then, capable of anything. Lee had teased her; Rani fought with her. But Kiran had been an endless well of what she now knew was patience. She tried to imagine Tyler giving that attention to a younger child. Kiran had painted and colored with her, sneaked her sweets, read books.

And then he’d been gone and he never came back.

The old sting of his absence burned fiercer than it had for a long time.

He didn’t speak and she grew tired of the silence.

“Come on, then,” she said. “What’s not illness, but so important your mate will fly me and my son to another country to talk?”

“Do you remember my accident?” Kiran asked, rubbing two fingers over the old scar. There was a plaster near it, a few centimeters down and over.

“Yeah,” Kam said, bracing herself for explanations that didn’t satisfy.

Then, he set the tea mug down, and she noticed his hands were trembling.

“It was da,” he said.

He wouldn’t look at her.

“What?” she hissed. “Make sense, Kiran. What does that mean?”

Then, his eyes met hers.

“What?” she said again, cringing back from him. Her own voice sounded small and wary to her own ears.

“I came home drunk, mouthed off to da, and he slammed my head against the sink. It wasn’t the first time he’d hurt me, but it was the closest he’d gotten to killing me.”

Kiran said it like it was a lesson he’d learned to recite, none of the tremble in his hands making it to the words.

But he held himself like he was worried someone would hit him, hunched and defensive.

“Why would da do that?” she snapped. “You hit your sodding head. Doesn’t that muck up memories?”

Kiran looked now like someone had hit him.

“You left,” she said. “Da’s stayed. I’ve lost mum, and you and Leena aren’t about, and maybe da is old and crotchety but he’s there, yeah? I won’t sit here and listen to you make up things about him so you can feel better.”

“That’s not–” Kiran started.

Kam was just getting started.

“And you can play around with your new family, but not your own nephew?” Kam asked. “Where was that part of you when Ty was small? Why aren’t you home, being there for him now when he needs an uncle?”

“I’m sorry,” Kiran said, his arms crossed. “I’ve not been a good uncle, or brother, I know that. I’m trying to tell you why, Kam, why I’ve not been home.”

“Why wouldn’t mum say anything?” Kam asked, grasping for something that made sense.

“She let it happen,” Kiran said. “She always knew.”

“Bloody hell, you’ve gone off,” Kam muttered, standing. “No, don’t follow me. I’m not going to sit here and listen to this.”

She left the library and turned down a hall, hoping if she walked far enough she’d find a door to the outside.

There was a glimpse of green lawn outside glass panes set in a door and she hurried towards it, pushed it open.

It opened on a patio with a low hedge of bushes. Somewhere around the house, echoing over the roof, were the sounds of people at the pool. She caught Tyler’s voice among them, and a splash.

She stepped out onto the grass in her bare feet and started walking. She didn’t know where she was going, only that she wanted away from her brother and her life for a bit.

There was a path cut through a trimmed wood and it went by a gazebo. She spared her feet the twigs and mulch of the path further on and stepped up into the shade of the gazebo.

Kam sat for a while on the bench, trying not to think about Kiran and how he’d looked when she stormed out. She tried not to think about his words and a dozen other things pricking at her conscience.

Several things she thought she hadn’t understood, hadn’t wanted to understand, were taking the shape of jigsaw pieces that belonged to the same puzzle. They weren’t together yet, not a clear picture, but they were rapidly sorting themselves, and she didn’t like it.

The way Leena grew small around their da, flinching when he yelled at anyone.

The way she and Kenji always got a hotel instead of staying with their mum and da, even though the house had space.

The fact that Leena had been so bloody serious about not sharing Kiran’s info with their da, that when mum had been sick she’d sent Kiran home and told Kam she’d done so.

In all the years Tyler had been alive, Kam’s mum had never once kept him overnight– there was always an excuse. She’d always gone along for rides to football and cricket matches even if she’d not gone in to the games, and Kam had chalked it up to not wanting to be at the house alone even though she knew her mum liked having the house to herself.

Kam felt cracked in half from missing her, wanting to talk to her, to ask. She wanted the sharp-tongued kindness of her mum to assure her it was Kiran being wrong, that his accident had fucked up his head and his memories more than Kam had ever realized.

But mum was gone and da had hit Kam on the day they buried her– after years of hardly looking at her, rarely speaking to her. Kam had always been the unwanted one, and she knew it. She was a poor substitute for the children he loved who had left him behind, never measuring up to Lee’s spirit or Kiran’s steadiness. He was cranky and picky and short with their mum, but he was getting old. That’s just how he was.

He doted on Tyler, praising him for being such a boy. Tyler had made explosion noises before he could say half a dozen words, he tumbled as a tot and ignored scraped knees and the blood trickling down his shins. He identified footballers before most of the alphabet and got into fights at school instead of learning to write his name.

All the worries Kam had for him that she talked over with her mum, that she tried to talk over with Peter, they were things her da loved about Tyler. He spoiled him with football kits and toys and bikes and trainers.

Kam dragged Tyler to the pediatrician and met with his teachers about his ADHD and kept a diary of side effects until they found a medication that didn’t leave him sleeping all the day or without an appetite or mean as a snake.

And she was proud of him, proud and more than a little jealous, of the way her da loved Tyler when he could never be interested in Kam. Tyler was a part of her and she’d done something right.

“He’s missing his son,” Kam’s mum had said once, when Kam dared to complain. “He ought to know whose fault that is.”

There was a thunderclap of understanding in her head and she slapped a hand over her mouth.

Kam hadn’t ever complained about her da’s attention again, not as an adult– all this time she’d thought her mum meant her da was falsely blaming her for Kiran’s absence, for his disrespect, his selfish inattention.

But maybe her mum had known what Kiran was trying to tell her: that it was their da’s fault, not Kiran’s.

Her mum had known.

Her mum had known and had almost told her, at the end when she wasn’t really herself, so high on pain medication that she didn’t make sense half the time.

One of the last coherent things she’d said to Kam was, ‘Tyler’s a good lad. I’m glad you had only him. You won’t have to give him up for the others.’ Her illness-thinned hand had been cold on Kam’s cheek.

And Kam, Kam had been stupid, because even with Kiran never home and Leena telling her not to share Kiran’s info and her mum never asking him to visit, Kam had heard those words and thought her mum was confused and sick and somehow talking about Rani.

But maybe even now she was wrong. She had to be wrong. She was just looking at everything with paranoia and suspicion, like after she’d kicked Peter out and Tyler had come down with a stomach bug the week after and when he’d sat down listless and dazed at the table she’d thought, Oh, god, he’s taking after his da already, like her child was drunk at 7 am. It had been fever, only fever. She was seeing the worst only because it frightened her so much.

If mum couldn’t set things straight, she could call Leena, at least. Lee was a poor replacement for mum but she was something, and she’d grown up with Kiran.

Then, maybe, she could figure out if he needed help or if it was some old problem they never talked about. She could leave him to his delusions and take Tyler home.

She scrolled the contacts on her mobile until she got to Lee, and pressed the call button.

“Hullo, did you make it safely?” Leena asked, sounding like she was half-asleep.

“How long’s Kiran been lying about da? Since the accident? Is that why they kicked him out?”

There was a long, heavy silence.

“Lee?” Kam said, desperate and cold. “How bloody long?”

“He’s not lying,” Leena said, subdued. “They didn’t throw him out. He left.”

“Oh, so you’ve believed him,” Kam said with a sarcastic laugh, her fear climbing. He’d convinced Lee, then. She stood to pace in circles around the gazebo. “Bloody brilliant.”

“I saw it,” Leena said. “I was in the hall. I watched it happen, Kam. And then Rani and I rang 999 when da left him there on the floor. I should have told you a long time ago.”

“What,” Kam said. “Are you fucking having me on, Lee? If that were true, why would no one ever tell me until now?”

“I’m so sorry, Kam,” Leena said softly. “I don’t know. We didn’t talk about it.”

“Oh, so Kiran gets himself into another coma and now we’re talking about it?” Kam snapped.

“‘Gets himself?’” Leena echoed. Her disgust was plain. “You sound like da. I’m hanging up, Kam. But maybe fucking listen to our brother– he’s worried for Tyler, now that mum’s gone, and he’s probably right to be.”

“Wait! Wait,” Kam said. She stopped pacing. She lowered herself slowly to the gazebo bench. She looked at the screen to see if the call timer was still counting.

“Well?” Leena said. “I’m waiting, then.”

“What else,” Kam asked, feeling as hollow as a gutted animal. “What else did he do?”

“What do you want me to say?” Leena asked. Kam could feel her annoyance through the mobile. “Give you a bloody list? It doesn’t work like that. It’s just how he was all the time. I don’t know why. We all knew. Mum would just take us to another room if he was on Kiran about something.”

“Why didn’t you say something? Why wait all this time to tell me?” Kam nearly wailed. The consolation she’d wanted, dared to hope for, wasn’t there, and she felt the truth in her bones. She didn’t want to see it, or know it, and wished she’d never agreed to come, but the pieces were resolving into a clear picture and she couldn’t look away. Not when she had Tyler to think about.

“I don’t know,” Leena said, defeat weighing down the words. “I don’t bloody know why, except that we’ve never known how to talk about it. Kiran’s trying now, and I don’t know if I’m ready.”

“What do I do?” Kam demanded.

“I don’t know,” Leena said.

“Fuck you,” Kam said. “You’re always telling me what to do, except now, when I’m bloody fucking asking?”

“I don’t know,” Leena repeated. “Talk to Kiran. He’s the one trying to talk to you about it.”

“I don’t have anyone else,” Kam said, a hand to her chest like she could hold the pieces of herself together. It hurt almost as much as when she’d made Peter leave, maybe more– she didn’t have righteous fury buoying her up. “Da’s all I’ve got, he’s nearly all Tyler’s got now. It’s all well and good to tell me the truth except he only ignored me and who else do I have?”

“You’ve Peter,” Leena said, like she was trying to be encouraging.

“No,” Kam said sharply. “Peter was drinking too much again and I threw him out nearly half a year ago. And you didn’t know and Kiran didn’t know because you’re never there when I need someone. Mum was and now she’s gone.”

“Kam, I’m sorry,” Leena said. “Why didn’t you tell me? Do you need me? I’ll come stay, I can help.”

“I don’t…” Kam sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. She’d known Leena would offer and she didn’t know what to do with that, if she wanted the help more than she hated the bossing around.

“I’ll talk to Kenji, we can–”

“No,” Kam said quickly. “No, don’t. I don’t want to talk about it right now, okay? Please, Lee, let’s just…not right now.”

“Don’t be daft,” Leena said. “It’s not a problem, Kam, if you need me, I’ll come.”

“I said I don’t want to talk about it,” Kam snapped. “Don’t book a flight, don’t show up, don’t change your plans. Just wait, Lee, fuck’s sake.”

“Okay,” Leena said, pacifying, after a silence. “Okay. I’m sorry. Talk to Kiran, though, and believe him? This isn’t easy for him.”

“It’s not easy for me!” Kam said, voice rising.

“Yeah, but da only ignored you, and he nearly killed Kiran. It’s not the same,” Leena shot back with ferocious heat.

There was a long, empty pause.

“That was…that was too much,” Leena said finally. “I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that.”

“I’ll talk to you later,” Kam said, still trying to remember how to breathe without a hitch in her ribs.

“Love you,” Leena offered, like it was a question, almost.

“Yeah, love you,” Kam said without feeling. She ended the call.

She sat in the gazebo, arms wrapped around herself, thinking about the things Tyler would need for school and if they ought to move and wondering who she could ask to give him rides if she was working.

It was easier to think about those things.

Easier than accepting that she’d been blind, and stupid, and had fought with Kiran about apologizing to their da for defending her.

She sat for a long time, until the sounds of splashing and shouting in the pool across the lawn stopped.

She almost dozed off on the bench, but she shook herself awake and stood, and went back toward the house.

Kam retraced her steps to the library and found it empty. She went back out and walked around the house toward the pool, hoping those doors would lead somewhere easier to navigate from.

The Wayne kids were out again, getting ready to get back in. Tyler was sitting on Jason’s shoulders, facing a girl with her arm in a sling, who was sitting in one of the lounge chairs.

“Say it again,” Jason prompted, jiggling Tyler on his shoulders.

“Bloody hell!” Tyler crowed and most of them laughed.

“He’s a tiny Dev!” the girl said, delighted. “Did Alfred hear it?”

“Mum, mum!” Tyler called, spotting her. “Jason took me driving and it was so bloody fast, you ought to’ve seen us. Will you swim?”

“Maybe in a bit,” Kam said, forcing a smile. “I’ve got to find your uncle. I’m not done chatting with him.”

“Look, first, mum,” Tyler said. “Watch this, watch how high I go!”

Jason moved obligingly in the direction Tyler leaned, and then held his ankles while Tyler climbed to his feet on Jason’s shoulders, wavering in the air for a second.

“Watching?” Tyler yelled.

“I’ve not stopped looking at you,” she said.

“Let go!” Tyler said, and he launched himself from Jason’s shoulders to do a cannonball into the pool. There was a terrific splash and he came up shaking water out of his face. “Did you see me? Did you fucking see that?”

“I saw,” Kam said, and her smile wasn’t as difficult to summon. “Be good, yeah?”

Tyler’s attention had already moved on.

“I’m Stephanie,” the girl said. She didn’t get up. There was something like sympathy in her eyes, but then she shifted and her face looked hard. Maybe it had been the light. “The last time I saw Dev he was in Alfred’s office. I’d check the kitchen or the study.”

“Thanks,” Kam said. “How do I get there from here?”

“I’ll show you,” Stephanie said, pushing herself to her feet. “Come on.”

She didn’t speak while she led Kam through the house.

“There he is,” Stephanie said, pointing to a doorway. She raised her voice. “Tim! Come help me!”

Tim came out of the room, glanced once at Kam, and then called over his shoulder, “Dev, I’ll be back after I help Steph with this thing.”

They left her there, at the edge of the room.

She went in before she could talk herself out of it. She wanted to go fish Tyler out of the pool and call a cab and leave without another word, but she wouldn’t let herself.

He was sitting in an armchair, staring at nothing. She studied him, the scars on his bare forearms that she could see, the fresh plasters on his hand and head, small scars on his shins. She didn’t know what was old and what was new.

“Hullo,” she said. “Can we finish our chat?”

He looked up at her. There was something old and wounded there in his gaze that frightened her.

“It’s true, isn’t it?” she said.

“I’m so sorry, Kam,” he said, standing. “I ought to have said something years ago. I’m so, so sorry I left you there.”

To her horror, his voice broke, and the anger she was trying to hold on to fled.

She was six years old again, staring up at her big brother, scared by the fact that he was crying in the hall.

Back then, when they were young, he’d dried his face quickly, told her he had a headache.

She’d always known he was lying but had never wondered why.

“Please don’t cry,” she pleaded. “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you bloody sorry?” he asked, choking on the words.

“I don’t know,” she said, swallowing her own tears. “Because I didn’t believe you. Because I gave you bloody hell for not apologizing to him after mum’s funeral.”

“I wanted to kill him,” Kiran said, covering his eyes. “I might have, if Tim hadn’t been there. You swear he left you alone growing up?”

“Alone? I was bloody jealous of you and Lee and Rani.”

“Jealous?” he echoed, in disbelief, looking at her.

“Yes,” she said. “I thought he didn’t even want me. I don’t think he did. You went off and he ignored me and he was always in such a foul mood, I thought it was because you’d all left and didn’t take time to ring. And you never came home to see me– what was I supposed to think?”

She sucked in a breath, determined to not cry. Not now. It was a battle she was losing.

Kiran crossed the room and tucked her into a hug– he was so tall, his arms so long, she still felt little. She let him hold her.

“I’m so sorry, Kam,” he murmured into her hair. She could feel him shaking. “It wasn’t you. It wasn’t ever you. I ought to have made sure you knew.”

After a few minutes she stepped back and dried her face.

“Why don’t you tell me,” Kam said. “Tell me what it was actually like. I think I ought to know. I’ll have to ask Tyler about how he is when I’m not there and I should know what to look for.”

Chapter Text

Somehow, Dev made it through dinner. He was drained and lighter at the same time– exhausted by talking, but there was a weight off his shoulders knowing Kam believed him.

Her belief didn’t change the fact that he felt flayed open, like he’d made messy sawing cuts down his own chest cavity and folded the muscle and bone back. If it hadn’t been Kam, he didn’t think he could have done it. It had been as painful as when he’d first talked to Alfred about those parts of his childhood, but without the safety of a neutral party.

He held a lot back. He didn’t let himself hold as much back as he wanted. Kam’s horror, her sympathy, and her anger were all salt in the wounds he was reopening. He had to bite his tongue more than once to keep from lashing out at her for asking questions, when he’d invited her to do just that.

Afterward, he was a husk of a person– bloodless, numb, and grateful for it. It was easier that way.

When she’d first stormed out, he’d managed to get to Alfred’s office without planning to go there. He’d shut the door and Alfred had found him not long after, barely breathing from the panic.

When he and Kam had finished talking, Dev’s feet had carried him to Alfred again. Alfred had poured him a finger of whiskey and then let Dev rest his aching forehead on Alfred’s shoulder, like he needed someone else’s spine to hold him upright.

And then he’d tried not to hide for the rest of the evening.

Tyler fell asleep on a couch playing MarioKart with Tim and Jason. Dev offered to carry him, but Kam, who was nearly asleep herself, insisted on waking him so he could brush his teeth.

“Lemme alone, y’fucking twat,” Tyler mumbled when she shook him awake.

“Up,” Kam said. “You can walk your own little arse to bed for that. Come on, then.”

Dev checked Stephanie’s shoulder and covered it again, then went to bed himself.

He had nightmares, one after the other, until a vicious one woke him up at three in the morning. He threw up until he was spitting bile.

Then, buzzing with nervous energy, he cleaned the bathroom and his room. When he was done, the bathroom tiles smelled like lemon cleaner and the sheets on his bed were folded to crisp corners.

By four, he was sitting in the den with the telly on, watching surgery videos of new technique and equipment demos.

Cass came in and sat beside him, let her head drop on his shoulder, and she moaned.

“Cass, love?” he asked, his hand automatically lifting to check behind her ear. It felt warm. “Where’re you hurt?”

“Dumb,” Cass mumbled against his sleeve. “Forgot water.”

“For how long?” Dev asked.

“All day,” Cass said.

She’d been out by the pool. He swore under his breath and shifted her away to lean on a cushion.

“Don’t sodding vanish on me,” Dev warned.

He came back with a pitcher of water, a water bottle, and a sports drink.

“First, this one,” Dev said, uncapping the sports drink. He sat beside her and put it in her hand. “Twenty minutes. And then a water bottle every thirty until you’ve had at least three. Can you keep it down?”

Cass nodded and downed half the orange solution.

She sat beside him, leaning on him, until Bruce came into the room a little after five.

“Dehydrated,” Dev said, to Bruce’s raised eyebrow.

“Hn,” he said, sitting down.

Cass slid off the couch and curled up against Bruce on the loveseat. A few minutes later, she was asleep, snoring softly.

“Should I wake her?” Bruce asked.

“Nah, she’s gotten fifty ounces into her since she came to me,” Dev said, his eyes on the telly. “She’ll be alright for a bit, then.”

“Did she wake you?” Bruce asked. His arm was around Cass, holding her close.

“I was awake already,” Dev said. “Couldn’t bloody sleep.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Bruce offered. Cass was now burrowed into his side, mouth slack.

“Dunno,” Dev said. “You know, I’d nearly forgotten I’d been poisoned. I was ready for dreams about my da. Then I didn’t bloody even have any.”

“Getting better isn’t linear,” Bruce said.

“No, it sodding isn’t,” Dev agreed.

“I have an offer to make to your sister today,” Bruce said. “I’d like you to be there.”

“Yeah?” Dev said. “What kind of offer?”

“An offer of help,” Bruce said vaguely.

There was a rustle behind Dev and he turned to see who was there, coming into the room. It was Tyler, wrapped in a blanket.

“Can’t sleep?” Dev asked. Tyler’s face was half-buried in the blanket, but there was a haunted look in his eyes. Dev guessed nightmare.

“My mum ain’t in her room,” Tyler said.

“She’s with Alfred,” Bruce said. “Having some tea.”

Dev thought that was probably code for a much-needed discussion of some kind, so he patted the couch beside him.

“Will I do for a bit, or do you want me to find her with you?”

Tyler regarded him for a moment and then adjusted the blanket slipping down his shoulders. He glanced at the telly, which had a surgery paused.

“Is that real blood?” he asked.

“It’s a surgery,” Dev said.

“That’s fuckin’ awesome,” Tyler breathed. “Can I watch?”

Dev almost said no, but then he remembered Kam telling Jason that some reality might do Tyler good. He hoped it wasn’t a bad call.

“C’mon, then,” Dev said, pressing play on the remote.

Tyler hopped onto the couch beside him, curled up inside the blanket, his eyes locked on the screen.

“That’s a bone drill,” Dev said. “They’re going to take off part of the skull. It’s called a craniotomy. This video’s showing off a new temperature regulation system for the drill.”

“Have you done this before?” Tyler asked, leaning forward to see.

“Lots of times,” Dev said.

“Do people die?” Tyler asked, scooting closer to Dev while he watched.

“Sometimes,” Dev said. “I try not to let that happen, but it’s not always up to me.”

“My mate Luca,” Tyler started, looking again from the screen, “His brother Noah plays rugby and mum won’t let me ‘cause she says it’s too bloody dangerous and I don’t need help breaking things, but Noah, he got a concussion this year and he told us that if he’d been hit any harder his brain would have swelled up so bad it would’ve pushed out his eyeballs. Have you ever seen that?”

“All the way out?” Dev asked, to confirm.

“He said they’d pop out like bloody Christmas crackers,” Tyler said.

Dev laughed, then bumped his shoulder against Tyler’s.

“I’m not making fun,” Dev promised. “It’s a good question. It’d make sense, yeah, with the eyes so close to the brain? But usually eyes only pop out with a lot of sudden force. I’ve seen eyes sort of bulge sometimes, a bit like this–”

He widened his eyes as much as he could and Tyler giggled and hid his face.

“Fuckin’ stop it, that’s creepy,” he said.

“– but that’s got different causes. I usually see it if it’s a tumor,” Dev said. “Popped out eyes are usually blunt trauma.”

“You’ve seen that?” Tyler asked, voice rising. “Were they squishy? Did you touch them? Augh, I bet they were vile.”

“Nearly everything up here except your skull’s squishy,” Dev said, tapping Tyler’s head. “Usually if someone’s hit that hard, I’m working on keeping them alive. An ophthalmologist handles the eye itself.”

Tyler shuddered.

“Disgusting,” he said, scrunching up his nose. He threw off the blanket and sprawled sideways on the couch. “When will Jason be up? Are we going to swim again today?”

“Wayne,” Dev said.

“Hn?” Bruce said, half asleep.

“Where’s a football?”

“Closet in pool house,” Bruce said, rousing just enough to answer.

“Brilliant, thanks,” Dev said. He glanced over at Tyler. “Shall we?”

Tyler was on his feet in a second. “Let me get my trainers,” he said, darting out of the room.

It turned out Tyler could run circles around him, literally. Dev hadn’t put any serious time into football skills since he was about Tyler’s age and casual matches with doctor friends in England a decade ago hadn’t done much to maintain anything.

Dev convinced him to kick the ball back and forth with breaks for showing off after a brief attempt at a one-on-one match was clearly starting to bore Tyler.

Tyler kicked the football to him.

“Jason says you saved his life,” Tyler ventured, when Dev kicked the football back. Tyler stopped it and kept a foot on the ball. “He said you have scars from keeping him alive when you were kidnapped together.”

Dev wondered if Jason had run that by Kam. He doubted it.

“Can I see? Are they nasty?” Tyler asked.

Dev ran a hand through his hair, considering the wisdom of complying or the insult of refusing. He shrugged.

“Bloody hell, why not,” he muttered, and then walked across the lawn and held up his wrists for inspection. Tyler abandoned the ball to get closer.

“Here,” Dev said, running a finger along the line. “This is a burn scar, you can tell by the texture. The burn was to stop bleeding where they’d been cut.”

“Whoa,” Tyler breathed out, peering at the scars. He reached out and touched one scar, and Dev only just kept himself from flinching away in surprise at the contact. Tyler’s gaze flicked up to Dev’s face. “Did it hurt?”

“Like bloody hell,” Dev said. “But Jason needed help and I needed my hands to work.”

“Is this from that?” Tyler asked, pointing at the gauze bandage on the back of Dev’s hand. “Mum said you had an accident. Was she lying?”

“Nah,” Dev said, relieved at the out. “Spilled tea.”

“And that one?” Tyler asked, tipping his chin up and pointing to Dev’s forehead.

“Hit my head,” Dev said, hoping the vague answer was enough to satisfy Tyler.

“No bloody offense, Uncle Kiran, but I think you’re as rot at doing most things as you are at football,” Tyler said.

Dev laughed. “That’s probably bloody true,” he said. “Surgery’s about it, for me, as far as things I’m good at.”

Tyler hadn’t gone back for the football yet. He was digging the toe of his trainer into the grass, suddenly shy or acting it.

“Did it hurt when you hit granddad?” he asked, sneaking a look to gauge Dev’s reaction.

Dev stared at him and then looked away toward the house, like someone might interrupt and spare him deciding how much to say.

“Mum said she thought you broke your hand,” Tyler said, persistent now. “Did you?”

“No,” Dev said. “I didn’t break it.”

“Mum says we shouldn’t hit people but I think it was only fair because he hit her first. I was glad you hit him,” Tyler said. He swept a leg toward the football and kept the ball moving in little jerking motions with quick footwork.

“I shouldn’t have,” Dev said automatically, because Tyler was a child, and it was easier than saying ‘I feel a different way about it every time I remember.’

“Well, yeah,” Tyler said, popping the ball into the air. He bounced it from one knee to the other and then let it fall and roll away. He lowered his voice. “Before she died, naani said he’s a bully. She told me not to be alone with him when she was gone. And I think bullies need to be knocked on their arses sometimes.”

Dev breathed through his teeth, silent and still. Tyler’s head was bent over the grass, and he squatted to pick a blade of it and roll it between his fingers.

“I ain’t told mum what she said,” he said, his face pressed against his upper arm, while he squatted with his arms crossed on his knees. He flicked the blade of grass out of his hand and it drifted to the ground. “I don’t know why.”

“Did he…uh, did he…did he ever…bully you?” Dev asked, squatting beside him.

“That time he told me to stop crying, I guess,” Tyler said with a shrug. “Not really. Mum has this rule that I’m allowed to scream like I’m being bloody murdered if someone’s nasty to me, after the childminder ignored Emma picking on me when we were in grade 1. I never had to do that with granddad, but naani always took me away to do something else if he was in a mood.”

Dev could have wept from relief. He knew, he knew from experience that there were things he hadn’t known were wrong about his life if he’d been asked at eleven– but he knew what fear looked like, and at eleven he wouldn’t have had to ask if an injury that scarred hurt. He let his own face fall into his crossed arms and took a breath in through his nose, then lifted his head.

He had his first actually charitable thought about his mum in a long time, followed immediately by intense jealousy. She’d maybe been able to do for Tyler what she’d never done for him.

It took a minute to bury that enough that it wouldn’t show up in his voice.

“Did he bully you, then?” Tyler asked when the silence went on.

“Yeah,” Dev said.

“Fucking bastard,” Tyler mumbled, his little shoulders hunched. “Naani was right.”

Dev risked putting a hand out to gently squeeze the back of Tyler’s neck.

“It’s alright, yeah? I’ve not had to see him much in a long time. It was all well before you were born.”

“I think all das are bastards,” Tyler said, pressing his face harder into his arm. He sniffled and Dev froze.

“Yeah?” Dev asked, trying to stay neutral and wishing Kam were there. She’d know how to handle her own son crying. Dev wasn’t sure he did.

“Mine is,” Tyler spat out, tears evident in the waver in his voice, even if Dev couldn’t see them. “He’s a fuckin’ drunk. Mum threw him out and said he could come on the weekends and he’s only come to see me once. She says it’s not me, it’s that he’s ashamed and he don’t deserve me. I don’t even want to see him anymore.”

‘Ah,’ Dev thought, distantly, ‘So that’s what he sounds like when he’s lying.’

“You’re sodding right,” Dev said. “He’s a fucking idiot.”

“He ain’t one,” Tyler mumbled. “I just don’t like him right now.”

“No, he is,” Dev said. “He’s a bloody idiot if he won’t come see you. I know because I’ve been a bloody idiot for not coming to see you, yeah?”

Tyler didn’t say anything to that.

“You’re a brilliant lad, Tyler,” Dev said. “You deserve better. Your mum’s right.”

Tyler drew an arm across his cheeks and sighed.

“I’m hungry,” he said. “What’s a lad gotta do to get some fucking breakfast around here.”

Dev managed not to laugh– half the time Tyler spoke, he was finding, it sounded like he was trying on things older people said.

“Come on,” Dev said, standing and holding out a hand to Tyler. “I’m sure Alfie’s got something we can find.”

“My legs are tired again,” Tyler said.

Dev knew a hint when he heard one. He crouched back down.

“Hop on, then, you lazy plonker.”

Tyler didn’t need to be told twice.

In the kitchen, Alfred and Kam were sitting at the table with cups of tea. Dev guessed from the cadence of their conversation before they came into view that they weren’t on serious topics any longer.

“He says he’s hungry,” Dev announced, shrugging Tyler off. Tyler dropped to his feet and darted around him to half-tackle Kam in a hug. She rocked in the chair catching him. He planted a loud, smacking kiss on her cheek, easily mixing affection and being obnoxious.

“Morning, witch,” he said.

“Morning, ogre,” she said, catching his chin so she could give him a kiss on his cheek in return.

“Ew, mum, don’t bloody lick,” Tyler shrieked, scrubbing at his face. Kam laughed and gently shoved him away.

“Shall we have omelets?” Alfred offered.

“I love omelets,” Tyler said.

“Can I help?” Kam offered, and Alfred motioned for her to stay seated.

“I’m quite alright, but perhaps the young sir would like to assist me?” Alfred said.

Tyler lit up.

“Can I?”

“Oh,” Kam winced. “He’s a bit impulsive. Ty, please, please be careful and mind him.”

“I will, mum, I know,” Tyler said.

“I’m sure we can manage,” Alfred said, with a smile at Tyler.

“Mum. Jason taught me how to handle a gun,” Tyler said, hanging on the back of her chair before following Alfred.

“He what,” Kam hissed, twisting around.

Dev froze.

Alfred froze.

Tyler flashed the cheekiest grin Dev had ever seen.

“He said I had one rule and it was ‘Don’t ever.’”

“You’re going to be the bloody death of me, Ty,” Kam said, sinking over the table while Tyler crowed with laughter. “Go. Help make eggs before I decide to hang you from the ceiling by your toenails.”

Alfred gave Kam an apologetic look, something full of sympathy.

Dev sat down at the table with her.

“You look like you slept about as well as I did,” she said. “You alright, then?”

“Will be,” Dev said, yawning and hiding it behind a hand. “Alfie. Is the kettle still hot? I don’t want to be in your way.”

“There’s a cup already steeping,” Alfred said. “Only a minute now.”

Kam leaned across the table and lowered her voice. “He started that before you came in. How does he do that? How does he know?”

“I’ve given up trying to figure it out,” Dev said. “It might be magic.”

“Did Tyler wake you?” Kam asked.

“I was up,” Dev said. “We watched a bit of a surgery and went out to kick a football.”

“I’ve not gotten to talk to him yet,” Kam said, worrying her lip.

Dev kept his voice low to match hers. “I don’t think da’s hurt him. He talked to me about some things mum said. Da might have said things, like he did to me, but I think mum kept him from anything more.”

“Oh, thank god,” Kam said. “I’ll talk to him, too, but Ty’s usually pretty honest. He’s not got the patience to lie well. I was hoping– I can always tell when someone’s been mean to him at school, and he always came back from mum’s in a good mood. Can I say something just bloody awful? Oh, I’ll wait. It’s hot, Ty, take your time.”

Tyler was walking across the kitchen and around the island counter with a full cup of tea in his hands, tongue sticking from the corner of his mouth in concentration.

He slowed his steps when Kam spoke to him and then carefully set the mug down in front of Dev.

“Mr. Pennyworth said you like sugar, so I mixed it in myself,” Tyler said. “Mum. Can I have some tea?”

“Thanks, mate,” Dev said.

Kam waved Tyler closer and whispered something in his ear. He nodded and yelled, “I’ll be right back!” and ran out of the kitchen.

“He’s got to take his pill or he’ll be a right terror later,” Kam said when he’d gone.

“You were about to say something bloody awful and shock me,” Dev reminded her. He sipped the tea. It was a little sweeter than he usually liked.

“You’ve given me all these secrets, I thought it only fair I share something in return,” Kam said, trying to joke. She ran a thumb up and down the handle of her mug.

“Only if you want,” Dev said carefully.

“I’ve been jealous of Ty,” Kam said, in whisper. “Da’s always seemed to actually like him. Even when he was encouraging things I was trying to keep Tyler from doing, it was because he thought more of Tyler than he ever did of me. I couldn’t get his attention for anything. Once, at the dinner table, I asked mum to pick up condoms at the shop for me, just to see what he’d do. He didn’t say a word. I was half-wild in secondary trying to get something out of him and mum was the only one who ever seemed to get mad.”

“He and mum had, uh, some kind of agreement,” Dev said, cradling his own envy behind his ribs. “She convinced him it was her job to raise her girls and he ought to stay out of it.”

Kam went a washed-out yellow, like aged paper.

“And he got you to raise,” she said. “Fuck.”

Dev didn’t know what to say so he sipped his tea.

“I’m so bloody stupid,” Kam said. “Mum even said something.”

“What did she say?” Dev asked.

Kam twisted the ring on her finger. She was still wearing her wedding band.

“Forget I said anything,” she said, words thick with regret. “You really don’t want to know. You don’t need to know.”

He did but he didn’t press.

Tyler came back and rejoined Alfred at the counter.

“Wayne wants to talk to you,” Dev said. “He’s some kind of offer. I don’t know what. He wanted me to be there when he talks to you.”

“At this point I don’t know whether to think he’ll offer to arrange a murder or give me a pony,” Kam said, with a nervous laugh. “You’ve weird friends, Kiran.”

“Yeah, but I like them,” he said. “They’ve done a lot for me. I’d still be hiding with my head buried in the sand, no friends and avoiding you and Lee, if not for them.”

“Mum! Did you see? I flipped an omelet by myself!” Tyler shouted across the kitchen. “I didn’t even set anything on fire!”

“Good job, Ty!” Kam called back, a hand over her eyes. She was laughing.

“You’re a brilliant mum,” Dev said, ducking to catch her gaze. “You know that, yeah? I’ve told him that he’s a good lad, outside just now, and I meant it. You’ve done a bloody good job with him.”

Kam picked at the sleeves of her jumper.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. “It doesn’t feel it most days.”

“When d’you have to fly back?” Dev asked.

“Tomorrow night,” Kam said. “Peter’s miffed he’s missing his weekend when he won’t show up anyway. I promised him Tuesday, since he has it off. He’ll make an excuse but I’ve got to give him the chance, for Tyler. I don’t know if I can forgive him yet, but Tyler needs him, if he can bloody get over himself.”

“Want me to talk to him?” Dev offered, while his brain was yelling not to get involved. “I know we’re not close, but I can try.”

“Can you try without tearing his head off?” Kam asked. “That’s my problem.”

“Yeah,” Dev said. “I’ll ring him before I go back to work, if his number’s the same.”

“It is,” Kam said. “He’s staying with his brother up north right now, but we’re still on the same mobile plan. When do you go back to work?”

“Next week,” Dev said. “This is the most time I’ve had off in, oh…ever? My weeks are usually 70–80 hours. It’s bloody strange, not working.”

“I’ve been spoiled, working only part time before this year,” Kam said. “My new hours at the shop are exhausting me.”

Dev cast a look over the island to make sure Tyler was still absorbed in a task.

“Do you need money?” he asked. “If it’ll mean you can stay home more with Tyler, I can help.”

“I don’t want you to have to do that,” Kam said. “We can make do.”

Dev gestured around him. “Kam. Do I look like I’ll suffer for it? I’ve got a small flat, just myself to care for, and eat half my meals here most weeks. I won’t bloody pressure you, but if you’d let me, I want to help. I would have offered sooner if I’d been bloody paying attention.”

“I’ll think about it,” Kam said. “I will.”

“Mum! I made you an omelet!” Tyler said, holding up a plate. Alfred righted it before the omelet tipped off and guided Tyler around the island with a hand on his shoulder.

Tyler set the plate down, beaming.

“It’s fucking delicious, isn’t it? I made it nearly by myself. I even cut the onions into bits, mum.”

“Well, let me taste it first,” Kam said, laughing at him. “It looks lovely, Ty, thanks.”

“I’m supposed to get your order,” Tyler said, keeping an eye on Kam while he asked Dev. “I knew what mum would like but I didn’t know what you like and Mr. Pennyworth said if he had to guess he’d have to put granola in it.”

“Alfie,” Dev complained across the kitchen.

“Be thankful I didn’t mention ramen, Kiran,” Alfred replied. “Tell the boy what you’d like.”

“Surprise me,” Dev said.

“You did well,” Kam said, after chewing. “You’re a chef now. Will you make all our breakfasts at home?”

“Maybe some of them,” Tyler said. “Alright, then, back to work. I’ve a job now.”

“Tyler wants me to swim today,” Kam said to Dev. “I’ve a question though.”

“Yeah?” Dev asked.

Kam motioned with her fork to the room at large, gesturing to the house in general.

“I’ve heard if not for me, they would’ve thrown you in yesterday,” she said. “What do I have to do to get that to happen?”

Chapter Text

Kam wasn’t sure she was going to get into the pool, despite Tyler’s encouragement. The sun was out and she had an iced coffee, and was enjoying lazing on a lounge chair. Tyler was playing some game that involved a lot of yelling. He was on Jason’s shoulders, and Damian was on the shoulders of another man who’d arrived that morning– Dick, Bruce Wayne’s eldest.

She hadn’t expected Kiran to actually tell her how to get him thrown into the pool, but she had caught Alfred’s eye when Kiran was refusing, and had held out hope.

The grill nearby was lit and Bruce Wayne was grilling burgers for lunch, a last minute adjustment when Tyler had said something wistful about a cookout. Dev had come out to talk to him but hadn’t even put on swim trunks, so her hope was fading.

It was fading until Damian called for Dev, across the pool, and he walked closer to hear him.

Kam, if she hadn’t been watching him like a hawk, would have missed it– it was coordinated like a dance.

Kiran walked the edge of the pool and Alfred, going the other way, turned his foot sideways just enough to catch Kiran’s ankle. Kiran stumbled, an arm pinwheeling.

The quiet girl, Cass, was standing within arm’s reach and she held out a hand to help him– and then gave just the slightest shove and he went in with a splash.

It happened so fast, if Kam had turned to grab her coffee, she would have missed it.

She grinned, delighted, watching him come up sputtering. She sipped her coffee.

“Bloody hell,” he yelled, shaking water out of his hair while he clung to the side of the pool. “Et tu, Brute?”

Alfred was chuckling and offered him a hand.

He was prepared to resist Kiran tugging on his arm. Kiran gave him a look that said they both knew he had to at least try.

Then, Kiran’s expression turned positively predatory. That’s when Kam noticed that Bruce Wayne had left the grill and was behind Alfred.

Kiran’s hand was still locked on Alfred’s forearm– there was some quiet, casual exchange between them. Then, Kiran yanked and at the same moment, Bruce Wayne shoved Alfred from behind.

The shouting in the pool stopped, Tyler’s voice lingering after the others as he processed the change on a delay.

Alfred was still underwater.

Kam sat up, tense, until she looked at Kiran again to see if he was concerned.

She saw the moment his eyes locked with Bruce’s. The mutual flickers of sheer and total panic were like they were little boys being caught out with stolen sweets or a lighter.

Bruce Wayne hauled her brother out of the pool a single second before Alfred broke the surface again, and she heard the rapid mutter of, “Go, go, go,” as they both sprinted away.

Kam watched their retreating forms with bewildered glee.

With efficient, quick movements, Alfred swam to the ladder and climbed out, clothed and dripping. Cass threw a towel at him, smiling broadly.

“You?” Alfred asked.

She shook her head. “Baba.”

Alfred looked around, comprehension dawning. Bruce and Kiran were gone.

“Those dratted boys,” he grumbled. “Well. I suppose no harm is done. Don’t let them know I’ve said so. I’ll be back shortly, after I change into something less…sodden.”

“I’ve got the burgers,” Dick said, practically vaulting out of the pool. “Damian, go find out if Steph and Tim want something brought to her room.”

“Why must I act as her servant,” Damian complained from the pool. “Can she not text? Timothy can come to you.”

“Bad call, Dames,” Dick said. “She has gummy worms she said she’d share.”

“I’ll be back momentarily, Tyler,” Damian said, flipping a towel around his shoulders.

Kam sipped her coffee and then closed her eyes to bask in the sun.

A shadow moved between her and the sun.

“Mum,” Tyler said, leaning close enough that he dripped on her. He shook his head so droplets splattered her. “You said you’d swim.”

Kam set her coffee down. She got up, snatched him up in her arms, and jumped in with him while he howled.

She didn’t see Kiran again until Dick yelled that the burgers were ready. She was drying off when noise drew her attention. He was a few steps behind Bruce on the flat section of roofing further down the house when Bruce called back to Dick.

“How mad is Alfred?”

“B, have you been hiding up there the whole time, you big baby?” Dick shouted.

“How angry is he, Richard?” Bruce asked.

“Not enough to keep you from a meal,” Alfred put in, from the patio on the other side of the hedge. Kam remembered seeing a table there earlier. “Come down, both of you, and take your consequences like gentlemen.”

“I’d really rather not, if it’s all the same to you,” Kiran called, laughing.

“I would also like to forgo consequences,” Bruce added. “If we could reach some kind of understanding.”

“The understanding is that I shall be very cross if you let lunch grow cold,” Alfred replied. “Come down and eat.”

“I’m still damp,” Kiran complained. “Might I change first?”

“Kiran. How old are you?” Alfred asked, a hint of amusement in the words. “Why ever on earth are you asking me for permission.”

“You’ve just said to come down or you’ll be cross. I’m trying to be bloody considerate.”

Bruce took a step toward the edge and Kam started when Kiran roared.

“Wayne, don’t bloody fucking jump down or I’ll break your ribs myself!”

Their voices dropped in argument and then they both went in through a window.

Kam was at the table when they came out of the house.

“Sodding cheeky of you to threaten consequences,” Kiran said to Alfred, taking the seat beside her. “You started it, and it was bloody premeditated.”

“Merely a whim of opportunity,” Alfred said, passing a bowl of fruit.

“You told me there were household rumors and hinted I ought to use waterproof plasters,” Kiran said.

“Circumstantial, my boy,” Alfred said. He winked at Kam.

“You’ve corrupted my sister,” Kiran complained.

“I asked,” Kam laughed. “I can corrupt myself, thanks.”

“Can I be corrupted?” Tyler asked.

“No,” Kam said.

“You can help me plot revenge on Bruce,” Jason offered. “We want to stay on Al’s good side.”

When lunch was winding down, after Kam had checked to make sure Tyler had eaten and not just skipped the food from sheer adrenaline, Bruce leaned over and said, “If it’s alright, I’d like to talk over something with you this afternoon.”

“Yeah, sure,” Kam agreed. “When and where?”

“Both up to you,” Bruce said.

“Hey, Dev?” someone called from the house. It was Tim at the door by the pool.

“Over here!” Kiran said, standing. “What’s wrong?”

“Steph’s not doing too hot,” Tim said, leaning on the gate that separated the dining patio and the pool. “You should come check, I think.”

“Wait for me? I meant what I said,” Kiran said to Bruce, who nodded, and he left.

“Mum, mum, mum,” Tyler said, breathless, as he tore across the lawn where he’d gone to play football and skidded to a stop beside her chair. “Mum. Jason says he’ll take me and Damian out on a boat if you say yes.”

Tyler batted his eyelashes and pouted in a way that hadn’t been effective on Kam since he was five. She ruffled his hair, considering.

“I will accompany them,” Alfred offered. “The speedboat is outfitted with the appropriate safety gear– I’ll ensure they wear it. Master Bruce?”

“I’ll clear the table, Al. It’s fine,” Bruce said.

“Yeah, go on, then,” Kam told Tyler. “Be good.”

“Has he been having a good time?” Bruce murmured beside her.

Cass finished picking through the remnants of a bowl of fruit and slipped around the table to lean on Bruce’s back, arms draped around his neck. He patted her hand and she hummed happily, eyes closed.

“Tyler?” Kam asked. “Oh, yeah. I hope your kids aren’t too put out entertaining him.”

“They’re having just as much fun, I promise. It would be enough for them to do it just for Dev, but they like your son. None of them are being forced.”

“Can I help with dishes?” Kam asked. “Then I might catch a cat nap, if I can.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Bruce said. “Cass and I can handle it. Let me know when you’re ready to talk.”

Kam was too tired to argue.

An hour later, after sleep, she felt more human and less like a sun-baked zombie from one of Tyler’s games.

She wandered the house, searching for someone, wondering how she was supposed to find specific people in a mansion the size of Wayne Manor.

There were voices down the hall and she followed the sound.

Bruce and his son, Tim, were in what looked like an office. The door was open so Kam knocked on the door frame.

“Hullo,” she said. “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

“Just me being right about Star Wars,” Tim said.

“Is now a good time to talk?” Kam asked Bruce. “While Ty’s still out?”

“Is Dev still with Steph?” Bruce turned to Tim.

“Yeah, but he was just watching a movie with her,” Tim said. “I can switch with him. I’ll send him over.”

“Come in,” Bruce offered, standing and motioning to a couch. “Unless you’d prefer somewhere else?”

“I don’t know what this is bloody about,” Kam said, a little tensely. “So I don’t know. Here’s fine, I guess.”

“It’s an offer for help,” Bruce said.

A moment later, Kiran came in, yawning.

“How’s Steph?” Bruce asked.

“Alright,” Kiran said, sitting down across from Kam. “She just needed something for pain.”

Kam faced them, sitting in an armchair. Bruce was in the other armchair, his posture ramrod straight, and Kiran was on the couch, leaning with his elbows on his knees.

“So,” Kam said. “What kind of help?”

Bruce and Kiran exchanged a glance, like they weren’t sure who should begin.

“I’m aware I’ve disrupted your life and schedule quite a bit, with very little warning,” Bruce said, and suddenly his full attention was on her. “I wanted, first, to see how you were doing.”

“I’ve been better,” Kam said cautiously. “Also worse.”

“Second, I don’t want to send you and your son home without offering some additional support. I’d like to ask you what you need.”

“What I need?” Kam asked, her hands clasped together. She glanced at Kiran. “What does he mean?”

“I told you Alfie was right,” Kiran said to Bruce. He gave Kam a reassuring, lopsided smile before his expression grew serious again. “Help, Kam. He’s asking what would help you not feel like you’re on your own with Tyler.”

“Cooking, cleaning, child care, transportation for school, mortgage payments,” Bruce said. “I initially had a substantially more dramatic plan, in which I offered you the services of a member of my staff, but I was advised against leading with that. It’s still on the table, however, depending on your answer.”

“Why?” Kam said. “Why us? What do you get out of this? I can’t pay you back if I accept anything.”

“It’s a gift, from both of us,” Bruce said, nodding toward Dev. “I care about giving people opportunities. I think people are worth investing in.”

Dev cleared his throat and Bruce glanced at him. There was some other wordless exchange she didn’t understand, but Bruce turned back to her, his expression a little rueful.

“I’m practiced at businessman as a role, and I’m afraid it makes me sound less than genuine. What I said is true. It’s also true that Dev is family. I’ve taken an interest in you and your son because I care about Dev, very deeply, and he cares about you. I was going to offer without his contribution, but he insisted, because he loves you and Tyler.”

“It’s not because you can’t manage,” Kiran put in. “I know you could. But I’d like to make things a bit easier for you and Tyler both, aside from just school.”

“You can’t pay him off,” Kam said. “If you’re never about, money won’t fix it.”

“I know,” Kiran said. “I don’t know when I’ll be ready for London, but I’ll make it happen. I can’t come back though, not to stay, for a dozen reasons. But I want to help with everything between visits and video chats, if it would be real help.”

Kam tried to think about what it would mean: if she let them help her, even just a bit, she could work fewer hours and maybe go to night classes like she’d wanted. That meant more time at home and a better job later. Or when she was at work, Tyler could have someone caring for him and not be stuck at a childminder’s house with smaller kids. He could go to and from school without her depending on friends for that shuffle if she was at work.

If someone was about to help with meals, like her mum used to sometimes, then Tyler could have her and not always be told to wait or that she’d have time for him later.

She could barely comprehend a gift that scale, and thinking about it as debt was suffocating, but she could bear it if it made Tyler’s life better.

If Kiran didn’t keep his word, it would hurt, but it was an old hurt she could live with. She’d take a better life for Tyler with it, instead of just the hurt and nothing else at all.

“When…when Tyler is grown, what will he owe you? I know Kiran won’t ask for anything back, but I don’t know you,” Kam asked Bruce, before accepting. “I’ll pay it instead, whatever it is.”

“Nothing,” Bruce said, brow creased in mild concern. “He wouldn’t owe me anything.”

“Can you hold him to that?” Kam demanded of Kiran. “If I say yes, he won’t take his part out of Tyler’s future?”

“Yes,” Kiran said, with such conviction that she knew her brother had some kind of power or leverage over Bruce Wayne.

She didn’t understand it, she couldn’t begin to guess what it was, but he hadn’t gauged Bruce’s reaction to his answer and Bruce hadn’t betrayed any surprise at Kiran’s certainty.

“Then I’ll take the help,” Kam said. “Have you told him, about Peter?”

Kiran nodded.

“Just that you made him leave,” he said. “That he’d been drinking.”

“So you know I’m properly alone,” Kam said, taking a breath to steady herself against the sting and shame of everything with Peter.

“If you’d like, I can pay for rehab,” Bruce said. “If he’s willing.”

“He won’t go,” Kam said. “But if he changes his mind, I’ll make him take you up on that. I do know what would help me. Tyler needs rides to and from school when I work, and minding after. He needs a tutor. I won’t ignore him, not even if I’m busy, so I want help with the cleaning. Help with the mortgage so I can go to uni instead of working as much, and get a better job. I don’t want to always need the help, but I had Ty young, and Peter didn’t keep promises he’d made. Any of those would make our lives better.”

“Done,” Bruce said. “Would you like me to arrange personnel or would you like to hire people yourself?”

“Done?” Kam said faintly. “What do you mean done? Which one?”

“One?” Bruce echoed, appearing uncertain for the first time since sitting down. He glanced at Kiran and then back to her, further baffled by the amusement on Kiran’s face.

“She wanted you to pick the thing you’d help with,” Kiran said. His gaze, warm and fond, went to Kam. “Kam. You’ve just given him a list to see to. We’d both take care of all of it, if you wanted.”

“All?” It was Kam’s turn to echo. “But that’s…that’s so much.”

“You don’t have to accept any of it,” Kiran said. “But it’s not too much, not if you want it.”

“I do, though,” Kam said, before she could caution herself against it. “Tyler deserves more than what I can give him alone.”

“Before you say yes– a decision you can retract at any point, by the way– you should know I have one condition,” Bruce said.

That didn’t surprise Kam but it did startle Kiran, based on his reaction, the way his focus went to Bruce.

“Yeah?” she said.

“You do not, at any point, give your father any information about Dev. You don’t share phone numbers, addresses, details about his health or work. If he visits you, your father should not be told he’s in the country. You don’t share photographs or videos. You don’t arrange phone conversations or meetings. That is my condition.”

“Wayne, she’s not got to–”

“It’s my condition,” Bruce said, giving Kiran a look.

“It’s not bloody mine,” Kiran said, sullen. “You’ve not got to agree to that for my help, Kam.”

Bruce ignored the interjection.

“I won’t dictate the terms of your personal relationship with your father or what relationship you choose to allow him to have with your son. But this is the one thing I’m asking. You can see it as a request, a demand, an arrangement– it doesn’t matter to me how you choose to think of it. But if I find out you’ve intentionally shared anything, we will be having a conversation before you see a single cent more of my money.”

“What if I hadn’t believed Kiran?” Kam asked. “Would you still be so generous?”

“Yes,” he said. “The difference would be that I’d also be advising your brother to cut off all communication with you. But I think people are allowed to make their own choices and still deserve support or help.”

“You could just not having a sodding condition at all,” Kiran muttered.

Kam would have thought Bruce was lying about a lot of it, especially that, except even in England people knew about Bruce Wayne’s penchant for taking in children and investing in community programs. She just hadn’t believed until now it wasn’t some kind of publicity stunt.

She studied both of them.

Bruce was waiting patiently but Kiran looked furious. It did something to her stomach that he was furious on her behalf.

“You ought to have bloody told me,” Kiran said to Bruce.

“And you would have refused to let me offer,” Bruce said evenly.

“Kiran,” Kam said. “It’s alright. It’s a fair condition. I wasn’t going to anyway. I’d already listened to Leena about it, before I knew why. Tyler’s not going to see him for a long time, so he won’t either.”

“If it’s an accident, I won’t see it as a violation of the condition,” Bruce said. “I do actually want to help you and your son. I’m not looking for excuses to change my mind. Dev, stop glaring at me. I’m allowed to express a desire to protect you.”

“Bloody hell,” Kiran said, exhaling. “Fine. But only because Kam’s not bothered.”

“I’m not, because of what you’ve told me. But this is a lot,” Kam said bluntly. “The past few days have been a lot. Let me think over what we need the most.”

“I have personnel files on my desk for candidates that would be able to handle most of the physical work,” Bruce said. “Background cleared, vetted, years of experience with my company, and willing to travel. You’re welcome to look at the files and talk to the candidates, or you can make whatever arrangements you prefer in London and we’ll see to the financial side of things. But take your time. Take the files home with you if you’d prefer.”

“Thank you,” Kam said. “I wish I could give you an answer now, but my head’s too muddled.”

“Kam,” Kiran said, and it was gentle, the way he’d been so patient with her when she’d been small. “You’ve all the time you need. The offer isn’t going away. I’m not going away this time.”

Kam nodded, biting the inside of her cheek so she wouldn’t cry.

“Let us know if you need anything else,” Bruce said, taking a cue from Kiran’s gentleness. “Unfortunately, I have some other things I need to see to, so I’ll be gone until dinner.”

He excused himself from the room and Kam was left alone with her brother.

“I’m sorry,” Kiran said. “Not for the offer. But that I didn’t know how to warn you. He can be bloody intense.”

“Yeah,” Kam agreed. “I like it. I think he’s nice.”

“You’re certain you’re alright? I mean, he is nice, but lots of people don’t see it right off.”

“I didn’t need to see it right off,” she said. “He told me. He’s doing it for you.”

She’d also had a long and illuminating talk with Alfred Pennyworth, and she knew from that one conversation that her brother was more loved here than her da had ever loved her or Kiran– if he had something deep down that resembled love, or a desire to feel it, he had never learned to show or voice it.

She wasn’t like that.

She didn’t know how to explain to Kiran that she could have been told the condition was never speaking to her da again and she would have done it, for Tyler. She was angry enough to agree to that right now. She didn’t know how to put it into words that wouldn’t sound like hyperbole, not when her own initial denial was ringing in her ears every time she looked at Kiran.

She’d woken from a nap and stayed burrowed under blankets, mute with the grief of missing her mum, of knowing now her mum had seen it as giving Kiran up, and unable to wrap her mind around doing that to Tyler. She wanted her mum alive again so she could hug her and so she could yell at her until her throat was raw.

To be offered this much help made her want to cry. She didn’t deserve this much consideration, but Tyler did, and she would be damned if she got in the way of him having any possible opportunity.

Kiran nodded and said, “I ought to check on Stephanie,” and then he left her alone in the room.

By the time Tyler returned, flushed with happiness and exhaustion, she’d looked through the files and was a step closer to knowing what she wanted.

She tucked the files away in her guest room and listened to Tyler prattle on about the boat trip, pretending to be impressed when he bragged about Jason.

“He’s like you, mum,” Tyler said, bouncing on his knees on her bed. “He made me put on a life jacket and sunblock and didn’t let me have any fizzy drinks til I’d had about a bucket of water. He said only fucking idiots act too tough for safety.”

She wondered if Bruce would let her take Jason to London, but she didn’t think it was likely.

“It sounds like a lovely time,” she said. “Did you say thanks?”

“I forgot,” Tyler said, flopping sideways on the bed. “I will, though, I promise. Do we have to leave tomorrow?”

“We do,” Kam said. “But maybe we’ll see them again, yeah?”

Tyler grumbled and she went to the toilet to brush her hair. When she came out, he was asleep. Waking Tyler when his body had decided it was time to sleep required nothing short of a force of nature.

She left him there to rest and went down to dinner.

Dinner itself was uneventful, despite the number of people in attendance and the often loud conversation.

The reclusive girl, Stephanie, seemed to be in better shape and came down to eat with everyone. The rest of Bruce’s children were there, talking almost constantly at each other and Bruce and Kiran and Alfred, looping her into one conversation after another. Kam tried to keep up, but she had been raised like an only child and was raising an only child– she didn’t know how Kiran did it every meal he had with them, but he seemed right at home.

She loved it, but she didn’t think she could handle it very often.

In Tyler’s absence, the youngest Wayne boy stuck to Kiran’s side, frequently speaking to him. All the attention she’d seen Kiran give Tyler over breakfast and lunch shifted to this other young boy he was clearly attached to. He fielded it as graciously as she remembered him being when she was five. A chord of nostalgia and hope struck in her heart, that maybe Tyler could have that now, even if it was over mobile screens.

She wrestled with the bitterness that he wouldn’t be there in person, reminding herself she understood– it would be something to work on, she knew, because a little part of her still whispered that maybe he was exaggerating. It couldn’t still be that bad to be in the same city, not when she’d said she wouldn’t share any information.

Her da hadn’t been good to her at all and she could still make him a fucking dinner, be in a room with him– not that she’d be taking him any more, not for a long time. Maybe only when the guilt was too much.

A few of the kids left to do other things after the meal, half of them staying to talk. Alfred went to make after-dinner coffee and tea.

Kam sat, stewing in her thoughts and half-listening to Bruce and one of his sons discuss a new city policy.

Not far off down the hall, a door slammed.

“Sorry,” someone called a second later. “Wind caught it! Nobody’s bleeding!”

It was another moment before Tim moved behind Kam, saying, “Sorry, excuse me,” with such urgency that Kam looked to see where he was going.

He slid into the chair next to Kiran.

Her brother’s head was bent over the table, and he was oddly quiet, and very, very still. He’d been in conversation with Bruce just a few seconds before.

Before the door slammed, she realized.

Bruce and Dick lowered their voices but continued talking, like there wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, but she caught the worried glance from Bruce.

Tim, sitting next to Kiran, slid his chair so close their shoulders were nearly touching.

“Master Tim,” Alfred said, quick and low, across the table with a tray of coffee cups. “Master Tim. The water, if you will.”

“Oh,” Tim said, and he slid the water glass in front of Kiran away, toward Bruce, who moved it to the middle of the table.

Kam’s fingers were cold. She picked at the hem of her shirt, watching. She hoped it wasn’t a seizure– she didn’t know for certain what those looked like, but she didn’t think he could still be a surgeon with them.

Tim had propped his arm on the table, leaning casually, and he jumped back into the conversation with Bruce and Dick.

She noticed his other hand slip under the table and reach for Kiran’s– Kiran’s hand turned over and held it, knuckles gray with pressure even in the shadows.

She wanted to ask if he was alright. She kept her mouth shut and waited for Alfred to come around with coffee.

“Is it a seizure?” she whispered, as soon as he was near enough.

“No,” he said. “It isn’t. He’ll be alright soon. It isn’t usually very long.”

Sure enough, before he’d gone all the way around the table with coffee or tea, Kiran blinked and shook himself a little. He looked like someone had hollowed him out, but he was alert again.

Tim talked to him very quietly, and Kiran replied, their hands still linked, and then Tim slid him a cup of tea.

“I’m going for a walk before it’s dark,” Kiran said, ignoring the tea and pushing his chair back.

“Want company?” Tim offered.

“Yeah, mate,” Kiran said, like part of him still wasn’t all the way there. He didn’t seem to notice anyone else in the room. “Sounds lovely.”

When they were gone, Kam turned back to the table. The others had left by another door. She was alone in the room with Bruce, whose casual expression had vanished and was replaced by something stony, more like grief– she recognized grief these days.

“It wasn’t a seizure,” he said. “It was a flashback. I don’t want to say much more without his permission, but he’d want you to know that much, so you don’t worry. It’ll take him a few hours to level out again.”

“How often does he have those?” Kam asked. “I thought soldiers had those. Is that because of our da?”

“Yes,” Bruce said. “Less often before he was poisoned. Frequently, when he first met us. More often again, now.”

“At work?” she asked.

“Work distracts him,” Bruce said. “He compartmentalizes. I’ve made sure it’s not a problem there, for his sake. He doesn’t like to talk about it, but he would if you asked him.”

Kam didn’t think she would, not this weekend.

The bitterness at his absence from London was also quickly vanishing.

“You’ll keep helping him?” she asked.

“Yes,” Bruce said. “Of course.”

Kam could go home knowing that, now that she’d seen what she had of them. She perhaps couldn’t blame Kiran quite as much if he didn’t follow her.

Chapter Text

The morning came early the day after Kam and Tyler left for London – Dev was up before the sun, reading a medical journal he’d grabbed. It took more effort than it should have to comprehend any of the text. He’d only gotten a few choppy hours of sleep.

It was still shadowed outside, the lawn dark beneath a navy sky and a mere line of peach gold on the horizon.

Tim knocked on the door jamb, yawning, wrapped in a giant comforter.

“Can’t sleep?” Tim asked, leaning against the door frame.

“Nah, you?” Dev asked.

“Eh,” Tim said, shrugging. “Maybe had that iced latte too late in the day.”

“Come hike with me at the lake,” Dev said impulsively, tossing the journal aside. There was a second where he hesitated and wondered if it was wise, but then he thought about what a balm it would be to just stand on a hillside surrounded by trees and the forest’s morning hum. It was different than the city waking up– birds and insects and wind in the leaves, instead of keys and car horns and shoes scraping on cement.

“No,” Tim whined. “It’s too early.”

“Yeah,” Dev insisted. He went to rummage in the cupboard for some boots he could have sworn he’d left there a few months ago.

“Oh,” Tim said. “You’re serious. I thought you were joking.”

“I’m bloody serious. I want to go. Come with me,” Dev said.

“Is that, like…are you okay for that?” Tim asked, shuffling into the room and sinking on the edge of the bed. The fluffy comforter rode up past his shoulders, engulfing his head.

“I’m bloody fine,” Dev said. “We’ll do an easy trail. I’ll not push myself. Just an amble, really, yeah?”

“Ugh. If it’s just an amble, why can’t we stay here?” Tim’s disembodied voice came from within the mound of blanket, where he’d flopped over, still cocooned, onto the bed.

“And risk tagalongs?” Dev asked, coming up from the pile in the cupboard with a barely worn pair of boots. They dangled from the laces clutched in his hand, and he gave the remaining jumble of things a look of wary regard. He hadn’t realized he’d put quite so many things away there.

“That’s low,” Tim said, in a tone flecked with half-hearted annoyance.

Dev’s gaze swung around to the blankets, and Tim’s barely-visible eyes, shadowed by blankets and scowling brow alike.

“How’s that low?”

“You know I feel shitty that I get annoyed when Damian joins us, but I do, and I’m working on it, but I want to be selfish sometimes, and you just as good as promised you won’t invite him if we see him on the way out.”

“So it’s working. You’ll come to the lake,” Dev said. “Go get dressed.”

“Only because I’ve decided I want to and not because you’re telling me what to do,” Tim grumbled, throwing the blanket aside. “I’m not going to survive if I don’t get more coffee first. I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”

Dev’s mobile rang just as he tied his laces and he glanced at the unfamiliar number for only a moment before answering. Tyler had said he wanted to ring from the new mobile he’d gotten for his last birthday and hadn’t been allowed to bring to the States.

“Hullo,” Dev said.

“Why won’t Kamala return my calls or answer the phone?” his da demanded.

Dev’s blood froze in his veins.

“What?” he managed. It was less a real question and more the shock loosing his tongue.

“Peter said she’d gone to see you, and now she won’t talk to me. So, Kiran, what did you say to her?”

His name was spat out like a command and Dev’s spine straightened automatically, rebellious to his own wishes as a long-dormant obedience awakened at the tone.

“Nothing,” he lied, just as automatically, cringing away from the phone as he said it.

There was a heavy, doubting silence on the other end, thick with anger. He could feel it pouring through the invisible line.

“You told her something, turned her against me.”

Dev’s own anger rose like bile, acid stinging his throat. He had to press his lips together.

He’d nearly died. He was still recovering from being fucking poisoned. He had to reassure Tim he could handle something as simple as an easy hike.

“I told her the truth,” Dev ground out. He felt incandescent with his rage, a meteorite screaming toward a point of impact, searing away his caution.

“What does that mean, the truth? What truth?” his da asked, and Dev didn’t know if there was fear or fury in the words because of the roaring in his ears.

“Someone tried to bloody kill me last week and you know, I’ve found myself thinking, ‘Well, at least she has a reason to hate me.’ But you didn’t have that excuse. I don’t know why you hated me, but I’m fucking tired of trying to figure it out.”

“There’s no need to shout at me,” his da said, when Dev paused to suck in a breath.

It was only oxygen feeding the flames.

“And I hate myself because part of me still wants to find a reason, to make it make sense. There’s a part of me that wants to still love you even though you made my life a living hell.”

“Oh, come off it, Kiran. You're not the only one who hates himself. You can’t put it all on me. I know I had problems. But I did the best I could, like every father,” his da snapped, and some distant part of Dev’s brain registered this as the closest thing to an apology or admission of fault that he would ever get.

“If it was just self-hatred all along, I wish you would have fractured your own fucking skull instead,” Dev shot back.

There was a long silence again and Dev, chest silently heaving like he’d sprinted a mile, resisted the impulse to check the phone screen for a time stamp.

His da hadn’t hung up.

He could hear him breathing.

“I’m already wrapped up in one attempted murder trial,” Dev said flatly. “Don’t ever contact me again, or I’ll make it two.”

“If your mum had lived to know you were threatening me–”

“It’s a warning,” Dev said. “A mercy, because I’m not you. I could have taken it to court any day after I was 17, and I haven’t. But this is my bloody limit, just so we’re clear. I never want to hear from you again. Don’t ring. I’m dead to you. Bury whatever memories you have and leave me the fucking bloody hell alone.”

He hung up and with a vicious intake of breath, hurled the mobile onto the bed where it bounced across the blankets and landed on a pillow.

He wished a little bit that it had hit something hard enough to shatter.

His hands were shaking.

He sat heavily on the bed, reached blindly for the mobile, and then squinted through the wavering sheen of his vision at the screen long enough to block the number. He turned it off and tossed it aside again, more gently this time, and pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes.

It was okay.

He was okay.

The rage was washing out to something cold and trembling.

His da wasn’t going to come through the mobile.

There was a motion in the corner of his eye and then Cass was kneeling in front of him, peering up into his face.

He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes and then scrubbed off the wetness there with the ends of his sleeves.

“Heard yelling,” Cass said, biting her lip.

“Sorry,” he said, automatically, without thought.

She shook her head.

“My dad, too,” she said, tapping her stomach through her tee. He knew the entry wound scars that were there.

He slid off the bed and sat next to her on the floor. She pulled her legs to her chest, set her chin on her knees.

“That was brave,” she said.

“Nah, it was sodding stupid,” Dev answered, exhaling.

“Still can’t yell at David,” she said, with a slight shrug. “Sent Baba to do it.”

Dev huffed a bitter laugh. “And your da, he’s not somewhere paralyzed, in a coma?”

Cass shrugged again, and turned her head to give him a sad little smile.

“If I asked,” she said.

“But you won’t,” Dev said, knowing and understanding. He wanted that retribution for her. He didn’t know if he wanted it for himself, if it would help anything, if it would soothe any ache more than it was another wound.

“You…” Cass tore her gaze away and buried her whole face against her knees, muffling what she said after. “You scared me.”

“Cass, love, I’m so–”

She waved a hand impatiently in the air, brushing away his apology.

“Not now,” she said. “Almost dying. That. Baba says I deserve to be safe. To feel safe. You do, too.”

Dev couldn’t speak.

Cass reached over and tapped his ear, without looking.

“It remembers when you’re not safe. When that happens, it reminds your body of the other times. I know.”

“Yeah,” Dev agreed softly.

“You get to say you want to be safe,” Cass said, sneaking a glance at him. “That’s not wrong.”

“I threatened him, Cass, he was right. I as good as told him I wished he’d died.”

“When I was half of what I am now,” Cass said, sitting up straight and crossing her legs. She turned to face him directly, a little frown on her face as she thought through the words. She held up a hand to gauge distance from the ground. “This big.”

“Oh, your age, yeah,” Dev said.

“When I was this big, David sent me to kill someone. I did it. And then I ran away.”

Dev went as still as blown glass on a shelf.

“He tried to make me like him. Better than him. I am better, but not because of him. Better anyway. Don’t always feel it. But Baba says it’s true and Baba doesn’t lie about that. But the only way I can be safe from him is to be what he made me. Hard. Unyielding. That’s not bad, to be a reflection. Not a mirror, like, like…”

Cass closed her eyes to think, humming softly, and Dev didn’t move a muscle.

“Pond. That’s my word. A pond. An illusion that looks the same, but isn’t underneath. A trick of light but you have fish inside you, not emptiness. Life. Growing things.”

Dev swallowed hard.

“Thank you, love,” he said, quietly. “Honestly.”

She rose to her feet in a fluid motion and then leaned over and kissed him on the forehead, like he’d seen Bruce to do Cass herself countless times.

“I can see you,” she said. “Still full of fish.”

“I’m sorry I scared you,” he said, trying hard to blink back tears. “Are you alright now, then?”

“Will be,” she said. “Keep being here.”

Dev nodded and she was gone, escaping from the room as quickly as she’d come.

He turned the mobile back on and texted Bruce.

no emergency, just had hard talk with cass. she did the bloody heavy lifting. check on her please, would you?

He got a check mark emoji in response and turned the mobile back off, then climbed to his feet and went to find Tim.

Chapter Text

The dappled light on the trail rippled as wind pushed the leaves overhead. Dev stared at it, mesmerized, as he walked. He’d once had a patient in the ER come in from an accident, and the blood seeping down her torn back had flooded the sequins of her dress. The sequins caught the trauma surgery lights, glinting cheerily, before being covered and dulled by blood. Then the fabric was cut away. It had only been a second, a breath of an image, before it was gone and discarded on the floor in clinical haste.

A swallowing shadow moved across the path and he started, then looked up to see a cloud passing by in front of the sun.

He put one foot in front of the other.

The trail they’d picked was an easy one, a loop around the edge of the lake. It weaved in and out of the woods, sometimes tracing the shoreline and close to the water, sometimes leveling out among the trees when the lake dropped away beneath a ridge.

Tim was behind him, letting him set the pace, and Dev was doing his best to not push himself too hard. Tim knew he was upset about something, had known since Dev found him in the kitchen at the manor, but he hadn’t pushed or pried. Tim had kept up a steady monologue about video game news, something normal and familiar, and Dev had tried to feel grateful.

He didn’t know if he could keep trying for much longer.

Tim had grown quiet on the hike and Dev kept desperately reaching for the solace the park normally gave him– the bird chatter and murmur of wind, the deeply organic smells of rotting leaves and lake water. It should have been smoothing the ragged edges of him, lulling him into a peace peculiar to the woods.

He needed it.

And it wasn’t there.

He wanted to be alone.

And he also desperately, frantically did not want or need to be alone.

What if his lungs seized up? What if there was a blood clot from ventilator damage, what if it was traveling even now toward his heart?

What if he slipped and hit his head on a rock, what if he choked on a granola bar, what if he had a flashback and didn’t know where he was and fell in the lake?

He’d threatened his father. He’d threatened his father with the assumption that a Wayne would be available to back that threat up, hiding behind the skirt of the manor like a child.

What if his da flew to the States, to Dev’s flat, like Leena had? If Dev was alone, he’d have to make a call or press a panic button and then wait, and hope someone was available. And if they weren’t, he was bloody fucked. He didn’t think he could hit his da again.

There was a hitch in his breathing when the immensity of his folly crashed over him. He tried to keep his feet moving, to keep going so Tim wouldn’t notice that anything was wrong, because surely Dev could deal with this alone, at least.

“You okay?” Tim asked from behind.

“Mm,” Dev answered. “Bloody fine.”

He was doing it. He kept his tone pleasant, almost light, and clung to that shred of his self-reliance with everything in him.

He ought to have told Tim to stay home, or just slipped out of the manor and left a note or a text.

“Wanna stop for a bit?” Tim offered.

“Nah,” Dev said, though he was beginning to feel out of breath. He could walk through it, focus on something, get himself back in order.

“Okay, if you say you’re okay, I believe you, but like, you sped up a lot and I’m just checking.”

Dev realized he had sped up, his long legs eating up the trail with faster and faster steps.

He stopped abruptly.

Tim, behind him, stopped just as quickly.

“I’m bloody…” Dev nearly said fine, and he knew it wasn’t true, and he was viciously sick of it not being true. It engulfed him in a cocoon of self-disgust. “I’m bloody handling it.”

“But we can stop for a minute,” Tim said. “Okay? I need some water anyway.”

What Dev should have said was alright, yeah, or we could have stopped sooner for water if you needed, but the shell around him was cracking, splintering with deafening force, and he felt like some stranger was emerging to inhabit his skin.

“It’s not okay,” he bellowed, half turning. “It’s not bloody okay that I can’t do a fucking hike without being reminded to take a break. You know, I’ve hiked here for sodding years on my own, and I’ve been quite alright, and now I’m not, I can’t do anything by myself– not a meal, not a cuppa, not a walk or a run to the shops. I was bloody fine and I could get along, keep my head down, chat with Leena without it ripping my fucking chest open, and now I’m pissing off my da like I didn’t learn anything from him.”

He was shouting.

He was roaring at Timothy Wayne, who faced him with a placid worry, chewing his lower lip.

When he stopped to heave for air, stricken by what he’d just done, Tim said quietly, “Hey, Dev, I think you might be having a panic attack.”

“Bloody hell,” Dev hissed, grinding his palm against his chest. “I’m…”

“Sit down,” Tim said.

“I’m not…” Dev began, and then he waved uselessly at the air and dropped to his arse on the trail.

He sat there, hunched forward, shaking hand against his brow. Every breath was a long, slow drag against the stubborn pressure on his ribs.

Dev wasn’t safe alone anymore.

He simply wasn’t. He’d known how to take care of himself once. He didn’t know if he could do it again, if he could unlearn all the ways he’d learned to be intertwined with people.

He didn’t want to learn to live without it again. He could finally dare to trust that the Waynes wouldn’t just throw him out. Bruce Wayne had said he was like a brother and Dev believed him.

But what if he needed to be okay alone again? What if they needed that from him and he couldn’t do it? He could ask for space, but other than short stretches, he didn’t want space, he didn’t feel safe with it anymore, and he didn’t know what kind of person that made him.

When his breathing was a steady rhythm, in and out, and he could stop thinking about breathing and just let it be a thing that was happening in the background, he looked up.

Tim was visible far down the trail, his obnoxious, safety-orange hat a little blur by a massive rhododendron. He was studying something in the sky, and then shot a glance toward Dev.

Dev raised an arm in a salute like surrender, or welcome.

He meant to get up before Tim reached him, but he was still sitting when Tim jogged up the trail and stopped at Dev’s side.

“Can I sit?” Tim asked.

“We can find a sodding bench,” Dev said, looking toward the lake.

Tim sat beside him.

“So, your dad,” Tim ventured. “Want to talk about it?”

“Bloody hell, mate, you just throw yourself right into the thick of it, yeah?” Dev said with a weary laugh. “I’m sorry, Timothy. I went off on you and I shouldn’t’ve.”

“Eh,” Tim said, shrugging. “I’ve had worse.”

“Still, I’m bloody sorry,” Dev said, the flush of shame creeping up his neck. “Don’t make me sodding insist you deserve better, because I will. This is getting dangerously close to a pattern.”

“Forgiven,” Tim said. “Your dad?”

“He rang. I told him off. That’s all,” Dev said, willing it to be true. That’s all it was. That’s all it needed to be. It didn’t have to be a crisis.

“That’s a lot,” Tim breathed. “This morning? Geez. You could have said something.”

“I didn’t want to,” Dev said. “And I did, and then couldn’t. I used to be alright on my own, you know.”

“Take it from someone who tried really hard to stay on their own: you probably really weren’t,” Tim said, with a rueful smile. There was something battleworn in it, something full of decades Tim couldn’t have known and knew anyway. “If nobody’s around to ask if you’re okay, it doesn’t make you okay.”

“Yeah,” Dev agreed, seeing the truth of it with some relief; the blur of his first years in Gotham ran together in a mostly indistinguishable fog. He wouldn’t exactly call it living.

“I lived in the stables at the manor once,” Tim admitted.

“What?” Dev asked, frowning at him. “Like, hiding out?”

Tim laughed and shook his head. “Bruce converted them to an apartment for me. After my dad, I thought I was done being anyone’s son. I made up an uncle and paperwork and all this shit, just to keep Bruce away. The stables were the compromise.”

“I say this with the deepest affection, but you’re a sodding little twat,” Dev commented.

Tim nodded, fighting a smile, as he scratched idle shapes in the trail with a twig.

“I kept going to the manor for dinner and then falling asleep on the couch. It was a whole mess when Bruce found out, but like, even before he did I didn’t…I didn’t really want to be there by myself. Not all the time.”

“Did you prepare for this specific fall apart before we came out here?” Dev asked. The uncanny sensation of being utterly transparent wasn’t a new one around the Bats, but it rarely got more comfortable even if he appreciated Tim’s effort.

“I read the Kiran Devabhaktuni spark notes before any outings,” Tim said.

“Sod off,” Dev said, gently shoving Tim’s shoulder.

“I’m baring my soul,” Tim lamented, looking heavenward.

“I know,” Dev said, quickly serious. “I know. I’m listening. You don’t have to, though, not for me.”

“We’re not islands,” Tim said, with a direct and somber look. “But it can be really hard when you’ve had to live like you are, when it defined part of who you were to yourself, and then suddenly you’re part of something.”

Dev couldn’t hold that perceptive gaze and he looked away, swallowing hard.

Tim drew spirals with the twig.

“I’ve not had much say in it, this go,” Dev muttered after a moment. “I’m sodding delighted to find I’ve a safety net, after all, but I…I don’t even bloody know. I likely wouldn’t have tested things on my own.”

“Silver lining?” Tim offered weakly. “It sucks though. Someone trying to kill you always does.”

“You ought to be telling me off,” Dev said. “I was acting like a bloody child.”

“But I’m not,” Tim said. “When you almost die you get like, ten free breakdowns.”

“I’m nearly at my limit then,” Dev said, climbing to his feet. He held out a hand and pulled Tim up. “Shall we go on?”

“No, I’m going to be even more of a ‘twat,’ and beg you to go see Leslie and make sure it wasn’t something worse going on that messed up your breathing,” Tim said, looking unrepentant when Dev gave him his best long-suffering grimace.

“I’m alright, yeah?” Dev said.

But Tim didn’t look convinced. Tim, who looked unphased by Dev’s shouting, now looked openly concerned and even uneasy.

Dev relented.

“I keep forgetting,” he said, “that this whole mess has been harder on you lot than me, I think.”

“I am hanging on by a heckin’ thread here,” Tim admitted. “I never ever want to see you on a ventilator ever again and it’s like, almost every time I close my eyes. Now it’s my turn to feel like I’m just a kid, but it’s the truth.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dev said, with a sigh. “To Leslie’s, then.”

The hike back to the car was easier and harder– harder because he was more out of breath and it annoyed him, and easier because the chill in the air had thawed to the comfortable camaraderie Dev had been hungry for all morning.

Tim insisted on driving and Dev let him, teasing him about how much he had to adjust the seat and the mirrors. Tim did two donuts in the parking lot with no warning as payback and laughed like a gremlin when Dev shouted.

It felt normal.

Or almost normal.

He could almost forget he’d talked to his da that morning.

Leslie squeezed a five minute check-up into her schedule and cleared him with a warning look, grumbling about people who didn’t respect physical limits and how he was right on the edge.

“Mate,” Dev said, when they were outside the clinic on the sidewalk. “I think I might stay at my flat tonight.”

“Alone?” Tim asked, frowning.

“Yeah,” Dev said. “But I’ll ring if there’s a problem. And you can ring or come over if you need.”

“You promise this isn’t some dumb self-punishment for losing your crap earlier?” Tim asked, suspicion carving lines in his brow. “Because I’m super not cool with it if that’s why.”

Dev shoved his hands in his pockets and considered the little landscaped trees planted in grates along the sidewalk. The shadows made the same dappled patterns he’d seen on the trail earlier.

“No,” he said. “It’s only that I want to, and I don’t think I’ll be alright. Maybe tonight’ll be fine, innit? But then the next one, or the one after, one of them won’t be. But I can ring. And I know someone will answer. I think I need to be able to make that call, yeah?”

Tim didn’t say anything for a long time and then he exhaled.

“I get that,” he said. “I do. It makes sense. You’re sure you’re okay, though?”

“I’ll wear the pulse-ox all night and you can check the flat’s audio as often as you like,” Dev said.

“Thank you, thank you, yes, please,” Tim said, exhaling again even more loudly. “I don’t want to like, be super invasive, or make it about me, but I would feel so much better.”

“I’m not trying to cut you out, Timothy,” Dev said. “I swear I’m bloody not.”

“I know,” Tim said. “I’ll be okay, too.”

“I mean it, you can ring. It’s not just about what I need or want,” Dev said, clapping a hand on Tim’s shoulder. “First, though, gaming? I’m not running you off this minute. You’ve me for the whole of the day, if you like. Fall asleep on the bloody couch if you decide you need it, I’ll adjust.”

“Okay,” Tim said, bright with relief. “But we have to stop and get a new controller first. The red one has that laggy stick and I won’t listen to you whine and blame it when I win whatever we play.”

Chapter Text

One day at a time, Dev reassembled his ordinary existence. He went back to work and waded through the concern and the welcome. Stephanie dragged Damian to the hospital with her to help him decorate his new office, plucking some old things out of cardboard boxes from his former office down the hall and new things from canvas tote bags.

He stopped seeing coffee breaks with Tony as impromptu examinations, full of scrutiny, and began to see them as moments with a work friend of sorts. He learned the names of Tony’s granddaughters and that they played tennis; he shared a picture of Leena on a climb, one of Cass and Tim with him at the lake house.

He spent half his nights at his flat and the other half at the manor, some of them in the cave.

The surgeon from Metropolis wasn’t awful, but Tony thought he was, and Dev was amused and stunned to find what Tony’s dislike actually looked like. He worked more in the lab, finished a paper, argued with Jason over edits, conceded that Jason was right about most of them, did consults and post-op rounds.

He suffered (it was suffering, don’t laugh, Timothy) through three entire conversations with Shriver about psychological care and making appointments, while Shriver did his grating best to only refer to the murder attempt in euphemisms, like he was afraid Dev might snap and knife him with a scalpel. The hospital required Dev to speak with a professional for “a little chat” about “moving on” from “his unfortunate incident,” and he hoped Dev was “holding up” after “that terrible lapse in security.”

When Dev finally did have the psych eval, he was mostly just glad he wouldn’t have to listen to Shriver explain again why he needed it.

The psychologist came to him, to his office, for the first of three sessions, and apologized that his colleague whose name was down on Dev’s schedule couldn’t attend. He was filling in, and would be for all sessions, if that was alright?

Dev excused himself from the room to call Bruce and confirm this was his doing and not a reason to walk out of the hospital and not look back, while waiting for someone in a cape to show.

“He comes highly recommended,” Bruce said in his I’m at work voice, the one with a professional smile in it.

“Yeah, thanks,” Dev said before hanging up and going back into the office.

The psychologist adjusted his thick-framed glasses and flipped open a notebook. Dev noted he wrote in some unfamiliar shorthand. They didn’t talk about masks, but the other man very deftly steered conversation away from any question that might require Dev to outright lie.

A month later, he was doing surgeries again.

He squeezed in a weekend visit to Rani and the way her arms trembled when she hugged him, a squeeze tighter and a second longer than usual, drove needles into his heart. He checked on Lee, planned out times to video chat with Tyler, texted Kam more often, rang Peter to reason with him as patiently as he could. He didn’t think he’d made much of an impact, but Kam texted to tell him Peter had actually kept both weekend visit plans after that.

He hugged Steph when she cried about the med log– not that she wanted to use, or was thinking about using, but that she was afraid she would want to someday, and seeing the log out on the counter with a pen triggered a crying jag a full half-month after her last dose of painkillers.

He gamed with Tim and had rambling talks that ran into small hours of nights or afternoons or mornings, picking apart zombie disaster plans and life-support consent and theories about space-time.

He sutured and dosed meds and antitoxins and monitored a dozen things, swapped notes with Leslie about stuff he had missed and that she might need to know in the future, had tea with Alfred, ordered new suture alternatives to try. He watched a movie at the manor, yelled at Bruce, got yelled at in return, slammed a cabinet, sat by a bedside with a book he pretended to read.

It was like his life before– a little rougher in some patches, a little more secure in others.

He met with lawyers to record his testimony for the trial, and he was okay. He spent that night at his flat and slept like a rock, blissfully insensate to the world until his alarm went off.

Two days later, he had a patient come out of surgery in rough shape.

Three hours after surgery, the patient coded in the ICU and didn’t make it.

He wasn’t there to call it, but he owed it to the family to talk to them. He almost begged Tony to do it, but forced himself to, and then sat in his office after, trembling.

That night was the first night in weeks he made tea and then poured it out without drinking it. He stared at the vodka in his freezer a long time, debating whether or not he wanted to call off cave work for the night, too, and eventually he shut the freezer and went to bed.

The night was not kind.

When he woke, breath trapped in his throat, he moved like a hunted animal. He stared at the ceiling, not moving, until he dared sneak his hand across to the bedside table and check his mobile.

The call history showed nothing from his dreams, so they were dreams.

That didn’t make his racing heart slow, and it didn’t vanquish the damp palms and latent nausea. The ache, something like terror and something like guilt, remained.

He sat up, a hitch in every breath, and thought about the city outside his walls– it was full of widows, orphaned sons, bereft parents with all the fury of their grief, and it could easily conceal one bitter father whose grief was for himself and not the son he’d lost.

Dev stumbled out of bed, then, and to the loo where he just barely made it to the toilet to retch. He went to get water after and accidentally dropped the glass. He blinked at the glistening fragments in the puddle on his kitchen floor. The shape of the world had stopped making sense to him, like something much bigger had broken when the glass fell from his grasp.

The mobile was solid and cold when he grabbed it again. He hit the sequence from muscle memory more than anything else.

“Hello, Kiran,” Alfred answered. “Is everything alright?”

It was late. It was late enough, likely, to be horribly rude and he’d probably woken Alfred. Dev didn’t actually know what time it was.

The flat felt too small.

It was shrinking around him.

“I’m, uh,” Dev began. He was sitting on the bench in his short front corridor, already tying his trainers. “Sorry to bother you. I’m alright. I mean, nothing’s really wrong, just…”

“Ah, having a bit of a night, are we?” Alfred asked.

“Yeah, that’s bloody about it,” Dev said, mouth dry. “I’m going out to walk. Around the city, I mean. Thought someone ought to know.”

“Do let me know if you require anything?” Alfred said. “I do appreciate the call.”

“Yeah,” Dev said, distractedly. He filled a water bottle at the sink– a bottle not made of glass. He left the other mess on the tiles, stepping over it on his way back toward the door. “Alfie?”

“Yes?”

“He’s not booked any plane tickets, yeah?”

“Not a one, my boy,” Alfred said. “Shall I stay on the line?”

Dev took a long drink of the water, not spilling it this time, before answering.

“I won’t do anything bloody stupid,” he promised, fingers drumming on his counter. “I’m not that kind of upset. I just need to stretch my legs and clear my head. I’ll check in later, then, yeah? You don’t have to stay up.”

“Very well,” Alfred said, sounding mollified. “I do hope it helps.”

Dev ended the call and went out into the night, craving motion. Maybe if he walked long enough he could outpace his tangled thoughts, his caustic unease.

The city was awake in bright bursts. There were long blocks of dark buildings and shuttered shops, and then there would be sprays of neon above the sidewalk and jostling bodies and people calling out.

Others, like Dev, skirted the edges of the spills of crowd, heads down or faces forward, keeping to themselves.

He walked without direction and hadn’t gone far when he caught his first flutter of cape overhead. He must have been meant to see it, or he wouldn’t have seen it at all. He relaxed a little then, shoulders less hunched, knowing he was being watched over.

Walking in the city at night was bitterly familiar, like putting on an old jacket he’d loved once but then outgrown. It didn’t soothe him as much as it chafed in the elbows, across the shoulders, at the wrists where it was too short. He knew he’d changed, grown, but was still learning the new shape of himself, as his aimless rambling kept taking direction on its own: toward Tim’s flat, then Jason’s, then one of Dick’s safehouses, Cass’ favorite abandoned building, Steph’s townhouse.

He changed course over and over, instinctively prolonging the walk. He needed, craved, that space and movement. One foot in front of the other, concrete grit scraping under the rubber soles of his trainers.

“Hey! Hey, you!” a woman’s accented voice called. He ignored it.

She called again, and then there was the sound of flip flops slapping heels, and a hand brushed his arm.

He turned to look down at her. She’d already jumped back, like she was afraid he might turn swinging, and when she saw that he was simply looking, she held up a paper sack.

“You don’t come anymore,” she complained.

It was the lady with the fish taco shop.

“I’m allatime waiting for you to come back, what, you don’t like my tacos now? You get sick? You leave the city? On the house, on the house,” she said, shoving the sack into his hands. “You come and see me, what, every month, then you save Mr. Hood, then I make a call for you when you walkin’ round like a zombie, in real bad shape. And you never visit?”

“Bloody hell,” Dev said, taking the sack. He hasn’t eaten. Had he eaten? He couldn’t remember. “I ought to have thanked you, yeah.”

“No, no,” she said, waving both hands. “You should come visit me, come have my tacos.”

He had avoided the whole block since stumbling across Jason there; he hadn’t been paying attention tonight or he would have turned away. He wasn’t even sure why he’d avoided it, except out of overcaution to protect identities.

She must have seen him passing by, and run out after him.

“Thanks,” Dev said, lifting the bag a little.

“Don’t be a stranger,” she scolded, and then she turned and hurried back to her shop.

Dev ate the taco as he walked, swallowing around the lump in his throat. He slowed long enough to pitch the empty sack and waxy paper in a bin, and take a drink of water to wash the peppery taste down.

He kept walking.

He didn’t have a real sense of time or distance, but he knew his legs were likely eating up miles.

He was in a completely different part of the city when there was a scream behind him, a block or more back, and he paused in the glow of a street lamp. For a moment he fought himself, keeping still, leaning against a canopy pole of an empty bus stop. He patted his pocket for a smoke and it was empty, and he frowned at the old, old muscle memory.

He waited.

Then, above, a scraping noise. The cape was above him again.

He went on.

It seemed like he ought to be tired of some feelings, by now, but they simmered on. He was a video looping on endless repeat, the same flashes of image and sound. He knew he could walk all night and into the next day and they wouldn’t go away– had it ever worked, really? Or had he just walked until the sun rose and his weariness turned to numbness and the escape of school?

When he’d gone to visit his mum, when Kam said she was sick, his room had been cleaned for him. It was smaller than he remembered, the bed too short and the desk chair too low. It wasn’t full of hobby detritus or outgrown baby things from Tyler, like Leena and Rani’s old room. It had been dusted, the blankets crisply turned down, everything where he’d left it, except neater. She’d straightened the box of school papers he’d knocked over in his haste to get out of the house, a time he’d needed some trousers for an interview and thought his da would be out.

He’d heard his da’s voice downstairs and fled out the back door, scrambled without grace over the garden wall, trousers shoved in a bag. They were too short and he had to buy new ones anyway.

Dev didn’t know why he remembered that when he’d forgotten so many other things– for every memory etched in his mind like a laser engraving, there were a handful Leena had that he didn’t. She would bring them up sometimes, scraps of happiness she was clinging to, and he understood why she’d need to clutch those moments and examine them. She had long since stopped being faintly disappointed or surprised he didn’t share most of them; she teased him about his bad memory, saying he’d dumped everything out of his brain to cram in med school, and carried on describing it.

There were months of his life he knew secondhand. He used to ask her, “Did we ever…” and “What about…” when he wanted her to keep talking, and he realized now he hadn’t asked for a long time. He’d started sharing his own stories with her instead, things from the present instead of a threadbare past.

He’d been afraid once that without those things to knit them together, without weaving breaking string to breaking string over and over, he’d lose her entirely.

There was an odd freedom in thinking about it now and seeing that he didn’t need her as much, but was less worried he’d lose her. He wouldn’t let her go without a fight, now, where he would have let her push him out before.

When he’d visited his mum, he hadn’t even slept in the bed. He’d left the same day, running all the way back to Gotham, to the Manor, leaving his claustrophobic room in a strangling house behind.

He hadn’t wandered aimlessly around London in the snow, stomping through slush to distract himself from the fact that he didn’t belong anywhere.

There was a low whistle, soft and clear, and Dev registered his surroundings.

He was stepping off the Robert Kane bridge, onto the Bristol side, and the breeze rolling in from the bay lifted some of the muggy stickiness from the city. It smelled like rotting fish and salty seaweed, and then the wind shifted and it carried the scent of burnt oil and scrubby pitch pines from the suburbs and barrens to the north.

He stopped and looked around, across the bridge railing and at Gotham sprawled behind him– the stubborn glow of Amusement Mile, the blinking red warning light on the tower above Arkham, the looming row of skyscrapers in the Diamond District in the far distance.

Dev looked up at the trusses of the bridge. There was a shadow, darker than other shadows, crouched on a portal strut. The wind snapped though the cape and it billowed out, rippling like a flag.

Cars went by but there weren’t other pedestrians out here, not at this hour.

There was a little park just ten yards after the bridge, barely enough to be called a park– a semi-circle of sandy grass, a bench, a little free library with a broken door, a dented rubbish bin chained to a pole.

Dev went and sat on the bench, aware now of the ache in his feet. He drank half the water bottle he’d brought along.

He checked his mobile out of habit. It was a little before four in the morning. He hadn’t missed any calls.

Then he sat, watching the dark ocean, thinking about how many miles there were between him and his da and how his da had never come looking for him, not any of the times he’d left. He seemed diminished to Dev now, strangely small with such a short reach, a tiny kingdom, for all the ways he had been immense in Dev’s life and memory.

An arm’s length from the bench, Bruce cleared his throat.

“Hullo, sweetheart,” Dev said.

Bruce, hair disheveled beneath his hood, hands jammed into a hoodie pocket, nodded.

“Darling. Mind if I sit?”

Dev shrugged and Bruce sat beside him on the bench. Together, they watched the glossy black water, listened to the lapping of the waves on the rocks below.

“I used to walk around London,” Dev said. “When I didn’t want to go home.”

Bruce said nothing.

“I thought I’d forgiven her or understood enough to be bloody gracious about it. But I think I’m very fucking angry at her, Wayne. I think I hate her.”

“If you’re looking for reproach, you won’t get it from me,” Bruce said, the words hoarse.

Dev toyed with the loop on his water bottle, forcing his fingers to relax and not stay clenched in fists.

“It’s not just that she tried to kill me, though that’s bad enough, because I have so much now I don’t want to lose. It’s that she made me feel bloody helpless and trapped. She made me feel sodding dependent. I haven’t felt that way since I was stuck in his fucking house.”

“You do know,” Bruce said, “you know you’re allowed to be angry at people who hurt you?”

Dev met his gaze. “If she were here right now, you might have to keep me from killing her. How do I stop feeling like that? I didn’t even know I was still angry at her twelve hours ago and now I can think of five different ways I’d take her life.”

“You wouldn’t,” Bruce said.

“I think I would, though,” Dev insisted, irritated. “I hate that I’m afraid of her. I’ve spent a lifetime being afraid and I’m furious that just as I was starting to feel safe, it was taken from me again.”

“You wouldn’t because I wouldn’t let you,” Bruce said. “I don’t think you’d do it, but if I was wrong, I’d keep you from making that mistake.”

Dev sank back on the bench, sighing.

“Before you say anything to condemn yourself, remember you’d be condemning me, too, and Tim. The whole family,” Bruce cautioned. “You’re not alone.”

Dev nodded.

“It’ll pass,” Bruce said, gentle but firm. “It will wear on you like grief. There will be minutes when you feel mad with it, with how clearly you can see the blood on your hands, feel the weapon in your grip. And then it will fade and you’ll wonder if you’ve become the real monster.

“But you’ll also remember who you are, and what you value. Like grief, it’ll change you, and you’ll have to be careful not to dwell with it too long. You’ll have to watch that it doesn’t shape you into a stranger, but you won’t be watching alone.”

Already, that devouring rage that had bitten at his heels all night was fading.

“I trust you,” Bruce said, looking at his bruised knuckles in the glow of the street lamp. “I believe you’ll learn to live with it, and let it go, because you already know how to do it when it’s someone else you want to defend. It’s a funny thing to learn you belong in that category with the people you love, instead of existing outside of it.”

Dev pressed his lips together tightly to hold back the surprised cry that had flown up his throat– if Bruce had hit him, it would have surprised him less.

“Oh,” he said, when he could work his jaw again. He thought of all the times he’d considered it right, excusable, even just, to indulge for just a moment in the fantasy of making sure someone could never hurt Jason, or Damian, or Stephanie, or any of them ever again.

“Hnn,” Bruce said, with a brief dip of his chin.

They sat in silence, watching the horizon begin to glow.

“I think I need to give you power of attorney,” Dev said after several minutes. “It’s Leena right now. And I don’t think she’d know how to make the decisions I would want her to make.”

“Alright,” Bruce said.

“When I die, I don’t want to be buried in England. I want to stay here,” Dev said.

“Alright,” Bruce said. “We can make those arrangements. I’ll make sure Alfred knows.”

“No,” Dev said. “He can know, but I’m asking you.”

“I might di–”

“You won’t,” Dev cut him off.

“I might,” Bruce said mildly.

“No, because if I’m alive, I’ll fix you, and then you’ll be alive. So I’m asking you.”

Bruce huffed, annoyed. “Fine. What if I don’t want to bury you?”

“Then keep me alive,” Dev said, eyes fixed on the sunrise. “Simple.”

“That isn’t…” Bruce trailed off. He growled and then leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

A car pulled into the park and ride lot down the street.

“There’s Alfred,” Bruce said. “Ready? He’ll wait if you aren’t.”

Dev stood up.

Chapter Text

The operating room was full of familiar noises– the hum and hiss of a ventilator, the fizz of electrocautery, the rasp of disposable scrubs. 

A beep and then the whoosh of rubber against linoleum interrupted the usual sounds. Dev paused just long enough to see who was intruding on the OR focus; it was the neurosurgery charge nurse, motioning not to him but to one of the operating nurses.

Dev returned his attention to the open spine in front of him. 

The murmuring at the door went on longer than he expected, catching at his awareness only because of the tension inherent in Gotham life. 

“Whitney, do not contaminate my sterile field,” he snapped, eyes still on the muscle and bone under his hands. “Sound an alarm or get out.”

From the corner of his eye, in the brief second he spared to evaluate, his OR nurse slipped out of the room. 

A few minutes later, she returned, adjusting a new mask as she came back to the table. 

He didn’t ask her what Candi had wanted– if it was important, they’d tell him. 

The last minutes of the procedure passed without incident and he rolled a shoulder when he stepped back. The team ran through a series of brief checks, and then Dev told the resident, Dr. Mendel, to go ahead with the plan to close up.

“Dr. Dev, Candi needs to talk to you. It’s urgent,” Whitney said as soon as Dr. Mendel had taken over. “Dr. Fabriello is scrubbing in to supervise the rest of surgery.”

Dev’s stomach dropped to his trainers. 

He cast a glance at the patient on the table, breathing and stable. 

He could see Tony through the small square windows set in the OR doors. 

While he shoved through the doors and past Tony, he was reasoning with himself, telling himself all the mundane hospital things this could be. He didn’t really believe any of his own reassurances. He pitched gloves in a bin without slowing.

Candi was in the hall with a mobile charting station, working while she waited. She turned when she saw him and her smile wasn’t exactly a happy one.

“What’s happened?” he asked, pulling his mask off.

“I got a call from an ambo about twenty minutes ago,” she said. “There was an accident. It’s Mr. Pennyworth. He asked to borrow a phone in the ambulance to call his son; he called you and when it went to voicemail, the EMT driving recognized your name and called the desk. It was a rollover with entrapment, but he was conscious and talking. That’s all I know. They brought him here; he’s downstairs now. They just pulled in five minutes ago.” 

Dev ought to have been polite. He ought to have thanked her, taken a breath and walked. 

But instead, he forgot language and took off at a quick walk that turned into a run before he’d reached the end of the hall. He burst into the stairwell and took the stairs by twos, too terrified to wait for the elevator. 

Conscious was good, but there was a lot the human body could remain conscious through– some of them were ultimately not survivable. Some of them were the precursor to a state considered “incompatible with life.” 

For one of the first and only times in his life, Dev cursed how much he knew and how many scenarios he could envision in graphic detail without even trying.

He managed to slow himself to a jog when he used his badge to open the ER doors. He approached the ER desk, catching his breath.

“Pennyworth?” he asked when the first nurse looked up.

“Room 17,” she said. 

He turned on his heel and double checked room numbers beside the curtained doorways before finding the right one.

Suddenly, he was paralyzed by terror and an inexplicable shyness, a fear of intruding on something private– then with a breath, it dissipated like fog chased away by a stiff wind. 

He pulled back part of the striped curtain, ducking his head in first out of habit, before going all the way in.

Alfred was sitting up in a hospital bed, still in his own shirt and slacks, arm splinted and cradled in his lap. His leather loafers were on the bed; the soles facing Dev were dirty with gravelly bits of asphalt. It somehow seemed the most wrong thing about the entire picture. Alfred appeared so like himself, so ordinary, that his shoes on the linens were the starkest sign of crisis.

“Alfie,” Dev said. His relief at the relative lack of catastrophe made him weak in the knees and he sank onto a stool, kicking it with a heel over to the bedside. 

“Oh, Kiran,” Alfred said, with some dismay, taking in his scrubs. “They didn’t call you out of surgery?”

“They waited ‘til we were closing up, and I rather wish they hadn’t waited even that long,” Dev said, looking Alfred over with an anxiously appraising eye. “What the bloody hell happened?”

“Another driver ran a red light,” Alfred said, sounding put out. “Nothing’s the matter with me but some pain in my arm that I’m quite certain is a sprain, but I was fussed over like it was much more serious. To be honest, Kiran, I think they believed I was in shock simply because I wasn’t hysteric.”

“Oh, good, you found him,” a booming voice said from the curtain. 

An EMT with a thick clipboard waited at the edge of the room, phone in hand. 

“Mr. Hendricks provided excellent care,” Alfred chimed in, his petulant tone vanished and replaced by polished manners. “He was most considerate, even going so far as to contact you when I failed to get through.”

“Thank you,” Dev said earnestly, rising to shake the man’s hand. 

“Jeff,” the EMT said by way of introduction. He offered the phone in its sturdy orange case, already unlocked. “Thought you might want to see the damage, in case Mr. Pennyworth tried to downplay it. He didn’t even want to take a ride in my fancy taxi. My buddy had to talk him into it.”

Dev accepted the phone and stared at the picture on the screen; it took several long seconds for his mind to make sense of the image, for the shapes to resolve into a coherent visual instead of a jumble of muddled pixels.

It was a black SUV on its side, broken glass and reflector plastic on the pavement around it. The metal door frame had been bent back and curled, like a giant sardine tin peeled open by equally giant hands.

Jeff moved alongside him, shoulder to shoulder, finger brushing the screen in needless demonstration.

“If you go– yeah, this way– there’s the interior. Mikey wanted pictures after we checked Mr. Pennyworth over. Nobody could believe it.”

Dev looked quickly in Alfred’s direction to check on him again, to assure himself he hadn’t just imagined Alfred upright and talking and alive. He frowned at the last picture, bile rising in his throat, and he had to turn his head and swallow hard to keep himself from the indignity of vomiting on the floor.

Either Jeff hadn’t noticed or pretended, politely, not to. He pocketed the phone and said, “Jenny, at the desk, has my number if you want these for insurance. Feel better, Mr. Pennyworth!”

He patted the end of the bed and then left, the curtains swaying in his wake.

Dev turned to Alfred and he was certain his expression was wild, something desperate.

“Well,” Alfred said, “I’ve finally found something that can turn even your stomach and I suppose I can’t even properly tease you about it.”

“No, you bloody can’t,” Dev said. “It’s a miracle you’re alive. Does Wayne know?”

“I’ve not called him yet,” Alfred said. “I intend to, but saw no point in raising such an alarm over a simple sprain.” 

“Sprain?” Dev managed, his mouth still sour with bile. He looked at the silent machines, the disconnected BP cuff on Alfred’s arm. “Why are none of these monitoring you? And radiology hasn’t come in yet? They’ve not even brought ice?” 

He abandoned the vital sign machine he’d been adjusting and went to the curtain, leaned his head out and barked, “Where’s radiology?” at the desk.

“Trauma bay 3,” a nurse answered, checking a screen. 

At the same time, from within the room, Alfred hissed, “Kiran.”

Dev became aware of the commotion down the hall: a trauma surgeon and a cardiologist were running from the other direction with their colored badges clipped to pockets, the bay doors were wide open and a nurse was throwing an absorbent mat down on a trail of blood snaking across the threshold. 

“No rush,” Dev forced himself to say to the desk nurse, waiting expectantly, ready to page another team if Dev said it was emergent. Dev clenched his teeth tightly against the swell of panic that followed his words, the internal insistence that it was absolutely urgent and even now Alfred could be dying and they might all be missing the signs.

He turned stiffly and found Alfred regarding him with fond exasperation. 

“I didn’t ring you because I needed a doctor,” Alfred said with bewildering calm, considering the state of that smash up. “I had no intention of interrupting surgery, even. It’s only that I thought it was a laboratory day.” 

“And you wanted company,” Dev finished, the admission Alfred wouldn’t give outright. 

“Your company, yes,” Alfred said.

Dev sat on the stool beside the bed, hands clasped and foot tapping.

He lasted all of two seconds.

“You do need ice, though,” he said, standing again. “And some bloody paracetamol.” 

“Kirry,” Alfred said, laughing a little.

“Should I not, then?” Dev asked, caught between uncertain and angry. “You can’t bloody ring me and then sodding expect me to do nothing.”

“I suppose not,” Alfred said, sighing. “Very well.”

Dev paused, his stomach still in knots, and then sank onto the stool for a third time and looked intently into Alfred’s face, studying it. He automatically checked pupils without meaning to, and then considered the crease in Alfred’s brow.

“I know you’re not fond of being fussed over, Alfie,” Dev said. “And you’ll get enough of it from Wayne when he’s here. But please, let me do something. Shall I shout, like you’re Wayne? You’ve given me a proper fright and I could shout beautifully about responsible care just now.” 

“No shouting will be necessary,” Alfred said, his expression smoothing into something serious and resigned. “I’ll accept your ice and medicine, and perhaps some water, but I will be cross if you divert care from more urgent cases. I’m well enough to wait my turn in the queue.” 

“Thank you,” Dev said, rising. He pressed a kiss to the top of Alfred’s head and Alfred grumbled at him. 

A few moments later, Dev returned with an ice pack and medicine and water. He nudged the stool back across the room, charted the meds on the computer, and finally dragged a chair beside the bed. 

“There,” he said. “Now you’ve got me for company. Say something if you feel off?” 

“I will,” Alfred assured him. “I’ve no intentions of being foolish. Do you have things you ought to be doing?”

“Hospital things, you mean?” Dev asked. “If I did, I’m sure Candi has cleared them by now. You’re bloody stuck with me.” 

“Not that I mind,” Alfred said, smiling. “A quiet afternoon with you is rare enough.”

“It’s rather a good thing, by the by, that you came up to the desk a few weeks ago for introductions when you dropped off that dinner. Candi might not have pulled me out of the OR if she hadn’t met you and recognized your name,” Dev said. 

“I am willing to admit it wasn’t the intrusion I feared it would be,” Alfred said. 

They lapsed into a comfortable silence for a few moments, then Alfred closed his eyes.

“You know, I do believe I’m more upset about the food than the vehicle. I was restocking refrigerators this morning and I hadn’t made a single stop yet.”

“Not one? This morning?” Dev asked, alarm swelling again. “Alfie, how long were you trapped? It’s nearly four.” 

“That late?” Alfred asked, lifting his head. “Oh dear.” 

“Any errands I ought to run?” Dev asked, trying to quell his useless panic. “Dames isn’t stuck at school, is he?” 

“No, no,” Alfred said. “I merely hadn’t realized. It must have been quite a bit longer than I thought, then. It wasn’t so dramatic as you’re likely thinking; the door wouldn’t open, is all.” 

“The door wouldn’t open because it was bent in two,” Dev exclaimed. 

“And I’d just gotten you calmed,” Alfred said regretfully. “Let’s talk of something else.” 

Dev put his head in his hands and exhaled, long and slow, through his nose. 

“Alright,” he said, after a moment. “I’m sorry about the food. And don’t think of apologizing for ringing me. I’m just coming to terms with how bad it could have been and that it isn’t.” 

“No, it isn’t,” Alfred agreed. “I told the Lord I wasn’t quite ready, that I had work yet to do here and He must have agreed with my assessment.” 

“I’m bloody glad he did. It’s the most I’ve ever liked him, just now,” Dev said. “I’ll try to manage myself so you don’t have to keep talking me down. You ought to see it as a sign of my attachment, though.” 

“I do,” Alfred assured him. “And I’m hoping it extends to assisting me in managing Bruce. I’ve no hope of keeping him from seeing the state of the vehicle.” 

“I’ll do what I can,” Dev said. “I’m afraid you’re in for a time of it, though. Brace yourself for excessive coddling.”

“You intend to betray me and take his side,” Alfred said suspiciously, narrowing his eyes.

“Abso-bloody-lutely,” Dev said immediately. “Did you imagine for a second I wouldn’t? Especially after the lot of you coddled and smothered me a few months ago. It’s only fair.” 

“Smothered?” Alfred said, raising an eyebrow. “Surely not. I didn’t check on you nearly as often as I wanted, you know.” 

“I’ll hold myself back,” Dev promised. “Only a little less than you feel I ought.”

There was a rap on the sliding door frame just beyond the curtain.

“Radiology,” a voice called.

“Do come in,” Alfred said.

Dev stayed, just outside the perimeter that could be considered hovering, and studied the images as they appeared on the mobile unit screen. The tech noticed him watching and left them up a bit longer than she would have otherwise. 

Alfred thanked the radiology technician before she left.

He looked at Dev expectantly.

“I was told you didn’t want me as a doctor,” Dev said airily, crossing his legs and leaning back in the chair. “Radiology will read it soon.” 

Alfred pressed his lips together in a thin line, apparently determined to not press in contradiction of his own words.

“I’ll feel better when radiology looks,” Dev relented. “But I think you’re right– only a sprain. It’s a bloody miracle, and I mean that literally.”

“Thank Christ,” Alfred exhaled. “I do not relish the idea of weeks in a cast. Well. I ought to ring Bruce then, now that I’ve some news.” 

“You’ll not wait for radiology to confirm?” Dev asked.

“Kiran, if you can’t read an x-ray, I’m not sure why we let you do any work. If there was a fracture, you would have seen it, I’m certain. Might I borrow your mobile? I lost mine in the accident.” 

Dev patted his pockets, knowing the same second he moved what he’d find: Nothing. He’d left his mobile in his office when he’d gone into surgery. 

“It’s no matter,” Alfred said. “I’m sure there’s a phone at the desk.”

“No,” Dev said. “If I ring him that way– from an unfamiliar number, with no way to see or hear you– he really will have a panic. It’s just in my desk upstairs. Shall I bring back a cuppa? I’ve a kettle up there– it won’t even be microwaved water.” 

“Oh, yes, if you don’t mind,” Alfred said, with such obvious relief that it was clear any reservations about waiting to call Bruce were overridden by the offer of tea. “And– well, no, never mind that for the moment.” 

“Peckish?” Dev guessed. “When’d you eat last?” 

“Not nearly long ago enough for any of the things you keep in your office to appeal,” Alfred said. “I’ll be quite alright, Kiran.” 

“Nonsense,” Dev said. “You’re in luck. I was in a nostalgic mood this morning and brought a sandwich, just bread and some of that cheese Kent brought for you that you shared. I’m not hungry at all and I’ll be bloody heartbroken if you don’t take it. I’ll be back in ten, then, yeah?” 

“Thank you,” Alfred said. 

“Yell if anything is off,” Dev warned him. “Now’s not the time to wait it out if you feel odd.” 

“I’ll survive ten minutes alone,” Alfred said. 

Outside the room, Dev stopped first at the desk.

“I’m running upstairs, so there’s no one with Mr. Pennyworth in 17 right now,” he said. “The accident he was in– did the other driver end up here or somewhere else?” 

The nurse, a man with tight curls, looked to his companion at the desk. 

She looked up from what she was writing when her name was called and Dev repeated the question.

“Here,” she said. “He was DOA, a few hours before your guy came in.” 

Dev sighed and idly rapped the top of the desk. “Alright, thanks. I’ll be back down. Page me if anything with 17 changes.” 

It took him fifteen minutes instead of ten. He came back with the mobile, the tea, and the sandwich just as the resident ER doctor was leaving the room. 

“We’re getting discharge papers,” the young doctor said as they passed each other. 

A nurse was still in the room, helping Alfred adjust the brace they were sending him off with. 

Dev set the tea and sandwich within reach and logged into the system to look over the chart. He swore at an absence of data. 

He left again almost immediately, to call the resident back and thoroughly tell him off for not doing a physical exam. It was cathartic to shout and shout so much, satisfying to know it was deserved. The noise had died off to a ringing silence when he returned to Alfred.

Half the sandwich was already gone. Alfred set it aside wordlessly when the resident slunk back in, spoke a halting apology for the intrusion, washed his hands, and began an exam. Alfred bore it patiently and Dev sat quietly, playing a mindless game on his mobile like he was any other family member, waiting with a loved one.

It was only when the resident was gone that Alfred spoke. 
“You didn’t have to traumatize the man on my behalf,” he said.

“Oh, yes, I did,” Dev said earnestly. “I adore you, Alfie, but what if it wasn’t you? I’ll be watching you like a bloody hawk, and Wayne will be, too, but what if it were some other patient being sent home and they’d missed something that exam would have caught?”

“In that case, I won’t give you grief over it,” Alfred said.

“Shall we ring Wayne, then?” Dev said. “Or ought I leave you to the cuppa, first?” 

“It is a serious temptation at this juncture to put it off until I’ve gone home,” Alfred said. “They’ll discharge me before he could even arrive.” 

“I very much doubt that,” Dev said, pulling out his mobile. He initiated a video call, and thought to ask while it was ringing: “He’s not out on business, is he?” 

“He won’t answer if he is,” Alfred said.

The call went through. 

“Hullo,” Dev said in greeting. 

Bruce’s face, eyes bleary with sleep, filled the screen. There was a hotel room in the background, a bedside lamp on, and black night outside the windows. Dev belatedly remembered Bruce had been traveling, and not for Batman work, as far as he knew. 

“Dev,” Bruce said. There was a note of question in it.

Dev turned the camera slightly so Alfred was in the frame with him.

“First, you ought to know he’s alright, just a sprained arm, but your da was in a terrific smash-up,” Dev said before Alfred could say a word. “I’m about to take him home and tuck him into bed with soup and a hot toddy.”

“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” Alfred said sharply. “It’s merely a sprain, as you’ve said yourself.” 

The call ended abruptly, the screen black. 

“You ought to have let me speak with him first,” Alfred complained, taking up the sandwich again. 

“It doesn’t bloody matter who talked to him first,” Dev said. “And you sodding know it.”

Five minutes later, they could both hear Bruce’s voice outside at the desk, asking about a room number.

“In here!” Dev said, loudly enough that Alfred jumped slightly and frowned at him.

The curtain swept to the side.

“There was no reason to rush,” Alfred scolded.

Bruce, features contorted by unusual open worry, pulled the curtain shut behind him and then stopped. He stood rooted like a statue in his trousers and hoodie, hair mussed by wind, eyes going from unused machines to Alfred to Dev and then looping back. 

“How bad?” he asked, addressing Dev.

“I’m not bloody misdirecting, it’s just a sprain,” Dev said, offering the chair. Bruce ignored it and pulled an empty seat to the other side. Dev sat back down. 

“Thank God,” Bruce exhaled, forehead dropping to the bed. Alfred patted his hair fondly. 

“I’m quite alright, my boy,” he said. 

“I was in Japan,” Bruce mumbled into the thin white sheet.

“I know,” Alfred said, brushing some flecks of atmospheric ice out of Bruce’s hair. “I would have told you not to come if you’d only stayed on the line a moment longer.”

“I’d known and forgotten,” Dev admitted. “Should I text Kent and let him know the state of things?” 

“I will,” Bruce said, tapping on his phone. He pocketed it a second later and turned his full attention on Alfred. “Does the rest of the family know? Are they keeping you? When did it happen?” 

“We can ring them after I’ve gone home,” Alfred said. “The nurse will be by any moment with discharge papers.” 

“Oh,” Dev said. “Sorry, then. I’ve just texted them all.” 

Alfred sighed. “Well. Message again and inform them there’s no call to descend upon the hospital like a crowd of locusts. They might as well come over for dinner if they wish to see me in one piece for themselves.” 

“What should I order?” Dev asked Bruce over the bed.

“There’s a las-”

“You aren’t cooking,” Bruce and Dev said in unison, looking at him and then each other. 

The anxious twist to Bruce’s mouth shifted, curved into something more like a smile, and some of the tension left his shoulders. 

“Very well,” Alfred said. “I’m rather in the mood for pasta, regardless, if my opinion is worth anything. I begin to doubt it is.” 

“Just a sprain?” Bruce asked. “They’re sure?”

“I’m sure,” Dev said. “And I’ll stay the night at the manor anyway, just in case. I’ll let the hospital know I’m taking tomorrow off.” 

“There’s really no need to–” 

“It’s not a problem, Alfie,” Dev said. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever taken family leave before? It’s about time I did, even if it’s only a day or two.”

“Well, then,” Alfred said to him, while patting Bruce’s hand, which was in a white-knuckled fist on the sheet. “It would be foolish to talk you out of that, then, wouldn’t it?” 

Dev sent a string of texts and ordered food for Tim to pick up, then the nurse was back with discharge papers. 

Belatedly, he realized he ought to have run up for his keys and coat while they were waiting; he left Bruce and Alfred in the room with plans to meet them at the ER entrance.

On his way to his office, he passed the neurology desk– Candi looked up from gathering her things at the end of her shift.

“Hey,” she said when he slowed. “Is Mr. Pennyworth doing okay?”

“He is,” Dev said. “Already discharged. I’m driving him home and staying with him tonight.”

The sharing felt foreign to him, like he’d tried tying his trainers and accidentally knotted one shoe to the other, and was now sure to trip and break something. 

But he was trying to say the sorts of things coworkers said to each other, the things that made them more like colleagues and less like strangers. It was the sort of information they gave him that he’d long known how to listen and nod at the right times about.  

“Oh, good,” Candi smiled. “I was really worried. It sounded bad.”

Others at the desk were now listening, some openly and some surreptitiously. Rhonda was just coming in for her shift, coat on, someone else behind her. 

“What happened?” Rhonda asked, setting her water bottle down. She shrugged her coat off, beads on her badge cord jingling as they brushed her zipper. 

“Dr. Dev’s dad was in an accident,” Candi said, turning. “I had to pull him out of a spinal surgery this afternoon.”

“He’s alright,” Dev said, before Rhonda could ask. The sharing was snowballing into more chatting than he wanted to stand around and manage; he didn’t feel like correcting Candi’s label of Alfred’s place in his life, but he didn’t want to stand around and explain it either. “He’s downstairs waiting, though, so I ought to keep on to my office. I did want to thank you, Candi. I didn’t earlier.”

“It’s no problem,” she said. “I’ll walk you there. It’s on my way out.”

It gave him a quick escape to walk alongside her, so he didn’t protest. 

She didn’t say anything else until they were almost to the door.

“I hope I didn’t offend you,” she said. “Saying he was your dad. You introduced him as Mr. Pennyworth, but he told Jeff he wanted to call his son, and I just assumed that it was, well, it’s really none of my business, but, anyway, I’m sorry if it was the wrong thing to do.”

“It wasn’t,” Dev said, her own nervousness prompting him into a calm he wouldn’t have otherwise had about untangling the knot of who the Wayne family was to him in front of someone not inside it. “It’s nothing formal, but it isn’t wrong, either.”

“Oh, good,” Candi exhaled. “You two obviously care about each other a lot– I could tell when he stopped by. But you looked a little upset when I said it. You’re sure it’s alright? I can go back and tell Rhonda and the others I misunderstood.”

He knew what she was offering– a chance to turn off the spout of renewed office gossip at one of the more profligate sources. 

“Bloody positive,” he said. “He’d come if I called, and he called me when he needed. That’s as good as family, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” she said, her smile back. “Tell him I said I hope he feels better soon.”

“I will,” he said, putting the key in the knob for his office. 

He waited til she was gone to backtrack to the right door– he’d gone on autopilot for the old one, and the key wouldn’t turn in the lock. He hoped she hadn’t noticed or remembered. 

Not long after, he was behind the wheel of his car, braking to a stop outside the ER doors.

The rest of the evening passed quickly and uneventfully. Alfred fielded about a hundred questions from Wayne kids about the accident and his own health with a patience that belied his discomfort at the attention. 

Bruce stuck to Alfred’s side like a burr and Dev, despite his internal promises to give Alfred space, kept finding himself not much further away. He’d try to go do something and circle back, like a satellite correcting its orbit over and over. 

It wasn’t until Alfred excused himself for bed that Dev found himself untethered. Bruce went downstairs and out, because doing useful things as Batman provided a solace and distraction Dev almost understood even if he didn’t share.

Dev spent the night close to Alfred’s room, in case there was a cry for help or a gut sense something was wrong– he and Tim played old games on a PS2 unearthed in an older lounge, a space likely once meant for staff. It bore evidence of being claimed as a hideaway by Jason or Dick at some point in their younger lives. 

“Did you see the car?” Tim asked, when they grew tired of Tony Hawk Proskater and switched the disk out for something else. 

“Pictures,” Dev said. 

“Yeah,” Tim breathed. “It was bad. Like I dunno how he’s okay.”

“You saw?” Dev asked in surprise, though he knew he shouldn’t have been. 

“Babs found the security camera for the lot it was towed to and Jason went over before he came to the manor. He wanted to see if he could find any of Alfred’s stuff, in case someone looted it tonight.”

“Not much to loot,” Dev said grimly.

“Yeah,” Tim agreed. “I’m so glad he’s okay. Are you okay?”

“Mm. Think so?” Dev said. “You, mate?”

“Gonna feel weird for a few days, but yeah,” Tim said. “It’s those aftershocks, you know? When you feel like something’s changed and not really anything has but it could have? Like a bad dream, but the kind where you wake up and it doesn’t feel scary the second you’re awake, but you’re glad it’s over anyway.”

“Bloody hell, exactly that,” Dev said. “I’m taking tomorrow off to be about, though. I want to be here if someone should insist he sodding rest.”

“Oh, good, I was hoping,” Tim said.

Tim retreated toward his own room an hour later, stumbling and half-asleep. 

Dev slept on the couch. 

He woke and knew it was dawn, his internal clock calibrated even without any light. He sat up, rubbing his eyes, brushing his hair into some semblance of order with his fingers.

He was up just in time to see Alfred go by and down the corridor in his navy blue robe and slippers.

Curious more than concerned, he stepped over the back of the couch and followed, trailing Alfred all the way to the conservatory. 

“You might as well come sit,” Alfred said from a bench, the moment he settled himself. 

Dev took the spot beside him without prodding first to see if it was a serious offer.

“Morning,” Dev said, hiding a yawn behind his hand. “How’re you, then?”

“Stiff,” Alfred said, rolling his neck and then settling back, his hands in the pockets of his robe. His wrist was in the brace. “But not more than I expected I might be.”

“Paracetamol or something stronger?” Dev asked. “I can run downstairs, if you want anything–”

He was rising and Alfred put a hand on his arm. 

“Sit, Kiran,” Alfred said. 

Something in his tone made Dev drop back down onto the bench and look at him. Alfred was studying the small lemon tree across from them. 

“I’ll take something in a moment,” Alfred said, without looking at him. “Just sit here for now, without rushing off.”

Dev stretched out his legs, crossed his ankles, and gazed at the lemon tree with him.

“I was…badly shaken yesterday,” Alfred said. “Far more than I perhaps let on.”

You didn’t let on at all, was what Dev wanted to say, but he succeeded in holding his tongue.

“I was rather glad you were there,” Alfred said. “It helped more than you might know– it was comfort to have you near. That’s all I wanted to say.”

“Oh,” Dev said. 

He had half been expecting some speech about Alfred’s eventual death, promises about watching out for Bruce, some vow to not fall apart if the family needed someone and Alfred was gone. Dev hadn’t been prepared to give any such oath, but he would have given it all the same if Alfred had asked it of him. 

“That’s all?” Dev asked. 

Alfred looked at him instead of the tree, then, an eyebrow arched.

“I meant,” Dev began, half-laughing at himself, “I thought you might…anyway, I’m glad you rang. I was glad I could be there.”

They sat for a while as the world outside the conservatory windows lightened from early dawn to day.

“The neurology desk as good as thinks you’re my father,” Dev said. “I thought you ought to know I didn’t correct them, in case you stop by again and it comes up.”

“I told Mr. Hendricks I wanted to call my son,” Alfred said in return.

Both confessions had the faint hint of apologies, but Dev didn’t intend to give one, and he suspected Alfred didn’t either. He hoped. 

“I told you I think of you that way,” Alfred said. “I didn’t ask if you would mind if other people knew.”

“I don’t,” Dev said quickly. “I don’t bloody mind. Please, don’t stop on my account.”

“You don’t have to plead with me, Kiran,” Alfred said. “I’m quite content to claim you if you’ll let me. I only wanted to make certain you weren’t reluctant to voice objections. I’m no stranger to uneasiness about familial labels.”

“I’ve none,” Dev said, slouching down on the bench and stretching out, content and determined to enjoy it. “Tell your God thanks for me, when you talk again. For leaving you here for now.”

Alfred leant his cheek against the top of Dev’s head.

“Very well,” he said. “I shall. I’m rather happy to be here myself.”

“I ought to get meds into you before you feel even worse,” Dev said, reluctant to move. Alfred was actually leaning on him some and it was a pleasant weight.

“I won’t crumble to pieces if we wait a quarter of an hour,” Alfred said. 

“I’m trusting you,” Dev warned. “You’ve got to tell me if you changed your mind and need them sooner. I’ve not learned all your tells like I have with Wayne.”

“Some of us have been so well-trained as to not have any tells,” Alfred said archly and Dev laughed, then sighed.

“Alright, then. Be bloody mysterious. Just sodding say something if I’m not to guess or see it myself.”

“I will,” Alfred said. “I’m quite alright, Kirry.”

Dev closed his eyes, listening to the wind outside the glass panes of the conservatory, the drip of water from one of the pipes in the corner, and the sound of Alfred’s steady breathing. The warm weight of Alfred’s cheek rested against the crown of his head. 

He ought to go fetch medication and water; he should see that Bruce made it back upstairs and wasn’t in the cave ignoring his own need for sleep; he should call the hospital and sort out a day or two off. He might check on Damian and Cass, or look at Jason’s healing sutures from the week before if he was still about. 

There were a dozen things he could do, that he needed to do at some point very soon. 

Alfred’s gentle sigh ghosted across his hair, warm and soothing. 

Eventually, he’d have to get up, but for now, he was staying put.