Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

   Getting past the security of a Bat while suffering through the fading dregs of three different toxic gasses was its own brand of torture. Dick fumbled with the lock, ready to cry if only because his fingers couldn’t find the hidden catch for the last of seventeen complicated steps. He really didn’t need to be shocked into unconsciousness tonight on top of everything else.

   Admittedly, that would solve the problem of being awake.

   “Whoa,” someone said as he finally tumbled through the barely-open window. The sound echoed unpleasantly in his skull. “I did not order a side of wet cat with this Thai. Haul your ass right back---”

   Dick looked up, panting. The walls flexed from their vertical angles, threatening to cave in on him. The shadows’ amused leers didn’t offer much solace. The only other direction to look aside from down, which spiraled beneath him in an endless pattern of worn wood grain and broken bodies on a sawdust floor, was back, and back was worse. Dick closed his eyes instead, blocking out his warped view of the indignant giant advancing on his position from the dining room.

   “Hey,” Jason’s voice whispered, echoing despite its lowered volume. “You’re not doin’ so hot, huh?”

   No fuckin’ shit, Dick wanted to grunt, but opening his mouth had joined the lengthening list of “Not unless you want to throw up” dialogue options. He nodded instead.

   A calloused thumb brushed across his forehead. “No temperature. What were you hit with? Two taps for Crane’s shit, one for Joker’s. Four for fuckin’ Ivy.”

   Dick tapped on the floor two times. He didn’t remember leaning into Jason’s hand until he felt the other, both cupping his face like he was someone’s scared toddler. Was this really Jason’s apartment? Only Damian was so gentle, and even then… Maybe Dick had wandered all the way back to Wayne Manor.

   “--- ey, ears open; what else?” the voice filtered back in, gruff now with worry.

   Dick’s first reaction was to smile--- I’m okay, Little Wing, I promise--- but he couldn’t even manage that. There must have been a muscle irritant in the latest sampling of Crane’s experimental Halloween batch. He nodded into Jason’s hands.

   “Did you take the antidotes for everything, or am I about to have a very awkward conversation with the cave?” Jason demanded next.

   Another short nod. OK, he signed. Like that would be enough, barring a full performance with working smile muscles, to bullshit his way into disarming others’ care.

   “Okay. Alright. I gotcha.” Jason hauled Dick up under the armpits with startling ease, propping him carefully on his feet. “Go take a shower. You’ll feel better clean an’ in sweats. I’ll set ‘em on the toilet.”

   Dick cracked his eyes open against the dizzying colors warping his vision, hallucinations protesting their inevitable deaths, and stumbled to the bathroom. His fingers scratched uselessly at the domino, catching painfully at his too-hot skin.

   “Easy.” Jason pawed his hands away, peeling Dick’s mask off himself. “Zipper?”

   Dick turned around, shivering. The sensation of the zipper at his neck giving way under someone else’s touch would never ever be a comforting one. Jason only pulled down to his lower back, though, closing the door to let Dick pry the sticky suit from his shivery body in solitude.

   The hot water was both too much and far too little. He zoned out, barely remembering to apply soap before the eventual trip back to the bath mat. Then there were clothes, too-big clothes that hung in a comforting way from his body instead of conforming to aching muscles, shivery nerves that wouldn’t behave. He knocked his hand against the faucet trying to get a drink, then his shoulder into the doorway trying to leave the room. Those tears were making renewed efforts to escape.

   “Sit,” Jason ordered grumpily, pointing to the couch from his spot at the stove. “I warmed up a few blankets.”

   Dick crept to his designated corner, trembling through the heat. His hip clipped the arm of the couch, sending him crashing into the coffee table. It shattered upon impact. Or was that another hallucination?

   “Easy,” Jason’s voice whispered, echoing. Someone’s hand lowered his head into a soft pillow. Headphones pressed around his ears, blocking out all input as gentle white noise washed into the breach. Another hand rested over his eyes, forcing them to close. First a swoop in his stomach, the inevitable dread that came with giving up hypervigilance. Then--- silence. Blessed… peaceful… silence.

   Dick slumped bonelessly into the cushions at his back, grunting in relief. It didn’t seem to matter that those tears had finally found release to carve down his face.

   “There it is,” Jason’s voice murmured from afar. “I gotcha, big bird. Ride it out.”

   Thank you, Dick tried to sign, but it might as well have been the soft fluttering of a butterfly for all he was able to move. He was safe here in his little brother’s home. He could afford this peace, this absence of sense. He would come out the other side exhausted and numb and hungry for whatever soup was already simmering on the stove. The pain of existing wouldn’t last much longer.

   The gentle hand rested heavy on Dick’s eyes, keeping him down. Dick gave up to his grapple with reality, sinking into unconsciousness with a little less deadly speed than the fall from a broken trapeze. Everything would make… a little more sense… when he woke up.

Chapter Text

   Hood snarled reflexively as he was slammed against the fifth wall of the evening. Old memories jumped at his thoughts, tearing at reality to get in. He shoved them back in time with another right hook. Easy fuckin’ bust my ass. Black Mask complicates everything he---

   The goon pinning him to the wall stumbled away with a bloody nose, but two more were approaching from the left, and backup was obviously on the way. Hood glanced wildly around the warehouse, now shuttered in darkness from his attempt to blind the opponents he’d underestimated, in search of an escape route. To his left--- stairs. No way were those regulation standard, but it was better than feeling trapped for half a second longer, so he jumped. His huge wings, dusty from weeks of neglect, flared out behind him to offer extra air time. He flapped exactly once before running into the problem of ceiling. His boots hit the stairs with a mighty thud, rattling the rusty screws loose. It took three bounds to reach the teeny tiny escape hatch near the top.

   Unfortunately, he hadn’t factored for what felt like three tons of one goon appearing from behind.

   “Fuck---” Hood lowered his shoulder as the extra weight slammed them both through the flimsy metal door. Big, meaty hands grabbed at his right wing as they fell, twisting. Hood didn’t hear himself scream, but he did hear the impact that meant they’d arrived at the ground. His only remaining pistol was in his hand. The goon rolled onto his back, took one rattling breath, and stopped moving.

   Hood scrambled to his feet, tugging uselessly at the tips of his primaries still pinned under dead weight. He glanced wildly toward the warehouse, panting. The shouts echoed from approximately everywhere, raising the hair on his arms as he realized that backup was here, shadows had pinpointed his escape, Black Mask was landing on the roof---

   Adrenaline lent strength to his shaking limbs. He shoved away from the body, ripping his wing free, and sprinted across the concrete lot with phantom pain echoing through his hollow bones. Every pounding heartbeat sounded like a gunshot, a perfect opportunity for someone to hit his exposed back---

   He’d slammed the unused button on his helmet before he had the breath to say anything. The voice on the other end was too far away, too quiet, but it didn’t stop calling his name with increasing alarm until he finally managed a single thought. “Roy.”

   “I’m coming.”

   “Roy---”

   “I’m coming, Jaybird. Hang on.”

   Jason tore his helmet off once he was backed into a corner, struggling for breath. The pain was too overwhelming to allow a glance down. He didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to know. He didn’t want---

   “Breathe,” the voice reminded him. “D’you hear me, Jay? Deep fuckin’ breaths, man.”

   Jason gasped sharply. It hurt his ribs. “I… I can’t.”

   “You’re not buried. You’re not drowning. You’re not alone.”

   “I can’t…”

   “You’re not dead. You’re not captured. You’re not falling.”

   “How… How do you…”

   “Because I can see you.” The words echoed strangely in his com, and then gentle fingers were peeling his hands from his hair. “Hey, hey, look at me. Look.”

   Jason turned his eyes up, choking. A dull green glow washed over familiar freckles. The light made him sick to his stomach, but Roy--- Roy smiled. “You got away, dude. Kori is dealing with Mask. Where’s it hurt?”

   Jason thought his wings shuffled, itchy and dusty and shattered, and a sob tore from his dry throat. “Is it broken? Is it… Is it…”

   “Easy. Hey. Eyes on me.” Roy pinned Jason’s head between his hands, holding eye contact. “Breathe. In… out. In… out. In…”

   Jason’s breaths shook like the last autumn leaf on a shriveled tree, but they came. He mindlessly followed the gentle pace until other senses filtered back in. The red hair falling out of Roy’s hasty ponytail. The darkness of the empty office building he’d broken into. The protective curve of Roy’s wings, thinner and rounder and gentler than Jason’s, wrapped loosely around his body.

   “Therrre he is,” Roy murmured quietly, reaching one wing a little closer for Jason to touch. “I gotcha, Jaybird. You’re safe now.”

   Jason ran his bloody fingers through Roy’s light brown primaries, choking on another agonizing breath. Soft. They were soft. Roy always took good care of his wings. (It signified his world was ending if he didn’t.)

   “Now,” Roy continued quietly, far too calm for the panic still shaking through Jason’s limbs. “What’s hurting you?”

   Jason made the effort of lifting his wing, gasping when pain, real but maybe not real at all, reminded him of the hairline fractures that meant it had shattered beyond repair once upon a time. “Is it broken? Is it broken?”

   “Easy,” Roy reminded him as steadily as the tree that Jason’s last leaf was shaking on. He reached out, taking Jason’s wing into both hands. He stretched it out, ever so carefully working the joints as he flexed it from its pinned position against Jason’s back. Despite the pain--- real or not real?--- Jason let him. He… He trusted Roy. (And when had that happened? When had he stopped looking for excuses to snap, to deny preening sessions or cuddle piles where wings kept in the warmth?)

   “It’s just sprained,” Roy finally said, and the verdict lifted a stack of bricks from Jason’s chest. “It’s not broken, Jaybird.”

   “N… None of it?”

   “None of it. Does it feel broken?”

   Jason rested his head in his hands, nodding. He felt like laughing. (He felt like throwing up.)

   “I get it.” Roy let Jason’s wing rest across his lap, stroking his fingers (clean, clean fingers that weren’t covered in blood,) through the secondaries. “I still feel cold in my left knee sometimes after that bad break in oh-five. It’s just a little twisted. No shattered bits, no blood. You’re okay.”

   Jason really did laugh, then, leaning back against the desk. “Fuck.”

   “You’re okay.” Roy’s fingers brushed layers of neglect from Jason’s feathers, straightening each ruffled one with the practiced gentleness of a parent. “We’re just gonna sit here for a minute. Kori will get us when it’s all clear. Mask fled the scene, but you should still get a good payout from what’s left over. You hit him hard tonight.”

   Jason’s heavy eyes slid closed. He jerked a nod. Victories were few an’ far between this winter--- He would take it. “Roy?”

   Roy paused the preening in order to discard a feather that had come loose. He laid it gently at his side instead of tossing it over his shoulder. Jason knew he kept them. He logged the circumstances under each loss, pulling out the log with morbid smugness whenever Jason couldn’t see worth in fighting to live. “This is what you’ve survived,” he would say every time, pointing to the description of battle or hardship or abuse under each one. “You’ve done it before. You can do it again.”

   “Thanks,” Jason whispered thickly.

   Roy resumed his gentle strokes, a soothing gesture now more than anything else, and had the audacity to chuckle. “You’d do the same for me.”

Chapter Text

   All other pups die without pack, Grandfather’s voice preened from a memory. You, of course, are above such weaknesses.

   Damian shook his head to rid himself of the cobwebs, straightening as far as his chains would allow. He was not packless now, of course. The drugs his captors had administered once he was unconscious only blocked his ability to feel his bonds. Nothing short of death could break such ties to the soul.

   That was he continued to tell himself, at least.

   The door opened up right on time, letting a dim light into the otherwise dark cell. Damian hissed fiercely, tiny teeth bared against an alpha four times larger than he. It would do him no good to cower. This man was after one thing alone.

   “Spare me the theatrics,” the peasant ordered. “Are you ready to cooperate?”

   “Never,” Damian spat out. He was chagrined to have been caught by such lowlives as these, dirty scum who, despite their facade of elegance, wanted only money. It did not seem to matter that they might, logically, get farther by sending a ransom note to Father. No, that wouldn’t do at all. They wanted to steal the Wayne banking information personally.

   “I have worked with far more difficult pups than you,” the man chuckled, stepping out. “Isolation will get to you sooner or later. I suggest you rethink your priorities sooner.”

   Damian slumped once the door had slammed shut, wriggling out of the locks he’d already been able to pick. The cold metal slid from his wrists with a soft clink. That, unfortunately, was as far as he’d gotten--- Nothing of use had been left in this cell, and he’d been in his school attire with nary a pocketknife up his sleeve when they had jumped him.

   Careless, that’s what he was. He deserved to be locked up in here. Perhaps Grayson would spare him the lecture once he finally arrived.

   It’s been two days, the voice hissed, reminding Damian of the growl in his stomach and the emptiness in his chest. They aren’t coming. You’ve made yourself an enemy to their affections. No one wants you back.

   Damian tugged uselessly at his jacket, swallowing past the lump in his throat. That wasn’t true… was it? Surely he was not alone once more. Someone would care enough to look. His backpack had trackers sewn into the bottom. Surely…

   It will not do to cry, he told himself stubbornly, swiping at the dampness in his eyes. He crawled unsteadily to the corner, gathering scraps of fabric from the previous prisoners as he went. A shred of a shirt here… a scarf there… a coat, a sock, a hat. He piled these things mindlessly into a pitiful half-circle of warmth, lying his own jacket on top to muffle the stale abandoned-scared-lost scents still clinging to other pups’ clothing, and curled up there to rest. It would be at least six hours before he was visited once more, and despite the sense-nullifying effects of whatever they continued to drug him with, he was still adept at telling time.

   Someone would come. He had endured far worse torture than sitting alone in an empty room for a few days without water, without food, and without contact. This, as far as hardship was concerned, was barely a bother.

   Damian curled tighter, gathering the meager nest around his body with a sniffle. He was stronger than the emptiness in his chest. Truly. Grayson would find him soon enough, and then… Then they would go home. Have a good laugh over it. What pitiful kidnappers; what amateur methods compared to the genius evils they most regularly had to face. This? This was nothing. A mere coldness, a lame drug that was of no more annoyance than a buzzing fly.

   It took the blockage in his nose for Damian to realize he’d started crying. He swiped at his eyes again, furious with himself. Who was he to feel misery over simple isolation? He was without pain aside from the pangs of hunger, and even those were easy enough to ignore. He was not just any pup. He was an Al Ghul, a Wayne of the highest order. He was stronger than this.

   …Right?

   Damian buried his nose in an item of clothing, searching absently for a scent, any scent. The intense loneliness that entered his nostrils only served to further his own. He squeezed his eyes shut, waiting uselessly for the sharp pain of each heartbeat to abate. It would not last forever. Someone was coming. Someone… Soon… Someone…

   He snapped awake as a distant sound shattered the ringing silence, blinking. The tears had dried on his face. No, it couldn’t be. How long had he slept? Of all the incredibly stupid---

   A key fumbled at the lock of the door. Damian scrambled to his chains, fumbling hurriedly to put them back on. If they suspected he had wriggled loose of his restraints in order to roam freely about the tiny space provided, who knew what they would---

   The door slammed against the wall with the force of its opening. Damian jumped back with a hiss, forgetting all about the chains as fear closed his throat. He would have to fight his way out with his teeth alone. It wasn’t like these were the most skilled adversaries he had ever---

   The figure at the door stepped inside, wafting a familiar scent ahead of his slim frame. Worried-angry-scared-controlled-MINE. “Damian?”

   Damian froze in the corner, a whimper caught in his throat. This was but a test, surely. Grayson did not want him back. He had hurt too many, scorned too much, and for what? An imaginary status in a world he did not understand. No one liked the unknown, and Damian was far from a readable quantity. He had been abandoned to fend for himself; of course he had. This wasn’t Grayson.

   The figure dropped to his knees with a deep rumble that reached into Damian’s very bones. “Pup.”

   Damian abandoned his pitiful nest with a broken sob, stumbling dizzily into his alpha’s arms. “I… I thought you… I thought you wouldn’t…”

   Grayson wrapped him in a hug, a hug so solid it squeezed Damian’s pit-pattering heart against his lungs, hands rubbing firm circles into his back to distribute the unmasked, overwhelming, overprotective scent. It felt like more than a hug. It felt like the only thing holding Damian together. It felt like an impenetrable shield. It felt like he belonged.

   “I’ve got you,” Grayson rumbled vindictively, gently nudging Damian’s head aside to expose his shoulder. “Let me take you home.”

   Damian curled into Grayson’s hug, whimpering as he felt the quiet pain of the bite. “Grandfather said I… I would die… if I was alone…”

   “You aren’t alone,” came the answering rumble, softening into affection as hot venom raced through Damian’s veins. “I have you. Submit.”

   Damian dropped like a rock through water, eyes falling shut. Gentle submission washed into his fearful scent as every muscle went slack, all-encompassing warmth wrapping around his heartbeat and weighing on his bones. Perhaps it was alright to need pack after all. Perhaps Grayson really did want him. Perhaps… he was home.

Chapter Text

   Hood sighed heavily, dropping the last of the unconscious dealers to the dirty pavement. This bust had taken fifteen minutes longer than usual. Stupid fucking sicknesses an’ their stupid fucking hallucinations. “For the last damn time, Bats. Stop following me.”

   The shadow looming over the alleyway crouched as if that would keep it from being spotted. A useless effort if ever Hood saw one. He always spotted these. It was impossible not to notice the “coping” your own brain chose to cook up.

   Whatever. Hood’s head was spinning like a top, his stomach was jumping at his ribs, and his skin ached in a way that made him consider ripping it off instead. There was a safehouse thirteen blocks away with his name on it. Time to dip. “It’s been fun, peeps.” Ew… what? That’s something Dorkwing would say. “Later.”

   The shadow trailed after him, silent as shadows were. “Your temperature is elevated.”

   Hood chuckled darkly, bracing himself against a building before continuing his walk. Grapples were a big NO right now, and his bike was further away than a passable safehouse. There was even half a six pack of noodles left over if memory served. “Your mom’s elevated. Leave me alone, old man. It’s too early for this.”

   “Let me help.”

   Hood paused with a dizzying pang of longing. The hallucinations didn’t usually get as far as offering help before dissolving into nothingness. Or, depending on the reason for his delirium, the Joker. “Look at me. I’m holding an entire conversation with myself. Twelve fuckin’ blocks. Get it together, Hood. You have literally died worse than… than a fever.” Fuck… Why WAS he sick? Ironic, really, considering the nearness to his actual deathday. Maybe the increasing paranoia had lowered the effectiveness of his immune system. “Leave me alone.”

   The shadow said nothing else, but it didn’t leave. That was fine. Hood was too dizzy for this shit. All energy to legs. Noodles. Noodles were the end goal.

   The waves of nausea eventually forced him to another stop. Hood squinted at the neon map displayed on the inside of his helmet. Only… Only eleven blocks to go. He could do…

   He ripped said helmet off the very next second. Throwing up IN the helmet was always a last fucking resort, but no one was around. No one but that persistent shadow.

   “Jason,” it pressed, landing on a lower rooftop nearby. “You are compromised. Let me help.”

   “What are you gonna do, brood at me?” Jason snarked once he had breath. He rested his forehead against cool brick, groaning. “It’s not enough that I gotta see you in my nightmares, too?”

   The shadow fell silent for a minute. Then--- “Nightmares?”

   “Yea.” Jason shoved grumpily to his feet, taking another few (unsteady) steps. “Always too late.”

   The shadow made a disgruntled noise. It sounded almost like a keen, but that was impossible, because Batman… especially Hallucination Batman who didn’t even exist… had never showed that much emotion in his life. (At least… not since Jason had come back. The inevitable death of your kid, he supposed dizzily, would do that to you.)

   “You’re going to faceplant,” the shadow said flatly.

   Jason had just enough time to offer both middle fingers before hitting the sidewalk. He wasn’t sure which way was UP at this point, but his nose sort of stung, so maybe the dumb shadow had been right. Maybe his subconsciousness was trying to tell him something. Don’t get up; you can’t make it that far.

   Jason groaned miserably as the world spun, gathering him up into steady arms that were almost as good as a hug. “Don’ say that t’ me. I’ve… I’ve had much… much worse. I can…”

   “Of course you can,” the nothingness whispered, or maybe that was the UP he’d been unable to find. A steady bouncing made the stars slide sickeningly past. “It isn’t weak to need help.”

   Jason laughed sarcastically. He wasn’t sure what was funny about it. Just that the lump in his throat was gonna choke him to death, probably. “Bruce?”

   Glowing white eyes, then the stars disappeared, and the eyes turned to blue. “Yes?”

   Jason reached up, laughing, and it was a little softer this time. “Y’ve got gray.”

   Dad--- Not-Dad--- Batman raised a sharp eyebrow, pausing to jiggle the lock on a room that probably didn’t belong to him. “I do, Jaylad. You gave it to me.”

   Jason smiled proudly, but the mirth didn’t last too long. His body was rebelling against reality. “Hurts.”

   “I know.” The shadow set him down on something soft, and then his boots were gone, and his jacket, and his armor--- “Wait. Leave the gun.”

   The blue eyes… hesitated, sorrow and resistance and something else, something too deep for words. He holstered one of the pistols again, peeling off the outer layer of Jason’s clothes instead. It wasn’t long before Jason was shivering in his underwear. He was safe, though. The dream hadn’t taken away his only defense.

   “Do you see me here… often?” it asked.

   Jason rested his forehead against the cool armor of someone’s shoulder, sighing. “Nah. Jus’… a shadow. Usually. Broodin’.”

   A heavy hand rested on his nape, then drew him up, and how… how was this hallucination strong enough to carry him? “I’m sorry, Jaylad. That… sounds lonely.”

   Jason squinted up at the moving ceiling, then squeezed his eyes shut until he was set down again, because that had been a mistake. He grabbed a bare hand, waiting for his stomach to settle; a hand that was too gentle as it brushed across his sweaty forehead to be his own. “…Dad?”

   “I’m here, Jaylad.” The hand rested over his eyes, pressing him down into a pillow’s impossible softness. “I’ll take care of you. Rest.”

   Tears pricked Jason’s eyes before he drifted off. And wasn’t THAT embarrassing? Hopefully Dad wouldn’t still be here to worry once he woke up.

Chapter Text

   Falling asleep during a stakeout was generally frowned upon. Even… ESPECIALLY… if you were working alone. Alert hypervigilance was the first habit trained into you under Batman’s mentorship--- Heading out onto the streets without a developed sense of paranoia was unheard of.

   Red Robin shook awake for the fifth time in as many hours, tightening his grip on the staff. This was ridiculous. Three days without a wink of sleep and NOW his brain wanted to shut down? This was an important bust; if he couldn’t keep it together for a couple hours longer---

   “---ome in,” someone’s voice stabbed in his ear.

   Red flinched aside, lowering the volume on his com. He’d hoped keeping it all the way up would beat off the intense waves of drowsiness. Not so far, and surprisingly, no one had noticed.

   Well… until now. “I’m here.”

   “What, sleepin’ on the job?” Hood snickered distantly.

   “Report,” Batman’s voice cut in tersely.

   “Uh…” Red shook himself, leaning over the edge of the roof. “All quiet here.”

   “Are you alright?” Oracle’s voice asked. “You stopped answering for a minute there.”

   “Fine. I got distracted.” Red flexed his fingers around cold metal, impatient. “I don’t see why all five of us need to watch one location.”

   “This is the most likely drop; my source is clean.” Soft tapping filled Oracle’s background. “I need everyone on the same block so I don’t have to send the police in for backup this time.”

   “There,” Robin’s voice finally spoke up. “I see it.”

   “Easy,” Hood cut back. “We don’t know if those are the crates we’re looking for.”

   Red stood up, squinting. “That’s the signature. Batman?”

   “Hood’s neighborhood, Hood’s call.”

   “Aw, how thoughtful. Right. You an’ Robin take the loading dock; Red an’ I’ll take the guys inside.”

   “There will likely be backup.”

   “Likely.” Oracle’s voice filled with steel. “I’ve got a few open lines. Batwoman is in town if the four of you somehow find yourselves outmatched.”

   Red shot off his grapple, zipping quickly to the roof where he’d seen a chrome helmet a minute before. “On your signal, Hood. B?”

   “Ready.”

   Hood crashed through the skylight with all the drama inherent in a vigilante delighted for action. Red followed at a slower pace, lowering himself down in the shadows, then taking on the five men from behind as they were shooting at the obvious distraction. You’d think Gotham’s scum would have learned by now.

   “Package is secured,” Robin’s voice said, urgency cutting through every word. “It looks as if they’ve already armed the gas to weapons. Hit your rebreathers.”

   The warning was two seconds too late. Red spun around, sacrificing his footing for shielding his body. The grenade hit his cape, exploding into green gas that billowed out into the warehouse. He hit the ground hard, holding his breath at first despite the burning already searing through his lungs, and fumbled uselessly for his rebreather. Broken--- I forgot. I meant to restock. Why didn’t I--- “Shit. Hahaha… hahahahaha… hahahahahahahahaha!!!”

   “Red is hit.” Hood caught Red’s body as his knees gave out, cataplexy triggered by the compulsive laughter, and dragged them both behind a stack of crates as gunfire pinged overhead. “I have an antidote, just… Fuck. Needles.”

   “I… hahaha… I got it. Give…” Red knocked his forehead against cool concrete, laughing so hard his stomach hurt. He could hear Hood fumbling with the antidote. When the wave finally subsided, he grabbed it, pulling off his glove before injecting it into his own vein. His vision spun. “You… hahaha… you should g-go. Let… hahaha… HAHAHAHAHA…”

   Hood observed him with impassive white lenses through the green fog still floating around them. “Like HELL, dingbat. Batman’s got the rest of ‘em. Just---”

   Red’s head lolled as he lost muscle control. He grabbed Hood’s hand, squeezing. “No time to--- hahahahaha--- explain. Don’t leave me.”

   Darkness was quick in coming, but it didn’t last long, because he woke up lying on his side in the same spot, Hood still crouched protectively over his body. Sparse gunfire rang through the warehouse. Batman was probably capturing the rest of the runners.

   “We got ‘em,” Tim offered weakly. Then he doubled over as one last laughing fit worked its way through his aching body, leaving his muscles twitching with on-again-off-again control. “Ugh.”

   Jason tapped a button on his helmet, muting himself as well as disabling his voice modifier. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

   Tim rested his head against the ground, exhausted. Just… a few minutes… and he realized distantly that Jason was still holding his hand. He muted his own com before answering. “Narcolepsy. Don’t… don’t tell.”

   A sound like a scoff filtered through Jason’s unsteady voice. “No way you kept THAT a secret.”

   “‘m a good liar.”

   “Bitch. How hard is one fuckin’ word? I thought you were overdosing on that fuckin’ shit.”

   Tim squeezed a little tighter, finally trying to get up. Whoo. Dizziness. Joy. “Sorry. I’ll… make it up. Pizza.”

   “Make it chili dogs an’ maybe we’ll start talking.” Jason helped him stand with surprising gentleness, but his voice stayed gruff as he turned on his com again. “Yeah, he’s good. Antidote took a hot minute. Can we wrap this up? I’m hungry.”

   Tim waved weakly at Robin’s suspicious gaze as they exited their temporary hiding place. “Jay… Thanks.”

   Jason turned his body away from the others, signing. You owe me BIG explanation.

   Tim managed a tired smile. It wouldn’t be an encounter with the Joker’s goods before someone had suffered anything from embarrassment to uncomfortable levels of vulnerability. Besides, it looked like he was getting some bonding time out of it. Not bad for a night’s work. “I’m gonna pass out in ten seconds.”

   I have this. Go.

   “Fifth an’ Main?”

   Half an hour. Don’t be late.

Chapter Text

   “Let me tell you a story.”

   Lian wriggled happily under Roy’s arm, completely content now that she had mint chocolate chip ice cream in her grasp. A cup, of course, because Roy had learned his lesson after getting them cones last time. “Was he brave?”

   A bittersweet smile pulled at Roy’s lips. That was how he usually ended these stories, of course, and today was the day. It had taken three years to turn a time of mourning, of grief so heavy he usually sought a certain princess’s company to stay his self-destructive hand, into a time of celebration. (He deserved to be celebrated.) “Very, very brave. He saved a lot of people in his day.”

   “You, too, Daddy?”

   Roy tickled her to buy himself some time. He’d never told this story before. It had closed his throat every moment he’d tried. Was he strong enough now? (Would he ever be strong enough?) “SO many times. I was the last person he saved, y’know.”

   Lian giggled as she squirmed away from his wiggling fingers, threatening him with a spoonful if ice cream until he backed off. “Was it cool?”

   “Very.” Roy closed his eyes with a tired huff. The words came slowly this time. Maybe that was for the best--- Harder to choke this way. “We were after some bad guys in another land… very… very far away. We didn’t know it was a trap, but we gave ‘em what-for, ‘cause they needed to be taken down.”

   Lian watched Roy’s moving hands, eyes wide, as he attempted to illustrate the battle seared behind his eyelids every time he slept. “Were they really big ones?”

   “SO big. They punched me this way… and that way… and one of ‘em got ahold of your godfather’s ankle.”

   “No!!!”

   “Yes, and then threw him like THAT---”

   “No, that’s bad!!!” Lian got up on her knees, indignant now, and oh, Jaybird, you would have loved to see her eighth birthday--- She’s still your biggest fan. “Uncle Jay hadta shoot ‘em!!!”

   “And he did.” Roy raised one dramatic finger, breathing twice before the lump wasn’t quite strangling him anymore. “He landed on his feet, as all Robins do, and he shot the guy dead. A good thing, too. They weren’t too happy with me tryna stick arrows up their noses. Who doesn’t like arrows up their noses?”

   Lian sank back, giggling, and licked at her melting treat. “Then what happened? Did you win?”

   “Yeah. Yeah, we did.” Roy closed his eyes again. Keep it together, Harper. “We got out to the helipad. We hadta steal their helicopter, see? They’d lost their helicopter privileges. They hurt me pretty bad, though--- I couldn’t walk too good. Your godfather sh-shielded me with his… with his body. And he said…”

   “GO!!! Get outta here!!!”

   “Like fuckin’ hell, asshole!!!”

   “He told me to run home as fast as I could. That way I’d be safe.”

   “I’ll hold them off!!!”

   “I’m not leaving without you!!!”

   “He said he’d stay behind to make sure the bad guys were taught a lesson.”

   Heavy, painful breaths, and he was hot, too hot, too cold; the bleeding hadn’t stopped and the gunfire wasn’t letting up and someone’s sweaty forehead pressed against his. Jason’s heavy hand squeezed the back of his neck, and a voice raspy with yelling, with smoke--- “ I’m not asking you to. Go home to her. Go.”

   Lunging, catching, fingers slipping like slow motion through his own--- and he realized that his friend was a dead man walking, running, sprinting at their enemy despite the bullet holes already peppering his skin. One last charge. One more sacrifice. Not just for HIS life… but for his daughter’s.

   It had taken every ounce of strength, today’s strength an’ every day’s after, to force that chopper into the sky.

   “He told me to go home t’ you,” he managed before his throat finally closed up. He nuzzled her soft raven hair, barely keeping the tears at bay. He hadn’t stopped crying the entire flight. He still couldn’t, and some nights… some nights it felt like he was drowning. But not today. Today was for celebrating the brash, thoughtful, life-giving light snuffed out too soon. The time for crying was later, when the only thing between his tears and the warm shoulder of the only other person who understood was a certain gremlin’s bedtime. “He loved you very much.”

   “I know.” Lian abandoned her bowl of half-eaten ice cream, Jay’s favorite flavor, and threw herself around Roy’s neck. “He saved my daddy so he’s the goodest of good guys.”

   Roy smiled over her shoulder as a single tear carved down his cheek. He hugged her close, counting her heartbeats, the heartbeats he still got to listen to every single day. A cost paid in full, and it was up to him to use it wisely. Fuck you for givin’ me somethin’ else to live for. I miss you, man. “He really is, princess. The best of the best.”

   “An’ very brave.”

   “Very, very brave.”

   “Is Auntie Kori coming?”

   “Yes. We’re gonna cook his favorite food for dinner.”

   “Can I help this time?”

   “Only if you promise not to put wet flour in my hair.”

   “Yes Daddy.”

Chapter Text

   Hood landed on the fire escape like he weighed nothing, already grinning beneath his helmet. Nightwing had been struggling to disable the security on this apartment window for a long time. Maybe a proper scare would motivate him. Voice modulator disabled, Hood announced his presence with an easy opener. “Having a little trouble there, Dickhead?”

   Nightwing… did not react. Or maybe he hadn’t heard. Hood was just opening his mouth to start again, nonplussed, when he caught a quiet sigh. “Sorry Jay. Wasn’ fast enough.”

   Hood grabbed the rail of the stairs above him for balance. Yes, he had fully intended Nightwing to recognize his voice--- What fun was a prank if not about one’s dead sibling?--- but this was not the reaction he’d expected. The catch in reality allowed him to zero in on a vital detail he’d missed before. Nightwing’s wheezing breaths. “You don’t sound so hot. Rough night on the town?”

   Nightwing rested his forehead against the window, exhales fogging the glass. “I… saved ‘em… for you, Little Wing. Hadta.”

   Hood took his helmet off, trying to ignore the strange lump in his throat. Something was definitely wrong here, and it wasn’t just the feelings being felt over old nicknames. “Where’s the hurt?”

   Nightwing twisted aside, white lenses squinted to reflect his eyes underneath. One was cracked. His nose was bleeding, too, but his hand--- His hand hadn’t left his right side. Fuck. How had Hood missed that? “S’rry… Little Wing. Not fast enough.”

   Cursing under his breath, because this WOULD happen to him, Hood shoved the window open--- The lock had been disabled two minutes ago, but Nightwing hadn’t noticed--- and shoved the both of them inside, one after the other. Nightwing landed in a heap on the floor, blood already smearing the creaky wood, and groaned.

   “C’mere,” Hood said gruffly, locking the window before taking his brother’s head into his hands. He pried gently at the mask, letting out a stream of tears. Unnerved, he peeled it off completely, revealing hazy blue eyes in the shitty light from the street lamp outside. And then it was just them, Jason and Dick, and Jason was scared, because what the hell was he supposed to do with this? His plans hadn’t left room for an encounter like this one, for an injured sibling, for… for emotion. (Why was he feeling so much emotion?) “Did you keep patrolling after getting this? Strip.”

   “Only ‘f you… buy me d’nner,” Dick slurred dizzily, attempting to unzip his suit whilst also curling up against the pain.

   “Stop--- stop it; you’re giving me secondhand embarrassment.” Jason batted away his bloody fingers, pulling at the zipper himself. Dick was wearing a tank an’ boxers underneath, thank fuck, but the spike of energy Jason felt upon finally getting a good look at Dick’s side could hardly be called relief. He wrestled the stupid suit completely free before using a flashlight to get a closer peek. “A through an’ through; you’re lucky. This could have hit something important.”

   “It hit me,” Dick keened miserably, all emotion now that his ability to mask had dissipated with his sense of safety. “I’m important; I gotta… protect ‘em… for you, Jay. I gotta…”

   Jason didn’t know what to do with this information any better the second time he’d heard it, so he settled with hauling the idiot into his arms princess-style. “This is doing serious things to my mental health. Bathroom; I gotta close it up before you get sepsis. They barely grazed you; how’ve you lost so much blood? Don’t answer that. Here, sit still.”

   Dick braced himself on the back of the toilet, lidded eyes attempting to track Jason’s movements as he searched for the med kit. “Such… mother hen… Little Wing. Y’ would’ve made… a good doctor. Like Bruce.”

   Jason suppressed the automatic flinch. Dick was raving. Feverish. His skin was already burning up, and Jason was praying with every spare thought he had that the idiot had been sick before the bullet wound. “Here, bite this.”

   Dick bit down on the towel without complaint. The complaints came, of course, when Jason was cleaning the injury. “Ow. Ow. Owwwwwwwwwwaaaaauuuuuuuuuu…”

   “I know… I know… shhhhhhhh…” Jason’s encouragements devolved into shameful softness as Dick’s annoyance turned to pained whimpers. “You’ve had worse, y’ big dummy. Shhhhhh, shut up. I know. I gotcha.”

   “Hurts,” Dick panted as Jason started on the stitches.

   “What did I tell you about biting that thing?” Jason snarked grumpily, shoving the towel back into Dick’s mouth. His hands were shaking. (Why were his hands shaking?) “I’m almost done.”

   Dick got through the remainder of the care with minimal wriggling, thank God. He slumped against Jason’s shoulder when Jason had finished. “Missed y’ Little Wing. There’s… ‘nother one… s’ small. Y’ would’a liked ‘im. Snot.”

   “Uhuh.” Jason bolstered Dick’s uninjured side, already exhausted. Who knew stitching up a single wound, wiping down the patient with a damp cloth, and forcing fluids via the unceasingly jabbery face hole would take so much out of him? He was suddenly feeling renewed sympathy for Alfred. “Up.”

   “Don’ leave me,” Dick pleaded softly, emotions turning on a dime. “Please, please, Jay.”

   “I’m not leaving,” Jason groaned as he hauled the idiot to the couch, shucking his gear on the way. “Lie down already.”

   Dick hung on, shaking his head as distress surpassed words. (Well, at least he’d finally stopped chattering so much.) “Please… I don’ w-wanna…”

   Jason finally wriggled out of his jacket, flopping back onto the couch with a grunt. “Yeah?”

   “Don’t…” Dick keened softly as he managed to follow Jason down, landing bodily across his chest. “Y’ always gone… wh-when I wake… wake up.”

   Jason tucked the idiot under one arm so he could breathe, bracketing Dick against the back of the couch, and exhaled through the cursed emotion. This was NOT part of the plan. “I’ll be here when you wake up this time.”

   Dick’s eyelids fluttered as Jason, for some unspeakably soft reason, started combing fingers through his sweaty hair. “Promise?”

   Jason watched his brother’s face ease up, pained lines disappearing under the gentle touch that lulled him towards sleep. He tried to remember why he’d been so angry a few hours before. It was hard to find, but it was there… somewhere… beneath all the softness welling up in his chest like a painful realization of truth. “Yeah. I promise.”

Chapter Text

   “Anything?”

   Bruce shook out his overcoat as he stepped through the door, masking the heavy weight on his shoulders with exhaustion. It wasn’t pretending, not really. No one had slept well--- or at all--- since that night three weeks ago. “I’m afraid not.”

   Dick slumped back into the couch, anxious hope extinguished. He’d been confined to the house after breaking two bones in his left leg had put him in a cast. It didn’t stop him, of course, but it did slow him down. The others had made significantly more headway in the search for their sister, both by night and by day, than Dick had.

   “She’ll turn up,” Bruce tried steadily, patting Dick’s shoulder. He never had been good with platitudes. “She’s probably chasing cold leads in Europe by now. She’ll send us a postcard.”

   “It should have been me,” Dick fussed mournfully, slapping his cast.

   Bruce bent over the back of the couch, taking Dick’s chin in one firm hand. He waited until he had surprised eye contact before speaking. “No.”

   Dick’s precious blue eyes filled with tears. “She’s out there, Bruce. Alone. She threw herself right into Talon’s arms to protect me; you know she did.”

   “They fell into the bay,” Bruce hedged gruffly, tucking Dick’s blanket more snugly around his waist. “She likely won.”

   “What if she didn’t? What if he got ahold of her? Agh!!!” Dick hit his cast again. “I should have… I could have done something.”

   “You were busy breaking your leg after she successfully shoved you off the other end of the building,” Tim snapped from precisely nowhere, throwing his brother a truly grumpy look. His messy hair was up in a bun, and two--- no, three tablets were pinned under his arm. He carried steaming tea in his hands. “Here. Under penalty of Alfred.”

   Dick sighed heavily, very put upon, and took one of the mugs. “Anything?”

   “Not quite yet, but I’ve put out new feelers.” Tim flopped down, opening one of his devices. The circles under his eyes were darker than Dick’s. “We’ll find her, believe me.”

   Bruce clocked the steel in Tim’s voice with passing interest. Damian was coming in now, and Duke, both arguing about patrol routes most likely to find them clues. He stepped back, opened the front door, and shut it behind him, muffling the chatter within. He didn’t need to hear it. They’d… They’d let him know if they found something. Anything.

   Bruce scrubbed his hands down his grizzled face, groaning. He couldn’t stop playing it in his head--- The terrifying moment during Talon’s showdown when Nightwing’s guard had slipped. The appearance of a needle, daggerlike in the moonlight, and then a shadow. She was fast, faster than the rest of them when she wanted to be. Nightwing had toppled off one side of the roof while Orphan, leaping at Talon, had toppled off of the other, and Batman---

   Batman had had to choose.

   He opened his burning eyes, peering blearily at the last of the deep purple color in the sky. It was chilly tonight. Had he chosen correctly? If he hadn’t dived headfirst for Nightwing, the boy would have broken much worse than his leg. If he’d dived for Orphan instead…

   The bushes rustled to his left, snapping Bruce back to the present. He leaned closer, acutely aware of his dress slacks, in order to get a better look. Perhaps one of Damian’s---

   Two golden eyes blinked out at him from the shadows. Batman’s heart froze in his chest. His hands stilled, ready to move in any direction necessary, and his legs tensed, ready…

   The eyes blinked, rising. The shadow was… small, too small, and Bruce went from alarm to dismay in the two seconds it took him to recognize his daughter’s eyes. “Cassandra?”

   The shadow crept a little closer, revealing the unmistakable uniform of a talon. She cocked her head at him. Blood was drying on her cheek. (He hoped it wasn’t hers.) “B.”

   “Yes.” Bruce crouched to make himself look a little smaller, horrified hope blooming in his chest. “Yes, it’s me, sweetheart. It’s Bruce. Did you escape? You made it all the way home, look at you.”

   The golden-eyed girl before him, skin too pale, veins too dark, hesitated. She seemed close to a decision when the front door opened behind Bruce, making her jump back with a hiss.

   “Oh my God…” The door shut as another shadow joined Bruce’s side, this one clumsy because of the cast. “Is… Is that…?”

   Bruce’s jaw worked. “You scared her.”

   “I’m sorry, I didn’t… I’m sorry,” Dick directed to the golden-eyed shadow, holding his hand out, palm up. “I’m sorry, Cass. I didn’t mean to scare you like that.”  

   Cassandra inched closer, wary now, and stared at them for a while. (Bruce’s legs were cramping up. He couldn’t have cared less.)

   “I’m sorry,” Dick repeated softly, sorrowful affection filling his tone. He stretched his other hand out. “C’mere, Cass; let me hug you. Did you get away from them? You knew it was safe here, huh?”

   To Bruce’s amazement, Cass inched slowly… slowly… into the porch light. Dick, to his credit, kept completely silent as he took in her new features. He held his hands steady, waiting, and Cass finally got close enough to place her chin in Dick’s cupped palms.

   “There she is,” Dick said gently, stroking Cass’s cheeks with his thumbs. Her eyelids fluttered. “It’s safe here, princess. We just want you safe.”

   Bruce twitched in preparation to move, but Cassandra--- sweet, talented Cassandra--- was too fast. She saw his intentions in his body language, dancing away like a feather on the breeze before he’d had a chance to leap after her.

   “Don’t.” Dick caught Bruce’s wrist in an iron grip as Cass disappeared.

   “Let me go.” Bruce stood up, trying to shake himself free. The urgency was splitting his chest apart. Not another one. “She’s getting away.”

   “She’ll be back.” Dick used Bruce like a jungle gym to pull himself back to one foot, hopping for balance. “Didn’t you see it in her eyes? She’s free now, Bruce. She’ll be home when she’s ready.”

   Bruce stared at the empty darkness, wondering how far she’d already gotten. Was she still watching them? If he’d been half a second faster…

   Dick pillowed his head on Bruce’s shoulder, sighing shakily. “She’ll be home. Soon.”

   Bruce cupped one hand around Dick’s nape… So incredibly strong, so fragile… and forced himself to agree. “Soon.”

Chapter Text

   Tonight had been going great. Swimmingly, one could say. And oh yes--- Swimming had definitely featured. Not as part of the original itinerary, but hey, Hood was adaptable. He’d been thrown in worse things than dirty bay water.

   There was just… a limit. One man could only be expected to handle so much, and between the impromptu swim (green, not green, green), the three hours of sleep, the drawn out firefight with Mask’s lieutenant that had gone absolutely nowhere, and the disruption of his best supplier by Wayne Enterprise’s tightened security---

   In Hood’s opinion, that limit was far past reached.

   The cherry on top of the shit sundae was, of course, Poison Ivy. Hood couldn’t remember a time when he’d felt sympathetic toward her goals, because right now--- grappling away from the battle as fast as he could before the damn cuddle pollen could set in--- Hood had never wanted to shoot her more.

   “Hood?” someone called out. Crap. Batman had followed him to the Alley. Why had Batman followed him to the Alley?! This was so far out of his way, and besides, wasn’t there a rampaging Rogue to catch? Wait, was Hood losing time? He couldn’t breathe. He tore his helmet off, gasping in the stale air, and he still couldn’t breathe. Leave me alone, he wanted to shout, but that would tip off his position, and Batman… Batman had followed him. Why? Surely the need to grapple with Hood, to deliver one more sickening heartwarming speech about you still have a place with us, Jason; let me help you, Jason; come home, Jason, ranked below catching someone like Poison Ivy.

   “Interesting,” a new voice groused.

   Jason whipped around, his finger becoming a little too comfortable on the trigger. He could feel the sweat dripping down his back as the pollen started to set in. A snarl did little to mask his growing panic. “FUCK off.”

   “All drugged up with nowhere to go.” The imposing figure of Deathstroke stepped into the moonlight, materializing straight out of the shadows. He crossed his massive arms, masked expression unreadable, but tone filled with poorly concealed delight. “And here I thought I might get to run into another bird this evening.”

   “I have no quarrel with you,” Jason snapped back, even though, for Dick’s sake, he definitely did. Today was not the day for that. He had to pick his battles. “L-Leave me alone.”

   Deathstroke cocked his head as Jason’s heartbeat thundered in his ears, appearing to consider. “Who are you running from, pray tell? I haven’t seen a Bat this close to a breakdown since Robin’s--- oh, forgive me, your--- late death.”

   Jason drew breath to bite back, choked on the pollen he’d managed to inhale through his helmet’s damaged filter, and hit his knees as ice cold loneliness stabbed like a physical knife through his lungs. The idea of asking Slade Wilson for help filled him with disgust, but the idea of leaving himself to the mercy of Batman, of the desperate need for warm, familiar, safe hugs that smelled like home, made him terrified. “B-Batman. Please. I can’t…”

   Deathstroke’s head jerked up toward the east. “Please always helps. Get behind that AC unit. Hurry.”

   Jason barely managed to hide, curling tightly around the agonizing cold in his chest, before he heard the flutter of a cape. “Deathstroke.”

   “Batman, what a pleasant surprise.”

   “Hardly. What are you doing in my city?”

   “Errands. You know how it is. Or maybe you don’t--- When was the last time you dropped your own laundry at the dry cleaner’s?”

   “Where’s Hood?”

   “I was rather hoping to run into Nightwing while I was here. You haven’t seen him by any chance---”

   “Stay away from my family, Slade, or so help me---”

   “What will you do, fail to catch me once again? Please. I have no interest in your company tonight, Batman. You’re lucky I’m not here for you.”

   “Get out of Gotham. Slade. I’m too busy to fight. You have until sunrise.”

   Jason pressed his forehead to his kneecaps, shivering violently, and waited. He couldn’t hear anything else. Had they left, or were they faking him out? Deathstroke would probably give him away after all, the bastard, and then Jason would crumble, helpless to the warm lure of a hug that didn’t belong to him---

   “Don’t forget to breathe,” a voice growled in his ear.

   Jason jerked back, hitting his head on metal, and scrabbled away. The cold dug mercilessly into his lungs, his ribs, his heart--- “St-Stay away from me… stay back…”

   “Y’know, I may be an asshole…” Slade knelt down, combing his fingers through Jason’s sweaty hair, and the trailing lines of warmth made Jason want to cry. (Maybe he was crying.) “but I have my moments. Come.”

   Jason chased the warmth with decreasing awareness. This was bad. This was SO bad. Deathstroke would take him hostage or hand him to Mask for a tidy profit or… 

   When had they entered an apartment? Wait… This was Jason’s apartment. “Y’ spying on me?”

   “I make it my business to know these things. Shower. I’ll help myself to this lovely collection of tea.”

   Jason shut himself in the bathroom, mechanically stripping his armor. What was he DOING? He couldn’t trust Deathstroke. (He couldn’t trust anyone else, either, but maybe if he’d called Oracle or Nightwing instead…)

   The hot water did not help. It was all Jason could do to dress in sweats, turn off the blinding light, and collapse in bed before his body gave in. He curled tight, soaking his knees with tears, and prayed that this blasted concoction would at least hold off on the waking visions. He couldn’t stand to hallucinate his coziest Robin days, not again.

   “Shhhhhhhhhhhh.” The bed creaked, and hands, blessedly warm hands, gathered him into a tight, soul-crushing hug. “It will pass.”

   “Why…” Jason chattered through the shivers and the full-body shakes and the tears, clinging to Slade’s dumb soft hoodie in spite of himself. “Why…” 

   A sigh ghosted through Jason’s hair. “I was a father, once.”

   And what the fuckin’ hell--- that was good enough for Jason. He curled into the warmth, plastering himself to the shoulder of his enemy, and sank into oblivion. He’d just kick the asshole out in the morning.

Chapter Text

   Hood stumbled against the wall, shaking his head. What in the dizzying-flash-of-light was that? He’d been hit with security measures before, but this had not been that. (Even though he knew he’d disabled everything before coming in here…)

   Whatever. The wave of dizziness was gone, so he shoved himself off the wall, continuing to stalk through the red-flooded hallways of the Tower. The kid operated near the top in the same room every other Robin had used. Look at that--- He hadn’t even replaced the handle on the door of his bedroom, the one that Jason had accidentally burned with a chemical explosion that had technically been homework rather than casework.

   Jason’s stint as a Titan had been very brief, but the sight of the unchanged doorknob made him furious. He passed the bedrooms into the main living area, drawing his pistol even though he’d decided beforehand to use those last. “Hey!!! REPLACEMENT!!!”

   The black head of hair shot up from the couch, abandoning a video game playing on his phone. Hood shot before he aimed, nailing Robin through the calf. The little bird flopped to the ground with a startled cry, scrabbling for the batarangs on the nearby table. He was fast, injury notwithstanding, but Hood was faster. He pressed his knee to the kid’s back, pinning him in place, and twisted his arms behind his back. The green sang, urging for more, for vented energy through violence, but Hood made it wait. He needed to savor this, dammit. “Where do you think you’re going?”

   “Get offa me,” the little bird growled, too high-pitched to hold any threat. He wriggled like he knew he had something to lose. The level of spunk was slightly surprising--- Calculation, even genius-level smarts had been expected, yes, but not this flavor of resistance.

   Hood drew his Bowie knife, spinning it menacingly between his fingers. “You have something that belongs to me.”

   “Yeah, like an ass-whooping?” Robin shot back. He bucked at Hood’s grip with surprising strength, throwing him off balance. Hood stabbed at Robin’s shoulder with a growl, pinning the annoying idiot to the floor with an edge flesh wound, and lashed out with his free hand. One, two punches finally got Robin to lie still, momentarily stunned.

   Satisfied, Hood yanked his knife back out, climbing off. He’d let the bird catch his breath. “Batman didn’t learn his le---”

   It wasn’t the vicious spitting of blood that stopped him. It was the glare. Robin looked at him with less fear than anger, visibly bristling as he tried to struggle to his feet. He wasn’t scared shitless. He was ready to fight. He---

   Hood dropped the knife as cold horror swept through him. A concrete floor flashed in his mind’s eye, too bright, and the blood, the blood was too much, too slick--- “You.”

   Jason scooted away with one leg, spitting another mouthful of that blood. “Yeah, me, dipshit. Your worst nightmare.”

   Hood raised his gloved hands. They were shaking. (They were stained with blood, a kid’s blood, HIS---) “I thought you were someone else.”

   “Are there many other unarmed kids in need of bullying in this building? Hangon, they’ve got powers. Lemme just call ‘em for you real quick; I’m sure they’d just love the company.”

   Hood licked his cracked lips. He was gonna throw up. “I’m from the future. I came back to… to make something right. I made a mistake. I’m sorry.”

   Jason cornered himself between the couch and the table, glaring at Hood with all due suspicion. His phone was only five feet away. If he was fast enough, as Hood knew he was, he’d be able to call Batman before Hood had--- what? Cut off his fingers one by---

   Hood tore his helmet off, breathing hard. Don’t throw up. Don’t do it. “Let me fix you up.”

   Jason lunged for the phone as predicted, but Hood, prepared for this, was faster. He barely intercepted in time, scooping the bloody kid into his arms. He got an elbow to the chin for his trouble. “Argh, fuckshit, son of a bitching buttwad---”

   Hood carried his unwilling patient toward the med bay, bewildered. Had his cursing always been this uncoordinated? “I know I don’t get to tell you to calm down, but I can’t let you call the Bat, either. Just sit tight. I’ll get you fixed up.”

   “Yeah, then what?” Jason twisted again, performing expert maneuvers to get away. Unfortunately, Hood knew exactly how to predict his every movement, so the attempts were hurting the kid worse than Hood. (Debatable. The aching familiarity stung with every breath, twisting into Hood’s lungs like a slow poison, and he saw the Joker’s leering face in every shiny-surfaced reflection that stared back at him.) “Then? I go home.” Hopefully. How did I even get here?

   “So you can just beat up another hapless kid?” Jason struggled with increasing desperation, young heartbeat rabbity against Hood’s hand. “I can’t let you do that.”

   Hood wanted to laugh and cry and scream all at once. “I don’t think you can stop me, baby bird.”

   “What’d he do to you, anyway? Foil a plot? Wow, so horrible; how dare anyone try to stop a MURDERER---”

   Hood threw Jason down on a cot, growling despite himself. “WATCH it, brat. I haven’t killed you yet. Now sit still.”

   To his credit, or maybe because he was finally more scared than brave, Jason stayed quiet. He only winced occasionally as Hood patched him up. He was tough--- sickeningly so--- but his bravado was draining all his energy. His eyelids were fluttering by the time Hood finished. He was fading pretty fast.

   Hood checked his blood pressure, worried. “You don’t really need a transfusion, but Alfred’ll tend better when you get home.”

   Jason slumped against the back of the cot, slow-blinking. “How d’you know ‘bout Alfred?”

   Hood finished washing his hands before bracing himself over the sink. Deep fucking breaths. In… out. “I didn’t mean to do this, kid. I thought. I don’t know what I thought. Nothing.”

   “Y’ not gonna… go after…” Jason yawned widely, fear dampened by pure exhaustion. “th’ other kid?”

   “No.” Hood sat on the edge of the cot, fiddling with his gloves. He couldn’t look at those eyes, those innocent blue eyes still so full of hope, of magic. “I won’t.”

   Jason’s observing gaze rested heavily on Hood’s face. Then, softly, an unbearable absolution. “I don’t think you’re the bad guy you wanna be.”

   Hood pressed the palms of his hands to his masked eyes, trying to force back the tears. “No. I’m not.”

   “You’re a pretty weird dude.”

   “You’re not too bad yourself.”

   “Thanks. He’s coming, y’know.”

   “I don’t doubt it.” Hood finally forced himself to reach out, brushing the kid’s sweaty, curly hair from his forehead. “Listen. I know you from… from the future. It gets tough.”

   Jason huffed in amusement, but he leaned into Hood’s touch, so maybe… maybe. “Growin’ up usually does.”

   Hood watched the kiddo’s heavy eyelids close, swallowing past the lump in his throat. “Yeah. Hang in there, though. It gets better.”

   “Y’ think so?”

   “I know so. You’ll be alright, kid.”

   “Mkay… hey.”

   “Yeah?”

   “You’ll be okay, too.”

   Hood breathed hard, trying to wrestle his emotions into submission. It didn’t help, really, that the green wasn’t there to save him this time. Maybe it had never helped at all. “Yeah. I think I will.”

Chapter Text

   “I don’t know where he is, B; he’s late.”

   “Watch your six; they’re calling backup from their property to the west.”

   “Thanks Hood. Can I get an eta on Robin’s arrival? There are a lot of bags here.”

   “I am but two minutes away, Nightwing. Cease your babbling.”

   “Yeah, this is just a routine bust. What’re you so worried about?”

   Nightwing jimmied the lock on one of the four car trunks, grunting. He couldn’t have told them what was bothering him--- Just that it was important. Something deep in his gut, something colder than the pouring rain threatening to drown them before they’d finished the night’s work, insisted that something was very wrong. “Cash. I’ve got three million here, three bags.”

   “Check the others. We need to find that artifact before they pawn it off. If it’s not here---”

   “Wonder Woman will kill us.”

   “Yes, thank you, Hood.”

   Nightwing pulled open the other trunk, unzipping each bag as fast as his numb fingers could manage. He didn’t like this one bit. His back was turned to the fight in the warehouse; anyone at all could sneak up on him. Red was supposed to be here watching his back, but lucky for everyone else, Red had decided he was too good for this job. Aga---

   Nightwing ripped open the last bag--- and froze. Tim’s cold face stared up at him, pale as the moonlight reflecting in his empty blue eyes. Vacant. Dead.

   Nightwing pressed his fingers to his brother’s neck. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t move. He--- “I found Tim. There’s… There’s no heartbeat. He’s…”

   Ringing silence echoed back to him. Nightwing hit his knees, splashing into biting gravel, and tried not to throw up. He couldn’t feel Tim’s heartbeat. Tim was gone. “No… no. Tim. Please. Please don’t do this to me. Please, Tim, please…”

   The body tumbled out of the trunk as he shook its arm, landing across his lap. Dead weight pinned him to the ground, piercing straight through his ribs with those glassy eyes, and he couldn’t…

   He couldn’t make it stop.

   “Dick?!”

   “Holy shit dude, someone hold him down.”

   “Tim… Tim, please, please---”

   “TIM!!! GET YOUR ASS IN HERE!!!”

   “Stop YELLING; you are not---”

   “---better idea, small fry?!”

   “You are the physical largest; I suggest you stop him before---”

   “---going on? Dick?”

   “Please… please don’t do this… stop… stop… TIM…”

   “Whoa, I’m here. I’m here, Dick. I’m okay, I’m alright, you got me. You caught me.”

   Dick curled around Tim’s body, sobbing so hard he could feel his soul tearing in two. “No… NO…”

   “I’m here, Dick,” someone whispered, and it sounded so sad. “I’m okay.”

   “What’d you do to him, man?”

   “I don’t…”

   “Perhaps this is about the altercation they had over dinner.”

   “He just had a nightmare.”

   “Yeah, about you. Maybe this whole feud is messing him up more than you give him credit for.”

   “Oh, fuck off, Jason. We were just---”

   “Tim… Tim…”

   “I’m here, Dick. I’m okay. You got me. You got me.”

   Dick breathed shallowly into soft hair. It was in his mouth. The body wasn’t… cold, wasn’t stiff anymore. It was warm, warm and small and light in his arms. It had give, bending to his crushing hug, flesh pillowing under his fingers and heartbeat pumping quickly against his. It was alive. “Oh God---”

   The body lunged away when he bent to the side, purging his stomach of the little he’d managed to eat over dinner. He remembered now. They’d had an argument again. About Robin. About Damian. About Tim’s lone wolf--- Tim.

   “I’m here,” the whisper repeated, and then Tim was crawling back into his arms, pushing him gently over until Dick was pinned to his bedroom floor with one moving, breathing, living little brother on top of him. He wrapped his arms around Tim’s body, trying to laugh. The chuckle broke in two seconds flat, shattering into sobs. “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…”

   “Hey… hey.” Tim nudged his head under Dick’s chin, voice shaking, and wrapped his arms under Dick’s shoulders to cling. “Stay with me.”

   “The… The lack of… I could have reached… It was my…”

   “Dick… stop.” Tim turned into Dick’s shoulder, breathing steadily against his collarbone. “We’ll talk about it later, okay? We’ll work it out this time. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. You caught me.”

   Dick pressed his mouth into Tim’s hair, shaking with the force of his tears, and tried to forget the weight of the dead body in his arms. It had weighed so much more than this. “I killed you.”

   “No, Dick, you didn’t.” Tim squeezed him, lungs breathing, heartbeat beating, and sighed. “You saved me.”

Chapter Text

   “Earth to Red. Hello? Helloooooo?”

   Red Robin leaned back from the fingers snapping in front of his face, disgruntled enough to rest his hand on his bo staff. “Hood.”

   “Yeah, me, dingbat.” Hood crouched on the rooftop ledge, glancing down at the flashing police lights below. “I’ve been calling you for five minutes.”

   Red blinked rapidly. “Are you kidding?”

   “Okay, two minutes, but no one could reach you over coms. They thought you’d been knifed in an alley or something. Which would be a huge L, by the way, surviving this shitshow of an Arkham breakout just to die like a civilian. What’s bugging you?”

   Red bent over the ledge to watch Batman argue with Gordon, a frown pushing at the stifling cloth of his cowl. “I… don’t remember. I was thinking, I think.”

   “Yeah, I gathered.”

   “I guess I just got distracted. What were you saying?”

   “I was checking for signs of life… Because Oracle was worried, obviously… but now I might be a tad invested. Were you hit with something? Pollen, cuddle pollen, fear gas? Watching you grapple home on cuddle pollen would be hilarious, an’ I wanna see it.”

   Red rolled his eyes at the poorly disguised needling. Hood couldn’t not care to save his life. It wasn’t personal. He got worried about everyone. At least Tim Drake wasn’t in the category of “Not possible to worry about” anymore, because that had been a painful category to end up in. Maybe the new suit helped. “I’m fine, Hood. I just need some coffee. See you back at the cave.”

   “Wait, Red, wait,” Nightwing’s voice stressed in his ear. “This isn’t the first time. You’ve been distant all week.”

   Red paused with his grapple out, an inkling of doubt coming to life. He remembered feeling absent during last night’s weekly family dinner. He also remembered losing time at really weird moments during his prep for patrol most nights, and even in the office. Was he losing his touch? Or was this… something else, something more sinister? (Damian? A long game? No, no, not with Batman back from the timesteam. He’d been getting much better.) “D’you think I should get checked out?”

   “Just to be safe. I’ve got a limp; the doc will be over anyway to make sure I’m taken care of.”

   “Let us be frank here, Nightwing. Thompkins only agrees to such petty checkups in order to lecture you about the dangers of staying on your feet.”

   “Guilty?”

   “Names.”

   “Oh, c’mon, B; we’re already on our way home.”

   Red cleared his throat as the nagging sensation of dread grew stronger. Something was wrong. He needed to find out what. “Sure. I’ll be there.”

   “I’m coming with you.” Hood pulled out his grapple. “To make sure you don’t split your head open on the pavement, obviously. N would never let me hear the end of it.”

   “Wait… You’re saying there’s nothing wrong with me? Nothing?”

   “I wouldn’t go THAT far.” Leslie snapped her gloves off with a sniff. “You’ve certainly inherited your father’s penchant for ignoring injuries until you can’t see straight. Heaven forbid your physical health dictate how you run your nightlife.”

   Tim barely suppressed a wince. She was still holding the spleen against him, it seemed. Noted. No one else in the room pointed out that they were adopted, either, so he stayed quiet about that. (He was pretty sure they’d forgotten.)

   “If it’s not a Rogue’s doing, is it medical?” Dick asked anxiously, pushing Damian aside to get closer to Tim. (And didn’t Tim feel some sort of way about that? Damian was leaving in a huff. Good. Tim didn’t really want the brat around for something this weirdly personal, anyway.)

   “So far as I can tell, no.” Leslie leaned against the counter with her arms crossed, and something about her no-nonsense expression softened. “You are worn rather thin, of course. All of you… yes, including you, Bruce… have been through more than a monthly therapy session could handle. I know my advice has gone and will continue to go over your thick skulls, but I suspect this is simply a case of burnout and PTSD.”

   Tim’s ears burned. “I’ve handled more pressure than some of my teammates combined. I’m fine.”

   “That is precisely it. Did you think you would be able to skip through your problems unscathed? Traumatic familial or friendship experiences, to say nothing of the actual world-ending events you more regularly face, leave an impact.” Leslie caught Tim’s chin to hold his gaze. “You are not a robot, Timothy, and neither is anyone else despite their efforts to pretend otherwise. Your brain is a living, impressionable thing, and if you do not properly process your stress responses to… a friend’s death, for instance, or estrangement from the only family who’s ever loved you… that brain will create new tools to defend itself from irreparable harm. Dissociation is one of those tools.”

   Tim licked his cracked lips. “Yes Ma’am.”

   “So he needs a break,” Bruce cut in, hopping, of course, on the first control-freak-friendly solution. (Tim could see the worry reflected in the man’s eyes. He wasn’t sure he liked being the subject of that worry. He’d rather have been invisible for all the trouble this had caused.)

   “He does not,” Leslie cut back, shaking her finger. (Dick exchanged a delighted glance with Tim. This was always fun to watch.) “What he NEEDS, Bruce, is a support network. The first step would be admitting that the problem even exists, and for all your success in raising these beautiful boys, that is an area in which you sorely lack.”

   Bruce meekly deflated. “Solution?”

   Leslie turned her gentle gaze back on Tim. “Share some of your own mental struggles. You need to know you’re not special for this, Timothy. You can’t escape the emotional toll that so many tragedies takes. Your brothers haven’t.”

   Tim’s gaze snapped suspiciously to Jason, who was suddenly very interested in the floor, then to Dick, who was picking at dead skin on his callouses with a sad bent to his eyebrows. “I see.”

   “If you start paying better attention to your mental heath--- and more specifically, to recovery--- you might find yourself in better control of your inner world long term.” Leslie snapped her case shut. “In the short term, expect this to continue happening when your brain decides you are in a stressful or triggering situation. That could be anything as small as a microwave going off---” She glanced again at Jason. “or as big as fighting for your life every night on those streets. Don’t treat yourself like glass, but respect your subconscious decisions all the same. If you are dissociating, there is a very good underlying cause or reason.”

   Extremely embarrassed now, Tim joined Dick in fidgeting with his own hands. “How do I stop it?”

   “How do you bolster your mental landscape, you mean? How do you HEAL?”

   Tim swallowed thickly. He didn’t like this. He didn’t like this one bit. “Yeah. H… Heal.”

   Leslie patted his knee with a rare smile. “Do your own research and lean into your support network. If you don’t have one, make one. When you’re ready, give me a call. We can set up weekly appointments for a mental check-in, and if necessary, get you to that therapy I’ve heard so many good things about. You’d be surprised what your family members like to keep under wraps. I’ve seen a Bat seek professional help before, and I hope to dear God above that I see it again.”

   Tim nodded mutely. When Leslie--- and Bruce--- were gone, he finally slumped against Dick’s shoulder. (Despite the everything, he still… trusted Dick. Maybe they had different methods of communication, of execution, but Dick wore his affection on his sleeve, and to Tim, Dick was incapable of hiding a lie. “Geez.”

   Dick hugged Tim around the shoulders, briskly rubbing his arm. “She’s right y’know. I’ve been through more than I could handle starting that night at the circus. I can’t imagine where I’d be if I hadn’t had Kori or Babs or Wally.”

   Jason, surprisingly, cleared his throat. “I see Dinah.”

   Tim’s eyebrows disappeared beneath his sweaty hair. He didn’t say anything to the clearly uncomfortable giant who was avoiding everyone’s eyes like his life depended on it. He didn’t want to break the spell.

   Jason shrugged when the silence spiraled. “She was Roy’s recommendation. But… yeah… Goldie’s right.”

   “Wait, back up,” Dick said gleefully. “I want that on tape.”

   “Fuck off. It’s like the doc told you, Timberly. You’re not special for this. I have more mental shit goin’ on than the rest of you combined, an’ it’s not for nothing I’ve gotten this far. Roy, Kori, the rest of the Outlaws. And… yeah… therapy. Dinah really knows her shit.”

   Tim scrubbed his hands down his face. “This is so embarrassing. All that fuss for what--- a broken brain?”

   Dick shrugged against Tim’s shoulder. “Bruce spent an entire week with me during that really hard winter after Jason’s death. He may act clueless, but he knows how serious this stuff is. You don’t really get to choose how it affects you. You just choose how to deal with it.”

   “I’m fine, though.” Tim shoved himself off the cot, stalking back to his motorcycle with an awful sinking feeling in his stomach. “I’m fine.”

   “Tim---”

   “Stop. I need to think.”

   “Hey… pipsqueak,” Jason called distantly. “We’ll be here when you need us, okay? Don’t be a dumbass about it. Call.”

   Three weeks later, Tim had all but successfully shoved this new worry under the rug. It ranked pretty low compared to everything else he’d been through this year. He could handle it just fine.

   It was during a rare hangout with Dick--- crashed, of course, by Jason halfway through--- that he felt everything echoing in a strangely distant way as soon as the word “replacement” made it out of Jason’s mouth. And it hadn’t even been an insult. Why was he…? “This’s so stupid.”

   Jason paused in the act of tossing popcorn in his mouth. “Shit, I didn’t even realize. Tim… I’m so sorry.”

   “Hey.” Dick wrapped his arm around Tim’s shoulders, squeezing. They didn’t really feel like Tim’s shoulders anymore. He could hear that voice, though; that warm tone that always let him know everything was gonna be alright. “No big deal. You still up to watch the movie, Tim?”

   Tim felt himself humming, saw his body leaning into Dick’s space. Dick was safe. “I probably won’t… be very good company. I don’t know how… how to come back.”

   “That’s okay.” Dick drew him into a proper hug. “You don’t have to be good company during a movie. It’s a dumb release for kids, remember? We’ll be okay. Jason?”

   Hood--- Jason--- bent over to catch Tim’s eye. “Answer me honestly. Do you want me here?”

   Tim’s throat closed. “I’m not scared of you. I’m NOT. I just…”

   “Your brain thinks you are. Okay.” Jason moved to Tim’s unprotected side, ruffling his hair. “I believe you, but if you get any more uncomfortable, you gotta… Damn, you gotta let me know. I’ve been told to fuck off in much worse ways than flustered-baby-bird.”

   Tim rubbed his face into Dick’s shoulder, shy somewhere beneath the haze of watching his body move without his consent. Maybe this was okay, actually. Maybe it was a big deal, but maybe… maybe it didn’t have to be such a bad thing. Not like this. “And Leslie after.”

   “Sure, baby bird; Leslie after.”

Chapter Text

   “Impulse, what’s your damn eta?”

   “Hey, can I help it if I’m late?”

   “You absolutely can, yes, and we are LOSING, so if you could get down here before the crazy scientists decide to unleash the rest of their chimera things on us intruders, that would be FANTASTIC.”

   “Dude, you are KILLING the mode.”

   “I’ll be killing something alright---”

   “Argh!!!” Superboy threw one of the beasts over his shoulder, growling when it landed on its feet. Those red eyes were really getting to him. Almost half an hour into this mission and they were no closer to their main goal and their third volunteer was, of course, late. “I thought this was supposed to be a stealth mission.”

   “It WOULD have been if we’d had the speed to get--- WATCH OUT!!!”

   Superboy spun around just in time to keep a two ton predator from biting his head off. Pro: His super strength allowed him to knock the idiot animal’s head aside. Con: Super strength did not equal super balance, and two tons was enough to send them both flying over the handrail on the catwalk. Superboy grappled to get on top in midair, glimpsing the tank below them. “Shit.”

   “Super---” Robin’s voice started, but it was too late for unnecessary warnings. The splash was sickeningly thick; when he opened his eyes, they burned. He couldn’t see anything beyond the gnashing teeth going for his throat, couldn’t feel anything beyond the frantic claws trying to dig into his stomach, trying to use him a stepping stool to get to the surface above, and he couldn’t BREATHE---

   He couldn’t breathe. That usually wasn’t a problem, but sometimes--- sometimes he tried to get out, to get free of the oppressive liquid holding him still, because sometimes it wasn’t okay that he couldn’t breathe.

   “---trying to get out---”

   “---runs this project, you or me?”

   “---needs to breathe, sir.”

   “You’re not a real boy. You’re a weapon, and you belong to ME.”

   “Yes, HE can.”

   “Get the weapon back in its pod!!!”

   “Not like I said ‘it’.”

   Yelling, screaming, fear beyond relief--- He was trapped. He was BORN trapped. He would ALWAYS---

   “Don’t start thinking NOW.”

   One, two, three, four, five, five punches, six; why wouldn’t they stop---

   “Superboy!!! CONNER!!!”

   Kon stopped moving, wrestling, screaming. One of the beasts was pinned beneath him in a puddle of green sludge, lifeless. The burning was on his tongue, in his eyes, up his nose--- “I c-can’t breathe.”

   “I got it,” someone said, and then a tornado of wind was pulling water from the next room, spraying him viciously until the sludge was washed away.

   Kon hit his knees again, sputtering. “Stop… stop!!!”

   The water stopped. “Whoops. Sorry. It’s just that unidentified chemicals are worse than a hosing down, so…”

   “Hey,” someone else murmured, and then Robin was kneeling in front of him to block his view of everything else. The cape was already off, already draped around Kon’s shoulders, and why… why was he the victim here? He’d just lost all control. He didn’t deserve to be looked at like that, like it was worth it for Robin to unmask just so Superboy could see his eyes. “Hey, you’re not there anymore. You’re with us, with me. You’re free now.”

   Kon gasped through the last of the pain, the phantom echoes of all the times he couldn’t breathe. He could breathe. He could breathe. “Sorry.”

   “Hey, don’t be.” Impulse leaned on his knees behind Robin, keeping his distance, but his cocky smile felt real. “We’ve all had our meltdowns. Robin threw a batarang at me the one time I---”

   “Okay, thank you, Impulse.” Tim gripped Kon’s shoulder, squeezing. “You squared away?”

   Kon breathed for a second. “I’m… yeah. What WAS that stuff?”

   “Nothing that’ll affect you by now.”

   “Fine.”

   “Hey, listen to me. What are you?”

   “An idiot sandwich.”

   “No, stupid, the other thing.”

   “Oh. A Titan.” Something in Kon’s chest began to warm. He loosened under his best friend’s touch, letting the rest of the fight flee his body. It ached. “Free.”

   Robin finally smiled, the relieved grin of a leader who’d gotten his team through another day, another battle, and pulled Kon into a hug. “You’re damn right.”

Chapter Text

   Robin coughed into his elbow. It was force of habit at this point, even though the cough in question was happening because he’d inhaled a concerning amount of fear toxin. He knew it was concerning because his heart was already trying to execute a jailbreak from his ribs, and Nightwing’s words, usually so full of genuine encouragement, had become very clipped.

   “I’m ruining it,” he thought he thought, but maybe he accidentally said that one out loud.

   “You’re not ruining anything, kid,” Nightwing probably answered. His fingers tightened around Robin’s as they dashed into an alley, through a door, and past racks of clothes. “This is still the coolest team-up ever, alright? I’m having a blast.”

   “Where---” Robin stumbled over his own feet, trying desperately to breathe. This was fine. He was fine. Everything was fine. “Where are we going?”

   “Here.” Nightwing flung a door open, shoving Robin inside a changing room. He fumbled at his boot, pulling out a small capsule, and popped the cap off to reveal a needle. “Antidote. Ready?”

   Robin squeezed his eyes shut as Nightwing jabbed his arm. Needles didn’t bother him, normally, but everything was so… so… “Are you leaving?”

   “Look at me.” Nightwing grabbed his arms with a little shake. “Robin. Tim. I’ll be right back. Batman is out there alone; he needs help. If you stay right here--- and in ten minutes, the antidote will kick in, okay? I’ll be back before you know it; I’ll come get you as soon as it’s safe, you hear me? You’ll be okay if you stay right here.”

   Robin felt his lip tremble. He swallowed the voice that insisted he’d made himself useless one too many times, one too many, one too many. It had been inconvenient to show him around the Batcave, inconvenient to babysit his training, and inconvenient to sit up with him after the occasional nightmare when all they both wanted to do was sleep. He hadn’t asked for help. He never asked for help. Help was for those who couldn’t help themselves, and Tim… Tim was capable. Right? (They’d told him he was capable.) “O--- Okay. Yeah. I’ll wait here.”

   “I am not leaving you,” Nightwing stressed slowly, squeezing Robin’s shoulders before pulling away. “Lock the door. I’ll be back, I promise.”

   Robin locked the door as he’d been told, sitting down as he’d been told, and stayed put as he’d been told. He pulled his knees to his chest, trying to ignore the empty silence, the oppressive emptiness that insisted they left again, they left without saying goodbye because it would have been inconvenient to wake me up. I told them to wake me up. Why didn’t they wake me up?

   I’ll be back, Dick had said, had promised, but he still wasn’t back, and Tim… Tim couldn’t breathe. How long had it been? He should have started a timer. He started one now. Maybe eight minutes were left, or maybe two. Maybe no time had passed at all.

   Not that anyone would notice if you disappeared, the voice reminded him, louder this time.

   Tim pressed his hands over his ears. He knew it wouldn’t help. He knew it wouldn’t stop the fearful pounding of his heartbeat or the aching in his limbs or the tears filling his mask. “Stop, stop it!!! Go away!!!”

   You forced your way in, remember? the voice continued, smug. It sounded… It sounded a lot like himself. They don’t really want you. Why else would they let you go home? They’re hoping it’s just a phase, that one day soon you’ll decide it’s not worth the trouble to keep going back.

   Tim pressed his forehead against his knees, sobbing. “Out of the night that covers me… Black as the pit from pole to pole…”

   It would be better for them if you’d already disappeared.

   “I thank whatever God may be---”

   Pathetic.

   “FOR MY UNCONQUERABLE SOUL.”

   You’re not WORTH it---

   “IN THE FELL CLUTCH OF CIRCUMSTANCE, I’VE NOT WINCED OR CRIED ALOUD.”

   You were NEVER worth it.

   “UNDER THE BLUDGEONING OF CHANCE, MY HEAD IS BLOODY, BUT UNBOWED.”

   Just admit it, Timothy; no one wants you. No one would ever pick you first.

   “BEYOND THIS PLACE OF WRATH AND TEARS,” Tim screamed loudly, sobs catching in his lungs. “THERE LOOMS THE SHADOW OF THE SHADE!!! YET THE MENACE OF THE YEARS---”

   “Tim?”

   “---FINDS AND SHALL FIND ME UNAFRAID!!!”

   “Hey,” someone soothed, and it didn’t sound like his own voice anymore. It sounded… It sounded like home. “Hey, hey hey hey. I’ve got you, bud. I’m here.”

   Tim threw himself headlong into warmth, sobbing. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real. They’d left him, they’d left him for good and he was dying of an overdose and his last words would be a poem he didn’t really believe in. Batman would be so ashamed.

   “Oh… oh kiddo…” Gentle arms wrapped him up, hugging him tight against a slower heartbeat that wasn’t his, wasn’t real. “You are not a disappointment, Tim. D’you hear me? You’re not alone; you’ll never be alone again.”

   Tim pressed his face against the skin of Dick’s neck, and where… where had his mask gone? When had he become so exhausted he’d run out of tears? Was the timer running out? “I… I thought you left.”

   “I did leave; I had to help Batman with Scarecrow.” The arms tightened, shifting him to a full-body hug as they sat down, and Tim suddenly felt like his entire soul was being crushed in a really good way. “I came back for you, Tim; I said I would come back. I’ll always come back.”

   Tim choked softly, glancing at the timer on the pad of his glove. It had hit zero at some point, some time. He’d missed it. “Al… always?”

   “Always.” Maybe it was his imagination, but Tim could have sworn he felt a kiss press against his hair. “I promise.”

Chapter Text

   The runny nose should have tipped him off. It was winter, though, so Jason thought nothing of it as he shoveled warm oatmeal into his mouth, allowed Alfred to wrap him in two scarves, and scurried off to catch the bus into Gotham Proper. It was his first winter at Wayne Manor, not to mention his sixth month training as Robin, and he was not gonna mess anything up. He had to be perfect. He completed his homework between periods or during the boring moments in class, sniffled his way through PE even though he was sapped from training in the Batcave the night before, and managed to wave Alfred’s concerned questions to the side the entire way home. He was gonna be the best of the best. Nothing could stop him now.

   It was the moment he wondered why his skin was so hot that a sick feeling of dread finally sank into the pit of his stomach. Oh. Oh NO.

   Jason closed himself in his room, panting. Why hadn’t he recognized the symptoms sooner? It happened every winter, sometimes even more than once, and he was really good by now at catching the Vibes That Were Off before anything had actually set in. Usually he’d try to stay stocked on fluids, drink warm broth for his meals, keep as warm as he could…

   His alarm system, the one he’d been through literal hell frozen over to build, had failed him. He’d gotten soft, complacent on the tail end of so many hot meals. Of course he was still getting sick, of course. Why wouldn’t he? A little extra meat on his bones made no difference, and neither did the training.

   Shit, the training. He’d been working too hard. Maybe. Probably. His quarterly test was coming up, the first one he’d be taking since the very start of his training, and he wanted the new numbers to be as high as possible all around. Of course he’d been training hard, training extra. He hadn’t considered…

   Jason paced circles around his room, feverish. When he got too dizzy to continue, he forced himself to sit, bouncing his knee instead. This was bad. This was very very very bad. If Bruce saw that Jason was vulnerable to getting sick every single winter, Bruce wouldn’t continue training, and if Bruce wouldn’t continue training, Bruce would realize that Jason was only good as a house pet, and if Jason was only good as a normal-ass kid, Jason was just like any other orphan, and if Jason was just like any other orphan, Jason was replaceable.

   No, Jason told himself firmly; calm the fuck down. Bruce is not like that. Bruce likes me, at least a little. I make him laugh. So he won’t wanna get rid of me, probably, but maybe he’ll still leave me alone. Not like I need anyone’s company. I’ve done this before, and in an actual manor? I can do it again. Easy, child’s play, right? Right. I’m better off now than I was before. I can heat broth over the stove and stay inside and make a blanket nest. It’ll be fun. Bruce won’t mind, right?

   A new, somehow much more daunting thought suddenly occurred to him. If Bruce didn’t send him away, maybe CPS would. Someone would wonder why Brucie Wayne was attending all the winter galas without his new brat in tow, and if too many people asked too many questions, they’d send someone official to investigate. They’d see how sick Jason looked, pretending be damned--- You couldn’t pretend your way through a fever like this one. They’d think Bruce was neglecting his kid by leaving Jason’s side for work every day. Maybe even worse. Maybe they’d see the new scrapes from training, the bruises Jason took from Bruce or Dickie’s blows during sparring matches (that Jason always returned in kind, because he was getting good, dammit), and assume the worst.

   Jason bit his knuckle, whining. He needed to keep this under wraps. Yeah. Avoid the other members of the house, hole up in his room for a few days and hope that the healthier weight, the addition of insulated walls keeping out the cold would make this sickness pass sooner. Soon enough that he could go out into public and put on a pretty face and pretend. Yeah. Yeah, that was a good plan. A solid, Robin-worthy course of action.

   “Jason?” Dick’s voice called.

   “Coming,” Jason called back, hurriedly changing out of his school uniform. Dick was home from Bludhaven today, and he’d promised to help Jason with his math homework. There was probably something hot already waiting for them on the kitchen table. Jason would just---

   The mental planning, unfortunately, did not account for fever-addled reflexes. Jason tripped on the very top step--- “Shitfuck---” and tumbled down like a sack of poorly coordinated potatoes. He had the wherewithal to tuck himself into a ball, bumping painfully on what felt like every single step on his speedy descent, but at least his head was protected. He didn’t notice at first when he’d come to a stop. When he did, he realized that it was Dick’s arms he’d rolled into. 

   Wow. This was embarrassing.

   “---oa whoa whoa,” the sound filtered back in. Dick squeezed Jason’s limbs with gentle hands, chuckling, then moved to check his spine. “That was quite the impressive fall. You must have bones of rubber, kid; I don’t feel any… Jason? Aw, Jay, are you actually hurt?”

   Jason scrubbed furiously at his eyes, sucking shaky breaths past the sudden visceral urge to cry. “No!!! No, I’m fine, I promise. You can’t send me back, you can’t. They’ll see I’m sick, they’ll take me away, they’ll--- You HAVE to promise.”

   “Whoa… hey… hey.” Dick set Jason on the bottom step, pressing a blessedly cool hand to his forehead. “Ohhh… you’re running a fever, bud.”

   Jason’s face hurt. He couldn’t stop crying, but he couldn’t look away. He needed Dick to understand. “Don’t let them see me like this. They’ll take me away from you, they’ll put me back. Please, PLEASE Dick---”

   Dick hugged him. He didn’t lecture, didn’t reassure or brush off or fill the silence with encouragements that weren’t real. He just held.

   Jason melted against his brother’s shoulder, sniffling miserably. The words weren’t coming so good anymore. Everything was fuzzy. “I’ve… had worse… ‘n the streets. ‘s every winter. Don’ wanna make anyone mad, jus’… gotta push through, gotta pretend. I’ll be good at it, I promise.”

   “I won’t let anyone take you away,” Dick finally soothed, squeezing Jason so tightly that the rest of the mumbling stopped. “You’re safe now, alright? We’re gonna get you some hot soup and lots of fluids and a good movie, okay? We’re gonna cuddle on the couch until you feel better, and you’re gonna be warm the entire time. No more snow. No more streets. I’ve got you.”

   Jason clung stubbornly, allowing Dick to pick him up. “Promise?”

   “You’re here for fuckin’ good, kiddo.” Dick tucked Jason into his shoulder, swaying, rocking gently from side… to side… to side. “Promise.”

Chapter Text

   It took so long to dig. His bones were too broken to shift. He could have been free if he had paws--- Wasn’t he supposed to have paws? What had happened to his paws? Where were his hurting claws, nails, claws? He couldn’t breathe.

   Air--- rain--- mud. Mud was easier to dig through. Up, out, wriggle struggle writhe---

   His bones were too broken to shift, but he wanted to. He still couldn’t breathe. Shifting would make everything better, everything better, everything---

   The howl scared him, but he felt it in his own throat; a sound of pure pain as the urge to shift finally forced his broken bones to move the way they needed to. He collapsed in a puddle of cold water, shivering. He was too tired to keep digging. Was he free? He still couldn’t breathe or see or smell--- Not the mud, not the wet water or the rain or the white shadow stomping closer through the darkness…

   He tried to roll onto his back, whining. Everything hurt so much, too much to move, but he needed to tell the shadow he couldn’t smell that he wasn’t worth it. Help, help, help me. It hurts.

   A huge paw, so huge it covered his entire ribcage, rested on his stomach to accept the submission. A deep rumble filled the air, and then he was being licked by a rough tongue, cold water combed from his ears, his face, his nose---

   Jason whimpered as his nose cleared. He could finally breathe again. He could smell the wolf shifter. It smelled like someone dangerous, someone he was supposed to stay away from, but… but the tongue, the huge paws that weren’t hurting him. Gentle teeth as big as his entire leg closed around his nape, scruffing him, and he curled limply as the pain faded behind a hazy veil of true submission. Dad, his weak scent asked, the scent that smelled like death. Dad?

   The wolf continued to rumble for a while. Then they were out of the rain, and the light was different, and Jason thought he smelled food. He whined again. He was hungry.

   The wolf set him down in a huge blanket nest. Then the wolf was gone, replaced, strangely, by a towering man with silver hair the color of his fur. He only had one eye. That was funny. “Stay right there, pup. I have a ransom note to send.”

   Jason whined when the man left. He couldn’t shift back anymore. He didn’t really want to, but his bones were still broken, and even here he felt so small. The nest smelled like something big and powerful and deadly, something he probably should have been afraid of, except--- except it kinda reminded him of his dad. Where was Dad? He burrowed into the blankets, shivering, and tried to ignore the pain. Dad?

   “Hhhhh… fine.” The man finally returned with his rumbling voice, picking Jason up into one huge hand. He was moving Jason’s limbs around, taping them in place, bandaging the patches of fur torn away to reveal bloody skin, and Jason wriggled because he didn’t like that. He nipped at the man’s hand, growling a high-pitched threat, but the man only held him by his scruff. That wasn’t fair, Jason thought miserably, but at least the pain was a little better this way. He stayed quiet, tail tucked between his shaking legs until the man was done.

   “There.” The man finally set him down, arranging his injured limbs until he was comfortable. “You smell like you haven’t eaten in six months; take this.”

   Jason picked his heavy head up, sniffing. He could smell good food, warm food, and then the food was up his nose. He reared back, sneezing, and the man sighed. He set the food nearby, leaving again. That was okay with Jason. Jason had FOOD. He lapped at it quickly, before it could be taken away again. His tail thumped weakly against the blankets.

   “You need to stay alive,” the man grumbled distantly, talking to himself. “How am I going to get my money unless I keep you alive? Obviously.”

   Jason looked up when the bowl was empty, sighing. The man was coming back, and then he wasn’t a man anymore, but a wolf, a huge white wolf that smelled more like home now than danger. Jason thumped his tail again, or tried to, and greeted the wolf with a quiet whine. The wolf flopped down behind him, pinned Jason gently between his huge paws, and huffed. Then he started grooming Jason’s back, his sides, his bandaged limbs and head and ears. His tongue stroked away every hint of chill, every bit of muddy dirt from Jason’s dark fur, and Jason couldn’t keep his eyes open. The bigger wolf’s tongue was just so warm…

   Mine, the wolf’s scent growled.

   Jason pillowed his head on a huge paw, sighing. He was so very sleepy. Maybe the wolf would groom him again when he woke up. Maybe they could cuddle for a while. Maybe he would be allowed to stay.

Chapter Text

   “If you go out there again, you will give up a retirement surrounded by family to suicide by the fight.”

   Leslie’s words still echoed in his ears hours after she’d left. Bruce leaned over his bandaged legs, propping his elbows on the console of the Batcomputer. He hadn’t even registered at first. Surely she wasn’t being serious. His loved ones swung to such extreme statements quite often; all, usually, in useless efforts to stop or slow him down.

   He had looked at Leslie’s scans himself. She was right. It shook him to his core to stare at the shattered bones when he realized what that meant. She was right. His nervous system… his spine… his legs. God. His broken legs.

   Bruce wheeled back from the console, trying to get a clearer look of the pictures pulled up before him. Report after report after report that detailed how the structure of his body was teetering on the edge of no return. He’d come back from so many injuries, but this? This compilation of scars was what would finally make him lay down his cape? The ending was to come while he sat comfortably on his ass, sending his children back to the front lines like so many soldiers without a general to lead them, to die first, to retreat last?

   Bruce searched fruitlessly for another way, contemplating every possible outcome as he read and reread and reread those reports. Leslie was right. He could lead from the sidelines or go into battle one last time. Another solid hit would break him, every bone that had been repaired countless times and suffered through years of physical therapy and was finally on the point of crumbling into dust. Not to mention this sickness, this wet cough and aching head and exhausted weariness dragging at his bones that wasn’t unfamiliar, but wasn’t supposed to have stuck around this long.

   Six weeks he’d been unable to speak without coughing. His muscles felt as if they were pulling away from his bones, and yes, he knew how that felt.

   “Your body has been in peak condition for too long,” Leslie had told him with all the weight of a parent who knew exactly what kind of death sentence she was delivering to her child. “You need to respect what it’s telling you this time. You need to let it rest.”

   Bruce pressed his thumb pads into his eye sockets, gritting his teeth. He’d run every possible calculation every week for months, years, decades now. He’d always kept a close eye on the estimated time he had left. How long could he keep such a low body fat percentage? How long could he hold such erratic sleep schedules? How long could he exceed his previous strengths until the inevitable backslide? All mountains had a peak. What was left but to descend? Yet he’d always planned to die at the top before having to climb back down, else throw himself off and wait for the sudden stop to take him instead of the agony of a slow descent, and why…

   Why hadn’t he factored in the inevitable toll that injuries took even when fully healed? Nothing broken ever returned to the exact way it was before. The body kept perfect score, and the deeper the injury, the more devastating when reopened. Bruce should have remembered this. He should have adjusted his calculations sooner. Then, at least, he wouldn’t have been caught so flatfooted with news that carved an empty hole into his chest.

   Bruce spun around, unable to stare at those reports any longer, and wheeled slowly toward the display cases. Alfred had dutifully hung up the Batsuit the last time Bruce had returned to the cave with broken bones. He’d taken the time to clean it himself, perhaps anticipating that Bruce would be down for a few weeks this time instead of a few days.

   Bruce’s reflection was too low to match the sculpted cowl. He stared instead at the legs, the legs that he wouldn’t be able to walk in for many months if ever again, and wished he wasn’t self-aware enough to know it was grief choking his throat instead of illness.

   Bruce had built himself from beneath rock bottom with this legacy. He had taken his pain into both hands, wrestled it into submission, and piece by soul-crushing piece, fashioned a suit of armor, a blade, a defense and an attack all wrapped up in one. It wasn’t a night job, a calling. It was him. It was a second skin, and he couldn’t even stand up to put it on.

   Bruce dropped his head into his hands, hiding his face from even the security cameras as tears dripped steadily into his lap. Now he had a choice to make. Perhaps the ninth most important choice of his life. Was this the one he would finally get wrong? He couldn’t even reconcile himself to the reality of it much less make a decision. He didn’t know what to do.

   He didn’t know what to do. 

   Soft footfalls announced the presence of his trusted eldest. Bruce waited anxiously for someone else, anyone else, but it sounded as if the boy was alone. He wiped his tears away, breathed out, and steeled himself. He had to be brave for this. Brave enough to be vulnerable. Brave enough to be receptive. Brave enough to be kind. 

   What would Clark do?

   “Bruce?” A gentle hand rested on his shoulder, firm in spirit. Dick was here. He always knew, somehow, when Bruce needed him. He’d never ever shown up a moment too late. Would he understand this pain? Would he respect whatever Bruce decided? Would he give Bruce the answer Bruce knew, deep down, he needed to hear?

   We were the best, you and I, Bruce thought, and the tears wouldn’t stop. Dick knelt at his side, bending close like a sunflower to the sun, and watched Bruce’s face with bated breath. When was the last time I let you see me cry?

   Bruce rested his hand on Dick’s, breathing out. “Sit with me. I need to talk.”

Chapter Text

   “---ou okay, bud? I need you to say words for me, ‘cause we’re going to the clinic otherwise, and I reeeeeeeally don’t need another lecture so soon after I let Robin skateboard with Ace on a leash.”

   He squinted his eyes open, groaning. White blurs hovered in his swimming vision. He lashed out, panicked, but he missed. Shit--- puddle, concrete, dumpster--- scramble, run, hide. Someone blocked his way from the alley. He backed up, trying to catch his breath. He needed a weapon of some kind. Aha--- brick. He grabbed it, raising the item threateningly over his head.

   “Whoa,” one of the shadows protested, hands held high. “Hey, man, it’s just us.”

   “What ARE you people?” he spat back, cornering himself. His head hurt like a son of a bitch. He couldn’t think. “What do you want from me?”

   “Ideally? Not to be hit with a brick,” the red shadow quipped.

   The blue-lined man, the one he’d woken up to, crept a little closer. “Jason? Are you square, man? That was a really hard hit; you’re probably disoriented from the concussion.”

   “My name’s not Jason.” He raised the brick higher, snarling. “My name is… is J… my name…”

   “Oh my God,” the red shadow murmured. “This is fantastic. He has amnesia.”

   He slowly dropped his guard, panic choking his heartbeat. “I can’t remember my name. Why can’t I remember my name?”

   The man in front of him peeled off his mask, revealing worried blue eyes that instantly felt safe. “You took a pretty hard fall during patrol tonight. It’s probably temporary, but we should get you checked out just in case. Who knows what---”

   He shrank back, nervously licking his lips. “What did you say my name was?”

   “Your name is Jason Peter Wayne.” The man’s body language gentled, softened. “My name is Dick. I’m your brother.”

   Jason--- Was that really his name?--- glanced at the other shadow, uncertain. “You’re… seriously? That’s your name?”

   “By choice,” the red shadow confirmed.

   “Okay, okay, alright.” Dick glanced at his companion with a smirk. “I see you haven’t lost your killer sense of humor. You wanna come with me? I’ve got a safehouse not far from here.”

   Jason glanced down at his armored body, wary. He had no earthly clue what he was wearing, but it looked protective enough. Besides, he was MASSIVE. When had he gotten so huge? He also carried pistols on his thighs. That was something. “I wanna see a doctor. A real one.”

   “Which we will, but we sorta have to do it by calling a personal friend of ours.” Dick smiled sheepishly. “I know this is gonna sound crazy, but we catch bad guys every night, and we kinda sorta don’t want them figuring out our identities. Hence the costumes.”

   Jason considered briefly, trying to settle the anxiety in his chest. “That sounds reasonable.”

   “So you’ll come?”

   “Maybe.”

   Dick started walking, leaving his shadowy companion behind. He put his mask back on before falling in beside Jason, who, for some reason, decided it was better to follow than stay behind alone. Uncertain silence filled the space between them.

   “Normally you’d be insulting me by now,” Dick finally chuckled.

   Jason glanced aside, awkward. “Why? You seem very… trustworthy.”

   Dick’s shoulders eased. “That’s good to hear. No, I mean… in general. For any reason. I guess maybe it’s a sibling thing, but you’re also just… angry.”

   Jason watched the sidewalk in front of him, uncharacteristically neglectful of his surroundings. He felt like Dick probably knew the way. “All the time?”

   “Yeah. All the time.”

   “That sounds sad.”

   “It’s useful. You’ve turned your tragedies into weapons, tools.”

   Jason glanced at the guns on his thighs, throat suddenly thick. “Am I a bad person?”

   “No. Hey.” Dick stepped in front of him, pressing a hand over Jason’s heart. “You’re one of the best men I know, and I know many. Your heart is too big for this world, Little Wing. You’re a fighter. Not for you, but for others. Even death hasn’t been able to stop you.”

   Jason’s eyes burned. Holy fuckin’ shit. I believe him. “I guess anger isn’t all bad, then.”

   Dick’s smile was beautifully broken, fractured in the way of stained glass with the sun shining through. “It doesn’t have to be.”

   Jason sniffed mightily as they continued on their way. “So how’d we end up brothers, anyway?”

   “How’d you know we were adopted?”

   “I… don’t know.”

   “That’s a good sign. It’s the funniest story, actually. We’ll start with the tire theft; maybe you’ll remember something before we get back.”

   “The tire theft?”

   “Yeah, off Batman’s Batmobile. Y’see---”

   “I’m sorry, who calls themselves Batman?”

Chapter Text

   Avoiding the rat poison was barely routine at this point. Pick up the orange juice, sniff, check the color, and set it by the sink. Damian was barely trying anymore. Tim probably shouldn’t have felt any sort of fondness about that, but it was telling that the gremlin had devolved to using easily detected methods of murder. At worst, he’d gotten lazy, weary of his game, this one-sided battle between them. At best, he didn’t actually wish Tim harm anymore, but needed to save face. Maybe he wanted to keep Tim on his toes.

   Tim… appreciated that. In its own weird way, the unacknowledged dance between them had become ritual. Even… bonding.

   Maybe Tim needed to reevaluate his standards.

   “Drake,” Damian acknowledged first as he slid to the kitchen table. “Still alive I see.”

   “Dami,” Tim tried back, testing the nickname for the first time whilst pouring himself fresh orange juice. When Damian did nothing more threatening than ignore the greeting, Tim smiled to himself. He twisted to return a mild insult--- “DICK NO!!!”

   Dick startled hard, pulling the juice away from his mouth. Tim knocked it out of his hand, watching as the glass seemed to shatter in slow motion. He pulled his brother back, heartbeat thundering in his throat. “Did you drink it?”

   “No, I hadn’t--- What is this?” Dick pushed Tim back, concern painting his every move. “Are you awake, Tim? You’re safe here.”

   Tim suppressed a laugh because it wasn’t funny, and besides, he didn’t want to alarm his brother any further. “Sorry. It was poisoned. I should have poured it out immediately.”

   Dick glanced at Damian, who had frozen with food halfway to his mouth. Suspicion crept in. “How do you know it was poisoned?”

   Tim pulled away to get a rag, waving dismissively. “It always is. I usually smell it just to be sure. In the early days, it was usually a scentless poison, but now--- What?”

   Everyone--- minus Damian, who was staring at Bruce, who had somehow entered the room when Tim wasn’t looking along with Duke, Alfred, and Jason--- was staring at him. Tim clocked the horrified mix of expressions with increasing nervousness. “I mean… it was rat poison. Arsenic. I could smell it, soooo… no harm no foul?”

   “Do you regularly find poison…” Bruce drawled slowly, turning a steely glare on Damian’s seat, “in your drinks?”

   Tim licked his dry lips. “It’s really not a big deal, Bruce.”

   “I thought he stopped,” Dick breathed out.

   “This was happening OFTEN?” Bruce shot back.

   “He was out of control; we talked about it, Bruce, I swear we did. I took away his weapons, I benched him, I… I tried everything. He’d grown out of it. He told me. Tim stopped reporting murder attempts, so I thought---”

   “And you BELIEVED them?!”

   “Whoa.” Tim waved his hands anxiously. “Yes, Bruce, it’s been happening for over a year now, and Dick isn’t to blame. I stopped reporting the attempts because they stopped being so dangerous in nature. He did grow out of it.”

   “I don’t call THAT---” Alfred gestured sharply at the broken glass on the floor. “growing out of it.”

   Tim’s eyes narrowed. “This is ridiculous. Jason tried to kill me, too. Sure, he didn’t try as many times, but is how come he gets a free pass?”

   Jason hunched his shoulders as everyone turned to stare at him. “Don’t look at ME. At least I had the decency to attack you to your face. I’d never try rat poison.”

   All gazes swiveled back to Damian, who was still staring, petrified, at Bruce. Tim felt sick just watching. This was getting out of hand. What was Damian so afraid of that made him look like that?

   “Damian,” Bruce said slowly. “what do you have to say for yourself?”

   Damian stood up, straightened his shoulders, and bowed at the waist. “I apologize for my slights, Timothy.”

   “And?” Bruce pressed with an edge.

   Damian glanced uncertainly at Bruce, then at Tim, waist still bent. “And…”

   “And he won’t do it again,” Tim hurried to fill in, even though he didn’t believe it.

   Something in Damian’s expression shifted. “And I shall never attempt to harm you again.”

   Dick puffed out. “Bruce, we had this conversation---”

   “And now I am having it.” Bruce crossed his arms sternly. “Go to your room, Damian. I will be up to speak with you shortly.”

   Damian vanished quickly. Tim felt strangely helpless, empty hands hanging at his sides. Alfred moved to clean up the broken glass. Everyone else looked too awkward to say anything. Fine. Then Tim would. “Seriously? Poison is where you draw the line?”

   “Tim,” Dick tried.

   “I’m not finished,” Tim shot back, clenching his fists. “Bruce, what about Robin training? What about all those really hard hits you didn’t bother to pull? What about pushing me past my limits in an effort to get me to quit; what about not communicating so I would fail?”

   Jason turned on Bruce, anger clouding his face, but Tim jumped to fill the gap. “Don’t you start. You invaded my safe space and broke my body and left me for dead. You tore apart my sense of trust and I may have forgiven you but I will never forget. And Dick---”

   Dick’s shoulders tensed. He didn’t meet Tim’s eyes. He’d expected this.

   Tim’s anger deflated as quickly as it had blown up. “None of that was your fault. I was stupid. I shut you out, I didn’t communicate. You could have believed in me, though. You could have asked first. You could have let me hand Robin over myself.”

   Dick nodded silently. Everyone else avoided Tim’s eyes, stunned silence filling the room. The only one bothering to study Tim like a bug in a jar was Alfred, and that was just as uncomfortable.

   Tim waved them off dismissively, stalking up the stairs. They didn’t get it. They never had. He could appreciate the shock of realizing the reality that one of your children was still bent on murdering the other, but it seemed so… so shortsighted to react this way. Damian’s behavior was old news, and Tim was mad about it. He was mad that it had taken them this long to find out. He was mad that no one had listened to him when it had counted. He was mad that they had the audacity to look concerned.

   Not a single one had ever apologized.

   Tim took a few deep breaths before tapping on Damian’s door. “Dami?”

   “Go away,” came the sharp retort.

   Tim leaned against the door, thunking his forehead on the old wood. “I’d like to apologize. May I enter?”

   Silence. Then, eventually, a quiet shuffling. Tim leaned back in time for the door to swing wide, revealing the angry, bloodshot eyes of a boy too guarded to admit he was so scared. “Apologize?”

   “Yup.” Tim pulled his hands out of his pockets to keep them visible. “I should have laid out some boundaries a long time ago. Especially when I agreed to keep living here. You would have heard me then, and I knew it. We should have talked.”

   Damian sniffed mightily, stubbornness visibly softening. “I was just as to blame.”

   “Yes, you were.” Tim shrugged helplessly. “As the elder, however, the burden of emotional regulation and clear communication fell on me. I’m getting better at that, but I didn’t have good teachers, and the fruit of poor lessons is to blame for the lack of boundaries between us. The others didn’t ever have to know if I’d acted sooner. I’m sorry.”

   Damian’s shoulders caved. “I… I meant it. Downstairs. I know I was made to apologize, but I was truthful in every word. I did not consider that I had… outgrown… old habits. As you said… bad lessons. I deserve whatever punishment is to come. I wish you only to know that you are safe from me forevermore.”

   Tim dared to close the distance, telegraphing his movements as he pulled the stiff boy into a hug. “I don’t just wanna be safe from you, Damian. I wanna be your friend.”

   Damian melted like wax in his arms, slowly hugging Tim in return. He was awkward about it, all arms and elbows like he’d never been on the giving end before. “Truly?”

   “Truly. Is that so pathetic of me?”

   Damian pressed his face into Tim’s shoulder, and now that he was this close, Tim could feel him trembling. “No. It is not pathetic. I would strive to be worthy of your friendship.”

   Tim pulled away with a parting hair ruffle. “Good. Don’t let Bruce scare you too much when he comes up here. We all got talks that shivered our timbers, okay? It’s a rite of passage. You’re not a Robin if you haven’t done something to rile up the Batman.”

   Damian licked his lips. (Much as Tim did, actually. The kiddo hadn’t had that tic when he’d first arrived three years ago.) “Will he send me back?”

   “No.” Tim rested a hand on Damian’s shoulder, strange protectiveness washing over him. Was this what Dick had felt like once upon a time? Another brash kid, another spitfire fit to take up the mantle they’d created for themselves. This wasn’t a world Batman could control. It never had been. The Robins were their own. “I trust Bruce more with you than I did with me. His judgment will be impartial and fair. Whatever punishment you receive will be meant to better you and your connection to the household, the legacy. Understand?”

   Damian nodded sharply, fast absorbing every word. “Shall I report to you once my punishment is fulfilled?”

   Tim paused for a moment, trying to place the deference. “That won’t be necessary. If, however, you feel so inclined to meet me at the end of my early morning patrols, your company will be well met. We could then exchange notes. If… you so desire.”

   Damian stood straight as a minor salute, nodded, and closed the door. Tim wondered bemusedly when he’d gotten so good at speaking baby assassin. Then he wondered when he’d felt more like a real, full human person than now.

   Empathy was catching, it seemed. Pensive, he turned on his heel for his own room. No doubt he would be interrupted by a stream of awkward Bats coming in one by one to make their apologies. He could already hear Dick taking the stairs behind him. He needed to prepare for the inevitable tears.

Chapter Text

   He wasn’t angry when he exploded from the smoking wreckage into an empty alleyway, a fiery inferno. He wasn’t angry when he dropped his helmet, left his broken gun, and fled. He wasn’t angry when he heard Batman calling his name over the roar of the flames.

   He was terrified.

   Jason pulled his phone from his singed cargo pocket, blindly trying to get into his contacts. He did not have many numbers in the “Favorites” section, and all hell could break loose if he called the wrong one. He tried to steady his trembling fingers as he ran, pressing the call button when he was sure---

   The other end picked up after two rings. “I know I said to call if you needed me, but I wasn’t expecting it t--- Jason?”

   “Help,” Jason managed hoarsely, slamming against a corner on a tight turn. The dull agony was nothing compared to the knowledge that he chose Joker, he chose Joker, he stopped me from shooting and let the explosion go off and he chose Joker. “Help.”

   “I’m less than ten minutes out; keep your phone on. Is this a combat situation or an I-should-really-be-at-the-hospital situation?”

   Jason paused at an intersection, panting. Where was his BIKE? Had he taken--- “Yes.”

   “Fantastic. Six, seven minutes tops. Hang in there.”

   A man Jason recognized, a man he thought he’d saved from a holdup in the deli across the street one time, jerked his head at the side door behind him. Jason didn’t question the reassuring nod. He flung open the door, leaped up the set of stairs, and kept running. He needed to reach a roof. Every inch of his right side throbbed in pain, but if he had the space to grapple, maybe…

   He couldn’t stop glancing over his shoulder. Was Batman there? Was Batman descending from the shadows? Was Batman trying to lure him back with a broken cry so full of desperation, of grief? Jason was imagining it. Batman didn’t care if he was alive. Batman had chosen---

   He gasped sharply. When had he reached open air? His gun was in his hand, perfectly steady as it trained onto a shadow on the far ledge of the roof, a shadow with its hands raised to the smoky sky.

   “Jaybird,” the shadow coaxed, low and gentle.

   Jason dropped his weapon with a sharp sob. He couldn’t breathe. (He couldn’t think.) “I almost SHOT you, idiot.”

   “Occupational hazard.” The shadow slunk close enough to reveal a stark red uniform. “Wow, that’s bad. What hurts most?”

   My heart, Jason didn’t say, because he was pretty sure he’d imagined the sharp stabbing that renewed with each fucking beat. “My… my arm.”

   “Yeah, your shoulder caught the brunt of the blast. Fuck, man, you’re lucky you wear so much armor. I take back everything I said about dramatics. This bat emblem probably saved your life.”

   Jason collapsed to his knees, shivering. “Is… Is it like… skin-graft-bad?”

   “Nope, noooope, we are not doing this out here.” Roy hauled him up by his good arm. “C’mon, I’ve got a bike waiting. Can you walk?”

   Jason followed Roy back downstairs, through a few dark hallways, and outside to a pretty normal-ass bike. He realized at some point that he was cursing his new friend at a pretty steady rate, but Roy barely batted an eyelash. He seemed to realize it was just… reflexive. Hauled Jason on, shoved helmets over their heads, and zoomed down the street away from Crime Alley. Eventually… missing time… out of the city.

   “Where are you taking me?” Jason ground out. The wind whipped mercilessly at his burns, but he refused to let go.

   “Away.” Roy kept a steady speed over the last bridge, breathing evenly under Jason’s arms. “I dunno what kind of drama you’re leaving behind, but it can wait. First you need medical attention. Then you need to figure out what the fuck you wanna do with your life when it’s not centered around that clown.”

   Jason hadn’t really thought about it that way. The realization made him sick. “You’re gonna dump me at one of your safehouses? I’m not a charity case.”

   “Nah. I’ll stay.” Roy’s voice quieted over coms. “I knew another one of you Gotham vigilantes once upon a time. He was my leader. Let’s call it returning favors.”

   Jason snorted wetly. “And when the favors run out?”

   “We’ll call it helping a friend.”

   “…Okay. I can do that.” I can try friend.

Chapter Text

   Cold, bony hands scrabbled at the lid of his coffin. It was an empty box, empty because the boy inside had been dead for so long, too long for it to matter anymore, and lifeless lungs screamed with air that didn’t exist for a savior that wouldn’t come.

   He was alone, he was buried, and no one was coming.

   Cracked, bleeding fingernails clawed at dry dirt, dirt too deep for the rainwater to saturate. Why had they buried him so deep? The mud was easier for digging but harder for breathing and he wondered briefly if he would die again before reaching the surface and his hand scrabbled for a hold on dry grass, on roots that didn’t reach any further than the distance between his head and the marble stone marking his resting place, a place he hadn’t felt peace underneath until just now, until the moment he realized that no one was here.

   He was alone, he was broken, and no one was coming.

   Clenched fists vibrated at his sides, barely restrained anger, and he told himself that they didn’t deserve his wrath, the wrath that death had given him by spitting his body back out like a bouncer from the club after too many drinks.

   “I thought you’d gotten better,” someone scolded him, or maybe it was him to himself, or Robin to Hood, and he wondered when the ghost of a broken bird standing at his shoulder, always there, always just out of sight, had built up the audacity to care about the boy standing in their place.

   Tim Drake was cursed, and Jason Todd was the affliction, and no one was coming.

   “I got better,” he told them, and he didn’t mean it, and he never said it like he did. Someone, somewhere, still believed in him. He wished they’d stop. Their belief drew him out like a knife from a fatal wound, slowing his second death, the death he knew he deserved. He didn’t belong here among the living, the ones so offended by his wrongs, his mistakes, that they panicked when he retreated like he wasn’t allowed to feel fear.

   He was scared of them, and nothing made it better, and no one was coming.

   Sweaty feet hit a fuzzy floor, and he stumbled, dizzy, and he shot for up, hoping that up was something he still understood. His body carried his restless soul to the door, to the stairs, to the hallway that held his shoes. He didn’t need shoes for this. He wasn’t really alive. He never would be again.

   Monsters didn’t deserve asylum, and he couldn’t breathe, and no one was coming.

   “I’m right,” he screamed at the darkness that shied away like it knew what he was capable of breaking with his bare hands. He was right, he was justified and absolved and he knew exactly what he knew that no one else would ever know, would ever understand. “I’m the monster, and I’m right, and you don’t know what it’s cost me to forgive this much!!!”

   No one was listening, and no one cared, and no one was coming.

   I’ve changed, he tried to convince himself as his bare feet scuffed cold concrete sidewalks. Hand over hand took him head overhead to someplace that wasn’t safe, wasn’t home, but wasn’t quite as dangerous and gaping and hungry as the thoughts behind him, one after the other in a lineup that didn’t make sense when he looked directly at his memories’ eyes but wouldn’t stop scaring him in his peripheral. He pushed uselessly at a window, a sill, a face that wasn’t his own staring back in the reflection like some haunted thing too pitiful to walk the earth.

   He was dangerous, and they were wrong, and no one was coming.

   Why, he wanted to scream, but he didn’t have air left to breathe because the glass was shattering under his poison touch and quick hands were hauling him away from the mess and someone was crying, someone that wasn’t him, because he didn’t have the breath to cry. Dead bodies didn’t get to breathe and monsters didn’t get asylum. He couldn’t feel his fractured bones anymore, but that was okay. He’d taken his body this far, and no one was coming.

   She brushed his hair from his face, wiping the sweat from his brow and the tears from his cheeks and a gentle kiss, too gentle for words to describe, landed on his forehead like it had always meant to go there, like he hadn’t demanded it by falling at her feet, crying. Her feet were bleeding from the glass. So were his. She bandaged them with hands too calloused for her tender age, and he remembered briefly that he was younger than she. He wondered what that said about innocence or lack thereof. Probably something poetic best left to someone else, someone smarter. Timmy was smarter. Timmy wasn’t here. No one was.

   Except… she was. He’d gotten himself all the way here, and there she was, and as he landed in unfathomable softness that reminded him of his sister’s blanket nest, those calloused hands touched his face again like a whisper of a promise.

   “Safe,” ghosted across his hair, protective in the way only little-big sisters could be, he supposed. He didn’t really know. He hadn’t had one before she--- before she.

   He thought he must have fallen asleep at some point between the roaring darkness and the kind gaze that signaled a safe space for monsters to find asylum. No one was coming, but no one was pulling away, and the nightmares must have been afraid of her, because this time… this time, they fled.

Chapter Text

   “Tim’s not breathing.”

   Dick kept hearing it as he ran, heartbeat pounding just as fast as his feet. His grapple pulled him relentlessly from rooftop to rooftop. There was no time for theatrics, for showy flips or detoured freerunning. Tim’s not breathing. Tim’s not breathing. Tim’s not breathing.

   “I’m on site,” Jason’s voice clipped. He was the first one who’d noticed the alert sent from Tim’s suit. Before Babs. Before Bruce. Before Dick, who was too far away, too focused on another case to help--- “I don’t see him.”

   “Water,” Dick ground out, slamming hard into his landing, leaping off the ledge before looking first, and catching a random anchor on the way down. He was three minutes out. The distance was unbearably heavy in his chest. How long could Tim survive with water in his lungs? Tim would know. Tim kept track of those… kept track of…

   Dick swallowed a panicked sob. His feet felt like cement blocks; he was stuck in slow motion, too far away, too unaware, too late--- “Water, Jason, the water. Get him out.”

   “Fuck, I see him. I’m goin’ in.”

   “I have arrived,” Damian’s voice snapped. He was faster than Dick, faster than Bruce. He had left a battle with Mr. Freeze for this. “The remaining thugs are covering their partner’s retreat. I will deal with them before they can close on the docks.”

   “Heard,” Bruce ground out. Dick could hear the tremble deep down, a feeling more than a tone. Bruce had done this before, hadn’t he? So had Dick. At least he’d made it last time. At least Tim had surviv---

   No, don’t think like that. Run. Run. RUN.

   “Hood has stopped answering over coms,” Babs cut in, sharp with worry. “I think he gave his helmet to Red.”

   “Idiot,” Damian spat out. “I see them. Spoiler, have you sealed the warehouse?”

   “No one’s ambushing us from that direction. I’ll cover you; go help Hood.”

   “Does he have Red Robin?”

   “Are they breathing? Oracle, vitals report.”

   “Red’s suit is too waterlogged; I don’t---”

   “Jason!!!” Dick vaulted the barbed wire on the dock’s fence, heart in his throat. He’d never moved so fast in his life. “TIM!!!”

   “I got him,” Jason called back, hauling them both onto the deck from the crashing waves below.

   Damian was already performing CPR by the time Dick slid to his knees over the slippery rain-soaked wood. He fumbled with the helmet, desperate to see Tim’s face. Where--- ah. “Tim? C’mon, Tim, c’mon…”

   “Move,” Jason said gruffly, pushing Damian aside to take over. His weight bore down three times on Tim’s chest--- an eternity of agony--- before Tim’s pale face, too still for waking nightmares, spasmed in pain. He rolled over, retching.

   “Oh my God.” Dick moved Tim into a recovery position, crossing his arms under Tim’s chest to hold him up. The relief was dizzying and terrifying and tear-jerking all at once. I was too late, too late, too late--- “Tim. Tim. You’re okay now, we’ve got you, you’re safe---”

   “I can’t breathe,” Tim sobbed in a raspy whisper, scrabbling weakly at Dick’s arms for something to hold onto. “I can’t--- I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe.”

   Dick’s heart ached. “I know, baby bird, I know. I’ve got you. There’s still water in your lungs. You’ll be okay. Batman is almost---”

   The Batmobile screeched around the corner right on cue, and Jason, Jason who had probably cracked one of Tim’s ribs, made a wounded noise that sounded like relief he didn’t really want to feel. At least he’s fast enough for SOMEONE, Dick imagined him saying, but Damian was squeezing Tim’s hand and Jason looked like a ghost and Tim was still gasping in Dick’s arms like a beached fish, sobbing with what little breath he had to give, because sometimes--- Sometimes the panic was just too much. Sometimes the hours of training amounted to jack-shit in the face of I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe.

   “Tim,” their father said, and there he was, scooping Tim into his arms and rushing him to the Batmobile and Dick--- Dick couldn’t stop crying. Why couldn’t Dick stop crying? He grabbed Damian’s newly empty hand, surging after them on numb legs. Jason wasn’t too far behind, and then Steph, and Duke---

   “Robin,” Tim cried out, half drowned, and he reached out past the door of the Batmobile---

   “Here,” Dick and Jason and Steph and Damian answered as one. Frozen glances were exchanged all around. The silence was unbearably suffocating.

   “Dick,” Tim begged a little softer, a little weaker, tugging on Dick’s hand. “Please… I can’t…”

   Dick slid into the seat with Tim in his lap, holding the kiddo up so his heavy lungs didn’t have to work so hard. He could hear the others piling into the back. “Drive.”

   Tim rested his forehead on the dash, chest spasming with too many unproductive coughs against Dick’s hand. “Don’t… leave… don’t…”

   “I won’t.” Dick pressed his panic into the back of his throat. Later. “WE won’t. You’ll be okay, Tim. We’re going to make sure of it.”

Chapter Text

   Four fuckin’ months, sixteen days, three hours, and fifteen minutes. The air was too cool, too still to be Arkham, but it sure looked like Arkham. Maybe they were underground. That would explain the mold.

   Jason tapped mindlessly on his thigh, marking the time, then glanced up at the door of his cell. It was the Joker’s cell, really, or at least it would have been if they were in the actual building. The doors were all open, all the time, every time, always. Jason had learned pretty quickly that open doors did not mean the freedom to walk through them. Tim had been the first to make that mistake.

   Jason shuffled impatiently, waiting for the half-hour mark that was one of the many permanent times the monster was never around. When the distant clock he’d never been able to find struck the toll, he darted through the shadows toward Tim’s cell.

   They were on opposite ends of the third floor. In the middle was always a horde of what could only be described as monsters. Pour lost souls, maybe. Jason wasn’t sure if they’d ever been human. He just knew that he had to save his strength every day for these crossings. Being sighted meant having to fight the creatures off without weapons, and though Jason had gotten very good at fighting without weapons, he was tired of picking pieces of skin from beneath his fingernails.

   He knocked gently at the open bars of Tim’s cell. Tim, unlike Jason, never left. The last time he’d moved from the cell, he’d lost his sanity. Lessons had been learned that week. Jason still threw up a little every time he remembered the screaming.

   “Hi, baby bird,” he trilled quietly into the darkness.

   Hoarse giggling echoed off the walls, too high, too young to trigger the part of Jason’s brain that went red with rage. “R-R-Robin.”

   “Hi,” Jason repeated quietly, pitching his voice as low as he could. He wasn’t on the other side of puberty quite yet, but he could still sound different than him. “Did you eat, baby bird?”

   Tim turned his pale, horribly scarred face into the faint light coming from Jason knew not where, pointing to the tray on the other end of his cot. It was empty.

   Jason sighed with the force of his relief. He’d lost his shit the last time the Joker hadn’t fed “Junior”. Jason barely remembered it, but something about his rage had actually scared the monster. Sure, they were still tortured prisoners, still toys for the maniac to play with whenever he got too bored, but Tim had never missed a measly meal since.

   “Good.” Jason sat down, holding his arm out. “You wanna try exploring today?”

   Tim burrowed into Jason’s side, curling as small as he possibly could, and giggled until Jason squeezed tightly enough to cage his demons. The giggles slowed, then stopped with a soft little sigh. “No.”

   Jason kissed Tim’s greasy hair, gently cupping the scarred gouge in his cheek. “Okay. I’m gonna go, though. I’ve got a few more floors to map while that creep’s gone.”

   Tim clung tighter, bloody fingers trembling with fatigue. Despite Jason’s best efforts, he was losing weight. They had to get out of here. “Why?”

   “So we can find an escape.” Jason pressed their foreheads together, stroking his thumb over Tim’s cheekbone. “I won’t be long, okay? Then I’ll come back to see you before the morning, and again after breakfast time, alright? Does that sound good?”

   Tim sniffed quietly, worming his thin hands under Jason’s jacket to where the warmth was. “M’kay.”

   Jason stayed there for a minute. Rocking… rocking… rocking. He didn’t want to leave, but he shucked his jacket before he did, wrapping it around Tim’s hunched shoulders. “I’ll be right back. Stay---”

   A horrible shrieking laugh shattered the air around them. Tim slammed his back to the wall, eyes wild pinpricks in the faint light, and Jason’s heartbeat exploded in his chest. They were supposed to have more time. There was half an hour until---

   Noises that weren’t human punctuated the laughter. Jason peeked around the corner of their cell, vibrating with nerves, and picked up a brick. He had to protect Tim. If the Joker was destroying actual objects---

   That was not the Joker knocking pillars over, slamming plywood into oblivion, and punching holes in any obstacle blocking his path. Jason’s jaw dropped. That was Batman. That was “DAD!!!”

   Batman picked up the Joker’s mangled, giggling body, threw him into a wall, and bolted for Jason. The absolute freight train of armor did nothing to heighten Jason’s fear. He dropped the useless brick, sobbing, and threw himself at the emblem that meant safe.

   “Jason,” Bruce murmured fervently, squeezing Jason painfully tight. “Are you hurt?”

   “Tim,” Jason sobbed out, pointing to the corner of the cell. Why was he crying now? Four months of nothing but pure, terrified rage… “Tim, he needs---”

   Bruce set Jason on his feet. “T-Tim?”

   The childlike giggles rose in pitch. Jason squirmed free of Bruce’s grip, dashing back to wrap his arms around his brother’s shaking body. He knew the Joker had brainwashed anti-Batman triggers into Tim’s genius little brain. He just hadn’t known how much. “It’s just Dad, Tim. It’s Dad, it’s Bruce. He’s gonna get us out. You want out?”

   Tim peered over Jason’s shoulder, wide-eyed, from the shelter of Jason’s arms. It was only when Batman lowered his cowl, exposing blue tear-filled eyes, that the poor kid finally relaxed. “Y-Yeah. Out.”

   Jason nuzzled Tim’s hair, trying to swallow his stupid sobs. “Out.”

Chapter Text

   The crossbow was by the door. This was a crucial detail. It meant that Roy wouldn’t have to travel far to shoot whoever was knocking at three in the fucking AM an’ threatening to wake his kid.

   Scrubbing at his eyes first so he was awake enough for this bullshit, Roy stalked to the door, grabbed his weapon, and peeked through the peep hole. The hallway was too dark for this. Damn… He kept forgetting to call maintenance about the light. Well, that was okay. He could shoot without aiming.

   “Hey,” he started grouchily, glaring through the crack in the door without unlocking the chain bolt. “It’s too early, dipshit. Scram before I call the cops.”

   The dark figure shuffled quietly, staying put. Something about its outline seemed awfully familiar. Roy spun the mental wheel on League, ARGUS, and independent government agents he knew who might have a beef that couldn’t wait until the morning. That list was, unfortunately, a long one.

   Whatever--- He could afford to piss Waller off this once. He raised the crossbow with one delicate finger on the trigger…

   “Roy,” the shadow wavered, cracking down the middle with the same volume as Roy’s fracturing soul that night. “Please. I didn’t---”

   Roy slammed the door shut, unlocked the chain, and threw himself into the breach. His arms wrapped around familiar leather, pulling the body close, a body living and breathing and crying… Or was that Roy who was shedding tears? Shit--- he smelled like home. “Oh my God. Oh my GOD.”

   “Sorry,” Jason whispered brokenly, still wavering, hands hovering like they didn’t belong there on Roy’s back. “I didn’t kn-know where else to go.”

   “Jay.” Roy pulled back, wounded to the core, and cupped his friend’s face. Jason’s eyes were blue by the faint light from the door. “How are you HERE? Are you hurt? Were you followed? C’mon, come inside, hurry---”

   A little lost, Jason limped after Roy into the apartment. He looked worse and better and worse the more Roy could see of him. His shoulders seemed permanently slumped… Was that blood on the back of his neck? And he was smaller now, but that was impossible; how did you get---

   Roy trapped Jason in another hug by the kitchen light, and this time… this time Jason hugged him back.

   “It cost you,” Roy realized softly, murmuring the words into Jason’s hair like a secret. “Surviving that shit.”

   Jason’s fingers curled into Roy’s sleep-warm shirt. He jerked a quiet nod.

   “The Pit,” Roy guessed gently, flattening his hands on Jason’s back. It had been three years, but even three years of atrocious self-care at worst didn’t account for the way war-hardened muscles were almost nonexistent now. “Its magic drained in healing your wounds.”

   “I didn’t know,” Jason wavered quietly, far too unsure for the space he was standing in. His head rested against Roy’s shoulder, sweaty hair tickling his neck. “I d-didn’t get all the bullets. I was too out of it. When I woke up…”

   Roy chewed on the inside of his cheek, nodding. He’d seen the way Jason limped--- Not like a bullet was still there, still in his body, but like messy surgery had dug it out, like it hadn’t healed right or maybe not at all. And the way he curled constantly inward, protecting his chest---

   Round after round punched through the jacket, peppering his best friend’s body with holes to spill his blood like so much salt from a shaker---

   Roy choked on a sob, lifting. He hadn’t been able to do this before, to take Jason’s weight while they were standing up, but he could do it now. Jason finally relaxed, finally gave himself over. He slumped in Roy’s hold like a puppet with severed strings as soon as Roy took the pressure off of his chronically aching legs, hips, ribs--- All wounds Roy could spot without having to properly check. Or maybe they weren’t there anymore. He hoped so. He hoped all they were dealing with was phantom pain, pain from a second death that should have been but wasn’t.

   You’ll be okay, he wanted to say, but what made it out instead was a shaking “I love you so damn much.”

   Jason heaved a trembling sigh, allowing Roy to sway them side to side. Collapsing. Spent. Afraid… but willing. You’re home now.

Chapter Text

   It’s not real it’s not real it’s not---

   Jason plastered a smile to his face. He couldn’t afford to panic over fear toxin that should’ve been out of his system by now. He was working. He’d weaseled his way into Padeski’s ranks for over six weeks now. Tonight was the big night, the night he’d gain access to the mob boss’s biggest supplier. He couldn’t screw it up. He couldn’t afford---

   Jason covered a whimper with a cough. Some of the other men threw him suspicious looks, but it only took a sneer to get them minding their own business. Being dressed to the nines, he supposed, added intimidation factor. That or the pistols strapped to his chest. He wasn’t sure exactly which.

   Sweat trickled down his forehead as they waited in silence for the ship to dock. Jason sniffed dismissively when someone offered him a smoke, trying to pretend like his heart wasn’t thundering painfully fast against his ribs. He was going to fucking die, he knew it. Holding in the panic was going to give him an actual heart attack. The worst part? There weren’t even any hallucinations. He was just--- terrified.

   “Nervous?” Jason’s guy muttered, a sleaze who only trusted Jason because Jason was good at impressing suck-ups who had nothing better to aspire to than winning the regard of The Cool Kids. (Read: Deadly mob bosses who didn’t actually give a shit about their men.)

   Jason managed a snort as he tried to remember the accent he’d put on for this. Dammit, he was so close to blowing his cover. He needed to get out of here. (He needed to plant a tracker before the contact slipped right through his fingers.) “Keep y’r hair on. I’m only here for appearances, ain’t I?”

   “You just seem nervous is all.”

   “When I’m nervous, Pedro…” Jason offered a chilly smile. “you’ll know.”

   The dude backed up with raised hands, muttering something about “attitude” under his breath. The bridge was coming down. Okay. Alright. Jason just had to plant a tracker. Ignore the fear… breathe through it… and plant a tracker. Then he could have a fun panic somewhere else. Easy peasy lemon---

   His heartbeat skipped. Jason twitched with the force it took to stay silent, stressed tears beading in his eyes. Was that the contact he’d waited so long to see? There, in the sunglasses--- No, that was a bodyguard. Ah, the trench coat.

   “A nice welcome,” the man greeted casually, offering a hand to everyone of importance. “Who’s the kid?”

   “He’s comin’ up, boss. Helps with the supply coordination, thought you should lay eyes on ‘im at least. How was the sorry trip?”

   “Excruciating. Here, kid, grab my bags.”

   Jason realized as if from a distance that someone had planted a Ben Franklin in his hand. He went through the motions of a thank-you, pocketing the cash, grabbing the suitcases, and slipping a tiny tracker into one of the keyholes. Then he pulled his phone out, pretending to take a call, except maybe he’d accidentally hit the call button for real--- Who was saying his name on the other end? Maybe he was imagining things. (He needed to get out of here---) “My sister’s in a tight spot, guys; I gotta dip. I’ll meet you at the convention tomorrah.” 

   “Oh, oh yeah.” The contact waved him off like he might a fly. “Don’t be late.”

   Jason ducked out of sight at an easy saunter. When he physically couldn’t take it anymore, he ran. He sprinted past laundromats and diners and bars and he lost his tie somewhere along the way and he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t scream--- Someone would find him if he screamed.

   Antidote, he remembered, and then he was at a tiny safehouse better for gearing up than actually feeling safe in, and he rooted through his bags… Where was the fucking antidote???

   “Little Wing?” someone murmured, and then Nightwing--- he was right--- and he had the antidote. “I thought you were undercover--- what happened to you? Here, hold still.”

   Jason backed against the kitchen cabinets, hugging his arms to his chest. “Don’t---”

   Nightwing peeled his mask off. He looked worried. That was probably a figment of Jason’s imagination, too. “I’ve gotta give you the antidote, Jay. You’re high on fear toxin. Look at me. Breathe.”

   Jason grabbed his brother’s shoulder, locking eyes with him. Glowing green reflected off of Dick’s sclera. “Don’t hurt me. Don’t---”

   “I won’t.” Dick found a vein without looking, keeping his gaze on Jason. “Eyes on me. You’re okay. We’re okay. In… out. In…”

   Jason choked on a miserable sob. He could feel the needle. He could feel it. “I can’t.”

   “Look at me, Jason. I’ve gotchu. Y’know how many stitches I had to get after last week’s concussion? I’m not even supposed to be patrolling right now; you’re giving me a really good excuse to get outta the house. C’mon, deep breaths. Count the stitches.”

   Jason’s eyes moved to the tiny black markings in Dick’s forehead. He tried to count them, frowning. There were way too many. “Idiot.”

   “Yup.” Dick rubbed Jason’s arm. “You’re okay now. That was it. I’m not leaving, so lemme know what you wanna eat.”

   Jason rested his hot forehead against Dick’s shoulder, grunting. “Not hungry.”

   “You will be.” Dick rested his arms across Jason’s back, gently squeezing. “How about Thai?”

   “Whatever. Yeah. Sure.”

Chapter Text

   There was a certain point… beyond the biting misery and the stainless steel and the frigid icicles forming in heavy lungs… where one stopped feeling any cold at all. Everything became warm. Numb. It felt better.

   It was also a good way to die.

   Tim raised his head with a shiver, checking his wrist com. It was almost out of battery--- but the signal was still going through. Of course he’d gotten stuck under an avalanche on such a boring, routine, run-of-the-mill scouting mission in the Alps. And of course, knowing his luck, he’d been trapped with the one ally who wouldn’t care of Tim ended up dead.

   Tim kicked Damian’s foot, grumpy. The kid hadn’t moved in a while. He was lucky Tim cared at all. “Hey, stay awake.”

   Damian bared his teeth in a snarl, tucking his face into his knees. They were suited up for this mission, but not enough. They barely had twelve square feet of crawlspace, and Tim didn’t want to dig them further for the sake of insulation--- One wrong move would probably send the entire mountain toppling down on them.

   All good things, he told himself sleepily, beginning to recite his favorite poems in French. All good things. If they could just hold on for fifty-seven more minutes without burying or threatening to kill each other…

   Tim snapped his head up, blinking furiously at the packed snow sparkling under the light of his distress beacon. The timer in his com had gone off again, vibrating unpleasantly in his ear. He tapped twice to reset it. The fact that there weren’t mild shockers in their suits for adrenaline or alertness assistance purposes was definitely an oversight, and he was fixing that the moment he got home. He checked the beacon. Fifty more minutes. Damn---

   “Disgraceful,” Damian slurred fitfully, shifting to curl against the snowy cave wall. “Dying with you… devoid of honor…”

   “You could throttle me to death if you wanted,” Tim returned under his breath, too tired to put up a real fight for this brat. It was bait. Unfortunately, his patience was getting just as numb as his toes. “Just pipe down.”

   Damian actually did pipe down. Tim sat awake through the next few timers, shivering, before dozing off. He woke with a start to the buzzing that indicated half an hour left. Ugh--- He was going to die of boredom before he died of hypothermia. He kicked Damian’s foot again, resetting the clock. “Rise an’ shine.”

   Damian didn’t answer. That was fine with Tim. The brat could afford to freeze a little bit if it would teach him---

   “Grays’n.”

   Tim’s blood finished freezing in his veins. He stared at Damian’s hooded face, unable to track his eyes in the almost-darkness, and suddenly realized that the kid hadn’t made a single sound for almost thirty minutes. He hit Damian’s shoe again. Nothing. “It’s Tim, demon brat.”

   Damian huffed a very tiny sigh, unmoving.

   “Shit---” Tim scrambled over as fast as his blocky limbs would let him, pulling Damian into his arms. His brain lit up with sleepy alarm when Damian let him. “Dami, c’mon, stay awake. Y’ can’t fall asleep here.”

   Damian cracked his frosty eyelashes open. He stared at Tim’s face… snuggled closer… and whined. “Grays’n… c-cold… pl’s…”

   Tim’s throat closed. Damian was hallucinating comfort he couldn’t physically reach. Damian was dying. Damian was gonna DIE--- and Tim would have to explain to Dick why Dick’s Robin, his kid, had frozen to death.

   It felt like moving in slow motion to remove his bandoleers, but Tim managed it. He unzipped the front of his suit, unzipped Damian’s, and bundled them together chest to chest. Then he wrapped their capes around Damian’s body, trapping any smidge of heat that Tim would be able to share with him. “C’mon… c’mon… don’ do this, kid… Y’ gotta finish killin’ me first. C’mon…”

   Damian pressed his cold nose into the crook of Tim’s bare neck, sighing a little deeper. His body relaxed in Tim’s hold, going from frozen… to sleepy… to calm.

   Tim blinked as tears froze on his eyelashes, rubbing Damian’s bare back. Scars painted a vivid picture under his fingers, markings stretched with growth that should never have been there. “God--- What’re you doin’ t’ me? I hate you. I hate you so much. Hang in there, okay? Hang in there…”

   The space between them began to warm. Damian’s sluggish heartbeat quickened against Tim’s ribs, and in the corner of their icy coffin by the wall of snow, the beacon finally beeped. Someone was coming.

   Tim buried his nose in Damian’s frosty hair, shivering. Shivering was a good sign. They’d be okay.

Chapter Text

   “Have you eaten?”

   Tim pushed his hair back from his forehead, sighing. “I’ve been at this for fifteen hours already. What am I missing?”

   “That’s not what I asked.” Jason leaned against the console of the desk, wiping his grease-covered fingers on one of Bruce’s favorite sweatshirts instead of a towel. “You haven’t moved your skinny butt since I got here. Your ass must be asleep.”

   Tim made a face at his brother, moving back through half a dozen open tabs. “I’m clearly busy.”

   “Nope.” Jason hit the emergency shutoff button, saving all of Tim’s files but keeping him from making further progress in one go. The screen went completely dark, letting Tim see his enraged expression in the reflection. “You’re not anymore. C’mon. Chili dogs are on me.”

   Tim grabbed his jacket with a grumpy huff. Jason probably just needed help with another case but didn’t know how to ask. That was fine. Maybe some fresh air would jog loose whatever Tim was missing from his crowded skull. “Your bike or mine?”

   “Mine is better.” Jason spun his keys as he swung on, smirking. “And also faster.”

   Tim swung behind him, shoving a helmet on to hide his eyeroll. They’d never actually had that race to prove wrong what was obviously faulty reasoning, but Tim didn’t want to say that while Jason was driving, because Jason would inevitably go fifty over the limit of Tim’s sanity. “Sure.”

   Jason only drove ten over, surprisingly, on his way into the city. Tim kept a sharp eye out for trouble even though the city hadn’t settled into the sleepier hours of the night. It was with some surprise that he eventually noticed they were pulling up near Crime Alley. “Where is it?”

   “The chili dog cart?” Jason asked flatly, pointing to the sidewalk corner. The man tending the cart offered a wave, clearly happy to see them. Or probably Jason. “What toppings d’you like?”

   Tim abandoned the bike with reluctant steps. “You were serious?”

   “Did you think I was lying to you?” Jason gave Tim an utterly disgusted look as he pulled out his wallet. “About FOOD?”

   Tim shrugged uncomfortably. He’d successfully avoided Alfred’s prodding, Dick’s invitations to lunch, and Bruce’s pointed hints for almost a week. This month just wasn’t shaping up the way he’d wanted it to. Not that anything ever did that, but now wasn’t really a good time to be in his own head. Food didn’t help. “I don’t think---”

   “C’mon, pick something.” Jason jerked his chin at the man. “Two, please, Darek.”

   Tim wrapped his arms around his ribs, swallowing. He was getting nauseous just thinking about it. “Let’s do a rain check.”

   “No, hey, c’mon.” Jason picked up a normal chili dog and a loaded one, leaving a twenty on the cart as he started walking. “I never pay. You gotta gimme some credit here.”

   Tim numbly took the food, carrying it in both hands instead of eating. The smell was turning his stomach into a grumbling black hole. He should have stayed in the cave. At least there it had been easy to shut out the hunger. “How very generous of you.”

   “I try.” Jason took a bite and chewed and swallowed again before speaking, gruff this time. “It’s technically homework. Y’know… from Esther.”

   Tim’s attention snagged, pulled away from the food to his brother. Jason… never really talked about his therapist. As far as Tim was concerned, the rest of the family still didn’t know he was going. “Yeah?”

   Jason shrugged in clear discomfort, picking at his chili dog. “I gotta socialize. Give. An’… y’know… not expect something back.”

   Guilty, Tim risked a tiny bite. “I appreciate it.”

   “Don’t go all soft on me.” Jason mimicked Tim’s bite, appetite returned by the encouragement. “I’m not gonna buy you coffee every time you ask under the guise of ‘bonding’. I’m just ticking a box, that’s all.”

   A smirk tugged at Tim’s face. He took another bite without thinking about it. “We wouldn’t want to bond, now, would we?”

   “Ugh… Do you have any idea how unbearable Dick would get?”

   “Don’t get me started. The only reason he stopped pestering me about family movie night is ‘cause he’s pretty sure you hate me for messing up your bust last month. I’m still sorry about that.”

   “Don’t worry about it. Let’s keep him outta the loop.” Jason stopped to hit a crosswalk button, gobbling up the rest of his chili dog. He pocketed the trash, eyeing Tim. That was the only warning Tim got before the thief was diving very smoothly for Tim’s food.

   Tim leaned away, shoving the rest of the chili dog in his mouth as he pushed Jason’s face away. “F’ckough!!!”

   Jason backed up, brief triumph flashing across his eyes before he dissolved into a pout. “I paid for it.”

   “Yeah, ‘or ‘OMEWORK.” Tim finally managed to swallow, scowling. “I know what you’re doing.”

   Jason shoved his hands in his pockets with a sniff. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. C’mon, there’s my favorite coffee place. Let’s get hot chocolate.”

   With a fond, exasperated sigh, Tim followed.

Chapter Text

   He was bleeding out on the dirty pavement.

   Two quick uppercuts to the jaw sent Bane to the ground, bringing the mercenary closer to death than Batman had ever been comfortable with. He’d been alone back then. Now---

   Damian gasped quietly, a tiny rasp of a sound. His trachea had collapsed under Bane’s hand, but the real damage was the poisoned knife. The acid ate away at his skin, hindering the blood’s ability to clot. He didn’t have time now. He wouldn’t have time in two hours when he was still losing life.

   Batman hit the concrete with one knee, wrapping Damian’s ribs tightly in his own cape. Flip… lift… sprint. Batmobile--- Where was the damn Batmobile? He needed a--- a hospital--- Alfred Pennyworth--- Batcave---

   Batman drove instinctively toward the hospital. The streets were dark and Damian’s head rolled and Bruce had been here before.

   Batman had been here before.

   “Jason,” he whispered hoarsely, and then he was hitting the call button. He didn’t have time to overthink this decision. Panic did that to you. “Jason. Steph. Dick---”

   “Whoa, slow down, old man. Are you drugged? What’s---”

   “Damian. Damian is down.” Batman didn’t dare to glance at the passenger seat. He knew that what he’d see would cause him to crash the car. “I’m--- hospital. Check on them. Everyone. Make sure they’re…”

   “Batman? Bruce?”

   His teeth hurt. He pulled up a block from the hospital, stripped Damian of everything but the base layer suit in eight seconds, and sprinted to the ER. The sky had started to pour rain and the acid had finally slowed and he’d done this before.

   He had done this far too many times.

   “That’s not a real answer, Bruce,” they told him every time he got scared like this; every time, by some miracle, his children lived to fight another day. He wanted to bench them, shelter them, take them off of the street and away from the violence and put them through college instead of so much therapy. He was never able to stop them, but God--- did he try.

   The nurses took Damian from his arms. If he died, he would die in a sterile room. Alone. Batman followed them, ignoring the urgent words that meant nothing trying to keep him out. He needed to watch the hands operating on his son. If even one sample of blood got out of the OR…

   Damian should have been able to handle a collapsed trachea. Batman had underestimated Bane’s resourcefulness. He’d overestimated Damian’s ability to handle it. The knife was the wild card, the slow death meant to harm, to cause more pain than darkness.

   He’s had so much worse, a quiet voice insisted, and yet--- that voice wasn’t the I love you stuck in his throat, wasn’t the sharp stab beneath every heartbeat and the cruel injustice of every uncomfortable twitch made by Damian’s hands. The boy wanted to cry out. He restrained himself. He had been here before, too, under the surgeon’s blade. Under anesthesia that only kept him still.

   Batman wanted to return in time, snap at Damian for missing his homework and ground him to his room. Then, maybe, he’d still be alive. Angry… hurt. Alive.

   It seemed an eternity before the secondhand pain stopped coming. Not because of death, not this time. He was alive. Unconscious… vulnerable… but alive.

   Batman followed them to another room, collapsing into a chair at Damian’s side. This team had operated on his own skin before. They knew the drill, were too scared to avoid it. Not a drop of DNA escaped the OR. Damian was safe. Breathing. Pained. Alive.

   A familiar voice, one deepened by time and hardened by death, rested on his ears like a friendly hand. “He’ll make it.”

   Batman surged from his chair, startling his companion. He slowed his movements to accommodate for nerves, closing the distance nonetheless. Jason must have understood. He sagged in Batman’s arms, allowing himself to mimic the smallness of childhood again, the trust they’d both lost but still felt sometimes in the quiet moments that said more than apologies ever could.

   “I should have been there,” Batman heard himself say.

   A quiet huff. A returning hug. Softness. Intentional this time. Casual. Like it was still easy to show love. “I’m okay.”

   Batman pressed his lips to his son’s white hair and finally allowed himself to cry.

Chapter Text

   “Akhi?”

   A low whine answered him from the living room. Damian shucked his jacket at once, hurrying thence as a deep, abiding sense of urgency settled in his gut. He’d known the moment he set foot in this house that something was amiss. Even during the long car ride--- nay, the entire journey from New York to Gotham, where he was to arrive for a surprise visit as an extended Christmas stay--- he had known.

   He did not know how he had known, but he knew. His precious brother was sick.

   “Dami?” Dick whispered hoarsely, squinting from a half-circle of open case files. He’d clearly been trying to distract himself, but to no avail. Damian clocked his body language quickly. Hunched, legs wide, head hanging low. He had not thrown up--- yet--- but neither had he made any apparent preparations for such. No medicine or water or bowl in sight; not even the more advanced signs of Alfred’s caretaking, like a variety of scent bottles or fresh slices of fruit or glasses of orange juice. Nothing. Where was everybody?
“Th’ght you w’re s’posed to be… at college…” Dick panted between obvious bouts of nausea. He attempted to smile, but Damian could already see it in his eyes. The weary panic. The I-can’t-think-or-breathe-or-take-care-of-myself. The help-me-please. Silent screams of agonized loneliness that did not, in actuality, come from the sickness itself.

   “Hush,” Damian told him, softening in every possible way despite the efficient certainty taking over his thoughts. He knew what to do. Dick needed someone in control, someone to be the designated adult so that the panic didn’t feel as gaping as it otherwise would. Emotional care trumped physical right this moment. “I am here now, Akhi.”

   Dick dropped his head almost as low as his knees again, attempting to say something else, perhaps, that crept out instead as a whine. He was drooling, unable to hold himself upright. In anyone else, Damian would assume the worst. In Dick--- His body was giving in to his mind, nothing more. He was not as sick as all that. (Still… perhaps a blood sample. Just in case.)

   Damian sat on the ottoman, bending close to link his fingers around the back of Dick’s neck. He allowed the weight of his arms to hang there, pulling at Dick’s spine with grounding physical touch. “Shhhhhhhhhhhh. I am here. You are safe.”

   Dick panted through another wave of nausea before the tension in his shoulders began to settle. He leaned his elbows against his knees, bracing against Damian’s touch. Adding some resistance. Good. This was helping.

   “Yo,” a very unwelcome voice boomed from the front hallway, perfectly synced with another roll of thunder from outside. “Guess who lives, bitc--- What the hell?”

   Damian shot a look in his most annoying brother’s general direction. “He is sick.”

   Jason dropped his motorcycle helmet on the couch, uneasiness giving way to focus. His arrival with the ensuing storm was no coincidence, but he, in particular, was always able to better handle his panic when he had something productive to do. “How can I help?”

   Damian looked away, pretending he hadn’t seen Jason’s shaking hands. The den upstairs was the most open lounge in the house. Good for circus acrobats accustomed to the wide open. Good for undead zombies searching for anything other than their grave. “Do you know where Alfred keeps his stash?”

   “Which stash are we talkin’?”

   “The caretaking supplies. I suspect he has a stomach bug, but I would like to check. The top shelf will hold the more advanced equipment.”

   “Gotcha. One blood test kit an’ two essential oils comin’ up. Which did he like again?”

   “Sawdust. Ceder, I believe, but it wouldn’t hurt to bring all of those. Peppermint.”

   “He hates peppermint.”

   “I know, but it has proven to be the most effective.” Damian pressed his cool forehead to Dick’s hair. Hot. Was that fever or panic? “A silver bowl, paper towels, and cool water. Bottled. The den upstairs.”

   Jason disappeared without another word. Damian’s analyzing thought process was interrupted by another soft whine.

   “I know.” He moved one hand to Dick’s back, stroking a gentle path down his spine as if to coax the jittery nerves into settling. “I know it hurts, Akhi. I am here. Jason is here, too. We will take care of you.”

   “Had… so much worse…” Dick tried to chuckle, but he stopped to gag. Nothing came up. Panic, then; still panic wrecking his body. Stronger than sickness. Stronger even than so many decades of training to face the worst humanity had to offer.

   “There is no scoring system for suffering,” Damian murmured gently, fully aware his words were less important than the low, calm tone in which he said them. “What scares you is what scares you.”

   “Done,” Jason murmured quietly, hopping down the stairs with a lightness to his step that was a marker of the League.

   “Akhi,” Damian said softly, tucking Dick’s sweaty hair behind one ear. “We are going to move you upstairs. It will be comfortable there. Jason will carry you on his back.”

   “‘Kay,” Dick returned faintly, eyelids fluttering under Damian’s touch. However sick his body felt, his mind was finally beginning to calm. He didn’t have to sit alone with this anymore.

   Damian gave Jason another look. No complaining if he throws up.

   Jason sighed quietly, moved around the couch, and got down on one knee. With a little bit of help from Damian, they got Dick into a proper piggyback. Better for his stomach than a princess carry. Dick rested his head on Jason’s shoulder, lulled, it seemed, by the movement as Jason carried him slowly up the stairs with Damian behind.

   Alfred would wonder, perhaps, where everyone had gone once he returned from whatever errand he had chosen to run. That was fine. Damian had claimed the patient first. “Here.”

   Jason lowered Dick into the nest of soft blankets on the largest couch. Dick leaned back against the cushions, groaning, but Damian was privately delighted. They had made it upstairs with minimal suffering, and look--- everything he’d asked for spread out on the central table, and a bowl of ice water to boot. He wet the rag immediately, scented it with a few drops of peppermint, and rested the cloth over Dick’s forehead. The sense distraction offered immediate relief--- Dick’s brow smoothed. He still panted through his mouth, but as for the panic? Handled.

   Damian shared a brief smile with Jason for a job half well done, settling next to Dick in the nest. Gently, he drew his brother’s head to his shoulder, taking care not to smother him as he began trailing his fingers through damp hair. This, he knew, was the metaphorical kryptonite. Dick melted into his hold like a warm marshmallow.

   “Alice?” Jason murmured quietly, sitting by the crackling fireplace before picking up one of the many books stacked in his favorite reading corner. “Or… Prejudice?”

   “Alice,” Damian said decisively, pretending he hadn’t been caught nuzzling his brother’s hair. He scowled when Jason dared to smirk. “Do the voices right this time.”

   Jason cleared his throat to cover what was most definitely a laugh, cracked the book to the bookmark, and started reading. It was alright, perhaps. This space that was not full of health and energy and life, but lulled by peace nonetheless. “We have you, Akhi. Rest.”

   Dick said nothing, but the calm that stole over him, the easing tension which had plagued Damian on his entire trip home, said more than a thousand words. He finally started breathing through his nose. Three pages later, he’d fallen asleep.

Chapter Text

   Hood didn’t really want to spoil the surprise. He was committed to the bit--- the joke of it all. He didn’t need to give himself away so soon. Not quite yet.

   It was just… reconnaissance. He wanted a tiny peek. Never before had he come so close during one of the rare nights that Batman actually patrolled with Robin under his overprotective wing, and Hood had always been too curious for his own good.

   He followed the ghost of the Dark Knight’s presence down into the subway. What were they onto now? Oop… pause. He wasn’t close enough to see them, but he was good at tracking them; maybe the best. Batman had stopped, some uneasiness tainting the atmosphere. He must have suspected he was being followed. You haven’t lost your touch, Bruce.

   The shadows eventually faded once more, leaving Hood to creep after them by sixth sense alone. He waited patiently to glimpse them, daydreaming about whether to dash mysteriously past or---

   The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Hood flattened himself against the wall, barely breathing, and faded into the background. Someone else was down here.

   “--- still down here,” a young voice said, distant. Then… silence.

   Hood almost jumped out of his fucking skin as an echoing roar filtered back down the subway tunnel. “ROBIN!!!”

   That was game. Hood’s heartbeat insisted that now was the time to go. He backed up, watching every shadowy corner as he tried to sneak out undetected. No way no how was he dealing with whatever made Batman yell like THAT---

   Muffled yelling stopped him in his tracks. The boy wonder, most likely, separated from Batman. Someone else was gonna kill him first.

   Hood allowed himself a moment to curse whatever instinct had him changing his mind. Then, gun in hand, he sprinted back down the stairs, turned a few corners, and shouldered his way past a closing door that blended in with the subway wall. It locked automatically behind him. No chance of going back now. “Hey!!!”

   The grappling shadows froze for all of two seconds. Hood’s blood froze in his veins, aim twitching. Zsasz. Fucking FANTASTIC.

   The bloodthirsty murderer grinned manically, licking his lips. Wait. Was that a girl in his arms? “You look familiar.”

   Hood shot him in the throat. “Shut the fuck up.”

   “Whoa,” the kid choked, backing against the wall. She spat out a mouthful of blood… hers or his? She’d clearly been fighting back; she was trailing blood, and her neck…

   Hood got close enough to reach out, catching her chin. A fiberglass weave. Batman had dressed his birdie for tonight’s crimefighting weather--- Zsasz’s knife hadn’t made it all the way through. “You’re one lucky duck.”

   Robin jerked out of his hand, hissing like a damn cat. “Who are you supposed to be?”

   Hood gave her a once-over. His information was very very outdated, and the part of him that wasn’t stunned into mental silence was the part silently freaking out. He didn’t know this kid. He had no fermented argument against her existence other than the fact she was wearing those stupid fucking colors. She wasn’t better than him, an upgrade--- She wasn’t even very smart. She’d been lured from Batman’s side like a sap. “I could ask you the same thing.”

   The girl cradled her arm against her ribs. She was trembling, but credit where credit was due--- She didn’t flinch. “I’m the girl fucking wonder, dipshit, and you’re about to get laid out like wet concrete. Batman’s got trackers. He’ll be here any second.”

   Right--- Hood clicked the EMP hidden in his sleeve, holstered his gun, and sighed. “You’re a girl.”

   “You wouldn’t hit a lady?” She spat another mouthful of blood. Scrappy little thing. Her accent reminded him of the Bowrey. Ugh, why was he getting sentimental? Focus. Batman had failed AGAIN.

   “I had it handled,” the girl snapped, and Hood realized he’d been speaking out loud. Damn--- He needed to stop that.

   “Bullshit.” Hood gestured at the body’s broken nose, sniffing dismissively. “That was a rookie escape tactic at best. Letting you out into the field was his first mistake of the night. Second was letting you out of his sight.” Wait… Why was he arguing with this snot-nosed newbie? Batman was the one who---

   “Get wrecked asshole,” she spat, and WOW, had he ever been that bad at the signature sass? Geez, even Dick’s “golly gee” sounded better. Maybe it was the shock. She’d clearly never been in this much danger before.

   Hood’s lip curled as an idea occurred to him. Batman could afford to sweat a little bit while he looked for the murderer who’d taken his newest bird. Besides--- Hood needed time to reassess his plan now that Drake had apparently never existed or maybe quit early. (Good for him.) The best way to accomplish all of that was tactical empathy.

   He reached up, pulling his helmet off. “Look… We got off on the wrong foot. I’m… I’m a little lost. I followed you ‘cause Robin is all I know. I’m actually glad you’re here. I need help.”

   The girl’s lenses widened. “No fucking way.”

   Jason allowed himself to sink into nervous tells--- facial tics, shifty gaze, fidgety hands, all of it. “My name’s Jay. I don’t think we’ve met. I was expecting…”

   “If you’re lying to me---”

   “I’m not. I can prove it, just… don’t tell Batman.” Jason pushed a shake into his voice. “Please.”

   Robin straightened with a determined set to her jaw. Score. “I’ve got a place. You owe me several explanations. An’ maybe a chili dog.”

Chapter Text

   “Uh… guys?”

   Red swiped rain from his sweaty forehead. It had been a very long, very cold, very rough night. “What?”

   “He’s been hit.”

   All gazes swiveled to the battlefield of plants below. Batman was covered in bright yellow pollen. Sure, the rain was washing it away, but. “A faceful?”

   “He let his guard down.” Nightwing’s voice held barely-contained glee. “Let’s get back an’ shower up before---”

   “I am fine,” Batman ground out. He grabbed Nightwing first, hiding him under the cape. Then he had his hands on Robin, and then--- then he was searching the rooftops.

   “Fuck,” Hood whispered hoarsely, taking off. Red followed at a sprint, sticking his bo out between Hood’s feet. Hood went down like a sack of bricks, yelling incoherent curses as Red grappled off. Perfect. With Batman distracted by Hood, Red would be halfway to his safehouse before---

   Something snagged at his grapple as he landed, preventing the retraction. Red barely suppressed a yelp. How had he moved so fast? “Hood’s back there.”

   Batman’s lenses narrowed. That was all the warning Red got before he was being bowled over the railing, lowered to the ground, and gathered into crushing arms.

   “Ow,” he complained, but Batman either didn’t hear or didn’t care. Red was brought to the Batmobile, stuffed inside, and then they were driving. So much for an escape.

   “You’re sitting on my foot,” someone muttered.

   Red twisted to figure out whose legs he was lying on. Hood, who was fortunately too tied up with a bundle of Orphan on his ribs to bother antagonizing Red. “How did he fit us…?”

   “By disregarding personal space,” Robin grouched snappily, climbing over Hood’s face to get a little more breathing room. “I don’t suppose Nightwing alone would do? I refuse to spend the rest of the evening with these miscreants.”

   Red pressed his nose to the tinted window. They were already speeding into the Batcave. “Showers, B, okay? Then we can… whatever you need.” He’d never actually seen Batman high on cuddle pollen. He didn’t know what to expect. Personally, he liked to wait it out alone, but---

Hood shoved him out of the car as soon as the doors unlocked, groaning. “Air.”

   Red booked it to the showers before Batman could change his mind. He was quick, but not the quickest. By the time he got out, Bruce--- wild-eyed and sweatpants-clad and still partially wet--- had grabbed Dick in another crushing embrace. Dick melted instantly, more than willing, and made a happy noise when his hair was stroked with frantic fingers. He didn’t seem to mind that Bruce had forgotten a shirt.

   “Perfect,” Jason muttered aside, sneaking past Tim with his bagged suit. “I’ll see you losers la---”

   Tim snagged his pajama pants, stretching them out. “Nice Wonder Woman undies.”

   Jason turned on him with all due wrath, but he didn’t get a chance to enact terrible vengeance before Bruce was herding everyone upstairs. Then the next set of stairs… then the huge master bedroom with its luxurious bed. Tim barely had time to blink before he was crushed on all sides, face smushed against Bruce.

   Oh. Bruce was trembling.

   Tim slowly melted, blinking stupidly as a hug that felt like home shut off every half-formed thought in his tired brain. The huge hands on his back… the gentle fingers in his hair… the caving shoulders bent to protect. He felt small. He felt safe.

   “Whoa,” he managed as Bruce let go to attack Jason. The later couldn’t get away fast enough; it wasn’t ten seconds before he was sagging against Bruce’s shoulder. A suspiciously sob-sounding noise muffled into cloth as one, two, three kisses pressed against his forehead. Then it was Damian’s turn--- ridged professionalism dissolving into childlike grumpiness as he rubbed his face against Bruce’s bare shoulder… then Cass, who squeaked happily as she was cradled like a baby under one arm. Then Dick again, who was all too eager to tuck himself against Bruce’s side.

   Then… Then Tim again. (They’d been missing out on THIS the whole entire time? Hugs that made them feel valued? Hands that made them feel loved? Damn. Maybe Tim could work something out for the ingredients to whatever compound Ivy cooked up...)

   “‘S so embarrassing,” he mumbled, holding back the reflex tears as Bruce slotted him into the prized location under his grizzled chin. (Listen. It had been a really… really long night.)

   Bruce nuzzled his hair with a deep, heavy sigh. Pressed in by children on all sides… weighed down by Tim… he was finally sated. “Son.”

   Tim squeezed his eyes shut, melting pitifully fast into the warmth. Dick’s arm slung lazily over his back, Cass curled happily against his shoulder, and on the other side, still sniffling, Jason tucked Damian under his own chin as Bruce’s huge arms cuddled them all close. “Dad.”