Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Morning

Dick, or Robin as Batman had been adamant that he be called, stared blankly at the ceiling. His digital alarm clock kept mockingly blinking the minutes at him, dragging on long and steady as the night bled slowly. 

He sat up, curling his ultra-soft blankets tighter around his shoulders. His room, to the average person, would be uncomfortably warm. To him, it was uncomfortably cool. He shivered under his blankets, shuffling out of bed. 

The digital alarm clock flashed 4:25 am   in a burning green. Deciding he might as well begin his day, he slipped on his fuzzy slippers and moved towards his door. 

Mask secured along his cheeks, he stepped out into the darkened hallway. He could hear Beast Boy’s steady heartbeat from behind the changeling's door, soft snores accompanying his pulse. Cyborg’s obnoxious motor-engine snoring signaled the older teen’s own sleeping state. 

Starfire and Raven were harder to hear but their steady pulses let him know they, too, were slumbering. 

Making his way to the kitchen, he rummaged through the cabinets until he found his secret stash of coffee grounds. The team always laughed at him for hiding it but it was special to him. Alfred always personally ground and shipped the grounds for the masked Hero. 

They were sacred. 

He dumped two leveled scoops of grounds into his also hidden French press, not trusting Starfire or Beastboy to keep it safe. They were always so curious about the kitchen appliances; a curiosity that sadly always ended up with broken cookware. 

The process of filling the kettle with water to boil was an easy task, though tedious. While waiting for the water to reach the desired temperature, he dragged his slippered-feet over to the main living room TV. 

Gotham was 3 hours ahead of Jump City, so it’d be 7. He stared at the black screen, debating with himself. He could video chat and risk waking Bruce up or he could chat and risk waking his teammates up. Either one ended up with someone being disrupted from their sleep. He bit the inside of his cheek.

The sharp whistle of his kettle interrupted his stupid mental debating and he was quick in shutting off the burner and retrieving his water. In a matter of minutes, he had a steaming brew of dark roast. Satisfied, he moved back to the TV. 

Might as well. 

The TV flicked on and, using the remote, began a video call. He used the remote to lower the volume, making it to where it was almost inaudible in how low it was. 

“Robin.” Batman was still in his cowl. Long patrol? Behind him, Dick caught the clambering bodies of Tim (Nightingale) and Damian (Heir) as they scrambled towards Batman. Dick frowned, noticing they were up still. “Good morning.” 

“Morning,” Dick called as he made himself comfortable on the couch, burrowing into his blankets. He took a sip of his coffee, exhaling as the warm liquid trailed down his throat. “Long patrol?” 

“Who cares about that?” Nightingale shoved at Batman, nearly knocking the man over the side of his chair. “How are you? How’s Jump City? The Titans? You getting along alright?” 

“Move your ass, Drake!” Heir pushed Tim away by the face, taking up the entirety of the camera view. “When will you be visiting?” 

“Agent A shipped out a care-package yesterday,” Batman called from the background, lips pressed into a thin line at his two sons' behaviors. 

“Thank you, Batman,” Dick called, smiling faintly to his siblings. “Tell A thank you as well. The Titans are nice! I’ve only been with them a month but it’s going…as well as you can expect.” His fingers fiddled with the mug’s glossy finish, the pad of his index finger running down the smooth surface. 

“Just let me know when you want to come back,” Batman spoke up. Dick’s smile turned sad. 

“I won’t return to Gotham until I know for a fact the Court is gone,” he stated, not for the first time, and definitely not for the last. Batman’s lips pursed out, displeased, and he grumbled as Tim and Damian shoved themselves further towards the web camera. 

“Can we visit you at all?” Damian asked, lips pursing into a familiar thin line. The oldest child could never hide his attachment to Dick - he’d tried and failed so many times that he’d just given up on even trying to save face with the family. 

“Maybe,” Dick cooed out and turned his head, super-hearing picking up the soft open and close of a door. Judging by the lack of footsteps, it was either Starfire or Raven. The girls tended to float rather than walk during the early hours once they first woke up. 

Raven floated in, looking blearily at him for a moment, her eyes flickering to the TV. The Bats just stared silently back at her and she grunted. She moved to make herself some tea and Dick sighed. Looks like his call was cut short then. 

“I’ll text you,” Dick promised and Batman nodded tersely. He cut off the feed before the other two could say their goodbyes. Dick turned from his spot, watching Raven as she went about preparing her tea. “Good morning, Raven.”

“Good morning,” Raven mumbled back. She poured her hot water and stirred, floating over to the couches. Sitting near the end of the couch, she settled herself down and sighed. “Did you sleep at all?” 

“Yep,” he lied, taking a gulp of his coffee. “But I’m used to three to four hours. Any longer makes me feel really lazy.” Another lie. If Raven caught it, she didn't comment. She just hummed and blew on her drink. 

They sat in silence. 

Hush

The Titans were loud in a way that, even a year ago, Dick would have shut down over. Starfire was loud and bright, burning like the miniature sun she wielded. Raven wasn’t as loud as the other girl but sometimes her actions were like nails on a chalkboard. Screeching drags that deafened him. Beast Boy was a constant clash of different loud sounds, the animals in him trampling over each other for a chance to be heard. Cyborg was a Symphony of whirling gears and buzzing parts and circuits. 

But they were loud. So, so loud, and sometimes it overwhelmed Robin. He knew they noticed it. He knew they chalked it up to him being moody. It couldn’t be helped - up until two years ago, he’d never been able to comprehend this life he lived. 

Two years ago, all he knew was white marble walls, stainless marble floors, and that damned Owl fountain that spat out the pink liquid. Two years ago, all he knew was silence and wordless commands. Hands that spoke his orders, clipped and terse as jerky movements. Two years ago, all he knew was the white, then the cold emptiness of time skipped frozen, and of the darkness when he stalked his prey. 

The Titans were loud, and sometimes he overwhelmed Robin. 

He’d been living with them for almost three months now and honestly, he should be used to them. He should, really. 

But sometimes Starfire screamed in a way that reminded him of begged last words or Beast Boy cried in a way that was reminiscent of a child taking their last breath, and it shut him down. In these times he had to isolate himself. Isolate himself and hide away from the loud ones who threw his mind into chaos. 

During these times, when Cyborg’s raised voice over won video games chased him away to his room, Raven appeared with a black cup of coffee. No words were spoken between the two of them during these moments where Dick’s hands moved for his mouth and silence was a welcomed company. 

The Titans were loud and sometimes, it wasn’t a bad thing. 

Hold Your Tongue

When they argued (which, honestly, was more times than Dick liked to admit), they always liked to immediately invalidate Robin from their fights with, “but you don’t have any powers”. 

First of all, rude. 

Second of all, Dick did have powers, thank you very much. 

The Titans just didn't know because Dick didn't make it a habit to advertise his immortality and lack of heartbeat and moving blood and working organs and ungodly appearance. 

The Titans didn't know that the Robin Mask was more than just a piece of fabric to protect his identity (hah what identity? The Court erased him from the face of the planet). It was a cloaking device, made with top of the line Wayne Tech, to mask his appearance. 

His ashen skin, black veined, yellow-eyed appearance. The mask could only do so much, sadly, so his short and skinny stature was still the same even if all that changed was he was given more color to his flesh. 

But still. The idea of him being dismissed just because he apparently couldn’t properly add any additional views to their arguments was just annoying. 

Frustrating, actually. Sometimes Dick wanted to chime in. Sometimes Dick wanted to be like, “Um actually”. Sometimes Dick wanted to speak. 

But instead, he sat back and ignored the heat building between the members and waited it out. 

Because they thought he was just some acrobatic, hot-headed, moody teenage crime-fighter. That he had nothing to bring to the table. 

And until the day Batman told him he could take off his mask, no longer needing to hide from the Court, he’d just continue to sit on the sidelines. 

Mother, Please

Her name was Mother-Mae-Eye and Dick was so disgusted with her. She snuck into the Tower with ease and he was ashamed by how the Titans so readily let her into their base. 

She stuffed them with pies and while Dick didn't eat any himself, she never knew. She cooed and coddled every single member. Her touch sent shivers crawling across his flesh. It reminded him of the Owls, of their possessive and objectifying touch. She didn't see them as people  - she saw them as obstacles in her way. 

She kept saying how she was their mother. The Team whole-heartedly accepted the fact, drugged from her hypnotic pies. Dick wasn’t swayed though he acted the part. He was good at acting - Talons were trained to be able to act human at the drop of the hat. A bit of make-up and quick interaction with their prey or civilians for a hurried get-away demanded it. 

Dick didn't remember his mother. He didn't remember his father or his uncle or aunt or cousins. His family was a weakness, one the Court gleefully cut out of his heart. He vaguely remembered snippets of things - an elephant, a sun-bathed countertop of a car trailer, a circus tent, blood splatters along the dirt and the brief flash of crumpled bodies - but that was it. He couldn’t remember his mother’s face, her voice, her smell, nothing. 

But something rubbed him the wrong way when Mother-Mae-Eye tried to sway him into calling her mother. Like a noose around his throat, he couldn’t utter the word when he looked at her. Instead, the violent urge to shove his talons (his sharp, sharp nails) into her throat overtook him. The urge to grab his hidden knives, carved at the handles to look like owls sleeping, and stab her viciously until the life left her eyes. 

Because while Dick knew, biologically, he had a mother who gave birth to him, he had no attachment to the woman who did or the title itself. But still, maybe it was the precedent not to allow some evil witch to make herself the Titan Mom. 

Either way, the act got boring fast and he had to hold himself back from snapping her neck. Instead, he woke the other Titans from her spell and they quickly sent her away to jail. 

Suitcase

He had a briefcase he kept with him. It was from Before. Before the Court sunk their claws into him, Before his parents fell to their deaths, Before before before. 

It was the one, absolutely one thing that Cobbs let him take with him. It was stained in blood from his parents, from his victims in the Labyrinth, from himself before his organs were pumped clean and black sludge overtook his veins. It was dirty and disgusting and he kept it in a briefcase, treasured and kept safe from the world. 

Beast Boy found it during one of their weekly cleaning days. The Titans had gotten curious, passing around guesses as to what it was. Dick let them make their suggestions, knowing it was pointless. He wasn’t going to show them. They weren’t going to find out. 

Except apparently, he misjudged Starfire’s own strength and social cues on how to be polite and full of manners because she cracked open the locked case without a strain. 

A stuffed elephant, matted in brown and black stains, greeted the Titans. 

They blinked. 

“It’s… a baby toy?” Beast Boy moved a hand to touch it, only to retract his hand quickly when Dick stabbed a birdarang down and grab his suitcase. The teens gawked at him. 

“Don’t touch it,” he snarled low and he knew, even if they couldn’t, that his eyes glowed their deadly acid yellow. He stuffed the toy back into the case and closed it, bemoaning the broken lock. 

“It’s adorable!” Starfire beamed happily, trying to lighten the mood. “You have nothing to be embarrassed about, Friend Robin. It’s a cute toy.” 

“I don’t need your validation on my personal possessions,” he snapped back. This was sacred. This was his only remaining relic from Before. He couldn’t let it be tainted by After. Not any more than it already was. Cyborg frowned and opened his mouth, probably to tell him to “chill”. 

Dick hated that expression with his entire being. 

“We’re sorry,” Raven spoke up, moving in front of her friends. “We were wrong to breach your trust.” Dick stared at her, gaze steady even behind his mask, before he turned on his heel and the room. 

He had his stuffed elephant in an actual safe within the next hour. 

Meeting

It was extremely rare for a Talon to lose consciousness. Technically they didn't even have a consciousness, more of just a constant state of existence that no science could easily explain. As it was, the only way for a Talon to, black out would probably be the best way to describe it, was from a head injury. That or decapitation before immediate replacement. 

Talon woke up from the darkness, some foreign in his system to make the world seem crisper, clearer, colder. He was strapped to a metal wall, positioned in a transparent walled holding cell. 

Batman stood before him, on the other side of the wall, with his little shadows behind him. 

“You’re a Talon,” Batman had spoken, not asked, not growled, but spoken. So calmly. Like he wasn’t face-to-face with an assassin that could easily break through the restraints and slaughter them all. “Why were you tasked with killing Bruce Wayne?”

“Grandmaster ordered it,” Talon replied, voice hoarse. He didn't like speaking. Speaking was a reward for a mission done properly. This was a failure, not a reward. 

“Why?” Batman’s voice was still gentle. Talon wondered if it was because of his appearance - small and unassuming. His body’s growth had stilted, ruined from the chemicals pumped into him when his organs were stilled. 

“Grandmaster ordered it,” Talon repeated. Behind Batman, the girl with long curly hair gave a frustrated huff. 

“He’s like a broken record,” the girl sighed out. To her right, three other boys grumbled in agreement. 

“Who were you before you became a Talon?” Another girl, shorter hair and silent in her movements, asked. Her hands twitched at her sides and Talon cooed out, hands struggling with their binds to mimic words.

“He signs?” One of the boys asked, startled. 

“No name,” the girl with short hair echoed, watching the jerky hand movements. “Talon.” She lifted a hand, pulling her cowl back.

“Wow! Black Bat!” The third girl cried, her entire face hidden behind a full face mask. 

Sharp eyes studied Talon. He stared back. Her eyes spoke volumes of how many she’d killed. 

“You kill,” he spoke, words gritted out. She shook her head.

“I don’t anymore,” she corrected. “And soon you will stop too.”

Surprise

Dick had a problem. Well two, if he counted the douchebag who stole his Red X costume. He’d been proud of that, dammit. A way for him to release his pent up energy from being unable to perform as he would as a Talon. And some jerk just up and stole it from him. 

But that wasn’t his biggest problem. No, his biggest problem came in the form of a man named Deathstroke. Slade Wilson. Some orange and black themed Villain who thought he was intimidating. 

He was clever. Dick could respect that. But intimidating? Maybe the other Titans thought so but to Dick, he was a mild inconvenience. 

He threatened to expose Dick’s identity. Threatened to destroy his loved ones and ruin his life. 

Dick found it so cute how the man thought he could use any sort of leverage on him. Because no one could touch his teammates - his friends. No one could touch his family. No one knew who he was, would ever know who he was, and Slade had no idea. 

He probably thought Dick would bow down under that threat. 

He thought wrong. 

But Slade also reminded Dick of the Court. Of the burning rage hidden behind calm tones and gentle touches. Of power in every step he took. Of how he used people as pawns, not caring for the consequences. And that made him dangerous. 

He debated to himself, during the late hours of the night, if he should inform Batman. Tell him about the ex-mercenary causing trouble in his city. But it wasn’t like Slade was a huge issue. Maybe if Dick had been normal, he could have posed an issue, but not now. Not when Dick was dead and had nothing to fear. 

It was during one of the nights after a particularly boring run-in with Slade, that Red X slipped through the Tower’s security and snuck into his room. 

Dick liked to take his mask off from 10pm until 4am, a habit formed from the years spent in his coffin during those exact hours. Why those specific hours? Dick always liked to believe that it was because that was during the time his Grandmaster would be asleep and had no use for him shadowing him. 

Therefore, when Red X slunk into his bedroom at 2 in the morning, Dick wondered if he was startled to see the undead creature huddled under his blankets. Because Dick knew his eyes glowed in the dark. They reflected off any visible light and shone like an animal in the darkness. Added to his haunting appearance, he was surprised that Red X hadn’t screamed and bounced out.

Instead the rude thief just plopped down onto the foot of his bed and took his face-plate off. 

Dick’s eyes went wide at the sight of Jason, sweat-slicked bangs plastered back towards his hairline. 

“Hiya Dickie,” Jason greeted, voice a bit gruff. Dick hadn’t seen the older teen since he’d risen from the dead and then ghosted everyone. 

Dick lunged at him and knocked him off the bed, burying his face into his chest. Jason’s heartbeat loudly in his chest, a rhythmic THUMP THUMP THUMP that calmed a more feral part of him down. 

“So, what’s this about some guy name Deathstroke being creepy with you?” 

The laugh that left his still lungs was painful and wet. He blamed the black sludge.

Casualty

Dick liked Jump City. The Villains themselves were mediocre, in no way on the same level as Joker or Two-Face. They weren’t crazy, they weren’t the Gotham brand of Evil, but they were still fun. 

Control Freak was fun on days Dick couldn’t forget about how stark white his bathroom was and the Hive Five were great for the days he wanted to just twist and twirl in the air and let his limbs stretch in ways that shouldn’t be possible. 

The Jump City Gallery, as he’d taken to calling them, were gentle in ways that The Court never was. They were ruthless, sure, but they didn't have the intent to kill in every step they took or wave of their hand. The Hive Five were just as childish as the Titans, raised on expectations of evil just as the Titans were formed by the expectant gaze of the citizens. They probably couldn’t even fathom shedding blood. 

So, it was a very, very horrible day when a run-in with the Hive Five ended in a casualty. An unfortunate teenager, crushed to death by falling rubble, caught in the crossfire of their tussle. 

The Hive Five had frozen at once, their complexions paling at the echoing CRUNCH SQUELCH CRACK that followed the crushed body. Raven drew back, eyes wide, while Cyborg’s arm lowered from its canon form. Beast Boy covered his nose, whining loudly like a kicked dog while Starfire gasped.

Dick stared at the seeping blood, distantly wondering if this was their first time dealing with a field casualty. Thinking back, he determined it was. The Villains were tame in their destruction. Slade had apparently kept some form of contract with them that as long as they resided in Jump, no deaths were to occur. 

It was silly to think about but now was not the time. 

Dick tilted his head to the side, taking a step forward.

“You- that - it was an accident!” Gizmo cried out, eyes looking suspiciously wet. “The building just-”

Dick ignored the two groups as they began to point fingers, looking to the side. They would wallow in guilt later. For now, shock was fueling their actions and words.

 A woman rushed towards them and Dick knew that this was the mother of the victim. 

“Tessa? Have you seen my-”

The woman came to a halt, eyes moving from the bloody pile of building to the discarded backpack laying feet from the scene. 

She fell to her knees. Dick observed her as she connected the dots, her face twisting and crumpling as reality crashed into her. He wondered if she wanted to die. His hand twitched and his knife slide into his palm. Should he send her to her daughter? It’d be a mercy killing, right? Dick could do that. He’d killed hundreds of times - another wouldn’t be anything.

But then Raven was kneeling next to the woman, her own voice shaking as she offered comfort. His knife went back into his hiding spot as he watched the Titans and Hive Five work together to clear the rubble. 

The woman was openly sobbing now, hunched forward as Raven hugged her. 

For their first field casualty, they were handling it pretty well.

Too Cold

The Court was in Jump City. 

Correction: at least five Talons were in the City, hunting for him. Dick knew it was the Court, knew it was the Talons, by the specific murders all over the daily news. The Titans ignored it, chalking it up sad, unfortunate happenings. Dick could barely function.

They’d found him. They were in his City, his new Nest. They were here and would ruin his life and take him back to those white walls and his coffin and-

“I’m going to investigate,” he spoke to his Team. They traded looks before Cyborg asked with a frown, “Uh, why dude? Let the police handle that kind of stuff.” 

“A serial killer is prowling the streets,” Robin snarled, watching his team recoil. “I’m going to do my job and capture them.”

Easier said than done. It was cold in Jump City. Snowing, actually. Dick hated the cold. He was sluggish and stiff, body moving in stilted movements. His mind was never clear and it reminded him too much of his coffin - of punishments - to ever be enjoyable. 

It didn't help that Slade decided to bother him while he was scouring the streets. 

“Leave me alone, Slade,” Dick spoke without any infliction, mind foggy as he walked down the street. Barely anyone was out with the threat of a blizzard coming through and even with his scarf, seven sweaters, four winter jackets, and heating pads, he could still barely make it down the block without tripping. 

“Why the long face, Robin? Upset Christmas isn’t coming early?” One thing Slade seemed to have a problem with was goading his enemy properly. Dick didn't even bother to respond - Slade was just horrible at instigating. 

Dick scowled as his eyes bounced along the surroundings. The Talons would be somewhere warm, somewhere isolated. He stopped in his tracks and Slade, beside him with his hands in his pockets, paused as well. He raised an eyebrow at the short Hero. 

“Leave me alone,” Dick repeated once he realized the man was still standing with him. “I’m seriously not in the mood.” He pivoted on his heel and stalked into an alley wall. Might as well scale the walls and move along the rooftops. And if he tumbled and fell off? Nothing a quick one-minute lay down wouldn’t fix to allow his healing to do its magic. 

One minute to heal in the cold? God, it sucked. 

“I’m curious as to what’s got your attention,” Slade responded as he followed behind. Another pair of footsteps sounded, crunching loudly on the snow, and the two stiffened. 

“Hey,” Red X, or Red Hood as he was beginning to call himself, greeted as he stopped in front of Dick, “what are you doing out here?” Concern colored his tone, but between the voice scrambler and his deadpan words, you couldn’t tell. Not unless you were a Bat and had grown used to Jason’s weird “I don’t love you idiot” behavior. 

“Looking for a serial killer,” Dick responded. He could almost feel the heat Jason was radiating from three inches away. Without really thinking about it he stepped into the older teen’s space and nuzzled into his covered neck. He heard Slade make a choking noise behind him as Jason wound his arms around him in a hug. 

“Jesus Rob, you’re like a fucking volcano. I can feel those heating pads,” Jason chided gently as Dick just grumbled into his neck. “Hey, hey, wait, a serial killer?”

“Killers,” Dick corrected in a slur. Jason was always so warm and he loved it. “Five, I think.” He opened his eyes - when had he closed them - and saw Slade just staring at them. With his mask, Dick could only begin to imagine what his face looked like. 

“How - how do you know?” Jason’s voice was tense and his arms tightened around Dick. It was times like this, in the cold, that he wished he was back in Gotham and with his siblings. Between Jason and Stephanie, he never even needed a blanket. The two ran hot and it was a godsend.

“Thomas Matthews was murdered by a blade cut to his neck. The weapon was a 1800s bell bowie knife.” 

Silence.

“How the fuck-”

“It has a distinct curve along the tip that creates a jagged edge.” It was also a weapon Dick was personally familiar with - he’d fought against the strongest Talon from the 1800s to prove his worth - he knew how the knife marks looked from experience. 

“...No.” Jason shoved him away and even with his mask, Dick knew his eyebrows were pinched. “Robin, tell me they aren’t here.” 

“I’m cold,” Dick mumbled. Jason made a strangled noise in the back of his throat. 

“Have you informed Batman? I don’t want my surprise to be in the form of going, “Hey B I’m alive but guess what now’s not the time to focus on that we’ve got a bird situation over here in Jump City’? That won’t go over well!” 

“I’m lost,” Slade piped up from behind the two. Jason flipped him off and shook Dick’s shoulders.

“And what are you doing out here?! If they find you you’ll be a sitting duck! Did you even think-”

A shadow fell from the rooftop. Slade reacted, reaching for his hidden weapons, but Dick was faster. Dick grabbed Jason by the suit collar and pitched him over his shoulder, straight into Slade. His knife slide into his hand and in seconds, the decapitated head of the Talon splattered against the snowy ground. 

No one moved. 

Dick’s body faltered and he fell to his knees, slumping down against the black snow. Jason scrambled, falling to his knees beside Dick while Slade just stared at the headless body. 

“Shit, you okay?” Jason’s gloved hands brushed his bangs back. “Rob?” 

“Fine. Cold,” Dick replied sluggishly. He nuzzled his nose against Jason’s palm. “They were going to kill you.”

“They’re after you !” Jason stressed, hands gripping his cheeks. “That’s it - I’m getting you out of here.”

“Allow me,” Slade spoke and the two tensed as he side-stepped the body and threw Robin over his shoulders like he was a sack of flour. Jason had a pair of guns in hand in a blink and had them pointed at Slade.

“Drop him and leave, Deathstroke.” Jason’s voice was a feral growl. “Drop my baby bro and back the fuck up. Now.” 

Slade eyed Jason in barely concealed amusement before he did as ordered. Dick let out a breath as he fell onto his back, staring at the grey sky. Well, it was always grey to him, but even a darker shade with the cold temperatures. 

Slade threw a kick out, taking Jason by surprise. He slammed into the adjacent building and slide down, out-cold. Dick’s body tensed and a snarl escaped his lips. He struggled to move as fluidly as he usually did. It was useless. Slade picked up Jason and turned to him. 

“You’re a bit of trouble for an apprentice,” he commented and easily scooped Dick up as well. “But I’ll listen to all of your problems on the walk back to my lair.”

Dick hung there, useless. 

Damn the cold.

Chapter Text

Linguistics 

When Starfire kissed him, it took everything in him not to slit her throat. Her face contorted when they parted, eyes pinched up in confusion. Dick was panicked, unable to understand the reasoning behind her action.

Her mouth opened and like ice filling his veins, Romany slipped out. She looked frustratingly bewildered and her next words were French. 

“English,” Dick had intoned and with a start, Starfire had beamed at him.

“English,” she parroted in stilted English. “Thank you.” 

She never questioned the other languages on her tongue, branded into her brain, lingering in her throat and ready to burst. 

Dick was grateful. 

Mind Your Business

There had been nothing. No white lights, no harmonious voices singing praises and peace, no gentle hands beckoning him forward. There had been nothing. Endless pitch blackness. No sensations of warmth, no sensations of cold - just nothing. 

One moment he’d felt his heart palpitating in his chest and then the next nothing. It was like he’d closed his eyes for a second in a single blink, dead in all sense of the word but not when he’d opened them back up. 

Thawing out after being in the cold was like waking back up on that metal table. A blink and awareness had returned. 

Dick stared at the ceiling of an unfamiliar room, the air humid and sweltering. The world was loud around him. The sounds of gears grinding was like a jackhammer to his skull. He focused, drowning out the obstructions to pick up on Jason’s voice. He was talking - no - yelling at someone. 

“You need to mind your own business!” Jason was screaming. Dick’s hands twitched, stiff but not frozen. He jolted up from the couch he was laying on. In the distance, he saw shadows moving. 

“You need to watch your tone,” Slade argued back, tone calm in the face of an angry Bat-raised anti-hero. “Or you will find yourself-”

“You don’t get to threaten him.” Soundlessly, Dick had landed on Slade’s shoulders, one of his many hidden knives pressing against the man’s covered throat. Both him and Jason paused. “Don’t you ever threaten my Nest.” 

“Dick.” Jason’s voice was strangled and Dick flipped over Slade and gathered Jason into his arms. Shorter than the resurrected teen, he still held a strong grip. “Jesus, you can’t just go wander outside in the cold. You know what it does to you.”

“The Court is in my territory,” Dick tried to argue, pulling away from Jason with a frown. “I will handle them as I see fit.”

“Yeah,” Jason agreed as if it were common sense, “but not when it’s freezing temperatures! You could barely function!” He pressed his warm hands against Dick’s cheeks, the fabric of his gloves doing nothing to deter the former Talon on leeching his body heat. 

“What’s the Court?” 

Dick and Jason both turned masked eyes to Slade who shifted his footing at the sudden tense air. 

“Not what but who,” Dick corrected. “And they are none of your business.” He flexed his fingers, reveling in how smooth the motion was. He was nice and thawed out, ready to go back on the hunt. 

“If they’re attacking my apprentice, then it is my business,” Slade argued. Dick snorted - it was amusing how this man thought he had any involvement at all with Dick or his life.

“You’re in denial,” Dick spoke simply and tugged on Jason’s hand. “We’re leaving now.” 

Slade made a move to grab him. Dick easily dodged and snagged the man’s wrist, twisting it behind his back while he forced the man to his knees in one single motion. 

Without the Titans present, Dick didn't have to hold back. Didn't have to pretend he was a simple little human with average strength and above-average fighting abilities. No. He could show Slade that with an easy hit to his body, he could break his clavicle and snap his neck without even applying much force. 

“I’ve let you play your games,” Dick hissed against Slade’s mask. “Now I grow bored with them. We’re leaving. Do not try to stop me again.” 

They left without any resistance. Slade just stared after them, more set on claiming Dick as his apprentice than ever. 

“Wilson will be determined to know everything,” Dick spoke as he stuck close to Jason, burrowing into his offered warmth. 

“Yeah,” Jason commented as he pulled Dick closer to his side. The two looked an odd pair, Robin and Red X (Red Hood as he was trying to rebrand himself as)  huddled together as they made their way down the snow-filled street. Dick didn't mind it though. No, he really didn't. “I’ll start scrambling any online news.” 

“Thank you.” Dick tilted his head back, exhaling. No puff of visible breath chased out of his mouth. It was the oddest thing to see, in Jason’s opinion. “I will tell Batman that the Court is here.”

“He’ll want to come,” Jason reminded. No rosy-cheeks, no sniffling, no puffs of oxygen in the cold air. Dick had none of the signs of a miserable cold-suffering person. If it weren’t for his insistent shivering, Jason would have never known he was cold. 

“That’s fine.” Dick moved his eyes away from the grey sky. “I think he’ll be far worse if he found out I didn't tell him.”

“He’ll be beside himself with worry.” Jason shuffled closer, teeth chattering. “And when he finds out about me-”

“It’s fine.”

Arterial Language

His first language, Romani, had been taught by his father. His second language, French, came from his mother. His third, English, was taught by his grandfather between broken bones and infected stab wounds. His fourth and fifth, Silence and Body, was conditioned into him by the Court. 

“ Te aves yertime mander tai te yertil tut o Del,” his father would whisper every night before tucking him into bed. He never understood the phrase. I forgive you and may God forgive you as I do . What was he going wrong that required forgiveness? 

(He now knew, years later, just what forgiveness his father was begging for. He was begging for the future, for the blood his child would shed as a result of their own cowardness.) 

His mother would comb his hair and sing songs in her mother tongue, weaving intricate stories in the melodies.

Every night, after his father blessed him with those vague words, she’d kiss his head and whisper, “ Garde la tête haute et brave la tempête."  Just like with his father, he would be lost to the meaning of her cautious words. Why must he keep his head high and brave the storm? What storm? What did she mean?

(He would learn, between heaving sobs and cracking ribs, that she was conditioning him to take anything life threw at him. She was warning him, demanding him to be stronger. Strong enough to survive .) 

His Grandfather abhorred Romany with a burning passion. It reminded him of a life he cast away, abandoned to bloodshed and darkness. He did not understand French, never bothered to learn it when alive or awake , and so he taught him English.

He taught him when he hunted him through the white marbled maze and when he grabbed his hair and held him under the pink liquid. He taught him the alphabet with a drag of his knives against his exposed flesh. Taught him words and phrases between snapping his bones or slicing through his fragile skin. 

The Court taught him Silence. Taught him his words held no value, that his voice did nothing but earn him more time in his coffin. Silence was valued, expected, and he followed the mute purse of his lips and swallowed down his words instinctively. Soon Romani slipped away into the shadows, French becoming blurry the longer he kept his mouth screwed tight. 

Body came after. Grandmaster spoke mostly in Body. His words were meaningless when his actions spoke volumes in contradiction.

 A head bowed was submission. Straight-forward gaze was attention and respect. Hands behind his back was loyalty. Limp hands showed no thoughts, no free-will.  

Grandmaster’s voice may be soft and kind while his hands gripped tightly to his neck and squeezed. His hands will burn and bruise and trail itchy lines where they touch his shoulders or head or arms or hands despite his voice being monotone. 

(The worst will be when he was rewarded. A hand through his hair, a mouth near his ear as he was Ordered to speak. 

“Say my name, Gray Son.” 

“Yes, Grandmaster.” )

His first language, Romani, had been taught by his father. His second language, French, came from his mother. His third, English, was taught by his grandfather between broken bones and infected stab wounds. His fourth and fifth, Silence and Body, was conditioned into him by the Court. 

There is a sixth language, one still in development and stilted and foreign on his tongue. It is taught to him each minute every day by his new family, his new Grandmaster, his new teammates. 

It is the language of living, of loving, that he scrambles to learn. 

As it was, he only knew a few phrases. He hoped, in the future, he’d be fluent. 

Guest 

The Red X suit had been Dick’s escape. His escape from having to hold back, from having to perform as a human. The Titans never found out he was Red X, that the thief they thought was a meta-human was their own Robin. He’d wanted it that way. 

Batman, on the other hand, had always known about Red X. Dick had explained the plan, anyway, to him when he’d designed the suit. He’d been a bit apprehensive to make the mask white, feeling it was too close to home to wear. But Batman had helped him. 

Batman, standing in the Tower, and staring as Dick and Jason made their way in. 

“Red X?!” Beast Boy cried out as Jason stood tense under the Bat’s glare. “Why is he here?”

“Heeeey,” Jason began slowly, sliding behind Dick. Dick would protect him, no matter being the younger of the two. “Surprise?” A beat. “And it’s Red Hood, actually.” 

“We’ll discuss you in a moment,” Batman spat out, fury coating ever single syllable. Raven stared at the man weirdly. “First, why did you not report the murders happening around your city?”

“Uh,” Cyborg began in a stammer, “because they’re just murders?” Oh how cute, the Titans thought they were being addressed.

“I had no real evidence until this afternoon,” Dick spoke up, straightening under his Grandmaster’s gaze. Body was in control, adjusting his shoulders back and his head held high. Batman preferred when Robin stood tall under his scrutiny. “I had my suspicions after examining the knife marks on the throats of one of the victims. The jagged edges matched the blade used by the former Talon of the 1800s.” His hands went to his side, loose and relaxed. No weapons, no motion - no thought, no visible presence of any emotions. 

His Body screamed.

“ Robin .” 

Robin’s head bowed under the growl, feeling the Order in his bones as Batman took a step towards him. He clasped his hands behind his back, submissive, and waited for his Grandmaster to speak again. Silence struggled to translate what English and Body was failing him at this moment. 

“You purposely went hunting for them, didn't you?” The Tone softened and Robin peeked up at his Grandmaster. Behind him, Red X wound a hand around his clasped ones and squeezed reassuringly. “You can’t do that.” His Grandmaster’s Body spoke differently. Coiled tense and ready to spring into action. Anger and heat simmering under the kevlar. Robin’s eyes went back down to his feet. 

Batman’s footing shifted - uncertainty peeking through the cracks in tiny whispers. 

“I was protecting my territory.” A year ago, Dick would have cut his own tongue out before thinking of back talking to his Grandmaster. But the softening of the Tone meant Bruce was allowing him to speak - to defend his stance. Silence and Body fell away to allow English out since his new Grandmaster didn't know Romany and French was awkward on his tongue for long durations. “Jump City is mine.” 

“Temporarily,” Batman argued. Dick noticed the looks the Titans were exchanging. Their postures spoke volumes on their confusion and their increasing annoyance at being ignored.  “Once the Court is handled, you are returning to Gotham.” 

“What?!”

“Dude!”

“You can’t do that!”

“Batman-”

“That is an Order.” 

Jason hissed low as Robin’s head snapped back down in a bow. His shoulders hunched up to his ears and his spine curved in an arch as if the Order weighed him down. 

“Yes-” his voice was void of emotions “-Grandmaster.” Silence sunk its talons in and he clamped his mouth shut. Emotions bled away, that sixth language dying on his tongue as Batman’s gaze stabbed into him. 

Behind him, Jason’s warm grip turned scorching but he bore the heat. Grandmaster hadn’t Ordered him to move, to respond yet, after all. 

“Uh, what was that?” Beast Boy blurted after a few pauses of tense silence. Batman twitched and turned to them. “What did you just do?”

“You have dangerous murderers in your City as we speak,” the man spoke low. “Don’t concern yourself with our personal business. For now, show me your surveillance cameras.” 

Starfire wavered, glancing at Robin before she floated over to the TV. She worked the simple controls, allowing the vigilante to step close as multiple screens popped up, showing the accessed feeds from security cameras, street views, and personal cameras from businesses. He narrowed his eyes as he studied the screens.

“Where?” He called over his shoulder. He turned when silence met his inquiry. Robin was standing there, head still bowed. Batman released a breath. “Robin.” He made his voice soft, trying to pretend the Titans weren’t there watching. Robin snapped out of his statue-like-posture and came to his side.

Robin touched the computer keypad connected to the TV and swiped away at the unnecessary images. With only a single camera view of a warehouse from across the street from a bank, he turned to Batman. 

“This warehouse is abandoned. The heating in it still works and the insulation in the inner walls makes the heat circulate for long periods of time. I was unable to properly vet the area but this is the likeliest place they’d be.” 

“I’ll call for Nightingale and Heir to buckle down in Gotham,” Batman mused aloud as he studied the grainy feed of the warehouse. “Red Hood, you’ll work with me on surveillance.” 

“And us?” Surprisingly, it was Raven who asked. She was staring Batman dead on, her eyes unreadable. “This is our City. We’re going to help.” Her eyes flickered to Robin.

“No.” Batman’s voice held no room for argument. “You will continue to horse around and ignore the deadly criminals traipsing through your area.” 

Cyborg winced at how oblivious he was making them out to be. They weren’t, honest. They’d just thought this was something the police could handle. 

“Batman,” Robin began hesitantly and almost seemed to shrink into himself when Batman turned his attention to him, “may I speak out?”

“Yeah you fucking can,” Red Hood blurted before Batman could open his mouth. “Speak, Rob. Tell B why you think him benching you and your team is fucking stupid.”

“Language,” Batman said, more of a habit than anything else. The word was strangled as he said it. Again, Raven was giving him a weird stare.

Robin distantly wondered if she was picking up on his true emotions, under all his kevlar and cowls. She was an Empath, after all. She picked up on emotions easier than even Dick did when he listened to the Body and the Silence. 

“The Titans and I will be working on this mission. Jump City is my territory, no matter how temporary it is. The Titans have proven themselves quite capable to handle the situation.” Besides, the Talons in Jump City were weaklings. Pathetic and new, not yet mastered in the way of Silence and of the art of light steps and bloodless murders. 

Batman stared at him searchingly. Robin met his gaze despite how his insides trembled at such a brash, defying gesture. 

“You will follow everything I say,” the Bat relented. He turned with a bellow of his cape. “Red Hood, with me.”

Jason’s shoulders slumped and he followed after the man with a disparaging glance to Robin. When the two left, Cyborg was on him like a vulture.

“Okay, what was that?” Cyborg asked, eyebrows furrowed. “You can’t just let Batman walk all over us. The entire reason for us being here is to show the Heroes we can handle this type of stuff!”

“This is League level of threat,” Robin argued blankly. Beast Boy’s mouth fell open. “So Batman has all right to step in. The Court originates from Gotham - he has claim.” 

“ Claim ,” Starfire repeated. Her soft, gentle gaze bore into him like lava. “You speak as if you were animals.” 

In a sense, they were. Robin was more aviary than human and Bruce was so lost to the shadows that some days they couldn’t distinguish the Bat from the man. The masks they wore were lost in their flesh. 

“Batman is very territorial over what comes in and out of Gotham. Jump City is unequipped to handle the Court and the Talons.” Robin let his shoulders relax, the heat in the tower finally seeping into his frigid bones. 

“Why? What makes them worse than Slade?” Raven asked cautiously. And for a moment, Dick was confused until he remembered that to his teammates, Slade was a threat. To them, Slade wasn’t just an annoyance. 

“They’re monsters,” Dick explained, talons sinking in tight. His very being screamed and thrashed at speaking so negatively towards what he was once Loyal to. It almost physically hurt him to speak so badly towards the Court, towards his Owls and former Grandmaster. “Absolute monsters.”

Just like he was.

Behind Closed Doors

Dick didn't ask about the reunion between his Grandmaster and Jason. It wasn’t his right to know what transpired between the two of them. All he knew was that their Bodies were loose and drained, lighter than they’d been in the year he’d known both of them. Even though Jason had only been dead for a few months, to Talons, that was life times. He wondered how long it’d been for Batman. 

He found the two in his room, awkwardly waiting for him. Once the door closed, Jason had his hands on his mask and peeling the illusionary device off his ashen skin. 

“I’m sorry,” was the first thing Bruce said as he stepped close, cape held out to wrap around Dick. “I didn't mean to be so harsh with you.” He hugged his youngest, Jason squeezed in behind him. Dick just closed his eyes, soaking in this new language. 

“I understand,” Dick said. And he did. He really did. He’d always forgive his Grandmaster. Unconditionally. No questions asked. Bruce always was in the right to Dick, after all. “I apologize for speaking out against you, Grandmaster.”

“Shush, call me Bruce,” Bruce whispered as he withdrew his cape from his two youngest. “Damian and Tim are throwing a fit.”

“I bet,” Jason snorted as he withdrew his own mask. Bruce followed, revealing his red-rimmed blue eyes to the two. “I’m alive and Dickie here is in trouble with the Court.”

“They shouldn’t have left Gotham,” Dick explained simply. “Them being so far from the Court is an abnormality. Talons operate close to where Grandmaster can Order them. There should be no reason for Talons being in Jump City unless…”

“Unless their Grandmaster is with them.” Bruce’s eyes turned sharp. “I’ll look into it. Oracle has already been informed of the situation as well. She’ll surely bring me back some information.” Dick nodded. Bruce worked fast, after all. 

“Your team is inexperienced,” Batman began lightly after a pause. “Are you sure they can handle themselves?”

“Yes,” Dick readily confirmed. “They can handle themselves. They are young but they are strong.” They wouldn’t die. 

Bruce nodded before he sat heavily on Dick’s unused bed. 

“After this mess is sorted, you’re both coming back with me,” Bruce explained, looking uncomfortable in his kevlar without his cowl. Jason sidled up beside him and plopped down. Dick stayed standing.

“Cool, cool,” Jason hummed out as he messed with the white streaks in his hair. “So, what do you know about Deathstroke?”

“The mercenary, Slade Wilson?” Bruce’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Why, what about him?”

Jason’s smile was downright impish. “So guess who has a new stalker.”

Mute

“Your target is Bruce Wayne,” Cobb informed. Talon stood still, eyes staring forward as Cobb adjusted the child’s mask. “I will be with you in the chance he isn’t alone.”

Talon nodded once, knowing he was allowed small amounts of communication with Cobb. Cobb allowed him to speak. Cobb encouraged it, actually. 

“Use your words.” Speak of the devil. 

“Yes, Grandfather.” Cobb had explained, on day one, that he would be addressed as Grandfather. He explained that it was similar enough to Grandmaster that Dick’s mind would seamlessly connect the two as beings of authority to him. 

Cobb nodded, satisfied. “Good. He should be working late in his office tonight. We will strike.” There was something muted in Cobb’s movements. Something like a muffled scream that Talon’s ears couldn’t discern. 

He followed after his Grandfather, blending into the shadows and smog-filled rooftops as they made their way to Wayne Enterprises. 

Everything that happened after was a blur. Talon had crashed in through the window - he remembered that. 

After that, he was confused about the details. He knew he’d nailed Bruce Wayne with two of his throwing knives. He knew somewhere along the way, Heir, Nightingale, and Bluejay had appeared. He knew that even by himself, he had the upper-hand. 

But somewhere along the chaos, Cobb had done something. One moment Talon had been about to stab his knife into Heir’s throat and the next the world was blackening. 

He’d managed to snag a sliver of Cobb, standing over him. 

And Talon could finally hear it. The screaming releasing from Cobb’s body. 

Betrayal, live, regret, guilt, live, live, live, forgiveness, love, live. Live.

And then Talon had woken up in the Batcave. 

Truce?

Slade Wilson did not jump when a shadow fell over him. He did not jump. Instead, he pulled out his handgun and pointed it at Batman as the man stepped out of the shadows of the rooftop they were on. 

“Batman?” Deathstroke’s eyebrows went up. “What are you doing here?” In Jump City? Away from Gotham? Unheard of unless some sort of world threat was involved. 

“You’re being awfully nosey with my youngest,” Batman snarled low. Beside him, another shadow moved. Red Hood stepped out, white mask with red X replaced with a red helmet. “You need to stop.” 

“Stop.” Deathstroke’s voice fell flat. What was this - the parental shotgun talk? “You want me to stop pestering Robin?” His mind reeled - he called him his youngest . 

“Yep,” Red Hood spoke up as he nonchalantly leaned against the brick exterior of the roof exit. “You’re gonna leave Robin alone and forget about making him your apprentice.”

“You didn't tell me it was an apprenticeship he wanted.” Batman’s glare seemed to harden further and Deathstroke felt his sense of fear kick in. Yikes. “Stay away from Robin.”

“Are you here because of this Court?” Deathstroke asked, moving a hand to grip the handle of his katana. “The ones after Robin? We can help each other out then.” 

Silence. 

“What do you know?” Above them, an owl hooted as it flew past.