Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Can we please stop for dinner on the way? We just drove past another diner! C’mon, B, this might be our last chance to eat waffles for the next three days!” Steph’s pleas fall on unheeding, cruel ears. Bruce continues to stolidly drive the gigantic, hideous but surprisingly comfortable eight-passenger van onward down the increasingly desolate road to nowhere.

Mmm, waffles…

Damian lets out a derisive snort from the passenger seat. He is apparently deriving enjoyment from Stephanie being shot down despite the fact that he’s definitely no more excited to be going on this trip than the rest of them and is in no hurry to reach their final destination.

Dick waits hopefully, but nothing else happens to relieve the boredom of the long drive.

Too bad Bruce has the best combination of blackmail and bribery that money and intrusive spying techniques can provide. I don’t think anyone managed to put up much of a fight in the end. Still can’t quite wrap my brain around how the heck he thinks a family bonding camping trip is going to end in anything other than disaster and ruin. He must really care about this, though, or he wouldn’t have left Gotham in Clark’s hands while we’re away. Oh well—at least there’ll be s’mores!

He grins at the thought and then sighs, shifting in his seat and wiggling to try to find a more comfortable position. Babs looks up at his movement and lifts a brow at him, then shakes her head with a fond smirk before returning to her book. He shrugs unrepentantly.

There’s no way anyone who knows me would expect me to be okay with sitting still for this long. He shifts again, grimacing. He blames Bruce for this. It was his crazy idea that packing them all into an enclosed space and driving to the campground is for some inexplicable and probably wrong reason preferable to just flying there. His frown deepens as a disturbing thought finally percolates through his physical discomfort and boredom.

Wait, why did Steph’s voice sound like she was right behind me? She was in the back with Jay last I checked…

Dick twists in his seat to look and does a doubletake at the sight of Steph curled comfortably in the bucket seat behind him listening to music, Cass sleeping peacefully in the seat across from her. “Wait, where are Tim and Jason? When did you and Tim even switch seats?”

Steph snorts, pulling out an earbud. “Like thirty minutes ago. Are you sure you’re a detective?”

“While the van was moving?” he asks, frowning.

Now that’s just not safe.

“No, dummy, at the last rest stop!”

“Why would you do that?!” He can’t believe she doesn’t understand the magnitude of what she has unleashed. Tim and Jason alone together in the back of the van is not a good idea. Ugh, at least the seats are leather and thus easy to clean. And there haven’t been any sounds yet, so maybe the pair decided to behave for once?

Steph shrugs unrepentantly. “Tim promised to build me some snazzy upgrades for my bike. It was a no brainer.” Her brows furrow slightly as she takes in his horrified expression. She sits up a bit straighter, concerned. “Why are you acting like this is so terrible?”

She starts to automatically turn to look over her shoulder at the final row of seats. Dick lunges around his seatback to stop her, ignoring Babs’ smothered laughter as he clutches the sides of her head in his hands. He stares into her startled blue eyes and whispers urgently, “Don’t look! You’ll never be able to un-see it!” He knows. He remembers.

Dear god, I hope Tim and Jason get over the honeymoon period soon. I’ve already stumbled across them getting down and dirty on a rooftop on patrol, in the garage on Jason’s bike, even against the freaking wall of Tim’s apartment building! The privacy of the apartment was right freaking there and yet they chose PDA anyway.

The worst part is the boys have only been together for a month. Who knows how much more ever-escalatingly horrific acts of indecent exposure they’ll manage to devise with practice?

Out of reach and therefore beyond his ability to save, Cass stirs, apparently awakened by their not-very-hushed argument. She blinks, then turns to look at the back row of seats he has been carefully avoiding with his eyes. She shakes her head, frowning remonstratively. “Seatbelts,” she instructs the almost certainly misbehaving pair.

A moment later, Jason and Tim’s flushed faces appear over the seatbacks as they stop doing whatever they were up to back there and sit up. Neither looks the least bit repentant. Their tousled hair and swollen lips give Dick a distressingly clear idea what they’ve been doing all this time.

He squints as he takes in their appearance, wondering if he can possibly convince himself that those dark bruises starting to show up on Tim’s neck are anything other than the hickeys they so obviously are.

Yeah, nope. Why oh why Steph, even free upgrades aren’t worth this, he wails internally as he’s forced once more to confront the fact that his little brothers are getting more action than he is these days. And with each other, because of course they are. If he didn’t know how crazy they are about one another, he’d almost think they planned their entire relationship on purpose specifically to cause him mental distress.

Little brothers shouldn’t have sex. They should stay small and cute and virginal forever! And if they do date, it definitely shouldn’t be each other! I mean, how am I supposed to deliver effective shovel talks when I love and want to protect them both equally?

Smugly, Jason pulls Tim back to nestle against his chest and tugs a blanket up over them. He smirks evilly and Dick quails.

“Hands above the blanket,” Bruce intones from the front of the van, causing everyone to jump in startled dismay. After a moment of continued silence, they all settle back into their various attitudes of uncomfortable boredom. The rebellious pair in the back are apparently suitably chastened and, mercifully, are not currently engaging in any visible gratuitous touching.

Listlessly, Dick turns back around and looks out the window for what feels like an interminable length of time. When he looks hopefully at the clock, it turns out only a minute has passed. He squirms again, bounces his foot, and then pulls out some quarters to juggle until one accidentally flies into the front of the van and Bruce confiscates them all in retaliation.

He heaves a big sigh, unaware he’s tapping his fingers on the armrest right up to when Babs reaches across and gently still his hand. Whispers and muffled giggles rise up from the back of the van at that moment, along with what sounds horribly like a choked off moan.

Oh god, this is going to be a long drive.

“Um, B… This doesn’t look like an official campground.” Dick’s expression grows ever more doubtful and concerned as he spins in place after practically cartwheeling out of the vehicle. He is clearly ecstatic at finally being released from the enforced stillness required by safety restraints.

The warm breeze whispers serenely through the tall pines surrounding the small clearing Bruce has chosen at the end of the rugged dirt track they spent the past hour bouncing over after leaving the main road. A babbling stream flows merrily through the wildflower-strewn meadow amidst the sound of birds chirping and twittering beneath a clear blue sky. There isn’t a single mark of civilization in sight.

It’s beautiful.

His city-bred children are huddled together and staring around mistrustfully as though in expectation of imminent attack. He sighs.

“We don’t need an official campground. We should be capable of survival under any possible conditions we might encounter. Additionally, the privacy gained by avoiding regulated campgrounds will afford us excellent opportunities to engage in the various training and bonding exercises I have planned for this retreat.”

At the dubious expressions on his children’s faces, he experiences a momentary strengthening of the doubt which has been growing in the back of his mind ever since hour two of the drive when he had to pull over to physically separate Tim and Jason in the back of the van.

It had only grown as he was then forced to deal with his second son complaining, putting his feet up on the dash, and trying to surreptitiously smoke cigarettes out the window while his two youngest squabbled and snarled in the back for the remainder of the journey. It had not helped in the slightest that the four in the middle of the van for some godforsaken reason decided a small, enclosed space constituted ideal conditions for painting each other’s nails. Although his daughter’s black nails do look very fetching, as do his surrogate daughters’ eggplant and burgundy, respectively, and his eldest son’s bright blue with sparkles.

He could do without the headache from the fumes, though.

“Fuck, this is gonna be even worse than I thought.” Jason’s words echo his thoughts closely enough he pauses momentarily before shaking it off. He’s Batman. He’s got this.

As he faces his mutinous daughters over the partially assembled tent a few minutes later, Bruce wonders if he does, in actual fact, have this. A frown gathers at his brow as he attempts to reason with the girls while his sons bicker good-naturedly in the background, setting up the camp tables and stoves. “I bought the eight-man tent because it is exactly large enough to accommodate all of us. There is no need for you to have a separate tent. In fact, such an arrangement would detract from the environment of close cooperation and teamwork this trip is intended to foster.”

Babs raises a single unimpressed eyebrow at him from her rugged all-terrain wheelchair, then directs a speaking gaze over to Steph and Cass. Both girls immediately nod, with ominously determined expressions on their faces. “And I suppose the fact that we’re all on our periods won’t change your mind?” Her face slowly stretches into the smirk of a woman who knows she’s already won.

Bruce fails to react, momentarily stunned into silence as awkward embarrassment fills his brain like white noise.

Cass nods seriously. “Synchronized,” she says earnestly. Bruce’s right eye twitches in horror.

“Damn, I think I need to go change my tampon—” Steph shifts her hips, uncomfortable body language at odds with the enormous, evil grin on her face.

Bruce folds like cheap suit, cutting her off before she can continue uttering whatever terrible, discomfiting words she was about to say next. “Fine.”

They all smile up at him sweetly and move to begin assembling the smaller tent Babs apparently managed to sneak into the back of the van during packing. He shakes his head, slowly relaxing as he considers the situation logically.

I can always enforce togetherness during the day, he reasons. Allowing the girls a separate tent is only a minor concession and will not detract measurably from the overall bonding experience. And now that we have achieved a compromise on that issue, everything else should progress more easily from here on out.

“Father, where is the restroom? I have need of the facilities.” Damian looks expectantly up at Bruce, who feels vaguely guilty as he awkwardly hands his betrayed-looking thirteen year-old a shovel with a roll of toilet paper jammed onto the end of the handle.

Perhaps I miscalculated, he thinks as he takes in his youngest’s sheer unadulterated horror and repugnance at the suggestion implied by the shovel.

The boy stares at the offering like it's a bomb, then spins on his heel and strides away. “I will hold it,” he mutters as Bruce slowly lowers the rejected shovel to the ground, feeling oddly defeated.

“Wait. For three days?! Dami, that’s unhealthy!” Dick pursues his haughty little brother, trying to cajole him into enduring the indignity of defecating in the wilderness for the sake of his health. Bruce feels a surge of gratitude for his eldest son, who is always looking after his younger siblings. “Little D, look, I’ll use the Shovel of Shame first if you want! C’mon!”

Damian’s derisive snort is loud enough to carry across the entire clearing and Bruce experiences a brief, irrational worry the child will give himself a nosebleed.

Dick never has been able to resist giving terrible nicknames to all and sundry, consequences be damned… At least he didn’t call it the Bat Shovel.

“Wait, there’s no running water? How are we supposed to shower?” Stephanie looks appalled as her bright blonde head whips around from where she and Cass just finished assembling their tent. He can see Babs inside, pausing in the act of setting up sleeping bags to slowly pivot her head and regard him dangerously.

With a gathering sense of doom, he answers staunchly. “We will bathe in the stream.”

“Uh, what? It’s ice cold!” The young woman waves her arms in the air to emphasize how very much she did not sign up for this. Not that any of them did. Admittedly, he manipulated, coaxed, and in several cases outright bribed his various children to accompany him on this bonding exercise.

It will be worth it, he tells himself sternly.

“Not to mention it’s what, six inches deep and mostly mud? That… seriously seems like an exercise in futility.” Babs pops her head out of the tent door so she can cross her arms over her chest while providing him with a direct view of her most judging stare.

“Leeches,” Cass contributes helpfully as Steph blanches in disgust, inhaling in preparation to let loose a stream of invective at him.

“Thanks B,” Jason interrupts loudly as he appears out of nowhere to swipe the shovel from Bruce’s loose grip. “Gotta take a huge dump, gonna be a while.” He grins, looking off to the side where Damian is still standing flushed with embarrassment, arms folded tightly across his chest. “Gonna use the Shovel of Shame and answer the call of the wild, if ya know what I mean.” He gives an exaggerated wink at his visibly disgusted younger brother.

Dick grins. “See, Dami? Jason’s using it! There’s nothing wrong with pooping in the woods!” He gives Jason an enthusiastic thumbs up for his attempt to demonstrate to the surprisingly shy child that bodily functions are a fact of life and nothing of which to be ashamed. “Just wait and see—everyone will use it by the end of this trip!”

Bruce feels a moment of pride for his second son being a good example to his younger brothers. Jason of course immediately corrects this state of affairs by behaving outrageously.

“Buddy system, right?” Without waiting for an answer, he waggles his eyebrows and leers as he drapes an arm over Tim's shoulders and then begins tugging the smaller boy toward the woods. Bruce closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose, headache intensifying.

“No, Jason, the buddy system has not been implemented for bathroom breaks.” He does not understand why there is apparently a need to say this.

“Oh, it’s cool B, Timmy’s gotta pinch a loaf too!”

Why are they like this?

He looks up just as a blushing, clearly lying Tim slowly gives a reluctant nod, cheeks scarlet with embarrassment. “Um, yeah—I, uh, gotta…” The teen pauses, floundering, then flushes even more as Jason leans down to whisper in his ear. “…Download some brownware?!” he squeaks, spinning to stare up at the grinning taller boy. “Oh my god,” he whispers, ducking his head and starting off into the woods, pursued by his laughing boyfriend who is still carrying the newly dubbed Shovel of Shame. “Oh my god, Jason you are the actual worst.”

It will be worth it, he repeats to himself as he turns to try to soothe his various unhappy children while his middle boys disappear into the forest, most likely to discover that assignations in the woods against rocks and trees are significantly less fun than they might expect.

A momentary unease ripples through him as he regards the quiet, still forest, but he quickly dismisses it. Shadows and odd noises are normal in the wilderness. His ears are attuned to city life and will take some time to adjust. Still, he could have sworn he saw something…

He shakes his head and returns to his previous contemplations. Bark will likely be found in some very unusual places tonight. At least the elevation is too high for poison ivy to be a concern.

Thank heaven for small mercies. Why did I ever decide to have children again?

But then Cass is there at his elbow, smiling up at him so sweetly he can’t help but respond in kind.

Well, they do have their moments.

Chapter Text

“Why are there three camp stoves?” Steph tilts her head as she takes in the setup. A couple of folding tables have been placed a safe distance from the tents. One has a propane camp stove perched on either end and the other boasts a single stove. Both are surrounded by folding chairs and various sealed bins and coolers.

Man, how the hell did B manage to fit all of this crap in that van? He must’ve had Alfred help pack. That man’s a genius, and possibly magic.

“Part of the planned team bonding involves forming cook groups to prepare meals together. We will divide ourselves into three teams to prepare each meal. Team composition may vary from meal to meal.”

Yeah, nope.

“I call Babs and Cass!” she yells, not about to get stuck on a team with anyone who has in the past proven capable of burning water.

“Seconded!” Babs contributes with a laugh.

“Third,” agrees Cass.

Bruce visibly gives up before immediately moving on to the next topic in the mental checklist he probably has prepared, the big uptight weirdo. “There is sufficient time before sunset to conduct our first team bonding exercise prior to dinner. For this exercise, we will be forming a human knot.”

Oh my god, this sounds like a disaster in the making. I bet it’s going to be hilarious. I wonder if anyone thought to bring popcorn?

“Father, this is absurd!” Damian actually stamps his little foot in protest, because he’s an adorable prickly baby under all the scowls, pointy implements, and threats of grievous bodily harm.

Tim bites his lip with a mildly concerned expression. “Um, B, are you sure…?”

“I don’t want to hold hands with Tim or Jason. We all know what they’ve just been doing—” Dick begins, eyeing them where they stand close together. The pair are definitely wearing each other’s shirts, apparently having switched during their little sojourn in the woods with the Shovel of Shame.

Tim’s swimming in the gigantic borrowed shirt and Jason’s clearly close to bursting his at the seams with his overabundance of manly swole. They look at each other with matching evil smirks, sexual tension so thick she’s tempted to spray them both off with a hose. Except that would result in wet t-shirts, which absolutely would not be appropriate for whatever family-themed entertainment B has planned.

“Heh.” Tim’s blushing, but she knows he’s having the time of his life right now, and damn if that isn’t great to see.

Get it, Timmy, she cheers silently, inwardly so proud of him for finally going after what he wants. Took you guys long enough. If one of you hadn’t finally made a move, I was just about ready to shove your heads together and yell at you until you kissed.

Although she isn’t sure about the wisdom of the pair doing the do in the woods.

Damn, Tim, you’re gonna get bug bites in the most sensitive places and I’ll laugh and laugh. And then give you calamine lotion, because that’s what best friends are for.

“Aw, yeah!” Jason’s beaming with happiness as he looks at the slim man at his side. It goes a long way to settle her few remaining doubts about those two. It’s clear as day they’re both totally smitten and she’s over the moon for them. So of course, she immediately shows it in her own way.

“Gross, you guys! Get a tent!” She very maturely sticks out her tongue and then laughs as Tim rolls his eyes and blushes.

“Enough! Form a circle facing inward. Everyone, extend your left hand and take the hand of someone across the circle from you.” Bruce glares at them until they comply. “Now extend your right hand. Take the hand of someone else across the circle from you.”

They stand there staring at each other awkwardly, hands sweating in each other’s grasp as they wait for the big guy to continue his instructions and finish this childish farce. Steph realizes to her embarrassment that the huge, calloused paw that’s closed on her left hand totally belongs to B.

This is weird, she thinks, glancing up to meet Dick’s equally uncomfortable dark blue gaze. He gives her an encouraging little smile and she feels a reassuring squeeze on her right hand. Oh, I guess that one’s him. She smiles back, feeling a little better.

“Now we must use teamwork to unravel ourselves without letting go of anyone’s grip. In the end, we should form a circle again, this time connected by held hands. This exercise will test and ultimately improve our cooperation, problem-solving, and time management abilities as a team.”

Well, that seems reasonable and totally doable for a group with so many contortionists!

She grins as Dick immediately squirms and flips over Babs’ and Damian’s connected hands, slithers under Bruce’s other hand which turns out to be gripping onto Cass, and then somehow pretzels himself around Tim and Jason’s predictably clasped hands to land lightly on his feet beside Steph. Their right hands are now swinging free and clear of the knot.

“All right guys, let’s do it!” she says happily. She and the rest of the group begin to work on untangling themselves as Babs watches in amusement from her position seated on her wheelchair while they contort themselves around her. “We got this!”

They do not have this, as is made eminently clear when after an increasingly frustrating and occasionally painful twenty minutes of contorting, twisting, and one instance of opportunistic biting on Damian’s part they end up disentangling to find themselves bafflingly in two interconnected circles.

Bruce, Cass, Damian, Babs, Dick, and Steph herself all wait there panting for a few minutes, holding hands and silently glaring at Tim and Jason. Who are just chillin’, holding hands with each other, arms looped across Dick’s and Steph’s interconnected hands. Because of freaking course the two lovebirds somehow managed to find each other’s hands during the setup and did it in such a way that they formed their own tiny little circle hooked onto the main loop like a keychain.

“That… could have gone better,” Bruce says finally. He doesn’t release their hands and she experiences a sudden awful premonition about where this is going. “We should try that again.”

“I need to pee,” Steph blurts out, unwilling to subject herself to anymore togetherness and bonding right now. Not without a lot of popcorn and maybe some margaritas. She went snow camping once in high school and they totally made margaritas and stirred it with an icicle. It was awesome.

Somehow, I’m pretty sure B’s not planning anything that fun for this trip.

He narrows his eyes, tightening his iron grip on her hand. “You just went two hours ago at the last rest stop.” He stares at her, jaw firm.

Oh, it’s on.

She blinks up at him innocently. “Oh? So you’d rather I just change my tampon right here, right now?”

Muffled snorts and gasps sound from the others, but she doesn’t flinch or break eye contact.

Bruce’s eyes widen minutely, then sharpen into a steely glare. “You wouldn’t.”

“Um, B…” Tim says nervously as Steph puts on her try me grin. It definitely works to get her way more often than not. She’s been told it looks more than a little crazed, which might have something to do with the success rate.

“Just go,” Bruce mutters, releasing her hand and reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. He shakes his head, probably regretting all his life choices as Steph frolics off toward the woods and freedom, cackling.

“Wait!” Dick calls out, and she turns to find him extending the Shovel of Shame. “Take this! We need to show Little D that there’s no shame in having to poop in the woods!” Behind him, the poor kid facepalms in embarrassed dismay and she smiles, wide and predatory.

“Why of course! You know, I do need to take a load off come to think of it. Thanks for reminding me!” She’s laughing at the mortified expression on the boy’s face as she spins and walks off into the trees.

Oh my god, this is ridiculous! I wonder how long it’ll be before the brat snaps and either beans someone with the shovel or pops a squat right there in camp just to prove he can. Hmm, maybe we can get everyone to start with the ludicrous poop euphemisms…

She visualizes Bruce stalking away clutching the Shovel of Shame and her imagination balks. Yeah, that’s just too much.

In the background she hears the others dispersing to start dinner and talking about having a campfire later.

Yay! Bonding exercises done for the day, go me! She cheers internally, proud and pleased with having gotten one over on the Bat. Now to find a convenient stump and play on my phone for twenty minutes so it’s believable. That way I can totally use that excuse again whenever the bonding crap gets to be a little much.

She’s humming under her breath as she finds a comfy-looking stump and settles down to relax for a while. There’s a sudden chill and she shivers, wondering if a cloud just passed over the sun. Maybe that would explain why the birds all seem to have gone silent…

Ugh, nature. Whatever, time to take advantage of my sadly temporary freedom and check if there are any wild Pokémon around—ooh, a Venusaur! I guess this trip might not be a total wash.

As twilight falls, it closes in on the clearing, drawn by the scent of fresh, pumping blood and the delicious promise of warm, living flesh. Holding back has been so difficult, such a struggle to merely watch and wait for the cover of night, but it knows its patience will be well rewarded.

Humans are at their weakest during the dark hours, after all, and in the darkness lies its greatest strength.

So many appetizing morsels of humanity to choose from, each savory with the scent of bravery, seasoned with self-sacrifice. From its centuries of experience hunting and consuming humans, it knows the three larger males are most likely to attempt to fight upon being attacked. It needs to start with the more vulnerable members of the party, to fill the survivors with sorrow and terror so great they will be unable to fight back efficiently once their turn comes.

Only one, the youngest male, gives off the particularly delectable aroma of sexual innocence. Oddly, he also bears the faint, distant scent of long-ago spilled lifeblood. It inhales, pleased.

Delicious, it thinks greedily, wanting to eat that one first. The smallest female also bears a faint scent of spilled lifeblood, although it is so old as to be nearly undetectable. The only other member of the party who carries that scent is soaked in it, clearly having spilled the lifeblood of many. The scents are all well over a year old but still call to it. Delicious, delicious…! The jacket that one wears smells ambrosial, saturated with mouth-watering blood and imbued with the souls of the damned.

I want, I want, I’m so hungry—

But that one is mature, a large male, and therefore must be saved for later. All in good time. It soothes itself with the knowledge that it will have them all eventually.

The females and the smallest male will also make acceptable initial targets, should the lone innocent not wander into the woods alone at an opportune moment to be eaten.

It waits patiently until one of the females moves off on her own. Ah, yes, this is the best way. Pick them off one at a time, devour them, relish in their screams. Eat them, one after another, each tinged even more deliciously with fear than the last as the survivors slowly realize something has gone terribly wrong, far too late to do anything but whimper at their inevitable fate.

Perhaps they will try to run. It enjoys when the humans attempt to flee. Hope adds a particularly piquant spice to its meal.

Maybe one of these will finally be enough to fill the empty void within…

Hungry, it’s always so hungry!

It growls as it pounces, claws reaching to close around the girl—

Who delivers a stunningly powerful kick to its midsection, sending it flying back into the depths of the woods.

As it huddles in a stunned heap, it hears the human female screeching nonsensically as she stomps away. “I don’t care who that was, Dick or Jason, but you totally suck at sneaking up on people! I almost lost that Venusaur because of you. You’re lucky I wasn’t actually changing my tampon just now or I would’ve kicked you in the junk!”

Well, that was unexpected.

It has never experienced a response quite like that to its sudden attack. It blinks, then reorders the target list in its mind. The blonde female is clearly an unusually aggressive anomaly who should be hunted later, after the two youngest boys and other females but still prior to the three large males who pose the greatest threat of reprisal.

I will be able to easily overpower the female once I have the added strength of consuming four humans before her, added to the enervating effect of her paralyzing fear once she realizes her companions have been brutally slain.

And ah, such strength as hers will taste exquisite…

Damian stares in disgust at the reconstituted pap his father is unpacking from the large bin at the other end of the flimsy table.

Observing his stare, Father lifts a brow. “I brought sufficient quantities of dried backpacking food for everyone. Would you like to see the vegetarian options?”

I would rather gnaw bark than consume such revolting dross masquerading as fit for human consumption. Thank heavens Pennyworth knows of my particular tastes and warned me of this atrocity before assisting me with preparing a goodly assortment of more appropriate repasts.

He clears his throat. “That will not be necessary. I decided to bring my own supplies once Pennyworth informed me of your choice to limit selection to dried rations. He assisted me, of course.” And with that, he lifts out the cooler he had carefully hidden beneath one of the rear seats in the van and begins removing ingredients for a palatable and healthy tofu and cashew curry with vegetables.

Pennyworth had outdone himself, likely still chafing at Father’s decision to encourage the devoted elderly man to use this time apart from the family as a restful vacation. He had expressed his worry and love for his charges in the days prior to their departure by an unusual surfeit of baking which had also contributed handsomely to Damian’s food supplies.

Father blinks, looking mildly surprised as he slowly nods. “Very well, Damian.” He turns to offer what looks disgustingly like packets of dehydrated beef stroganoff to the girls, who cheerfully shoo him away from their table.

“We brought our own food too,” Gordon explains as she stirs a pan full of red sauce while Cain tips a double handful of expertly diced tomatoes and finely chopped garlic into the mix and Brown unceremoniously dumps a box of pasta into a pot of boiling water at their side. “I figured you would do something like this, so I planned ahead and recruited Steph and Cass to help.”

Grayson edges closer to the trio and is rebuffed by an inexplicably glaring Brown, whereupon he sidles up to Damian with a ridiculously hopeful look in his eyes. “Got enough to share, Little D?” His tone is absurdly wheedling for a man his age.

Damian scoffs, rolling his eyes, but hands his eldest brother a large spoon to stir the curry while he digs through his bag for the brown rice. “I suppose so.” Glancing around, he realizes their group appears to be missing a couple of members. “Wait… Where are Drake and Todd?”

After the errant pair have been dragged back to the camp, looking even more lamentably tousled and debauched than ever, they are suitably punished by being forced to consume Father’s appalling cooking.

Gordon snickers her amusement before rolling majestically through the camp and retrieving the insidious shovel. She winks at Damian as she wheels herself into the woods, Cain at her side. He blushes and looks away, fully aware they are making a production of their use of that thrice-bedamned shovel for his sake.

I can hold it. I have sufficient strength of will and body. I shall not have to do… that.

Shortly after the girls’ return to camp and Grayson’s departure, singing and waving the shovel about like a fool, Drake unearths a parcel of coffee from one of the food bins whilst in search of more palatable sustenance. Todd is forced to physically collar the smaller man in an attempt to drag him away from his prize.

“Not now, Baby Bird, ya gotta go to sleep in a couple hours,” the big man attempts to remonstrate with a hissing Drake as Brown struggles to extract the coffee bag from the fool’s clasped arms. Cain assists, slipping up behind to tickle him into submission. The group then dissolves into laughter, playfully tickling each other while participating in an impromptu game of keep-away with the coffee.

Damian watches their antics with mingled disbelief and unwillingly but fond amusement.

And I am to believe I am the child here?

He expects to go straight to bed once dinner has been cleaned up. It is thus a surprise to find Grayson catching his arm to tug him toward the center of the clearing after the last bin has been sealed and stored away safely in the van.

“Campfire, Dami!” The older man laughs happily as he pulls him down, scowling, to sit at his side on a smooth rock beside the firepit the others apparently prepared at some point. Todd and Drake’s faces as they light and build the fire are alarmingly manic with excitement, wide grins and sparkling eyes disturbingly illuminated by the flames beneath them.

“Pyros,” Brown whispers affectionately from across the fire, and he cannot find it within himself to disagree.

Gordon rolls up in her rugged all-terrain wheelchair and Cain perches on a stump. Father hovers awkwardly until Grayson grabs his hand and yanks him down to sit by his other side.

In the gathering darkness, the stars stand out in the sky like diamond points of light over the darkened clearing framed by the black silhouettes of the pines. The fire in their midst leaps and dances merrily like a living thing as though to hold the night at bay.

Damian finds himself wishing for his art supplies as his gaze travels across the faces of his companions, softened and warmed by the firelight. His hands are itching to draw and just sitting here doing nothing is making him uncomfortable. “Are we meant to merely sit here and stare at the act of combustion?” Everyone regards him with that look in their eyes they all get at times, when he unintentionally says something wrong in some way he does not understand.

It is far too close to pity, and he hates it.

But Grayson is bumping his shoulder while smiling softly down at him. “Sorry, Little D, I forget you haven’t really done things like campfires with friends before.” He fiddles with something at his side, then triumphantly produces what appears to be a large bag of oversized marshmallows, a package of chocolate, and a box of graham crackers.

“S’mores, hell yeah!” Brown calls out, practically climbing over Damian to retrieve a marshmallow. He fends off her encroaching elbow, growling a warning. Grayson jams a long metal implement into his hand and impales a marshmallow on the end. He stares at it for a long, confused moment before glancing up for guidance.

Drake laughs as he not unkindly takes another metal implement and a marshmallow of his own, then uses them to demonstrate how to properly roast it over the flames. “Don’t learn from Dick. He just catches his on fire and then devours the sad, charred remains,” he instructs.

“And what’s wrong with that?” Brown queries, already boisterously consuming her own charred ruin of a former marshmallow.

“So much,” Todd mutters, carefully rotating his marshmallow to a perfect state of golden brown beauty. “Like this, kid.” He presses the marshmallow into a sort of sandwich with a slab of rich chocolate enclosed by crunchy graham cracker halves and then hands it over to Damian, who eyes it with suspicion before taking a careful bite.

It’s sticky and crumbly and the molten marshmallow has partially melted the chocolate, which slides across his tongue and fills his mouth with sweetness and the bitter undertones of the fine imported chocolate Todd secretly adores.

It tastes heavenly.

When he looks up, everyone is watching him again. The expressions on their faces are different this time, fond and embarrassingly loving enough he is forced to duck his head to hide his reaction.

Flushing, he takes another bite of his graham cracker, chocolate, and roasted marshmallow sandwich. He fails to suppress his smile as Grayson rests an arm on his shoulder and Gordon begins to tell a ridiculously false tale involving monsters and a group of unfortunate campers not dissimilar to themselves.

Drake and Brown immediately vie to top it with their own ludicrous ghost stories, and Todd of course takes it to the next level with a gruesome rendition of serial killings at an isolated campsite deep in the woods. His story, troublingly, is far more detailed and realistic than the others. No one comments to voice any suspicions, perhaps so as not to disturb the strangely companionable peace which has settled over the group.

A shiver passes over Damian’s flesh at the climax of the tale as for a moment he imagines he hears something rustling in the nearby woods and feels the sensation of being watched. Of course, he immediately dismisses it as childish suggestion.

I am no mere child to be frightened by foolish campfire tales.

Father watches it all, a faint smile hovering in the corners of his mouth, and Grayson grins as he hands Damian another marshmallow to roast.

…But perhaps campfires are not such a nonsensical waste of time after all.

Chapter Text

Tim finishes brushing his teeth and heads into the tent, already giddy with anticipation as he unrolls his sleeping bag on the self-inflating air mattress he brought. Double-wide and extra-long, to provide maximum comfort for couples. Well, and because Jason’s just so freaking tall.

Not that I’m complaining, I love how big Jason is. God, I can’t wait to be in his arms all night. We’ve earned it after enduring all this. Tonight is going to be great, he thinks, right before instinctively ducking just in time to avoid Dick’s elbow. The taller man hops past on one foot, heart-studded boxers on display as he changes into his embarrassing Justice League-themed pajamas. He goes down a moment later with a muffled thud when Damian puts out a foot to trip him in a failed attempt to stop him from stepping on the boy’s sleeping bag.

There really isn’t much room in this tent.

Dick collapses across his youngest brother, sleeping bag and all, half-dressed and groaning in pain. “Dami, why…?” The boy responds by shoving him off, rolling him to the side where he finally settles on top of his own sleeping bag between his little brothers.

Tim sighs and tempers his enthusiasm. Well, okay. Tonight is going to be as great as possible, given the circumstances… which are kind of abysmal.

Seriously, their air mattresses are all touching. Just his and Jason’s full along with Dick and Damian’s singles completely fill the tent from wall to wall with barely enough space at the feet for Bruce to set his up lengthwise in front of the door.

How the heck was B planning to fit the girls in here too? I’m so glad they managed to escape, for all our sakes, or we would’ve been packed in here like sardines.

At that moment Jason ducks into the tent, a predatory grin lighting his handsome face as he catches sight of Tim. “Hey there, Baby,” he whispers, kneeling on the mattress beside Tim. “Any chance you know where my sleeping bag is? I couldn’t find it in the van.” At his revealing blush, his boyfriend raises an eyebrow and then begins to smirk. “Oh, Baby Bird… Don’t tell me you forgot my sleepin’ bag. Have you been bad?” The big man leans a little closer to him to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, then nibbles along his jaw and murmurs, “Guess we’ll just hafta bite the bullet and share… Such a damn shame.”

Oh my god, yes…!

“Oh my god,” Dick whimpers from right beside them. “No.”

Damian sits up, peering at them beadily over the limp, stricken form of their eldest brother. “Are you implying the two of you intend to share a sleeping bag? Whilst in the same tent as the rest of us? Unacceptable!” His customary glare is way less threatening than usual when paired with the adorable kitty pajamas Dick gave him for his birthday last year.

Jason shrugs and gives the least convincing apology ever. “Yeah, whoops. Guess we forgot the other sleepin’ bag. So sorry. You assholes are just lucky I’m not stripping down to sleep like I do at home.” He takes Tim in his arms and whispers in his ear, “Gonna love havin’ you in my arms all night, Baby.”

A delicious shiver passes through his body at the words and the feel of his boyfriend’s hot, thick, solid body against him. Yes, yes, yes!

“No.”

At the growled word, everyone turns to face the tent opening. Bruce is there, crouching in his silk pajamas and glaring at Jason’s hand which, Tim blushes to note, has apparently wandered down to cup his ass at some point.

Whoops. He gently relocates the hand to his waist, hoping the Batglare will now subside.

It does not.

“Tim and Jason will not be sharing a bed tonight. If you boys forgot one of your sleeping bags, it makes the most sense for the two smallest members of the group to share.”

Oh god. He can’t possibly mean—

“Damian, you will share with Tim.”

What the hell, B? You’ve got to know that isn’t going to work!

It really doesn’t work. One painful, chaotic hour later, a grumpy Bruce grudgingly allows Tim to return to Jason’s side after his minor scratches, bruises, and bite mark have all been inspected and treated. Fortunately, the bite did not break skin. The fact that it didn’t means it was probably more of a warning nip than anything serious, because they’ve all seen what those little fangs can do when the brat means it.

Dick’s shaking his head as he finishes checking Damian’s wrist after wrapping the boy’s ankle and fussing over the tiny patch of missing hair the glaring demon child now sports on the back of his head.

It isn't that Tim hates Damian. He knows perfectly well they’d both take a bullet for the other in a heartbeat. Hell, they literally have, and more than once.

No, it’s just that their particular brand of fraternal affection is expressed most of the time through petty squabbles, minor physical altercations, and an occasional brutal team up to destroy their mutual enemies before turning on each other once more.

Sharing a sleeping bag is simply not part of their standard operating parameters.

“Ya gotta admit that was a shit idea, Old Man,” Jason rumbles as he draws Tim gently into the sleeping bag with him. They finally settle together into comparative cuddling bliss.

Except.

“Timmy, quit fuckin’ moving, the goddamn air mattress squeaks every damn time and you’re keepin’ me awake!”

“Well I’m sorry, but it’s impossible to get comfortable!” He squirms again, stymied in his escape attempt by his boyfriend’s gigantic arm wrapping around his waist and trapping him against that huge, muscular, way the hell too warm body.

“Why the fuck not?” His voice sounds so sleepy Tim almost has pity on him. Almost.

“Jay, you’re too hot.” Not something I ever thought I’d have to say. I mean, he’s always been smokin’, but this is ridiculous!

“I didn’t hear you complaining back home.” And yes, that is definitely an amused smile he hears in the deep voice as the taller man presses a soft kiss to his temple. He sighs, enjoying it but also deeply, deeply wishing he could roll away a little and get some air.

“I didn’t have Dick sandwiched up behind me at home. Now move your ass over!”

“Wha? ‘M sorry, you guys all know I’m a cuddler,” Dick mutters from where he’s practically spooning him through their sleeping bags, adding approximately three hundred percent more body heat to his trapped body. Jason helpfully reaches over Tim and pushes hard on the half-asleep lump of acrobat, causing him to roll away and reflexively curl around a snarling, protesting Damian.

“That better, Baby?” And he sounds so hopeful as he nestles Tim closer in his arms that the younger man relents.

“Yeah, it’s fine.” Actually, as the cool night air descends on his now-exposed back, he finds that he appreciates Jason’s space-heater characteristics much more. He cuddles in again, rests his head on his boyfriend’s chest, and sighs happily.

There we go.

“Great, now shut the fuck up!” Steph’s voice sounds as loud as if she were in the tent with them and he jumps guiltily.

“Sorry, Steph!”

“I know you are, now go the fuck to sleep,” she returns grumpily, and he snickers before subsiding into silence.

A few blissful minutes pass before Damian sits bolt upright, declaring, “I cannot stand this any longer. Father, unzip the door and allow some airflow! Grayson’s inhuman body heat and your collective stench is keeping me from my rest.”

“Hey, you know we couldn’t shower today, and that was a long car drive.” Dick’s voice sounds slightly hurt.

“No opening the tent until morning. This is part of the team bonding exercises. We must be able to spend extended periods of time in each other’s presence without complaint or diversion.” Tim’s pretty sure that’s a trace of amusement he hears in Bruce’s voice.

He’s enjoying this, isn’t he?

After a moment of silence, Damian lets out an angry, offended huff. “My knives are missing!”

Oh, good idea, brat, but I’m pretty sure clawing a hole in the tent wall to escape would just result in B chasing you down. He’d then bring you back, duct tape the hole shut again, and subsequently force you to sleep in the middle to prevent further jailbreak attempts.

“I confiscated all sharp objects to avoid anyone attempting to slice the tent seams and sneak out.” Bruce sounds entirely unapologetic because he’s clearly a legitimately terrible person.

The sound of the girls laughing at them only underlines the awful, overheated and stuffy situation in which they are trapped.

At least it probably can’t get any worse, Tim thinks, and then immediately regrets it as a wave of gaseous hate wafts through the tent, surrounding him and causing his throat to close up with the sheer malodorous, inhuman stench. He clutches at his neck, coughing as tears flood his eyes.

“Oh my fuckin’ god, who the fuck just farted?” Jason’s sitting up now, covering his mouth and gagging as he looks around in wild accusation.

“Haha Jay, good one—wait—ew, ugh, oh god you were serious!” Dick’s got his hands over his mouth and nose, but it doesn’t seem to be helping.

“Holy shit that’s got some rank to it,” Jason manages to gasp out between gags. “Damn, I don’t even care who dealt it, at this point I’m just fuckin’ concerned about your goddamn health ‘cause that smell ain’t right.” He hacks for a minute before regaining the ability to speak, wheezing, “Fuck, dude, what the hell crawled up your ass and died? Jesus, get the hell outta this tent and grab the Shame Shovel and go take care o’ that. Christ.”

Damian’s scrambling back against the far wall of the tent, staring from one to the other of them, wide-eyed. “Quickly, Father! Unzip the door that we may escape before the miasma reaches us as well!”

“No. We must be able to endure severe tribulations in our work. This should not constitute a challenge.” There’s a smirk in B’s voice. He is definitely enjoying this. A terrible suspicion begins to form in Tim’s mind.

“Oh god, I can taste it,” Dick whimpers, gagging.

Jason’s choking. “Fuck, I think I’m about to die again.”

“Cease exaggerating, Todd, and help me rip these seams with your brute peasant strength!”

“Yeah, okay.” He moves to go help Damian tear open the window before Bruce stops them with a gesture.

“I will be back in a few minutes. Do not leave the tent while I am gone.” With that, the big man unzips the door and steps out with as much dignity as he can muster under the circumstances, allowing a current of blessedly fresh, cool air to fill the tent. As he rezips it, they all have a clear view of him in the moonlight, striding away and carrying the Shovel of Shame stiffly at his side.

“Holy literal shit, Batman,” Dick whispers. “I guess B was the culprit all along.”

“Damn. Fuck, the old man needs more fiber or somethin’, cause that smell was fuckin’ straight up wrong.”

“Gross.” Tim stifles a giggle in Jason’s chest and they settle back down as Damian unzips the window in the door to allow for some more airflow.

“Disgusting, Todd. I would advise you to have some sense of decorum, but I know you would merely take that as a challenge to sink to even crasser levels than is your natural wont.”

“Hell yeah I would.” Jason laughs for a while and then subsides, stroking Tim’s sides and pressing soft kisses to his throat until he’s blissed out and relaxed, right on the verge of sleep once more.

The door unzips again and Bruce’s bulk pauses, silhouetted in the doorway. “Do you boys have anything scented in the tent? Food, toiletries?”

Dick jerks upright with an endearing snuffle. “Hmmph? No? We left all that stuff in the van, like you said earlier.”

The tall man looks from one to the other of them, waiting for each to nod. Finally satisfied, he sighs. “Good. I… saw a bear in the woods just now.”

Tim’s brow furrows as he sits up, wondering muzzily where the first aid kits are while simultaneously glancing over the man before him in search of any potential injuries. “You okay, B?”

Bruce stills him with a hand on the sleeping bag over his ankle and shakes his head to quell Dick, who is on the verge of clambering out of his sleeping bag to assist if needed. Damian’s sitting up now too, directing wide, worried eyes at his father. “It was dark, but I could see the beast was at least seven feet tall on its hind legs. It did not attempt to approach me, so I was unable to get a better look at it, but we will need to practice extra precautions, particularly with regard to our food storage.”

He’s barely finished talking when screams arise from very close by. They all immediately pile out of the tent, ready to respond to the threat.

Shit! He didn’t check to see if the girls had scented products in their tent—

The boys circle the shaking smaller tent, automatically falling into battle positions beside and slightly behind Bruce. The big man is already reaching for the zipper, Shovel of Shame gripped in his free hand like a very blunt, toilet paper-laden spear. “Girls! Report!”

At that moment the zipper jerks open and Steph tumbles out of the tent, followed closely by a dark, furry ball of… something. As she crashes into Tim and clutches painfully at his arm, still squealing, the thing chitters at them and then scurries away into the bushes.

“What,” he says flatly, “the fuck.”

Babs’ head pops into the tent opening where it quickly becomes obvious she’s laughing so hard she can’t talk. “Raccoon,” she finally manages. “Steph’s backpack—” Cass appears behind her, silently holding out what looks like a daypack with a hole gnawed through the bottom in one hand and a distinctly nibbled-upon scented deodorant in the other.

Steph’s still gasping at his side. “A freaking raccoon was apparently so interested in chowing down on my damn deodorant that it gnawed its way into our tent, chewed through my damn backpack, and then started eating my freaking deodorant!”

Babs is still laughing uncontrollably, tears of mirth streaming down her cheeks.

“I woke up and the little fucker was right there next to my pillow, chittering and hissing like a goddamn horror movie!”

Well, that totally explains the screams. At least it wasn’t the bear.

“Check again for scented items. There is a bear in the vicinity.” Bruce superintends over the removal of any further accidental bear-bait and then helps patch up the girls’ tent. Meanwhile, the rest of them drift back to bed now that the excitement seems to be over.

“Gotta go take care of business, be right back,” Jason whispers, dropping a kiss on Tim’s cheek as he rescues the Shovel of Shame from where Bruce left it outside the tent.

He bites his lip, wondering if maybe they really should institute the buddy policy for going to relieve themselves. “Jay, if there’s a bear out there…”

His boyfriend grins, taking him in his big warm arms for a thorough, reassuring kiss. “No worries, Baby. I’ll be careful. Can always fend ‘em off with the business end of the shovel if it comes down to it.”

I guess I have to be content with that. Not like I really want to be right there while Jason answers a call of nature, anyway… I love the guy, but I’m not sure if the romance in our relationship would survive that level of togetherness.

He regrets that decision when Jason shows up again in the tent ten minutes later, climbing none too carefully over Bruce as he enters. The tall young man is breathing hard and sounds a little shaken as he tells them about his own surprise encounter with the bear.

“Jason! Oh my god, are you hurt?” Tim’s out of the sleeping bag instantaneously, crawling over to pat his boyfriend’s chest and physically reassure himself the other’s alright.

“I’m fine, Baby Bird. Bear might not be, though.”

Damian’s head snaps up at that and he glares balefully at them like the vindictive little demon he is. “Todd,” he says dangerously, “have you harmed an innocent wild bear, seeking merely to increase its fat stores by consuming as many calories as possible prior to the onset of winter’s bitter cold?”

“What the fuck, you little shit, I’m not appropriate calories for the damn bear to consume! I fought the big bastard off with the Shovel of Shit, an’ I ain’t sorry! That big fucker took off with my favorite jacket!”

The conversation devolves from there and only ends when Bruce threatens to fill the tent with his deadly miasma again if they don’t quiet down. Tim’s growing suspicion that the man actually intentionally consumed something to cause that particular eldritch stench strengthens. It would be just like the Bat to carefully plan and deploy such a weapon to utilize against his progeny.

Well played, B. Well played.

It staggers deeper into the woods, hissing as the movement jars its injuries. It should have waited longer, stayed back to watch and observe as it had earlier in the night when the largest male entered the woods alone.

It should not have attempted to attack the second largest male. It knew that, and yet… It clutches the blood-infused leather jacket and buries its face, breathing deeply the fine, delicately enticing aroma of damned souls. That one was simply too delicious to resist.

Well, it made a mistake and is now paying the price. It glances down at the deep slices in its chest and throat. It had not considered the defensive potential of the tool the humans have been using to bury their bodily excretions. It will know better next time, of course.

But for the time being… Healing these injuries at its current energy level will put it at grave risk, a level of weakness nearly unparalleled by anything in its long existence.

The energy cost will leave it truly vulnerable in a way it has never been before. Even a simple mundane blade might be capable of putting an end to its life in such a weakened state until it is able to feed and replenish its reserves.

Fortunate, then, that there are so many tasty, succulent and energy-filled snacks just waiting to be consumed. It heard the humans nattering amongst themselves. They will be here for several days, so it will have plenty of time to pick them off. And it will take care to adhere to its original plan this time and target the smallest, weakest members of the party first.

Preferably the youngest male with his uniquely tempting scent of comingled innocence and long-ago spilled life’s blood.

Yes… That is the one I will hunt next. He will fall, and then I shall feast.

It settles into an acceptably dark crevice where long ago a rockfall created a cave ever-shrouded in gloom, and sets itself to heal.

Before long, it will be time to harvest the great bounty at hand.

…Soon.

Chapter Text

Jason stumbles out of the tent, blinking at the assault of sunlight and fresh air on his city-boy senses. He immediately zeroes in on the youngest bat, who is using a spatula to sullenly push something around in a sizzling pan. It smells okay, but… This is the brat, after all. His tastes don’t tend toward what the others would usually consider food. He eyes the pan suspiciously. “The fuck's that?”

Tim glances up at them briefly and then slouches back to continue staring, zombie-like, at a boiling pot of… something… on the other burner which smells kinda like coffee but most resembles churning mud.

Damian follows Jason’s dubious gaze and scoffs. “Father claims that will somehow become something he calls cowboy coffee, but I have my doubts as to its ultimate suitability for human consumption.” The kid’s right. That shit seems more likely to develop sentience and walk away than wind up as anything other than toxic sludge.

The worst part is, they all know Timmy will definitely down it anyway.

He’s such a cute little coffee monster. Jason has to suppress a grin at the thought. Fuck, I got it bad… Whatever, I’m allowed to be soft on my own damn boyfriend.

The whole relationship thing between them is still new enough that the thought fills him with an embarrassing amount of happiness.

Meanwhile, the coffee monster in question blinks and then answers his original question as it apparently finishes processing through his pre-coffee brain. “Damian's eating Satan,” he says tonelessly, like that pronouncement isn’t fuckin’ disturbing as all hell.

Jason whistles, raising a brow.

“Damn, brat, I know we fuckin’ call you a demon but this seems like a bit much, y’know?”

The kid narrows his eyes and directs a scorching glare at both of them. “It is pronounced seitan, imbeciles, and constitutes a far superior source of protein than any of the torn, bleeding, rent flesh from tortured and helpless creatures you barbarians choose to consume—”

“Jesus Christ, get back in your fuckin’ cage, kiddo. I was just yankin’ your chain.”

Jason glances around, considering his options. The girls must’ve gotten up early, because they’re all sitting around their stove, laughing and eating what looks like healthy oatmeal generously laden with mixed nuts and raisins. His stomach growls eagerly, but when he takes a step in that direction Babs tilts the pot his way to show its empty state, sending him a shrug and a smile.

Wincing, he looks the other way. Whatever that Satan shit is, it definitely smells way the hell better than the unappetizing mess of reconstituted crap Bruce is struggling with on the third camp stove at the other end of the table. Dick’s peering over the man’s shoulder and providing various less than helpful suggestions. It looks as though neither knew to use any oil or butter and everything’s sticking badly to the pan.

I’m surprised B managed to cook anything without burning it, actually.

Even as the thought passes through his mind, smoke begins to rise ominously from the beleaguered camp stove, along with the sound of B cursing.

Yeah, okay. Satan it is!

“Thanks for the grub, brat,” Jason holds out three paper plates while giving the boy his best attempt at a winning grin.

He gets an unimpressed stare in return, followed by a very put-upon sigh. “Very well. But the two of you must do the dishes,” the kid bargains. “…And refrain from mauling each other in my sight today.”

Damn, hard bargain. He looks over at the other stove again. Bruce is now vigorously scraping the remains of… whatever… from the pan onto a couple of paper plates while Dick looks on in trepidation, face slightly green.

He looks back at their end of the table to see Damian carefully adding portions of finely chopped fruit salad to each plate. Then the kid pulls out a bag of what looks and smells promisingly like some of Alfie’s blueberry muffins to distribute amongst the three of them.

Oh fuck yeah, Alfred-muffins for the win.

“Yep, sounds good!” He sits Tim down at the camp table and sets him up with a plate of Satan in front of him before doing his best to strain some of the cowboy coffee crap through a napkin for the insatiable, coffee-loving little scamp.

It’s fuckin’ gross to even look at, let alone imagine drinking. He and Damian share a stare of perfect understanding and horror as the slim, half-asleep young man immediately gulps down most of the cup, sighing happily afterward.

Shaking his head, Jason takes his first cautious bite of Satan. “Mmm, not fuckin’ bad!”

“How could you even suggest such an inhumane activity, Father? Fish may be dumb beasts, but they experience pain and suffering! We who have no need of their bodies for sustenance have no right to subject them to such agony for mere sport!” Damian’s voice rises, his agitation apparent in both speech and physical gesture.

Cass watches with interest as Bruce’s body language quickly runs through a gamut of emotions, from surprise to annoyance to understanding before settling on a complex mixture of sorrow, regret, love, and pride. “Fine,” he says, expressing verbally exactly none of those feelings to the boy who now turns away, arms folded across his chest projecting defiance even as the rest of his body cries out for his father’s approval and love, blind to the truth.

She walks over and kisses him on the forehead, earning a tiny smile before tucking herself into their father’s side, enjoying his momentary shock followed by an upwelling of deep happiness. Satisfaction and contentment color his movements as he carefully brushes a lock of dark hair out of her eyes. His entire posture screams I’m happy, my precious daughter is here, she makes me so happy.

She wishes the others could see him as she does. Everyone would be so much more content if they knew how very loved they all truly are.

He clears his throat, still radiating pleased delight at her presence. “In that case, we will skip fishing and move directly to the stretcher-building exercise. One member of our party will be unable to walk while the others must construct a stretcher within a set time limit utilizing available materials. This exercise is intended to test and improve cooperation, responsibility, and resource allocation, as well as time management.” He tilts his head, then frowns and projects confusion when he notices everyone staring at him judgingly.

Cass catches his eye and nods toward Babs, whose stance in her chair is both reluctantly amused and very slightly affronted. He blinks in surprise, shame clouding his expression. “The injured party will be assigned by drawing lots at random and the rest of us will build the stretcher. I… intended no offense.”

Babs nods and rolls her eyes, acceptance and understanding spilling from her and spreading to the others who immediately relax, resuming their chatter. Bruce assigns Tim as the victim for the exercise, and Jason immediately volunteers to remain with the victim in case he requires first aid. Cass feels pleasure at the way the two are orbiting each other, everything in the pair pulling them together. Their hearts are written for her to see in their every movement and the joy present there after so many years of turmoil gives her a surging sense of jubilation for them both.

Bruce moves to speak, but she sees his intention to separate the boys and shakes her head. Let them. He must understand because he moves on, helping direct the harvesting of various poles and grasses from the woods and then beginning construction of a sturdy stretcher.

“Well, I think we’re about ready to carry Timmy to safety now,” Steph finally pronounces once she and Damian have finished tying off the final pole. Babs sits back with a decisive nod after binding down the thick mat she and Cass wove using reeds from the stream.

Dick and Bruce stand nearby at the ready to head into the woods and cut more poles if needed. She smiles at their stances, each happy, proud and excited at accomplishing their task. She sees the secret pleasure they all feel at working together, buried though it is beneath the general attitude of annoyance and impatience with the exercise.

Only… She looks over to where Tim and Jason should be, and a tiny giggle slips out.

“Wait… Where are Tim and Jason?” Dick’s voice rises above the rest and she moves to catch his eye before flicking her gaze toward the low-canopied weeping cedar where she’d seen the pair disappear about five minutes after the exercise began.

He beams, radiating gratitude, playfulness, and love as he gives her a little salute before jogging over to collect their wayward brothers.

“Found ‘em! And uh, that’s some pretty creative first aid you got going on there, Little Wing!”

“Screw you, Dickwing!” Jason grumbles as he emerges from the tree’s canopy leading Tim by the hand. Both of them are projecting displeasure but underneath they’re feeling peaceful contentment. Her intervention gave them a chance for some much-needed time alone together and the outcome was apparently positive.

“No code names out of uniform. That includes nicknames involving portions of code names.” Bruce glares without any heat as the group draws closer and Jason rolls his eyes, not genuinely bothered.

“Um, actually…” Tim bites his lip, slightly embarrassed but also secretly pleased, redolent with mischievous intent. “It's pretty unlikely anyone would guess the truth from just that. I mean, people would probably be more likely to assume Dick just has an unfortunate biological condition.” He shrugs, projecting innocent interest while inwardly laughing gleefully.

There’s a moment of silence as the others all involuntarily picture that and grimace. Bruce has that look on his face which generally means he’s reconsidering his life up to this point.

The expression only intensifies when Damian manages to locate a thicket of poison ivy despite it being rare at their current altitude, and then leads a blindfolded Tim into it during the trust walk.

It grows stronger when Jason accidentally squashes Damian in revenge during the trust falls.

At the end of a long day of performing numerous trust-building exercises with varying degrees of success, she finds Bruce lying, radiating exhaustion, in a part of the meadow where the grass is hummocky and flattened. He pats the grass by his side, lips quirking in hopeful invitation.

Cass is sorry, but must shake her head in refusal. His eyes reveal the stab of hurt even as his body language closes up to try to tell her he’s fine, he doesn’t mind; he didn’t really want her to sit with him anyway. She sees through his attempt to lie to her, of course.

She shakes her head again, impatient with the difficulty of making him understand. If only he could read her the way she can all of them. “Fleas!” She finally finds the right word, but he reacts with puzzled confusion.

Cass frowns and searches for help, beckoning Damian over and then pointing at Bruce in the hummocky grass. His eyes widen as he immediately understands. “Father! Do not take your repose there!” He jerks forward as though to physically pull the man away, only staying himself at the realization such an action would merely put him at risk as well.

“Why?” Bruce’s voice projects disbelief and mistrust, but his body is already moving, inherently trusting them to look after and care for him. She takes Damian’s hand, smiling softly at the way it automatically curls into hers. Love.

“This morning before the rest of you arose, Cain and I watched a herd of deer which had been laying here awaken and then make their way from the meadow. Father, in places where deer have lain overnight, various pestilent biting insects which feed upon their blood are likely to remain for some time afterward. You must come away from there!”

His eyes widen and he immediately speeds up, leaving the hummocky grass behind and swatting at his clothing. She carefully picks a flea off of him and gently tosses it away into the tall grass before taking his hand in her free one. She smiles happily as she swings both their arms and enjoys simply being together while they all walk back to camp.

The faint sense of unease which has troubled her off and on since their arrival is almost absent right now, she is with people she dearly loves, and they are about to rejoin the rest of their family to eat together and enjoy each other’s company.

This trip… Good idea.

Babs turns away from watching Cass grin and laugh like the innocent, well-loved little girl she always should have been as she walks between her father and youngest brother, beaming first at one and then the other.

Ah, every time I think these idiots can’t make me love them any more than I already do, they go ahead and prove me wrong.

She shakes her head, smiling as she turns back to chopping vegetables for the fajitas she’s making tonight. If the other girls don’t show up in time to help cook the chicken, she’ll just relegate them to dish scrubbing duty tonight to make up for it.

As she chops, something reaches her ears that gives her pause, arched red brows rising in surprised disbelief.

Really? No way, I must have misheard…

Jason helpfully repeats himself, confirming she isn’t hearing things and also that these boys actually are, in fact, idiots. “No, Dick, don't eat the fuckin' mushroom, you found that shit growing outta a goddamn tree and it looks like death. Timmy, back me up here.”

“Dick, I will pay you to eat the mushroom.” Tim’s voice sounds worryingly serious.

“The fuck?” Jason sounds concerned, which really makes sense under the circumstances.

“Drake, how dare you—” Damian joins the group as Cass steps up beside Babs, smiling a greeting before moving to get the rest of the ingredients ready for their dinner.

“Hand me the onions?” The other girl does so and she nods her thanks before they continue prepping the meal while watching the ensuing drama with avid interest.

“Um…” Steph glances back at Babs guiltily, but she waves the younger girl away. She can always come help them in a few minutes, after watching whatever shitshow is about to unfold with the boys.

I’m not cruel enough to deny her front row seats to that inevitable trainwreck. Besides, if she’s close enough she can intervene before any of them actually manages to poison himself. It’s definitely not a bad thing to have someone sensible over there right now.

As she glances back down, she feels an odd chill and turns for a moment to look at the still, darkening woods, but there’s nothing there. She shakes it off and checks out the action again.

Tim is looking at the others as though he’s wondering what it must be like to have such tiny, quaint little minds. She knows the feeling sometimes. He waves his phone at them, probably showing an informational page about the particular variety of mushroom under consideration. “It’s a hygrophoropsis aurantiaca, or false chanterelle. Known to cause uncomfortable but not debilitating or lethal gastrointestinal upset in some cases.” He raises an expectant eyebrow, then rolls his eyes at their still-dismayed expressions. “If Dick gets sick, it means we get to leave. We can go home two whole days early.”

“Damn, when you put it that way, I’m almost willing to eat it myself.” Steph eyes the mushroom consideringly, causing Babs to snort under her breath.

Okay, maybe she’s not that much more sensible than the guys.

Bruce’s voice carries over, asking who will be joining his cook group for dinner.

“Fuck it, gimme the goddamn mushroom,” Jason says as he reaches for it. A big hand closes on the fungus just before he grabs it.

“No one is eating the mushroom,” Bruce rumbles as he takes it away, accompanied by the sound of Babs’ riotous laughter.

These people are ridiculous, and I love them so damn much.

It is as healed as possible under the circumstances, and it must consume at least one human tonight to replenish its reserves. Darkness has long fallen as it creeps through the woods, seeking, seeking…

And there. A beacon of delicious, fragrant human, alone and vulnerable. Practically an invitation to feast.

This is not the one it would have chosen, not the ideal untouched victim who has unaccountably avoided straying into the woods alone as of yet… But neither is it one of the three large males which it is the wariest of attacking while weakened by hunger. It has the strength of darkness behind it this time. It should be fine.

Although…

If this attack fails and it is injured again, its only chance for continued existence will be to immediately consume the youngest boy, whose innocence renders his soul the ultimate source of energy.

It has never faced such challenges before, and it yearns to punish those responsible for diminishing it, reducing it to these pitiable circumstances. The most demeaning aspect of the situation is that these pathetic humans appear to be thwarting it unintentionally and have shown no true awareness of the threat it represents. Overhearing their endless bickering and drivel has been torturous.

At least if it does expire, it will no longer be forced to listen to these aggravating humans endlessly complaining about their petty little concerns.

As it closes in, it finally catches a glimpse of its prey. She is there, moving slowly through the woods, foolishly feeling her way in the darkness without even a flashlight to mark her path. It bares its sharp teeth in a grim smile.

Hungry, I’m hungry…!

Chapter Text

The boys all eye Bruce warily as he settles into his sleeping bag, clearly not trusting him after the events of the previous night. He’s almost positive both Tim and Jason are clutching rebreathers, and he knows Dick has one hidden under his pillow. He isn’t certain what, precisely, constitutes Damian’s plan to deal with a potential repeat of the noxious atmosphere, but he’s certain it will be both idiosyncratic and effective.

It’s entertaining that they believe I actually intentionally ingested a compound purposely designed to produce the most virulent flatulence in any of our collective experience. Of course, it was actually simply a result of the barely edible camping diet, my own admittedly poor cooking skills, and the substantial changes to my normal routine experienced during this camping trip. Also very likely attributable to that alleged beef jerky I made the mistake of purchasing at the last gas station.

I could always tell them the truth, I suppose…

He sighs and shifts, attempting to find a comfortable position for his weary body, and then stifles a chuckle as his boys all tense, holding their breath and staring at him with wide, suspicious eyes.

Bruce bites back a very untimely laugh of deepest amusement.

I think I would rather leave them with their illusions.

“Go to sleep,” he orders them and they settle, still sending him the occasional wary glance until they all drift off to sleep. He lies there in the darkness, listening to the faint sounds of the wind in the trees and nocturnal animals going about their business.

There is no reason to be deeply concerned about the bear sightings the previous night. With the food and toiletries packed away appropriately, there should be little in camp to tempt the animal. Although the fact that it blundered right into Jason is somewhat disturbing, conditions were dark and the beast may not have even realized the boy was there until it was too late to avoid him. And he distributed the bear spray so none of his children will be without protection should any of them encounter the creature again.

Logically, Bruce knows he has no reason to be worried, and yet…

He can’t sleep.

May as well do a quick patrol around the camp perimeter, just to make sure.

Just as he’s unzipping the tent and beginning to feel around for his shoes, screams shatter the stillness, louder and more distressed than the previous night. Stephanie. The panicked cries are coming from the direction of the woods, not the other tent. The bear!

He rips the door open the rest of the way, not wasting the precious seconds which would be required to carefully unzip the material when his child is in danger.

But he’s still not the first at the scene. Even as he pivots, spots the commotion all the way across the clearing, and begins barreling toward Stephanie’s figure—she looks terribly visible and vulnerable clad in just soft light-colored pajamas and sandals—he catches sight of Damian’s tiny form moving rapidly ahead of him. The child evidently hid a katana in his bedding so as to be able to cut a hole in the back of the tent and burst through.

I suppose that was his plan for escaping, should I contaminate the atmosphere within the tent again.

But now is not the time to chide the boy for bringing his katana along. Steph is standing frozen at the edge of the clearing, clutching the Shovel of Shame in a defensive grip while spinning in place in an attempt to check her surroundings for danger.

She glances up at their approach, distressed expression lightening with relief when she sees him. “It came at me while I was in the woods, B! I got it right in the face with bear spray and beat it all to hell with the Shovel of Shit, but it still chased me all the way back here and then freaking disappeared!” The young woman opens her mouth to say something else, but bites back her words as Damian stalks up to her and interrupts, glaring.

“Woman, are you saying you have brutalized this poor dumb beast, merely for the supposed crime of wandering too close whilst you were invading its home to void excrement? Surely you might simply have used the spray alone. Such material, while abhorrent in its intrinsic cruelty, is at least designed as an effective and non-lethal deterrent!” He waves his arms vehemently while speaking, still wielding the katana as he walks behind her to peer into the woods, clearly intent on searching for the injured wildlife.

Damian’s ability to sympathize with animals is laudable, but frequently extremely inconvenient. None of his other children ever brought home pets which resulted in his stepping out of the Batmobile right into a fresh cow-pat on the Cave floor.

Bruce tenses, watching the arc of the katana and preparing to intervene should the child’s enthusiasm overcome his common sense. He senses the rest of his family approaching and relaxes minutely at the reassurance of their presence, here with him and safe together.

Steph spins to face the boy, putting her back to Bruce and the others who have all gathered, various implements of battle in hand, and are now watching the loud discussion. Bruce isn’t sure where Dick was hiding those escrima, although he has his theories about Tim’s bo-staff and Babs’ taser. He’s trying not to look at Jason’s gun. As for Cassandra’s knives, he has learned to stop trying to figure that one out.

“Really? I was literally almost mauled by a bear, and you’re taking the bear’s side, you little brat?!” Steph flails her arms angrily in the child’s general direction, clearly torn between feeling indignant and reluctantly amused at the passionate little boy’s priorities.

“The poor creature has none other to defend it! Have you no consideration? Many animals endure painfully prolonged, agonizing deaths after being injured but not slain by humans. Perhaps she has cubs to provide for, and you would make them orphans whilst condemning them to slow deaths by starvation. Have you contemplated that, or are you merely concerned for your own pathetic skin?” He throws his arms up forcefully into the air, the katana clenched in his right fist stabbing backward high over his shoulder to emphasize his point, only…

His movement halts abruptly as the katana unexpectedly strikes something with all the not insubstantial strength of his arm behind it, burying itself to the hilt.

The boy’s brow furrows as he tugs on the katana, seemingly confused about why it is now stuck. Slowly, his head turns around to look back over his right shoulder, at…

“Damian, step away from the—” Bruce falters slightly, unable to immediately append a name to the horrendous apparition which has apparently been accidentally impaled on his youngest son’s katana. “—bear,” he finishes carefully and very inaccurately. “Step away from the bear,” he repeats more authoritatively as his children cast wildly confused, disbelieving glances from the monster to him and then back to the woods. “Now.”

The little boy releases his katana from nerveless fingers and takes a step toward the group, at which point Dick lunges forward and scoops the protesting child into his arms. Precious burden obtained and secure, he immediately retreats back behind the line of their siblings who instantly close ranks protectively in front of them.

All their weapons are trained on the seven-foot tall nightmare of a creature with huge sharp fangs protruding from a misshapen skull atop a hideous, gaunt body which only vaguely resembles a human in outline.

The flesh surrounding the hilt of the katana where the blade impaled what appears to be the beast’s heart is turning black, and the corruption appears to be spreading. As they watch, the monster collapses to the ground with a faint hiss. They observe, cautious and alert, but it does not move again.

“B…” Jason swallows audibly, still covering the beast with the gun Bruce is going to get through this incident by pretending isn’t there. “That ain’t a fuckin’ bear.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Dick says, and then yelps as Damian elbows him in the gut, securing his own release before edging toward the monster, eyeing his katana.

Tim frowns, contemplating the corpse carefully. “Why’s it wearing Jason’s jacket?”

“My fuckin’ jacket!” The boy takes a step toward the beast as though to reclaim his purloined article of clothing, which… No.

“Damian, Jason, stop. You may retrieve your personal articles after we have run tests on this… creature. That blood might be caustic.”

Both children subside, grumbling. Ignoring them, Babs efficiently removes a sample kit from one of the hidden compartments on her wheelchair and hands it to Tim.

Bruce stares at the monstrous, inhuman corpse lying on the grass before them, faint tendrils of smoke curling away from the wound in its emaciated chest. His children are all still looking from him to the monster and back with wide, stunned eyes, clearly waiting expectantly for him to take charge and do something about this bizarre mess.

He needs to speak, to reassure them while simultaneously directing them through the necessary actions. They must restrain the fallen monster appropriately in case reanimation is one of its abilities, and he should delegate one of them to call Alfred to send the jet because he is damned if he’ll endure that excruciating drive again, this time with a dead monster strapped to the top of the van.

He also needs to call Jason Blood because this creature gives every appearance of being demonic in origin and will likely require specialist advice for optimal disposal.

He parts his lips fully intending to do all of that.

“I suppose it wasn’t a bear after all,” is what comes out of his mouth, which apparently no longer obeys directions from his brain.

His children stare at him.

He stares back.

After what seems like an infinitely long and awkward silence, Dick’s lips twitch and Jason lets out a loud snort. Tim ducks his head to hide his grin and Steph releases a long peal of slightly hysterical laughter, quickly joined by Babs and the boys.

Cass is smiling and Damian, good, dutiful boy that he is at heart, is already gathering supplies to restrain the corpse as his siblings begin moving to assist. Babs is on the phone with Alfred and Dick appears to be calling… John Constantine? He had not been aware of a connection there, but as the occult detective is apparently in the area, he will likely be a reasonable source of information and advice. Particularly if, as it appears, Dick has worked with the warlock in the past and established some level of trust.

Meanwhile, Steph and Cass move to defensive positions at Tim’s side while he collects the physical samples. Jason continues covering them all from farther back, expression serious and hands rock-steady.

As Bruce watches his children, all responding with perfect coordination, efficiency, and a surprising lack of bickering while dealing with the unexpected emergency, he realizes the team bonding exercises to which he subjected them may have been unnecessary after all.

We could have simply skipped all of this, he thinks to himself ruefully.

His lips quirk as he reflects on the various amusing, irritating, and just plain ridiculous events of this trip and the enforced time spent together with his children.

Even so… It was worth it, all the same.

“Grayson, I require your assistance!” Damian’s imperious tones draw Dick’s attention away from his phone, which he’s been staring at with what he now realizes is a slightly goofy grin. He hasn’t seen John Constantine since that odd investigation into a series of missing young men which had turned out to be the work of freaking vampires of all things. He’s a little surprised by how much he’s looking forward to seeing the handsome, flirtatious occult detective again.

He’d been a little too distracted by the kidnapping, multiple bite wounds, and creepy burning vampires thanking him for providing such a luscious last meal to really notice Constantine’s flirting at the time, but, well…

Thinking back, he’s pretty sure the sight of him wearing nothing but a pair of red boxer-briefs actually rendered the handsome blond momentarily speechless. And Constantine definitely made some appreciative comments which were not at all unwelcome. Although the circumstances could definitely have been better.

Maybe he didn’t mean anything by it. Anyway, this isn’t exactly going to be conducive to getting to know him better, either. I mean, what guy would be interested enough to flirt with me in front of Batman and a dead monster? He sure sounded pretty excited on the phone just now, though… But that was probably just professional interest in the horrible demon-thing. Oh well.

Dick finally shakes off his fruitless distraction and looks to where his youngest brother is now tapping his foot impatiently, clearly tired of waiting for him to pay attention. His arms seem to be full of something…

“Dami, did you make all of those?” He reaches out a wondering hand and carefully takes a small but intricately carved wooden rendering of a wolf from the stack in his now-blushing brother’s arms. “When did you even have time to do all of these?”

There are at least half a dozen little carved animals in Damian’s arms. Besides the wolf, there’s a fox, a slender weasel, a hawk, an owl, a raccoon, and a doe. The boy’s grip shifts and Dick spots a slightly larger carving of a bear, half-buried beneath the others.

Well, he needs something else to focus on right now, anyway. There’s nothing he can do at the moment about the dead monster or John Constantine, but his little brother is right here and apparently needs him. He raises his brows encouragingly, and the dignified little boy unbends enough to speak.

“I grew bored during the trust walk yesterday whilst the rest of you were still engaged in the exercise after Drake was foolish enough to blunder into the poison ivy and needed to wash up. I idly observed a weasel attempting to hunt a small bird and tumble disgracefully end-over-end into the poison ivy when it clumsily missed its pounce. It reminded me of Drake, so I carved it for him.”

Aw, Dami… that’s so cute. And also slightly insulting. Very much like Damian himself. Wait, does that mean…?

“It’s beautiful, Damian,” Dick grins at the way his baby brother tries to hide his cute little blush. “So, are the rest of the animals supposed to be all of us?” That’s adorable!

The boy nods, lifting his gaze. “Father is the bear, of course. His size, power, and thick natural pelt all lend themselves to the resemblance. You are the wolf, a powerful hunter who works as part of a team. Todd is the fox not merely for his name but also because he is a lone hunter and innate trickster. Gordon is the owl for its association with wisdom and clear vision. Brown is the raccoon which is clever, adaptable, and annoying, and Cain is the doe, lovely and gentle but deceptively vicious when necessary.”

Dick blinks at the little boy before him, mouth falling open slightly at his descriptions of their family and the thought that clearly went into all of this. He spots another carving, buried beneath the rest. “And who’s the beaver?” He’s pretty sure he already knows the answer, but he wants to hear his brother say it.

Damian snorts at him scornfully. “Pennyworth, of course. Who else in this family is as industrious?”

Awww…!

Turning away, the boy strides toward the piles of packed gear the others have begun assembling at the edge of the clearing in preparation for the jet’s arrival. “These need to be packed carefully so as not to shatter. Help me wrap them in dishcloths and place them in one of the empty coolers.”

“Sounds good, Dami.” He follows his brother over and agreeably sets to work helping him pack away his little treasures, pausing to admire each before setting it away. Damian may not be the best at speaking his affection, but he sure does show it in other ways if one simply knows how to look.

I’m so proud of him.

“Um, I don’t think the poles are supposed to bend that way, Jason…” Tim’s voice draws their attention over to where the pair are failing in their attempt to stuff the eight-man tent back into the bag. Jason growls and shoves harder in response, trying to cram a pole into the already visibly overstuffed bag.

Dick winces as a loud snap echoes through the clearing, followed by Jason’s curses and Tim’s muffled snickers. “Fuck! God damn it, why the hell—who makes this shit, anyway, and why the fuck isn’t it designed to just fuckin’ go back in the bag—”

The man looks like he’s getting really frustrated, so Dick figures it’s time to lighten the mood a little. Everyone’s just a bit tense right now, which isn’t at all surprising considering the horrific hell-beast that tried to attack them for who knows what dire purpose earlier. “You know, all of this is going to make a great story later, once we’re looking back on it.”

Jason’s hands tighten reflexively and another pole snaps, causing him to curse again. He whips his head around to glare at Dick. “Yeah, you’re right, Dickie.” He grins meanly and continues, “This one time, at Bat-camp, I grabbed Dickhead’s escrima stick and shoved it up his—”

Tim blushes as he gently but rapidly claps a hand over his boyfriend’s mouth with a horrified, “Oh my god, Jason, no!”

Timmy really is a good influence on him. Thanks, little buddy!

Dick frowns at his scowling brother. “That’s unnecessarily hurtful, Jason.”

Tim winces, clearly thinking about it way too hard. “…Literally. Like, those things are electrified…” He shakes his head as though to clear it. “Also, I’m pretty sure that kind of kink involving a third party counts as something we should negotiate beforehand, as a couple—”

Jason and Dick both blanch in horror as Damian begins choking incoherent protests in the background. “God damn, Timmy, I wasn’t being serious. If we ever wanna mix things up, I figured we’d just go to Roy or one of your Titan friends, not our fuckin’ brother—”

Tim looks way too interested and Jason’s wearing a surprised but growing grin at the look on his boyfriend’s face. Dick just wants to turn back the clock so the last five minutes never happened.

There are some things I do not need to know about my little brothers, oh my god…

A loud snap draws everyone’s attention back to Damian, who is holding a deliberately broken tent pole in his hands and glaring balefully at them all. “This conversation is disgusting and will cease immediately lest you suffer the consequences.”

“Oh, yeah? And what consequences are those, Squirt?” Jason raises a brow.

“If you insist on continuing, I will not give you the presents I carved for you!” Damian lifts his little chin triumphantly. Tim and Jason both hide fond smiles as they back down, and Dick’s so proud of all his brothers right now he can’t help but grin brightly.

They definitely saw the carvings while he was packing them away, although he seriously doubts they overheard Damian’s explanations. Tim, at least, wouldn’t look so happy about it if he knew how Dami got the idea for his animal.

Well, what Timmy doesn’t know won’t hurt him!

“Hey, could we maybe quit breaking the poles? It’s needlessly destructive,” he says, just to change the topic and avoid any more potential landmines.

As Tim’s eyes light up with an expression of unholy glee, he wonders where he went wrong. “Break all the poles,” he hisses, looking slightly eerie in the moonlight in a way that reminds Dick uncomfortably of the dead monster which is still just chillin’ on the other side of the clearing, bound by everything they could get their hands on just in case. Because they’re all seen the horror movies, and the last thing they need now is a surprise zombie monster attacking them on top of everything else.

What fresh hell is this?

Damian’s eyeing his katana, still embedded in the corpse’s chest, in a longing sort of way that Dick finds mildly concerning.

“Uh, Baby Bird?” Even Jason looks slightly disturbed by the way Tim’s acting right now. “You okay there?”

Tim rolls his eyes. “Really? Just think about it, guys. If we accidentally break the camping gear, how likely is Bruce to want to deal with doing all of this again? This trip has already gone to hell in a handbasket. If the gear is trashed, that’s just one more reason he won’t ever want to go on another trip like this.”

They all stand in silence, absorbing the import of his words, before a loud snap across the clearing draws their attention over to where a grinning Steph has clearly removed one of the smaller tent poles from their already-packed bag in order to deliberately break it. “Whoops,” she deadpans.

A cacophony of snaps follows, amidst a flurry of laughter and jokes. Babs rolls her eyes at their antics and helps Cass rescue the marshmallow skewers from an overenthusiastic Jason. “We can still use these at the outdoor firepit at the Manor!”

“There’s an outdoor firepit at the Manor?” Dick feels like this is something he should have known about.

Several voices chime in to answer, “There’s everything at the Manor!”

Point.

“Why are all the tents broken?” They all jump guiltily at the sound of Bruce’s voice, startled as always by how silently the man can move.

Well, I guess he didn’t find anything while walking the perimeter. That’s good, at least. I don’t know how well we would have dealt with finding out this thing had friends.

Jason’s the first to speak up, of course. “Have you ever tried to put one of these damn things back in the bag? It’s fuckin’ impossible, B!”

Tim nods earnestly, gesturing to the misshapen, disheveled tent bag with its sad burden of partially shattered poles protruding like spears from the carcass of a fallen mammoth. “We did our best,” he says soulfully, staring up at Bruce with big, pleading eyes.

Timmy is terrifying, Dick thinks, not for the first time.

“Father, have we not done well?” Damian blinks up at his father expectantly as Steph stifles a loud snort and Babs smirks.

Bruce eyes them all suspiciously and it’s actually possible to see the moment when the man just internally says fuck it and decides to let this go. “The jet will arrive in five minutes. Drag everything to the edge of the clearing so there will be room for it to land.”

Jason grabs the bulky, maltreated tent and hefts it on his shoulder. “By the way, Old Man, how the hell’d you pick this campsite, anyway? You at least get a discount for it being haunted as fuck?”

Bruce sighs, shoulders slumping minutely.

Dick probably shouldn’t be encouraging this, but a joke just popped into his head and he’s pretty much constitutionally incapable of not immediately sharing it. “Hey, why was this camping trip so awful?” Tim eyes him suspiciously as Babs facepalms and Bruce looks longingly toward the sky, either checking for the remotely piloted jet or just praying for divine intervention. “Things were in-tents when the monster showed up!”

Steph guffaws, then grins. “Do monsters eat popcorn with their fingers?” She doesn’t wait for a reply, continuing immediately, “Nope, they eat the fingers separately!” Everyone groans because that joke’s definitely older than she is.

Damian’s staring back and forth between them like they’ve all gone insane, and Tim smirks suddenly. “Hey, what do terrifyingly demonic monstrosities call campers in their sleeping bags?”

Jason chuckles and replies, “Burritos!” The pair high five, laughing, as Damian slowly inches away from his insane siblings.

Bruce makes a face like he’s experiencing intestinal discomfort and everyone takes a quick step away, remembering the other night. Fortunately, it’s just a false alarm. “These jokes are execrable.”

Dick shakes his head mock-seriously. “You’d think Batman would enjoy a good punchline.” He smiles when that gets him a muffled snort out of Babs and a giggle from Cass. Tim and Jason both pull faces and Damian just continues staring at him judgingly. It’s okay. He’ll develop a sense of humor eventually.

Bruce just narrows his eyes, then turns to the sky again with an expression of sheer relief on his face as the air rumbles with the approaching jet. “I am going to fly the jet home. You load everything on while I perform the preflight checks.” He pauses for a moment to smirk at them over his shoulder. “Make sure to secure everything well, especially the monster. Leave the van. I have arrangements with Clark for its later return.”

With that, he disappears into the jet, almost certainly to lock himself into the cockpit for the duration of the flight. Looking around, Dick meets the eyes of his siblings as it simultaneously registers for all of them that they are going to be locked into an enclosed space with the dead monster for however long it takes to get home.

…Ew.

“Timmy and I got the tents and tables!” Jason moves fast, grabbing the nearest gear and his unprotesting boyfriend before hightailing it onto the jet.

“We have the food and stoves!” Steph lifts a cooler and hands it to Cass who places it on Babs’ lap before picking up another while Steph stacks the stoves and starts moving purposefully away.

Damian looks at Dick, then at the dark silhouette of the dead monster, and then back again, eyes wide.

He smiles ruefully and ruffles his little brother’s hair, internally wincing at what he’s about to have to do. “You go ahead and put everyone’s bags onto the jet, Dami. I’ll get the monster.” He’s rewarded by his little brother’s relieved grin as the boy immediately loads himself down with all the remaining gear and staggers away.

As he drags the hulking, reeking, seriously gross dead monster toward the jet by its feet, he wonders bemusedly when exactly he gave his entire heart to this motley assortment of crazy, ridiculous people he calls his family.

The things I do for you guys…

As he finally deposits the corpse in the cargo hold, he makes a face. Yeah, I’m pretty sure that smell’s gonna make it into the cabin. Oh well, at least this is still better than the freaking van.

Chapter Text

Steph shoves ahead of Tim as they approach the Manor stairs, driving her elbow into his gut to slow him down. “We call the upstairs showers! You guys can make do with the Cave.”

Why…?

He just wants to be clean. They were forced to spend the entire plane ride back marinating in the uniquely repellent aroma wafting up from the dead monster in the hold, and he’s pretty sure at this point it’s absorbed into his skin. He’s certain Bruce feels the same, considering the man just landed the jet on the Manor lawn instead of taking it to any of the more appropriate but much more distant hangers.

I really, really want a shower right now. Why is that too much to ask?

“But… There are more than enough showers up there for all of us to—” he tries, and Steph hisses.

Yikes. I’m not sure I want to take on a feral Steph right now. Maybe the Cave showers aren’t that bad.

“We call all of them.” Babs lifts an eyebrow, regarding the group of boys, each of whom is attempting to edge closer to the Manor and the various wonderful, beautiful, and above all numerous showers therein. “Unless you really believe Alfred’s going to tolerate someone in your current state of filthy mess upstairs.” Dick takes a small step back at her words, cowed, and Damian stalks forward, scowling.

“By that logic, none of us should be allowed above stairs! After all, we have all endured the same absence of sanitary facilities amidst unclean, disgusting conditions. If we are foul, then you are the same!” The little boy huffs, crossing his arms challengingly.

“Ah, but we were cleaning ourselves daily in our tent using baby wipes and no-rinse shampoo.” Babs gestures at the boys. “Whereas you guys—”

“…Are totally appalling.” Steph snorts with laughter and then cocks a hip, shaking her head. “I mean, all of you are gross, but some of you didn't even changed your clothes once the whole trip!”

Damian edges away from Tim, who definitely wore the same pants the entire time because he forgot to bring extras, as well as Dick, who didn’t change at all for much the same reason. At least Tim forgot because he was so busy filling his bag with extra chargers and tech; Dick’s bag was filled with candy and cereal. “You are each an utter disgrace,” Damian mutters in disgust.

“So, feel free to try your luck, but I’m pretty sure if you dare to go inside like that Alfred’s gonna turn a hose on you.” Babs watches in satisfaction as the realization settles on all their faces.

I’ve seen Alfred take a hose to someone. It never ends well.

From the little smirk on Cass’s face, it’s pretty likely the girls are just going to claim the luxurious bath in her room, but no one feels like fighting over it now.

They know they won’t win.

Tim makes eye contact with the other boys. On some unspoken signal, they all immediately break and scramble for the showers in the Cave, elbowing each other in an effort to get there first.

Somehow, Jason’s already in there, fully naked and relaxing under the warm spray while drinking a beer.

Welp, guess that explains why he wasn’t complaining more when the girls called all the good bathrooms. He predicted this and just went straight for the Cave.

“This isn’t a sauna, Jason.” Dick rolls his eyes but looks more than a little jealous as he strips down, eyeing the beer.

Jason flips Dick off. “It’s ice cold, tastes like fuckin’ heaven.”

“Where’s mine?” Dick shakes his head in disappointment when Jason predictably makes another rude gesture before taking an obnoxiously long drink from his beer.

Tim quietly whines about not being twenty-one yet, then smiles happily as Jason tosses him a Xing tea. Mmm! Best boyfriend! “Thanks, Jay!” He starts lathering up his hair, sighing with satisfaction at the feel of the deliciously hot water on his aching, tired body. The sensation of warmth when he steps back under the spray to rinse has him groaning as the heat melts the tightness right out of his weary body and he goes pleasantly lax.

A little whimper slips out when he turns around and the hot water envelops him like a full-body caress.

Damian’s unwelcome voice recalls him to a sense of his surroundings. “Good god, control yourself, Todd! If you must leer at Drake, at least refrain from doing so in our presence!”

The boy scoffs at all of them as he joins them in the shower, his desire for cleanliness clearly overcoming his disgust at their antics.

“Yeah, whatever kiddo, you’ll fuckin’ understand once your balls drop.” Jason grins like a bastard and lifts the bottle. He tilts his head back again to drink, then chokes on the last of his beer as Bruce calmly walks into the shower, nude but for his thick, hairy pelt.

Oh my god, I wasn't ready to see that right now. I’m never ready to see that. Somehow, I assumed B would manage to finagle his way into the Manor and take his shower upstairs.

“My eyes! Oh god, my eyes!” Dick staggers into the wall, arm dramatically covering his face to hide his laughter.

Tim frowns. That reaction seems like overkill, considering. “Wait, Dick… Aren’t you naturally pretty hairy too?” He’s certain he remembers the occasional glimpse of manly hair during his days of following the dynamic duo, back before the advent of Discowing and his mysteriously disappearing chest hair.

Bruce frowns. “Dick chooses to shave for some reason.”

Jason, having just recovered somewhat from his coughing fit, gags and starts choking again, possibly at the memory of having to shave his legs back when he was wearing the scaly green panties.

“Maybe I just like to feel smooth!” Dick crosses his arms self-consciously over his chest as Tim nods understandingly, patting him soothingly.

“Like a baby’s bottom,” he says reassuringly to his uncertain older brother, who smiles in answer.

I’m glad Jay and I naturally have less body hair. That seems pretty inconvenient. I mean, it’s gotta be so much more work every time they need to go undercover as a woman.

Damian sneers scornfully. “Why on earth would you choose to engage in these unnatural depilation practices, Grayson?”

“It’s called man-scaping, Dami—” Dick looks like he’s going to keep going, but a thought occurs to Tim and he can’t help voicing it immediately.

“I wonder if Damian’s going to end up like Bruce?” They all look at the boy who immediately facepalms, clearly wishing he were anywhere but here.

“Fuck, B, you gotta warn a guy before you just whip all that shit out!” Jason finally manages to stop coughing again, then frowns as he peers more closely at the older man. “Wait… Is that a fuckin’ flea?! "

They all look, half-convinced Jay’s just trolling everyone, but… That is definitely a flea crawling through the hair on Bruce’s forearm. “Ugh, yeah, looks like there’s a flea on his arm.”

Bruce twitches.

Dick frowns. “You mean his shoulder, right?”

“No? It’s right there, going onto his wrist!” Tim gestures, at which point both fleas in question jump and he flinches back in horror.

“You fools are both mistaken—the flea is on Father’s ribs, approaching his left nipple!” All their eyes are inexorably drawn to Bruce’s chest, where a tiny black speck slowly inches across the man’s pectoral with the apparent goal of reaching his areola and traumatizing everyone, forever.

Tim can’t look away as the muscle flexes, causing Bruce’s left pec to bounce and doing absolutely nothing to dislodge the tiny insect crawling across it.

Gross.

“What the fuck, I wasn’t even lookin’ at the Bat-teat. I meant the one on his damn face!”

Bat-teat, Jason why… Also… Oh god, there’s totally a flea on Bruce’s cheek! I thought that was just a weird mole or something, but it’s moving! He’s covered in fleas!

“Oh, ew!” Dick recoils from Bruce and then moves toward the exit, closely followed by a disgusted Damian. Tim finds himself trapped in a corner, unable to escape the shower without passing dangerously close to Bruce and the zone of infestation. Jason hesitates, clearly torn between immediate escape and staying to try to protect his boyfriend.

Tim jerks his head, raising his brows to indicate the other should flee while he can. Go, Jay… Save yourself! I understand.

But Jason shakes his head, then returns to Tim’s side and takes his hand in a brave but idiotic and doomed show of loyalty.

It doesn’t matter in the end. The others’ attempt at rapid departure is foiled by the timely appearance of Alfred, a mild frown on his face as he extends a tray bearing several bottles.

“Ah, Master Bruce, please utilize this delousing shampoo. Be certain to apply it thoroughly.” He waits expectantly until the chastened, apparently incredibly infested man takes one of the bottles and begins vigorously, albeit grudgingly, lathering himself up.

The immaculately attired butler then turns his attention to Dick and Damian, who are attempting to slide past him to freedom. “Young masters, if you would be so good as to perform similar ablutions—”

“But Pennyworth, Father was the only one so foolish as to lie down in a nest of fleas! Why should we be punished as well?”

Alfred gently but firmly pushes a bottle of delousing shampoo on the boy. “It is my understanding you gentlemen all shared a tent; therefore, you have been exposed.”

The boy scowls furiously but obeys as Dick quietly accepts his own bottle before passing another over for Tim and Jason to share. Tim lathers up without any fuss, then happily turns to help scrub his boyfriend’s muscular back.

I don’t even care at this point. I just want to be clean! And getting my hands on a wet Jason totally makes up for the indignity of Alfred giving all of us what amounts to a group flea bath… Well, it comes close.

Tim and Damian only have to rinse once before being released; Dick and Jason, twice. Alfred makes Bruce lather up three times to make sure he got all the fleas living in his thick, abundant body hair.

“That’s your future right there, Squirt,” Jason says as he ruffles Damian's hair in passing, grinning.

The disgruntled look in the boy’s eyes strikes a chord in Tim for some reason and he pauses to try to reassure the kid. “It’s okay, Damian. I’m sure Dick will be happy to teach you how to shave. All over.”

The resulting furious glare and pell-mell chase across the cave ending in a brief free-for-all is totally worth it.

John Constantine takes one look at the hulking, nightmarish corpse lying bound to a table in the interrogation room and whistles. “Now would you look at that? Ugly bugger, isn’t he? Congrats, boys, you’ve accidentally ended untold centuries of suffering and spared scores of future victims a grisly fate. Oh, and incidentally, you’ve freed the souls of all those lives previously claimed by the beast, which have hitherto been bound to exist neither in heaven nor hell but instead trapped in endless suffering, being used to power this nasty blighter’s undeath.”

They all pause to absorb his words, which takes a minute because that’s a hell of a lot to unpack.

Fuck, guess we did something good? I don’t even wanna think about what that thing coulda done to us.

The occult detective apparently takes their silence as his cue to continue talking. “Well, not quite endless. Ahem. Obviously, considering it’s been sent back to hell where it belongs now. But anyway, I’ll be taking this physical embodiment of pure evil with me. Need the right supplies to lay something like this to rest appropriately, not to mention it requires purification, burning, and the ashes scattered properly—”

“But what is it?” Dick leans forward. Constantine’s gaze flicks interestedly down his exposed body to the towel he has wrapped around his hips before sliding slowly back up to his face. The occult detective then winks at the blushing man, a slow, flirty grin spreading on his face. He ignores Damian’s protective growl and the way Jason looms slightly closer.

Whatever, it ain’t like it’s our fault we’re less than decently attired. But this guy better not be objectifying my brother or what I do to him will make what we did to the monster look downright friendly.

Constantine got to the cave right as everyone was finishing up their showers. Tim’s in sweats he had stored in the cave, Damian’s wearing one of his workout outfits, and the rest of them are still just in towels, not having had time to scrounge for clothes yet.

Well, except Steph, who apparently finished before the other girls and came down fully dressed for the sole purpose of mocking everyone relentlessly during the tail end of their humiliating delousing shower.

Dealing with the mystery of the dead monster seemed more important than pants. At least, it did before the interloper started eyeing up Dickie like the poor guy’s an ice-cold brew and this asshole’s thirsty as fuck. Now Jason’s starting to wish he had something to drape over his brother’s shoulders to shield him from that lascivious gaze.

Although… Dickhead’s perfectly capable of defending himself from unwanted attention, and he’s not showing any signs of being uncomfortable. Well, Jason can afford to wait and see. Red Hood’s damn good at shovel talks if it comes to that.

“Well, love, that’s a very good question. This shite wanker sometimes passes as a gaki, grigori, preta, wendigo, or simply a hungry ghost depending on what part of the world it shows up in, but it’s actually what I like to think of as a hungry demon. Empty inside, impossible to satisfy, and functionally immortal. Lives in the woods and eats human flesh, but it’s the souls the arsehole’s really after. Normally hard as hell to kill without the proper blessed weaponry and spells, so I’m guessing this one cocked up but good going after you lot. Probably weakened itself well beyond its limits for it to fall to one of your paltry mundane weapons. No offense.”

The blond doesn’t seem to notice Damian’s scowl and crossed arms at the implied slight. He pokes curiously at one of the demon’s jagged, daggerlike teeth and peers interestedly into its gaping maw, seemingly totally unaffected by the serious creepiness factor surrounding the grotesque dead monster.

As the warlock inspects the corpse, it occurs to Jason that the hole in the thing’s chest is now empty and the brat is wearing his sword again.

I wonder when Baby Bat managed to get that back, he wonders, and then shrugs it off even as he notices B’s eyes narrowing. The man is most likely making the same observation. I bet Daddy Bats is gonna wait until the perfect psychological moment to bring that up with the poor kid. Damn, he’s such an asshole.

“Well, fuck,” Jason says. Tim and Steph both nod in agreement with his assessment of the situation. As Constantine moves to wheel the gurney holding the corpse away, he catches sight of his favorite fuckin’ leather jacket the creepy fuck is still wearing. “Hey, wait! My jacket!”

Although I’m not actually sure I want it now, considering where it’s been…

“Jason, I will buy you a new jacket.” Bruce’s words inadvertently trigger all of Jason’s innate stubborn, oppositional instincts. He promptly resolves to get his jacket back just to defy the older man.

The blond warlock pauses, peers closely at the jacket and then looks at him with renewed interest. “This is yours?” He doesn’t wait for an answer. “I had assumed it came into the demon’s possession long ago, considering this item is infused with traces of dozens of damned souls.” He reaches out and manhandles the jacket off of the corpse, then briskly hands it over to Jason who takes it gingerly, suddenly unsure.

The fuck. “How?”

“There is usually a physical tie to create such a connection. In this case, it appears to be blood.” Everyone stares judgingly at Jason and even Tim takes a small step back, eyeing the jacket with suspicion.

“Gross!” The smaller man looks like he’s remembering and deeply regretting every occasion when Jason draped the jacket in question over his shoulders. It seemed like a great romantic gesture at the time, but in light of recent events, well…

“Might I suggest washing it occasionally, Master Jason?” Alfred appears out of nowhere and whisks the doomed jacket out of Jason’s hands. “Please allow me to take care of that now.”

As he walks away, Jason wonders if he’s actually going to wash it or if he’s planning to burn the evil and then replace it with a lookalike. On consideration, that second possibility seems way the hell more likely.

I think I’m actually okay with that, fuck. This shit is goddamn creepy.

“By the way, well done on keeping the child from going into the woods alone. Demons like this feed on innocence and the rotter would’ve gone for him like a rabid Tasmanian devil tearing apart a baby bird.”

Dick frowns and clutches Damian’s shoulder protectively. Bruce shifts infinitesimally closer to the boy, who huffs and puffs out his chest as though to deny any implied vulnerability. “And yet it is I who slayed the beast. Surely I would have held my own had I encountered it in the forest.”

Tim snorts. “Killing it by accident hardly counts. But anyway, Damian isn’t exactly the picture of childhood innocence, so I think he would’ve been fine.”

Constantine shakes his head. “Oh, you misunderstand. I meant the beast was attracted in particular to sexual innocence. The souls of the innocent are like catnip to monsters of this sort. If it had gotten ahold of the lad, it would quite likely have been invigorated sufficiently to decimate and devour you all in a bloody massacre. Your best weapons would have been about as effective as the kiss of butterfly wings to a hellbeast empowered by the soul of a virgin.”

Well shit, that woulda sucked.

“Guess it’s a good thing Baby Bat didn’t go into the woods with the fuckin’ Shovel of Shame, then, huh?”

Bruce frowns, looking concerned at the reminder the boy hasn’t allowed himself to take a dump in a couple of days now. “Damian. Have you…?”

The kid blushes. “Yes, Father, on the plane.”

“Oh yeah, I guess you were flying it so you wouldn’t have seen. Little D was in the back for pretty much the entire trip back. I was starting to wonder if he was okay—” Dick looks honestly shocked when the mortified boy drives a sharp elbow into his gut to shut him up.

“Yeah, Brat, did everything come out okay?” Tim never has any compunctions about landing one of the kid, who growls and readies himself to leap at the older boy in retribution.

Jason catches the demon-child under one arm and then hands the squirming, snarling little brat off to Dick while he slings his other arm around his boyfriend to keep him from going after the kid. Steph just stands back and laughs at them all like the damned enabler she is. Bruce, of fuckin’ course, ignores them as he helps the occult detective ready the remains for transport.

On the brink of departure, Constantine turns back. “One aspect of this incident still eludes me. According to the texts, this blighter is traditionally accompanied by a strong odor of decay and decomposition, smelling markedly of death and corruption. I don’t understand how you were able to miss such a pronounced odor, unless the texts are mistaken…”

Dick raises a hand to run the back of his neck, looking down in embarrassment. “Uh, yeah. That probably got covered up by the general stank of our campground?”

Constantine raises an interrogative eyebrow at Dick, who shrugs but doesn’t seem to want to answer and humiliate himself in front of a cute guy.

Jason helpfully clarifies. “Dude, there were five guys in a sealed eight-man tent for like eight fuckin’ hours. The girls said they could smell us from their tent. I’m pretty sure our collective sense of smell just fuckin’ stopped workin’ after a while outta sheer self-preservation. No one was gonna notice a little more funk walkin’ through the goddamn woods.”

“Ah.” Constantine clears his throat. “Very… ah, unique method of dealing with the odor. Well, I’m off now, but call me if you ever plan to go camping again. I’d love to come along and observe. Once someone’s come into contact with the supernatural world, the chances of it happening again increase, and this is the second close encounter for at least one of you. Not to mention I’d rather fancy getting to know you a little better.” He directs a smoldering gaze at Dick. “Call me later—I’m in town for a few days and I’d love to meet for a drink.” And with one more telling wink and appreciative look, he’s off.

“Impudent cad!” Damian sneers, glaring after him angrily and completely missing the way Dickie’s blushing and looking away to hide the tiny smile on his face.

Interesting. Shovel talk it is, then! Maybe I’ll use the Shovel of Shame. I could make that shit goddamn terrifying as Red Hood.

“At least he dealt with our weird demon problem,” Steph shrugs, then looks around at the piles of camping gear lying around from what Jason strongly suspects was Alfred and Bruce’s somewhat hurried jet offloading earlier while the rest of them were squabbling over showers. “Oh, hey, are those s’more fixings?”

Fuck, those sound good right now. But B’s probably gonna insist everyone go to bed even though at this point we’re all still ridin’ high on too goddamn much adrenaline to sleep for fuckin’ hours…

“We can use the firepit outside,” Bruce says tentatively as he finally moves to pull on some clothes from his locker.

Huh. Or not? Damn, B, guess you’re finally tired of bein’ such a goddamn tightass all the time.

“Can we have coffee, too?” Tim asks hopefully, and Jason doesn’t have the heart to deny him. He moves over to his own locker, pulling out clothes for himself and one of his shirts for Tim just so he can revel in the sight of his tiny boyfriend fuckin’ swimming in it, looking all small and gorgeous and his.

Fuck it, their sleep cycle’s shot for the night anyway and apparently no one even gives a shit anymore. “Coffee, s’mores, and bed?” he suggests, trying to be a mature guy who takes good care of his boyfriend.

“Coffee, s’mores, and horror movie marathon,” Steph cheers, because of fuckin’ course she does. “I’ll text Babs and Cass to come out when they’re done basking in the bath bombs.”

Well… Jason takes a minute to consider it, and finds the more he thinks about it, the more he likes the plan. Tim gets all clingy and whimpery during horror movies. And they can share a goddamn blanket and then fuck off to their own bed whenever they goddamn want. “Hell yeah,” he grins.

Damn, it’s good to be back. And I don’t care what the fuck B has on me next time, I’m sure as hell never goin’ camping with him again. Jesus fuckin’ Christ, what a crazy mess. What a family.