An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
chapter one of my court of owls rewrite AU!
***
Dick stands near the podium, watching Bruce give his speech. He already knows that the speech is about looking forward to the future to create a better Gotham, instead of focusing on the city’s grim present and past. However, Dick finds himself thinking about the city as it was and still is, despite the point of Bruce’s entire speech is for people to not do so.
Dick can’t help it. Bruce starts the speech with stories of his connection to Gotham, and Dick finds himself remembering his own association with the city, and all that entails.
He wishes he could say he hasn’t thought of the Court for years, but that would be a lie.
Without Dick realizing it, Bruce has finished his speech. The socialites and elites of Gotham lap it up, of course. Dick knows that a lot of them don’t really believe in what Bruce is saying: invest in Gotham’s future and we can make Gotham a better place--and Dick has his suspicions about which of them actually wants to make a better Gotham, considering what he knows about them--, but they take it anyway. That’s Gotham’s elites for you.
Dick waits until Bruce has done his cursory thank-yous before putting himself next to Bruce’s elbow. He knows how much these rich people hate it when he interrupts their conversations with their beloved Brucie, but that makes him do it more often.
Spite. What a powerful motivator.
“Are you sure about this?” Dick starts signing, not really caring who sees. It’s not like any of the people surrounding Bruce knows ASL anyway. They never care enough to learn.
“Yes,” Bruce signs back.
“Don’t you have enough to do with Batman Inc.?” Dick can’t say how much he loves that he can actually talk about Batman in public. He just has to slide everything under the blanket of Batman Inc.. After all, it’s public knowledge that Bruce Wayne is funding Batman Inc. No more searching for increasingly ridiculous excuses.
Plus, it is not like anyone around them knows what they’re saying. Like Dick said before, they don’t care enough to learn. But it’s always good to be safe.
“Actually, I’m thinking of spending more time in Gotham.” The people surrounding Bruce start to disperse, grumbling and whispering to themselves and each other, after it becomes clear that Bruce is not going to translate his conversation with Dick to the people surrounding him. Honestly, by now, they should know already. It’s not like this hasn’t occurred many, many times before. “I-”
Dick stops Bruce with a hand. With the crowd surrounding them, or more precisely, surrounding Bruce, clearing, Dick can see Commissioner Gordon, standing near a window as he talks to his phone. While the sight is not something out of the ordinary, especially in an event like this,the words that Dick can read from his lips, however, are unusual.
… stab wounds… I’ll be there…
Well, maybe even that is not something new. It’s Gotham, after all. Despite Bruce’s, and lately Dick’s, efforts, victims of stabbings are still common. What’s extraordinary is the fact that the GCPD is calling the commissioner about a stabbing, when they know perfectly well he’s attending a function.
Not a regular crime then.
Bruce, noticing that Dick’s focus is now on the Commissioner, moves his attention to him.
They both watched Jim Gordon for a while, and when the Commissioner hangs up, Bruce signs, “Are you going out?”
Dick nods. He’s already thinking of excuses, and whether or not he should take Damian. A stabbing doesn’t sound like a case Dick would keep away from him, but if they’re calling the Commissioner about it…
“Want me to come with?”
No, Dick’s not going to bring Damian. If they’re calling the Commissioner because of some mystery surrounding the stabbing, then he’ll involve Damian later. The kid needs more detectiving practice. But if it’s something else, something more horrible than just a mystery, then he’ll work the case alone. Damian doesn’t need more violence in his life.
At least not more than what he usually sees on a daily basis.
“No,” Dick signs. “I’ll go alone. It’s your party, you should be here. Keep an eye on Damian.” Dick watches as Bruce’s eyes go distant--the way they did when he doesn’t understand something--at the sign name Dick has given for Damian, index finger up, palm facing outwards, which is then continued by the palm turning, while touching the chest with the middle finger. The letter D, moving onto a modified sign for heart. Dick has been meaning to have that conversation with Bruce for a long time, now, about what Damian means to him and how they will navigate that now that Bruce is back, but they never seem to have the time. Maybe Bruce being in Gotham more will be good for them. For all of them “Make sure he’s not putting anything on fire,” Dick finishes, teasing a bit.
Bruce eyes him warily. Dick knows he’s not sure whether Dick is joking about the fire bit or not Dick just smiles as he tries to figure it out.
Maybe Damian will put something on fire. And with both Tim and Cass in attendance, chaos will still reign even if Damian doesn’t light anything up. Tim and Damian are bad enough, but Dick has learned recently that putting all three of them in close proximity to each other for a prolonged period of time will only result in chaos.
It’ll be fun to watch Bruce handle that for a change.
Bruce sighs. “I’ll be on standby as back-up, then.”
“You just want to ditch the party.”
Bruce flicks Dick’s nose. For a moment, Dick is transported to years ago, having a conversation very similar to this one. Only this time, Dick is the one who’s going out and Bruce is the back-up. It startles him a bit, knowing how far he’s come since those unsure Robin days, shoulders heavy with the need to redeem his mother’s name for him, and always, always scared of the possibility of hitting too hard, of going too far.
Him and Damian are so much more alike than the kid can possibly think.
Dick’s shoulders are still heavy now, but it’s a different name he’s bearing, with a different parent behind it.
No. The mission first. Dick can do his maudlin reflections later. He shakes his head a bit, just to clear it, then signs, “I’m going to call Tim or Cass if I need back-up. This is your party, and you’ll stay until the very end of this stupid thing.”
Bruce flicks his nose again. Or, well, he tries to. Dick ducks down, leaving Bruce’s fingers to flick air.
“Brat,” Bruce says, huffing with exasperation. Then, his expression turns serious, and he signs, “Be careful.”
Dick smiles. “Always.”
***
The cape no longer drags him with its weight. It’s still heavy, it’s still weird and constricting, but it no longer pulls him down. Dick wonders what that says about him.
Since he left Damian back at the party, with plenty of protests from the boy, Batman is flying solo tonight. Dick takes the opportunity to play around a bit, since no Robin means he doesn’t have to be a good example.
It’s not strictly professional, but it keeps the mythos going. Besides, Bruce used to do it all the time. Still does.
Dick lands at the crime scene silently, searching for the officer in charge to spook.
The officer in question is Sergeant Harvey Bullock. Dick sighs internally. No chance of spooking, then. Bullock has been in the game for far too long to be startled by the Bat anymore, whether it is him or Bruce.
“Sergeant Bullock,” Batman says. Dick hates doing it, hates forcing the words out of his mouth, hates the memories that come with it, but unlike Nightwing, Batman cannot be mute.
It’s bad enough that Commissioner Gordon and a lot of the Rogues know he’s not the original one. He doesn’t need to advertise it.
“Batman.” Bullock nods at him. “Come on. Let’s go look at some art.”
Sergeant Bullock leads him inside, to where a man is pinned to the wall by knives.
“The landlord found him on a routine rent run. He went by the name Sam Strigs…,” Bullock says as Dick listens with half an ear. There’s something familiar about the knives.
Dick moves closer.
An owl. On the handle of the knives.
Dick’s breathing stops for a second. He can feel his hands curling around phantom knives, much like these ones. His neck tingles with the sense of being watched.
No. Dick takes a breath. Bruce said the Court is gone. Bruce said he has run the Court to the ground and burned them himself.
Dick glances at Bullock. He’s still talking, oblivious to the fact that Dick’s mind had gone somewhere else. Good. It won’t do to have people know that the Batman is scared of the Court.
There will be riots. No one will take Batman seriously ever again. Dick can’t do that to Bruce.
But then… an owl. The Court is powerful. It’s possible that Bruce hasn’t burnt them all, that they have been hiding, biding their time, waiting for their chance to strike. But, that brings its own sets of questions. The most prevalent one is, why now?
“... has anything to do with the old wive’s tale-”
“I know what you mean,” Batman says. Dick knows. He knows all about the Court of Owls. There’s no need for Bullock to start saying their name out loud. Speak not a whispered word of them. Better not to tempt fate.
He also says that because he can excuse that with Batman’s general sullenness and know-it-all behaviour. The Batman is not scared of the Court of Owls. He just can’t be bothered to listen to their name.
Dick pulls his eyes away from the knives, surveying the rest of the room. The smell of paint thinner hits his nose, blocking even the stench of the body.
Why is he smelling paint thinner?
Oh. Maybe. Dick pulls out a lighter from his belt, then starts walking around the room, trying to find where the smell is strongest.
The smell is strongest on the wall right opposite of Sam Strig’s body. Dick observes the wall. He doesn’t see anything that will give him clues, but paint thinner does leave no trace on this kind of wall. Dick flicks the lighter on and approaches the wall. He hopes he’s not wrong, because if he is, then he’ll be burning the crime scene down.
“Hey! What are you doing?” Bullock shouts, but it’s too late. The fire has caught.
It illuminates the room. Well, the good news is, Dick is not burning anything down.
The bad news is, the fire writes, RICHARD GRAYSON WILL DIE TOMORROW.
Well. Dick has had his share of death threats over the years, but none so… dramatic as this.
“Tomorrow?” Bullock says. “Our time of death is a week ago, so the ‘tomorrow’ Strigs thought of already came and went. This Grayson boy should be in the clear.”
“Unless he knew when he’d be found,” Batman says.
Bullock narrows his eyes, then grimaces. “The landlord says he always comes on the second Friday of the month. Maybe our victim knows he’s going to die and be found today, and left a warning for this Grayson boy.” Bullock snorts. “Then good luck to that killer. Grayson’s Wayne’s adopted son, and Wayne’s security has security. I’m guessing you know the boy? What with Wayne being your-”
Batman grunts. Why would a dying man leave a warning message for his killer’s next victim? Unless…, unless the one writing the message is not Sam Strigs.
If it’s a Talon writing that message, if it’s the Court who’s sending that message…
“I’ll be seeing you, Bullock,” and with that, Dick is gone before Bullock can answer. He has a murderer to catch.
***
“Are you insane?” Bruce says. Other people will say that Bruce is completely unaffected. Dick knows better. He’s speaking to Dick. “The Court is back in Gotham, they’re threatening you, and you’re telling me to leave?”
Dick sighs. He would also like to be stressed about this, but when he comes back to the Bunker and tells Bruce about the situation, he sees that Bruce is actually panicking over this. He decides then that he’s going to be calm and collected. No sense in having two Batmans that are panicking, after all.
“We don’t know if it’s the Court or not. It could be a copycat.”
“I’m not leaving, Dick. You should have called me the moment you have any indication that it’s the Court instead of letting me play billionaire in a party all night.”
And that’s the thing, isn’t it? Even if this is the Court, Bruce has been protecting Dick against them for so long now. It’s Dick’s problem, and it’s past time he handled it.
“I can handle it,” Dick signs, perfectly calm and collected. He’s not, not really, but Bruce wouldn’t even consider going if Dick isn’t the picture of serenity.
He loves Bruce for that, but Bruce shouldn’t be worrying about Dick anymore. Not when he has so much more to worry about.
Bruce pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m… I’m not saying you can’t handle it, Dick. I…”
Dick laughs a little bit. Even with the threat of the Court swirling at the back of his mind, it’s always fun to see Bruce getting flustered with emotions, instead of locking them down and playing the unfeeling Batman.
Dick taps Bruce’s fingers, forcing the man to pay attention to him, then signs, “You can’t say it, can you? I’m worried.”
“Dick,” Bruce says. “It’s the Court.”
Dick changes his demeanour instantly. “I know,” he signs. “It’s time I faced them.”
A look passes between them. A thousand unsaid things and a thousand unspoken emotions.
There’s no evidence it’s the Court, Dick’s look says.
They’re smart enough to conceal it, Bruce counters.
Even if it is, I can handle it.
It’s my job to protect you, the set of Bruce’s mouth says.
I can protect myself just fine.
Bruce takes a breath. Then, in the rise of his eyebrows, he asks, Are you sure about this?
And Dick, answering in kind, raises his own eyebrows. Yes, I’m sure.
“Alright,” Bruce breathes out, “but call for back-up the moment you need it, Dick. I’m serious.”
“And by back-up you mean you, right?” because Bruce is nothing if not paranoid and controlling. He won’t even be in Gotham by early tomorrow morning. The Batman of Tokyo needs his help, and so Bruce is flying out first thing tomorrow. He can’t seriously think that he is going to be Dick’s first point of contact.
Nowadays, Gotham is not lacking in protectors, and so Dick is not lacking in back-ups. Babs is here, Stephanie is here, Tim is here. Cass is back, and even Jason can be persuaded to give them back-ups once in a blue moon. Dick is not lacking in back-ups.
“None of them have faced the Court before.”
“I have.”
“Dick,” Bruce growls.
Dick sighs. “I promise to call for back-up, but I’m not promising to call you. Tokyo needs you much more than we do. We can handle this.”
Another thousand unsaid things. Another thousand unspoken emotions.
“Fine,” Bruce sighs..
Dick smiles at him. He turns to go to the lockers to change out of his suit, but before he steps out of the room, Bruce adds, “You know that the mission is not more important than you, right?”
He is gone before Dick can answer.
***
“How much longer do I have to endure this, Grayson?”
“You love it,” Dick teases.
Damian scoffs. “I repeat, how much longer do I have to endure this, Grayson?”
Dick laughs. Damian glares at him, but he doesn’t stop stirring the sauce, despite all his complaints in the last twenty three minutes. Dick tries to stop laughing, but one look at Damian’s glare gets him starting again.
It warms Dick’s heart, to see his little brother stirring the sauce next to him. The Damian from months ago would have stabbed him with a kitchen knife before deigning to accompany Dick in cooking. The sight even manages to push the threat on his life to the very back of his mind.
Dick takes a few deep breaths to calm himself. Damian won’t appreciate it if he keeps laughing at him. Then, Dick walks over and ruffles Damian’s hair before taking over the spatula. Only Damian can make stirring pasta sauce sounds like torture.
“Give me the tomatoes,” Dick signs.
“Yes, I know, Grayson,” Damian grumbles, handing Dick a plate of chopped tomatoes. “And stop signing while you’re stirring. We don’t want a repeat of last Thursday.”
Dick stops stirring, then gives Damian his best conspiring look. “Nothing happened last Thursday.”
Damian snorts. “Keep telling yourself that. I will break the moment Pennyworth asks me about it. I do not wish to incur his wrath. Again.”
“The mighty Damian falls under Alfred’s wrath, huh?”
“It would be prudent to do so,” Damian says. “And stop signing.”
Dick laughs again. It’s fun, actually, being in the Penthouse’s kitchen, cooking dinner with his little brother, despite the complaints from Damian. It also serves to give Alfred a break every once in a while. God knows the man needs it.
The sunlight glints on the countertop, unhindered by anything. It’s almost sunset already. Dick knows that the Court can strike just as well, if not better, at night, but the sight of the sun setting calms Dick’s beating heart somewhat. At night they are Batman and Robin, not Dick and Damian. At night Dick can protect his brother more.
It’s ironic, that Dick likes Damian to be on the streets better than at home, but on the streets, he can lead any attempts on Dick’s life away from Damian. He can’t do that here.
Dick is perfectly fine with the Court threatening him, but he cannot bear it if his family is in danger. Never mind that all of their lives are at risk every time they put on a mask.
But they can handle those dangers. They have for years now. The Court though. The Court is something else. The Court is Dick’s problem.
A shadow appears over the countertop. And from its angle, whatever it is is perching on the windows. Too big to be a bird, and anything else won’t perch on the window.
No. No. Not now, not when he’s so close to getting through the day unscathed.
Not when Damian is so close to getting through the day unharmed.
Down, Dick signs with the field signals, ones that only his family and his Titans know. Ones that Damian is trained to recognize and obey instantly.
He does, thank god. Damian puts down the basil he’s been chopping and takes cover behind the kitchen counter.
Not a moment too late, because once Damian’s head went out of sight, the window breaks. The windows at Wayne Tower are supposed to be unbreakable, but…
It’s a Talon. It’s a Talon standing inside Dick’s kitchen, in very close proximity to Damian.
So it is the Court.
And they have sent a Talon for Dick’s head.
Dick moves into his stance. From the uniform, Dick knows that the Talon in front of him is his great-grandfather, William Cobb. That’s both good news and bad news, because Dick knows how Cobb fights, but Cobb also knows how Dick fights. After all, he’s the one who trained Dick all those years ago.
He’s also a damn good fighter.
But Dick has spent the years since their last encounter training with other people and he’s guessing that Cobb hasn’t. He throws the pan filled with hot pasta towards Cobb, trying to buy some time.
As Dick had expected, the pasta didn't hurt Cobb,but it did give him time to take a knife from the knife block on the counter. Distantly, Dick remembers Damian holding a knife before he took cover, and wonders where that knife is, but Dick pushes that thought out for later.
Dick has batarangs on his person, as always, but he’s not sure whether the Court already knows that tidbit of information, so he doesn’t dare pull them out.
Cobb throws his own knife. Dick ducks and rolls towards Cobb. Another knife, this one aimed downwards. Dick leaps up.
Cobb may be good, but Dick is right. Cobb’s skills, although impressive, hasn’t improved in the years since their last meeting.
Dick’s has increased exponentially.
But he’s in civvies, with only the one knife as a weapon. Cobb is in his full Talon regalia, with dozens of knives, two swords, throwing darts, and possibly several grenades. He also has regenerative abilities. Dick does not.
Dick aims a kick towards Cobb’s eyes. Cobb evades it, but that’s okay. It is supposed to be a feint anyway. Dick knows what move Cobb will use to evade the kick and he makes use of that by slashing at Cobb’s back.
It hits, but Dick knows the cut will heal soon enough. Dick has to be fast. He trips Cobb’s legs and strikes at his neck.
Dick used enough force to shatter a normal person’s trachea, but Cobb is a Talon, and so even that is not hard enough. Cobb takes the hit, but still manages to land one of his knives into Dick’s arm.
Dick does not have regenerative abilities.
Dick rolls away, protecting his injured arm. Cobb does not have the same qualms. He starts to say, “Richard Grayson. The Court of Owls has-”
His words are cut off by a knife to the spine. Damian. What is he doing, staying here? He’s supposed to be out and safe.
The knife did give Dick the opportunity to kick Cobb out of the window. He doesn’t even twitch, because Damian apparently had lodged his knife deep into Cobb’s spine. Not even a Talon can heal with a knife still embedded there.
That done, Dick turns towards Damian, hands already moving.
Damian doesn’t even blink. He just says, “You’re hurt,” like that’s all there is to be said.
Dick begs to differ. “What are you doing? You could’ve gotten hurt!”
“So you would have me leave you?”
“Yes!”Dick signs that with more force than the sign actually needs. “When I tell you to leave, you leave.”
“You didn’t tell me to leave,” Damian protests. “You told me to go down. And I did.”
Dick starts to sign again, before he looks at Damian. The kid meant well, and Dick can see that Damian is shaken up by the attack. He’s just trying to help. And Dick can’t really fault that logic. But still…
“You know what I meant. Don’t do that again.”
“Tt,” Damian clicks his tongue. He stops for a moment, and Dick lets him. Sometimes Damian needed more time to gather his thoughts, and Dick is more than happy to oblige him. “Are you not going to reprimand me about the knife?”
Oh. Damian didn’t know.
“You didn’t know about the healing abilities?”
“No. I suspected, based on the way he paid no mind on your attack on his trachea. Anyways, it wouldn’t have killed even a normal human being. It would only paralyze them.”
Dick sighs. He really shouldn’t encourage the violence, but the kid did save him. And Dick owes him an explanation.
“Don’t do that to a normal human being. Otherwise, good job.” Dick ruffles Damian’s hair again, with his uninjured arm. Then, he sobers up, and signs, “That’s a Talon.” Dick doesn’t elaborate. The kid knows about the Court already.
Damian’s face turned dangerous. Dick will have to watch out for that. Damian opens his mouth.
“No,” Dick signs, stopping Damian before he even starts. “We’re not going to go after them now. Go get Alfred, then get packing.”
“Packing?” Damian asks, perplexed.
“This place is compromised already. We’re moving to the Manor.”
***
