Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

They awoke to light.

Black spots were an immediate assault against their vision as they clamped their eyelids back shut. Shuffling sounded above them, a few knots to the left.

“Hey Batman! I think it’s awake!”

More shuffling. Heavy footsteps. The feet dragged against the flooring - their heels scrapping with each pick up of the leg.

Another set of footsteps - lighter. They made a gentle patter, steps more fast in their descend and ascend.

A shadow fell over them. The burning red hue against the endless black lessened up. Maintained breathing, not too heavy or shallow, echoed in the buzzing room.

“Are you sure?”

They knew this voice. Batman. Why-

It came back to them like a stab to their skull.

Oh. They’d been sent on a Mission by the Court for Batman’s head. But that hadn’t happened.

Bluejay got involved and - Talon remembered screaming, Batman’s gruff voice downright terrifying, and then black from the injury sustained to their head.

“The...guy’s eyes snapped opened. I saw it!” Bluejay’s voice. He sounded congested - his tone nasally.

“Hn.” The shadow faded, leaving just the intense illuminating bulbs. Then the lights dimmed and Talon’s eyes opened wide.

No burn or sting from too bright lights. Perfect. The shadow came back and Batman towered over them.

Talon tried to move. A crack resounded as their arm popped out of its socket, wrist and clawed hands contained in metal contraptions bolted to the metal table. Yellow eyes flickered downwards. Legs were in the same position. No issues.

Talon moved, feeling that distant tug of muscles and ligaments tearing as they began to try and sever their arm from their body.

“OH MY GOD!” Bluejay’s voice was a shriek of something - Talon couldn’t tell what. Batman clamped a hand down, hard, on Talon’s chest and still them.

“Stop.”

It was a growl, forceful and low in timbre. An Order if Talon had ever heard one. They froze, slumping back against the table. An Order was an Order and Talon would obey no matter who spoke it.

“Did he just try to…?” Bluejay’s voice trailed off. “I think I’m gonna be sick.”

“Who are you?” Batman demanded, ignoring Bluejay’s commentary in the background. Talon couldn’t spot the child - he must be somewhere out of sight.

They remained silent. Predatory eyes rolled lazily about their surroundings, cataloging it all. White walls, glass pane stretching from one corner to the next, medical supplies. An infirmary of some sort?

“Answer me.” That commanding growl was back, demanding attention and answers.

Too bad he was asking the wrong questions.

“...what are you?” It was Bluejay who’d asked it.

“Bluejay.” Batman didn’t sound pleased at his sidekick interfering. “Leave.”

“What?!” He sounded so offended - voice raising into a yell. “No! You were the one-”

“Talon is Talon.”

Something in them was weird - itching to answer that child’s voice. There was a quality of innocence in the words spoken, layered under heavy curiosity and skepticism. Something about the child made their chest ache and tighten and collapse and inflate all at once.

They did not understand why.

“What’s a Talon?” More shuffling and the child was leaning over the table, a decent sized bruise forming along their left temple. Inside the restraints, Talon’s fingers twitched.

Why?

“Talon is Talon. The Court of Owls’ Talon.” Talon kept their eyes trained on Bluejay, tracing their domino mask and bruised cheek. “You have been hurt. Did your Grandmaster punish you?”

A small part of Talon rose like a coil of heat at the thought. It was strange.

“Wha-?” Bluejay recoiled. “Um.” Batman huffed and guided Bluejay by his shoulder, leading him away. “Whoa whoa! Hold up! Batman!”

“We’ll finish this later.” The room was bathed in darkness and Talon stared blankly up at the annoyingly white ceiling.

Talon had engaged Bluejay during the Mission. They’d made sure to dodge all attacks by the child. So how had they been hurt?

In the darkness, a growl emitted from their throat.

“So how old are you?”

Bluejay sat on the edge of the cot beside the table, swinging his legs childishly.

“Talon does not understand.” Talon watched him, noting the bruise was fading to a blotchy yellow color. Something warm and heavy settled in their stomach at that. A gentle purr resounded and the child stopped short.

“Did you just-?” Bluejay stared at them, face scrunching up. “You purr?”

The peace was ruined.

“Richard Grayson.”

Bluejay tensed slightly at the sudden entrance of Batman was relaxed immediately as the man walked between the two, gaze going between them. Talon’s narrowed eyes snapped to Batman, something swirling in their toxic gaze.

“Is that his name?” Bluejay asked curiously, his legs starting up their back and forth momentum once more. “That sounds familiar.”

“The Flying Graysons.” Talon’s face pinched up. “From Haly’s Circus.” Batman studied his reactions. “You were six years old.”

“Richard Grayson is dead.” Talon let their eyes slip closed, something cold and shocking banging against the inside of their temple.

“You’re Richard Grayson,” Batman argued, tone border lining on cautious. Talon’s fingers and toes curled.

“Richard Grayson is dead,” they repeated.

“No he isn’t.” Batman hovered over them, tone a growl of impatience. “You’re right here.”

Talon finally opened their eyes.

“No.” The word was whispered in a soft, broken breath. “Richard Grayson is dead.” Their eyes burned into Batman’s masked ones. “All that is left is Talon.”

“Tony Zucco.”

Batman looked up from the computer. Talon had been bound to a rolling chair, pushed around by Bluejay after three weeks of being kept captive.

“What about him?”

Tony Zucco. Tony Zucco. Why did that name sound so familiar? Turning back to the monitor, he typed the name in.

Tony Zucco, a no-good thug who'd been behind the murder of the Flying Graysons. Found dead with his throat slit open a year after the deaths.

Batman had been investigating the murders and the sudden disappearance of their child when the death had hit the news. After that, life and more pressing matters got in the way until the missing Grayson was forgotten.

“Talon disposed of him.” Talon was watching Bluejay again. Batman had been worried, at first, when he noticed how focused the assassin was on his child. But the caution had slowly eased when he noted that Talon was almost….monitoring the kid, like a mother would their wayward toddler at the neighborhood park.

It was fascinating and disturbing all at the same time.

“Owlet, stop.” Bluejay was messing with the BatBike (as Bluejay had cheekily named it), a screwdriver in hand.

Batman jolted up straighter while the screwdriver fell to the cave floor with an echoing clank. The two looked at Talon, their expressions varying.

Bluejay looked weird - his mouth open and eyes wide behind his mask. Not scared, Talon instantly noted. Something else.

“What did you just call him?” Batman snarled low. More questions, not that Talon minded. Their entire captivity was just non-stop questions needing answers. It beat going back to their coffin, at least. 

“Owlet. My Owlet.” Talon felt their shoulders twitch up. They’d been doing that recently - hunching into themselves when Batman or Bluejay said something in tones that felt like acid on Talon’s bones.

Apparently it was defensive, if what Batman typed up on his computer was to be true.

“...why?” Bluejay had moved to perch by Batman’s chair, hand gripping the man’s cape. Talon cocked their head to the side.

“Mine,” was all a reason Talon could give.

“Content?” Talon blinked, nose scrunching up as they hugged Bluejay - Jason - to their side. Jason, holding onto one side of the book on basic emotions in his lap, nodded.

“Yeah. Like. Hm.” Jason tapped a hand to his chin, unmasked face turning to the book in concentration. “Uuuh. When you are laying in your blanket nest and it is really warm and you don’t wanna move? That’s content.”

“Oh.” Talon ran sharp nails through Jason’s locks, being gentle when the tips grazed along his scalp. “Then I am content with you, Owlet.”

Bruce, watching the two cuddle by the fireplace, quirked a tense smirk at them. “Just him?”

“Master Alfred too-" A pause- "And you, Grandmaster Bruce,” Talon added on as if an afterthought. Bruce didn’t know if he liked that or not.

The first time the Wayne family discovered that Talon couldn’t eat food, Alfred looked ready to single-handedly take down the Court.

It’d been the third day since his release to wander the manor with Jason, following him like a lost puppy.

Alfred, having been put on Talon’s ‘Do Not Engage’ list, had greeted the two in the kitchen. He set a plate of fruit down for the children, watching as Talon observed their Owlet eating a strawberry.

“You want one?” Jason asked, noticing the unwavering yellow eyes on him. Talon blinked, slowly, and looked between the hand holding a melon cube to the plate. A good couple of awkward silence followed the question before Talon nodded once.

Jason pushed the plate closer to the assassin and they picked up a watermelon ball, popping it into their mouth.

Not three seconds after they swallowed the fruit did it come back up, black liquid tinging the bile and strings of saliva. The melon ball was coated in the thick goop, Talon’s hands hovering over their mouth in a aborted attempt to stop the sudden spew.

Jason cried out in alarm and worry and the two adults in the house were quick to get to the assassin’s side and access the situation.

“Talon forgot,” Talon muttered out, shrinking back away from Bruce with something open and hurt in their eyes. “Talon apologizes and awaits punishment.”

“I certainly think not!” Alfred snapped out, standing between the two. “There will be no punishments here. Now, dear child, what did you forget?” Talon relaxed under Alfred’s gaze and was subtle in their movement to be closer to the elderly man. A clawed hand reached out and gripped at the black tailcoat of the man’s uniform cover and looked at the black puddle.

“Talons do not eat,” they recited emptily. “Talons are not alive so they do not need to eat.”

“My word…” Alfred’s face shut down into a careful mask of indifference. “I will clean this up and you two will relocate to the study.” He was gentle in unlatching Talon’s hand, feeling the cold appendage go limp under his hold. He patted the teen on the head and sent them off with Jason.

“I’ll study this,” Bruce mumbled to the quiet kitchen air, kneeling down to inspect the black liquid. “See what it is and if it can be reversed. It’s...horrible, what had been done to him.”

“Indeed.” Alfred’s tone was final and cold and he went to get the mop and rag.

Walking into the pitch black kitchen at 4am to see glowing yellow eyes was bad for one’s heart. Alfred nearly punched the child, seeing them perched on the island while all but swaddled in the flying elephant fleece blanket Bruce had gotten them. He was quick to flick the lights on, Talon’s eyes squinting at the sudden brightness.

“Master Richard, what are you...doing here?”Alfred looked at the kitchen - it looked untouched. Talon shifted, moving to cross their legs as they shimmied closer to the edge of the table. He’d rather the child not sit up on the table at all but - choose your battles.

“Talon does not sleep. Talon would like to watch you make breakfast.”

Well, at least the lad’s forming interests and becoming curious on his own , Alfred thought as he nodded, moving to the pantry to retrieve his apron.

“I was thinking french toast this morning,” the butler spoke as he tied the strings around his waist. “Master Jason is a fan.” Talon slid off the table, neatly folding up their blanket as Alfred moved about to get the needed ingredients.

“French toast.” Talon blinked and tilted their head to the side. “Coffee?” Alfred paused in grabbing the container of coffee grounds, looking to them. “Grandmaster Bruce drinks coffee, yes?”

“Yes.” Alfred’s lips thinned at the title. “And just call him Bruce.” He internally winced at the informal name that slipped past his lips.

“Bruce.” Talon moved to Alfred’s side, watching him scoop out and measure the grounds. “Why measure them?” They leaned over, sniffing at the aroma. “Smells like...hazelnuts?”

“Correct,” Alfred praised with a smile, shifting slightly to let the assassin watch easier. “It’s a hazelnut blend that Master Bruce is quite taken with as of late. As for the measuring - you can’t just willy-nilly pour water into a clump of grounds. The perfect coffee comes down to a science, my boy.”

Talon just stared.

“Once it is done, you can taste-” He stopped himself. The child couldn’t eat. Damn the Court.

“Talon would like that.” Talon shifted their footing, looking suddenly hesitant. “Talon...feels they could hold it down.” Alfred raised an eyebrow and silently debated on the pros and cons.

He decided it was worth cleaning up that black goop again, if it meant the child could at least feel some semblance of normal.

Alfred showed the assassin their french press, explaining the art of making a perfect cup of coffee. Talon listened intently, nodding along and asking questions while the water boiled in the kettle.

Ten minutes later and Talon was staring down at a small cup of coffee, smelling the rich aroma as it coiled up in steamed wisps. They raised the cup, inhaling the smell. They took a painstakingly slow sip.

Alfred watched with bated breath as Talon’s eyes went wide, cup shuddering in their suddenly trembling grip. A soft gasp left his lips as thick black trails formed and slid down their scarred cheeks, pattering against the cup and into the dark liquid.

“Master...Richard?”

The cup fell and shattered against the clean tile as Talon scrambled backwards, slamming their back into the island. Trembling hands reached up, brushing against the black liquid leaking from their eyes. Gasping hiccups escaped their still chest, making the rapid-up and down heaves awkward to watch.

Loud echoing wails rang throughout the kitchen as Talon buried their face into their clawed hands, crouching down to curl into themselves. Bruce and Jason threw themselves into the kitchen, batarangs in hand. They froze at the sight of Talon hysterically crying.

“It tastes good,” Talon choked out, rubbing at the black liquid with their pajama sleeves, staining the clothes. “It tastes really good.”

“Oh Master Richard,” Alfred murmured and gathered the child into his arms, squeezing tightly.

That day, Talon found a new interest in coffee.

Chapter Text

Talon was bored. Sorry, Dick was bored. Bruce was at his company most days when he couldn’t work from home and Jason had school, leaving Dick by himself. He shadowed Alfred when he could, but after realizing he made the man slightly uncomfortable with his constant staring, had taken to exploring the compound.

He visited the graveyard, meeting Martha and Thomas Wayne. He met Bruce’s other relatives, finding comfort in the silence. There was something calming in the eerie air that hung over the gravestones. It seemed like another world to an outsider - how the temperature seemed to decline the moment you touched down on the upturned soil or knelt before a marker and talked to the dead. 

Until a child was falling out of the tree near the top of the hill. Dick didn’t even think twice about catching the child, arms securing him against Dick’s chest. The child gave an aborted whine, eyes widening as he realized he wasn’t in pain or a splatter on the ground.

“Are you alright?” Dick blinked down at the child. He was tiny. So tiny and light. He squinted. “You are Timothy Drake, from next door. Did you get lost?” He was trespassing. 

Timothy just stared at him, eyes wide as his blue eyes slid across Dick’s face. “Your eyes are yellow.”

“Yes,” Dick spoke and gently set Timothy down. “Are you lost?” The child was on the Wayne property now. He could take him to the edge of the compound and show him how to get back to the Drake house but… Dick hadn’t yet left the safety of the manor’s border. Not since he'd been captured and kept with the Bats. Not since he'd been abducted from the Court and told that their treatment to him was bad. 

Bad and he couldn't go back. He was Ordered to stay with Batman. In the manor. Until further notice. 

Timothy just continued to stare. “What’s your name? You aren’t Batman or Bluejay.”

Dick wavered, eyebrows raising. The tiny child knew who his Owlet and Grandmaster were? Dick crouched down, thankful that even in his murdered state, he was still taller than the child. “Who?”

“Batman.” Timothy shied away, suddenly looking nervous. “And Bluejay. I’ve seen Jason fight some bullies at the ice cream shop before. Bluejay has the same heavy right hook. Batman had gotten hurt one night and Bruce Wayne had a limp the next morning, the same spot that one of Two-Face’s goon’s had gotten Batman with a crowbar.”

Dick blinked owlishly, making Timothy shy further away from him. He was. This child was-

everything the Court would desire in an Owl

-brilliant.

“Where are your parents?” He looked around, hoping to spot the Drake couple. Or any adult, for that matter. Who just let a child wander around? The world was dangerous and Gotham was a nightmare. 

“Overseas. I slipped my nanny,” Timothy whispered softly, shoulders hunching up as if expecting to get in trouble. “Who are you?” He reminded Dick of Jason when they'd first met after his capture. It tugged on something in Dick's chest and he didn't hesitate to let his shoulders drop into a relaxed posture. 

“I’m Talon,” Dick spoke without thought. “Come here, Owlet.” He held his arms open for the child. Timothy stood frozen, eyebrows pinching. “Let’s have Alfred call your nanny and tell her where you are.” The books Dick had been reading mentioned how children should always be in the presence of an adult. Neither of them could care for themselves so Dick decided Alfred needed to be with them. He was a responsible, sane adult. He'd make good judgement calls. 

“...Who’s Owlet?” Timothy asked cautiously. “Me?” He pointed to himself cluelessly. Dick nodded and kept his arms open. Timothy took a hesitant step forward before he straightened his shoulders and narrowed his eyes in courage. He marched up to Dick and allowed the teen to pick him up gingerly, the child’s weight held with one arm.

Timothy’s arms wrapped around Dick’s neck and he peered curiously up at him. “Hey Talon, how old are you?”

“Talon does not understand,” Talon spoke and then tilted his head to the side. He shook his head. Dick. He was Dick. “Bruce says I am eighteen. How old are you, Timothy Drake?”

“You can call me Timmy or Tim,” Tim spoke with a scrunched nose. “Timothy is what my nanny uses when I’m in trouble. I’m 9!” He looked like he was 6 at most. Dick blinked. “And I know that Bruce is Batman!”

“Yes,” Dick agreed. “So smart, Owlet. So smart, little Owlet.” A soft purr escaped Dick’s throat. “Bruce will be pleased that you figured it out so easily.”

Bruce was, in fact, not pleased.  

Timothy Drake, 9 years old, became a regular guest at the manor. The day him and Dick met, Bruce and Jason had come home to Tim giggling loudly as Dick paraded him around on his shoulders. Alfred looked at ease, sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee to warm his hands.

“Did you kidnap a child?” Jason blurted out while Bruce mentally noted the Drake heir. "Dude, you can't just snatch kids up! Daaaad!" Bruce opened and closed his mouth, looking completely at a loss. 

“Owlet is Timothy Drake." Jason made a guttural noise in this throat. "Owlet, meet my other Owlet, Jason. Timmy knows who Batman and Bluejay are.”

Bruce and Jason went rigid. Even Alfred stiffened.

“Nuh-uh,” Jason eloquently blurted out. Tim laughed and his giggles turned to shrieks of pure excitement when Dick grabbed him by the ankles and tossed him in the air, tumbling him into his arms.

“It’s true!” Tim giggled breathlessly as Dick held him with one arm. “I have the pictures to prove it!” Dick’s eyebrows raised up.

“Owlet didn’t mention pictures.”

“Pictures?” Bruce looked longingly towards his locked liquor cabinet. Ever since Jason had come to the manor, the hard liquor and alcohol had been locked up and stowed away.

“When you guys patrol.” Tim looked at the two seriously. “You have to be more careful - I followed you three blocks without you two noticing me.”

Dick’s yellow eyes narrowed dangerously, his free hand flexing to sink his claws into something warm and screaming.

“You cannot go out into the city at night, Owlet,” Dick spoke softly, turning Tim’s face to his. “Bad people roam the streets. Especially at night.”

“What the fuck,” Jason just blurted. Alfred pointed to the coin jar. Jason tossed a dollar coin into it without even looking. It clanked loudly in the tense silence of the kitchen.

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Dick, you can’t just-”

“Owlet is mine now,” Dick cut off the man and Bruce took a moment to be internally delighted that he was growing a personality enough to be able to do that. He wouldn't have dreamed of speaking against the man even three weeks ago. “His living conditions are not suitable for him.”

“Can I call my nanny and ask if I can stay for a bit longer? Please Mr. Batman-Wayne?” Tim looked at Bruce, blue eyes wide and watery, and Bruce felt his knees go weak. Damn the cute puppy dog eyes.

“Please, call me Bruce. Do not ever let anyone know I’m Batman.” Bruce knelt down and Dick took it as cue to set the child down. “How about we go over to talk to your nanny about you sleeping over? I think Dick and Jason could use a friend.”

“He’s a baby,” Jason pointed out. Dick’s eyes narrowed.

“He’s 9.”

Bruce, Alfred, and Jason took the moment to fully look at Tim.

“He can’t be,” Alfred spoke softly. “He’s…”

“Malnourished,” Bruce finished with tight lips, the word barely making a sound. “Maybe he isn’t being fed properly?”

"My nanny doesn't make me food I like," Tim spoke up, overhearing the two. "So I don't really eat a lot when she cooks. She also always forgets I'm allergic to certain foods..." He rubbed at his arm. 

“Oh my, well we won't do that,” Alfred comforted, noting how Jason was now eyeing the guest with something in his gaze. “We'll let you pick out dinner tonight. You are our guest, after all.” Tim looked delighted at the suggestion. Tim turned to Dick and Jason, the three children (or teen in Dick's case) migrating over to the pantry to look through it. 

"Master Jason has taken to the child fast," the faithful butler commented quietly. Bruce just hummed. 

Dick had too , he didn’t say. It was obvious the moment he’s called the child Owlet.

“When are your parents supposed to be home?” Jason asked, leaning comfortably against Dick’s side. The child questioned looked up from the lined notebook paper, taking in Dick’s chicken-scratched written words.

“Dunno. Ms. Bethany said they should be home by the end of the month.” The child shrugged. “You spelled this wrong. It should be thorough. T-h-o-r-o-u-g-h. Got it?” Tim leaned over Dick’s shoulder.

“Yes. Thank you,” Dick spoke with a smile, nuzzling his nose against Tim’s head. “So smart, Owlet.”

Jason snorted, snuggling closer to the Talon, feeling slightly jealous. Just a little. “You wrote your R backwards.”

“Oh! Thank you, Owlet.” Dick pressed a peck to Jason’s temple. The second oldest of the three preened, sending a glare towards the youngest, and Tim’s eyes narrowed. Sitting in his arm chair behind the three boys, Bruce sighed. Alfred snuck up behind him, snapping a picture of the scene.

Alfred pulled the camera away from his face, smiling softly at the serene expression of peace on Bruce’s face, Tim and Jason both all but squishing into Dick, who was staring at the camera with a sort of protectiveness that could only look endearing on his features.

Ah yes, this was going in the scrapbook.

“Sleepover again tonight,” Dick spoke, patting Tim on the head. “You can sleep with Jason.”

“Why can’t we all share a bed?” Tim asked, pouting. It was his second week since being friends with the Wayne children, and he hadn’t seen Dick during their sleepovers after it was bedtime.

“I don’t sleep,” Dick spoke without pause, blinking down at the child. “So it is pointless for me to be with you two.” When Tim stayed over, Jason wasn’t allowed to go on patrol. Dick preferred that. Less chances of his Owlet being out in the darkness of Gotham, where they were, the better.

“You have to sleep,” Tim whined out, pointing a pencil at the Talon. “It’s impossible for a person not to sleep!”

Bruce, Jason, and Alfred saw the immediate change. Tim did not.

“Talon is not a person,” Talon spoke out, tone emotionless. “Talon is not human, therefore does not sleep. Does not eat. Does not feel.” Piercing yellow eyes bore into Tim’s wide blue and Jason was in front of their guest protectively in a flash, hands raised placatingly.

“Hey, hey, it’s fine Talon. He was just asking,” Jason soothed and the tension lining Talon’s body melted away, leaving Dick to frown at the two. “He doesn’t understand the whole zombie thing.”

“What?” Tim squeaked out, looking pale. “Zombie?” Instead of saying anything, Dick gently grabbed Tim’s hand and guided it to his chest.

Nothing. No heartbeat, no rhythmic movement of breathing, no warm. Just ice cold hardness of a muscular chest, motionless. Lifeless.

Tim tipped backwards, out cold.

“Oops.” Dick blinked down at the unconscious child while the three other residents sputtered into action.

Something burning and hot coiled around Dick’s throat at the sight of his sobbing Tim. Tim was crouched down, Jason fluttering around him in worry. Heavy, loud wails racked the child’s thin frame.

“What-” Dick swallowed “-what happened?” Bruce planted a hand on Dick’s shoulder, stilling him. He looked solemn and serious.

“The Drakes were murdered while in Haiti,” Bruce explained softly. Dick’s face fell blank. Oh, it was just death. Bruce looked sad at the sudden drop in emotions. “Timothy was informed late last night. For the time being, until relatives can be contacted, he will be staying with us.”

“Understood,” Talon spoke. Tilting his head, he looked back to Tim. “Is it such a bad thing? Death, I mean?”

Bruce jolted. His eyes widened at the curious question.

“Dick...it is. Don’t you remember your parents’ death?” Bruce tightened his hold on the Talon’s shoulder. Dick shifted away, withdrawing from the man’s touch. “Don’t you remember how you felt?”

“No. Talons do not have parents. Talons are not human.” Dick stepped closer to Tim. “Death is a constant for humans. Not Talons. Shouldn’t you be used to it?” He moved to kneel down next to the 11 year old, gathering him into his arms.

Bruce felt his heart shatter. Why were all four of them broken, orphaned in the worst possible way?

It wasn’t fair.

Talon carted Tim around on his back, looking completely at ease despite the child’s growing height. Even after spending a year with the Wayne family, he’d shot up like a weed. Bruce silently wondered if the child would grow any further, seeing as he was already a few inches taller than Dick. Judging by how the Drakes’ looked, he probably wasn’t blessed with height genes but he still looked fairly lanky as it was.

Tim let himself be manhandled, a constant for the two Owlets in the Manor. Some days Talon, and it was Talon during these episodes, regressed, slipping back into their emotionless puppet like state. They spoke in their choppy, broken English, more often than not trailing off into their first language. Romani, Bruce had explained during the first time it’d happen with Jason and Tim.

He’s only let Jason and Tim touch him, hover at Bruce’s heel and not relent to calling him Grandmaster. He’d regress back to how he was that first few months after being captured by Batman.

Tim had grown accustomed to the episodes. Like now. Talon wouldn't let Tim leave his side. Jason was nestled under blankets, having been captured the moment he’d awaken. Tim soon joined the second oldest in the nest of blankets and pillows, nodding in solidarity to the teen.

“This is our life,” Jason had explained the first time it’d happened. “Just go with it.”

Talon joined them in the nest, trying to pull both of them into his lap. It was awkward, Jason and Tim both too tall and wide and long for Talon’s smaller body now. Maybe a year ago it’d have been better, but not anymore. Tim was breaching 12, Jason 15. They couldn’t deal with it smoothly anymore.

Bruce looked over at the nest formed in the corner of his study. He’d stayed home from work the moment he’d awoken to Talon curled against his side, unblinking eyes boring into his sleep-riddled form.

That was the first clue to Talon’s episodes. He never openly entered Bruce’s domain. Not unless he regressed.

Bruce had a lot of theories about the Court. About this Grandmaster. About Talon’s episodes. About the Owls and how they treated their Talons.

None of them made him feel great.

“Grandmaster,” Talon spoke up, resting his chin uncomfortably into Jason’s shoulder, “join us.” It was a rare invitation, literal open arms held out to him. 

Bruce sighed, looking at his three children. Jason and Tim both looked pretty content with themselves. Talon just looked haunted, their deathly complexion even more pale if possible. He looked to his paperwork, mentally judging the pros and cons of indulging in childish cuddling.

They did look pretty cozy…And Talon had asked him.

Bruce found himself wrapped around in the blanket and pillow nest, his three kids pressed up against him. Talon’s purrs were soft and endearing, Tim’s head bobbing up and down as he tried to fight sleep. Jason was already out, drooling against Bruce’s jacket sleeve.

This was fine. This was more than fine. 

Another photo was added to the scrapbook.

“Whoa!” Tim and Jason cried out as Zatanna stepped back, smile in place. In front of them, Dick’s small, lithe frame was replaced by a tall, muscular but still slim figure. Instead of barely reaching Batman’s chest, he stood eye-to-eye with the vigilante. His long tangled locks were replaced with short, neat curls styled in a over sweep.

Pale, veined flesh was replaced by a healthy tan hue, predatory yellow eyes instead a clear blue color.

“You look…” Jason’s jaw hung low. “Whoa.” Tim nodded, eyes wide and mouth just as unhinged. Zatanna gave an appreciative hum at the sight of the man. “I knew you were older but….wow.”

“Is it bad?” Dick asked, running a hand self-consciously through his hair. Zatanna gave a tight wheeze at the fluid motion and Batman glared at her as she subtly smacked herself on the cheek.

“No,” Batman cut in. “You look normal, Dick. A mixture of your mother and father.” His tone fell into a soft murmur. “This is how you should look.”

Dick’s smile was more hesitant and Jason made a weird noise in the back of his throat. Because despite knowing that the man in front of him was Dick, Talon, the normally stilted expression looking almost stupidly charming on him. Jason blamed puberty. 

“You look amazing,” Tim beamed brightly, moving to touch his arm. “Oh wow, you’re still cold.” Zatanna gave a hum.

“It’s mostly an illusion for appearances. His body temperature and heartbeat are still...normal for him. So, no warmth. The movement in his chest is part of the illusion - since he can’t breathe.” Zatanna walked around him in a circle, eyes sliding to his backside for a moment. They stayed there until Batman gave a warning clear of his throat. She turned her gaze away sheepish. “It’ll hold. Just do a monthly checkup to adjust it to the normal growth of a person. I’ve worked it with your technology so it should be easy for you to tweak it.”

“Thank you,” Dick spoke sincerely and Zatanna paused for a moment, eyes wide at the genuine emotions in his tone. 

“Of course sweetie,” she smiled back.

Jason continued to gawk. Alfred kindly closed his mouth for him.

“...Dick?”

Burrowed under blankets and pillow in the small apartment, two glowing eyes stared out from the shadows. Tim edged closer, kneeling down on the wooden floor. He held back a wince at the cold seeping in through the floor. No furniture and no heat - a literal skeleton to compliment the zombie that resided there.

“Owlet?” Dick let the blankets fall around his shoulder. He squinted at the 14 year old. “What are you doing here?”

“Checking up on you. Jason and I are worried. He's sorry about what happened.” Tim swallowed back the lump in his throat at the memory of Jason shooting Dick point-blank in the head. “Are you okay?”

Dick didn't answer. He just opened up his blankets and Tim moved on reflex. He allowed himself to be cocooned up against Dick, despite the older's body smaller than his own. He was almost six inches taller than Dick now and knew he probably had a few more to go.

It was kinda sad.

Dick hid his face against Tim's shoulder.

“Jason's alive,” Dick whispered. It sounded wet. Tim felt cold patches forming along his shoulder blade. “He's alive.”

“Yeah,” Tim whispered and twisted until he was facing Dick. Black stains leaked along his cheeks. “He is. And he's sorry he hurt you.” Tim smiled sadly. “I brought my laptop. Wanna watch Peter Pan again?”

Dick nodded slowly and Tim escaped the warm nest, moving to his discarded backpack.

“You won't leave me, will you?”

Tim froze at the question. His hands hovered over his bag, gaze sullen as he stared at the zipper. He mentally debated the right answer, knowing he could possibly send Dick into a Talon episode.

“I'll try not to,” he finally decided with saying, smile brittle as he took out the laptop. “But you gotta promise me the same thing.”

“I'll never abandon you. You are my Owlet. Jason too.” Swarmed by his blankets, you'd never believe he was a 22 year old zombie assassin. He looked so fragile, like the smallest touch would shatter him beyond repair.

“Good. Now, can we talk about getting you a bed or something? This place is so sad.”

Dick smiled faintly and Tim burrowed back into the nest.

Chapter Text

“Um.” She blinked, hanging upside down. The hand on her ankle kept her suspended, the golden claws attached to the hand pricking at her covered skin. “Can you, like, not?”

“You almost fell,” the figure explained. She was dangling over a drop of a roof, her only anchor being the hand holding her up. It didn't sound promising. “You must be more careful.” The hand belonged to a man, tan skin and blue eyes. He was a good three heads taller than her and built like a surfer. He guided her to the ledge of the roof and dropped her down.

Blood rushed throughout her body and black spots danced across her vision. She gave a groan, only for it to increase in volume as Batman and Nightingale landed down behind them.

“What are you doing?” Batman’s voice was a fierce growl and she stiffened, scurrying backwards. Her movements ceased as the stranger stepped in front of her protectively. Was he standing up to the Batman? “You aren’t supposed to leave the Cave.”

“Nightingale has a fever. I was worried,” the stranger argued, motioning to the vigilante beside Batman. He made an offended trill in his throat. Batman's head jerked to his partner, who shuffled backwards.

Was this real life?

“Snitch!” Nightingale snapped childishly. “And who is she?” Another figure landed down behind them and she had to pinch herself. It was Red Hood, holstering his guns.

“Uuuh what’s Dickie doing outside?” Red Hood asked. “Who’s blondie?”

“I have a name!” She snapped out before she could stop herself. They all turned their attention to her and she sunk into herself, mentally chiding her stupid move. “Um. I’m Spoiler. Hi?”

Another shadow fell and she groaned. Jesus, were they all just going to fall from the sky?

“Batgirl,” Batman greeted.

“We having a party here? Oh, hello,” the girl in the half-face cowl greeted. “Who are you?” Her red hair swayed in the wind.

“Spoiler,” Stephanie introduced again. She winced and moved to stand. Her left ankle made a crack and she slumped with a shriek. She drew her leg up to her chest, cradling her wounded ankle. “HOLY SHIT YOU BROKE MY ANKLE!” Fire laced up the joint and her voice broke as she gave a sob.

“You were falling,” the guy - Dickie as Red Hood called him - stated simply. “I’m sorry. I didn't think I grabbed you that hard.” Stephanie gave a whimper. This sucked. Here she was, trying to be a Hero on her own, and she got downed by a dude without a mask.

“Oh my god,” Nightingale groaned, hiding his face in his gloved hands. “Dick, no .”

“Spoiler,” Batman piped up. “As in Stephanie Brown, daughter of Cluemaster?” If Stephanie wasn’t crying, she’d be creeped out by him knowing who she was.

“Yes?” She whimpered as Dickie knelt down next to her. He tugged her pant let up, revealing her already swollen ankle to the cold air of Gotham. She hissed out at the sudden intrusion and tried to draw her leg back. Dickie held her ankle steady.

“I’m sorry Pup,” Dickie spoke out and Stephanie noted how all of the Bats went completely still. “I’ll take you back to get fixed.”

“Back?” Her voice raised in hysteria, scrambling out of his reach. “Back where? Oh my god, please don’t kidnap me.”

“Too late,” Dickie spoke seriously and before she could blink, he had her in his arms bridal style. His hold was far more gentle than she was expecting and despite her building panic and shock from her broken ankle, she felt oddly comfortable. “You’ll like the Cave. It echoes when you yell.”

“Yay?” Stephanie whispered, uncertain. She tentatively wrapped her arms around the man’s shoulders and saw the Bats whispering furiously to themselves. It was amusing to watch Batman let out a series of grunts and grumbles while Red Hood and Nightingale made high-pitched whines. Only Batgirl looked calm and collected, watching them with an air of bemusement.

“So Spoiler,” Batgirl saddled up to them, smile sympathetic, “you’re going to go back to the Cave with Dick and me. We’re going to have your ankle patched up, okay?” Spoiler rested her head against Dick’s shoulder, her body trembling. She forced herself to nod. “After that, we can talk, okay sweetie?” Stephanie gave another feeble nod.

Her ankle hurt and she just wanted to curl up in bed and sleep.

She must have dozed off because when she opened her eyes again, she was in a plush bed, her ankle in a heavy cast, and a giant teddy bear was cuddling her.

“Uh.” She looked around. Her uniform was off, leaving her face exposed and her hair in a messy bun. Her bruises from patrol were plastered up and any blood she’d had on her was cleaned off. Not creepy. Not creepy at all.

“You’re up!” Dick chirped, looking up from his book. In the light of day, he actually looked really attractive. A complete jerk who broke her ankle, but his smile and dimples made up for it.

Stephanie just stared.

“Hi. You passed out before we got back so we just set your ankle and cast it while you were asleep,” Dick explained, uncaring to her unwavering gaze. He closed his book and smiled at her. “I’m Dick. Nice to meet you!”

“...Hi.” Stephanie fiddled with the teddy bear’s large stuffed arm. “Um. Where am I?”

“In my room,” Nightingale’s voice sounded from the doorway and she looked over.

It wasn’t fair. Nightingale was not supposed to be hella fucking cute. What the actual fuck. Stephanie felt her cheeks heating, internally screeching “HNNNNNNG” in long tangents because. Wow. First Dick, now Nightingale? She was afraid, actually terrified, to see what Red Hood and Batgirl looked like.

Oh my god, what did Batman look like?

Wait, he looked familiar. Stephanie squinted at him before her eyes went wide. “Holy - you’re Tim Drake-Wayne. Oh my god. Oh my god, is BATMAN BRUCE WAYNE?! ” She hadn’t meant to scream it but it still came out as such. Tim winced, rubbing at his ears while Dick laughed at her scream.

At least someone was enjoying this kidnapping.

“Oh my god, I - why do I - why are you - are you planning to kill me?” Stephanie used the giant teddy bear - and it was Tim’s, Motherfucking Nightingale’s, teddy bear - as a shield. “Because I know your secret now?”

“You’re living alone,” another guy spoke up, leaning against the doorway behind Tim. He had white streaks in his hair, his gaze cold as he smirked at her. Jesus take the wheel. If that hot Abercrombie & Fitch looking model was Red Hood, she was going to throw herself out the window. “Cluemaster is in jail right now. Dick’s weird about child abandonment.”

“Child-” She snapped her head over to Dick. “I’m not abandoned. My dad’s just in jail.”

“You’re 13-”

“14,” Stephanie corrected haughtily.

“ 14 and living alone. You went out patrolling by yourself, lack the experience and expertise to do such-” she flushed “-and nearly died last night. I may have broken your ankle, but it’s better than being a blood splatter on the street.”

Stephanie stared at him. How he’d said that - the splatter part, it’s like he’d spoken from experience.

“So, you’re going to stay here for now, okay Pup?” Stephanie reeled back.

“I’m not a dog,” she hissed out, ready to throw the bear at him. Dick blinked at her owlishly.

“Oh no, Pup. Baby bat?” Red Hood gave a bark of laughter at Stephanie’s responding gobsmacked expression. “Welcome to the family.”

“I’m suing,” she blurted out.

Despite the weird idea of boarding at the Wayne Manor, life was...easier. She didn't wake up cold, she never went hungry, and she got all the nice eye candy she could ever ask for in the form of shirtless crime-fighters sparring.

Life was interesting.

Dick hovered close to her at all times, carrying her around after she tripped using her crutches the one time. He braided her hair and painted her nails when Barbara - Batgirl - slept over and claimed the media room as their Nest for the night.

There were a lot of bird metaphors that were passed around in the Manor and Steph felt like she was missing a joke. For a bunch of Bats, they liked to make a lot of avian jokes centering around Owls.

Steph got close to Tim. He was funny, charming, a bit geeky but in an endearing way, and watching him face-plant into his cereal every morning was her favorite way to start her schedule.

She helped Alfred and Dick around the house while everyone else was gone, either at work or school. Jason came and went through the week, always greeting her with a hair ruffle and a chaste kiss to Dick’s temple.

She’d questioned it, asking if they were an item. Tim had just stared at her in unconcealed horror and had whispered, “Never let Jason here you say that.” She never brought it up again.

A month passed and she got her cast taken off. She still let Dick carry her around. She still watched Tim face-plant into his cereal.

She still stayed.

Finding out about Dick’s past hadn’t been on her to-do list. She’d been offered to patrol with Red Hood and Nightingale and, not wanting to miss a chance to prowl the streets, had gone out with them.

She’d ended up kidnapped by a bunch of mobsters. Red Hood had been shot in the stomach and Nightingale had been beaten over the head with a metal pipe. He was out cold.

Batman hadn’t saved them.

No, Talon had.

He dropped down in the warehouse like a leaf falling from a tree, silent and elegant in his descent. Jason gave a bit off sob of relief, seeing him, while Stephanie just watched him slaughter everyone.

This skeletal figure took out the mobsters in less than minutes. He got shot, stabbed, hit, but he moved as if he hadn’t. She could see the wounds, see the black blood - and it had to be blood - but he stilled moved.

Was he sent to kill them? An enemy from another mob family? Were they about to die?

But then the figure stepped towards them and cooed sadly like a wounded Owl.

“Oh Owlets, Pup,” a very familiar voice had whined out and it hit Stephanie that in front of her was Dick. Tiny, dead, murder-machine Dick.

She blacked out.

She’d taken to braiding his hair. She loved how long it was, in his Talon form. She braided it and added fake flowers and ribbons or pulled it into space-buns and ponytails. Jason always took pictures, smiling cheekily, while Tim just offered up sympathetic nothings to his oldest brother.

Dick didn't mind. He purred.

Steph was a little in love with him and his purrs. She was a little in love with his odd quirks born from his childhood and his horrendous fashion sense.

She was a little in love with Tim’s burning-wood scent when they cuddled or his soft voice when he helped her on homework (because of course she’d ended up being enrolled into school. Bruce had looked horrified when she mentioned she never went).

She was a little in love with Jason’s off-tone singing when he baked in the kitchen and his passion when he went on a rant about Shakespeare and other classic literature.

She was a little in love with Bruce’s strong arms when he cradled her after a horrible nightmare involving her father. She was a little in love with his gentle pats and his cheesy Dad jokes.

She was a little in love with Babs’ sharp eyes as she stuck up for her when they had Girls outings. She was a little in love with the woman’s warmth and care when she helped her through puberty (because malnourishment gave her a late start on things ).

She was a little in love with Alfred’s soothing tones as he taught her the proper way to bake cookies from scratch. She was a little in love with his grandfatherly vibe, how he made her soup when she felt sick or snuck her ice cream when she was feeling down.

She was utterly and completely in love with the Bats and she didn't think it was just a bad thing.

Three months passed and the guest room became her room.

She was more than okay with it.

The day Babs was shot and her mantle of Batgirl stolen from her, Stephanie was reminded of just how scary Dick was. She’d forgotten that underneath his layers of ugly cat sweaters and physical affection that rivaled everyone else’s in the world, that he was a killing machine.

And apparently had been Ordered not to kill Joker.

So she sat there, curled into a tight ball, as Dick punched the Cave wall. His knuckles split open, the bones of his hand tearing through his flesh before healing. Over and over again.

Over.

And.

Over.

Again.

Babs just held Stephanie’s hand, sitting in her new wheelchair and watching solemnly. None of the Bats got close, fearing the worst, though Steph saw Batman hand a dart of some sort to Jason.

“Gotham needs a Batgirl,” Babs whispered to Steph over the sickening crack of flesh tearing and bones breaking. “Can you hang up Spoiler for a while?”

“Anything for you, sis,” Stephanie said seriously. She squeezed Barbara’s hand tightly, determined.

“Is it ever weird?” Stephanie asked, chin digging into Dick’s chest. He was propped up on pillows, Barbara using his left shoulder as a pillow. Jason was curled against his right, drooling into his sleeve. She was stretched out on top of him, Tim using the dip of her back to rest his head as he fiddled with his cellphone.

“Is what weird?” Dick’s fingers threaded through her hair. She’d complained about wanting to cut it, only to screech as Dick snagged the scissors from her hand and banned her from doing it. Apparently he had a thing for hair. Who knew?

“Being undead,” she asked and nearly elbowed Jason in the face as she shifted to touch his cold cheek. He leaned into the touch, humming.

“No,” he responded. “Though I know it bothers you all.” Stephanie cupped his cheek, rubbing her thumb back and forth absently.

“I mean, kinda. I’m laying on you and it feels like I’m laying on the cold hard ground,” she laughed faintly. Tim glanced at them before reaching back, pinching her butt. “OUCH! You little-”

Dick grabbed her face before she could move to attack Tim and blew a raspberry against her cheek. She squealed, effectively waking Barbara and Jason up. She reeled back into Tim’s chest, face red and eyes wide.

“What was that?!” She shrieked out, laughter ruining her stern expression.

“Oh, he just recently got into that,” Jason slurred, rubbing his cheek against Dick’s arm. “He says it makes up stop arguing.”

“No shit,” she laughed out, rubbing at her slobbered cheek. “Ew, gross. The only one who can kiss me is Tim!”

“Why would I wanna - ow!” He rolled out of the way of her kicks. “You’re a bitch!”

“You’re a jackass!” She shot back and gave another laughing shriek as Jason snagged her around the middle, squishing her between Dick and Barbara. Barbara wrapped an arm around her middle, shushing her.

“Guys, it’s 5 A.M,” Bruce’s exasperated voice sounded from behind the closed bedroom door. “Please stop...doing whatever you’re doing.”

“Sorry dad,” they all called out, completely not sorry. He gave a sigh and opened the bedroom door, seeing his children all clumped up on Dick’s guest bed. He lived in his own apartment but always crashed with them when Barbara stayed the night.

It may also have something to do with the fact he didn't sleep, so he didn't have a bed in his own apartment. Bruce didn't mind, it meant he still saw his wayward eldest.

“Wanna join?” Tim asked, tangled in Jason’s and Dick’s legs, his face illuminated by his screen. Bruce stared at them before charging at them. Babs and Steph screeched as Dick rolled on top of them, shielding them with his body. Bruce body-slammed into the mattress, sending Jason and Tim flying off and crashing onto the floor.

He burst out laughing, ducking under the assault of pillows Stephanie and Barbara attacked him with. Dick crawled off the bed to help his dazed Owlets up.

“Is he drugged?” Tim wheezed, the air knocked out of him. “I think he’s drugged.”

“I’m not,” Bruce laughed out, the girls finished in their attack. He sat beside them, helping Barbara adjust into a more comfortable position. “It was just...tempting.”

“Tempting,” Jason wheezed as he clawed up Dick’s legs. He hugged him around the waist, glaring at Bruce. “Catapulting your kids off the bed is...tempting.”

“You have no idea,” Bruce answered seriously and Tim groaned.

Stephanie snickered into Barbara’s shoulder, trying to hide her tears of joy.

And to think, half a year ago, she was surviving, not living, out on patrol. Not knowing that a broken ankle would change the rest of her life.

Chapter Text

Jason stared at the ceiling. He was bored. BORED . There wasn’t much he could go now that he was legally dead. School was appealing to him, something he didn't have the opportunity to attend anymore. Tim would graduate while he was stuck with maybe getting a GED. If Bruce could work around his death certificate.

He huffed, rolling onto his side and hugging his pillow to his chest.

A knock at the door sounded. He ignored it. It was probably Alfred, wanting him to eat. Dick didn't live in the Manor anymore. He’d moved out after a spat with Bruce. Jason hadn’t asked what had caused the fight yet - he had three guesses and they all started with Jason’s murder.

“Owlet.” He perked up, tumbling over onto his back so fast to see Dick peeking in through the hallway. “Hi. May I come in?” Jason tensed, vividly remembering their last encounter - blood, rain, a motionless body; he wasn’t healing, he wasn’t healing fast enough he was  supposed to bounce back up in a second- and nodded. Dick slipped into the room, closing the door behind him.

“Hi,” he repeated as he sat at the edge of Jason’s bed. He gave him space, keeping his distance. Was he scared of Jason? Cautious? Did he label Jason as a potential threat after blowing his brains out? RedBLACKblack it was black and his white skull fragments scattered against the dirt like stars in the sky, stark against the darkened night and he wasn’t moving-

He didn't know what the answer was but the space between them was like a stab to the chest. Or a bullet to the head.

Black-

“How are you?” Dick wasn’t looking at Jason, his head turned to stare at the bedroom door. He looked smaller than Jason remembered. Then again, Jason felt all kinds of wrong in his body. The world was off kiltered, like he was leaning two centimeters to the left while everything else was leaning to the right. He didn't remember his hands being as big or as calloused. He didn't remember half the scars that now criss-crossed along his skin.

He didn't remember being taller than Dick but there he was, Dick’s own eyes barely reaching level with his chin.

“Good,” Jason mumbled out. He shifted into a sitting position. “Can you -um.” His voice cracked. He never remembered it cracking. But in the month since he came back to the Manor, he’d had a lingering layer of dirt over his tongue, the air veiled with a musty sort or smell that you’d only find on damp clothing. His lungs would constantly expand as if he was losing oxygen. He’d panic, having to ground himself. Having to remind himself.

He wasn’t in the coffin anymore, trying to claw his way out. He wasn’t tearing through dirt, wet brown clumps blinding him as maggots tried to eat at his healed flesh.

He also didn't remember the very prominent scar stretching from his shoulders and down his chest in the shape of a Y. An autopsy incision scar. Dick had one too, in his real form. It was ugly and jagged and not nearly as neat and smooth looking as Jason’s. But it was fine. It gave him a sense of closeness to his Talon.

Because they both experienced death. Jason now had someone to whisper to in the shadows of the night about how it felt - the pain, the peace, the darkness, the nothing . How there weren’t any ghosts from his past waiting for him with open arms in clouds or in front of golden gates. How he was there one second, gone the next, and then screaming because he was suffocating in a wooden box and his body throbbed and Joker was going to kill him. He could sob over how he’d prayed to be saved, how he’d been scared witless at the idea of dying. How even now, after experiencing it, he was terrified of death. How he never wanted to die, not again, because there was nothing .

“Can you lay with me?” Jason’s voice sounded to loud in the peace of the room and Dick’s head whipped around to face him. Eyes widening, the Talon was almost on autopilot to gather his Owlet in his arms and hug him tightly. Jason clung to him, burrowing his face into his neck as Dick reclined back until he was laying on the bed and had Jason sprawled on his front.

Jason just breathed him in. Dick had a weird scent - like mint and vanilla ice cream and the cold antiseptics of a hospital. It was weird but it suited Dick properly and anytime Jason smelled it, he felt unbelievably save. Unbelievably grounded.

“I shot you,” Jason croaked out, squeezing his eyes shut until light burst behind his eyelids because he wanted to block out the image of Dick’s brains splattered across the graveyard. “I shot you and you didn't get up. I thought you’d died. I thought I’d killed you.”

“No, no, no,” Dick soothed as he pressed his lips to Jason’s clammy temple. “Nothing as simple as that could kill me, Jason. I just...froze.”

“Froze?” Jason propped himself onto his elbows, leaning over Dick to study his face. His lips puffed out into a pout, eyebrows furrowed. His cheeks and nose were a clashing pale shade of grey against the  dark grey complexion Dick had grown to associate with his Owlet’s skin tone.

“I was scared,” Dick confessed, lifting his arms up to rub circles over Jason’s tense back muscles. “I forget you can die. That you’re mortal. That something could take you away from me.” His fingers dug into the tight knots and Jason’s eyes crinkled up as he frowned down at Dick. “You’re my precious Owlet. I can’t lose you. Batman had to Order me to not kill the Joker.”

Jason’s breathing hitched in his throat. Batman had to resort to an Order, something he was absolutely disgusted in using, to get Dick to not murder the monster who killed him? Dick had been willing to kill Joker for him? He knew the older man wasn’t against killing. It couldn’t be rewired from his brain. But still…

Dick had to be Ordered not to kill the Joker...

Jason stared at him for a full second before surging forward, hands sinking into the Talon’s hair as his lips crashed against Dick’s. Dick’s expression blanked and his hands froze against Jason’s back before tugging at his shirt, trying to pull him off.

Jason locked his thighs against Dick’s stomach and pushed forward, scrambling to gain control. His lips were cold and chapped, feeling bitten raw. He flicked his tongue out, running it along Dick’s lower lip.

He was greedy, he knew, trying to drain the comfort Dick held in his heart. He couldn’t help it - Dick always made him feel safe, feel like the world wasn’t caving in around him. Dick was supposed to wrap him up and shield him away from the dangers. He exuded love from the very depths of his soul. It beckoned Jason into a sense of security and he craved that more than anything at the moment.

He needed that security. That comfort. That love. Because the Joker was laughing, his body was numb, past the point of agony , and he couldn’t breathe he had to get out he had to get out the bomb - the coffin - he had to get out-

The Talon finally ripped Jason off, eyes wide. Jason tried to push forward again but Dick forced him to sit back, watching his chest heave for breath.

“Breathe Owlet,” Dick spoke, his tone faint. Jason couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe, his lungs were collapsing - the air in the coffin was thinning out and he was screaming and no one was going to save him-

“Jason.” Hands planted his trembling fingers against a rock hard, cold chest. Dick made dramatic inhales and exhales, the movement so stuttered and awkward that Jason couldn’t help snapping his attention to the usually still chest. Dick repeating the exaggerated motions, eyes burning steadily into Jason’s as his mind sluggishly tried to copy the pace.

“You aren’t in the warehouse,” Dick spoke sternly. “You aren’t in the coffin. You are alive. You can breathe. You are alive.” He slowly drew his hands up to cup Jason’s cheeks. “You are alive .”

Jason gave a wet bark of laughter, ducking his head. He let the tears fall as his hands clenched almost childishly against Dick’s ugly cat sweater. He let himself have a few moments to catch his breath, the room spinning. Dick’s hands had moved to plant along his waist, keeping him steady.

It hit Jason.

“O-oh my god.” He choked out as he tried to scramble off Dick. “O-Oh my god, oh my god! I’m-I’m so sorry! Fuck!” He toppled backwards and covered his face with his arms, bottom lip trembling. “I- I don’t know why I did that. Jesus christ, Dick, I’m so sorry !”

Dick sat up, watching Jason.

“Don’t apologize Owlet,” Dick spoke soothingly. Calmly. Compassionately. It made Jason feel even more like shit. “It was -  what was that?”

Jason shot up, nearly knocking foreheads with Dick. “OH MY GOD YOU’VE NEVER KISSED BEFORE!” Dawning horror and a beat of silence. “DID I JUST TAKE YOUR FIRST KISS?!” He couldn’t believe he’d done that in a moment of panic.

"That's a kiss?" Dick's expression blanked and he tilted his head to the side. "The books didn't describe it like this."

"WHO'S  KISSING?!" Tim burst through the door. "I'M TELLING DAD!"

Chapter Text

He knew she was there. She didn't know how. But she knew that he’d noticed her the moment she’d crouched down low on the rooftop. He was weird. His chest did not move and with the lack of motion, his words were mute.

He was empty .

What she could not hear, she saw. His body seemed to speak a completely different language than anything she’d ever learned before. There was an unusual stiffness to his letters, a stutter in his speech pattern, as if his movements were fighting themselves.

He let his legs dangle over the edge of the rooftop, hands scraping long nails down the granite decorating the stone ledge. He looked over at her.

“Would you like to join me?” His tone was vacant. Desolate. His words meant nothing. He gestured to the empty air beside him. “I won’t claw you, don’t worry.” His fingers flexed at his words though, that void around him increasing.

She backed up, falling into the veil of shadows. His expression rippled like a reflection on water, a cheap look-alike to an actual emotion. It was what disappointment was supposed to sound like, harsh and a whine.

She was gone and he turned back to star out at the night sky hanging over Gotham.

He noticed her again. This time, he wasn’t alone. The two with him were loud. They were loud, their bodies screaming.

One of agony, of being broken, mended, and broken again. The sheer pain they radiated made her heart physically clench. She could feel his drowning sorrow, the bitterness hidden under waves and waves of self-hatred.

The other was loud as well, but more obnoxious Their body language was searing with rage - rage and a distant sorrow. The unspoken tones they emitted were melancholic at best, cold and wet like the winter’s rainfalls before they turned into flurries.

They were loud, clear, and only made the other one’s silence more prominent. Sitting with them, she could hear how the agonized one sung words of love and longing, of hesitance and admiration. Of deep, haunting regret and bone-crushing horror.

Sitting with them, she could hear how cold and empty the winter rainstorm one was, how frigid he was behind the false glow of his sun-smile. Their loneliness was turned up to max volume next to the one without sound, the one who’s volume seemed to have been turned all the way down.

The silent one looked over again.

“Hi!” The cheerfulness he tried to leak fell flat. His eyes were dead, his movements even more so. It was weird. She’d never been able to not read someone.

Everyone had life in their movements. Everyone had a voice to their gestures.

But not this man.

“Who are you- whoa!” The angry one nearly toppled off the roof if not for the silent one grabbing him around the stomach. He settled him back down safely and the angry one stared. “Who is she?”

“ Another one?” The agonized one whined out. “Dick, you’ve got a problem.”

The silent one, Dick, gave a laugh that felt like glass shards digging into her skin. She sunk back, away from them.

“Hey, wait!” The angry one called. She left.

He was alone this time. She’d found herself watching him the last week, cataloging the loud, vibrant people around him. The angry one and the agonized one were almost constants beside him.

The one who broadcasted loneliness and a crave for affection was more rare by his side, her blonde hair gorgeous to look at. The other one, with the fiery hair and the bright smiles that matched her singing heart, even rarer. The dark one, drowned in death and sadness and darkness, was a shadow to the silent one. Watching, always watching, as if guarding.

They all screamed their love for the silent on with their bodies though. She heard and read it in the ways that they leaned against him or touched him, their shoulders relaxed to his presence.

They all were lonely but the silent one made it a bit more bearable for them.

He was alone this time.

He was dancing along the ledge of the wet rooftop, singing out loud to the stars as he twirled in circles. His body was a blank canvas. She couldn’t understand a single thing about him.

She watched him slip on the wet granite. She watched him tip over the edge of the roof.

He fell.

She threw herself over the edge, reaching for him. He couldn’t die, she couldn’t watch another man die in front of her-

When she was close enough to grab him, Batman swooped in and grabbed her. She gave a screech as she flailed, reaching for the silent one.

He slammed down against the unforgiving ground underneath them. Against her, Batman tensed. Unease, sorrow, and resentment rolled off him in waves and she shuddered as the grappling hook lowered them steadily to the ground.

The silent one sat up, startling her. A giant black splatter surrounded him and stained his clothing. He straightened out his bright yellow tank-top and smiled at her.

She stared. He should have died. That was a 20 story drop, easily. He should be dead.

“I’m Dick,” the silent one introduced. “You tried to save me. Thank you.”

And for the first time since she’d began watching him, she could see a flicker of genuine gratitude in his features. She slumped in Batman’s hold.

Suddenly it made sense.

He was trained to be silent, just as she’d been. Only their silence was different.

His was dangerous.

He was on the rooftop again. He had cinnamon rolls. He offered one to her and she took it warily, picking it apart into small pieces.

“A,” he began as she popped another small piece of the cinnamon roll into her mouth, “as in apple.” The pastry was delicious. She liked it a lot. “B as in boy.”

He was silent, despite the noise his mouth made. He was a coiled spring, ready to attack. His gaze watched her like a mother predator would watch its young. He was dangerous.

He was like those she was raised to be beside.

“C as in cat.”

She let him drone on, settling back as she took another cinnamon roll.

Hours later, she realized he was repeating the same sentences. Over and over again.

By the time she left, she was mouthing ‘A as in apple’ to herself.

Dick’s parting smile had her yearning to come back again.

The fiery one, Barbara as she introduced, was gentle and patient, and her body broadcasted that whole-heartedly. She did not let her disability stop her, her soul still fierce and her smile still kind. She’d made Dick take her to meet the fiery one in her clocktower.

Barbara watched her before turning back to her computer. She sat still, eyes following Dick as he danced around the room. He liked to move a lot, even if there was no meaning behind it. It was just movement.

“Cassandra Cain.”

Cassandra snapped her head up to Barbara, who smiled. “That’s your name, isn’t it?” Cassandra nodded slowly. “Awesome. Dick get whining about not being able to call you anything but Pup.”

Pup? What, like the tiny dogs?

“It means baby bat,” Dick spoke. He was always able to read her, know what she was thinking. Cassandra didn't like that much. “You’re my Pup.”

Baby Bat. Cassandra found she didn't mind.

“T-Tim.”

The Cave was eerily silent as she spoke. She’d been introduced to the BatCave after she’d saved Dick from being shot. She’d been carried back to be patched up and never left afterwards.

It was the pattern of the family, Stephanie had joked.

Tim’s face lit up like a light-bulb, glowing proudly. Cass felt warmth blossom in her chest at his delighted expression. She licked her lips.

“B-B-Broosh?” Her face scrunched up. That didn't sound right but the man himself didn't seem to care. He looked absolutely ecstatic. Beside him, Martian Manhunter looked pleased.

“It will take time but have patience with her while she learns,” J’onn explained as the siblings crowded Cass. “It was a challenge to compartimalize her assassination training into her motor cortex but it worked. Her brain and body will now think of her ability to predict opponent's movements as a motor skill. That way it won’t hinder in her speech and writing therapy.”

“Thank you.” Bruce had his cowl down so the alien could see how sincere he was. “I truly am in debt to you.”

“No need, my friend. I find that them being able to conquer the darkness in your heart is enough.” J’onn wavered. “Though, I must offer. The one you don’t like to share-” Bruce stiffened- “-I can fix what’s been broken in his mind. If you’d like me too.”

“No,” Bruce gritted out, glaring at the floor. “I...he goes against my code. I hate it. I feel guilty, like I’m letting him down, but...he’s still doing good. He may kill, but...look at the family he’s given me.” Bruce stared at his children. “They’re just as much his children as they are mine.”

J’onn nodded in agreement.

“The offer will still stand, if the two of you ever decide you want it done.” Bruce nodded tersely and turned his attention back to his children.

“Talon,” Cass spoke smoothly, head tilted to the side as Dick smiled at her. He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Dick. Talon Dick.”

“That’s right Pup.”

Cass had gotten easier to read Dick. She’d found out, after spending a few more times with him, that he wasn’t exactly silent. He was just quiet. Oh so quiet. He’d been muffled, hushed, taught to not make a noise. But he still did. You just had to listen close enough.

He radiated pride, love, and warmth that overpowered the rest of her new siblings. His was deep, bottomless, and it enveloped her in comfort. He didn't carry an anger for himself, no. He carried it for others. He loved for others, got angry for others, and overall lived for others. He was empty for himself but that was fine.

Cass would love him enough to hopefully fill that void.

Chapter Text

“What is this?” Damian squinted at the obnoxiously bright red heart shaped box.

“Chocolates!” Tim's voice sounded muffled and far away as he dug through his closet. “Don't eat them!” A pause. “Wait - get out of my room!” He scampered out, arms laden with five different shirts.

“Why…?” Damian frowned. He felt like he was missing something. “Why are you pulling out your Date Shirts?” Tim paused, a lavender v-neck T-shirt in hand with white Date Shirt printed across the chest.

“I don't have Date Shirts!” Tim scoffed. “Kon's picking me up for our dinner. He got a reservation at this restaurant-”

“Hey Timmy, have you- what's this? A secret meeting of the replacements?” Jason leaned against the doorway, smile turning vicious as he spotted the chocolates. “Aaaaw did you get Timmers here a box of chocolates?”

“Why would I get him a box of chocolates!?” Damian sounded so affronted. Tim shot him a scowl. “What’s going on?!”

“... You don’t-?” Jason frowned, leaning off the wooden frame. “Do you know the date?”

Damian rolled his eyes, scoffing. “I’m not concussed, Todd. I know the date. It’s February 14th.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Do you know what February 14th is?” Tim looked confused now. He gestured to his box of chocolates. “None of this rings any bells?” The child shook his head. The two older ones shared looks.

“DICK! Damian doesn’t know what Valentine’s Day is!” Jason hollered down the hallway. Thunderous slams echoed down the hall. Dick scrambled his way into the bedroom, hair a winded mess and a decent sized tear running down his shirt.

“What?” Dick sounded personally wounded by the yell. “Owlet, you don’t know what Valentine’s Day is?” Jason and Tim eyed his torn shirt warily, mouthing to each other, “what the hell?”

“Valentine’s Day?” The child squinted. “You mean the religious day honoring one or two early Valentinus saints?” The three stared. “What? Mother was thorough in her lessons.”

“It’s the day of love,” Stephanie chimed in as she leaned against Dick, Cass and Duke popping up behind her. “You know, cheesy rom-coms, flowers, chocolates, love songs?” She eyed Dick’s shirt. “What happened to you?”

“Mother never mentioned this.” Damian frowned. “What’s important about it?” He looked to his siblings. They stared back at him. “What?”

“Oh my precious, sweet summer Owlet,” Dick cooed as he gathered Damian up into his arms. “Let’s go. I’ve much to teach you.” He escaped with Damian, leaving his Owlets and Pups.

“... What happened to his shirt?” Duke asked. Cass shrugged.

“Does anyone else find it hilarious that Dick of all people is going to teach Damian about V-Day?” Jason tried to hide his smile. “His understanding of the holiday is chocolate everything and kisses every five seconds.”

Stephanie wheezed.

“Oh no,” Tim groaned.

“.....”

“So, date with Kon, huh?” Stephanie wiggled an eyebrow. “Knew you had a type for strong, domineering type.” Tim flushed and shoved her.

“You weren’t domineering,” he tried to argue and flushed further when Stephanie leered at him. “You were bossy!”

“Same thing,” she cooed and pressed a wet kiss to his cheek. “Alright lover boy, wear that sea blue button up and those black pants. Here, me and Cass will help you get dressed.” She shoved him back towards his closet, Cass following comfortably behind.

Duke turned to Jason. “So, you got a hot date with Roy?” Jason smiled like a shark.

“He’s making cheesy bread. Roy-Boy really knows a way to a breadaholic’s heart.” Duke shook his head at his brother.

God how was he the most normal one of them?

“Now that it’s cooled to a touchable temperature, we’re going to roll it. Gently, gently,” Dick instructed in a soft coo, standing to the side as Damian concentrated on rolling the cake sheet. He looked absolutely precious, hair tied back in a bandana and flour coating his nose in a dot.

“Just like that.” Damian’s tongue poked out, eyes narrowed at his hands moved in slow, precise movements. Besides them, Alfred watched with a bated breath. “Perfect!” The child looked up from the rolled towel and cake, blinking in astonishment. “Now we’re going to set this aside to cool and work on the filling, alright Owlet?”

“I thought we have to put the filling in it first before we roll the cake,” Damian admitted. “I was kinda confused that you made me roll the cake first.” Dick hummed, patting the child on the shoulder.

“Nah. The filling will melt and the cake will fall apart. So, what do you want? What kind of filling, do you think?” Dick leaned his hip against the counter. “Who’s this going to?”

“I’m going to share it with Colin, Jon, and Billy,” Damian answered immediately. Alfred and Dick smiled wide. “So… Vanilla?”

“I think strawberry, personally,” Alfred chimed in with a cough. “Young Kent and Young Batson are more fans to strawberry. Young Wilkes will like anything besides hazelnut.” Damian stood back, thoughtful.

“You’re right Pennyworth. We’ll use strawberry. Grayson?” Damian looked up to his oldest brother. Dick hummed, tilting his head to the side.

“Do a white chocolate strawberry mixture. Strawberry slices in a white chocolate filling. It’ll give it a nicer texture.” He leaned over Damian, picking up the knife “I’ll slice the strawberries.”

“I know how to handle a knife.” Damian frowned at Dick. Dick pressed a kiss to his covered head.

“I know Owlet. I know.” Dick pressed another audible kiss to the child’s head and moved to the opposite counter to get the fruit.

“Cass and I are each other's Valentine,” Stephanie explained as she painted the mentioned girl’s toes a bright purple.

“Obviously Starfire and I are each other’s,” Barbara laughed as she nudged her girlfriend. Starfire smiled and continued to braid the woman’s red hair.

“Jason and Roy will have the apartment to themselves,” Starfire commented off-handedly. “And Tim and Kon are having a fancy dinner.”

“Damian’s out with his friends, too.” Cass frowned. “You know what’s wrong with this picture?”

The girls sat in silence, considering.

“Dick’s alone,” Stephanie shrieked out in alarm. “Oh my god, did he say anything about doing anything with Wally?”

“Oh no,” Barbara groaned. “Dick never mentioned anything. He’s working today too.”

The women groaned.

“Boss, have any special plans today?” Ketti asked as she handed out a white chocolate mocha, the raspberry whipped cream tinged pink.

“No. Everyone’s doing their own thing today. Here you go, Dent! Here’s a chocolate muffin!” Dick handed the pastry to Two-Face, who smiled softly at the heart shaped muffin.

“... What about with Flash?” Morgan asked, confused. “You guys are dating.” Dick blinked.

“Oh! He’s busy today so-”

Dent got up from the table and left the cafe in a hurry. Joker and The Riddler followed, looking murderous.

“-I’m just going to work like usual. Here, share a muffin with Morgan.”

Ketti took the offered muffin, grumbling as she halved it with her coworker. Morgan rolled her eyes and took the half, smiling at Ketti.

“Well that’s stupid.” Morgan fed Ketti a piece of the muffin, cheeks pink.

“Uh-huh,” Dick hummed, noncommittal as he stirred some syrups together. “You two can get off early if you want. Going out to dinner together?”

“Yeah. I gotta woo my girl,” Morgan said in deadpan. Ketti laughed.

“... Why are you here?” A goon squinted. “This isn’t Gotham.”

“We know that,” Harley spoke with a roll of her eyes. “We just wanna talk to Flash.”

“Why?” Gorilla Grodd repeated.

“Because he stood up Dickie-Poo, our favorite barista on Valentine’s Day ,” Harley stressed and Ivy and Catwoman nodded along. “So we wanna talk.” Joker tapped his crowbar against the cement.

Gorilla Grodd’s expression darkened. “I’ll get him.”

It was around 1 in the morning when the door opened to the cafe with a gust of wind. Dick looked up just as a giant teddy bear plopped down on one of the booths.

“Sorry I’m late,” Wally breathed out, looking like he’d seen better days. “For some strange reason Gotham baddies were in Keystone so Batman had to come help me. I was gonna be here earlier but-” he rubbed at his head. “Yeah.”

He gestured to the fake flowers and a pack of dark chocolate flavored coffee. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Dick echoed back and leaned over the counter, pressing a kiss to Wally’s lips. “Want to go watch a movie?”

“ The Proposal ?” Wally asked hopefully. Dick laughed and nodded.  

Chapter Text

The first time Dick met Damian, the child had literally wandered into the cafe. He’d gotten lost, not uncommon with how dizzying the streets of Gotham were. He’d been chasing after a low-rank thug he’d recognized from his mother’s personal files and had ended up taking a wrong corner.

Dick looked up from the cash register, eyebrows lifting at the small child that stood at the entrance.

“Uh.” The 24 year old blinked. “Hi?” He watched the child’s eyes bounce around the cafe, looking for all possible exits and inspecting it for dangers or faults. “Where’s your parents, little man?” The child didn't answer, moving piercing eyes to Dick’s form.

The furrowed skin between his eyebrows was familiar. So was the scowl, the small dimples that deepened with each passing second, and the widow’s peak. The child’s rounded face was a ghost of a child’s in one of the many photographs Dick had studied during days left unattended.

“I need to use your phone, if you even have one.” His accent was thick and harsh. Middle Eastern, from the sound of it. He was dressed in a black turtleneck and black pants, dark green combat boots standing out on his feet. He looked uncomfortable, his form constantly shifting in restlessness.

Oh, he definitely looked familiar.

“Okie dokie,” Dick chirped out, moving his hand slowly to get his cell phone. The child’s eyes watched his every move and inwardly, Talon purred. “Get lost?” He put the cell phone on the counter, stepping backwards to let the child near. “Are you thirsty? I can make you a drink.”

The child sniffed and took a wary step closer. He had hidden knives on him, Dick noted. Of course he did. How he held himself was deceptively innocent. He made no noise when he walked, however, and his eyes were constantly cataloging everything in view. His steps were calculated and precise, his movements graceful. He held himself with an air of confidence, of arrogance. Of danger, of promise on how to use his hidden weapons.

He had the making of a Talon, Dick thought as the child picked up his cell phone.

“I do not want your charity,” the boy snapped out, glare almost scary if directed at a normal civilian. “Nor do I want to give you the chance to poison me.”

“Oh no, poison is ineffective,” Dick purred out, leaning back against the counter of the espresso bar. The child stiffened. “I was never taught the art of poisoning. No, I think I’ll just take one of your hidden knives and carve your heart out.”

It was spoken so brazenly, so flippantly that the child looked confused.

“...is that...a...joke?” The child squinted at Dick. “Is that one of those...teases?”

Dear lord the child didn't understand humor. He truly was a perfect candidate for a Talon. Then again Dick had no room to talk, since his sense of humor was skewed and twisted and only developed three years after being taken by Bruce.

“Yep,” Dick explained and then motioned towards his phone. “Make your call, kid. You can watch me make your drink if you’d like?” He turned to stand sideways, letting the child have a clear view of his hands at all times. The boy narrowed his gaze.

“You are awfully accommodating to me,” he stated simply. “And you noticed my knives.” Dick shrugged.

“It’s Gotham, little one.  You aren’t the first child to walk around laden with weapons deadly enough to kill.” Dick began to make a vanilla hot chocolate, keeping his motions deliberately slow to ease the child’s tense shoulders a bit.

The boy studied him for a moment before opening his phone. He paused, looking reluctant, before he punched in a phone number and dialed.

Judging by his thumb movements, he’d just dialed the Manor’s landline. Dick purred softly as he dispensed a heap of whipped cream onto the drink. He placed it down gently on the counter in front of the child.

The boy ignored it.

“Pennyworth?” Dick turned his attention to the steam-wand, wiping it clean as the child spoke lowly into the device. “I require assistance. I appear to be in an unknown location- you know where I am already?”

Dick stifled his smile. Alfred saw the caller ID and probably answered thinking it was him.

“Well then, please send a car for me. Father-” Dick nearly slammed his hand into his espresso machine “-cannot hear of this. It’s only my first day in Gotham, such mistakes should be kept away from his ears.”

Father. Father? Bruce? Child?  Another one ?

“I…I’m borrowing a man’s phone. He let me use-” The boy frowned and looked at Dick. He handed the phone to him. “My father’s servant wishes to speak with you.” Dick took the cell, pressing it to his ear. He mentally raised an eyebrow. Servant? He’ll have to teach the child the importance of Alfred’s very existence.

“Howdy,” he greeted Alfred.

“Master Dick. Master Timothy is beside himself with worry over Master Damian’s disappearance.” So his name was Damian. How cute. “He caught wind of a drug-lord in Gotham that his mother had been keeping tabs on and slipped the security. Master Jason is on his way to pick him up as we speak.”

“That’s fine,” Dick commented. “It was no trouble at all.” Alfred made a hum. “He’s lucky he found his way here and nowhere else.”

“Indeed.” Alfred sighed softly. “Master Bruce is...emotionally unavailable at the moment. Mistress Cassandra and Mistress Stephanie are trying to cheer him up. He’s in shock over meeting his blood-son.” Dick’s eyebrow raised in surprise. “Yes, it’s a bit overwhelming. From what his mother, Talia Al Ghul, said to Master Bruce - the child was raised by the League of Shadows and he is under a vegan diet.”

Dick snatched the hot chocolate up just as Damian was inching towards it. Damian froze, eyes wide at the movement he couldn’t track. Dick gave him a pointed look and dumped the beverage, pulling out soy milk from the milk fridge. Damian’s eyes went even wider.

“Alright Mr. Pennyworth, I’ll keep him here until - Jason you said - gets here,” Dick spoke and started to remake the drink. The call ended and Dick frowned at Damian.

“You could have warned me you were vegan,” he grumbled out. “I don’t want you drinking something you don’t like or can’t tolerate.” Damian sniffed at the air.

“I’m not going to drink it,” he stated and looked around at the cafe. The walls were bleak, the only decorations being the scattered black and white photographs canvasing the brick. They were few, however, so they scattered distastefully across the walls. “My body is in perfect human condition - I can tolerate anything.”

“Not if you don’t agree with what you’re consuming,” Dick shot back as he set down the new drink. “Soy milk and a soy based whipped cream. No dairy or animal products. Vegan friendly. Want sprinkles?” He shook the small bottle. Damian stared at him.

“What are you?” He eyed the man up and down, hand moving to one of his knives. “You don’t seem like a normal bartender, even for Gotham’s standards. My current…living arrangements associates couldn’t even spot my hidden knives - besides my father and the silent woman.”

Bruce and Cassandra were the only ones who could count out his knives? He’d have to change that.

Dick just shrugged. The bell rung and Jason came in, holding a spare motorcycle helmet. He nodded to his brother.

“Hi Dickie.” He pointed down at Damian. “Listen here you little shit - you don’t  ever  run out without letting us know where you’re going and if you ever point a knife at anyone in the Manor again, I’ll-”

“What did he do?”

Jason tensed and Damian looked around to Dick. He innocently tapped his hands along the counter, smile deceiving.

“Nothing.” It was spoken hastily. Terse. “No one was hurt.”

“Owet,” Dick began in that tone that made his Owlets and Pups cave, “you can’t lie to me.”

“Tim just got a  scratch -” he winced, knowing his fuck-up.

“Tim was stabbed?” Dick’s eyes slid to Damian, whose face scrunched up adorably in confusion. “Oh tiny one, don’t ever do that again.” He leaned forward, volume dropping. “Or I’ll make sure you regret it.”

Jason ushered Damian out quickly before he could say anything else and he purred loudly at his encounter.

A Talon indeed.

Damian showed up the next day, arms crossed and scowl tight on his face. Beside him, Tim tugged at his Superboy shirt. Jason ruffled his hair, sunglasses hiding his eyes.

“Hiya Dick,” Tim greeted as he shoved Damian off in the direction of a booth. He had a bandage wrapped around his lower arm. “Can I get my usual?”

Dick’s eyes flickered down to the wrapping before he nodded. He’d kept to himself the day before, deciding that when Bruce was ready to introduce Damian properly to him, he would.

“What brings you three here?” Dick asked as he began to make the two drinks.

“Little demon kept hinting about coming here,” Jason grumbled, shooting a glare at Damian, who glared right back. “Said he was positive you poisoned his drink.”

“Why?” Dick looked over a the child in concern. “Did he get sick?”

“You used some sort of poison, didn't you?” Damian glared daggers. “No one has ever made me a drink that was immediately acceptable to my superior pallet-”

“Tastes good?” Dick frowned, translating the thinly veiled compliment. Even a child raised by assassins should still know simple enjoyments as delicious food and drinks. “Nope, just some vanilla syrup.” The child didn't look convinced.

“Little hellion,” Tim gritted out. Damian frowned and Dick grabbed Tim by the cheeks, pulling them. “Ow-ow-ow!”

“Apologize to your brother. You and Jason are not allowed to be so mean to him like that.” Dick let go and Tim fled to Jason’s side, rubbing at his smarting face. Damian was eyeing him weirdy.

“He’s not our brother, Dick,” Jason complained as he backed away from Dick’s raising hands. “He’s just some kid-”

“Who’s the birth child of Bruce Wayne,” Damian spat. “While you’re a street rat and the other’s a neighborhood charity case.”

Dick was up and over the counter in seconds, grabbing the child by the face. He squished the child’s cheeks together in one hand, the other pinning both his wrists to the table. He used his left leg to trap the child’s shins into place.

He was effectively trapped in the booth.

“You don’t ever insult their upbringing or how they came to live with B,” Dick spoke softly, eyes flashing yellow. Damian’s own eyes widened. “You may have his blood but you did not grow up with him. They are his children just as much as you are and if you continue to hurt them, you will face me.” Dick lowered himself until he was eye level. “The League is child’s play for me, Owlet. Check yourself.”

He let go of Damian, internally whining at how aggressive he’d been. But he knew Jason didn't like having to explain how he’d been picked up by Batman for stealing tires. Or have Tim relive his parents death to get a permanent room in the Manor. Damian didn't know this or understand this but he still spoke so brazenly.

It was not alright.

“Okay, okay,” Jason got between the two, back to Damian, “it’s fine D. We’re all good. Calm down. Your eyes are a bit bright.”

Dick huffed and turned on his heel. He tossed one of Damian’s knives in the air, catching it absently. The child started, checking his hidden blades. He was missing three of them. He gulped. He hadn’t even realized.

Inwardly, a sliver of glee twisted his stomach. He’d never been challenged like this before. The man was playing with him - testing him.

He coughed, setting one of Dick’s own knives down on the table. Dick smirked.

Two could play at that game.

Jason and Tim just shared a look, feeling like they’d witnessed something sacred.

“Your cafe is a pathetic wreck,” Talia Al Ghul spoke as she leaned against his kitchen sink. Dick didn't even blink at her unexpected drop in. He continued to chop strawberries. “I don’t understand why my Beloved continues to allow my child to come here.”

“If you don’t like it, get out,” Dick finally spoke, eyes trained on the sliced fruit. “My food is vegan-friendly and fresh. It’s better than a lot of places he could be going.”

Talia scowled.

“Is this the part where you threaten me? Stab a knife in my chest and let your child find me dead, cementing his mentality that he shouldn’t associate with  commoners? ” Dick set the knife down, flattening his palm over the handle. “Miss Al Ghul, I want you to understand that now that your child is with Bruce Wayne, you are never getting him back.”

“My Beloved won’t keep my child from me,” Talia spoke, miffed. “If I ask for him back, he will come back to my side. He is my child. I am his mother. He knows better than to ignore me.”

“Who? Bruce or Damian?” He tilted his head to the side. “You’ve lost your child the moment he stepped foot into Gotham.”

Talia was expecting to scare a innocent civilian. Talia was expecting to torture her child further by murdering the one thing he was beginning to enjoy in Gotham. Talia was expecting to have control over the situation.

Talia hadn’t been expecting Dick.

“Why’s that?” Talian shifted, sliding towards his back door. Dick smiled, wide and fake.

“Because I’ve met him. He’s mine now. He may be with Bruce, but he’s under my protection.” His steps were silent as he advanced. Talia’s shoulders tensed as she shot a look down at his feet before meeting his eyes. “And I’m very protective with my Nest.” 

She lashed out at him. He ducked and kicked her. She went flying across the kitchen, slamming back into the exit door. He strutted towards her, like a beast on the prowl, a knife in hand. Talia threw open the door and rushed out. She cried out as Dick grabbed her by the hair.

She threw a leg out, trying to kick him. He batted it away with a flick of his wrist. He drew blood with a swipe of his knife across her cheek. She stumbled back, finding her back press against the alley wall.

She extremely underestimated this barista.

“Damian is my Owlet now. You don’t mess with my Owlets, got it? That goes for the rest of Bruce’s children.” Dick towered over Talia, eyes flickering yellow. “Get out of my face.”

She didn't need to be told twice.

Or maybe she did.

Damian had been in his cafe, as was becoming a norm for the child assassin. He was unabashed in watching Dick do his work. Thankfully the cafe had been empty when assassins from the League had burst in to kidnap the child.

A assassin had sunk a knife through his throat and Dick had slumped back just as they swarmed the child to grab him.

Three of the assassins went down in a blink. Damian found himself pressed against Dick’s chest as  another assassin’s throat crushed under his grip.

Dick frowned disapprovingly at the gathered adults.

“I just mopped,” he sighed. He flexed his fingers.

Damian couldn’t describe the massacre that transpired even if he wanted to.

“So he is...another one of your false children?” Damian sat on the metal table in the med bay of the Batcave, watching Dick wrap his cut arm.

“Yes,” Bruce sighed out as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “This is Dick. He’s my oldest, though I had Jason before him.” Dick flickered his gaze up to the bruise forming along Damian’s temple. The assassins were relentless in grabbing the child.

Too bad for them they’d had to deal with Dick.

“Sorry you got hurt, Owlet,” Dick murmured and smoothed out the child’s sweat-slicked bangs. The child flinched at the ice cold touch. “But I won’t let anyone take you if you don’t want them too.”

Damian’s expression pinched.

“While you’re here,” Bruce held a hand out, “let me check your earring.” Dick glimpsed at Damian for a moment before taking out the device.

Damian jolted back as the man in front of him shrunk. “What?” The man turned into a child, only a few inches taller than himself. He didn't have the muscles Damian had - no, his body was more wiry and lithe. He held himself like a deadly trigger though, just a breath away from unleashing pure hell.

There was something otherworldly about him, Damian decided. Like how his Grandfather carried an air like a veil separating him from everyone else on their plane of existence, Dick did too.  

“You were raised by the League,” Dick spoke as avian yellow eyes narrowed on Damian, “and I was raised by the Court. You were raised to be a living weapon.” He dragged a clawed finger down his forearm, showing his fast healing wound. “I’m the perfect weapon.”

Damian’s heart hammered in his chest. Oh.  Oh .

His Grandfather found a way to flirt with Death but never truly appreciate them.

Dick had whole-heartedly bathed in Death’s presence and got to share the aftermath.

He was everything Ra’s desired to be. Immortal. Invincible. No wonder he so quickly gained Damian’s favor- he was practically everything Damian had been raised to imitate.

His heart hammered in his chest. So, so badly he wanted to -

“Can we fight?”

Dick smiled, ever so faintly.

“What’s this?” Dick blinked at the canvas.

“A portrait. To hang up on your walls. The photographs Drake took are commendable but not tasteful enough for your establishment,” Damian spoke haughtily as he looked away. Tim squinted at him over his bowl of oatmeal.

“I can’t tell if he insulted me or complimented me,” the teen grumbled. Jason was leaned back in his chair, shoving fistfuls of jammed toast down his throat. Stephanie and Cass cheered him on.

“Thanks Owlet,” Dick beamed and held the black and white canvas out to admire, “it’s a wonderful photo!”

Damian snorted, face flattening. “As if I’d resort to photography. I drew that.”

Dick stared. “You  drew  this?” His eyes went wide and he gently set the canvas down. Tim and Bruce leaned across the table to peer at the sketched sunset of Gotham. “OWLET!”

Damian flushed, smiling softly into Dick’s arms. Dick purred loudly, swaying them back and forth while Jason not-so-subtly snapped a picture of the child’s drawing.

“So amazing my little Owlet,” Dick purred out as he released the child. “So amazing.” Damian flushed further.

Dick’s compliments were different from his mother’s. While his mother’s compliments were scarce, they always filled him with a hot bubble in his chest. Dick’s compliments made his very blood in his veins heat up, spreading the warmth from his head to his toes. It lingered longer, like his touch, making him feel light for days.

The feeling never went away because Dick always complimented him or found an excuse to hug or ruffle his hair.

Damian didn't really mind.

Chapter Text

Barbara was 9 the first time she met Dick Grayson. She hadn’t known it was him at the time, not until much later after years of abuse and the darkness of Gotham had latched onto him and made him almost unrecognizable.

They’d gone to the circus on one of her father’s rare off days. It’d been fun - she’d nearly gotten sick to her stomach on cotton candy and kettle corn and she saw the main attraction of the circus die a horrible death.

You know, a normal outing in Gotham.

She’d seen the death couple’s child  - or who she was assuming was their child by the matching unitard - disappear in the chaos of the screaming crowd and her father hoisting her up into his arms.

After that, with the constant death one faced in Gotham, she slowly forgot about the dead couple and the boy who was spirited away.

She’s 12 when Batman practically crushes her in his landing, cape billowing behind him in the night sky. His white slits seem to narrow further in the shadows of his cowl as he regarded her.

“Barbara.” It isn’t a question and she mentally curses herself, wondering how he knew who she was. She thought her disguise was foolproof. “What are you doing out here?”

“W-who’s Barbara?” She slide further away from the man, tugging on her makeshift cape. It was chilly at night, something she continued to underestimate. “I’m- I’m...Batgirl…” Her cheeks burned behind her cloth mask. God, this was humiliating.

“...Barbara, I know your hair.” Batman’s voice was almost amused. “And you have your name written on your converse.” Barbara turned her gaze to her All-Star, face burning even hotter at the sharpie handwriting. Oh god.

“Why are you out here?” Batman moved to sit on the ledge of the rooftop, patting the spot beside him. Something about him was familiar and comforting, weird for the rumored ass-kicker who never hesitated to punch children. “It’s dangerous.”

“Gotham needs more than just you,” Barbara stated simply as she warily moved to sit a foot away from the man. “I’m helping.”

“You’ll get yourself killed,” Batman argued. She bristled, hissing lowly at the insult.

“Nuh-uh!” He doesn’t respond to her childish snap and just looked out at the dark streets.

“Go home, Barbara. Your father doesn’t need to bury another loved one.” Barbara’s eyes went wide and before she could screech at him, he was gone.

“BITE ME BAT BOY!” Her voice rung out in the crisp air.

“Who is this?”

Batman jumped and turned in his chair, seeing Barbara dropping down from one of the ceiling beams. She smiled innocently at Jason, who hid by Batman’s arm.

“This is Jason. He’s my ward,” Batman stated simply. After 7 years of dealing with the stubborn girl, she’d grown on him as a adopted daughter and a begrudging partner in crime fighting. The 19 year old woman tilted her head to the side, humming.

“Hi there Jason, I’m-”

“You’re Batgirl!” Jason’s eyes were wary but bright. “You saved Tommy from being picked up last week!” Batgirl’s smile tensed. Oh, he was a street child. One of the lucky ones not to be snatched up by human traffickers or child molesters. She’d saved a lot of kids during her years patrolling. Too many.

“Yep, that’s me! Howdy!” She crouched down. Jason was lanky but skinny like a malnourished. He was almost literally skin and bones. “How’d you meet B-man?”

“I stole his tires,” Jason stated with a beam of pride. Batman’s face showed how amused and impressed he was with this supposed theft. “From the Batmobile!”

“Oh wow!” Barbara’s eyes were wide behind her cowl. Who could brag about that? No one. Besides this kid it seemed. “That’s amazing! Hey B, can you write me a letter of recommendation for this college?”

“For what? You’re already in school.” Batman’s attention turned to Jason, planting a hand down on his matted hair.

“I need someone to basically brag that I can take double class-loads.” Barbara rolled her eyes. “Please?” Because if anyone could do it, Bruce Wayne could.

“Fine.” Barbara smiled before turning to Jason again. “So, how do you feel about being his new partner in crime?”

It was worth being banned from eating Alfred’s cookies.

She dropped down and looked up.

She shrieked at the acid yellow eyes that stared back.

“ What is that?!” Barbara reeled back. Jason, stil in his Bluejay costume, scrambled out of the attached showers in the Cave and moved to stand in front of the glass prison.

“Don’t scream! Dick doesn’t like that!” Jason’s childish pout was almost feral as he planted himself firmly in place, protective. The thing - Dick - pressed close to the glass and pressed a clawed hand to the surface. It looked almost fond of Jason.

“Who is he?” Barbara was never going off-planet again. Not even if Starfire was to be married again. She missed too much.

“This is Dick! He’s in time-out though right now. He went off the property and broke a guy’s collar-bone.” Jason turned to the glass with a frown. “Sorry Dick.”

“It’s okay, Owlet.” The voice was empty, matching the eyes. He looked like a zombie, all white skin and black veins.

It was creepy.

Those creepy unblinking eyes moved to meet her gaze. “Who are you?”

“I’m… I’m Batgirl.” Barbara looked back as Batman placed a hand on her shoulder. His cowl was off and he looked tired. “How long…?”

“Five months now,” Bruce answered. He addressed Dick, “Have you learned your lesson?” Dick nodded once and stood straight, as if waiting for something. Like a soldier waiting for an order from a superior.

Barbara didn't like that.

“Jason, go shower. Barbara, can you get Dick out and take him upstairs?” Bruce slipped away from her and gestured for Jason to follow. Barbara frowned and eyed the not-human. He couldn’t be human. But he didn't look like a Metahuman.

“Fine.”

It never registered that she’d seen him before. But you couldn’t blame her - tan skin and blue eyes couldn’t easily be connected to a still chest and soulless eyes.

“Here.”

A mug of something dark was placed down in front of her. Bruce and Jason were taking a suspiciously long time to shower and change. Alfred was also surprisingly scarce.

This felt like a set up.

Barbara took the mug and sniffed it, cautious. It smelled like coffee. She took a tentative sip, trying to ignore the intense stare Dick was giving her. Was he watching her? Why? It’s just-

The coffee spilled from her agape mouth with a ‘Bleeeeehg’. It splashed across the island and she spat out, gagging.

“DID YOU PUT SALT IN THAT?!” Dick seemed to deflate, shrinking back as she wiped at her mouth. “Gross!”

Behind her, a loud thump sounded followed by muffled yelling.

“I’m sorry.” He sounded flat. “I thought it was sugar. Alfred says that people like sugar and cream in their coffee.”

Barbara studied him, hand pressed to her mouth. She exhaled through her nose and held a hand out. “Pass me a paper towel.”

Dick jumped to grab one and helped her clean up the mess. In the silence, she heard three sets of breathing from the hallway.

Losers.

“I like french vanilla creamer instead of sugar and milk,” Barbara spoke, breaking the buzzing silence. Dick looked at her. “Or salted caramel.”

He smiled. It looked fake, but it was better than the empty slate he’d shown the entire time.

Her mind stuttered to a halt, spiritually catapulted back to when she was a child and went to the circus.

Oh.

Oh .

“You’re that circus boy,” she breathed out and the smile fell and the emptiness seemed to become cold, robotic. More of a void than a nothingness. “You were taken.”

“Yes.” The two stared at each other. Barbara inhaled, exhaled, tried to organize her thoughts. She could feel the tension forming in the hallway.

“...Wanna hear about my best friend? She’s an alien.” When in doubt, talk about aliens. Dick’s head tilted to the side, like an owl.

“Sure. Thank you, Pup.” Barbara wasn’t going to ask, she wasn’t going to even spare a moment on the weird nickname. Instead she smiled, held out a hand, and waited for the teen to grab it.