Batfamily is my Hyperfixation

POSTED:

The Haunting of Wayne Manor...By Jason Todd: Canon Divergence, Jason doesn't go with his original plot for Gotham, but sneaks into the Manor and lives there in secret. Based on this post

(Don't) Leave Me Alone: Jason is hit with Fear toxin

In Which Jason Is a Little Bit of an Idiot: Jason gets hit with cuddle pollen way too many times and, like an idiot, refuses to ask for help. it causes issues for everyone involved

The Cat Distribution Center (But Magic?): Jason finds a cat. That's the whole fic.

The Power of Brotherly Love (And Therapy): A fix-it of my friend's fic, who wrote her whole fic just to torture me. This one is a lot heavier and deals with suicide and self-harming.

No, Tim, You're Not Being Kidnapped! (Except Maybe You Are...): No Capes AU where Jason drags Tim into the family because he is just meant to be a middle child. (Based on this post)

^Also I think this will be a series I update when ideas strike, the first story will be inducting Tim into the family, and we'll go from there.

”Emergency”? FUCK! Jason dealing with chronic pain and his family convincing him to accept help

Doomed by the Narrative: pretty much just 2800 words of Jason spiraling, several references to Greek tragedies, and a little panic attack and dissociation thrown in for fun. there's a happy ending (or at least hopeful ending) I promise

No Grave Could Hold My Body Down: Jason gets buried alive again, hurt/comfort, bruce is a good parent

Whumptober 2024 Day 1: tim and jason are caught in a cave in, jason nearly loses control of his pit rage.

That Time Jason Almost Died (Again...): Whumptober days 10 and 22, (bleeding through bandages, slurred words). A mission goes wrong for Bruce and Jason, pretty much what the title says

The Tragic Demise of Damian Al Ghul-Wayne: Exactly what it sounds like and I feel bad about it, I apologize in advance.

Theft in the Family...By Jason Todd: Jason is tasked by Talia to take Damian to Bruce. This changes a few things. (primarily fluff, because I've done a lot of angst lately)

If my Engine Works Perfectly on Empty...(Spoiler: it doesn't): Dick has a rough time, Bruce is able to help (for once)

Sometimes you gotta burn the bridge to rebuild it: ONGOING, 11/16(?) chapters; A misunderstanding ensues and Dick thnks Bruce no longer wants him around. 11 chapters currently posted

Say You Want Me (I can't handle it otherwise: An off handed joke from Bruce spirals out of control

I'm Terrified of Weather ('Cause I See You When It Rains): Dick has a flashback, he ignores it, and he’s forced to confide in Bruce about something from his past

It's Fine If We Know We Won't Change: Jason discovers just how rough it was when Tim was training to be Robin

All That Happened Hurt Me: Jason offers himself to a human trafficking ring instead of TIm. Feat. Baby Robin Jason, and even Babier Tim. Please mind the tags, the first chapter gets dark.

In Which Jason Just Wants to Enjoy his Ice Cream in Peace: Jason steals the manor's ice cream maker, Bruce talks about his feelings, for some reason. lil bit of a crack fic

I Know You Hate to Cause Pain: Jason reveals to the family that he practically raised Damian when they were with the league. Comfort ensues when Damian expects corporeal punishment, followed by a lot of cuddling

That's Not Me Anymore: ONGOING, 2/? chapters. Jason Todd is doomed to die in every universe. But in this one, it's more of a metaphorical death.

The Ghost With a Beating Heart: ONGOING, 2/4. Jason finds Dick bleeding out in an alley, and things spiral from there

Isn’t This Enough?: Dick struggles with self worth and then belief he must be useful to be loved

ONGOING:

Sometimes you gotta burn the bridge to rebuild it

That's Not Me Anymore

The Ghost With a Beating Heart

IDEAS:

Possible Mafia AU

Shifter AUs

Someone will be getting transfigured into an animal

Time Travel where everyone has time traveled but is convinced they're the only ones who have time traveled (Based on this post)

The aftermath was silent, a rare occurrence in the manor.

Moments before, a blood-curdling scream pierced the air, and all inhabitants stopped dead. It may have been a large manor, but sound carries.

Damian had excused himself after dinner for his scheduled phone call with his mom, and no one expected to hear from him for an hour or so. For all Talia’s faults, she does try to be a good mother to Damian, and scheduling phone calls when she can is a part of that. They have visits occasionally, too.

Not much could make him scream like that. Usually, Damian is as stoic as his father, taking hits without a sound.

It doesn’t take long for everyone to exchange glances and take off after the sound, Bruce heading the chase.

Visions of Damian dying, lying in a pool of his blood, or already dead by the time they get there flash through Bruce’s head, and he speeds up.

The state he finds Damian in is almost as bad.

Physically, the kid is fine, at least.

He finds Damian on his knees, crying for his mom to answer, heart-wrenching sobs tearing from his chest. Bruce falls to his knees next to his son and pulls the phone from Damian’s hands. Damian fights him, but not as hard as Bruce knows he’s capable of.

Bruce tucks Damian into his chest, ignoring the fists beating against him.

“Breathe, habibi,” Bruce murmurs. “It’s ok, it’s ok to cry, but I need you to breathe, buddy.”

Damian stops trying to hit him or push him off, but he doesn’t seem to really hear Bruce.

Bruce drags one of Damian’s hands up to his chest, presses him closer. “Feel my heart beat, habibi, try to follow the rhythm of my breathing.”

He hands the phone off to Dick when his eldest comes near enough, and returns his focus to Damian. He models a breathing pattern for Damian and loses track of time as he listens to his baby sob and cry against him. Eventually, Damian calms down enough to speak.

“She’s dead,” Damian croaks, voice hoarse and weak from crying.

Bruce’s own chest constricts, and he strokes Damian’s hair.

Dick makes a sympathetic noise from where he’s sitting nearby. He’d been watching helplessly, but hadn’t wanted to overcrowd Damian.

Tim enters with a cup of water, having left and returned with it. Tim offers it silently to Damian, and the kid pushes off Bruce to lean against his bed. He sips the water slowly, avoiding everyone's gaze.

After a while, Dick and Tim leave the room, Dick with a comforting squeeze to Damian's shoulder. Bruce is left alone with his son, who still won't look at him.

That's ok, Bruce will wait. Partially because he wants to know what happened, but mostly because he doesn't want his son to be alone. He pulls up his phone and starts reviewing case files and WE stuff, and eventually Damian shifts to lean against him. Bruce wraps an arm around his shoulders and lets Damian bury his head in his chest.

After several silent moments, Damian speaks. "I got the message too late. She's gone."

Bruce put his phone down and carded a hand through Damian's hair. "What happened?"

"I came up to call her, only to see that a video message had been sent a few days ago. It sounded like she was saying goodbye, and now she won't pick up the phone." Damian's voice was heartbreakingly devoid of emotion.

Bruce sighs. "I'm sorry, Damian. We'll do everything we can to find out what happened, ok?"

Damian only nods against his shoulder. Bruce holds him tight and presses a kiss to his forehead.

"C'mon. I think we can convince Alfred to order us some comfort food, and we can eat in the media room, have a movie night." It wasn't enough to make Damian feel better; nothing would be. Bruce remembers the crushing weight of his parents' deaths, the feeling of being adrift, alone in the world. At least Damian still has them; he knows it's not the same, but he still has family. And they'll do everything in their power to support him.

They all spend the night comforting Damian and just being present. There's not a single person in this room who doesn't understand the weight of grief.

The following days in the manor are subdued. Damian hasn't spoken; he's mostly shut himself away in his room and resorted to using ASL. Everyone understands; they've all been through this. It just makes Bruce feel especially helpless; he can't do anything to help Damian.

They've been working tirelessly in the cave after watching the message Talia left Damian. So far, they've figured out the general area where she was, and she was on an assignment from Ra's. The League of Assassins hasn't exactly been forthcoming with information.

Bruce had returned the phone to Damian after pulling the video and Talia's number from it; there was no reason to keep it from him.

After another day or two, they have the details they need. She had been after a new rival to Ra's, and had ultimately been captured. The League opted not to send an extraction team. Within an hour, the Bats were suited up and ready to fly out.

Bruce almost made Damian stay behind, but the determined fire in his gaze and the set of his jaw made Bruce cave.

Bruce boards the jet last, watching his sons walk on somberly and load their gear. They were all preoccupied with the nature of this mission—either rescue or recovering a body.

They study the floor plans of the compound, and the flight passes quickly, and soon they're landing in an airfield a few miles from the compound.

As they all mount their bikes, Bruce speaks: "Robin, with me. We'll take the north entrance. Red Robin, Nightwing, take the south. Spoiler, Black Bat, start at the top and work down. We meet in the middle."

Duke was still covering Gotham with the Birds of Prey while they were gone, plus he couldn't take off from school.

Everyone nods, and they take off.

When everyone is in position, they move.

Bruce was expecting resistance, and any group that can take Talia al Ghul, even when she's operating alone, is a formidable one.

What he finds, instead, is a massacre. The floors are stained red, bodies are lying haphazardly around, a mix of bullet and sword wounds. Bruce kneels to check the pulse of one, but he was long dead.

Bruce keeps his guard up, following the gruesome trail deeper into the compound with Damian close behind.

It doesn't take much longer for them to find her body, Bruce arriving moments after Dick and the others, and they all freeze in shock. There's a cloaked figure kneeling over her body, guns strapped to his thighs and a short sword across his back.

Damian gives a hoarse cry and makes to run over to her, but Bruce grabs the back of his uniform before he can.

"Wait, Robin," Bruce orders quietly.

The figure's head snaps up, and he takes in the vigilantes surrounding him.

"This isn't what it looks like," The man states, voice low and gruff through a voice modulator. His gaze locks on Damian, though, and his stance shifts. He steps over Talia's body and stalks towards them. He wears a half mask and a domino instead of the standard-issue League masks, and tactical pants and a chest plate. He only wears a cloak emblazoned with Ra's symbol to signify an alliance with the League.

Dick leaps forward to stop his advance, but gets flipped as soon as he touches the man, who barely breaks stride. Bruce tries to step in front of Damian, but oddly enough, the boy dodges and jumps towards the stranger.

The man grabs Damian's shoulders and strategically angles him so he can't see Talia. The other vigilantes all tense and step forward, but Bruce holds up a hand, motioning for them to investigate. He would stop them himself, but this man is apparently from the League, and Damian seems to know him. He can let them have this. He remembers the need for someone familiar around after losing his parents, and yes, Damian knows them all and has been a part of the family for a few years now, but if this stranger is from his childhood, he may be more comforting.

Bruce keeps an eye on the pair and catches a few murmured words.

"I'm sorry, kid, you don't need to see this." The stranger whispers, pulling Damian into a hug. "I'm sorry, habibi."

He continues, talking to Damian in low tones, and Bruce catches some in the League dialect.

Then, he picks Damian up, and the kid surprisingly doesn't protest. He just wraps his legs around the man's front.

"I didn't kill Talia Al Ghul," He starts.

Bruce glances at his other kids, then back to the stranger. "What did happen?"

"Talia was on assignment. I received a distress message from her a few days later, and I responded. I walked in on Novak—" the man waves a hand in the direction of a body lying close to Talia's. "—laughing, standing over her. He left her fate up to a coin, heads she would walk free, tails she dies. I don't know if he would have kept his word, but it didn't matter. She died, and I was too slow to stop it."

Bruce can't see enough of the man's face to tell truth from lie, but his voice does sound sincere.

"Why should we trust you?" Bruce asks.

"Well, you never have before."

"We've never encountered you before."

The man scoffs, "Ouch," he says dryly. With one hand, he pushes his hood back and unlatches the half mask. He reaches for the domino next, but it's not necessary. He would recognize his second son anywhere, even years after his death, even after he's apparently grown a foot and a half and gained 150 pounds.

Bruce hears a gasp, presumably as Dick reaches the same conclusion.

"Jason?" Bruce asks, voice quiet.

Jason smirks at him, "Hey, B."

Bruce rushes forward, closely followed by Dick. The others watch, slightly confused, but keep eyes on the perimeter.

Bruce only stops himself from colliding with Jason because he doesn't want to crush Damian. Jason flinches when he reaches a hand out.

"My son," Bruce croaks, "how are you alive?"

"I don't know. I woke up, and Talia found me a while later. She put me in the Lazarus pits to restore my mind, and I've been an independent League operative ever since.

"Why didn't you come home?" Dick asks

Jason sets Damian down, but keeps him close. "I didn't think I had a home." The words are pointed, betraying bitterness and hurt.

"Wha—" Dick starts, but Bruce cuts him off.

"Come back to Gotham with us." He pauses, "Please."

Jason looks at them, then Tim, Steph, and Cass, then down at Damian. He finally acquiesces, then gestures at Talia's body. "Someone needs to bring her back. The league would have her body burned for disgrace; she deserves a traditional burial."

Bruce doesn't disagree.

He tugs Dick away from Jason, despite wanting to stay and hold his lost son, to thank whatever power let him have Jason back.

When they reach the others, Bruce growls, "Report."

Tim is the first to answer, "Apparent cause of death is the slit throat, but she has many other injuries, several of which could have been life-threatening."

Bruce nods, "Ok. We'll learn more back at the cave. All hostiles are taken care of, correct?" Everyone nods in response, though Cass looks a little queasy. He understands, even after being exposed to so much carnage nightly, it's startling to see the amount of blood staining the halls here, and to think it was all done by one person.

His son.

His son caused all this carnage, single-handedly. Bruce doesn't know how he feels about that.

He's refrained from really looking at Talia, and he hasn't broken his streak yet. He raises his voice to be heard, "Everyone, head back to the jet. Then come pick me up from here." Bruce can't drive his bike with Talia. "Jason can take my bike."

"I want to stay back with you," Damian speaks up, for the first time in days.

"Robin—" Bruce starts. Damian doesn't need to see this; he's too young.

"Please?"

Bruce could never deny his son when he looked at him like that. Besides, why shouldn't Damian get to say goodbye?

Despite the fact that Talia died a fairly gruesome death, and Bruce had wanted to protect Damian from that.

After everyone has left, with some hesitation on Jason and Dick's part, Bruce tugs Damian close, and they approach Talia's body together. They kneel, Damian's body tense. His hands flutter over Talia's face, her hair—stringy and matted with sweat and blood—and they land on her hands. Damian squeezes his mother's hand and leans down and murmurs to her. Bruce tries not to pay attention, but he catches enough to recognize a sacred prayer. Damian doesn't practice Islam, and Bruce doesn't think Talia did either, but they were raised primarily around Islamic beliefs and traditions, so some things carry over.

When Damian rises, tears are leaking through his mask, and he turns to bury his head in Bruce's shoulder.

"I've got you, sweetheart," Bruce whispers, holding him close. "You're not alone, you never will be."

"Why?" Damian's voice breaks. "Why did it have to be her? Why did she have to come here, why did she have to die? And right when we were finally reaching a good place for our relationship?"

Bruce sighs, "I don't know, son. Sometimes, life has a way of taking the people we love at unjust times."

Damian sniffs, "I don't understand, father!"

"I know, I know, Damian. I'm sorry, I wish I could give you answers, or do something more to help you."

"It stops hurting, right?"

Bruce hesitates, "It will get better. I can't say the pain ever stops, though. It will fade, become manageable, but the longing for more time with her may never fully leave. It's a weight you learn to bear, one that may get easier with time. I'm sorry that's probably not as comforting as you would like."

Damian hums, crying silently against Bruce. "I don't want her to be gone. This doesn't feel real."

"I know, son. I'm sorry." It's all he can say. Nothing will actually make Damian feel better.

"She hurt me so much, but we were doing better." Damian cries.

Bruce only holds him.

They sit together a little longer before Damian pulls back and, without a word, wanders off a little ways. Bruce watches him go, then turns back to Talia. Her eyes had already been closed, either done by Jason or herself, before she died. Bruce brushes hair off her forehead, her skin already cold and slightly gray. He inhales deeply, then bends and brushes a kiss to her forehead.

"Goodbye, beloved."

Bruce and Talia always had a complicated relationship, and there was a lot of pain involved on both sides. They would never work. But that doesn't mean he doesn't love her. And no matter how much pain she caused him, or how many things went wrong between them, she gave him Damian, and he will always cherish her for that. He wouldn't change a thing from their past together.

He hears the jet idling outside, so he cradles her body in his arms and rises. Damian follows him out to the jet, quiet and somber.

No one really speaks on the way back. Damian sits near his mother's body. Cass spoke quietly to him for a bit, then they just sat together in quiet solidarity. Bruce and Dick stay near Jason, and Tim and Steph fly them home, since they have the least emotional stake in all this.

Bruce sheds most of his armor on the jet, and soon enough, they're landing. Bruce carries Talia down the ramp and lays her out in the medbay for now. Alfred is waiting on them and can't quite contain his gasp when he sees them.

"We should all shower and change before anything else," Bruce's voice is hoarse, "We can talk in depth upstairs."

Alfred clears his throat, "Yes, I will prepare hot chocolate." He turns to head upstairs, but stops dead at the sight of Jason, "…Master Jason, is it really you?"

Jason nods shakily, "Hi, Alfie."

Bruce stores his gear, then heads over to Jason as the rest of his kids head to the locker room. "Do you have any injuries that need to be treated?"

Because he has to remember that Jason took on an entire compound by himself. Regardless of Bruce's feelings on the carnage, the amount of bodies, Jason is his son, and he just got him back. His well-being is more important than Bruce's own moral code.

"Nah, some bruises and scrapes, but I'm alright." Jason hesitates now, unsure. "Are you sure you want me here? I can go to a safe house, I have a few in Gotham."

Bruce startles, reaching out to grab his son, "No!"

Jason flinches in surprise.

"I'm sorry. No, you're welcome here, please stay." Bruce collects himself. "It's been too long, and we need to catch up. And…" He trails off.

Jason just raises an eyebrow. "And you have questions and need to run tests." He guesses.

Bruce nods.

"Ok. Let's get the tests over with, I guess."

An hour or so later, they head upstairs to meet the rest of the family, Jason's identity confirmed. Both Jason and Bruce are a little misty-eyed, and Bruce doesn't want to let go of him.

The main family room has been transformed into some sort of cuddle fort. The furniture has been pushed to the edges of the room, and cushions and blankets are spread out across the floor. Dick and Damian are curled up together in the middle of a pile of his children. Stephanie is notably absent, though. Dick looks up when they enter the room, "Everything check out?"

Bruce nods mutely, and Dick is up and hugging Jason as before he can blink. Damian makes a disgruntled sound at being left, but Cass tugs him close in Dick's absence.

"I'm so glad you're back, Jayce," Dick whispers wetly.

Jason just huffs, but he buries his face in Dick's shoulder and hugs him just as tightly.

"We're all glad to have Jason back," Bruce interjects. "Let's go sit down, it's been a trying week for us all."

They join the cuddle pile on the floor, with Bruce holding Jason close on one side and pulling Damian to him on the other. Dick is on Jason's other side.

There's still much to discuss, but for now, they can all take comfort in each other's presence. Damian will take charge of funeral planning in the morning, and they will all support him as much as possible.

Bruce ends up contacting a mosque outside of Gotham, Cass takes care of the ritual cleaning of the body—she's the closest thing to a female family member present, and Damian agreed—and they held the funeral the next day.

At the end, Damian lingers by the burial site. Bruce waits with him, but waves everyone else on.

"Dick!" Bruce calls, trying to reach Dick before he does something stupid. "Come back here, you're still supposed to be resting!"

It's been a few weeks now, but Dick still isn't supposed to be moving a whole lot. He can walk, and do his physical therapy, but he's supposed to be primarily resting. The dagger practically shredded his abdominal muscles, and it's a slow process to rebuild them. Not to mention the blood loss.

Dick, however, has never been the best at the 'resting' part of recovery.

Dick laughs, cutting around a corner, "B, relax! I'm fine now! It's been weeks, I don't have stitches, and I can move fine. I'm going out."

Bruce scowls, rounding the corner after him, "Dick—"

Dick spins around, challenge lighting his gaze. "If we spar, and I win, I can leave."

"No," Bruce refuses.

"Bruceeeee," Dick whines, bouncing back towards Bruce and dramatically leaning against him. "C'monnnn! I'm fine! I can do flips and everything!"

Bruce raises an eyebrow, "You better not have been doing flips."

Dick chuckles nervously, "I'm fine!"

"It's been three weeks. You're not cleared for patrol yet." Bruce pokes at his son's stomach pointedly. Not hard, just enough to make him flinch. Dick is excellent at masking his pain, but Bruce is just as good at seeing through him. "C'mon, Dickie, you're not supposed to be overdoing it."

Three weeks, and they've made almost no progress in figuring out what happened. They managed to clean up the security footage, but all it shows is the attacker melting from the shadows and disappearing. No apparent motive, nothing to go off of. Bruce may have an ulterior motive to keeping Dick home. His attacker is still out there, and as of now, they believe Dick is dead. Dick is safer if it stays that way.

Dick huffs and switches his grip to a normal hug. "Please, Dad? I'm going insane locked up here in the manor."

Bruce sighs, melting a little. He knows he's being manipulated. "How about we go out, huh? Not on patrol, just get you out of the manor? We can have a day, just the two of us."

Dick perks up some, "Really?"

The pure surprise in Dick's voice almost makes Bruce frown. Has it been that long since he's made time to spend with just him and Dick? Since the attack he's been hanging around a lot, but before that, when was the last time they hung out?

"Yeah, sweetheart." Bruce squeezes Dick a little, then releases him. "What do you want to do?"

Dick hums and takes a second to think.

"I'm sure there's a movie we could see at the theater."

Dick nods, "Ok!"

"Go get dressed, we can leave in fifteen?"

Bruce watches his son head up to his room, then leans against the wall and sighs. Dick still has three weeks—at minimum—before he's cleared to patrol. He hides it well, but Bruce knows his injury still bothers him, they're supposed to take it slow to regain the muscle as he heals. Of course, Dick doesn't want to take it slow.

How is Bruce supposed to keep Dick occupied at the manor while he heals?

___________________________

The answer is he didn't. The second he turned his back, Dick was sneaking out as Nightwing. Dick made it nearly four weeks before he ran off.

They'd found enough of a lead to implicate the League of Assassins, but they don't have a location for any of their operatives, and they still don't have a motive. It grates on Bruce that they don't have anything actionable. There is nothing he can do right now. They're constantly working on it, but since they don't have a location or anything to work off, short of storming Nanda Parbat, he can't do anything. It's infuriating. So he's returned to normal patrols with Tim, and they're trying to keep eyes on Red Hood. He's also an intriguing new player. Relatively new to the scene, and it seemed he was determined to rule Gotham's underworld, but ever since Dick's attack, he's been erratic. He'll disappear for days at a time, pop back up with a vengeance, and the cycle repeats. He's looking for someone, or something. But what?

Bruce is going to go insane.

_________________________

After four weeks, Jason has a solid lead. Talia is still near Gotham. Or, she is back in Gotham, he doubts she's stayed around this entire time. It's weird. the first week or so after Dick was killed, Bruce erratic. He didn't patrol a lot, but when he did he was violent, more so than usual. Then he just…calmed down. He just moved on, with no justice, or even revenge.

Is this how he acted when Jason died? Is that why the Joker still lives?

He'd expected more from Bruce. Even if he wasn't going to avenge Dick, like he didn't avenge Jason, he'd still expected more emotion.

Regardless, Jason finally has Talia's location. Finally, someone will pay for taking his brother from him.

Jason takes a few days to stake out her hideout. It's a simple house on the edge of the city, quiet, unassuming, and apparently abandoned.

He sets up cameras around the perimeter, does his best to keep up constant surveillance. It takes a few days, but he finally gets solid evidence of her movements in the house. The next night, he strikes.

It's almost laughably easy to get in. Jason doesn't kid himself thinking she doesn't know he's there, and therefore, he just strolled through the front door.

He stalks through the dark halls, movements silent and calculated. He rolls a smoke bomb out, a less explosive one than he'd usually use. The smoke seeps out slowly, and as a dense colored fog, sinking closer to the floor. It's not as useful for concealing his own movements, but he'll be able to see the movement of the smoke if someone is creeping in the shadows.

"Predictable as always, Jason," Talia calls out, a mocking lilt to her voice. He can't quite place where it originated from.

He doesn't deign to respond to her, just continues to clear the rooms in the house methodically. She'll reveal herself when she's ready to play the game.

That's all this is to her anyway, a game. They're all pawns to her, some sick chess match where her ultimate prize is Bruce.

"Aww, not in a bantering mood, little bat?" She continues taunting him.

'Little bat' makes him bare his teeth in a snarl. She called him that in the league, and it always provoked a reaction there. The same reaction he smothers now.

Finally, he finds her in a room upstairs. She's just waiting for him, lounging in a chair.

"Finally," She scoffs, "I thought you'd never make it up here." She stands as gracefully as she does everything, her movements mimicking the grace of a dancer, or a leopard.

Jason doesn't respond. Doesn't do anything actually. He just waits. Watching as she prowls towards him, smirk curling on her lips. \

As soon as she's in arms reach, he acts. Lightning quick, he grabs her wrist and spins them, pressing her to the wall with a blade at her throat. With his other hand, he pins her arms to the wall. She could still escape, she had several chances to dodge or incapacitate him before he got her in this position.

She tuts, "Now, Jason, if you wanted another round, you could have just said that."

Jason just presses the blade closer to her throat. Finally, he sees some reaction. A quick stutter in her breath, her movements stilling. It's a natural reaction to finding yourself this close to death. He has the upperhand, he's bigger, stronger, and at this present moment, he can slit her throat before she has a chance to do anything.

"Silence, Talia. You can't win here. Game over."

She huffs a laugh, "That's where you're wrong, Jason. You're missing one little detail."

"Oh? What's that?" He shouldn't engage, but he can't deny being curious.

"I think it's more fun if I watch this play out."

Of course. Reveal that she has another card up her sleeve, but only using it to taunt him instead of playing it.

"I know you killed Dick. Why?" Jason presses even closer, the blade digging ever so slightly into her neck. He watches the blood drip down, strangely fascinated by it.

"Oh, is that what warranted this little visit?" She rolls her eyes, "I expected better of you."

"Why?" He asks again, firmer. The blade presses deeper. Any harder, and he'll be cutting her trachea.

"I would back up if I were you. You're not going to kill me tonight."

"Oh?" Jason laughs, "And why is that?"

"You wouldn't kill a mother in front of her child, would you?" Her voice is sickly sweet, dripping with false fear.

"I don't see any kids 'round here," Jason growls, not taking his eyes off her.

"Wrong again." Talia smiles, "Habibi? Come on out now."

Jason stiffens, he can't hear movement, but he can feel another presence in the room, feel the eyes watching him. Talia makes some sort of gesture from where her hands are pinned, and a kid slides up next to her. Jason glances down—

That's the kid.

That's the kid that died, the one he couldn't save.

But that kid wasn't Talia's, was he?

Jason stumbles back a step, releasing Talia, and starts cataloging the scene.'

Talia presses a hand to her bleeding throat, then pulls out a handkerchief to hold to it. The kid, there's some differences. His eyes use to be a startling blue, they used to remind him of the portraits hanging in the halls of the manor. Now, they're a deep, almost acidic green. Like Talia's, or his own.

The Lazarus Pit.

Talia dumped him in the pit.

The kid also holds himself differently. More stiff, his shoulders tighter, a severe set of his jaw, like he's already bearing the weight of expectations on his shoulder.

"Go on, why don't you introduce yourself," Talia urges.

The kid somehow straightens further, "I am Ibn al Xu'ffasch—" Son of the bat. Dammit, Talia, "—Damian al Ghul, heir to the demon and the cowl."

"Wow," Jason remarks dryly. "That's a pompous ass introduction, kid. Ever think of shortening it?"

Damian sniffs. "I know who you are. The fallen son."

"Yeah, yeah—" Jason waves a hand, "throw my death and failures in my face, heard it all before."

Talia tuts, "With you already dead to Bruce Wayne, and the little circus monkey out of the way now too, Damian's path to his father is clear. He will go to the Waynes and finish his training, and when he is old enough he will return to the league and assume his rightful place. He is the League's pathway to control Gotham."

Jason hums. "Well, you're right about one thing." He slides his knife into his sheath on his hip. "I won't be killing you today. I'll even offer my services as a delivery man. I'll take your little demon and drop him right at the Bat's doorstep." Anything to get the kid out of that environment. Jason has his own issues with Bruce, especially since he couldn't even protect Dick, and he was in Gotham, but he will do a better job raising this kid than the League will.

Talia smiles again, "I knew you would see reason."

Damian clicks his tongue, "Do not be ridiculous. I can make my own way to my Father."

"Kid, do you even know where in Gotham you are? Or where the manor is?"

Damian bristles, "I am not a 'kid'! Besides, that is hardly relevant. I am capable of reading a map."

"Hm. Yeah, it'll be faster if I take you." He grabs Damian and lightly tugs him into his side, and in the same movement draws his gun and whirls, hitting Talia across the temple with the butt of the gun.

It didn't feel as good as killing her for what she did, but it still felt pretty damn good.

Damian struggles against his grip, "Mother?"

"Relax, she'll be fine." Jason tugs Damian closer and starts heading back out of the house. Damian hisses and spits curses, but he's practically harmless. To Jason, anyway.

He's not thrilled to be going back to the manor, but what harm can it do now? Surely they've figured everything out by now, whether they've come after him or not.

"Will you just chill, child? I'm taking you where you want to go!" Jason snaps.

Damian doesn't respond, but he also doesn't calm down. Jason pauses on the sidewalk, looking all around them before restraining Damian with one arm and digging rope out of his utility belt with the other.

"I didn't wanna do this kid, 'kay? If you cooperate, I won't tie you up and we'll just peacefully ride back to the manor."

Damian glares, curses some more, and gives one final struggle before Jason gives up and ties him up.

"See, now this looks super fuckin' suspicious, and now I might get chased for 'kidnapping'. If we get caught, it's your fault." Jason grumbles. He didn't bring his bike, so he's gonna have to grapple either to his safehouse and pick up his bike, or all the way to the manor.

His safehouse is significantly closer, which will be safer when he's grappling one-handed.

They weren't moving for long before they're stopped by a ghost.

Bruce swears his heart stops the moment he sees his son lying still in an alleyway. The man who called them on comms had said the extraction was for Nightwing. Bruce almost didn't show up because Nightwing had signed off; he was safe. But there was something to the tone of the man, something desperate, that made Bruce show up anyway. He refuses to think too long about the slightly familiar voice, or the godawful alias "Jay Peters", the same alias Jason used to joke about using if he ever needed one. He can't think about that now. Not when Dick is lying still, pale, in an alley.

He falls to his knees next to his son, eyes flitting over to the red helmet lying haphazardly on the ground. He can deal with that later. Tugging one glove off, he takes stock of Dick's condition. Blood seeps through the bandage around his abdomen, more still soaking the ground around him. He's pale—too pale—and sweaty, hair plastered to his forehead. His eyes flutter once, and Bruce presses two fingers to the pulse on his neck. His pulse is weak, but present.

Bruce thanks whatever deities are out there, cradles his son to his chest, and hurries to the Batmobile. Dick whines, almost inaudibly, at being moved, but Bruce just shushes him as he gently lays him out in the backseat. He sets the coordinates for Leslie's clinic and slides next to Dick. He barely remembers to send her a message to give her a heads up, but he does.

The bandage is nearly fully soaked through now, but it just needs to hold a little longer. Leslie is waiting outside when the Batmobile screeches into the alley next to her clinic, and Bruce rushes Dick to her. She lets him, helps him arrange Dick on the gurney, and then shoves him off.

"I can—" Bruce starts, near desperate.

"You can go change and come back." Her tone is no-nonsense, and she's not even looking at him, too busy cutting Dick's shirt off and getting him set up.

"But—"

"He doesn't need Batman right now. There's nothing more you can do for him like this."

The words hurt to hear, they always do. His son doesn't need him.

He knows that's not what she's saying. She's saying that he, as Batman, isn't needed because Dick needs his father right now. It still hurts. Bruce takes one last look at Dick, taking in his pale complexion, the oxygen mask, and the IV he's hooked up to, and walks away. He has to trust Leslie will save him and come back when he's not wearing the cape.

He still feels like a failure as he leaves.

__________________________________________________________________

After Dick's surgery, Bruce had him transferred to the cave. It's two days later, and he still hasn't woken up, but his vitals are strong.

They still haven't gotten anywhere with "Jay Peters" or the assailant, but Barbara has moved primarily to working out of the cave to be close to Dick, so they have to get something soon. The footage in the alley was corrupted, but they've been able to figure out that Red Hood was there, and is "Jay Peters", but they don't know much more than that.

Bruce has barely left Dick's side, except to eat (Alfred refuses to bring food down to the cave for him) and sleep. Tim usually joins him after school. He's been even more subdued since Dick got hurt, though; they all have.

Bruce drags his eyes from Dick over to the batcomputer, where Barbara is hunched over, glaring at the screen.

When was the last time he saw her leave? Her hair is falling out of the ponytail, her glasses are slightly askew, and the dark circles are steadily getting darker.

Bruce sighs and pushes himself up. She may not be his kid, but that doesn't mean he doesn't feel some level of responsibility towards her. He makes his way over to her, and she doesn't even seem to notice.

He's proven wrong a second later when she speaks up. "If you have come over here to lecture me about overworking myself, you can save it." She finally glances up, straightening her glasses and sitting back in her chair. Bruce looks at the screens, one monitor is running through a program, a facial recognition on the partial they picked up from the camera—what little they could recover anyway. One of the other screens is running a different program to clean up the rest of the footage, and the third seems to be tracking Red Hood's movements.

He went quiet for the first day after, but he's hit the streets with a vengeance again. Once Dick wakes up, Bruce is heading out to find him and bring him in. Even if he's not the suspect, he has important information they need.

Bruce looks back at Barbara. He can see the exhaustion weighing on her. Unlike his kids, though, he can't order her around. Attempting to will just result in her going back to the clock-tower and pointedly leaving him out of the loop. At least here, he can try to keep an eye on her, and she'll share information.

She raises an eyebrow at him, daring him to try and order her to go rest.

Instead, Bruce sighs. "When was the last time you slept?"

Surprises crosses her face and disappears just as quickly. "That's irrelevant. There's a case to solve."

"Barb—"

"Don't even get on to me about pushing too hard. You don't have a leg to stand on."

She's right, of course she is, but that doesn't mean he doesn't want better for his kids—and protegees. She's not his, but he trained her.

Maybe a different approach will get her to listen. "Talk me through what you've learned so far."

He's caught her off guard again, and the suspicious look doesn't quite leave her eyes as she explains. "I still haven't recovered footage of the attack. It picks up when Red Hood appears outside the alley, but the angle still isn't great. He hesitates—for a while, actually—then rushes forward. Dick tries to push him away, and Red Hood takes his helmet off." She gestures at the screen frozen on the partial view of Red Hood's face. "Dick stops fighting him, from what I can see, and Red Hood starts administering first aid. It's oddly…personal…in how he interacts with Dick. He appears shaken and keeps touching Dick's face."

"They knew each other." Bruce murmurs. Dick didn't say anything about knowing Red Hood, but it wouldn't be the first time his son has withheld knowledge about knowing a mass murderer. Deathstroke comes to mind.

"That's what it appears like, but Dick didn't want Red Hood near him, at first. He didn't stop fighting until He saw Red Hood's face."

Bruce hums.

"Red Hood, or "Jay Peters", messed with his helmet for a second after wrapping Dick's wound, and then we got the call. He knows our identities, or at least knew Dick was Nightwing, considering he called it in as Nightwing needing evac."

Bruce nods. He'd forgotten that fact, been so caught up in his son being hurt that he hadn't thought about how the Red Hood knew Dick was Nightwing.

"Well, it seems like you've made decent progress, and these programs seem to be running pretty smoothly on their own. Why don't you go take a break? Tim or I can take over monitoring for a bit." Bruce suggests.

Barbara's eyes narrow. "I knew you were trying something. I don't need rest, Bruce. I need to find who did this."

"And you're at the mercy of the speed of a computer program. You know as well as I do that sitting here and staring at it isn't going to make it run any faster."

"I—I can't take a break," Her voice breaks slightly, and she takes a shuddering inhale. "Someone hurt Dick, Bruce. Someone almost killed him, and none of us would have known. I need answers, I need—"

Bruce cuts her off, bending down and wrapping her in his arms. "I know, Barbara, believe me, I am beyond angry, I want to find out who did this as much as you do, if not more. But you also know that running yourself into the ground isn't going to help anyone."

She grips him tightly for a little longer, then pushes him back. Sniffling, she wipes her glasses off and places them back on her face.

Bruce reaches for the handles of her wheelchair, "Why don't you head upstairs—"

"Touch my chair, and I'll show you just how easily I can still put you on your ass." The threat is slightly less effective due to the watery tone to her voice, but Bruce obligingly raises his hands and backs off.

"Please, go take a break, Babs."

She sniffs one more time and, glancing over at where Dick lies, nods shakily. "Fine. 1 hour, then I'm coming back."

"Eat, shower, take a nap. The cameras will still be here when you return."

She doesn't agree, but she also doesn't tell him to go to hell, so he takes it as a win.

Bruce lowers himself into the batcomputer chair and leans back, sighing heavily.

He has to find out who hurt his son. Quickly. Starting with catching the Red Hood.

___________________________________________________________________________

It's been a week and a half.

A week and a half since Jason's brother died in his arms, and he's found nothing. He's watched the security tapes over and over again, but the timestamps he needs are corrupted, too much noise and static to get anything useful. He's attempted to clean it up, but he's not as good at hacking or computer programs as he probably should be. With no leads, all he's left to do is patrol. He knows he's emotionally compromised, shouldn't be on the streets, but what else can he do?

He doesn't have an actual life outside of being Red Hood.

He's back at the crime scene, which is infuriatingly clean; whoever hurt Dick didn't leave any evidence—probably a professional. It doesn't make any sense though. There's no discernible motive. If it were a random act of violence, it wouldn't be this clean. But if it was a professional, there has to be a reason, right?

Jason kneels in the alley where Dick died, a parody of the position he was in a few days ago. He's hit a wall in the investigation, since both the crime scene and the security cameras are dead ends; he has no more leads. Growling under his breath, Jason stands and slams a fist into the nearest wall.

It doesn't make sense!

The pain in his hand is dulled by his anger, and Jason grapples back to his safe house. He can't clean up the security cameras, but maybe Babs managed it by now? Surely Batman has been investigating; he wouldn't let the death of his eldest son go unsolved, would he?

Unlike how he left Jason's unavenged

Jason managed to hack into their comm frequency; maybe he could get into their database? It would certainly be difficult, Jason never really took to the computer science lessons during Robin training, and Talia preferred his other skill sets more. Something twists in his chest, as it always does when he thinks about Talia or the League.

His time with them wasn't good by any means; he much prefers being on his own, but there were some things…

He doesn't remember much. But he remembers a tiny child following him around, or maybe Jason was following the child around. He remembers Talia's manipulation, remembers flashes of training sessions, remembers a child forced to act as the perfect heir, and Jason, his bodyguard. He remembers one specific session, in horrifyingly clear detail, remembers as he was run through with a blade, the "trainer" standing over the kid's dying body in shock. Jason remembers screaming, remembers trying to throw himself into the ring of ninjas, but he was held back.

Jason doesn't remember what happened after, but he knows he never saw the kid again, and shortly after, he was forced out, sent to other teachers around the world.

He would give anything to be able to save that child. He can't even remember his name, barely remembers his face, but he's a kid. Jason knows he doesn't deserve the life he's been given, the horrors he's been forced to endure.

Just like Jason didn't, when he was a kid.

Jason's done his best to protect as many kids as possible from the harsh realities they face. But it wasn't enough; he couldn't save the kid at the league, he couldn't save his brother.

Maybe if Jason had just gone to Bruce or Dick when he returned, if he'd been less consumed with vengeance, less stubborn, less hurt, Dick would still be alive.

Jason shakes himself out of his thoughts, realizing he's been crouching in front of the window to his safe house like an idiot. He disarms the traps and crawls in, barely aware of his surroundings as he pulls his gear off.

Maybe they never deleted his login to the batcomputer. They could all remotely access it, and if the encrypted server hadn't changed, and they never blocked his access, Jason could still get in. And why would they delete the access codes of a dead kid? They have no idea Jason is alive; he scrapped most of his more dramatic plans for a reveal anyway.

Jason collapses on the couch with his laptop—one of the few extraordinarily expensive things he's allowed himself. He needs a good computer for his casework, and one with good encryption. He logs into his VPN, then pulls up the address for the encrypted server, or at least what it used to be, and prays to whatever deity might be listening that he can both get in, and it doesn't alert the Bats.

They're supposed to change codes every two weeks, for security. Random numbers, nothing recognizable, no discernible pattern, no clues. Jason still remembers his last password, from the week before he died. He doesn't know why, out of all the things he could've remembered, that's what he was left with, but he remembers. He types it in, forcing his hands not to shake, redirecting his thoughts from the lectures he used to sit through about cybersecurity.

The cursor spins, and for a painstakingly long moment, Jason thinks it won't let him in.

Then the screen flashes green, and the familiar message types across the screen.

Welcome, Robin II

Jason sighs, relaxing further into the couch.

Shitty security on Bruce's end, but at least it worked out in Jason's favor. He probably doesn't have that long before someone either gets notified that he logged into the Batcomputer with a dead kid's passkey, or someone just checks the logs and sees it.

It takes him a bit to readjust to the system, but eventually he finds what he's looking for—the cleaned-up security feeds.

Jason quickly downloads the file and goes to log out of the program, but hesitates. Maybe he can delete his entry from the log? He's never done it before, but how hard could it be? It does take him a few more minutes to get to the history log and delete his entry. It might not be enough to fully fool Batman, but it's enough for now.

He spends the next few days going through the feed—with breaks, of course, but not many. Frame by frame, he watches the assailant melt from the shadows, stab Dick in the back, and disappear practically into thin air. He watches himself show up in the mouth of the alley and pauses for way too long. It feels longer, like this, watching his hesitation frame by frame. It seems to take an age for him to snap out of it and start actually helping Dick. All for nothing, because his brother died anyway.

He's started skipping through his hesitation, and just rewinding to the moment of the attack, and the moments before and after. Brooding about what he could have done differently, what would have happened if he just hadn't hesitated, won't help him now.

Three days after he downloaded the files, he found his clue. The glint of the dagger in the low light catches his attention. He stops the feed and, with a few clicks, zooms in on the weapon. He runs a software to clean up the pixelated image, and his blood runs cold when he sees the weapon. It's distinctive, and he only knows one person personally who uses that kind of dagger.

Of course it was her.

Jason grits his teeth as he slams his laptop closed. At least now he has a direction to aim his wrath. He doubts she's still in Gotham, but he'll find her.

Jason suits up with a grim determination, but as he slides his helmet into place, a smile crosses his face for the first time since Dick died in his arms.

Jason should never have even thought the forbidden words. He should know better by now, having been in this vigilante business a while now. But, no, of course he has to go and think the forbidden phrase.

"It's a quiet night," his ass.

In his defense, though, it really was a quiet night when he thought it. He'd barely had anything to do, even in the chaos of establishing his gang. He's been back in Gotham for nearly 8 months now, working slowly at first to get set up, and he's only recently started accelerating his plans. Threatening the heads of the top gangs in Crime Alley was his first big step. He'd figured tonight would be chaotic in the wake of that move, but it's been the opposite. An unnatural calm seems to have settled over the Alley.

The calm before the storm.

Jason was slouched on a rooftop eating a burger when he heard Nightwing sign off on comms. Jason may not have reunited with the Bats, nor did he plan to, but he'd hacked their comms shortly after he came back (OK, he pulled strings with contacts in the league to get access that they couldn't trace). It was just for information purposes, really. He didn't like not knowing their whereabouts.

He didn't think anything of it when Nightwing signed off. It must have been a slow night for all of them.

That was an hour ago, and not much has happened since. Jason was just about to pack it up and go home when he heard a loud clatter, then a slightly quieter thud. He's standing and slipping his helmet back on his head before he consciously realizes it.

He stops dead when he lays eyes on the scene in the alley.

Dick Grayson, lying in a pool of blood.

Jason hesitates for several moments too long.

Dick's groaning, both hands clasped over his lower abdomen, but Jason can see it's not hard enough to stop blood flow, even from his distance. The pool of blood grows with each passing second, startlingly fast, but Jason just stands there.

He's frozen, staring at the scene in front of him. He knows what to do, but he can't make himself move.

That's Dick Grayson, Nightwing.

Standing here, he's not Red Hood, the crime lord. He's not even Robin, all training wiped from his mind. He's not the stupid kid who ran away in search of a family just to end up dead.

He's the kid who found his mother dead in their apartment, body long gone cold, and a needle inches from her hand.

He's a younger brother watching his older brother bleed out. All he does is stare.

Dick was supposed to be safe. He'd signed off an hour ago. They all knew the danger of going out. They knew the risk they were taking every damn time they put on the mask. Hell, Jason had died, and he's still doing it. But this was different. Because Dick had signed off, he was supposed to be home, safe, not bleeding out in some alley for gods' sake.

This isn't some random civilian. If it were, he wouldn't have hesitated.

This isn't a random cape in uniform he can pretend he doesn't care about, then reluctantly help.

This is his brother.

For all that they fought when he was younger, for all that Dick was an ass to him, he was his brother.

And his brother was dying.

Dick shifting breaks him out of his stupor. He didn't manage much, just kicking his legs out a little and trying to push up onto his elbows. It's enough to startle Jason forward, though. He crashes to his knees next to Dick. Hands coming up to gently press him back down.

"Stay down, idiot," Jason mutters gruffly, forcing the emotions back down. He can have a breakdown later. He needs to save Dick right now. or at least attempt to.

Dick flinches from his touch, a pained groan spilling out of his mouth when the movement jars his abdomen.

"Ge' away fro'me," Dick slurs, trying and failing to scoot away from Jason.

He tries to pretend it doesn't hurt. He tries to remind himself that DIck isn't seeing Jason, he's seeing a faceless crime lord that's been giving the Bats hell for the past couple of weeks.

He fails. It still hurts.

"I'm trying to help you, asshole," Jason shoots back.

Dick reaches up one hand and shoves at Jason's shoulder, blood-slick hand sliding uselessly against Jason's chest, smearing the blood in its wake. Jason tries not to flinch. He's not squeamish, can't be, with the life he leads, but this is different.

Jason sighs, one hand keeping Dick pressed to the ground, the other reaching up to the latches on his helmet. He didn't want to do this; it's too early to reveal himself, there are cameras near here, and if he takes his helmet off, they'll all know. Sure, he has his domino mask, but Dick and Bruce both saw him in that regularly. They knew him so intrinsically, he's sure they could recognize him with half his face covered. He hasn't changed that much, surely. He's grown broader, he's matured, but he still has some baby fat on his cheeks. It's only been two years since the last time he saw Bruce.

If he takes his helmet off, they'll all know.

He's not ready for that.

But is it worth losing Dick forever? Would Dick even let him help, with or without his helmet?

Fuck it, He's wasting time, losing Dick.

He rips the helmet off his head and drops it carelessly next to him. He doesn't look at Dick as he switches his hand placement, one hand pressing firmly down on the gaping wound in his brother's abdomen. He ignores the wheeze his brother lets out when he does so, using his other hand to dig through his utility belt for his small first aid kit. It's not well stocked, but hopefully it's enough. He keeps an eye on Dick's face out of the corner of his eye, knows the exact moment his face registers in Dick's brain. Dick's brows furrow, and he shakes his head slightly, then squints harshly.

"…Jay?" DIck murmurs, barely audible.

Jason hums in response, too busy lining up his supplies next to him. He shoves one hand under Dick, feeling for an "exit" wound. It wasn't a bullet that did this, though. Dick flinches in pain when he finds it, and Jason curses under his breath.

"OK, Dickhead, this is gonna hurt. A lot." Jason keeps his voice low and grabs his small bottle of antiseptic solution. He doesn't have any of that fancy shit Bruce kept around, the stuff that barely stings. He angles the tip of the bottle towards the stab wound and squeezes, then adds more to a thick gauze pad and presses down hard. Dick's body tenses, and he arches off the ground, breathing harshly through his teeth.

"I know, I know, I'm sorry." Jason's free sweeps through Dick's sweat-soaked hair, taking in the pallor of his skin. He needs to hurry up.

He changes the gauze pad, then grabs the packing gauze and stuffs Dick's wound with it. He adds a pressure bandage on top, then rolls Dick over. Dick groans, his hand coming up to weakly punch Jason.

After repeating the process, he rolls Dick back over and pads the wound with even more gauze. He's pretty sure he emptied his entire first aid kit, but fuck it.

Is it overkill? Maybe, but not if it keeps Dick alive. What Dick really needs is a blood transfusion, but he doesn't have the field equipment.

Best believe he's adding it to his med-kit after this, though. What use is being a universal donor if he can't actually do a field transfusion?

With the wound thoroughly wrapped, Jason sits back slightly on his heels. His gloves and jacket are goners, the gloves completely stained with blood, the jacket is just smeared from Dick pushing against him. Getting blood stains out of leather is a fuckin' bitch.

Dick takes measured breaths, or as measured as he can anyway. Jason counts the pattern; it's recognizable from his training with Bruce, meant to help regulate pain.

"…Jay—" Dick coughs, abs spasming with the force. "—Jay,"

"I'm here, Dickie," Jason pulls one glove off and rubs his hand through Dick's hair, then cups his cheek. "You're not alone."

"M' I dead?"

Jason flinches, "No!" He practically shouts, then catches himself. "No. You are not dead. And you're not dying either, y'hear me?" He repeats firmly. He moves his hand down and presses two fingers firmly to Dick's pulse, keeping count in his head.

"But y're here, I mus' be dead."

"Hate to break it to ya, but I'm not dead either." Jason's eyes flit down towards his abdomen. It's already starting to bleed through, fast. Jason curses. He needs to get Dick help. He reaches for his helmet and yanks the comm out, still careful not to damage it.

After shoving it in his ear, he taps twice and starts speaking. "I need immediate evacuation for Nightwing." He rattles off the location. "He's badly injured, pulse is just under 120 bpm, estimated blood loss between 30 and 40 percent."

There's silence for too long, Jason almost gives up and drags Dick's ass to a doctor himself.

Then, Batman's voice growls over the speaker. "Who is this?"

"Doesn't matter. Get your ass over here. Don't be too late a third time."

Third. Because in the months Jason's been back, he learned about Robin V. It's not enough for Bruce to replace him once; he had to put another kid in that godforsaken suit, and she died for it.

Jason forces those thoughts from his head. "This isn't a trap, Batman—"

Bruce grunts, in a way Jason is sure means "way to make me think it is a trap," but he continues anyway.

"I swear. He needs your help; he will die if you don't get here." Jason runs his hand through Dick's hair again, his other hand pressing firmly on the wound. "Please, I am begging you to trust me."

"Give me a name." Bruce orders.

Jason sucks in a breath. He doesn't have a choice. Dick needs help; he has no way to transport himself to a hospital, and an ambulance won't get here fast enough. He can't give Bruce his real name; he would take it as a cruel prank. But there's no alias Jason has that won't immediately give away his identity upon further investigation. Those aliases are meant to hold up under light scrutiny, from people who didn't know him before.

Not fuckin' Batman.

He doesn't have a choice.

"Jay," he mutters, finally.

"Last name."

"Dammit, old man, hurry your ass up and get over here!"

"Last. Name." Bruce growls again, firmer.

"Peters," he blurts.

Dammit, that's not the name he meant to give.

Dick's eyes flutter as Jason flicks off the comm again.

"Stay awake, Dickie." Jason pats his cheek. "Batman's almost here. Ya gotta stay awake until he can get you help."

"Jay." Dick blinks up at him.

"Yeah, m'here, dickhead. I'm here." He's still keeping pressure on the wound, but it's not gonna be enough. Blood is seeping out, slower than it was, but still faster than it should. Dick needs surgery and a blood transfusion. Where the fuck is Bruce?

"I—I love you." Dick coughs, "I never told you that, before…before."

"Sh, tell me later, asshole." He's sure tears are leaking down his face now. Dick's eyes are going vaguely glassy, his skin getting paler and paler, and sweat drenches his forehead and hair.

He doesn't have much longer.

Dick's next breath rasps out of his chest. "Listen to me, please." The words are barely a gasp, but surprisingly well strung together. "M'sorry, lil' wing."

Jason shakes his head, his own breath getting caught in his throat, his eyes and face burning, "No. No, no, no. Don't say that. Don't fucking say that!" Jason cries, barely keeping himself from falling forward onto Dick.

"m'sorry for not being there, for failing you." Dick continues, one hand barely brushing Jason's cheek, before limply falling to the ground.

In the distance, familiar tires screech through the night.

It's not enough, Batman's too late. Again.

Dick's breath rasps through his chest again, rattling, his eyes flutter shut, and his body goes limp.

Jason curses, again, and shakes Dick, slaps his face, anything to get him up.

"You fucking asshole!" He screams, half crying. He lets himself fall over his brother's chest, face nearly buried between his neck and shoulder. His body is still warm. Jason can almost pretend they're just hugging.

He never did get to truly hug his brother before he died. He can count on one hand how many times they hugged when he was a kid, and Dick left months before Jason's big argument with Bruce.

Jason sobs against Dick's chest, the tires screeching closer. Bruce is almost here, and it's too late.

He needs to leave; he can't be found here.

"I love you, you fuckin' idiot." He mutters, pulling back and wiping his face on his jacket. He grapples up to the roof above the alley and watches as Batman drifts to a stop, jumping out almost before the car is fully in park. He's alone, didn't want the kid to see, apparently.

He watches as Bruce barely stops to take in the scene, barely notices the helmet Jason left lying on the ground, and he crashes to the ground. He yanks a glove off to check for a pulse, then practically jumps up and bundles Dick's body into the Batmobile. It's no use.

Dick Grayson is dead.

Jason knows it.

Dread curls and settles in Dick's chest as his fingertips brush the dark red Kevlar. He never thought he would put that suit back on. It's not the original, of course. That was destroyed after he escaped, and it wouldn't fit him anymore anyway. He was a kid the last time he wore that.

But, the situation calls for it.

A new mercenary popped up—another of Slade's "apprentices"—and Dick has to make sure no kid is going thorugh what he did. He'll do whatever it takes, even if it means becoming Renegade again.

Taking a deep breath, Dick suits up.

He's not that kid anymore. This is his choice. Slade has no control over him. This is his choice.

This is his choice. No one will take that from him.

Not again. Never again.

With a final, steadying breath, he slips the the mask over his head. It's a different feel from his usual dominoe mask, he forgot how restrictive it was.

The persona clicks into place, his posture shifting, becoming more solid.

Renegade isn't Nightwing, and he definitely isn't Robin.

Robin is quippy, he shot off puns and annoyed the criminals as a secondary defesnse tactic. Robin is a target, a distraction. Don't get him wrong, he was still extremely competent as Robin, but Robin is still a child.

Nightwing still banters, still fires of puns and quips, distracts his enemy with humor, but he's scarily efficient. He flips and shows off, but he wins the fight, alone, Something Robin rarely did.

Renegade is silent, he's a shadow. He takes orders, dispatches the enemy with a deadly precision, and returns to his Master's side to wait for the next time he's needed.

It chafes at him, goes against his entire being, but standing in this suit, preparing to see Slade again, it's terrifyingly easy to slip back into that headspace.

Jason wishes he could rewind time to the moment he dared to speak the forbidden words, and punch himself in the face.

The forbidden words, “It’s a quiet night,”

The words that seem to challenge whatever deities are out there, or just the universe in general. The words that turn a quiet night into the worst night of your life.

If it were truly a quiet night, Jason wouldn’t have stumbled across his older brother bleeding out in an alley.

Unfortunately, that’s exactly what he finds.

Nightwing was supposed to have turned in an hour ago. He heard him sign off the comms (he may not have revealed himself to the Bats yet, but he hacked their comms. …for intel purposes, of course).

It’s not Nightwing he finds.

Red Hood finds Dick Grayson laying in a pool of his own blood.

He freezes. In that moment, he’s not Red Hood, the fearsome Crime Lord. He’s not Robin, trained to respond to pretty much any situation. He’s not the stupid kid that ran away in search of family.

In that moment, he’s a younger brother watching his older brother bleed out.

He’s a kid who’s discovered his mom’s cold body, needle inches from her hand.

For several long seconds, all he did was stare. There’s a million things he should be doing, first aid steps are running through his head, but its all overshadowed.

That’s not some random civilian. It’s not a vigilante in uniform. Every single one of them knows that once they put on their uniform, they may not make it home that night.

But it’s not Nightwing.

It’s Dick Grayson.

And that makes a world of difference. Dick signed off for the night. Dick was supposed to be safe.

But he’s laying in an alley, light glinting off the blood soaking his clothes and pooling beneath him, one hand pressed weakly to his abdomen. He’s staring blankly at the sky.

Jason stumbles forward in a daze and crashes to the ground next to his brother, pulling his helmet off with shaking hands. He tilts Dick’s face towards him, relieved to see him blink. Dick’s chest rises and falls weakly, but at least he’s breathing.

“You with me, Dickie?” He asks quietly. He moves Dick’s hand and presses one of his own against Dick’s bleeding abdomen, then digs through his utility belt with his other. He pulls out a pressure bandage, and plenty of gauze, and starts packing the hole in Dick’s side. He ignores Dick’s pained noise as he does so, and holds the pressure bandage on top. He needs to check if there’s an exit wound before he secures it with more gauze.

DIck makes a pained noise, and blinks at him. His eyes are unfocused as he scrunches his face at Jason. “...Jay?”

“Yeah, yeah, m’here.” He takes a deep breath, “I need to roll you over, it might hurt though,”

“‘M I dead?” His voice is weak.

“What? No you’re not dead! And you’re not gonna die, ya hear me?” Jason is near frantic with his response.

“You’re here, and you’re dead,” Dick rasps, one hand coming up to brush Jason’s cheek.

“I’m not dead, and neither are you, fucker,” yet. Dick isn’t dead yet, and he won’t be if Jason can help it. Dick makes a humming sound, and his eyes flutter closed. Jason curses, and lightly slaps Dick’s cheek a few times.

Jason curses again, and attempts to wedge his hand under Dick to feel for an exit wound, and he curses again when he feels it. He tilts Dick on his side, apologizing when the man groans, and shoves more gauze into the wound, then starts wrapping it. Dick’s still lost entirely too much blood, and there’s a wheezing sound when he breathes. He focuses on wrapping the gauze around the bandage tightly.

He fumbles for the comm in his ear. This wasn’t how he planned to reveal himself, but that doesn’t matter now. Nothing matters, except his brother bleeding out in front of him. He takes a shaky breath, and clicks the comm on.

“Red Hood to Batcave.” He has to pause again, hoping his voice comes out more steady than he feels. “I know we’re not on good terms, and I’ve made a lot of problems for you guys.” He hopes like hell someone’s actually listening. “None of that matters right now. Nightwing is injured. Badly.”

There’s silence for several crushing moments.

Then, “If this is a trick, Red Hood—“

Thank /fuck/.

Jason didn’t think he’s ever been so relieved to hear Bruce’s low growl. At least not since he was Robin, and he didn’t think he’d ever feel it again.

“It’s not, It’s not, I swear!” He rushes to answer. “Please, hurry. You can track my comm signal. He needs you.”

Could he, /should/ he, have called an ambulance? Probably. Dick’s in civvies. It would make more sense for him to go to a hospital, but Jason doesn’t think he can move him, and Bruce has much better response time than Gotham ambulances.

Jason doesn’t hear whatever Bruce responds with, too busy watching Dick.

His skin is pale, taking on an almost gray tint, and sweat is beading up across his face. Jason brushes some of the hair out of Dick’s face. He knows he’s done everything he can, and now it’s just waiting until Bruce arrives, but he hates feeling so helpless.

Dick groans, his eyes fluttering. “Jay?”

“I’m here, Dickie,” Jason murmurs, “I’m here. You’re not alone.”

Dying sucked, but what made it worse was dying knowing no one was coming to save him. The hopeless feeling of it all, with nothing to do but wait for the timer to tick down.

If this is the end for Dick, Jason is going to be here.

“I’m sorry, Jay, I’m so so—” Dick chokes, his body convulsing with it. He groans weakly.

“Shh, don’t try to speak, Dick.” Jason runs a hand through Dick’s hair again. “I forgive you, it’s ok. It wasn’t your fault.”

Dick raises his hand, grabbing at Jason. He catches Dick’s hand, blinking back the tears.

“I love you, Dickie.” Jason hunches over his older brother’s chest, resting his forehead near his collar. “I love you, I’m so sorry.”

Dick’s chest heaves as he coughs again, and Jason hears the rattle as he exhales. He chokes on a sob, body going limp, just like Dick’s hand in his grasp.

“No, no no, Dick,” Jason sobs. He lifts his head up, just barely, just enough to press his fingers against Dick’s neck, trying for a pulse.

He doesn’t feel anything.

The batmobile engine roars from around the corner, and Jason tenses. He can’t be here when Batman gets here.

He’s moving before he thinks about it further, grappling up to the roof. He ducks down next to a gargoyle, just as Batman leaps from the car and rushes to Dick’s body. Jason braces his head on his hands as he watches Bruce crash to the ground next to Dick, cape fluttering behind him. He watches as Bruce tries to find a pulse, then bundle Dick into the batmobile. Jason turns away as the car pulls off, wiping his eyes with the back of one hand.

He doesn't remember the journey back to his safe house, doesn’t remember cleaning up and putting his suit away. He only remembers the emptiness that took over, how he moved on autopilot.

One thing’s for damn sure.

Jason’s gonna find the bastard who did this, and they’re going to have hell to pay for killing his brother.

_____________________

Bruce swears his heart stops when he sees his son’s lifeless form on the ground. He had rushed over as soon as Barbara tracked the signal, only sparing half a thought to if this was a trap. He couldn’t take the chance that it was, and he’s glad he didn’t hesitate.

He doesn’t take in any of his surroundings, his focus entirely on Dick, on saving his son if he still could.

His son, who isn’t breathing. Who’s laying, lifeless, on the pavement, because Bruce was too late. Again.

He can’t lose another kid.

He wouldn’t survive it this time.

Someone—presumably Red Hood—bandaged Dick’s abdomen, though the blood has already soaked through. Bruce tears the glove off his hand, and presses two fingers to Dick’s neck. HE has to try, he has to hope.

When he doesn’t feel anything, he presses harder, and he waits. He doesn’t know how long DIck has been laying here, how long it’s been since Red Hood left.

There’s a pulse.

Fluttery, weak, and barely there, but Dick’s heart is still beating. And when he looks harder, he can see the faint expansion and contraction of Dick’s breathing, hear the wheezing sound. Bruce nearly collapses in relief.

There’s still time. Bruce scoops Dick up and lays him in the back seat, setting the car to autopilot as he does.

“How is he?”

Bruce nearly startles at Barbara’s voice, before he regains composure. It takes several tries to speak around the lump in his throat. “He’s alive. Barely. Hasty field medicine was applied, likely by Red Hood, but he needs thorough medical help.”

“The cave or Dr. Thompkins?” Barbara’s voice is still shaky, yet she sounds steadier than Bruce feels.

“Dr. Thompkins. We’re almost here.”

“Understood. I’ll let the others know.”

“Thanks, Oracle.” Bruce manages.

Barbara logs off just as the Batmobile pulls into the alley behind Leslie’s clinic. Bruce hops out and bangs on the back door, then turns and pulls DIck out of the backseat as gently as possible.

Leslie takes one look at the body in his arms, and the smart remark she was undoubtedly about to make dies. She just opens the door wider and motions him through. Once they get Dick set up in a room, everything else begins to blur.

“Batman!” Leslie snaps. SHe’s set up a blood transfusion, and cut his shirt off.

Bruce jumps to attention, tearing his gaze from Dick. “Hm?”

“Get out.” Leslie is deadly serious.

“I can’t leave him—”

“You’re not any good to him hovering like that. Get out, come back later.” Leslie pauses what she’s doing and glares over her shoulder. Bruce deflates, “I can’t leave him.”

“Just go wait elsewhere.” Leslie turns back towards Dick, “You’re lucky there’s no one else here, Bruce. Go change, wash the blood off you, and rest. I’ll let you know when he’s stable.”

“Leslie…” He tries.

“I mean it.”

She’s right, he knows she is. He’s no use to Dick like this, he’s done as much as he can, and he Batman shouldn’t be seen this upset about a civilian, it would put Dick in even more danger than before.

If he survives

Bruce turns, sparing another glance at Dick before he ducks out to the Batmobile.

The drive to the cave is a blur.

When he hops out of the car, Alfred is waiting, tension visible in his shoulders. Bruce stalks off to the showers before Alfred can ask. He knows he should update him, but he just can’t right now. He needs to get back to Dick.

Alfred is still standing in the main cave when Bruce comes back out. He clears his throat, “How is he?”

“Alive. Leslie is working on him, she kicked me out.” Bruce’s voice is barely audible, even to him. Something in Alfred’s posture relaxes, and he walks up to Bruce.

“I assume she’ll call when she has an update?”

Bruce nods.

“Very well. Go on upstairs, Master Bruce. Try to get some rest, check on Masters Tim and Damian.” He places his hands on Bruce’s shoulders. “There is nothing more to do for him right now. You can rest.”

Bruce shudders, “What if…” He trails off, unable to finish his thought.

What if he was too late? What if he got Dick to the clinic, got him to help, but he was still too late and it was all for nothing.

“There is nothing to do right now. We can only wait and see.” There’s a watery quality to Alfred’s voice, as he tugs Bruce towards him.

Their hug is brief, but Bruce relaxes into all the same.

‘’You need to rest too.” Bruce croaks, before turning and heading upstairs.

He may not be able to actually sleep, but he can at least check on Tim and Damian, and maybe see what happened in that alley before he got there.

It’s a start. He just has to trust that Dick will be fine.

Dick has always fallen short. His parents, though loving and kind, were still hard on him. Growing up in a circus—as a child prodigy, no less—he had to be perfect, their act had to be perfect. Performing without a net meant mistakes equalled death. He loved his time with Haly’s, but he can’t deny that it gave him a perfectionist streak a mile wide—and becoming Batman’s apprentice certainly didn’t help matters.

When he was younger, he didn’t notice it as much. He still strived to be the best he could be, still soaked up praise as a sponge, but it wasn’t until his early teens that it became a problem. Bruce started offering praise and encouragement less, and Dick began to realize just how much of his self worth was built on that validation.

Everything he did, he did for Bruce, to prove that he was good enough.

But he always fell short.

No matter what he did, it was never enough. He was never enough.

He started keeping track of everyone he failed. Every civilian he couldn’t save, every time he messed up a case or a mission, every friend he let down. It wasn’t just his vigilante life, it bled into his civilian life too. He kept track of bad grades, missed homeworks, tardiness, everything. At first it was a small notebook he kept tucked between his box spring and boards of his bed frame. It wasn’t just writing down the instance, either. He wrote detailed entries—for most, anyway—about what went wrong and what he could do better. For the mundane ones, they were short. It was usually just ‘set reminders’, ‘keep a calendar updated’, and other things like that.

The mistakes he made as Robin—and later as Nightwing, hell, even Renegade—had longer entries.

Lives were at risk every time he went out on the streets.

He can’t be anything less than perfect.

Eventually he moved to digital files and burned the physical pages. It was advice from his first therapist, something about letting it all go, trying to move on.

Ok, so she didn’t tell him to burn them, but you can’t be a vigilante without some flair for the dramatic. Burning it seemed like a good idea at the time. It even worked, he was doing better! For a little while, that is.

Soon,the insecurities krept back in, and even the digital files weren’t enough, and he stopped bothering with them.

Why write it down if your brain won’t let you forget?

There’s a constant list of the people he’s failed.

His parents

Bruce

Kori

Wally

Roy

Jason

Tim

He could go on.

All of the Titans, even fucking Slade Wilson.

He’ll never be enough. He knows it, and his only hope is that no one else has realized it yet. If he can still be useful, if he can still do good, even if it’s not enough, maybe he’ll still have a place with his family. He can’t help but feel as though that’s a naive dream. Bruce and Tim are geniuses, some of the best detectives in the world. Alfred is a former MI-5 agent, and manages to somehow keep them all together. Cass was trained to be the perfect weapon, and has managed to turn into one of the kindest people he’s ever met. Jason managed to overcome his past and forge a new path, being some kind of anti-hero/crimelord/vigilante. Dick may have some reservations about his methods, but Jason does good work. Steph is a whirlwind, brilliant, and capable. Duke fought for the city with no training, and he has the power to manipulate light.

Amongst all of them, how could Dick compare? How could he even hope to measure up to them? Where could he provide use to a family of the most hyper-competent people he’s ever met?

What would be enough?

_______________

Tim is running himself into the ground again. Everyone can see it, except maybe Tim himself. It’s been hectic at WE lately—some new product release or another that Dick doesn’t pay attention to—so Tim has been pulling later and later nights, on top of case work and regular patrols. Everytime Dick sees him, which, admittedly isn’t as often as he would like, Tim looks even more rundown. The bags under his eyes are growing more noticeable, the subtle slump to his shoulders is more pronounced, and his reaction time is slowing down. Dick is in the cave when Bruce finally stages an intervention. TIm had gotten hurt on patrol tonight, nothing too serious, but it never should have happened to begin with.

“You’re benched, Tim.” Bruce crosses his arms, standing in front of TIm in the med-bay. Dick raises his eyebrows as he watches from his own cot in the med bay. He’s not hurt, but it takes a lot of energy that he doesn’t have to get up and walk to the showers.

“Are you serious? It’s just a scratch!” Tim yells back, jumping off the cot.

“It could have been worse. You’re not at the top of your game, and that’s dangerous.” Bruce turns to walk away, apparently done discussing this.

Tim groans under his breath and stalks toward his bike.

“Leave your suit, Tim,” Bruce calls over his shoulder. “Dick can take over your bigger cases until you’re back. Forward him the information.”

Dick snaps his head over to look at Bruce, “B, I—” He can’t take over Tim’s cases right now, he’s got his own to deal with, and he’s already helping out Damian and Steph.

“Dick,” Bruce’s tone leaves no room for arguments, “You’ve got the least on your plate right now. Cass and Barbara are busy with the birds of prey, Jason’s got his cases, Damian has exams coming up, as does Steph.

He knows they have exams coming up, that’s why he’s helping them with their cases.

Dick drags himself off the cot, exhaustion weighing on him like a physical weight. “I…” He trails off before continuing, his voice weak. “I have my own stuff going on too!”

Bruce finally turns to look at him, “Like what?”

Dick hesitates. None of his excuses are ever enough. Damian and Steph asked him to not tell Bruce he was helping them out, he never told Bruce he got a second job—though he wouldn’t put it past the man to have figured it out—and he doesn’t usually talk about his own cases unless it coincides with one of theirs. He submits his reports, but that’s all.

Bruce raises an eyebrow. “Well if you don’t have a reason, you can take on Tim’s cases.” With that, he sits at the computer and starts writing tonight’s report. Dick can do nothing but stare at him.

It’s his own fault after all.

When he finally drags himself into his apartment, it’s nearing five in the morning, and he has to be up at work in an hour. He loves his new job, he’s the assistant coach to a junior gymnastics team, and he absolutely loves teaching the kids and helping get them prepared for competitions, but he wishes the practices weren’t at six in the morning.

He knows he probably looks like a zombie when he arrives at the gym, especially since the other coach shoots him a concerned look before starting practice.

He drags through the rest of day, gets himself up to speed on Tim’s cases, then hits the streets for patrol. He’s staking out a new trafficking operation tonight—one of his own cases that he had been neglecting for too long.

He barely makes it in an hour into his stakeout before he falls asleep.

By the time he wakes up, whoever they were meeting tonight is long gone, and they seemed to have moved to a new base. He has to start over from square one.

Just another instance where Dick Grayson falls short.

He drags himself back home and collapses in bed immediately after changing.

He sleeps through his alarm, misses the entirety of the kids’ practice, and wakes up late for his shift at the police station.

He loses himself over the next few weeks, buried in casework—his own, and others’—and caffeine. He can’t remember the last time he got a decent night of sleep, or saw his family outside of patrol.

The icing on the cake is how many times he disappoints his family over the weeks.

He misses lunch with Jason, forgets to pick Damian up from school, sleeps through a movie night with Tim, skips tea with Alfred, the list goes on. His family stops trying, and Dick knows he deserves it.

Even the Titans have noticed something’s going on, but they don’t confront him about it.

No one bothers to check in with him.

He submits his reports on time, wraps up everyone else’s cases, and they keep giving him new ones.

Even after Tim returns to the field, he sheepishly returns to Dick and asks if he can help out with more.

He keeps telling himself he’ll rest once everything is complete, he’ll apologize to his family once he can rest, he’ll make it up to him.

If he can just do better, be better, maybe they’ll notice. Maybe they’ll appreciate how much work he’s been doing.

It all has to come to a head eventually.

Dick knows he’s too tired to be in the field, but he can’t let himself rest. Every time he closes his eyes, there’s a running list of his failures, a compilation of his worst moments. The guilt doesn’t let him sleep. How could he sleep? There’s so much work to be done.

It’s his fault he gets taken. What’s worse, he didn’t tell anyone his plans for the night. He didn’t think it was necessary, he was just tracking some small-time gang, it should have been simple. It would have been simple, if Dick had gotten more than 2 hours of sleep in the last tow days.

Instead, he lets his guard down and a random goon sneaks up behind him and knocks him out. That’s just adding insult to injury why did he let some random thug can get the drop on him?

He comes to with his arms strung up above his head, dangling with his feet just barely brushing the floor. They didn’t even bother searching him thoroughly, just took the obvious weapons and left everything else.

His family is never going to let him live this down.

What’s worse is that it actually worked. Dick is so tired all he can do is hang there. He doesn’t have the energy to try and get his lock picks out, much less fight his way out if he gets himself free.

His family doesn’t know where he is, no one’s going to be looking for him for a while. Even if they did know his plans, why would they look for him? He’s not enough for them, they don’t need him.

Maybe he can just let himself rest, and he can get himself out once he has the energy. It’s not the most comfortable position to sleep in, but he’s so exhausted he doesn’t even care.

If he’s kidnapped, he has an excuse for not getting all his work done.

He can deal with the laughter and teasing later, when he eventually has to meet the weight of everyone’s expectations again.

_______________

Something’s going on with Dick. Bruce doesn’t know what, but it’s something. He’s been more distant lately, and it’s been getting worse for weeks now. He’s been forgetting plans he’s made with the family, and Nightwing has been out later and later. Dick can’t be sleeping enough—not when he doesn’t turn in until after four every morning and he has to be at practice by six (and yes, Bruce knows about that. He keeps tabs on his children, thank you very much). Bruce has been meaning to check in with him for a while now, but he can never find the right words. By the time he’s figured it out, Dick’s already left for one thing or another. After he turns in from patrol, and Dick still hasn’t dropped by to pick up the gear he left in the cave, Bruce starts to get worried. It’s later than he normally turns in, Dick should have checked in for the night by now.

2 more days. He’ll give it two more days, and if Dick doesn’t seem like he’s getting better, Bruce will check in with him.

He doesn’t even make it one full day before something happens.

While he’s suiting up for patrol the next night, Barbara’s voice rings through the batcomputer speakers. “Nightwing never checked in last night.”

Bruce freezes. Dick rarely misses a check in. Even when he and Bruce weren't on speaking terms, he still would at least text when he made it in safe. Bruce rushes through pulling the rest of his suit on, already heading to the batmobile.

“Get me his last known location,” He barks.

“Already done, B, I sent the coordinates to the batmobile.”

The drive flies by, and soon he arrives outside a run down and abandoned apartment building. Bruce takes the time to case the building, but there aren’t any guards that he can see. He’s just started making his way through the building when he hears the first scream.

Caution be damned, Bruce started sprinting.

It still takes too long to get to where they’re holding him.

He bursts through the doors just in time to see Dick’s whole body go lax, the chains holding him rattling.

Bruce springs into action, noting with relief when Dick gasps for air.

It takes less than five minutes for him to clear the room. Dick hasn’t looked up once.

Bruce finally stands in front of his son, and gently tilts his face up. Dick’s face is marked with blood and sweat, and the skin is irritated around his mask.

Bruce clears his throat, “Nightwing.”

No response.

Bruce’s brows furrow, but he lowers Dick’s head to rest gently against his chest, reaching up to undo the cuffs around his eldest’s wrists. Dick sags against his chest, and Bruce lowers him carefully to the ground.

He checks his pulse—present, but slightly fast—and makes sure he doesn’t have any pressing injuries, then moves him to the batmobile.

He opens the comm line to Barbara, “I’ve got him. He’s alive, but unconscious.”

He can hear her sigh of relief before she speaks. “Understood. I’ll have Alfred prep the medbay.”

The rest of the drive is silent, and Bruce resists the urge to turn and check on Dick every few seconds.

_______________

Dick wakes up slowly, the world filtering in in waves. A beeping next to his head, the burning of lights through his eyelids, low murmuring next to him, and a deep ache in his body.

Groaning, he tries to open his eyes, but his eyelids feel like they’re glued shut. The talking stops abruptly, followed by a few quick footsteps, and a hand brushing through his hair.

“Dick, you awake, chum?”

Bruce.

Bruce is here, Bruce came for him.

Why?

Dick groans again, struggling to lift one hand towards Bruce’s voice. It’s caught and set back down gently, but Bruce doesn’t let go of his hand.

“I’m here,” Bruce pauses, “Can you open your eyes?”

It takes several more moments before he manages, blinking rapidly and turning to look at Bruce.

“Wha’ happened?” His voice feels like sandpaper scratching through his throat, and Bruce holds a glass with a straw in it to his lips.

“I found you in an abandoned apartment, they were shocking you repeatedly, I got you out and brought you back here.”

Bruce’s face holds a softness that Dick hasn’t seen in a long time.

Did Bruce stop looking at him like that, or did Dick stop recognizing when he did?

“You came for me.” Dick can’t stop himself from mumbling, eyes cast downward.

Bruce furrows his brows, confusion passing over his face. “Of course I did. As soon as I heard you didn’t check in last night.”

“Oh.”

“I’ll always come for you, Dick. You’re my son.” Bruce scans his face, then sighs. “Rest, we can talk more later.”

Dick lets his eyes flutter closed, the promise of sleep too tempting to resist.

The next time he wakes up, he’s feeling much more aware of his surroundings. His head is pounding, and he can hear his siblings laughing about something in the main area of the cave. He ignores the aching in his limbs, and shoves himself to sitting, then uses the IV pole to help him stand. It takes several moments before he feels steady enough to walk, but he doesn’t get far when he does.

Jason catches him before he falls, “What the hell are you doing out of bed?”

If he didn’t know any better, he’d say Jason was worried about him.

He just shrugs, “Been laying down for…” He trails off. He doesn’t actually know how long he’s been passed out.

“21 hours.” Tim supplies helpfully.

“Right. I’ve had enough of it.” Dick pushes against Jason’s hold.

“Not yet you haven’t. You’re on bed rest until Alfred says otherwise.” Jason lowers Dick back onto the cot, but lets him sit up this time.

Dick huffs.

Tim shifts his weight in the corner. “Look, Dick, I’m sorry about asking you to take so many of my cases lately. I shouldn’t have done that.”

Dick glances at him, confused, then waves him off. “You don’t have to apologize for that, Timmy. I’m always happy to help.”

“No, it wasn’t fair to you. None of us knew how much you had going on, nor did we know everyone else was also piling more work on you.” Tim continues.

“Yeah, I’m sorry too.” Jason plops onto the cot next to Dick. “We haven’t been there for you the past couple’a weeks.”

Dick frowns at his lap, “What are you guys talking about?”

Jason sighs, “We all saw you spiraling, and burying yourself in work, but none of us bothered to check on you. At first I was angry when you kept missing our lunch meetings, but I should have checked on you.”

“It’s fine, Jay, it’s not your job to check on me.”

Tim cuts Jason off before he can reply. “The point is, Dick, we’re sorry. You shouldn’t let us take advantage of you like that.”

Before Dick can think of a reply, Bruce enters the med bay. “They’re right, Dick. None of us should have let it get to this point.”

“You’re all acting like I purposefully got myself kidnapped.”

“No, we’re acting like you were so overwhelmed with work that you weren’t sleeping, and you got hurt because of it, and it was partially our fault.” Jason pats his shoulder, then tilts Dick’s head up to look at him. “I’m glad you’re safe. Don’t be an idiot and forget your self preservation at home next time, ‘kay?”

Dick nods uncertainly, and Jason squeezes his shoulder before he leaves.

Tim smiles softly at him, wraps an arm around him, then darts from the room after Jason. Bruce watches them leave, then turns back to Dick.

“I apologize too.”

Dick’s head shoots up, “I don’t understand while you’re all apologizing.”

Bruce sighs heavily. “That’s the problem, Dickie. You shouldn’t feel obligated to drop everything and take on extra work just because your siblings ask. I know they’ve all asked you for help lately, and you haven’t had time for your own cases, or to take care of yourself.”

Dick shakes his head, “I tried to, I just…” He drops his gaze again. “I couldn’t sleep. Every time I tried, my brain—” He cuts himself off before he admits just what kept him awake.

Bruce sits next to him, “What, Dick?”

“I needed to feel useful. I needed to be enough,” His voice breaks on the last word.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Bruce breathes, then tugs him into a hug. “You are enough. You always were.”

Dick shakes his head, “No, I–”

“Shh.” Bruce rakes a hand through Dick’s greasy hair. “You’re enough, just as you are.”

Dick shudders in his arms. “It doesn’t feel like it,” He whispers.

“I know,” Bruce sighs, “it doesn’t have to right now. I’ll keep reminding you.”

Dick finally finds the energy to wrap his arms around Bruce, relaxing fully into the hug. “Everything hurts,” he mumbles into his shoulder.

“Do you want to lie back down?”

He nods weakly.

“Ok.” Bruce helps him lie down, then pulls the blanket up to his shoulders and brushes a kiss over his forehead. “Sleep. You’ll feel better once you get some more rest.”

Dick smiles, “Stay?”

“Of course.” Bruce runs his fingers through Dick’s hair, lulling him into sleep. “You’re enough, Dick. You don’t have to earn your place here.

Dick is too close to sleep to respond, but he clutches Bruce’s hand—the one not in his hair—tighter.

His father came for him.

His family actually cares.

The next morning, he wakes up to a call from Bruce, which is odd in and of itself, but when you factor in how early it is, it’s even weirder. Dick grumbles as he scoops his phone off the floor (no he still doesn’t have a nightstand, who do you take him for), accepting the call and setting it on speaker before dropping it next to his head.

“What do you need at—” Dick squints at the top of his screen, “—4 in the goddamn morning. Fuck, man, I just went to sleep!” He groans. He’d gotten distracted on patrol, and ended up staying out until nearly 3am.

Bruce makes some sort of noise that Dick doesn’t care to decipher. “Sorry, Dick. I just got in from patrol.”

“Get to the point so I can at least get some sleep before work,”

“Can you,” Bruce hesitates, then clears his throat, “Can you come to the manor at some point today or tomorrow?”

Dick narrows his eyes at the ceiling. “Bruce. I was literally just there. What could you possibly need that I can’t do elsewhere?”

There’s a heavy sigh, and Dick can hear the creaking leather of the chair at the Batcomputer (Batchair, if you will).

“Can you tell Jason that Tim will be staying with us for the foreseeable future?” Bruce finally says, words running together.

Dick almost laughs at the absurdity of the request. He doesn’t, but it’s a close thing.

“Fuck no, I’m not gonna be your emotional crutch for them. Figure it out,” Perhaps he wouldn’t have been that blunt normally, but sue him, it’s a stupid time of the morning, he went to sleep less than an hour ago, and he got woken up to deal with Bruce fucking Wayne.

“Dick—”

“Bruce. I’m going to bed now. Talk to your son.” Dick hangs up the phone before Bruce can respond—perhaps too aggressively—and immediately turns on do not disturb, dropping the phone back to the floor next to his bed.

Falling back asleep proves to be a pointless endeavor.

Dick scowls as he flops onto his back. He’s exhausted, but now he can’t sleep. Because of Bruce.

Not really, he can’t ever fall back asleep once he’s awake. Today’s just gonna suck. Sighing heavily as he scratches Haley’s head. She blinks her eyes open sleepily, then yawns.

Dick drags himself out of bed, stretching as he makes his way to his dresser. If he can’t sleep, he can at least do something productive. Haley watches sleepily as he gets dressed, pulling on athletic clothes and packing his work uniform in his bag. He couldn’t stop yawning as he finished getting ready. Eventually, though, he grabbed Haley’s leash and called her over. She stood up and stretched before padding over to him with her tail wagging.

He crouched down, clipping the leash on and petting her for a bit.

Once he stood up, he grabbed his knife and they slipped out the door for a (very) early morning walk. Gotham is pretty quiet for once, and the air is brisk. Haley walks pretty slowly, still sluggish from having just been asleep. She sniffs the sidewalks and grass, and after she goes to the bathroom, Dick leads her out of the apartment greenspace. He’d feel bad if she stayed in his apartment all day without exercise while he’s at work, so he figures they can take a bit of a longer walk now to try and make up for it. It helps that she was at the manor yesterday, and had people to play with.

They make a stop by a 24/7 coffee shop so Dick can pick up a coffee and pastry before turning back towards his apartment. He pauses before getting there though. Amanda had given him a key to the gym a while ago, and told him he was welcome anytime. It wouldn’t even be the first time he’s taken Haley. Occasionally he’ll take her when he goes to lessons, and she stays in the office with Amanda, and other times she roams around while he works out.

He still has to pop by his apartment to get his bag with his work clothes, but that doesn’t take long. He grabs a couple toys and bones for Haley too, shoves them in the bag, and finally heads to the gym.

Haley’s more awake for the walk this time, her tail wagging as she trots along next to him, sniffing all the way.

He smiles at her, and the rest of the walk passes quickly. There’s barely anyone out, even crime is turning in for the night.

When they get to the gym, Dick unclips Haley’s leash and lets the dog sniff around and unpacks her toys. He keeps an eye on her as he goes through his warm up routine, and by the time he’s chalking his hands for the high bar, she's gnawing happily on one of the bones. Hitting play on his playlist, he studies the bar above him. Normally, a coach or spotter would assist him up to the bar, but he has neither right now. He can’t make the vertical jump, and stacking anything nearby would impede his movement around it, but he could scale the side of it. It’s not recommended, but whatever. He does riskier stuff on patrol every night.

Everything falls away once he starts. He moves through a couple easier exercises, building up intensity slowly. He swings around the bar, pushing up into a handstand and then dropping into an arc, then repeats. He releases the bar and twists, spinning twice before grabbing it again.

High bar is about as close to flying on the trapeze as he can get right now. Even grappling doesn’t feel like this. When he reaches the end of his routine, he releases and flips a couple times before landing, but stumbles on his dismount. His ankle twists and pops, giving way beneath him, pain flaring up his leg. He hisses as he sits down, fingers probing along the joint.

It’s not that bad, just sprained. Unfortunately, he’s not quite stupid enough to continue aggravating it, at least right now.

Haley shoves her nose in his face, startling him from his thoughts. He laughs quietly as he scratches her ears, then pushes himself up and limps to the office for the first aid supplies. They should have some wrap that he can use to support his ankle. Exhaustion weighs on him as he sits down in Amanda’s chair. Haley had followed after him, a toy hanging from her mouth.

He goes through the motion of taping his ankle, wrapping pre-wrap around it first then securing it and adding support with the medical tape. That should keep the swelling down, and help him get through the rest of his day until he can ice it.

He should probably stop now, but a quick glance at a clock shows it’s not even 5:30 yet, and he still has hours before his shift at the diner. He groans as he leans back in the chair, closing his eyes briefly.

He nearly falls asleep, until Haley yips and bounds off somewhere, her toy forgotten by the chair. Dick cracks his eyes open, then pushes himself up and grabs Haley’s toy from the ground. When he makes his way into the main area, Amanda pins him with an unimpressed look.

“When I gave you a key, this isn’t exactly what I had in mind,” She says wryly, going back to tossing a toy for Haley.

Dick shrugs, “Couldn’t sleep, figured I’d burn off some energy,”

Nodding at his foot, she sighs, “And you got yourself injured in the process,”

“Momentary lapse in concentration. It’s just a mild sprain, I’ll be fine.”

She huffs, but changes the subject. “You can help me set up for the first class, then take a nap in the office.”

“I’m not tired!”

“You’re dead on your feet kid, you need to at least try and take a nap.”

“I’m fine—”

She just raises an eyebrow at him and motions for him to adjust the equipment. “First class is the littles, we’re working on the low balance beam and ground exercises.”

Dick nods, and drags some of the heavier equipment out of the way, and layers a few mats around the balance beams.

“Wanna talk about why you’re here instead of sleeping?” Amanda asks mildly from where she’s working.

“Eh, just got home late and then Bruce called and woke me up right after I fell asleep. It’s not a big deal, I just usually can’t sleep once I wake up.”

They finish setting up in silence, then she prods him towards the couch.

“What about Haley?”

“I’ll watch her, rest,”

Dick collapses on the couch in Amanda’s office, sighing heavily.

In his defense, he did try to sleep. It’s just boring, ok?

He ended up laying on his back facing the ceiling, injured ankle slightly elevated on a pillow, sighing for the fifth time in three minutes. His fingers tap restlessly against his stomach.

“You ever think about getting your GED?” Amanda breaks the silence.

“Thought you wanted me to sleep,” Dick grumbles, glaring at her through lidded eyes.

Amanda only huffed at him, a sound oddly reminiscent of Bruce’s disapproval.

“Do I need to get my GED?”

“Not necessarily, but it would be helpful in the long run,” Amanda says neutrally.

“You sound like Bruce.”

She sighs, “I’m not trying to force you or anything. I don’t care whether you have it or not.”

“Then why—” Dick starts.

“Your next employer may care—”

Dick sits up, “Is this you firing me?” His tone is too sharp, but he can’t bring himself to care. Haley noses at his hand, and he runs a hand down her back absentmindedly.

“No, I’m not firing you—”

Dick breathes out in relief.

“You’re young, Dick, I just asked in case you decide to change paths eventually. You have a job here as long as you want one.”

He nods carefully. “Thanks, Amanda.”

She smiles softly and returns to her work. She reminds him a bit of Bruce, preferring to use actions over words, but when she does speak it’s well thought out. Usually. That’s definitely something Bruce could stand to work on. He glances at his watch, then stretches as he stands. His ankle twinges a little bit when he puts weight on it, but not badly.

“I should take Haley home before I have to get to the diner. You good here?”

Amanda hums in confirmation, “See you, Dick.”

It doesn’t take long to gather his and Haley’s stuff, slip his hoodie back on, and take Haley home.

The rest of his day passes quickly, and soon enough he’s suiting up for patrol. His ankle is still bothering him—all the walking to and from work definitely didn’t help matters—so he’s not planning to stay out long.

He keeps to his grapple more than he usually would and does his best to land primarily on his good foot. He stops a few muggings, but tonight’s another slow night. He hasn’t made significant progress on his cases—not that he has many. For having claimed the most crime riddled area of Gotham, he doesn’t have that many big cases. Couple of murders here and there, other crimes, but there's a sort of equilibrium between the bigger players. The major gangs haven’t made any significant movements, and he’s not happy about leaving them to run through Gotham with more destruction and violence in their wake, but attempting to take them down alone is a fool’s errand. Not to mention it’s more likely to destabilize the city than it is to actually help. HE does his best to mitigate the damage they cause, but he doesn’t know Crime Alley. Even after over a year here, he still doesn’t know the best way to help these people. Bruce and he had never really patrolled here.

It’s a little discouraging, to see people still look at him with wariness painted across their faces. People knew Robin, but even when they didn’t, he was a kid. It’s hard to be wary of a kid dressed in bright colors. Now, he’s still dressed in pretty bright colors, but he’s pretty obviously an adult, and Crime Alley holds the most distrusting of all the Gothamites.

Angry shouting breaks through the air, and Dick gets the vague sense of someone watching him as he swings into an alley. It takes most of his concentration to land on the right foot and not stumble, but he manages. He melts into the shadows to take stock of the situation. 2 guys have a young woman cornered, both armed and with slightly crazed looks on their faces. Dick catches a look at one of the guys’ eyes when he turns—his pupils are completely blown. Addicts looking for money for their next fix, likely. Not hard to take down, but unpredictable. He’ll have to handle them carefully to make sure they don’t hurt the woman.

He slips two wingdings into his hand and flicks them at the guys’ weapons, jumping in quickly after. Vaulting himself in front of the woman, he knocks both of them out quickly, then secures their hands with zip ties. He’s not naive enough to believe the cops will actually come by and pick them up in a timely manner, but he’s done what he can.

He turns to the woman, “You alright, ma’am?”

She nods shakily.

“Ok, do you live close by, want me to walk you?”

“That would be great, thank you,” Her voice isn’t steady, yet, but she seems a bit more at ease now.

After Dick sees the woman safely inside her apartment, Bruce lands on the roof behind him. Dick sighs, letting his head hang for a second before turning around.

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this.” It’s a joke, but also not. If Bruce could stop interrupting his patrols on random ass rooftops, he’d be happier.

“You’re not focused and favoring your left.”

“Wow. What a way to start a conversation,” he deadpans.

“I’ve been tailing you for four blocks.” Bruce doesn’t rise to the bait.

Dick sighs. “I’m tired, ok, drop it.”

“You shouldn’t be out here if you’re that tired. Someone could get the drop on you.”

“I said drop it!” Dick snarls.

“I’m worried, that’s all,” Bruce would probably appear taken aback if Dick could see his face.

Dick huffs.

“How’d you get hurt?”

Shrugging, he says, “Gymnastics. Why are you here, Batman?”

Bruce tosses a small case at him, “Wanted to give you this, and tell you that you should call it a night.”

Before Dick can respond, Bruce drops over the side of the roof. Dick huffs again, rolling his eyes.

“Always need the last word, don’t you? Asshole.” He plays with the case in his hands, then flicks the lid open. Inside sits a comm unit, and he traces a finger over it before fitting it in his ear.

“Y’know, that habit of yours is pretty annoying. I see why Gordon’s always pissed at you,” He remarks.

Bruce chuckles. “He’s always pissed at me because I do my job better than the entirety of the police force.”

Dick can’t help himself, he laughs outright.

After a long moment of silence, he speaks again. “Thanks.”

Bruce doesn’t respond, but it doesn't matter. They both know what he means. The comm is Bruce’s way of accepting his new identity.

Dick smiles to himself, then sets off on his patrol.

A few buildings later, he’s almost agreeing with Bruce’s advice to turn in early, when more shouting interrupts his thoughts. He holds back a sigh, and swings over. Perching on a ledge, he takes in the scene. Underneath him, Robin is—

Robin.

Dick stalls. As far as he’s aware, Bruce hasn’t let Jason out as Robin yet, and even if he had, Bruce wouldn’t let him go on solo patrols so soon.

Jason’s out rogue, with no backup.

Dick barely restrains a hissed curse, and forces himself to observe a little longer. Jason grabs a man holding a girl against the wall, but gets thrown off. Before he can try again, Dick swings down and yanks the man off. He distantly hears Bruce sign off on the comm, but that’s not his primary focus right now. He ignores Jason, and makes sure the man is completely down for the count, then checks on the victim.

She’s fine, just shaken, and doesn’t want them to walk her home.

He doesn’t like leaving her vulnerable, but he also doesn’t want to go against her wishes, so he just nods and watches her walk off. WHen he turns around, he catches Jason trying to sneak off.

“My apartment. Now.” His tone leaves no room for argument, and Jason’s shoulders slump as Dick waves him forward.

When they finally get back to Dick’s apartment—with Dick having to carry Jason for part of it, since the kid hasn’t even fully learned to use his grapple—Jason crosses his arms defensively, as if bracing for Dick to yell at him.

“Unmask, kid. There’s spare clothes in my dresser for you to change into.” Dick turns towards his kitchen and starts pulling out hot chocolate mix. He pulls off his own mask, but waits until after Jason is changed to do anything else.

By the time Jason comes back, he seems slightly more relaxed, and Dick has the hot chocolate ready. He hands one mug to Jay, and leads him over to the couch. He ends up staying in his suit, he’d rather get this talk over with quickly. Dick settles himself into the corner with his legs pulled up under him, but lets Jason remain standing. If that’s what will make him comfortable, Dick’s not going to force him to sit down.

“What were you thinking?” He aims for more of a curious tone instead of confrontational, but he’s not entirely sure he achieved it.

Jason shrugs, staring at his mug.

“I need words, Jayce”

“I just wanted to help people. I…”

He trails off, and Dick waits patiently for him to keep going.

“Bruce is trying to get custody of Tim.”

It’s a statement, not a question, but Dick answers anyway. “He is.”

“Why?” Jason finally meets his eyes, and his own are rimmed with red. Dick hadn’t noticed that. He couldn’t see behind the lenses in Jason’s mask, and the kid hadn’t looked him in the eyes until now.

“What do you know about Tim’s situation?”

Jason shrugs again. “His parents aren’t around a lot.”

Dick hums, “That’s one way to put it.” He pauses, trying to decide how much to tell him. “Tim has had to grow up pretty fast, and it’s not fair to him. He deserves to have a childhood, same as you. I know your situations are pretty different—”

Jason snorts humorlessly.

“But the ending is the same. Both of you had to grow up and take care of yourselves, and Bruce and I just want to try and offer you guys some sense of a childhood again.” Dick continues, ignoring the interruption.

“Right, because living with a guy that dresses up as a bat and fights crime is so normal.” Jason deadpans. Dick waits, laughing a little, but otherwise waiting for Jason to get to his real point. “I…” He trails off again, and starts pacing. “Why can’t we just keep the current arrangement? It was working!” He finally says, almost yells, actually. Dick startles when he sees tears building in Jason’s eyes.

“It wasn’t though. It wasn’t fair to Tim to not have someone who could stay with him, like an actual parent. It wasn’t fair to me, or Barbara, when we had to travel across the city to pick him up and watch him on top of our jobs and day to day lives. Beyond that, none of us has any say over what happens with him. What if he had to go to the hospital? We can’t sign off on his treatment. What if he needs a guardian to sign him out of school early, or sign a permission slip? In the eyes of the legal system, Babs and I have no claim to him. Bruce fostering him means that someone will be present in case those decisions need to be made.”

Jason sets his mug down before tossing himself on the couch next to Dick. He’s facefirst in the cushions, his shoulders shaking.

Dick sighs, setting his mug down. “Is it ok if I touch you, kiddo?”

He hears some sort of muffled affirmation, so he sets one hand on Jason’s shoulders, rubbing lightly. He doesn’t know what to say here—he doesn’t know what Jason needs him to say. He has a feeling they still haven’t gotten to the crux of the issue. Jason loves Tim, it can’t just be that he’s upset about Tim moving in.

He waits him out, and finally Jason mumbles something.

“Can you speak up, Jayce? I can’t hear you with your head buried in the cushions.”

He gets a dramatic huff in response, then Jason heaves himself up and towards the opposite end of the couch. He draws his legs up and wraps his arms around them.

When he speaks, it’s to his knees. “What if Bruce gets tired of me? Or doesn’t need me?”

Well, if that doesn’t hit close to home for Dick, nothing else would. He lets Jason continue without commenting, though.

“I’m almost 11, but that’s not old enough to be on my own if he gets rid of me. You were fine, you were an adult when you got kicked out.” Jason’s sullen, still not meeting Dick’s eyes.

After a long moment, Dick finally responds. “Bruce isn’t replacing you, Jason.”

Jason’s head snaps up, his mouth open.

Dick holds a hand up. “Let me finish, please.” He takes a deep breath. “Bruce ended our partnership for completely different reasons. I don’t agree with what he did, but I can see his perspective, unfortunately. You have no idea how much I wish I could just be angry, but that’s a whole other thing. He adopted you, bud. You’re his kid no matter what. Tim being there doesn’t change that.”

“But you lost Robin and got kicked out.”

“I…I don’t think Bruce meant to kick me out. I think we were both angry and things got lost in translation. Don’t get me wrong, we still have a lot of things to work out, but I know I’m not blameless in that situation. Tension was running high for both of us, and it certainly didn’t help matters. Regardless, you’re forgetting one crucial piece of information.” He’s never actually told Jason any of this, he didn’t think his little brother needed to hear all the details of his issues with Bruce. “Bruce never adopted me. My time at Wayne Manor was always going to end this way. I’m lucky, Bruce wasn’t completely done with me, but I was his ward, not his son.”

“Oh.” Jason hugs himself tighter. “So he won’t get rid of me?” He sounds small, and Dick hates it. Jason is brash, and prickly, yet so bright. He shouldn’t sound like this.

“Oh, kid,” Dick breathes, “No, sweetheart. You’re his son. Nothing will change that, I promise. And if you want me to, I’ll yell at him until he gets you to believe it.”

Jason smirks at the last bit, before his face falls again. Between one breath and the next, Jason launches himself at Dick. He catches his little brother and holds him close, threading one hand through his hair.

“If you ever think you can’t stay at the manor, or feel like you have nowhere to go, you can come here. I promise, I’ll always be here for you.”

Jason doesn’t respond, just clutches him tighter.

Dick hears a sound in his ear, like a shaky exhale, and then abruptly there’s a staticky white noise.

He tenses, “Ah shit.”

Jason pulls back. “What?”

Dick keeps one arm around Jason, but with the other hand pulls his comm from his ear. He holds it up, “Bruce likely heard most of that, at least my end. That conversation is gonna suck.” He scowls at the little device in his hand, then digs through his utility belt for the case. “Whatever, I’ll deal with that when I get there. I’m gonna change out of my suit and put on comfier clothes, then we can go to bed. You feeling better?”

Jason nods, and Dick grabs his clothes and heads to the bathroom to change.

When he gets back out, Jason is stretched out on the couch, playing with a ball he got from…somewhere. Dick’s not entirely sure. Dick tugs him into another hug, then nudges him towards the bed.

“Goodnight, love you, kid.”

Jason hums, tugging Dick’s blankets up to his chin. “You too,” he murmurs sleepily.

Dick sighs as he lays down. Bruce is gonna be insufferable about what he just heard.

___________________________

In his defense, Bruce didn’t actually mean to eavesdrop this time. He’d turned in early from patrol, not long after his conversation with Dick—which, in hindsight, he could have handled better. He’d originally approached his son to give him the upgraded comm, but then when DIck didn’t even notice his presence, he got worried.

…So he may have followed him for a few blocks. He’s never claimed to be normal. Then Dick seemed to be favoring one of his legs, and he just got more worried, and the conversation was derailed.

But he wasn’t expecting to overhear a conversation when he came out of the locker rooms. The comm system was connected to Bruce’s own comms and the batcomputer, and since there wasn’t a headset currently connected to the computer, the comm was playing through the main speakers.

“...someone will be present in case those decisions need to be made.” Dick’s voice echoes through the cave.

Bruce frowns, that doesn’t sound like he’s on patrol, but he doesn’t know who else he’d be talking to with the comm in.

Barbara, maybe?

“Can I touch you, kiddo?”

So not Barbara. Who could he be talking to? Last Bruce checked—admittedly before patrol, but Alfred hadn’t told him any different—Tim and Jason were both upstairs.

He can’t hear the response, if there is one.

“Can you speak up, Jayce—”

Jason? Why is Jason with Dick?

There’s some sound on the other end, Jason’s speaking, but he can’t make out the words. Bruce sits down in front of the computer.

He should…He should mute the receiver. This is a huge breach in privacy, Dick will probably be pissed at him about it. Something stops him though.

“Bruce isn’t replacing you, Jason.”

Bruce’s heart drops to his stomach. Was he not clear enough earlier today? He thought he’d made it clear that Jason still had a place with him, with Robin or without, regardless of Tim being here.

Why does he keep failing at this? Why can’t he ever make his kids believe he wants them?

“...I’m lucky, Bruce wasn’t completely done with me, but I was his ward, not his son.”

He doesn’t hear what’s said next.

Does Dick still believe that? Does he still believe he isn’t Bruce’s son? He thought they were past that, that things were getting better.

He sinks forward, bracing his elbows on the table, and covering his mouth with his hands.

“...his son. Nothing will change that, I promise.” Dick’s voice fades back in, and Bruce breathes out shakily, a silent tear sliding down his face. He hurriedly shuts the comm link down, and slumps over fully.

He needs to fix this.

In the morning, Dick calls Barbara to come and hang out (babysit, but Tim gets upset when he calls it that) with Tim while he goes to work. They have an agreement of sorts. Barbara doesn’t mind watching Tim, and Dick will pay her back for food or any other costs. She’s outright refused to be paid any sort of rate for the babysitting itself. Her argument is it’s not babysitting since Tim refuses to let it be called that.

The kid is still asleep after Dick takes Haley out and gets ready, and he sighs unhappily. He doesn’t want to wake him up, but he knows Tim will panic if he wakes up and Dick’s gone. Especially after the emotional turmoil of last night. He just looks so peaceful, wrapped up in Dick’s blankets as he is. Haley bounds forward and curls up next to Tim, tongue lolling happily. Dick gets some breakfast ready, and settles in to eat his. Maybe if he waits long enough Tim will wake on his own.

In the meantime, he pulls up some articles Bruce sent him about filing for emergency custody. He may not be the one getting custody, but Bruce wants him to be prepared and help explain it to Tim.

He holds back a groan as he reads that they’ll need concrete proof that Tim’s is in immediate danger from his parents.

That complicates things a little bit, but surely Bruce can handle it.

Barbara shows up pretty soon, joining Dick on the couch. Eventually, when he can’t delay any longer, he looks over at the kid. Dick smiles softly, and crouches next to the mattress. He rests a hand on Tim’s shoulder, shaking gently. “C’mon, bud, wake up.”

Tim shifts, blinking his eyes blearily as he sits up.

“Sorry I had to wake you, kiddo. I need to leave for work, but Barbara’s here, ok?”

Tim shifts, glancing around the apartment until his eyes settle on Barbara, who’s still on the couch. He smiles and waves a little. “Ok.”

Dick ruffles his hair, then pushes himself to stand. “I don’t have any lessons today, just work at the diner. I’ll be home by six. Breakfast is on the counter, make sure you brush your teeth, and be good, ok?”

Tim nods, then jumps up and barrels into Dick. “Bye!”

He crouches again to hug better, and presses a kiss into Tim’s hair. “Bye, buddy.”

Tim squeezes him tightly one more time before rushing over to Barbara. It’s good to see him energetic today, seeming at least mostly recovered from the emotions of the night before. The bruises still stand out in stark contrast from his pale skin, but they’ll heal.

Sighing, Dick grabs his wallet and keys and, with one last glance at the pair, walks out his door. He locks it behind him. Barbara knows where his spare key is (stored inside his apartment, because he’s not stupid enough to leave a key under a doormat this close to Crime Alley) if she needs to go somewhere.

He manages to make it to work a few minutes early, and he rushes through storing his stuff in a locker, tying his apron around his waist, and clocking in. With a final breath, he sets his customer service persona in place, and pushes through the doors to start his shift.

At least he has good managers and coworkers, even if the general public still sucks.

__________________________

Bruce sighs heavily as he sets his phone down. He counts to 50 as he leans back in his chair, rolling his shoulders. Jack and Janet Drake are difficult at the best of times, but even more so when he can’t even get in touch with them. According to their travel logs, they flew out of the country late last night. They should be in Greece by now, and knowing them they didn’t stop to sleep off jet lag or anything, so there’s no possible reason for them to not answer their phones.

They didn’t even report Tim missing, even though the kid ran away from home and never showed back up. Although, why would they report him missing? Any sort of investigation would open them up to awkward questions. It would make his job easier, though.

He’s trying to get them to sign custody over to him without a fight, though he will drag them to court if need be. It would be easier on Tim if he didn’t have to.

He’s been trying to reach them for an hour.

Finally, he settles on sending an email to them, and contacting his lawyer about filing for a foster placement. Since his parents aren’t even in the country, and on paper he has a caretaker, there’s no need for an emergency placement. It’s more difficult since he isn’t related to Tim and has never had custody of him before, but hopefully it’ll help that he’s already a registered foster parent. They fought him on getting custody of Dick, but getting Jason was much easier.

There were a few questions about why Dick moved out as soon as he turned 18 and the article about their supposed fights that was released shortly after he did so, but overall there wasn’t as much resistance as there was when he was filing for guardianship of Dick.

Hopefully Tim will be even easier. There’s a paper trail that points to criminal neglect (no, the credit card with no limit does not count as providing for your child), and now they have clear evidence of abuse, even if they don’t have definitive proof that it was his father who hit him. They have Tim’s word, and that should be enough, at least in the CPS interview. Since Tim forged the papers stating Dick as a temporary guardian, that should help as well, as long as he makes sure Tim won’t get in trouble for that.

He’s going to need pictures of the bruises. And Tim’s statement, likely, along with Dick’s and his own. His lawyers will handle the rest, and since both he and the Drakes are high profile names, they should be able to get a hearing pretty quickly.

A quick glance at his clock showed Dick would still be at work, but should be going on break soon. That was an early concession in one of their many talks about rebuilding their relationship. Bruce wouldn’t plant trackers or anything on Dick, as long as he was kept up to date on his schedule. His managers at the diner had always been good about sending him on break at a regular time, give or take ten minutes or so if they’re busy.

He sits up and fires off a quick text to Dick, asking for pictures and a written statement from Tim when he gets home, and sets his phone down just as Jason comes skidding into his study. Bruce glances up quickly, shoulders tensing. Jason collapses onto the loveseat and frantically opens a book.

Upon closer look, it seems like one of the school books they got for his homeschooling. Bruce relaxes and turns to face his kid. He watches as Jason pulls out a notebook and seemingly starts a problem. Bruce can tell he opened his notebook to an older assignment and is pretending to continue a problem.

Jason glances up and narrows his eyes at Bruce, “I have been in here for the last hour working on math, and no one is to know otherwise,”

“By no one you mean Alfred,” Bruce states, “Considering he is the only other person in the manor aside from us.”

“...Yes,”

“You want me to lie to Alfred for you,” He raises a brow, “Why would I do that?”

“Because…” Jason glances around the room, “I’ll do extra training and not complain about it?”

“You do that anyway, and any extra training runs the risk of overexerting your body,”

“...I’ll do extra chores?”

“Again, you do that anyway,” Bruce struggles to keep a straight face. This is the first time Jason has tried to bargain with him, and it shows.

“Well, what do you want from me?”

“Why do you need me to lie to Alfred?”

Jason hesitates, looking back down at his notebook. “I lost track of time and was late to my lesson with him,”

“I gathered that. Why not just say you lost track of time?”

Footsteps coming down the hall cuts off whatever he was going to say in response. Jason pales slightly, and goes back to pretending to do math. Bruce turns back to his desk just as Alfred stops in the doorway and takes in the scene.

“Ah, there you are, Master Jason,” Alfred starts, “I was wondering where you were when you didn’t meet me in the kitchen,”

Jason doesn’t look up.

“He was in here with me, Alfred. Neither of us kept track of time very well, I apologize,” Bruce keeps his voice steady, betraying none of the laughter he wanted to let out.

“Hm, was he now?” Alfred levels a sharp glare on Bruce.

“Oh, c’mon, Alf. Would I lie to you?” He flashes a winning smile, ignoring the snort Jason let out.

“Yes,” Alfred deadpans and turns to Jason, “Come along now. You can stop pretending and we can get started on your lessons for the day,”

Jason finally looks up at that, clearly defeated. “How’d you know?”

“There is very little you could try to do that would actually fool me, Master Jason. I know you were reading in the library.”

Jason huffs and starts packing up his notebook and book, shoulders slumped.

“Valiant effort, Jaylad,” Bruce smirks, “But next time, keep in mind that very little slips past Alfred,”

“Yes, you would know about that, wouldn’t you, Master Bruce?” Alfred’s mouth twitches in a small smile.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,”

Jason glances back and forth between them.

“Of course you don’t.” With that, Alfred turns and guides Jason out of the room, shutting the door softly behind them.

With that handled, he checks his phone to see a message from Dick.

Dick: Babs is with him now. She can get whatever you need for the case. I’m at work for another 3 hrs

Bruce knows he’s at work for another couple hours, he should have expected one of his friends would be watching Tim.

Bruce: Ok, thank you. Have a good rest of your shift.

After sending his text to Dick, he heads off to find Alfred and Jason to let them know where he’s going. He’d like to get the evidence he needs as soon as possible, and send it off to his lawyers before the day ends. It’s Sunday, so nothing will really happen until tomorrow, but he wants this dealt with. He checks the library first, then finds them in the breakfast nook. Jason is slumped in his chair, scowling at the book in front of him, while Alfred explains a concept to him in a gentle tone.

Bruce watches from the doorway for a few moments, before Jason’s eyes snap to his and then back to the book. He moves the rest of the way into the room, and takes a look at what they’re working on. It seems to be grammar, and Bruce winces in sympathy. For all that Jason loves literature, grammar is much harder for him. It doesn’t help that Alfred is a very strict teacher in that subject.

He clears his throat, “I need to run an errand, I’ll be back later,”

Alfred raises an eyebrow, “And what errand might that be?”

Jason simply watches him with narrowed eyes.

“I left something at Dick’s apartment last night, I need to grab it,” So it’s not the whole truth, sue him. Jason doesn’t need to worry about it, and Alfred can read between the lines. Probably.

“You were at Dick’s last night?” Jason seems to have perked up.

“For a little bit, yeah. I stopped on patrol,”

Alfred shoots him a considering glance, before nodding.

“Could you grab something for me while you’re there?” Jason looks a bit nervous, but continues anyway, “I meant to ask Dick for it, but I kept forgetting,”

“Sure, what is it?” He’s a bit surprised, since he doesn’t know when Jason was last at Dick’s apartment. Must have been before Bruce met him.

“My library card. And maybe my book, but Dick probably returned that. It’s long overdue,”

Definitely before Bruce picked him up, then.

“I’ll look for it, Jay.” He ruffles the kid’s hair and waves goodbye.

On his way over, he calls Barbara to let her know he’s stopping by. She seemed a little surprised, but not unpleasantly so. Immediately after Bruce fired Dick (a decision he can’t bring himself to regret. He does regret his inability to communicate afterwards, but not the decision itself) she had given him the cold shoulder for a while, and refused to patrol with him. He supposes Dick talked to her, because at some point she relaxed around him again.

He parks a few blocks away from the apartment building. He’d taken one of his more nondescript cars, and he’s not stupid enough to have a vanity plate identifying it as his, but better safe than sorry. Dick lives way too close to Crime Alley for his comfort, and a little thief (that he adopted) has already taught him his lesson about leaving his car there.

He jogs up the stairs and knocks twice on Dick’s door. He hears some movement from inside, along with whispering. The door opens a few seconds later to reveal Barbara, one hand behind her back.

“Do you always answer the door with your tonfa, Barbara?” Bruce smiles lightly, taking in the defensive posture.

She just snorts in response, and opens the door wider for Bruce. He steps through, and hears her shut and lock the door behind him. He still isn’t used to how bare Dick’s apartment is. He’s so used to how lively his bedroom in the manor is was, seeing where he lives now absent of all but the necessities is shocking. Haley comes bounding over, her whole body wiggling with the force of her tail wagging. The dog hasn’t quite filled out to her adult size, so her legs are too long for her body, giving her a clumsy gait. It could be from only having three legs, but most dogs compensate for the missing leg pretty well, and don’t have many issues walking or running normally.

He may have done a lot of research when he found out Dick had taken her in, and found a list of supplements and vitamins that can reduce the risk of joint problems later on. He just hasn’t brought that up to Dick yet. He doesn’t want his son to think he’s trying to take over or being too pushy about how he takes care of his own dog. He does want to suggest getting a large area rug though, even if it takes up most of the floor space in the studio. It’ll lower Haley’s risk of slipping and hurting herself.

The fact that it would make the place more homey is an added bonus. He doesn’t like the idea of his son living in such a depressing apartment. He doesn’t even have a bedframe, for godssake.

He crouches down to pet Haley, letting the pup climb on him and lick at his face. He looks up when Tim giggles, and meets the kid’s eyes. Tim waves shyly, but stays where he’s seated on the couch. It makes sense, they only really met last night. The bruises are even darker today, and the sight makes his chest tighten in sympathy. Children that young shouldn’t be injured like that.

(No, he’s not thinking about the many times Dick got injured as Robin)

Barbara steps past him to sit on the couch, “So, what brings you by, B? You were pretty vague over the phone.”

He lowers himself to fully sit on the ground, taking a while before answering. Haley trots off and jumps onto the couch, stumbling a bit on her landing. He glances at Tim again, “This may be upsetting to hear, Tim,”

Barbara furrows her eyebrows, “What?”

Tim draws his legs up in front of himself, hugging them to his chest. Barbara reaches out and rubs a hand down his back, then tugs the kid to lay against her.

Bruce sighs, still looking solely at Tim. He’s relaxed slightly in Barbara’s arms, but he’s still pretty tense. “Remember what we talked about with Dick last night?” He waits for Tim’s slow nod before continuing, “I need evidence to give my lawyers and CPS for the case against your parents,”

Barbara relaxes, then murmurs something to Tim that Bruce can’t hear.

“What do I need to do?” His voice is soft, but he took the news pretty well. Bruce was expecting more of a reaction.

“I need pictures of your injuries, and I may need you to talk to the caseworker assigned to you. In that situation, it’s very important you’re completely honest with them. Even if you think the truth will get someone in trouble. They need to know the whole situation,” That’s the hardest part, probably. He doesn’t know how much Tim’s parents have convinced him is normal, or what they may have told him not to talk about. He wagers it’s quite a bit, though.

Tim nods again.

“Now, about you forging the papers stating Dick is your temporary guardian—”

Tim makes a squeaky noise, and turns his head into Barbara’s shoulder. She tugs him into a proper hug, allowing him to hide his face completely. She whispers to him again, and keeps up her soothing back rubs.

“I’m not mad at you, kiddo,” Bruce gentles his voice as much as he can, “I’m mainly curious how you managed to make such a good forgery. Did you do it yourself or did you hire someone?”

Tim peeks out of Barbara’s embrace before answering in a barely audible tone, “I did it,”

Well damn. That’s even more impressive.

“That’s quite impressive, Tim. How’d you do it?”

Tim just shrugs, and Bruce lets it drop. He doesn’t want to stress him out more by pushing. “Well, I’ll make sure you can’t get in trouble for it—” Tim’s eyes widen, as if he didn’t consider that a possibility. “—and the caseworker will need to know about that as well. On paper it looks like your parents have left you in the care of someone else, which isn’t illegal. However, since you forged the paper trail, your parents have no idea who is watching you, if any,” Bruce leans back on his hands as he speaks.

“How long will it take to have him placed in your custody?” Barbara finally asks.

Bruce shrugs the best he can, “Honestly? I have no idea. Gotham’s system is corrupted beyond belief, and there are only a few caseworkers I trust. I’m making sure one of them is assigned to Tim, and that combined with my lawyers, and probably throwing my name around, hopefully the process won’t be too long. I can’t get permanent custody without his parents relinquishing their parental rights, which I don’t see happening,”

He pauses, and then continues, “Dick’s case was rough. The orphanages were full, and his caseworker stuck him in a juvenile detention center. He lost pretty much all his and his parents’ belongings. They fought against placing him with me, so it took longer than I’d like.

“Jason’s case was almost too easy. His caseworker was better, and she cares about him, but I believe the system in general doesn’t particularly care what happens to the homeless kids. There were only a couple questions regarding why Dick left so quickly and the article that was published shortly after he left.

“Your case,” He talks directly to Tim now, “Could be even more difficult than Dick’s or it could be between Dick’s and Jason’s. Considering your parents are both alive and influential, I don’t foresee it being easy.” Perhaps he was being too honest with Tim, but the kid is smart and he deserves to know what he’ll be facing during the process. It’s unlikely he’ll have to go to court and face his parents, especially because he’s so young, but that doesn’t mean it’ll be easy.

“I know…” Tim starts hesitantly, “I know what my parents are doing is wrong, at least that’s what Dick keeps saying, but why can’t we keep the current arrangement?”

Bruce takes a while to answer, and Barbara beats him to it. She tilts Tim’s head towards her so he’s meeting her steady gaze. “Because it escalated, little bird. Your father hit you, and that isn’t acceptable in any situation. We don’t want you going back to them, even if they aren’t even in the country for most of the year,” Her voice is firm, and there’s none of the earlier softness she displayed towards the kid. Her voice right now is closer to the one she uses on patrol, full of command and power.

“She’s right,” Bruce speaks up. “Dick wanted me to look in your situation anyway, but now that it’s escalated, I can’t allow you to return to your parents,”

Tim looks between them, and his shoulders slump. “Where will I go? I…I don’t want to be forced to leave Dick,”

Bruce startles a little, “You won’t be, kiddo. I’m doing my best to get you placed with me. You can still come visit Dick, you won’t lose him,”

Tim’s gaze hardens, a comical sight on the kid, “You took Jason, though. I haven’t seen him since you adopted him,”

Barbara stifles a laugh and it comes out more like a snort, “He’s got you there,”

He sighs again, “That was a mistake. I didn’t know you and Dick even knew Jason, let alone were close to him. Neither he nor Dick told me anything. If you want, I can take you to see him today, or you can come over after school.”

Tim still looks suspicious, but slightly appeased. He looks up at Barbara, then back at Bruce. “I want to see him today,”

Bruce nods, “Ok.” He glances at Barbara, and when she shrugs, looks back at Tim. “One of us will let Dick know, and we can head back.” He stands and stretches out his legs. Tim and Barbara both get up, and Tim comes to stand next to him.

“I’m going to take Haley out, then we can go.” Barbara slides the pup’s harness on as she speaks.

“You’re coming?” He can’t help his surprised tone.

Barbara glares at him, “Problem with that?”

“No, no problem. Just surprised.”

“Hm.” The door clicks shut behind her and Haley.

“Do you mind if I take the pictures now?” He asks Tim gently.

Tim looks up nervously, “I guess. What do I need to do?”

“Just stand there, ok? You can close your eyes, keep them open, whatever you’re comfortable with.” He crouches down and pulls his phone out. Tim shuts his eyes and lets Bruce angle his face to get the pictures of his bruises. He takes several from different angles, making sure to get the ones both on his face and his neck. “Ok, we’re good.” He stands up, and ruffles Tim’s hair, unable to resist. The way he leans into the affection is both adorable and heartbreaking. Bruce glances around the apartment once more, “Anything you need to grab, Tim?”

The kid shakes his head.

Bruce shrugs, “Ok,” then he pauses. “Oh, that reminds me. Jason wanted me to grab something, do you know where his book and library card are?”

Tim looks up at him, a little surprised. “It used to be on Dick’s dresser, but he moved after he got back from space,”

The “after Jason disappeared and was presumed dead” was implied.

It’s unlikely Dick would have returned them both to the library, even if he should have. He likes to hang on to reminders of the people he lost, somewhat like Bruce. Bruce left his parents’ bedroom untouched after they died, even when he probably should have moved into the master bedroom. He ended up converting his own room into a master suite, and locking his parents’. He goes in occasionally, and he knows Alfred goes into dust, but other than that it’s left alone.

He doesn’t want to snoop around Dick’s apartment—he’s trying to be better about boundaries—and he can’t ask while his son is working. Maybe Barbara knows.

As if summoned by his thoughts, Barbara comes back in and shuts the door. “Ready?”

Bruce holds up a hand, “One second, do you know where Jason’s library card and book are? He said Dick had them,”

If Barbara is surprised by his question, she doesn’t show it. “Ah. I think they’re in the top drawer of the dresser. I let Dick keep the book, as long as he ordered a replacement for the library. He was adamant about not losing Jason’s place,” she looks a little sad as she speaks.

Bruce nods, it makes sense. He figures it was less about keeping Jason’s place and more about leaving it exactly how Jason had it, because he couldn’t bear for it to change.

He does find the book in the top drawer, with the card tucked in the pages next to the bookmark, about three quarters of the way through it. He smiles at the copy of Great Expectations. It’s fitting for Jason, especially with his apparent love of classics. He grabs it and shuts the drawer, “Alright, we can go now,”

Tim, Barbara, and Haley (Bruce only made a slight face at the dog coming with them. He doesn’t have a problem with dogs, but he’s a little wary of Alfred’s reaction to having one in the manor) pile into Barbara’s car, leaving Bruce to drive back alone.

He texts Dick before he leaves, letting him know they’re all going to the manor. He doesn’t know if Barbara already did, but better safe than sorry. He doesn’t want his son to panic if he gets home and finds everyone missing.

See? He’s doing better at considering other people’s feelings. And his own, but that’s a work in progress.

When they get back to the manor, Jason greets them by the garage door. He doesn’t even get a word out before he’s practically knocked over by Tim. Bruce smiles and slides past them, ruffling Jason’s hair as he goes.

“I’ll be in my office if you need me,” He calls. He has work to do.

__________________________

Dick stretches as the door to the break room swings shut behind him. He had a pretty slow shift, as is typical of sundays. He checks his phone as he undoes his apron, and he can’t help his spike of concern when he reads Bruce’s text. He knew it was likely the man would meet up with Barbara and Tim to get the evidence he needs, but he wasn’t expecting them all to go to the manor. He rushes through grabbing the rest of his stuff and clocking out, and waves bye to his coworkers.

The manor is a lot farther from the diner, and he’d returned his car the other day after dropping Jason off. Usually, he’s just fine without it.

Usually he’s not going to the manor though.

The bus is still at least 20 minutes away from stopping here. Even then, he has to wait for it to go through the rest of the route before it goes back through Bristol.

He groans under his breath, tilting his head back to look at the clouds. The forecast didn’t say anything about rain, but you never know in Gotham. He walks briskly to the bus stop, his mind conjuring unpleasant images of Tim even more injured than he was when Dick left.

He doesn’t want to wait that long to find out if Tim’s ok.

He digs his phone out of his pocket, and click’s Bruce’s contact.

He answers after two rings, “Are you ok?”

“Why is that the first thing you say when you answer the phone? What happened to ‘Hello, Dick, how was your day?’” Dick momentarily forgets his worry about Tim.

Bruce sighs, “I’m sorry. Hi, Dick, how was your day? Are you ok?”

Dick snorts, “Finally. Hi, Bruce. Yeah I’m fine, had a decent day. Is Tim ok?”

Bruce pauses, “Yes? Why wouldn’t he be?” He sounds genuinely confused.

He closes his eyes as relief washes over him before answering. “Because you gave no information about why everyone was going to the manor! I didn’t know if something happened.”

Bruce makes a small noise, “No, he just wanted to see Jason. Barbara decided to come with him and brought Haley,”

Dick sags against the brick wall behind him at the bus stop. “Great. Now, do you have any idea how annoying it is to commute to the manor? You couldn’t have waited until I got home to kidnap them?”

A pedestrian looks at him, startled. Must not be from Gotham, Gothamites tend to mind their business no matter what they hear.

Dick lowers his phone, “Sorry, it’s a joke. My…dad picked up my little brother from my apartment and didn’t tell me why,”

The pedestrian still looked suspicious, but went back to what she was doing. Dick puts the phone back to his ear just in time to hear Bruce finish speaking.

“—pick you up,”

“Sorry, what was that?” Dick asks. He’s pretty sure he already knows, but he wants to be sure.

“I said,” Bruce enunciates the words, “that Alfred or I could come pick you up,”

“Oh. I mean, you don’t have to?” He’s not sure why it comes out as a question more than a statement.

Bruce sighs, “I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t want to. In fact, I’d rather come get you and know you’re safe than have you take public transportation,”

Dick hums. On the one hand, it would be nice, and he wouldn’t have to wait near as long to get back to the manor. He’d still have to wait almost 20 minutes for Bruce—or Alfred—to get out here, but the ride back wouldn’t be as long. On the other hand, he really doesn’t want to make Bruce go out of his way for him.

“Dick?” Bruce questions.

“Uh, sure I guess,” Dick glances at his feet, scuffing the ground a little. “I’m not staying the night, though,”

“That’s fine, one of us can drop you off at your apartment later,” There’s shuffling on the other side, like Bruce is moving papers aside. “I’ll be there in about 20 minutes,”

“Ok. Sounds good,” He hesitates, “Thanks,” He hangs up the phone, tucking it in his pocket and walking a bit away from the bus stop. He finds a bench to sit on, only then realizing he didn’t exactly tell Bruce where he was. It’s probably not an issue. Bruce knows his schedule, and if that wasn’t enough, he can still easily track Dick.

Dick fiddles with his phone as he waits, opening apps, closing them, opening another, closing that one…the cycle continues.

Nothing keeps his attention enough to effectively pass the time.

His relationship with Bruce has definitely improved, even with the recent setbacks, but they haven’t been alone in an enclosed area for any amount of time. Dick usually makes sure they meet in some public place, with the only exception being his apartment, but that rarely happens.

He’s pulled from his thoughts when Bruce’s car rolls to a stop next to the curb.

He shoves his phone in his pocket as he stands, rounding the car before Bruce can get out. He shoots a small smile at Bruce as he sits down, tugging the door shut behind him.

“Thanks again for coming out here,” Dick says, settling deeper in the chair.

Bruce glances over, one eyebrow raised, “Forgetting something? And you don’t have to thank me, chum.”

Dick shrugs, reluctantly fastening the seatbelt. It’s not that he doesn’t understand the importance of it, he just hates how constricting they are.

…and maybe he wanted to test Bruce’s reaction. It hasn’t changed much since the last time he’d been in the car with Bruce (almost two and a half years ago now), which is somehow comforting.

Bruce finally shifts the car into drive and pulls away from the sidewalk.

“How’ve you been, Dick?” Bruce starts, his tone stilted.

“Bruce, we saw each other last night. Not much has changed,”

“It’s not the same as having you in the manor.”

Dick tenses, staring out his window. He’s glad Bruce is driving now, at least they don’t have to make eye contact. When he finally responds, his voice is hard. “I am not moving back in,”

“That’s not what I—”

Dick cuts him off with a scoff, “Oh, sure, backtrack now. Whatever.”

“No, really,” Bruce sighs, the steering wheel creaking under his hands, “I just meant, I miss you. I’m not saying you should move back in, I just miss seeing you everyday,”

Dick turns his head, studying Bruce’s profile. Surely, Bruce knows he’s staring at him, but he doesn’t react, just keeps his eyes on the road. Finally, Dick deflates. “Then just say that.”

Bruce nods, and they fall into a slightly awkward silence.

Five minutes later Dick starts shaking his knee, his hands picking at a thread on his pants.

Bruce waits a few more minutes, then holds out a fidget cube without a word, an old habit of theirs. Dick needs a way to keep his hands busy, especially on car rides—even if they’re short. The ways Bruce kept him entertained varied, but the most common was with fidget toys. There used to be several types in every car.

Dick smiles as he accepts the toy.

He could read into it as Bruce not liking the excess movement, but he doesn’t. Something about it just feels normal, one of the few things about their interactions that hasn’t changed.

Several more minutes pass before Dick breaks the silence again.

“We still need to talk about Robin,” Dick keeps his voice low, head turned down, staring at the fidget cube as he messes with it.

When Bruce doesn’t respond immediately, Dick tilts his head just enough to watch Bruce through the fringe of his hair—he might need a haircut, but that’s not the point. Bruce’s shoulders are tense, and he has a white knuckled grip on the steering wheel.

Then, all at once he relaxes. His shoulders fall, he flexes his hands before gripping the wheel again—lighter this time—and he takes a deep breath in, holding for several seconds before letting it out.

“You’re right—”

Dick almost startles himself as he laughs, but it comes out bitter, almost, “Did you seriously have to work yourself up that much just to tell me that?”

He shouldn’t be this upset about that. This time last year, hell, three months ago, Bruce would have avoided it all together, or they would have fought again.

But is it wrong to wish for someone to offer those words without fighting themselves first? Is it wrong to be a little bitter about finally getting what you need, but not in the way you thought it would happen?

“Dick, please let me finish,”

He deflates, “Sorry,”

“You’re right, we need to talk about it. I was just surprised you brought it up right now.” Bruce exhales harshly, “We’re almost to the manor, we can talk in my study after you check on the kids,”

“Ok,”

The rest of the drive passes without either of them speaking, and now the silence between them is tense.

The car is barely in park before Dick is climbing out and practically jogging inside. There’s a restless energy buzzing under his skin, unease clawing at him from the awkward and tense silence between him and Bruce.

Not for the first time since moving out, he longs for the freedom of flying on his trapeze. Patrol helps, but it’s not the same.

He wishes he could go down to the cave for a bit. He was raised down there as much as he was in the manor, and being restricted from it feels like losing a piece of his childhood. Just as much as losing Robin did.

He’s greeted by Alfred when he finally steps through the door, leaving it open for Bruce behind him.

“Welcome home, Master Dick—” and isn’t it weird to hear those words, as if he’d never moved away, to even consider this being his home again. “—the other boys are in the family room. Will you be joining them?”

Dick smiles tightly at Alfred as Bruce steps through the door, shutting it with a click, “Yeah, I will, but only for a moment. There’s a few things Bruce and I need to discuss,”

If Alfred is surprised, he doesn’t show it, only nods sharply. “Very well. What about dinner?”

Dick rubs the back of his neck, “I…I don’t know yet,”

Alfred hums, “Very well. Welcome back, Master Bruce,” Alfred finally acknowledges Bruce. With that, he turns on his heel, heading deeper into the manor.

Bruce claps a hand on Dick’s shoulder, and Dick tries his best not to melt into the touch. “Why don’t we go say hi to the boys, and then we can talk, alright?”

Dick nods, shakes Bruce’s hand off, and bee-lines to the living room.

Jason and Tim are playing Mario Kart when he gets there, so he stands off to the side until their race is done. Tim’s nearly lapping the cars in front of him, while Jason is barely hanging on to tenth. He watches as Tim crosses the line well before anyone else, and Jason runs into all three of the cars at the last stretch of the track, and the other two cars speed past. Jason groans, flopping back on the couch and dropping his controller, as “finish” flashes up on the screen.

Beside him, Tim cheers.

“How the fuck do you keep beating me?” Jason groans.

Dick chuckles as Tim responds, “Practice, Jayce,” he teases.

Jason glares back, but Dick steps forward before they can start the next race. “Hey, guys,”

Tim perks up, jumping up and darting to Dick. He launches himself at Dick, “You’re back!”

“I am. How was your day, kid?” Dick glances up as Jason walks up, “Hey, Jay!” He extends one arm to Jason, letting him decide if he wants to join the hug or not.

“‘Sup Dickhead.” Jason steps into the hug briefly, but moves a step back after that.

Tim wiggles out of Dick’s arms, “I had a good day! Seeing the manor outside of the galas was cool, and I got to beat Jay in all the video games!”

Dick laughs, “All of them, huh? What’d you guys play?”

“Mario Kart, regular mario, we played animal crossing for a bit…” Tim trails off, thinking, “Anyway, Jay sucks at them!”

Jason scowls, “It’s not my fault, brat! I didn’t have any of this growing up!”

Dick glances over at him. Jason won’t appreciate pity, but Dick doesn't really know where to go from here. “If you want, I can play with you, and you can beat Tim eventually?”

Tim huffs, but doesn’t respond.

Jason smiles, “Like right now?”

Dick hesitates, “I need to go talk to Bruce about something right now, I just wanted to stop in and say hi—”

“Oh,” Jason says before he can finish, looking down.

“I wasn’t done, Jayce. I may be able to play after that, ok?”

The kid brightens considerably, and he nods. “C’mon timbers, let’s leave Dickiebird to fight the old man in peace.”

“I never said anything about getting in a fight!”

Jason just snorts, looping an arm around Tim’s neck and guiding him back to the couch. “Choose somethin’ else, I’m tired of getting my ass kicked in this game.”

Dick rolls his eyes, but doesn’t comment on that. “Where’s Haley?”

“I think she’s with Barbara in the library,” Tim calls back.

Dick hums in acknowledgement, and ruffles their hair as leaves. Haley can stay with Barabara for now, if things do get heated with him and Bruce, he doesn’t want to startle her with their loud voices.

Bruce isn’t in his study when Dick gets there. Dick glances around, it’s only been a few weeks since he last stood here, so it hasn’t changed much. Still, Dick lets his eyes linger over the furniture in the room as he rounds the large desk. He lets his finger glide over the clock face, but footsteps echo down the hall so he turns and lets his hand fall.

Bruce takes a few steps in, closing the door softly behind him. Dick studies him, waiting to see if he’s going to start the conversation. Instead he just stands there, watching Dick right back. There’s a furrow between his brows, but he holds himself loosely.

When it becomes clear Bruce isn’t going to say anything (shocker, really), Dick speaks up. “Why’d you do it?”

For a second, he thinks Bruce might play dumb. Then, the man sighs, “I saw him, and I thought of you. He made me laugh, on the anniversary of my parents’ death, in the alley where they died. He has so much passion, and a drive to help people. I felt like I needed to encourage that, and give him an outlet.”

Dick scoffs, “So putting him in a cape was the only option?”

Bruce drags one hand down his face, “I don’t know, it’s what I thought of. It might not be the best idea, but he looks so happy when he’s training.”

“You’re damn right it’s not a good idea!” Dick stops himself before he moves forward. He can’t seem like he’s getting aggressive, Bruce would get defensive and they’d get nowhere.

“What would you have me do, Dick? Take it away from him now?”

“You could.” It would devastate Jason, but Bruce could do it. He’s the parent.

Bruce pins him with a deadpan look, “I can protect him. I don’t need to take it away from him.”

“You don’t have to take it from him forever! I mean, I’d prefer if you did, because you seem to have forgotten you gave him my name. After ripping it away from me, no less.” Dick’s voice shakes, “Dammit.” He tries to steady his breathing before he continues. “Just…just delay? Let him grow up, adjust to having a stable life before you toss him in front of the worst of gotham.”

Bruce sighs again, “I can’t do that.”

“Why the hell not?!” Dick breathes harshly, willing himself to keep his composure. He hates how overwhelmed he gets when he’s mad, specifically when he’s mad at Bruce. Or maybe he’s more hurt than mad, whatever. “What happened to not wanting to see children get hurt? Why is it acceptable for Jason to be Robin, but not me?”

“I…”

Dick rolls his eyes. “Right. Jason’s your son. Not wanting to see me get hurt was just a bullshit excuse for taking Robin away from me.” He goes to slip past Bruce, but the man reaches out and grabs his arm before he can leave.

“I can’t take Robin from Jason, Dick. I can’t. I am sorry I didn’t talk to you first, I’m sorry I hurt you.”

“Are you?” Dick hates how raw his voice sounds, how close to crying he is. “Because it doesn’t feel like it.”

“I’m more sorry than I can ever express.” Bruce sounds about as sincere as he gets. “How can I make it up to you?”

“I don’t know. I don’t understand why you can’t delay Jason going out, or, fuck, give him a different name. I don’t understand why he has to have my name.”

“I…I could think about it. Jason asked shortly after I took him in if that means he gets to be the next Robin. That name carries something, it has a reputation, Gotham knows Robin.” He takes a deep breath, “You created that legacy. I didn’t mean to disrespect you when I passed it on.”

Dick pulls his arm out of Bruce’s grasp, backing up some. “I might not have minded, had you talked to me first. Or you hadn’t taken it from me like you did. If it had been my choice to pass on my legacy.”

Bruce nods, “I understand. I can’t change what I did, Dick.”

“Do you think I’m stupid, I’m well aware—”

“I wasn’t done, please let me finish. I can’t change what I did, but I do regret it.”

Dick raises an eyebrow.

“It wasn’t right, firing you like that. If I could go back and change it, I would. But I can’t, Dick.”

“You can do better by the next ones.” Dick breathes out, bracing himself on the wall behind him. “Don’t hurt them like you have me.”

“I’ll do my best, Dickie.” Bruce looks about as sincere as Dick’s ever seen him.

“OK. Make sure you do. And make damn sure Jason knows his place here isn’t contingent on his position as Robin.”

Bruce looks almost hurt by his statement, but Dick holds eye contact. Willing, begging him to hear the unspoken words.

Don’t let him think he’ll lose his place here, don’t let him think you don’t care about him beyond what he can do for him, Don’t—

“Dick, I’ll do my best, I swear.”

Dick gives a curt nod, shoves off the wall, and moves towards the door.

“Wait,” Bruce stops him before he can leave again. “Are we good, Dick?”

Dick takes a deep breath. “I think we can be. I’ll get used to Jason being Robin, and I don’t want to lose you—” again, “—so we’ll be fine. What’s the progress on getting custody of Tim?”

Bruce takes the topic change in stride, “I should be able to get a hearing pretty quickly, then I should have custody by the end of the week.”

“Good.” Dick takes another step, but doesn’t make it farther than that.

“Dickie,” Bruce studies him for a moment before continuing, “Do you want a hug?”

Dick freezes. Short answer, yes, he does.

Longer answer? After this conversation, he wants nothing more than to hide himself in Bruce’s arms, and pretend they aren’t at odds with each other more often than not.

Pretend they don’t walk on eggshells around each other, that the past year hasn’t happened, and Bruce is still Dick’s safe person.

But they are at odds with each other. They do walk on eggshells around each other, neither knowing what’s going to set the other off.

Is Bruce still safe? Does he still get the comfort he used to?

He doesn’t manage to respond, but something must show on his face, or in the way he sways towards Bruce then away again, because Bruce tugs him close and wraps his arms around him.

Dick closes his eyes, burying his face in Bruce’s shoulder. His breath leaves him all at once, practically every muscle going lax. The pressure that had been building behind his eyes finally spills over, tears dampening Bruce’s shirt and soft softs wracking Dick’s frame.

Bruce just holds him tighter. “I love you, sweetheart. I’m bad at showing it, and even worse at saying it, but I love you. I know you don’t trust that I mean it, but I want to prove it to you,” Bruce murmurs softly, pressing a soft kiss to Dick’s hair after he’s finished speaking.

It’s been so long since he’s felt this. They’ve been talking more, but Bruce hasn’t hugged him since the night he fell from his grapple. It’s been all occasional shoulder pats, but mostly stilted and awkward conversation. “...love you too.” Dick mumbles back, words muffled in his father’s shoulders. “I don’t want to lose you, but it hurts, Bruce. It hurts to know you passed it on to someone else. I—”

Bruce cuts him off, “Shhh, Dickie. “I know, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

Dick sniffles, clutching Bruce’s shirt tighter in his fists.

“I’ve got you, I’m not leaving,” Bruce keeps up his soft murmuring. “I’m going to make it up to you.”

When Dick finally pulls back, several minutes later, he can’t look Bruce in the eye. He rubs at his face, trying his best to clean off his tears and snot. Bruce hands him a tissue from his desk, and Dick takes it.

“Are you staying for dinner? It should be soon.” To anyone else, Bruce would sound nonchalant. But Dick can only read the anxiety underlying his tone.

Dick shrugs, “I guess I can.” He risks a glance up, and finds Bruce staring back with a small smile on his face.

Dick spends the rest of the night laughing with Barbara and his younger brothers, even teasing Bruce with them. He joins Tim and Jason in their video games, teaming up with Jason to try and beat Tim (they don’t).

When the night ends, and Barbara drives him and Haley back to his apartment (Tim stayed at the manor, since he’d fallen asleep before Dick left), Dick actually feels settled. He and Bruce could actually be getting somewhere, and he can get used to Jason in the RObin costume.

Is he happy about it? No. And he probably won’t ever be fully comfortable with it. But as long Bruce doesn’t make the same mistakes he made with Dick, he can live with it.

As long as nothing happens to Jason while he’s Robin.

His time with Jason was great, even overshadowed by what Jason told him.

Fucking Bruce.

He gave Jason Robin.

Just gave Dick’s name away.

Dick was furious at first, Bruce looked him right in the face and refused to tell him, even though he was given the opportunity. But, after a week, even if Dick didn’t understand why Bruce didn’t tell him, he started to calm down. It’s not ok, not by any means, but he’s starting to learn that his anger will get him nowhere. If he yells at Bruce, Bruce yells back, and they both just end up hurt.

Or at least, Dick ends up hurt. He can’t say whether or not Bruce does.

So, he’ll wait. He’ll wait until he calms down, until he can find a time to have a (mostly) productive conversation. That’s probably a long shot though. Can any conversation with Bruce be productive if you’re disagreeing with him?

He got a call from Bruce one day, and when he answered all he got was silence.

“...Bruce?” He asks after a minute of continued silence.

“I’m seeing a therapist.”

What.

That was unexpected.

“You are?”

“Yeah. I…I want to be better for you. And Jason. And you told me I needed to figure some things out.”

“I’m glad you’re trying, B.” Dick blows out a breath, “I’m proud of you.” It’s a weird feeling, saying those words to his father. It should be the other way around. Not to say parental figures don’t deserve to hear it, but normally kids aren’t telling their parents they’re proud of them. It feels strange.

Even more so, considering Dick can count the number of times Bruce has said that to him on one hand.

Bruce hummed on the other side of the line, and an awkward silence settled between them until Bruce finally hung up.

He wasn’t lying, he truly is glad Bruce is trying. He just didn’t expect that to be how he went about it. Or to be told about it at all.

His day went by pretty normally after that, barring that one weird phone call.

And then everything went to shit just before dinner when Tim showed up at his door with bruises on his face and neck.

Dick opens the door and freezes as he takes in the sign of a teary-eyed, injured Tim Drake.

Tim launches himself at him, and Dick catches him on reflex (not only the vigilante reflexes, but also spending months now teaching gymnastics, so he’s especially used to catching kids). Tim wraps his legs around Dick’s waist, burying his face in his shoulder.

“I got you, bud.” Dick murmurs. “You’re safe with me. I promise. You can’t be hurt here.”

Tim shudders in his arms, crying quietly. Anger burns through him, not at Tim, never at Tim, but at whoever hurt him.

When he finds out who they are, they’re going to pay.

He takes a calming breath, shuts the door, and walks over the couch. Sitting carefully, he rubs Tim’s back. He keeps murmuring soft words to the kid, Tim’s back shaking with silent sobs. His heart breaks for him, and whatever conditions trained him to cry quietly. Kids don’t cry like that unless they’ve learned that showing emotions isn’t safe.

Haley forces herself on the couch next to them, nosing at Tim gently.

After a while, Tim finally calms down. He sniffles, looking up and scrubbing his eyes with the back of his hand.

“Sorry.” His voice is rough and shaky, it’s hard to tell if it’s from crying, dehydration, or damage to his vocal cords.

“For what?” Dick asks gently

Tim just shrugs, refusing to meet Dick’s eyes. Dick can hazard a guess at why he’s apologizing, either for showing up at all, or for crying.

Dick brushes a finger light over the bruise darkening on Tim’s cheekbone. There’s a small cut next to his eye, and the bruise takes up most of the left side of his face. TIm flinches slightly as Dick touches it.

“Sorry, Timmy. Do you want some water? Or hot chocolate?”

Tim shrugs again.

Dick runs a hand over Haley’s back as he considers. Water would be good to rehydrate Tim, but hot chocolate will be more soothing. Especially for his throat, it had to be sore. Dick’s eyes catch on the obvious finger marks circling his throat. He has to take several more breaths to calm down.

He can’t lose it right now, Tim needs him to be calm. Not to mention he doesn’t even know what happened.

He gently moves Haley’s head off his thigh, then stands and shifts Tim to his hip. Tim rests his head on Dick’s shoulder again. Haley stays on the couch, content to watch them.

“Can you speak?” He knows Tim can enter a sort of verbal shutdown when he’s stressed, but Dick needs to know if this is that or if there’s actually a problem with his voice.

Tim takes a while to answer, but eventually he does. “...Yes.” He’s quiet, speaking barely audibly.

“Do you want to speak?” Dick knows it’s an important distinction with Tim.

Tim shakes his head.

“Ok, I’m going to ask you a few yes or no questions, tap me once for yes and twice for no. Are you ok with that?”

Tim taps him once.

“Ok, thank you, bud. First, I need to clean that cut on your face. Is that ok?” Dick sets Tim next to the sink gently, keeping one hand on Tim’s shoulder and pulling the first aid kit out with the other. He has two fully stocked med kits in his apartment, one in the kitchen and one in the bathroom. The one in the kitchen is more for emergencies, if he can’t make it to the bathroom for some reason. It’s less than ideal cleaning his own injuries without a mirror.

Tim taps his arm once.

“Thanks, bud.” Dick runs a cloth under warm water and gently dabs at the cut. It’s not bleeding a lot, and it’s not super deep, which is good. Simply cleaning it and using a few butterfly bandages should suffice.

Tim flinches a little at the contact, and Dick pauses. “Did that hurt?”

He shrugs a little.

“Did it surprise you more than it hurt?”

He taps once.

“Ok, do you want me to explain what I;m going to do?”

Another tap.

“Ok, I can do that.”

“I need to clean the blood off, so I’m going to wipe your face with this rag. I’m going to be as gentle as I can, but tell me if it hurts too much, ok?” He waits for Tim’s affirmative tap before he goes back to dabbing gently at the small cut. Tim keeps his gaze fixed somewhere over Dick’s shoulder. “Ok, this next part might sting a little bit. I need to disinfect it, so I’m going to wipe it with this—” he holds the small pack of antiseptic wipes up, “—and then I’ll bandage it.”

He refuses to think about the first time Bruce patched him up, before he even became Robin. He’d been running in the backyard, and tripped over some tree branches.

Bruce was so…gentle. Gentler than Dick had ever seen him before. Although, by that point, Dick had only been in the manor for a few months, he barely knew Bruce by that point.

Tim tapping his arm drags him out of the memory, and Dick swipes the wipes over the cut a few times, and efficiently places the butterfly bandages after that.

“You did great, Timmy, all done.” He smiles at the kid, “Do you want me to pick you up again?”

Tap.

Dick does, waiting until Tim’s arms are around his neck and his head is on his shoulder before speaking again, “Ok, I know it’s hard for you to speak right now. Does it hurt to talk?” Dick pulls the milk out of his fridge, then grabs a couple packs of hot chocolate mix.

Tim taps once, hesitates, and waves his hand in a “so-so” motion.

“So, it hurts a little bit. I’m going to get you some water, and we’ll see if that helps.” He pulls a glass and manages to fill it with one hand. “You want a straw?”

Tim taps once. Dick sticks a straw in the glass and holds it up to Tim. The kid drinks slowly, draining half the glass before turning his head. Dick sets the glass down. “Better? I need a verbal answer this time, I’m sorry, bud. I need confirmation it doesn’t hurt.”

Tim clears his throat, and tries to speak again, he’s obviously having to force the words out, so Dick is leaning more towards verbal shutdown than any damage. He feels a little bad forcing him to speak, the last thing he wants to do is stress Tim out more, but he needs to know if this is more serious than a few bruises.

“...Yeah,” Tim finally manages the word, voice still quiet.

“Good job, thank you. You can go back to tapping now.” Dick goes back to getting hot chocolate ready, pulling mugs out. Unscrewing the lid on the milk is difficult, but he manages. “So it doesn’t hurt anymore, so verbal shutdown?” It had been a long time before Tim actually showed that side of himself to Dick, and even longer to accept that this is normal, and there are names for what he feels. He’s so used to hiding any of his emotions, or anything that he deemed “weak” or “unprofessional”.

If Dick ever has the displeasure of seeing Tim’s parents in person, he’s going to let them have it about teaching a kid he has to be “professional” at all times. Kids aren’t supposed to worry about things like that, kids are kids.

Tim tapping his shoulder draws him back to the present.

“Thanks, buddy. You’re doing great.” Dick pours milk into a saucepan and turns the stove on. He drops half a chocolate bar in as well, to give the hot chocolate a richer flavor. “Are you hurt anywhere other than your face and neck?”

Two taps.

Thank god for that. This situation is far from ideal, but at least it’s not worse.

“Ok, one more question. Do you want to watch tv, sit in silence, or do you want me to talk to you? One for tv, two for silence, three for me talking.” He’d gotten a tv in the months after his Titan’s mission, finally financially comfortable enough to get a cheaper tv. And a coffee table.

Not a bed frame though. He has no reason to get one of those, he’s doing just fine without.

Tim taps three times.

Dick smiles softly at the kid in his arms. He debates what he can start talking about, and decides to fill Tim in about Jason. The kid had been worried when Jay disappeared, and he and Dick had both grieved for the apparent death of the boy. “Bruce adopted Jason,” Tim’s head shoots up, shock coloring his face, “I know, I was surprised too. I’m glad Jay’s okay, but I was so mad at Bruce for not telling me.” Tim nods, slowly setting his head back down. “I went off on him, and apparently that made Bruce actually go to therapy,” Tim snorts, hiding his face in Dick’s neck. “That was an awkward phone call, by the way.” He takes another breath in, “Bruce gave him Robin. I don’t know how to feel about it.”

Tim makes a sympathetic noise.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t unpack that on you. But Bruce and I are gonna have a talk, I promise you that.”

Tim giggles, and the sound eases something in his chest. He glances down, eyes full of warmth. It’s good to see Tim acting like an actual kid. He’s only 8, he should be allowed to crave being held, show his emotions without worrying about how the people around him are going to react.

Dick presses a kiss to his forehead before checking the hot chocolate. The chocolate bar is melted and the milk is starting to thicken, so he dumps in the packets of mix. Once it’s done, he carefully ladles it into the two mugs. “Can I set you down on the couch for a bit? I need both hands to carry the mugs.”

Tim taps his shoulder once.

Dick sets him on the couch gently, then carries the mugs to the coffee table. He grabs the weighted blanket from his bed, and settles in next to Tim. Tim leans against him, curled up with his legs tucked behind him. Dick settles the weighted blanket over them, and Haley moves closer until she’s in the gap between Tim’s legs and the couch, head resting on his thigh.

Dick passes him his mug, and Tim cradles it with both hands.

Dick talks about everything and nothing, sticking to lighter topics after filling Tim in on what’s going on with Bruce and Jason. He orders delivery from the pizza place down the street while he speaks. It’s not the most nutritious meal, but Tim needs something that’s comforting and predictable. Dick’s personal choice would be Thai food, but that has too much variety for Tim right now.

30 minutes later there’s a knock on his door, and Dick extricates himself from Tim, and grabs the pizza.

Dinner passes quietly, even though Dick tries to fill the silence in between bites.

Tim falls asleep not long later, after the box has been set on the coffee table next to their long empty mugs. Dick maneuvers him so they’re both laying down, with Tim’s head resting over Dick’s heart. He keeps one hand running through the kid’s hair.

He texts Bruce quickly to let him know he won’t be patrolling tonight—a recent development. They don’t work together often, but Bruce likes to know when he goes out and when he gets home safe. He turns the tv onto some mindless sitcom—he hates watching action or crime dramas, he just ends up criticizing the inaccuracies—keeping the volume low, and silences his phone.

It’s hours later when his window slides open. Dick stiffens. He’s effectively trapped under Tim, and he’d removed any weapons he’d hidden in his couch when kids started frequenting his apartment. His eyes flit across the room, is there anything within reach he could use as a weapon? He doesn’t really need one, but he’s kind of trapped under Tim. Haley jumps up and props her front leg on the couch cushions, teeth bared and her hackles raising on her spine. She growls low in her throat, and Dick knows she wouldn’t hesitate to jump over the back of the couch, barking ferociously if it’s someone dangerous.

He strains his ears, trying to find a clue about who’s in his apartment. Just as he’s about to get out from under Tim, a low voice speaks up.

“Just me, Chum.”

Bruce.

Fucking of course.

Dick’s relaxes, head falling against the armrest behind his head, eyes closed as he breathes deeply, trying to calm his racing heart. Haley eyes Bruce, but settles down next to Dick again.

“Jesus, Bruce, some warning would have been nice.” He opens his eyes and speaks up once he’s calmer.

“I texted you. And tried to call. You weren’t answering your phone. Are you ok?” Bruce shuts the window and crosses the room to stand in Dick’s eyesight. Dick appreciates the gesture, as much as he knows Bruce won’t hurt either of them, he’s much more comfortable if he can see him. That goes for anyone. After Bruce’s training, and spending so much time constantly on edge and paranoid about every little danger, he can’t stand having his back to people.

Bruce is in the batsuit, sans cowl, clearly having been on patrol.

Dick gestures to the sleeping kid in his lap. “I’m fine, I have my hands full. Now keep your voice down before you wake him.”

Bruce furrows his eyebrows, “Is he ok?”

Dick sighs, “I don’t know. He showed up at my door earlier with bruises, but I haven’t had a chance to talk to him about it. Physically, he’s no more injured than the bruises. Mentally? Emotionally? I have no idea.” Dick strokes his hand through Tim’s hair, “Why’re you here?”

“I…was worried. All you said was you weren’t patrolling, and you didn’t answer anything after that. I wanted to check on you.” Bruce flexes his hand, almost imperceptibly.

Dick raises a brow at the uncharacteristic show of discomfort or anxiety. “That’s not the only reason. Spill.”

Bruce sighs, “I’d rather discuss this somewhere privately.”

“The kid’s asleep, and I live in a studio, Bruce. I don’t know where you think we’re getting any more privacy than this. I’m not waking him up just so you can drag me to the ca— manor to have this ‘chat’.” He hopes his slip up goes mostly unnoticed. Or at least that Bruce doesn’t comment on it. He wants to hope that Bruce’s decision changed, that he trusts him again and he can go to the cave—he grew up in the cave as much as he did in the manor—but he doesn’t want to be disappointed.

Bruce doesn’t trust him in the cave, or probably at all, and he’ll just have to live with that.

Even though he trusts Bruce with his life, and it hurts to know Bruce doesn’t feel the same.

“Fine.” Bruce grumbles.

“Great. Sit down, you’re looming and it’s getting annoying.” Dick rolls his eyes.

“You don’t own chairs, where do you expect me to sit?”

Dick smirks as he glances at the floor. “There’s a perfectly good floor right there. Unless you think it’ll hurt your rich sensibilities?” He allows a playful smirk to cross his face. It’s been too long since he’s felt comfortable enough to playfully tease Bruce, years probably.

Bruce snorts, but lowers himself to the ground. It’s a weird sight, seeing him in full gear—minus the cowl—sitting cross-legged on the floor. It does something to settle Dick’s emotions even more. It gave him the power position. He doesn’t see Bruce as a threat, usually, but that’s exactly what the man is. He has honed himself to be a weapon first, man second. Dick knows he is perfectly capable of using his brain and body to its fullest extent and tearing down whatever wall stands in his path. If that wall happens to be a person, Dick pities the poor person who got in his way. There’s always something off-putting about Bruce as Batman.

When he was younger, it was comforting. He knew Bruce cared about him, even though he couldn’t say it. He knew Bruce would protect him, no matter what. He could stand against that armor, wrap himself in the near bulletproof cape, and Bruce would destroy anything or anyone that threatened Dick.

Logically, he knows that’s likely still true. Through all of their talks about how to proceed from here, Bruce has been trying to make it clear that he still cares about Dick. That nothing changed, no matter the fights, the running away, the months of no-contact.

But a small part of him wonders if it’s not. If something changed, and Bruce no longer views him as someone to protect and care about. If he views Dick as a threat to the family he is now building with Jason.

Dick shakes himself out of his thoughts. He can’t let himself spiral now. Not with Tim depending on him for comfort, with Bruce here with some debrief or another. He has to be strong. He can work through the insecurity later.

Or he can ignore it, like any good Bat trained soldier.

Bruce clears his throat, and Dick glances at Tim. He appears to still be asleep, his breaths are deep and even, his face is smoothed out in sleep.

He looks so young.

He is young.

How could someone look at this peaceful child, a child who is smart enough to piece together Batman’s identity from a singular flip, a child who loved with his whole heart, so openly cared about the people he meets, or animals on the street, how can someone look at him and want to hurt him?

Dick is going to make them pay.

“Dick.” Bruce startles him out of his thoughts again. “You with me?”

“Yeah,” Dick breathes shakily, “I’m good. What do you need to tell me?”

Bruce stares at him without speaking for a while, gaze running over his face, trying to detect his thoughts. “I looked into his situation,” Bruce tilts his head towards Tim, “and I have proof to use against his parents. How do you want me to handle this?”

“If you have the proof, use it. Get him out, Bruce.”

“I need to talk to Tim. I can’t just take him from his parents, his very alive parents, without talking to him.”

“Yes, you can!” Dick has to force himself to keep his voice level, “They neglect him, Bruce! They don’t have anyone watching him when they leave the country. They leave their eight-year-old alone in Gotham of all places. Their security is shit—”

“Language,” Bruce interjects mildly.

“Do not start with me right now.” Dick glares at him. “Their security is shit. I didn’t even have to try to break in!” He glances back down at Tim, stroking his hair.

“I hear you, Dick, I do—” Bruce pauses, “Wait, why were you breaking in?”

Dick waves his hand dismissively, “That’s not important right. Please, continue justifying why you’re not immediately removing Tim from their care?”

Bruce heaves a sigh, “Anyway, you know how the justice system here will view it. Yes, it is criminal neglect in the eyes of pretty much everyone, but the corrupt officers and judges will argue that the Drakes left him in a mansion, with plenty of money to buy whatever he needs, and with a housekeeper checking on him and dropping food off for him. Not to mention the forged papers stating you as his official caretaker when they travel.”

Dick’s head snaps up, “What?”

Bruce’s brows furrow, “You didn’t know?”

“No, I didn’t know!”

“I assumed you made that paperwork. Or at least had Barbara do it.”

“Why would I do that? My goal is to get him away from his parents. I’m well aware that makes it more difficult.” Dick’s throat constricts. He knows that no obstacle could stop Bruce. Worst comes to worse, Bruce can just pay people to make the problem go away. But it’s another obstacle.

“Actually, it could help—”

“How?” Dick’s voice is hoarse.

“It certainly makes it easier to transfer his guardianship to you. We have proof that his parents fired the live-in nanny when Tim was six. There’s almost two full years of not having anyone watch Tim before you came into the picture. That alone should be enough proof of unfit parenting.”

“Is-is transferring the guardianship to me an option?” He doesn’t want to let himself hope. He loves Tim, he’d love nothing more than to have the kid live with him, where he can keep him safe, where he knows he is being cared for.

But would it be the best thing for him?

“It is. I…” Bruce sighs, “I, personally, do not think it’s the best option.”

Fire runs through him again, “What, think I’m an unfit guardian?” He spits.

“I think you’d be a great guardian, Dick. That’s not what I meant.” Bruce’s eyes flit through his studio, pausing on his crappy mattress, tiny kitchen, the evident lack of even one bedroom, let alone a bedroom for Tim.

Dick loves his apartment, but he can admit it’s pretty sad looking. There’s no personal decoration, other than the pile of blankets next to his bed and the curtains hanging in front of the singular window. He knows CPS will fight against assigning guardianship of a kid to a 19 year old, especially a male 19 year old, and they definitely won’t send Tim to live in a studio apartment.

He takes in a deep breath, forcing himself to think logically. He’s young, he works two jobs, he’s a vigilante for fuck’s sake. He’s a less than ideal guardian for Tim.

“Look, if that’s what you really want—and I want you to really think about that, Dick—I can make it happen. It is not a decision to make lightly. I need you to think beyond your own affection towards Tim, is living with you what’s best for him?” Bruce leans his elbows on his knees, steepling his hands under his chin. “If you think it is, we can get you a better apartment, I can help with your home checks, and we will make it work. I’ll support you, but—”

Dic cuts him off, “No. No, you’re—” Fuck, he does not want to admit this. “—you’re right. Tim deserves better than what I can offer him.”

Bruce smiles softly. “That’s a mature decision.”

“Don’t patronize me.” Dick huffs, running his thumb over Tim’s cheek. Tim shifts on his lap, a muffled noise leaves his mouth. Haley huffs and leans forward to sniff his cheek, licking his face. “Haley, enough.” The pit bull huffs again, but settles down.

“She’s well trained.” Bruce remarks.

“Mhm.” Dick rubs her ears.

Tim shifts again, “Wha—” His word is broken off by a yawn, and he raises a hand to scrub at his eyes, before flinching when he hits the bruise on his cheek.

“Careful, bud.” Dick helps Tim sit up, turning his attention to him and ignoring Bruce for a moment. “Do you remember what happened?” He keeps one hand in Tim’s letting him decide if he wants to return to their tapping system or speak.

“Yeah.” Tim murmurs, leaning forward and hiding his face in Dick’s shoulder again.

Dick sighs, he doesn’t want to upset Tim, but he needs to know what happened. “How’re you feeling, kiddo?”

Tim just shrugs, “Fine, I guess.”

Dick hums, “Are you saying that because it’s true or because you don’t want to worry me?”

Tim shrugs again. Dick has to hold back his sigh, he doesn’t want Tim to think he’s upset with him.

“Can you tell me what happened?”

Tim stiffens, shifts to hide even more, and makes a sound that’s almost a whine.

“I’m sorry, bud, but I need to know.”

Tim is trembling. Dick tugs the weighted blanket higher over them both, holding him tight once everything’s settled.

He can hear Bruce shifting, for as quiet as the man is, if you’re attentive enough you can hear the plates of his armor shifting against each other. There’s quiet footsteps and the swish of a cape, but Dick tunes it out. He needs to focus on the child in his lap. Tim’s started full on crying again, hot tears splashing against Dick’s shoulders. He’s completely silent, if Dick couldn’t feel his tears, or see his back shaking under the blanket, he could almost believe Tim was sleeping still.

Dick rubs his hand up Tim’s back. “I got you. You’re safe, I won’t let anyone hurt you again,” He murmurs, “It’s ok to cry, buddy.” He runs one hand through Tim’s hair, and rubs Tim’s back with the other.

Bruce holds out a glass of water, hovering over Dick’s shoulder.

Dick glances up at him, “Thanks.” He nudges Tim after taking the glass, “Want some water? It can help.”

Tim sniffles and sits up. Dick’s heart breaks at the tears running down his face, eyes red and puffy. Bruce has disappeared…somewhere, Dick can’t bring himself to care. Tim accepts the glass of water, but doesn’t drink yet. Dick brushes his thumbs over Tim’s cheeks, wiping his tears. Tim is still heaving for breath.

“Drink, bud,” Dick reminds him gently. Tim tilts the glass, taking small sips until it’s almost empty. Bruce shows back up, holding out a toilet paper roll.

“You don’t have actual tissues,” He grunts.

Dick hums, “Of course I don’t. Why would I waste money on that, toilet paper works just as well.”

“Dick—”

“Not now, Bruce.” Dick cuts him off, and starts wiping at Tim’s face with the toilet paper. Tim still hasn’t noticed the third presence in the room. Or at least, he hasn’t acknowledged Bruce. Dick sets Tim’s glass on the floor—not wanting to jostle the kid by leaning over to reach the coffee table—and lets him blow his nose.

Once he’s cleaned up, he looks up and finally notices Bruce. Awe fills his eyes. It’s a strange sight, his eyes are still red and puffy, still bright and watery from the tears, but he looks so shocked, and happy.

“Batman…” He breathes.

“Hey, you weren’t this happy to meet me.” Dick fake pouts.

Tim doesn’t even glance at him.

Bruce squats next to them, holding a hand out to shake. “Hi, Tim. I’m Bruce.”

Tim makes a squeaky sound, and Dick almost laughs. Tim glances at him, and he nods slightly. Tim jumps out of his arms, hurriedly shakes Bruce’s hand and bounces excitedly on his toes in front of Bruce.

“Traitor.” Dick grumbles.

“Alright, Tim. I really need you to tell us what happened—”

“Bruce!” Dick hisses. Tim literally just calmed down. They don’t need to set him off again.

“We can’t help you if we don’t know who hurt you.”

Tim’s stopped bouncing, but his hands twist together in front of him. It’s less excitement and more nervousness this time.

“...It’s not a big deal, you don’t have to do anything.” He mumbles.

Bruce frowns and opens his mouth, but Dick holds out a hand.

“Look at me, Timmy,” He says softly.

Tim does, eyes still shining with tears.

“We want to find out what happened. We want to help you. You got hurt, someone hurt you, and we can help. You came to me for a reason, right?”

He waits until Tim nods shakily to continue, “I care about you, and I don’t want to send you away when I don’t know who hurt you—” The possibility that this is his parents’ handiwork had already crossed his mind. Tim has never given any indication that they hit him, but you have to be around to hit someone. “—I care about you, bud. It’s also our job to help, if you forgot that.”

If this was his parents though, he’s reporting it, blackmail be damned.

Tim sniffles again, and Dick can’t resist tugging him into his arms again.

“You can tell us,” Bruce says, as gently as he can.

A small huff from Tim, then, “...My dad.”

Dick has to fight against tensing, running through every calming technique he knows. Bruce rests one hand on his shoulder, and the other on Tim’s.

“Thank you for telling us.” Bruce squeezes Tim’s shoulder lightly.

Dick just hugs him tighter.

“Alright there’s a few things we can do—”

“Bruce,” Dick’s voice is hard, “Not. Now.”

Tim shudders in his grip. “Can…can we please talk about it later.”

“Of course,” Dick soothes, “Of course we can, sweetheart. Do you want to go to bed? It’s getting late.” He pulls back, cupping Tim’s face gently.

The kid nods, but keeps his face pointed towards the floor.

Dick runs a hand through Tim’s hair once more. “Alright, go get ready for bed, Ok? You have some PJs in the bottom drawer of my dresser and your toothbrush is still on the counter. Use the stool, please,”

Tim darts in for another hug, then shockingly, does the same with Bruce before darting off to the bathroom.

Dick watches him go, a soft smile on his face.

“You’re good with him,” Bruce keeps his voice quiet, either to keep Tim from hearing or to avoid breaking the soft atmosphere.

“I love him,” He states, like it’s that simple.

Maybe it is.

Bruce inhales, and shifts from his knee to sitting flat on the floor again, back against the couch. “This makes it easier to get custody. We have proof he’s hurt.”

“We don’t have proof who did it.” And that’s the issue, isn’t it? The courts aren’t likely to take the word of an eight-year-old, not when the abuser in question is one of the Gotham elite.

“I can handle it, Dickie. You just need to trust me.”

“For this? I do—” And he does trust Bruce, at least with wanting what’s best for Tim. He’s working on rebuilding his trust for everything else. “—I know you will do everything in your power to get him removed from their care.” Haley forces herself onto Dick’s lap, tail thumping gently against the couch. Dick obliges her, scratching her head and, when she rolls over, her belly.

“I will. I can get him placed with me, he’ll be safe.”

He would. Except— “Until you shove him in a cape, you mean.”

Dick loved being Robin, he loved flying through the air, his cape fluttering behind him. He loved feeling like he could do good, like he could help people. But he can’t deny it’s dangerous. He can’t deny that it got him hurt more times than he can count. He can’t deny it got him kidnapped, tortured. The thought of his brothers in those colors, out on the streets playing target for the worst of the worst, he can’t stand it. He wants to wrap them in blankets and lock them in a secure location and protect them from the world indefinitely.

They’re just kids. They shouldn’t have to shoulder the burden of protecting Gotham, or drawing fire for Batman, or the crushing guilt that weighs on you when Batman gets hurt.

“Dick—”

“No. No capes until he is 16. At least. Preferably never.”

“I wasn’t even thinking about that, Dickie. We have to handle custody first.” Bruce is placating him, and it’s annoying as fuck.

Dick finally looks up, meeting Bruce’s eyes. “I want a promise. Promise me, right now, that you will not let Tim on the streets until he is old enough to make that decision for himself.”

“I swear. I won’t be able to stop him if he wants to train though.”

“You’re the adult,” Dick hisses, “You damn well can stop him. Grow a damn backbone!”

That’s perhaps the wrong thing to say, Bruce is already rigid and unmoving when he wants to be. But oftentimes, he was stubborn about the wrong things.

“I couldn’t stop you. I had to give you an outlet for that anger.” Bruce is right, of course he’s right. But that doesn’t mean Dick has to like it.

“Tim doesn’t have that anger. He has no thirst for vengeance, or pent up violence. He can help on comms, he can train for basic self defense, but do not give him a suit.”

“I promise, Dick. I won’t take him on the streets.”

Dick breathes out, falling against the cushions on the couch. “Thank you.”

“I noticed you’re not fighting to keep Jason off the streets.”

And there goes his peace.

Dick doesn’t respond for a while, closing his eyes and taking a few deep breaths. Robin being passed on without his prior knowledge or consent stings. Even more so because Bruce fired him, only to put another kid in a costume. What did he do wrong? What was so wrong with him, that Bruce felt like he needed a new partner?

“I know you’ve been training him. I know you gave him Robin. It’s too late for me to make you promise with him.”

Bruce jerks, clearly caught off guard.

“Did you really think Jason wouldn’t tell me?” Dick sighs.

“I…didn’t think he’d tell anyone. You know, not telling people is part of having a secret identity.”

Ok, ouch. It’s not like Dick is some random person. He already knows their secret identity, why would it be an issue if Jason told him?

“I’m not just—” Dick cuts himself off as Tim finally exits the bathroom. He shoots Bruce a hard glare, “We’re not done talking about this.” He pushes himself off the couch. He softens his gaze as he approaches Tim, “Go ahead and take the bed, buddy.”

Tim hugs him one more time, and crawls into Dick’s bed. Dick tucks the blankets around him, sits on the edge of the mattress, and brushes a hand through Tim’s hair.

Tim tugs on his arm, “Don’ leave, please.” There’s a hint of a whine in his voice, and who is Dick to deny him anything?

“I’m not going anywhere, Timmy. I promise.” Dick lays next to him, and Tim tucks himself into his side like he belongs there. He keeps carding his hand through Tim’s hair, the other arm holding the kid close.

Bruce comes over just as Tim is drifting to sleep. “I need to get going. I promise you, I will handle everything. He will be safe.”

Dick cranes his neck to meet Bruce’s eyes, “I know. Thank you, Bruce.”

“You don’t have to thank me for that.” Something flickers in his eyes, but Dick is entirely too tired to read into the microexpressions of Bruce Wayne. Bruce holds his hand out, and it takes him a second to realize there’s something small and faintly glinting in the moonlight in his hand.

Hesitantly, Dick accepts it, running a finger over the familiar grooves of his key to the manor. It’s almost annoying, how a small gesture can mean so much.

“I should have returned that a long time ago. I’m sorry, chum.”

His eyes burn with tears, and he barely manages a small smile.

Bruce kneels next to him and rests a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. “Goodnight, Dickie.” He leans forward and brushes a barely-there kiss on Dick’s forehead.

“Goodnight, Bruce.”

It’s not a solution. Nothing is actually solved, and it’s infuriating that Bruce can’t say what he means.

Dick buries Jason’s book and library card in one of his dresser drawers. He can’t bring himself to return the book, not if Jason’s going to show back up.

He has to have hope.

But, he can’t stand looking at it either. Not knowing Jason’s probably gone for good.

Not when he knows he should have been here to help.

Then, months pass with no sign of Jason. Dick had even talked to the working girls he knew Jason hung out with, and nothing.

He almost asked Bruce for help, but in the end, something stopped him.

Sure, his and Bruce’s relationship had been getting better, but Dick still doesn’t want to fully rely on him for help. Jason is—not was, Jason’s not gone—his responsibility. He should be the one to find him.

But he can’t.

So, months pass, and it’s nearly summer now. Dick never gives up looking, but he can’t find any information.

Until he does.

A newsarticle, announcing Bruce Wayne’s new son: Jason Todd-Wayne.

Son

Not ward.

Bruce wasted no time adopting Jason.

Jason is worthy of being Bruce’s son. Dick isn’t.

No matter how many times Bruce has told him he doesn’t care what a piece of paper says about their relationship, clearly he was lying.

Dick is…Dick was a crime fighting partner. Nothing more, apparently.

Don’t get him wrong, he’s thrilled Jason has a family now. A secure family. Someone who has the space to house him permanently. And enough money to buy him whatever he wants. Dick could never compete with that.

But it still stings.

He thought his relationship with Bruce was starting to mend, they usually met once a week, Bruce was doing better about his communication, or so he thought, Dick was trying to control his temper, it was good.

And all this time, Bruce never told him about Jason.

Dick scowls at the news article before tossing his phone on his bed and glaring around his apartment. Haley trots up to him and jumps up, and he obligingly crouches down to pet her properly.

“I’m ok, sweetheart. I don’t need him. I do, however, need to give him a piece of my mind.”

Dick gets dressed quickly and storms out of his apartment. He has a long commute to talk himself out of hitting his ex-guardian as soon as he sees him.

Something tells him that isn’t conducive to mending a relationship.

____________________

Bruce leans against the doorway, observing Jason as he napped in the library. The kid has settled in well, though he’s still a little wary of Bruce. It’s nice to see him so relaxed for once.

He should have told Dick about the kid a long time ago, but he kept putting it off, and now he feels as if it’s too late. The longer he puts it off, the worse he believes Dick’s reaction will be.

He’s distracted from his musing by the doorbell chiming through the manor. They have it hooked up to several speakers throughout the manor, so they can know when someone’s at the door regardless of how deep in the manor they are.

Bruce shakes off his thoughts and heads down to the foyer.

When he gets down there, Alfred has already opened the door, and Dick is stepping through the entry.

“Did you just ring the doorbell?” Bruce asks before he can stop himself. “This is still your home, chum, you don’t have to wait at the door.”

Dick turns his attention to Bruce from where he’d been smiling at Alfred, and his face drops. “Is that really all you have to say to me right now?” Dick sneers.

“Wha—” Bruce starts, before he can continue, though, Dick interrupts him.

“And so nice of you to remind me that ‘I don’t have to wait at the door’, but I don’t seem to remember being given my key.”

Bruce’s chest tightens. He never had given his son his key back. He moved it to his own room, it’s sitting on his dresser now.

Alfred eyes the two of them carefully, and excuses himself.

“I’m sorry, I meant to give that back to you ages ago.”

“I’m sure.” Dick crosses the foyer in long strides until he’s standing right in front of Bruce. “I’m sure you also meant to tell me you adopted a new kid, right? Why not—”

Before Dick gets another word out, another voice pops up. “Dick!”

All of the anger seems to melt out his oldest, as he turns towards the stairs and sees Jason. The kid practically runs down the stairs and leaps into Dick’s arms. Dick holds him tightly, burying one hand in his hair.

“I’m so glad you’re safe, bud.”

“Why didn’t you come visit before now?” Jason’s words are muffled, but still understandable.

Dick’s eyes bore into Bruce’s, “I didn’t know where you were.”

Bruce nearly flinches at the steel in Dick’s voice. He doesn’t know how his kids already know each other, why they’re so close, or why Dick looks about ready to murder him, but he senses he’s made a mistake of some kind.

“I’m going to my study.” Bruce mutters.

“You do that.”

Bruce refuses to flee from his son, in his own damn house no less, but there’s something unnerving about the fury in Dick’s eyes. It goes beyond feeling betrayed that Bruce didn’t tell him about Jason.

He just doesn’t know where it came from.

____________________

Once Bruce has left the room, Dick finally relaxes. He focuses on Jason pressed against him, little arms wrapped tightly around his waist. He breathes out, then picks Jason up like he weighs nothing.

“Wha–” Jason laughs, “Dick! Put me down, you asshole!”

“I don’t think I will, Little Wing!” Dick laughs as well, tightening his grip on Jason as he moves out of the foyer. He really should leave. He made sure Jason was safe, he shouldn’t overstay his welcome. This isn’t truly his home anymore, no matter what Bruce says or does, no matter how much they’ve made up. This can’t be home. He doesn’t think he can trust Bruce enough to let himself call it home.

Jason squirms in his grasp, “You fuckin’ asshole! I’m not a little kid!”

He was still laughing though, so Dick didn’t pay the request much mind.

He finally drops Jason on the couch when they reach the main sitting room, but he doesn’t let him relax for long.

Dick smirks down at Jason, watching the kid’s gaze turn wary. He digs his fingers into Jason’s side, laughing as he shrieks and tries to shove Dick’s hands off.

Dick doubles down, tickling Jason until the kid’s red in the face and breathless from laughing so hard.

Alfred appears in the room just as Dick stops, eyebrow raised at the scene in front of him. Jason is desperately trying to catch his breath, scooting away from Dick.

“Everything alright in here boys?” He asks evenly.

Dick smirks, “Perfect, Alfie.”

“Hm.” Alfred hums. “Lunch will be ready soon. Are you staying, Master Richard?”

Dick hesitates. He wants to stay. He wants to catch up with Jason, but he doesn’t want to piss Bruce off by staying.

“Please, Dick?” Jason asks, finally calmed down from their brief tickle fight.

Dick takes one glance at his pleading face and folds. “Alright, but I’m not getting Bruce.”

Alfred nods, and heads back to the kitchen.

“How’ve you been, bud? Bruce being good to you?” Dick turns to Jason.

“I’m good! Bruce has been great. It was weird at first, and the Manor is really big, but have you seen the library?!” Jason perks up again, talking faster as he gets excited.

“I have, I did grow up here, Jay.” Dick laughs. “I’m glad you like it here.”

They spend the next hour catching up before lunch, before heading into the dining room.

The following meal is awkward.

Dick exclusively talks to Jason and Alfred, and he glares at Bruce anytime the man tries to get his attention.

When it’s finally over, Dick glares at Bruce. “Your study.” He stalks off without another word to Bruce, only stopping to offer a hug to Jason.

____________________

Bruce stares at his son’s back as he storms out of the room. He doesn’t know how to fix this. He was so close to having his son back. Things were good.

Why’d he have to go screw it up?

Why couldn’t he just be honest with Dick for once.

“I do hope you’re planning on following him, sir. He seemed quite serious.”

“I don’t—”

“You are Batman, Master Bruce. Don’t tell me you are afraid of a tough conversation with your eldest.” Alfred’s tone left no room for argument as he picks up the dishes and heads to the kitchen, Jason snickering as he follows close behind.

He’s not afraid of the conversation with Dick, per se.

Wary of his anger? Absolutely.

Worried about how he’ll react? Also yes. Bruce has a habit of lashing out when threatened, even if the perceived threat is his son. He doesn’t want to lash out, he doesn’t want to fight anymore. It just feels inevitable.

Maybe he’s just been waiting for the other shoe to drop for a long time. Dick hasn’t been open, exactly, but they’ve both been trying.

He doesn’t want to screw this up again. He can’t screw this up again.

He might not get another chance to fix it.

With that final thought, he pushes himself out of his seat and makes his way down the hall.

He takes a few moments to observe Dick. He’s tired. Underneath all the tension and anger, Dick seems exhausted and run down. His son is pacing when he gets there, one hand tugging at his hair. When he catches sight of Buce, though, he freezes.

Emotions fly across his face, too quick for Bruce to read them. Not that he’s any good at that anyway. He just keeps messing it up.

Eventually, the tension bleeds out of Dick. He practically collapsed onto the couch, burying his head in his hands.

“I don’t want to fight, Bruce.” The words are muffled by Dick rubbing his face before looking up. “When did this get so hard?”

This is so far from what Bruce expected when he came up here, it takes him a bit to gather his thoughts.

“I don’t know, chum.”

“I don’t like walking on eggshells around each other. I don’t like feeling like this.” Dick takes in a breath. “I’m so tired.” The words are barely audible, spoken to the floor and so…despondent. It makes Bruce’s chest tighten. He hates seeing his son like this. “I thought we were getting better.” He speaks louder, staring directly at Bruce now.

“We are! Chum—” Bruce starts, almost desperately.

“Then why did you keep this from me? Even if you had no idea Jason and I knew each other—”

“I’m still curious about that story.” Bruce interjects.

“You still should have told me you adopted another kid.” Dick continues, ignoring his interruption.

Bruce sighs, “I should have. You’re right.”

“I’m tempted to make you say that again so I can get a recording.”

“I don’t have a good reason for not telling you. First you were on a mission, then the adoption was so new and I wanted to give Jason time to adjust, and the longer I waited the more I was worried about your reaction.”

Dick glares at him now. “So you thought me figuring it out from a goddamn news story was better than hearing it from you?”

“I thought I had more time to tell you.”

“What happened to working on communication and transparency, Bruce?”

“I am trying, you have to believe me.”

“No, I don’t. Words mean nothing without actions backing them up. Try harder.”

“I will. I am sorry, Dick. I didn’t expect you to find out this way.”

Dick glares for a while more, before his face drops again. “Well, anything else you want to tell me before I find out on my own?”

Bruce hesitates. He probably should tell Dick he’s training Jason to be Robin.

Will that destroy any peace they have right now? Dick’s going to find out eventually, it’s inevitable. When Jason starts going on patrol, the secret’s out. They’ve got a few months before he’s ready though.

Would telling Dick now be better?

Would waiting?

“Well clearly you have something you need to tell me.” Dick’s standing again, intense stare directed at Bruce.

“I don’t know that I can right now.”

“You better get your head out of your ass. And soon. We will never be able to repair our relationship if you can’t be transparent with me.”

“I will, I’m working on it.”

“Fine, I’ll go first.” He takes a step closer to Bruce, “I am furious with you. And hurt. And so, so fucking tired of this. I have directed most of my energy towards tracking that kid down, because I come back from my mission and he’s vanished. I spend six months looking for him. In that time, I’m working two jobs, patrolling, and navigating countless conversations with your emotionally incompetent ass. I am tired of being the only one putting in work here.”

“You’re not—“

“Then figure your shit out and start proving to me that you’re working on it.” Dick levels another intense stare in Bruce, “Prove to me you weren’t lying when you told me I’m still your son.” He continues in a softer voice and stalks to the door.

Bruce doesn’t move out of his way, desperate now. He can’t let Dick leave. He might not get him back.

“Wait!” Bruce holds a hand up.

“Bruce—”

“Just listen. I need you to hear this, and know that I mean it. I swear I’m not lying to you. I am trying.” Bruce takes a deep breath in. “You are my son. I wasn’t lying then, I am not lying now. I don’t know what made you think that—”

“Maybe when you adopted Jason right off the bat, but never adopted me.” Dick snarks.

“Jason needs the security, he wouldn’t believe he was safe here, that I wasn’t going to send him back to the streets, without that. Chum—”

“You don’t think I know that? I know he needs security. I’m not upset you’re giving it to him! I’m so happy he gets to have a home, and people who care about him. I am hurt because he gets this version of you. The one who knows what he needs, and I got the version of you that, apparently, never considered I also needed that security.”

“I know. I can’t go back and change the past. I know now that you needed that, especially as you got older. What can I do now to make you believe me?”

“I don’t know.”

“Please, Dickie, I don’t want to lose you.”

“What are you hiding.” It’s a statement, not a question.

“It’s not entirely up to me to say.”

Dick glares, “Fine. Keep your secrets. But I'm not giving you any more hints on how to actually prove yourself.”

“I can’t fix this without you telling me how!”

He’s getting more desperate, but he can’t lose Dick.

How long has his son been hurting?

It can’t have just been the weeks leading up until he left.

Years before that?

How long?

How long did he let Dick slip through his fingers, hiding his pain under a desperate need to prove himself?

“I told you my side, I told you what’s wrong. Fix it yourself.” He shoves Bruce out of the way and takes a few steps out the door.

Something causes him to pause before leaving, though.

“Oh, I’m choosing to trust you with one more thing. There’s a kid in one of my classes. Tim Drake. He’s been severely neglected. Look into his parents, but tread carefully. The kid’s smart. He blackmailed me into not reporting his parents. I could lose my job if that gets out.”

“What does he have on you? How old is he? Is he being taken care of now? How long have you known?”

Bruce’s brain kicks into overdrive. What could a kid have on Dick that would make him listen?

How did Bruce miss the Drakes’ neglect? He knows they’re always out of the country.

Willful ignorance.

He should’ve been better than this.

He swore no kid would suffer in his city again.

He’s failed on so many accounts.

Dick smiles grimly. “What does he have on us. He found out our identities, B.”

“Wha— how? Who else knows?”

“Just him. He found out about a year ago. As for the other questions, I’m handling it, for now. But we need a permanent solution. He’s finally starting to accept that what his parents are doing is wrong.”

“He’s welcome to stay here.”

He wants to keep an eye on that kid anyway. If he knows there identities, if he has enough proof that Dick couldn’t talk his way out of it, he could be dangerous.

“I’ll talk to him.” Dick finally turns to leave. “Oh, I’m taking my car. And your kid. We’re going out for the day. Figure your shit out.”

With that, Dick walks out. Bruce can faintly hear him call out to Jason, along with a muffled conversation

Bruce slumps against the wall, scrubbing a hand down his face.

At least it was better than expected.

He doesn’t think he’s lost Dick.

Dick doesn’t fully remember what happened after that. He knows Bruce caught him, felt the shocking impact and the jolt of hitting a nearby building. He knows Bruce took him to the cave, checked him over, then bundled him in a blanket and brought him up to the manor. He knows Bruce is talking, but he can’t make out the words.

There’s buzzing in his brain, his ears. His body is numb.

He’s distantly aware of a weight settling around him, then an arm tugging him into Bruce’s side.

He doesn’t know how much time he lost, but eventually he starts coming back to himself.

He groans, clenching his hands into fists and turning his head more towards Bruce.

“You back with me, chum?” Bruce murmurs, one hand rubbing Dick’s back. There’s a movie playing softly in the background, but Dick can’t focus enough to register what it is.

“Mhm,” The sound scratches at his throat, voice rough with disuse. His whole body is stiff, either from not moving for however long it’s been, or the impact of Bruce catching him and subsequently slamming into a building. Or both. Most likely both. “Br’ce?”

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“Thanks.”

Bruce doesn’t answer for a while, and when he does speak, his voice sounds choked up. “Please, don’t thank me for that. I don’t even want to think about what would have happened if I wasn’t there.” He presses his lips to Dick’s head.

Dick falls silent, not wanting to break the peaceful atmosphere. For once, things between him and Bruce don’t feel strained, and he doesn’t want to disturb that. Things are still fragile between them. They only just started talking again, Dick doesn’t want to jeopardize that.

He and Bruce sit in silence for a while, until the first movie, and then a second, finish. When it’s over, Dick shifts, stretching his sore body.

“Stay here tonight, please.” Bruce finally speaks.

“Bru—” He’s not fully comfortable with that, no matter how much he craves Bruce’s comfort right now. Things are just now getting better, and if they’re in the same house again, for more than a few hours, that is, he could mess it up, again.

“Sweetheart, please. You shouldn’t be on your own tonight,” Bruce takes a deep breath. “Besides, I need you close by tonight. I need to make sure you’re ok.”

Dick eyes him, tugging his weighted blanket around himself. After a long moment, he finally replies. “Fine. But just for tonight.”

Bruce nods, and they head upstairs together. “Do you need anything before bed? Your clothes and preferred toiletries are still in your room, but if you want a snack, or tea or something, I can go grab it.”

“I’m fine, Bruce. Thanks.”

He can’t seem to fall asleep. He doesn’t know why, he’s physically and mentally exhausted, but everytime he tries to fall asleep, he can’t. He’s restless, on edge.

At some point, he gets sick of tossing and turning and gets out of bed to pace.

No matter how many times he paces the room, does flips, or handstands, it doesn’t settle him.

He alternates between tossing and turning in bed and pacing his room.

He wishes he could go to the cave, but Bruce’s words ring in his head.

I don’t trust you down here.

Eventually, one of the times Dick was laying in his bed, Bruce comes to check on him.

Dick closes his eyes and falls still as the man enters quietly and crosses the room to the bed. Bruce brushes the hair of Dick’s forehead, “Why aren’t you asleep, chum?”

Dick doesn’t question how he knows, it’s near impossible to hide anything from the man.

He cracks his eyes open, shrugging as much as he can while laying down. “Restless. Every time I try to sleep, I can’t get comfortable.”

“Hm. what would help?”

“It’s just anxiety, probably. I can deal with it, I don’t need help.”

“Come on, up you get.”

“Bruce. I just said I can deal with it myself.”

“I know, but you don’t have to do it alone. Come on.” Bruce wedges a hand under Dick’s shoulder, helping him sit up. It’s a testament to how tired Dick is when he allows it.

Bruce leads them to the kitchen, then starts pulling the tea out. “Chamomile?” There’s a small smirk on his face.

Dick pins him with a glare, hopping on the counter behind him.

“I know, I know.” Bruce chuckles. “How does lavender hibiscus sound?”

“Sounds great.”

Bruce fills the kettle and turns it on, then pulls two mugs down.

Dick laughs, “Alfred still not letting you touch the stove?”

“What, exactly, do you think changed while you were gone?”

Dick doesn’t respond, instead watching Bruce carefully spoon the loose leaf tea into the infusers.

“So, I recognize this is bad timing—”

“Oh great.” Dick mutters. “Maybe don’t say it then?”

“Oh hush. Seriously, do you want to talk about what happened earlier? Might help.”

“No.”

“Ok.” He turns back to the counter as the kettle beeps. He pours the water, and then they wait.

They don’t speak, but it feels comfortable.

It’s the most comfortable Dick has felt around Bruce in a long time.

When the tea is done steeping, Bruce removes the infusers and hands a mug to Dick. “Want to go watch another movie?”

Dick hesitates before answering, he can see the weariness hanging off Bruce, dragging him down. He doesn’t need to keep Bruce up just because he can’t sleep. “I’m fine, Bruce. You can go to bed.”

“Even if I believed you, have you considered I don’t want to leave you alone right now?”

“That won’t work on me twice.”

“Dickie—”

“I promise I’m fine, I’m just restless. I know how to deal with anxiety.” His normal response would be to work out in the cave, and physically workoff the energy, but the cave isn’t really an option anymore.

“You don’t have to deal with this alone.”

“And here I thought you were working on being less pushy.” Dick glares, though sipping from his tea as he does probably mitigates the effect.

“Sweetheart, If you can look me in the eye and tell me, without a doubt, you want to be alone right now, I’ll leave you be.” Bruce leans against the counter, drinking his tea casually.

Dick meets his gaze, “I’ve been telling you, I can deal with this by myself.”

“That’s not the same as saying you want to.”

Dick sags as he acquiesces. He really is exhausted, even if he won’t be able to actually sleep, but company could be nice. Even if it’s Bruce.

Perhaps especially if it’s Bruce.

No matter how much he wants to run from the man’s control, or whatever other issues he has with him, Bruce is still the man who raised him. He knows Dick, knows when he really shouldn’t be alone, even if he’s demanding it.

He drains the last of his tea, then hops off the counter. “Fine.” Setting the mug in the sink, he turns back to see Bruce watching him. The man holds one arm up, in a clear invitation.

He holds out for a full minute, and Bruce sits there with his arm out the whole time.

Dick collides with his father, wrapping his arms around his waist and burying his face in his shoulder. Bruce wraps his open arm around Dick’s shoulder, and he can feel Bruce setting his mug down before wrapping the other around him.

“I got you, Dickie. I got you.”

They stand there for a long time. Eventually, though, they head upstairs. They both settle into Bruce’s bed, blankets tucked around Dick in a mimicry of their position on the couch earlier. Bruce turns on some music as background music.

The restless feeling is still there, but it’s a little quieter, there’s a part of him that will always feel safer when Bruce is around.

After a while, Dick finally speaks. “M’sorry.” WIth his face buried in Bruce’s chest, it comes out muffled and near intelligible.

“What for, chum?”

“You could be asleep right now, could have been for a while. Instead you're stuck dealing with me.”

“I’m not stuck doing anything, there’s nowhere I’d rather be than right here.” Bruce runs his hand over Dick’s back. “Besides, if you don’t remember, I convinced you to let me keep you company.”

“Still sorry.”

Bruce sighs, “I love you, Dickie. Please don’t forget that.”

The words sting to hear, as much as part of him is glad, it still hurts. The words he craved to hear so much when he was younger, only to get them now, after so much has happened between them.

Things still aren’t great, but it feels…easier tonight. Perhaps it’s the darkness, or the fragility of the peace between them, or the terror following what happened earlier.

When he wakes, probably only one or two hours later, Bruce is still asleep.

He works his way out of Bruce’s arms, a little surprised he managed it without waking the man up, and heads back to his room.

He takes his time going through his morning routine, and despite the minimal amount of sleep he got, he feels more rested than he has in a long time.

When he finally makes it downstairs, Bruce must still be asleep, because Alfred’s alone in the kitchen.

“Good morning, Master Dick. How are you feeling?”

“Morning, Alfie. I’m fine. Need any help with breakfast?”

Alfred pins him with an unimpressed look. “You are barely better than Master Bruce when it comes to the kitchen, lad. You can wash your dishes from last night, however.”

Dick laughs, “Hey, I had to learn! I can fend for myself now. I’m nowhere near your level, but I’m decent.” He shrugs as he heads to the sink, rinsing the mugs and infusers and placing them in the dishwasher. “I can’t live off frozen pizza, ramen, and cereal while working at the gymnastic studio, I have to be able to keep up with the workouts. Plus patrolling on top of that, I need my energy.”

He doesn’t mention the only reason he learned is because his friends called him out on his terrible habits and have mandatory weekly check ins. It doesn’t hurt that he wants to make sure Tim and Jason have decent food to eat.

Perhaps he should tell Bruce and Alfred about his brothers. If something happens to him, like it almost did last night, they need someone to look after them. He doesn’t think Jason would take well to a rich man randomly adopting him off the streets, not yet anyway. He’d probably need time to warm up to Bruce, especially considering he’s only just started to warm up to Dick.

Tim, on the other hand, probably wouldn’t be that hard to convince.

Alfred speaks again, bringing Dick’s attention back to the present. “I’ll believe that when I see it, Master Dick. You once turned rice into soup.”

“How would you be able to see I’ve improved if you won’t let me in the kitchen? Besides, that was years ago!”

Alfred merely raises an eyebrow and turns back to what he was doing. Dick sighs and sits at the small table in the corner.

Soon enough, Bruce comes down and sits at the table next to him. He grunts a good morning, then rests his head on his hand and nearly falls back asleep immediately.

Dick rolls his eyes and gets up, pulling the supplies to make coffee down.

When he sets the mug down, perhaps a little harsher than necessary, Bruce perks up a little. “Thanks, chum.”

“Whatever.” Now that his mind is clear, and the fragility of the night has passed, Dick can’t help but be embarrassed about how yesterday turned out. He may have made peace with his imminent death last night, but looking back on it, it was such a rookie mistake. He should have accounted for the weapons being combustible and making a bigger explosion than planned. He could have waited until he’d gotten more rest.

He could have, and should have, done a lot of things differently. He shouldn’t need Batman to swoop in and save him.

They spend the rest of breakfast in silence, with Dick stabbing his breakfast with more force than necessary. The tense atmosphere feels reminiscent of his last few weeks in the manor, like he’s just waiting for Bruce to criticize him, for their truce to blow up.

It finally happens near the end of the meal.

Bruce clears his throat, setting his silverware down and turning to face Dick. “I’m giving you a new grappling line.”

Dick bristles, “My line is fine! Besides, I don’t need your help, or your input on what I do!”

“It clearly isn’t! And you needed me last night. What would’ve happened if I wasn’t there, Dick?”

“I know how to check my gear. My grapple is fine, that wasn’t the problem.”

“Then what was? Explain what happened.”

Dick hesitates, admitting he was just tired and didn’t account for the weapons creating a bigger explosion than originally planned is the last thing he wants to do.

“Well?”

“Why were you there? You have no reason to be that close to Crime Alley.”

“Don’t change the subject, Richard.”

Dick rolls his eyes. “I’m not a kid anymore, full naming me doesn’t work anymore.”

“Oh really?” Bruce leans forward. “I am losing my patience, so you better explain yourself pretty quickly, Richard John Grayson.”

Dick scoffs, though the intensity with which Bruce is staring at him is making him squirm. Definitely not the use of his full name. Nope.

“Richard.”

Dick glares, “You have no hold over me, I’m leaving.”

Bruce holds a hand up as Dick moves to stand, and no matter how much Dick protests his independence, the gesture still makes him stall. Bruce still has a hold over him, even if Dick despises it.

“Last chance.”

“Or what?”

“You’re grounded.”

Dick sputters, “The fuck? I’m an adult! I don’t even live here!”

“Do you need me to count down like you’re a toddler?” Bruce looks smug, the bastard. “Explain yourself, or you will stay here for as long as you’re grounded.”

“I’m an adult!”

“Act like one, and own up to your actions.”

“Ugh fine. You bastard.” Dick groans.

“Language. You’re not helping your situation.”

“I was in a rush, I was tired, and I didn’t account for the weapons making the blast bigger. The shockwave blew me off course, and the angle dislodged my grapple hook.”

As Bruce sits back, a small smirk crosses his face, before being replaced by a frown. “Then you need to revisit remedial training. An escape means nothing if the route isn’t secure or if you’re caught off guard because you didn’t think through every possibility.”

Dick stands, bracing his arms on the table, “How many times do I have to tell you, I am an adult! I don’t fucking need you.”

“Clearly you do.” Bruce doesn’t react to his change in posture. “There are plenty of drills you can run, but you don’t go back on the streets until you remember how to properly plan an op.”

“Fuck no. You don’t get a say when I go out.”

“Try me.”

Dick glares for a long moment. “I’m leaving.” He turns, ready to head off and grab his stuff and possibly steal a bike. Or his car back. Bruce already knows where he lives, what’s the harm now? It’d be nice to actually be able to drive again.

Bruce doesn’t say anything as Dick storms off.

When he gets to the cave, his gear is sitting on a workbench, so grabs it quickly and shoves it into a duffle bag. He doesn’t want to stay here longer than necessary.

When he gets to the garage though, he hesitates. It’d be nice to have his car back, or at least a bike, but he doesn’t want anything of Bruce’s. It’s too close to accepting the man’s help, and Dick can’t give him anything else to hold over his head.

He can go over to Tim’s, it’s only 2 miles up the road anyway. From there he can call an uber or something.

Decision made, he slips through the garage door and heads towards Drake Manor. He’s only been there once, and it was when he was much younger. It was a rare occasion when the Drakes were actually in town and hosted a gala. It’s nowhere near as big as Wayne manor, but still entirely too much space for a single family—especially when you take into consideration they’re pretty much never home.

He knocks sharply on the Drake’s door, then waits. It doesn’t take long for Tim to throw the door open and collide with Dick in a hug.

“I wasn’t expecting you!” The words come out muffled against Dick’s stomach.

“It’s good to see you too, bud.” Dick runs his back, “Why don’t we—“

He cuts himself off, stiffening.

Haley.

He never went home last night, he has to go check on her.

Shit.

“Dick?” Tim’s voice breaks him out of his panic.

“Sorry, how about we go hang out at my place?”

“But you just got here!”

“I forgot I need to go check on Haley. I never made it home last night.”

“Oh. Wait. Were you in the—“

“Shh. Yes. But shush.” Dick chuckles.

“C’mon, let’s go catch a bus. I can explain when we get back to my apartment.”

“Ok, let me grab my stuff.”

Dick watches as Tim runs back inside.

Not long later, he hoists Tim onto his back (despite his protests that he doesn’t need to be carried. Dick isn’t letting him walk almost 3 miles) and heads to the bus stop.

Carrying a kid and both of their stuff proves to be awkward and a little uncomfortable, but manageable.

He lets Tim walk when they get off the bus again, and soon they’re at Dick’s apartment.

Dick pauses outside the door, stiffening slightly. Something’s off. He doesn’t know what, but something. His hand slides to where he normally keeps his knife, only to come up empty. His weapons are packed with the rest of his gear.

“Stay near that wall, Tim.” He whispers, gesturing to the wall on the right.

“Is something wrong?” Tim speaks just as quietly as Dick had.

“I don’t know.”

Once Tim is safely by the wall, Dick unlocks the door and shoves it open in one smooth move. He steps to the other side, waiting. Haley doesn’t come running over, which is worrying.

“Dick, it’s just me!” Barbara calls out. Dick lets out a breath, sagging against the wall. He motions for Tim to come out, and they walk in together.

“Dammit, Gordon. A little heads up would have been nice!” He drops his bag just inside the door, shuts it, and crouches down when Haley bounds over.

He finally takes in the scene, and sees Jason glaring at Barbara with his arms crossed.

“What’s going on here?” He asks. Tim moves over to Barbara, giving her a hug and chattering about his day.

“Bruce told me what happened last night, so I came by to check on Haley and keep her company until you came back.” Barbara answers before turning her attention back to Tim.

“Jay?”

Jason huffs, and switches his glare to Dick. “I wanted to read in peace, but you weren’t here! So, I waited around, and then she came in early this morning. She said she knows you.”

“Yeah, we’re friends. That’s Barbara, the kid is Tim.”

“Where were you last night?”

“There was a complication on patrol, so I stayed with Bruce.”

“Wait, he knows your identity?” Barbara cuts in again.

Dick laughs nervously, “He found my suit.”

“Goddamn, Grayson. Get better at hiding.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Standing, he asks, “So who here has actually eaten today?”

Unsurprisingly, Barbara’s the only one that raises her hand.

“Ok, I’ll get food started then. Jay, you want to help?”

The kid nods, and they get to work.

“How are you liking the book?” Dick asks. Jason’s still working his way through Great Expectations, but he seems pretty invested in it.

“It’s good!” He starts a long rant, and it’s pretty good entertainment as they prepare the simple breakfast.

A little bit later, though, Jason’s whole demeanor changes. His face falls, his shoulders curl inward, and he ducks his head.

Dick furrows his brows, “What’s up, bud? What’s wrong?”

“You’re replacing me with a rich kid.” Jason’s voice is low, and it’s not even a question. It’s a startling change from his previous happy attitude when he was talking about the book. He seems so convinced that Dick would replace him.

“No, I’m not. No one is getting replaced, Jay. I care for both of you, and I just want to help.” Dick nudges him a little with his shoulder. “Besides, technically I met Tim first. He was injured, and I couldn’t just leave him there.”

Jason doesn’t answer, and Dick lets him stay silent.

They put together some scrambled eggs, toast, and fruit, and it doesn’t take long. He passes out the plates, and then sits on the floor in front of the couch. Jason chooses to sit across from them, against the wall.

Eventually, he warms up to Barbara and Tim, and is soon laughing with the rest of them.

The rest of the day passes that way, with him enjoying the easy company of his best friend and brothers.

When he wakes up in the morning, his bank account has almost two million dollars in it.

Wonder who could have done that.

Groaning, Dick flops back on his pillows. He has the day off, and he was going to use it to relax and do nothing, but now he has to call fucking Bruce.

You know what? This is Bruce’s fault, he can deal with being woken up early.

He has to call five times before the man answers.

“Dick?” Bruce grumbles, “What’s wrong?”

“Take it back.”

“Take what back?”

“Don’t be difficult, you know what I’m talking about.”

“I honestly don’t, Dick, what are you talking about?” Bruce grunts, and sheets rustle on the other side of the call.

“The money, Bruce. Take it back.”

“Oh.”

“Is that all you have to say? Why the hell did you even send me that?”

“It’s an apology—”

“So you think you can buy my forgiveness?” Dick snorts, finally getting out of bed.

“No, I was going to actually apologize as well. The money is just a bonus.” He actually seems to believe that.

Dick may have grown up with the same money Bruce has, but at least the pretentious ass attitude skipped him.

“I don’t want your money, Bruce! I want to earn my way through life.”

“Then invest it, or something. But I’m not taking it back, it was a gift.”

“Oh, a gift? A gift that you’re going to hold over my head someday, because I will never be able to pay it back?”

“What? No—”

“Whatever.” Dick jabs the ‘end call’ button, and gathers Haley’s leash to take her outside. He makes a mental note to transfer the money to a separate account when he gets back inside, just to make sure he doesn’t spend it.

The rest of his day off is peaceful. He makes plans to hang out with Wally and the rest of the Titan’s soon, and he goes to some thrift and antique stores and finally finds an older TV he can hook up. He’s been ok with not having one for a while, since all he really did in his apartment was eat and sleep, but now he has more regular visitors. It would be nice to be able to watch something.

__________________________

The next month passes more or less uneventfully.

Other than a Titan’s mission, that is.

He’s on his way to visit Jason, let him know he made it back safe.

He can’t wait to see the kid. It was a longer mission with the Titans, so it’s been almost two weeks since he’s seen him. The last time was the night before he left, they’d hung out at Dick’s apartment and played a new board game Dick had bought.

He picks some snacks up on the way, some of the kids favorites, so he’s running a little late, but hopefully Jason won’t mind.

Only, when he reaches the alley they were supposed to meet at, Jason’s not there. The kid is never late, even if he doesn’t have a watch.

Dick hangs around for another two hours waiting on him, but he doesn’t show.

His heart beats wildly in chest, breath coming in quick gasps as he scans the alley for clues.

There’s nothing.

This isn’t the usual alley they meet in, maybe Jason went to the other one?

Dick practically sprints to the usual alley, but there’s no clues there either.

There’s none in the apartment Jason was squatting in either.

Jason’s just…gone.