Time (to Protect You)

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/37280143.

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Category: Gen
Fandoms: Batman - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics)
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Dick
Grayson & Jason Todd, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson, Cassandra Cain &
Dick Grayson, Stephanie Brown & Dick Grayson, John Constantine &
Dick Grayson
Characters: Dick Grayson, Damian Wayne, Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd, Tim Drake,
Cassandra Cain, Alfred Pennyworth, Barbara Gordon, Koriand'r (DCU),
Roy Harper, Donna Troy, Raven (Teen Titans), Slade Wilson, Ra's al
Ghul, Talia al Ghul, John Constantine, Rose Wilson, Kon-El | Conner
Kent, Clark Kent, Jon Lane Kent
Additional Tags: BAMF Dick Grayson, Hurt Dick Grayson, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug,
Dick Grayson Gets a Hug, Dick Grayson is Damian Wayne's Parent,
Good Sibling Dick Grayson, Hurt/Comfort, Past Rape/Non-con, Time
Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, Protective Dick Grayson, Protective
Batfamily (DCU), good brothers, Dark Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne is a
Good Parent, he's trying, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Series: Part 1 of We Have Time, Part 2 of Batfamily Feels
Collections: Leymonaide fic recs, A Collection of Beloved Inserts, FTTN's Favorites,
Batfam Adventures, Ashes' Library, Wan Shi Tong's Spirit Library, The
Reasons For My Insomnia, ethericactus’ fics to read later, Lumi's library
of favourite fics, Best of Hurt/Comfort, hello yes i can’t stop thinking
about these works, Charlotte_HKcollections, Squiggle's Supurb Fics,
Ripon’s Fanfic Recs, The Batfamily 2022 Collection, A Picky Vest's
Favorites, Works So Good Id Physically Buy the Hard Cover Version in
Stores, Darkside_Dreamer's_Completed_Favorites, and i held the softest
of smiles in my hands, Mybattiestbests, The Batfam Fanfic Survey, the
reason i'm an insomniac, My heart is melting with all this✨fluff✨, Time
travel of incredible quality, Bat Babes and Babies, Roaming the Night
Veil: best of browsing, BatFAMILY, Time Travel Recs, Alicia's idea of
good fics, My Completed Fanfictions ( that i read), my heart is here,
Makes Me Cry, Time Travel? or Something, Psychologeek top picks, DC
Fic Favs but prob mostly Batfam, Fics to adore and reread, Utterly
Fantastic Fics, Madski's greatest hits, The Bats' 10/10 Would Read
Again, No preguntes solo gozalo, The Bats' Time Travel Adventures :0,
Alte's Hoard of Fics, ☆*: .｡. o(≧▽≦)o .｡.:*☆, Time Travel AUs, the
best works i’ve ever read, beautiful works that made me cry, I love you
so, LiarJester_favorites_DC, Time Travel Fics That Water My Crops,
 Must binge-read every month, cauldronrings favs ( •̀ ω •́ )✧, side effects
may include: crying. sleepless nights. willingness to die for author. high-
pitched squeals. and crying., Absolute bops that deserve recognition as
artistic masterpieces
Stats: Published: 2022-02-21 Completed: 2022-08-06 Words: 89,785 Chapters:
18/18
 Time (to Protect You)
by Blueseabird2

Summary

Losing Damian not only hurt beyond measure but also made Dick the last Bat standing. He
had nothing keeping him in a broken world so goes back in time with only one ally (Damian
begs to differ) and no plan except to protect everyone he can, at any cost.

Dick starts with making sure Jason never dies at the hands of the Joker and proceeds to track
down and love his siblings (while maybe also plotting the destruction of the League of
Assassins). He just doesn't realize that a clan of highly trained vigilantes are more than
capable of realizing that Dick is not okay, and of returning his devotion with their own.

Notes

Hello everyone! The fic is really an excuse to give Dick good things and let him be protective
of his family. I also love writing time travel and family feels so please expect a lot of comfort
with the hurt.

Also, I'm taking advantage of this being fanfiction to wave my hand at canon and take events
and timelines and shift them however they fit. Comic logic is in full effect!

This was inspired by nighttmr's amazing I’ll Be The Villain So They Can Be Heroes, so go
read that for more protective Dick and time travel shenanigans. Thank you nighttmr!

Inspired by I’ll Be The Villain So They Can Be Heroes by nighttmr

 Waking

Dick woke up.

He hadn’t expected to wake up. Hadn’t really wanted to, either, if he was being honest. And
he’d been rather honest lately, since there wasn’t really anyone around to lie to and he’d
stopped being able to lie to himself long ago.

Dick also woke up without pain, and that was even more surprising. He hadn’t been able to
sit up in bed without his bones screaming at him for years now. Some of the pain was
probably a result of his increased recklessness after Tim’s death, while rather more of it was
his lack of care after Jason’s. The rest was just years of use and abuse. Dick had managed
rather more years as a vigilante than most, by the end.

And there had been an end.

Dick staggered up, leaving the room he barely recognized but his body clearly still thought of
as safe. His fingertips trailed over the panelled walls, catching on the the dents and dings that
came with superpowered teenagers living together under one roof.

“Dick?”

Dick didn’t turn at Kori’s voice. He left his hand against the wall, palm now flat to let the
cool of the metal seep into his skin. He wondered if she could see him trembling. He
wondered if he was trembling. He felt like he should be, but he didn’t exactly know this body
anymore.

Her hand, so strong, was gentle as it wrapped around his bicep. Dick would have flinched,
except he’d watched it coming. “Are you alright, my friend?”

He wasn’t. But, if this was real, he was also better than he’d been in years.

He didn’t say that, however, didn’t say much of anything, which was part habit (he and
Damian hadn’t really needed words, by the end) and part shock. His silence meant that he
heard her sharp intake of breath and the stuttering gasp of his own as she pulled him into her
arms.

Kori had always been great at hugs, what with her strength and her warmth and her kindness.
Hugs also meant that he didn’t need to look her in the eyes. Didn’t have to meet the eyes of
the woman he’d once loved, the woman he’d had far too many awful, brutally honest
conversations with to ever again be anything other than the best of friends.

This Kori hadn’t been hurt the way his had. This Kori hadn’t shared in ragged apologies and
spent midnights weeping with Dick about the assaults that Mirage and others had heaped on
the both of them. This Kori was alive (not dead on some distant planet Dick had never even
heard named).
Fingers pressing in the back of Kori’s shirt, strands of her hair wrapped around his fingers,
Dick breathed. He breathed in warmth and sunlight and cinnamon. He breathed an anchor
into his bones.

Kori didn’t let him step back, which was probably fair. He’d always had a habit of hiding
himself away when things got too much. When he thought he was being weak and didn’t
want his team or his family to know.

A Bat trait if ever there was one.

He’d forgotten the Titans had never really let him get away with that. She gently but firmly
grabbed his wrist and towed him the rest of the way down the hall.

“Dick had a nightmare,” Kori declared, utterly fearless as they walked into the kitchen. And
well, she wasn’t wrong. The whole future had been an utter nightmare. “We are having
comfort pancakes to be feeling better.”

Dick slid his eyes to Kori, skating over Roy and Donna, the only ones in kitchen so early, so
he didn’t have to meet their eyes.

“You just don’t want me to have my comfort cereal.” Dick’s voice was a rasp, and he didn’t
need to meet Donna’s concerned eyes to know he’d inadvertently sold the nightmare story.

Roy snorted. “Your comfort cereal is disgusting.” He dropped a phone in front of Dick that
looked vaguely familiar on his way to the coffee machine, blissfuly doing no more than
brushing a hand across Dick’s back in acknowledgement of the nightmare comment. “Watch
your stuff, Dickhead. You’d think with all the practice keeping track of your fancy weapons
you wouldn’t leave your shit all over the common room.”

“You’re one to talk, Royboy.” The words that fell out of Dick’s mouth were automatic, as
was opening the phone. Muscle memory for the win.

“Want to talk about it, Wonder Boy?” Donna asked, with a kind of quiet concern that Dick
had missed more than air.

“Fuck no,” was still what spilled out of his lips, and he could see Donna start out of the
corner of his eye and complete a motion that was probably a shared concerned look with the
two making pancakes.

Dick was no longer paying attention, however, not with his nondescript phone in his hand
being suddenly crucially important for two specific reasons.

The first was the date. The small little number in the upper corner of his phone was a taunt,
one that a quick click made a possibility. It was a little less than a month before a mission
would take the Titans off world at the worst possible time. A little more than a month before
Jason would die.

Except he wouldn’t. Dick wouldn’t let him.

The second reason was a text from an unknown number. Dick typed back slowly, the tremble
finally working its way into his hands.

Unknown: Fuck the timeline.

Dick: Fuck the timeline.

Unknown: Call when needed.

Dick: Don’t die.

Those were the only rules they’d set, Dick and Constantine. Not that they’d really had time to
set many others. Time travel hadn’t been planned so much as seized.

The end had come not with a bang or a single grand disaster, but with a series of unfortunate
events and attacks that had left Dick reeling. Sure, the Justice League and other heroes were
still going, would probably have been able to drag some semblance of order out of the dregs,
but Dick was done. There had been devastating loss after devastating loss and he’d been hit
each and every time.

Constantine had understood, had known exactly what it was to keep standing back up and
fighting because that was all you had left. Constantine had been the one to look at Dick, with
eyes of banking coals that matched the obscured skies Dick would see in the mirror if he ever
dared to look, and know that Dick wasn’t getting back up anymore. Not this time.

Constantine had then looked over the runes and spell circles of the very fucking psychotic
mage they’d only barely managed to stop, managing entirely to gloss over the cooling body
Dick had not and would not let go. Damian hadn’t even made it to twenty. Dick’s baby was
gone (Dick was the oldest and the first and the one who’d trail-blazed the way for other
young heroes; he was never supposed to have been the last).

Constantine had looked and Dick had mourned and they’d settled on four rules in case their
mangled attempt to rework the mage’s spell actually succeeded (neither had really thought it
would, but if heroes had a fault it was hope).

One: fuck the timeline. Preserve nothing. Change whatever the fuck they could.

Two: call. Because they knew what it was like to be alone, because they were a desperate
kind of friends by that point, because they were both fucked up an no one was going to be
able to understand that, not really.

Three: Don’t die. Can’t change shit if you’re dead. Waste of an impossible spell, that would
be.

Four, and this was more of an unspoken agreement but still iron-clad: Don’t tell anyone.
Which ha, like they could prove it anyway? And things were going to get confusing enough
with two people trying to change the future; they didn’t need more people mucking about or,
worse, people trying to preserve the fucking timeline.

Dick wasn’t worried about keeping quiet. Not really. He didn’t exactly feel a bursting need to
tell everyone about the many and varied ways he’d failed both spectacularly and bloodily.

He actually rather felt the need for more hugs, and after a quick digital wipe of his phone he
collapsed into Donna’s side, who caught him with an entirely dramatic oomph and pretended
like she hadn’t been coming around his side to try and snoop from said phone.

She laughed at his baleful look, but took his thwarting of her efforts with good nature. Until
she threw him to the wolves.

Raven and Gar had always had a tendency to get clingy when Dick was upset, which was
why he’d used to try and hide. None of the Titans were having that, however, not today, and
when the two younger members wandered in the kitchen drawn by the scent of pancakes,
they were very overtly directed to Dick.

He wondered if there was something in particular that he was doing that made him seem
worse than usual, that made them less likely to believe him when he said he was okay.

Dick had tried to tell his friends that he was okay a couple of times before and after pancakes
and had failed miserably. Wally kept trying to feed him. Kori had developed a habit of patting
him on the head every time she floated by. Cyborg ran a security check on the tower which
drew some odd looks but was actually really fucking great because that was totally on Dick’s
To Do List.

Raven had leaned into to him at one point when he was drinking Wally’s special hot
chocolate and staring at the not quite familiar sky line. They stayed that way for several
minutes, Raven’s cloak brushing against his ankles, before Dick folded.

“Everything alright?” Dick asked.

She looked at him, amethyst gaze shadowed and calm. “No. But I don’t know why.”

He closed his eyes briefly and placed his mug on the nearby plant stands.

“I can see the magic lingering around you. Just not what it does. You know what’s wrong,
don’t you, Dick?”

“Yes,” he admitted, resigned.

She blinked. “Is there anything I can do to help?

“Ah, Rae.” Dick wrapped an arm around her back and tilted his head so it rested on her hair.
“You already are.”

There was no world in which Raven would betray that kind of confidence, but Gar had
always been good at reading rooms in general and Raven in particular. When Raven dragged
Dick over to a couch to be her personal pillow as she read, Gar followed shortly after and
spent the next several hours purring in Dick’s lap as different kinds of feline.

With the warmth and love of his friends wrapped around him like a cloak of his own, Dick
finally gathered enough strength to slip away and make it to the top of Titans Tower. It was a
matter of moments to access the security feeds through his phone and create a small dead
zone so there was no record of what he was about to do.

Dick held the phone to his forehead for one long minute before he dialled a number he’d
always known by heart.

The phone rang twice before Bruce answered. Dick was reasonably sure it would have been
once, but Bruce had needed the first ring to brace himself.

Dick knew the feeling.

“Hey, B.”

“Dick. Did you need something?”

Even as Dick’s heart ached (that was his father’s voice, his father was alive) Dick wondered
if Bruce had any idea how patronizing he sounded. How much it hurt to always be asked
what he needed, never how he was. How it made Dick feel like he was a hanger on, a leech,
someone who didn’t so much as have a home with Bruce as a bank account.

That wasn’t how Bruce meant it, Dick knew now. Years and conversations and his own
(shared) Baby Bat meant that Dick knew that Bruce wanted to give Dick something. Wanted
to give Dick anything he asked for and anything he might need. But wow, could the man not
communicate that worth crap.

Which was they’d spent years spiralling into arguments, neither quite able to understand why
the other was upset, or, even if they knew, unable to quite stop following the script.

Except this script was old to Dick. He was used to a very different script that involved co-
parenting an entire brood of bats and birds. His script had died in fire and been turned into a
fucking eulogy.

Dick couldn’t even remember what he was supposed to say next, for all that he could feel the
familiar indignation and fear and inadequacy surge in his chest. He ignored those feelings, for
they were nothing compared to the relief he felt at his father’s voice.

“Yeah, B. I need something. Can I come home, please?”

There was a short pause, the kind that from anyone else would be a sharp intake of breath.

Dick started rambling, because some things never died at all. “The Titans are going off world.
I’m not going with them, there’s a couple things I need to do in Gotham.” Dick kept himself
vague because he knew that Bruce would assume those things were for Barbara, just as he
planned to let Barbara think he was back for Bruce and Jason.
 “And, you know I’ve been trying to see more of Jason, teach him a few things, let him have
some fun that’s not with the rich snobs at school or at midnight on rooftops. Not that there’s
anything wrong with rich snobs exactly, unless they’re all in one place at a gala, in which
case they’re very boring and probably a little catty. Uh, not that that’s relevant. But Jason.
And Alfred! Alfred wants me over for dinner, and you know it’s not a good idea to say no to
Alfred.”

Dick was very smooth, not suspicious at all, and didn’t want to take his experienced, ex-spy
head and bang it against the wall behind him.

Thankfully, Bruce still seemed stunned enough by the call and the distance that had grown
between them to not outright accuse Dick of being an imposter. Bruce even chuckled, an
honest to god chuckle, and Dick did in fact bang his head against the wall just once. The pain
helped him hold back tears.

“It’s never a good idea to say no to Alfred.” Bruce paused, a hundred arguments held taut
between them. Dick was a little too adrift in memory, in emotion, in years gone by to really
be able to predict what this pre-tragedy Bruce would say when Dick had broken script and
actually asked for something.

“Of course you can come home, chum. You can always come home.” Bruce said it quietly,
like an admission of guilt, like a promise made of kryptonite. Or an olive branch that might
explode.

Bruce remembered just as well as Dick the reason why Dick might not know that. Why Dick
might not feel like he could go home. Why this was probably the first time in years that Dick
had referred to the manor as home, particularly to Bruce himself.

This wasn’t Bruce’s apology, except for the part where that’s exactly what it was. For all that
Bruce had already snuck the keys back into Dick’s possession like the symbolic and
antisocial man he was (Dick had checked before calling), Dick still knew they’d have to talk
about him being kicked out eventually (Dick was an adult who’d raised baby heroes of his
own).

He also knew that now was not that time. Not when that particular wound felt so fresh yet
was also buried under the rubble of bridges and chasms made by and for a man Bruce might
never become.

“Yeah, okay, B. Thanks. I’ll be over tomorrow, if that works?”

“Of course, chum,” Bruce said, still softly, still afraid to break this truce. “Is there anything
else you need?”

Dick smiled at the question, where before he would have bristled. “A night’s patrol with Jay?
I still have some things to show him that a Robin should know.”

“He’d like that. He, he has a school play, next week, if you’ll still be around?”
Dick’s heart broke for the man who’d gone to his mathlete competitions and Jay’s plays yet
had made it to maybe three of Damian’s parent-teacher meetings total.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Dick managed to say. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He hung up, knowing he was being rude, but needing to get off the phone before he burst into
tears or started a fight.

Dick let himself curl inwards, hands slipping around his own head and digging into his hair,
one ragged sob tearing its way from his gut. He stayed that way for several long, endless
minutes, before standing and walking towards the door.

He didn’t have all his people, yet, but that was fine. He did have people who would come
looking for him if he took much longer. He had time.

Time to hug his (alive) friends and eat more comfort pancakes. Time to talk himself out of
the upcoming mission, which wouldn’t be hard with how he’d been acting today. Time to get
used to this body that didn’t carry its aches and heartbreaks like weights tied to his bones.

Time to return to Gotham. To save Jason. To find Tim and Steph and Cass. To plot the utter
ruination of the League of Assassins (who had his baby).

He was the big brother. He would protect them this time.

He would protect them all the time.

Damian woke up even though he hadn’t expected to, not when he already knew how it felt to
die.

He woke up on beautiful sheets in a beautiful room that he had hoped to never see again. For
one, sickening moment that was objectively much worse than dying, Damian feared
everything had been a dream. That he’d listened to one too many of his mother’s stories
about the great Batman and concocted an entire world in his sleep.

The moment was brief, however, because Damian just didn’t have that kind of imagination.
Damian would never have been able to dream up a man like Richard (never been able to
believe that a man like Richard would love Damian at all).

Furthermore, and this was perhaps the most glaring point, if the decade or so of memories
was to be relied upon (and it was) then Richard was Damian’s Batman, not Bruce, despite his
mother’s tales. He respected and even loved Father, sure, but it had been Richard who’d
made him Robin, Richard who’d trained him, Richard who’d taken up the mantle again and
again when Father faltered (Richard who’d never faltered in his love, in his constant,
ceaseless declarations that he wanted Damian).
It had been Richard who screamed as if his heart had been plucked out of him, when Damian
had been struck down by the mage they’d been stopping from triggering another apocalypse.
It had been Richard who’d finished the swing he’d already started, just a heartbeat too late,
and ended the mage with the finality of death. It had been Richard who’d sung a Romani
lullaby, words fuzzy and indistinct, as Damian lost consciousness.

It was Richard who was all alone.

Damian clenched his small fist, watching the scars that already littered his hand tense and
twist. His Baba was alone.

It didn’t matter if Richard remembered, not really. Damian figured there was probably a good
chance, since he could recall magic tainting the air like spice and potential. Constantine had
been ragged and fading, a friend and ally in truth but weighed down by loss the same as
Richard and Damian had been.

Without Damian, without his Robin, Richard was alone. Was the last. Was prone to doing
something foolish. So it was likely that the time travel was Richard’s fault, or his and
Constantine’s perhaps, but Richard would accept Damian regardless. Would accept Bruce’s
biological son and gladly add another brother to his family.

And that was another thing. The family. They’d died. They’d made Damian care and then
they’d died. That was not to be allowed again.

He refused.

So he had to escape Nanda Parbat and his Grandfather, because Damian’s ultimately useless
family needed him and his skills. It would take time, because Grandfather and Mother were
formidable adversaries, but they would not be expecting much of a child. Or they would be
expecting much, but of the Heir of the Demon, not Robin, partner to Batman.

It would take less time if Richard did remember (because Richard would come for Damian,
then, would come slowly but inexorably and the Assassins would fall and fall and fall), but
Damian would not rely on speculation and hope.

He had failed his Batman by leaving the man alone (his baba’s screams echoed in Damian’s
ears, his tears fell in phantom drops on Damian’s cheeks, his begging words lingered in
Damian’s mind as comforting notes turned to battle marches and dirges).

Robin would protect his Batman this time. Damian would protect his baba.

They were the best, after all.

 Nightmares
Chapter Summary

Bruce benches Jason so Dick steals his brother away. Jason learns some things about
Dick and comes to a conclusion.

Chapter Notes

There is just so much to Jason's part. I hope you all enjoy some bonding and lots of
protectiveness!

“You benched him.”

Bruce didn’t say anything, which wasn’t atypical when he was more Batman than Bruce. The
man was sitting at the Batcomputer, but his cowl had been off so Dick had been hopeful.

Foolish of him, really.

Years of watching and tricking B into conversations meant that Dick could see the worry,
could see the strain tucked against his father’s eyes and coiled at the base of his throat. But
the man couldn’t say that, not yet, and that was a problem.

Dick stepped forward to Bruce’s side while avoiding getting in between him and the
computer since that would be confrontational, and Dick was trying to be better. He was even
mostly succeeding if the radically reduced number of fights and Bruce’s persistent confused
eyebrows were any sign.

Bruce wasn’t confused now.

“Why did you bench him, B?”

“He was being reckless!” The words were almost hissed, and also too general to be
particularly useful.

If Bruce really had an issue, he’d be explaining it in minuscule detail, probably with Jason in
the room. Possibly with actual instructional merit, since Bruce was a decent teacher when his
temper and his fear and his worry didn’t get the better of him.

The fact that he was resorting to one-liners that weren’t irrefutable facts meant that this was
over-spilling frustration from Jason’s increasing rebellion. Which in some ways was fair,
since teenagers were a pain in the ass and Jason certainly wasn’t making things easy on
Bruce. Bruce, however, was the adult, and should be able to recognize Jason trying to test out
his own limits.

Dick was also willing to bet that Jason had actually been reckless, because again, he was a
teenaged Robin, which had scared the crap out of Bruce to the point where he’d lashed out
with the truth, which always hurt more.

Having trained his own Robin had made certain things about Bruce all the more clear to
Dick, and also all the more unacceptable because Dick had literally gone through this from
all sides.

“Alright,” Dick said, after breathing out through his nose.

“Alight?” Bruce didn’t wheel around, but he certainly sounded thrown as Dick walked away.
Too bad Bruce’s confused tone sounded an awful lot like suspicion and that Dick had more
important things to worry about.

“Alright,” Dick repeated.

Dick made it to the change rooms before he was interrupted again, though this time it was by
the crouched form of Jason leaning with his back to the wall right besides the door, Robin
suit still on and knees drawn to his chest.

His surprise at Dick’s presence was evident and also very fair. When Dick and Bruce went at
it, they were normally fighting for much longer and at much higher volume. Dick could have
really gone without the confirmation that Jay listened to their fights like this, though, even as
Dick wasn’t foolish enough to believe that eavesdropping wasn’t a usual thing.

Bats always wanted the information, even if it came with a side of self-flagellation. Maybe
especially then.

Dick didn’t close his eyes, because that would give Jay the wrong idea, which also allowed
Dick to see the quick flash of guilt covered up by anger on his brother’s face.

Jay didn’t get to say whatever angry retort was building up, however, because Dick
interrupted.

“Change and grab you bag.”

“What.” Jay was oddly flat.

With a harsh tug, Dick started peeling himself out of his suit. “Your bag. You’re coming with
me.”

“What?” Jason repeated, clearly thrown.

Dick turned back to face his brother, mouth open to respond, but stopped at the complete look
of confusion and and stilted fear Jay was trying but not quite succeeding in suppressing.
With a thump, Dick dropped to the bench behind him, suit off his torso but no farther. “Shit,
sorry, Jay.” Dick very deliberately didn’t drop his head into his hands, instead taking another
deep breath. “I didn’t- I’m not trying to order you around and Bruce hasn’t, you’re not being
thrown out or anything, I promise. I just, I thought you could come with me? If you want, I
mean. I know that sometimes, when B and I are fighting, existing in the same space only
makes it worse. And. You’re benched in Gotham, which just means you have time to come
visit me, right?”

He was aware that his voice went up a bit too high at the last, but Jay hadn’t really moved.

“Little Wing?” Dick tried, when he thought the silence had gone on a bit too long but before
he started fidgeting.

Jason blinked. “You’d let me meet the Titans?”

Dick tilted his head. “Of course? I’d love for you to meet them.” He knew Roy and Kori at
least would adore his baby brother. “Though most are off-world right now. I figured we could
use the facilities and do some training though?”

Particularly once Dick hacked some security cameras and figured out exactly what happened
tonight. If Jay was being reckless then maybe Dick could subtly throw in some training to
help his brother see his actions through and continue to survive.

“I, yeah. Yeah, that would be cool. I’ll just go get my bag.”

Jason was out the door before Dick could confirm the red he was pretty sure was on Jason’e
cheeks. But that didn’t really matter, because the younger boy had left for upstairs without
changing, which was against the code of behaviour Alfred had instilled in them far more
successfully than most of Bruce’s rules.

Dick showered and changed, mainly so he had time to bask in both the relief that he hadn’t
screwed things up and the joy that he’d get to spend some one on one time with his brother.
He had so many plans! For training, yes, but also for movie night and pizza and ice cream
and books. He would totally raid Raven’s library and entice his brother with books. It wasn’t
cheating if Dick already knew Jay’s favourites; a good Bat was always prepared.

Apparently, he also hadn’t need to worry about Alfred, since the man handed Dick a large
container of cookies almost as soon as he stepped out from the clock.

“Sorry,” Dick said as he accepted the cookies Alfred had packaged for their trip and nodded
at Jason’s cape that was hanging over Alfred’s arm, probably after being thrown on the
banister. “I might have gotten him a bit excited.”

Alfred gave Dick a warm smile, the kind that lingered in Dick’s bones long after he left the
manor. “That’s quite alright, my boy. Special occasions, and all that.”

“Right.” Dick said, hugging the cookies to his chest. “Special.”

Alfred paused as a thump sounded from upstairs. “I’m proud of you.”

Dick froze, a cookie in hand from the partially open container. “Um.”

“You’ve really stepped up for our boy. Even when you perhaps shouldn’t have had to.”

With a slowly straightening spine, Dick eyed Alfred carefully. “I’m the big brother. I always
have to. Even if I was a little slow on the uptake.”

Too slow. Always, always too slow (never again).

Alfred slowly raised one hand and cupped the back of Dick’s head. “You had some very good
reasons to be a touch slow, and it is because of those reasons that I am so proud.”

Dick blinked, fighting the sudden threat of tears at the acknowledgement. He couldn’t
remember if Alfred had said something similar before, but if he had, it certainly hadn’t had
the same weight.

There was a quiet scuff on the stairs and Jay was suddenly flinging himself down them. There
was something odd to his pace that had Dick wondering if the boy had been eavesdropping
again, but the thought was whipped away when Jay lunged forward and stole the cookie out
of Dick’s hand.

Dick felt completely justified in his squawk.

“Sorry, Dickface. All’s fair in war and Alfred’s cookies.”

Alfred sighed but Dick laughed, because that was true enough. “Yeah, but you didn’t need to
steal mine.” He held up the container. “Look, Alfie packed us up a bunch to go!”

“Cool.”

“I don’t know,” Dick said as he slung an arm around Jason’s shoulders and almost melted at
the way the other boy leaned into the touch, “I thought it was rather sweet.”

Jason’s groan sounded like contentment to Dick, and wound around his trembling fingers
with gentle weight.

The drive was silent as they travelled through dark country roads with only the light of the
headlights to guide their way. There were faster methods to get to the Tower, but Dick didn’t
mind taking the long route, not when he thought there was more his brother might want to
say.

Getting Jay to stay still long enough to have an actual conversation had always been a
challenge, particularly when it was one he didn’t want to have, so Dick may have been being
just a tad bit strategic.
Despite Jason’s size, the man was probably the best of them when it came to disappearing.
Maybe not the disappear-into-the-shadows-while-you’re-looking-right-at-me-beacuse-I’m-a-
Bat type disappearing (that was Bruce and Damian and Dick had never been able to figure
out if that was the assassin training or a quirk of genetics), but certainly the best at not being
found when he didn’t want to be.

Still, Dick though he might be in luck. The ride was quiet and they hadn’t even fought over
the radio station much. Which was a blessing Dick wasn’t gong to overlook. True, this
probably meant that whatever Jay wanted to talk about would be uncomfortable for Dick
rather than Jason, but whatever. Dick would tear out his own heart for his brother, he could
certainly endure an awkward conversation.

Still, Jay had been very quiet.

Dick huffed but didn’t take his eyes off the road. “Little Wing, pretending to sleep works a lot
better if you don’t keep looking at me.”

Jason grumbled under his breath but straightened, crossing his arms and glaring out into the
night.

“Okay,” Dick drawled out. “Better, but you could try actually asking me about whatever’s
bothering you. I’m more likely to give you answer than the road, at least.”

There was a long pause, the kind that wasn’t awkward so much as sharp. “Yeah, but would
you answer honestly?” Jason asked, unusually quiet.

“What?” That hand’t been what Dick had been expecting.

“You lie a lot, Dickiebird.”

Dick’s knuckles whitened where he gripped the steering wheel. “You think I’m lying to
you?”

Jason tilted his head, light from the dashboard casting a green glow to the planes of his face
that had nausea lancing through Dick before he shifted again and the resemblance to the Pit
faded. “No, not really. Not about most stuff. Not when I ask, at least. Not when it isn’t about
you.”

“You’re my brother, Jaybird.” Dick let his voice go soft, soft like graves and shadows and
ghosts, rather than manipulations and accusations and pain. “You can ask me anything.”

Jason made a noise that was a cross between Alfred’s quiet scoff when Bruce promised to go
to bed and Bruce’s aggravated huff when Dick jumped off a chandelier.

Dick smiled, only realizing his brother had probably missed the layers of sadness in the
gesture when he heard Jason bristle, all offended jacket rustling (Jason’s face when Dick gave
him the leather jacket simply ‘because it would look cool’ was adorable, while the fact that
the boy hadn’t taken it off since was even more so).
“I can’t promise I’ll answer you, Little Wing, not with all the secrets I carry. Not when so
many of them aren’t even mine. And I can’t promise I’ll never lie to you, not in our business.
Not when a lie could save your life.” Not when he had years and years he would never speak
of to anyone, not when Jason had died and returned and also never had that happen at all.
“But if you need me to be honest, if you ask me to be honest, then I will.”

There was very little Dick wouldn’t do if Jason, if any of his siblings, would just ask. Damian
had been the only one to truly figure that out, though Dick figured Cass had an idea. They’d
both reached a point where they were very careful about what they’d asked of him, and even
more careful about thanking him.

“And if I asked if you were okay?”

Dick didn’t look over, despite the weight of Jason’s blue eyes. “I would tell you I’ve been
having a lot of nightmares recently.”

Jason hummed, though Dick for the life of him couldn’t tell if the sound was disbelieving or
not.

“That’s not what I want to ask.”

“Okay,” Dick said, deliberately relaxing his fingers and changing his hold on the wheel.
“What do you want to ask?”

Jason took a deep breath that Dick found himself copying. “What were your reasons?”

The breath hadn’t been enough. Part of Dick wanted to deflect. Deflecting was so easy; he
had so much practice. He also figured that was what Jason meant by lying. Pretending he
didn’t know what Jason was talking about was also out. Dick had been pretty sure Jason was
eavesdropping when Alfred was talking about pride and reasons for being slow to welcome
Big Brotherhood. Now Dick knew for sure.

Dick pulled the car over to the side of the road with deliberately smooth motions, threw on
the hazard lights, and lowered his forehead to the wheel. He didn’t need open eyes to know
Jason was looking at him with wide eyes.

There was a groove in the wheel that dig into Dick’s cheekbone. He pressed it in harder for a
moment before sitting straight enough to have a spine made of steel.

“Okay.”

“Look, man, you don’t have to.” Jason sounded defensive, and Dick hated that.

“Yes, I do,” Dick replied, staring out at the trees. “Really, I should have had this conversation
with you before. I don’t know why I didn’t-“ He stopped. Dick had promised Jason no lies.

Dick knew why he’d never had this discussion. Dick had been too angry at first. Then Jason
had been too dead. Then Jason had been too angry, too consumed by the Pit and being
replaced to ever think to talk to the original discard. Tim and Stephanie had been too busy,
too consumed with wearing a different mantle encased in blood and glass and Dick had been
too busy trying to be better (good big brothers didn’t saddle their siblings with their own
hurts).

Damian had known, but it wasn’t a discussion so much as part of other stories. Damian had
been desperate for connection to family that weren’t Ra’s and Talia and listened to enough
tales about the Flying Graysons to put everything together (Dick missed his son).

“I was so angry,” Dick told his brother. “So angry and so hurt. But I should never have taken
that out on you.” Dick turned to face Jason for the first time since he’d pulled the car over.
The light was enough to see faint scratches on his cheek from some unknown fight. “Never,
Jay. And I’m so so sorry for that.”

Jason blinked wide eyes before scowling. “Why were you hurt, Dick?”

Dick nodded, because he didn’t deserve Jason’s forgiveness, not yet. He’d have to earn it, and
he would. He apparently took too long to answer, though, since Jason’s scowl deepened.

“What did Bruce do?” Jason asked.

“This isn’t about Bruce!” Dick unbuckled his seat belt and spun on Jason, reaching out gentle
hands to cup his face and rejoicing in a small, distant part of his mind when the boy didn’t
flinch despite the suddenness of the move. “This isn’t about him. Robin isn’t his. Robin is
mine.”

“I know-“

“You don’t.” Dick tightened his fingers, not enough to hurt, but enough to ensure that he had
Jason’s full and complete attention. “You don’t because I never told you. Robin is mine, Jay.”

Jason’s jaw tensed under Dick’s fingertips and he knew he was about to lose his little brother.
That Jason’s insecurities and all the times he been compared to or compared himself to the
original Robin were about to shatter any chance Dick had for this conversation to mean
something between them. To be more than a scar neither ever acknowledged was there.

Maybe that was why the words just poured out. “‘My little Robin.’ ‘My little Robin’ is what
my mother used to call me first thing every morning. It was the last thing she called me
before she fell. Robin was my mother’s name for me. Robin’s colours are my family’s
colours. I created Robin as a connection to my parents.”

Dick let go of Jason, letting his back thump into the car door behind him. “I was angry
because I didn’t give Robin up. I got shot and scared B really bad. Like really really bad. And
god, Jay, he was so young.” Dick buried his face in his hands and closed his eyes against the
sight of Damian dying in his arms.

“I never realized it at the time, not when Bruce was so much larger than life itself, but he was
so young. Which doesn’t mean he didn’t handle the situation abysmally, because he did, and
if he ever tries to do that to you I will fucking stab him and you can come live me, but when
he threw me out it was because of fear-“
“He threw you out!?!” There was anger in Jason’s voice, but disbelief as well.

“Yes?” That really wasn’t the part that Dick had been trying to focus on. He’d known it was
going to come out, but still. Not the focus.

Jason disagreed.

“He threw you out. You. The Golden Boy.”

“Yes? Look, I know you get compared to me a lot, but you have to know we don’t always get
along. How angry he gets at me. I, I realize I haven’t kept the fighting away from you as well
as I should have-“

“I stole Robin out from under you and you’re worried abut keeping a few fucking fights from
me?”

Dick looked at Jason, really looked at him, and felt rocks sink straight through his stomach.
Jason looked angry, yes, but also devastated with a sharp and brittle edge that was prepared to
turn itself entirely inward. And that was wrong, so so wrong.

With no grace whatsoever, Dick lunged forward again. He grabbed both of Jason’s hands and
dragged the boy away from the corner of the car he’d pressed himself into.

“No. No, no, no, Jason. Little Wing. My Little Wing,” Dick crooned the name, saw the exact
moment that Jason clocked the similarity to Dick’s mother’s words. “You accepted a gift.
Sure, it wasn’t Bruce’s to give, but Jaybird, I am so happy you accepted it.”

Dick linked their hands properly and took in another deep breath, the kind he took before
flinging himself off a building and into the night. “I am honoured you're Robin. Maybe,
maybe that will be Robin’s legacy. Maybe you’ll find someone to pass the name down to one
day.”

Because Tim was also a great Robin and he and Jason had gotten along far too well once the
initial trauma and crazy had been dealt with. But that was in the future. That didn’t help the
fear and the guilt in Jason’s frame.

“Jason Wayne,” Dick said, injecting just a little of his Leader Voice into his tone. “You’re my
brother not just because Bruce adopted you, but because when you wear Robin’s suit and
colours, you’re a Grayson. A Flying Grayson.”

Dick switched his hold on Jason’s hands so he could hold both in one palm, then raised the
other to trace just under Jason’s glassy eyes.

“And I am so fucking proud of you.”

The drive to the tower was even quieter, after that, since Jason didn’t say another word. He
also didn’t let go of Dick’s hand for more than five minutes the entire way (Dick couldn’t
remember the last time his smile had been less of a lie).
When the sunlight started streaming through the windows of Titans Tower, Jason was already
awake. Jason was already awake, and already furious beyond measure. The worst part, well,
the second worst part, was that anger was low, simmering, and couldn’t go anywhere. He
couldn’t even take the anger out on anyone.

Certainly not on the man lying behind him.

Jason took in a rattling breath before holding it close, trying to match his breathing to the
yoga meditation nonsense that Dick had been attempting to trick him into for weeks now. He
kinda wanted to kick the man when it actually helped. Except no, Dick wasn’t who he wanted
to kick.

This last week at the Tower had mostly been spent hanging with Dick, with only the
occasional reserve Titan filtering in and out. Jason would be lying if he said he hadn’t
appreciated how Dick would barely interact with them, putting on a polite face but always
coming back to Jason. The attention had been kinda great, not that he was going to admit that
to anyone, ever.

Something was wrong with Dick, though, and the week together had turned suspicion into
certainty.

It had taken longer than Jason would like to admit and a few too many fancy gala parties to
really understand that the smiling prodigal son wore a series of rather excellent masks. It had
taken even longer still to start seeing under the masks, to realize just when they were being
worn at all.

He still wasn’t great at it, but he’d been getting better. Getting better was the reason he’d
been willing to believe Dick in the car, when he’d gone all awful and sappy, and honest.

Because he was being honest, then. Dick hadn’t been smiling, which wasn’t to say that Dick
didn’t smile honestly, because he did, a lot, but that not wearing one was usually important.
He’d also been looking at Jason with those eyes. Eyes of frozen skies that dragged you into
the spotlight, that made you certain you had Dick’s complete and utter focus.

Jason hated (loved) those eyes.

And it wasn’t hard to believe, really, the brother thing. Dick might feel like he needed to
apologize, and maybe he did. He had been shitty, at the start. But wow, the context about his
parents and his mother’s name put some things into major perspective. Jason was self-aware
enough at this point to know that he would have reacted a lot more violently if Robin was
taken from him suddenly. He would have at least punched Bruce in the nose. Twice.

And Dick had a temper, sure. Jason actually rather appreciated the fact, since it was one of
the first ways Dick proved he wasn’t perfect, was something they had in common. But Jason
was also starting to realize Dick’s temper ran cold. Also that a cold shoulder wasn’t the worst
way to handle things, even if it wasn’t the greatest, and that things could have been much
worse.
The point was, Jason already believed the brother thing. He’d believed the brother thing
before the Robin Talk in the car, because Dick had been doing better for ages now. Had been
taking Jason out to movies and book stores and patrols. They hadn’t been the closest, but
Dick didn’t even live in the city. That was to be expected.

Jason still knew that Dick would come, probably, if Jason asked. Which he hadn’t. But
probably.

This last month was different. The eyes had been coming out far more frequently, for one.
The arguments with Bruce were shorter, quieter, for another. And then there was Dick
essentially moving back into the manor for unspecified reasons. Which was suspicious.

As was the attention, or, well, the quality of the attention. Jason had gone from slightly
distant affection with Dick to, if the number of hugs and the extent of the possibly creepy
staring was any indication, a cornerstone for Dick’s entire world.

Jason hadn’t known what to do with that (he wanted that kind of devotion, that kind of
family, just wasn’t sure he was worth- that he could handle the weight).

Jason may not be quite the detective Bruce and Dick were, but he could put together some
very obvious warning signs.

He’d also decided he didn’t give a fuck somewhere around two in the morning. That was
when he found out that Dick hadn’t been lying about the nightmares. Sure, the man had
danced around the truth about their origins, but he hadn’t been lying.

Jason let his head thump back into the couch, shifting slightly on the hard floor when he felt a
hand trace through his hair. Jason stilled, but Dick let out a soft sound that only wasn’t a sob
by dint of his volume, and Jason knew his brother was still asleep.

Dick was Jason’s brother. His big brother. And fuck the Bat’s rules. Jason would find out
who’d hurt his big brother in ways that made him scream loud enough to wake the dead,
much less Jason asleep on Dick’s legs. He’d find out who’d made his big brother sound like a
child as he sobbed Jason’s name while digging fingers into his own arms in an awful,
grasping self-hug. He’d find out who’d caused nightmares so strong that his brother couldn’t
escape, couldn’t wake up even with Jason desperate at his side.

He’d find out. He’d find them. And then he’d kill them.

If Dick wasn’t going to leave Jason of his own volition (and he wasn’t, because Dick had
given Jason his name), then he certainly wasn’t going to leave Jason because he’d dealt with
some fucked up villain. If Dick even had to know.

“Huh.”

Jason didn’t get up from the floor, but turned his head from where it had been resting on his
arms on top of the couch cushions. Dick was contorted at odd angles that should have been
uncomfortable, but he’d finally settled into mostly even breathing a hour or so ago and didn’t
seem ready to let go of Jason’s hand.
“Huh,” Roy Harper said again, red brows arcing up as studied Jason, likely clocking the
bruises under Jason’s eyes and the strain in his shoulders.

Jason didn’t mind the appraisal, having already completed his own when Roy first entered the
building through the security cameras. Jason might not be the hacker Dick was, but he knew
his brother well enough to guess the code for his phone and follow the Bat-protocols to
access the security feed.

“You must be Jason.”

“Yup,” Jason replied, before wincing at his own voice, rough from lack of sleep rather than
screams that would be marking his brother’s tone soon enough. “And I need to talk to you.”

Roy blinked, before slinging the bow off his shoulder and resting it on the nearby chair.
“Okay.”

Going to stand, Jason found himself trapped as Dick’s surprisingly strong grip refused to
release. “No.”

Both Jason and Roy tensed at the word, but Dick still wasn’t actually awake. Jason titled his
head slightly, but decided he didn’t really give a fuck, not when he’d planning murder for the
man bare minutes ago.

He dropped to his knees, using his now extended reach to grab the stuffed elephant that had
fallen under the table. With careful, calm movements he was able to substitute Zitka for his
own hand and smoothed the blanket over Dick’s shoulders before running a hand through
dark locks. Jason had retrieved Zitka the stuffed elephant at a dead sprint last night, during
one of the lulls where he’d thought the nightmares over and was cursing his own inability to
carry his brother to bed.

Jason glared a dare at Roy, who simply studied him with dark eyes, before stalking off
towards the kitchen to start pancakes. Dick liked pancakes, and they were better than his
crappy sugar cereal.

Roy hoisted himself up onto the counter a good few feet away, and watched Jason work in
silence. Probably a tactic the man had picked up to work with Dick’s own temper.

After a few minutes, Jason slammed the bowl down with a particularly hard thump. “He’s not
okay.”

Roy hummed. “We know.” He looked over at Dick on the couch and Jason was abruptly hit
with the knowledge that Roy was sitting in one of the only places in the kitchen that allowed
him an almost uninterrupted view of Dick. “It’s why I’m here.”

“I thought you we off long missions due to your daughter,” Jason said as he started pouring
the batter out.

“I am. I’m also here for Dick.” Roy studied Jason for a long moment. Jason could feel the
eyes boring into his back but they had nothing on the frozen skies of Dick’s stare.
“I think,” Roy spoke to the ceiling, “that even if I wasn’t the only one not going on long
missions at the moment, I’d still have been the one pulled for watch duty. They’re hoping
that, with my past of falling spectacularly into bad coping mechanisms, I might be able to
spot signs sooner than some of the rest of them.”

“Dick ain’t gonna resort to drugs.” Jason’s spine tensed and he wanted to beat his head
against the counter. He was so tired. “Shit. That ain’t- isn’t what I meant. Not- not like it
sounded. Drugs aren’t his coping mechanism, is all I meant.”

Roy snorted. “No worries here. I agree with you. Not sure what is, to be honest. Fights he
can’t win, maybe.”

“Hugs.”

“Hugs?”

“You haven’t noticed?” Jason frowned at the pancakes on the stove. “He’s been extra clingy
lately. Not just initiating, exactly, but if you don’t move away he just kinda, sinks into you.”

“Oh.” Roy took a sip of the coffee he’d procured at some point and sighed. “Yeah, that tracks.
I’ll let the guys know when they come back. Starfire and Kid Flash are always happy to be on
hugging duty.”

“Good.”

There was another long moment of silence were the pancakes sizzled slightly. The slight
clacking of an empty coffee mug signalled its end.

“That what you wanted to talk about?”

“Yes. No.” Jason sighed, before turning to study Roy once again. “Look. You know who
Mirage or Catalina are? Fuck, they might be even be the same person.”

Roy actually thought about the answer, which Jason appreciated, before shaking his head.
“No.”

Jason made sure not lose eye contact. “If you meet them, shoot them.”

Roy blinked, before sticking his hands in the pocket of his red hoodie. “Fatally?”

“Yes. No,” Jason repeated. Then he sighed and went back to his pancakes. “I say yes, though
it might make Dick sad. Which I guess should be avoided. Stupid self-sacrificing idiot. You
can hurt them though.” He thought back to the whimpers, the softly begging ‘nos’ and ‘stops’
Jason never wanted to hear again but knew he’d never be able to forget. “They deserve it, I
promise.”

“Alright.” Roy hopped down to steal the first of the pancakes, completely unfazed by Jason’s
scowl. “You know, Dick said that you’d be staying here until Bruce pulled his head out of his
ass.”
Jason snorted.

Roy put the syrup down so he could hold up both hands, palms out. “Dick’s own words,
promise. You’ve been good for Dick, you know. But, that’s not the point. The point is, that
while you’re here, I could teach you to shoot, if you wanted.”

Jason tilted his head, but didn’t speak until another three pancakes on the plate. “Don’t
suppose you know how to use guns?”

The surprise was evident in Roy’s voice and in his low whistle. “Yeah, if it shoots I can use it,
even if guns aren’t exactly my specialty. Bats won’t like it though.”

“Tough. Don’t have to use proper bullets, do I? Besides, I already got the basics from Alfred
and my time in the slums. I want the option. I want not to miss if I have the option.”

“Fair enough.” Roy tapped his knife on the plate. “These are fucking delicious, by the way.
Also Dick doesn’t care about fighting style as long as you’re not hurting yourself, your team,
or innocents. So he won’t mind.”

Jason opened his mouth to reply, but shut it when long arms twined around his neck and a
body pressed itself against his back.

“I won’t mind what?” Dick asked sleep still clogging his voice.

“I’m going to teach Scowly here how to use guns.”

Jason felt Dick’s hum all along his spine. “K.” Dick titled his head. “Not your specialty,
though. If you want, Little Wing, I could ask around. Probably arrange some proper lessons.”

“You better not be talking about Slade.” Roy pointed his knife at Dick, who stuck out his
tongue before realizing what was on the plate.

“Little Wing! Did you make me pancakes?”

“Made them for myself, Dickface. Roy’s just a mooch.” Neither man called him on the ever
growing number of pancakes that were certainly too much for one person.

Dick just grinned, but finally supported his own weight as he stretched his arms above his
head, groaning a moment later as something popped. “Really shouldn’t have stayed up that
late watching movies. I hope you at least had the good sense to go back to your bed?”

“Yeah,” Jason lied as he plated the last of the pancakes, ignoring the smirk Roy sent his way
as he loaded the pancakes, some fruit, too much syrup, and a can of whipped cream onto a
tray he’d found tucked into the bottom of one of the cupboards he’d ransacked earlier in the
week.

Jason certainly wasn’t going to bring up the nightmares if Dick didn’t remember them, or
worse, if he was so used to them that last night was normal. Instead, Jason grabbed the tray
with one hand in a delicate act of balance and strength before grabbing Dick’s wrist with the
other before taking both to the couch.
Dick was tired and surprised enough that he went easily, if a little bemusedly. He shared a
look with Roy but accepted Jason’s legs over his lap as easily as he did his breakfast.

When Jason didn’t say anything, just stared eating his own meal, Dick gave him a little smile
that was soft and sweet and honest before turning to talk to Roy. Jason let their voices wash
over him and went back to planning.

The Titans would be useful, but Dick was Jason’s big brother. Jason would protect him this
time.
 Not Alone
Chapter Summary

The Joker finds out how far he can push Nightwing, which isn't very far at all. Batgirl
comes to a decision and Damian draws a conclusion.

Chapter Notes

This is where the Dark Dick comes in, but there's a happy end! I promise.

Dick had fucked up. He’d fucked up so so badly. He’d fucked up and he was never going to
forgive himself if he didn’t pull off a damned miracle.

He’d been spending some time helping Babs with a couple of her own cases, which was
necessary if Bruce was going to keep thinking Dick was back for her and also because
spending time with Babs was grounding. He’d missed his friend, even if she seemed so tiny
now (so free as she danced across rooftops in a way she hadn’t been able to do for years).

So he’d been helping and surreptitiously sending her towards more and more tech because,
while Dick would make sure the Joker never paralyzed her, Oracle still deserved to exist.
He’d also been crashing on her couch occasionally (an excellent place to guard from), which
was why Dick had probably scared the crap out of her when he’d bolted like Bats out of hell.

He’d yelled Jason’s name and thrown a tracking device at her head, so he was sure she’d be
grabbing Batman and regrouping. Dick wasn’t waiting, however. Wasn’t waiting for a plan
when he already had one (already had twenty-two complete with back-ups).

Plan A had been to simply remove the Joker from play, no Bat ever the wiser, but the bastard
had gone to ground with surprising effectiveness.

Plans B through S involved emergency trackers, and Plan D introduced the panic signal. Plan
M used grenades he really shouldn’t have access to and may have stolen from the mob. Plan
V involved Slade.

The panic signal was what sent Dick bolting and had Dick’s stomaching sinking when it
blipped out. Resorting to the trackers in Jason’s leather jacket had better results, since
apparently things had changed enough that he was wearing it when he was taken.
And Dick was actually pretty sure Jason had been taken rather than lured. Dick was
monitoring the birth mother situation and already had another six or seven plans on how to
bring up the situation tactfully so Jason knew he had support for whatever he decided. While
Dick hadn’t actually gotten to the sharing information on said mother part of those plans, he
and Jay were considerably closer this time around.

If Jason had been looking into his mother, Dick was almost positive Jason would have gone
to Dick. Oh, Jay was looking for someone; the kid wasn’t that subtle yet and his frustrated
faces were actually hilarious, but the anger was just a shade too distant to be about his
mother. Jason also had a tendency to slink into Dick’s space when he hit some block, soaking
up all Dick’s affection with a quiet edge that had Dick wanting to bash his own head against a
wall for his past stupidity.

Jay swore he was looking around for a case, which Roy backed up. According to Roy, the kid
was trying to prove himself by going at it alone, but was keeping Roy in the loop as potential
backup. At one point, that might have made Dick jealous, but now he was just happy that his
brother was thinking of backup at all. Not to mention, he knew how close Kori, Roy, and
Jason had gotten, and was looking forward to his baby brother getting those kinds of friends
again.

Regardless, a lot of this was new. The timing for Jason’s disappearance was earlier, for one,
and they were still in Gotham, for another. Which was beneficial in that Dick didn’t need to
resort to Plans F though J which involved Constantine and a portal, or K and L which
involved yelling for Superman to come play taxi right damn now.

There was still a warehouse. There was still a bomb.

Dick crept through the beams of the warehouse with the ease of someone who’d played hide
and seek with Damian and Cass and their assorted assassin training. He dropped smoke
bombs that had been designed by Tim and Stephanie and their intrinsic desire for chaos. He
felled goons with the brutality and focus of Jason himself, working ever closer to the center
office where he could almost hear his brother’s screams.

A goon’s head slammed into a metal bar, just barely shy of knock-out force. “Leave,” Dick
growled.

The man did, joining every other thug racing from the warehouse, aware perhaps that they
were not only under staffed for a fight against a pissed-off Nightwing, but that a pissed-off
Nightwing might have different standards than a regular, joking Nightwing.

The metal door that was separating him from Jason didn’t last long. Dick was aware that
violence wasn’t much of a plan, but he was also aware that he had years upon years of
experience on this version of the Joker, and that surprise had always been one of his most
effective weapons.

He entered the room with all the inexorable force of Batman (of the last Batman standing).
Joker turned to him as he entered, face falling momentarily when he saw Nightwing and not
the original Bat. He recovered near instantly, though.
“Nightwing! Welcome! Now what’s your vote? Fronthand or-“ he didn’t get another word
out, too busy coughing up blood from the punch to his jaw. Nightwing usually went for his
Wingdings first at that distance, escrima sticks second, so the punch hadn’t been easily
predicted.

The fight that followed was brutal and angry and had the Joker cackling by the third blow.

“Always knew you had it in you, birdie!” He ducked an electrified hit only to get a knife in
the shoulder. A plain old knife, no Bat embellishments at all. “Gonna cheep at his funeral?”

Nightwing ducked under the crowbar and slammed a boot into Joker’s gut in a move that
should have been dangerously showy but wasn’t with his flexibility. Dick followed the force
down and banged the Joker’s head into the concrete floor with enough force to knock him out
cold before he could finish saying, “Batsy won’t like this.”

Batman would never know. Would never have to be stopped by Superman. Would never have
to make that choice and live with the results.

Dick’s back was to Jason, which burned because he needed to get to his brother, but he took
the moment to remove a small syringe and jab it into the Joker’s neck. It wouldn’t kill him,
but the man wouldn’t be able to move far even if he was able to shake off unconsciousness
sooner than Dick expected.

The moment that was finished, Dick lunged towards his brother, who was wide eyed and
straining while strapped to a behemoth of an office desk. Dick sawed through the bindings
desperately, murmuring assurances as he went.

The relief in Jason’s eyes nearly killed Dick, because it was tinged with faith, with a
complete and utter lack of surprise that Nightwing was the one there to save him.

The final rope broke with a snap that cracked through the room, not that either of them heard
it through the thump of Jason hitting Dick’s armour plated chest.

“I got you. I got you, Little Wing.”

Jason sobbed, once, before tightening his arm around Dick’s neck and burrowing his face into
the hollow of Dick’s throat.

Dick took the moment to run his hand through Jay’s matted hair and study the bomb he didn’t
think Jason had noticed. The bomb was behind the table and hadn’t been armed yet, probably
because the Joker hadn’t been finished.

Despite Jason’s moan of protest, Dick stepped away from his brother and towards the bomb,
angling his body so Jason didn’t see Dick arm the device and the countdown start.

“Whas’at?” Jason slurred when Dick returned, arms immediately latching onto Dick as he
manoeuvred the younger boy onto Dick’s back, both of them flinching at Jason’s cut off
scream when they jostled his left arm. Dick figured the limb was probably broken in at least
two places, though he wasn’t as worried about Jason’s legs from the way they wrapped
around Dick’s waist.

“Sorry, sorry, baby.”

“S’fine.”

“Look who’s lying now?” Dick asked, tone light as he made for the door.

Jason snorted, but tapped Dick’s arm weakly. “What’s ‘at?” He repeated.

“A bomb.” Dick slid carefully through the doorway and possibly kicking the Joker as he
went.

“Disarm?” Jason asked, voice sliding up high at the end.

“Maybe.” Dick couldn’t shrug with his brother on his shoulders. “Doesn’t matter though. No
civilians near the warehouse and I scared out all the goons already. Batman and Batgirl are
still too far away, not to mention the police.”

There was a long moment of silence as Jason didn’t bring up the Joker.

“I don’t care, Little Wing. You’re my priority, always. There’s enough time to get you out.”
More than enough. Dick had given them enough time to fight their way out, even with Robin
on his back. “So that’s what we’re doing. I’m not risking you, baby. Not for anything.”

By the time they had walked down the stairs, past the empty card tables and the surveillance
monitors showing an empty warehouse, and out across the empty lot to a neighbouring
building with a low overhang, Dick’s neck was covered in tears and his arms were grateful
for the rest. Dick was strong, but it had been a long night and his acrobat body had nothing
on the behemoth strength that was Bruce and eventually Jason.

Carefully, Dick leaned forward and kissed Jason on the forehead, before running his gloved
hands over his brother’s face and gently over his body, tracing bruises and assessing damage.
Jason whimpered, despite himself, and Dick quietly set about preforming as much field
medicine as possible. Batman was only a few minutes out, if the com Dick surreptitiously
turned back on was any indication, and then they could get Jay to Leslie and Alfred.

Jason watched him with wide eyes, as wide as he could imagine with one almost swollen
shut. Dick covered them gently when the building exploded behind them, internal countdown
telling him what was coming and being afraid the flash would hurt his brother’s eyes.

Jason shakily pushed Dick’s hand away to stare at the flames. “He’s dead,” Jason said after a
long moment of heat and concussive presence.

“Yes.” Dick didn’t look up from his brother. Because the Joker was dead. Dick would check
the camera he’d left behind to make sure and then make sure to cremate whatever remained
of the Joker’s body, because one could never be too careful in this business.
Anything Jason might have said in response was cut off by the sound of squealing tires at the
Batmobile roared into the lot, tires spinning and Batman stumbling out before the vehicle had
fully stopped. Batgirl quickly followed, but was unable to stop Batman’s fall as he collapsed
to one knee, a horrifically mangled quiet scream in his throat, Robin’s name just barely
audible.

Dick sighed, quietly, but didn’t look up even as Jason couldn’t peel his eyes away.

The explosion was dramatic and hardly Dick’s most efficient plan, but he’d needed the fire.
He’d needed the force.

Jason needed to see that Bruce cared for him. That, despite the man’s chronic inability to
express a positive emotions for longer than minutes at a time, the man loved Jason (that his
death would wreck Bruce in ways that no one in this time could begin to imagine).

Bruce needed to see that time was fucking precious. That his actions had consequences and
benching someone wasn’t always the solution, was almost never the solution (that if he kept
pushing his sons away, then he had no say in where the ended up).

The explosion was cruel, one of the cruellest things Dick had done in a long time, but both of
these idiots spoke action and observation better than words so this was what they got.

Jason’s eyes flicked to Dick, and Dick was uncertain whether his brother was seeking
confirmation that Dick was seeing Batman break or was wondering why Dick hadn’t said
anything yet.

Dick merely shifted his crouch, angling slightly away and nodding his head.

Jason blinked, slowly, but turned back to Batman, who was struggling to his feet and about to
go running into the fire.

“Batman!” Jay cried, not loudly because his voice was horse and wrecked from screaming,
but loudly enough. Bruce’s knees were almost instantly slamming to the ground in front of
them with a crack before he was reaching out with shaking arms.

“Robin. Robin, you’re alright. You’re alive. Oh, Jason.”

Jason allowed the touch, leaned into a little, even as Batman’s thick gloves carved swathes
though cheeks covered in tears and blood.

“B-dad. Dad.” Jason stuttered before his hand tightened on Dick’s wrist. “Dad, can I, can I
come home, please?”

Dick had never wanted to see his father’s heart break, not the first time after Jason’s death
and not this second time as Jason asked the same question Dick had asked mere weeks ago.

“Of course. Of course, baby. You can always come home.”

Jason crumpled forward into Bruce’s arms, finally letting go of Dick to collapse completely.
He’d be out of it by the time they got him to the Batmobile, much less to Alfred and Leslie.
The touch of armour on his own cheek had Dick flinching back into his father’s gaze.

“Oh,” Dick said, when Batman’s glove pulled away bloody. “It’s not mine.”

Vicious satisfaction passed through B’s face and the man nodded, before rising with Jason
gently cradled in his arms.

Batgirl helped Dick up and he slipped her the keys to his bike. “Can you stay? The Joker’s in
there.” Dick nodded to still burning building even as Babs’s body language shifted to
surprise. “Yeah. The GPD should probably know and I really want dental record
confirmation.”

“Of course, Wing.” She rested their foreheads together. “Look after them?”

“Always,” Dick promised.

He slipped forward, managing to get in front of his dad and take the driver’s seat, giving
Bruce the excuse to stay in the back and hold onto his son a little longer.

They were ten minutes away from the cave when Bruce spoke for the first time, other than to
call Alfred and get him to prep the medbay and contact Leslie.

“Good work, Dick.”

Dick glanced back in the mirror to see Bruce gently carding a gloveless hand trough Jason’s
damp hair. Bruce could have been talking about the rescue, or the first aid, or even the Joker,
if he’d been close enough to hear what Dick had said to Babs.

Dick wasn’t sure, so he said nothing at all.

Barbara sat in front of the Batcomputer and stared at the GPD reports with a mix of sick
satisfaction and dark horror.

It was barely twenty-four hours after the explosion, normally much too short a time to get
results, but this was the Joker. No one had even batted an eye at Bruce Wayne providing a
generous donation to get everything tested as soon as physically possible.

The GPD had triple checked. Barbara had quadruple checked. She didn’t want to know how
many times Batman had checked. Dick hadn’t checked at all. Had just nodded and gone back
to his brother, clearly knowing all along.

The Joker was dead.

Gone.
Alfred placed a cup of tea with a quiet tap next to the keyboard, and Barbara smiled up at the
only other person awake in the cave. “Thank you, Alfred.”

“You’re more than welcome, Miss Barbara.” Alfred stepped back, just a little, just to give her
space as he did all his combat-trained and trauma-filled charges. “Now, may I ask what is
bothering you?”

“Dick.” The answer slipped out of her so easily she almost flinched. She should be worried
about Jason and Bruce, and she was. Jason was still sedated, under heavy painkillers and
would possibly have to undergo extensive training to regain full functionality of his arm.
Bruce had finally conceded to sleep on another cot in the medbay, though only after they’d
threatened to sedate him, too.

They hadn’t tried with Dick. Dick had left Jason’s side once to change out of his ash-scented
suit and then promptly cured up in a chair next to Jason’s bed as only a contortionist could.
Alfred had draped a blanket over his shoulder’s when he’d fallen asleep, head pillowed on
arms entangled with Jason’s good hand.

“Dick-“ her words halted, caught. Unable to be spoken, here most of all.

“Yes,” Alfred said anyway, “He did.”

Barbara’s fingers flexed, once, before she splayed them flat on the table. There was a
difference between knowing someone was dead and knowing someone was dead because that
had been her friend’s intention. She wasn’t sure how far Dick’s intention went, but she also
wasn’t sure what exactly Dick had found when he’d made it to Jason’s side.

She also wasn’t sure exactly how Dick had known to track the boy. Trackers and stalking
were Bruce’s thing; Dick wouldn’t do that unless he had reason. Dick refused to share his
reasons. Wouldn’t tell her anything (beyond his hovering and body language and insomniac
muttering) because he didn’t have proof.

Barbara didn’t need proof to know if it had been her on that table Dick would have had the
same damn intentions.

“He shouldn’t have.”

There was a faint tensing in Alfred, almost unnoticeable, that meant she was never going to
receive tea at her elbow again. Except, that wasn’t what she meant at all.

She didn’t reach for her tea, because she didn’t want to fling it at a wall. “He shouldn’t have
had to. This is gong to hurt him, Alfie. Hurt all of them. And it could have been avoided if we
had better information. If we knew more.”

Alfred hummed, contemplatively, and glanced at the screen of the Batcomputer. There were
the dental records and GPD reports confirming the Joker’s demise in clear display, but there
were also other tabs and windows open. Computer courses, criminal message boards, maps,
trackers, pages of code, and more were all just barely visible.
“If I may, Miss Barbara,” Alfred started, “I have been given full control over funds related to
supplies and possess a direct line to certain relevant departments of Wayne industries. It may
be time for an upgrade, including, perhaps, several more portable computer options that can
be utilized at a secondary location? If you have any suggestions, that is.”

Barbara grinned. “Maybe a few.”

She had many suggestions. Many ideas and many new things to learn. If information was a
problem (and it was, she never wanted to feel as helpless as she had when reporting to
Batman that both his sons were missing, one presumably to chase the other, but all she had
was an unexplained tracker and knew nothing else).

Dick would not be alone. Her boys would not be flying blind.

Not when she could protect them.

Damian stared at his screen and wondered.

He felt safe enough for a little wonder, tucked up in a vent system so small that only a child
assassin could fit, and only if that child had extensive acrobatics training (even if it had taken
weeks of careful re-training to get his body to do what he wanted).

He also stolen the laptop off a new recruit who wouldn’t have been allowed to keep it
anyway and currently thought it had been mysteriously confiscated to further their training.
Setting up an an untraceable connection and slipping under his grandfather’s notice was more
difficult, but he had learned a thing or two from Timothy and Barbara, even if he didn’t like
to admit it.

The Joker’s death had been big enough news that Damian hadn’t needed to go searching at
all. He was relieved, of a sort, because Jason’s death hadn’t been something Damian could
have fixed. He just didn’t have the ability to up and leave the League, not yet.

He’d been exploring the possibilities of convincing his mother to let him go on missions
sooner than previously, but also wanted to avoid having to repeatedly kill innocents. Ideally,
the first mission he went on he could use as a passage to Gotham, to his family, while leaving
just enough chaos behind him to obscure his path.

This meant Damian would not have been able to get to Jason in time, which was unfortunate.
Damian had died twice now, and would have appreciated being able spare his brother the
experience. Damian’s plans for the Lazarus pits and perhaps aiding Jason through the process
where tenuous at best and not helped by his lack of understanding of the exact timeline of
events.

Fortunately, Damian would apparently not be needing to refine those plans.

Richard had hardened, at the end, as their family kept dying around them. He was still good
and kind and would never choose to kill freely, but he would always choose his family first.
He would wear the weight of that choice like a shroud but never regret his actions if they
meant someone he loved lived.

Damian knew this down to his bones. Had, perhaps, known since he was just a little older
than his physical body now was, standing behind a man who had no blood ties to Damian yet
was willing to fight Talia al Ghul based on Damian’s choice.

His Baba would be coming for him, Damian was certain. The timeframe was probably longer
than either of them really wanted, but Damian’s situation was currently stable if not ideal.
Richard would need to secure the vulnerable positions of the rest of the family first, and use
the time appropriately to guarantee success against the League.

Richard was impulsive, yes, but also capable of great planning, and he would not risk
Damian by being unprepared.

Damian therefore had three new objectives. The first was to determine if there was any
particular action he could take that would help stabilize the Batfamily enough to help them
prepare for a siege on the League of Assassins. The second was to prepare for said siege on
the League of Assassins, since children, even one’s trained as assassins from birth, were often
underestimated when it came to gathering valuable information.

The third was to get out a message that only Damian’s Batman would understand. Richard
needed to know that he had resources within the League in order to best prepare his plan.

(His Baba needed to know they weren’t alone.)

 Rooftops
Chapter Summary

Dick has several conversations on rooftops, finds out some good news, and has a panic
attack. Tim gets the longest hug of his life.

Chapter Notes

So this chapter is a bit long, but Tim had much to say! I hope you enjoy hovering and
lots of comfort. Next chapter: some Damian and some Bruce.

Harley Quinn was the only one to confront him, in the aftermath, though Dick would be
surprised if she was the only one who knew. Not that there would be many others who knew,
exactly. Constantine, sure. Slade, absolutely. Catwoman, maybe.

Bruce, probably.

But Harley simply sat next to him on a roof one night when he was ostensibly staking out a
drug den but was actually babysitting Timmy, who’d been coming a bit too close to this
particular hotbed of crime in his efforts for photos of Gotham’s nightlife.

Dick didn’t startle when she summersaulted onto the roof or when she sat down, but he
jumped a bit when she leaned into his side.

“You could’a saved ‘im.”

“Maybe.” Definitely. Nightwing from this time probably couldn’t have, truthfully, but
Nightwing with years of experience from the future? Well, the bomb was old tech, to him. It
did it’s job, certainly, but he could have diffused it easily enough (or not armed it in the first
place) and then left the warehouse with his baby brother over his shoulder and the Joker on
the cold, non-exploding floor.

But the Joker wasn’t Harley or Ivy or in any sort of grey. He was a murderer with a body
count that exceeded most of Gotham’s more prolific gangs’ entire collective record. And he’d
hurt Dick’s family. Again and again and again.

Dick was in the grey. He was comfortable with that now, comfortable in his own skin and the
way he fit into Bruce’s crusade. Bruce couldn’t take that step and Dick understood his choice.
Had understood that choice ever since he’d worked both Batman’s and Deathstroke’s moves
into his own repertoire.

Bruce couldn’t come back from that final line but Dick was born in the circus. He could walk
a tightrope blindfolded and backwards. He would learn to do it blindfolded and backwards
while on one hand and riding a unicycle if it meant his family was safe.

Harley had always been good at acrobatics. Dick had also been rather fond of the Sirens. So
he leaned into her weight, just slightly. Just enough.

They sat there for longer than Dick would have expected, for longer than he’d ever heard
Harley stay quiet. Probably longer than she’d ever heard him stay quiet. She didn’t speak
again until Tim showed up, taking pictures of gargoyles as he waited for Bats and missing
Nightwing and Harley tucked under their overhang completely.

“Something happened to ya.”

He could feel her eyes, serious and deep as they looked out over her arms tightly crossed and
resting on her drawn up knees.

“Maybe,” Dick replied. Which wasn’t much of an admission but was more than anyone else
had gotten.

They sat for another moment before she kissed his cheek. “Thanks, sugar.” Her voice was the
quiet of falling ash.

His voice was equally soft. “The Batkids are off-limits. Each and every one of them.”

He watched her look towards the roof Tim had recently vacated, a little shakily if fairly
competently. She didn’t mention that right now there were only two Batkids and Dick was
one of them.

“I’ll pass it round.”

They stood together, Dick mainly because Tim had taken off in a direction that was decidedly
not the Drake estate.

“Hey, Harley?” He called when she was about a foot away from a jump off point. She turned
around, one eyebrow raised.

“Ivy’s been staring at you whenever your back is turned. And not in the want-to-stab kind of
way.”

The grin that lit up Harley’s face was slightly manic but also adorable. She gave fist pump. “I
knew it!” Her flip off the roof had two spins, a laugh, and an unnecessary twirl. Except the
only one to see it was Dick, and he generally believed all flips needed twirls.

He also knew a challenge we he saw one, and, well, Harley had left in the general direction
Tim had.
With a cackle of his own, rusty but surprisingly genuine, Dick took a running start, already
calculating the angles necessary to give him three spins and a dramatic landing.

Dick landed on the rooftop with just enough noise to not scare Tim. The boy looked up from
his crouch by the fire escape and smiled, tilting his head in invitation.

Dick was never one to refuse an invitation, so he strode over, sinking against the wall and
draping his arm over Tim in a light half-hug. The boy tensed briefly and Dick prepared to
pull back, but then Tim relaxed and burrowed in, pressing weight into Dick’s side while
turning the camera so Dick could see the playback screen.

It had taken weeks to get Timmy accustomed to physical affection which was both too long
(Dick wanted to drown his brother in love and hugs) and far too short (Dick wanted to drown
the Drakes in the harbour for making his baby brother so touch-starved). The boy was even
mostly over his freak out that Nightwing was talking to him, taking less and less time to start
babbling and asking about Robin.

Tim’s hero-worship of Robin was quite possibly the cutest thing ever.

Then Dick actually focused on the photo and melted just a bit more into Tim, the boy letting
out a quiet oof but not otherwise moving.

The photo was of Batman and Batgirl, Batman dramatically perched on a gargoyle with
Batgirl sitting at his feet, one leg kicked over the edge. The pose could have been
subservient, except for the way Batman was bent over just enough to make clear he was
completely focused on Batgirl, who was gesturing with one hand. Tim had also captured her
fierce grin and flaming hair just right in the light of a nearby building, making Barbara the
absolute focus of the picture.

Dick loved it immensely, which must have been immediately obvious.

“I can get you a copy, if you want?”

“Yes please! Soon enough, I’ll have an album.” And that was just with Tim’s photos of
Batman, Batgirl, and Robin, not mentioning all the ones Dick had surreptitiously been taking
either in person or off security feeds.

Dick probably shouldn’t be teasing Tim for his stalking tendencies this time around.

“Of my photos? Like, for a gift?” Tim asked.

Dick tilted his head, trying to decide if he wanted to start reiterating how really very good the
photos were. He eventually decided no, because Tim could only take so much positive-
reinforcement before he became a blushing, stuttering mess that didn’t actually believe the
words he was being told. Dick preferred to keep his compliments in reserve tonight,
preferably for something he hadn’t already complimented frequently and that Tim wasn’t
most of the way to believing.

“Yes to your photos, Baby Bird, no to the gift.” Then Dick hummed. “Though Agent A
would probably like that as a gift. Good idea!”

Tim blushed, but he’d stopped sighing and protesting at the use of Baby Bird in place of
Tim’s name. Dick had no intention of linking Tim to Nightwing more than he already had and
didn’t want to mess up his identity at any point (no names in the field was one of Bruce’s
rules that had actually stuck). That said, Dick just couldn’t call Tim by the alias he’d chosen,
not when his Baby Bird was right in front of him.

Tim had only screwed up once by calling Nightwing Dick, and Dick was pretty sure the boy
had no idea he’d done it. Tim had just been so excited to tell Dick about some new camera
technology and how it could help them fight crime and had Dick thought about using it on
modified stakeouts (his Baby Bird was just so smart).

Honestly, it might have been a bit Dick’s fault, too. The previous night had involved a gala,
and Dick had walked a fine line while hovering over both his brothers (there were just so
many people with their porcelain smiles and grasping fingers that didn’t deserve his
brothers).

Jason and Tim had made the hovering surprisingly easy, actually. Jason had seemed quite
content to stay under the arm Dick had thrown over his shoulders, even if he’d been scowling
quite a bit. Dick had figured that was fair, people kept wanting to touch Jason’s cast which
would make anyone grumpy, even if Jason’s scowl seemed to be harshest at pretty young
men and women who would abruptly turn around when met with Jay’s glare. It was actually
kind of funny and Dick appreciated the peace, so he didn’t tell the boy to stop.

Tim had started out jumpy, not so much surprised Dick and Jason were talking to him as
they’d done that before at various events, but surprised they were staying. Dick had only left
once, leaving the two younger boys discussing Gotham Academy and comparing some of the
students rather scathingly to their parents galavanting about the room.

He’d flinched a bit from the socialite’s cold fingers, but ultimately allowed her to pull him
away from his brothers since she was heading towards Bruce and the man looked like he
could use a save. When he came back to his brothers, wiping lipstick from his cheek with a
faint grimace he knew better than to think his brothers would miss, the two were grinning
coldly over Tim’s phone.

Dick would have been concerned, except that was Tim’s Innocent Expression and Jason’s I’m
a Little Shit, What are You Going to Do Expression, and they weren’t directed each other.
They were bonding, so Dick didn’t care. He’d just stepped back into their corner, scanning
the room a little more frequently than he had previously, and enjoyed the fact that, for some
odd reason, no one else really seemed that interested in them the rest of the night.

Jason had even seemed disappointed when Janet Drake, back in town for a whole twenty-four
hours, had swept Tim away. Jason had certainly clocked the woman’s tight grip on Tim’s
shoulder, Tim’s stilted goodbye, and Dick’s desire to punch the woman into a wall.
When Dick had noticed that Jason was staring intently as Dick watched Tim walk away, Dick
had fallen into immediate assurances that he loved Jason very much, because his brother
wasn’t allowed to ever think he was being replaced. The other boy had responded with
blushing embarrassment and scoff that was so similar to Damian’s trademark sound that Dick
had felt his entire world drop out from under him.

He couldn’t have said what his face had done, but the next thing Dick had known Jason had
bundled him into the car and then back home, started a movie night compete with couch
cuddles, and had even admitted that the Drake kid was maybe okay.

The point, however, was that Tim had used Dick’s name a lot that night, so it made sense
he’d slipped just a bit the following evening. Dick had ignored the mistake and Tim had kept
going, which suited Dick fine since he hadn’t quite decided on how best to deal with the
whole, ‘Tim knows everything’ conversation. Dick figured he would wait until he was
absolutely sure he’d won Tim over as more than just a distant hero.

“How’s Robin?” Tim’s voice was quiet and a little shy like he always was when talking about
the Robin who’d saved him a time or two and was so obviously close to his own age.

With a grin, Dick ruffled Tim’s hair. “Pretty good, actually. All healed up except for the cast
and trying to get Batman to let him on patrol regardless.” Tim shoulders relaxed, slightly, so
Dick nudged him with his own. “He hung your Get Well Soon card in his room, you know.”

Tim had given Dick the card to pass along once it had been clear to Gotham in general that
Robin had been knocked around by the Joker pretty significantly. The city celebrated the
man’s death, and waited on tenter hooks to hear about the newest Boy Wonder. Nightwing
had been asked by more civilians than he could count and at least seven villains when Robin
would be back.

Tim had been only one to make a card, however, even if the fact that he was the only one
Nightwing had been regularly dropping in on might have been a contributing factor.

Tim’s blush immediately got darker at the mention, to the point where Dick decided he
wouldn’t share Jason’s reaction to Dick handing him the card to spare both their dignity.

That didn’t mean the security footage of Jason staring at the bright coloured square in
disbelief wasn’t saved in three separate locations, however. Or that he hadn’t captured a
photo from said footage after Dick had explained that Jason’s Robin was Tim hero, the one
who inspired him to be better, to be more than everyone thought he was.

Dick probably hadn’t helped the situation when he’d added that Robin was also Dick’s
favourite hero, and a prime topic of conversation when he and Tim were talking on rooftops.

“How was school?” Dick asked in an effort to be merciful and not call out Tim on his
reaction. Apparently, that backfired heavily.

“It was fine,” Tim said in a tone that conveyed the exact opposite. “How are the Titans?”
“Still off world,” Dick said slowly, trying to figure out if he should push. Jason hadn’t
reported anything significant in school, but being in different grades meant that their
schedules hardly matched up. “But I’m not worried. I prepped themselves for the mission
myself.”

To the point where he’d gotten several odd looks after insisting on supplies even he knew
were superfluous. He just wasn’t going to risk his friends getting hurt because of his decision
to stay behind. Honestly, they were totally over prepared and humouring him, and Dick loved
them for it.

“Thanks for asking,” Dick said aloud.

“Oh!” Tim exclaimed, a little too loudly in a way that gave Dick the sense that the boy was
searching for another change in topic. “I wanted to ask you about some markings I’ve been
seeing around the city. They don’t look like gang signs, so I was thinking some kind of
code?”

The boy took back his camera so he could flick back though the photos. Dick laughed as
Tim’s knee banged into his own, the kid’s enthusiasm conveying that this was very much a
mystery he wanted solved, even if the timing was a bit convenient. Dick was also maybe a bit
smug that that boy trusted Dick enough to believe he’d listen.

The moment Dick’s eyes actually saw the markings, however, Dick yanked the camera out of
Tim’s hands, the boy’s cry of protest fading quickly as he noticed Nightwing’s trembling
fingers.

Dick slid the camera to the other photos, revealing five in total. The careful, faint marks
carved into brick and mortar were League markings. League of Assassin markings that Dick
could read as well as Damian could speak Romani.

The marks were careful and spaced with the kind of precision of someone copying out a
message by rote rather than something in their own words. Two were instructions he’d have
to pass along to Bruce. One was an information exchange. One was nonsense that was
probably actually a misdirect.

One ended with subtle, stylized robin footprint crossed with a sword.

Dick shoved the camera back into Tim’s lap so Dick wouldn’t break it. He wrapped gloved
fingers around his own wrists, grip tight enough to hopefully stop the trembling from shaking
through the rest of his body.

His baby was alive. His baby was alive and remembered. That little footprint, styled to fit in
with League markings had been part of a system he and Damian had designed back when
Dick had been Batman the first time. They’d never actually had to use it, so the code had
never been shared between anyone but themselves, settling into a fond memory of the two of
them finding their place with each other.

Now, it was proof of identity. Proof of memory.

Dick’s baby was alive and remembered and in the League of Assassins where Dick had left
him. All alone.

“Nightwing?”

Tim’s voice, gentle and a touch afraid, drew Dick back. He was able to focus on the dark hair
and wide eyes of his Baby Bird, which turned out to not be a great thing, since the bruise that
had been hidden by the darkness and the angle of Tim pressed into Dick’s side now stood in
stark relief.

Dick raised a hand, trembling, always trembling, to trace over Tim’s cheek bone.

“Ah,” Tim seemed surprised at the gentleness of the motion more than anything. “I”m fine. I
fell down the stairs, earlier.”

He continued to talk, but all Dick could see was the cold, grasping hand of Janet Drake as she
pulled Tim away at the gala. Tim had never indicated that the Drakes went beyond neglect,
but then he wouldn’t have, would he? Or maybe Dick had changing something. Something he
shouldn’t have.

Tim had been hurt. Jason had been kidnapped by the fucking Joker. Damian was in the
League of Assassins.

Dick couldn’t do it. How could he protect them when he was already failing so badly?

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

Nightwing’s breathing was wrong and this was all Tim’s fault. He just had to show
Nightwing the markings, just had to let his curiosity win over anything else (just had to hope
for a hair ruffle and the casual way the man spent praise on Tim).

And the bruise hadn’t helped. Tim could imagine what was going through Dick’s mind, what
sort of things the man must see night after night. Falling down the stairs must be the most
unoriginal excuse out there. Even if it wasn’t an excuse.

Tim had been tired when he’d come home late last night, or technically early this morning,
and perhaps a bit grumpy that the housekeeper was still on vacation and his parents were
nowhere to be found, despite promises otherwise. So he’d dumped his gear wherever he’d
wanted as he’d come home, which was fine until the next morning. He’d also maybe not been
eating as much as he should have been, so had maybe been a bit out of it and had maybe
tripped on his stupid backpack and pitched headfirst down an elaborate staircase.

He cheek had gotten the worst of it, naturally, though he also had a pretty spectacular bruise
on his leg. There may have been a reason Tim was waiting for Nightwing instead of taking
photos or taking the night off. Nightwing would care if he noticed Tim limping, and how wild
was that? The first person Tim knew actually cared about Tim was literally a hero who’d sat
down on a roof one day and asked why Tim took photos and could he please see.

Tim could see a lot now, from the way Nightwing seemed unable to loosen his fingers to the
tiny, dagger sharp lines at the corner of his mouth. He also wasn’t responding to his name,
either of them, and Tim had whispered his civilian name to Dick, more than willing to out
himself and his knowledge if it meant the man could breathe.

But it didn’t work, and now he really only had one option. With shaking fingers he kept one
eye on Nightwing, who had his spine pressed into the brick and was clearly trying to slip into
a specific breathing pattern, and pulled out a burner phone. He carefully dialled a number
Dick, civilian Dick, had made sure he had at the last gala.

“Wayne residence. How may I assist you?”

“Hi, uh, Mr. Pennyworth?”

“That is correct.” The butler’s voice softened, possibly at the youth in Tim’s voice. “May I
ask who is calling?”

“Tim, Tim Drake. And I don’t need help, not really. Well, sort of.” He hesitated a moment
before deciding that this was a home phone number in the first place and any traces he
couldn’t get rid of surely the Bats could. “Dick needs help.”

“I see. If you could share with me you location?”

“Uh. A rooftop by Third and King. He’s, he’s dressed for a night out?”

There was a pause. “I see. Is medical required?”

“No. I think it’s a panic attack. Has he had them before?”

“Not to my knowledge.” There was some shifting and the faint sound of clicking in the
background. “Masters Bruce and Jason are about ten minutes out. I am I correct in assuming
you are aware they will also be ‘dressed for a night out?’”

“Yeah.” Tim paused and realized what he’d just admitted to. “But that’s not Dick’s fault! He
didn’t tell me; I figured it out.” Because of Dick’s impossible flips, but Mr. Pennyworth
didn’t need to know that part, surely.

“Impressive, Young Master Drake.”

“Um thanks. I-“ He jolted when gloved fingers reached for his wrist, then regretted the action
when they pulled away just as fast. “No, hey, Nightwing, it’s okay. You wanted my pulse
point, right?”

Tim slid his sleeve back a little so his wrist was exposed, quietly thrilled when Nightwing
slowly removed his own glove and placed his large palm over Tim’s, two fingers draping
over the pulse.
“Timmy,” Dick said, low and soft and probably the most important thing in Tim’s entire
world at the moment. Tim was also entirely unsurprised that his hood and thin disguise had
been seen through.

“Yeah, I’m here. I’m here, Dick. Hey, I’ve got to go Mr. Pennyworth, thanks.”

“Young master D-“ Alfred managed before Tim hung up.

“Hey,” Tim said again, promising to research the heck out of panic attacks the moment he got
home. “What do you need?”

“Talk?” Dick asked, shortly, not looking up from his thin fingers wrapped around Tim’s wrist
in a hold Tim knew he could break in a heartbeat but couldn’t imagine ever actually doing.

Tim had described seventy percent of the photos from his school’s photography contest
(conveniently leaving out the part where the teacher had banned Tim’s entry after citing him
for cheating by having a parent or professional take the shot, ha) when he heard boots thump
onto the roof a few feet away from them.

The problem was, Nightwing heard them, too. And it was Nightwing rather than Dick that
reacted by jolting up, sweeping Tim behind him, and crouching to face Batman with an actual
snarl.

Tim stumbled a bit at the sudden motion, but wasn’t actually able to go far between the wall
and Nightwing’s back. This position also allowed him to physically feel the way Nightwing
tensed up when Batman stepped closer, arm out.

Time decided to do something objectively probably pretty stupid. But the physical contact
had been helping before, Tim had been helping before. And Nightwing’s breathing was
growing erratic again.

So Tim flung himself forward that little half step and plaster himself to Nightwing’s back,
arms wrapped loosely around the hero’s neck. The fabric of the suit was surprisingly rough
against Tim’s hands but he ignored it to lean close to Nightwing’s ear.

“It’s alright. It’s okay. It’s just Batman, he’s here to help. You’re okay. I’m okay. We were
breathing together, remember? Can we go back to that? Deep breaths, match mine, please?”

Tim slowed his breathing to match the deliberate patterns Nightwing had been using when
had been trying to calm himself down, even counting the beats aloud because Tim was pretty
sure he’d heard somewhere that the counting helped (so much research was happening later;
Tim hated being lost when it mattered).

Nightwing was listening; Tim could feel the man’s breathing change through the rising and
falling of his back. Even better, when a second, smaller set of boots hit the roof with a slight
stumble, the breathing stayed calm.

“Hey, Robin,” Tim said anyways, just in case.

Nightwing let out a low whine that had Batman obviously tensing and Robin immediately
stepping forward. The other boy held out a hand, not the one Tim could see was still in a cast
that peaked out from under a leather jacket, and grasped the arm Nightwing had held out as
soon as he’d seen his brother.

Robin quickly got pulled into their pile, though managed to redirect the tug enough that he
didn’t end up tucked behind Nightwing but rather pressed into his side. Robin raised a gentle
hand to brush hair off of Nightwing’s forehead.

“Rough night, huh, Big Bird?”

Nightwing made an odd noise in the back of his throat. “No.”

“Well, that’s believable. Hey, Baby Bird.”

There was just enough pause between the greeting and the name that Tim knew Robin also
knew who Tim was underneath his hoodie. Then the name registered and Tim squawked.
“Not you too!”

“Yup. Me too.” Jason popped the end of his words.

All protests died in Tim’s throat when Nightwing actually let out a little chuckle.

Robin also relaxed, just a touch, before turning to Batman, who hadn’t tried to step forward
again. Tim copied the movement. He’d known Bruce Wayne was Batman, but he’d never
seen so much of him in Batman before. The father wanting to make everything better for his
son was stamped into every tight line of the Batman’s body, suit bedamned.

“B. Can you give us like, fifteen minutes?” Jason asked.

Batman turned with controlled slowness to stare directly at his youngest son.

Jason huffed. “Look, we’re kids. Kids Big Bird is already pretty protective of, not to mention
neither of us is dressed in a suit meant to scare the crap out of people if seen from the corner
of their eye. Just, trust me. Please? You don’t need to go far, just another rooftop or
something?”

“If it’s fear toxin-“

“Then I have the antidote same as you,” Jason said.

Unfortunately, Tim had also started talking at the same time. “It’s not. I mean, Nightwing and
I were talking pretty normally beforehand, and there was a trigger in the conversation, I
think. Though I suppose it could be new variant of fear toxin, some sort of time release?
Chemically, that would be difficult, but certainly not impossible if-“

Tim managed to cut himself off, though he could feel the red burning its way into his cheeks.
He’d just babbled at Batman.
Nightwing’s hand crept up to Tim’s arm, still wrapped around the heroes’ neck. The grip felt
bracing instead of restraining, and Tim would have sworn Nightwing muttered something
along the lines of ‘so smart’ except that ws completely out of place and couldn’t possibly be
correct.

Robin snorted. “So probably not fear toxin. Fifteen minutes. Please, Batman?”

The second please seemed to startle Batman, which with what Tim had seen from Jason at
school was probably fair.

Then Tim opened his mouth again, completely unable to stop. “Nightwing was casing for
gang activity in this neighbourhood earlier. I now he didn’t find anything obvious because he
didn’t shuffle me away, but that could have changed. If someone heard something…”

Tim let his words trail off, partially because Batman was staring at him in a way that
conveyed how completely and utterly aware he was that Tim had been trying to give the man
something to do, and partially because there was almost no way anyone had heard anything.
Nightwing had been terrifyingly silent in his distress.

The silence lasted for a moment that seemed longer than it actually was, Batman unable to
remove his gaze from a Nightwing that wouldn’t raise his head from his brother’s shoulder.
Eventually, though he shoulders slumped in what could only be called defeat.

“Call, if you need me.”

Jason let out a short breath. “Yeah. Yeah, promise, B.”

When Batman was gone, Robin collapsed to the ground, dragging Nightwing with him. This
would have been perfectly acceptable, except Nightwing also dragged Tim with him in a way
that somehow resulted in Tim ending up on Nightwing’s lap. Which was babyish and Tim
wasn’t that small, but was also kinda nice and clearly helping so he didn’t say anything.

Robin on the other hand didn’t say anything very loudly, except with a smirk. The smirk fell
after a moment. “You okay, Big Bird?”

“Fine.” Tim and Robin shared the look that response deserved, which Nightwing must have
noticed since he grimaced, even though his didn’t change his statement.

“Right,” Robin drawled. “Okay, can you name five things you can see?”

Nightwing gave the impression of rolling his eyes through the mask. “I’m-“

“Don’t you fucking dare say fine.” Robin took in a large breath before letting it out slowly.
“Look, I’m super glad you’re responsive and not in whatever state made Baby Bird call
Agent A, but you’re still not completely with us and this strategy helped an old neighbour of
mine a lot and it would make me feel better, so please?”

Nightwing capitulated with an ease that made Tim wonder if Robin knew just how much he
could get away with simply by using that one simple word. He stopped wondering by the
time they got to two things Nightwing could touch, because the man used both Tim’s and
Robin’s pulses and Tim was too busy blushing.

When they were done, Nightwing seemed a bit better. His breathing had mostly evened out
again and his hands were looser where they’re wrapped around him and Jason.

“Okay,” Jason said. “Thank you.”

Nightwing snorted, the air puffing a bit against Tim’s neck. “Pretty sure that’s supposed to be
my line, Little Wing.

Robin just hummed, before giving Nightwing a look. “Talk, move, or distract?”

Nightwing went to respond, which should have been fine, except he also raised an arm to
gesture in typical Nightwing fashion. He stared at the hand lifted from Tim’s back for a
moment before paling.

“Shit.” Nightwing immediately let go of both Tim and Jason. “I’m so sorry, Timmy, I didn’t
mean to grab-“

Tim frowned and swatted Nightwing lightly, not moving to get off of Nightwing’s lap. “It’s
fine.” He paused. “And I mean fine as in actually fine, not fine as in I don’t want to talk about
the truth. You’re surprisingly warm and I didn’t wear the right sweater tonight anyways.”

There was another pause and Tim feared he hadn’t handled that right, but then Nightwing’s
arms slowly wrapped around Tim’s waist again.

Jason watched the slow progression of Nightwing’s hug before leaning into his big brother’s
shoulder, deliberately not looking at Nightwing. “If I asked what happened?”

“Nightmares,” was all Dick said, like an offering.

Tim had a clear sightline to the look of brief and utter fury on Robin’s face; Jason knew
exactly what nightmares Nightwing was talking about.

After a few deep breaths that were staggeringly similar to the ones Nightwing had resorted to
earlier, Jason looked at Nightwing and at Tim still cuddled together and opted for the
distraction.

“So,” Robin, Tim’s hero, told Tim, “Congratulations. You’ve been adopted. Who’s telling
B?”

Tim promptly blue-screened, only not flailing his way through the conversation by dint of
Nightwing’s arms tightening around him.

Nightwing didn’t deny it. Nightwing instead shifted into a whole (practiced and rehearsed)
speech about how Robin wasn’t being replaced.

“Of course not, you idiot,” Robin scoffed, while still looking rather pleased.
Tim finally found his voice in the form of a squeak. “No, I haven’t been.”

Robin gave Tim a look that was all Jason. Tim knew the look was all Jason because it was
same look he’d given Tim the first time Jason had plopped himself down across from Tim at
lunch and Tim had spent the first fifteen minutes trying to convince him that sharing lunch
with the nerdy grade-skipper was a bad plan despite wanting the company of the older boy
rather desperately.

“Yes, you have been. The adoption has already happened. Dickhead is affectionate with
people, but not human-teddybear affectionate unless they’re his people. The more relevant
question is more; is the adoption legal?”

“No.” And Nightwing sounded regretful. He also dropped his chin so it was resting on Tim’s
head and Tim no longer had any idea what to do or what was actually going on. “But his
parents… aren’t great.”

Neglectful. Neglectful was the word Nightwing tactfully wasn’t saying. And, well, Tim knew
his parents were neglectful. Had since the fifth missed birthday, the third time he’d run out of
food because the housekeeper was on holiday, and the second attempt at making a truly
depressing spreadsheet of all the time he’d actually spent with his parents followed by the
time he’d spent with anyone else.

Tim knew it could be worse, that he was so much better off than so many kids, but he’d also
done some research. A lot of research. And if his parent’s weren’t rich, a legal case of child
abuse wouldn’t be that absurd.

Jason ignored Tim’s spiralling thoughts, if he’d even noticed them, and continued to speak to
his brother. “You have a folder of proof and blackmail you’re prepared to use and get
custody, don’t you?”

“Maybe?” Dick’s tightening arms said yes.

“You are so much more vicious than anyone thinks you are,” Jason breathed. “It’s so great.”

“Batsibling secret?” Dick offered a bit sheepishly.

Tim blinked at that. “Um.”

Jason nodded. “Batsibiling secret.”

Dick nodded and Tim actually watched as worry crept over his features and Dick started
comforting Tim for a hurt that hadn’t been caused.

“Though you don’t need to be legally adopted or anything,” Dick hurriedly assured. “I mean,
it’s an option if you want, but we’re keeping you anyways. Because we like you, and we want
you around. And not just because you know, well, everything.”

Tim leaned back into Dick during the moment of silence that followed, purely because he
could. Tim loved his parents, he did, he just didn’t like them very much. Didn’t know them
well enough to like them, really.
And Dick’s hugs were so warm, while Jason’s presence was so strong.

So, without really planning to, Time replied. “Can I think about it?”

Jason snorted. “Doesn’t expire. Trust me. Even when you want it to.”

“Aw, Little Wing, you know you love me.”

Tim giggled, a little bit at Jason’s expression, a little bit at the release of tension.

Jason scowled at him but heaved himself up. “Come on, we need to make sure Batman
doesn’t pace off a roof. Let's go make him buy us ice cream.”

Dick stood as well, easily hauling Tim up as he went which caused Tim to cling to his side
like a koala. “Ice cream?” Dick asked.

“Yup. You get me ice cream when I’m in one of my moods, so I figure we can get you ice
cream after a panic attack. If you want.” Jason scuffed a boot on the roof.

“Oh!” Tim exclaimed, because this was something he could relate to. “Nightwing gets me ice
cream when he thinks I’m sad.”

“Because then you’re no longer as sad?” Nightwing pointed out.

Tim tilted his head. “Fair enough.”

“See? Great plan.” Robin went to cross his arms, winced a bit, and then completed the
motion with a bit more care of his cast. “Because it’s mine.”

“I thought it was mine?” Nightwing asked.

Robin waved a hand. “Nah, details.”

“Oh,” Tim repeated. “You’re still in masks. I could wait? Or, um, go home?”

Robin and Nightwing exchanged a look, before Nightwing shifted Tim to better rummage
around in one of his pouches. Tim wasn’t ashamed to say he squeaked again, though he could
have done without Robin’s knowing smirk.

“Ahah!”

Tim blinked and then had cool and slightly stiff fabric pressed over his eye. With shaking
fingers he traced over the domino mask Nightwing had secured onto his face.

“Exactly how long have you had that?” Asked Robin, sounding resigned. As this was a very
excellent question Tim also wanted an answer to, he looked up at Nightwing, trying not blush
when he had to lean back a bit because the man still hadn’t put Tim down.

“Eh. A while. What if we decided to go get ice cream in person together? The mask seemed
easier than me trying to hide my suit.”
“Right,” Robin said, apparently taking this at face value.

Tim opened his mouth to say something, what he didn’t rightly know, when Dick turned his
whole focus onto Tim again. “You good to swing with me? Or do want to go with Robin?”

Now, this question was trickier than it seemed, because while Robin wasn’t that much older
than Tim, Tim was actually just a bit small for his age and could easily be piggy-backed by
Robin. Even a Robin with a broken arm. Also, Nightwing was well aware that Robin was
Tim’s hero, and thus could be trying to do something nice for Tim.

Yet, and this was a big yet, Nightwing’s arms were still trembling, just slightly. From this,
Tim got the sense that Nightwing was also trying to give Tim an out, a way to go with Robin
because Nightwing didn’t think Tim would feel safe with Dick.

And that was utter stupidity. Tim didn’t know how to tell Dick that Tim had noticed being
shuffled behind Dick the entire time Batman was here, had noticed that Nightwing had
moved to protect both him and Jason as his first instinct. Tim didn’t know how to tell Dick
that Tim had never felt safer in anyone else’s arms, (that he couldn’t even remember being
held in anyone else’s arms).

Also, despite the clear out Dick was offering, the man didn’t let go. If anything, he seemed to
clutch Tim closer, like he wanted Tim to stay.

So, in what felt like the bravest thing he had ever done (and maybe a baby step, for what Tim
figured he’d probably do in the future, if the offer had been real), Tim admitted what he
wanted and wrapped both arms tighter around Nightwing’s neck. “I’m fine right here,
thanks.”

The smile Nightwing, the smile Dick, sent his way was heartbreaking and had Tim clutching
just a bit stronger, which he figured Dick would excuse as nerves as he flung them off the
roof’s edge.

Tim knew better, and was pretty sure Jason did too. They shared a look as Dick jumped,
grapple extending and giving Tim his first taste of flying.

Jason had known what was going on better than Batman. Jason had talked Dick down and
made him feel safe and brought back his smile. Robin was both Tim and Dick’s hero, Dick
had said so, and Tim had so much to tell Jason, now that he could.

So much about the way Nightwing would stare into skies no one else could see, for hours,
unless a fight or scream or small boy with a camera made a noise to drag him out. About the
way Nightwing flew, but sometimes didn’t catch himself until the very last moment. About
the way that Nightwing fought, and how his style shifted and changed and sometimes
allowed hits through that Tim was pretty sure shouldn’t land at all.

Robin was Tim’s hero. But Nightwing was special. Nightwing was warmth and touch and
constant sound, unless Tim had something to say, and then Nightwing was constant attention.
Nightwing was good and kind and deserved to be happy.
He wasn’t.

But maybe Tim could help Robin make him happy. Maybe Tim could help protect the first
smile that had been given to Tim so freely.

Tim was certainly going to try.

 Conversations
Chapter Summary

Dick makes a phone call and later has a Chat with Bruce. Bruce reaches a decision.

Chapter Notes

Here we go! Hopefully some more tugging on heart strings. Next chapter will have more
teasing between brothers and friends. And some overprotectiveness, because of course.

Dick woke up to the knowledge that Damian was alive, that his son was alive and
remembered him.

This was shorty followed by the memory of a jittery Batman eating ice cream on a roof,
trying to worry-brood yet being completely run over by a tiny boy in a green hoodie who’d
fallen straight into babbling about cases and technology and much more besides. Batman had
been charmed despite being perturbed by said fact and it had been one of the most hilarious
things Dick and Jason had ever seen.

Less hilarious had been the complete medical scan Dick had been submitted to on return to
the cave, the stilted conversation Bruce had tried to start about mental health, and the
discussion of panic attacks that Dick had dodged with the grace of a man who’d been
avoiding the topic for literal years.

In the morning and with all that information seeping through his mind, Dick did the only
thing he could thing to do.

He snuck out.

It took several hours because of the daylight and the Bat-dodging, but he’d finally found all
the markings from the photographs Dick had copied from Tim’s camera (Tim who was
thinking about legal adoption, Tim that Dick hadn’t failed quite yet) as well as several sets
the boy had missed.

After decoding the markings, Dick was left with a phone number.

It took another two hours to secure a physical phone to Dick’s satisfaction, because he was
not putting his baby in any more danger.
It took only two rings for Damian to pick up.

“Baba?”

“Baby, Damian, oh, Damian. You’re alive.” Dick’s fingers clenched around the phone.

“Yes. I am… small but otherwise well. I take it this was your doing?”

“Yeah. Yeah, baby. Constantine hijacked the mage’s ritual. We, the two, three, apparently, of
us are the only ones who remember.”

“And the mage? He was also dead, but still in the ritual circle, if I recall correctly.”

A sharp grin crossed Dick’s face, even though he knew Damian couldn’t see it. “He’s been
taken care of. Constantine confirmed the mage didn’t remember anything, beforehand.”

“Good,” Damian stated.

“I can come get you.” Dick could no longer hold back from saying. “Let me come get you.”

There was a pause, sharp and pointed like the teeth of a nightmare.

“No,” Damian said.

Dick collapsed to the ground.

“Richard, Baba, listen. If I go now, they’ll come for me.”

“I can take them.”

Damian gave a little huffing laugh that warmed Dick to his paper-thin bones.“I know.” He
paused again. “But the family can’t. Not yet.”

And Dick didn’t say anything, because Damian wasn’t wrong. Jason was still healing, Tim
hadn’t started training, Steph and Cass hadn’t even been found. Barbara was physically
stronger than ever but constantly exhausted from some project she wouldn’t let him help with
and Bruce was one hard knock away from shattering into a man no one wanted him to
become.

They’d be easy pickings for the Al Ghul’s.

Damian ignored Dick’s silence and continued on, a feat he’d had to do more than once
because no one really understood Dick’s rare silences like his Baby Bat.

“I’m positioned well for providing information and insight. We will use this advantage to
further your plan.”

When Dick didn’t take the opportunity to explain any sort of plan, Damian sighed. “They are
not hurting me.”

This was a lie.

This was a lie and they both knew it. They both knew it because Damian had caught Dick
reading child psychology and development books, as well as numerous research papers and
strategies for helping children recover from trauma, abuse, and stints as child soldiers. Dick
reaction to being caught had been to forestall Damian’s anger by forcing his genius brother to
read them, too.

Not all of them, certainly. Dick curated that material with a kind of intense focus he reserved
for life or death situations (because no one would be able to convince Dick that they hadn’t
been standing on the precipice of a life or death situation). His Baby Bat was more prepared
to believe the science articles first, but Dick eventually got him into testimonials and true
accounts.

Damian mocked them, originally, with a rather desperate edge, but there were things that
were easier to explore when they were phrased as happening to someone else. Sometimes a
book or a paper would be returned to Dick’s room in the dead of night and would never be
discussed. Sometimes a small body would crawl into Dick’s bed after the return, cold hands a
demand and apology both, wrapped in never shed tears.

They’d talked, then, under covers and in whispers. They’d talked about what assassin
training really involved and how Dick had trained the Titans differently. They’d talked about
what it really meant to be trained by Heroes who were good people down to their core, but at
one point had never actually interacted with children.

So they both knew Damian was lying. They both knew what the League of Assassins was
doing was not okay. They both knew that Ra’s al Ghul was worse because he was family,
now that Damian knew what family was supposed to mean.

“I’m so proud of you, Baby Bat. So proud and I love you so much.”

“I know,” Damian admitted with an ease that was Dick’s largest accomplishment. “You are
adequate yourself. Now, what is the plan, Richard?” he continued in a voice that said there
would be No More Emotions.

Dick laughed, knowing the tears in the sound wouldn’t be commented on since that counted
as Emotions.

“Supply routes,” Dick managed to get out.

Damian hummed, quiet over the phone.

“Supply routes, warehouses, weapons stashes, recruitment locations, drop zones, all the little
details. You’re right,” Damian interrupted Dick with a faint sound the somehow indicted that
of course he was correct that Dick ignored with practiced ease. “We can’t face them head on,
not as we are now, even if I call on the Titans and even the Justice League. Not when the
latter would want proof and end of the world shenanigans to get involved.

“But the League of Assassins are assassins, Baby Bat. They like to keep things quiet and play
close to the chest. But we have literal years on them; we know their next moves, what they
value most, and the broad the strokes they use to accomplish their goals. We don’t need to
beat them, we just need to expose them.”

“Retaliation will be swift if Grandfather expects a threat of that magnitude.”

“Oh, we’re not actually going to do it.” Dick leaned back and pressed his head into the brick.
“The vacuum that would cause would be chaotic, cruel, and messy.”

“So you’re going to gather copious amounts of blackmail and not use it? That seems a rather
dubious bluff.”

“Not a bluff, Baby Bat. I will use it, if need be. I’d rather not, but if chaos means I can grab
you and have enough time to prepare a back up plan then I absolutely will. Not using the
information will give us more time, though, as the League scrambles to find their leaks and
create new paths and information. By the time they’re ready to retaliate, we’ll have the
Batfamily up to full strength.”

“I can do that. I have access to much information already.” Damian almost sounded excited,
before his voice evened out in question. “How exactly were you planning this before you had
an inside man?”

“I’ve already started brushing up on my hacking, run a couple infiltration missions when the
Titans thought I was working with Bats, Bats thought I was working with Babs, and Babs
thought I was working with the Titans, and reached out to some people. You’re the best
inside man, Dami, but not the only possibility.”

Damian huffed, but was predictably mollified by being called the best. Dick almost smiled,
but was too busy staring at his trembling hand that didn’t have a phone to cradle.

“And the timeline’s moved up, by the way,” Dick pointed out as calmly as he could manage.

“That’s ridiculous.” Dick could picture Damian’s scowl so clearly. “My remembering only
means I’m more capable of looking after myself.”

“Yes, and that there’s more changing and more ways Ra’s and Talia can change in turn. I’m
not risking it,” Dick said, even as he knew he’d have always found an excuse to speed up
regardless of Damian’s memory. “I’d get on a plane right now if you wanted.”

“I don’t.”

Dick nodded, even though his baby couldn’t see him. He hated Damian’s choice but Dick had
spent a decade convincing the boy he had a choice. Besides, Dick knew better than anyone
when he could push Damian’s stubbornness and when he couldn’t.

“How much longer do you have to safely talk?”

“Approximately ten minutes.”

“Okay, then we’re going to spend the next seven giving you as many extraction routes as
possible.”
“And the remaining three discussing the mission?”

“Uh, no. Discussing the next phone call and completing sappy goodbyes.” Dick wondered if
Damian’s small hands were trembling, too. The boy didn’t protest the sappy goodbyes nearly
hard enough.

Dick returned to a Batcave that was empty except for Bruce.

This was a good thing, because he didn’t think he could stand up to Jason’s angry worry or
Alfred’s disapproving worry. This was also a bad thing because Dick had been crying and
there was no way that Bruce wouldn’t notice.

Though at least it was Bruce, no Batman suit in sight.

They stared at each other as Dick got off his bike and Bruce sat in his chair, swung around to
face Dick. It was probably a sign of how far they had both come that the silence stretched yet
didn’t become shouting.

“Chum-“ Bruce started, but Dick cut him off. Damian remembering changed things. Tim
openly being invited into the family changed things. There was a conversation Dick needed
to have more than Bruce needed to reprimand Dick for running away.

“Do you remember that time when I was a kid and I got so homesick for the circus you blew
off three separate meetings and flew us halfway around the world to catch their next show?”

Bruce blinked, the only sign he was taken aback by the topic. “Of course. You cried all the
way back and I thought I’d made a terrible mistake.”

Dick smiled, because he remembered Bruce’s panicked expression quite clearly. “You didn’t.
That was the first time I thought it might be okay to have two fathers.”

Dick walked closer. He didn’t want physical distance to make them resort to shouting to be
heard. “You attended every one of my Mathlete competitions. Picked me up from school
personally at least once a week. Took me out for ice cream every time I’d been hurt.”

He tilted his head and watched Bruce follow the movement. “Do you remember the time you
let Jason drag you around to six different used bookstore for his birthday, even though you
knew he was laughing as you floundered? You’ve made it to three of his plays but I attended
his last parent-teacher meeting when Alfred was at an appointment.”

“Dick-“

“No, Bruce. No. I need to say this and you need to listen.” Dick’s hands twitched, but he
lowered them back to his life with careful motions. His father, more than almost anyone Dick
knew, deserved his fucking trauma responses. Dick was not going to make things worse by
coming in with fast, easily mistakable gestures. He wasn’t going to intrude in Bruce’s space.
Just his sense of self and parenthood.

“I need you to do that again. I need you to be that man again. Because you are him. That’s
Bruce, but Bruce keeps being buried under the Batman, and. And I’ll take them away from
Batman. Do you understand, B? It will kill me and hurt them and destroy you and I don’t
care.”

Dick ran his hands through his hair for what must have been the twentieth time, absently
hoping the longer than usual strands would hide the trembling in his fingers. He rather
doubted it, but he wasn’t raising his head to look. Except, he had to look, because it was
dangerous to take your eyes off a threat. It was also easier to see if your own threats were
landing.

B’s face was unreadable, naturally, but he was focused on Dick, which was important.

“Bruce. I love you. You raised me and taught me and I consider you my dad, always, no
matter what the state records say. But, I need you to know that when you adopted them, you
also made them mine. You made me a big brother and I’ll protect them. Always. Even from
you. So. So please. Please, Dad. Be better.”

Dick’s voice cracked under the weight of a thousand blows, because this was harder than
enduring physical hits but was also a fundamental truth of Dick’s universe. He would protect
his brothers (Damian would never know what it felt like to have his father turn away from
him, even for an instant the man would later regret). Bruce’s face blurred from tears Dick
hadn’t yet cried. “Please don’t make me leave you.”

Dick wondered if it was the silent ‘again’ that broke Bruce. Surely the man must have heard
it cracking through the crave like a gunshot that would never miss its mark. Either way,
Bruce lunged forward, and Dick flinched.

Bruce noticed the flinch, there was no way he didn’t, but it only made him softer, gentler,
more careful than he’d been in literal years when he wrapped Dick up in strong arms.

The hug was what broke Dick.

Dick froze, desperate to collapse against the man who had been safety and warmth so often
for so long, but desperate to remain strong, to remain capable of leaving if he needed to. If his
family needed him to.

“I’m so sorry.”

Freezing more wasn’t really possible for Dick, but he was still shocked beyond measure.
Bruce didn’t apologize. He admitted his wrong in small gestures, small concessions, not
words. Never words. Not for years.

Except, those years didn’t exist any more, not really. Certainly not for this man who’d never
actually lost his son.
“I’m so sorry, Dickie.” Bruce pulled back and traced gentle hands across Dick’s damp
cheeks. “And proud. You’ve done so good.”

“I. I-what?” Dick blinked. Maybe this had all been a giant hallucination. Maybe Dami’s
death had sent Dick into some kind of magic-fuelled psychotic break. Because what the
everlasting fuck?

He must have said that last part out loud, or communicated it very strongly with his
eyebrows, because Bruce actually frowned. The tiny pinching motion of his eyebrow said it
was self-directed, though, so Dick didn’t run. Yet.

Thumbs brushed over Dick’s cheekbones. “Dick. I’m so proud of what you’ve been to those
boys. Tim clearly adores you. You saved Jason. And I haven’t talked about, well, about the
Joker, because I didn’t think you wanted to, but clearly that was a mistake. One of several.”

Bruce’s hands let go of Dick’s face and Dick whined, but before he could die of
mortification, a large palm came around and cupped the back of his neck.

“You saved Jason, chum. And I’m not sorry the Joker is dead.” When Dick tried to shake his
head in disbelief, a second hand joined the first. “I’m not. You chose your brother over a
villain and that will never not be the right choice.”

Bruce’s palms felt like tethers, like the only thing that was holding Dick to the ground and he
needed that, so he raised his own hands (shaking, shaking, always fucking trembling) to
grasp Bruce’s forearms.

“I wouldn’t have liked it if you had killed him directly, Dickie, but I would have forgiven
you. No, that’s not- I would have gotten over it.” Bruce’s nails dug in slightly to Dick’s skin
and helped more than the pressure should have. “Because you are my son. You are my son
and I love you and there is nothing I wouldn’t do for you.”

With a shake breath that Dick was startled to realize came from Bruce, the man dropped his
head so their foreheads pushed together, an action completely impossible in the cowl.

“And I’m so sorry you had to ask me to be better for Jason, for the boys. That you didn’t feel
the need to add yourself to that list.”

“It’s, its’ okay though. I’m the oldest,” Dick stuttered out. The oldest by far, now, and a
veteran that could take the most hits. “The first. I can handle it.”

“You should have to handle your father.” Bruce’s tone was harsh, but his face was gutted.
Because even though Dick had only gotten really good at it since he’d come back, since he’d
learned from tricks over years that hadn’t, and never would, happen, Dick had already been
handling Bruce. And they both knew it.

This time, when Bruce wrapped both arms around Dick’s neck and pulled him in for a hug,
Dick collapsed. He just went with the motion and let himself be bundled onto Bruce’s lap,
hands grasping the man’s sweater and legs kicked over the side of the fucking chair that sat in
front of the Batcomputer as an immovable anchor.
He cried. He cried and bawled and wept for the first time since he’d come back, for the first
time since well before he’d come back (there wasn’t much time to cry when the world was
crumbling at your feet and each new loss merely reopened a scar that had yet to heal).

Bruce’s arms had always been safe. They weren’t always warm or kind or easy, but they were
safe. Nothing had ever harmed him while he was in them, which was why it had hurt so much
when the hugs had stopped.

“Anything?” Dick asked, in part because ehe wanted to know, in part because he didn’t want
to start hyperventilating, and in part because he didn’t want Bruce to start questioning exactly
why he was crying this hard.

“Anything,” Bruce affirmed as he rubbed circles over Dick’s back.

“Therapy with Dinah? Or someone else she recommends?”

An odd look passed over Bruce’s face before it settled into a faint grimace. “Alright.”

Dick blinked and sat back. “And family nights? Alfred’s cooking and no patrol? Once a
month?”

“Sounds good, chum.”

With a sniff, Dick frantically wracked his brain. “Um. And communication.” He raised a
slightly trembling finger to point at Bruce. “I don’t expect you to be perfect, or to stop
keeping secrets from, like, the League. But Jason and I. You kneed to tell us when things are
going on. And Tim, once he’s trained. Because we all know he’s going to get trained.”

Bruce sighed. “Yes, we do know that. Okay, I promise to try. We can even get Alfred to be
the judge about what counts as an attempt.”

Dick huffed a laugh that surprised himself and made Bruce smile, just a little. “Okay. Good
plan.”

“Anything else?” Bruce asked, one hand once again wiping the tears from Dick’s face.

And there should be. At various points in time Dick has had an entire list. “I’m really not
prepared for how well this is going.” The man had just agreed to fucking therapy. Really,
Dick should maybe start looking closer at that psychotic break theory.

Another look Dick couldn’t quite decipher, it almost looked like guilt, filtered across Bruce’s
face before settling into resolve. “Then I have two conditions.”

Dick stiffened, and Bruce immediately made a soft noise and dragged his hand back down
Dick’s back.

“None of that chum. Nothing bad. Just, communication is a two way street. So, talk to me,
please?” Bruce floundered a moment, clearly trying not to overstep and afraid he’d triggered
one of their oldest fights. “Like the Titans. I don’t need to know what you’re doing, exactly,
but maybe a schedule? For how long you plan to be away. Or how long you might be
unreachable. Since you’re apparently quite crucial to my ability to raise teenage boys.”

Dick was okay with that. Very okay with that, really, since it meant he was wanted. That
Bruce wanted him back in the manor and helping with his brothers.

Bruce read that answer in Dick’s face, because he nodded. “Okay. And father-son days? Or
maybe not always days, but events? Family nights are great, but-“

“No, that’s a great idea. Maybe a play or something with Jay? Tim might like a photography
exhibit. Or a technology expo, or hey, a tour of Wayne Industries R&D labs.” And Damian
would like the art museum or that bird-watching tour Dick had been maybe looking into.
Cass would like the ballet and Steph any sporting event where she got to cheer loudly and
make B dress up in funky colours.

“Yes, great ideas, chum.” Bruce reached up and grabbed Dick’s chin, guiding him into eye
contact instead of general future-staring. “But I was also talking about me and you. We could
go to a game or find a circus or grab something to eat or go for walk or something. Just,
something. Okay?”

Dick stared. He stared and blinked and probably forgot to breath for a moment too long, if
B’s expression was anything to go by. This time, he didn’t so much collapse forward as fold,
his limbs curling in and head finally resting on Bruce’s chest where he could hear the steady
beating of his heart (because Bruce was alive, hearts beat when they were alive).

“Okay,” Dick whispered.

“Okay,” Bruce whispered back, hand brushing through Dick’s hair. “Okay.”

Dick was not okay. Dick was not okay and Bruce was not okay because he had no idea why.
He had no idea what had happened, no idea who had hurt his baby. His beautiful baby who
swung on chandeliers and slept upside down and had started looking at Bruce like he wasn’t
a Bat but a ghost.

They’d been fighting, him and Dick. Fighting a lot and he’d known it was wrong but Dick
was so determined to be gone and Bruce couldn’t protect him when he was gone (it was
Bruce’s fault he was gone, always Bruce’s fault).

But none of that mattered because Dick had been gone and Dick had been hurt and not only
had Bruce failed to protect his son, but Bruce had driven his son so far away that Dick hadn’t
felt he could come to Bruce for help. He hadn’t felt he could admit to any sort of weakness at
all.

And Bruce had almost done the same to Jason. He’d almost driven his second son away and
to an end of fire and violence (flames that danced through his nightmares to the tune of a
scattered laugh and screams Bruce knew were his own).

Yet that hadn’t happened. His first son, his beautiful baby who loved with his whole heart,
had saved Jason. Had saved Jason and trusted Bruce enough to give him Tim.

Because Bruce hadn’t been close enough to hear what was said between the boys on the
rooftop after Dick’s panic attack, but he had been close enough to watch them twine together.
Close enough to watch Dick reach out and Tim collapse in and Jason hover over both.

Dick had also said them over and over and over again as he spoke, as he threatened Bruce
with nothing but the truth. And okay. If Dick wanted another brother, if Tim helped (and he
did, that was obvious over ice cream and conversation and the way Dick kept the boy within
reach at all times), then okay.

Tim was frankly brilliant and had apparently figured everything out already, so their nightlife
was hardly an obstacle. Tim also had both Bruce’s boys settling into protective stances
whenever they stood near him. Bruce was willing to trust their judgement.

An easy enough decision when Dick was trusting Bruce enough to believe he could fix
things and be better.

Bruce was an intelligent man, for all he had the emotional capability of a flying rodent, and
Bruce knew that if Dick didn’t actually believe Bruce could be better than he wouldn’t be
here. Nor would Jason or Tim.

Bruce had trained Dick. Bruce had trained Dick and then asked Superman and Wonder
Woman and the Justice League to teach him to be safe. Bruce had trained Dick and Dick had
left and thrived and started his own team and made more friends and connections than Bruce
could ever hope to understand, let alone find.

Bruce was controlling and paranoid, but he had never underestimated his son (just fell victim
to the paralyzing fears and the knowledge that the world would always be worse). Bruce
knew better than anyone else, with the exception of Alfred, that Dick could and would carry
out his threat. And that Bruce wouldn’t be able to stop him. Not easily. Not without
destroying everything good in Bruce’s entire damn life.

It was time for him to be better.

“Master Bruce. Everyone appears to be asleep.”

“Good.” Bruce stood up, Dick cradled in his arms and far too light for a man of his muscle
mass. “They boys don’t need to see Dick like this.”

“You believe they would think less of him?” There was faint reproach in Alfred’s voice.

“I think Dick would think less of himself.” Bruce stopped next to his own father. “I need to
be better.”

Alfred looked up from the sleeping Dick and his red cheeks and bruised eyes to meet Bruce’s
gaze and place one palm on Bruce’s own cheek. “We both do, my boy.”
“I don’t know what happened to him, Alfred.” Bruce’s voice broke, a lapse into emotion that
he just couldn’t care about.

“I’m not sure it matters, Master Bruce. Not as long as we’re here for him now.”

Alfred was right, as always, but Bruce also knew the reasons would eat at him. Because
Bruce didn’t have a clue, and he’d looked. He’d scoured old Bat files and new Titan reports.
He’d looked at villain mobility and mapped them against times when he was able to confirm
Dick’s location. He’d done everything short of asking, and he still didn’t know.

And he wouldn’t ask, because even if communication was something they both agreed to
work on, Bruce knew his son. Bruce knew what his son looked like when he was flipping and
leaping around a topic with no intention of landing nearby.

People forgot, even people in the Justice League who knew his son as a leader and hero, that
Dick was stubborn, that he could and would bend in almost any direction until he decided he
wouldn’t.

Bruce had never forgotten, even during the worst of their fights when awful, horrid things
crept out of his own mouth and he kept watch for one specific, terrifying expression. He
watched with a cold creeping fear for the moment when the shadow in Dick’s eyes would
bleed from hurt and retaliation to too-damn-far-enough.

Once, there had been a small boy who’d told Bruce he was going to put on a cape and help
save people with his father. Bruce had told him no. It was not Bruce who’d won that
argument. It was Bruce who’d capitulated under a sunny smile and those blue-bone eyes
shadowed with the inevitability of frozen skies.

The smile was gone, now, in brief moments when Dick thought no one was looking. The eyes
were back, however, frozen ghosts of a determination Bruce hadn’t seen in years, but would
recognize anywhere.

So he wouldn’t ask, couldn’t ask, couldn’t push even though that was what he wanted to do.
Was all he was used to doing. If he asked, if he demanded, Dick would be gone. He’d still be
around as Nightwing, as a brother, but he’d be faded and washed around the edges. Around
Bruce.

With the weight of his son in Bruce’s arms as he hadn’t been in years, that risk was
unacceptable.

So Bruce didn’t know.

Bruce didn’t know what made his bright, vivacious son slip through the manor like a guest,
like he desperately wanted to be there but couldn’t bear to stay. Bruce didn’t know what
made Jason, battered and angry, hover like a protective hellhound that soaked up Dick’s
attention while lurking in his shadow, ready and willing to stab threats with the Batarangs
he’d hidden in his cast.
Bruce didn’t know what made his kind, laughing son have a panic attack on a roof, after a
quiet night and a smiling goodbye. He didn’t know what made Tim, quiet and alone, cling
like a thorn on a vine that bloomed under Dick’s care while flashing poisonous colours, ready
and willing to eviscerate threats with a sharp tongue and clever mind.

Bruce did know that Dick would do far worse if either boy were taken from him and that
Bruce didn’t mind nearly as much as he should. He was proud of his boys for finding each
other. For protecting each other when no one else would. For becoming a family, even
without him.

Bruce knew he was going to do better. He was going to protect all his boys better.
 Old Friends
Chapter Summary

Dick chats with Constantine, Jason and Tim chat with the Titans, and Slade gets into a
fight.

Chapter Notes

Hello! This chapter doesn't have quite so many emotional conversations, but it does
have some assumptions and some protective friends.

I also bring in Slade; my Slade is going to be more grey than true villain. I know in
various cannons he's done some really awful things, but I love the idea of a reluctantly
fond Slade being drawn in Dick's loop and everyone else just constantly being like, what
the heck? So this version of Slade is still an ass, but hasn't done anything Dick would
find truly unforgivable. I hope you enjoy!

“Which baby assassin are you worried about currently?”

Dick dropped his head to the counter. “Can’t it be both? Because the answer is both.”

Constantine hopped up onto the counter like the dramatic ass he was, despite the stool
literally sitting right next to Dick. Dick approved in an absent sort of way before he went
back to dramatically moping, which was different and less angsty than Batman’s dramatic
brooding, thanks very much.

Constantine patted Dick on the head twice in a gesture that was probably meant to be
sarcastic, but was actually rather comforting. Dick responded by throwing himself over
Constantine’s legs with a groan.

“Really, mate?” Constantine asked, hands in the air as if he’d never experienced a clingy
Dick Grayson before.

“I can hear you rolling your eyes at me,” Dick responded.

“That’s literally impossible, luv.” Constantine’s hand returned to Dick’s head, however, so
Dick counted it as win.
Still, Dick snorted. “We’re literally the last people that should be throwing stones at
impossibilities.”

“Eh,” Constantine allowed, “but beside the point. I thought things were well enough with the
baby assassins?”

“They are.”

And they were. Damian was a safe as he could be reasonably expected. Dick actually thought
the whole situation might be slightly cathartic to Damian, in a way. Dick’s Baby Bat had
always preferred to cope with violence and slow creeping revenge, and now he got to
systematically destroy the people who had hurt his family (had hurt him).

Unfortunately, Damian couldn’t keep co-opting the missions of various assassins as he’d
done to get the initial codes to Dick. Someone in the highly trained organization was
eventually going to notice the modified mission specs, even if Damian had really only added
an extra line or two.

They’d been using sparse (too short, too infrequent, never enough) phone calls, mostly, with
the occasional email. Dead drops were only if the matter was urgent enough to risk hijacking
an assassin or two.

Damian had hijacked an assassin for Cass. He’d found her using League information and his
own knowledge of his sister. He’d also erased all traces of her with computer skills he didn’t
like to admit having and explosive skills he’d developed while bonding with Jason. Dick had
even given Damian bonus points for the chaos that was the League looking for an attack that
didn’t exist (yet).

An unsuspecting hijacked assassin had completed an information retrieval mission for Ra’s in
Gotham and had also dropped a specialized packet containing all known and suspected
information on one Cassandra Cain in a chimney pipe.

Dick had retrieved it, read it, and burnt it.

He’d then proceeded to freely and wildly abuse Zetatube technology and Constantine’s
portals to visit his baby sister and win her over with hugs, kindness, leaning, and a fuck ton
of food.

Winning Cass over was slow, because she was cautious and confused and hurt in ways that
his brothers weren’t. Slow didn’t mean difficult, however, because she could read Dick’s
sincerity in every motion. She didn’t understand why he kept coming back, but she knew he
wanted to.

She knew he loved her, even if she didn’t know exactly what that meant just yet.

Dick was respecting her space, was using everything he’d ever known about how bodies
moved, which was quite a lot even if he’d never been as fluent as his brilliant little sister, to
go at her pace. She was stable, was safe squatting in an abandoned building that was at least
warm and dry and that Dick had thoroughly scoped. Dick had time.
He hated time.

“I miss them,” Dick told Constantine’s knees.

Constantine sighed. “Course you do.” His hands stopped on Dick’s shoulders, just shy of
pressing him down. “They died. You have them back, but they’ll never be who they were.
That’s a good thing, but it’s still shit.”

Each and every one of Dick’s muscles felt tense and sore and sharp as fucking glass. He sat
up slowly, deliberately loosening his stance inch by inch, and stared at Constantine and his
bruised eyes.

“If I ask how you’re doing, you’re just going to change the subject, aren’t you?” Dick asked.

Constantine gave a tired smirk, not the performative one Dick could match with practiced
ease on any given day, but the one that was meant to be tired, that was an admission Dick had
earned and treasured even before the stupid fucking miracle of time travel.

“What’s with all the fruit?” Constantine deflected.

Dick turned from Constantine to study the large shallow bowl full of apples, bananas,
oranges, and at least two kiwi. There were birds around the edge of the bowl. Not robins, but
tiny bluejays with bright green leaves dancing between painted figures.

Staring at one of the birds, Dick considered. He considered the slightly drunken yet
surprisingly honest phone call they’d had last week. He considered the fact that Constantine
had actually asked for Dick’s help before taking on the slime monster and it’s associated cult.
He considered the fact that Constantine hadn’t sauntered off after said monster-defeating and
had stayed for showers and conversation.

He considered that Dick himself didn’t really want to have this fucking conversation.

“It came with the apartment.” Dick got up, fetched one of the knives, and grabbed a couple of
apples. Working in the kitchen, even on something so simple, was calming after years of
prepping with Alfred. Also, Monster-defeating was hungry work.

“Pretty sure that’s not how that works.” Constantine stretched, arms, reaching towards the
ceiling with only the faintest stutter of tired muscles. “Or is that a rich-person thing?”

Dick snorted. “Does this look like a rich-person apartment?”

“Nope. Thought it was a safe house.”

Dick made a seesaw motion with his hand. “Almost. That was the justification.”

Constantine jumped off the counter so he could lean over and steal slices of fruit. “Not sure I
want to know.”

“Okay, so it’s actually a bit hilarious.”

“Still not sure I want to know,” Constantine said as he reached for another apple slice.

“Okay, first off,” Dick accentuated his point with the knife, “you always want to know. It’s a
defining Constantine characteristic. Secondly, you chose to change the topic, now you live
with it.”

Constantine tilted his head, but gave a shrug and didn’t protest beyond another smirk.

Dick waited a moment to make sure no commentary was forthcoming, before launching into
the full story. “So I may have told Alfred I was thinking about getting an apartment without
knowing the kitchen was full of eavesdroppers. I know, don’t look at me like that. But they
had a full manor to lurk in! And everyone avoids the kitchen when Alfred’s prepping unless
they’ve already been drafted; you do not get in the man’s way when he has a cooking
schedule.

“Anyways, I mentioned it to Alfred and everyone overheard. The boys were worried, B was
worried, clarifying that I was thinking about Gotham didn’t really help, because then Jay was
worried about me not getting space and fighting with B, and B was worried about chasing me
out of the manor again, and Tim was worried he’d taken my spot.”

“And you were worried because your precious little birds were too busy worrying to be
happy.” Constantine reached over to grab one of the muffins that also come with the Alfred-
approved apartment as he spoke.

Dick ignored the smugness to nod. “Exactly. So I thought I’d smoothed everything over but
then I had to go visit the Titans since they’d returned from space and-“

“And you came back to a new flat.”

Dick sighed. “Yup. I couldn’t even refuse! Bruce, the bastard, handled it perfectly. He treated
it as a fucking op. Pulled me aside, when were almost here, might I add, explained that he
knew rent was expensive and I wasn’t working what with the Titans and training the boys,
and I deserved somewhere that was entirely my own but he’d feel better if had actually
security despite the fact that he trusted my abilities.”

“So unaware of all the mob money and the safe houses across the state, then.”

Dick gave a sharp smile. “Have you figured out what you’re going to do with the cult’s gold
yet?”

“Nope.” Constantine grinned back. “Not sure why a cult worshiping a slime-monster as a god
needed that much but hey, I’ll take it. Donate a bunch to it to the people they fucked over,
but, meh. That’s your MO, anyways. So, and I hate that I’m asking, but what was the final
blow flat-accepting blow? Because so far that ain’t enough.”

Dick stole his own muffin, smile softening as he tasted the chocolate chips. “The boys.”

“Of fucking course.”

“Apparently, Jason refused to let Bruce pick the place because I wouldn’t like any of his
‘hoity-toity penthouse choices’ and Tim printed out a bunch of listings and Alfred drove them
all around over a weekend while disdainfully sniffing Bruce into submission.”

“And then he said they’d use it as a safe house if you didn’t want it.”

“You got it.” Dick turned to lean against the counter and just slightly into Constantine’s side.
“B was so earnest and awkward. He literally stumbled over his words and corrected himself
at least twice. Is it bad that I find his inability to communicate out of the cape more hilarious
than frustrating now?”

“Wrong, meh. Petty? Absolutely.” Dick scowled and Constantine raised both hands, finally
free of a food. “Hey, I’m not judging.”

“No,” Dich agreed, smiling as he stepped away to cut a bit more fruit. “You wouldn’t.”

There was a long pause. “How many spare bedrooms, then?”

“Two.” Dick shot Constantine a long-suffering look. “In case the Titans want to come over.”

“Uh-huh. And how far are we from Gotham Academy?”

Dick sighed, though a smile was tugging at the edge of his lips. “Within walking distance.”

Constantine laughed, a little short and little sharp, but definitely real. “Sounds perfect for
you, luv.”

“Yeah,” Dick admitted. “We’re going furniture shopping this weekend. The boys, naturally,
have no clue why I want their opinions, but are happy to offer them anyways because they’re
certain to be better than Bruce’s.”

“Not like they’re wrong, there.” Constantine hopped off the counter he’d returned to at some
point int their talk. “Right, I’m going to steal your shower.”

“Again?” Dick waved his knife around before spearing an apple slice. “You didn’t even
manage to put on shirt after the last one.”

Constantine looked down at his bare chest and bare feet, bruises stark but not alarming from
where a tentacle had wrapped around his torso, before looking back at Dick. “I still feel the
slime. Still feel the gods-damned fucking slime.”

Dick laughed, but waved him off. That was fair enough.

Four feet to the bathroom door and Constantine turned around with a whirl that was much
more dramatic when he had his long coat. Dick wasn’t commenting, however, because he’d
also tensed at the bang of his door and had to deliberately relax his hold on the knife.

“Hello, baby brothers,” Dick told the ceiling. “Did you have to slam the door open?”
“Sup, Dickface.” Jason strolled in through the short hallway, Tim trailing behind him. Jason
paused abruptly as he fully came in the room, a motion Tim copied even with half his
uniform jacket hanging off one arm. “Not Dickface,” Jason acknowledged Constantine.

Constantine did not acknowledge him back. Quietly, more to himself than anyone else the
room, he said, “Well, shit.” This was followed by a slow turn and a Look directed at Dick.
“You didn’t tell me they had keys.”

“You think anyone in my family actually needs keys?” Dick asked, raising an eyebrow to
complete the question.

“I actually agree with the strange British man.” Jason sounded very reluctant in his
agreement, even if Jason almost always agreed with swearing. “Timothy.”

Tim held up his phone to take a picture of Constantine. “Sending to you and Barbara now.”

“Cool. I’ll send to Roy and Kori,” Jason said.

“I’m going to get a bloody shirt.” Constantine walked back into the bathroom, door closing
soundly.

Dick dropped his head into his hands for a long moment as both his brothers stared at Dick’s
own bare feet and hastily thrown on shirt, silently judging him for something that didn’t even
happen. He sighed. “You might as well have some food.” He gestured to the plates of cut fruit
and accompanying muffins without looking up.

“Oh,” said Tim, finally sounding like he was maybe a bit apologetic. “We didn’t meant to
intrude.”

“Yes, you did.”

“Yes, we fucking did.”

“But,” Dick continued. “You may as well. Best not to waste food and all that.”

“Your bathroom doesn’t have any windows.” Jason said, even as he launched himself across
the room. “Fucking shit!” He announced to the empty bathroom.

“Fucking coward,” Dick told his countertop. But, well, he supposed that was also fair
enough.

Titans minus Dick plus Scowly Gremlin.

Jason: Need ID
Jason sent a picture: [A man, long bruises just visible under scars and tattoos, clearly having
recently missed a few meals, is looking exasperated at something out of the frame.]

Kori: I do not know this person.

Kori: His eyes are kind.

Wally: Where’s his shirt?

Jason: On Dick’s floor.

Roy: …

Roy: What.

Tim: I feel like I should point out that Dick insists nothing happened.

Tim: He says they were on a mission and came back requiring sleep and showers not
necessarily in that order.

Jason: Timbo. Timborina. Timbity-boo.

Jason: You don’t believe that.

Tim: I believe it doesn’t matter.

Tim: We don’t know him.

Tim: He needs to be vetted.

Jason: Better.

Wally: Okay, who’s Tim?

Wally: And why’d you invite him into the Titan’s chat?

Wally: And also, I can get there like real quick.

Donna: While bringing me and my sword.

Donna: If we’re throwing out suggestions.

Kori: May I suggest fire?

Jason: First, I’m fond of swords. And fire.

Jason: Second, bastard’s gone.

Jason: Told us he was getting a shirt but vanished out of the bathroom.

Jason: Dick aint saying anything on that, either.

Jason: Too busy trying to feed up Tiny Tim.

Tim: I’m not that small for my age!

Jason: Which brings us to Third

Jason: Tim’s the new baby brother.

Jason: I also didn’t invite him anywhere.

Roy: What.

Kori: Congratulations on your new bonds of brotherhood!

Tim: Thank you!

Tim: And I’m good with technology!

Wally: Our security is run by Cyborg?

Tim: Dick and Batgirl may have taught me a few things.

Wally: Can we go back to the fact that Batman adopted another kid?

Wally: Please?

Jason: …

Tim: …

Roy: Fucking shit.

Roy: Speak, Gremlins.

Jason: Okay, so Batman did adopt Timmy.

Tim: Legally speaking, I’ve been a Wayne for about a week!

Donna: And emotionally speaking?

Donna: Or like, practically speaking?

Jason: Practically speaking

Jason: Dick picked Timmy up off the rooftops and went all Momma Bird on him.

Jason: And now he’s ours.

Roy: Any you’re okay with that?

Roy: Mr. Possessive Scowly Gremlin.

Roy: Mr. I’ll tolerate the Titans but only because they can beat up all the people close to my
big brother I can’t.

Jason: First, can’t yet. I’m not always going to have a cast, dumbass.

Jason: Second, fuck you.

Jason: Third, a man at the last gala called Dick a Circus Freak and now he’s financially
ruined.

Jason: Tim’s alright.

Tim: I had nothing to do with that.

Tim: Legally speaking.

Donna: And emotionally speaking?

Tim: I’m founding a Dick Protection Society

Tim: Because he protects everything but himself.

Tim: And I hate it.

Raven: I’ll join.

Raven: The man’s name is John Constantine.

Raven: He’s a magic user and has a reputation.

Jason: Timothy.

Jason: How long do you need?

Tim: I have a name, a direct connection to the Batcomputer, and Batgirl’s phone number.

Tim: I need the amount of time it will take Dick to finish an argument about cereal.

Jason: One distraction coming up.

Roy: [changed the group name from Titans minus Dick plus Scowly Gremlin to Protect
that fucking Dickhead]

Kori: Does that mean no fire?

Donna: It means no fire yet.

Donna: That can change at any time.

Wally: Stand by.

Wally: Got it.

Dick leaped between rooftops with a restless energy coiling darkly within his limbs.

Constantine had helped, the slime monster had really helped, his brothers had really really
helped, but the energy had just come back. He wasn’t used to waiting anymore, to anything
other than constant fighting and motion and survival.

So he went to Bludhaven. It was still dark and dirty and mean, which was familiar. There was
the additional benefit that neither Bruce nor the Titans would think to look for him here, not
at this time, and he didn’t really want any of them to see how he was fighting tonight. Not
with violence trembling along his limbs and ghosts dancing in the corner of his eyes.

Bruce would worry, which would worry his brothers (who were also not allowed to see Dick
fight like this; he refused to set that kind of example). The Titans would hover. More than
they were already doing, somehow thinking they were subtle and that Dick hadn’t practically
invented surreptitious hovering.

He loved them all, but they would be right to worry and he didn’t have time for that.
Dick took a breather he didn’t really need on what used to be one of his favourite perches. He
could just see the police station that had once been as well-known to him as these rooftops.

He wasn’t sure what to do about Bludhaven. The city had been his, once, and for all the ways
he’d failed her, he couldn’t just abandon her again. He also couldn’t live here, couldn’t be an
officer, couldn’t live so far away from his family where there was room for phantoms and
memories and nightmares.

Maybe he’d ask for help. Batman could work something into the patrol schedule as the
Family grew. Or the Titans. Or even the League. The thing about not being the last was that
he had options, now.

None of this solved the immediate problem of the violence creeping along his bones, but the
thought of help was enough to settle the aching worry and guilt just a little. Just enough.
Besides, he already had a plan for the violence, even if it was one that would meet blanket
disapproval (except from Dami, Dami would look sad but Dami had made it to the end with
Dick so he would understand).

Dick absently wondered if it counted as breaking a promise if the promise hadn’t been made
yet. He didn’t have to wonder for very long, since Slade noticed him with ease and then it
became a moot point; he wasn’t seeking Slade out if the man spotted Dick first.

The Titans never had to know.

Slade slammed into him with force, knocking Dick back hard even as he threw himself into a
flip to gain distance. He didn’t keep the distance, however, launching himself forward, both
escrima sticks out and ready to catch Slade’s twin blades.

Dick was a little surprised that Slade hadn’t started with some sarcastic drawl, but then again,
Dick couldn’t for the life of him remember the last interaction between them that this Slade
had experienced.

Dick’s Slade had been harder, cooler, and distantly sharp. The death of his family and of
Wintergreen had shifted something in the man. He wasn’t good, by any means, but he was
more likely to take a payday that would allow him to hurt the kind of people that had taken
his children from him.

Dick wasn’t his child, but they’d both always known that Dick could get away with things the
older man would never allow from anyone else. Slade had trained Dick, had respected him,
had seen something in him that no one else had.

They’d never acknowledged that Slade had been right about that something, not even at the
end when Dick tried to save his own family at all costs only to fail again and again (another
similarity, never acknowledged).

This Slade hadn’t been tempered by that knowledge, hadn’t looked at Dick and seen the only
person left who he could maybe stand caring about, hadn’t died at a distance only the two of
them would consider at Dick’s side.
But he still saw that something in Dick. He still treated Dick as an equal, even if at the
current time Dick probably hadn’t been. Slade still looked and saw and never let Dick’s
golden boy mask or Robin colours cloud his vision.

Dick was never going to be able to hide from Slade.

So he didn’t try. Instead he threw a kick that was from Slade’s own repertoire and followed it
up with a complex set of moves meant for disarming blades that was all League of
Assassins.

They fought until Dick’s muscles began to burn but it still wasn’t enough. The energy still
cracked along, creeping up his spine and threatening to suffocate him. Dick needed to get it
out.

Slade seemed a little perturbed, whether that was because of Dick’s ferocity or the lack of
banter, Dick couldn’t tell. Dick wasn’t all that surprised, then, when Slade disengaged and
stepped back, even if Dick had to deliberately catch himself from flowing forward, hand
raised in a swing of metal.

“You alright, kid?” Slade asked cautiously, with rusty nails in his voice as if he didn’t really
want to be asking but somehow let the words escape anyway.

“No,” Dick punched out in much the same way. “Fight me.”

Slade stared at him for one long moment, shadows of a familiar something flickering in his
eyes, before attacking with a viciousness that only proved how much he’d been holding
back.

Dick met him blow for blow.

Slade knew they were done when Nightwing wiped the blood from his face in the moment it
took Slade to pull out the dagger Nightwing had jammed into Slade’s left leg. Slade knew
because once the red had transferred to Nightwing’s glove the man had smiled. The smile
wasn’t the usual carefree grin or challenging smirk, however, instead featuring rather more
teeth and a significantly sharper edge.

“You going to tell me what this was about?” Slade asked, pocketing the dagger.

“Do you care?”

Slade snorted. “You know I don’t.”

Not when that had been the best fight he’d had in months. Though he was maybe a bit
curious about the fact that he hadn’t expected the little bird to be able to give him that kid of
fight for another few years at least.
Nightwing nodded and tensed as if he was about to throw himself off the building. He
hesitated a moment, and turned back, smile gone and eyes dark.“I’m going after the League
and you’re going to stay the fuck out of my way.”

Slade tilted his head in the equivalent of a raised brow. “I’m going to assume you mean the
League of Assassins and not your merry band of Do-gooders.”

Nightwing snorted, which was interesting. The kid didn’t normally stand for much slander
against the Daddybat’s playgroup.

Slade sighed, before shaking out an arm that Dick had scored a particularly hard kick on.
“You know what, kid? Keep fighting me like that and I actually might.”

“Deal.” Nightwing agreed far too easily, but then again, he seemed more settled than he had
before the fight. A feeling Slade could reluctantly understand.

“Why, kid?” Slade asked. Nightwing paused again. There were several ways the bird could
take the question, Slade knew. Why fight Slade when Nightwing had to know exactly how
much he’d reveal? Why go after the League? Why tell Slade his plans at all?

When Nightwing didn’t reply, Slade scoffed. “Someone, then, rather than something.”

Nightwing breathed in sharply, an admission if ever there was one. But he also turned around
to look Slade in the face, something that very few people ever did these days.

“Because they have him and he’s mine. And I think you might be the only one to understand,
to believe, exactly how far I’ll go to get him back.”

As the kid swung himself away, not even pretending he’d been waiting for Slade for
something other than a fight, Slade considered. There had been a reason Slade had wanted
Dick as an apprentice, after all.

He’d thought the Joker might have broken something in the kid, at first, either when he’d
taken the newest Robin or when the clown died at Dick’s hands. Because Slade was under no
false impressions about the Joker’s death; Slade had seen first hand how far Dick would go
for his friends.

While Slade was initially a bit surprised the kid had gone for outright murder, it wasn’t
entirely out of the realm of Slade’s expectations. The kid had always been a tad possessive
with his excessive loyalty to the Bat the perfect example.

Now, after that fight, Slade did rather believe Nightwing.

This man was not the boy he’d trained. This man was not the boy he’d fought last, with his
tired eyes, determined spine, and limited knowledge of what it meant to cross lines and
choose to come back regardless. This man knew moves from Slade’s own skillset that he’d
certainly never taught the kid. This man defended like a hero, moved like acrobat, struck like
an assassin, and fought like a man who’d seen shit he never wanted to see again but just
knew his luck wasn’t that good.
Slade had seen weirder things than time travel. Or dimension travel. Or whatever the fuck it
was that broke Nightwing and put him back together with nothing but bloody bandages and
steel thread.

With a suppressed sigh, Slade started to take his own way along the roofs. He suddenly had
so much more to do. He had to check up on Gotham, see how much the kid had changed. He
had to call Wintergreen, because what the fuck. He had to reassess his own fighting because
clearly the kid new how to read Slade’s moves better than Slade could read Nightwing’s.

He had to assess Nanda Parbat.

Slade was perfectly aware Dick was more devious than most heroes gave him credit for, but
there were a lot of assassins in Nanda Parbat. Slade hadn’t been for a while, so it only made
sense to make sure he had the lay of the land before Dick went and fucked shit up.

He also had to make up better sounding reasons for Wintergreen, before the man started
accusing Slade of caring again. He didn’t care, certainly not about the kid. Maybe he could be
said to care about the way the kid fought, since fighting like a broken man made Dick a
challenge. If fighting like a broken man also made him more likely to die, then that was only
a problem because things were starting to get interesting.

Slade would be watching anyways; his former apprentice taking down the League of
Assassins for someone he probably hadn’t even met yet was going to be entertaining as fuck.

A couple of restocked supply houses and confirmed escape routes were perfectly reasonable
in order for Slade to stay close to the chaos.

No caring involved.
 Growing
Chapter Summary

Steph asks a questions and meets a hero. Dick gets found out, not that he was hiding that
hard. Steph meets more heroes but no one meets the one hiding in the rafters.

Chapter Notes

So another longer chapter featuring Dick's adoption problems and his family's
amusement. Chapters might be slower for a while now; work has been really busy and I
don't think that's about to change. I have some fun plans though, and the Dick-Dami
reunion is really very close.

“Why me?”

“Hmm?” Dick responded, turning to look at the girl leaning against his leg. They’d been
sparring all morning and while Steph was gratefully guzzling water until a moment ago, Dick
was just happy to have the moment with his sister.

Steph had soaked up Nightwing’s attention right from the start, already a bit enamoured with
the Gotham heroes and new enough to her own vigilantism that she soaked up all the advice
she could get. The physical closeness was newer, but Steph had always been happy to lean
into Dick’s hugs and to even initiate them herself.

Dick was maybe a bit in love with how easily she reached out to him now that she’d decided
she trusted him. Though that trust also apparently also extended to asking the tough
questions.

“Why me? Why train me?” Steph asked the empty warehouse wall. “Why put in all this effort
when I know this isn’t a thing you do. Yeah, you’re kind and smiley but you also have a
complete speech to talk kids out of being vigilantes. I’ve heard you give it. But not to me. So
why?”

Dick had asked himself that more than once. Steph, out of all of them, he could have talked
out of being a Cape. He could have taken care of her father on his own, could have gotten to
her before the adrenaline and the trauma and the hope had wound itself into her soul and
bound itself into her identity.
But he hadn’t. He hadn’t and couldn’t and he would never ever. Not after conversations on
frozen rooftops, hours past midnight, comms switched off and hands buried in torn and
sweaty hair, braids upon braids, words upon words, tears upon silence.

Those conversations weren’t frequent. Steph hadn’t come to him often. She was so fiercely
independent and had such a strong network with Oracle and Cass and the Birds of Prey that
she really had no need.

But when she did come to him, they were honest. Both of them.

“Because I can see the hero you become and you deserve to meet her.”

Steph curled her arms around her legs, folding inward even as her shoulder blade continued
to dig into his leg. “I don’t understand you. No one’s ever had the much faith in me.”

“It’s not faith,” Dick said, running his hand down her hair. When she didn’t flinch away, he
slowly untied the long yellow strands and began to braid it back. Just like she used to, Steph
leaned into his hands, relaxing further as the braid progressed.

“I’ve fallen, S. I’ve flown higher than most can survive and fallen farther than most can
imagine. You see a lot, from those angles. I see you.” He tugged lightly as he twisted the
braid up and secured it with a long metal pin that had started life as a lock pick.

“I see that when you patrol, you help everyone. Even when you were focused on your father,
you’d stop to help women being attacked, kids in over their heads, and even missing pets.
And you stay. You sit with the victim and talk and make them feel safe again. That’s a rare
gift, even among heroes. And while it’s true some of the kids I tell to go back home may have
that same gift, just because they have the heart doesn’t mean they have the bone. It take
strong bones to face a legacy, particularly one of cruelty, and carve your own identity.”

Dick paused, leaning back.

“Also. It’s not faith, but selfishness. You’re rough and unpracticed and unexperienced, but so
was I when I told Batman I was essentially going to stalk him across the rooftops at night.”

Steph snorted and Dick smiled at his success.

“It’s selfish. Because you’re the kind of vigilante I want at my back, at my family’s back.
This city needs all the help it can get, and I want my help from you.”

“Fuck.” Steph put the base of her hands to her eyes, a slightly fruitless gesture considering
the mask (Bat quality and the first gift Dick had given her). “Okay. Sure. That’s fine. A lot to
live up to, but I can totally do that.”

Dick reached out, but Steph bounced up and away. “You don’t have to live up to anything, S.
I’m sorry if I-“

“Nope, shut up.” Steph spun around, cape flaring wildly to accent a wide grin with too many
teeth. “It’s good to have goals and with my old one in prison I’m going to make that my new
one.”
She nodded in punctuation and Dick opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted by the
thump of the warehouse door opening and closing. Steph felt into an immediate battle stance
that had Dick proud, but the motion quickly fell into a hand on her hip and she caught the
sheepishness in Dick’s expression.

“Nightwing?”

“So. That’s probably your surprise,” Dick told her.

“My surprise?”

“Uh. Yes. Surprise?” Dick there out his hands in a tada motion and she snorted at him. “Well
I was going to tell you earlier but then you jumped me into sparring practice and then, well.”

“And then we talked and experienced Emotions.” Steph nodded seriously.

“Yes.” Dick straightened even as he heard footsteps approaching. “And don’t lose that ability,
please. You have no idea how many heroes are emotionally repressed and can’t communicate
worth a damn.”

“Did one of the League boneheads do something again? Because you know I’m always down
to punch one of them in the face,” Barbara said as she walked over, fully in her Batgirl suit.

“Eh,” Dick said, turning towards her. “Yes, I do know that. And it was more a general
warning for the newbie that emotional health is important yet frequently neglected in the
Caped Society.”

“True,” Babs acknowledged even as Steph finally found her voice. Sort of.

“Batgirl!” Steph squeaked.

“Yup! Spoiler meet Batgirl. Batgirl meet Spoiler!” Dick gestured dramatically which got
nothing but a tilt of Babs’s head that meant she would be rolling her eyes if that was in any
way effective.

“Hello, Nightwing’s newest stray.”

“You know,” Steph said, hand on her hips. “I’m not even offended.”

“I am.” Dick tapped his finger on his leg as both women turned to him. “Newest makes it
seem like I’m going to tire of her and leave her floating in the wind or something. Which I’m
not.”

Steph walked over to him and tugged his arm so he leaned down enough to pat him easily on
the head a couple of times.

“There, there. I know.” But she also stayed tucked into his side when he straightened, so Dick
figured his words weren’t completely unnecessary.
“So not that this isn’t completely awesome, because it really very much is, but why are you
here?” Steph asked Batgirl.

Babs shrugged. “Wing asked.”

“I did.” Dick tapped Steph with an elbow. “Figured you could use a break from me and might
like a second opinion on some things.”

“Really?”

“Really.” Dick agreed.

Steph looked at him, at Batgirl, then back to him. Her hold briefly tightened before she
nodded and started walking away. “Okay. Obstacle course was next right?”

“Yes. But that’s it?” Dick called.

“Yup! I have a new goal to work on, remember? No time to waste!”

Babs stepped up beside him as Steph lined up at the small potted cactus that had become their
unofficial starting point. Wally had brought the thing only to plunk it down under a skylight
and promptly forget all about it. No one had knocked it over yet and Dick was planning to let
it stay as a kind of experiment to see just how long that would last.

“Do I even want to ask how you completely transformed a warehouse I have no record of you
owning into a fancy training arena?”

Which honestly, Dick though was a bit inaccurate; his warehouse wasn’t fancy. It was
actually remarkably low tech, excepting the security, and still looked like a warehouse. He’d
just manipulated the crates, old machinery, and walls themselves into a series of obstacles
and challenges. And includes some mats for sparring. And stashed several very well stocked
first aid kits in convenient corners.

“I have my ways.”

What he had was a team of teenaged superheros that were both easily bribable with pizza and
trying to keep a subtle (ha) eye on Dick. He felt no guilt in using them as free labour if they
were going to hover. They’d been easily convinced to help him build an area he could train in
that was away from Batman’s control and that they could sneak into whenever they built up
the courage to actually visit Gotham.

“You know,” Babs said as they watched Spoiler take her first run at the obstacle course that
the entire warehouse now essentially was, “I used to agree with the thought that friendliness
was your superpower. I mean, I’ve seen you banter with villains, talk down jumpers, and hold
what I can only call interventions with new gang initiates before walking them to
employment centres and other supports.”

She huffed, crossing her arms. “I should have figured out that was wrong when you created
the Teen Titans. I guess you being the same age as them threw me off a bit. Adopting Robin,
Baby Bird, and now this one? Okay, I’m caught up.” She looked at him out of the corner of
her mask. “You’re really the Baby Hero Whisperer.”

“She’s not mine.”

Babs blinked and Dick winced a bit, which gave Barbara enough time to settle into a truly
spectacular ‘are you shitting me’ look considering half her face was obscured.

He ran a hand through his hair, suit tugging at the strands. “I mean, she is.”

Dick sighed, unsure how to say what he meant when the meaning was wrapped up in ribbons
of future.

Barbara was his Oracle. Dick loved her, truly, honestly, with his whole heart, and had since
before she’d become Batgirl. If the future that wasn’t had shown him one thing about their
relationship, it was that no matter what form their relationship took, what hits it took, they’d
always rebuild it into something special. Babs was Dick’s first real, human friend he could
actually tell anything and everything to, and that mattered.

Stephanie, however, was his Batgirl.

Stephanie had been the one on the rooftops with him and Robin as they tried to find their
bearing in a city set on tearing itself apart. Steph as Batgirl had been Dick’s responsibility as
well as his backup. Even in a world where she would never share that experience, remember
flying and falling together, she was Dick’s Batgirl and that mattered.

So he breathed as deeply as he could without being suspicious and said what he needed to so
he could bring both his girls together. “She doesn’t need me, not the way Robin and Baby
Bird do.”

Dick shook his head when Barbara opened her mouth to argue.

“Wonder Woman is a goddess, Batgirl. A literal Amazonian Princess. Many of the other big
name female heroes are Metas, aliens, or magic. And they’re incredible people doing
incredible things but their powers are always first to be celebrated.”

“So you’re foisting her off on me so I can be, what, a role model?” Her tone rose rather
sharply at the end.

“Yes,” Dick agreed anyways. “Batman is not what she needs; she’s too free and he’s too
likely to crack down and tighten his hold in order to protect her. And I-“ Dick paused, which
Babs caught, “I’m going to be here. I’ll be her backup and teach her how to really fly, but.”

He hummed a moment. “Look, some of it’s practical. As women, you have different centers
of mass, different body weights, different lived experience, hell, different types of expected
harassment. I’m not saying I couldn’t train her, that I haven’t been and that I won’t. Just that,
well, I’ve trained enough with the Titans, both participating and leading, to know that those
differences can be crucial, and I’ve watched Spoiler enough to that in her case they will be.
She needs a mentor, yes, but also a friend. Someone who understands.”
And some of it was meddling. The girls had shared something special in the future and he
wasn’t going to let that slip away.

They were silent a moment before Babs found what she wanted to say. “That’s a lot of
pressure.”

Dick opened his mouth to reassure her. He had the words all ready and everything, but they
didn’t come out.

“I was the first.” Dick closed his eyes so he didn’t have to see Babs look at him. When he
opened them, he made sure to watch Steph as she paused at a wall, trying to pick out the best
path for climbing.

“I was the first,” Dick continued since he’d already apparently started. “The first partner, the
first sidekick, the first baby hero. The first baby hero who made it through without dying or
cracking down the middle. I was proof of concept.”

There were others, Dick knew, and his friends hadn’t lagged all that far behind him in their
origins, but Batman was a leader in so many different ways.

“You said you’ve seen me talk down jumpers? I can’t count the number of kids in masks I’ve
had to talk out of vigilantism. I love inspiring people, I do, but fucking hell, Batgirl, I want to
inspire more than broken bones lying on cold pavement.”

He wasn’t so arrogant to think the younger generation of heroes was his fault, that most of
the Titans wouldn’t have found a way to be heroes without him, but he was the first and they
were his responsibility.

Dick stepped away just as Babs stepped forward with a slightly raised arm, hopefully in a
smooth enough gesture that it looked like he was just getting closer to the course and Steph.

“I’ve gotten really good at seeing the potential in Baby Heroes for a reason, Batgirl. I’ve had
a lot of practice.” More than Babs would ever know. “And Spoiler has so much potential.
She’ll be something great. She just needs to grow into who she is without the weight of a
name wrapped around her throat.”

Dick felt a warm palm press into his spine at his lower back, but whatever would have been
said was interrupted by a bouncing purple girl landing a little shakily at their feet.

“How was that!?”

Laughing at the way Steph bobbed on her heels, Dick ruffled her hair under her hood.
“Excellent! You handled the turns really well and had solid pacing through most of it; good
use of momentum. We need to work on your aim, but that’s to be expected. The second last
wall threw you a bit, huh?”

Steph scowled, but didn’t move away from his hand. “The angle was weird.”

“It was. Good job noticing,” Dick said and repressed the melting of his heart as she
brightened. “Come on, I’ll show you how to adjust your grapple for that.”
A hand pressed against his cheek and pushed him. He went, staggering for show, and held a
hand to his heart in mock offence at a completely unrepentant Barbara. She waved him off
with the hand she’d used to shove him and started walking to the course.

“No you won’t. Come on, Spoiler, you don’t want Sir Flips A Lot to ruin your form this
early. I’ll show you how it’s really done.”

“Really?” Steph looked to him and brightened even further when he gestured for her to
follow Batgirl. “Okay!”

Steph bounced along after, half turning back to Dick as she went in order to point at Babs and
mouth “Batgirl!” at him with glee, awe, and just a smidge of hero worship.

Dick laughed. He laughed and smiled and breathed.

So Dick hadn’t exactly been trying to keep his absences to train Steph and woo Cass a secret.
He wasn’t obvious about it either, though, explaining the time away as missions or mission
prep. What he got in return was understanding looks, comments about the Titans well being,
and earnest offers of help that made Dick’s heart so very full.

Jay was the only one who was really aware that the missions weren’t Titan related, since all
the original Titans had basically decided he was also adopted by them now (which as so very
adorable and Dick had so many more photos to hoard).

The boy had been worried and had tried to poke around, but had settled when Dick promised
it was mostly prep work and that he’d ask Jason for help if Dick needed any, pinky promise.

This was probably also why Jason was the one to make the joke. They’d all been joking
around at the dinner table in general, a real family dinner that Dick had been smiling at more
than eating (the only thing that would make it better were the girls and Dami and he was
working on that).

Jason made the joke, but it was Alfred who started it, with his gentle teasing about all the
extra food Dick had been taking with him on his absences.

With a snort, Jason pointed his fork at Dick. “I still say he’s searching for the next kid. I
mean, clearly he got the adoption thing from B, and now that B’s also adopted Timmy, B’s
ahead by one whole kid.”

Tim started arguing with the perfectly fair facts that wouldn’t B also adopt the next one,
making Dick continuously down by one, and what about the entirety of the Titans? Dick,
however, was too busy fighting off the warm gratitude that Jason clearly believed Dick about
the Robin legacy and the Grayson name; he’d included himself so easily in Dick’s adoption
count.
Dick was also wondering what it meant that a table of fully and partially trained vigilantes, it
was only Alfred who had stopped laughing. One white brow was slowly rising, probably
connecting the food requests and Dick’s past attempts at using Alfred’s baking as a bridge
with his siblings. To be fair, it was a remarkably effective strategy.

“Oh dear. Master Dick?”

“Her name is Cassandra,” Dick said, putting down his knife. Steph was officially Babs’s, and
therefore not his to claim at the moment.

Jason threw his arms up in the air. “Dick!”

When Dick looked over, afraid his brother was feeling replaced, the boy was reaching into
his pocket so he could start counting out a small stack of bills into a smug Tim’s hands.

Tim shrugged. “He bet there wouldn’t be a new kid for another two months.”

“Look, I said Dickhead was looking. I thought he’d give B some time to adjust!”

“Dick’s been super distracted lately. They couldn’t have all been missions.” Tim pointed out
as he squirrelled the money away.

“What, and that couldn’t have been a girlfriend?” His eyes narrowed in a way that meant he
had not forgotten about the Constantine incident. “Or boyfriend or whatever?”

Tim gave Jason a flat look.

“Fine.”

“I thought her name was Stephanie?” Bruce asked, clear confusion in his voice.

All heads turned to look at Bruce, then slowly back to Dick. Dick was completely
unsurprised that Bruce had ferreted out Steph. She’d probably been on his radar before Dick
had swept her up and into better gear and training. He was actually more surprised that Cass
was still unknown, but then again, he had several years of advanced technology knowledge to
apply to his hacking of Zeta Tubes and the boys apparently hadn’t spilled about Constantine’s
magic to B yet.

Dick shrugged. “Steph is Babs’s.”

Jason was the one to snort. “Bet on how long that lasts?”

Tim narrowed his eyes at Dick. “Not until I do some research.”

“I will prepare two rooms,” Alfred announced.

“Steph has a mom, Alfie.” Dick was still rather touched at the immediate offer.

“I’m glad to hear that, Young Master Dick. I will still be preparing two rooms.” Dick blinked
even as Jason and Tim snickered and Bruce gave a wry smile. “Am I to presume that the
same parental status cannot be said for Miss Cassandra?”

“No. Cass is Jason’s age but her parents are shit and she’s currently homeless. You can meet
her when she’d a bit more comfortable with people.”

“What else?” Bruce asked as Dick stood up, ruffled both his brother’s hair and kissed Alfred
on the cheek.

“Whatever do you mean, father dear?”

He smiled, but raised his eyebrow. “Chum.”

Dick hummed. “She might also be a baby assassin. But that’s not her fault. Her parent are
shit. She’s doing better.”

Dick met Bruce’s eye for a long moment, before he nodded. “You’re judgement’s been pretty
good so far,” he said as he smoothed a hand over a blushing Tim’s head. “I look forward to
meeting her.”

Dick felt warm, so so warm, particularly when Jason started arguing about decorating the
rooms, because apparently Bruce still got no say since his taste was also shit.

Steph threw herself at Nightwing.

He caught her, as he always did, and spun her in a circle. Steph made sure to do this every
time she saw him, which she recognized might a bit weird for how long they’d actually
known each other.

She also didn’t care. Steph knew smiles. She wore them constantly. She smiled for her
mother to convince the woman that everything was always fine. She smiled for the bullies to
convince them that they didn’t get to her. She smiled for the criminals to convince them she
knew what she was doing.

The smile Nightwing wore when he caught her and in that moment when she was flying
towards him, was a small, delicate thing. It was also real, true, and one of her favourites
smiles ever, not just on him.

So she laughed as she spun, taking that brief moment to bask in the warmth of someone who
was rapidly becoming one of her favourite people.

“So what’s the plan for tonight?” Steph asked, bouncing on her toes.

Nightwing smiled back, so soft and fond that Steph would have been thrown if the man didn’t
use that face all the damn time.

“Another surprise?”
Steph shot him a look, then gave a long, slower look over her significantly upgraded (yet still
purple!) gear, which was followed by an even longer look over the warehouse where
Nightwing had been training her.

“Okay, so not sure how you’re going to top all the gear and Batgirl, but-“ Steph cut herself
off and stared at his sheepish expression for minute. “Oh my God. You’re planning to top
Batgirl. Fucking Hell, am I meeting Batman? Is Batman outside?”

Nightwing, the asshole, laughed.

“He is. In my defence, the Bats are really hard to hide things from once they learn a secret
exists.”

“That. That seems fair, actually. Wait. Bats? As in plural?”

Nightwing hummed. “Yup. It’s Robin’s first week back on patrol.”

“I know.” Because she did. The whole city knew.

“Yes, well, it’s our first week back at full strength, and well. Do you want to patrol with us?”

Step looked at Nightwing, who looked back at her. She wasn’t how long it took for the words
to really sink in, but it was certainly long enough that Nightwing looked a little worried.

“Me?!”

Nightwing responded only with that stupid little fond smile again.

“I’m not-“ Steph stated, but cool hands encased in rough gloves cupped her cheeks.

“You’re not,” Nightwing agreed, even as his hands prevented her from looking down. “But
you don’t have to be. You don’t have to be the best or the strongest or the most experienced.
The whole point of a team is to cover each other’s weakness, to give each other a chance to
grow and protect in turn.”

His fingers tightened, not enough to hurt, but enough to notice. “I know what it’s like to fly,
and I know what it’s like to fall, remember? I’m just trying to give you a bit of a net.”

No, he was trying to give her his net.

She loved being a vigilante. She loved the feeling she got when she and Nightwing put her
father away, where the man couldn’t hurt anyone else. She loved the feeling she got when she
was flying between rooftops, where she was complete and utterly free. She loved the feeling
when Batgirl was showing her a flip while taunting Nightwing about his unnecessary twirls,
where she was a part of something.

But this was so much more.

“You want me to meet your family?” She’d meant to say the Bats. She’d planned on saying
the Bats. Instead, she’d said family and Nightwing was giving her a smile that was delicate
and fragile and real and true and soft and fond and edged with frozen skies.

“Of course I do.”

“Okay,” and her voice didn’t crack, it didn’t. “Let’s meet some Bats.”

Nightwing rested a hand on her hood as he spoke into his comm and said something she
didn’t quite catch. It didn’t matter though, because almost immediately Robin dropped down
with the faintest thump, right in font of them, just as Batgirl slipped out from behind a crate,
another boy at her heels wearing a dark mask and a green hoodie that certainly wasn’t made
from cotton.

Batman didn’t so much as appear as manifest. Steph really hoped Nightwing would teach her
how to do that. Or, hey, maybe she could ask Batman himself now? That was probably
getting ahead of herself, particularly considering the fact that she definitely stepped behind
Nightwing reflexively and grabbed the back of his suit when they all popped up. She didn’t
squeak though, and felt fairly proud of that fact.

“Fucking hell, Wing,” Robin said, throwing up his arms.

“What?” Nightwing asked, even as he stepped slightly aside so Steph was next to him and
not behind. She didn’t feel too betrayed however, since he also threw an arm over her
shoulders.

“I thought you said she was Batgirl’s?” Robin crossed his arms, but he seemed more
exasperated than genuinely angry. Steph had a lot of experience with the latter emotion.

“She is!”

“Oh, no you don’t, Boy Wonder,” Batgirl interjected as she and the other kid joined Robin.
“I’ll totally mentor her into being a kickass female vigilante, but you did the finding and the
taming.”

“I’m missing something,” Steph found herself saying.

“Just Nightwing’s adoption problem,” the youngest boy said. “I would know.”

“I don’t have an adoption problem,” Nightwing grumbled, frowning when everyone,

including Batman, gave him a look.

Steph giggled, which bled into a real smile when Nightwing softened again. Right, this was
exciting, and she wanted this, so she was gong to do things properly.

Steph left Nightwing’s side, the arm gently slipping off her shoulders and crossed over to
where Batman was standing. She looked up at him in his admittedly rather imposing but also
really fucking cool Batsuit, and held out a hand.

“Hi, I’m Spoiler. Your son’s been helping me out a lot. He’s really cool. I mean, not as cool
as Batgirl, but like, so close.”
Batman shook her hand solemnly, his glove having much less give than Nightwing’s. He
dropped to his knees, next, slowly so not to startle her, even though Steph couldn’t really
imagine being more startled by anything than by looking face to face with Batman at her eye
level.

“It’s nice to meet you, Spoiler.” Batman smiled then, and Steph could suddenly imagine
being more startled. His smile wasn’t as tired or as fond as Nightwing’s but it was just as
true. “I think he’s really cool, too.”

Nightwing sputtered, but then Batman was asking about her training and what Nightwing was
teaching her, and Steph had so much to say.

They were interrupted a couple minutes later by Robin, who came to lean on Batman’s
shoulder. The man didn’t even twitch, which meant he was probably really familiar with the
motion.

“Heya B, sorry to interrupt, no, don’t give me that look, I actually am this time. This has been
adorable, ten out of ten, good job on welcoming the newbie. Now, go take over from Baby
Bird and distract Mama Wing.”

“What,” Batman and Spoiler both chorused, sending each other small, approving looks
immediately afterwards.

Robin just sighed. “Batsibling Secret time. Go distract Dickface. I know you, B, you have
tons of questions about this set up. You can father-son bond over your apparently shared and
ridiculous ability to completely renovate shit-holes into highly effective training bases with
none the wiser.”

“Don’t-“

“I’m not going to scare her, Dad. I’m not dealing with a sad Nightwing.”

Batman blanched, actually blanched, and quickly left to preemptively coddle his son.

“That was manipulative,” Steph mused. “I’m a little impressed.”

Robin grinned at her, all fire to his brother’s starshine and father’s night. “Thanks.”

“Don’t inflate his ego,” said the other boy as he arrived at their little corner. Robin snorted,
knocking his shoulder into the younger boy’s smaller frame. This boy looked to be about
Steph’s age, which was potentially awesome.

“Baby Bird, really?” She asked.

The kid groaned, raising a hand to his forehead. “No.”

“Yes!” Robin crowed.

Baby Bird sighed. “Okay, so maybe. But only till I’m trained! I’m mostly doing comms and
the occasional ’Stay in the Batmobile or Else’ ride along right now. I’ll get a name when I get
a suit. I have a couple of ideas.”

Robin ruffled the kid’s hair. “Baby Bird is a bit of a genius. He’s really been helping Batgirl
with all the tech stuff. And, hey, don’t worry too much about the name thing. I, I might have
an idea. I need to run it by Nightwing, first, but, yeah.”

“And it’s not Baby Bird?” The kid asked, equally suspicious and curious.

Robin snorted, tension leaking out of his frame. “Nope. Promise.”

With a hum, Baby Bird turned back to Steph, holding out his own hand. “Hi, by the way. I’m
Tim, the second adoptee and founder of the Nightwing Protection Society.”

Steph froze, her hand still clasped in his. In Tim’s.

“Um,” she said.

“Way to go, dumbass,” Robin swatted Tim’s head, but Tim only smiled.

“What? It was your idea to invite her to post-patrol movie night, anyways. We were hardly
going to do that in the cave.”

“You all know who I am already, don’t you?” Steph interjected.

Tim blushed a little. “Yeah, we vetted you.”

Robin leaned on his brother’s head, because they were absolutely brothers, ignoring the
squawk. “Fine, fine. I’m Jason. And don’t feel too bad. Figuring out identities is kind of what
Baby Bird does. Also, Wing didn’t tell us, if you were wondering.”

“I wasn’t. I mean, I hadn’t told him, but I’m not surprised he knows. Or that you do. I’ve
totally googled the shit out of all of you and would have done more if I could.” Steph tilted
her head. “You know, I kind of feel like I’m being inducted into a cult. And I really don’t
care. This is so fucking awesome.”

Steph bounced on her feet again as Robin, Jason smirked. “I’m going to like you.”

Tim opened his mouth, but was cut off when Steph raised her hands and gave a little wave
before speaking. “Ditto. But also, can we go back to the Nightwing Protection Society?”

“Oh, yes, Let's.” Batgirl leaned on Robin, appearing from nowhere to place her elbow on his
shoulder.

Everyone briefly looked around to find Nightwing, who was gesturing at one of the pulley
systems he’d rigged for the obstacle course to an intently listening Batman. A Batman who
still managed to look up and glare at them before returning his attention back to his eldest
son.

“Okay. So does this Society have anything to do with his habit of talking to people who
aren’t there?” Steph blinked at the looks she was being given and the shade of shattered care
that was present in each and every one and backtracked with wildly waving arms.

“Not like he’s waiting for responses or anything! More like updates for people who aren’t
there. Um. Like ghosts? Or people who’ve died. I mean, it could be comms, but I’m pretty
sure it’s not.”

The staring hadn’t gotten better.

“No, that wasn’t on the list,” Tim said, faintly.

“But it is now,” Jason added, fingers clenching around his own elbows.

Batgirl leaned harder. “I’m fucking in.”

All eyes turned to her and she tilted her head. “I’ve been his best friend since we started this
spandexed song and dance. My stories have stories and I know when he is okay, which he is
not.”

Spoiler blinked, glad someone was saying it and that Nightwing’s family was already fully
aware of how sad his smile was far too often. “I make him buy me waffles. He forgets to eat a
lot for someone who basically won me over with food and gear.”

“Manipulative,” Jason said as he threw off Batgirl to place an arm around Steph’s shoulders.
“I’m a little impressed.”

“You’re going to do just fine.” Batgirl gave Steph a head pat.

Steph beamed. Because yes, she damn well was.

(And so was Nightwing, because she was Nightwing’s backup and she was never going to
leave him behind).

Cassandra watched from a rafter. They did not see her.

They being the colourful birds and bats that flitted about the warehouse in a kind of fighting
that laughs, a kind that Cassandra did not understand.

Her blue bird did not see her, either. But he knew she was there.

Cassandra wasn’t sure how he knew, or why the fact that he knew wasn’t fear-wrong-bad. He
looked up at the shadows, not where she was but where she could be, and smiled. One of the
real-true-warm smiles.

Then, out of sight from most but not her, he made several of the signs he had taught her.

‘Safe. Welcome. Choice.’

These were some of her blue bird’s favourite signs.

They were also honest. The more words Cassandra learned, the more she learned that people
did not say what they felt. She’d asked her blue bird why, once. He had gotten sad, so she had
not asked again.

Her blue bird was often sad-tired-sore. She did not want him to be more sad.

He also said to trust the body. That if she wasn’t sure about someone to go with her first
language and read how they moved. That was one of the reason’s why she liked-trusted-
wanted her blue bird. He spoke with his body more freely than most, understood her even
when the words did not come and the signs (easier because they were movement-motion-
doing) were slow.

Cassandra had not taken long to understand the words of lie-dishonesty-cruelty. She knew
those the same way she knew violence. Her blue bird lied, but he was not lie-dishonesty-
cruelty. He was lie-sad-protect. He was never angry unless it was for her or if she was at his
back (she could hurt him so easily in that position).

He was first-first-first, always stepping forward to take the anger and the sounds and the
frustrations of people who had places to go and things to do and no time for Cassandra’s slow
words or confusion. He would lie-lie-lie and say it was fine.

It was not.

But he meant it. It was truth-real-honest because he would rather they be angry at him than
Cassandra. Her blue bird had tried to explain it, when she asked with a tilt of her head, as he
always did. She had not completely understood, as she often did not. He had not gotten
frustrated, as he never did.

He said he was first-protect-safe because he was her brother. If she chose.

Always, if she chose. She chose whether to eat the food he brought or not, at the start. She
chose what food to get, more often now. She chose if they would learn letters or words or
signs or nothing at all. She chose if they would run-fly-leap across rooftops or fight-train-
play in abandoned lots. (He never tried to hurt her, not even when her hand was on his
throat).

She chose to stay away, once, after a few meals and a few words. He had waited and sat and
known she was watching. He had come back. So had she.

She chose to stay on her rafter and he smiled, at his family. At her.

When he turned, she could no longer see the blue of his suit that she had pressed her palm to
as she leaned the words for blue and bird. The suit he wore when he needed to fly or fight or
protect. Cassandra liked the suit. Cassandra also liked the large, soft sweaters he wore on
some learning visits. She got to press close-near-closer and feel the warmth on her skin.
Cassandra often felt warmth around her blue bird. She didn’t know the word for the feeling,
though she thought it might be close to that of ‘care’ and ‘stay’ and ‘promise.’

She saw this same feeling clearly in casual touches and angled bodies and constant vigilance
of her blue bird’s family. He was not as sad, with them (he made the same smiles and leans
and laughs when he was with her).

She would chose. She already had, even if she didn’t know how to say it yet. She would
protect and watch.

Her big brother always knew.

 Rampage
Chapter Summary

Damian makes a choice, Dick abandons a movie night, and Bruce asks for help.

Chapter Notes

The reunion! I hope you all enjoy. I had fun with this chapter. The next one brings all he
Batchildren home. I'm not including Duke or any of the many others, not because I don't
love him, but because I don't have a good enough grasp on his character or backstory.
I'm also trying to keep this story a manageable length, but we'll see how that turns out.
Thanks for all your support!

Damian hurt.

He’d been sloppy. Not, thankfully, in regards to his mission, as he’d been able to siphon a
staggering amount of information to Richard.

There were a few small but serious holes in the League of Assassin’s security, particularly in
terms of data and technology. Damian had taken advantage of vague recollections of a fit his
grandfather threw in his original youth that resulted in many dead specialists and a
completely overhauled system. He was starting to think it was possibly a justified reaction.

Thankfully, the holes hadn’t been discovered as of yet and Damian was certainly not above
using Drake’s bonding exercises in hacking to his benefit. Nor his small stature and his
position as the Heir of the Demon.

It was this position that had gotten him in trouble, though. Damian had been imprecise during
training, unable to completely remember his skill level at this age while surrounded by
people who had no conceivable idea of a child’s actual capabilities. More so when the child
was the grandson of Ra’s al Ghul.

Damian was apparently demonstrating mastered skills at a faster rate than previously, and
therefore his initiation and active participation in League activities had been moved up from
what Damian remembered.

His grandfather had not taken Damian’s refusal to kill well.

Damian had thought about complying. It would have been easy. Richard would have forgiven
him, even. But Robin didn’t kill, and Damian needed to be Robin, particularly as the opulent,
blood-scented hallways drew him further and further into their depths.

He didn’t make a sound as his head thunked back against the stone wall he was leaning
against, even when it sent another thrum of pain through his skull. Instead, he stared into the
dark of the cell he’d be tossed into so he could reflect on his choices and insubordination in
quiet contemplation.

Damian liked the dark. Dark meant night, meant patrol and freedom. But the dark Damian
liked flickered. Had streetlights and car lights and office building windows. Had the flashes
of red and yellow and purple of his siblings’ suits. Had the blue of Richard always reaching
for Damian.

This was black and absolute and far removed from the sky. Damian did not like this dark.

He needed to move. He’d missed one check-in already and if he didn’t call Richard in time
for the next one, the man would drop everything. Damian still had more information he could
get out of the League so he need to move, to stand up and find the passageway that would
lead him through his Grandfather’s test like he done the third time this had happened in the
future that wasn’t.

He needed to move, but as the blood pooled along his back and his ankle throbbed with the
familiar ache of a sprain, he closed his eyes and imagined the blue.

(His Baba would come for him.)

Dick disappeared on a Saturday morning with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes and a kiss to
each of his siblings’ foreheads.

They’d all known something was wrong; Dick had sunk into weekly movie mornings with an
appreciation that bordered on desperation and his siblings were much too clever not too
notice. Even Babs and Steph had made it a point to attend as many of them as possible,
crashing at the manor after patrol in order to wake up in prime lazing position (Steph had
maybe teared up to learn she had a room, but her face was buried in Dick’s stomach at the
time and he’d never tell).

Dick would wake to find his bed full of small vigilantes and be escorted to breakfast by a
sharp-eyed Jason. Alfred would prepare the favourite breakfast of someone in the manor and
they’d all trek sleepily into the most comfortable living room. Bruce would stop by, provide
hair ruffles and scathing commentary to the chosen film (selected out of a literal hat Tim and
Steph found in a thrift store after school) and be booed out of the room.

Dick loved movie mornings. Which was why he had felt the eyes of everyone on his back as
he slipped out of the house before they’d even chosen a movie, hopped onto his bike, and
drove away.

He could have left later. He could have been less suspicious. He could have smiled with
something other than shattered skies and frozen clouds when he was asked if everything was
okay. But Damian had missed his second check-in.

Technically, the boy still has another thirteen hours before Dick had permission to go get him,
at least according to the extraction parameters they’d set out at the start. But Dick hadn’t had
all his sources in place at the start. Dick hadn’t had a call from someone who owed him one
at the start, letting him know that the entire League knew the Heir of the Demon had been
punished. Dick hadn’t sat in the dark of his room at the start, mind cataloging each and every
punishment he’d ever known or suspected Ra’s to put Damian through.

If any of Dick’s contacts knew what the punishment was, he might have been able to wait.
Might have been able to hear Damian’s huffy voice in his head demanding that Dick stay put
because Damian could handle it. But there were some things Dick couldn’t handle. Some
punishment he would never let his Baby Bat undergo (all of them, if Dick got to choose, but
he didn’t, and he hated).

So Dick had been on a definitely stolen plane less than an hour later, with a go bag that had
been prepped the same day as that first phone call with Damian. Constantine was alerted to
the situation, not that he could currently help even if Dick had wanted it.

He hadn’t. Dick would be faster and quieter by himself, but he wasn’t stupid. Or that
hypocritical. He was training baby heroes in the art of the Backup Plan and the Contingency
and the Basic Common Sense Rule to Always Let Someone Know Where You Were. So
Constantine knew, and Constantine knew what Dick’s extraction requirements were.

And also Plans M through FF.

Dick reminded himself of this as he picked the lock on a literal dungeon doorway in a part of
the League of Assassins cells that they didn’t even actively use anymore. He reminded
himself of this because it also reminded him that there was a Plan, and that the Plan would go
rather askew if he went on a rampage and tried to kill Ra’s in cold blood (he estimated his
success at sixty percent, which wasn’t enough to risk Damian even if that number took into
account collateral damage).

The lock opened with a snick that didn’t so much echo as quietly tear through the hall.

Dick opened it carefully, slowly, mindful more of the light that was creeping its way into the
cell than anything else. He slid through the narrow gap, closing it behind him and reaching to
turn on a small, portable lantern-like light on it’s lowest setting.

He dropped the light instead, with a sharp thump onto stone floors, when small (so small)
arms wrapped themselves around Dick’s waist and a solid body crashed into him. Dick
wondered, briefly, whether Damian had picked up on the gentle opening of the door, or
Dick’s breathing, or simply used some Assassin trick Dick had never learned to confirm his
identity.
He stopped wondering in order to envelop his son in the best hug he could possibly manage,
bundling up the only barely-not sobbing boy onto his lap and draping over Damian’s back in
a way his last growth spurt in the future that wasn’t had made well and truly impossible.

This was Dick’s son, his baby, alive and remembering and within Dick’s grasp. Finally. His
Robin. His Baby Bat.

Dick had no idea what he was saying, garbled Romani words bleeding into English and the
League Dialect mid sentence, if he was even finishing a sentence. His words seeped into
hums and quiet soothing sounds as Damian’s arms grew tighter and not a sound fell from his
lips.

Dick stopped brushing through Damian’s hair when he realized that it wasn’t tears or damp
on soaking into Dick’s hands but blood. He eased Damian back with heart-rending effort, but
managed to find the light and take his first look at his blinking and wincing son.

With careful movements and infinite gentleness, Dick used a small yet very well-packed first
aid kit to cursorily wrap Damian’s injuries. He traced lightly over the lashes on his back
before helping Damian back into his shirt and placing a hopefully comforting cape across his
shoulders.

Dick left the hood down, however, so he could bury his nose in the steel-laced storm scent of
his son. “Ready to go, baby?”

“What,” Damian croaked at the stone wall, voice hoarse from disuse instead of screams,
which was still awful yet also better. “What would you do if I said I was not?”

Dick blinked, eyelashes catching on the dark strands of Dami’s hair. “I have no idea.” He
paused. “Are you saying no?”

With a tremble, Damian shook his head. “I want to go home, Baba.”

Dick was standing, Damian in his arms, in one easy movement. “Thank fuck.”

Damian snorted, a small, honest thing that triggered what honestly felt like the first breath
Dick had taken in well over a week. The breath turned to a low keen that would have been
embarrassing in any other circumstances, but Damian was twisting like he wanted to get
down and that was not okay.

“Richard,” Damian said, even as he stopped wriggling. “Fine. If you must.” He wrapped his
arms back around Dick’s neck to Dick’s approving hum. “To the wall by the door, please.”

Dick complied, and Damian reached over to a perfectly normal looking wall, yet came away
with three flash drives and one small black book. Dick cooed, but put the book in his belt and
one of the flash drives in his boot, Damian taking the other two.

“Such a brilliant boy.”

“Stop that infantile talking at once, Richard.” Damian blushed as he said it, though, so Dick
really had no intention of stopping. Which Damian should really have anticipated; it’s not
like Dic had ever really stopped in the future that wasn’t either, even if his compliments and
praises had become just a bit more angled, a bit more tired.

“It seemed prudent to establish a stockpile of information here. The space is little used and
became one of Grandfather’s favoured punishment locations when he didn’t want personal
oversight.”

Damian hadn’t even finished his sentence before Dick noped them right the fuck out of there,
quickly checking the corridor before starting a slow run that he could keep up for quite a
while, even with Damian on his back. Damian didn’t settle, but instead kept a straight spine
and a vigilant eye.

The tunnels were empty, which Damian absently explained was because Ra’s began
punishing Damian away from regular League patrols (unless the intent was to humiliate) after
discovering that the occasional assassin would sneak Damian food or conversation when he
was younger.

Dick’s desire to punch things only grew, which was fine because about an hour into their
departure their luck ran out, quite literally. They turned a corner right as a group of also
running assassins turned a different corner, thus throwing them all into the same intersection.
The group was obviously training, and not so obviously, yet still clear to Bat-trained eyes,
lost.

Quietly panicked and lost didn’t mean they weren’t trained assassins, unfortunately, and they
started attacking even before they fully clocked who exactly was attached to Dick’s back.
Dick still dropped two of them with a very electrified escrima the moment they start to move,
because he had trained baby assassins himself and had an even better reaction time.

Damian felled one with the Birdarangs Dick had given him after the first aid treatment, even
as Dick used this free hand to press Damian just a bit closer to his back. Dick was going to
have to put Damian down so they could both fight, which he very much did not want to do.
They’d win, because they were the best, but it would take a toll on Damian’s ankle that
would slow them down more than Dick would like.

He’s also have to let go of his son, and that was an awful, terrible idea.

Six actually competent assassins, however, were a lot for Dick to take on with a wounded
bird on his back. He could do it, but not without hurting himself or upsetting his baby and
neither of those things would be great for long-term escape plans.

Damian was clearly in agreement, for all his tap on Dick’s shoulder was a shade of
exhausted. Still, Dick shifted in order to let Dami slide down his back, but froze before he
compelled the motion. There was a flicker of shadows from behind the assassins.

They didn’t notice, which was a mistake.

“Oh,” Damian breathed into Dick’s neck, small arms tightening around his throat. Dick
smiled in response. He shouldn’t, it wasn’t safe, but there was always something beautiful in
the way his sister took down her foes.
“Hello, Big Brother,” Cass said, as she finished and drew closer with a faint bounce to her
step. She was dressed in clothes Dick had gotten her: dark pants and a simple black jacket
that could pass as civilian attire but he had maybe had reinforced with kevlar. The hood on
the jacket was up and there was a black kerchief over her lower face but her eyes glittered.

Then, in a move that surprised Dick more than her presence in the underground lair of the
League of Assassins and her calling him Big Brother combined, she hugged him.

She hugged him even though Damian was on his back. She hugged him without hesitation.
She hugged him with complete confidence that she would be welcomed.

“Hello, Little Sister,” Dick whispered into her hood as he hugged back. She was warm and
grounding and strong.

Cass stepped back, calmly meeting Damian’s eyes. “Hello, Little Brother?”

“Ah, yes.” Dick couldn’t stop smiling. “Cass, this is Damian Wayne, formerly al Ghul. He’s
Bruce’s son and I’m returning him home.”

“Bruce son.” Cass shot him a look that seemed rather skeptical and very focused on the arms
around his neck and the possessive hand Dick had returned to his Dami.

“Ah. Yes?”

Damian snorted in his ear. “Hello, Caine. Thank you for your timely assistance.”

Cass pulled a face, deliberately exaggerated to show through her mask but still genuine. “No
Caine. Grayson. Wayne, maybe. Still choosing.” She ended with a nod and another look to
Dick.

Dick almost missed the look, too busy trying not to choke up despite being surrounded by
unconscious bodies in enemy territory. “Sure darling, of course, whatever you choose.”

He briefly wondered if he should ask how she found them, particularly so quickly, or just
attribute it to the terrifying competency of his sister, but that was quickly answered when a
smirking Cassandra closed in to pull a small banded knife out of his belt.

Dick almost groaned. The knife had been the first thing this Cass had given him, and it hadn’t
even occurred to him to check the hilt for trackers. Not even when he’d done his sweep for
any Batbugs. He would have bet Tim would have been the first one to try that, or maybe even
Jason with how oddly protective he was being, not Cass who had never even called him Big
Brother before today.

But of course it was Cass, Cass who had picked up that was something wrong from Dick’s
voice and not his body when he called her to delay their next few meetings. Or maybe from
the fact he called her at all, when normally he was so careful to go in person.

Regardless, the speed at which she’d shown up now made sense. Dick had to backtrack and
lurk in shadows several times in his approach; Cass would have just had to track Dick.
One of the men made a groan, and Cass darted away to put him down again. The three of
them started running after that, easily falling into that same steady pace that Dick could
maintain without dropping his precious burden.

“Plan?” Cass asked.

“Hm,” Dick said, mind frantically running through various Plans that hadn’t involved his
assassin-trained sister using technology and terrifying skills to track him into Nanda Parbat.

Cass caught his hesitation, probably caught his tilted head as he shared brief eye contact and
communication with Damian. Communication they wouldn’t be able to do if they’d only just
met.

“Big Brother and Little Brother on mission. Sister also on mission.”

Dick let out a huff, well aware he wouldn’t be able to stop her. “Alright. Damian and I are
crippling the League. But he needed an extraction earlier than planned and I’ve kidnapped the
Heir of the Demon.” He huffed because Damian was also the Son of the Bat and that trumped
everything. “They’ll be expecting us to fight our way out.”

Dick took the left at the next intersection and felt Damian shift on his back. “Not slip our way
in.”

Leaving now would be rash, dangerous, and a waste of an opportunity. It wasn’t enough to
escape with Damian; they had to keep him. A slow exit trailing poison and damage in their
wake would be time consuming but far more effective to that latter goal.

Besides, the three of them were bats. They could hide in the shadows just fine.

Admit you have friends, damnit Batman.

Bruce: Clark. I might need you to fly me somewhere.

Clark: Of course.

Clark: Where?

Hal: Um.

Hal: Wrong chat?

Bruce: No.

Bruce: I don’t know yet, Clark.

Bruce: Stand by.

Bruce: Everyone else, alert me to any contact with Nightwing.

Diana: Is everything alright?

Bruce: No.

Clark: I’m coming over.

Oliver: Did you have another fight?

Bruce: No.

Bruce: Nightwing told me he was going on a three week-long mission.

Bruce: That was forty-one days ago.

Bruce: I am.

Bruce: Concerned.

Oliver: Shit.

Oliver: Yeah, he wouldn’t leave those kids.

Oliver: I’ll try and grab Roy.

Oliver: See if the Titans are keeping secrets.

Dinah: They aren’t.

Dinah: Roy just asked me to watch Lian.

Diana: Donna is upset.

Diana: She says Nightwing is missing.

Diana: And that he hasn’t been in contact for any of those forty-one days.

Barry: Wally says it wasn’t a Titan mission.

Barry: He asked me to put the League on Stand by.

Hal: I’m missing something.

Hal: I know I’ve been off-world for a couple months.

Hal: But weren’t the Titans mostly treating us on a sliding scale from enemy to meddlers?

Oliver: Ceasefire.

Barry: Something’s wrong with Dick.

J’onn: Richard has been rather sad.

J’onn: Very sad, even.

J’onn: Upsettingly so.

Dinah: He won’t tell us why.

Barry: Diana, Oliver, and I all had the That is Our Nephew Talk with our respective Titans.

Barry: Though I think Ollie’s promise to bring the exploding arrows really sold our
commitment.
Oliver: Lian had been very good for my relationship with Roy.

Oliver: Bats, as a heads up.

Oliver: Roy was very clear that they would be kidnapping Dick if your current truce is some
kind of game.

Bruce: That is mild compared to what the rest of my children have promised.

Hal: First off, I’m very down for punching whatever hurt our Sunshine.

Hal: Secondly, rest of your children?!?

Hal: Dick is half of your children?!

Hal: Jason is very threatening but still only one person.

Clark: About that.

Bruce: …

Bruce: I have adopted two point five more.

Diana: Dick adopted.

Oliver: They’re Dick’s kids.

Oliver: Roy’s pulling out his hair over basically being an Uncle.

Oliver: It’s hilarious and part of the reason he’s told me anything at all.

Barry: Yeah.

Barry: They’re on loan from Dick.

J’onn: Richard has entrusted them to you.

Dinah: I want to hear what they threatened you with.

Clark: So we’re just going to skip the .5?

Clark: Because Tim is terrifying and Steph is precocious but they both complete kids?

Bruce: Steph still has family and is not legally adopted.

Bruce: But I was referring to Cassandra.

Bruce: …

Bruce: Dick has not introduced us yet.

Clark: …

Hal: Wow.

Hal: Never has a couple months felt so long.

Bruce: Forty-one days.

Bruce: He was planning to introduce Cassandra when he came back.

Diana: We will find him.

Diana: Donna is asking if we have contact information for John Constantine?

Diana: Apparently he and Dick are friends.

Bruce: [Added John Constantine]

Bruce: What is Nightwing’s status?

Constantine: Fucking shit.

Constantine: Please hold.

Barry: What?

Bruce: Tell me where my son is or I will set the House of Mysteries on fire with you in it.

Hal: Dude.

Hal: I mean, I’m down.

Hal: But dude.

Bruce: And then set my children on you.

Bruce: And the entirety of the Dick Protection Society of which Agent A is Treasurer.

J’onn: When the current crises is over I would like to join this Society.

Clark: I’ll forward everyone Tim’s application forms.

Clark: B, let’s not be hasty.

Crystal Ball Smashing Crew

Constantine: Time’s up.

Constantine: Respond.
Constantine: Now.

Constantine: Plan Q it is.

Constantine: Batman just threatened me with your hellions.

Constantine: Can’t protect me if you’re dead.

Constantine: Just saying.

Admit you have friends, damnit Batman.

Diana: I do not believe Bruce was being hasty.

Hal: Does any one have the address of Hell Sparkles?

Dinah: Working on it.

Bruce: Batgirl says he hasn’t been at a traceable address in over a month.

Constantine: Hold your fucking horses.

Clark: We are concerned.

Clark: And would like answers.

Clark: Now please.

Constantine: Nanda Parabat.

Oliver: Fucking what.

Constantine: Nanda Parabat. Just let me type, goddamnit.

Constantine: He’s extracting a contact who needed an emergency evac.

Constantine: Supposed to be out two weeks ago, so something’s wrong.

Constantine: But he hasn’t called for backup and yes I’ve been keeping an eye out for the
call.

Constantine: Also. My spell stopped working location-wise but I can tell he’s still alive.

Constantine: And not actively dying. So there’s that.

Bruce: Hi! This is Tim. Bruce is currently restraining Jason and making sure that Steph
doesn’t steal the Batplane.

Bruce: One question, Constantine, and I promise to try and talk them out of selling your
spleen.

Constantine: Fucking hellions.

Constantine: What is it Tiny Terror Two?

Bruce: How old is the contact?

Constantine: …

Constantine: Younger than you.

Bruce: I see. Thank you for your assistance.

Bruce: Bruce says war council at the Bat Cave in fifteen minutes.

Bruce: You’re all welcome to join.

Barry: No, Agent A said that.

Barry: But please hurry.

Barry: I just got here and Bruce and Clark are losing the fight for the Batplane.

Barry: The new girl is vicious.

Bruce: Jay says it’s bring your own swords and fire.

Bruce: I look forward to meeting you all.

Protect that fucking Dickhead

Jason: Fucker’s in Nada Parbat picking up another kid.

Jason: Justice League is at the cave.

Roy: The fuck.

Roy: We’re staging an intervention after the rescue.

Roy: Why does he need a third kid?

Jason: Right. Three.

Jason: Just ignore the cackling blond menace stealing the Batplane.

Jason: And the MIA assassin girl we’ve never met but has a fucking fantastic room.

Wally: Dude.

Roy: …

Kori: We must focus on rescuing our friend.

Kori: Later we may discuss his many wondrous yet surprising children.

Donna: To war.

Donna: [changed the group name from Protect that fucking Dickhead to Battle Stations]
 Protective
Chapter Summary

Slade drops by his occupied safe house. The Batfamily plus friends have a standoff.
Dick doesn't bang his head against a wall but does briefly lose his temper and gets
several hugs. Damian gets a hug, too.

Chapter Notes

There were so many lovely comments last chapter! I hope you enjoy Dick and Damian
finally getting to go home.

Lilituism drew the standoff! It captures the moment so well!

Dick didn’t flinch when he heard a car stop and the door slam, and not just because he had
two baby assassins curled on his lap.

Damian and Cass were more deeply asleep than they’d been in weeks, but that was probably
because the three of them were officially out of League territory. Not by much, to be honest,
but the house they were napping in was located in a sizeable city with multiple other factions
so no one ruler could claim all. Which was enough space to breathe.

It had been a long couple of weeks.

Dick took great satisfaction in the fact that Ra’s could say the same. The man had lost three
storehouses, four armouries, two underground tunnel systems, the western cells, nine trade
routes, training grounds Five through Nine, and four high profile contracts. Not to mention
his grandson and heir.

Some would be recoverable, maybe, some would not. Anything flooded would be difficult to
recover, but really, the League should have placed greater protections on their main water
supply. And their stock of explosives.

Dick had two meetings the next day with local gangs and an appointment with a information
broker (who would be learning the Heir of the Demon had defected rather than been
kidnapped and if Ra’s couldn’t keep his heir than there were likely other things he’d have
trouble keeping, like his contracts). Then they could go home.
Dick wanted his baby assassins safe. Damian and Cass deserved to meet their father and be
wrapped in the warmth of blankets and Alfred’s hot chocolate, not burning sands and hot
blood.

Slade huffed from the doorway and Dick grinned from his spot against the wall, legs kicked
out over the bed for Cass to sprawl over even as Damian curled into Dick’s lap.

“I’m almost impressed.”

“Almost?” Dick asked as he ran his hand through Damian’s hair. “I’ve brought the League of
Assassins down to its knees in less than two months. What more do you want from me?”

More than two months if you counted the extensive prep work and the ripple effects he would
careful to fan, but meh. Details.

“More death.”

Dick snorted.

Slade stepped soundlessly forward, peering at Damian. “The Heir to the Demon. Really?”

Dick opened he mouth to respond, but Slade had dropped his bag to the floor beside the bed
and leaned slightly forward. This was enough to find himself with with blades at his throat
and a katana at his gut.

Slade sighed. “Call off your baby assassins, Little Bird.”

Dick hummed, but did reach and pull Damian and Cass back, tapping out an all clear into
their skin as he did so. Damian retreated with a grumble, but did remember the Slade from
the future and sword lessons that Dick would have to bargain for once again. Cass went more
slowly, giving Slade enough time to study her face.

“Damian al Ghul and Cassandra Cain. You never did aim small, kid.”

Dick beamed, because damn right he didn’t, even as Cass scowled. “No Caine. Grayson.
Wayne, maybe. Choosing.”

Slade didn’t even twitch. “Naturally.”

“That’s it?” Damian demanded, bristling from his position in Dick’s lap.

Slade shrugged, throwing Dick a set of keys that he caught with a faint clink. “That’s it.”

“Why are you here, Wilson?” Damian asked, adorable frown on his face.

“This is my safe house, bratling.”

Both Cass and Damian pivoted to Dick who gave a sheepish grin. It was Slade he addressed,
though.
“If you didn’t want me to use it, you could have scrapped it.” Or not stocked a seldom used
safe house with food, technology, and armour that fit Dick suspiciously well.

Slade ignored him, which was the expected reaction.

“Car is clean and fully loaded. It’ll get you to any of the six closest extraction points without
trouble.”

Dick nodded, humming Damian’s scowling questions and running a soothing hand down
Cass’s arm. She was clearly confused, but also able to see the lack of violence in Slade’s
body language and the calm-respect-trust in Dick’s.

With a careful shift, Dick pulled two flash drives of his own from one of his supply pouches.
The first Slade would recognize as being part of the gear from the safe house, the other Dick
was a disguised and possibly self-destructing piece of tech he’d brought with him from
Gotham. Both were coded with a key that Slade had made Dick memorize years ago and
they’d used off an on depending on how their alliance fell at a particular time. No one else
knew it, not even Wintergreen.

Slade caught the two drives without looking and raised a single eyebrow.

“Purple one is League info, right off their servers, both gathered intel and operation details.
Use it, sell it, barter it, I don’t care as long as it spreads.” At the look Dick was getting from
all three assassins, he shrugged. “If I’m masterminding everything I run the risk of being
predictable, of having a pattern. I’m trying not be a micromanager.”

“You want the chaos to bleed,” Slade said, rather thoughtfully.

“Enough that Ra’s risks bleeding the fuck out,” Dick agreed. “Ra’s needs to be scrambling
hard enough that he can’t catch up until we want him to.”

“Tt.” Damian scowled, but his hand fisted in Dick’s shirt. Cass shifted on the bed so she was
sitting between her brothers and Slade.

“And the second device?” Slade asked, meeting the sharpness of Dick’s smile with his own
smirk.

“The payment we discussed.” Dick blinked, smile falling as he considered exactly what he
wanted to say. Slade watched him think, allowing the moment while perfectly aware
something was coming.

“Slade.” Dick stood, extracting himself smoothly from his siblings and standing, feeling
more than hearing both his baby assassins do the same and fall into formation behind him. “I
gave Batman this same warning, months ago, and meant the words just as much.”

Dick stepped forward, only slightly, the commander and the Bat and the father and the last
man standing echoing though his tone. “Fuck this up, and I will take it back.”

Slade’s one eye bore into Dick’s clear gaze, perhaps seeing the death that Dick had chosen
not to leave behind, perhaps seeing that something they never acknowledged, perhaps seeing
the tremble of steel edges and red skies that laced Dick’s bones.

“You might want to call home,” was all Slade said. “Your people are fretting.”

Guilt wound its way through Dick’s stomach, effectively relaxing his stance. “Day after
tomorrow. We’ll be done, then.”

He missed his brothers, his girls, his Titans. He wanted to go home, but there was no home if
they weren’t safe.

Dick had thought about calling home when they’d made it to the safe house with its various
technologies and were no longer ducking assassins and their traps which were all very hard
on gear like phones and communicators. He hadn’t though, because, while Tim was still so
young, Babs had been diving headfirst into the tech and Dick just couldn’t risk his family
interfering, not yet.

“Alright.” Which wasn’t so much an agreement from Slade as an acknowledgement of the

timeline. Dick hadn’t paid for a car and a safe house, after all. But Slade never liked it
pointed out when he did a good dead. Or even a moderately kind one.

“Alright,” Dick said, before grabbing his baby assassins and pulling them by the hands to
grab breakfast.

They had appointments to keep and a desert to leave.

Dick wanted to bang his head into a wall, or maybe the car, since there really wasn’t a wall in
immediate supply. He, Damian, and Cass had stopped by one last League hideout, dismantled
it, tied up some assassins, and ransacked their computers. They’d ducked back out to make
the trek to the village and their vehicle, only to stop and stare at the sight in front of them.

There, not twenty feet ahead of them in the very empty village square in a standoff he’d
literally spent months avoiding, were Batman, Robin, Batgirl, Ra’s al Ghul, Talia, and
assorted supporting assassins. Also, for some reason, Starfire and Red Arrow flanking Robin,
a drone Dick would bet his next bath was being piloted by Timmy, and fucking Wonder
Woman standing a foot behind B.

“Tt. Our family are idiots.”

Cassandra leaned into Dick’s side. “Care.”

“Yeah,” Dick smoothed a hand down her hood. “They do. I suppose they’re looking for me.”

Damian shot Dick one of his better, ‘Naturally, you idiot’ looks.

“Okay.” Dick clapped his hands softly, not quite sure why no one of the trained group had
head them yet but unwilling to chance it. “Lets go save our family from assassins.”
“And stupidity,” Damian added.

“And stupidity,” Dick agreed as he lifted Cass’s hood and then did the same for Damian. He
paused with his hands on the dark fabric of his brothers hood. “They’re going to try and take
you away from us,” he told his baby.

“Tt. Let them try.” Damian’s face softened, almost imperceptibly, but he shifted forward to
wrap his arms around Dick’s waist. “I already made my choice, Baba.”

“Ours,” Cass agreed, wrapping her arms around them both.

He loved his baby assassins so much.

He also loved fighting with them. Cass fought like water, flowing edges and constant
movement that poured around Dick’s acrobatics like blood matched breath. Damian fought
like ice, sharp balance and crystal motion that echoed across Dick’s style like an extension of
self and bone.

They hit just after the stalemate broke, too far away to hear who had shouted the words that
shattered the boundary but close enough to slam into the back of the swarming assassins with
a ruthlessness that spoke of exactly what Dick and his baby assassins had been up to lately.

Ra’s and Talia had the Heroes distinctly out numbered, which wasn’t a surprise, but the
number of assassins that were skilled enough to be counted as the Elite was a bit odd.
Primarily because Damian had poisoned (mildly, not fatally, with a few very distinct, very
deserved, exceptions) almost his entire guard with great, vicious glee.

They still didn’t stand a chance.

Dick and Damian were time travellers with not only skills they weren’t supposed to know,
but years upon battles upon nightmares as brothers and partners and the only ones left. Cass
had always been the best of them, had watched her brothers fight from a slight distance the
first few times before slowly working herself into the space that had been hers all along, a
memory never forgotten.

They drew attention as they cut their way through the assassins, heading inevitably towards
Batman and his face-off with Ra’s. The assassins were unconscious too quickly to do much
with the attention, but the Capes lingered a bit longer, before categorizing them as tentative
allies and returning to the battle.

Dick ducked a sword and slashed at a tendon with a long dagger, having lost one escrima
stick to the flooding and one to a fucking manticore Ra’s kept in his cellar (apparently having
electrified escrima sticks in his safe house would be too obvious for Slade, or maybe the man
just like seeing Dick use blades). Cass sent a man flying with a kick to the head just as
Damian blocked an attack at Dick’s unprotected (ha) back.

Dick responded by throwing a dagger at the woman coming up on Dami’s right, and absently
wondered at the fact that none of his family had seemed to clock his presence. Then again, he
realized as he caught a sword Cass liberated from someone who should know better to lose
hold of their weapon, he’d spent over a month fighting at the side of his baby assassins and
was using more League and Deathstroke-style moves than he’d probably shown to the rest of
his family.

Starfire was the first to figure it out, since Dick completed a leap off an assassin’s shoulders
that put him in the air for long enough to get a quick overview of the battle. Only she caught
his hand, which he hadn’t even really meant to extend, in a move that they’d preformed a
hundred times before.

She looked down, red hair flaming around her face, and caught a glance beneath his own
hood. She laughed, a short breathy thing, when he winked at her through his mask, and let
him go just in time to land on a man who was about to throw an axe at Jay.

The man did not get up. Nor did the woman who came at Dick with some sort of flaming
weapon and instead met the fate of both baby assassins’ boots. He was grateful for their
flanking (so grateful they were there, were alive, weren’t ghosts nipping at the corner of his
eyes too insubstantial to stop the blades Dick could have blocked, if only he remembered he
needed to), when they got close enough to actually hear what Ra’s and Batman were yelling
at each other.

In all honesty, it was rather predictable, but it somehow caused Dick to miss a step anyways.

“Where is Nightwing? What have you done to my son?” Batman all but hissed as he threw a
handful of Batarangs that Ra’s batted away easily.

Dick was perhaps a bit disappointed that this seemed to be the extent of Bruce’s plan, but
Dick supposed that not everyone had months (years and decades and dreams) to plan the an
attack on the League of Assassins. Besides, Ra’s and Talia probably forced Bruce’s hand a bit
with their own mission to retrieve their heir.

“Cease your nonsense and return to me my heir!” Ra’s demanded, Talia twitching from where
she was engaging in a high-paced battle with Wonder Woman.

“Why would I want you heir?” Batman asked, ducking a swords and lashing out with a kick.

Ra’s stepped back, probably trying to assess whether Batman’s confusion was genuine and if
the man truly didn’t know the parenthood of the heir in question. It was a quick motion,
barely there, but all that Dick needed.

He launched himself forward into the space between the two men, bo staff extending and
crackling with electricity (because that was apparently not too far for Slade) and coming to
rest at the exposed lower jaw of Batman and the midriff of Ra’s.

This alone wouldn’t have been enough, not for two men as skilled as these were, but Damian
and Cass came pouring out of Dick’s shadow, Damian with a kick to Batman’s gut and Cass
with a barrage of projectiles to Ra’s face that had them both step back just enough to re-
establish a no-man’s land.
Dick stood, the assassins reforming on his right and the heroes on his left, both sides wary of
the new players in the confrontation. Damian and Cass fell into place at his sides and slightly
behind, Cass making sure to to take the side closest to the assassins.

Dick took the moment to dig his staff into the ground and lean on it slightly, perusing the
heroes enough to realize that Roy was the only other one to have realized Dick’s identity, and
that was probably purely from Kori’s body language.

He sighed. “I am going to remind you of this,” Dick told Damian and Jay and definitely his
father, “the next time you accuse me of being dramatic.”

Batman released a breath like a gunshot. “Nightwing?”

Dick reached up and lowered his hood, knowing that mask underneath would protect him
from low-level assassins and that his father was familiar enough with his face.

None of the other heroes apparently had any trouble either, if the way Wonder Woman’s
shoulders dropped and Robin had to be restrained by Batgirl’s hand on his shoulder said
anything at all.

“Oh good,” Talia interjected. “The prodigal son returns. Now, if you would return my son, we
could end this farce and be on our way.”

Batman drew himself up to start protesting their innocence, but Dick cut his strings by
turning his back on his own father to face Talia head on. “No.”

Dick might have been imagining it, but he thought he heard Roy groan and Jay mutter
something similar to “of fucking course.”

“You deny-“ Talia started, but was interrupted.

“Tt. I will not go back, Mother.” Damian lowered his hood slowly, inching closer to Dick in a
way that he knew meant what his baby really wanted was to latch his hand onto some article
of Dick’s clothing, even if would never do that in front of an audience.

Cass responded by all but draping herself over her baby brother’s back, still leaving enough
maneuverability for fighting, but also an inescapable claim. They two of them had bonded
over their assassin training and general competency in the future that wasn’t, but Dick got the
feeling that this time around the steel of their bond would be tempered much stronger.

Talia opened her mouth but Ra’s beat her to words. “You will cease this nonsense at once,
child, and return to your proper place. I can perhaps be persuaded to lesson your punishment
if you bring proper recompense.”

Damian stiffened, possibly at the threat of punishment, possibly at the insinuation of bringing
one of the heroes’ heads to Ra’s on a platter, but Dick wasn’t looking close enough to catch
which trigger landed harder.

He was too busy dropping his staff to the ground, hand clenching around the bloody sword
he’d stuck in his belt as rage pounded along his veins and through his ears.
“Never,” Dick growled out, surprising everyone except Damian, Cass, Jay, and maybe the
floating drone that was bobbing over the heroes’ heads. “He will never return to you, the
League, or your forsaken rock of a mausoleum or I will make the chaos that we’ve reigned
down this past month look like gnats learning to bite as I burn your empire to ash and salt its
corpse. And if you ever so much as touch him, much less try to punish what is far too good
for you to dare judge, I will freeze the blood in your veins, poison the Pits, and make you
watch as the barren skies of your failures are carved into your dead and rotting bones.”

There was nothing but wind for a long moment, before Ra’s realized he was letting a barely
adult hero intimidate him in front of an audience consisting of his daughter, his heir, his
assassins, and his enemies. The man sneered. “The boy is my heir. I will train and punish him
as I see fit.”

Dick stepped forward. “The boy is a child! A child that you would have know nothing but
cruelty and death!” Dick’s hand was shaking, the sword trembling in his grip in a way that
was dangerous but not in a way that meant weakness. “If you didn’t want someone to contest
your claim you shouldn’t have made you heir a Bat!”

Dick wasn’t sure what else he would have said (he had pages and novels of words to say to
Ra’s al Ghul about Dick’s baby), but Damian dragged a hand from Dick’s elbow to his wrist,
his child’s hand wrapping tightly around the thin bone.

“Baba,” was all Damian said, but Dick deflated, tucking the sword back and shuffling his son
back behind him and closer to the center of no-man’s land.

Closer to Bruce, who was bristling in a way that Dick hadn’t expected. Though Dick did just
sort of drop the son bombshell on him. Oops.

Batman looked at Damian, looked at Dick, and then looked at Talia, who shifted on her feet.
This was a tell that Dick wouldn’t have expected of the woman, but then again, his father was
looking awfully angry and that was intimidating even when he wasn’t dressed like a bat. He
was even managing to loom from across the stretch of empty ground.

He glared poison and claws at Talia, “Baba?”

And wow. Dick hadn’t actually ever heard that kind of danger in his dad’s voice.

Dick turned to stare at his father and had his attention caught by Kori’s hair, which now
resembled magma rather than falling flames. Jay had the same expression on his face that
used to mean he was fighting off Pit Rage and Roy looked remarkably similar, knuckles
visibly white on his bow even from this distance. Wonder Woman must have also been using
a purloined sword because she’d mangled the one she was holding enough that she had to
drop it to the ground and Dick honestly couldn’t remember if there had been a laser on top of
the drone before.

They couldn’t all be mad about Dami. Sure, he was a surprise, but none of this was his fault.
Unless they were mad that Dami called Dick Baba? But wouldn’t only Bruce be mad at that?
“What did you do to my son.” It didn’t come out as a question, but it drew Dick’s focus back
to his father regardless.

Talia bristled and threw back her shoulders. “I did nothing to that circus mongrel. I created a
true son for us and trained him to be a warrior far surpassing any of your strays.”

“Oh.” Dick finally realized what was going on and wanted to smack himself in the face. “Oh.
No. No, dad. I never slept with Talia. She didn’t rape me.”

Damian tugged on his arm and Dick knelt to the ground, because he would never deny
Damian anything. Not his baby, who struggled to ask for comfort unless he could pretend he
was the one offering it. Not his baby, who knew the truths that were laced into Dick’s denial.

Dick hadn’t wanted Damian to know, would rather he had never ever known, but Dick had
also been the one to teach Damian about sex and sexuality and consent. Dick was hardly
going to trust such matters to Bruce’s stilted awkwardness or the League’s weaponized
lethality.

Dick had taught and talked with Damian, and found that the spectres of Mirage and Catalina
were far too present for his clever son not to notice. Dick had explained and Damian had
listened. He listened as Dick had borrowed some of Dinah’s words (she had been a fantastic
fucking therapist) and gotten through everything he felt he needed to say. Dick never wanted
his son to go through anything similar (would burn down cities and cross the blackest of lines
for his son), but also never wanted the boy to blame himself if somehow the world was too
damn cruel.

Damian had spent the next week glued to Dick’s side, silent and glowering like he hadn’t
since he was a child, and Dick would have been lying to say the clinginess hadn’t eased
something inside of him.

Now, Damian wrapped his arms around Dick’s neck, a reminder and a ground, and Dick
started talking.

“He’s your son, B. Talia created him and trained him,” and abused him and tortured him,
“and we’ve been in contact for a while. Damian and I, not Talia and I. I want nothing to do
with her. I, we, just. There was no proof. And I didn’t know how to get it, not immediately,
not without putting Dami in danger, well, more danger, and with everything that was going
on, I just. Damnit.”

There was a Plan. A Plan that included detailing Damian being cautious as he reached out to
his other, unknown family for an exit plan. This would explain how Dick and Damian were in
contact, since Dick could have made a League contact without knowing said contact was his
brother, at least until Damian felt ‘comfortable.’ There was no other believable reason to
explain Dick not telling Bruce immediately what was going on in Nanda Parbat, at least not
without time travel and future knowledge.

Dick bent his head to rest on Damian’s curls and took a breath as he felt Cass’s arm wrap
around his waist.
“I had a speech, I swear,” Dick told the sand. He turned back to his frozen father. “I’m not
trying to steal him from you. I’m not. It’s just, been a long month? The extraction was
sudden. And we’ve bonded. He needed someone and I was there and I couldn’t just tell him
not call me that. I couldn’t.”

Not when Damian’s quiet voice calling Dick Baba often felt like his last tether to shaky
ground, the only direction in fathomless sky.

Damian scoffed in Dick’s ear, loud enough to draw the attention of staring heroes and
scowling villains.

“You have two fathers,” Damian told him. “I do not see why I cannot have the same. Batman
is Father, you are are Baba. Stop creating unnecessary complications.”

Cass nodded against Dick’s back. “Foolish Big Brother,” she said, her words quiet enough
that only Dick and Damian and their circle of free and empty space heard.

Bruce broke into that space, cape swaying behind him, in order to place one hand on the
back of Dick’s head and one on top of Damian’s.

“I have two fathers, too,” he said, quiet as a whisper but strong as a scream. “I’m more that
happy to share. It’s good to meet you, Damian. Both of you,” he added with a nod to
Cassandra, who was still hooded and unnamed, though B had clearly put her together with
the last daughter Dick had promised him.

“What a touching moment.” Ra’s was likely about to carry on with something stereotypical,
like ‘before you all die,’ but Dick had already dumped Damian into a startled Bruce’s arms
and thrown yet another flash drive at Ra’s.

Dick was done with this man. So done.

The man caught it, albeit reluctantly, and held it between to fingers like it was a leech.

“Don’t drop that, Ra’s,” Dick instructed, hands on his hip. “That’s the only antivirus I have
for the code that’s about to wipe out your entire servers. It has a biometrical lock to your
DNA, by the way, or maybe Talia’s. Huh. Oops, guess I don’t remember. Better hurry back
and try both, then. You only have about an hour.”

More like twenty-four; Dick hadn’t been planning for this confrontation, but no one needed
to know that.

“The League has existed long before technology of this sort and will not be swayed by your
petty distraction, boy.”

Dick doubted that, but threw a small book at Talia that she also easily caught. “Sure. So
there’s also this; proof that I know what the fuck I’m talking about when I say you will let us
leave, or very large number of active assassins will have their names and covers blown. I
know you won’t care about the danger to people, so I want you to think about all the chaos
I’ve caused in a fucking month, and listen when I tell you that I will blow them as loud as
possible. It will be you contracts that suffer, and your payouts.”

Talia twitched, drawing the attention of her father, but it was for the book rather than Dick’s
words. When Ra’s looked at the book and saw the names, the address, the hastily but
accurately drawn maps, he blinked slowly before tuning back to Dick.

Dick, whom Ra’s had always underestimated, had never seen as he played mind games with
his Detectives.

There was a growing resentful respect in Ra’s eyes that Dick could very much do without,
except for the part that he’d been counting just a bit on Ra’s odd desire for challenges and
games and weird ass politics. “Very well, oldest Son of the Bat. I will accept your impasse.
For now.”

“Father!” Talia said and was summarily ignored.

He turned to Damian, still in Bruce’s gauntleted arms. “Traitor. When their softness ruins
you, return on your knees, begging for your punishment and the gifts previously bestowed
upon you.”

“You have given me nothing, Grandfather. You made me, and then you tried to break me.”
Damian’s eyes sought out Dick’s and the reforged skies that sheltered there. “You did not
succeed.”

“We shall see.” Ra’s left with remarkably little flair, his assassins melting out of his way and
back into the empty and slightly damaged village. Dick hoped they tried to take the tunnels,
since he was pretty sure these ones ended up in one of the systems he and Cass and had
collapsed.

“My son,” Talia tried, one last time.

“Goodbye, Mother,” Damian said before burrowing his face into Batman’s collar. His poor
child’s body was clearly exhausted, and his poor time-traveller mind was probably reeling
from all the not-dead faces he’d once never hoped to see again.

Dick’s heart ached for his baby, but he made sure to watch Talia with clear and frozen eyes.
He wasn’t sure if this version of the woman still loved her son, as much as she was able, but
still offered, “I’ll look after him.”

She tilted her head and stared at him for a long moment. “I believe you.”

And then she walked away, which was why Dick would never feel badly about taking
Damian. He would never walk away from his son.

Jay hit Dick like a fucking truck the moment Talia was gone, throwing them both to the
ground and swearing at Dick’s reckless tendencies and adopting problem. Babs was next,
followed by Kori, neither of whom allowed him any time to orient himself or break free.
Diana lifted them all from the ground with her hug, setting Dick back on his feet when she
was done.

“It is good to see you safe, young one.”

“You as well, Aunt W.”

She cupped his face for a moment, before turning to Bruce. “I will leave you to your family
and let the others know we have been successful.”

She flew off even as she raised a hand to her comms, and Dick turned to Bruce.

“Others?” Dick asked.

It was Roy who snorted, going in for his hug around a still-clinging Jason. “Others. The
Titans and Justice League all came to save your sorry ass.”

“Wow,” Dick blinked. “The Titans and the Justice League working together and the world
isn’t even ending.”

“Sure.” Roy tilted his head, an odd look on his face. “Let’s go with that.”

“Working together seems a might ambitions. I’ll give you working in proximity,” Constantine
declared as he walked through a portal, travel mug in hand. “I saw three separate groups on
my way here and they’re all making a mess. Also making craters, if anyone cares.”

“I do not.” Dick accepted the mug.

Constantine gave Dick a frank appraisal, clocking Dick’s many minor injuries and general
tiredness before scowling.“Couldn’t have answered your damn phone? Or the fancy fucking
communicator you shoved at me?” ‘

Dick hummed. “Manticore got the phone.”

“Fucking hate it when that happens,” Constantine crossed his arms, nose scrunching up in
memory even as Jay and Roy eyed him oddly.

Dick nodded because, yeah, that sucked. Fucking League of Assassins, always so extra.
“Flood got the communicator. Sword the backup.”

“It was a lovely katana, and you should have let me keep it.” Damian scowled from Bruce’s
arms.

“I’ll get you a new one, Baby Bat. One that isn’t likely to be coated in poison.” Dick lifted
the travel mug, aware of his family’s and particularly Bruce’s eyes as he didn’t hesitate to
drink without evening opening the lid to check what was inside.

It wasn’t coffee, but rather the headache-soothing tea Dick had once sold his last shred of
dignity to get Constantine to make him by the bucket load.
“You’re my favourite,” Dick told Constantine, as he’d done many time before.

“I know,” the man replied, before freezing as he took in all the piercing Bat eyes. “That was a
trap. I come all the way over here and you set me up for a trap.”

Dick shrugged. “You abandoned me in my apartment that one time.”

“That one time! After everything we’ve done!” Jason finally removed himself from Dick’s
waist to glare at Constantine, Roy backing him up with crossed arms. “Shit. That didn’t make
it better.”

“No it did not.” Dick took another sip of his tea before offering it to Cass who’d appeared
beside him.

She didn’t take it, instead staring at Constant from under her hood. “Brother-in-law?”

Dick was impressed. He hadn’t known she was at that level of messing with people using her
words yet. She had the innocent tone down perfectly.

“You know what?” Constantine asked, swinging his arms and spinning around so his slightly
singed coat flared as he created another portal. “Nope. I’m out.”

“Well, that explains the disappearing.” Jason scowled.

Roy nodded. “He brought coffee, though. I officially like him better than Slade.”

Dick blinked, first wondering why those were his only options and then if he should mention
he’d co-opted a very well-stocked safe house from Slade.

Bruce was the one who answered however, very baffled and slightly afraid. “What?”

“Tt.” Damian’s scowl echoed Jay’s and was just as cute. “We cannot harm Constantine,
unfortunately. This is not the first time he has preformed a significant favour.”

“Other options,” Cass said seriously.

“Quite right, Cassandra.” Damian nodded from Bruce’s arms, ignoring completely the
concern on his father’s face. “Creativity is a highly valuable skill.”

“Oh, we are going to get along great,” Tim’s voice came from the Drone, and Dick was
momentarily struck with how great it was that his Baby Bird thought so. “I would like to
invite you both into the Nightwing Protection Society.”

“Interested.” Cassandra nodded to emphasize her words.

Dick on the other hand, asked, “What?” He then realized he’d forgotten the important part.
“Hi, Baby Bird!”

“You are in such trouble, Big Bird.” The drone flew in a circle as if expressing Tim’s
displeasure.
“That’s probably fair,” Dick allowed.

Kori and Roy both laughed when Babs and Jay both punched him in the arm at that.

“Your protege bit Superman,” Babs told him as she yanked him forward into yet another
crushing hug after the hit.

“I see how it is. She’s my protege when biting national icons, but when executing flawless
round kick takedowns she’s all yours.” Dick paused a moment, the words finally sinking in,
before turning to the drone. “Why did you bite Superman, Spoiler?”

“Because she’s fucking vicious,” Jay muttered with real respect.

There was a moment of static before Steph’s voice came over the drone’s speaker. “Because
he was getting in the way of stealing the Batplane.”

“You cannot fly a plane,” Dick told the drone.

“Well, yeah,” Steph admitted. “But I was a bit emotional. Also. Can we please add jet-flying
lessons to the roster?”

Dick tilted his head, aware of the silent judgement from Roy and ignoring it entirely. “How
about we start with a car?”

“Deal! Now get your butt on that plane so B-man can fly you home where Baby Bird and I
can cuddle attack you and meet our new siblings. Thanks for grabbing another a girl, by the
way.”

“You’re very welcome.”

Dick crouched down, rather suddenly if the looks he was getting meant anything, but Damian
was reasonably comfortable in Bruce’s hold (Damian recognized that Bruce was more
uncomfortable than him and was happy to take advantage of that fact) and Cass had been left
alone for too long.

She took the signal, which Dick knew she would, and flung herself around the remaining
heroes and onto his back. He stood as she wrapped her legs around his waist, arms looping
around his neck as her hood fell down for the first time.

“This is Cass,” Dick told everyone because they knew but hadn’t actually been introduced
and that was rude.

“Hello,” Cass said quietly, and Dick was so proud of her. He stood next to Bruce so he could
hold Damian’s cheek in a gloved palm as Bruce looked down at his new daughter.

“Hello, Cass.”

She nodded at him, then waved at Jason. “Hello, Biggest Little Brother.”
“Aw, man, really? I thought we were the same age.” Jason tried to scowl, but that was hard to
do from Dick’s elbow where he’d glued himself.

“She’s a couple months older,” Dick admitted, before leaning his cheek against hers and his
hip against Jay.

“Let’s get you home,” he told Cass where she was wrapped around his shoulders. “Home
where Damian can have a kitten and you can have a dance studio and both of you can be
safe.”

Cass hummed. “What Big Brother have?”

Dick thought about it as he walked towards the plane that Bruce had summoned. “A nap. A
nap with soft blankets, warm cuddles, and some of Agent A’s special cookies.”

“We can do that.” Bruce’s hand slid into place at the back of Dick’s neck, gentle and not
asking any of the million and one questions that Dick would eventually have to answer.
“Let’s do that.”

They had been settled on an even course for about ten minutes when Damian could no longer
take the staring.

He’d met the stares, at first. Long looks that unnerved his family even as his refusal to flinch
proved he was a Bat more surely than anything his mother or Richard had said. Damian
categorized his family, checking for hurts and staring at their smaller forms. Their less weary
stances. The relief that actually showed, just because Richard and his newest chicks were
alright.

They were breathing and they didn’t remember him. Which objectively, wasn’t a terrible
thing. Damian was self-aware enough to know he was not the easiest to love, and that
Richard was an aberration which his immediate affection and was also responsible for the
soothing of most of Damian’s edges.

Damian still had his edges, of course, he just also had the ability to not turn them on his
family, if he so chose. And he wouldn’t because that would make Richard sad, which was to
be avoided. And also because they had been dead, and know they weren’t, and he had,
perhaps, missed them.

He didn’t know how to deal with them, however. Not when they were looking at Damian
with sadness of their own, as if they cared when they hadn’t even met him yet. When they
hadn’t even gone through life and death and trauma and been bonded in a completely
unavoidable fashion.

Damian slipped off his chair, ignoring the hand his Father extended, as if Damian would need
the assistance. He accepted the hand Cassandra ran over his hair, however, leaning into the
touch slightly because she would know what that meant.

He climbed into Richard’s lap without the grace he normally possessed and basked in the
immediate presence of an arm across his back and hands coming through his hair.

“Shh, shh, Baby, it’s okay.”

Damian ignored Barbara’s giggles and the photo Jason was taking to send to Timothy and
Stephanie and Alfred. He had things of greater importance to worry about.

“It’s okay. It’s okay, baby. We’re safe. We’re free. We’re all safe.”

Damian didn’t say anything, but he also didn’t move. Not when he could feel the warm tears
seeping across his neck and into his hood. As long as he stayed in Richard’s arms, his Baba
wouldn’t have to raise his head, wouldn’t have to reveal the sobs the man was choking down
in the back of his throat.

They’d done this occasionally before, in the future that wasn’t, as corpses cooled and heroes
regrouped. It was different when the heroes surrounding them were their family. Their living,
breathing family.

Better, but also worse. Damian didn’t think Richard could ever find the words to answer the
family’s questions, even if he wanted to. Damian doubted the man could ever describe what it
was like to lose them all, one by one, to sob quietly and finish the job even as his world
shattered into smaller and smaller pieces (Damian, too, had died in Richard’s arms).

So Damian clung harder, dug his hands into Richard’s back with enough force that the man
would have to feel it through the armour.

“It’s okay, it’s okay. You’re safe Baby Bat. Never again. We’re safe. We’re okay.”

Damian drew in a breath, ignoring the shake to the sound, and closed his eyes tightly against
traitorous moisture and the sight of their concerned family.

“Don’t be stupid, Baba. We’re not okay.”

Batman, sitting beside them and doing a terrible job of hovering, flinched. Richard didn’t.
Richard laughed even as his arms tightened.

His Baba’s arms had always been safe. They were always warm and kind and effortless and
so very safe. Nothing had ever harmed Damian while he was in them (not even death, which
hadn’t hurt, not with warmth and lullabies to carry him through).

“Of course not, Baby Bat,” Richard agreed, leaning back just enough to see Damian’s face
and run a gloved hand over his cheek.

Damian huffed, but wrapped his small arms around his Baba’s neck to bring the man’s head
down and rest their foreheads together.

“We’re the best.”

 Help
Chapter Summary

Dick and Jason have a talk, Dick and Dami have a talk, and Dick mostly avoids a talk
with the Titans by talking about something else.

Also, Lilituism has made art! Absolutely stunning art, so please go look here. Thank you
Lilituism!

Chapter Notes

You're comments have been so lovely! I hope you all enjoy some love and support and
an intervention that never really happens.

Dick didn’t go out on patrol until three nights after they returned from Nanda Parbat. He slept
through the the first night (and through most of the following day) and had spent much of the
second night explaining and clinging to his babies.

He was much more articulate this time as he laid out the cover story and detailed how he
made a contact in the League only to laster discover it was his brother trying to get out of
hell. Dick even admitted to a few emotional mistakes which sold the story that much better,
since they all seemed to believe he would go a little crazy if a sibling got threatened.

The Titans and the Justice League had dispersed, if some what reluctantly, with the assurance
that Dick and the two newest Bats were safe, and that everything had been an op against Ra’s
gone bad (bad in terms of needing to get Damian fucking out, not in terms of the complete
and utter ruination that Dick rained down on the man’s empire).

Dick knew the Titans weren’t done with him, but they were convinced that he was going to
bunker down with his family for a few weeks and that he would contact them if he had even
the slightest desire to leave Gotham

Which wasn’t exactly true, but Dick didn’t actually have any plans or side missions for the
next little while so, barring Constantine needing emergency backup, he really did intend to
stay put.

That said, his first night out patrolling had Dick completely unable to stay still. Damian was
with Tim and Alfred at the cave, stubbornly insisting he should stay up and at least watch the
comms. Spoiler was spending the night in with her mother after admitting to a sprained
ankle. Cass was spending the night with Batman, Robin, and Batgirl, learning their fighting
styles so they’d be able to work together.

Nightwing had started with the three of them, but had been too antsy, too flighty, so had
quickly branched off on his own after a kiss to Cass’s forehead and a nod to Bruce. Cass, his
beautiful sister, had watched him go with understanding in her eyes. Bruce, his worrywart
father, had watched him go with concern in his.

Robin had just watched.

It had been too long since he’d flown, though, and too long since he’d flown alone. Dick
loved his siblings, he loved moving together and fighting together and being together, but
he’d spent so long alone. Sometimes he’d been alone with Damian and sometimes he’d been
just alone. It took effort to fight and coordinate with others, and the effort was absolutely
worth it, but Dick was still so tired.

Most of the night and much of the morning had passed when Dick finally settled on one of
the taller skyscrapers in Gotham, his body and mind finally exhausted enough to quiet. He
lay back on the cold roof and stared at the sky, stars mostly obscured by the bright lights and
distant cars with only the very strongest shining through.

Jason found him there. Jason found him and didn’t hesitate to lie down in the space beside
Dick. He looked up, too, because they both knew that they sometimes talked better if they
didn’t have to watch the words land.

“I was so mad at you for going,” Jason started. “So angry that you left, because you had left.
We could all see it that morning, feel it in the kisses and the hugs and the lingering touches.
You were leaving and you didn’t know when you be back, how hard you’d have to fight to
get back. You left and you didn’t ask for help.”

Dick didn’t say anything, just soaked in the warm line of his brother pressed against his side,
angry but willing to be angry right next to him, instead of roofs and safe houses and years
(and coffins) away.

“You promised you’d ask for help yet you didn’t and you left.” Jason took a deep breath.
“But then I saw you with Damian and Cass and I just. Wasn’t angry anymore.”

“I didn’t ask Cass for help.” Dick needed Jay to know that he hadn’t chosen her over Jason.

Jay was silent for several heartbeats. “I know. I would have been happier if you had.”

Dick blinked and had to resist turning over to stare at his brother. He hadn’t been expecting
that.

Jay shifted and put both his hands under head head, linked under his neck. “She’s capable,
but you were taking care of her, helping her, coaxing her out of a cage made of isolation and
street. You never would’ve endangered her like that. She choose to follow you, to fight with
you, and I admire her for that. But it also made me realize that as she is now, you would
never have asked her. Or any of us. You couldn’t.”
The gravel on the rooftop crunched as Jay shifted; Dick was far too still for the noise to have
come from him.

“Timmy and Stephy are too young and untrained. Cass is too hurt and unused to trusting
other people. Babs is too busy running herself ragged and working in two worlds, two
personas. Bruce, even if this wasn’t about his biological son, which, I gotta say at least once,
what the actual fuck, is too controlling and too visible and too important to this stupid city
and the League. The League is too protective, they’d never let you just go off like that that,
and the Titans are. Are.”

Jason let a harsh breath escape. “Is it too arrogant to say that the Titans aren’t Bats?”

Dick stuttered out a laugh. “Probably. But yeah. I get it.” Dick reached up, the back of his
gloved hand blocking out one of the only visible stars. “There’s something about this city and
growing up in the shadow of the Bat that means when you hit a certain point, you see certain
options. No one else has that. The Titans would have gone with me, I know that. But they
wouldn’t have been able to be as stealthy, as committed, as sheer fucking reckless yet still
absolutely certain we’d get away.”

Dick hated it, but said the words anyways. “This time, in these circumstances, they would
have gotten in my way.”

He heard Jay nod. “They gave me a communicator. Told me to keep it when we came back.”

Dick smiled and lowered his hand. “I know. I’m the one who had it created and the room set
aside. I’m very proud of you.”

“I’m not.”

“Jay-“

“Quiet Dickie. It’s still my turn.” Jason removed his hands from behind his head and lay the
arm furthest from Dick across his eyes. “I’m none of those things. I have none of those
reasons I just listed stopping you from taking me. The only reason stopping you from taking
me was that I’m not good enough.”

Dick let out a sharp breath but Jay’s hand clamping down on his wrist reminded him to keep
quiet. Dick could feel his brother’s fingers as bands around his bones.

“I’m not good enough. But I will be. I’m going to go on missions with the Titans. I’m going
to keep training in firearms with Roy. I’m going to accept Wonder Woman’s offer to teach me
different martial arts. I’m going to be better and I’m going to be good enough. And the next
time you have to go off grid on a mission you’re not sure you’re coming back from, you are
going to take me.

“Because I’m not your baby brother. I’m your younger brother and your Little Wing but I’m
not your responsibility. Not like the others. And this isn’t me being worried about getting
replaced. This is me not wanting to be like the others. You’re going to break yourself
protecting the others. You are, and while I’m not going to try and stop what I’m pretty
fucking sure is an intrinsic part of your personality and something you actually enjoying
doing most of the time, I’m also not going to be a part of it. Not in that way.

“I’m going to be strong enough and good enough that you can lean on me. That you can rely
on me to also protect the others. Because you’re my big brother, Dickie, but I just spent a
month realizing that I’m their big brother, and that it’s a fucking hard role to fill on your
own.”

Dick was glad he hadn’t turned over, since that would have been pretty damn redundant with
the tears blocking his vision. Because the thing was, he wanted that. He should be strong
enough to tell Jay to stop worrying so much, that Dick had this, even though Dick didn’t.
Dick knew he didn’t, not with the face of an older, angrier, Jason swimming at the edges of
his tears.

Dick loved this Jason, was so very deeply happy that he never died or got dropped in those
fucking pits. But the thing with Jason was that Dick didn’t raise him. And some of that the
first time round was Dick’s own stupidity, but a lot of it just came down to the fact that they
were closer in age and Dick had been so young when they were first introduced.

Damian was Dick’s Robin and his partner, but also his son. Dick would always protect his
son. Tim was Dick’s baby brother, and as much as the boy had brought Bruce back around
after Jason’s death, he’d also brought Dick back around as a brother. Dick had been so
determined to do better by this brother that he’d stepped into all the emotional support roles
and tasks that Bruce hadn’t been equipped to handle at the time.

Cass was Jason’s age, was closer to Dick’s age than all the others, but she was still learning
so many things. She’d fight with him and choose him and he’d never be able to forget the
months and the weight of being the only person in the entire world she trusted. Steph was so
young and eager and his Batgirl and his responsibility yet had also always been Babs’s. Babs,
Dick’s best friend and equal and someone always so busy with other roles and tasks and
being the lifeline for fucking everyone.

So Dick missed Jason. Missed the brother who would call Dick out on his crap yet throw
down with anyone else who dared call Dick a name and mean it. Dick missed fighting at the
side of Red Hood, missed letting the man take hits and draw attention because they both
knew he could take it and Nightwing would use the silence between gunshots to slip in like a
knife in the night.

Dick missed knowing that if he was in a different city or on a mission (or away in fucking
space) that he could call Jay and the man would grumble and groan but get on his bike and
loiter around Gotham just in case one of the kids needed him.

Dick didn’t raise Jason. He didn’t save Jason. But after Jason had come back, he’d befriend
Jason and rebuilt their relationship on steel and blood and agony and honesty.

So Dick wanted what this Jason was offering. And though a part of him also wanted to
scream and shout and yell that none of this was Jason’s responsibility. That he shouldn’t have
to be strong for Dick, Dick would never deny Jason his own chance to be a big brother. To
come into his own with his own goals and beliefs and wants.
He couldn’t.

So instead, Dick shifted his wrist until he broke Jay’s hold and twined their fingers together.

“Okay,” Dick said. “I’d like that,” he admitted, and it felt like hardest thing he’d had to say in
years.

“Okay,” Jason breathed, squeezing back. “Okay.”

They laid like that for long minutes, for enough time that Dick’s breathing slowed and his
tears stopped and he realized what else his brother had been confessing.

“You’re leaving Robin.”

Jay skipped a breath and Dick only noticed because they were so close.

“You’re talking about the Titans and training B won’t necessarily approve of and leaving
Gotham for extended periods of time. You’re leaving Robin.”

“Shit. No, I mean, yes, but, I’m not. I’m not rejecting Robin. Not just after you told be what it
means. I, that’s not. Fuck.”

Dick laughed, tiny little bubbles that built in his chest and he couldn’t keep down even as Jay
bristled. Dick finally rolled over, looking at his irritated and heart-breakingly honest baby
brother while propped up on one elbow before deciding that wouldn’t do and collapsing onto
Jay’s chest. (If Jay was so determined to help Dick, then he better get used to being leaned
on, both figuratively and literally).

Dick placed his head on his brother’s chest and listened to the heartbeat, waiting until the
hesitant arms finally settled across his back.

“Once a Flying Grayson, always a Flying Grayson, Little Wing. You’re growing out of
Robin, just like I did. That’s okay. That’s better than okay, because it means you’re growing,
you’re finding out who you want to be.”

The arm across Dick’s back tightened. “I want to give the name to Tim.”

Dick buried his head into the leather jacket Jay hadn’t stopped wearing with his Robin suit.

“I, I’m going to keep fighting with B. I don’t want to, but I am. We are. We just don’t quite
work as partners, anymore. And Tim needs B, needs someone to understand and train his
fucking brain as much as his fighting. And B needs Tim, needs to explain and help and teach
to someone who’s going to soak it up like a sponge. And. Tim will be good for Gotham, for
all those kids who watch and look for the red and yellow instead of the black. I, I want to
give the name to Tim.”

He whispered as he finished, a confession.

“Are you looking for my permission?” Dick asked without looking up.
Jason hesitated, but ultimately shook his head, a movement Dick could feel from where he
was lying. “Not really?. But. I’d like your blessing?”

Dick leaned up, letting his elbows Dick into Jay’s clavicle and watching the young man
wince. “You accepted a gift, my Little Wing, and now it’s yours to give. I think Tim will be a
wonderful Robin, and I’m so very proud of you for passing on our mantle. Our name.”

The relief Jason felt was obvious, his entire body relaxing into the roof and taking Dick with
it. Dick settled back down so he could listen to his brother’s heart again and a large hand Jay
was finally starting to grow into began brushing through Dick’s hair.

“Do you have a name, yet?”

The hand slowed but didn’t stop. “Red Hood.”

When Dick didn’t leap up in protest, Jay continued. “I know it’s one of Joker’s old aliases,
and that’s why. I was so afraid when he had me, Dickie, and I know he’s gone now, but I still
remember the fear. And I don’t want to forget it. I want to remember that the fear is what
we’re trying to stop, that the people we save are feeling just like that. I want to reclaim it, the
feeling. And well. The red feels like I’m keeping Robin close.”

“It’s perfect, Jay.” Dick closed his eyes and the his brother’s hand sooth him into
straightforward honesty. “You choose it, so it’s perfect.

Dick woke up almost alone, which was only remarkable because his bed had been full of
baby vigilantes when he and Jason had crawled into it this morning. To be fair, they only
crawled into it after watching the sunrise and taking Jay’s bike back to the cave, so the baby
vigilantes had been asleep already for several hours.

Bruce hadn’t been. Bruce had been dressed as Bruce but still sitting in his chair. He’d stood
up when they’d entered, run a frighteningly gently hand over both their heads, and headed
upstairs. Both Dick and Jay had been a little unnerved, though neither had said so, and Dick
hadn’t even give his brother the chance to retreat to his own room.

Currently, the only other person in the room was Dick’s Baby Bat, who was sitting on the
other pillow with his legs crossed and slowly peeling an orange over a plate resting on his
knees.

“Good morning, baby.”

“Good morning, Richard.”

Dick reached out a placed a hand on Damian’s ankle, just because he could. Because Damian
was close enough to easily reach out and touch. Damian huffed, but still offered Dick an
orange slice and still placed it in his mouth when Dick refused to move his hand.
“You’re about to be ambushed.”

Dick hummed, closed his his eyes and burrowing into the blankets that still felt warmth from
his family, even though he knew by the light that they’d been gone for hours.

“By the Titans,” Damian clarified, which did actually cause Dick’s eyes to open again.

“Huh. I thought I had a least another week before they descended.”

“The manor is full of teenagers and young heroes. Father is flustered but pretending he is not.
The Alien and the Amazon are laughing at him.”

Dick blinked. “Are Diana and Clark part of the ambush?”

Damian ate an orange slice before shaking his head. “I believe Father called them for backup
when the hoard appeared.”

“Good for him, calling his friends for help.” Dick reached up and traced a thumb over
Damian’s jaw. “How are you, Dami?”

Damian opened his mouth but closed it again, because he knew he could never get away with
a lie. Dick knew the boy didn’t really want to.

“Timothy doesn’t hate me,” Damian winced after he spoke, just slightly, but didn’t try to take
the words back.

“And you don’t hate him.” Dick brushed his fingertips over Damian’s cheek at to the edges of
his curls.

“Timothy doesn’t hate me,” Damian repeated. “He has offered to help me decorate my room.
Jason has shown me the library and his favourite reading locations. Cassandra insists on
carrying me up the stairs even though she is perfectly aware my ankle is almost completely
healed. Stephanie and Barbara prepared a fully loaded music device of all the songs they
think I would have missed and Father has bought me five different kinds of art supplies
because I mentioned wanting to draw you.”

Damian blinked, trying to ignore the tears in his eyes. “How to I keep this? Timothy hasn’t
even started his term of Robin, it’s going to be years before I can join you all. How do I keep
them without proving I have their backs in the field, that I’m good enough to fight at their
side?”

Dick only got close enough because of the tears, or mostly because of the tears and maybe
just a bit because of his his size. He wrapped both arms around Damian and scooped the boy
lower onto the bed. He accidentally flung the plate to the floor as he went and was absently
glad the Alfred had started going for sturdy dish-ware somewhere around the the third
chandelier incident.

The blankets were easy to pull over both their heads and Dick snuggled Damian closer to his
side, curling inwards so their foreheads were pressed together.
“You let Tim help decorate your room and you use Jay’s reading spots, particularly when he’s
in them. You cling when Cass carries you up the stairs and start to demand it even though
you’re perfectly fine. You listen to every single song and then give Steph and Babs a detailed
list of all the ones that are terrible and the few that are tolerable and then ask for more. You
draw everyone, not just me, and give them all to Bruce and blush when Alfred puts them on
the fridge.”

Dick covered Damian’s eyes with one palm (his baby was so tiny again), helping him hide
even more.

“And when it’s too much, when they accidentally demand something you can’t give, or you
see their ghosts too clearly in their shadows, or hear Ra’s and Talia whispering hateful,
hurtful things in your ear, you come to me. You come to me and we’ll hide under the blankets
where we don’t have to look or see or act or do anything but breathe and live and not be
alone.”

Dick smoothed both hands from Damians eyes, over his hair, and settled one at the back of
his head and one across his spine. “You’re not alone, baby, I’ll never let you be alone. And
I’ll tell you a secret.” Dick leaned forward the last possible few spaces, “They’re just a scared
as you are. They’re just as worried about hurting you, about breaking your trust, about not
being enough. You’re not alone in that, either.”

For five precious, infinite minutes Dick got strong, tiny arms wrapped around his torso. At
the sixth minute, however, he got a strong, bony knee to his stomach. Damian muttered about
that being all the time he could buy for Dick and now the man’s presence was required
downstairs, before slipping out the door.

Dick would have to find him later, or maybe even send a sibling to do so. But in the
meantime, Dick got up, because Damian was right and it was time to face the brightly
coloured music.

He wandered downstairs in comfy clothes, walked past a little-used parlour, and then
stopped. He could continue on his way to the kitchen. He could continue on his way to the
nearest window. He could do literally anything other then walk back three steps and enter the
parlour.

He walked back three steps and leaned in the doorway.

Donna and Roy were scowling together on a sofa. Kori was perched on the arm, signing
avidly with Cass who was sitting crosslegged on the arm of the chair that was sitting kitty-
corner to the sofa. Cass’s back was leaning slightly against Jason, who was in the chair and
also scowling, though the kind of scowl that he only made because he was an angsty teenager
and didn’t like to admit he was amused as fuck.

Clark and Gar were trying to eat as many of the tiny snacks Alfred had brought out as they
could, while Tim snuck an entire plate to Wally. Diana was standing behind Bruce’s chair, the
one across from the sofa, staring amusedly at her glaring sister.

Bruce was serving tea.

Dick blinked, then blinked again when no one noticed him.

Rachel taped him on the shoulder and Dick turned to the girl in the hall, a smile on his lips.

“Aqualad and Cyborg want you to know they are here in spirit, but Garth is helping Aquaman
with a leviathan issue and Victor is neck deep, literally, in a complete system overhaul.”

With a titled head, Rae handed him a stack of papers in a three-ring binder. “Should I be
concerned that Victor keeps sending you updates about our security?”

“No.” Dick braced the binder against his arms and began flipping through. “It’s how he
shows his worry. He’s caught me doing midnight checks after nightmares too many times and
now does it preemptively whenever he thinks I’m upset so that I don’t have to.”

Dick ignored the looks he was getting from the rest of the room to meet Rae’s unimpressed
expression.

“Hey. We’ve caught six bugs, a worm, two viruses, and and twelve different instances of
electrical or physical damage that was a house fire waiting to happen because of this. Teen
heroes are apparently very hard on the building.”

A line of code caught his attention and Dick got distracted for only a moment before Roy’s
voice broke his concentration.

“You’re not seriously going to read that now, are you?”

Dick looked at his scowling friend and then to a wide-eyed Bruce. Dick shared a look with is
father that acknowledged that neither of them really saw the problem with reading it now,
since security was important, but also that they still knew not to say those particular words
aloud.

Dick pulled one of the last pages out of the binder with a slight of hand that only Raven (and
Bruce) caught. “Of course not. Just the summary!”

Roy scoffed, but didn’t comment as Raven led Dick into the room by the elbow and into the
spot in the center of the sofa, between Roy and Donna. This was exactly enough time to read
all the ways Victor had found them to be secure, and the one way they were not, and the plan
for fixing that right away. There was also a request for Dick to bring Tim for a visit, and
maybe Batgirl, which Dick though would certainly happen because Tim snagged the binder
and started reading.

“What?” Tim asked when Jason poked the kid with a foot as he sat at Dick’s feet. “It’s not
like they’re here for me.”

“Can you even understand that?” Jason countered.

“Not all of it,” Tim said in a way that meant most of it. “I’ll get Babs to explain the rest to me
later.”

“Good morning?” Dick tried when all eyes turned back to him.
“Good morning, my friend!” Kori leaned around Donna to wrap an arm around Dick’s
shoulders even as Clark gave a cheerful, “Hi, Dickie.”

They were officially his favourites.

Roy tensed like he was about to say something, but Dick’s phone dinged. Specifically, Dick’s
phone dinged in a repeatedly cheery and obnoxious pattern that let Dick know exactly who
was texting with his usual fantastic timing.

Dick ignored it. Roy ignored the twitch in his eyebrow.

“Are you going to answer that?” Donna asked.

“No.”

“Are you sure?” Roy followed up with. “Because you’re usually awfully quick to answer
your phone. What if it’s one of your babies calling from a burner number?”

“All my babies are here,” Dick replied evenly.

“Steph isn’t,” Jason pointed out ever so helpfully.

Dick glared at him before meeting his dad’s very sympathetic gaze. Who knew that being
ganged up upon by their friends was all it took to put them on the same playing field?

Donna reached into Dick’s pocket with a dead-eyed stare and passed it over to Roy, who
passed it over to Jason, who unlocked it and passed it back.

“Traitor.”

Jason didn’t seemed bothered, if his smirk was anything to go by.

“Please tell me Stabby Orange isn’t Slade?” Roy asked.

“Mmm. Okay.” Dick did not tell Roy that Stabby Orange was Slade. “What does Stabby
Orange say?”

“It’s done.” Roy’s voice was reaching new levels of flatness.

“Wow, those are some great suspicious stares.” Particularly from Wally, who’d actually
stopped eating, and Gar, who mouthed a quiet, “Dude,” at Dick from across the room.

Dick winked.

“Richard,” said Damian.

“Yes, Baby Bat?”

“Jesus! Where did you even come from!” Jason yelled as Cass saved him from spasming of
the chair. She then reached up to drag Damian from the back of the chair to the arm so he
could nestle into her side.
“What did you hire Slade to do?” When Dick raised an eyebrow at his son, Damian scoffed.
“He was at the safe house for a reason.”

“It was his safe house. I just appropriated it,” Dick pointed out.

“Reason Slade in Nanda Parbat, Big Brother,” Cass clarified, and Dick had to answer her,
because she was his precious sister and was also using words, which she clearly knew.

“I hired him to help Constantine.”

His phone’s ding was very loud in the silence.

“And I’m going dark.” Roy read out. “Which you fucking knew.”

“Dick,” Bruce asked tentatively, clearly trying not to overstep but also desperately wanting to
know. “Where did you get the money to pay Slade?”

“Who said anything about money?” Dick raised both eyebrows this time at his father and let
the moment stretch. He knew there’d be a least one more text.

Roy stared at him for a solid thirty seconds after the next ding before Rachel reached down
and finished reading. “You Shithead. You would have given me the info regardless of the job.
Well played, Little Bird.”

“And now it’s creepy,” Roy sighed as Bruce twitched under Diana’s hand which was visibly
pressing him down.

“It’s Slade,” Dick acknowledged. “He’s always a little creepy.”

Roy clapped his hands. “Okay. Time for the intervention.”

“The what?” Dick asked at the same time Bruce said, “Alright.”

Dick glared at his father, who held up both hands. “Spending time with friends is important in
order to promote feelings of care and support.”

“So therapy is going well, then,” Dick couldn’t stop himself from asking.

Bruce made a face, but Dick spoke fluent Bat and was able to accurately read ‘it’s awful and I
hate it, but yes it’s probably going well.’

“Let’s go kids. We can have a day out while Dick spends time with his friends,” Bruce rather
successfully redirected.

Damian looked Dick straight on before commenting about how Tim had told them there was
a park with dogs and could they go there please. Dick’s entire family melted at the quiet
request and that was what Dick got for making Damian face up to Emotions this morning.
Diana and Clark also insisted on going with the group to get to know their new nephews and
niece.
Jason was the only one to hesitate, clearly wanting to be included with his family and the
Titans both. He exchanged a look with Roy, but it was Dick’s look, Dick’s silent
acknowledgement of their conversation the night before, that had him following Bruce,
demanding they stop at that one book store by the flower shop even as he scooped a
squawking Damian onto his back.

Dick’s friends re-adjusted to the emptier room, with Kori floating up to sit on the back of the
sofa so she could play with Dick’s hair, Wally and Gar taking over Bruce’s chair, and Raven
floating cross-legged just above Jason’s.

“Look, if this is about Slade-“ Dick started.

“It’s not.” Roy crossed his arms but leaned slightly back, throwing his legs over Dick and
Donna’s lap. He wasn’t trying to trap Dick, they both knew that would backfire spectacularly,
but rather turning so he could face Dick directly. And Dick had always appreciated contact.

“We already know about the Slade thing and the weird not altogether completely dangerous
relationship the two of you somehow have,” Donna admitted.

“Yeah, we already have protocols for that,” Gar added, before being slapped lightly upside
the head by Wally.

“We don’t talk about the protocols!” The speedster reminded.

Dick really wanted to ask if they actually though he didn’t know about the protocols, but Roy
continued. “And that was your mission face when you were talking about hiring him. You’ll
tell us when you’re ready, not before, and we trust you. No. This is about your adoption
problem.”

“I don’t have an adoption problem?”

Kori’s warm hands tugged Dick’s head around to face her. “Your new children are lovely and
I would very much like to spend more time with them. Four children in as many months does
seem to be a little quick, however, considering you have never expressed a desire for
offspring previously.”

“They’re Bruce’s offspring.” Except Dami, well yes Dami, but Dami wasn’t just Bruce’s.
And maybe also Cass if she chose Grayson as her name.

The Titans expressed disbelief in many forms, including snorting, scoffing, scowling,
smiling, and complicated eyebrow movements.

Gar was the only one to hum. “Okay, but he kind of did?” When all eyes turned to him he
blushed, just a little. “I mean, you guys are the all the same-ish age, but Rae and I? We’re
different.”

“We’re not as surprised,” Rachel finished, with a surprisingly soft smile. “Except maybe by
the fact that you brought the kids to the Bat instead of the Titans.”
Roy waited a beat then moaned and dropped his head in his hands. Dick patted his knee.
“There there. My family is perfect. I’m not looking for anymore siblings.”

“How about teammates?” Donna asked, wryly.

“Well, if you’re asking, I may have some ideas.” Dick knew he’d aced his innocent tone, but
the various Titans still groaned, excepting Kori, because she was always thrilled about new
friends and Rae, because she’d seen it coming all along. “So you don’t want to see the files?”

“You have files?” Wally sounded very incredulous.

Dick was actually rather insulted by the tone. Dick was a Bat. If there was one thing all Bats
were, it was fucking fantastic record keepers. He knew they didn’t have access to the
Batcomputer or the Batbackup or the Batfile Room, but surely they’d looked at the extensive
Titan case notes. That was a beautiful system which automatically cross referenced and
consolidated news reports and had taken months to complete.

Of course Dick had files.

He even had several he was willing to share.

Rachel watched Dick smirk and knew they’d lost. He smirked not because he’d deliberately
led them away from the intervention, though he absolutely had, but because he was so
delightedly involved in the scouting of new Titans. Unfortunately, that was the one of the
things that made Dick so successful at redirecting conversations; he genuinely wanted to talk
about whatever new subject he’d chosen and just dragged you along with him.

Not that Rachel minded all that much. She’d really just come along for the chance to again
prove to herself that Dick was okay. Or, as okay as he could be, with the fragmented magic
that clung to him like shards of broken glass since that one day he'd come down from his
room shattered by a nightmare he refused to talk about.

Rachel liked Dick’s children, because he settled more and more with each child, glass
becoming motes of dissipating dust. She even almost believed him, that his family was
perfect, with how little of the malicious magic residue remained.

She highly doubted, however, that positive emotions and an adoption habit were fully behind
the change, not with the smooth edges of the sparks that slunk about Dick’s form with quiet
possessiveness, occasionally routing a shard with a quiet and newly familiar flare.

Rachel slipped out her phone as her friends circled around Dick and the laptop he had
procured from somewhere, gesturing occasionally as he showed them his files.

Raven: Nightwing taught me how to trust.

Raven: To have friends and a family.

Raven: I trust him.

Raven: I won’t defend you against the Nightwing Protection Society.

Raven: And if you hurt him, I will make your trips to Hell look like a child’s picnic.

Raven: But let me know if I can help.

Constantine: …

Constantine: How are you at tracking spells?

Constantine: Because I can’t ask Wing to go all Bat-stalker and this bint’s somehow avoiding
everything I got.

Constantine: It’s starting to piss me off.

“Ow! That was my spleen, Gar. Let’s go to the den. I can hook the laptop to the screen there
so you’re not all sitting on me. Shoo.”

Dick’s voice was more amused than irate, but the various Titans did start getting up. Wally
and Gar made sure to grab the snacks as Roy started to lead the way despite Dick’s protests
that Roy had never lived here.

Dick didn’t protest too hard, though, because he hung back enough to loop his arm through
Rachel’s when was the last to leave the room.

“Everything okay, Rae?”

Rachel looked at clear blue eyes and the faint purple marks below them before leaning her
weight onto his shoulder and nodding.

“Just a consult. Another magic user with a problem.”

She had to blink at the pride visible on Dick’s face. He’d been the one to encourage her to
reach out to other magic users, to insist that she had something worthwhile to offer.

And she did. She was actually fairly decent at tracking spells, and because the nature of her
magic was so different from that of someone like Constantine, there were probably a few in
her repertoire he wouldn’t know.

Rachel didn’t know what this woman Constantine was hunting had done to Dick, but she
knew it was something. Constantine had a reputation after all, and while Rachel didn’t really
care about a lot of it, there were certain parts that seemed particularly relevant.
Like the parts that said he’d always survive. That he was dangerous when pissed off. That he
was vindictive. That he’d cheat, but would stick to his deals. That he didn’t leave people
behind.

Those were all traits Dick had, even if most of them were tucked into hidden pockets of his
smiling reputation. Dick could be vicious protecting what was his, and, as someone who’d
been his for years, Rachel could recognize Dick’s other people. Yes, he’d adopted a gaggle of
precocious and violent children, but he’d also adopted one raggedy and possessive magic
user.

Rachel could work with that. She could do a great many things to keep Dick safe.
 Sons
Chapter Summary

Dick and Bruce have a talk and there are Emotions. Dick asks Clark for a favour.
Damian makes a friend.

Chapter Notes

I hope everyone enjoys the talk that has been coming with Bruce and another good thing
for Damian.

Dick picked up his father from work in the middle of the day.

They’d arranged to meet for lunch and grab food from a street vendor as they walked around
the park. When Dick had been younger and restless (bouncing off the walls with energy and a
need to move), Bruce had started taking Dick out for walking meals instead of asking him to
try and sit still long enough to eat. The outdoor meals had become a reward, a favoured treat,
a moment for just the two of them that Dick couldn’t actually remember having ended.

Bruce had been the one to suggest lunch, with the kids in school (Damian in homeschooling
with Alfred) and the two of them thus able to have some actual time one on one together. As
Dick had ridden up the elevator, smiling at various staff members as he went, he hadn’t been
able to decide if the roiling in his stomach was from the fear that Bruce would cancel, or the
fear that he wouldn’t.

“I can come back?” Dick ended up saying when he made it to Bruce’s office at Wayne
Enterprises only to come face to face with Bruce’s desk covered in paper work, Lucius Fox
scowling over his shoulder, and a Board Stooge and their assistant siting grumpily in the
visitor chairs.

Bruce looked up slowly before blinking at his son in the doorway and then at the paperwork.
He checked the time and hurriedly stood, thrusting the tablet he’d been holding onto the
desk.

“Absolutely not,” Bruce declared as he reached for his coat.

“I’m sure,” the Board Stooge started with a middling impressive glower, “that the priority-“
He cut off, which was fair, since Bruce was levelling the closest things Brucie Wayne ever
got to the Batglare at the man. “The priority is to my son with whom I had a prior
commitment that you infringed on by barging into my office and demanding answers to
problems already solved. Lucius is more than capable of finishing this off. I trust him
completely.”

Lucius was rather looking forward to finishing things off, if the smirk he flashed Dick when
Bruce and the Stooge were glaring at each other was any indication. Lucius also gave a little
flick of the hand that he used to give whenever the man had wanted Dick to get his father out
of the way or to trick Bruce into resting.

Dick grinned back, even as he stepped into the room and scooped up Bruce’s coat. He handed
it off to Bruce as a way to break the staring contest before the Stooge realized how badly he
was about to lose. Bruce was happy enough to disengage and start shuffling Dick out the
doorway.

“Quickly,” Bruce whispered, “before Lucius realizes just how badly that man screwed up the
paperwork.”

“Lucius is going to eat him alive,” Dick responded. He was drawing on all the sage wisdom
of one who had watched Lucius run one of the most intensive WE departments and
consistently pull off miracles with both technology and budgets.

“All these years and he still manages to catch them unawares.” Bruce shook his head, but fell
quiet as the approached the elevator.

The quiet lasted until they were out of the building and about a block away. The silence
wasn’t uncomfortable, exactly, but Dick wasn’t sure how to break it gently.

Bruce made the first move by reaching over, slowly, and grabbing Dick’s hand. He tucked
Dick’s fingers into the crook of Bruce’s own elbow even as he tucked his hand back into the
deep pocket of his coat. Dick let out a soft laugh despite himself, but held on tightly to his
father’s arm.

This hold had been another mini-him habit, born of the fact that Dick liked contact and
Bruce, unlike Batman, habitually and consistently forgot his damn gloves so was always
walking with his hands in his pockets. The position had also allowed a Dick’s much smaller
frame to swing of Bruce’s arms and dangle on the strength the man held hidden.

Dick allowed himself to be tucked closer to his father’s warmth and breathed in the spicy
cologne that Jay had got him as a gag gift and Bruce had worn everyday since.

“I’m not going to going to take Damian from you.”

Dick hand spasmed around B’s arm. He hadn’t expected Bruce to be the one to start that
particular conversation. He opened his mouth, but Bruce shook his head, cutting him off
before the words could form.
“Don’t.” Bruce winced. “I mean, I’m not ignoring what you have to say, I want to hear it and
I promise to listen to what you say. I just, you said your piece, earlier, about being better, and
this is me trying. This is, I’m communicating. So listen first, please?”

Dick held onto his dad’s arm just a bit tighter, stepped just a bit closer, because there was a
reason Bruce had always been able to so easily read Cass. Also, that lead up had been
awkward as fuck but Dick was still very proud of the man.

“Sure, Dad.”

Bruce took in a deep breath, the kind that held tempests at it’s edges, and Dick remembered
that he probably wasn’t consistently calling Bruce ‘Dad’ at this point in time.

“Okay,” Bruce said, before digging into his other pocket and opening his phone one-handed.
Dick would have felt insulted, but instead had to hold back a laugh.

“Did you make a list?”

Bruce coughed. “It was Clark’s idea. I’m, I’m not good at this.”

Dick smiled, because he knew.

Bruce scowled. “Which you know. Right.” He glanced at his phone. “Damian. Damian is the
first thing. I’m not taking him from you. Whatever else happened in that month the two of
you were together, and I know there was something. It, it bothers me that I don’t know, that
you won’t tell me, but I trust you. I trust you have good reasons. I also know that the two of
you are close, now. That he trusts you beyond anyone else in the world.”

“Talia should never have kept him from you,” Dick said quietly. Bruce’s relationship with
Talia had always been tumultuous, and Dick had very little information on how exactly it
ended, but there had been actual care there, once.

“No, she shouldn’t have.” Bruce paused in that way that meant he was somehow looking at
Dick out of the corner of his eye and still cataloguing every expression. “But what she did
was not the same as what you did.”

Bruce dragged Dick out of the way of an oncoming mother and stroller, using the force of the
motion to jar Dick enough that he was stopped from speaking for the moment.

“Hush, chum. This is still my turn, remember?” When Dick stayed silent, Bruce continued.
“Talia kept Damian a secret, for years, because she wanted to use him for her own ends. I’m
not discounting the fact that she might have cared about him, but he was a piece first and a
son second. You kept him a secret, for much less time, to protect him. You got him out. I wish
you’d told me. I wish I’d helped. But I can’t exactly complain when your judgments led to
such a successful path. I can’t complain when you’ve been stepping up to cover my
inadequacies for years.”

Dick was glad he wasn’t supposed to speak, because he would have no idea what to say to
that. Bruce wasn’t wrong, exactly, but he was also not as right as he would have been in the
future that wasn’t. There was also a shade of self-flagellation in his tone that Dick loathed
hearing. Bruce wasn’t always great emotionally, but he tried. That had always been true,
particularly of this Bruce.

Bruce jostled Dick’s arm again, before checking the phone that he was holding onto with a
white-knuckled grip. Dick suddenly wondered if looping Dick’s hand into his father’s elbow
was more than a childhood callback. If, perhaps, the man was even conscious of his desire to
hold too tightly onto things he felt he couldn’t keep or didn’t deserve.

Dick understood this desire a lot better after hands and hearts had slipped from his own ever-
tightening grip.

With barely a thought, Dick let go of his dad’s arm, catching the sheer and utter panic on
Bruce’s face out of the corner of his eye. Instead, Dick wrapped both arms around his father
forearm in a kind of limited hug, just like he had when he’d wanted Bruce to swing him.

Bruce sighed and briefly let his cheek rest on Dick’s hair before continuing on their path.

“I was young, when I adopted you. That’s not an excuse, and. I’ve never regretted it Dick, not
once, no matter how we argued or what danger we were in. I’ve never regretting making you
my son.”

They eyes on Dick’s head were heavy, molten, and he he burrowed in closer to the arm in his
grasp instead of meeting the gaze.

“But I had no idea what I was doing. That’s what made it so easy when you seemed to. I
taught you skills, kept you fed and warm, but you taught me about being a family. You
reached out for hugs. You told me I needed to come to your competitions. You sat down at
meals and talked as if you wanted nothing more than to be right there. You saved me, chum.
You saved Bruce again and again and again until I stopped letting you. Until I let my fear and
the knowledge of what I could lose drive you away.

“I’m not doing that anymore. And I’m not doing that to you. Not when adopting you was one
of the single greatest things I’ve ever done. I’m not denying you that chance with Damian,
not that I think I even could. But particularly not when I know you’ll be great it, when you’re
already great at it.”

Bruce checked his phone, and it was jarring, but also so very Bruce that Dick almost smiled
into the man’s sleeve, despite the tears that were making it so that Dick couldn’t have seen to
walk on his own even if he did let go. He did smile when Bruce growled at his phone,
probably upset that he was saying things out of order, and shoved it in his pocket.

“I, I’ve already admitted you’re intrinsic to my raising teenage boys. And now I’m adding
teenage girls and also non-teenage boys to the list, just based on past patterns. It’s a little,
well, odd, to think that Damian will be like both my son and my grandson, I can’t deny that,
but our house is already rather strange and so much better for it.

“I’m also not putting this all on you, Dickie. I don’t want you to be overwhelmed or think
it’s all your responsibility, or that I won’t drop everything and join you on a mad hunt though
a foreign county because someone hurt the kids, because I will. I’m Damian’s father, too, not
to forget the rest of the kids. That’s, that’s my point. I’m going to be better for them, but I’m
also going to be better for you. Because I do trust you. And you’re already doing such a great
job, and I’m so proud of you, but you don’t need to do it alone. I’m willing to be, I want to be
partners again, in this.”

Bruce froze, just stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk and forced everyone to move
around them. Dick had stopped as well, because he was still doing his best impression of a
barnacle, and he looked up, trying to figure out what in this magnificent, heart-rending
speech had been completely not on Bruce’s list. Because Bruce had said something he hadn’t
meant to, and was now having Emotions.

Dick recognized the expression from Dami.

“I never said that. Shit, I’ve never said that.” Bruce turned and tugged Dick towards a bench,
gently sitting them both down and grasping the edges of Dick’s face like there wasn’t the
possibility of cameras and press and nosy paparazzi.

“I know I don’t deserve the chance to be partners, not after how I ended-“ He trailed off,
since they were in public and Bat paranoia would only let him go so far, even if half the
reason they were having this conversation outside was so that baby Bat ears wouldn’t pick it
up.

“I never told you I was sorry, for that. But I am. So, so sorry, chum.” Callused thumbs
stroked over Dick’s damp cheekbones and Dick was getting so tired of crying. “I handled that
so badly, your introduction to Jason so badly. I was trying to do what you taught me, trying to
help another child in the way you taught me, the only way I knew with your laughter and
kindness and sense of family, but I messed up and when it came time to tell you that, to
explain, I didn’t say damn thing. Couldn’t, and that was stupid and wrong and I’m sorry.”

Dick hugged his father. He lunged forward that last foot of space and wrapped both arms
around his father’s chest, breath evening out as Bruce’s arms wrapped around his shoulders.

Dick didn’t say that it was alright, because it wasn’t. He’d been thrown out from his second
home and cast out from the last tie to his first home. But it was better. Dick hadn’t even
realized how much he needed to hear those words, how much better it was to hear those
words and not just read them in a returned key, specialized gear, and stilted looks at bedsides
when wrapped in bandages.

He felt like a storm that had been blowing since he was a teenager the first time, building and
ebbing like tides of wind, had started to turn. Still there, still present, but with notes of a
lullaby woven throughout.

“I’d like that,” Dick told Bruce in an echo of the words he’d said to Jason. It was a different
kind of admittance though, a different kind of help. Jason wanted to be equal, to be relied
upon. Bruce was admitting that Dick was enough.

After a moment, a long one, Dick let out a huff of a laugh. There were things he should
probably say in response, but he was kind of revelling in being the quiet one, for once. At not
having to be the one responsible to carry the conversation forward. “I’m totally crediting this
conversation to therapy and thus my own list of successes for getting you to go. Just so you
know.”

Bruce smiled into Dick’s hair, even if he sounded like he was chewing broken glass when he
spoke. “I suppose it hasn’t been entirely unhelpful.”

There was a slow tensing in Bruce’s shoulders, then, a question that had Dick withdrawing
just enough to stop looking at his father and set shoulder to shoulder, except with worse
posture so Dick could still lean into the man.

“Yes,” Dick said as Bruce placed a steady arm over his shoulder.

“Chum?”

“I was seeing someone. For therapy. But I haven’t since…”

“Since whatever it is that has you desperately reaching for your family and flinching at
everyone else.” There was no judgment in Bruce’s tone, and he didn’t so much as twitch
away from Dick, for which Dick was so, so grateful.

He hadn’t thought he’d be able to fool the Batman, not really, he just wasn’t ready to talk
about it. Any of it. And there was some low hanging fruit he could definitely toss Bruce’s
way to get the man looking in not incorrect but also not time-traveling directions, if Dick
could only find the words to talk about it.

“I don’t need to know.” Bruce met his son’d wide-eyed stare with the dark between stars in
his eyes. “I want to know. I hate not knowing, but only because I want to make sure it never
hurts you again. Because it would make it easier to make sure you believe that whatever
happened, whatever hurt you, you are not weak. That I would not think you weak. That I will
never be any less proud or love you any less strongly. But I recognize that I haven’t earned
that again, not yet.”

“It’s not about earning, B.” At least, Dick didn’t think it was.

Bruce hummed, but didn’t press for what it was about. Which was good, because it was about
time. Because certain things were easy to stop. Certain things had to be stopped to give
Dick’s family any chance at a future. But certain other things hadn’t happened yet. Might
never happen.

Dick would never be able to explain certain mental scars or traumas because the
circumstances behind them just didn’t exist. He knew his family, he knew that he wasn’t the
only vindictive one, for all that he was happily tap-dancing in the grey himself. He couldn’t
send his family on a path of personal revenge for crimes that didn’t exist, against people that
hadn’t made those choices.

And yet the personal crimes, the ones where Dick had been the target, were the ones he didn’t
feel equipped to handle, to judge. The world ending-events? Easy. The murder of his family
and friends? Retaliation was swift. The fact that he was raped by people he could never name
because they hadn’t actually done that yet? Not a fucking clue.

Dick also hadn’t missed the fact that his family was putting the pieces together and coming
up with assault. Torture, possibly, but that would generally indicate a recovery period that
didn’t match Dick’s recent history. He hadn’t been off the grid for long enough and had also
been subjected to several medicals in the last few months.

Dick’s family and friends had also spent too much time with too many victims to not notice
certain warning signs. Not now that they were actually looking. Not this time when Dick’s
emotions were possibly just a bit fried from the time travel and the death and the end. Not
when Dick would rather pluck out his still beating heart than separate himself from his
family.

No, Bruce had mentioned the flinches for a reason. And Jay knew what their father
suspected. Dick wasn’t sure how, but he could see the knowledge in Jason’s eyes, in the rage
and the gentle touches and how he loathed anyone who approached without Dick inviting
them. Sometime even then. Cass knew, too, because she couldn’t not. One flinch, just one,
and she’d known.

The Titans didn’t know yet, or Babs, or the other kids, but Dick wondered if it was a matter
of time. He seemed to be doing much worse at hiding his trauma, this time around, if all the
damn tears were any indication.

“I’ll consider it,” Dick told Bruce, quietly, an admission in the dark of his father’s shadow,
“talking to someone. But. So you know. I know you don’t necessarily like Constantine, but he
was there for much of it. Through no fault of his own. And, we talk. Not a lot, maybe, but we
do.”

Constantine had promised to take care of the personal crimes, deep into a conversation they’d
both needed alcohol to get through. Constantine had the names and the bare bones of the
facts and a promise to look into the people Dick didn’t know how to, couldn’t, handle. He’d
promised to consider what they were doing now before acting, and while Dick honestly didn’t
think the man would keep that promise, Dick also didn’t really care.

Dick didn’t plan on asking Constantine for a status report, just he didn’t plan on giving one to
Constantine about the short list of names that had come up on the other man’s side of the
conversation for different crimes that left just as heavy scars.

Sometimes, trusting someone was enough. (Maybe it was about earning, just a little).

“Thanks for letting me know, chum.”

“Dad,” Dick asked when Bruce was reaching down because their stomachs had reminded
them that lunch was initially on the agenda. “Speaking of Clark, do you think he’d have time
to do me a favour?”

Graciously ignoring the fact that Clark had only been mentioned at the very start of the
conversation, smiled as he once again tucked Dick’s hand into Bruce’s arm.
“I’m absolutely sure he would.”

Dick: I need a favour.

Uncle Clark: Anything.

Dick: …

Uncle Clark: You know I mean it.

Uncle Clark: Anything.

“Jon, this is Damian. Damian, Jon.” Clark’s voice was soft as he introduced his son to
Damian, ignoring the fact that Damian had a death grip on Dick’s jacket.

“Hi!”

“Hello, Jon,” Damian said, with quiet, burning eyes.

“This is so cool! I’ve never met the son of another hero like dad!” Jon bounced on his heels
and rose an inch into the air.

“I am the son of two heroes. Nightwing is as much my parent as Batman.”

Jon dropped to the ground and turned to look at Dick for one long moment. He spun back to
Damian with a grin. “That’s even cooler! I mean, my mom’s the best, but two heroes! And
even if your brother is your parent, you still have other brothers, right? I want a brother, but
mom says that isn’t likely to happen.”

Dick blinked and made a mental note to check in again on the facility that was currently
developing Konner. The boy deserved a chance to live and Tim deserved that friendship so
Dick had let the building and it’s research stand, but there was going to be a rescue as soon as
remotely feasible.

Clark was smiling at his son’s exuberance, but was also clearly worried the boy was going to
frighten the quieter Damian off. Dick, however, could see the fragile hope lacing Jon’s
exuberance, knew first hand what it meant to have a special parent and constantly wonder
how to measure up, even as you were assured you’d never have to. That shared experience
had always been Clark and Bruce’s hope in this introduction, to give the boys someone who
understood.

Dick wasn’t worried, not like Clark, and fought down a beaming grin when Damian unfurled
his fingers and stepped towards Jon with all the inevitability of a flower turning towards the
sun.

“I have two brothers and two sisters. But I do not have a friend,” Damian told Jon.

“I can be your friend! Let’s be friends! Let’s be best friends and superheros together and be
even better than Batman and Superman.” Jon said the last part at a whisper, as if it was
something sacrilegious, despite the fact that Clark didn’t even need superhearing to hear his
son’s words since he was standing right there.

“Alright,” Damian replied with a smile. He then clearly caught himself smiling because he
frowned. “Though such an admirable goal will require significant amounts of hard work.”

“I can do hard work! I’m great at working hard.” Jon caught sight of the sketchbook that was
held under Damian’s arm and gasped. “Wait, can you draw? Because I’m terrible at that. But
if you’re good, you can design our costumes!”

Damian glanced back to Dick, ghosts in his eyes.

They’d talked about this. About what it meant to make friends that they’d already made, that
would be separated by an age difference never acknowledged or explained. They’d talked
about what it meant to be young again, for Damian to be in a child’s body with a child’s brain
and emotions yet an almost-adult’s trauma and memories. They’d talked about what it meant
to be selfish, and that sometimes wanting something was enough of a reason.

They hadn’t talked about Jon’s death. About the fact that Damian had been the one to find
him. They’d never talked about Jon’s death because there was never anything to say to make
it better, to help more than quiet nights with tears and blankets and hugs the kind of desperate
you only get when you’re so close to being alone (but aren’t, not quite).

Dick’s heart broke and reforged when Damian blinked and turned back to his small friend. “I
would like that,” he admitted, before grabbing the beaming future Superboy’s hand and
dragging him to the shade of a nearby tree.

Dick wrapped his arms around himself as he watched them settle, Damian with his back to
the tree and Jon sitting crosslegged beside and gesturing wildly had he talked.

“So I need another favour.”

Clark hummed at Dick’s voice, but didn’t turn away from the two kids. “Don’t ask why
you’re crying?”

“Please don’t.”

“Okay,” Clark agreed. “On the condition I get a hug.”

Dick let out a wet laugh. “Deal.”

He buried himself in the arms of his uncle, turning his back on the boys as he sunk into the
hug. Clark’s hugs were always so kind.

The only warning Dick got that Clark was going to turn this into a Moment was the slight
tightening of the man’s arms where they wrapped around Dick’s shoulders.

“I’m not a Bat,” Clark said.

Dick couldn’t help but snort and Clark smiled into Dick’s hair.

“I’m not a Bat,” he repeated. “I don’t need to know everything. In fact, I’m on a team
consisting of aliens, gods, Atlanteans, magic users, Metahumans, and a completely regular
human who manages to keep up with everyone else except when he’s leaving us in the dust.
I’d say that I’ve accepted the fact I will never know everything quite a while ago.”

Clark rested his head on Dick’s crown, completely ignoring the fact that Dick was no longer
sunk into the hug but stiff as a coffin lid.

“I don’t need to know. I mean, I’ll listen, if you ever want to tell me, but if you don’t want to,
that’s fine. The only thing I need you to do is understand that anything means anything.”

Clark took half a step back but didn’t allow Dick an escape, instead cupping Dick’s face with
inexorable gentleness. “You know that, don’t you?”

It took Dick a moment to manage to force words out of his throat. “Yeah, I-yeah, I do, Uncle
Clark.”

There was a long moment where Clark studied the planes of Dick’s face, before nodding and
retiring to proper hug form. “Good. You just need to ask, Dickie.”

Dick sighed, but slowly relaxed back into the the embrace. He was quite familiar with Clark’s
hugs, having gotten quite a few as he’d routinely pestered the man into taking him flying as
often as possible when younger.

Dick blinked against a broad shoulder. That actually sounded really nice. He could trust
Damian and Jon to each other, as well as to Jay and Cass who would be almost at the end of
their patience and be heading out onto the grounds for a ‘walk’ anytime now. Flying without
enemies or fights or falls wasn’t something he’d done in, well, a very long time.

“Uncle Clark?” Dick asked their shoes, because he was a grown man twice over with access
to a jet and grapples and much else besides. “Can we go flying?”

There was a beat of silence before Clark’s booming laugh rang out across the grass. “Of
course.”

Clark looked over at the boys, both now watching them even as Damian’s open sketchbook
fluttered between them. “Behave.”
Jon snorted indignantly, but Damian just smirked.

Dick didn’t squeak when Clark swept Dick up into strong arms and leapt into the sky, but
only because Dick had a lot of experience suddenly finding himself airborne. He managed a
quick wave at Jay and Cass who had apparently dragged Bruce into their check up as well as
a debate on exactly which books Cass should start reading now that her skills were
developing.

Bruce didn’t show any of the surprise his two children did at seeing Superman essentially
kidnapping his son, but there was a rather large amount of fondness on his face for the once-
common sight.

Dick gave his Uncle a slap on the shoulder for the lack of warning, but didn’t speak again till
they were well above the ground.

“You know that’s not going to work, right?”

“What isn’t?” Clark asked all too innocently.

Dick glared at him, but wasn’t really talking about Clark’s actions. “The boys. They’re the
sons of Superman and Batman. Telling them to behave isn’t really preventative enough.”

Clark chuckled. “I think I’m more worried about the boys being the sons of Superman and
Nightwing, to be honest. You know, we still have no clue how you got that much pudding
into the watch tower.”

Dick felt the laugh burst out of him, drawn by warmth and wind and kindness.

One day the various members of the Justice League would realize that they were not unique
in being wrapped around Dick’s little finger when he pulled the little-nephew-who-just-
wanted-to-have-a-little-fun card. And that he didn’t even have to pull a card for the younger
generation to get involved (with Wally, Roy, and Donna he didn’t even need to speak, just
walk up to them with a certain smile).

In the meantime, well, the Pudding Prank was not the only time Diana had been a fantastic
accomplice.

“I have my ways,” Dick told Clark and the sky rushing around them. “I have my ways.”

Jon realized he’d lost his new friend with the sad eyes and clinging hands almost
immediately. It was one of the benefits of Supersenses, and he was actually getting pretty
good a reading heartbeats and breathing patterns. Not for long or in crowded places, but there
weren’t many people out here on the grounds of Wayne Manor.

Damian seemed to drift a far bit to be honest. It wasn’t so much that he’d loose track of the
conversations, since the few time Jon had checked to see if he was babbling too much
Damian always had the perfect response, but that a thought would cross his mind and
suddenly Damian’s pencil would still and his head would tilt.

Jon wanted to know where he went in those moments, but figured they were probably too
new at being best friends to get to ask. His mom was trying to teach him tact and his dad had
been very careful in how he’d talked about Damian’s previous home. Assassins sounded kind
of cool but also very awful.

Damian glanced again into the sky and Jon followed his gaze, but saw nothing but clouds. He
bumped their shoulders together and smiled when Damian looked at him. “Dad will look
after your brother. Promise.”

“Tt. I know.” Damian looked like he wanted to end it there, but he looked under long
eyelashes back at Jon’s face. “It’s just-“

“Dick saved you?” Jon tried out.

His dad had mentioned that, and Jon had seen how Dick’s eyes had never left Damian
throughout the introductions. How Damian had hid behind the man. It was probably really
scary being separated from a person who loved you that much, when you weren’t used to
having someone at all.

Damian flipped his pencil over his fingers. “Yes. He did. He did.”

There was something in the repetition, in the tone, that Jon couldn’t quite understand. He
understood the emotion though. The pride. Jon was very proud of his dad.

“Tell me about him?” Jon asked. He shrugged at Damian’s look. “I mean, I don’t know much
about Nightwing except that he leads the Titans, which his super cool, and that Dad really
respects him. You must know more.”

“He has a good voice.” Damian made a face like he was surprised by his own words, and that
hadn’t quite been what Jon was expecting, but was still interesting! “He sings to me a lot,
when it’s the two of us, or I cannot fall asleep. In Romani, sometimes.”

They paused a moment when a yell broke out across the grounds. Jon almost laughed when
he saw Bruce (Batman!) getting dogpiled by two teenagers and narrowly avoid falling in a
fountain. He didn’t, because Damian put a gentle hand on his arm and his new best friend
was more important.

“He has never hurt me. Never,” Damian added, like a confession. “Even when I deserved
punishment.”

Jon didn’t think a child ever deserved to be punished, particularly his new best friend with his
dark eyes and quiet hunger and hands that reached and reached and reached yet seemed to be
afraid to settle, to stay. Punishment seemed like one of those ways that Assassins were very
awful.
Damian flinched at his own words, and started to flip deliberately through his sketchbook.
“He is also a very proficient fighter. His acrobatic skills allow him to fly in a way that even
your father cannot match. I will ask him to show you when they return. In the mean time,
have you heard of a manticore?”

Jon blinked. “No? Whoa, is that one?”

Damian nodded, angling the page so Jon could get a better look. Damian was a better drawer
than any kid Jon had met, and the creature looked very scary. It had a lots of sharp points.

“Richard punched one in the face while retrieving me from Nanda Parbat.”

“Really?! That’s freaking awesome!” Because it was. Manticores looked mean.

Damian started in on the story, which was very cool, and let Jon hold onto the sketchbook so
Damian could gesture at certain parts of the action. Damian was actually a pretty good
storyteller, for someone who had so far mostly been happy to listen to Jon talk.

One of Jon’s thumbs traced over the paper, and he peeked at the page Damian had been
previously been working on where two costumes were just roughly starting to form. The
Suberboy suit even had small notes about materials and armour, because Damian was very
insistent that just because Superman was invulnerable didn’t mean his half-human son would
be, and no friend of Damian’s would be stupid enough to get taken out when adequate
preparation would have saved them.

Jon really like his new best friend. He was a little rough and talked fancy but he wanted to be
friends. Jon could tell.

So it was okay that Jon couldn’t follow Damian when his thoughts dragged him away, or
understand the hidden weight behind his words, or know exactly why his grip was just a few
shades stronger than Jon’s mom had taught him was normal for human hands.

Dick could probably teach Jon. The man had been the one to get Jon’s dad to bring Jon here
in the first place so Dick had wanted Damian to have a friend, right? He would probably be
happy that Damian’s friend wanted to be an even better friend.

Jon and Damian were best friends, but they were new best friends.

They had time. They had time and Dad was teaching Jon how to fly really fast, so they could
spend a lot of that time together.
 Rain
Chapter Summary

Constantine makes an offer and carries out several plans. Dick gets several hugs and has
several conversations.

Chapter Notes

So we're finally finding out the fate of Catalina and Mirage. The chapter isn't
particularly dark or graphic, but the fact that Dick was raped is definitely brought up
several times. I hope the chapter is full of all the healing you could wish for.

John wondered if he was breaking Dick’s trust.

In some ways, he probably was, even if they’d never explicitly said that they couldn’t bring
in outsiders for these little side missions. On the other hand, they hadn’t exactly said much at
all after the alcohol and the tears and the quiet agreement to handle what the other couldn’t.

On the most important hand, agreements mattered not a fucking jot if one of the Batkids were
in danger. The only thing Dick would never forgive was one of his hellions getting hurt. And
Jason was getting far closer than he should be able to, considering the limited information
available and the fact that the crimes n question hadn’t actually happened.

John sighed, stepping quietly through the doorway and figured it was too late to back out
now. He walked down the hall, noting the admirably impressive security and drafting a
mental reminder to get Dick to recommend a couple of magical wards for this particular
commandeered safe house. The building was clearly new and the kids probably thought Dick
didn’t know about it, but John knew better.

He leaned in the doorway with crossed arms and faced the five Batkids arranged around a
card table that sat in front of a ridiculous number of computer screens and at least three white
boards covered in green and purple yarn. Well, five Batkids if you counted Barbara, which
Dick probably didn’t but John definitely did.

“Hullo, hellions,” John told them, ignoring the many pointy weapons and one loaded gun that
were directed his way.

Barbara huffed and went back to her laptop, but Jason held the gun up for just a beat longer.
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
“And how did you even know where here even was?” Stephanie asked, hands on her hips.

“Not that hard. Tracking spells exist and I have a good grasp on you lot.” Dick had made sure
of it. Had made sure that John could track any of the Batbrood if need be and John wasn’t so
bitter as to not feel honoured at the sheer magnitude of trust the other man was placing in
him.

Constantine also had the names and ages and identifying information of these kids, which
made the magic much easier. Without that information John was up a bit of a creek, which
was why attempting to track down Catalina Flores was such a pain in his ass.

John had her name and identity, but her work as an FBI agent had her traveling extensively as
well as placing her under unfortunately decent protection. Someone in the government knew
what was up magic-wise, or was at least a paranoid fucker. John had persevered, however,
and found enough to determine that Catalina was still shady as fuck in her own right and had
likely already been murdering in the name of justice for a while now.

He just couldn’t find her. Not when the emotion that could fuel and focus the magic was all
from a crime that hadn’t happened. Not when John himself had never actually met her in
either the future that wasn’t or the present.

Raven’s assistance had, unfortunately, been necessary.

Miriam Delgado had been easier. The clusterfuck that was the Lord Chaos situation also
hadn’t happened yet and therefore Mirage hadn’t been sent to their timeline. John, who’d
recently found himself rather an expert on time magic, had simply preformed a spell that
would bar the woman from entry into their universe and timeline. The others could still come
seeking help if need be (only because Dick was softhearted and wouldn’t want to doom an
entire world because of one bitch), but she would just bounce the fuck out.

Simple didn’t mean easy. The actual magic had taken the better part of a month to set up and
a full twenty-four hours to cast. Dick hadn’t been impressed when he’d found John nearly
unconscious in one of their safe houses, half-naked in a rune circle of questionable origins.
He’d accepted John’s promise that it had been necessary, however, and simply helped John
into the bathroom, guarded his very long nap, and then made some delicious pasta.

Consequentially, the folder John dropped to table about Miriam Delgado was very thin,
containing a brief profile and her Banned from Our Earth status. Catalina Flores’s folder,
however, was a different matter entirely, and several coloured sticky notes may have escaped
when the pages hit the grey plastic (Dick may have corrupted John into actual record-keeping
now and then, but he wasn’t going to be neat about it).

“I’m here to offer an official alliance with the Dick Protection Society,” John said directly to
Tim, who was seated at the other end of the card table. Tim had expanded the Society
radically fast, but had also held onto his position of Founder with sharp little hands.

Tim leaned back, but didn’t look at his siblings as they started passing out pages of the file.
Cass only took one glance before coming to stand behind Tim’s chair like an enforcer at a
mob meeting. Not that John would know (not that John had ever stood with sparking hands
behind a smirking Nightwing’s shoulder).

“If this is about your spleen, I’d say I held up my end of the bargain.”

John snorted. “Yup, thanks, mate. Spleen still intact and not sold by the hellions or Justice
league. But nah, this is about the bitch Biggest Hellion and Red Arrow have been attempting
to track down.”

“And you know about that, because?” Jason’s eyebrows were raised and his knuckles white
along the edge of the table.

“Because your sources were mine first.” Because Dick had given John information and a
head start. John waved a hand and ambled over to the whiteboard. “I’ll give you a minute to
check the info.”

They took the minute, because Bats always checked the info, and there was the low murmur
of voices and the clicking of keys as Barbara confirmed the more identifiable bits. John was a
little amused by Jason’s quiet comments asking what the fuck was so special about
Bludhaven, mainly because John had asked Dick the same damn thing.

As he waited, very conscious of the constant presence of at least two sets of eyes at all times,
he took out a green sparkly pen and a new set of sticky notes and started crossing off names
and adding addresses to the other profiles the kids had set up. It was pretty impressive, this
list of people who could or would (or had, though there was no proof at all other than in one
memory-shaken hero) hurt their big brother.

John took great pleasure in crossing off a handful of names.

“Handled?” Cassandra’s voice manifested from his elbow.

John just nodded. He taken care of most of them, but a couple Dick had taken care of
personally. Black Mask, for example, had been taken out for what he did to Stephanie and
Jason. Blockbuster was another one, for though he had been difficult for Dick, the man had
ultimately been hit for the circus and Dick’s neighbours and the city that once had their very
own hero. John didn’t feel too bad about taking the credit in front of the kids, since Dick
wouldn’t want them to know (since John had set the bodies on fire and buried the evidence).

“Why?” Cassandra’s eyes were intent, but only a portion of the weight John felt as every eye
into the room settled on him.

And the real answer was because Dick was his. Dick was the last friend John had dared make
and the only one who hadn’t died or left or fell to some other terrible fate. Dick and John had
made it to the end, their end (Damian hadn’t, and John would always equate a finishing blow
with the sound Dick made as the boy fell), and had each broken in different ways.

Dick was darker now, more willing to take a life to protect what was his, but John had walked
the roads of Hell itself and come out the other side. John could still tell right from wrong and
black and white. Mostly. For the big things. But he’d seen the big players change the
boundaries of those lines at a drop of a hat and that made the grey between hella confusing
sometimes.

Dick knew where his lines were. Dick knew where John’s lines were and helped him
remember when John forgot or got so turned around he could see nothing but pale smoke
wafting through screams.

John blinked, and didn’t say any of that. “Because he found me, too.”

The kids understood, because of course they did. Tim was starting at the table rather than
John, now. Palm flat on a paper that he probably shouldn’t have read, but was always going
to find. Flores’s file wasn’t pretty, when you got past the federal lies.

“What are your terms?” Tim asked the table.

“You help me get her and never ask what she did to Dick.”

“We know what she did to Dick.” Stephanie’s jaw was twitched.

John shrugged, deliberately casual in a way none of the kids bought. “You don’t have the
details. But, yeah, I know. I’m not sure how you found out, cause no way in Hell did Dickie-
boy tell you, but I wouldn’t be here unless I was damn sure you already knew.”

“Nightmares,” Jason said softly, softer than John knew the teen could speak. “He has a lot of
nightmares.”

John breathed in through his nose. He knew that. He’d woken to arms tight as shackles
around his waist and sobs that were all the more heartbreaking for a how fucking quiet they
were. He’d also woken to lullabies sung through a hoarse and tired throat, sung by a man
with his fingers smoothing through John’s hair and John’s fingernails imprinted across his
arms.

“Yes,” John agreed, because there was nothing more to say. Not really.

“What if we don’t agree?” Tim asked, quiet in the face of his brother’s seething. “If we go
after her ourselves?”

“Not sure why you would, mate.” John’s hand twitched. He desperately wanted a smoke but
not enough to face Dick’s disappointed stare when the man somehow knew John had smoked
around the hellions. “But you wouldn’t get there first.”

Tim tilted his head, a move that Cass mirrored behind him. “Then why do you need us at
all?”

“Raven helped me with the tracking spell, so I’m already shot of doing this myself. And he,”
John pointed a finger at Jason’s brooding form, “is already kicking ant hills he shouldn’t be
going near without a fucking flame thrower. This saves me going in after Dick who’s gone in
after you lot when you all get in over your heads. Also, I ain’t that great with technology. It
occasionally blows up on me. Figured one of you could use your fancy tech and erase the hell
out of her once I get her gone.”
There was a series of exchanged glances. “Do you need a moment to deliberate?” John
drawled. “I can go wait on the balcony.” John rather suspected he’d have company there.

“No. We agree,” Tim spoke as Steph slid off the table and stood beside Cass.

“I get to bring Roy in to do the getting her gone part, though,” Jason added.

Barbara just sighed, her eyes as tired as her posture. John figured it probably hurt her a little
to know that Dick hadn’t told her about any of this. She was really the only one he might
have told, the only one not even slightly a child for Dick to feel poorly about burdening.

Any hurt, however, Barbara had buried under banked embers, since she was too much a hero
to let that hurt hold weight. To let this be about her when her friend was hurting far more.
John saw understating along with rage and exhaustion along the line of her spine, and
understood just a bit why her death had torn something in Dick asunder.

“So the real question,” Barbara said, “is what’s the plan.”

“The plan is to drop her in a inter-dimensional magical prison.”

There was slight disappointment on Jason’s face, nothing on Cass’s, and faint approval on the
rest of them.

“Dick wouldn’t like it if we killed her,” John continued, “which, by the way, is still the back
up plan if you lot throw me out.”

“He’d kill her if she’d hurt one of us,” Steph, surprisingly was the one to mutter.

John blinked, hands sliding into deep pockets and playing with the cards there. “Possibly.”
Abso-fucking-lutely. “But he’s always been a bit of a self-sacrificing hypocrite like that. And
this prison at least gets the bitch off the same fucking dimensional planet as him.”

“Does she even have magic?” Barbara asked, flipping through the pages again.

“Nah. But the prison has a guard or two that owes me a favour.” John looked at the Batkids
for one long moment. Looked not so much at their faces, but at their fingers. The way they
curled around weapons or clenched at their sides. The divots on the table from nails and
knives and the red and white crescents that were pressed into skin. “And no one likes a
rapist.”

The silence was gunmetal and bloody steel, a moment stretched on the edge of time.

“What do you need us to do?” Tim asked, palms flat on the table and eyes flickering with the
shadows of a hero yet to be born.

“ I might need a wee bit a help getting her there in one-ish piece. Could manage a dead body,
but to keep her living I need to extract her from her safe house, curse her a bit cause I’m a
petty shit, spell open a portal, and make sure she doesn’t escape while I’m buttering up the
guards.”
John stepped back and leant against a counter covered in discarded lunch boxes, one even
with a bit of note still sticking out of it with Dick’s messy scrawl and a tiny doodle of a bird
singing in a tree in the corner.

“Raven’s going to help with the magic and the portal-opening. I figure Biggest Hellion and
his gun will be coming since he’s been digging around the longest. Arrow boy too,
apparently. Don’t really want anyone else, to be honest. Don’t want her to spook and go to
ground. Raven and I can do the tracking spell again, sure, but its, hmm, a mite difficult. And
bloody. Hard to get that much blood in socially acceptable ways.”

John tilted his head, wondering if he should be concerned that two of the Batkids were
nodding like they understood that problem.

“Since we’re going to poof her away without a trace,” John said, deciding that possibly
literally blood-thirsty hellions were Dick’s problem, “I was thinking the rest of you could
erase any digital traces she was ever actually around. People will remember, sure, but no need
to give space to bad eggs.”

“Tim and I can do that,” Barbara agreed while squeezing a nodding Tim’s shoulder.

“And I need you to distract Dick,” John added, because that was a very important step.

“Me?” Steph asked.

“Not you,” John said with a wave. “Though you could probably help. I meant the Littlest
Hellion.”

Damian smoothly opened the window and hopped in, startling all of his family except a
frowning Cassandra, who’d still only clocked him in the last few moments. John himself
wasn’t actually sure how long the kid had been lurking, but he’d figured Damian wouldn’t
have missed this conversation for much of anything.

“For how long?” Damian asked.

“How long were you there?” Barbara asked, face white.

Damian looked to her in a way that was probably meant to be perfunctory, but lasted as the
boy noticed her complexion. He then looked to John in that same way he looked at Dick
when he knew there were Emotions going on that he couldn’t quite grasp.

John couldn’t breathe for a moment, not remembering ever actually earning that look, but
found himself walking forward and picking the kid up anyways. Damian settled on his hip
with a scowl but without violence, which John knew was only allowed because John had
once smiled and offered Damian a magical knife after the boy decapitated a serial killer
who’d had his hands around Dick’s throat.

“She’s worried about what you’ll think of Dick, and probably that you’ll start asking what
rape actually is,” John explained.
Damian tutted, quietly, but was calm when he turned to Barbara. “I was raised in the League
of Assassins. I know a great many things I probably should not.”

John foresaw this as being the go-to line Damian and Dick would use for the kid’s unusual
knowledge base. John knew the kid had always been a bit of a genius, so, in addition to the
League’s general suckery, John figured his two Bats had basically decided to use this as an
excuse to let Damian be as weird and precocious as he wanted.

Damian let the silence sit for a moment, before glaring at them all. “But nothing could make
me think less of Baba.”

“I will help.” Cass stepped forward and stroked her baby brother’s hair.

“Yeah,” Steph said with only a light tremble to her voice. “Tell us when and where and you’ll
have a Big Bird so distracted he won’t even think to ask where Jay is.”

With the weight of a baby assassin in his arms and the stares of more Batkids than he’d ever
seen alive in one room, John believed her. He believed all of them, and wondered when he’d
learned how to do that again.

It must had been when Dick had believed in John. When Dick had held his dead son in his
arms and hadn’t flinched when John told him they should go fucking back. When Dick had
instead smiled a grin full of blood and agreed. When Dick had believed John could give them
the chance to fix everything. To fix one damn thing.

(John was going to fix this one fucking thing.)

Dick watched Constantine navigate his way through the dim room and felt a slow mix of
concern, dread, and amusement. The man was as careful of the sleeping bodies thrown
haphazardly around the room’s floor and couches as he could be, what with Jason’s iron grip
on his wrist.

The two of them stopped a foot away from Dick, causing him to crane his neck just a bit so
he wouldn’t disturb Damian, who was asleep on Dick’s chest. Jason blinked a couple of time
before releasing Constantine’s wrist and crawling forward and finding room for himself at the
end of the couch, back against the armrest, head pillowed against the top cushion, legs
tangled with Dick’s.

It was actually hard to tell if the boy dropped right off to sleep. Dick would have said no, but
apparently Jay trusted Constantine now. And Jason was clearly exhausted.

Constantine looked down at his newly freed hand and clearly contemplated portaling out. He
ultimately decided against that course of action, which was the correct choice since otherwise
Dick would have had to get retribution for waking his siblings. His siblings who’d had a
slightly frenetic energy to them all day and who had only fallen asleep at the beginning of the
third movie after multiple cups of Alfred’s cocoa.

With a sigh that Dick could feel against his bones, Constantine kneeled by the couch, one
hand tracing lightly up Damian’s back and coming to rest on Dick’s cheek.

“It’s handled, luv. They can’t hurt you or anyone again.”

Dick raised his own shaking hand to press into Constantine’s. “I know that.” Because he did.
Dick had known that the moment Constantine had walked into the room. “Why was Jason
with you?”

“They already knew. Walked into hellion central, I did, with them all plotting and far closer
to the truth than you’d have liked.” Constantine’s thumb brushed across Dick’s cheekbones.
“Went with an inter-dimensional prison. Didn’t take the kid a-murdering.”

Dick should have told Constantine that Dick knew the man better than to ever make that
assumption. That he wouldn’t have been able to step over the prone bodies of his siblings if
Dick had any doubts.

Dick did not say that. “How?”

How did they all know?

“Nightmares, apparently.” Constantine traced the bruises under Dick’s eyes with staggering
gentleness. “Think you might talk in your sleep, luv.”

Damian stirred as Dick stiffened. Constantine just huffed and slid a small sachet onto the
table currently holding an empty popcorn bowl and three mugs. Incense maybe, or a charm.
Dick could just faintly feel the warm thrum of cinnamon sparks he associated with
Constantine’s magic.

“That should help. Keep it by your bed a couple nights a week.”

Dick had no doubt it would help. He raised a still shaking hand (he hadn’t wanted the kids to
know) and pulled Constantine down by the back of his neck so that their foreheads were
resting on each other.

“There’s a girl, a small one, who has magic in her heart, a father newly vanished, and a
mother newly adopted,” Dick told Constantine. “The new mother’s coven has never had
anything to do with demons.”

Dick’s hand rasped slightly as he dragged it across Constantine’s shoulders and around to the
front of his chest. He didn’t know, exactly, what had happened to that girl in the future that
wasn’t. Constantine had been far too drunk when he’d confessed to his failure, to her death,
to the lengths he had gone to retrieve that child’s soul from Hell. But it hadn’t been that hard
to use the foreign branches of Wayne Enterprises and a couple foreign heroes who owed him
a favour (or several) to get the girl to safety.
The soul wasn’t found over the heart. Dick did know that much. Still, he pressed a flat palm
over Constantine’s chest and levelled him Dick’s best Pay Attention look. “I expect you to
take care better care of you own, this time.”

Constantine stared at Dick, hundreds of words that were never going to be said winding
between them. The man blinked, slow and stuttering (and completely unaware that there was
a demon-killing sword under the floorboards of one of Dick’s safe houses, just in case
Constantine wasn’t as careful with his soul as Dick though he should be).

Eventually, Constantine nodded before shifting sideways into a sprawl, back to the couch and
head by Dick’s hand. “Oh look, the princess is about to brain her enemy. That’s a good part.”

Dick let Constantine pretend to focus on the movie still playing in the background, captions
rolling out instead of any kind of volume. Constantine let Dick pretend his hands had stopped
shaking and that everyone had been asleep for their conversation.

John would be gone in the morning (the sachet would remain and sing the waking nightmares
to rest just as surely as the ones that lingered in dreams).

Dick’s siblings would not be gone (they were here, present, alive and within reach).

Mirage would be gone and Catalina would be gone (never able to hurt him again.)

Selena was the one to find him a few weeks later, tucked under a water tower and pressed
against the frame. He was as far away from the edges and the rain as he could get. Dick
didn’t know why the ghosts were bothering him so much this night. He was fine. He’d been
fine.

He’d been out in the rain many times since that night with Catalina and even since Jay and
Constantine and the others had made sure Dick would never have to even meet her. He’d
spent seemingly endless conversations with Dinah in the future that wasn’t re-learning to love
the rain. But the rain tonight had been sudden, a single flash of thunder and lightening
followed by a downpour and Dick had thrown himself under the tower with a pounding heart
and stuttering fingers.

Maybe it was the fact that everyone knew now, or rather, that he knew they all knew now.
Maybe it was because he’d been thinking about it more than usual, more that years of
survival and differing priorities had allowed him. Maybe it was because trauma was shitty
and lurked around corners just so it could leap when least expected.

He hadn’t expected his own reaction, but he really hadn’t expected Selena to find him. He’d
thought she was still in Mexico.

She looked up at him for one long moment before climbing up into the struts and settling just
out of arms reach. It took almost an hour for Dick to end up with his head in her lap and her
hand in his hair (her touch so kind and so different), the two of them sprawled out in a way
that would be utterly uncomfortable for anyone who wasn’t an acrobat or a cat burglar.

“I missed you,” Dick said as he watched the rain fall.

“I know,” she replied, voice as soft as her fingers. “I had to get away, for a while.”

“I know,” Dick admitted, because he did.

“I’m sorry I missed it.” Dick didn’t ask Selena what she meant, but she continued anyway.
“Whatever hurt you, I’m sorry I wasn’t here.”

‘I know,’ Dick didn’t say, even though he did. ‘I wouldn’t have told you anyway,’ Dick
couldn’t say, because that would hurt her. ‘Everyone missed it,’ Dick wouldn’t say, because
that wasn’t true anymore.

“I told her no,” was what Dick said. Selena’s hand spasmed in his hair but kept going, even
as she caved a bit towards him. “That’s not everything. But that’s tonight’s nightmare.”

“My little bird boy.” Her hand slipped from his hair to trace over the edges of his mask. “I
believe you. I’m sorry and I love you and I believe you.”

A breath of poisoned air escaped Dick with a shake. “Jay knows. He knew first and I hate
that. The rest know, too, though I don’t know who figured it out next and I didn’t tell them
and I can’t decided if that’s better or not. I don’t know. I don’t know what to tell them. I don’t
have proof, Mama Cat. I don’t mean proof it happened, because I know they believe me. I do.
I just. It’s like it never happened.”

Dick closed his eyes but could still hear the rain. “It’s like it never happened.”

“But it did,” Selena whispered.

“But it did. She raped me, Mama Cat. They both did. And that’s the end. There can never be
more to the story than that.”

Because it hadn’t happened. And because Constantine and Jay had made sure it wouldn’t.

Still. In fits and starts and echoing, whistling winds, he told Selena more of the story even
though there was no more to it. Possibly because she’d never ask. Possibly because he’d
never been a hero to her, not really. Possibly because she didn’t once let go, but then again,
she never did.

She didn’t let go until Batman arrived, and Dick let their quiet murmuring just barely register
as Bruce picked Dick up and tucked him close.

Dick closed his eyes, and, as he had once upon an easier time, let them take him home.
Crystal Ball Smashing Crew

Dick: I’m not sure I can do this.

Dick: Not without saying the words.

Constantine: So say them.

Constantine: The point of all this shit was for things to be better.

Constantine: You need this to be better?

Constantine: Have at it.

Damian: I can accompany you to the next appointment.

Damian: If that would be of assistance.

Damian: Perhaps for corroboration.

Dick: Aw.

Constantine: No.

Damian: No.

Constantine: There are no Emotions in this chat.

Damian: You agreed, Richard.

Dick: Fine, fine.

Dick: But I want ice cream.

Dick: From that new place in Star that Roy was raving about.

Damian: I will be waiting on the roof following your appointment.

Dick: You’re already there aren’t you?

Dick: Go easy on Bruce.

Dick: You know how he panics when he loses you.

Damian: No.

Damian: He clearly needs more practice in order to return to optimal condition.

Constantine: I’m not a bloody magical taxi.

Dick: But you’ll be there.

Constantine: …

Constantine: Fine.

Dick: Aw.

Harley looked at the man sitting on the comfy purple armchair nestled in the direct sunlight
of an open window. She’d purposely opened all the windows before he’d arrived, and the
small smirk he’d given when he’d scanned the room after walking in said the man knew it.

She had a whole speech prepared. Several of them, to be honest, that she’d maybe practiced
on Ivy one too many times. Harley knew security was important to anyone coming to her and
perhaps to this man most of all. She’d convinced a magic user who’d owed her a favour to
supplement the sound-proofing and the tech set up and ensure that open windows didn’t risk
carrying sound.
Instead of starting that explanation, though, she let the man sit. He wasn’t nervous exactly,
and had walked directly to the chair before sitting crosslegged and tucking a pillow over his
lap. But he was also silent, which was unusual.

He looked like he was deciding how much he was going to actually say.

No matter how much he actually gave her to work with, Harley would be helping Dick
Grayson the best she could. Because he’d helped her and flipped with her and never ever
judged her. He’d never been cruel when he’d fought her or anyone else and he understood
what grey fucking meant.

She’d certainly not have been able to practice with the Joker alive. He would have scared
away Harley’s clients, or even killed them off, which really defeated the purple of getting
them to talk and improve their lives. The clown had just kept coming back like a bad (trick)
penny. The possessive asshat.

Dick had saved her, inadvertently or not, and then proceeded to do the same to a flock of
baby birds that were just as feral as their big brother. Which was both sweet and also hecking
hilarious.

Harley had spent a whole night last week laughing as Riddler was chased around by a girl in
purple, a snarky Robin, a talking drone, and a Batman who wasn’t even pretending to be
anything other than damage control. Nightwing had shown up on the rooftop she’d been
sharing with Ivy with a pint of ice cream, three spoons, and absolutely scathing commentary
about the Riddler’s fashion choices and Batman’s attempts at corralling children.

So Selena’s phone call hadn’t been needed, to get Harley to agree to this meeting, not in the
slightest. Though the shake to thief’s voice when she’d asked if Harley would see her Birdie
Boy professionally had been mighty interesting. And also mildly terrifying. Selena didn’t do
fear or worry out where anyone could see her.

Harley wasn’t exactly sure why Dick wasn’t using one of them fancy hero psychologists, nor
why he’d agreed to Selena’s suggestion. But, well, it wasn’t like she could judge.

Dick tilted his head and Harley found herself copying the motion. She’d already known
Nightwing’s identity, had known he knew that, but she hadn’t known he’d show up as Dick
Grayson.

He didn’t look less without the mask.

It was, perhaps just a bit jarring to see Dick Grayson without the press-worthy smile and
looking so tired. Looking like he carried graveyards on his shoulders and shattered hope in
his closed fists.

“Time travel,” Dick Grayson told her.

“Fuckity fuck,” she responded. “Clowns and Jackals. Alright then.” She got up and went to
the small kitchenette in the apartment she was using as an office.
“Are you leaving?”

And damn, he sounded way too calm, too accepting.

“Heck no! We’re just going to need the good tea for this shit, I can already tell.”

He laughed, and that was the first step Harley took in repaying this man who had set her free.
 Gifts
Chapter Summary

The Batfamily completes their first full-family mission, including a Tim cleared for the
field, while the Justice League is confused.

Chapter Notes

Okay, so I needed some light-heartedness and so did the Bats.

Lilituism made more fantastic art! I love the Justice League's reaction to the plants so
much.

Dick walked up to where Donna Wally and Roy were arguing about plants and smiled. He
thought about correcting them, because fighting Ivy and occasionally working with her meant
that Dick knew quite a bit about botany, but decided that he really didn’t care about why his
friends were arguing about the scientific name and variety of uses for Nightshade.

Besides, asking would ruin the moment.

Clearly, it had been too long since he smiled this particular smile, since not a single one of
them immediately clocked it. Oh, he was welcomed into the conversation, got smiles of
greeting before Roy and Donna went back to arguing as Wally played mediator, but they
didn’t otherwise react.

Not until Wally peered closer at Dick’s silence, did an actual double take, and started waving
his arms about wildly. “Yes. Yes!”

Wally cheered once more and sped around the room, knocking into Donna who looked up
properly for the first time.

“Oh,” she said, a slow grin spreading across her face. “Do I need my sword? I like it when I
need my sword.”

“Oh shit.”

They all looked to Roy because that was not his usual reaction to this particular smile. His
usual reaction generally involved more mad laughter and the occasional rubbing his hands
together like some of their more dramatic villains.
“You have minions now,” Roy explained as Donna and Wally whipped their heads back to
Dick.

Dick just smiled wilder.

“So are we all clear on our roles?”

Dick was met with nods and determined gazes as well as numerous vocal assents and leaned
back from the table. He was very pleased with how this meeting had gone.

Bruce sighed, gaze fond but the also slightly exasperated. “No. Why am I here? Couldn’t you
have had this meeting literally anywhere else in our rather spacious home and left me
plausible deniability for what you’re planning to unleash on my colleagues?”

“First off, B, you never want plausible deniability. That means you might not know
something,” Dick started, shifting Damian on his back. The kid had spent the entire planning
session wrapped around Dick shoulders, which, considering Damian was a highly trained
Assassin Baby, Dick figured didn’t really detract from his leadership. “Secondly,” Dick
continued, “you have a very important role, if you choose to accept it.”

Dick then stared at his father hoping he was communicating with his eyes that Bruce would
indeed choose to accept the role. Or else.

Bruce met his stare until Damian tugged on Dick’s hair.

“Time for Plan E, Richard?”

“Plan E?” Tim actually looked startled and began ruffling through the papers in front of him
and Jason. “I don’t remember a Plan E?”

Bruce, however, looked pale. “That won’t be necessary. Do you want me after the sunflowers
but before the third cactus?”

Dick started nodding because actually that would be the perfect time.

“Hold up, Plan E is for Bruce? Oh you’re not holding out on us Baby Bat.” Jason punctuated
his point with a dramatic finger.

Damian frowned, small arms tightening briefly around Dick’s neck. “Plan E is a strategy
Richard taught me to apply pressure to Father under certain circumstances.”

“That’s still holding out, Baby B.” Steph was leaning forward excitedly, her purple boots
swinging.

“Plan E has never met with failure,” Alfred interrupted Bruce’s attempt to speak with ease as
he brought tea to the Planning Table.
The Planning Table was really a giant old antique with multiple leaves to add to the center
and increase the size that previously sat in an infrequently used room upstairs. Alfred had
somehow arranged for Bruce and Jason to bring it down to the cave because Dick had maybe
expanded the family really quickly and they didn’t have space for them all to sit at the
Batcomputer.

Dick used the table at every opportunity.

“Plan E,” Alfred reiterated with what would look like glee from anyone less dignified as he
stared at Bruce, “is the implementation of what are colloquially known as ‘Puppy Dog
Eyes.’”

Bruce was staring at the roof of the cave like he wanted the bats to swoop down on him.
Jason looked a cross between gleeful and dumbstruck, while Steph was sliding into awe and
Tim was staring at a nodding Babs for confirmation.

“B caves as surely as Penguin steals bird-related shit,” Babs said out loud for everyone’s
benefit. “But it’s not just any Puppy Dog Eyes, but like, Super Puppy Dog Eyes. Haven’t
seen Dickie use them since his Robin days, but man, did he apply them with precision and
care to great effect.”

“You can’t overuse a weapon or it looses it’s efficacy,” Dick explained.

Babs tilted her head and stared at Damian’s face where it rested on top of Dick’s head. “Did
you really teach them to Damian, because damn. On that face?”

“Of course I did,” Dick said at the same time as Damian went, “Tt.”

“Backup?” Cass asked from Dick’s elbow. Her hand slipped over his arm and Dick leaned
just enough weight into her side that she’d feel the deliberate pressure.

“I assure you, Cassandra, that I can preform the skill adequately.”

“Believe you, Baby Brother.” Cass reached dup to tug at a lock of Damian’s hair. “Big
Brother still have backup.”

Dick hummed, but couldn’t disappoint his sister.

“Backup was to have Tim present B with a written report of why this would be good for
training and all the ways B’s presence would only enhance that. Then for Steph to bounce
around him and ask every thirty seconds to two hours on an inconsistent and entirely random
schedule. Jason would need to pull the ‘working all together card’ and Babs would send B a
report of why it would be good for the League’s training. Also a list of petty office offences
and rude things they’ve said lately.

“Cass would go sit on the arm of his chair quietly for the appropriate amount of time, I trust
her to judge the best moment for maximum impact, and then to simply say, ‘please?’ Damian
and I would be up at that point and in the room, because B would look to me immediately
after Cass’s plea in a clear ‘this is your fault’ look. I might not have been able to use the Eyes
as effectively since I lost my cuteness factor, but with a very adorable child on my lap
making the same Eyes I imagine I could get close.”

There was a moment of silence before Jason turned to face Bruce. “How does it feel to no
longer be the Head of the family after the least-hostile take-over ever?”

Bruce slowly turned away from Dick to stare at Jay, a strangely soft smile starting to grow on
his face. Dick interrupted before Bruce could say anything by scoffing as he sat down and
switched Damian to setting in his lap. “As if I would take that position from Alfred.”

“I’m willing to share if you continue to stay out of my kitchen, get the children to eat
regularly, and preform the minor miracle of getting Master Bruce to actually sleep at least
once every week.”

Dick saluted. “Deal. Now, time to suit up and head out. Operation Batfamily Prank Ambush
is a go.”

They all stood up and headed towards the lockers, bumping shoulders and poking fun at each
other (mainly at Bruce) as they went.

Dick was hit by a sudden wave of happiness so strong that he almost missed his moment.
Still, Dick’s hand shot out jus tin time to grab Tim’s wrist as the boy walked past Dick’s
chair. “Not you, Baby Bird. Jay and I have something for you first.”

Tim blinked back. “That’s mildly unnerving.”

“Tt. It is nothing you do not deserve,” Damian threw over his shoulder as he left Dick’s lap.
Dick was so proud of his baby.

“I agree.” Bruce stopped directly behind Tim and placed a large palm on his shoulder. “And
whatever you decide, we will love you.”

“Okay,” Tim said to Bruce’s retreating back. “That’s really unnerving.”

“It won’t be in a minute.” Jason approached with a long box held in both hands. He opened
his mouth to speak again, but was cut off by a loud shout.

“What do you mean you have a video montage of B caving to the Eyes?!” Steph cried.

“What.” Bruce’s response was much flatter but equally clear, despite the fact that they’d
almost made it to the lockers. Cave acoustics were both advantageous and sometimes damn
annoying.

“Remember that time you benched me after getting dosed with Ivy’s pollen even though I
said I was perfectly fine? I told you that you’d regret giving me all that free time.” Babs
sounded, justifiably, very smug.

“She’s sending me that when we’re done,” Jason said to no one in particular.
“I can send it. I have the video in one of my blackmail files. Babs did a really good job with
the music background, if I’m remembering correctly.”

Both of his younger brothers were staring at Dick.

“One of- no, I’m focusing. This isn’t about your vicious streak or your files. This is about
Robin.”

Tim straightened, just slightly. “Robin?”

Dick and Jason shared a look, before Jason dumped the box on Tim’s lap. Dick huffed a
laugh even as Tim used shaking hands to pry off the lid. Dick could see the genius mind of
his baby brother putting together pieces that his self worth (still too low but growing steadily
under the precise lighting of a cave full of care) wouldn’t allow to fully form.

Tim didn’t touch the Robin suit, modified slightly in colour, style, and size from Jay’s Robin.
The edges of the box crumpled under the boy’s white knuckled grip.

“Where are you going?” Tim asked Jason, who apparently wasn’t expecting that level of
emotion from heir baby brother. “Why are you leaving? Is it something I’ve done?”

Jason looked at Dick wide-eyed, but this wasn’t something Dick could handle for him. This
was directed at Jason. Jason, Tim’s hero.

“I, no. No, Timmy, I’m not leaving. Just, growing?” Jason huffed and sat down in the chair
next to Tim, pressing their legs together and starting to slowly remove the suit from the box
to lay it more properly over their knees.

“I’m going to travel a bit, take missions with the Titans, learn from some different people, but
Gotham is still my home. I’m still a Bat, but I also need a new title, a new name. Come on,
kid, I know you’ve seen that I don’t quite fit Robin anymore. That I’m not the partner B
needs.”

“But you’re Robin,” Tim whispered, and it was the youngest that Dick had heard his brother
sound since he’d moved into the manor.

“So was Dick,” Jay replied simply. “And so are you, if you want to be. I want you to be, and
not just because you’re my brother. Robin saved me, gave me a chance to be something, to be
more than just one little street kid that kept getting the crap kicked out of him. To be the one
who helped little street kids that keep getting the crap kicked out of them. I wouldn’t pass
Robin on to just anyone, even my brother.”

Jason looked down at the new Robin suit, scarred fingers tracing over the R emblem.

“I trust you.”

Tim sobbed, a deep wet sound that had Jason looking up in panic and Dick dropping to the
ground in front of his brothers. Dick braced an elbow on Jay’s knees and used his other arm
to cup Tim’s cheek.
“We both do, Baby Bird,” Dick told Tim. “Bruce has cleared you for the field and Jay and I
are so proud of how far you’ve come. If you want to be someone other than Robin, to create
your own name, be your own hero, we will absolutely support you in that.”

“Course,” Jay said roughly, arm thrown over Tim’s shoulder.

“But your family colours?”

“Of course the Baby Bird figured that out,” Jay muttered even as Dick dug his elbow into
Jason’ knee.

Dick wiped tears from under Tim’s eye with a gentle thumb, just as he’d done to Jason in a
dark car with secrets and legacies unspooling between them.

“Timothy Drake-Wayne, you’re our brother regardless of whether or not you wear our
colours. We choose you and love you and that will never change whether you’re a Drake or a
Wayne or a Flying Grayson.”

Tim’s hand latched onto Dick’s and he lowered them both so they could rest on top of Jay’s
hand that wasn’t over Tim’s shoulders. Dick squeezed his hand over Tim’s trembling fingers.

“But I would be honoured for you to wear my family’s colours, Baby Bird, because you are
my family.”

“Yes. I, yes.” Tim flung himself at Jason who, foolishly in Dick’s opinion, hadn’t properly
braced himself. The only reason they didn’t go flying over the back of their chairs was the
fact that Tim had left one hand entwined with Dick’s and the older man had used that and his
weight on Jason’s knee as a counter balance.

Dick didn’t listen to the quiet words Jay was whispering into a crying Tim’s hair. Instead, he
closed his eyes and rested his head on his arm across both boy’s knees. He focused on the
small hand cradled in his and the warmth of his brothers under his arms and breathed.

This was better. This was so much better.

Evidence of the Adoption Problem

Steph: Stevie’s going to be fine, right?

Jason: Who the fuck is Stevie?

Tim: Cactus Zero.

Dick: Yes, Steph.

Dick: Stevie will be fine.

Dick: I placed her in the Watchtower’s kitchen, which will be a nice change of pace from the
center of our training warehouse.

Jason: Kitchen, nice.

Jason: I see we’re starting with places where it’s actually normal to find a plant.

Dick: That.

Dick: And everyone’s been really careful of the kitchen since that time Flash knocked over B’s
lunch and he sent him on six missions in a row that ended with him covered in slime.

Dick: Steph’s right.

Dick: Stevie has survived a lot and deserves a proper break.

Bruce: Two of those times were completely incidental.

Jason: Right. So glad your special cactus is being taken care of.

Jason: In other news, Kori’s come through with the rest of the materials.

Jason: The Titans are ready but pouting.

Dick: They’ll enjoy taking pictures and pretending like they see nothing.

Dick: Besides, they also need to say they’ve done nothing and not be lying.

Bruce: So they get plausible deniability.

Dick: Yes.

Dick: Because they’re the more likely suspects.

Dick: You’re committed B.

Dick: And enjoying yourself. Stop grumbling.

Dick: Ready for phase two?

Barbara: Ready.

Tim: Ready.

Jason: Anyone else think the friendship between those two is dangerous?

Bruce: I expect a full report of the steps you’re taking to break into the Watchtower’s
cybersecurity.

Cass: Big Brother

Cass: laughing?

Bruce: Cackling.

Bruce: The word you’re looking for is cackling.

Jason: Roy says to run.

Bruce: Gotham villains generally agree.

Progress: Batman said thank you!

Hal: We need to talk about the cactus.

Hal: I’m fine with having a cactus in the kitchen.

Hal: But why does it keep moving?

Oliver: Wait.

Oliver: Is this the same cactus that was in the bathroom?

Barry: No, that one’s still in the bathroom.

Barry: And also about a foot taller.

Hal: A foot? How tall is the bathroom cactus?

Hal: Why do we have a bathroom cactus?

Hal: Did we always a bathroom cactus?

Hal: Did we always a kitchen cactus?

Dinah: I think it’s Cacti.

Dinah: And weren’t there 3?

Diana: I am aware of 6.

Barry: The one on the meeting table is new.

Barry: I know it’s new.

Barry: But I just checked the security footage from a couple month ago.

Barry: And there is a cactus sitting right there.

Hal: I think we need a cactus inventory.

Hal: Now.

Oliver: I just asked Bruce.

Oliver: He told me I need to work on my observational skills.

Oliver: So apparently there were always cacti?

Diana: Are we including other plants in this inventory?

Diana: I do not remember a spider plant in the training room.

Diana: It appears to be thriving, however.

J’onn: I had assumed they’d been moved from the greenhouse.

Dinah: There isn’t a greenhouse.

Clark: We don’t have a greenhouse.

J’onn: I was sure that was the word for it. Greenroom?

J’onn: It’s just past training room three.

J’onn: Quite a lovely place to read.

Hal: 14. There are 14 cactus plants.

Diana: I have counted 16 cacti.

Diana: 29 if we’re counting the spider plants and the lovely potted sunflower by the
infirmary.

Barry: Holy fuck we have a greenhouse.

Barry: Clark, J’onn, please come over.

Barry: One of these plants just winked at me.

J’onn: That is Cheryl.

J’onn: She likes poetry.

Hal: Batman.

Hal: Batman. Did you build us a greenhouse?

Barry: And stock it with alien plants?

Bruce: I’m busy.

Bruce: Check the building schematics if you’re so concerned.

Oliver: I’m at 32.

Oliver: Just cacti.

Clark: It’s in the schematics…

Barry: J’onn.

Barry: None of these plants are carnivorous right?

J’onn: No.

J’onn: Please do not upset Cheryl.

Barry: How do I know if Cheryl is upset?

Barry: Wait.

Barry: What happens if I upset Cheryl?!

Bruce: Nothing compared to what happens if you upset Stevie.

Hal: Who the fuck is Stevie?

Roy stood in the hallway staring at the small violet painted on the wall on the way to the
kitchen. Dick wondered if the man would ask, since the painted flowers had not been a part
of the plan Dick had outlined to Roy, Donna, and Wally. Then again, this was very much a
Bat Plan and Dick was relying on his friends mostly to innocently smile and confirm there
had always been plants tucked around the Watchtower with specialized lights and fancy self-
watering pots.

Roy looked up when Dick deliberately stepped forward with sound.

“What the fuck,” Roy said, apparently ignoring the painted violet entirely. “Please tell me
how you got fucking Batman to participate? Oliver has been mumbling about observational
skills for days.”

Dick didn’t have to respond because Tim poked his head and shoulders out of a vent in the
ceiling, yellow and black cape hanging down around him.

“Wing and Agent A are now the joint patriarchs of the family. B has retired to play with the
children-slash-grandchildren, get petty revenge on everyone who skipped mandatory training
over the last year, and punch people who insult his family in the face.”

“Do you think I need to be concerned about who B is punching in the face?” Dick asked Roy,
because Tim had promptly returned to the vent.

Roy stared at Dick before speaking, his tone oddly flat. “Was that. Robin.”
“What, don’t recognize the colours dipshit?” Jason walked by in grey armour with a red bat
splayed across the chest and a new (reinforced) leather jacket on top. He had a red half mask
over his mouth because the all-purpose helmet was stupid and Dick had put his foot down.
Jay was also carrying a cactus taller than Damian in a pot.

Roy threw up his arms as Jason turned the corner. “Does no one tell me anything?”

“Not since you spoiled Liam’s surprise party.” Green Arrow patted his son’s shoulder as he
and Green Lantern walked around a different corner and entered the hallway.

Neither of them bothered to stop or ask why Roy was talking to an empty wall. Dick wasn’t
sure if this was because it was Roy, because they were accepting the oddity of the last weeks,
or because B was right and everyone needed more observational training.

Dick was going to add it to the report anyways.

Roy huffed and Dick dropped down from the vent Timmy had disappeared into, vaguely
smug that he still fit with just a bit of contortion.

“Sometimes,” Roy told him, “you make it very hard not to clock you on principle.”

“That would make Damian sad.” Because Damian had Roy wrapped around his finger with
one blink of large eyes, a gentle touch towards Lian, and a shared loved of sharp things.

“The Demon child wouldn’t have to know.”

“Tt.”

Roy looked up at the vents. Dick did not.

“God fucking damn it,” Roy said to the once again empty hall and the two flowers now
painted on the wall.

Clark was heading back to the kitchen when he stopped to stare at the purple girl sitting on a
table. He wasn’t the only one, since Diana, Hal, and Barry were already surrounding her. She
wasn’t really paying them much attention, just leaned around to stare at the wall as she ate a
bowl of cereal she had to have brought with her into the Watchtower.

Clark blinked the he followed her gaze to the wall that was very much no longer white, but
instead a riot of colours and paint that likely represented every single plant that had been
found in the Tower over the last month.

With a sigh, Clark walked over.

“Hello, Spoiler.”
“Hello, Supes! How’s it going?”

“Oh good, good. I don’t suppose you have an extra spoon?”

Spoiler looked down at her cereal and it’s single spoon and back up to Clark. “Sorry, Supes. I
mean, I’d give you one if I did to make up for that whole, you know, biting thing, but I
haven’t reached that level of Batparanoia yet.”

Clark raised an eyebrow, aware of his colleagues doing the same, though probably for very
different reasons. “You are not sorry for the biting thing.”

“Well, no. Not really. But I’d give you a spoon!”

“Thanks.”

“Wait, you bit Superman?” Clark was sure how to take the amount of shock in Hal’s voice.

“He was in my way for getting to Nightwing.”

“So was an ocean and a plane you couldn’t fly,” Clark couldn’t help mutter to his pudding
cup.

He was ignored.

Diana clapped. “You are Nightwing’s trainee! Well met, young Spoiler.”

“That’s me! And you too, Wonder Woman!”

“May I ask what you are doing here? Is there a training session I am unaware of taking
place?”

Spoiler see-sawed her hand. “Sort of. Hood says there’s six codes in the mural, Robin says
there’s seven, and I can only see four. I’m trying to figure out at least one more before I ask
for help.”

All heads turned to the painted flowers for a long moment, before Hal whipped his head
back. “It was you!”

Spoiler just tilted her head and Clark wanted to coo, because that was one of Dick’s old
moves for appearing innocent and she’d pulled it off perfectly. Clark was really so proud of
his nephew and his baby birds. Dick had already done a very good job with the Titans,
particularly the younger ones, and Clark was perhaps a little smug that all the other heroes
were starting to see how talented those Dick trained actually were.

Talented and devoted.

“Dude, you think I moved a cactus twice my size into a space station with no one seeing me?
I mean, thanks I guess, for the credit, but I gotta say that I’m not actually an alien or a meta.”
She waved a gloved hand. “Or a goddess.”
“Not you, you. Bats you!” Hal continued, even Barry smiling at him.

“Obviously.” All heads turned to Clark with varying levels of amusement from Diana and
Spoiler and shock from Hal and Barry.

“What?” Clark asked. “Wasn’t it obvious?”

He turned to the incoming Batman and Nightwing, having heard them arrive at the Tower a
few moments ago.

“It was,” growled Batman.

Dick just smiled and handed Clark a spoon, much to his gleed because he could then
immediately open his butterscotch pudding. Spoiler also seemed rather inordinately happy as
she tried to immediately figure out what pocket Nightwing had pulled the spoon from.

“Hullo, Spolier!” Nightwing sang as he threw an arm around her shoulders. “Found them all
yet?”

She grumbled. “No. I found the new training schedule in the colours, the code for the planned
updates in the order of the plants, the ranking of who was the most out of it written in the
special paint, and Hood’s tiny yet long string of insults.”

Dick laughed, and Clark’s heart was happy to hear the sound. All the Leaguers were, judging
by the softening of faces and stances. Dick had been too quiet for far too long.

Having the entire League think they were going crazy or being invaded by plants was a small
price to pay (Batman’s training schedule would be a larger price, but possibly deserved if the
Bat’s culpability in general and Dick in particular wasn’t as obvious to the rest as Clark had
thought).

Dick whispered something into Spoiler’s ear that even Clark didn’t catch, only for her to gasp
and give an excited bounce. Diana was the one to turn to Bruce.

“Training schedule?”

Bruce scowled at them all. “My children spent a month moving plants, primarily alien and
differed kinds of cacti, into a supposedly secure location in space and were never once
caught. Not by a single superhero that works on said station.”

“But you helped them!” Hal said.

“I didn’t deny that the plants were new and told you to check to schematics.”

“You have very talented children,” Barry pointed out. Clark kind of wanted to coo again,
because that expression was basically as close to preening as Bruce got.

“But maybe some training is a beneficial idea.” Diana was smiling at Bruce and Dick. “I’m
still not sure how the mural showed up so quickly.”
“Stencils, spray paint, and a bit of magic,” Dick happily explained.

“Complete system overhaul?” Clark asked Bruce, since he knew that expression on his
friend.

“Yeah,” Dick answered for his father, “because Batgirl and Robin are really good with
computers but it shouldn’t have been that easy to rout your systems. Also, your ventilation
system could do with some major upgrades.”

There was a bang from above them that drew only the eyes that weren’t Bats.

“Any maybe some pest control,” Dick continue with a straight face.

Spoiler chuckled. “You totally only realized we were missing when you got back to the
cave.”

“You’re just lucky we came to get you. Agent A is making pizza.”

“Yes!” Spoiler shoved her mostly finished bowl of cereal at Barry, who had to use his speed
to make sure it didn’t hit the ground. “I’ll go get him!”

She ran at Dick who provided her a quick boost for a flip and shuffle that had her into the
vents in seconds.

Bruce sighed and Diana gave his arm at pat. Hal was clearly trying to decided if he loved
Spoiler or if he was still miffed about the cactus he’d sat on two days ago.

“Why is there only pudding in the kitchen? And no spoons?” Dinah asked as she walked into
the room side by side with J’onn, who was holding large purple watering can.

Dick smiled as Clark finally lost the battle and fell into deep, full-bodied laughter, happy
down to his bones to see that expression on his nephew’s face once again.

“Because I had some extra time.”

 Expectations
Chapter Summary

Dick's doesn't adopt more kids but still expands the family. Damian gets a message.

Chapter Notes

Hope you enjoy! I've had the first part of this chapter written since Jon and Clark first
showed up.

Dick wasn’t expecting anymore children.

He hadn’t been lying to the Titans; his family was together and he was content. He was
absolutely going to pair more kids up with the Titans, maybe make a joint training thing with
the League, but those wouldn’t be his kids. No, that was simply because he had Ideas and
there were a lot of hurt and powerful kids out there.

Just not more Batkids. At least that Dick was aware existed (he’d stolen Bruce’s thunder a
couple times, so who was to say the man wouldn’t retaliate with some as yet unknown orphan
or sad child).

Sure, the family still teased Dick about Jon, since the boy had been around an awful lot and
he and Damian regularly tried to follow Dick. Dick generally allowed this because they were
so fucking cute and also because Jon really did need to work on his stealth.

Regardless, there was some teasing that Dick would be stealing Clark’s kid, which was
foolish, since that was Dami’s goal, not Dick’s. Dick had fallen back into calling Clark his
uncle with increased regularity, which had extended to the rest of the Batkids. Which made
Jon their cousin.

And therefore not Dick’s child.

Dick could hear the laughter of his siblings and the Titans ringing in his ears as he stared at
the young woman in the doorway, having answered the door because Alfred was busy with
brunch and everyone else was still asleep or pretending to be so.

“Hi,” Rose said with a smile that wasn’t hiding blades and two bright eyes that danced with
mirth. “Are you Dick? Because Dad says you’re babysitting.”
Dick blinked, then nodded. That did seem like something Slade would do. “Sure. I mean,
that’s me. You’re in time for brunch.”

He led her into the kitchen where Alfred was still the only one present.

“Hey, Alfie. This is Rose. She’ll be staying for brunch.” Dick tilted his head at Rose as she
walked in, eyes scoping out the room as she went.

“About seven to twelve brunches or breakfasts, give or take,” she said with a grin when she
caught Dick’s gaze.

Dick nodded. “Rose, this is Alfred. He’ll tell you he’s the butler but that’s a lie. He’s really
the supreme overlord of the manor.”

Alfred huffed at Dick and flicked him with a towel.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Rose. We will select and prepare a room for you after
breakfast.”

“Sure. I mean, thanks. Or, it’s a pleasure?”

Dick laughed softly as he brought two cutting boards and a pair of knives over to the table
and gestured for her to start cutting fruit. She handled the knife easily and with a kind of
familiarity that Dick recognized from his own time with Slade.

“How’s the training going?”

She startled slightly, glancing briefly enough at Alfred to reveal that she had already met and
started to adore Wintergreen.

“Fine. It’s a bit of an adjustment, but I think I’m doing okay.”

Dick hummed, spinning the knife absently in his hand. “That’s good. If he’s being too harsh,
let me know, okay? I’ll go beat some sense into him.”

She visibly startled this time, fumbling a strawberry. “Can you actually do that?”

With a hum, Dick tapped the knife on the board. “Honestly, it probably depends on the day.”

“That is so cool.”

Dick stood to pass a bowl of cut fruit over to Alfred as he manned the waffle maker. On his
way back Dick placed one palm on Rose’s pale hair, briefly, for he was very aware of the way
she both leaned into the touch and the fact that she didn’t really know him yet.

“He cares. He’s crap at showing it beyond extensive training regimens and fancy gear, but he
does.”

Rose looked up at him. “I was starting to figure that, actually.”

Dick opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by the ding of the coffee machine. He
hadn’t meant to get so distracted that he missed the coffee being almost ready. In the last
instant of safety he lunged forward, using a chair back to flip himself over the table and
behind Rose’s seat. She looked at him, but only for a moment before the sound of many feet
grabbed her attention.

Dick knew that they couldn’t all hear the coffee beep it’s completion, but they’d all timed
their morning around it regardless.

Tim and Steph tumbled into the kitchen bumping shoulders and trying to beat the other to the
coffee, despite the fact that Alfred severely watched their coffee intake with their young
bodies. Jason elbowed his way through, because even though he preferred tea, he also
preferred chaos. Bruce, however, used his superior height to scoop the first cup out of a
squawking Jason’s hands and took a deep sip without adding anything or even fully opening
his eyes.

Dick didn’t have to worry, however, because Alfred placed two steaming cups in front of him
and Rose, which was a relief. Alfred had clearly recognized the flip as a life-preserving
measure instead of a needless shenanigan.

Stephanie was the one to realize Alfred had liberated two cups and that there was a new
presence in the kitchen.

“Yes!” She shouted, before grabbing a serenely juice-drinking Cass’s wrist and dragging her
forward. “Another girl! I’m Steph and this is Cass and we’re clearly the best so don’t even
both hanging out with the rest of these losers.”

Tim made an indigent sound even as a quiet “Tt” came from Dick’s side. Dick didn’t even
look as he reached down and settled Damian at his hip. Damian wrapped small arms around
Dick’s neck and Dick briefly buried his face into his baby’s hair.

“Hi,” Rose said wryly. “I’m Rose.”

“Good to meet.” Cass nodded and Rose nodded back. “Sister?” Cass asked Dick.

Dick opened his mouth to say no and explain the unexpected babysitting thing, but Jay
plopped a plate down with unnecessary force. “I thought you said you were done with the
adopting thing?”

“He did.” Tim came to Jason’s side, but not before slotting in close enough for Dick to run a
hand through his hair. “I’m surprised you believed him.”

“Whoa.” Rose turned to Dick. “So this explains why Dad also told me not to get adopted.”

“So you already have a dad?” Bruce sounded perhaps a bit too hopeful. Dick knew for a fact
that man was enjoying the sudden boisterousness of the manor.

“So did I,” Tim pointed out.

“Yeah, but your dad and mum were both shit.” Steph started digging into her waffles and
pointed a syrup covered fork at him. “I, on the other hand, still have a perfectly good parent,
yet that hasn’t stopped any of you nutbars. This is what, the third night I’ve slept over this
week?”

Dick chuckled, even as he deposited a sleepy Damian on his father’s lap and went to fix
Steph’s hair before the flyaway strands got covered in syrup. “Speaking of, I’m going to be
the one driving you home tonight; it’s time for my weekly check-in with you mother.”

“Sir yes sir!”

“Is this really how this works?” Rose asked, strawberry on her fork but seemingly forgotten.
“Someone just shows up and you decide they’re family?”

“Only if Dick does it,” Tim explained to the general agreement of the room.

Rose paused. “I think I would make an awesome cousin.”

Dick also paused, for a moment that seemed longer than it actually was because everyone
was suddenly staring at him. He blinked. “Hold that thought.”

As Dick ducked around he family and headed for the cave, he heard Rose ask what that
meant and Jason wave her off.

“Hard to say. Dick’s a little strange but he wouldn’t have let you in here if you weren’t one of
us in some way or another. Who’s your father anyway?”

“I’ll tell you, but you can’t kick me out till I’ve finished, like, three more muffins. They’re
fucking fantastic.”

It only took half an hour for Dick to fetch Joey and bring him through the Zeta and into the
dinning room where everyone had eventually moved to have brunch. The fact that it was
Sunday worked in his favour since no one was rushing off and Joey hadn’t been busy.

Joey was still a little baffled, but he’d gone along with Dick easily enough when he’d gone to
fetch him from the Titans. Hi, Rose? He signed. Others?

Cass made a happy sound to see someone else signing and gave hurried introductions which
allowed Dick time to duck back into the kitchen and get Joey a plate. A slightly exasperated
Alfred followed closely behind with a plate for Dick that he made clear Dick was to eat
completely.

Dick smiled sheepishly at the man before turning to Rose and Joey. “I’m glad Slade
introduced the two of you. I forgot to include that in my threat.”

Joey and Rose looked at each other and turned to stare at Dick. “What now?” Rose asked for
the both of them.

Cass hummed. “Big brother threaten Slade. Hurt and take away. Good delivery. Genuine.”
Bruce just sighed and put his down on the table.

Jason cackled. “Oh god, Dickhead. That was the payment. You gave Slade fucking Wilson
information about his what, unknown daughter, and then threatened to take her away from
him again. Wait until I tell Roy. You’re so fucking dramatic.”

“I’m taking that as a challenge.” Dick tilted his head. “Hey, Dami, I need your sword.”

Damian met his gaze. “I would not bring my blade to the table.”

Dick held the gaze and slowly lifted a single eyebrow. He was actually very proud of his
Baby Bat for lasting a full thirty seconds.

“Here you go Richard.”

Dick accepted the blade with all due respect and a pat to Damian’s head.

“What the fuck?” Steph asked, very calmly.

“Where the fuck?” Jason demand as he dropped to the ground to inspect the underside of the
table.

Tim just sighed. “Have we tested him for the Metagene yet?”

Bruce didn’t lift his head from the table, but Dick was pretty sure that was because the man
didn’t want to reveal his smile. Still, he sounded just the slightest bit resigned. “Yes, both of
them. Twice. This month.”

“I think I love this family,” Rose told a still baffled but smiling Joey.

“Good.” Dick ignored his siblings as he approached the two Wilsons and used the sword to
tap their shoulders in a completely accurate if abbreviated Knighting ceremony (being friends
with Constantine was wild). “Because I now proclaim you Cousins to the Bats. Family
brunch is every Sunday at ten, because night shift, and you don’t need to make every single
brunch, but you need to make at least one in two months without prior notice or you will be
Retrieved.”

Joey and Rose looked at each other again. “Cool.”

Who’s telling Dad? Joey asked.

Dick handed the sword back to Dami who placed it on his lap and grabbed the phone from
Tim. It was a matter of moments to send the video the boy took to himself and then on to
Slade.

“Already taken care of.”

A Stabby Orange, a Circus Brat, and one Sane-ish Man

Dick sent a video.

Dick: Mine now.

Dick: Shared custody and you started it.

Slade: Brat.

Dick: Promise to work with Dami on his sword and I’ll teach her to fly.

Slade: You’re already going to do that.

Dick: Well, yeah.

Dick: Mine now.

Dick: Also let me know if you want any help smacking down whatever idiot threatened our
Rosie.

Slade: What.

Dick: Please.

Dick: That’s the only reason both you and Wintergreen would leave her alone this early in
her training.

Dick: Also.

Dick: Bruce is taking his child watching responsibilities very seriously lately.

Dick: So while I have no doubt the two of you are more than capable of dispose of any
threat.

Dick: I’m also happy to offer to help.

Slade: You do realize what you’re offering.

Dick: My. Help.

Wintergreen: Do not tempt him with violence, please.

Wintergreen: Your assistance is not required.

Wintergreen: Unlike your presence in two weeks time.

Wintergreen: Please expect to stay for dinner when you drop off Joseph and Rose.

Slade: I suppose you can bring the Demon brat.

Slade: He has good taste in katanas at least.

Dick: Deal.

Dick: If you die, I’m keeping them.

Slade: …

Wintergreen: I believe that was rather the point.

Dick: Aw.

Dick: You do care.

Wintergreen: He does.

Slade: Fuck off.

Dick: Never ever.

“What’s that Baby Bat?”

Damian looked up as a large hand swept through his hair.

“A warning from mother.”

“Oh?” Richard’s eyes were serious, but calm. Damian sighed. He really should have seen this
coming.

“Really, Richard?”

His baba just cackled before lifting Damian up and depositing him on Richard’s lap. Damian
kicked his feet once, but really wan’t inclined to move.

His father did not feel the same, leaning forward with a focused intensity normally reserved
for Batman.

“Is something the matter?”

Damian shook his head but let Jason remove the letter Damian placed under the plate. It took
Jason an extra moment to parse the code but Damian watched the moment everything click as
he slowly looked up and stared at Dick.

“Dickie,” Jason said slowly, drawing the attention of Timothy, Bruce, Cassandra, and Alfred
from around the table. “Did you really drain the Lazarus Pits?”

“Course not! I was with Dami and Cass the whole time!”

“Dick,” Bruce said equally as slowly as Jason. “Did you hire Slade and Constantine to drain
the Lazarus Pits?”

“Constantine and I don’t work like that.” Richard was smiling.

Damian liked seeing his Baba smile, particularly if it was a true smile. Richard smiled all the
time, and most of the time the smiles were real, but real smiles were not the same as true
smiles. True smiles that didn’t cover up lingering pain or a sadness he didn’t want to burden
his loved ones with seeing.

Damian liked being the one to put true smiles on his Baba’s face, remembered with crystal
clarity the moment when he realized how easily he could do so. He also, perhaps
begrudgingly, appreciated that the other members of their family also had the ability.
This was not that true family-love-happy smile. The smile on Richard’s face was sharper,
with shattered bone and bleached starlight lingering at the edges. Damian didn’t think he
family noticed those edges, exactly, though they certainly noticed something of the way that
their focus and bodies shifted was any indication.

With a tilt of his head, Damian considered Richard. Damian rather expected he’d be sneaking
into Richard’s room tonight, not for nightmares but for information. Damian had no doubt
that Richard had drained the Lazarus Pits, for a number of reasons.

Constantine would have done it for free, for whatever barter system the two still pretended
they were using, for friendship or something equally as sappy.

Slade would have done it because Richard had framed it as a favour, as a debt, as payment for
information about the man’s daughter Richard would never have kept to himself in the first
place. (Damian understood Slade more than the boy would like to admit, what with the way
that both he and the mercenary couldn’t escape Richard’s orbit despite the years they’d spent
soundly telling everyone they were’t trapped there at all.)

Slade and Constantine were also aware of Richard’s temper. Of the complete and utter rage
Damian’s Baba felt towards the League that had trained Damian to be a weapon first and a
child never. That had scarred Jason and Cassandra and Timothy in ways they’d never
admitted but worn on their sleeves for those who knew how to look. That had been indirectly
responsible for at least two Bat deaths.

Damian had expected the Pits to eventually be drained. He, Richard, and Jason had done so
in the Future that wasn’t; the sickly green glow had faded from Richard’s face as distant
explosions went off and the pool Ra’s had thrown Jason back into slipped away until it was
less than a puddle. The three of them had watched, Jason had lingering just long enough to
make sure (he had not wanted to survive his injures, not with his brother’s blood once again
on his hands and the rage that no longer flickered at his edges but now surged through his
veins.)

Damian let out a slow breath and leaned back into his Baba’s sturdy (breathing) chest. His
Baba had crippled the League, crippled Ra’s, and guaranteed them enough time to get the
Batfamily ready. To get them strong.

The message from his mother was intriguing, because it was a warning of his grandfather’s
rage. Damian had expected the rage, but not the warning. Or the reluctant growing respect.
Damian knew his mother very well, in some respects, and knew she would not be blind the
magnitude of Richard’s efforts to keep Damian safe (maybe she was not a bridge Damian
would have to burn, maybe they didn’t need to take down the League, but only his
grandfather).

Tonight, after his family was back from patrol, Damian would talk to his Baba. His Baba
would have plans, but would also listen to Damian’s opinions, would want Damian’s
opinions. They had time to plan. In the mean time, he tuned back into the conversation just as
a large hand smoothed over his head and Jason let out an indignant squawk.

Richard smirked back at his brother, but lost the expression quickly when Alfred spoke.
“Would Mr. Constantine enjoy a fruit basket?” Alfred asked, which was different from the
customized weaponry anyone else in this family would suggest and that Damian was possibly
already working on developing.

“I mean, probably? He doesn’t exactly have the best diet.” Richard blinked. “Why are we
getting Constantine a fruit basket?”

Alfred placed a cup of tea down in front of Richard, which Damian was absolutely going to
steal. His Baba didn’t appreciate Alfred’s tea enough unless he’d added copious amount of
sugar.

“The man has done quite a bit for the family lately.” Alfred then levelled a stare far more
effective than any Batglare at Richard.

The man fidgeted and ducked his head before repeating, “Constantine and I don’t work like
that.”

“So we’re not counting the defeat of the slime-worshiping cult as payment?” Damian asked,
sipping his purloined tea. He smirked as all eyes quickly turned to Richard.

“I, you all already knew about that?”

Bruce lowered his head and pinched his nose while Timothy blinked and Stephanie giggled.

Jason sighed. “No, no we didn’t, Big Bird.”

“Yes, you did. That’s when you first met Constantine? He’d crashed at my place to recover
from the slime-cult thing.”

“Well I guess we were a little distracted by the shirtless man in your room!”

“Wait, shirtless?” Bruce asked sharply.

Richard huffed. “Yes. Because it was a slime-worshiping cult. We both took like four
showers. Separately.”

Alfred hummed, which effectively silenced the entire conversation except for Stephanie’s
continuing giggles. “I hope you know that there would be nothing wrong with if that was
how you and Constantine worked, young master Dick.”

Richard’s head hit the table and Damian felt assured in his decision to swipe the tea. The
drink was delicious and did not deserve to be spilled over the table due to Richard’s
dramatics.

“Mr. Constantine is not, perhaps, who we would have anticipated as your chosen partner and
may be rough around the edges, but this family is not unaware of the aid he had rendered
recently or the bond the two of you share.” Richard opened his mouth but shut it with a click
of teeth at Alfred’s look. “Please do keep in mind that we expect a proper introduction if the
way things work between the two of you changes in the future.”
Richard groaned as Stephanie snickered and Timothy and Jason expressed the many
requirements of a proper introduction.

Damian yelped, almost spilling the tea as he suddenly found himself airborne and wrapped in
Richard’s arms as he beat a hasty retreat.

“That was mean, Baby Bat.”

“They stopped asking about the Pits, did they not?”

Richard huffed, but didn’t respond, long legs carrying them out of the manor and into the
gardens. They both knew that was a temporary, though welcome, respite.

“Besides,” Damian couldn’t resist as he wrapped both his arms around his Baba’s neck, “it is
not like I mentioned the werewolf incident or the brief trip to Hell that you accompanied the
man on last week.”

Richard looked down, a dark humour in his eyes that Damian knew the family they’d left in
the manor would not recognize.

“No demon hunting until you’re tall enough to ride everything at an amusement park and
Slade has signed off on your swords skills.

“That is absurd. How am I to keep my skills sharp if I’m not allowed to fight anything. At
least the demons would not include Bat-oversight.”

“Hmm. You can accompany Constantine and I on some other fight. Just not demons.”

“Tt. Baby missions.”

Richard tightened his arms. “Yes, baby missions, because you’re tiny and I know exactly how
losing you would destroy me utterly. Please don’t make me go through that again, darling.
Please.”

Richard sat Damian on fence post, hands steady on his waist as the man knelt in the dirt and
focused entirely on Damian.

Damian hated that expression on his Baba, on his Batman. Hated the helplessness, the
despair, the fear that Damian knew only he could put there. He also knew that Richard was
terrified that they were missing things, that they didn’t remember all of the catalysts for the
tragedies of the future that wasn’t. And they didn’t. There had been so many events
occurring, so many ways that things began to fall apart, that they could really only
intentionally stop large and specific events like the Joker and Ra’s al Ghul.

So Damian sighed and patted his Baba on the cheek.

“Tt. Fine. But I demand to start the blade training with the mercenary immediately.” And
only because his body was small and didn’t have the years of muscle memory his brain
though it should. Slade was also not poor with a katana.
“Okay,” Richard beamed. “And Constantine was talking about a mid-level witch messing
with constructs out in the country. I know you like stomping magical constructs into the
ground. We have a lot of experience with that, so you can come on that trip?”

“Acceptable.”

Richard gripped Damian’s waist slightly harder which was all the warning he got before the
older man picked him up and spun him in literal circles.

“Richard! Baba!”

Richard laughed, a sound of skies and freedom that Damian had once been sure was lost as
surely as their home. That was the only reason he tolerated the kisses rained down on his
face.

“And B’s already agreed to leave your flying training to me! We’ll get Constantine to portal
us somewhere where we can flip and soar and get you completely used to that little body
without anyone wondering why you can already do all of my famous tricks. No need to hold
back at all.”

“Acceptable,” Damian repeated, even as warmth filled his limbs and a smile he only ever
showed to his Baba settled on his face.
 Names
Chapter Summary

Dick has several talks with his girls, and then one with a cousin and the Justice League.

Chapter Notes

Hopefully some good family moments in this one! We're approaching the end of the
story, so things are starting to wrap up over the next few chapters. Please enjoy!

Dick hummed as he went over his gear, checking carefully for damage and general condition.
Constantine was off investigating some lead or another, the Titans were running training
missions after telling him to take a damn vacation, and patrol had been quiet the last few
nights. Dick was quite happy to catch up on some of his maintenance and prep work,
particularly since the rest of the family was also enjoying some down time in the Cave.

The pile of weaponry next to him never managed to grow much bigger, however, as Damian
was slowly and meticulously re-checking everything Dick had already approved. Tim had
already taken several photos and was carefully adding it to the album he and Alfred were
building.

Damian had grumbled, but hadn’t moved from his spot sitting cross-legged on the floor next
to Dick’s knee, Wingding carefully held in a small hand. Babs hadn’t moved either, only
smirking at the camera as she briefly looked up from her laptop even as her legs reminded
thrown over Dick’s lap.

She looked up again when Dick cut off his humming abruptly. Dick gave her a wry smile.
He’d been humming a song that had been written yet, and, while Babs would hardly guess
time travel from one unfamiliar melody, it still seemed inadvisable.

He chose a different song, one of Babs’s favourites to make her smile, and they went back to
their respective work. This only lasted until Dick felt her eyes on him again, this time
completely unprompted. Since this had been a repeating pattern the last few days, Dick
cocked his head slightly and rested his hand on her ankle.

“You can tell me, you know,” he told the pile of weaponry in front of him.

She stilled.
“Whatever it is that you’ve been trying to figure out how to tell me. I won’t run away.”

Dick was pretty sure that wasn’t even a lie. Not with the weight of Babs and Dami against his
skin. Not with the sight of Alfred and Tim cooing over surreptitious photos. Not with the
sound of Steph and Jason sparring under Bruce’s watchful eye as Cass took potshots from the
rafters.

Babs snorted. “Not everything’s about you, Boy Wonder.”

Dick raised his eyebrow and turned to look at her.

She sighed. “Yeah, okay, I have something to tell you, but I haven’t being holding off because
I think you’ll be upset. Not really.”

“Oh,” Dick leaned back after putting down his last knife. He absently ran a hand through
Damian’s hair. “This is about passing on Batgirl.”

Barbara slammed the laptop closed. “Dick!”

“What? Am I wrong?” Dick asked, genuine confusion lacing his voice.

Babs stared at him for one long moment, before she huffed and ran a hand through her
escaping hair. “No, of course you aren’t.”

With a carful shift to avoid starling Damian, Dick pulled both his legs onto the bench so he
could sit facing Barbara. “I know exactly what it means to out grow a mantle, even one you
created and crafted yourself. I can see how hard you’re working, how you’re coming back
from patrol more frustrated than not. I’m just not sure why you thought I’d have a problem
with it?”

She looked at her hands, lightly scarred and clam, so Dick reached over to grab them. She
huffed again, a fond smile on her lips. “I didn’t, don’t, think you’ll have a problem with it. I
know you’ve been enabling me, dropping all that tech in my lap and using my information as
if it’s gold, as if I’ve been doing this kind of thing to this extent from the start. But-”

Babs shook her head, and slipped their hands so they were properly palm to palm, fingers
entwined.

“Batgirl was exactly who I needed to be. She’s been there since the start, since it was just you
in your scaly panties, Bruce in his scowl, and me in my homespun cowl.”

“I remember,” Dick said, because he always would.

“And she’s always going to be a part of me. But, she isn’t all of me, not anymore.” Babs
looked up, staring at Dick with electric sparks visible in her eyes, just waiting to catch and
grow and run. “Cass is good, so good. She deserves a name and, well, she’s a better fighter
than me. Which isn’t a knock against myself. It isn’t. It’s just fact. She can do what I do.”

Her hand tightened, knuckles white against Dick’s.

“But I can do what none of you can, not even Tim. Tim is all bright ideas and science and
actual genius. He’d going to be terrifying; he already is. But he’s a problem solver, a
Detective, not an overseer. A spymaster? I don’t know. The more information I gather, the
more tech I can use, the more I can see all these threads, all these pieces that go together even
if I don’t have the pattern just yet.

“I want that, Dick. I want to see the pattern and guide this family through all the edges and
traps that I can. I’ve been your backup since before we knew what that meant, but you don’t
need me anymore. Not like that. Not when you have all of them.”

Dick opened his mouth, but Babs’s hand quickly covered the lower part of his face so he
couldn’t speak. She was gentle, a request more than a demand.

“I’m not feeling replaced, Dick. I’m not sure what hangup you have with that word but I’m
very aware how you’ve been so cautious of it with Jason. I don’t want to be your backup,
Dick. I want to be everyone’s backup. You’ve grown and changed and I’ve always known you
were doing so, always been your sounding board even as Nightwing established himself. But
it’s like I blinked and you shifted just a few degrees to the right and suddenly I’m scrambling
to keep up, like I’ve been stuck or stagnated and I hate it.”

She shook her head, hand dropping from his cheek. She held his right hand with both of hers,
fingers warm against the chill that lingered even still against his bones. Fingers that at one
point, Dick had felt go slack in his as the life drained from her eyes.

“I can see the edges, Dick, see the ways I can fit and do better and keep our family safe in a
way that’s mine and useful and needed. I’m, I’m not quite there yet. But I want to be. I want
to be more than I’ve ever wanted anything, even Batgirl.”

Dick leaned forward, slowly, and pressed his forehead to his oldest friend’s. “Then you’ll get
there. I’ve never never known Barbara Gordon to let anything get in the way of what she
wants.”

He felt her smile, felt her breath against his cheek, and felt something loosen inside of him.
Felt a scream that raged and blew and echoed across his soul quiet, just slightly, just enough
that the proof of her life felt as real as her death. Felt that maybe, just maybe, when he
dreamed of her blood coating his fingers and a wound that wouldn’t close (fingers that
always, always inevitably let go), he could draw on this moment, this pressure, instead.

He leaned back. “Whatever you need, Babs.”

Barbara laughed. “I know, Dick. I know.”

Dick felt his eyebrows fold slightly, because if she knew, then why worry about telling him in
the first place?

Babs patted his hand. “I was never worried about your reaction. I just, it wasn’t the right time
to tell you.”

“Why?”
“Asked.”

Dick didn’t startle when he turned to Cassandra, but that was more because she was his sister
and he implicitly trusted her than that he’d actually sensed her. Cass had a black folder tucked
under her arm and looked more nervous than he’d seen her since before Nanda Parbat.

“Sorry, Cass,” Babs said with a smile. “He guessed.”

“Big Brother does that.” She tilted her head and reached out one hand to press into his chest,
exactly where the Nightwing emblem would sit. “Blue Bird read hearts, not bodies, not
words. But. Words important, sometimes. Helpful. I, Big Brother come listen to my words,
please?”

“Of course.” Dick was already halfway standing before he turned back to look at an amused
Babs.

“Go, go. Don’t worry, I said my piece.”

Dick nodded, bending to give a quick kiss to Damian’s hair. The boy had started drawing and
therefore neatly avoid the whole emotions talk. He’d cultivated a belief in all the Batfamily
that when he drew he was utterly focused on art and missed a lot of what was going on
around him (as long as there was no danger and he was safe so really only at home
surrounded by Bats).

This was believable because he was young, and also because the kid was remarkably
talented, particularly for his perceived age. This was also completely false, and Dick and
Constantine had a bet on who would notice first and how they’d react.

Cass clasped Dick’s outstretched hand and began to pull him away, but stopped when Dick
paused so he could bend down and hover by Babs’s ear.

“I recommend ‘Oracle,’ personally.”

He stood to follow Cass again, catching out of the corner of his eye Babs straightening as if
she’d been shocked, fingers splayed over her keyboard, and the smallest smirk growing on
Damian’s face.

Cass chuckled, softly, before leading Dick to the training room that all of Dick’s gymnastic
equipment and that had also become a bit of a shared dance studio.

Cass stepped back, and Dick let her have her space. She held the folder in both hands now,
firmly but carefully, with a reverence that he hadn’t really seen from her before. When she
looked up there were dark eddies in her gaze and a determined, fragile hope etched into the
lines around her mouth.

This was not a conversation Dick could screw up.

“Asked Barbara to wait. Cannot accept Batgirl, yet. Not the right name, yet.” Cass huffed in a
way that Dick knew she was upset with her own ability to communicate. He also knew not to
suggest switching to sign or to try and supply words. This was something she wanted to do
on her own.

He understood that and always had.

She thrust the folder into his hands and Dick took it as respectfully as he could, only opening
it when she indicated with a gesture that he should.

Dick’s breath caught in his throat when he read the first document resting inside. He hands
trembled and he was absently, distantly glad that she’d put the pages in a folder, since he felt
his hands crumple the edges as his grip tightened.

Cass raised her eyes from his hands to his face.

“Grayson-Wayne,” she said simply. “Not Caine. I choose. Want Bruce to adopt, want
siblings, but also want you. Not going to be Robin, not Flying Grayson like boys, but. But
still yours. Mine. Ours.” She frowned. “Family.”

He hugged her. He dropped the folder to the ground because, as precious as it was, she would
also be more so. He wrapped his arms around her and soaked her hair with his tears and Cass
hugged him back. Cass hugged him back with her full strength, iron and steel and bone in her
grip because she understood.

She always had.

“Love you, too, Big Brother.”

They stayed like that for several long, precious moments, until Dick’s tears had slowed and
Cass stepped back, a wild grin on her face. She tugged him back into the main cave and
watched him sign the adoption and name change papers with intense focus. Dick had no
doubt that a little of Bruce’s money had already gone into getting the paperwork ready and a
little more would go into getting it processed quickly and without trouble.

Cass beamed at him and swept him into one last bone-crushing hug, only to let him go and
sprint towards Barbara.

“Yes!” Cass said, almost a yell but not quite because volume was still hard for her. “Yes.”

Babs laughed and drew her into a hug, which made Dick smile as Steph appeared by his side.

“I’m okay with it.”

“What?” Dick asked, wrapping his arm around Steph’s shoulders and pulling her tight against
him.

His throat was a little scratchy from crying on Cass’s shoulder, but he knew Steph wouldn’t
call him on it. She’d notice, but she wouldn’t call him on it.

“With not being Robin. With not being a Grayson or even a Wayne.”
Dick blinked at her, something cold coiling in his gut.

She huffed and poked him in the stomach. “Stop that. This is the only reason why I’m
bringing it up at all. I know you, I know at some point you’ll be hit with guilt over this shit,
and I’m stopping it now.”

She sighed as they watched Cass show off her signed papers to Bruce and Alfred, a smile on
all their faces.

“I have a name and a mom and love them a lot. Mom and I talked about going back to her
maiden name, but I kind of like Brown. I feel like I’m telling him to fuck off and that we’re
making it better than he ever could. And I could totally be Robin, Tim and I have already
talked about a couple contingencies, but I don’t really need to be. B isn’t my mentor, and
Barbara isn’t really either, though she’s awesome and I’d totally kill for her.”

Steph looked up to Dick, briefly, before wrapping both her arms around Dick’s waist and
burrowing her head into his side.

“You’re my mentor. I’m your backup. And I know you have kids with the Titans you’ve
trained, but I’m your first Bat-kid trainee. And, just, that’s enough. That’s enough because
you’ve made it enough. Because you’ve made it family. Made me family. I don’t need a name
to know that.”

“Yeah,” Dick said after a moment where he was possibly fighting down tears. So many tears.
There had been too many damn tears lately. “You made your own name.”

“Just like you.”

“Better than me, Stephie. You’re going to be far better than me.”

“Agree to disagree Big Bird.”

They stayed like that, for a long moment, until Dick leaned down and rested his head on her
hair. “You know, Jay put the bat on his costume. You could do the same, if you wanted.
Maybe smaller, or on the sleeve or something? You don’t have to. But you definitely could.”

She hummed.

(He didn’t cry a week later when they went out for patrol and there was not only a small bat
on her gauntlet but also a purple mark across the front of her suit that was unmistakably a call
to the Nightwing symbol. He did not, and any photos Tim presented to the contrary were
lying.)

Nightwing walked into the Watchtower with calm deliberate strides that were meant to assure
the person behind him that everything was in control.
And it was. Even when he barged into the second largest meeting room only to see Batman
with his head against the table, Superman lightly patting Batman’s back, and Wonder Woman
and Green Lantern staring at a screen discussing exactly how that much structural damage
could be delivered so quickly to the building displayed. (The answer was Batkids; Dick had
actually called for help this time.)

Flash and Martian Manhunter were the first to notice Nightwing since Batman had his head
down. Flash, however, was the one to race forward and skid to a stop right in front of him.
“Nightwing!”

Dick had a lot of experience with Speedsters, so didn’t so much as twitch. The man trailing
behind him was another matter entirely. Flash took several small steps back when he caught
the flinch and several of the other heroes settled back into their seats instead of swarming.
Which was a good thing, since Dick would hate to take out one of his aunts or uncles for his
new cousin’s comfort. He’d do so, but it seemed a little rude.

Batman hadn’t started swarming, but he looked up, studied his son and son’s companion for a
long moment, then put his head back down with a sigh.

“B’s really given up on the whole intimidation tactic, huh?” Nightwing asked with a growing
grin.

“Not really,” Clark said cheerfully. “Just when it has to do with his children.”

“Particularly you, young one. Did you need something of us?” Diana smiled even as Hal
looked at her incredulously.

“And we need to know if Batman was right and that tiny black blur was actually you running
around the crumpling building.” Hal pointed to another screen with looping footage of a
black blue jumping from one beam to the next and disappearing through an only partially
standing window.

“Batman is very often right,” Dick told the room.

Hal blinked at him, finger still extended to the screen. “Why?”

“Are you alright?” J’onn asked, floating forward.

“We’re fine. Thanks, Uncle M.”

“We,” Batman said, flatly.

Dick turned from beaming at J’onn to beam at his father and Clark, still right behind the Bat.

“We!” With gentle hands, Dick reached behind him. Kon hesitated but eventually grabbed the
hand and let Dick pull him forward. “Meet my newest cousin!”

Batman looked the closet to flabbergasted Dick had ever seen the man, which said a lot
considering Dick’s actions this last year or so. “Slade has another child?”
“I’m sorry, what?” Hal asked, Barry nodding frantically beside him.

Dick ignored them both. Kon’s hand tightened, borderline painful but completely endurable
and understandable. Dick had thought of several ways to handle this introduction, but really,
Kon wanted it done quickly and Clark deserved the support of his friends. Mainly Bruce.

“Nope.” A little tug and a sideways smile was enough to get Kon to move and the two of the
walked over to Superman. Dick let go, pretending not see the flash of panic in Kon’s eyes or
the loosening of his shoulders when Dick settled both hands on the clone’s shoulders. “For
you. Standard rules apply. Mainly, don’t screw up or I take him away. But you’ll do fine,
Uncle Supes. B will help; he’s used to sudden children.”

There was silence in the room, something actually rather unusual for the Justice League
unless the world was ending, and most of the time not even then.

Clark looked over Kon, slowly, in a way that probably felt like judgement to Kon but Dick
recognized as a check for injuries and health. His eyes flicked over the too-large shirt that
Dick had raided from B’s closet and over to Dick.

Dick wasn’t sure what the man was looking for, particularly since the domino still concealed
Dick’s eyes. He hoped his faith came through, his surety that his Uncle would be good and
kind and everything Kon needed Clark to be (everything Dick needed Clark to be).

Clark nodded, slowly, and extended his hand. “Clark Kent, also known as Superman. Nice to
meet you.”

Kon stared a moment, a human heartbeat too long, before accepting the handshake. “Hi. I’m,
um, Konner. Kon?” He looked back to Dick.

Dick leaned forward on his hands, letting most of his weight settling onto his new cousin’s
shoulder. “I think Kon is a great name.”

For the first time since they’d stepped through the Zeta Tubes, a crooked smile appeared on
Kon’s lips. “Because you gave it to me.”

Dick didn’t reply with the witty quip that was all prepared and ready to go, because Clark
gasped, a tiny, quiet thing. Kon looked up at the man, but Dick already knew what his Uncle
had seen. With a smile on his face, Kon looked remarkably like Jon, like Clark himself.

Clark’s hand visibly tightened, but Kon didn’t do much beyond look at it curiously. Dick
decided his own hands weren’t enough and wrapped his arms around Kon’s shoulders,
wishing the boy was sitting so Dick could tuck his chin over top Kon’s head.

“There was a lab,” Dick told Clark, watching how multiple heads turned toward the
thoroughly wrecked building in the screens, “working on clone technology. Kon is the only
living success. It’s not his fault, Uncle Clark. They were awful and cruel and wrong. He
needs help to control his powers and, and a home. He needs a home, Uncle Clark.”
Dick stopped when a large hand, terrifying in its controlled gentleness, smoothed over Dick’s
cheekbone.

“Okay,” Clark told Dick simply. “Okay.”

He turned to Kon and raised his other hand to drop on top of the young clone’s head.
“Welcome to the family, Konner. Ma and Pa are going to love you.”

Dick tightened his hold, knowing that Kon was Kryptonian enough to barely feel it. “The
cousins already do.”

Which wasn’t a lie. Jason had settled into being protective very easily after the two of them
had smashed a bunch of shit around the lab. Spoiler was trying so hard not to overwhelm the
clone but also following hard in the Nightwing Mode of Affection and Hugs. Cass was being
her comforting and calm self, and had at least one quiet conversation on the plane ride back
about being suddenly thrust into a world that didn’t make sense.

Tim was perhaps the most helpful, since he had started rambling on about anything that Kon
might be curious about. From how planes worked to optimal locations for explosives to the
best food to eat after trouncing an enemy, Tim talked. Even better, any time that Tim started
to look self-conscious and about to reign himself in, Kon asked a new question or made an
appreciative noise and deliberately started Tim off again.

It was adorable and Dick was pleased that he would have to do very little meddling to return
that friendship to his baby brother.

Bruce was looking at Dick in what could be described as fond exasperation with a hint of
concern.

“The bonding trip with your siblings you were so excited about was taking down a corrupt
lab?”

Dick finally stood up and stretched his hands arms above his head, allowing both Supers to
disentangle as they looked to him. “You are in no place to judge me, Mr. Birthday Villain
Takedowns.”

“That was all Hood wanted,” Bruce said quietly, almost plaintively. Clark looked
sympathetic, which was good, because Dick was under no delusions for what Dami and Jon
would start asking for very damn soon.

“Does this mean you don’t want the information?” was all Dick asked.

Batman held out his hand and Dick tossed the flash drive into it.

“There are a couple of discrepancies in the info that I think could be associated labs. We’ll
need to check those out but I could use a second set of eyes.”

Bruce and Clark shared a look, and Dick was really quite happy to leave the remains to the
Justice League and their anger at non-consensual cloning. Diana in particular looked ready to
swing a sword at some corrupt, non-ethical science goons.
“In the mean time, I should probably go. I left the kids on the plane.”

Bruce stilled.

Dick beamed at his father. “Don’t worry, Hood is in charge!”

Bruce was quiet rather loudly, a slight tick at his jaw the only visible response.

“Don’t worry so much, B.” Dick waved a hand. “I’m going. You stay and help Supes with his
first surprise child.”

“First?” Clark asked at the same time as Kon jerked forward.

“Going?” Kon’s voice rose slightly at the end of the word and he grabbed Dick’s wrist. His
expression flickered when Dick gently pried his wrist away but settled when Dick simply
repositioned Kon’s fingers so they were used in a looser grip. Dick had a lot of experience
with powered teens who didn’t quite understand their strength.

“Don’t you worry either, cousin. Clark is one of the best men I know; he’ll get you settled.”
Dick reached with his free hand to tap the pouch hanging off Kon’s belt, the fabric tough with
the protective coating that covered much of the Batgear. “Besides, we’re only a call away.”

Tim had taken great care in explaining how the communicator Dick had given Kon worked
and even greater care in making sure that Kon knew how to call anyone in the Batclan.

“We’ll go to dinner. Soon.” Clark told Kon, Bruce nodding with only slight resignation next
to him.

Kon looked to Bruce, then copied his slow nod, finally releasing Dick. Dick simply beamed
before throwing himself forward for a hug.

“Welcome home,” Dick whispered in Kon’s ear.

Slow hands, both cautious and tentative wrapped around his back. “Thank you.”

The words sat in Dick’s gut, the layers held within them binds for the tears in his bones (Tim
hadn’t found Kon like Dami had Jon, but only because Tim had been gone first and Kon had
never been the same again).

“Any time, baby cousin. Any time.”

Konner breathed. He breathed as he sat in the sunlight, laughter ringing around him as kids
ran around the gardens and adults converged over the food laid out over tables. The food
smelled wonderful, rich and fresh and alive in a way he’d never known.

He hadn’t known a lot of things.

Sometimes it was embarrassing, all the things he didn’t know. The Bats, the Waynes, were
good at helping with that. They seemed to know everything, and were more than happy to
share with him. Tim was taking great pride in filling him in on anything the boy could think
of while Stephanie was catching him up on culture and trends.

He gone patrolling with the two of them, under Nightwing’s supervision. He might have been
offended by the fact that Clark thought Kon needed a babysitter, but Kon had accidentally
punched a hole in the tractor the day before. And Dick’s supervision involved a lot of games
across rooftops, ice cream, and terrifyingly honest conversation. Kon really wasn’t that
upset.

If anything, he was happy. A little afraid he wouldn’t get to keep the happiness, but Dick said
that was normal. He had haunted eyes when he said it, storm clouds brewing in the corners of
his eyes, and Kon didn’t like that. So he did what he was starting to always do when he came
across something he didn’t understand; he asked Tim.

Tim had also looked sad but explained the Dick Protection Society. He’d then handed Kon an
almost filled out application form that Kon had been more than happy to sign, as had
apparently the entirety of his new family. Excepting Lois, who had been spitting mad at
dinner when Kon had brought the form up when asked about his day. Both Jon and Clark had
been in trouble for not informing her and Kon had earned extra pie for bringing extra forms.

Kon’s eyes tracked to where Dick was spinning around, a baby assassin on his back and a
baby Super in his arms. Kon was pretty sure he’d always have a soft spot for that smile. He
had never imagined anything so kind as Dick’s smile through cracked glass as he mouthed
words that Kon later knew were promises to get Kon out.

Promises Dick kept.

Only his Supersenses allowed him to extend his arms in time for a giggling Jon to be dumped
in them. Dick and Damian quickly followed, the younger squawking as Dick simply
collapsed into Kon, dragging Damian down as well.

Clark chuckled from where he was seated at one of the nearby tables, leaning back to look at
them all with a soft expression on his face that Kon didn’t quite know how to interpret. Bruce
was, for once, easier, since his expression was accompanied by a poke to his friend’s
shoulder.

“I hope you realize you have two children who idolize my oldest son now.”

Dick spluttered even as Jon and Kon shared a look. “B!” Dick shouted.

Kon gave Dick’s hair a pat even as the man turned a betrayed look to him. “He’s not wrong.”
Kon shrugged. “You saved me and showed me the sky and then didn’t leave me alone.”

“And you brought me a brother.” Jon leaned forward to wrap small arms around Kon’s waist
in a move that was starting to become familiar (but never less precious). “Damian was
absolutely right. You’re the best.”
Dick blushed, which had Clark chuckling louder and Bruce looking smug.

Clark took pity, since he switched to a different topic. He was still teasing though, Kon was
pretty sure. “I hope you know, Dickie, that the League is all wondering who will be next to be
given a child.”

Dick blinked. “I mean, I don’t have more children at the moment.”

‘At the moment,’ Clark mouthed to Bruce, who was pinching his nose.

“But if we’re talking mentees…” Dick tilted his head. “Hm. Let me get my files.”

All four of them watched as Dick actually got up and walked away.

“Tt,” Damian said from where he was now leaning into a beaming Jon. “You should have
seen that coming.”

Clark nodded. “I really should have.”

Kon got up to follow Dick, getting an approving look from both Clark and Bruce that
absolutely didn’t mean anything to Kon, not at all.

Even with his hearing, it took him a few minutes and a helpful hint from Tim, who was also
very approving of Kon’s plan, to find Dick just finishing up a conversation with Jason and
Barbara that he’d clearly been drawn into on his way into the manor to get the files.

“Where’s my Superfriend?” Jason was asking Dick.

“What?” Dick and Barbara both wondered.

“Baby Bat gets the Baby Super, Baby Bird has clearly claimed the Cloned Super, and Girl
Super has been getting on way too well with Cass and Steph. Then there’s Original Super
who is technically B’s but we all know is wrapped around your finger. So. Where’s my
Super?”

The tone was clearly teasing, the kind that Lois was getting Kon used too and that Jason had
turned on Kon more than once. This was probably why both Barbara and Jason were taken
aback when Dick simply stared at Jason before smiling.

“Hold that thought,” Dick said before once again walking away.

“Dick,” Jason called after his brother.

Dick waved a hand but didn’t turn around.

Barbara whispered to Jason, not quite quiet enough for Kon not to hear. “What did you do?”

“Nothing. I did nothing. You saw nothing. This definitely isn’t a Joey Wilson situation.”
Kon fell into step with Dick just as the man approached the house. He looked up and Kon
met blue-sky eyes.

“You’ll take me, right?”

Dick raised an eyebrow as he opened the door and bowed Kon into the manor.

“When you go rescue whatever other Super or cousin that needs rescuing? I’d like to do that,
for them. Do what you did for me. Help you.”

Dick bit his lip, slightly, a tell that Tim had warned him about.

“It won’t be for a while. Just chasing rumours, at the moment. Working off old information.”

“You’ll figure it out,” Kon told his friend, his first cousin.

And when he did, Kon would be there.

 Trouble
Chapter Summary

Constantine runs into some trouble so Dick runs to get him out of it. Dick says
something he didn't intend to on the way.

Chapter Notes

Hello! We're nearing the end of the story, but don't worry. There's time for a bit more
angst and a lot more hugs. Thanks to the commenter who mentioned Constantine getting
in trouble and Dick rushing off to the surprise of his family. I couldn't find your
comment, but, I loved the idea and it fit perfectly in my existing plans.

They’d forgotten.

Dick wasn’t surprised in some ways. There had been so much to remember, so much he’d
never wanted to remember. So much he’d spent years and years binding in boxes and burying
in the ground away from the skies and the storms of his mind.

It was inevitable they’d miss something. And, honestly, this was such a small thing to miss.
Not a big name or a memorable battle or even a fight Dick had spent more than an afternoon
considering.

That was clearly a mistake.

Constantine: Time Fucker is still gone.

Constantine: But.

Constantine: Do you remember the brother he was trying to get revenge for?

Constantine: I did not.

Constantine: Brother might be a problem.

Constantine: Fuck.

Constantine: Problem.
Constantine: Code Blue - N

Dick stood up fast enough to cause his chair to screech against the cave floor. The cave was
full of vigilantes in various states of undress coming down off a successful patrol so many
eyes turned to him. Dick ignored them all to continue stalking forward to the Batcomputer
and make a phone call.

Constantine did not pick up. The phone was no longer in service.

Dick flinched when he felt Babs’s hand on his wrist. “What do you need?”

“Can you track Constantine’s last location?” Dick could do it himself, but it would be faster
to have her do so while Dick geared up.

She nodded and Dick handed his phone off to Damian before heading back to the changing
area in the cave. His baby would know both what a Code Blue was and how to handle the
unlikely event of more information being sent.

When Dick returned to the main floor of the cave, eyes widened but it was only Bruce who
spoke. “Chum?”

Dick ignored him, not because Dick wanted to, but because he was on the clock and Bruce
was currently less important than Barbara.

“Got something?”

She frowned. “Yes, but it’s imprecise. I can’t seem to get a better lock.”

Dick leaned forward over the back of her seat, almost missing her double-take at the suit. He
hummed.

“Close enough.”

Code Blue was from one of the first times someone had taken Damian after the Batclan had
started thinning out. Dick had maybe gone in a little hard, and Constantine, the only one
who’d responded to Dick’s call for help, hadn’t batted an eye. Code Blue meant now. Meant
Nightwing in protective rampage mode. Meant just them, but no holding back.

The dash letter series was from later. Was from when Justice League Dark was in shambles
and Constantine found that Batman and Robin were, oddly enough, the most likely to return
favours (desperate for a familiar face, someone who understood and wasn’t afraid to walk
Gotham streets). The letters were simple indications of what kind of trouble to expect. Mob.
Clown. Aliens. Demons.

They didn’t have one for Time-Fuckery. They did for Necromancy.

Dick blinked, staring at the map and mentally flicking through what he knew about
Necromancy, geography, and Constantine’s last known project. Dick focused in on a large
expanse of flat ground several states away that he was pretty sure had once been a battle
ground. He’d start there, then use some of his and Constantine’s backups that should let Dick
find the other man. There were a lot of magical tools in this particular suit.

Dick straighten and spun on his heel, only to find his entire family lined up in front of him.
They weren’t quite blocking his path but they weren’t making a path to the door, either.

“What the fuck, Dickhead?” Jason asked with crossed arms but shifting feet.

“Constantine’s in trouble,” Dick replied.

“We got that,” Steph said, ghosting forwards just slightly. “I think Jay was referring to the
suit.”

Dick looked down, realizing that no, they probably hadn’t seen this version of the Nightwing
suit. The colour scheme was mostly the same, just a little greyer, as was the emblem, but
there was a lot more armour and stronger fabric. He still had a great deal of mobility, since
Dick hated fighting while crippling one of his greatest assets, but there were some strong
callbacks (callforwards) to his Batsuit. A well-aimed bullet or a lucky death-spell would have
a much harder time knocking Dick out in what Dami called his War-suit.

“Tt.” Damian pushed his way through his siblings. “Richard is going to save Constantine and
thus needs a suit with more magical resistance. I trust the warlock had finished with the
protections?”

They both knew that even if Constantine hadn’t, Dick would still be going. There would also
then be a lot more Baby Assassin Judgement, however.

“Course, Baby Bat.”

Damian scoffed again, but held up the small chest he’d retrieved from his own room and the
short sword he’d retrieved from Dick’s. The daggers from the chest quickly slotted into
various pockets and braces tucked around the suit and the sword anchored to the small of
Dick’s back. He didn’t particularly like swords, but they were generally more effective
against the undead than his escrima sticks.

“Do you need help?” That was Bruce, which drew Dick’s attention like a moth to the flame.
He blinked at his father, then smiled at Tim tucked into the man’s side.

“No.” Dick shook his head at Jay who looked ready to protest. “No, Jay. I’ve got this, I
promise. Constantine didn’t give the Calvary code, so I should be enough. I’ll ket you know
if that changes, but we’ve done this before.”

Many times. This was as easy as breathing. Easier, sometimes.

His family exchanged looks, which was kind of cute but also wasting time. Dick was
considering vaulting over their heads when Bruce stepped aside. There were more words, but
Dick didn’t really hear them, or rather process them. He was sure that later (once Constantine
was safe and within reach and not possibly being tortured by a wanna-be mage who never
came close to the sheer chaos his older brother released) then Dick would be able to think
back and enjoy the support from his family.

Now, though, now he was too focused on flight paths, prioritizing the spells tucked in his
pockets, and stealth versus force approaches. He was in work mode, Batman mode, to be
honest. He wasn’t about to let some fucker (particularly one related to the man who killed his
son) take someone else Dick loved away.

He kissed whatever heads he could reach on the way to Batplane, waved at Jay’s comment
not to die because he had no intention of doing that again, signalled his Robin to stand down
and not sneak onto the plane, and went off to rescue his warlock.

He always had time to return that particular favour, after all.

Alfred felt the dread settle in his stomach like the molten heat of melted bullets. He looked at
his family, his beautiful family that had grown both in number and strength largely due to the
heart of the young man flying off to save another who wasn’t a part of their family only by
his own stubbornness.

“We don’t talk about it,” Alfred ordered. He’d waited a moment to see if Bruce would speak
first, but the man was frozen, possibly in shock.

“Alfie,” Jason started, but didn’t continue.

“Did he, did he really just say that?” Young Stephanie asked from where she was pressed into
a white-faced Barbara’s side.

“He did.” Timothy seemed to be the only one not in shock. Grim determination folding over
clenched palms. “Dick died and didn’t tell us.”

Bruce sat down heavily, dragging an oddly compliant Damian into his lap as he stared after
the plane.

“He did not, and we’re going to respect that.” All eyes turned to Alfred, who continued
quietly. Solemnly. With a shattered heart stitched together with medical thread. “We do not
bring this up until Master Richard does. He did not mean to tell us this time and only did so
because he was focused on saving Mr. Constantine. We already know our boy went through
something tragic. We also know that not only is he seeing a professional for support, he is
also seeking his family. We do not need to pry to support.”

Timothy started nodding even as Jason crossed his arms with a shaky huff.

“Big Bird will clam right up if we ask, anyway,” Jason admitted. “Do the lie-smile thing.”

“And the eyes,” Timothy added, softly.

“The sad eyes are to be avoided at all costs,” Stephanie declared.

Even Bruce nodded as his children shared a look of pure solidarity.

Alfred took the moment to close in his own eyes, hating that he wasn’t actually sure which
particular expression of his oldest grandson counted as ‘the sad eyes.’ Richard’s eyes were
often sad.

Alfred had been concerned from the moment Richard apparently called Bruce and asked to
come home. Oh, Alfred wanted the boy to come home, but he knew both men and their
stubbornness all too well. It should have taken months (months of deliberate actions that
Alfred wasn’t near enough finished implementing) for Richard to call the manor home.

The concern had turned to outright worry when Richard had walked through the door and
turned sad eyes on Bruce, Jason, and Alfred himself. Richard’s smile had been genuine, but
that only made it worse. Only made Alfred notice his boy’s beautiful, broken eyes.

Richard had always had expressive eyes, skies instead of mirrors, never quite able to mask
his heart. Not from Alfred, at least (not from Bruce once, and how Alfred loved that his son
was regaining the skill even in his cautious, stilted way). Richard’s eyes had turned from
sunlit days and star-shone nights to desert skies, empty and parched and desperately weeping
for all there was no visible sign of cloud.

Richard watched the manor like he was expecting the building to be the home of ghosts. He
watched the residents like he was expecting them to find him the ghost and pass him by. He
watched the shadows like he was expecting the monsters to be there, ravenous and grasping.
He watched and surely that was the hardest part of Richard’s sad eyes: the fact that Alfred
could not, no matter how hard he tried (and how he tried) see what his boy watched.

All Alfred could do was find a chore, something to clean, some excuse to be in the same
room as Richard. Because the boy would paste on a smile, one that stabbed in its genuine
love even as it splintered at the edges if addressed, but he would stay and breathe if left alone.
Or rather not left alone but left quiet. Left to slowly focus his eyes on Alfred’s steady form as
Richard settled. As he focused and started quietly talking or humming or interacting.

There were no words to describe the relief Alfred had felt when Richard started coming into
the quiet kitchen when Bruce and Jason were out or abed. When Richard had started seeking
out the company he needed when the skies in his eyes were vast and echoing. Alfred only
knew that the relief got stronger when Richard started helping, wanting to do dishes or learn
how to cook as if Alfred hadn’t spent years trying to teach him.

And then the children. Bless the children for they were the absent sun and stars to Richards
eyes. For they gave him more that was close to watch, more to help, more to see that was
grounded in the present and not the hidden expanse of sky.

The concept that those skies had ended, that there had been a moment when there was no
light in Richard’s eyes at all, was staggering. Almost incomprehensible, even as so many of
Richard’s behaviours came together to make devastating sense. But Alfred knew his boys,
knew their stubbornness, and knew that Jason was most certainly correct.
If they pressed Richard, the man would clam up. Would paint a smile on his face and insist he
was fine and never notice that each word hurt. Would leave.

Never physically, never permanently, not with how the boy had been building the family and
anchoring himself down. But there was more than one way to leave, and Alfred couldn’t
conscious it. Couldn’t risk Richard being out of reach when he needed help.

Alfred took a deep breath even as the children started talking amongst themselves, slowly
feeling out how to navigate this knowledge on their brother’s return. Bruce met Alfred’s
gaze, and it had been decades since Alfred seen that level of heartbreak on his son’s face.

Richard was alive now, however. Regardless of how he had once not been, Richard was alive
and so was the family that was gathered around them. Bruce nodded at what he saw in
Alfred’s gaze and turned to his children, running a hand over hair and shoulders.

Alfred would make sure to bring the man Alfred’s special tea, after everyone else had gone to
bed, since he knew Bruce wouldn’t be sleeping much until Richard was home. That was one
battle Alfred was comfortable admitting he would lose, and also one that he didn’t mind as
much as he should.

They could wait together.

In the mean time, he had one last charge to manage.

“Now, Young Master Damian, I think it is time for hot chocolate, if you would care to help
me.”

They boy looked up for one long moment, but didn’t scoff before he complied, climbing
down from his Father’s lap with sharp grace.

Alfred waited until they were in the elevator, one hand resting on the boy’s shoulder. He
considered saying nothing at all, for he did not believe he needed to say anything to
understand that the boy was going to tell Richard everything. But, well.

“There have been all together too many secrets in this family,” Alfred started, feeling Damian
tense up under Alfred’s palm. “While I certainly do not believe that Richard should be
confronted with his slip, if someone who already knew passed along the fact we all share the
knowledge of his, his death, then there are much fewer secrets kept. Wouldn’t you agree,
Young Master Damian?”

Not no secrets, but Alfred worked with what he had.

“I-“ Damian deliberately did not look up. But he also didn’t finish the denial.

“I am glad you found each other,” Alfred responded.

Alfred didn’t know how or why Damian knew, but it had been guilt that kept their youngest
quiet. Guilt and not shock or rage and a difficulty with vocal expression, which was what had
kept Cassandra quiet (Alfred did not think it would be the Batman or the Red Hood that any
possible perpetrator would have to fear).
The time in Nanda Parbat seemed too recent to be when Richard had died, too out of line
with his behaviour and clear trauma. Alfred also knew that Richard would have never
burdened his siblings with this knowledge, not if he could help it, particularly not his
youngest baby brother-son.

There were so many things that Alfred did not know, however. So many things that his
foolish boys tried to protect him from, despite the fact that was not their job and it made his
so much harder.

“Alright,” Damian whispered.

“Alright,” Alfred agreed, dragging his hand from the boy’s shoulder and into his hair.

They were going to be alright. Eventually. Alfred was used to playing the long game, after
all.

Damian knew he was making, not a mistake, but a decision that no one would be pleased
with, regardless of outcome. There would be trouble even if everything proceeded smoothly.
He just didn’t care.

Not with the reminder of Richard’s death, the time when Damian hadn’t been there to protect
his Batman. Not when Richard was off to fight the brother of the man who’d been fucking
with time magic. (What if Richard and Constantine went somewhere else, somewhen else,
without Damian? What if they left him alone?)

And necromancy was not exactly a small challenge. Constantine was rather adequate,
particularly with dark magic, but there must be a reason that he had called Richard and not
Justice League Dark. A reason that was not simply habit, for Damian had been required by
Richard to sit in on and even participate with Richard during the discussion of their habits
from the future that wasn’t and the ones that shouldn’t, couldn’t continue.

Not asking for appropriate help because they were not used to it being available was high on
the list.

Damian had faith in his Baba, he did. He also had memories of the footage that showed
Richard dying. And the amount of blood present when Richard and Constantine once
staggered back into a safehouse after facing zombies on their own. And the sound of his
Baba’s scream as his world ended after the other mage sacrificed an entire town (and
Damian) to mess with Time.

Damian would not be sleeping.

Instead, Damian slunk towards the zeta technology in the cave, wearing gear that was a mix
of his Assassin garb and future Robin costume. Richard had ensured he would have armour
of some sort, laughing to Bruce as he explained no one would be able to stop Damian from
training even as trembling hands on clasps told Damian it was for emergencies. For just in
case.

Necromancers possibly kidnapping their ally felt like a reasonable just in case. Damian was
sure he could make his argument to Richard.

Richard had taken the jet because Constantine’s magic didn’t always react well to
zetatechnology when he was really riled up, which had only become true the longer the future
that wasn’t went on and the more they lost. They’d discovered this the hard way and so the
jet was the better option, particularly since it gave Richard time to go over whatever notes
Constantine had left and not rush blindly into the situation.

Damian didn’t have as much time. He’d had to wait until the others were all asleep, finally
crashing after their patrol and emotional upheaval. There may have also been a tantrum or
two, since the family seemed to want to cling. Damian wasn’t as opposed to that as he might
have once been, but the timing was inconvenient. He needed to be alone to sneak out.

He was under no false impressions. He was mainly succeeding with this because his family
was underestimating him. They were seeing Damian as a child, though an assassin child, and
assessing his capabilities and desires through that view.

He would not get away with this again.

Hopefully he would not need to. As long as Richard and the warlock were safe, were alive,
then Damian would handle increased scrutiny from his family. He would.

As long as his Batman was alive.

 Gratitude
Chapter Summary

Dick loses his temper, Damian kicks a Necromancer, and Constantine starts several
fires. There's also a dramatic rescue that saves no one at all and a revelation or two.

Chapter Notes

I think you've be waiting for this. Definitely some emotional hurt and comfort incoming
this chapter. I hope you enjoy.

Dick smelled rot and blood and decay. The scents twined about his head even as he
acknowledged that they weren’t actually there. His brain just thought they should be because
they were standing on a battled field. He’d stood on a lot of battlefields with that smelled of
rot and blood and decay.

This mage, however, used long-deceased skeletons, so there wasn’t a lot of scent in general.
Nothing of the freshly dead. Nothing to weave memories into tangible chains around his
neck.

Still, the scents lingered.

Dick forced a deep breath and tried to focus on the mage. He didn’t actually know the mage’s
name. Neither did Constantine. The mage’s original-future dive into villainy had been not
nearly so dramatic as a field full of the undead. Dick vaguely remembered a report on golems
and an easy take down by the Titans. Frankly, the mage’s brother had been far more
successful in his evil designs and danger levels. Dick supposed this family simply operated
better when they were after revenge and not general power or mayhem.

Dick shifted, bumping into Constantine’s elbow and briefly checking to make sure the singed
coat was still just smoking and hadn’t actually caught fire. Constantine insisted there were
protections sewn into the fabric to prevent fire, but Dick had a lot of anecdotal evidence to
the contrary.

The coat-singeing had happened while getting Constantine out of the graveyard. Wraiths
were nasty pieces of work. They were also well beyond this mage’s ability to summon, or so
Constantine had spat between the containment spells he was casting one handed as Dick
picked the locks on the sacrificial alter Constantine was bound to with actual manacles. As
were the ghouls, which was unfortunate because they’d had to fight off a veritable hoard and
while only one had been strong enough to pierce the magic War-suit, Dick’s side now
actually rather hurt.

Constantine was firmly of the mind that the mage was good at choosing locations where there
was a lot of unresolved mojo around, which had nothing at all to do with the mage’s own
magical abilities.

Dick couldn’t exactly argue, not when they were about to have a dramatic confrontation in a
field full of skeletons. That was monochromatic, poor battle strategy, and tacky besides.
Additionally, the only identifying marks on the skeletons were scraps of fabric that were
probably meant to be uniforms, since they bore some magical symbol that had Constantine
scoffing. Which, okay, was in line with traditional villain dramatics, but was absolutely a
waste of time and power.

This wasn’t why Dick was annoyed.

Dick knew he and Constantine could handle the skeletons. It wouldn’t be easy, would hurt a
fair bit, but they’d faced worse. Calling in the other heroes had still been the right call,
because Dick had promised and also there could be another wraith lurking somewhere since
they were attracted to large amounts of undead and death magic. No thank you to fighting
another wraith and an army of undead alone when there’s multiple trained heroes literally
texting him every other hour asking if they could do anything to help.

So help was on the way and he wasn’t too worried about the meantime. Yet, Dick still found
himself rapidly falling of the edge of annoyed and into incandescent rage. Despite their best
intentions to linger around the edges of the graveyard until the heroes arrived, Dick and
Constantine found themselves in the middle of the nearby field at least half an hour too early
while the mage readjusted the glowing staff set against Damian’s throat.

Constantine’s hand on Dick’s wrist was the only thing that stopped Dick from lunging
forward with a smile sharpened in battlefields worse than this. Stalling was, unfortunately,
the smart play, what with backup incoming.

Dick just wasn’t sure he cared.

“You killed my brother so I will take yours,” the mage said smugly, sure in his leverage. He
was holding Dick’s baby and acting smug.

Constantine scowled. “Your brother’s in an inter-dimensional prison, you twat. Not dead.”

The mage scoffed but readjusted the staff when Damian went to cross his arms. Dick’s baby
was unimpressed.

“I apologize for my error,” Damian told Dick, domino not enough to hide the bitter
disappointment in himself. Which, yes, they would be talking about the sneaking over, but
also his son was tiny. He could not expect to be at his future standards of ability just yet.

“Remove your hands from my son,” Dick said softly. Soft enough that Constantine twitched
at his side, well aware of what came next.
“Son? Huh, I could have sword he was your brother. Not as poetic,” a mad grin that showed
too many teeth overtook the mage, “but it’ll do.”

Dick let out a slow breath as the moment stretched, edges composed only of Constantine’s
bruising grip around his wrist and Damian’s gaze entirely anchored on Dick. Then the
moment shifted, just slightly, just and inch or so to the left, and eddies of time and battles
never fought but still won wove about them.

“Fuck this,” Dick whispered. For some reason, Nightwing swearing seemed to take the mage
aback.

But Dick was done. He’d had enough. He’d been up for over twenty four hours. His
Constantine had been kidnapped and tortured. He’d spent far too long clearing a fucking
mausoleum of the undead to retrieve said Constantine only to end up standing in a field for a
dramatic standoff with a mage who was abusing the dead (Dick had so many dead, so many
ghosts that haunted his dreams and deserved to rest just as much the skeletons this man
controlled like puppets on a string).

And the mage was about to start monologuing. This non-entity, this two-bit magic bastard
was about to monologue with a blinking sceptre held to Damian’s throat.

“Robin.” Dick let the growl creep into his voice. “Come here.”

“What the fuck do you-“

“Yes, Batman,” Robin said as he started to move.

“What the fuck,” the mage yelped. “That’s not Bat- where did you get a magic sword?!”

“Tt,” Constantine and Damian said together, even as Robin bolted away from the now
splintered staff and slightly bleeding mage to stand between the two older men and slightly to
their back, magic sword raised and faintly glowing.

“Fucking brat,” the mage growled.

“He’s a Bat,” Dick said flatly. They were all brats.

“Face my skeleton army!” Returned the mage. Which was fair, though highly uncreative.

Damian and Dick both huffed as they readied their stances. Constantine, however, bristled as
his hands starting glowing with blood red fire. The man preferred fighting sideways and not
directly engaging, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t keep up, particularly when pissed.

Which he was. He’d been holding back because Damian in danger automatically put Dick in
charge of calling the shots. But Damian was with them now, and Constantine had been
listening to this nonsense for hours longer that the Bats. And had been briefly tied to a
sacrificial alter and left for a wraith that the mage was courting like a bad prom date.

“Do you have any idea how long it’s going take me to rest this kind of negative energy?”
Constantine asked. Which was reasonable, because Dick did, and it wasn’t a great number.
“Respect the fucking dead!”

The resulting energy bust cleared a twenty foot gap in the encroaching skeletons. The mage
was gaping, but Dick just tapped his own sword on his boot.

“So no souls then?”

“Nah,” Constantine let out a breath, visibly just a bit calmer. “Just bones. Not even much
intelligence beyond the ability to follow an order. Nowhere near a wraith or ghoul. Go to
town. I’ll lay any bad mojo or errant souls to rest properly after. Or, you know, beg Zantanna
or someone to do it.”

“Excellent.” Damian always did like to go full force.

Dick had to admit, it was occasionally nice to take things down and not have to worry about
ethics. Dick sheathed his sword and pulled out both escrima, falling into a ready position.

“What?” He asked the raised eyebrows of both his boys, ignoring for the moment the fuming
mage trying to reconstruct some of his army as the rest slowly moved to take their place.
“Bones break easier than they slice.”

“I disagree.”

“Because you’re savage, Baby Bat. Not all of us are highly trained assassins with a highly
magic sword.” Dick’s sword could dismiss the spiritual undead, sure, but that still had
nothing on the blade Constantine had given Damian. The boy had actually hugged
Constantine when the man had gone and retrieved Damian’s future sword just so the boy
could have it sooner, though neither would ever bring those events up again (which was fine,
Dick had photographic evidence for his files).

The two of them shifted.

“What. Did. You. Do.”

They looked at each other, guilt written on both their faces.

“Nothing much. Slicing the bones is simply now an option for you as well.”

“What the kid said,” Constantine added.

The two refused to look at Dick for one long moment until one of the skeletons broached the
five foot mark and they both leaped forward with no little relief.

Dick ended up smiling, because he loved those two so damn much. And also, he would find
out what they did to his weaponry without his knowledge and extract suitable vengeance or
disappointed staring. Neither of them could hold out against his disappointed face at all.

In the mean time, Dick struck the shoulder joint of a skeleton hard enough that its arm, which
had been reaching for Constantine, fell to the ground. He followed up with a kick that
shattered its skull and moved on to help Dami cover their warlock who was tracing a spell in
the air with a glowing finger.

When the spell froze the nearby skeletons to the ground, Dick threw Dami up so he could
land on shoulders and heads with devastating efficiency. Dick dropped to the ground with a
sweeping kick that took out more of the monsters than he thought the move should have.
Apparently, the mage had summoned the skeletons, dressed them, and cast no further
enhancements.

Not the best strategy since old bones were brittle things.

The three of them moved forward, steadily falling into familiar patterns as Constantine
focusing on shields, area affects, and fire, while Dick and Damian swapped high and low
ground like gravity didn’t effect them. The fight was still awful, because skeletons were both
rude and creepy as fuck, Dick and Constantine were both bleeding through their bandages
from the previous fights, and they were really fucking outnumbered.

But with each strike and duck, with each press of his shoulder to Constantine’s spine, with
each touch of his palm to Damian’s heel as the boy spun off Dick and back into the fray, Dick
breathed. He breathed deep and sure. He knew this.

This wasn’t plotting and waiting and hoping. This wasn’t emotions and trauma and
navigating a future that no one else could see, much less fear. This wasn’t walking criss-
crossing tightropes that led to shadowy corners that might or might not lead to his family’s
happiness.

This was fighting and moving and surviving. This was choosing to live with every breath
they took. This was looking after each other.

This was something they were good at.

Dick ducked under a blast of fire and stayed down for a beat at the cry of “Batman!” He felt
two small boots spring off his back that he knew were Robin-green and laughed.

It wasn’t Dick Grayson’s fond laugh or Robin’s mad cackle, or even Nightwing’s amused
chuckle. The sound was the laugh of a Batman that would never exist but had once existed so
hard it hurt. The sound was carried on tattered wings that still flew. Tired and honest and
laced with freedom.

Constantine smirked up at him as he called for Robin to avoid some hellfire and Dick flipped
over the man’s shoulder. The smirk was that of a man who’d found the strength to leave Hell
and then go back when the reason was good enough. Mad and true and thrumming with
heart.

Robin grinned. Robin laughed back, his voice young but stronger than anything Dick had
ever known. Bright and real and forged with steel.

They flew and they fought. They laughed and they grinned.
They survived, as they always did.

And when the heroes arrived, they didn’t save anyone. There were flashes of colour and fire
and steel and a great concussive force that knocked hundreds of skeletons to the ground, but
the three at the center of it all never faltered.

Robin lunged forward, closing the gap that had been shrinking since the start, and flung
himself up the shrieking mage. A kick that he’d learned from Dick had the man staggering
forward, ineffectually swatting at the boy who’d already sprung away.

Unfortunately for the mage, he’d staggered into the path of Dick’s arm, which Dick quickly
used to dump the mage on the ground before slamming a boot into his chest. Constantine
appeared from behind Dick just in time to finish a spell that caused glowing chains to wrap
around wrists and robes and ankles. By the time Constantine stopped speaking, Damian had
already stuffed a cloth into the mage’s mouth, rummaged through his robes, and handed Dick
a magical amplifier that was the solution to their confusion about the man being powerful but
not particularly skilled.

The skeletons all shuddered when Dick stomped again with his armoured-soles and shattered
the amplifier. Destroying them was even easier for the heroes for all of two minutes, before
Constantine made a low hum of realization and waved his arms through briefly visible runes.
The skeletons all fell to dust.

Damian came and pressed into Dick’s side as the heroes faltered at the sudden loss of
enemies. They looked around for a moment before everyone started to follow the various
Bats as they rushed to the center of the field. Dick leaned slightly into his baby, his ribs
pounding and the scratches from the ghoul a frigid ache in his side.

Constantine wiped blood from over Dick’s eye with the cuff of his coat but grinned at Bruce
when he came to a stop just a few feet away. Dick figured he probably should be comforting
his father, or making to hug his rapidly appearing siblings, but the adrenaline was crashing
and he was really happy just leaning on his Robin and not falling over.

“Thanks for the distraction, mates.”

Dick huffed at Constantine’s words since they weren’t exactly wrong and looked up into the
eyes of the exact same group as had found him in Nanda Parapet. Well, the exact same plus
some new faces. Jason was there as Hood which meant that Tim was Robin and this time
Spoiler was at his side. Cass and Babs were both there as different versions of Batgirl, Kon
was standing in Superman’s shadow, Rose and fucking Slade were off to the side, and Raven
and Zantanna were at the front.

“This seems excessive,” Dick said, leaning even more heavily into Constantine’s side as the
man went to take some of the weight off a scowling but still tiny Damian. Zantanna and
Raven made sense, because skeletons and magic shenanigans, but Dick had not requested a
full cavalry when he called in for help. He raised an eye in particular at Slade, who turned
away only to get patted on the arm by a beaming and fully suited Rose.
Dick was maybe whining. With a sigh, Dick reinforced his lean so he could grab Damian’s
hood and latched on more deliberately to Constantine’s wrist. The man hadn’t visibly been
going for a portal, but one could never be too careful with John Constantine.

“Nope. Neither of you are abandoning me to this,” Dick told them.

They both responded with crossed arms and a huff. It would have been adorable in any other
circumstances, even with the streaks of blood and bone dust.

“There were cameras,” Tim blurted. Dick blinked at him, completely thrown by the
digression.

“Tt.” Damian bent down, forcing all Dick’s weight onto his own feet and a slightly tippy
Constantine, before coming back with the remains of a small black blob which had one of
Damian’s knives impaling both it and a high tech camera.

Constantine reached across Dick to poke it with a shard of bone. “Huh. So he was a two-trick
pony. Skeletons and imps.”

The mage on the ground wiggled sluggishly and was summarily ignored. Later, Dick would
learn the man had be the kind of villain that had wanted to be seen. That wanted power and
prestige. That had a fucking degree in telecommunication and technology before getting fired
and falling into the occult by the way of his brother’s books. That had broadcast the fight
because he was an overconfident twat.

Currently, Dick latched onto Constantine’s words instead of the massed heroes and the
thoughts trying to gain his attention. Thoughts about how he’d fought and what he’d said and
all the times he called Damian Robin. “He was going to sacrifice you on an alter to a wraith.”

“And then he would’ve had more tricks.”

“Dude,” Roy said, Kori hovering over his shoulder. “And I say this with the utmost love and
respect, but. What the actual fuck?”

Dick blinked. “I don’t know, man. Necromancy is fucked in general.”

“That’s not what he meant, Wing.” Raven’s voice was soft, but she didn’t cross the few feet
of space between the groups. Dick wondered if that was because Dick was normally the one
to throw himself into hugs and start physical affection, or if the three of them were putting of
some sort of ‘don’t approach’ wild vibes.

Tim did step forward, but only to the font of the heroes. Dick’s brave Baby Bird.

“Cyborg and Oracle redirected the transmission without too much difficulty, so the public
didn’t see anything. The only ones who saw were the Justice League and the Titans.”

So only Dick’s entire family, who would all actually understand what they’d just seen.

“Wing, that’s not how you fight.”

Dick didn’t look at Jason, didn’t look at the boy who’d spent hours watching the original
Robin fighting to try and learn, the boy who was only now truly settling into his own style,
the boy who knew exactly how Dick fought.

Dick also didn’t look at his father. He didn’t. He wouldn’t. Because the man knew exactly
how Dick fought, but he also knew how Batman fought.

Dick looked.

“Batman?” Batman asked Dick, voice quiet an inevitable.

Dick looked away.

“Well, shite,” Constantine muttered.

Dick rather had to agree. He focused on the now unconscious and magically bound mage
with tired disdain. “Doesn’t he know that magic and tech aren’t supposed to mix? Magicians
don’t broadcast their crimes over video. They just don’t.”

Slade snorted, drawing attention to himself. Dick looked to Rose in his wake and wondered
which of the Batkids had called her, and how she’d successfully convinced her father to let
her fight.

“Did they actually not know about the time travel?” Slade asked with a smug grin, clearly
planning on lording it over Batman for the rest of eternity. Dick kind of wanted to punch him,
but maybe also hug him. Dick rather doubted he’d have been able to say the words to these
people, and it didn’t seem fair to make Damian or Constantine do it for him.

“Time travel,” Bruce stated more than asked, Diana’s hand on his shoulder a comfort and not
a restraint. She could read as well as Dick the turmoil Bruce was feeling that the Batman
would never show.

“Yes,” Dick agreed, the word a burning star on his tongue.

“And you told Slade?!” Dick wasn’t sure who’d actually asked that, his ears were maybe
ringing slightly. Probably Jason or Roy.

“Of course not. I only told Harley Quinn.”

“Why Harley?” Babs asked, voice as soft as Raven’s had been. Cass simply signed love at
her side and Dick actually let go of Constantine to sign the same thing back.

Dick shrugged. “It’s important to be honest to get the most out of therapy.”

“You’re fucking kidding me,” Slade interrupted, mask off and judgmental eyebrows fully
visible. “No one fucking knew?”

Roy scowled at him and opened his mouth.

“Shove off hero boy,” Slade angled his head to include the bristling Supers in the comment.
“Seriously, have none of you fought the kid recently?”

Which no, they hadn’t. Not really. Nightwing had been very careful with who’d he sparred
lately and mostly kept to training matches. The instructional kind. And fighting Slade on dark
rooftops when the violence in his blood grew too loud. Shared custody of Rose had worked
out in several ways.

The heroes looked at each other as they reached a similar conclusion, but it was Steph who
asked, voice smaller than Dick had ever heard it. “Did you time travel because you died?”

Dick blinked, taken aback and possibly frozen. The others must have felt somewhat the same
since there was a long, sharp moment of silence. There was no silence quite like a soundless
battlefield; it always spoke of worse things to come.

“Tt. No. Richard and Constantine were alive at the time of the spell. I, however, was recently
not.”

Dick ran a trembling hand down Damian’s hair and neck to settle at the base of his throat. “I
did not handle that well.”

Constantine shifted, falling back into the kind of humour that had kept them going under the
weight of blood and bone and a sorrow that swept through on tides that corroded everything
it touched. “Eh. Handled it better than some of the others, if I’m being honest.”

And he wasn’t wrong. Dick had been simply shutting down. There were worse, more
destructive options. He would know.

“Why didn’t you tell us?”

Dick looked at Barbara, but everyone on that field could tell he wasn’t actually seeing her. “It
was against the rules.”

“Rules?” Bruce asked, breaking his silence and stepping forward. Dick stepped back and
Bruce stopped, eyes glued to where both Damian and Constantine shifted forward so they
were just slightly in front of Dick.

Constantine was the one that spoke.

“One: fuck the timeline. Preserve nothing. Change whatever the fuck we can. Cause, I hate to
tell ya, but the future sucked. Two,” Constantine paused to shake out his coat, ash and shards
of bone falling to earth. “Call. Because being alone’s shitty and we’re fucked up beyond your
understanding. Beyond what we want you to understand.”

Constantine looked at back at Dick, reading something in the tilt of Dick’s head there.

“Three,” Constantine said to the sky. “Don’t die. Can’t change shit if you’re dead. And four,
don’t tell anyone.”
“Why?” It was Tim that asked. Tim with his constant desire to know and his new Robin suit
that didn’t stop Dick from being able to tell that his eyes were blown wide. Dick ignored him.
Dick ignored him and pressed a shaking palm to Constantine’s back and another to Damian’s
shoulder.

He was torn away from staring above their heads by Bruce’s voice. By Bruce echoing Tim’s
question with shards of broken night in his voice. “Why wouldn’t you tell us? We would
have, did you think we wouldn’t help?”

Dick laughed. He laughed and it was noting like earlier. Nothing like being free. He also
couldn’t stop. He closed his eyes so he couldn’t see his family flinch at the dark sound of
shrieking winds that carried the remains of lives and hope in raging circles deep inside his
lungs.

“We couldn’t prove it, not really. Not without regurgitating a whole lot of shit for you to
gawk at, which wasn’t ever going to happen. Sides,” Constantine crossed his arms, “wasn’t
one Big Bad but a whole lot of wee little bads and we didn’t really have the patience to listen
to you lot bicker about the best way to do things. We didn’t come back to be heroes, Batsy.
We were just desperate.”

“Di-“

“Why the fuck would I want to tell you how I failed?” Dick felt his words hit more solidly
than any punch. Heard the sharp intake of breaths and even a quiet moan from someone.

Dick didn’t want to see. Instead, he opened his eyes only when his head was angled back to
the sky where he could go back to staring at the roiling grey clouds above them. Clouds he
almost felt like he could join if it wasn’t for his fist balled in the back of John’s coat and
Damian wrapped tightly enough around Dick’s leg that the kid was going to leave bruises.

“Why would I want to tell you all the many ways I failed? That I let you down? Why would I
want to tell you that I took all the trust and respect and love you gave me and built
graveyards and memorials and mausoleums? That I know what your blood feels like as it
escapes over my hands? That I know how your breath sounds as it escapes from your lungs
for the last fucking time? That I know what you consider important enough to be your last
words? That I don’t. That I was across the country or the bloody fucking universe as you died
alone and cold and scared.”

Batman slammed into him, and Dick distantly thought that was right. That he deserved
whatever was coming. Arms wrapped around his neck, his shoulders, gentle because the
gauntlets had been thrown to the ground and Dick didn’t know what to do with gentle, hadn’t
been expecting gentle, so he kept speaking even as the weight of the man in the Batsuit
dragged him down to his knees (as the suit always had).

“I wore your cowl, B. I wore the Bat even as it poked holes in my heart and my soul and my
fucking wings. I wore it and lead your team and got your children killed.”

Dick’s hands spasmed, but he still didn’t grip back. Didn’t grip the suit or his father or
anything he didn’t deserve. Certainly not the second or third or fourth body that collapsed
onto his, wrapping thin arms around his and clutching on as if they knew, as if they could
hold him together with will alone.

(It didn’t work like that. Dick had tried.)

“I got your children killed. All of them, B. All of us. You died and they died and I was the
last one left.” Dick’s whisper turned into a scream as he reached the last few words, let them
tear out of his chest. “Your team and my team and my responsibility. My training. I was the
first and the oldest and the last one left. I lived and I was never supposed to be the last one
left.”

Dick didn’t cry. He didn’t open his eyes but he didn’t cry. There had been all too many tears
lately. He’d cried all these particular tears already. But that was okay, because everyone else
was crying for him. There were great sobs and silent streams and constant murmurs of
forgiveness and apologies as arms and palms reached and grabbed and wrapped around him
and Damian with desperate hearts.

Constantine wasn’t crying. He was standing just close enough to say he was standing guard,
face turned to the battlefield and not the crying Bats. But he hadn’t run away. Slade was
actually standing guard, though he’d never admit it. Not even as he used one arm to roughly
hold a teary Rose to his chest.

The Justice Leaguers were turning away to secure the mage and start the clean up, but there
was definitely some surreptitious crying, from the Supers in particular. The Titans were
helping but also plotting. They’d save their tears and hugs for later.

Bruce was kneeling in the dirt with rough palms on Dick’s cheeks and the cowl down around
his neck. Everyone could see the tear tracks sinking down into the suit.

“Thank you,” Bruce told Dick. “Thank you, baby, thank you. Thank you for living, thank you
for surviving. Thank you for protecting and trying and coming back. Thank you for being
alive.

“Thank you for giving me time to protect you.”

 Flight
Chapter Summary

The Batfamily plans a surprise for Dick. Damian doesn't hate all family bonding.

Chapter Notes

I can't believe this story is finished. Thank you for all the amazing support. I hope you
enjoyed the journey!

I'm going to make this story a part of a series and include the occasional one-shot
afterwards. The one-shots can be read as either continuations or AUs of my own story,
mainly because the first one I'm planning is Dick/Constantine after several requests and
comments. I love their existing relationship in my story, but thought it would be fun to
write a short where they actually get together and have to deal with all the reactions.
And threats.

There's also more art! Thanks to the lovely GallagherHunter for the Netflix Original
Series Style art!

Dick woke up.

He wasn’t in his own bed, but he’d expected that; he hadn’t slept in his own bed for over a
week. Bruce’s bed had been the most frequent location, buried beneath a pile of siblings and
the occasional pet, but he’d also woken in various siblings’ beds and on what must have been
almost every couch in the manor.

On one notable occasion, he’d even woken in Steph’s bed, which should have been a lot more
awkward than it was. He’d had his weekly chat with her mom the night before, been dragged
up to Steph’s room to be shown some school project, and woken to her mom coming to fetch
Steph for school. Mrs. Brown had smiled, repeated how nice it was that Steph had siblings
now and how much happier her daughter was lately. Steph’s mom had also fed Dick waffles,
patted him on the cheek, and told him to bring ‘his magic young man’ around with him one
of these days.

Steph had cackled all the way to school, her arms wrapped tight around Dick’s waist as he
drove her on his bike (he was already there, so there was no reason he couldn’t have just a bit
more time with his baby sister).
All the family’s hugs had been tight, lately. Dick didn’t really mind.

They’d talked about it, a little. The future that wasn’t. Here and there. Dick and Damian and
Constantine had written a bare-bones report that had been circulated through the League and
the Titans. They’d answered questions, too. Careful questions that stuck mostly to incoming
threats and methods of preparation.

No one had really felt like risking a tread into painful territory, not with Jason glowing over
his shoulder and standing guard over Dick with Damian in his lap and their halting sentences.
Or with Cass sitting on the arm of his chair, perched with violence in her eyes.

There were also the implicit threat of the Titans. Dick had spent one night at Titans Tower
and hadn’t said a single word. Just basked in the love and support of his friends and texted
several of his Aunts and Uncles a warning that the Titans might be a bit more protective
(violently so) in the near future. The responses Dick had gotten back were perhaps a little
concerning in their immediate agreement with the Titans and the complete lack of worry or
promises of mitigation.

There were no questions at home. Not even from Bruce. There were careful expressions of
interest and promises of attentive ears if he did ever want to talk. It was uncomfortable,
honestly, the sense his family was walking around eggshells, but it was also very fucking
appreciated.

Damian certainly appreciated not having to act his age. Not that he really had been
previously, what with the genius thing and the League of Assassins thing and the no-one-
here-actually-knows-what-a-normal-child-acts-like thing. But he’d been running comms the
last few nights and sharing his, often abrupt, opinions on their fighting styles. No one missed
the tiny smile and occasional shock when those opinions were taken seriously and treated
with full respect.

Dick turned his head to study his baby, Damian once again the only other person in the room.
This time he was slowly cutting up an apple while sitting on one of Bruce’s pillows.

“Good morning, baby.”

“Good morning, Richard.”

Dick considered his next course of action for a moment, then heaved himself up so he was
also sitting on a pillow and draped himself over Damian. Damian huffed, but switched to
leaning into Dick instead of the headboard. He offered Dick and apple slice and Dick
accepted.

“You okay, Dami?” Dick asked after he finished munching.

“No. They keep looking at me like I’ll disappear.”

“They do,” Dick agreed. Because they did.

Damian finished with he knife and tucked it back into his sleeve after carefully wiping it
down on a napkin he’d brought up with him. “Why don’t they know they were the ones who
disappeared?”

Dick stared at the ceiling, one he’d gotten very familiar with due to the various illnesses and
fear-gas-induced nightmares that had sent him crawling into Bruce’s space.

“They do, baby. But knowing isn’t understanding. To them, we did disappear. I’m never
going to be who I was before we came back, and even Tim and Cass and Steph who never
knew that person still lost who they thought I was.” Dick rested his head on Damian’s.

“And that’s the same with you, Baby Bat. Last week you were a child. A genius child who’d
survived something awful, yes. But a child. Now you’re a child who’s been a vigilante longer
than any of them. They trust you and love you and know you lost a childhood twice. Despite
the fact you’re still young with a child’s physiology and emotions, you did disappear on
them.”

Dick drew in a deep breath and felt in rattle through his bones. Damian was wearing his
thinking face, the one with the scowl that meant he was listening and trying very hard to
understand. Dick wished he wouldn’t have to. Dick wished he didn’t have memories upon
memories of his siblings disappearing, sometimes quickly into death and sometimes
insidiously slowly as heroics and time chipped scars into their skin.

Except if they didn’t have the memories they couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t save them and he’d
never wish for that, not after wishing so hard for so long for just one more chance. And
getting that chance.

“Damian. Surely you, surely we, of all people, can understand what it’s like to loose
someone, or parts of someone, and cling all the harder to what remains?”

Damian stiffened but nodded.

They stayed like that, wrapped together, for long moments as Damian slowly relaxed again.

“Baba?”

“Yes, baby?”

“Are you okay?”

Dick closed his eyes, because he hated lying to Damian, to any of his family, and he was
pretty much out of lies regardless.

“No. I’m not.” Dick place his head on top of Damian’s hair. “I’m afraid.”

Damian let Dick sit for another long moment, but eventually raised one hand to his cheek.
“Why?”

Dick leaned into the small, cool fingers. “Because it’s going to stop being good. The hugs
and care and the eggshells and the coddling. I love it, I love our family and how considerate
they’re being, but it’s going to turn suffocating at some point. It, I don’t know how to do this
anymore. Not for so long. Not without initiating and dragging it out and knowing as soon as I
let go so will everyone else. And I lash out, when I’m cornered, I always have, with my
temper, and I’m afraid of ruining everything, of being the one to ruin everything.”

Damian tilted his head. “You’re being ridiculous.”

Dick laughed, a little wetly, but obediently sat up so his son could tell him all the ways he
was being ridiculous.

“If it gets too much, you’ll communicate. Like you’re always trying to get everyone else to
do. And they’ll listen, because they love you.” Damian gave Dick a look that very only Dick
would recognize meant that Damian also loved him. “And then we’ll go find Constantine and
a slime cult or foolish necromancer and destroy them utterly.”

Dick blinked, but well. That was pretty much what he should have been expecting. He let a
smile creep on his face, one that had Damian looking for exit routes because it meant
Feelings were imminent. Dick took pity and, once he’d pounced on the smaller boy using his
significant height advantage, only slung Damian onto his back and headed out of the room.

“Sounds like a plan to me.”

Damian grumbled, but wrapped his arms around Dick’s neck. He let himself be carried into
the dinning room where a wary Constantine was being offered a cup of tea by a calmly
smiling Alfred.

Dick raised an eyebrow even as he let Dami slide to the floor and proceeded to make the
rounds and greet his siblings with hugs or kisses to the cheek.

“I have been threatened,” Constantine announced.

Alfred didn’t roll his eyes, but he also didn’t actually deny the claim. “It is Sunday brunch.
You had missed the pre-set number and thus required retrieval.”

Tim blinked. “Wait, it’s Alfred who makes the retrievals?”

Jason shared a look with Cass. “That’s actually far more terrifying.”

Tim frowned, his nose scrunching up as he looked between Alfred and Dick and back to his
coffee. “Tracks, though. Joint patriarchs. Right.”

“I wasn’t warned about missing brunches.”

“You should not have needed to be,” Damian informed Constantine, before climbing onto his
lap and stealing his tea.

Constantine looked up at Dick, alarmed by the baby assassin in his lap and therefore not
eying bothering to bat Dick’s octopus arms away as they wrapped around Constantine’s
shoulders for his good morning hug.
“Dami’s a little miffed at the Bats. He’s still in trouble for sneaking away.”

“So much trouble,” said Bruce, but his voice was fond.

Dick sat next to Constantine as Steph got Damian into a rant about the dog park, Tim and
Babs started arguing about coding protocol, and Bruce insisted Alfred sit down and start
enjoying the food.

Jason’s shoulder knocked into Dick’s and he breathed. His family was safe and protected and
alive. They’d eat and watch a movie picked out of a hat and half the room would accuse the
others of cheating the selection process. He’d help the kids with homework and work on
acrobatics with Damian and spar with Jason.

Later, Dick would go on patrol. He’d fight and he’d help people and he’d do so with his
family at his side. He’d fly with the kind of confidence that only came when you had
somewhere safe to land. He’d live. And he’d protect and never be alone again.

His family wouldn't allow any other outcome.

Plan Secret Surprise is a GO

Steph: What’s the status update, C?

Constantine sent a picture: [Nightwing, sitting on top of a roof with one leg folded and one
dangling into the sky, silhouetted by the rising sun as he tries to eat cheap packaged ice
cream before it melted.]

Constantine: Vampire impersonators caught and magically bound.

Constantine: I’ve officially caved to ice cream before breakfast.

Constantine: Hurry up before I need to resort to a distraction he’ll recognize as such.

Constantine: Or that will set Alfred on me.

Tim: Good work.

Alfred: You are excused this one time, Mr. Constantine.

Constantine: Oh, good.

Constantine: Hello Alfred.

Constantine: Lovely to know you’re in the chat.

Steph: Dude.

Steph: All the Bats are in this chat.

Steph: It’s really damn hard to surprise Big Bird.

Tim: All hands are on deck!

Cass: :)

Babs: I have confirmation from Kon, Kori, and Roy.

Babs: As well as J’onn.

Babs: He and Kori are looking forward to the chance to work together and talk about alien
botany as they patrol.

Babs: I’m ready to coordinate and will provide your specific instructions after you drop off
Big Bird.

Constantine: Joy.

Jason: You agreed to help patrol, Hell Sparkles.

Constantine: I’m aware.

Constantine: Time for rendezvous?

Jason: Nah.

Jason: Still need confirmation from Big Bat and Baby Bat.

Bruce: Big Bat.

Bruce: Really, Jason?

Jason: Really.

Bruce: Damian and I are finished meeting with H.

Bruce: We’re good to go.

Bruce: Please pick up Dick and head over.

Damian: Do not forget the change of clothes.

Cass: :)

Jason: Yeah, the Nightwing suit might be a bit much.

Steph: Great!

Steph: I’ll drive!

Constantine: Aren’t you taking the jet?

Constantine: I didn’t think Dick had gotten around to teaching her that yet.

Bruce: …

Bruce: Alfred?
Alfred: Everything is fine, Master Bruce.

Alfred: The children and I will pick up our eldest and join you and Young Master Damian
shortly.

Constantine: Good.

Constantine: Because Dick just told me to tell everyone hello.

Constantine: And to ask if he can stop pretending he doesn’t see your general suspiciousness
yet.

Dick’s family was adorable.

They couldn’t keep a communal secret from him at all, but it was cute that they tried. And
they’d tried so hard. Hard enough that Dick had decided not to investigate and pretend he
didn’t see Jay lurking or Tim stuttering or Steph dragging him away from rooms or
Constantine dragging him onto a mission that man really didn’t need help with handling.

Dick really didn’t need to know, not when they were working so hard in their attempts to be
sneaky. Not when he trusted them all.

Still, he was never a particularly patient man and B’s hand was possibly a bit fondly
exasperated as it pressed into Dick’s shoulder. Dick settled back into the seat of the car with a
smile and turned to look at his variously smirking family. No one had spilled exactly where
they were going, but the car full of all the Bats except for Babs.

Babs was apparently coordinating Gotham where Kon, Kori, Roy, Constantine, and J’onn
were all watching over Gotham. Bruce had called to check in on them earlier, where he’d
been told to get off the comms unless he wanted an in-depth explanation on the biology of
carnivorous plants from Tamaran.

Kori, who hadn’t been able to seen the interested twitch in either Bruce’s or Timmy’s faces,
was still more than passing familiar with the Bat tendency to obsess and hoard information.
She’d laughed and cut Roy off with a promise to send over a written report on said
carnivorous plants only after they’d all returned home.

Bruce had actually smiled, thanked her, and got off the comms. Dick had stared at his father
for one long moment. Perhaps too long a moment, because Bruce had briefly looked sad
before reaching across the seat to rest one large palm against Dick’s cheek, callouses
brushing against smooth skin.
Dick opened his mouth to say something, anything, because not asking was hard, when he
closed his teeth with a clack. He felt his head tilt and he took a deep breath. There was
something familiar in the air. A scent he just barely recognized.

The scent wasn’t blood or pain or weapon-steel, which was why he was having trouble
placing it. He’d gotten really used to a certain palette of scents in the future that wasn’t and in
the lairs of villains he was taking down ahead of time. This scent wasn’t found in any of
those places. This scent was kinder. Livelier.

Warm.

Dick blinked as he heard a sound, too distant through the closed car windows to name, but
also familiar. He flung himself across the seat and practically into Jay’s lap, the man
squawking about sharp elbows but still wrapping steady arms around Dick’s waist as he
lowered the window and stuck his head outside.

When he pulled back into the car, Dick stayed partially on Jay’s lap, looking at his beaming
family with a blank expression on his own face. Their faces started falling one by one as Dick
didn’t speak, didn’t move. He could feel Jay’s arms tightening around his waist and Tim’s
thin fingers grasp his wrist. He could see Cass signing quickly and Steph’s worried frown. He
could hear his baby call him Baba and his Dad call him Chum.

They’d all been dead. Every single person in this car had been dead. Been gone. Left him
alone. And the grief from that had been all-encompassing, had turned every step he took into
a march through a graveyard. But there had been other losses.

He didn’t remember when Haly’s Circus had fallen hard enough that no money and no effort
could get it back off the ground. He did remember that almost none of his first family, none
of the people who’d raised him and loved him, had been left the last time he managed to visit.
He remembered the taste of ash in the air and the sound of wind through tattered tents.

He remembered he walked through the remnants alone. Damian and Cass had been the only
ones left and they’d been on mission with the League that had not gone well. He’d walked
through the end of his childhood even as his friends and allies died elsewhere. Died without
him knowing.

Dick breathed, and the scent of scorched earth was replaced by popcorn and people and
burnished joy.

“I wasn’t homesick,” Dick told Bruce. The shadow of their conversation from the Batcave,
the one where he’d told Bruce to be better and Bruce had actually listened swirling at the
edges of the car. “You didn’t need to fly us halfway around the world to catch their next
show.”

“I might not have needed to but I wanted to,” Bruce said. “And I think you’ve been nothing
but homesick for a very long time.”

“You’re, all of you, you’re my home.” Dick felt both Jay’s and Tim’s hands tighten again.
Bruce smiled a small and soft smile of woven starlight. “That’s why we’re here, too.”

Dick purposely took in another deep breath, forcing himself to feel how real this was. How
true. He’d never brought his family to the circus, not altogether, not just for a visit. This was
something entirely new and entirely good and entirely real. Present.

Dick flung himself across the car so he could wrap himself in his father’s arms. The hug
didn’t last long, but only because Alfred had brought the car to stop and Dick had switched
tracks to drag both a grumbling Dami and a laughing Steph out of the car by their hands.

He froze only a foot from the car, since they weren’t just in a parking lot. They were in a spot
meant for the crew and there was a large group of people clustered a short distance away. He
didn’t really need the push to his back that could only be Jason but he rocketed forward
anyway, throwing himself into his first family.

Large arms and tinkling laughs passed him around with exclamations on his health and size
and the few times he used shoulders to spring him forward just like he used to when he was a
child. He leaped off the Strongman’s back when he saw a flash of red coat and soon found
himself ensconced in it’s warmth as Haly wrapped both arms around Dick’s shoulders.

“Welcome home, Dick,” the man murmured.

Dick smiled and stepped partially back. He smiled and looked to his Bats, clustered together
just far enough to be giving him and Haly polite space while reasonably pretending they
weren’t shamelessly eavesdropping. His Bats that were together and alive and and had spent
weeks planning this just for Dick. Just to make him happy. As if he didn’t already have
enough trouble figuring out what to do with the amount of happiness he had each day that he
woke up and had them at his side.

The Bats weren’t as strong as the once were (would be). Not with so many still so young and
barely trained. But they were together. They’d always been so much stronger together. Dick
had called (and hadn’t called) and they’d come together.

There were still things to do. Villains to capture. Big Bads to circumvent and small ones to
remember. Jason’s Superfriend to find. Ra’s to kick in the teeth.

But they had time.

Dick felt his smile soften as he tucked his arm into Haly’s and led him forward. “I want to
introduce you to my family.”

Damian didn’t think he’d ever forget the moment when Richard had realized they were going
to the circus, when they were going to Haly’s. The slow smile on his Baba’s face the instant
before he’d thrown himself at Father was an expression Damian had once thought to never
see again. Damian knew, however, with the sharp certainty of an incoming blade, that he’d
never forget the moment when Richard had introduced that Bats as his family.

Richard had been so proud, bouncing over with Haly in hand, various performers trailing in
their wake who seemed unable to step out of Richard’s orbit once they’d been returned there
after so long.

Dick had introduced everyone by name. By name and at least one thing Richard found
wonderful about each person, ranging from Jason’s ability to recite entire plays to
Cassandra’s penchant for all dance to Timothy’s advanced photography to Alfred’s fruit pies
to Father’s hugs. When Richard got to Damian, he swung Damian up into his arms already
talking about Damian’s art. Then he looked at Haly and said that Damian was also his son.
He didn’t offer any explanation, just a smile.

Haly had nodded, a twinkle in his eyes, and told Dick that Mary and John would have be
proud. Damian decided not to escape Richard’s hold at that point because he could feel the
man tremble. Damian knew how much it meant to him when Richard and Father were proud,
and he imagined in this situation sentiment carried significant additional weight from the man
who’d actually known Damian’s grandparents.

Perhaps that was why, the next day, after the show and the introductions and Richard’s
constant laughter, Haly led them to a tent empty of people with a mischievous smile. The
Waynes and the Graysons had returned to the circus early enough in the day that most of the
performers were still asleep or just beginning to prepare for the next show that evening, so
the grounds were quiet. They’d told Richard they were returning to spend more time with the
people of the circus, time when they weren’t actively putting on a show, but Haly and a
smirking Father had clearly planned something.

“Perhaps, young Dick, you could show your family what it really means to be a Flying
Grayson.”

Richard lit up, eyes immediately tracking to the trapeze equipment high in the tent. Damian,
on the other hand, had found himself bristling. A situation that, apparently, was similar to the
rest of his siblings.

Father stepped forward, blocking a scowling Jason and frowning Timothy. “I assure you, he
already has.”

Haly blinked, then looked back to where Richard had pulled Steph and Cass forward and was
excitedly gesturing. He returned his gaze to Father, who was standing just in front of Damian
with both Timothy and Jason at his shoulders.

“Ah,” said Haly. “I suppose he has. I’m certainly not surprised. There never was a heart quite
like Dick Grayson.”

Haly left with a smile and wave to Richard, who was already halfway up to the top, but not
before he tossed over his shoulder, “Maybe one day he’ll teach you the quadruple somersault,
kid. That’s the kind of move that gets passed through the family.”
Damian felt his Father’s restraining hand on his shoulder, which was wise, since it would not
have been conducive to their secret identities for Damian to assert he’d already mastered the
Grayson’s family move.

It took a moment longer to realize that Father had done the same to Timothy and Alfred had
placed a light hand on both Jason’s and Stephanie’s arms. All the kids were bristling in
Haly’s wake.

“I’ll get there,” Stephanie muttered. Timothy nodded and crossed his arms while Jason just
huffed. Even Cassandra nodded from one of the lower platforms where she was already
sitting and watching Dick climb higher.

“Then you’d better get practicing,” Alfred announced as he placed a bag full of exercise gear
in front of them.

All heads whipped to Bruce, who nodded. “I asked Haly for use of a tent so Dick could show
off and show us some moves. He thinks the privacy is a caution against reporters.”

The kids dove for the clothes. Quickly rushing to change while laughing and throwing taunts
at each other. Damian looked at his Father and the quiet smile on his face.

“Will you be joining us, Father?”

A large hand, different in weight but equally gentle brushed over his hair. “Yes, Damian, I
will be.”

In no time at all they ended up spinning and leaping across the empty tent. Richard laughed
and laughed and Damian anchored each sound as deeply into his soul as he could manage. He
possibly included his siblings laughter as well, but only because it was so abundant and easily
done.

Richard’s hands were strong as they held Damian’s own and steady as they released Damian
so he could fly up and grasp Cassandra’s hands as she hung off a bar. It was a quick flip of
his own that had him landing on another bar where he hung for a moment, building up
momentum.

Richard laughed again, doing a quadruple somersault with ease and smiling as he stuck the
landing with flair, just because everything was okay and he could.“Look at all of you. Such
talented children.”

“Course we are! Because we’re the best, right Dami?” Steph called as she flew above him,
hair as wild as her smile.

Damian smiled back. He couldn’t help it. They were. They were the best and they were alive
and they were Damian’s.

Damian heard Jason cackling as he dumped Tim into the net below. He saw Cass execute a
perfect flip as Alfred took a photo from one of the landings. He felt the air shift as Bruce
swung by, trying to follow instructions and make his moves pretty instead of efficient.
Damian breathed and smiled and let go. His Baba would catch him.

(Their timing was perfect.)

Works inspired by this one

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