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Chapter Text

Dick ‘Ric’ Grayson was not having a good time as an occupant of planet Earth and an active participant on the show of Life. In fact, he was fairly certain that his former self, Dick Grayson, had not had a brilliant time of it either. Call it an educated guess.

Or a gunshot wound to the head.

Dick sighed and ambled into his apartment, dropping the keys to his taxicab on the table after a long night. He couldn’t even get civilian life right. Everywhere he looked, he saw potential threats, targets, security lapses, and the occasional fool who thought it would be a good idea to mug him. Despite good hearted Sapienza taking up the mantle, it seemed that Nightwing would never leave him.

Dick couldn’t decide whether that was a good thing or not.

Philosophical questions were best stewed over a bowl of cereal, Dick thought to himself and happily reached for the cornflakes. Before he could get the first spoonful into his mouth, though, he heard a knock at the door. Was it Sapienza again? Dick honestly didn’t...mind him, he thought shyly, and stood to get the door, making a point to fix his shirt.

Only, no, it wasn’t the Handsome Detective Cheekbones Sapienza, but Bruce Wayne, his once-father. Dick saw red. How dare the man who thrust him into a life of danger and grief and horror and loss (he rememered Wally. Of course he remembered Wally - how he felt, how he smelled, how he laughed, and how he died) - how dare he darken Dick’s life again!

“You see, Father! All of your lollygagging and emotional constipation was for naught! Grayson, let us in, I am weary from dragging Father’s large mass across the city.”

Dick watched with no small amount of surprise as a small boy barged in past Bruce, and went straight up to Dick and looked at him expectantly. Seeing that Dick was too bewildered to act, the boy heaved a sigh and went about the ritual of carefully aligning himself for a wholesome, emotionally fulfilling hug.

Dick looked bemusedly up at an uncomfortable Bruce, who was suddenly not alone. Behind him loomed a tall, muscular, young man, and next to him, a wiry youth with enormous, pale eyes that blinked owlishly at him. “I did nothing, this is not my fault,” Bruce said quickly, as the slender twinky boy oozed into Dick’s living room. The muscular young man behind Bruce casually pushed his father out of the way (Dick loved him already, who was he, this muscular, rippling, man with a white streak in his hair and a casual irreverence towards Bruce?)

The young man stared down at Dick, who blinked up at the stranger in his house. They stared at each other for a while before the other man blinked and yelled. “Gah, stupid Dickface!”

Well. There went that burgeoning attraction.

Dick turned to Bruce angrily. “What’s going on? Who-“

Bruce quickly slapped a hand over Dick’s mouth and looked over at Damian. “Don’t” he said hoarsely. But it was too late. Damian had heard Dick’s angry voice and had stopped clambering over the sofa to bound over and wrap around his leg like an affectionate eel.

“You don’t remember?” Damian asked. “It is Pennyworth’s birthday tomorrow. We must honour him in the appropriate manner for a man who has lived for as living as he has and has accomplished much.”

Tim was staring at Dick calculatingly, before slithering over to Jason and whispering something in his ear. Jason nodded, and then walked over to Dick. “Dick, sit down, alright? Before your little snugglebug starts to suspect something’s up.”

Dick’s world came crashing down. His little snugglebug? He looked down a Damian, who looked like he was trying to fuse to Dick’s leg. “This is preposterous, Grayson,” he said lightly. “First you don’t visit me for an entire month, and now you forget Pennyworth’s birthday. What else have you forgotten?”

Dick swallowed past the lump in his throat. “I- I don’t-“ Dick gulped. “I don’t remember.”

Damian looked puzzled. “Remember what?”

Dick looked at Bruce, who looked ready to faint. At Tim, who was still staring at him oddly. At Jason, who had realized what was going to happen, and positioned himself behind Damian like a baseball catcher.

“Anything.”

Damian reeled backwards, straight into Jason’s arms, where he quickly bundled Damian up and deposited him on the couch, where Damian lay like a distressed damsel. After a while, Dick came over and sat down mext to Damian’s tiny feet, and lifted them into his lap where he fiddled absently with one of Damian’s toes. “I’m sorry,” he said sincerely. “I can’t remember much.”

Damian sat up to look at Dick. “Not even I? Forgetting Todd or Drake, even Father, is understandable. But I? Our bond transcends the stars, you said so yourself!”

Jason mimed retching onto Tim’s head.

Dick felt awful that he couldn’t even remember the child’s name, when they obviously meant so much to each other. “I’m sorry,” he said again.

Damian nodded and sat up. “Your memory loss,” he said, “is this why Father has not allowed us to see you?”

“I...suppose. I haven’t exactly been myself.” God, but he hated Bruce right now.

Damian puffed out his chest and rounded on a startld Bruce. “Once again, Father has bungled his paternal duties!”

Jason and Tim fell into chuckles and whispered ‘bungled’ to each other. Bruce glared at them before defending himself. “Dick is no longer himself. He made it clear that he wants nothing to do with us.”

“False!” Tim piped up for the first time. “He probably wants nothing to do with you, and you made a decision that affected the rest of us, as per usual. Did you even tell him about us? About his oddly codependent relationship with Damian?”

Dick took a deep breath and looked at Bruce. “I’m only going to ask you this once,” he said quietly. “Is Damian my love child that you are raising so that my having a child out of wedlock does not besmirch your good name?”

“W- what?” Bruce gibbered unintelligently.

“Did you separate me from my child to save your good name!?” Dick asked hysterically. “How could you!? You heartless cad!”

“Damian is my son!” Bruce yelled. He looked at Damian, who was looking calculatingly at Dick. “Stop trying to leave me!”

“I am not trying to leave you!’ Damian said angrily. “I am thinking of how to reintegrate Grayson into the family! As usual, it is up to me to fix everyone’s nonsense! Grayson,” he said, taking Dick’s hand in his own, “on behalf of Father, I apologize for his irredemable bungling of the situation - cease laughing, you fools!” He shot at Jason and Tim, who had fallen into peals of laughter again.

Dick smiled down at the angry little boy who was yelling at his big brothers. “Damian,” he tried, calling the boy over. Instead of a cheerful response, Damian looked horrified.

“What did you call me?”

“Damian,” Dick said again. He looked up at Bruce. “That’s your name, isn’t it?”

Damian gasped, tears pooling in his eyes. “Never once have you called me so formally! You have truly forgotten me! I am destined to lose everyone who ever tries to love me!” And then he burst into tears.

Dick panicked. “Damian, please, stop! Please! I-“ Dick picked the weeping boy up and placed him next to himself ont he sofa. “D- Dami, please!”

Abruptly, Damain stopped, narrowing his red, wet, eyes at him. “Better,” he said.

Jason cleared his throat. “You usually call him some cutesy form of his name, it’s repulsive,” he said. “Dami or Little D, usually.”

“You call Jason Little Wing,” Tim offered helpfully.

“Shut up, Replacement!”

Bruce sighed. “I have been remiss,” he said softly, “to keep you away from your brothers. This is, of course, Damian,” he said, pointing to the sniffling boy trying to symbiotically attach himself to Dick’s side. “This is Jason, your first younger brother,” he said, pointing Jason out, “and Tim, the middle child.”

“I am constantly overlooked despite my many acheivements and am independently wealthy and have a genius level intellect,” Tim introduced himself. “I am the main breadwinner in the family.”

“He’s the chairperson and CEO of Wayne Enterprises,” Bruce said, with no small amountof pride.

“And yet, I suffer the most from anxiety and depression.”

Jason reached into his pocket and pulled out a pill bottle and took out a tablet, presumably Tim’s medicine. He held out his hand towards Tim, so that the younger boy could eat the pills out of his hand like a puppy. Dick couldn’t help a coo, but Damian scoffed. “Gather your dignity, Drake, for the love of god.”

Dick smiled down at Damian, and over at Tim, who was nuzzling his face into Jason’s meaty hand, while Jason screeched in feigned horror and disgust. Bruce watched his sons with bewildered fondness. Taking advantage of the moment, Dick cleared his throat.

“Um, I’d like to just say, it was nice to meet you guys...again. And,” he paused to look down at Damian’s chubnyblittle face that somehow made Dick feel like a blob of gooey chocolate, “I’d like to get to know you again. I’d like to get a chance to...love my brothers...again.”

“I don’t know that we had love per say,” Jason started to say, but was interrupted by Tim.

“Little Wing. Jaybird. Jay-Jay. Baby-“

“Okay, stop!”

Dick chortled and looked down at a snickering Damian. “Dami.” The name rolled off his tongue so naturally, he thought in wonderment. Damian had immediately brightened. “Dami, I’d need some time to get to know you again. Would you be able to-“

“Yes!” Damian said quickly, rubbing his tired, cried-out eyes. “We will have plenty of time together when you come back home to convalesce-“

“Um, I have a job,” Dick said, to surprised mutterings from his family. “I’m a taxicab driver.”

“Oh no,” Bruce said, horrified, “that won’t do at all.”

“Why? Is it too common for your delicate sensebilities?”

“No, you’re a terrible driver.”

Dick’s jaw fell open and Damian hissed venomously at his father. “Father, cease at once! You are distressing Grayson! Grayson, don’t- G-Grayson?” Damjan asked quietly, seeing that Dick had zoned out. “Grayson!”

Dick came to again, looking at Bruce. “You’ve told me that before,” he said quietly. “That I was an awful driver.”

“Everyday since you were sixteen,” Bruce said quietly. He reached into his pocket for a hanky and dabbed his eyes. “You were so bad. I was so scared every day. And then hou got that stupid motorcycle-“ Bruce chuckled wetly. “Anyone is better than Tim, at any rate. He’s the worst driver. So much road rage in such a tiny little body.”

Tim whined and looked at Dick. “Defend me!”

Another memory flashed unbidden across Dick’s mindscape. “I taught you how to drive,” he said softly, “when you were fourteen. Bruce was yelling at us about it being illegal.”

“So I am completely justified in asking you to please, please, not drive a cab,” Bruce pleaded. “In fact, just don’t drive.”

“I will drive you,” Damian offered proudly.

“Your feet can’t reach the pedals,” Jason said cruelly, and was rewarded with a shriek and a pillow to the face.

Eventually, Damian tired himself out from throwing things and attacking Jason, and from his previous crying, and started to nod off. Driven by muscle memory, Dcik picked him up to put him in his bed. “So you’re coming home?” Tim asked timidly.

“I don’t know,” Dick said softly. “I want to, now. I want to try, to have a family again. I didn’t realize before, how much I had. I only thought about the pain.”

“There is that,” Tim admitted, “but there’s also...us. Damian. Jason. Me. Cass. Alfie and Bruce. Take your time to decide, we’ll wait for you.”

Dick paused, looking at Damian snuffle aggressively in his sleep. He couldn’t miss out on that, an inner voice decided. He couldn’t miss out on watching this boy who was so devoted to him grow up without him. Somehow, it didn’t feel right.

“Hey, um, Tim?”

Tim turned around. “Yeah?”

“My phone is on the table. Can you text Detective Sapienza for me? Tell him that I’m going home.”

***

“...yes, I’m fine. Sorry about that. See you.” Dick put down the phone and frowned at Tim. “You texted Detective Sapienza to ‘fuck off’ and that ‘Dick is mine’? He thought that I was being kidnapped.”

“Sorry not sorry,” Tim said, as he accepted a high five from Damian.

“He should back off,” Damian agreed. “You belong with us, not him.”

And Dick couldn’t help but agree with that. For the first time in a long time, he realized that things were going to be alright.

Chapter Text

Dick was just starting to get used to having a family again, and he could admit that it was pretty great.

Correction - Damian was great.

Bruce was meh.

Jason and Tim, as the middle children, tended to stick together like a pair of oddly proportioned twins. Sometimes, Dick thought that Jason must have sat on Tim in the womb. He was startled to find that they were, in fact, adopted separately.

“God, Dick, you thought that we were twins?” Jason asked, clearly amused. “You’re more out of the loop than I thought. Tim and I didn’t used to get along at all. Hell, I even tried to kill him!”

“That’s awful,” Dick said, frowning. “Did you apologise to poor Tim?”

Tim perked up. “Come to think of it, you never did apologise to me,” he said. Then, “I demand a full apology, with retroactive guilt!”

“You can have a fist up your ass, with retroactive knuckles,” Jason replied.

“Ew. Only Kon can finger me-“

“What was that?” Bruce hollered from across the manor, his bat-hearing and Tim-purity senses tingling.

“Nothing, Bruce!” Tim screeched in a falsetto, before looking smugly at his two disturbed older brothers.

When Dick was re-introduced to Kon-El later that week, he took special note of how thick and girthy his fingers were whilst shaking hands. He shared his concerns with Jason, who choked on the banana he had been eating.

“God, it’s like nothing changed,” Jason spluttered after administering the Heimlich manoeuvre on himself. “You’re just as dumb and emotional and obsessed with Tim and Damian as ever.”

Dick smiled for the rest of the day, and Bruce was suspicious interacting with Jason never made people smile.

Later on in the week, Dick had been roped into helping Tim with his mound of case files, ranging to busting Lex Luthor’s underground headquarters to an independent inquiry in developing a quantitative method to study the bounciness of Kon’s buttocks. Just when Tim was about to have a breakthrough, the doorbell rang.

“Hello,” a hesitant voice sounded. Dick looked up, recognising the voice of Detective Alphonse Sapienza, come all the way from Bludhaven. Dick’s heart skipped a beat as he heard him say, “I’m looking for Dick Grayson? I’m a... friend of his.”

“Begone, filth!”

Dick groaned as Tim smothered a laugh. Of course Damian would be the one to answer the door.

“Excuse me?”

“Hisssss!”

“Oh my god, he’s actually hissing at people now,” Jason whispered in joy. “He’s becoming a full out demon! Oh my god this is the best day ever!”

Dick rolled his eyes and went out to the living room where Damian was hissing curses at a bemused Sapienza in his mother tongue. From what Dick understood - oh, he was fluent in Arabic, what a nice surprise, he thoguht happily - it had to do with Sapienza being cursed to anally birth twenty frogs without an epidural.

Dick sighed and picked Damian up and tucked him under his arm before smiling tiredly at Sapienza. “Hello Alphonse,” he said quietly. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Sapienza smiled. “I thought your phone call was made under duress. I wanted to make sure that you were alright.”

Dick smiled. “I’m fine, Alphonse, thanks for checking up on me. You should come in, I’ll get Tim to apologise to you.”

Sapienza followed Dick in, watching as Dick rearranged Damian to a more traditional hold, so that Damian was now able to glare at him over Dick’s shoulder.

“Tim, I need for you to- oh my god,” Dick groaned, stopping short.

The case files that had previously littered the coffee table had been cleared away, and the room had been plunged into darkness with only a small fire illuminating Tim’s hollowed out features.

Speaking of Tim, the boy had somehow managed to procure a velvet plush suit paired with stylish black trousers and shoes and had pilfered one of Bruce’s showy cigars. He was watching Sapienza hatefully from his armchair, and very purposefully, blew out a small ring of smoke.

And coughed.

“Mr. Sapienza,” Tim rasped. Alphonse jumped as the door snapped shut behind him, revealing a hulking Jason, who had up till then been engaged in a silent argument with Dick, who had spotted him lurking, about torturing his detective friend. Having failed, Dick gave up completely and allowed the scene to take place.

“What’s going on?” Sapienza asked warily, eyeing Jason’s massive frame as he slowly, purposefully moved around him.

“You come into my home,” Tim rasped - Dick frowned, wishing he would put out the cigar - “you try to steal away my brother. You disrespect me,” he said lowly, leaning forward so that the firelight could illuminate his feverishly gleaming eyes. “And I do not tolerate disrespect.”

“What? No, I was just-“

“Silence!” Jason hollered, making Sapienza jump again. “You will not interrupt us!”

“You stand here at our mercy, Detective,” Tim said, doing his best to sound like Bruce with a headcold. “You have two choices - leave, and never come after our brother again. Or-“

“Or what?” Sapienza said bravely.

“Or Damian.”

“Eh?”

“I have a sword!” Damian cried, running in with his saber. Sapienza screamed and tried to drag Dick to safety away from the rabid pre-pubescent. Dick just sighed and expertly grabbed Damian mid jump, and gently disarmed him, handing the sword over to Jason. This was not, in Sapienza’s opinion, an improvement of the situation. Sapienza looked at Dick who was once again carrying the demon child and asking if “...you hurt your fingers, Dami? You should wear gloves, or you’ll get callouses and then people will begin to suspect things about your lifestyle”.

Sapienza was goggling at the scene when a new voice joined the fray. “Why is it so dark in here? Tim! Is that my cigar!? You are grounded forever, young man- YOU.”

Sapienza turned to see Bruce Wayne in all of his glory, looking like the devil himself with the strength of his glare levelled directly at poor Sapienza.

“Mr. Wayne-“

“Get. Out.”

“-I just came to check on Dick, to make sure that he was alright-“

“No.”

“What?”

“Detective Sapienza, how old are you?” Bruce asked gruffly.

“Um, thirty-five.”

“No.”

“Pardon?”

“Dick is twenty five. I don’t accept...whatever this is you’re trying to do.”

Sapienza felt his jaw drop at the insinuation, and looked at Dick, only to see him shyly avert his eyes with a blush.

Well. Hello.

But back to his imminent Wayne-induced demise.

“Mr. Wayne, I have no such intentions-“

“You dared,” Bruce said, advancing slowly, “to masquerade as my son. To break my children’s hearts when they saw a different man in the Nightwing suit. Give me one reason that I should not eviscerate you on the spot.”

“I asked for his blessing,” Sapienza said. “I told him why I need to do it - for Bludhaven. And Dick knows that I would never act untoward whilst in the suit. I would never dishonour his legacy. I am but a temporary filler - whenever he wants to come back, I will hand over the reigns. Because everyone in Bludhaven knows and loves their real Nightwing. And we need him back,” Sapienza said quietly.

Bruce levelled Sapienza with a glare, and looked behind his shoulder to see Damian wiping stray tears from Dick’s cheeks.

“I still want to pulverize you.”

“Eep.”

“But I will defer to my son’s judgement,” Bruce said.

“Very well!” Tim said. “I declare that this interloper and Dick-thief be beheaded and hung on the ramparts of the manor as a warning!”

“Not you. Dick,” Bruce clarified. “And you are in so much trouble, young man, how dare you smoke! Has Jason been teaching you bad habits?”

“It was just one puff! I needed it to make my voice raspy and threatening!” Tim insisted in his usual soprano. “Come on, Bruce,” he pleaded, shooting Sapienza a hateful glance, “I can make him go away, you know I can. And no one will have to know,” he whispered delightedly.

“I’m very good at my job, B-Man,” Jason said, delightedly showing off a garrotte.

Bruce sighed. “First off, Tim, you are not Don Corleone and Jason is not Luca Brasi. Second, you are both grounded. Third, Damian, don’t use your swords in front of company. Now take of that ridiculous dressing gown, Tim, and go to your room. You are grounded for two weeks, only allowed out to go to work, shareholders meetings, and patrol. Absolutely no seeing Kon-El during that time.”

Bruce dragged Tim out, snagging Damian on the way, leaving Jason, Dick, and Sapienza in the room. Sapienza sorely wished that the hulking, angry, man would leave as well. Instead, he spoke.

“You’re going to get yourself killed,” Jason told Sapienza shortly.

“Excuse me?”

Jason sighed. “You didn’t see me behind the door. You reacted to Damian rushing you with a sword by moving in the wrong direction. Dick saw me the moment he walked into the room, and he disarmed Damian before you could blink, and even with his complete amnesia, he could probably take me on by muscle memory alone. You aren’t trained, Sappy, and you’re going to pay for it.”

“If you insist on calling me by my name, it’s Alphonse,” Sapienza said. “And I don’t have a choice. I’m doing this for my city. I actually came to ask Dick-“ Sapienza looked at the surprised man, “if he wouldn’t mind being my support until such time he wants to come back.”

Dick looked shocked. “I- I don’t-“

“You are one of the best detectives I’ve ever seen, Dick,” Sapienza said. “You’re smart, and observant, and I would be honoured to have you guide me through the clusterfluff that is vigilantism.”

Dick looked taken aback. “I’ll...need to think about it,” Dick said softly. It was as good as a yes, coming from him, and Sapienza knew it.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

They smiled at each other, shy and testing he waters, before Jason waded through like a particularly ungraceful hippopotamus.

“BRUCE! They’re talking to each other!”

Sapienza knew that that was his cue. He rushed out of the manor, and spied an elderly butler very purposefully polishing a wicked looking shotgun, and looking directly at him. What was wrong with these people, Sapienza thought frantically, as heh waved goodbye to Dick and continued running.

It was fine, he decided. He’d win them over. He would do it, to work with Dick Grayson.

And if something more happened, well. That was just fine with him.

***

“-smoking, honestly, Tim. I am so furious! I ought to lock you in the East Wing and throw away the key!”

“I’m sorry, daddy!” Tim pleaded. “Please don’t take away my phone! What will Kon do without me?”

“Perish, hopefully,” Bruce said. Tim wept.

Dick watched the scene unfold with Jason beside him. “Is it always like this?” He asked.

“Pretty much,” Jason replied. “You okay, Dickie?”

Dick smiled. “Yeah. Everything’s fine.”

Chapter Text

Dick had just finished dressing Damian’s patrol ouchies - “they are injuries, Grayson!” - and putting him to bed in the wee hours of the morning when there was a knock at the door. He went down to answer it, wondering which casual visitor it could be calling this early in the morning.

Dick opened the door to reveal a well built man with silver hair, a well groomed matching beard, a tailored suit, and an eyepatch. He was looking at Dick with an odd emotion in his eye that Dick was unable to place. “Hello, can I help you?”

The man nodded. “You can,” he said quietly. “Son.”

Dick reeled backwards. “W-what?”

“My name is Slade Wilson,” the man said soulfully. Slade cupped Dick’s hand in his own larger ones. “It’s true,” he said. “I have looked for you far and wide, and now I have finally found you. My son.”

Dick gasped.

“Step aside, if you would, Master Richard,” Alfred said calmly. Dick turned and started to see the older man leveling a shotgun directly at Slade’s head. “I am on a spring cleaning spree, and all vermin must be disposed of in a timely and proper manner.”

“Alfie!”

“That man is not your father, Master Richard, but a cad and boor of the highest order. Kindly call Master Jason, and he will dispatch this menace forthwith.”

“You’re calling Todd on me?” Slade smirked.

“Indeed. Unlike Master Bruce, Jason has no ridiculous qualms against decapitating your foul head.”

“What’s going on here?” Bruce’s voice called from the top of the staircase. Then, his eyes fell on Slade, one hand holding Dick’s and the other cradling Dick’s cheek. “YOU!”

Dick barely managed to dive out of the way as Bruce came flying down to do battle with Slade. All the while, Slade managed to keep a stream of lies going. “They stole you from me, son! This vile Bat and his batlings! You are the child of my heart and loins!”

“Jason, take Dick upstairs!” Bruce yelled. “Tim, give me backup!”

“I’ll give you ten thousand dollars to go away!” Tim yelled at Slade, brandishing his checkbook.

“Physical backup!” Bruce roared.

Just then, Damian came sailing in, dressed only in an overlarge shirt belonging to Dick and wielding a sword twice his size. “Begone, pond scum!” He screeched, and added himself to the fray.

The battle came to a climax when Tim expertly threw a dollar bill across Slade’s eye, blinding him, which allowed Damian to impale his leg with his broadsword. Slade roared in pain, giving Bruce enough time to subdue him and toss him out on his butt.

Not satisfied, Alfred opened the window and fired a shot at Slade’s bleeding and weakened form. “Away with you!” He said firmly, and continued to follow Slade’s retreating form with his shotgun barrel until the man was out of sight and off the manor grounds.

“All’s well that ends well, eh, young Masters?” Alfred asked mildly, polishing his trusty rifle. “Good old Thomas,” he said, patting the rifle affectionately. “He was my only true friend during my days in Her Majesty’s Secret Service.”

“I did not know that,” Damian marveled. “Will you tell me about your exploits, Pennyworth?”

“Of course, Master Damian,” he said with a smile. “Let us discuss it over some early morning tea, shall we?”

Bruce cleared his throat. “Damian should really get some sleep-“

“It was the summer of 1989, and I was stationed in East Germany-“

“Ooooh...”

Bruce huffed as Alfred led Damian away, holding his little hand in his older and wiser one. Bruce would have protested harder, but he thought that Damian should make memories with his grandfather, and he didn’t think that story-time with R’as Al Ghul was as benign as with Alfred. With Damian gone, Bruce focused on Tim. “You have got to stop weaponizing money,” he lectured his middle child.

“Can’t stop, won’t stop.”

“Tim! It is not acceptable to use dollar bills as paper cut inducing weapons and coin rolls as projectiles!”

“But the penny is a worthless and outdated denomination!”

Leaving Tim to justify his choice of weaponry to Bruce, Dick turned to Jason. “Who was that man?”

“Slade Wilson, aka Deathstroke,” Jason grunted. “Mercenary extraordinaire, generally a baddie, your one-time mentor, and massively obsessed with adopting you.”

“Oh,” Dick said, a memory flashing across his mind. He staggered, and Jason caught him to steady him. “I remember now. He taught me how to fire a gun...and a grenade launcher...and a bazooka.”

“Yeah, Slade’s a firearms expert.”

“He used to call me son then too,” Dick recalled. “I just thought that he was saying it affectionately, not...”

“He lost his eldest son early on, and he’s not on the best of terms with his living children. Joey and Rose Wilson, both Titans.” Jason said. “When you came along, and actually respected him, he kinda fell in love with you.”

“I remember now,” Dick said, looking lost in his memories. “We used to go out for coffee of Father’s Day, after I met with Bruce.”

“Bruce used to follow you,” Jason said. “Hid in the bushes and just glared, and he used to text us about every single minute. In fact...” Jason pilled out his phone and scrolled through it. “Here!”

Dick leaned over to read the chat messages.

June 17th 2018

BRUCE: Dick waiting at the coffee shop.

JASON: OMG get a life.

BRUCE: Wilson’s here.

BRUCE: they’re hugging! Jason get down here with the elephant tranquilizer!

TIM: Oh, the scandal.

TIM: check for paparazzi. You don’t want another rumor about Dick and an older man. Remember that time with Clark?

BRUCE: I excommunicated Clark from the Batcave for that.

TIM: omg they were just eating ice cream. Clark is happily married, remember?

BRUCE: he was besmirching my son’s good name with his existence.

JASON: what good name? Its a well established fact that Dick likes older men. It’s almost as if...

TIM: ...he has unresolved issues with his own father, who doesn’t show him enough love and affection as per his needs, so he seeks it out elsewhere.

JASON: brilliant Freud.

BRUCE: why are you two like this.

CASS: no daddy issues. Dick knows what he likes. He likes mature men and women. Examples - Slade Wilson, Barbara, Midnighter and Apollo.

BRUCE: excuse me? Midnighter AND Apollo?

CASS: at the same time.

BRUCE: that’s it, Dick is in so much trouble.

CASS: ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿

TIM: ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

JASON: C====3

Dick looked up at Jason incredulously. “Oh my god, you are all so weird.”

“Like you wouldn’t stalk Damian on his dates.”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“Dami is a baby and I need to protect him.”

“Oh my god, it’s like you can’t hear yourself. Are you sure you have amnesia? Because that sounds exactly like something you would have said before. In fact, I think that you have.”

Dick beamed, and Jason retched. Having satisfied himself that Slade was well and truly gone, Bruce ambled over. “What’s going on?”

“Dick got back some memories of Deathstroke,” Jason said.

Bruce’s face fell. “Did you get any of me?” He asked hopefully.

“Um...one,” Dick admitted, “but I don’t know if it was a memory or a dream. Did you ever push a green man over a staircase?”

Bruce smiled. “Hal Jordan,” he confirmed. “He was hitting on you, so I ended his life.”

“Jordan’s a green lantern,” Jason told Dick when he looked shocked. “He can fly. He was pretty much fine, he landed on Hawkgirl. And then she beat him up. So no, he wasn’t fine, I take it back.”

“Oh,” Dick said, watching Bruce smile fondly at the memory. Slowly, he registered a warm feeling as he looked at Bruce, his supposed father. Had he always felt this way about the man? Dick probed the warm feeling his gut. He liked it, he decided. And Bruce, it seemed, was deserving of it. “Hey, Bruce?”

“Yes?”

“Did you ever, um, hold a redhead over a building roof?”

“Ah, yes,” Bruce said, smiling languidly, “Roy Harper. He was trying to get you to go out with him, and I thought that it would be in your best interests to-“

Dick shared a small smile with Jason and watched Bruce’s fave light up as he regaled them about how Roy had squealed like a little piggy as he was dangled off of the roof of Wayne Enterprises. Behind them, the sun was just rising, signaling the beginning a new day in the life of Dick Grayson.

As the sunlight illuminated and warmed his face, Dick was glad that he got to start a new day with a smile.

Chapter Text

Dick had woken up in the morning feeling a deep gnawing in the pit of his stomach. The anxious feeling that it brought with it did not leave him even after breakfast, prompting him to go down tot he cave and train, in order to divert his attention.

Dick punched the training dummy as hard as he could, releasing his pent up anxiety on the inanimate object. He couldn’t place the source of his unrest - but something told him that something was terribly wrong with Tim, and that somehow, it was his fault.

When he asked Damian, the boy was quick to defend Dick to himself. “Rest assured, Grayson, that Drake’s pains are a result of his own foibles, and have nothing to do with you.”

“His foibles?”

“Indeed. His propensity for anxiety and a desperate need for control, which can be mitigated by introspective meditation. But he cannot focus his mind, because his mind and soul are too consumed by lust for the Clone’s body.”

Dick then sought out Jason, who he discovered lounging on the rug by the fireplace with a book. Dick lay down next to him and gently nudged his brother with his nose. “Jay.”’

“Ugh, Dick nose,” Jason grumbled good naturedly, and rolled over to squish his elder brother under his significantly larger mass. Dick squeaked in surprise, and with a move that surprised even himself, shimmed artfully out from underneath Jason.

“Cool, I didn’t know that I could do that,” Dick said, experimentally bending backwards until his head rested on his buttcheeks. Dick grinned at Jason from his new vantage point, causing the younger to crinkle his nose in jealousy.

“You are a literal butthead,” Jason observed as Dick de-pretzeled himself, only to throw both his legs behind his head with a laugh.

“Jason, look!” Dick cried, enthralled by his own bendiness.

“Huh,” Jason said. “So that’s how you get all those middle aged men after you. You just have to bend over to pick up a penny, and every man around the age of forty just runs at you.”

Dick laughed gaily for a moment, before his face settled into a more somber expression. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about Tim.”

“What about the stringbean?”

“I just...” Dick dithered. “I think he’s in trouble. And he won’t tell me anything. Is he mad at me? What happened?”

Jason stared carefully at Dick, his mind running through several options and scenarios before deciding upon one. He hoped it was the right one, for Dick’s sake. “One thing to know about Tim, Dickie, is that he’s always in trouble.

“If it’s not his anxiety and depression causing him to sink into a self-destructive spiral of thoughts, it’s his uncertainty about his place in our lives - I know, totally dumb, but that’s Tim for you. If it’s not that, then it’s Damian’s immortal demon grandfather lusting after him, or his secret web of independent spies that he maintains like a giant spider weaving a web. If not that, then it’s his caffiene addiction, and lastly, there’s his ever-present concern about when he can finally lose his virginity to Kon-El without Bruce finding out.”

Dick looked horrified. “Oh my god, poor Timmy!”

“Yup, Timbo is a pit of worries,” Jason agreed. “He’s alright now, though. For the time being, I mean. He always settles down when he’s with Bruce. Massive daddy issues, what with being the middle child.”

“I thought that was you,” Dick mused. “I’m the oldest, then Cass, then you, then Tim, and then Damian.”

“Nah, I’m kinda in this limbo area with Bruce,” Jason said. “Either we’re yelling at each other, or he’s sobbing at me over his emotional constipation. Tim was neglected from, well, birth.”

“That still doesn’t explain why I feel awful about something happening to him,” Dick said.

Jason flinched. “Ah. I think that you’re getting back the memory of a time when things were...not ideal. Except you’re getting the associated feeling before the memory.” Jason looked at Dick evenly. “You sure you want to hear this?”

Dick nodded. “I need to,” he said.

“Well, a couple of years ago, there was a major battle, and Bruce kicked the can.”

Dick gasped.

“But not really!” Jason exclaimed with the mastery of a storyteller. “He was floating around through the past! But everyone thought he’d died and were varying degrees of sad. You were Very Sad.”

Dick felt sad even now, he realized. Poor not-quite-dead Bruce.

“Anyway,” Jason said, “Bruce left behind a shitty will, and you took up the mantle of Batman. At that time, Tim was Robin, but seeing as you were saddled with Damian as well, you switched them out, and left Tim without purpose in life and questioning his worth.”

“No!” Dick gasped. “Timmy!”

“Yes, Timmy,” Jason agreed. “He went into a depressive spiral, and in a fit of combined madness and genius, deduced that Bruce was floating through time. Of course, no one believed him and he was heartbroken.”

Dick felt shame pool in his gut, and his throat constrict. What a fool he’d been! How could he not have seen Tim’s pain!?

“To be fair, you did try to help as far as you could,” Jason admitted, “stopping short of believing him, that is. But to be fair, you’d just had to quit your job to become a stay at home mother to Damian, move back home, take over Batman, and maintain a charade of Bruce being alive.”

There were tears running down Dick’s cheeks, splattering onto the rug like raindrops. Jason felt awful, but if this jogged Dick’s memory, then it would have been worth it.

“You came through in the end,” Jason said. “You caught Tim when he was falling. Literally. He threw himself off a building after being pursued by a hundred ninjas, trusting that you would be there to catch him. And you were. And he knew you would catch him, because-“

“‘You’re my brother, Dick,’” Dick recited, his eyes glassy from the emerging memory. Jason pumped his fist in victory. Another memory had returned! Hurrah for Jason!

Then, Dick’s eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped over, cutting Jason’s celebrations short.

***

Dick gained consciousness to the sound of a beloved voice. Taking account of himself and his surroundings, he made the executive decision to keep his eyes closed.

“-the most dunderheaded, thoughtless, moronic cow, Todd! Of all the memories to return to him, you chose the most emotional and traumatizing ones! If something happens to Grayson now, I will rip you apart and then abolish each and every one of your atoms, you-!”

“Hey! I was trying to help! And you don’t know, maybe I did!”

“-idiotic, snail-brained, bubonic b- b- BUTTHEAD!”

“Guys, he’s awake,” Tim said quietly. “Dick,” he asked with amusement in his voice, “how much of that did you hear?”

Dick opened his eyes fully and blinked up at Tim. “Everything from Jason being a ‘dunderheaded, thoughtless, moronic cow’,” Dick admitted with a cheeky grin. “Sorry I scared you guys,” Dick said, sitting up so that Damian could crawl into bed with him and colonize his upper body like a starfish, “but that was really overwhelming.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Bruce rumbled, carding his hand through Dick’s hair. “Are you feeling better?”

“I don’t know,” Dick said. “Tim, are you feeling better?”

“That depends. Relative to which time frame?”

Dick reached forward and held Tim’s hand. “Since...Bruce died. Timmy,” Dick choked out, “I’m so sorry for shutting you down when you needed help. When you needed me to be there for you.”

Tim’s bewildered expression smoothed out into one of understanding. “That was a long time ago, Dick. I forgave you already.”

“I know,” Dick said. “But I want to be deserving of your forgiveness.”

“You always were,” Tim said quietly. “But still, I love you, Dick. And I forgive you. At least you never stabbed me, called me names, questioned my place in the family as a replacement, and told me that my ass would rip if I ever had sex.”

“Jason!” Bruce yelled.

“What! He has a tiny ass! And he’s a bottom! You know he is!”

“What do you mean by Drake ‘is a bottom?’” Damian asked. “He has a bottom, consisting of two globes, as all humans do.”

“No, Dami, not that kind of bottom,” Dick said quietly with a smile.

“Oh, a submissive,” Damian said, and Bruce reached for his blood pressure pills.

“Shows what you know,” Tim muttered.

Power bottom, Jason mouthed to Dick, who shook with the force of restraining his giggles. “Jay, stop it!” He giggled, while Tim looked proud of his pert bum.

“So,” Bruce said, attempting to salvage his sanity, “you can remember a bit more now?”

“Yes, thanks to Jason,” Dick said, smiling at his Little Wing, who looked vindicated. “I remember some time I spent training Dami, and some time...”

Mourning you, went unsaid. Bruce’s expression crumpled.

“I’m here, son,” he said, leaning forward to embrace his sons (Jason nimbly yeeted himself out of the hug). Tim was pleasantly surprised to be drawn into the group hug, and Damian squawked as he was enfolded by the pressure of Tim’s body and Bruce’s arms pushing him further into Dick’s chest, and found that yes, this fit into his plans quite nicely.

“I have a theory,” Jason announced. “I posit that Dick’s amnesia is fake, and that this is all a grandiose plan to have snuggles because he is a hug ho. A sentiment slob, if you would.”

Dick giggled. “You’re so funny, Jason.”

“No! Todd is obtuse and contrary!” Damian exclaimed. “You only find him charming because you have not been exposed to him enough. Once your memories return, you will understand.”

“I hope so, Dami,” Dick said, looking around at his family happily, “I hope so.”

Chapter Text

The daily Wayne Family Drama hour was taking place in the dining room over lunch, with Bruce fawning over Cassandra’s latest dance recital with the Gotham Ballet troupe. “-don’t think that I’ve ever seen a better Black Swan, so talented-“

Jason chewed on his broccolli loudly in a bid to drown out the mellifluous praise that Cass was basking in, and in the process, turned Damian’s stomach. When the doorbell rang, Damian jumped out of his seat to get it, shooting Jason a dirty glare on the way out.

“Really, Jason,” Dick said mildly, “do you have to antagonize the poor boy? He just wants to have a nice family meal.”

“False,” Jason rebutted. “He wants a nice meal with you in the middle of nowhere where no one can find the two of you because he is a possessive little squid with an encyclopedic murder fetish.”

“Dami is not a squid-“

“I’m sorry, I still don’t understand,” a now well-known voice came floating in from the hall. Tim’s spoon clattered against his bowl as he gasped and looked up at Jason, who looked radiant, like he had spontaneously entered the third trimester of his second twin pregnancy, and wow, that was not an image that Bruce ever wanted to consider again, forgive me Father, for I have sinned.

“Jason! Jason, it’s happening again!” Tim whispered. “We can initiate the plan!”

Jason and Tim both rushed out of the room, giggling, past Dick who lunged forward and missed his two delinquent brothers. Dick groaned into his hands and looked pleadingly at the rest of his family, but gave up hope when Alfred calmly picked out a large kitchen knife and wiped off the beetroot juice, letting the blade glint in the light with a satisfied hum.

Dick got up and dragged himself to the sitting room, where Sapienza was still being accosted by Damian.

“Hissss hiss Grayson hisss!”

“I’m sorry little boy, but I really don’t understand,” Alphonse was saying apologetically. His expression brightened when Dick walked in. “Oh, hello Dick. I’ve been talking to your little brother again.”

Dick smiled tiredly. “So I see. Dami, Alfred was calling for you to help with walking the pets. Could you give him a hand?”

Damian bounced to attention. “But of course Pennyworth would need my stable hand! He can hardly control two full grown hounds, a cow, a cat, and a turkey at his advanced age!” Damian ran off to do his duty, leaving Dick and Alphonse alone.

Alphonse smiled shyly. “Did- um, you get any memories back?” He ventured.

“Loads,” Dick said. “Lots of memories about being Batman, lots of Jay and Timmy shenannigans, and my training Dami- oh no,” Dick groaned, as Jason and Tim entered the room, Tim being cradled in a bridal carry in Jason’s hefty arms.

Tim was dressed in a flowing silk gown that Dick recognized as Cassandra’s nightie, and wore a long red cape that Dick recognized as belonging to some Wayne ancestor or the other. Jason on the other hand wore armour that he had pilfered from one suits of armour in the hallway, and instead of a scabbard, had a mean looking gun holstered to his hip.

Once they had entered, Jason bent down and lay Tim down on the floor with a flourish, so that the younger boy rolled majestically across the living room floor and came to a halt in front of the fireplace where he struck a “sensual” pose.

“Ah, Detective,” Tim purred dangerously, “so you have returned.”

“Oh my god.”

“No, in this house, we worship the muscles of Superboy.”

“Timmy-“ Dick tried, but stopped when Tim flexed his leg in the air like a ballerina.

“Shush, Dickie, there’s a good lad. Let me talk to this interloper,” Tim said, stretching languidly in front of the flickering flames. “So, Sappy. You’ve dared to darken my manor again with your oblong face.”

“My face is not oblong,” Sapienza defended himself.

“That’s not the point,” Dick emphasized. “Jason, do something!”

“Yes Jason,” Tim drawled, “do something. In fact, take young Dickolas here and lock him in the East Wing, where his innocence might not be impugned by these Blüdhaven knaves.”

“At once, my liege,” Jason tweeted, and heaved Dick into a fireman’s carry. Dick sighed in defeat and resorted to his last hope.

“BRUCE!”

Bruce burst into the living room at Dick’s shout, primed from years of training and five children. He took in the scene and let his tired eyes rest on Tim’s lean form lying in front of the fire, clad in his sister’s crepe silk nightgown, Silas Wayne the Third’s cape, and Tim’s own white feathered boa.

“Tim. Why.”

“Go away, Bruce, I’m trying to scare the interloper away!” Tim squeaked.

Bruce spared Sapienza a prefinctionary glare before scooping a squiggly Tim up off the floor. “How many times have I told you not to take your sister’s clothes?” Bruce asked tiredly. “You can buy ten thousand silk nighties with your salary. In fact,” Bruce glared at his limp earthworm son, “you are the chairman of Wayne Enterprises. Stop wearing your sister’s clothes to cosplay your despotic dreams.”

“Moop,” Tim said defeatedly, allowing Bruce to carry him away.

Sensing defeat, Jason let Dick down and proceeded to happily clank down the hallway after Bruce to needle him about his failures as a parent. This, of course, left Dick and Sapienza alone.

“Um,” Sapienza said. “I needed your help with something.”

“Of course,” Dick said.

Sapienza nodded, and reached into his pants pocket. Dick’s eyes widened as he noticed the bulge that Sapienza was now slowly working out of his trousers. Slowly, with infinite care, Sapienza extracted a large, thick...folder.

Dick exhaled in relief as Sapienza presented him with the folder denoting the crimes of one of Bludhaven’s rogues.

“Oh my god,” Sapienza said, noticing how Dick’s hand shook as he took the file, “did you think that I was going to whip it out?”

Dick blushed. How could he have been so foolish? Of course the Detective did not consider him to be-

“I would hardly do that in your father’s house, where your little brothers can burst in on us.”

Oh, hello. Dick perked up. “Really?”

“No, I’m a gentleman. I would wait till the third date to do that kind of thing.”

Well. Hot dog, Dick thought. “That’s good,” Dick said. “I like a gentleman.”

They smiled at each other softly and basked in the warmth of new love, marvelling at the feeling. That is, until Alfred walked in with several rusty kitchen knives with the false innocence of someone who was casually going to ‘clean them’.

“Alfie, that knife says property of Gregorius Wayne the Third,” Dick pointed out as Alfred sharpened the lethal instrument.

“Even more important, then, to maintain family heirlooms.”

Dick stared, and then turned sheepishly to Sapienza. “Um, why don’t we discuss the case over some yogurt?”

Sapienza brightened. “Sounds great,” he said eagerly.

Alfred continued humming as he polished his knives. In retrospect, this should have tipped Dick off.

Instead, he had to watch Sapienza being chased across the lawn by Damian’s turkey when they stepped outside. When he asked Damiain to please call off the turkey, Damian yawned and muttered, “Oh no. Stop. Come back,” while examining his nails.

They did, eventually, get yogurt and play footise under the table, all the while trying to ignore the fact that Tim was dressed up like an anime waitress from the maid café, hanging around, ostesibly to offer more sprinkles every five minutes.

Jason, it turned out, was the store manager, who was summoned to get rid of the “waitress”.

Despite the absurdity of it all, Sapienza found himself laughing at the sight of Jason looming over another nervous customer who had been eyeing Tim’s stocking clad legs. “I know it sounds stupid,” he said to Dick, “but I’d really miss those two if they were gone.”

Dick smiled. “Really?”

“Sure. It’s like, the Wayne Experience. And I’m in for the full thing, you know.”

Dick smiled shyly and linked their feet under the table. “Yeah. I do know.”

***

When Bruce found Tim’s thong, all hell broke lose.

“TIMOTHY WAYNE! Why is there a thong in your laundry!”

“It’s just a part of my maid outfit, geez, relax.”

“YOUR WHAT!”

“Dick is going steady with Sapienza,” Tim offered quickly in order to save himself.

“HE’S WHAT!”

“Why are you still yelling at me!? Go yell at Dick!”

Using his newly discovered flexibility, Dick spied from where he and Damian had wedged themselves in between the roof rafters. “Isn’t perspective great, Dami?” Damian grinned from his spot wedged next to Dick. Any space he was occupying, the odious Sapienza wasn’t.

“It is indeed, Grayson. It is indeed.”

Chapter Text

It was the Wayne family weekly bonding activity time, and this time, Jason had elected to go and get yogurt, because he was on a cleanse. Dick had followed happily enough, enticed by the addition of granola bits to his yogurt, and Damian, of course, had followed Dick happily enough.

“Dick.”

“Yes, Little Wing?”

“You know Damian’s thirteen years old, right? You don’t need to hold his hand.”

“Don’t be silly, you’re never too old to hold your little brother’s hand,” Dick said, and Damian glowed.

“Be of calm mind, Grayson,” Damian said. “Todd is merely projecting his insecurities that no one will hold his hand onto us.”

“That’s not true, son,” Bruce said, and then held Jason’s hand. Jason nearly died on the spot, becuase his dad was holding his hand in public, oh my god, people can see. Bruce made it a point to hold onto Jason until they reached the yogurt shoppe, where Jason immediately snagged Tim and ran away to look at sprinkles and avoid the rest of their family.

“I need to relieve my bladder,” Damian announced to all and sundry, and waddled to the bathroom. Bruce winced and followed him in, hoping to rein in Damian from loudly criticizing people next to him for urinating too loudly.

Once at the cinemas was enough, even though that man had been awfully loud. People had applauded Damian’s chastisements of the perpatrator, much to Bruce’s horror.

All he had wanted was to watch Infinity War in peace.

This left Dick sitting alone, waiting for Jason and Tim to get back with the family’s yogurt orders. He looked around the shoppe at his fellow patrons, basking in the normality of it all. Oh, there was some lech trying to took at Timmy’s legs again, best get rid of him. Dick signalled to Jason, who stormed over to the man and proceeded to loudly call him out on his behaviour.

“How dare you, sir, gaze upon my fiancé’s thigh thusly!”

“What? I- er-“

Tim faked fainting against the sprinkles booth. “Oh dear! Jay, this boor of the lowest class has dared to inpugn my honor!”

“Put ‘em up, sir, we shall engage in fisticuffs,” Jason said, raising his fists. The man fled, with Jason in pursuit, and Tim waving a white hanky, running after Jason. Dick watched he entire procession whilst licking at his yogurt, thinking that this was as close to normal as they would get.

At the same time, Dick was also aware of the man in the corner of the yogurt shoppe staring at him for the past ten minutes. “Hello,” Dick said, looking up from his yogurt. “Can I help you?”

The man looked at Dick with a mix of sadness and confusion. After several seconds, he replied. “Apologies. It’s just that you greatly resemble my late wife.” The man took out his wallet and showed Dick an old, grayscale photograph of a pretty young woman, and yes, those did look like Dick’s eyes.

“My condolences,” Dick said sincerely. “I don’t think I got your name. My name is Dick Grayson.”

The man’s lips twitched at the last word. “William Cobb, pleased to meet you.”

Dick took the man’s outstretched hand feeling distinctly off-kilter. There was definitely something wrong. He cleared his throat. “Well met, Mr. Cobb.”

William tilted his head and allowed a little smile to curve his lips. “I had certainly hoped so,” he said quietly. “Do you still practice, Richard?”

Dick’s hackles were definitely up now. He snatched his hand back. “Excuse me?”

“The trapeze. It’s important to stay in touch with our roots. I heard that you were quite the bird up in the air.”

Dick narrowed his eyes. “Not many people recognize me from the circus,” he said carefully.

“Well, most wouldn’t,” Cobb said quietly. “But I am a fellow Haly’s alumnus myself. A sword swallower, in fact.”

Instead of relaxing, Dick’s hair stood on end. The last sword swallower at Haly’s had been active in the forties, in his grandfather’s time. In fact, from what Pop Haly said, Dick’s grandfather had been the last sword swallower at Haly’s circus.

“I do believe that you are lying, sir,” Dick said evenly, praying that Bruce or Jason would come back. “You cannot have been at Haly’s as a sword swallower - I would have known.”

Cobb’s lips bloomed into a full smile at that. “It’s not that part I’m lying about, Mr. Grayson,” he said quietly, before standing. Dick got to his feet as well, anticipating any moves the man might make. He prayed for Damian to not come out of the washroom, to stay safe and away-

Jason chose that moment to come back in, flushed with triumph. The moment he laid eyes on Cobb, however, his expression shuttered. “Making friends, Dickie?” He asked casually, coming up behind Dick in a show of support.

“We’re very possessive about Dick,” Tim’s soprano sounded quietly from behind Cobb. “Don’t turn around,” he said to the startled man, “I have a knife against your spine. We both know that you’ll regenerate, but that it’ll take a heck of a long time.”

“A casual meeting, nothing more,” Cobb reassured the disembodied voice behind him. “Between old friends.”

“Dick doesn’t need friends,” Jason said, “he has his brothers. And we’re more than enough, aren’t we, Dickolas?”

“Plenty,” Dick said firmly. “It was nice to meet you, Mr. Cobb.”

“Likewise,” Cobb said, picking up his order of yogurt. “It was good to see you, under the circumstances, Richard. Perhaps next time, you would be more amenable to a longer chat.”

“Don’t count on it,” Jason snarled, his eyes suddenly flashing red from the flare of Lazarus Madness. “Move.”

And Cobb did, disappearing into the street like he was never there to begin with. Dick watched him go, distantly feeling Jason’s arm settle around him and pull him close in the booth, like he was going to float away.

“Next time you see that asshole, Dick,” Jason murmured, “punch his eye in.”

Dick was startled into a laugh. “He’s one of the rogues, isn’t he?” He asked, to which Tim nodded. “How come he was being nice to me, though? Is he like Slade?”

Jason and Tim exchanged quick glances. “Worse,” Tim said. “Next time, cut off his balls.”

“I thouht Jay said to punch him in the eye?”

“Both,” Tim decided. “Both is good.”

***

Dick had been avoiding pulling out his circus album for fear of seeing his parent’s faces smiling up at him again. He loved them so much, and he didn’t know what memories their faces would bring back.

Good ones, it turned out.

Memories of floating, singing, festive lights and music, Pop Haly’s voice announcing the Flying Graysons, Zitka, and smiles, and blood, blood, staring eyes, there was so much blood...

Dick snapped himself out of the last memory he had of his parents, lying dead at his feet. He looked closer at his father’s face, and saw a familiar smile. His own, certainly, one he saw in the mirror, one that came when he saw Damian chase Tim and Jason around the house for a perceived slight. But also...

Dick flipped back the pages to the first pictures - the dawn of Haly’s circus. 1950, 1940, 1930, 1925...

And there he was.

William Cobb, sword swallower, wearing the red and green that Dick was so used to seeing on himself. He was leaning against the pillar of the entrance, sparing the cameraman only a halfhearted glance and a sly smirk. Heart thumping, Dick read the caption beneath the photo, scrawled in the informal hand of one of Cobb’s colleagues at the time.

“William Grayson, sword swallower, who won’t smile for the camera because he doesn’t respect me. Respect me, dammit! - Enrique Carlos, disrespected contortionist, Haly’s Circus, 1925.”

William Grayson, 1925.

***

“It’s not that part I’m lying about, Mr. Grayson,”

***

They did end up seeing each other again. It turned out that when William Cobb Grayson was not being the Talon, he worked at a bookstore.

“Things are so different now,” William said quietly. “But books don’t change. Paper, ink, binding, and an idea - that endures.”

“Clearly, you don’t have a Kindle,” Dick offered. “Hello again, Mr. Cobb.”

William raised his eyebrows. “Oh come now, you know better than that.”

Dick swallowed. “Mr. Grayson,” he tried.

William Grayson smiled, sharp and dangerous. “Well met, Mr. Grayson.” William’s eyes shot towards the back. “No swords in the bookstore,” he said severely at Damian to had unsheathed his katana and was making his way over to the two Graysons.

“I would like to purchase a book,” Damian gritted out.

“Oh?”

“Yes. It is called ‘Leave My Grayson Alone Or Perish At My Hand, by Damian Al Ghul Wayne’.”

To everyone’s surprise, William chuckled. “Relax, shorty. I don’t want to steal your Grayson. We are already family. Aren’t we, Richard?”

Dick stared at the man, who now so clearly resembled his father. “Who are you? My grandfather?”

“Great-grandfather,” William hummed. “The first Grayson. Given a sacred mission by the now defunct Court of Owls, Talon and Dispenser of the Court’s justice across Gotham.”

“You are an assassin.”

“So much more than that,” William said. “Immortal. Invulnerable. Out of time, out of place.” Unhappy, went unsaid.

Dick heard the last word nonetheless. “Your wife,” he said quietly.

“My wife,” he said, “to no one but me.”

“She was very beautiful,” Dick offered. In the background, Damian was frantically texting Bruce that Dick was ‘being nice to the Talon, Father, come and dispatch this menace forthwith! Better yet, send Todd!’

William hummed. “Clara. I taught myself to read for her. It wasn’t enough for her father.”

“What happened to her?” Dick asked.

“After I took our child, after I left, she married again. Died a year later. Even today, there is no cure for a broken heart.” William sighed. “She needn’t have died. She died for the ego of a rich man.”

“I’m sorry,” Dick said, meaning every word.

The Talon looked at Dick carefully, his golden eyes bisecting his young descendent. After an age, he inclined his head. “Thank you.”

They were silent after that, mostly because ruce came barging in with Jason and physically picked Dick up and bundled him home.

***

“So.”

Dick looked at Jason, who was starung intently at him.

“Your real name isn’t Grayson.”

“No.”

“It’s Cobb.”

“That’s right.”

“So.” Jason tried again. “Your real name...is Dick Cobb.”

“Jason!”

***

William Cobb opened up his bookstore the next Monday and would profess to being surprised at seeing his great-grandson again.

“Let’s go for a walk,” Dick offered.

William looked around for any stray Wayne siblings, becsuse he was a smart man. Dick giggled. “I had to sneak out. But I have something to show you.”

They walked to the outskirts of Old Gotham, where the trees were greener and the skies bluer than the inner city. “It took some sleuthing,” Dick said happily, “but I found her in the end.” William looked up at the place that he and Dick had stopped at. The Olde Gotham Cemetery.

Clara.

Dick handed him a piece of paper with the coordinates D18. “She’s there,” he said quietly. When William did not move, he asked, “Would you like me to come with you?” At William’s mute nod, they went inside.

Being one of the older graves, Clara was buried in the far back of the graveyard, where the gravestones had weathered with age, or were completely non-existent. Clara’s headstone stood out amongst the ruins, gleaming white marble in the Gotham sunlight, clearly newly refurbished.

Clara Mary-Anne Grayson neé Wayne

1900 - 1922

Forever Beloved

They stood there for a long time, side by side, pretending that there was dust in their eyes that was making them stream tears down their cheeks. “Thank you,” William whispered through his tears.

“You’re welcome,” Dick said.

“She was so beautiful,” William said again, his voice thick from crying.

“Clearly, a strong genetic trait,” Bruce said. Dick and William spun around to see Bruce, Jason, Tim, Damian, and Cass standing respectfully behind them. “Hello Dick. Did you really think that I haven’t sown trackers into your underpants?” He handed Dick a hanky to dab his eyes clear. “Take your time,” he said, “we’ll be outside. I’m very proud of you, son.”

They were alone again. “You do look like her,” William said at last. “Same eyes, lips. Everything except the skin tone, don’t know where that came from.”

“My mom was full ethnic Romani,” Dick said.

“Ah, that does explain it,” William said. “The Cobb’s were not greatly pigmented peoples.”

Dick chuckled. “I don’t know. I remember Grandpa Grayson being fairly weatherbeaten. He was fun, I remember telling him that he looked like a hashbrown.”

William’s expression was stunned at hearing about his son. “He- he was? What did he say?”

“He said that if he was a hashbrown, then I was a spud.”

Both men burst out laughing. After several moments of shared mirth, William asked, “Did you know him long?”

“Grandpa passed when I was five. He must’ve been in his seventies,” Dick said. “He was always a great jokester though. Loads of fun.”

“Tell me about him?” William asked hopefully.

Dick smiled. “His name was Dennis, and this one time, he fell into a whole pile of elephant dung...”

And as they spoke, the city bore witness, and the sun shined a little bit brighter on the two Gray Sons of Gotham, together at last.

Chapter Text

Dick watched in barely restrained horror as his younger siblings all suited up, yelling instructions across the Batcave at each other. The tension was palpable.

“I told him!” Jason bellowed. “I told that useless earthworm that he wasn’t good enough, and now look! He goes and gets his ass kidnapped by Black Mask! Stupid Sapienza. I swear, Dick, if he wasn’t your boyfriend-“

“Aw man, Black Mask?” Tim moaned. “That guy’s a creep. He’s always looking at my butt.”

“This is the final indignity!” Damian spat. “How dare he look upon Drake’s arse! No one is worthy of looking at the arse of a Wayne!”

Bruce stood up, causing the room to fall quiet. “This is a sensetive mission,” he rumbled. “Today we stand a chance of not only bringing Sapienza back to Dick, but to also permanently dismantle Black Mask’s criminal enterprise. Let us make Gotham safe by just that little bit today.”

A cheer rent the air, and Bruce swooshed past Dick, clapping him on the shoulder as he went past. “Sit tight, son, we’ll bring your man home. Your stupid, irascible, infuriating, man. You’ll run support for us from the cave-“

“I’m coming with you.”

“-alongside Oracle, who will patch you into the comms- I beg your hecking pardon?”

Silence fell over the cave. “I’m coming with you,” Dick repeated. “I can’t stay here, not with Alphonse in danger. I can’t see my siblings - Damian - going out to face danger on my behalf. I just- I can’t, Bruce!”

“Dick, I admire your willingness to put yourself in the line of- Damian put that armour away,” Bruce said, glaring, as Damian brought over Dick’s spare Nightwing outfit.

Dick bent down to bestow Damian head pats and to take the familiar suit. This time, it felt right in his hands, no longer a vehicle of near-death and pain. This time, he was wearing it to bring his love back home.

Dick looked out at the expectant faces of his siblings. He took a deep breath and held up the suit. Meanwhile, Bruce continued talking. “-without enough training, and I’m not sure you’ve spent enough time recovering. Frankly, I’m not sure you should be going out at all- oh, hell.”

Dick had pulled on the suit and was now looking at Bruce, who was looking irritated. “No one listens to me,” Bruce was grumbling. “I swear, the minute you all hit puberty, it was all, ‘no, Bruce, you’re wrong’, and ‘you’re not my father’.”

“You are my father,” Dick said confusedly.

Bruce turned to Jason triumphantly. “Learn from your older brother,” he said.

Jason rolled his eyes profoundly, and walked up to Dick. Stopping in front of him, he took in the image Dick cut, and nodded approvingly. “You’re missing this,” he said, pulling out Nightwing’s domino mask. Carefully, he pasted it over Dick’s eyes. When Dick opened them next, he saw the world as Nightwing once more.

And what a beautiful world it was.

Bruce, however, did not think so. “Nobody listens to me,” he mourned. “I’ve raised five children, and not one listens to me, they all listen to Dick. Why do you listen to Dick, he makes bad choices. Discowing, Roy Harper, and now Sapienza. I always say no, but no one respects me or my word.”

“I respect your word, daddy,” Tim said, hoping to score some quick brownie points.

“Then leave Kon-El.”

“No!” Tim gasped. “I would rather fling myself to my death than sacrifice my love!”

“Clearly, this is Dick’s influence,” Bruce deduced. “He, too, flings himself into danger for the sake of love. The only people you are allowed to fling yourself to your death for are your siblings and Alfred!”

“But Kon-“

“Is unworthy,” Bruce tried to persuade Tim. “Only we Bats are worthy.”

“Why does Bruce hate Kon-El?” Dick whispered to Jason.

“He doesn’t,” Jason said lowly. “He just hates the idea of losing Tim to puberty. Tim was really devoted to Bruce and the mantle of the Bat when he started with Bruce. Then, puberty kicked in, and he fell in love, and Tim’s idolatry of Bruce stopped when he saw him for what he was.”

“That is...?”

“A deeply flawed goofball with unhealthy coping mechanisms. And speaking of flawed goofballs...”

“Alphonse!” Dick cried. “We have to save him!”

“Damnation, Todd, why did you have to remind him?” Damian grumbled, stomping after Dick.

“Think about it this way, my little padawan,” Jason lectured, “without ol’ Saps, who will Bruce redirect his anger towards? Having Sappy is good for Bruce’s blood pressure and for the well being of the family.”

Damian pondered over Jason’s misguided wisdom. “Oh, I see. How uncharacteristically wise of you, Todd.”

“Thank yo- hey!”

“Everyone into the batmobile!” Dick shrieked. “Bruce, leave Timmy alone and hurry up!”

“Don’t give me orders,” Bruce said shortly, and chucked Dick and Damian into the backseat. Then they were off.

***

Sapienza wondered how often Dick found himself in this kind of situation. Mainly, tied up, hung upside down, and being verbally sexually harrased by criminal elements. Upon realizing that Sapienza wasn’t the original Nightwing, Black Mask pouted (and boy, Alphonse had not signed up to see that) and asked where the juicy one was.

“Stop talking about my boyfriend like that,” Alphonse said angrily.

“Boyfriend, huh?” Black Mask perked up. “So there is hope for me after all.”

“Don’t count on it,” Alphonse advised. “Batman barely tolerates me as it is. You have no chance.”

“So where is he?”

“Who?”

“Juicy-wing.”

“He’s at home with a headache.” This was parially true, as far as Sapienza was concerned. The tag team of Jason and Tim were the living embodiments of a headache. “And stop being creepy about my boyfriend!”

“I bet he’ll come in his tight little outfit to rescue you,” Black Mask said with a grin. “I’m going to go and wait.”

“Don’t bet on it,” Alphonse grumbled, as he was left alone and upside down. He wondered if anyone was coming to save him.

“You’re gonna lose that bet,” a familiar voice said from inside a previously empty crate. From inside, the Red Hood popped out. “Hey-a, Sappy.”

“Please spare me your jovial greetings for after the life and death situation,” Sapienza pleaded.

“We’re fine, Nightwing’s on the job.”

“Excuse me?”

“Not you, loser. The real Nightwing.”

Sapienza’s heart soared. “You mean-?”

“Yup. Dickiebird’s back.”

Sapienza’s heart wsa filled with love and warmth and all of the good stuff. Then, he remembered. “Wait, Dick’s outside?”

“Yup.”

“Fighting Black Mask?”

“Done and dusted. Hysterical Dickie is a lethal Dickie. Now shut up and let me get you down.” Jason cut Alphonse lose, and then after making sure that there was no lasting damage, smacked him across the head.

“OW!”

“What the fuck, Sap! I told you that you weren’t ready! Dick snotted up my good t-shirt by crying about you the whole ride here!”

“Dick was crying about me?”

“Ugh, you two deserve each other,” Jason grumbled, and trudged outside to take part in the battle outside, only to find that Hurricane Dick and smaller Tropical Depression Damian had already taken out all of the baddies.

“Alphonse!” Dick cried, and threw himself into his arms.

“Dick,” Alphonse said gratefully. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

Jason was glad to be distracted fromthe nauseating reunion by Tim tugging at his sleeve. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Tim beamed. “Wanna help me do a thing?”

“Will Bruce approve?”

“Nope.”

“Will there be a crater by the time we’re done?”

“Definitely.”

“Will things go boom?”

“So many.”

“Then lead on, Hephaestion.”

The giggling pair went on their merry way, leaving Bruce to corral the two reunited lovers and Damian, who was stomping on Black Mask’s feebly stirring and whining body back to the Batmobile. After a quick headcount and missing his two middle sons, Bruce asked, “Where are Jason and Tim?”

“Here, daddy,” Tim said, quickly slinking back to Bruce’s side and into the Batmobile as the car took off, headed back to Wayne manor. “Hey Saps.”

“Hey,” Sapienza greeted Tim hoarsely. “What were you up to?”

“Nothing. Just vengeance.”

“What?”

“What?” Tim echoed innocently, while Jason sniggered happily. The pair did not stop sniggering when they reached the Batcave, and headed upstairs after changing and turned on the news. Meanwhile, Dick had gotten Sapienza all cleaned up and was bumdled up with him under a blanket on the couch. Bruce came in and smacked Dick’s knee.

“Separate blankets,” he ordered. “Blanket sharing is limited to siblings only.”

As if to reinforce the point, Tim and Jason wriggled in, giggling and sharing a bright yellow fluffy blanket, like some banana slugs that had giantism. They were followed by Damian, who came in with a large blanket, and blinked innocently up at Dick.

“I am feeling a slight chill from being outside, Grayson.”

It did not matter that Damian was as warm as the rest of them - logic had no place with Super Mom Dick Grayson as he made cooing noises and bundled Damian up in his lap, sharing the blanket with him. Victorious, Damian settled in like a tiny despot on his throne, and turned his attention to the news.

“...This just in, an enormous blast from the portside warehouses have revealed a new crater in the Gotham Shipyards. Found tied next to the smouldering hole were Black Mask and his criminal henchmen, with the following note pinned to them - “You’re Welcome,” followed by an image that looks like a foot.”

“It’s a bat!” Tim shrieked. “It’s a bat emoji, not a foot, you pigeon brained toenail!”

“...I think that’s a bat, Brenda.”

“...Oh, so it is. Thanks Joanna, and back to you at the studios.”

“I’m promoting Joanna on Monday,” Tim said, sinking back happily into Jason’s chest.

“You blew up the dockyard!?” Bruce seethed at Tim, who was impervious to Bruce’s anger, happy in his cocoon of accomplishment and sharing Jason’s body heat. “Again? Timothy Wayne, how many times-“

“He’s done this before?” Alphonse asked, startled.

“Four times now,” Dick said. “You’d think Bruce would learn by now.”

Alphonse stared at his boyfriend, then his brothers, and then relaxed into Dick’s side. “Blown up dockyards or not...I wanted to thank all of you for the rescue.

“Thank you Dick, for beating the daylights out of my tormentor. Thank you, Damian, for your...um...bloodlust.”

“Mention not,” Damian said proudly.

“Thank you, Tim and Jason for, er, everything,” Alphonse said weakly. “And to you, Mr. Wayne, for being such a connsumate professional and for putting aside your hatred of me to save me.”

“I don’t hate you,” Bruce said, surprised. “I dislike you the normal amount for trying to steal my son from me. But I suppose that I should thank you too,” he admitted. “It was due to your kidnapping that Dick has retaken the mantle of Nightwing.”

“Oh,” Alphonse said, beaming happily up at Dick. “I’m glad.”

“I know,” Dick said, giggling and pressing a quick kiss to Alphonse’s nose.

“OoooOoOo,” Tim and Jason chanted as Bruce suddenly turned the colour of a prune. “Dick necked Sappy!”

And just like that, everything was back to normal.

Chapter Text

When Dick asked Alphonse to come over and have high tea witht eh rest of the Waynes, and meet his great-grandfather, Alphonse had been imagining a sweet old man with a wide, toothless grin, a kidly disposition, and Dick's limpid blue eyes, just brimming with happiness.

Instead, he was sat opposite a man in his mid thirties, a severe frown, a murderous disposition, and golden eyes promising him endless pain.

"Dickie."

"Yes, Al?"

“I thought we were meeting your grandfather,” Alphonse said.

“Great-grandfather.”

“Yes, but that still doesn’t explain why I’m looking at a man in his thirties and pressing a knife against my leg under the table.”

“You know what?” Jason said. “I totally misjudged you, Cobb. We should totally go out for drinks sometime.”

“Jason, don’t ask your brother’s ancestor out, oh my god," Tim said, daintily crossing his legs to alleviate the pressure of his latest thong string against his hip. Kon had recently made him a new lacy thong to replace the one Bruce had found and burned. Tim savoured the feeling of the silk, so tenderly sown by his lover, chafing against his skin.

It was a good hurt.

"It is quite alright, fae child," Cobb replied to Tim, whilst eyeing Jason appraisingly. "I am not averse to left handed men. In fact, I myself am both left and right handed."

"Oh, me too," Steph said. Everyone paused to look at her. "What? I'm ambidetrous."

"I do believe," Alfred intervened gently, "that being 'left-handed' is an old term that means homosexual."

"Oh, then I stick to my guns," Steph said, leering at Cass, who tittred prettily. Bruce gave Steph the evil eye and spilled tea on her, forcing the Eggplant Wonder to adjourn to the washrom and get cleaned up. Bruce looked very pleased with himself, while Alfred tutted chidingly at him.

But back to Sapeinza's hostage situation, featuring himself as the hostage.

"Please, sir," Alphonse said in his most reasonable voice, "won't you remove that very sharp knife from against my femoral vein?"

"In time, perhaps," Cobb replied, his eyes glinting with evil and mirth. Jason sighed longingly and Cobb directed a saucy wink at him before going back to rubbing the knife against Alphonse's leg. "But first, tell me why I should."

"Because I would very much like to stay alive and in love with your great-grandson," Alphonse said. There were gasps and muttering around the tea table. Love? Could it be? Was this rogue about to steal Dick away with the power of this...Love?

"Preposterous!" Damian cried, setting his teacup down forcefully. "This...love will not be enough to support Grayson! Prove to us that you are capable of caring for him!"

"Eh?"

"Tell me, Mister Sapienza," Cobb said, "what are your annual earnings?"
"Er...about forty-five grand?"

"I see," Alphonse mused. "And what is the nature of your work?"
"I'm a detective with the Bludhaven Police Department, sir," Alphonse said proudly.

"Oh, I don't know about that," Cobb purred concernedly.

"Indeed," Damian piped up from beside him. "It is a dangerous job. Grayson could quickly become a widow, and he would have to move back home, and seek solace in doling out many hugs and kisses to me as he reintegrates himself into the household...I take it back," Damian said happily, "you should definitely wed."

Cobb looked approvingly at Damian and hesitantly reached out. When his hand was not immediately bitten, he gingerly patted Damian on the head. Damian smiled like a frog at the contact and at Dick beaming at him. Double Grayson! This was the best day ever.

Jason mimed retching into his tea and then emptying its contents into Tim's cup. "Forcefield," Tim said promptly, miming the imaginary vomit rebounding off of his invisible shield and rebounding into Damian's cup. Jason chortled along with Tim and gave his brother a high-five at Damian's annoyed glare.

Cobb chuckled. "Such youthful camaradeire," he said wistfully. "Why, it makes me feel young again."

"I can make you feel lost of things, Cobby," Jason said seductively.

To everyone's surprise and Bruce's absolute rage, Cobb inclined his head respectfully. "Then, Mister Todd, I should like to see you try."

Dick's jaw dropped in shock as Bruce groaned and reached for his blood pressure tablets. He was forty-five, and thanks to Jason, he had hypertension. Why did bad things happen to good people?

"Bruce, calm down," Dick said rubbing his father's arm worriedly.

"I have left calm far behind me, Dick," Bruce groused, dry swallowing his pills.

"At least take your pills with some water!"
"The Batman needs no water, only justice." Bruce paused. "And for cradle robbing cads to stay away from his sons." He narrowed his eyes at Tim, who was discretely, adjusting a sneaky piece of lace on his thong. "Also Kon-El."

Tim gasped and sat up, his fingers releasing the elastic, causing it to snap sharply against his skin. Immediately, he blushed a pretty sakura pink, and hung his head.

"Timothy Wayne!" Bruce thundered. "Are you wearing a thong again?"

"...No?" Tim tried timidly.

"What is a thong?" Cobb asked.

Jason quickly pulled out his phone and googled an image for Cobb, whose eyebrows hiked up his forehead rapidly. "Ah, those," he said briefly.

"You know about thongs?" Dick asked him curiously.

"Not quite. But your great-grandmother had a very nice pair of bloomers. They were...scintillating."

Dick choked on a tea biscuit and Alphonse jumped in to give him mouth to mouth. Really, a blatant excuse to smooch.

"I have never loved you more," Jason said seriously, looking at Cobb intensely.

"Well, we shall have to put that to the test, then, shan't we?" Cobb said quietly, his voice dripping with salacious promise. Jason bit back a whimper.

"Jason Grayson," he said dreamily. "It has a ring to it."

"Don't be so thirsty, son," Bruce counselled Jason. "You have to make the men work for it. Waynes are famously never the ones to put out first."

"Tell that to Tim."

"TIM!"

Tim, who had not experienced any kind of penetration yet, and was as pure as Arctic snow, gaped in shock. "I haven't!"

"Timothy Wayne, you are forbidden from seeing Kon-El for a week," Bruce seethed. "Perhaps some time away from horny Kryptonian-Luthor hybrids will cool your irascible lust."

"This is so unfair!"

"Boo hoo."

The minute Bruce turned away, Jason and Tim put their heads together to conspire on how to best help Tim elope to Kent farm for the weekend and be back for a shareholder's meeting on Monday.

Alphonse, for one, was very glad that someone else was bearing the brunt of Bruce's ire. He would have to thank this Kon-El, whoever he was, for diverting the man's attention away from Alphonse and Dick's relationship.

Alphonse reached under the table and held Dick's hand, and was warmed to feel the other man gently squeeze his hand in return. So lost were they in their little world, that neither cared that Cobb was looking appraisingly at them.

Then, the unexpected happened. Cobb leaned forward with the teapot. "More tea, Mister Sapienza?"

Alfred breathed in sharply. The Offer Of Tea had been made, which meant that Cobb had formally approved of Sapienza's courtship of Dick. For his part, Dick looked overjoyed and scooted closer to Alphonse, pressing against his arm adroingly. This, of course, meant that Damian scooted too, going where Dick went as though pulled along by a magnet.

"What a wonderful and complex thing love is," Cobb said quietly. "So difficult to find, and even harder to maintain." He looked directly at Sapienza. "Keep the child of my blood well, Mister Sapienza. Let him want for nothing. Richard is...a good man," he said, looking softly at Dick.

"May you be blessed with fertility and produce many children," Damian blessed them in his mother-tongue.

Jason stared. "Kid...they're two men."

"Drake's lover, the Clone, was born of two men," Damian said. "What is your point?"

Bruce quickly gathered Tim up and shunted him to the Batcave, lest he start getting familial cravings.

With Bruce gone, Jason leaned forward. "So, Cobby, we're finally alone. Let's get jiggy."

"Jason!" Dick cried, his hands over Damian's ears, framing his tiny, round head.

"Oh, right. C'mon Cobb. Let us, um, adjourn to the gardens, where we might grope each other tenderly."

"Can't we talk first?" Cobb asked, ever the gentleman, but followed Jason out.

"Dami-" Dick started urgently.

"Fret not, Grayson," Damian said, rising from his seat, "I shall chaperone Cobb and Todd from a distance. Should anything untoward occur, I shall alert Pennyworth, whereby he can use his status as the Elder of the family to banish Cobb fromt he premesis." He paused. "Or Todd."

Finally alone, Alphonse slumped in his seat, and Dick snuggled into him. "That was nice," Dick murmured into Alphose's chest.

"Yeah, it turned out alright," Alphonse admitted. "But I still don't like the idea of your great-grandfather being able to beat me up."

"He would never," Dick said, "not without due cause. Besides, I suspect that Jason will keep him busy."

"Could this be the breakup of the Terrible Twins?" Alphonse asked. "Will romance be the end of their bromance?"

"Hardly. They've double dated before. Bruce prefers it, he doesn't like from Kon and Ti to be unchaperoned. Timmy's only seventeen, you know."

"Your family is so strange," Alphonse mused. "But it's a good kind of strange."

"It's born of love," Dick said. "And paranoia, and trust issues, and depression, and OCD, and separation anxiety, and daddy issues, and feelings of inadequecy, and low self esteem, and co-dependence."

"And I'm going to marry into that," Alphonse said faintly.

Dick startled. "What did you say?"

"What?"

"What?"

"Marriage?"

"Well, yes," Alphonse said. "I highly doubt that your ancestor from the 1800s or my mother, a Spanish Catholic woman, would condone us living in sin."

"But gay is fine."

"Of course gay is fine," Alphonse affirmed. "I love you, Dick."

Dick smiled, and leaned into Alphonse, as the sounds of Jason's voice issuing odd flirtations carried in from the garden. "And I love you, Alphonse Sapienza."