Chapter Text
Dick was worried about Damian. Ever since his arrival, things around the manor had gotten unpleasantly tense. The boy showed up for patrol, but was barely seen otherwise. He was like a shadow, capable of vanishing practically into thin air, and he never went anywhere without that katana if he could help it. Alfred’s dry sarcasm had gotten dryer, Bruce had become more distant and awkward, and…
“Tim, do you know where Damian went?”
Tim, who’d been focusing on some project these last few weeks, glared down at his stack of papers. “No, and the little menace can stay away from me forever as far as I care.”
Well. Tim and Damian didn’t exactly get along great – Damian had insisted that he was Robin now, and that Tim was ‘an unworthy placeholder.’ Tim, the only one of Bruce’s kids to take the initiative when becoming a vigilante, had always sort of suspected he wasn’t really wanted.
(Barbara and Stephanie weren’t quite Bruce’s kids, but they were family, despite Steph’s halfhearted dismissals.)
Dick made his way down into the Cave. It had been the first place he’d checked when looking for Damian, because he was hardly ever in his room, and his coordinates showed he was still on the property, but Dick had been looking for the last hour, with no luck. It was worth a second look, he supposed.
As he walked down the steps, he could hear talking. Two voices. Alfred was in the kitchen, Bruce was on the Watchtower, and Tim was upstairs. Who was he talking to?
Dick slinked into the shadows. Damian had been raised by ninjas, sure, but Nightwing had nearly a decade and a half on him in terms of training. He felt bad about eavesdropping, but if Damian was on a video call or something with his mother, Dick wanted to glean as much information as he could. Damian wasn’t exactly liberal with information.
“I do not think they like me, ahki.”
“Why’s that?” a staticky voice responded. Point in the ‘video call’ category, but it was clearly a masculine voice. Pair that with the Arabic word for ‘brother,’ and Dick had a vague picture of the situation. He hadn’t known Talia had other kids, though.
Damian sounded oddly vulnerable. Distressed. “Pennyworth does not talk to me. Drake refuses to be anywhere near me for longer than twenty-three seconds, Father has been absent, and Grayson keeps attempting to corner me.”
Dick’s heartache for the boy was fighting furiously with the fact that Damian was using names, but he swallowed both down and edged closer to the corner.
“I’m pretty sure Dick is trying to make nice, baby bat, but Alfred? Really?”
Something was wrong with the staticky voice. It was familiar, and seemed more like it was modulated than coming through a… phone… call.
There was no way.
Dick peeked around the corner to see his newest little brother sitting stiffly atop the Batcomputer’s slanted counter – katana nowhere in sight – with none other than the Red fucking Hood in the office chair reserved almost entirely for those using the gigantic screen. Red Hood wasn’t using the computer though (thank god), instead resting his feet up next to Damian’s knees by the edge of the main keyboard. He was facing away from Dick, but that stupid helmet was pretty recognizable.
He was doing something with his hands that Dick couldn’t see- some sort of repetitive motion like he was petting a cat or something. Dick pulled himself back around the corner before he could be seen. God, he looked… comfortable, here. Who the hell did he think he was, throwing his feet up like that? Way to make yourself at home, creep.
“Yes, really. You informed me he was no ordinary servant, so I did not treat him as such. I am… unsure where exactly I went wrong.”
Well, that was depressing.
“What do you think started it? There’s no way he was like that from the start.”
…What? It was bad enough that he was in the Batcave and that Damian had probably told him their names, but he was talking like he knew Alfred personally.
“I asked him why that abhorrent memorial case was still up, considering it’s been so long.”
Dick winced. Yeah, that’ll do it.
Red Hood seemed to snort. “Dami, we told you they don’t know.”
“I know that,” Damian gritted out, “but even so, mourning in the League, unless of those who are directly your family, is not supposed to take longer than three years.”
“Alfie isn’t League, though, baby bat. And he sees your dad as his son, which counts as family.”
Aaaand, that was enough.
“Why do you know that?” Dick asked, stepping out.
Red Hood immediately spun around, leapt off of the chair, and crouched on the ground like a panther ready to pounce, and Damian jumped into a battle stance behind him. Red Hood was angled in front of Damian, posessively, and-
Well, now he knew where the katana was. Red Hood was brandishing the small sword expertly (which, as someone who was so fond of guns, was a tad odd), and a cleaning rag fluttered to the ground in the split second it took for all of this to occur.
Damian had… been letting Red Hood clean his sword? He never parted with that thing; it was practically a teddy bear for him.
Red Hood seemed to recognize him and while he didn’t untense, exactly, the sense of predator-threat-danger that emanated from his posture seemed to waver. “Oh.”
Dick folded his arms. “How the hell did you get in here?”
Damian did untense, mostly, and he scowled before taking his katana back. “I let him in,” he grumbled. “He would not meet me on his own turf.”
“Damn right,” Red Hood growled, slowly rising from the ground. His limbs were still coiled tightly like a lion ready to jump, but he glanced at Damian and the animosity radiating from him visibly dimmed. “I know about your trackers, Bat, and I’m not letting you nosy fucks find my safe spots.”
“Damian, why did you let him in here?” Batman had suspected Red Hood was League-trained, but he hadn’t had proof.
Red Hood tilted his head. “Can’t a man visit his brother?” he snarked.
Dick scowled at the confirmation. “Not if one is a serial killer and one is an impressionable child. Especially not in the Batcave.”
Damian practically hissed indignantly, but Red Hood released the last of his tension and took on a familiar look of casual, judgemental ease. He practically oozed condescension now, like one of Bruce’s CEO friends, and Dick knew he knew that posture from somewhere. “If I was going to do anything to this place, I’da done it already. I don’t need his help getting in here.”
Dick could hear the sneer under the helmet, and he sneered back. “Cocky, aren’t you?”
Red Hood didn’t take the bait and kept his judgy indifference, which… Bruce’s analysis had said he was prone to flashes of unpredictable violence. Red Hood was supposedly a hothead, impulsive, and easily angered. Either he was about to snap, Bruce had been wrong, or something else was happening.
“It’s only cockiness if I can’t back up my claims.” he drawled. “D’you want me to prove it by coming in alone next time?”
Dick, if he’d been trained even slightly less, would have sputtered for a few seconds at the sheer audacity, but as it was, he simply narrowed his eyes. “No.”
Red Hood shrugged, and then turned to Damian. “Wadaea, al'akh alsaghiri.” He hesitated for a moment, glanced at Dick, and then rested his hand on Damian’s shoulder. “Hazu saeid.”
Dick stared as Damian bowed his head in aknowlegement of whatever was said, and rested his own hand on the gigantic hand next to his neck. Red Hood ruffled his hair in response (which Dick had never gotten away with), before tossing another glance back at Dick.
Wait, this- The Red Hood was proving Damian trusted him. He was rubbing their closeness in Dick’s face! What a prick!
Just as he was about to step forward, Damian slapped the offending hand away and scowled. “Go, ahki. Before Father returns.”
“What? No,” Dick interrupted. “He knows where our base is; he’s not allowed to just leave.”
Damian rolled his eyes. “Hal turid miniy 'an 'ashtari lak alwaqt ya 'akhi?”
Red Hood shook his head. “Dick couldn’t stop me if he tried,” he dismissed. “I’ll see you next time, baby bat.”
“Yes,” Dick countered, reaching for his pocket. “Yes, I can.” He might be in civvies, but he still had some gear.
With the click of a button, the whole cave went into lockdown, red lights flaring and metal blast doors clanking shut. It had the added bonus of sending an alert up to Bruce, and anyone else on active patrol.
Red Hood barely reacted – he lifted his wrist like he was looking at a watch, waved his other hand above it a couple of times, and then without any fanfare, the alarms shut off.
“You aren’t the only one with toys, Nightwing,” he hummed conversationally, before Dick heard a hissing noise.
Smoke. Shit, a gas canister?
Dick covered his airways with his sleeve as Red Hood quickly disappeared into the fog, but Damian just stood there looking irritated until the air was clear again. Probably nontoxic, then.
Damian started to stalk away like nothing had happened, and shit, now Dick knew where he recognized that particular shade of Dismissive Bitchiness- Damian and the Red Hood both emulated Talia when they felt cornered. Crap.
“Damian, we have to talk about this-”
“I answer to three people, Grayson. None of them are you.” He rounded a corner, and then he was gone.
God.
Dammit.