Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A dark, cloudy night sky drapes itself over the city. Not even the moon is out to accompany Dick as he leaps from rooftop to rooftop; he’s alone in his patrol for one of the first times in a long time. With Bruce settling back into the mantle of Batman after his “world tour”, Damian has been pulled back into Bruce’s care. That means the penthouse remains void and chilling when Dick returns to the bunker, since Bruce has opted to raise Damian in the mansion. Dick knows he should return to his own previous home in Blüdhaven. For some reason, he can’t bring himself to leave the city.

Well, not for some reason. Dick knows the reason just as well as he knows Gotham’s alleyways and streets. It’s not for the patrol: patrol is bland and crooks are absent. Dick has to spend it in silence, otherwise he’d end up quipping and complaining to nothing more than cool, midnight air. 

That solitude is the worst part of it all, if Dick’s being honest. He’s nearly convinced that Batman has assembled his newest patrol route just to avoid him. Whether the decision has been built up by the want to give Dick some space to find himself, or the need to give Bruce some space to create a foundation with Damian, Dick’s not yet sure. The former idea always makes Dick think that he should just return to Blüdhaven. Patrol won’t be boring there; Gotham’s sister city lacks her overwhelming numbers of vigilantes. 

Even so, as he’s said before, he can’t leave.  

That’s all because of Damian. 

Damian, the prickly child that Dick can’t seem to forget. Damian, the sweet kid who burrowed his way into Dick’s heart. Damian, Bruce’s biological child raised by none other than Talia al Ghul herself. 

Each and every time that Dick thinks about leaving Gotham, he thinks, in turn, about Damian. Like how, when their patrol routes do overlap, Robin and Nightwing share a quick glance and Damian smiles in his little, inconspicuous way. Like how, back when Damian still lived with Dick in the penthouse, he’d flock to the couch and watch movies with Dick when neither of them could sleep. Like how, in the broad hours of the morning, Damian could curl up with his sketchpad and draw something. Those drawings he sometimes gave to Dick or to Alfred, and each one found it’s way up on the fridge. 

Thinking back to the smile is, somehow, enough to get Dick to push forward through the night. Damian’s smile isn’t like other children: a grin wide enough to split his face in two, spanning from ear to ear. Damian’s smile is rare and small. Sure, the kid smirks most of the time in his endearing, “holier than thou”, way. When Damian really smiles, though, it’s such a startling imitation of Bruce that it used to floor Dick. The corners of his lips quirk up and his eyes spark like firecrackers. 

Today, unfortunately, isn’t one of those nights where their patrols overlap. Dick sees no capes fluttering against a dark backdrop, no Bat Signal illuminating the night, no thugs wreaking havoc among civilians. Without anything helping him to connect with Damian, tonight, Dick figures he should probably quit while he’s ahead. He can get some sleep, stop by the manor come morning, and ask Damian to spend the day with him. He can pretend like Bruce isn’t glaring daggers at him while Damian pretends that he doesn’t want to run off with Dick the very second he asks. 

The plan rooting itself into his mind, Dick pivots on his heel where he’d been rushing across an apartment’s rooftop and turns in the direction of the penthouse. If anything else is happening tonight, Batman has to have it covered. Dick will spend the rest of the night searching for a new museum exhibit or something, and-

And then his comm, the one he keeps tucked in his ear for emergencies, crackles to life. 

It catches him off guard and Dick nearly slips onto his ass as he reaches up to tap it. As soon as he allows the call to connect, Batman’s deep, gravelly voice slips into his ear. “Nightwing,” he growls, (and Dick imagines he’s scowling beneath the cowl, brows furrowing without anyone noticing). 

Dick’s heart beats faster without his permission. It’s very rare that Bruce tries to talk to him, these days, for anything not involving Damian. Even those conversations get rarer by the day. 

“Is Robin okay?” he can’t help but ask. “Location?”

Batman quickly rattles off his location, only helping to further make Dick uneasy. Bruce doesn’t always accept help; especially not recently. Eventually, he continues with, “Robin’s been compromised. We’ve made it to a nearby safehouse, but I… require your… assistance in order to get him to the cave.”

‘Require your assistance’: the closest Bruce will ever get to asking for help. At least he’s actually informing Dick of whatever happened to Damian, albeit only broadly. There’s been times where Bruce has neglected to tell Dick that Damian’s hurt until the very moment Dick steps into the manor, ready to take Damian out for the day. There’s even been times where Damian called Dick himself, telling Dick that something had happened, because Bruce hadn’t had the nerve to tell Dick beforehand. 

Still, the vague wording is enough to throw Dick into heart-attack territory. His mind rushes through all of the things that could’ve happened. Had Damian been shot? Fear-gassed? (Even though Scarecrow has been lying low.) Drugged, kidnapped, hurt? Hurt how? What does compromised even mean-?  

A cry, rising up from the background, makes Dick’s blood run cold. He knows that cry; he’s become awfully acquainted with the sound of it during the length of the past year. It’s Damian: Damian, sounding like he’s scared. His mind narrows to a pinprick of a thought. As much as he wishes that Bruce would just tell him what’s wrong, Dick knows it’s too much to ask for. As much as he wants to ask ‘what’s wrong with Damian?’, he knows it’s too much for him to question Bruce. 

“I’m on my way,” says Dick, surprised at the coolness in his voice. “ETA: eight minutes. I’m already close by.” 

Actually, he’s over ten minutes away. He still makes it to the safehouse in just over five by performing some very risky jumps and flips. It’s not like he’s trying to get himself hurt. His mind is so overwhelmed with the ongoing mantra, Damian, Damian, Damian, that he’s not thinking of anything else. If he almost drops off of a rooftop and only saves himself by accidentally grabbing onto the opposite ledge, that’s only for him to know. And, hey, it allows him to swing over to the next rooftop and crawl onto it. The one after that is the safehouse: an empty and abandoned apartment building that Dick recalls Damian crashing at once upon a time, as Dick busied himself by pacing the length of the penthouse from top to bottom out of worry.

After that episode, Dick and Damian had actually worked on the safehouse and made it into a good looking apartment. They’d furnished it; Dick still stocks it up with first aid supplies and Damian secrets away sketchbooks, stories, and nonperishable treats that the two of them enjoy. Dick’s stopped by here once or twice for himself, but not any time recently. 

Swinging through the window, because of that, is a bit of a shock to him. He crouches low the moment he hits the floor; not in preparation for a fight, but to make himself small. He’s dealt with a somewhat erratic Damian more times that he can count and knows that Damian gets afraid, (though he’d never admit it aloud), when someone looms over him. 

Dick drinks in the state of the room as soon as he’s inside. The couch has been torn up, (why?), and Batman, clad in both the cowl and cape, is perched on the counter in the tiny kitchen. He relaxes when he catches sight of Nightwing’s blues; Dick’s pleased that he’s seemingly needed. Only a few other things look off in the apartment, namely the scattered books leading down the hallway with some of the pages torn out. The thing that really grabs his attention, though, is Damian.

Damian sits on the couch, ankles crossed perfectly over each other. His hands sit in his lap, clasped together, as he stares ahead blankly. His mask rests on the coffee table before him, rather than on his face. There’s not a hint of emotion crossing his features. The only thing Dick can tell from him is that he’s ready for an order, as all Robins normally are around Bruce. 

“Dames,” says Dick, so very softly. He doesn’t want to startle Damian, despite how wrong the tense and pliant kid looks right now. The entire scene looks wrong; Bruce is too high strung and Dick’s younger brother doesn’t even jolt at Dick’s voice. “Baby Bat,” he tries, “it’s me, Dick. Can you look at me?” 

Almost mechanically, Damian’s gaze sweeps over to meet Dick’s eyes. His lips don’t quirk upwards and his eyes definitely don’t twinkle. That green swirl in his irises is gone. Damian’s eyes are dull and flat, a solid, faint reminder of the previous startling emeralds Dick remembers. Without thinking, Dick surges forward and places his hand on Damian’s cheek, feeling his heart pang when Damian doesn’t melt into it in the slightest. He just sits there like Dick had never touched him. The only sign that he realized Dick touched him is the quick blink of his eyes before they return to that dull intensity. 

“What happened?” Dick asks, voice edging up an octave in concern. He vividly remembers Damian’s fearful yelp. This is a step in the totally opposite direction from that.

“We had a run in with your run of the mill crook,” Batman reports. “The crook was attempting to snatch a woman’s purse, and Robin ran in without my permission. The crook, in turn, attacked him, and it turns out that he was able to use magic.” 

Dick repeats the, ‘Robin ran in without my permission. The crook, in turn, attacked him.’, part in his head, and hates how much the words make Damian sound at fault. It’s not Damian’s fault that someone decided to attack him, and it’s certainly not Damian’s fault for trying to help someone. Dick’s just about to say as much in order to grill Bruce when someone barrels right into his side.

His imagination runs wild as he tries to fill in the gaps. There’s no one who could be grabbing him like this, with small, gloved hands that wrap right around Dick’s waist in a semblance of a hug-

Dick looks down, and sees Damian peering up at him, his pink eyes crackling like a candle and smile splitting his face in half. There’s an untainted, childish joy rushing across his features that Dick’s never seen Damian wear before, and his voice sounds so bubbly and light as he chirps, “Richard!”  

“Richard!” says this boy, who can’t be Damian, because Damian is sitting on the couch in front of him. “I’m so glad you came! I told Baba you would come if he just called you!” 

Baba? 

Baba?

Pink-eyed Damian takes Dick’s soundless confusion in stride, turning to look at the version of him with the flat, green eyes. His brilliant smile turned into an adorable pout, but Dick only found himself staring down at the kid attached to his side. “He’s just been sitting there since Baba brought us here- he’s so quiet! The other two don’t want anything to do with me, and neither does he!” 

Dick’s hands instinctively card through Damian’s hair unconsciously, in an attempt to quel whatever feelings are rushing through him. In his mind, he’s already trying to give the duo nicknames in order to differentiate between the two: Dami for the boy with the shining pink eyes. Robin for the one with the hard green. 

“Bruce,” he says, voice somehow colder than before. “Explain what happened. Now.” 

Batman’s mouth slips into a thin line. “The crook divided Damian into four different versions of himself, all primarily expressing one emotion and associating with one colour.” He gestures to Dami, (as Dick realizes, quickly, that this is going to get very confusing). “This one is happiness, I believe. He keeps calling me Baba and earlier referred to you as Richard. The one on the couch, I’m not sure. I believe he’s everything that he would have been if he’d stayed with Talia- whatever emotion that aligns with, I have yet to find out. 

“There’s two more,” he finishes, before turning towards the hallway. “All Robins! Here! Now!”  

A third Damian skitters into the room on light feet, looking the splitting image of Bruce in all of the pictures of his youth. Baby blues eyes contrast against olive skin, covered in a sheen of tears. Dick, in his mind, automatically catalogs this one as Dami, denouncing the pink clone to a simple Little D; a warmer and fuzzier nickname for a warmer child. 

“Fa- Batman. Present, sir,” hurries Dami, making Dick’s heart ache worse. The kid clicks his feet together, trying to look composed, but his shoulders shake. 

“This one is all of Damian’s more anxious thoughts and other feelings of doubt,” Batman describes, bluntly. His impartial expression forms into a frown. “I said all Robins. Now.”  

Dick turns back to the hallway, wondering what version of his brother is going to pop through. Would there be a quiet and intuitive Damian? What colour would he even represent? Purple, maybe? While his mind and eyes are thinking of this fourth Robin, Dick’s already on his feet, ready to slink over to Dami and tug him close. The teary version of Dick’s baby brother is absolutely breaking his heart. 

Just as he takes the first step, that fourth Robin slams down to the ground, having jumped down from the rafters. There’s a mask pressed to his face, but Dick can still feel the potent rage flooding from the kid’s tiny body. “You do not get to tell me what to do!” he spits, words slopping to the floor, sickly and poisonous. 

Almost quizzically, Bruce tilts his head to the side. “You’re here, aren’t you?” he drawls. “Nightwing, meet Damian’s rage, personified. Accompanied by the colour red.” 

Simply just Damian then, Dick thinks. He surely won’t appreciate being spoken to as if he’s anything younger than he is. Or, alternatively, as anything less than he is. Dick runs the list through his head: Damian for red, Dami for blue, Little D for pink, and Robin for green. 

This, Dick thinks again, is definitely going to get confusing. 

Dick had frozen as soon as Damian had entered the room, but now startles when Robin stands up. His back straightens out, arms glued to his sides. He pivots on his heel and turns to stare at Bruce, each of his movements efficient, creepy, and quick. Robin does everything without making a sound, completely tensed up and prepared for instruction. As his body moves, Dick thinks he imagines the bruises along Robin’s wrists and dotting his jaw. At least, he hopes he does, as he reaches for Robin’s gloves, left discarded beside his mask. 

As efficiently as Robin moves, Dick slips the gloves onto his younger brother’s hands, fingers slipping over discolored skin. Robin lets him work without comment, even as Little D watches. 

Damian’s tapping his foot on the floor and Little D’s rocking on his heels when Dick pulls away from Robin. Dami slides behind Little D, grabbing at the kid’s arm like it’s an anchor. The more inquisitive part of Dick thinks that it has to mean something; in the real Damian, his happiness and anxiety are tied close together, maybe. His anxiety might hold him back from being happy. If that’s what this represents, then Dick might just throw up. His gut is certainly twisting hard enough to make him wish he could. 

As he grabs the mask on the table, he says, “We need to head to the Cave.” Dick sets the mask into Robin’s hands and tells him, “Could you put this on for me, please? You too, Dami- and Little D.” 

Robin presses the glue and mask onto his face without a word. 

Dick surveys this new round of Robins circled by his legs, deliberately choosing not to look over at Bruce. Damian draws most of his attention, since he already has his mask and entire ensemble on. His fingers twitch with the need for action and Dick quickly realizes that what he needs is to let off some steam. Right now, the only way he can think of involves patrol; it’s still “early” in the night and there’s a chance that more petty crime might be waged. 

Mind made up, Dick says, “Batman, you take Damian- the red one- out. You and him can take care of Gotham for the night.” With a single, fluid motion, Dick pulls Dami into his arms, lifting from the ground and settling him onto his hip. “I’ll take the rest of them back with me.” 

Bruce raises his chin in challenge, eyeing Damian suspiciously. “I’d rather take the green one. At least he’ll listen to me without endangering lives.” 

“I can listen to orders,” Red snarls, as something deep in Dick’s chest pounds. Damian’s fists clench and Dick hopes he doesn’t try to lash out. “It’s simply a matter of whether or not those orders deserve to be listened to, Wayne.”

Yikes, thinks Dick, as he itches to pull Damian back. “Taking Robin out would be like taking a catatonic robot out,” he says. “He has no other choice than to follow your orders, right? Why don’t you just take Damian out with you. I’ll figure out something to do with the other three. Call Tim or Jason, maybe Zatanna?”

“I would rather be away if you’re going to involve Drake,” continues Damian. “I wish to go out, so I will go out. Wayne? Will you be joining me?” 

Bruce tries to sputter out a no, so Dick musters up the worst glare he can muster and pins Batman with it. Even with the mask on his face, it does the trick, and Bruce sighs. “Fine. Red, with me. If there’s any problems on the way back, tell me. As for you-” -Bruce turns on Damian- “-if you so much as step one foot out of line, that’s it. Your Robin privileges will be revoked and the green one will be coming with me.” 

Little D, apparently sensing the end of the conversation, latches onto Dick’s arm. “I’d like to go home and say hello to Batcow! I promised her that I would be back before morning breaks!” 

The absurdity of the comment and the idea that the real Damian had promised his cow that even before the spell is startling. Dick has to force out his, “Great,” in response to Bruce-

And then Batman and Damian are gone, dashing straight out the window, capes fluttering in the wind. 

Dick, instead, opts to walk straight out the front door.

Chapter Text

Zantanna is off world, and Batman wisely chooses to stay away with Red for a better half of the next few days. 

“We’re tracking down a case,” Bruce had said the first night. “Nothing so important that you need to get involved- It’s just something to keep Damian occupied for now. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had to remind him that” -the way that he said it made it sound like he was talking to someone else- “we don’t kill people in this family! Excessive violence like this isn’t the answer!” 

The call had cut off before either of them could have say goodbye. 

During the past few days, Dick’s learned too much about these Damian shards. 

Little D- Pinkie, he assumes. It’s what he’s been calling him, as of late- acts like an actual child. He loves animals and he likes people with his whole entire heart. He calls Bruce Baba when the topic arises, he clings to Dick like he’s starved of attention and it’s all he really needs. He chitters out I love you like a broken record.

He spends all of his time outside with Titus, or curled up beside Alfred, (the cat, Dick isn’t quite sure where Alfred the butler is quite yet), and Dick as he reads a book. He’ll end up downstairs in the Batcave by the end of the day, with Dami with him. They read books together, they watch stupid YouTube videos, they be.  

“Can we go to the park?” Little D asks, the morning of day two. He’s helping Dick make french toast for the others. Dami sits at the table beside Robin, the blue eyed version of the three sitting slouched over. “I think we’d all like to go out and play, right, Dami? Robin?” 

They’ve all adopted Dick’s names, though he knows that Robin responds to anything and Little D doesn’t mind Pinkie. It’s a good thing that they have, though Dick wouldn’t hate it if Robin said something other than a yessir when Dick asks him to do something. 

“I don’t think we can,” Dick replies. There’s too many risks involved with going to the park with these three. Dick could always try to pass the three off as triplets, perhaps his little brothers. Dami looks enough like him. Little D has pink eyes, though. No one has pink eyes. That, and literally nothing can dampen his mood. He has a positive reply to absolutely everything. It’s why Dick isn’t too concerned with saying no, Pinkie will bounce back faster than the Flash. 

Little D cocks his head to the side, but then nods like he completely understands. “Would you mind joining me in the library then? I found this book that I wanted, but it was really high up!” 

Dami kicks his foot under the table. “I found a book too,” he says, and his voice is so, so soft. “Could you please help me get it?” 

“I’d love to help both of you,” Dick says, almost immediately. He places a plate in front of Robin, who doesn’t even touch it. Little D slides Dami’s plate straight to him. Dami, with little hesitation, begins to eat the food before him, with tiny bites. “Robin, are you hungry?” 

Ever so subtly, Robin’s eyes flicker. Had Dick not spend years with this child, he wouldn’t realize that this is just him trying to figure out what Dick wants from him. He’s trying to figure out if he needs to say yes or no. He’s probably hungry, Dick knows it. The way Robin’s mind might be running, though, will tell him to tell Dick no. Don’t show weakness, as Talia would say. You can’t show weakness in front of anyone. Damian- the whole Damian- had told him that once, when he awoke from a nightmare. 

“No sir,” Robin replies, and his voice sounds like Damian’s- just without soft little undertones of emotion clinging to the words. 

It’s a lie. A boldly constructed lie used to hide away his needs and wants and wishes. 

“Do you want french toast?” Dick asks. “I can make you something else.” 

“No sir,” says Robin, “thank you sir.” 

Dick places the fork and the knife- He’s a little wary about the knife, but is sure that Robin won’t use it unless ordered- into his younger brother’s hands. “Eat,” he whispers. “Can you please eat? You need to.” 

Robin curls his hands around the silverware. “Yes sir.” 

Dick twists to look at Dami. He’s not really sure where he goes when Dami’s not with Pinkie or him. To his room, possibly? He makes himself sparse throughout the day. When Dami’s with Dick, he says I am sorry with gentle lips. He talks about Tim and Jason and Bruce, he utters his regrets to deaf ears and he huddles in on himself when the world keeps on moving. When he’s around, Dick keeps himself small and as nonthreatening as he can manage. 

He talks about Tim a lot, actually. He talks about both Tim and Bruce the most out of everyone else in the family. 

“When I first met Drake,” he says, that night, when Dick sits right between him and Little D, “I was terrible to him. I tried to kill him- Father was right to lock me into my room.” Pinkie leans on Dick’s shoulder, snoring softly. (Dick hadn’t known that Damian snored- it had to be something he was forced out of while with Talia.) “I had too much pride to say I was sorry- I thought my actions were right. Mother had taught me that I had to earn my place-”

Then, “I do not think I have earned my place here yet, Grayson.” 

“You’ve done more than enough to earn your place,” Dick says, and he keeps his voice soft and small. He only adds in the slightest bit of determination in his voice, just to show Dami that he’s not worried. He knows what he’s talking about. “Whenever I’m Batman, you’re my Robin. Whenever I’m Nightwing-” 

“I can be your Flamebird?” Dami guesses, blinking once to ward off a sheen of tears. 

“Whenever I’m Dick Grayson?” 

“I am your- Damian Wayne.” 

Dick lets a smile ghost over his lips. He reaches out to place a hand on Dami’s cheek. His tanned skin is ice cold to the touch. “You’ll always have a place with me for as long as I’m alive, Dami.” 

“What about with Father?” Dami asks, and he has no right to sound that young. “I do not know what I can do to make things right with him- What can I do for Drake, Grayson? I need- I need him to know that I am sorry for what I’ve done to him.”

There isn’t anything that Dick can say to that, other than a murmured, “We’ll figure it out.” He pulls Dami’s head into his chest and watches as he curls up into a tight ball. “We’ll figure it out," he repeats, running a hand through Dami’s hair. 

While Dami twists at Dick’s gut, Robin makes him want to throw up every time he sees something that Talia has imprinted onto him. He’s silent. 

That’s it. 

He’s just silent.  

No amount of small talk can make him say anything other than those few words he always chitters out. Yes or no questions work the absolute best when it comes to talking with Robin, but even then, the words aren’t from the heart. They’re born out of necessity and the belief that if he says the wrong thing, the world will come falling down at their feet. It’s a mentality that Dick hates- there’s no way to let this version of Damian know that he’s not going to hurt him. There’s nothing that he can do. 

He wants to help, he really, really does. It’s just that- 

Dick’s not the person that Robin needs, and he knows this like it’s a law. Dick isn’t the one that Robin needs, Dami needs closure from Tim- and possibly Bruce- and Dick isn’t sure who Pinkie needs. (It’s not him.) Red? Red needs someone who can show him how to be calm. That’s not Bruce, and he’s sure that it can’t be him. 

He’s not enough for his brother- any version of his brother- and that absolutely breaks his heart. 

For now, he’ll just have to be here for him. For now, Dick will just have to pretend like he’s good enough. It’s all that he can do, really. As long as he can be an open link for any one of these Damian versions, to be there for him to rant to and to cry with. 

(Maybe this is what Dick’s meant to be learning. Maybe the spell wasn’t for Damian, it was for Dick.) 

So he sits with his phone in his hand and he twirls it around. 

He’s got to call Tim first, possibly. To figure out what to do with Dami, then to figure out what to do with everyone else. 

Everyone else includes Red. Dick hasn’t spent all that long with Red- Really, he’s only spent those few seconds with him. He doesn’t know much about him. The only way that he learns anything about Red is having Bruce call in every so often for a mission report. Dick doesn’t even get to talk to Damian when Bruce calls in. He only gets to talk to Bruce. 

It’s not very fun. 

“He doesn’t listen- He throws himself into the fight without a single care in the world! He tries to kill these damn crooks that we fight, no matter what I say!” Bruce roars, on that third night. “I swear that I’ll pull him out and send him home to you! Even the regular Damian wasn’t like him!” 

Dick scowls to himself, and takes the call off of speaker immediately. It won’t do any good if one of the other Damian’s end up waking up. Though, Robin isn’t asleep. He’s sitting at the counter with a book in his hand. Dick’s not even sure that he’s reading it. Maybe just staring. “Damian was like him, once. When he first came around- don’t you remember? What’d he do to make you so mad at him?” 

“I’m sending him home.” 

“If you do that, he’ll kill Tim.” 

“You have Tim over?” Bruce asks. 

“I’m going to. Dami- the anxious one? Blue- he needs to talk to Tim.” 

“Fine. I won’t send him home,” Bruce half-groans. “What if I ship him off to the Kents? Clark can get through to him- Jon can get through to him.”

“By the end of the night, both Superman and Superboy will end up with Kryptonite piercings,” Dick says. “You really want to risk it?” 

The kettle on the oven whistles, and Dick ends the call without another word. Bruce could go on forever when he got frustrated. If Dick humored him anymore, he’d be here all night. That’s not where he wants to be, what he wants to do all night. Instead, he settles in beside Robin with a mug of steaming water in his hands and tears open a hot chocolate powder packet. 

“You like hot chocolate, don’t you?” Dick asks, more for the sake of noise than anything else. Robin shifts minutely. “What are you reading?” All Robin does is hand the book over, a little resigned. It’s a thick book, but it’s not an old book. It’s a YA novel that Tim probably owned when he was still living in the manor full time. Dick trades it for the hot chocolate.  

“Careful,” he utters, “it’s probably hot. Let it cool down.” 

Robin pauses, before placing the cup back down. 

“Can I read this to you?” Dick asks next, gesturing to the book. “If you go settle down into bed, and I’ll read it.” 

He’s pretty sure that Robin reads it as an order. He stands with grace and Dick follows, scooping up the mug. When Dick first got here, he assigned everyone their own rooms. Robin, he reckons, is the only one to actually use it. Dick also reckons he’ll be crashing the night here, with Robin. 

Robin never ends up touching the hot chocolate, but that is fine. 

They both pretend that there isn’t a small twinkle in Robin’s eyes as Dick reads, but that is fine. 

But, you know? Dick will let you in on a secret here-

None of this is fine.

Chapter Text

Dick calls, and Tim refuses. 

“Please, Tim,” Dick tries for the third time. 

“It’s the demon, Dick. You want me to come over and talk to the demon because he’s having a self doubt moment in his life, and I need to tell him it’s all okay. You want me to tell him that I forgive him and make all of his problems disappear,” Tim nearly growls. “Isn’t that Bruce’s job?” 

“Bruce is taking care of Red- Damian’s anger clone. Had he been here, I think he would’ve tried to kill you-” 

“Had I been there too,” his brother scoffs. “If Bruce isn’t going to deal with this version of the demon, why aren’t you?” 

To his left, Robin shifts. The movement startles Dick enough that he almost drops the phone. Robin’s been nothing but still and civil since he came along. He’s also, or the most part, stuck by Dick’s side unless he’s been given some kind of order to stay put or go to sleep. Even then, Dick’s unsure if Robin really sleeps or if he just lays in his bed. Out of the corner of his eyes he can see Robin cross his ankles and fold his hands. He breathes a little harder. Dick pretends like he didn’t see it. 

“I’m not who he needs to talk to right now. It’s you he needs, maybe Bruce- It’s not that he needs you to forgive him, Tim, he needs you to know that he regrets what he did. I’m- we’re just trying to see if resolving all of his emotional problems work for him. We need to be able to get this spell to reverse sooner than later. We’re not sure how long Zantanna will be gone for.” 

“Who’s we in this situation?” Tim asks. 

Dick doesn’t really know the answer to that. As much as he wants to pretend like Bruce actually cares, he really doesn’t. It’s just him in this scenario, watching over his brother’s three emotion clones. At least Bruce bothered to take care of one of them, instead of vanishing like he wanted to. There is no we. It’s Dick, and Dick alone, and he’s already realized that it can’t just be him. At this point, if he keeps thinking it, he’ll just sound like a broken record. 

He breathes in, then out. “Us. Please, Tim. He’s not- he won’t try anything. None of the Damians here with me would ever try anything against you. Even if you won’t do it for him- Please, do it for me. You know how much Damian means to me-” 

“Too much,” Tim says, but it lacks the bite that it should have. “I- Tomorrow. I’ll be there tomorrow. Not for him. Just for you. I know that I owe you a favor or two.” Dick can tell that he’s trying to keep his voice light and switch the topic to something a lot less constricting. They talk into the night. They talk until Tim has to bid him good night to get some kind of rest before daylight. They talk until Robin begins to droop the tiniest sliver. It’s then that Dick swallows his worries and whispers at Robin to go and sleep. Then he goes to lie in bed and wait for morning to come. 

Morning does come, it always has, and for some reason, it feels like it’s come to soon. The doorbell rings before he’s even up and out of bed, which means there’s absolutely no way that he’s getting to it before Little D. That doesn’t bode well for Tim- who might just react to a hug from any version of Damian with a little bit more than skepticism. With that thought bouncing around in his head, he ends up taking the stairs two by two- then nearly just jumping down all of them- in nothing other than his sleep pants. 

When he gets down to the main lobby, Tim is opening up the door, completely unaware of anything and everything. Out of the corner of Dick’s eyes, he can see Little D twist around the corner. All that stands between Pinkie and Tim is that last flight of stairs, and Dick knows from experience that any version of Damian is faster than him- it’s the curse of having someone smaller than you around. 

He grits his teeth and knows how dirty of a move he’s about to pull. 

Richard Grayson pulls it anyway and promptly feels like the world’s biggest shit.

“ROBIN! STOP PI-” 

Before he can even think about finishing the command, Robin flies out of his room with silent efficiency and catapults himself onto Little D’s shoulders. Little D’s face melts into a perfect picture of absolute fear- fear that doesn’t fit on the actual embodiment of happiness, let alone a face that young and soft. Robin’s hands move to grip the sides of Little D’s head in a way that Dick has only seen skilled murderers and assassins use, and he feels a flash of terror rush through him. Stop Pinkie, he’d said. To Robin, that’s got to mean Kill Pinkie. Green’s legs wrap around Little D’s waist to give him purchase and Tim is all but forgotten as Dick rushes forth with a command rolling off of his lips. 

Robin pushes himself off of Little D the moment that Dick says stop, landing on the ground beside his counterpart. He’s tense again, but it’s a different tense. It’s a you’re-going-to-hit-me tense, a I’m-going-to-be-punished tense. There’s a whole truckload of stuff to unpack with that. Little D stands, utterly shell-shocked and shaken. His eyes are all teary, that’s another whole cartload of things that Dick doesn’t have time for. 

Tim’s here. 

Tim’s here, Dami’s peeking out of his room with wide eyes and teeth nearly tearing through his lips. Little D runs up to wrap his arms around Dick’s waist- Dick, who can only stand still as his heart nearly fails him. Robin twists just slightly at the sound of someone clearing their throat. 

“So,” Tim says. “These are the kids, huh?” 

Like a dime, Little D switches from a teary eyed child about to break down at the slightest inconvenience to one that’s hyped up on enough candy to make a grown man piss himself. His face breaks out in a huge grin as he pulls away from Dick, immediately rushing towards Tim with open arms. 

“TIMOTHY!” he cries, and this is what Dick was afraid of, Tim, please don’t do anythi-

Tim extends his arms and when Little D crashes into his chest, Tim carries out the momentum by swinging Pinkie up and off the ground, following through with a small circle. He smiles down at him like any older brother would do. It makes zero sense. Dick must still be asleep, or maybe-

He catches the hair end of Tim telling Little D to go get something to eat for breakfast, before Tim ascends the stairs to join Dick and Robin. “This is Green, then?” he asks, gesturing to Robin. Robin shifts minutely. Tim adopts a small, soft tone. “Hey there.” 

Robin stares at him blankly.

“What?” Tim asks. “Don’t care to talk?” 

There’s a blink. Then, “Sir.” 

Tim shivers, and doesn’t bother to try to suppress it. “That sounds so wrong,” he groans. “This isn’t the one I’m supposed to talk to, right?” 

“No,” Dick replies. “Dami’s in his room right now. Robin, can you go join Little D in the kitchen and make sure he’s not making a mess? I’m really sorry about calling you down to help me with him earlier.” 

Robin gives Dick a terse nod, and then he’s gone. 

Dick lets his entire body sink. “Sometimes I’ve gotta wonder how Bruce dealt with all of us- and I kinda get why he was always so stressed out and mad at us,” he begins, without being prompted. Tim listens with a close ear and a tense frown. He doesn’t say a word, and for that, Dick is thankful. “One Damian was enough of a handful- I raised him longer than Bruce ever has - and the second that Damian ends up like this, Bruce fucks off to the middle of no where! He didn’t want to take Red- He wanted to take Robin because he’d do absolutely everything that Bruce says! The only reason Robin does that-”

“Is because of Talia,” Tim finishes for him. “Because of fuckin’ Talia.” 

“Fuckin’ Talia.” 

“Little D- Pinkie, Pink, whatever. He’s what you would’ve gotten, right? If Damian had grown up with you?” 

With you takes a primary spot in Dick’s head. Not with Bruce, not with us. Had he grown up with Bruce as his primary guardian, he would just grow up angst. Possibly a little less emotionally constipated, because Dick wouldn’t have left if Damian had been around since day one. But- Really. If Dick had the chance to raise Damian up from scratch in Talia’s place he’d take every chance to let Damian have a real childhood. Pink Damian was just a little tease of what they could have had. What Dick could’ve had, had he just had the option.

“I wish I could’ve gave him that,” Dick says. 

“I think you have. The fact that Damian split up into this version of himself instead of something else- like knowledge or something, I don’t know-” Tim waves his hand in the air, a little wildly. “It proves that someone has. You’ve been feeding that little morsel of childish joy ever since the day you met him. That says something, Dick.” 

“You know- You’re not supposed to be here for me.” 

Tim pretends not to hear that. “Green- Robin, I guess- freaks me the hell out.” 

“I don’t know who to call about him yet. I might just call up Jason before anyone else. Maybe he’ll know something. And- Maybe not even for Robin. Maybe he can even help out with Dami.” 

“That’s a hell of a lotta maybes,” Tim sighs. “Call Cass. Call Steph. Don’t call Bruce- Call Alfred, actually. Any of them can help you so much more than me and Jason can, Dick.” 

Dick shrugs, and can hardly think of any soft of response.

He’s so fucking tired.

Chapter Text

Dick has to coax Dami to leave his room. Tim stands by the doorway, foot tapping on the hardwood floors, obviously impatient. 

Dami’s wedged himself in the corner of his bathroom, hands shaking and eyes full of tears. “He hates me,” he says, when Dick finally gets around to getting him to speak. “He hates me, I can’t go talk to him now!” 

“You saw him with Little D,” Dick says, crouching before his younger brother. His blue eyes always catch him off guard- had he been standing beside a portrait of a younger Bruce, Dick doesn’t think he’d be able to tell the two apart. Dami was small and skinny, the same as Bruce had been before his parents had died. “He doesn’t-” 

“He does! What if I say the wrong thing, Grayson? What if-” 

Tim clears his throat, having long since moved from the hallway to the doorway of the bathroom. He’s leaning on it, arms crossed across his chest. When two pairs of blue eyes narrow in on him, he lets his arms drop, sticking one hand in his pocket and gesturing outside with his other. He looks vaguely uncomfortable, actually. Flustered without the blush across his cheeks, as if he’s trying to wade into unknown waters. He probably is, at any rate. Dick’s the only one of the family- other than Alfred- who’s really gotten through to Damian. 

“Why don’t we talk over breakfast?” he asks, voice gentle and soft. Dick can’t swallow the pride he has in Tim- he’s reading the room and not letting his feelings take the lead. “I’m kinda hungry.” 

“What,” Dick teases, reaching for Dami again, “coffee not filling enough?” 

Dami takes his hand and allows Dick to pull him to his feet. Dick switches hands when they get to the hallway to place Dami between him and Tim, if only to get Dami and Tim to be more comfortable with each other. 

Little D sits on the counter in the kitchen, chowing down on an overfilled bowl of cereal as Robin stands guard by the door. He steps to the side when the three brothers walk in, hands folded perfectly behind his back. Tim gives him a look, not a dirty one, but one of pure concern. Tim pauses beside Robin as Dick utters for Dami to go grab something to eat. Dick joins Tim’s side, meeting his gaze when the younger peers back at him. 

“Robin,” Dick starts, “have you eaten yet?” 

Robin gives him another one of those calculating gazes, silent for a few moments more, before settling on a monotone, “No sir.” 

Dick reaches for him and gently- (everything with these kids has to be gentle, Dick’s never really realized it in all of his years)- pulls him towards the island, sliding out a stool for Robin to sit down at with his foot. He does the same for Dami and Tim, motioning for Little D to get off the counter and join them. There’s so many stools at the island for the sole reason of there being so many people coming in and out of the house. He dishes out a bowl for himself, Dami and Tim, before pouring himself cereal and milk, leaving both for Tim and Dami to use. Robin grabs at an apple, and Dick is content enough with his choice. (It’s one that Robin made on his own, after all.) 

A quarter of the way through breakfast, Little D rocks up and pulls at Robin’s sleeve. “I believe I asked if we could play chess today! You told me” -and Little D tries to lower his voice like a robot- “‘yessir’. Can we still play?” He puts his dish in the sink, and looks over at Dick. “You’ll join us too, right, Richard?” 

It’s then that Dick’s spoon stills before his mouth, dripping milk. Little D acts like his age, it’s easy for Dick to forget that Damian is smart. So, so smart. It’s only natural that he gather that Tim and Dami need to talk- only natural that he set up a situation for the two to do just that. Something blooms in Dick’s chest- god, he’s so proud of his little brother. 

“I believe,” he continues, “that the two of us can beat Robin. He’s just that smart!” Little D turns, then, to look at Robin. “That doesn’t mean you get to go easy on us, Robin. Try your hardest.” 

The brief thought of, oh, Robin is going to let us win because he’s afraid that if he beats us, we’ll punish him, morphs into, oh, Robin is going to win because failure is not tolerated in the League. Both of those thoughts send a dark feeling through his body. He’ll have to wait and see, really. If Robin wins, he’ll just have to congratulate him. If he fails, Dick will try his best to comfort him. 

He stands and brings his bowl with him, looking over to Tim. He gives his younger brother a shrug, gives Dami a silent smile when he gives Dick his best withering glare. 

Oddly enough, Dick doesn’t feel bad about abandoning his two brothers. 

Little D pulls out the chess board and hands Dick the bag of pieces as he goes to pull up a third chair. When Dick thanks him for it, it’s for a little more than the chair and welcomed distraction. 

Ten minutes of needless tips and pointers from Dick, excellent and strategic planning from Little D- (he’s still Damian, through and through. He’s smart and cunning and covers both of those traits up with a beaming smile and twinkle in his eyes)- Robin ends up winning the game. Dick hadn’t even seen it coming, and he’d spent long hours playing chess with both Alfred and Bruce when injured and tired and unable to fall asleep. 

“You did a real good job, Robin,” Dick says, as he stands and gathers his dishes. “You two can set up for the next game- we’ll get him this time.” 

“Of course!” Little D chirps. 

Dick makes a beeline for the kitchen, rolling up his sleeves. He’ll wash the dishes, give himself time to cool down-

He pauses just before the kitchen door when he hears Dami sob from inside of the kitchen. 

He’d forgotten about the two- Forgot that they were hidden away in the kitchen, forgot that they were talking about everything that had been going on between the two. 

Without even really thinking out it, he slides down to the floor and leans his head against the door. He listens in on their conversation, if only to make sure that it’s going the way that it should. 

Dami’s crying, he can tell because of how his words are stilted with hiccups. “I didn’t- I- I don’t hate you, Drake, I don’t- I never, ever have-” 

“Then why?” Tim breaks through, voice watered down with tears. He’s holding back whatever anger he has right now, Dick can hear it in his voice and how it quivers over the why. He must be about to cry- Dick’s sure that he’s holding back from doing it though. 

“I was afraid. I knew that Father favored you over me- You’re so brilliant, so much like him that it’s so hard to compete against you. And- And I was afraid that because he had you, he had no place in his life for another child- For another Robin or another heir. You were- are - everything that he needs and wants in a Robin-” 

“I wasn’t enough- not for him.” 

“Drake-?” 

“I wasn’t. I was only there to replace Jason after he died- He doesn’t love me like that , and I don’t know if I can say that he loves you like that for sure. Bruce- No one’s ever going to be enough for Bruce.” 

“Grayson’s enough.” 

“I’m not sure he really was, Damian-” 

“Dami.” 

“Dami.” 

“I don’t hate you, Drake.” 

“I know.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“I know.” 

“I’d take it all back if I just knew how.” 

“...” 

“I would, I swear that I would- I’d go back to the moment I met you and I’d-” 

“If I could go back to the moment we met- I think I’d tell you that there’s absolutely no reason that you have to be afraid as long as Dick and I am here. Actually, I’d go back further. I’d go back to Talia- before her and Bruce ever did it-” 

“You’d stop her from drugging Father.” 

“I-” 

“It makes complete sense- I’m the sole cause of a lot of your anxieties here, aren’t I?” 

“That’s not what I was going to say.” 

“Drake, you don’t have to-” 

“The only reason why I’d ever think about stopping Talia from doing that wouldn’t be for myself or Bruce- It’d be because she hurt you, Damia- Dami. She raised you to think like that- to think that you needed to earn your place or to earn Bruce’s love. That’s not- That’s not what you need to do- you’ll never have to do that here. If you need to earn someone’s love- you don’t need it, Dami. I don’t know if you know this or not, but she was abusive Dami.” 

“Mother wasn’t-” 

“Look at me.” 

“She wasn’t-” 

“Look me in the eyes and say that!” 

“Drake-” 

“You can’t deny it, Damian! You can’t! Have you looked at Robin? Had you stayed any longer with Talia, that’s where you’d be. You can’t honestly say that you want that, Damian!” 

“Mother loved me- She did-” 

“But you had to earn it.” 

“...” 

“I don’t hate you, you know? I’ve never-” 

“Don’t lie.” 

“I’m grown enough to admit that once, I did hate you. You replaced me, you took up Bruce and Dick’s attention. I was shoved to the side like trash. Less than that- I- So, yes. Okay? I hated you once.” 

“And now?” 

“You’re my little brother, Dami.” 

“...” 

“You’ve proven yourself- and right now, I do need to be the older brother and admit that I’ve been unfair to you. I’ve- I- I’m sorry.” 

“Thank you-” 

“I don’t think I can accept your apology just yet.” 

“I don’t expect you too.” 

“That doesn’t mean that I don’t love you, Dami.” 

“Is this- Is this going to change when I become myself again?” 

“I don’t- I don’t want it to.” 

“I don’t want it to either.”

The room falls silent. 

Dick feels like he heard too much. 

He ends up taking the bowl with him, back to the living room where Little D and Robin still sit. They’ve gotten themselves into another game, one that has Little D rocking in his seat with anticipation. Robin glances to the side when Dick enters the room and Little D follows his gaze. 

“Richard! I’m just about to win this one! I’ve got him in check- I’m so close to checkmate!” 

Dick sets his bowl on the table nearby, settling down to study the board. True to Little D’s word, he’s secured a good chunk of Robin’s pieces. His queen has Robin’s king in check, and he’s only a handful of turns away from getting checkmate. Robin, however, is only one step away from it. It seems like Little D forgot to keep his king save, while attempting to take Robin’s. 

Dick grins to himself and settles to watch the two duke it out. Little D’s face is priceless when it turns out he lost again, but he takes it in stride. 

Three games later finds Little D his first victory. Robin’s got the smallest little twinkle in his eyes- he let Little D win, willingly. Willingly, despite the ever looming threat of a possible punishment that Dick won’t ever inflict. Little D throws himself into Dick’s arms with a grin, and Dick reaches over to pull Robin into it. 

“I love the both of you, you know. I really, really love you two.” 

“Richard, I love you too!” 

Robin doesn’t say anything, but somehow, it still feels like enough. 

(Later, as Dick and Tim put new sheets on Tim’s bed, he tries his best not to cry when Tim says, “Thank you. I think I really needed that.”

“Yeah,” Dick replies, and he pretends like his voice doesn’t break.

Tim, thankfully, doesn’t comment. 

“I love you.” 

“Yeah. I love you too.” )

Chapter Text

By the time that three a.m. rolls around, Dick is pulled out of his sleep by a loud wail. It forces him up and out of bed. He’s halfway to the door before he even realizes that he got up. He doesn’t stop his momentum, instead using it to rocket out into the hall with practiced silence. He’s just in time to see Tim waving Dami and Little D back into their rooms, assuring them that him and Dick will have the situation dealt with. His hair’s a mess- he actually did sleep when Dick left him to his own devices. 

The only one in the house that’s still in his room is Robin. Dick’s heart begins to rush at what that could mean. Robin hasn’t made a single sound yet, not really. Something like this can only really mean that someone’s attacking the manor, or that Bruce and Red came home too early and Red’s completely pissed- 

“Relax,” Tim says, raising his hand to stop Dick. They both pause in front of Robin’s door, allowing Tim enough time to lean his head against the door- pressing his ear right into the wood. He’s listening in on whatever’s going on in there. After a beat or so, he pulls away. “He’s still in there. I think he’s- he’s upset.” 

Dick, before opening the door himself, presses his own ear to the cool wood. There’s a shaky sob on the other side, but no sounds of struggle. He shares a look and a nod with Tim, before pushing open the door to meet whatever’s on the other side. 

The lights are completely off, but the curtains are open, allowing pale Gotham moonlight to feed through them and cast light into the darkened room. The entire bedside table has been thrown onto its side on the floor and the bed is bare. Dick, for all it’s worth, begins to mentally freak out all over again. 

Before he can call out Robin, a high, breathy whine of Mama breaks through the silence. Immediately comes the sound of someone slapping a hand straight over their mouth, trying to stifle a sob. Dick rounds the corner of the bed to find Robin, curled up between the upturned table’s legs. His eyes are wide and glazed over, fists clenched and shoulders shaking. 

“Mama,” he wails again, and it’s the first word of his own accord that Dick’s ever heard him say. “Please don’t- I’m sorry I messed up, please don’t, Mama-” 

Tim immediately steps back, straight out of the room to leave it to Dick. For that, Dick can’t help but be grateful. While Tim’s finally patched things up with one of the Damian clones, that doesn’t mean he’s still able to work with the rest of them. 

Dick settles down beside Robin’s side and takes his brother’s face in his hands. “Robin,” he says, keeping his touch completely light, “you’re only dreaming. Talia isn’t here, Robin.” 

Robin reels back, probably knowing that someone spoke, but not knowing what Dick really said. His eyes screw shut as he pulls himself into a tighter ball, shoving his back against the underside of the table. It makes it hard to touch Robin, the table’s legs stab at Dick’s arms because of how small the table is. That’s probably the whole point. The edges of the table’s probably dig into his back, too, along with the edges of its legs. 

Almost immediately, Dick understands that there’s nothing that he can say to help this situation. Robin, as much as it hurts to admit it, needs to ride this out until he’s able to come back into himself. 

“Mama,” he gasps again. 

Dick moves, so he’s sitting beside Robin so that the only thing between them is the table’s legs. The top one comes up to just under his armpit, so he leans his arm over them, loosely wrapping it around Robin. 

They sit there for the next hour, before Dick falls asleep. 

He comes to when Tim raps on the door, already poking his head through before Dick can come to his senses. Robin had long since moved, sitting on the bed with his ankles crossed and hands clasped in his lap. 

“Bruce called,” Tim says, waving Dick’s phone as he speaks. “He’s on the phone right now. He sounds unbelievably pissed off.” 

Dick heaves a sigh and gives Robin a quick once over. He’s back to his stony exterior. There’s nothing that he can do or say now. The moment has long since passed. “Just hand me the phone,” he sighs as he gets up. Tim pulls closer, pulling up the bedside table and placing the phone in Dick’s hands. “I’ll just step out and take this.” 

After looking over to Robin, Tim nods and takes to pulling out a change of clothes for Robin to change into. Dick takes this as his exit, pressing the phone against his ear as he tries to level his breathing. 

“Bruce,” he greets. “I just woke up- what’s up?” 

He scratches at his stomach as he peers down the hall. There’s no laughter, so either Pinkie’s still asleep or him and Dami fell asleep again with Batcow. Dick hopes they’re still asleep, with Robin and Bruce, all he wants to do is pass out in his room. 

Even though he won’t be passing out, he does still go to his room for the sake of needed privacy. He shucks off his shirt and reaches for a clean one as he puts his phone on speaker. 

“I’m coming home,” Bruce says, and while Dick’s voice is still laden with exhaustion, Bruce sounds like he’s been awake since noon. It’s likely that he has, even though Dick still doesn’t have a clear idea of what he’s doing. With that, Bruce sounds absolutely pissed. “We’ll be there by Sunday at the very latest.” 

Damian- Red- had to have done something. 

“I’ll be switching Red out for Green,” Bruce continues. “There’s absolutely no way I can get anything else done with Red here. I’ve had to stop him for the seventh time-” 

“It wasn’t my fault!” someone shrieks in the background, voice wet with tears. “I told you it wasn’t my fault, but you refuse to listen to me! You saw the footage! I didn’t even do anything- and I held back! Is there nothing that can satisfy you? I mean, of course you’d want that damn blank slate, rather than the one that closest resembles your son! ” 

Bruce tries to throw in a word, but Dick speaks over him. “What the hell happened-?” 

Just like with all of the previous nights, Bruce basically ignores Dick’s question. “Sunday.” 

“Tim’s here!” Dick tries. “Him and Dami just made up-” 

“Sunday .” 

“You can’t take Robin out, Bruce-” 

“Why the hell not?! He’s a Robin, isn’t he?” 

The only reason why Bruce shouts is because he’s stressed, Dick knows it, but he can’t stop connecting the picture of a battered Robin with little Robin, curled up on the floor, calling for a mother who never loved him the way that he needed. Paired with the ugly feeling that Dick gets every time Robin does something he asks for blindly, Dick doesn’t want Robin going out if he can help it. That’s not where Robin needs to be, he needs to be at home, breaking out of the walls that cage his mind. 

“I’m not letting you take Robin out,” Dick hisses. “You can’t- You can’t, Bruce- He just-” 

The line frizzes for a beat. “We’ll talk about this on Sunday, then.” 

“We can’t keep pushing this back, Bruce-” 

“Sunday,” Bruce says again.

“Bruce!” 

The line goes dead. 

Dick chucks the phone and yells as it thumps pitifully against the wall. 

That’s not fair. That’s not fair of Bruce to do, it’s not fair that he just gets to hang up because he doesn’t want to do this emotions thing, it’s not fair of him to say that he’ll take Robin out when Robin can’t go of his own accord. 

Life isn’t fair, he thinks. If it were, the real Damian would act like Pinkie, would’ve been able to grow up by Dick’s side and meet Jason before the Joker and get along with Tim without needed to talk about it. If it were, Bruce would still have his parents and Batman wouldn’t exist and criminals in Gotham wouldn’t either, and Dick- 

Dick wouldn’t have lost his own parents and he wouldn’t have met Bruce or Jason or Tim. 

He wouldn’t have met Damian. Actually, Damian wouldn’t even be alive.

That hurts him more than he’d like to admit. 

He doesn’t even realize he’s crying until the door creaks open and Little D peers in, gesturing to Dick’s face by pressing his hands to his own. He rocks on his heels as he pushes the door along with him. “I was gonna ask if Robin was okay,” he starts, treading lightly, “but I think that I should ask if you’re okay?” He spots the phone on the floor, because he pulls away from the door to go grab it. He shuts the door behind him lightly.

Then, “Are you okay, Richard?” 

He’s not really sure why he says it, but he ends up spitting out, “Bruce wants to take Robin out in Red’s stead.” 

“I thought Baba might,” Little D says, as if it’s offhand and not intentional. “I know you don’t like it when people tell Robin what to do, but- Maybe- Maybe this is good for him. And Red.” He plugs Dick’s phone into it’s charger and sets it on the bedside table. “I mean, Red doesn’t need to expel his anger, not really. He needs to control it. Being in a situation that doesn’t demand he fight everyone in sight. And- And maybe what Baba needs is the same. I’m not saying that he needs to sit out of Batman, you can’t take the Batman out of Baba. 

“He just needs to be around us. Dami has stuff to say to him and I’d like to at least see him.” He gets a hazy look in his eyes when he turns his gaze away. He scuffs his foot into the floor. When he blinks, he takes a seat on the side of the bed and taps the area beside him. Dick takes it, but doesn’t speak yet. “So it’s a win win situation if Baba comes home with Damian, right? And- maybe Robin needs to do something more like the League so he can get used to everything. Like, we’ll slowly start shifting his mentality away from the League and to us. And- maybe he’ll start opening up. 

“Or something,” Little D adds on. His cheeks go a little red as he sticks out his tongue. “Sorry. Word vomit.” 

Dick just peers down at his younger brother. Those tears that were in his eyes drip faster, sliding down his cheeks without his consent. “When did you get so smart?” he breathes out. His arms inch up and Little D scooches closer to allow Dick to take his head into his hands. Their eyes meet, blazing pink and shining blue. “You’ve gone through so much, why are you so good?” 

Then, Dick follows it up with, “You’re too young to be this heart- you know that, don’t you?” 

“It gets better. It gets a lot better. When you’ve gone through a lot, you start to tend towards the good things or you focus on the bad. I think- Dami’s not sure where he lands- I’ve been thinking of the good.” 

“You’re too mature,” Dick sobs out. “What happened to you?” 

Little D reaches up and places his hand over Dick’s. “Think about it,” he whispers. “Maybe Robin needs to go out with Baba. Maybe- Maybe you need to take a break from all of us, too. You can’t be all stressed out when Red comes here! He’ll eat you alive!” 

Dick chokes out a laugh and pulls Little D close to him. “Jesus, I love you so much, D. You have no idea.” 

“I think I do,” Little D says. “And- Richard? I know I won’t say it when we get back to normal Damian- but you know that I love you too, don’t you?” 

“Of course I do,” Dick says immediately. He does, and that’s what hurts the absolute most. Little D- all of Damian- absolutely loves Dick- and every single time, it gets him hurt. 

Every time. 

Actually, the more that Dick really thinks about it, that’s completely Damian’s weakness. It’s not his only one, all of Damian’s counterparts scream of his big ones- Red’s arrogance, Dami’s anxiety, Robin’s past. And then there’s Pinkie’s pure compassion. Damian- the full one- took a while to warm up to people so they always painted him as the kind of person who just didn’t care. That idea was completely fake. Once Damian did warm up to people- people who broke down his walls and managed wiggle their way into those cracks in his heart- he cared for them with absolutely everything that he had. Then those people would hurt him, either straight out like Talia and Ra’s, or indirectly like Dick and Bruce had done. 

(Maybe it would just be best if Damian didn’t care so much about the few that he did. Dick shuts down that thought quickly.)

Dick thinks back to the whole it’s not fair mentality and squeezes harder. 

“I’m glad you do,” Little D says. After a longer pause, he shifts to lean his head on Dick’s shoulder, so Dick lets one of his arms drop. “You should call Jason over.” 

It’s a random thought that spurs Dick into jumping a little. “Why?” 

“He can probably help talk Red out of his rage when Baba’s gone, can’t he? He’s dealt with some of the stuff we have before.” Some of the stuff as in dying, some of the stuff as in Talia for that brief stint of time. Little D gives a shrug. “Are you going to go back to sleep.” 

Dick rubs at his eyes. “Yeah. Yeah, I think I will.” 

Little D nods, and only moves to lay down when Dick does. 

“Thank you,” Dick says. 

“You deserve all of it and more,” comes Little D’s reply. 

He’s kind of glad that the world isn’t fair, because- God. Why is Dick so absolutely lucky-?

He falls asleep before Little D can even make another sound.

Chapter Text

Dick calls Jason. Stephanie shows up instead.

She catches them as Tim’s walking out the door, hair pulled up high and a bounce in her step. Her eyes go wide when they see Tim, who’s shutting the door behind him and Dick so they can say their final goodbyes. It’s clear to the two that her visit was unplanned, probably just on a whim so she could see what was keeping Batman away from the streets of Gotham for so long. Even with the surprised look gracing her features, she still greets the two with a bright smile. 

“Kinda glad to catch you, Tim,” she says, drawing away from the hug she had forced him into. She switches over to wrap her arms around Dick, tacking on an, “And- you too. What brings you two to the manor? I thought you” -she gestures to Dick- “were switching back to Blüdhaven? And that you” -to Tim- “were all busy up in Wayne Enterprises and the city? Is this about whatever’s got the big ol’ Bat away?” 

Tim gives her question a wave. “Dick can show you. I, however, and on my way out before the demon brat can slit my throat. Whatever’s going on in that house isn’t my problem anymore.” 

Steph’s face curls up into a pout. “Really? You aren’t even going to stick around for me? I get that the kid’s really stiffy and stuck up, but-” She bats her eyelashes, more jokingly than anything else. “It’s me, Tim.” 

“Sorry, Steph. I’ve had enough of this family for one lifetime.” 

“Sure you have,” Dick interrupts, wrapping an arm around Tim’s shoulders. “Now, it’s rude to keep a woman waiting. So, not to send you off in a rush, but unless you’re coming in with us-” 

“I’m gone,” Tim agrees. “See you whenever, Steph. I’ll try to stop by or something.” 

Then he’s gone, walking away from the manor to his car parked around the circle, their conversation all but forgotten. They can have it over the phone, or something, though it won’t be as deep or as thoughtful as Dick would like it to be. Calls have that kind of effect. Him and Stephanie watch long enough for Tim to pull out down the drive, dark car melting away into the cloudy abyss of the world beyond. Dick pulls Steph along behind him into the manor, their conversation picking back up pretty quickly. 

“So, what is up with Batdad?” she asks again. It’s clear she’s on the hunt for answers, and she’s not going to give up until she gets them. “It’s not like him to be away from Gotham this long. You know how he gets when it comes to this city.” 

Her voice drops so she can attempt some kind of grumpy Bruce-Batman impression. It’s actually kind of spot on. 

For a split second, he ponders whether to actually tell her flat out, or let her see what happened to Damian and leave the talking for later. It’s not like there’s much to say. He just needs to scrape together a couple sentences of, Damian got hit by magic, it sucks, I’m trying to Dad all of his problems away. It’s not working.  

Actually- She might just be able to help him with Damian. 

Little D’s surrounded by children that don’t know how to child. Stephanie is a grown child, a teenager who’s almost an adult but who knows how to let loose. Her and Little D will get along like oil and gasoline. That, and she might just be able to help with Robin or Dami while Dick tries his best to gather enough nerves to call Jason and actually convince him to help with Damian when there’s a possibility of Bruce popping over at any time with a murderous baby assassin with blazing eyes. 

Yeah. It’ll be simple and easy, once he actually gets around to it. Easier than Tim, anyway. Maybe. 

“He’s out with Damian,” Dick starts. “He’ll be home within the week, I think, but- I’m not really sure?” 

“I thought Damian was here,” Steph says, near immediately. “Bugging Tim? Getting on his nerves? Threatening to chop him up and use his bone marrow to make soup?” 

That’s really creative. Points to Steph, or something. 

“Yeah. ‘Cause- Like- a while ago, Bruce and Damian were out, Batmanning and Robinning-” 

“-those aren’t real words, just say superheroing or something-” 

Yeah. That’s not a real word either. 

“-and while they were, Damia-” 

“Is that Stephanie?!” 

Curse little brothers affected by a magician’s tricks who just always appear at the wrong moments when Dick would really rather them just stay in their rooms or something like that. Seriously, Dick loves Damian and all of his little counterparts, he loves Little D and appreciates him with his whole heart, but. There’s something called timing. Proper timing. Now is not an example. 

So, yeah. Little D stands at the top of the staircase, beaming down at them with shimmering pink eyes. The way he’s all tensed up tells Dick he’s about to bound down the stairs and launch himself at Stephanie. It’s not going to be the worst thing, Stephanie’s a little less likely to punt Damian across the room if he lays a hand on her, if only because she understands hugs and stuff like that. 

In fact, when Steph lays eyes on Little D and sees that he’s got pink eyes rather than his normal green, she literally gasps and squeals. “He’s so cute,” she says, under her breath, and Little D starts his race of trying to beat her next blink when she throws open her arms. 

“I know I am!” he cries, slamming straight into her. He wraps his arms around her waist and aims a smile right at her. “You’re very pretty yourself, today, Stephanie!” 

Dick stands off to the side and half-balks at how absolutely weird this whole confrontation is. It’s like seeing two ten year olds cheer to each other. It’s kind of adorable, had he agreed that Stephanie was adorable. (Nothing against her, she’s pretty, but literally five in his eyes. Well, okay, not five, because then Damian would be nothing but a fetus, but. She’s a baby. Okay?) 

“Thank you!” she says back, tucking her arms under his armpits and hoisting him up onto her hip. She’s deceptively strong, for a skinny blonde. “Can I ask you a question, Damian?” 

“Richard calls me Lil’ D so we don’t get confused when he calls for me and the other Damian counterparts.” 

“Other Damian counterparts?” 

Dick steps up, now, sheepish. It’d be better to just explain it now, rather than have her run into Robin and be freaked out by him, or into Dami and have to work through one of his anxiety-fests. “As I was saying, while they were out, Damian got hit by a magic spell or something that split him up into four different emotion based clones. Childhood innocence and happiness” -he pokes Little D’s cheek- “anger, anxiety, and- And whatever the green one is.”

He’s still working on figuring that out. 

Steph absolutely lights up at that. “And, see? I’ve been trying to get Damian to lighten up! And now we’ve finally gotten some fruits from my labor!” 

Little D bobs his head, like Stephanie’s word is law. “I appreciate it, Stephanie, truly. Though, admittedly, spending time with that girl was both uncomfortable yet a new experience, I do have to say that the bounce house was my favorite part of that night.” 

“We can do it again,” Steph says. “We can buy a really big bounce house with all of Bruce’s cash and mimic Dick’s flips as he tries to impress you.” 

“Richard doesn’t need to try,” Little D replies, matter-of-factly. “He’s already impressed me!” 

And if that doesn’t send a spike through his heart. It’s not the same as saying I love you, Little D’s said that more than enough already. This, though, is just as meaningful as those stupid words. Actually, it might mean even more.

Especially when Little D tacks on, Actually, I look up to Richard, Stephanie! Why wouldn’t I?

God, Dick loves this little kid. He just wishes there was a better way to show it. 

Stephanie gives Little D a squeeze, before setting him down. “So? Am I gonna get to meet these other nightmares?” 

“Anger- Red’s off with Bruce. Like I said, they’ll be back. But, ah- Robin and Dami are here.” He bites his lip so he doesn’t call out for Robin. It feels too much like he’s summoning him to his side. Too much like the control and choice is out of his brother’s hands. “Lil’ D, can you go grab them?” 

“Can we all go collect them together?” Little D asks, instead, and he even tacks on those big puppy dog eyes. 

Before all of this, Dick never ever saw Damian use puppy dog eyes. (Okay. He had. Once. Jason had taught him them and told him it was a form of manipulation. Damian had then proceeded to use them on Dick when asking him to go on patrol with him instead of letting him go on patrol with Bruce. Dick, even without the puppy dog eyes, probably would of said yes. The puppy dog eyes only sealed the deal and made sure that Dick said yes.) But, paired with Little D’s vibrant pink eyes, he finds everything fading to grey. 

One look at Stephanie tells him she feels the same. 

“‘Course, Lil’ D,” Dick says. How could he say no to that face?

They find Dami first. He’s driven himself into a teary fit just like Dick thought he would. 

He’s sitting on his bed, knees drawn up to his chest and head buried between them as he shakes. Dick finds a seat by Dami and pulls him into his side. Little D hangs by the door. Steph actually plops down on the empty space to Dami’s other side, leaning her head down to meet Dami’s bleary eyes. 

“You look just like Bruce,” Steph says, soft. Dami just sniffs in response. “How come this spell gave you all really pretty eyes, huh? And now we match. All of us.” 

“The Blue Eyed Babies,” Dick jokes. 

“I’m not a baby,” Steph remarks. She reaches up to pinch Dami’s cheeks. “This little baby is, though.” 

The smile that Dami cracks is worth everything. (These boys really are worth the world. Damian really is worth the universe .) “‘m no baby,” he mumbles out, just like the full Damian would say. 

“Sure you aren’t, baby,” Dick teases. They should talk about this fit, he thinks, but the words that come out of his mouth are: “Whaddya say we go find Robin and then go watch some kind of movie?” He’s got a good lifetime to figure out what Dami- and Damian’s- inner worries are. If Dami doesn’t speak up right now, if he just wants to let this fade to black for a moment, then Dick will let him. (If he wants to speak, then Dick will stay. Dick will listen and keep an ear open because this is a part of Damian and a part of Dick.) 

“Okay,” Dami says. He wipes at his eyes. “Okay.” 

So they go. 

They find Robin in his own room, on the floor. His eyes are wide and unblinking, faraway and hazy. He’s not focused on anything in particular. He’s just existing.  

Dick almost hates himself for pushing open the door, hates himself for drawing Robin’s attention away from his state of serenity and back to whatever borderline hell he’s living in when he’s present. “Robin,” he says, keeping his voice low. It’s best to tread easy with Robin, so he signals to Steph to keep it dialed down. He doesn’t really want to startle Robin. “We’re going to watch a movie. Do you want to join us?” 

Keep it completely open. Let Robin decide. 

The gears in Robin’s head turns. “Yessir,” he says, and beside Dick, Stephanie goes completely still. 

Dick knows he has to break away and explain what’s up with Robin to her, so he signals to Little D and Dami. “You and these other Damian’s can go downstairs and pick one out, if you want. Alright?” 

Again, Yessir. Stephanie pulls him away not one beat after that. 

Once they’re somewhat secluded, she hisses, “What’s the whole deal with the ‘yessir’, Dick?!” 

“I don’t know,” Dick stresses. “Once they were split, he was just sitting on the couch with Bruce, eyes all blank and stuff. He listens to everything I say like they’re orders, hardly does anything that he wants to do himself because he’s probably so caught up in Talia and the League that he thinks we’ll do something to him!” He sighs deeply. “We were thinking that- So- You know how Little D is? We were thinking that- had he grown up with Bruce-” 

“Had he grown up with you,” Steph says, and, yeah, it takes a second to remember that Steph isn’t the most pro-Bruce person out there, and she can see what everyone else can. (Dick’s realizing it the more days pass, Damian’s something like his son, he’s just not sure he’s something like Damian’s dad.) 

“Yeah. He would’ve turned out like that, if he had. And- Robin- He would’ve turned out like that had he stayed with Talia.” 

Steph blinks, slow, drawing in a deep breath. “That’s terrible.”

“I know.” 

A pause. 

Then: “I’m gonna crack that shell.” 

“What?" 

“I’m getting normal-Damian to kid up, aren’t I? I mean, you and Jason are helping and all, but- Yeah. I’m gonna get Robin to stop being so- so- whatever that was.” 

Dick’s brows crease. “I’m calling over Jason. Do you think-” 

“Think he can help? Hell yeah. The three of us have this in the bag, Dick! I mean, why wait till we get this spell all sorted out to get Robin acting more like our Damian, am I right?” 

Yeah. 

Dick think she might just be.

Chapter Text

It’s only a few hours into Stephanie’s visit that Jason near crashes through the window of all things. He’s completely dressed in his Red Hood outfit, sans the cherry red helmet. At least the domino mask is there, hiding his identity from literally no one. He doesn’t even roll when he hits the ground. He just lays there, as if he’s trying to get it to swallow him whole. 

“Hey, Little Wing?” Dick calls, from his spot leaning over his bowl of cereal. It’s past lunch time, about, but brunch has never had an actual time, or something like that. “You’re not dead, are you?” 

He gets a grumbled response. That’s good. Jason’s not dead. 

Dick pushes himself up with one more spoonful of cereal stuck in his mouth and walks over so he can toe Jason’s side. “Are you okay?” he asks. When Jason still doesn’t move, Dick crouches down. “You should get up before Lil’ D finds you. He’ll probably sit on you. Or he’ll hug you into submission. Or-” 

Jason groans again, but this time, he pushes himself up. “I haven’t slept in like thirty hours and I didn’t stick the landing and-” Another groan cuts off his sentence. “Why the hell did I come here.” 

“Because Bruce isn’t here.” 

“And Alfred is.” Jason hums. 

“Actually, we don’t know where Alfred is.” 

“I’m leaving.” 

“Hey- No! We need help with the Damians,” Dick hurries to say. “Dami needs to talk to you and Robin isn’t talking and- Well, actually, Lil’ D is pretty good on everything. He’s so good, you know? He’s everything I wish Damian had the chance to be.”

“Ew. You talk about him like you love him.” 

Dick grins softly. “That’s because I do love him, Little Wing. Just as much as I love you.” 

“Hn.” 

Stephanie laughs in the distance. It’s followed by Lil’ D’s bright giggle. There’s nowhere else Dick would rather be than right there with the two of them, so he extends a hand to Jason. Jason takes it without any prompting and he lets Dick pull him up. The two of them abandon the dining room and find their way to one of the sitting rooms. For a few minutes, they just hang in the doorway. 

Robin’s staring down at the book that Dick remembers placing in his lap. It’s still opened to chapter one. He hasn’t flipped the page yet. He’s not even reading it, which means Steph didn’t tell him to read it. (Dick hadn’t either. Commanding Robin to do things makes a pit form in his gut.) 

Lil’ D and Steph are sprawled out on the floor, playing some board game- Trouble, from the looks of it. Since there’s three colors actively playing on the board, Dick’s pretty sure Dami’s playing, even though he’s peeking out over the oversized pillow he has in his lap. It basically swallows him whole- Dick even looked right over him when he was scanning the room. If he were to take a guess, he’s sure Dami’s got blue. Lil’ D’s got to be red- which leaves Steph will yellow. 

“That’s fuckin’- That’s weird as hell. Whoever asked for more than one Damian was obviously crazy- One was more than eno-” 

“Jason,” Dick hisses, smacking Jason’s shoulder. Dami looks up with those blue, blue eyes, covered over with a film of tears. Of course Dami heard that. Why wouldn’t he-

“Akhi-?”

Dick can hear the record scratch in his mind, can hear Steph’s sharp inhale of breath. Besides the sharp cry of mama from all those nights ago, this is the first word that Robin’s said all on his own. Dick doesn’t even know what it means, though- It’s got to be some other language, something he grew up speaking in the league. 

Jason perks up, but his face is lined with confusion. 

“Does anyone else know what that means..?” Steph utters after a beat. 

“It sounds familiar,” Jason ventures. “But- I-” He lets out a long sigh. “No idea.”

Lil’ D- the amazing child- blinks. “It’s arabic. For brother. You don’t-?” Dami’s eyes grow watery enough to flood the room if he so much as blinks. Lil’ D just reaches over and loops an arm around Dami’s shoulders. “I guess you don’t. I- Some things are best forgotten, I suppose.” 

“That was very grown up of you to say,” Steph says. 

Lil’ D shrugs. 

Dick, instead of keeping up with that conversation, turns to Robin. Robin’s peering up with normal Damian’s green eyes. Something flashes in them, like apprehension. Dick can pinpoint the exact moment he locks back down into his yessir mind set. (It’s when Jason meets his eyes, and Robin finds the thing he wasn’t looking for. For some reason, Dick feels like they’ve just lost progress.) 

“Do you guys wanna join in a game?” Steph asks. “Baby Blue here was about to win- we can pull out Monopoly or Uno. Robin, do you want to play with us?”

Robin stares. “Yes, ma’am,” he says. (Dick almost wants the akhi back.) 

“Can I- One second,” Lil’ D pipes up. “Damian meeting. Robin, please follow me.” Robin stands up and follows. Dami does too, after a beat. When the three pass by Jason, Lil’ D swings in for a quick hug. Unlike Tim, Jason just stands there, shocked. He doesn’t even attempt to reciprocate it. “You can set up Uno. We’ll be back in a few minutes!” 

Then, he leaned in close to Dick, whispering out, “I’m sorry I can’t tell you what’s going on. Love you!” 

“Love you too, Lil’ D,” Dick replied. 

He moved to go take Dami’s vacated spot. Jason grabs the pillow and stuffs it into his lap, leaning down onto it. Stephanie grabs the Uno cards from the pile of boxes she had piled up and starts shuffling them. 

“The hell was that?” Jason asks, once Steph starts dealing out the hands. 

“I’m not sure how this is gonna go, with, uh, six players?” Steph says, instead of replying. 

“It says two to ten players," Dick returns, reaching for the empty box. "We should be good.” 

"You don't know that."

"I've played with the other Titans- back when Star was first learning about Earth."

"Back when your prehistoric ass was Robin, you mean?" Steph teases. "That was a trillion years ago, old man."

"I'm not that old!" Dick returns. Every tense muscle in his body relaxes as he lets himself fall into the conversation. It's easy, not like if he says the wrong thing, everything will crumble under his fingers. "Besides, my ass is perfect."

Jason clears his throat. "What the fuck was that," he asks again, question mark falling flat. 

Dick pretends like he never heard his brother and reaches for his hand of cards. It's pretty good. Very good. He's got two plus fours. And a couple skips. "Steph," he whines. He's gotta play up the part if he doesn't want them to know. As long as Dami isn't sitting beside him, he's ready to wreak havoc among his family. "You have me a shitty hand."

Steph sticks out her tongue at him. "I'm not reshuffling the deck, Boy Wonder. Unlike you, I've got a good hand."

"No," Dick says, "you don't."

"I do!"

He only returns that with a hum.

"Seriously," Jason grouses. "Can someone tell me the fuck is happening instead of ignoring it? I thought only Bruce and I pulled that shit. And Replacement, on Sundays. Where the hell is he?"

"Timmy's skipping out on us," Steph says, solemnly. "B's coming back soon with the red one."

"Alf isn't here and Bruce is on his way home? Jesus Christ, Dickhead!"

Something bubbles up in Dick's gut, potent and unavoidable. He knows he has to face this head on, but it's not something he wants to do. At this point, it's becoming a script that Dick doesn't want to repeat. It's a part he never even auditioned to play. (But he did, that night he told Bruce to leave, the night he realized that he was more Damian's dad than the man who hid behind the persona of a bat.) "We-"

Jason slams his hands down, the carpet muffling the thud. "Tell me what the fuck is going on!"

"We don't know what's going on!" Dick roars right back. He slams down his cards, twisting to meet Jason's blue-green eyes. (They'd been blue, before he died. Pure blue, so much like his. So much like Bruce's.) "That's the first word other than Mama and Yessir that Robin's said!"

"So he just randomly happens to spout brother at the one that he doesn't even fucking know?" Jason snarls. "The normal Damian hardly speaks a word to me, so now he just decides that he's gonna call me brother instead of his snotty Todd? You can read Damian better than you read most books and you're seriously just going to tell me you have no idea? That's rich!"

"It's not my responsibility to know everything about Damian! I'm not his dad! I never have been and it's not like I ever will! Bruce should be here instead of me. He should be taking care of his own damn son- Because every fucking night I get to reassure Dami that, no, Bruce doesn't hate him! I get to explain to him that Bruce loves him and the only reason why he's not here is because I told him to take Red away!"

Jason stills, face going slack for a beat. Then, it returns to that snarl. "This isn't about the whole split thing. This is about your own fucking insecurities-"

"I never wanted this!" Dick shrieks. He forces himself up into a standing position, wobbling on his feet when he straightens out. He's past the tipping point- there's too many cracks in his glass walls and the water's pouring in way too fast. "I never asked for Damian in my life! I never asked for Bruce to die and for him to shove all of his fucking responsibilities onto me, let alone his son! And- and now I'm dealing with three of them! Dami cries at every little thing because Damian never could!"

Dick's not crying. 

He's not.

"Lil' D goes around and he tells me he loves me every three seconds like I deserve it! He asks me when Baba's coming home, because he's ten and he misses his fucking dad- Which I can't be by the way! I'm not Bruce- I never was Bruce- and- an'-" His voice chokes up and he blinks hard, sucking in a deep breath. He crumbles, back down to the ground. "I can't do this. I can't."

It's Steph's hand that finds its way onto Dick's back. Her's is smaller than Jason's, thinner, but twice as comforting. "But you want to," she says, soft. "Otherwise you would've ditched him, just like everyone else in his life. You love him just like he was your real son. And- I know that I don't speak for him, but- But, Dick. He loves you more than he ever did Bruce. If you were to ask him who his real dad was-"

"He'd tell you Bruce," Jason says, just as soft. "He'd be lying though. You know that, right? He might not be tittering Baba at you, but- Fuck, Dick. You're fucking blind as shit."

"He doesn't need Bruce," Steph continues. "He needs you. And I'm willing to bet top dollar that he wants you too."

Every single restraint that was holding Dick back breaks. 

He lets himself cry. 

For the first time in weeks, Dick let's himself cry, and he unwinds completely. There's nothing holding him back anymore. 

(No one sees Lil' D's pink eyes, peeking around the corner. No one sees his grip tighten around the doorway, no one hears the gears click in his head.

They don't see Dami either, on the floor beside Robin, head buried in his knees.

"I know what we have to do," Lil' D says, to his counterparts. His voice is hard, his eyes made of steel. "I need you two to be with me on this."

"Always," Dami whispers. 

"Good.")

Chapter Text

In the end, they don’t play cards. They don’t play Uno, they don’t get out their Monopoly game, they don’t even pull out the old Twister sheet that Dick has hidden upstairs. 

The three kids don’t resurface. Dick doesn’t go looking for them. 

He takes it as a chance to draw in his breath. Jason stands and puts away the Uno cards, while Stephanie disappears into the kitchen to pull together some hot chocolate. Dick’s fingers twitch for something to do, even though all of his energy feels completely spent. It’s been too long since he last let himself crumble like that. When you have to be a solid presence for a bunch of ten year olds, it’s not like you can let yourself fall apart. Certainly not in front of said kids either. 

Even though he feels spent, he feels good. He’ll have to talk to Bruce when he gets back to the mansion, certainly, and he knows that’ll be just as bad as the breakdown he just have. Maybe it’ll be worse. When it comes to Dick and Bruce’s little spats, they’re always exhausting. They go on and on and on, and they get worse as they go for absolutely no reason. 

They lead to Dick storming off. They lead to Bruce slamming his fists and pulling on the cowl, lead to long nights for the both of them. 

Dick’s not really ready for him to come back. Nor is he ready for Red to come, for the two of them to ruin this fragile peace that Dick has managed to build up for himself. Red will probably send Dami spiralling, and Dick’s not ready to see if Lil’ D has an end to his perfect smile. 

It’s not like Dick has to worry about Robin, not when it comes to Red. Unless Red tells Robin to do something. Unless, what with Robin’s vocabulary breaching out, Robin does have a reaction to Robin. Unless-

“You’ve got that thinking face on,” Jason says, from his spot on the floor. He’d pulled out the regular pack of cards and shuffled out a Solitaire game. 

“You’ve got one on too,” Dick shoots back. He rocks forward to peer at Jason’s game. He’s only got a couple of aces, and one of the black twos paired with it. 

“I’m playing a game of smarts. You’re just looking constipated again.” He flips down a seven onto his black eight and frowns. “Are you gonna have another breakdown?” 

“What a polite way to ask me what’s bothering me,” Dick says. “I’m just worried about what’s going to happen when Bruce comes around with Red. He’s gonna mess with Dami and I’m not really- And- And what if he keeps digging at Lil’ D? I’m not sure I want to know if he can get really mad.” 

“Not to mention Robin?” Jason offers. 

“He’s speaking more than he has since this whole thing happened! From mama to akhi- What if Red drives him to a breakdown or something?” 

“I think you’re worrying over nothing. Maybe he just has a thing for family that’s not around, hm?” 

“Damian never had a brother back in the league. He’s said stuff about his cousin, once or twice- An aunt- I don’t know where this whole brother thing comes from, Jason.” 

Jason moves a small pile of cards from one row to the other, completing a stretch from a jack to a four. He flips over the last card of the row, revealing a three, which he places with the ace and the two. “Maybe you should go ask them. Little- Little D, I guess- Fuck it. Pinkie knew that something was up. He’ll tell you if you just ask him. I mean, maybe Dami- no offense, these names are the fucking worst- Dami would even tell you, if you asked about it.” 

“If I asked,” Dick agreed. “Should I?” 

“Should we?” Jason asks, back. 

“I just asked you.” 

He hums. “We should.” 

Stephanie appears in the doorway, holding two mugs. She raises one when Jason looks over. “Maybe you can ask after hot chocolate? I think they headed up to their rooms or something,” she says, walking over. The one that she raised gets placed into Dick’s hands, the other one cradled in hers. 

“Where’s mine?” Jason whines. 

“In the kitchen. Go get it yourself.” 

Jason groans, standing up, abandoning his game. Steph slides into his spot and starts with the cards, trying to complete the piles. “Fine, fine. I’m an independent woman, anyway. I don’t need you.” 

“Sure you don’t,” Steph hums. 

“While you’re out, can you pop up and check on the boys?” Dick asks, quickly. “I just-” 

“Sure thing, Mother Hen,” Jason replies. He disappears around the corner, leaving Dick to nurse his hot chocolate and his thoughts. 

He and Steph don’t talk, not for the longest time. Eventually, though, she finishes up Jason’s game and shuffles the cards back together. 

“It’s weird,” she says. The tone of her voice lets Dick know that she doesn’t really want a reply. She’s not looking for a conversation, she’s just looking to get some of her own stuff off of her chest. “Seeing someone who looks so much like Damian, who’s so lighthearted and childish-” 

“You told me about you and him,” Dick says. “About how you wanted to show him that he could be a kid.” 

“I took him to a bounce house, after our undercover mission- I told you that. He didn’t- He let go, I think, for the first time in a while. And- I didn’t ever think that he’d ever really loosen up like Lil’ D has. I know you’re his dad and stuff, but. I wish that the real Dames could have that, you know?” 

“I want that for him too.” 

“I think we all do,” Steph continues. “Maybe, you think- You think that when he comes back together, he’ll be emotionally- open? Like, maybe he’ll have made emotional bounds after this. All of his insecurities will have been cried away from Dami. And the memory of laughing will be so- so enticing that-” 

“I don’t think that’s what’s going to happen,” Dick sighs. 

“We can hope, can’t we?” 

“We can.” 

The room falls into an awkward lull, before Steph holds up the cards and asks if Dick wants to play a quick game. She shuffles out seven cards each and they start an easy game of Crazy 8’s. 

Jason comes back by their third round, down to half a cup of hot chocolate. There’s no little robins trailing behind him. “They weren’t in their rooms,” he explains, toeing at Dick. Dick slides over, handing over his hand of cards. “The hell are you playing?” 

“Crazy 8’s,” Dick says. “Were they down in the cave?” 

“I didn’t look. The eight is like a wild, or whatever, right?” 

Steph nods and lays down a red five. 

“I’ll go check, then. Make sure I win.” 

“Sure thing,” Jason repeats, waving him away. 

Dick wanders out, checking the rooms on the way to the clock. They’re not going to be in the kitchen, otherwise Jason would have been back far earlier. They aren’t anywhere that Dick checks, either, so he rotates the hands and slips behind the clock, letting it shut behind him. 

The cave is just as chilly and as unforgiving as it was the last time Dick had stepped foot in it. Suddenly, he’s hit with the want to be out in Gotham. He wants to flip between the buildings, his Nightwing blues streaking through the night. He wants to feel the weight of his escrima sticks in his hands.

He wants Damian- not pink eyed Damian or silent Damian or sad, wilting Dami. He wants his Damian, clad in traffic light colors and green army boots. He wants Damian to throw a hollow insult his way, and to reply by smothering his baby brother in affection until he manages to wiggle way. 

He hasn’t gone out since he and Bruce last spoke, since the night that he longed to have Damian by his side and in turn got three more added to his plate. Maybe, with both Jason and Stephanie sticking around at least until Bruce comes, he can slip out and take down a handful of crooks around Gotham. 

Though, if Bruce were to get wind of it, Bruce would probably only chastise him for not going out as Batman. He probably should have been going out in Bruce’s cowl, all things considered. 

But that would mean taking one of the Damians out. 

Dick won’t risk that. Not right now. 

Once he’s down the stairs, he surveys the cave. There’s no sign of the boys down here either- they might still be upstairs in a room that Jason hadn’t checked. “Boys?” Dick tries. “Dami- Lil’ D?” 

After a beat, when there’s no reply other than the flutter of the bats in the cave, he calls out for Robin. Had he been down here, Robin would have flocked to Dick’s side by now. 

Dick makes his way to the Batcomputer. He runs his hand over it, letting out a sigh. 

He kind of misses the days that it was just him and Bruce, back before Jason died and before Tim or Damian even came around. Back when he was Robin, when he owned the title and the cape. 

He’d been Bruce’s beacon, back then. Jason came around to help carry it, and Tim ended up relightening it after Jason ran in with the Joker. With Damian holding the title, that purpose feels like it’s long ago disappeared and lost its meaning. Damian’s not with Bruce to bring light to Batman. 

But, maybe- Maybe that’s why Dick and Damian worked so well. 

Dick drops down into the chair, slumping over. 

Time is funny like that. It twists things in age. Breaks them down. Changes them. Honestly, time is just funny as a whole. Time killed Dick’s parents, brought him one of the best decades of his life, gave him brothers and a family so much unlike the circus. 

Time gave him Damian. 

His hand shifts, running over something that crinkles. 

Dick stills, turning his head. Sure, it could just be one of Bruce’s notebooks, or Tim’s, but Bruce is neat and Tim isn’t careless with his case reports. He pulls the sheet close to him, scanning over it. The handwriting is in Damian’s neat slanted scrawl, but it’s not old. It’s not close to old, the ink smearing fresh under Dick’s fingers. 

He scans over it, quick, paper folding under his hands. 

Richard,

To give you room to breathe, me and my counterparts have taken off to the streets of Gotham. I know that this whole ordeal has caused you stress. Having to take care of only one of us was more than Baba should have asked of you. The whole Damian- he’d been a handful for you. He did not make it easy. I know that, even now, we aren’t making it easy. Dami requires more attention than one can ask for, and so do I. Robin is unsettling, even to the strongest of us all. 

We’ll allow you time before we decide to return. You don’t have to worry for us, part of our training with the league involved fasts and a brief, week-long survival trip out in the wilderness. I don’t believe the city will be much too difficult.

Just in case, we’ve brought along extra money. We’re all clad in our Robin costumes. If all else fails, I trust that Robin can keep us safe. 

We can protect Gotham for both Father and yourself. You don’t have to come after us. We will be okay, Richard. I promise you that we will be fine. 

Don’t send Jason after us, either. He doesn’t need to waste his energy on us. 

Dick grits his teeth and flips over the letter, his heart roaring in his chest. Dami, Lil’ D and Robin, out in Gotham all on their own? Without an adult by their side? What if something happened to any one of the Damian counterparts? It’d all be Dick’s fault- He drove them away by letting himself break down. 

Before I end this letter, all of us would just like to thank you. You could have left us with Baba, could have ignored his call. Instead, you came for us and sent Baba off, because you thought that best. Believe me, I was thrilled to find that we would stay with you instead of Baba. I love Baba with my whole heart, but I love you too. You were there for me, honestly, before he was ever able to. We only grew close once he came back. 

So, thank you for that, Richard. Our time here with you has been enjoyable, but I never wanted you to wear down because of us. If we happen to see Nightwing in these following nights, we will be sure to stop and chat. You cannot expect us to return with you, though. 

We can’t. 

Onto our last matter of business. Robin. 

Before we left, Robin had called Jason akhi. I know that you all must be wondering what he meant by it. I felt, in the very beginning, when Robin first said it, I shouldn’t tell you. It would only dredge up bad feelings. 

But, because we’re leaving, I won’t have to face this until the last possible second. 

Back in the compound with our mother, she’d had what she called a pet. It wasn’t a dog or a cat. It was one of Baba’s wards, shattered by an encounter with a jokester worlds bigger than a boy his age. He’d been bathed in the green waters of the Lazarus Pit, to cure his ailments and to put back together his mind. 

Mama worked to help piece together his mind. When he was more lucid, Mama would allow him to walk around the compound. That was about when I walked into him. From then on, Jason and I grew close. I’d called him brother- akhi- and he’d protect me by talking with Mama when Grandfather would try to do something that would harm me. It didn’t always work, but I’d grown to love him. 

It had to end, though. Everything does. Mama sent him back to Baba and Gotham. She’d dumped him in the pit one last time when he was as well as he would get, allowed him to roam free with his newly free mind. He’d forgotten about me, he’d gone mad with the rage of the pits, his eyes had gone green. 

I miss him- my brother. But, now I have you. I have you, Richard, and I have Timothy and this new Jason and I have these other Damian counterparts. 

I love them, I love you. I’m sorry we have to go. 

With love and with respect,

Damian 

Dick clenches his fists, paper crumpling up beneath his hands. He stands, pushing the chair back with more force than needed. He storms up the stairs, throws open the entrance and steps into the manor’s floor. “Jason!” he roars. “Stephanie!”  

Both come racing out, worried for the rage shaking in Dick’s voice. 

“They’re gone,” Dick hisses. He holds up the sheet of paper. “They walked out and they left! They’re out there on the streets of Gotham, by themselves!” 

His voice shakes as he takes a quick breath.

“The boys are gone.”

Chapter Text

They’re gone. 

Dick’s mind gets stuck on that loop as he pulls on his Nightwing suit. The boys are gone. They’re all out in Gotham, the city that tears her people down and leaves them begging for mercy. They’re out in Gotham where predators lurk, where the yellows and reds that Robin wears will attract dangers without them really trying to. Any one of Batman’s enemies can get their hands on the boys- driven by the sole fact that they’re wearing Robin’s golden R. 

Joker’s in Arkham, but there’s a strong chance that he could break out. If he did, and if he got his hands on the boys- 

And Ivy’s out there, right now, evading the GCPD. Though, if it happens to be Ivy, Dick can’t be too concerned. She’s ‘good’- not perfect, but she won’t torture him, she won’t cause more harm than needed, not after Tim- when it comes to kids, when it comes to the Robins. Plus, her and Damian get along fine with their shared love for the environment. That doesn’t mean that Ivy isn’t something to fear- the boys can still get hurt. 

It’s unlikely that any one of the boys will end up in the sewers, so Killer Croc isn’t a big problem that Dick’s worried about. Killer Croc doesn’t come up often, and if he does, it’ll bring out other vigilantes in Gotham. 

He stumbles out of the locker rooms, to Steph, trying to fix her hair under her cowl. Since Jason was already clad in his outfit when he came, all he has to do is pull on his helmet- one of the spares that he had laying around the cave in case of emergency. 

“Let’s go,” he says, quickly, going for the Batmobile. Jason’s got a bike lying around and Steph’s probably going to hijack a ride with one of them. “We’ll head to Crime Alley first, maybe stop by the GCPD to see if Gordon’s gotten a visit from a Robin.” 

“A Robin?” Jason snarks. “They’re all going to look completely identical- just ask him if he’s seeing double. Triple, maybe.” 

Dick groans, almost missing Steph giving Jason a sharp glare. The door to the Batmobile opens and Dick swings inside, Steph joining him. Jason swings himself onto his bike and lets it roar to life under his hands. He’s off like a shot as Dick puts the car into drive. Dick follows right behind him, slamming his foot onto the gas. The wheels squeal against the ground before he takes off, too, breaking out of the cave and onto the surface. 

“I don’t think I get it,” Steph says. She fiddles with the hem of her cape, staring down at her lap. Dick keeps his hard glare at the road before them, skirting through the streets of Gotham.  “I don’t think I get why they’d run away. They know you love them and they love you too. So- So why?” 

He gives her a quick glance. “I don’t know. I just know that they heard our conversation.” His words are short and clipped, hands gripping at the wheel. 

The Batmobile races after Jason, up until Jason steers sharply around a corner. The back tire of his bike squeals as it rubs against the ground, shaking the bike. 

“Where the hell are you going, Hood?” Dick asks. 

As he pulls around the corner, he can see Jason’s hand reach up to his helmet, before his voice comes crackling through the coms. “Go off on your own. If we split up, we’ll find them faster. I have connections that I’ll talk too- see if they’ve got anything going on or if they’ve seen a walking traffic light. Go talk to Gordon, get Oracle on if you can.” 

“O’s been busy,” Dick grouses, but he takes the next right. 

“How long have they been gone?” Steph asks. “A couple hours? How much trouble can they even get in, in only a couple hours?” She makes a face almost exactly second after her words leave her lips. “Nevermind. Why’s Robin such a troublemaker?” 

“It comes with the title,” Dick replies. “Hood was a troublemaker. Red Robin was- I mean, honestly, I was too.” 

Steph hums. “So was I. Uh- even though I was only Robin for, like, two weeks.” 

Dick takes another right, then left, pulling back onto the main road he was on. GCPD is just ahead, so Dick lets the doors open. He aims his grappling gun- Steph doing the same beside him- and shoots off for the roofs edge. The grapple’s claw sinks into it, so Dick quickly gives it an experimental tug before he rockets off to the roof, wind rushing through his hair. He uses his momentum to swing himself over the edge and onto the ground. 

Steph’s close behind, though she doesn’t do the same extravagant flip that Dick does. Gordon’s already on the roof. Steph must’ve remembered to tip him off and let him know to meet them up here. Dick certainly hadn’t. 

“Batgirl,” Jim greets, “Nightwing. Where’s the Batman?” 

“Out on an international mission,” Dick reports, factually. “Gotham isn’t the only city that needs a Batman.” 

“Of course not. What’s going on, then?” 

“You haven’t seen Robin around, have you? Robin didn’t go with Batman, but we haven’t seen him around here. He hasn’t reported in-” 

Jim’s face goes grave. It’s no secret that Nightwing and the Batman that introduced Damian’s Robin were one in the same- at least, Dick didn’t think it was with Gordon. Gordon was a pretty good detective, after all. It was probably enough to assume that Jim thought that Nightwing and Robin were close knit. Maybe he even thought them close enough to be father and son.  

And, Jim being a father, of course he’d understand Dick’s panic at the disappearance of his brother. 

“I haven’t,” he says, “but I can have any of our patrolling officers keep an eye out for him.” 

“I’d be forever grateful if you could,” Dick replies. “Shine the Batsignal when you find him- or if you just hear anything-” 

Gordon nods and Dick near deflates. Steph steps up and places a hand on his shoulder. 

It feels weird to talk about the boys just as one whole entity, now. He’d gotten so used to them being fractured. He probably should let Gordon know that they’re in pieces, instead of one whole Robin, but he’s not going to say anything. He’d rather just leave the conversation as is.

He aims his grappling gun at a far away building, leaving Steph to wrap up the conversation however she sees fit. “Batgirl and I will be splitting up,” he says, into the com in his ear. He wishes that the boys had brought coms, too, but all of Robin’s coms were in their rightful places, including the extra ones. 

“Roger that,” Hood says into the coms, voice shaky. “I don’t have anything yet, but I’ve got an idea of who might have something. Have you gotten in contact with O yet?” 

“Haven’t tried, not yet,” Dick admits. “Keep me updated, I’ll try to get in contact now.” 

Okay, he does try, he really does. Babs doesn’t respond, caught up in her other life away from the streets. There’s no static on the coms, they’re off, and Dick won’t risk pulling his phone out to text her. Instead, he switches back to his channel with Jason, panic rising. 

“O’s not online,” he says, “and I doubt she’s at the clock tower right now.” 

Batgirl laughs without humor, the soft zip of the grapple cutting off as she presumably lands. “I’ll go find RR. He’ll be able to track Robin down the same as O, right?” Another zip lets Dick know she’s crossing another street, and with any guess, she’s probably heading towards Tim’s apartment to see if he’s there. “I mean, RR’s pretty flashy with tech and all that stuff.” 

“Good idea,” Hood replies. His voice turns sharp all too quickly. “Nightwing- meet me at the greenhouse. I’m about to crash someone’s party and I’m not sure how much they’re gonna like it being me. ” 

“Ivy?” Dick breathes out. He abruptly turns the opposite direction, shooting off his own grapple and slamming down onto the ground with enough force to send a shock through his ankles. His feet pound against the ground, lacking their normal stealth. “You’re going to talk to Ivy?” 

Please don’t be Ivy, please don’t be Ivy.

Hood clears his throat. “She likes you more than she likes me.” 

Goddamnit.

“You thought that Ivy would be the best person to go to?” 

“She likes Robin, too, you know. Like, not even just because he’s Robin, she likes him for the boy behind the mask. She’ll cough up some information. I know she will,” Jason hurries to explain. “I’m just not sure what the trade-off is going to be. Ignoring her when she robs a bank? Let her try some experiments on us?” 

Something settles, dark in Dick’s gut. 

Poison Ivy.  

He can’t believe he’s doing this. 

Dick gets to the greenhouse in less than ten minutes, something like anxiety fueling his speed. He has to run the last stretch to the greenhouse, nothing left to grapple on. He sees Jason standing out in the near open. It digs at him, he doesn’t like it. As Bats, they all know the importance of the element of surprise. Red Hood’s just loitering in clear view of anyone who might so happen to peer through the greenish-tinted windows and see his cherry red helmet. 

Nightwing drops down, a little more careful to angle his body away from view, but lets his feet thud loud enough to draw Hood’s attention. “Glad you could make it,” Hood says, glancing down at an imaginary watch. “You’re late.” 

“Sure I am,” Dick teases back. “I got here as fast as I could.” 

“Are you ready to walk in? Ladies first.” 

Dick holds up a finger, silently mouthing one second. He raises his hand to the com in his ear. “Batgirl, you copy?” 

Steph’s voice crackles over the coms, happy as a clam. “I copy! Got RR here too, he’s suiting up and plugging in his com. Once he’s done, we’re heading down to the cave to do some techno-magic, and then we’ll both head out to re-join the search. When he gets on the coms, he’ll keep you updated.” 

“Good,” Dick says. “Hood and I are at the greenhouse, we’re about to go talk with Ivy, see if she’s caught anything on Robin.” 

“You’d probably have better luck getting Harley or the Joker to say something,” Steph replies. Jason winces, shoulders tensing, at the mention of the Joker. “I mean, good luck, I guess.” 

“Tell RR good luck too.” 

Then, Tim’s voice breaks through, laced with sleep and annoyance. “Tell him yourself,” he grouses. “BG’s a little hyper and she’s not telling the story straight. Can you also tell RR what the hell’s going on and tell him why he’s got to look for Robin at- what time even is it?” 

“Not as late as you’d think?” Steph says, sheepish.

Dick heaves out a semi-sigh. They’re wasting time the more that he has to explain things, and everytime he thinks about the letter they found, hate gurgles up in his stomach and twists. He gets angry at himself the more that he thinks about it, he shouldn’t have let himself feel weak for even a moment. He shouldn’t have let himself be weak when the kids were so close. Damian’s always taken things at face value when he’s upset, so if he’d thought too deeply about Dick’s worries, it would be depreciating instead of constructive. 

(Especially with Dami. Always with Dami.)

“The kids- Nightwing had a kind of freak out and the Robin counterparts picked up on it. They thought they were causing him unneeded trouble and ran away on us. They’re somewhere in the city- we’re worried that they might’ve ran into trouble. For all we know, Blue’s insecurities will have held him back and gotten them all hurt.” 

Dick appreciates him for censoring what he says, making sure not to use their real names even here. 

Tim’s hesitant with his reply, but it still hits just as hard. “They have Robin with them. They’ll be fine.” 

He knows he shouldn’t let the hostility bleed into his voice, but he lets it. “Robin isn’t some kind of weapon,” he hisses, voice wavering. “I-” 

“Robin protects his own,” Tim hurries to say. “In the end, Robin will always care for his family, right? And- even if he doesn’t see them as his family, something in his coding is going to tell him to protect the other two anyway.” 

Jason reaches over and sets a hand on Dick’s shoulder. “We’re signing off,” he says, quick. “Notify us if anything comes up.” 

“Will do.” 

Once they’ve both switched off their coms, Hood gives Dick a shove. “I get that your panties are in a twist, but that doesn’t mean that you can be a dick- pun not intended- to RR and everyone else,” he barks. “Jesus christ. The kids are gonna be fine. They’ve got Robin who won’t hesitate to kick some ass and you know that Pinkie’s got a smart brain in that coconut of his.” 

“I know,” Dick groans. He runs a hand through his hair with a sharp groan. “I’ll apologize. I’m just-”

“And just what do the two of you morons think you’re doing out here?”

Dick goes ramrod straight. Jason relaxes into his ‘I’m the Red Hood, the fuck’s it to you?’ signature slouch. 

“Ivy.”

Chapter Text

Bruce looks down at this boy who’s supposed to be his son, this angry, hate-filled boy who’s so much like Bruce’s real son and yet so not.   

His son’s eyes were a blazing emerald green, built up of a strong resolve and determination. This kid’s eyes are a burning ruby red, the only thing in them a deep, deep loathing that Bruce can’t seem to erase. Damian’s face was soft, round, lips pulled up in the occasional frown or the even rarer smile. This Damian’s face is soft, baby fat clinging to his cheeks, too, but his lips are in a permanent scowl, nose screwed up and eyebrows furrowed. 

Damian had always been built up of hard edges, but he’d always had his curves. This Damian has none, he’s only a leaky sink of negativity. 

No matter what Bruce might think, this child before him is not his son. 

It’s easier to remove himself from the situation and from his own boiling rage when he’s not looking at this boy and thinking, Damian. My son. My pride and joy and mine. It’s easier to subdue his emotions when he’s not seeing this boy and wondering, why are you so angry, sweetheart?  

Instead, he looks at this child, this Damian, and he thinks, you used to be my kid, didn’t you?  

His Damian used to listen to him, albeit begrudgingly. His Damian swore to stop trying to kill, (even though the incident with a certain nobody had every cell in Bruce’s body quivering in rage), and this Damian tries to kill everything. He doesn’t listen to a word that Bruce says, he ignores everything and anything in order to go off and do his own ‘thing’- which includes sneaking off to go patrol this foreign city that Bruce dropped them into. 

They’re tracking down some gang, an obscure case that required more hands on work than paperwork, that sounded like the right outlet for Damian’s rage, once Dick kicked him from the Gotham’s streets. 

He shouldn’t word it like that- like Dick’s the bad guy here. Bruce knows how he handled that night, that night that feels so far away, that night that feels like it was years ago, he knows he didn’t handle it maturely. He shut himself down like he always does, when confronted with emotions he can’t seem to deal with. 

He keeps doing it, too, whenever he calls Dick over the phone. He’ll get mad, he’ll yell, he’ll claim that he’ll take the green eyed Damian that reminds Bruce most of his Damian even though he won’t. (But, then again, that green eyed boy isn’t his son either. He’s quiet, withdrawn, he’s a solid presence who only works on command, the perfect child soldier that Talia wanted, a little thing that scares Bruce to hell and back whenever he sees him.) 

He doesn’t know why he does it. 

He doesn’t know why he can’t stop.

It’s only in rare times like this, when this foreign Damian that Bruce does not know looks remotely peaceful, like his Damian. He’s asleep, now, tense and like a corpse, hans folded over his chest. At least he’s not scowling, not yelling, not cursing. 

It reminds him, kind of, of his son. His Damian, the one that he’d worked so hard to get along with. At least, it reminds him of when he first met him. When Damian would still sleep like this, afraid of someone attacking him in his sleep, of an out of nowhere ambush for the sake of training. They’d gone leaps and bounds from that, to a child curled up with his dog with his music blasting in his ears. 

Bruce wonders if he can have that, with this Damian. He wonders if, maybe, he can somehow redirect his overflowing rage the same way he’d done before. (As Dick had done, he should say, when Bruce was supposedly dead to his family.) 

For some reason, he doesn’t think he can. 

He looks down at the book in his hands, one that his son had been reading before he’d been split up into these not Damian’s. It’d once been one that Jason had read, the book had belonged to him long before Damian had arrived at the house. The pages are yellowed and loved, little notes written into the pages in Jason’s loud writing. On the beginning pages, Bruce can see Damian’s own handwriting, quiet in comparison, scratching out on the free spaces that Jason hadn’t taken.

He wonders if this Damian before him has different handwriting. Is his angry? Bold? Deep scratches and dark lines? Or is his like Bruce’s Damian, soft and loopy and classy, because Talia would expect nothing less of her son? 

Talia. 

Talia was the reason why his son was filled with rage like this. He’d seen the pink eyed one, hidden behind Dick on video calls, curled close to the blue eyed one and eyeing the green eyed one too closely. 

Little D, as Dick had named that little Pink one, was too rambunctious for his own good. He had this childish wonder hidden away in his eyes that Bruce wished his Damian would have. Dick, offhandedly, had said once, He’s who he should have been- if Talia hadn’t raised him-  

Bruce had his Damian, and that's enough. He wasn’t going to dwindle on the what-if’s. (At least, not outloud. And, even now, he didn’t have his Damian.) 

Dami looked too much like Bruce when Bruce was his age, with too big, blue eyes, that were forever bleary and upset. He cried, a lot, or just sat there looking sullen. Bruce didn’t know much about him. Seeing his son look so sad every day sent him spiralling. Seeing his son look back at him and think, you look just like me, why doesn’t normal you look just like me, made something bundle in his gut. 

He didn’t want to think about all of that. 

He turns his attention back to this Damian, this boy that is supposed to be his son but is not. He’s falling short, he knows, with this boy. 

Maybe, when he gets back to Gotham, back to his senses, back to Dick and the rest of these sons that don’t feel like his, he’ll get better at this, get better with Damian as a whole and figure out this whole parenting thing that he’s so terrible at. 

With a groan, he snaps his book closed. 

He winces at the sound the moment he does it, head snapping up to the shared hotel bedroom he has with Damian. Damian’s eyes snap open, destroying the fragile peace his rest had brought. 

“Wayne,” he greets, voice full of a sickly loathing. He pushes himself up and off the bed in one fluid movement, leaving the bed undone. Damian stalks over to his folded uniform, quickly yanking it on over his undershirt as Bruce does nothing but watch. He’d traded Robin’s yellows and greens for a sleek black and red look, only the gold of his belt and Robin insignia making his outfit pop. 

“Damian,” Bruce says back, forcing a grin. “Where are you off to?” 

“Don’t play dumb with me,” Damian quickly bites out, already roaring for conflict. “I’m no child. You know where I’m off to.” 

Bruce stands, subtly putting himself before the doorway. “Then you know I can’t let you go alone.” He reaches over for his suitcase, where he’d stored away his uniform out of paranoia. “Wait for me to pull on the rest of my uniform.” 

“I don’t need you to ghost me like a shadow, Wayne.” 

“I’m not trying to ghost you, but it’s Batman and Robin.” Bruce drops his voice into a low growl. “If you won’t work with me, then you don’t work at all.” 

It’s a familiar argument, one that they’ve repeated over the last week or so over and over. It’s like they’re in the trenches during World War I, fighting for just a handful of inches that they’ll only end up losing. It grates on Bruce’s nerves, plucking the down far enough that he’s worried he’s on the last straw. He knows that Damian can tip him over that line, and he’s not ready to hear his own reaction against whatever it is that Damian says. 

Damian goes still, but it’s a tense, sharp-edged stillness, with a crease in his brows and a snarl on his lips. 

“While I was resting,” he says, and it sounds out of nowhere, but Bruce knows it’s not, “I came up with a joke for you.” 

Bruce doesn’t want to ask about it. 

Damian doesn’t care. 

“There’s a mother and a father and a stupid little boy. They go to the movies, and when they come home, they decide to take a shortcut. Now- stop me if you’ve heard this one- three people walk into that alleyway.” 

Something sinks in Bruce’s gut.

“Only one walks out.” 

It bubbles, bubbles, bubbles, like a bad connection or a rotten meal, spilling up his throat. He bites it down because he won’t let this be the last straw, no matter how low a blow that might have been. 

“We don’t need a repeat of that, here, do we?” 

Bruce doesn’t know why that’s the line that sends him over. 

(He doesn’t know why he’s like this.) 

“That is enough!” he roars, voice too loud, too final. Damian flinches. His face curls up, angry, angry, and everything pours out as he looms over this boy that is his but not. “If you step one foot out of this goddamn room, I’ll see to it that you never wear that R until you’re drinking champagne. You don’t get to speak to me like I’m any less than you are!” 

“You don’t have the right to take Robin from me!” Damian screeches. “It wasn’t you that gave this to me, it was your bastard son, Grayson, that did it when you decided to fuck off and leave me with him!” 

“That wasn’t in my control!” Bruce barks, hating himself, hating himself so, so much, nearly too much as he continues. “But you are my son and I have every right to take this away from you.” 

“I’m not your son,” he hisses, and if Bruce knew him any less, he wouldn’t know that his voice shakes, that his voice quivers as he speaks. “I can see how you look at me, Wayne, and I believe it’s no less than I look at you.” 

And, as he says it, Bruce meets those red, red, eyes, filled with a raw hate for everything and anything because-

Because he’s just like Bruce. 

Because he hides behind a mask of hate when he’s upset, when he’s angry at the world and scared. Damian’s scared, just like Bruce was when he was in that alley all of those years ago. Just like Bruce is now, when he’d thought of his ten year old son taking on the world by his side, just like he was when he came back to the safe house with a shattered boy turned four, when he’d yelled at Dick and swore he’d steal away Robin because Robin scared him the least, (and unnerved him the most). 

“I won’t do this with you,” Bruce says. “I won’t fight you on this.” 

“That’s because you know it’s true,” Damian snarks. 

It’s like he said, it’s easier to deal with it when he doesn’t have an emotional connection to the problem at hand. It’s easier when he removes himself from the situation and ignores everything that threatens to tear him apart. 

“No, you’re not my son,” he says, and he won’t let his voice waver. Damian flinches again and all Bruce can think about is Talia, looking down at their son and telling him that she’s no longer his. “You’re not him, but you’re part of him and I have a duty to you. You won’t be going out. I won’t allow it.” 

“I never asked for your permission,” Damian says.

He hadn’t. 

He leaves through the window and leaves Bruce lying in his wake.

Chapter Text

The conversation with Ivy goes slow. It grates on Dick’s nerves the longer it drags on for, sending his anxiety whirling so high that he thinks he might just split into a blue-Richard and a red-Richard just from the feeling. If he did, he’d banish blue-him back to the damn cave and let red-him absolutely tear Ivy apart. But, alas, he’s not going to split and he’s got enough self restraint as a whole person to keep himself from pouncing. 

It’s still a close thing. 

Jason takes the lead in most of the talking, explaining their situation and giving her something to sway her trust. After he talks about Robin being split, about their worries because family is family, Ivy, you’ve got to understand that as fucking terrible as he is, he’s ours, he says, “When the big man gets back, we’ll leave you to your pondering and we won’t take you in.” 

Ivy’s smile, lazy and pleased, falls at that. “That’s not a prize for helping you, that’s just blackmail,” she scoffs, having the gall to sound upset. “The longer you have to wait, the more danger they’ll be in, hm?” 

Dick’s fist twitches. As bad as he wants to scream, he bites it down and uses his anger to let his voice go cold. “Tell us where he is,” he hisses, “or I’ll personally see to it that you end up somewhere so much worse than Arkham.” 

Ivy goes silent and stares at him, finally rolling off the huge plant stem she was lounging on. She’s a tall woman, even with her lack of shoes on her feet. Her skin is sunkissed, freckles spanning her shoulders and cheeks, complimenting her frizzy red hair and her lounge clothes. She’s not dressed for visitors, far from it. Normally when she’s prepped for a fight, she’s in a leafy, short green dress. Now she’s only in a crop top- loose, hardly form fitting in anyway, hanging from one freckled shoulder- and baggy sweatpants that cut off tight around her ankles. 

She looks human like this, even among the plants that encircle her being. 

“You really care about Robin,” she says, and it’s almost soft. It’s a tone she reserves from Harley Quinn, for all Dick’s seen so far- from stolen moments that he never should have seen, glimpses of a life that he knew Ivy prefered to fighting the vigilantes that stalk Gotham day and night. She clears her throat. “From what I’ve heard, Crane’s out of Arkham.” 

He hears Jason’s breezy, no, before the impact of the statement hits him. 

His little brother- brother s- could have been kidnapped by Scarecrow. Scarecrow has no qualms about experimenting on little children, no problem with filling them with fear gas and watching them scream. 

Dick doesn’t know how Damian reacts to fear gas regularly. He doesn’t need- or want- them to be high on it now either. Especially not now. 

Then, she says, “I know where Crane is hiding out, now.” Her fists clench. “I’ll bring you to him on one condition.” 

“Anything,” Dick near pleads. Please be easy, he thinks in his mind, please be doable.  

Her toes curl beneath her as she shifts her stance, looking oddly small for a woman who’s made Dick and Jason both scream for mercy countless times before. “Harley and I,” she says, and there’s that soft, soft tone, unbefitting of a villain as powerful as she, “we need someplace safe to lay low for a while, but I don’t have the cash for it. It’s not like I can go out and get a job. She’s trying to keep from the Joker, it’s only inevitable that he breaks out from Arkham.” 

It’s Jason who steps up, quick and without pause. “I’ll have you hooked up with an income and a place before all of this is over,” he says, probably thinking about which of his safehouses to fork over and how much trouble he’d get with Bruce if he used his money instead of his own.  

He points at Dick over his shoulder with his thumb. “Now, let’s get a move on before Boy Blunder over here pops a fuse,” he jokes. 

Once Ivy goes through an outfit change- something resembling her normal villain attire, but with shorts instead of a skirt, and sleeves rather than none- she gestures for them to follow. Before they hit the main road, she toes at a hidden doorway in the grass, leading down to the sewers. It’s one that Dick hadn’t seen before, but Jason looks smug- like he had. 

“Waylon Jones uses it, mostly,” Jason explains. It takes a moment for Waylon Jones to connect with Killer Croc. Dick’s never been one to use villain’s real names. It makes him think- Should he be calling Ivy by hers? “Though, he hasn’t been out of the sewers in a while, has he?” 

Ivy shakes her head, gently dropping down onto the sidewalks around the muck below. Dick follows, but when Jason makes to drop down, he ends up sliding into the muck instead. “He hasn’t been active lately either. He and I have a pact, so he shouldn’t be a problem- not tonight.” 

“What if he’s the one who has the boys?” Dick frets. 

“He doesn’t,” Ivy says. Her face goes dark. “If he does, though, you aren’t getting them back.”

Jason gets back to his feet and closes the latch, fishing something from his belt and clicking it on. The path before them illuminates, and Jason gestures for Dick to take the lead. 

Ivy guides them from behind, telling the two when to turn and where to go. Just when Dick’s certain they’re in the very heart of the city, she tells them to go up the hatch. Dick looks expectantly for the manhole cover that leads to the street, but he doesn’t find one- or a ladder. 

Jason pushes past him again and gently knocks on a hollow rock. “It’s a wonder how you ever managed to be Batman,” he snarks. 

“I’m panicking,” Dick wheezes, instead of trying to maintain his Batman Ability. “How do you know where all of this stuff is?” 

“I’m a Crime Alley drug dealer and supreme supervillain,” Jason jokes. “Before that, I was a Crime Alley kid. Us kinda people- We know our way around the sewers, Wing-Ding.” 

Dick makes a face, but slips through the hatch when Ivy tells them to get a move on.

It brings them out to a small room, a little round table shoved in the middle. There’s three men around it, cards piled in their hands. They’re all looking over at Dick and Jason- and then Ivy when she finally crosses through. Jason closes the door behind them and Ivy smirks, sly and near excited. 

With a quick hand, she lashes out. All three are binded in vines, ones that crawl through the crack in the walls and the little plant in the corner of the room. She takes a careful, calculated look at all of them as she walks past, pausing at the door to cock her head to the side. 

“You’re with Scarecrow, aren’t you?” she asks, hand hovering inches from the door knob. 

One of the men tries to kick out, but none respond. Ivy snaps her fingers and the vines tighten. Jason steps up to bat next, leaning his face close to theirs. 

“Two questions,” he says, hand slipping to the gun holster on his side. “You better answer them or you’re not going to like what’s going to happen next.” 

“Fuck off!” Man 2 screeches, spittle flying. 

For some reason, that’s what sets Dick off. 

He shoves Jason aside and slides into place, face curled up and snarling. Nightwing is known for being a happy-go-lucky guy who’s always willing to lend a hand, but now he just feels vicious. He hasn’t been like this for a while- not since Damian was fighting crime by his side and the two of them were taking turns worrying after one another when they both got thrown around. 

He lets a smile quirk up on his face, looking more like a snarl than anything else. Sweetly, he says, “If you know where Robin is, I’d fess up.”

He leans in close enough to feel their panted breath on his face. 

“Now.” 

Surprisingly, that’s all it takes for Man 1 to crack. Hurriedly, he spits out, “‘Crow’s got ‘em! They’re just out tha’ door- downstairs! Man- I don’t know what he’s doin’ to ‘em, man!” 

Man 3 helpfully supplies, just as panicked and scared, “I hear he’s got himself a new gas. He tried using it on some of the new recruits, but he never got the chance before them damn kids popped into the base! There were three of them- three Robins! All dressed up in different masks and colors- Boss was happy to see them!” 

“He’s probably gon’ experiment on tha’ poor brats,” Man 1 says. “The Bat’s gon’ blow a gasket when he finds out, man.” 

Man 2 just side-eyes Ivy, before he asks, “The hells’ you doing helpin’ out these boys here, Iv’?” 

The vines tighten more, and Ivy doesn’t respond. 

“You sure they’re in there?” Jason says, doubtfully. “If they are, I’ll call in Batgirl and RR as backup.” 

“They’re in there!” Man 1 screeches louder. “We swear! Let us down, now, man! C’mon!” 

“Call them in,” Dick says. “We’ll get this started ourselves.”

He cracks his knuckles as Ivy pulls open the door, all three of them leaving the men behind. 

The door opens to a large platform, with grated floors and high railings. There’s at least three sets of stairs and two or so ladders going both up and down. Dick walks over to the only staircase that goes down, from what he can tell, and peers down. The room gets darker the lower it goes, there’s no way of telling from here if the men were lying or not. 

Jason raises an arm to his comms and starts relaying their information to both Steph and Tim- We’ve teamed up with Ivy, she’s helping us out, no she won’t backstab us, I hope not. We think we’ve found the boys, come to us as fast as you can, we’re not sure how ugly this’ll get- He relays their location quickly, with some help from Ivy.

Once that is done, the three of them race down the stairs, checking behind any doors they come upon. Eventually, after the third flight of what Dick guesses to be many, Ivy says, “I won’t fight Crane for you.” 

“You won’t have to,” Jason says. “We’ve got backup up and coming, and Wing-Ding’s pissy enough for the lot of us. Besides, Rob’s never really been one to sit back and let his kidnapper- well- do the kidnapping.”

She looks at him half skeptically, and Dick’s willing to bet that she’s reminding herself of what she’s getting out of this whole exchange. Dick wonders if she’d ever do it otherwise- if she hadn’t needed a place, would she have agreed to help their little brother out? 

A loud crash draws Dick out of his thoughts, and gets him to bound down the next flight or so. Still, Jason’s the one that gets to the door the noise came from first, Ivy lagging behind a good few seconds. Jason and Dick meet eyes for a second. 

“Do we wait for backup?” he asks. 

Dick shakes his head. “You and I will be enough. We don’t know how much time we have to spare anymore.” With that, he looks back to Ivy. “I have one more thing to ask. I don’t want you to fight Scarecrow, but if you can, I really need you to try to get Robin- all three of them- out of there if you can.” 

Her eyes shift. “If I can’t?” she asks. Then, “If I don’t?” 

“If you don’t,” Jason levels, “we’ll be disappointed. But you’ll still have a house and some cash waiting for you, granted I don’t die. You’ve done what we asked, Iv’.” 

“Okay,” she says. A beat. “I’ll try.” 

“That’s all we can ask.” 

They open the door, and Dick’s entire world flips on an axis.

Chapter Text

Dick opens the door, and all he sees is red. 

Sounds and smells and sights he’s never wanted to ever experience again come rushing at him. The metallic smell of blood, someone kneeling on the ground as they scream their heart out, someone lying on the ground with wide, unseeing eyes. He sees a little boy with blue, blue eyes staring up at a man who has killed and killed and killed and Dick thinks that, for a moment, he’s gone back in time. 

(He thinks that maybe he’s seeing Bruce, before him lying his parents and the man who’d shot them down for cash. He thinks that maybe he’s seeing himself, his own parents and their mangled forms so far down below him. He thinks that maybe it’s Jason, Jason and his mother and his deadbeat father rearing for another blow, that maybe it’s Tim, his mother killed and his father dying and the world falling apart.) 

MAMA pierces the air louder than anything Dick’s ever heard, followed by a sharp wheeze, a cry, a please.  

(Bruce, crying for his mother as he reaches for her pearls. Dick, watching as the police guide him away from his mom because he shouldn’t have to see it. Jason and Catherine. Tim and Janet.) 

“Please stop,” they cry, and there’s a green mask on their face, a crack in their voice, unused to being used for anything other than yessir. Robin- it’s Robin, not anyone else besides Dick’s littlest brother- is crouched on the ground, knees to his chest and hands clasped, pressing right above his heart. “Mama, please!” 

Before him isn’t anyone’s mother, father- It’s Little D, his own mask a pretty bubblegum pink. His head lolls against the ground, blood streaming from his temples. His hands press against his side as he gasps, tiny body convulsing minutely. At times he turns his head to Robin, fingers twitching like they want to reach out. 

Neither have noticed Dick or Jason or Ivy. 

Lastly is Dami, navy blue mask pressed over his eyes, cape missing. He’s scratched and bruised, but isn’t harboring any kind of wound. He’s actually on his feet, fists bared and body lowered into a fighting stance. Scarecrow looms over him, a sick smile stitched into his mask and an empty syringe in his hands. 

“Interesting,” Scarecrow trills. “It doesn’t affect you?” 

Dami has a tremor in his voice, but a strong look glimmering in his eyes. “I live out my strongest fears everyday,” he worries. “Nothing you dose me with will ever make a difference. Now back off. I won’t let you hurt my brothers anymore.” 

“And how are you going to do that?” Crane asks. “A little boy like you can’t save anyone.” 

“I know,” Dami says, and then, “but they can.” 

Crane’s eyes flash over to Dick, Jason and Ivy, rage filling his features. “Interlopers,” he greets, voice hissing lowly. It’s scratchy through the mask. “I’m not quite done with my science experiment.” 

“Back off, Scarecrow,” Dick hisses. He flicks his wrist as a signal, praying that Ivy will go help Little D- bloody, bloody- like they’d asked. Then he moves forward, placing himself in front of his brothers, and watches as Jason does the same. “Play time’s over.”

(Ivy kneels down beside Little D, avoiding Robin as he screams. “Hey, Pinkie,” she says, placing her hand over his- where it grasps at his waist. She covers it with plants as a makeshift bandage, before trying to get him to sit up. “We’ve gotta get you out of here.” 

“Robin,” Little D rasps, “He’s- he’s on the gas.” 

“Are you?” she asks, and he shakes his head. Carefully, she brings him up into her arms, cradling him bridal style. He wheezes through it, but plasters on a smile. “How’d you get this banged up, kid?” 

“Robin,” Little D says again. “He didn’t mean it.”

Ivy doesn’t give that a retort, but softly she calls out to Dami and nods at him to follow. “I promised them I’d get you three out. I’ll come back for Robin, but you two are going to stay outside. Go home if you can. This isn’t a place for children.”) 

This isn’t a place for children, Ivy says, as she guides Dick’s brothers out. Robin’s screams stay put, but with Little D and Dami out of sight (but not quite out of mind) Dick finds himself able to breathe easier. 

He lowers himself into a fighting stance and prepares to lunge. Scarecrow’s always been easy to physically fight, but it mostly comes down to avoiding his needles and gas. It doesn’t look like he has any gas bombs on him right now, so Dick feels safe enough without his breather secured on his face. When Jason doesn’t put his on either, Dick knows his worries will be better spent on only avoiding the syringes looped around Crane’s waist. 

“Ready?” Jason breathes out. 

“Ready,” Dick agrees. 

They launch themselves at Crane. 

Together, they fade in and out, trading blows with Scarecrow. Scarecrow is tall and lanky, making it easy for him to avoid their blows and to slide out of the way. He’s quick on his feet, but each of his own punches hold no power. He keeps poisoned laced knives between his knuckles as he lashes out, but Dick knows from experience that the poison is shorter-lived than the syringes. 

His nightmares will burst before his eyes like a flash grenade, but they’ll ebb away in no time, so Dick finds it a reprieve. It still doesn’t mean he wants to be caught by them. He knows that Jason avoids them like the plague, dropping back when Dick pulls out his escrima sticks so he can yank out his guns- full of rubber bullets to please Bruce.

“Don’t shoot me,” Dick gasps out, as he ducks another blow. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it, princess,” Jason returns. 

Every time Dick falls back from a successful punch or a failed blow, Jason lets off a quick round of shots. He’s an expert aim, but the chance of hitting Dick makes the shot less true, allowing Scarecrow to easily avoid both of their hits. 

Eventually, Scarecrow’s backup comes. (Ivy does not.) Jason bleeds back to deal with them, leaving Dick to dance around with Crane. 

“Where the hell is Batgirl and RR?” Jason shouts. 

Dick leaps out of the way of Scarecrow’s slash, landing on the shoulder of one of Scarecrow’s goons and knocking him to the ground. “No idea,” he replies. “We need them back in here- someone needs to get Robin out of he- woah, okay-” He twists awkwardly to avoid another hit, swiping his foot down beneath Crane’s legs. “Careful with those things, man, you could hurt someone!” 

“That’s the plan, Nightwing!” Crane hisses. 

They flip over each other for a solid eight minutes before both Batgirl and Red Robin come bursting through the door. RR’s hair is a mess, but Steph is looking as good as ever, and she leaps into the fray with a sharp woo-hoo!  

Red Robin quickly joins Nightwing’s fight, pulling out his own staff. “Where is that screaming coming from?” Tim asks. “Please don’t tell me-”

“Robin got a syringe full of fear gas before I got here. Ivy took the other two back to safety- Pinkie was bleeding pretty bad- watch for his knives-” Dick pulls Tim out of the way of a nasty slice, dropping them both back for a quick breather. 

“You let Ivy help you?!” 

“Didn’t Jason say that?” 

“Let me reword that. You let Ivy take the boys?! What is wrong with you?” 

Dick groans, using his escrima sticks to push Scarecrow’s hand away from his face. “I had to, R. I’ve got my hands full as it is, and we’re doing something really nice for her as payment. Now stop worrying about her and someone get Robin out of here.” 

Tim’s hand goes up to his comm, probably ready to signal for Red Hood or Batgirl to deal with him, when Dick roughly shoves him to the side. “Watch out!” he calls-

Scarecrow’s knives slide right through the skin on his forearm like it’s butter. 

The world melts away, and suddenly, Dick is eight years old again. He’s standing beside the circus tent, peering in to watch his parents start off their act together. He’s filled with joy when his parents start swinging on the trapeze, twirling around each other like they were always meant for the sky. At first it’s just his father, throwing himself from beam to beam. His mother joins, rushing across the tightrope and then falling from her perch. 

The crowd screams for the thrill of it, but his father always catches her. 

He oohs and aahs when his father throws his mother like they’d always practiced, bounces on the tips of his toes when his dad swings towards her again. Only their grip on each other's wrists is keeping them from the ground. For a while, Dick’s world is just the two of them, is just their little familiar set up- 

And then the rope snaps. 

The rope snaps and all there is on the ground is red. All Dick can hear is the sharp scream of the crowd (high, panicked, loud) as he surges forward, yelling out Mama! Dad! When he gets to them, it isn’t his parents. It’s Jason, it’s Tim, caught by the Joker and smashed to pieces, it’s Bruce looming over him with his frown drawn sharp, telling him, they’re dead. I was too late. He reaches down for his brothers, hands shaking as they come away red, red, red. His wrists are stained up to his elbows with their blood. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get it off. 

He blinks away tears-

And then it’s little Damian, Dick’s Damian, with green eyes and Bruce’s scowl and an infinite golden heart that no one else can see. They’re standing on the roof, above the city and the crowds. Dick’s in the cowl, easing off a heartbreak. (Bruce is dead and the world went red.) 

“I don’t want to stay here,” Damian says to him. “I don’t want to stay with you.” 

“Dames-” Dick starts, but Damian is up and running towards the end of the rooftop, his grapple in his hand. Damian leaps off of it, and Dick never hears the zip.

He only hears the crash and Damian’s sharp scream.

When Dick gets to him, all there is is a splatter of red. 

(Dick has never liked the color red.)

He screams. 

He screams, and when the room returns to him, he lunges.  

(Richard Grayson is a beast and he cannot be contained.)

As he pummels Crane with punch after punch, all he can think about is his little brothers- all he can think about is Robin behind him, calling for his mama because she never knew when to stop, he thinks about Dami and his big heart, crying because the world was too much for a little boy like him. He thinks about Little D, bleeding out, of Tim on Bruce’s doorstep that very first night saying, you’re Batman, of Jason looking up at him. 

“Don’t you ever touch my brothers again!" Dick howls-

When arms wrap around his stomach, it only increases his fury. They pull him back from his target, but all Dick sees is red. “Put me down!” he roars, kicking and scratching and screaming. “Let me go, let me at him-” 

“Stop it, Dick!” someone says, their grip getting tighter. They pick him up from the ground, and Dick’s heart stutters- (he’s not on the ground anymore, he’s falling too, the last flying Grayson, doomed to fall-)- but his flailing does not. He can’t afford too- if he lets Crane go on for any longer, he’ll hurt-  

“Fucking- stop it! You’re scaring the brat!” 

Dick stops. 

(Robin has gone quiet in Batgirl’s hold, staring up at Nightwing with total fear in his eyes. Dick doesn’t see it, but if he did, it’d tear him apart.) 

The world goes black.

Chapter Text

Dick wakes up with a start, his heart near blasting out of his chest with how erratic it was beating. He doesn’t know where the mess of anxiety is coming from or why his entire arm feels like it’s on fire, but the sounds of the cave surround him and quell any further terror. At least he’s some place he recognizes- instead of kidnapped. 

For him, though, a start doesn’t mean ejecting himself from the bed. He only snaps into consciousness like a rubber band pulled to taut. He groans to alert anyone around him that he’s awake, before rolling over onto the side where his arm doesn’t currently feel like it should be in a vat of acid. 

“Dick?” someone asks, from his side. None of the Damians that they have walking around call him Dick, so he chalks it up to be the only one in the house who’d actually call him Dick. 

Instead of turning to look at his brother, he only wheezes out, “Hey, Tim.” He winces at how dry and crack-y his voice is, and when he’s prompted to turn back onto his back and drink some water, he obliges. “Thanks. What the hell happened?” 

Tim helps him sit up first, drawing attention to the sling across Dick’s chest. “After you got hit by Scarecrow, you kind of blanked out for a minute,” he reports, reaching for a tablet beside the both of them. He scrolls on it for a moment, flipping the screen back to him- security footage. He presses play and then finishes, “You came back screaming Bloody Mary and tried to kill him.” 

The footage more or less goes how Tim described it. Dick pushes his brother out of the way, gets a slice to the arm for his troubles. Then, like he’d been looked at by Medusa, he turns to stone. Tim speeds it up from there, the clip returning to normal speed just in time for Dick to release a banshee scream and jump onto Scarecrow. The video brings back the memories, so instead of watching Crane get pummeled again- from a third person point of view. this time- he shifts his eyes to the corner of the screen. 

He watches as Steph slides down to Robin’s side when he finally stops screaming, his eyes only on Dick. Just as she opens her arms, he tackle hugs her, heaving out sobs from what Dick can tell. 

The film stops when Tim goes to scream at Dick, Jason looping his arms around his waist to pull him off of Crane. “You’re scaring the brat,” Jason yells, and Dick goes limp, and the tape goes black. 

“He was afraid,” Dick says. “Of me.”

“He was,” Tim says. “He’s back to his yessir thing, but Jason’s talking with him upstairs, so we’re hoping we’ll worm out a few more words from him. Uh, Steph’s with Dami, keeping him occupied out in the back.” He ticks off everyone on his fingers. “Little D is sleeping upstairs. He’d been cut up pretty badly, but we took care of him before anything really bad happened. Oh! Bruce sent a message. He’s back in the city with Red. They’ll cover patrol tonight and then head back once that’s over.” 

“So how long do I have until he comes home?” 

“It’s just nearing ten o’clock. P.M. You were out for like- a whole day. The antidote to the fear gas poison really did a number on you. I had to whip up a new one, so I’m not really sure the side effects.” 

Dick groans again. “Thanks, Tim. I really owe you one.” 

“Just make sure Red doesn’t kill me tonight, okay?” 

“Wait- you’re staying?” Tim gives him a smile as an answer, and Dick can’t stop himself from pulling his little brother down into a hug. His hand comes to a rest at the back of Tim’s head, locked in his dark hair. “Oh, I’m so happy you’re staying, Timmy! It’s been so long since we’ve done a family dinner- And Bruce will be happy too!” 

Tim shifts as to not aggravate Dick’s arm. “I think I’ve gotten both Jason and Steph to promise that they’ll stay, too. Though, I can’t tell you how long.” 

“All that’s missing is Cass and Alfie!” Dick cheers, drawing away. “Now, help your aging brother upstairs- I’ve got a couple brats to yell at.” 

That draws a snort from Tim. “Go easy on them, Dick. They meant well.” 

“They nearly gave me a heart attack!” Dick whines. 

Once they’ve got Dick’s good arm wrapped around Tim’s shoulders and Tim’s arm around Dick’s waist, they set towards the stairs. Dick’s missing his shirt, but he figures that it’s the least of his worries. At least he has on his pants- and he can always steal whatever sweatshirt Jason’s got on if he gets cold. Or he can climb the stairs to his room. Though, with the way that his whole body aches, he doesn’t think he’ll be rushing the length of the house anytime soon. 

They get to the hall when Dick’s face sours. “Everyone’s in different rooms,” he pouts. “Poor Lil’ D is stuck upstairs all alone-” 

“We’ll bring him down for dinner, relax. He’s just sleeping off whatever's left of yesterday’s excitement.” 

“-and Steph and Dami are in the backyard! I can’t walk that far, Timmy. And who knows where Jason and Robin are?” 

“I do. Here’s the deal, I’ll drop you off with Steph and Dami, then I’ll segway over for Jason and Robin, okay? I’ll make sure to let Little D know that you’re awake- if he’s awake,” Tim adds on, quickly. “I’m not waking the kid up just for you.” 

“I wouldn’t ask you to, Timmy. You’re doing so much as is.” 

Tim gives a shrug, before letting go of Dick’s arm to open up the door to the yard. “Steph!” he shouts. “We’ve got company!” 

Since it’s dark, the light on the back of the house is on, illuminating a small area of the grass beyond. That’s where Steph and Dami are, lying on their backs and staring up at the stars. They’re talking in hushed voices, but both of them look up at Tim’s yell. Tim helps Dick over to them and Steph sits up to help Dick lay down, leaving her in between the two boys. Then Tim leaves, shutting the door behind him. 

“Heya, Dickie,” Steph greets. “We were just looking at the stars- Dami here tells me that where he comes from, they’re a lot brighter.” 

“They are,” Dami says, voice subdued and soft. He sounds pretty close to tapping off to sleep. “We weren’t so close to people back at the compound.” 

“I hate to interrupt you two,” Dick tacks on. 

“It’s fine.” Steph shifts so her head is on Dick’s good shoulder, pulling Dami in close to her. She rubs her hands through Dami’s hair, watching as his eyes shut. Then, voice just as soft as Dami’s, she says, “We probably look just like a family here, don’t we?” 

Dick lets himself sink into the cool grass. “A pretty fucked up family,” he admits. “But I don’t think I’d trade any of you guys for the world. Unless-” -and he blanches here, awkwardly coughing- “-you’re trying to say something, in which case, I think you’re like five.” 

“I am not five!” Steph giggles. “But, no, no, ew, you’re like fifty. I just mean- Being around Dami- around any of Damian- it’s- it’s nice.” 

And, oh, Dick thinks. He remembers back when he first met Steph, through Tim, and Tim had said something about a child she was never supposed to have, a child she never did have because the world was too big and she felt too small. It wasn’t something she was ready for, and Dick feels that. He knows that. 

He wasn’t ready for Damian, Bruce wasn’t ready for Dick.

(Though, he’s not saying it’s the same. He’s not saying it’s close. ) 

He holds Steph closer, and he forgets to scold Dami.

Eventually, as Dick’s eyes trace over the little dipper, Dami fades off into sleep and Steph starts humming some inane song. The door opens and Jason comes through, Robin wrapped around his shoulders, sitting on his hip from where he dozes. Tim comes out too, settling into the grass on Dick’s other side, his head resting on Dick’s thigh. Jason lays Robin down so he’s beside Dami, and sits down by Dick’s head, not yet letting himself lay down with everyone else. 

They don’t exchange any words for a while, but Steph continues to hum and soon Jason joins in. 

It feels more like home than anything that Dick’s experienced in a while, when he finally gives in and starts singing the words. Tim only hums- he’s never liked his own voice and hasn’t always been the biggest singer in the family. But, as soon as Dick starts singing, Jason does too, his own voice brash and purposefully terrible. 

Steph starts to laugh again, trying to swat at him and hush him- because, Jason, the boys are sleeping, oh my gosh, shut up, you’re terrible- but she too lets herself be dragged into it. 

By the time the singing ends, they’ve already sang through the same song three times on repeat. 

“Ah, to be a family,” Jason snarks, ruining the moment as soon as it draws to a close. “Did you hear that B’s coming back tonight? Replacement’s trying to enlist us as his protection squad.” 

“Stop calling me Replacement,” Tim says. “I’m not even Robin anymore.” 

Instead of listening to Tim, Steph just cheers. “I’m gonna give Red the biggest hug when he gets here.” 

“You’re going to get yourself killed,” Dick replies, swiftly. 

“It’s totally worth it,” Stephanie says. Then, when it seems like no one’s going to keep talking, she says, “You think we’re ever going to get our Damian back?” She looks down to the boys snuggled up to her side. “Like, I love these brats, I really do, but. Dames is ours and-” She lets out a frustrated growl. 

“I get what you’re trying to say,” Tim says. “Like- I’m not Damian’s biggest fan, but he’s my brother . I have things to say to him- all of him.” 

“Like what?” Jason gruffs. 

“I’m not going to be a dick anymore, like some people I know.” 

“You better not be talking about me,” Dick says, offhandedly. “If I hear one more person use my name as an adjective to describe me, I’ll lose my shit.” 

Jason rolls his eyes, and something in his pockets beeps. He pulls whatever it is out, frowning down at it. “Whatever you say, Dickhead,” he adds on to the conversation, before pushing himself onto his feet- still crouched low. “B’s on his way back right now, so I guess I should go let him know Timmy’s sticking around before Red decapitates us.” 

“Aw man. Batdad’s coming back already? It’s not even that late,” Steph whines. 

“It’s been slow, lately,” Dick replies.

As soon as Jason moves to fully stand, a hand shoots out and pulls him down by the hem of his sweatshirt. Jason lets out a sharp yelp as he lands back down on his ass, sending a quick, sharp look to whoever it was who yanked him down. Dick half expects Steph to giggle- but it seems she wasn’t the perpetrator. 

It was little Robin, his eyes still shut.

Jason looks at Robin for a good moment. Instead of prying his hand off of his shirt, like Dick thought he might do, he just plops right back down with a heavy sigh. “Eh, it’s not my funeral,” he snarks out, looking away from Dick. “It’s a nice night anyway- why let the big ol’ batty ruin it for me?” 

Tim squawks at the funeral comment, but Dick lifts his leg, jostling Tim. 

“Spend your last few minutes just existing, Timmy,” Dick chides. “It’s what all the cool kids are doing these days.” 

Steph laughs. “We are so not the cool kids.” 

And Dick is so totally fine with that.

Chapter Text

Bruce finds them out back, about half an hour later.

Steph picks up Dami, cradling him on her hip, and Jason grabs Robin, casting him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Both of them walk past Bruce with little conversation, saving it mostly for the dinner they’ll be forced to have together. Bruce stays by the door, leaning on it’s frame, as he watches Tim help Dick to his feet. 

He looks tired, Dick thinks, when he finally gets close to him. He looks bone tired. 

The last time Dick had seen him without the cowl feels like it’d been a near millennia ago to Dick, now, but he’s sure that the deep bags beneath Bruce’s eyes are new, that the messy way his hair stands up at all ends wasn’t there before. 

“Dick,” Bruce says, and he doesn’t sound like the calls. 

“Bruce,” Dick replies. 

Father and son regard each other. Dick feels like there’s an entire canyon separating the two- and that canyon was created the moment that Bruce came back to life and realized that Dick was closer to his youngest son than Bruce ever got to be. 

“Damian’s doing well,” Bruce continues, looking down at his feet. “He’s angry, still. I don’t feel like our time away from Gotham did much for him.”

“The others are doing good, too,” Dick says, unsure if he wants to explain the previous couple days to Bruce. He’ll probably have to- what with Lil’ D’s injury and Dick’s own arm. That can wait till dinner, even with how Bruce is looking at the sling across his chest. “Robin and Jason had a breakthrough, I think. Dami’s doing a little better since Tim talked to him. Lil’ D’s just as bright as he’s always been. Any word from Zantanna yet?” 

Bruce shakes his head, and his eyes shift to Tim, who gives him a grin. “Tim,” Bruce greets, same as he did to Dick. “It’s good to see you again.” 

“I just wish it were under better circumstances,” Tim replies. “What’s for dinner?” 

“You’re staying?” Bruce asks, then. He blinks somewhat owlishly, as if he hadn’t thought that Tim staying was even an option. It’s common knowledge- was at least- that Tim wasn’t Damian’s biggest fan, and Bruce and Tim were the first two people around Damian. Of course Bruce would still think that that was the case. He hasn’t seen Tim with the boys- not yet. 

Instead of replying vocally, Tim gives him another shining smile and moves to enter the manor. Dick does his best not to lean too heavily on Tim, but he’s exhausted and still reeling from both the poison and antidote. 

“I could just order a couple pizzas,” Bruce hums, shutting the door behind them.

Dick raises a brow, peering back at him. “A couple? We’ve got Jason and Steph here, y’know.”

It feels weird to talk this casually with Bruce- he was ready for a fight, ready to tear Bruce a new one as soon as they locked eyes, because Robin won’t be going out, not now, because- Because of the night this all started, and because Dick is scared. Bruce probably is too, Dick realizes. He’s probably just as scared- because when Batman is scared, he beats everyone up, but when Bruce is scared, he hides and he runs and he fights if he has to. 

“I’ll order more than a couple, then,” and then, in a grumble, “damn kids, imagine if I wasn’t rich- you’d all eat me out of house and home.” 

“They already do that!” Tim calls, as him and Dick keep moving. “Imagine that- Bruce, poor.” 

“He wouldn’t be Batman if he were poor.” Dick gestures to the room beside them when Tim makes to go to the dining room. “Drop me off in the den- we can set up a movie while we eat.” 

Tim does as he’s requested, helping him settle down on the couch. “I’ll tell Steph and Jason- go grab Pinkie, he should be up by now.” 

“Roger that, Timmy. Have fun.” 

Tim just sticks his tongue out, and then he disappears around the corner. 

Dick relaxes back into the couch. Everyone else is scattered about the manor, probably in their rooms or the kitchen, and Bruce is in the hallway, speaking in hushed tones as he tries to figure out how many pizzas he needs, what kinds he should get, how many wings can he get, and do you do delivery? Wayne Manor, if possible- I’ll pay you extra for it.

He’s alone, finally-

But, no. That’s wrong. He’s not alone-

“Damian,” Dick calls, and there he comes, still in his Robin uniform- or, a copy of it, all black and red with splashes of gold. He’s without the mask this time, his bright, ruby eyes staring into Dick’s soul with an intense fury that Dick can’t say he really misses. “You ever going to take that off?” 

“You ever going to go back to Blüdhaven and finally leave us alone?” 

“Ah, you’ve got me there,” Dick snorts. “It’s a shame I like you all too much to just leave, so don’t count on it anytime soon.” 

“We don’t need you,” this Damian snarls, nose wrinkling with his brows. 

Dick lifts his index finger, tapping the air with a smirk. “On the contrary.” He can tell it’s probably not wise to egg the kid on, but he’d like to get a feel for what his deal is. See where his cracks and creases are, how much Dick can poke before Damian’s bark turns into a nasty bite. He has no doubt that that’s exactly what Damian is doing back to him. 

It’s probably what he did with Bruce, too. 

What Damian needs- what this red version of him needs- is endless patience. 

Bruce couldn’t give him that, but Dick- God, Dick might just be able to. 

Sure, Dick has a terrible temper when it comes down to it. He can be just as vile as this Damian here, just as downright nasty if he’d ever put his mind to it, but for the most part, Dick is known for patience. (How funny that is, when he’s lost it twice during this whole fiasco.) He can do this. 

He can do this.

“I told Wayne a joke the other day,” Damian says, and his lips curl up- not into old-Damian’s smile, but into a terrible grin that looks more like a baby eating smirk. “I think I could come up with one for you, too.” 

Dick gives a pleasant smile back, and shakes his head. “I’m not in the mood for one, but I’m sure it’s good,” Dick tells him, but makes a note to ask Bruce about it. “Take a seat, okay? Bruce is getting us dinner, and Tim’s rounding up everyone else.” 

It’s half expected that the mere mention of Tim’s name would set Damian off, but Damian looks like he didn’t even hear it. It’s oddly surprising. 

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Damian hisses, instead. Just as he goes to walk out of the room- stomp, really- Robin walks straight past him, without giving him any form of a greeting. Dick didn’t expect him to, he’s silent and hasn’t given anyone a hello, but it only serves to piss Damian off more. Damian lashes out and grabs Robin’s shoulder, Robin goes ramrod straight under his touch. 

“Ah,” Damian says. “It’s you. The green one.” 

Robin blinks, and Dick thinks he should do something. 

“What, too good to speak to someone like me?” Damian seethes. When it becomes apparent that he won’t get a reaction, he full-out shoves Robin to the ground. Robin doesn’t do much more than let himself fall to the ground, staring straight. The antidote for the fear toxin used on him must still be running through his system like it is Dick’s- there’s a slight tremor in his hands. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from Mother’s puppet.” 

Robin flinches at the stab, probably more out of the reference to Talia than the puppet half. 

Dick feels something boil up at that, something poisonous and raw. He starts to reprimand Damian, a Don’t be rude to your brother, sliding out of his mouth. 

Jason walks into the room before Dick can, and he regards the scene with a flash of anger in his eyes. “The hell are you doing?” he barks. “Don’t be a fucking dick to everyone just ‘cause you think you’re better than them.” 

(This must hit him on a personal level, Dick thinks. Jason’s always been protective over children, out on the streets. He’s always hated bullies, hated people pushing others around because of an imbalance of power that they hold.) 

“Says who?” Damian spits, spinning around to meet Jason’s eyes, allowing Dick to slip behind him- albeit slowly, shakily- and pick up Robin from the floor. “Says the family’s resident failure? Says Wayne’s biggest mistake?” 

“You think I was the biggest mistake of Bruce’s life?” Jason replies, a terrible twinkle in his eyes. “I’d beg to differ- he did fuck your mo-” 

“Jason!” Dick hisses out. “What the hell is wrong with-” 

“It’s not just me, Dickwad!” he cries, back. “This kid’s got a stick up his ass the size of Mount Everest-” 

“Jason!” 

He tosses his hands in the air, as if in defeat. “Okay, okay, okay! Whatever.” 

Damian scoffs, something like his old -tt- he used to do. “Coward,” he says, under his breath. “You’re just doing what you do best.” 

Dick can’t stop Jason when he whirls back around, nostrils flaring. “What are you implying?” he asks, framing it as an innocent question. He leans down, face before Damian’s. “That I run away from things?” 

The look in Damian’s eyes is challenging. 

“Oh,” Jason seethes. “I did not die for this shit!” 

He lunges, but Damian slides to the left, rolling into an easy flip. “You’re right. You died, because some part of you, deep, deep down wanted your mommy to love you.” 

That’s the exact moment everything goes to shit. 

By the end of it, it takes both Stephanie and Bruce to tear them apart. Dick’s been tossed to the floor for his efforts, an arm cast out before Robin, who’s watching from behind him. The coffee table is shattered and Dami’s in tears, Lil’ D looks tired but limps over to Dick to check on him. 

Stephanie’s got her arms around Damian’s waist- pinning his arms to his sides- as he screams things at her, ranging from everything to her father to the baby she never had. Dick can tell Steph just wants to slam his head down against the ground and scream right back at him, but she only tightens her hold and asks someone, anyone, grab the little bastard’s fucking feet-

Tim doesn’t, only watching from the door, afraid of losing one of his limbs to him. “Sorry Steph,” he says, wincing as she gets a heel stabbed into her thigh. It’ll bruise, but Steph is a tough one, so she just plops down, wraps her legs around the kid’s waist too, pinning his legs under hers. 

Bruce has Jason pulled off to the side, hand on his shoulder. Jason’s eyes blaze green, raw pit green, (pit madness, Damian- old Damian- said). Bruce is trying to coax him to breathe, coax him to calm.  

You don’t talk about Catherine Todd and walk away unscathed. 

“Shhh,” Steph is saying, and Dick latches onto it, (he doesn’t want to hear Bruce’s words, he doesn’t-), “shhh.” She’s rocking, now, rocking Damian like she’s in a rocking chair and soothing a little babe. 

(Lil’ D wraps an arm around Dick, curling up beside him. “Are you okay?” he asks, quietly. “I- Your arm-?” 

“I’m fine, Lil’ D, thank you,” Dick replies, pulling him close. He reaches up to place a kiss on his forehead. “I love you, buddy. How are you feeling?” 

“I’ll be alright,” he says, breathing easy. “I’ll be okay.” 

His ‘I’ll’ sounds like ‘We’ll’.)

“Shh, Dames,” Stephanie repeats. “You’ve gotta calm down for me, buddy.” 

“Unhand me!” he shrieks, instead, writhing in her hold. “Get off of me, get off of me!” 

“No one’s going to hurt you,” she whispers. “None of us. No matter how hard you push. We might push back, but none of us are going to hurt you, Damian. You’re safe with us.”  

Dick can’t tell if the words fall on deaf ears. Damian only keeps screaming, keeps fighting, keeps pleading.  

The doorbell rings, in the background of it all. 

“I’ll get it,” Tim says. He runs a hand through his hair, turning away. “Jesus.”

Chapter Text

Dinner is long and awkward, but somehow it goes by smoother than Dick could’ve ever hoped. Damian- their new Damian counterpart- ends up storming off with one of their pizza boxes, cheeks red from Stephanie’s ‘coddling’, eyes burning from his inner rage. As much as Dick wants to rush up after him, he stays with his family to give the boy time to breathe. They eat, trade stories, and Dick tries to make their past adventure out into Gotham seem a lot less dangerous as it had been. Jason keeps Dick’s whole meltdown a secret. 

In the end, they pull out the cards and finally get to that game of Uno they were going to play the other day. Dami ends up on Dick’s team, Jason on Robin’s, since the former seems too upset to really play his own hand and the latter is too caught up in his yessir act to concentrate. Tim and Steph don’t play on the same team, but they work together to help one another win- up until Steph pulls a betrayal to get the win herself. Neither of them do end up winning, because Bruce keeps pulling win after win. 

Eventually, Bruce does lose. It’s with a gentle smile though, and the win ends up going to Lil’ D, who’d been getting a bit frustrated with losing- just like the full Damian had. He gets a dopey little grin on his face when he finally lays down his final card- after Bruce just so happened to forget he still had a card to play, tucked under his leg. Dick takes note to thank him, up until he realizes that he doesn’t have to. What Bruce did- it’s what a father should do for his son. 

Dick’s so damn happy by the revelation that Bruce is being a dad, he almost forgets to be jealous. 

Almost. 

He feels the green little monster bundle up in his gut, up until little Dami yawns by Dick’s side and leans over, nearly spilling right into Dick’s lap. Dick moves him so he’s lying on Dick’s thigh, using him as a pillow, and starts stroking Dami’s hair. 

“Tired?” Dick asks, in but a tiny mutter, as Steph moves to shuffle for another game. Jason’s getting peeved by his constant losing streak. He keeps leaning over and poking at both Tim and Bruce, trying to urge them to help him win. It’s a drastic change in mood from earlier, but it’s a welcomed one- and hey, at least him and Steph are sitting around Bruce without causing a scene. Neither of them are particularly fond of the big ol’ Bat. 

Dami hums, just as Lil’ D looks over. Dick’s been saying this kid is brilliantly smart for days, and he just seems to shine all over again when he gets up and tenderly pulls Dami out of Dick’s grasp. Of course, Dick doesn’t see it like that, not really, but he sends the two off with a mumbled I love you and a hair ruffle each. 

“Sleep well,” he whispers, as they go around to the others and bid them good night too. 

Lil’ D goes up to Bruce and sing-songs, “ Goodnight, Baba! I love you!”, and gives him a peck on the cheek. No one’s done that to Bruce since Dick was a little kid- because it was Dick giving the kiss. Just like all those years ago, Bruce looks out of his depth. He musters up enough common sense to rub Lil’ D’s arm- which the kid had looped around Bruce’s neck- and say right back, “Goodnight, chum. Love you too.” 

Dami just gives him a short, shy, little, “Goodnight, Father.” His goodnight to the rest of the group are a lot less quiet, Steph gets a hug from Dami and Jason forcibly gets his own. Tim gets a tense, “Sleep well.” 

From Lil’ D, though, Tim gets a near tackle as a goodbye. “I love you, Timothy! Get some sleep, please!” Jason gets a kiss too, though they both fake being disgusted by it. “Love you, Jason. Love you, Stephanie!” 

“Aw, that’s enough. Go to sleep,” Jason says, shooing him away. “We all love ya too, you little bugger.” 

Steph wiggles her fingers and mouths, love you, as she shuffles back together the cards she’d started dealing. Tim, eventually, gets past the weirdness of it all too, to nod his head. “Goodnight, Dami. Lil’ D.” 

When it becomes apparent that the two were going down into the cave- and leaving Robin behind- Bruce quirks a brow and opens his mouth to say something. Tim cuts him off, explaining simply about how the boys normally slept beside Batcow, about how Robin was ‘cool enough to be one of the adults’.  

Once they re-deal for the next game, Bruce looks up at Dick and asks, “So, what really happened while I was gone?”

“What we told you happened,” Steph says, reaching for another slice of pizza. It’s gone pretty much cold, but she doesn’t seem to care as she happily munches on it. “We ended up on the town for a night, had a run in with Ivy and stuff.” She waves her hands over the details, and Bruce gives Dick’s arm another look. 

“I’m serious. What happened?” 

“What happened with you?” Dick returns, no more forgiving than Bruce. “Every time you called, all you did was yell at everyone. You sounded like you were three minutes from killing Damian!” 

Bruce runs a hand through his hair and sighs, but both Steph and Jason have already turned their attention over to him, eyeing him with an almost gleeful look- daring him to say something to prove how terrible he is at this whole Dad thing. “He kept going out on patrol- sneaking out on patrol. He took things too far. Each time he was so close to killing one of his enemies, but he’d always stop just before he killed them. He was upset with me for not wanting him.” 

Dick looks over to Robin, and ever so carefully, shifts. “You aren’t taking Robin out,” he says. “We’ve got more than enough people here for patrol.” 

It’s like a switch- Bruce suddenly stands and barks, “I don’t want to take him out!” 

“Well I’m not letting you take Robin,” Dick shouts back, going to stand up. A jolt of pain shoots through his shoulder when he does. 

“That’s not what I mean, Dick! I don’t want to take any of them out on patrol! I don’t want another- another Damian to step one foot out of Wayne Manor! I know that something happened while I was gone which got both you and Damian hurt!” He’s seething as he finishes, nose flaring, cheeks burning. He crumples as quickly as he’d stood, only for Jason to utter, I am not dealing with another break down, Jesus- “I’m a terrible father,” Bruce utters. “I can’t even take care of my own son when he needs me-”

“Hate to break it to you, Bat-dad,” Steph says, her tone letting everyone know that she’s not about to be all nice and caring, “but, no. You aren’t a very good dad to Damian. You haven’t been in a while. And, this whole not being able to take care of your son when he needs you bullshit isn’t new either. So instead of crying about it, I’d suggest you get off your sorry ass and firstly-” -she takes a deep breath, but beside her, Jason’s nodding her on, agreeing with every word she says- “-get some rest. Then- when tomorrow comes- you’re going to go outside and you’re going to play catch with Lil’ D until he comes inside screeching for Timmy-T over here. When you’re done with that, you and Dami are going to have a nice, long, supervised chat.” 

Jason whistles. “Hot damn. Why can’t we all be as put together as this girl?” 

Robin blinks, stands, and then twists on his heel and walks straight out the door. 

Dick watches him go, confusion whirling in his head. “Robin-?” 

Bruce goes to stand, eyes widening, but Tim reaches out and places his hand on Bruce’s arm. He nods over to Jason and Jason exits after the kid. “I think,” Tim says, carefully, “that you should take Steph’s advice and connect with the two kids that’ll accept your attempt to extend an olive branch. I also think that we’ve all had a long couple of days and that I’d like to go to sleep and crash. I’ll go check on Dami and Lil’ D first, make sure they’re good, okay? You’re welcome to come join me, Bruce.” 

“I’d like that,” Bruce utters.

Dick nearly folds in on himself in relief. 

“While you do that- and then go to sleep,” Steph continues, “me and Dickie will double check on Ruby-eyes.” 

“Wh-?” Dick starts. 

Steph slaps a hand over his mouth and shoos Bruce and Tim out of the room, before she bends down to grab another pizza box- this one mostly full. She sticks another slice in her mouth, and around it she says, “Just to make sure he doesn’t sneak out. We won’t take long.” 

“You’re really good at this stuff, y’know?” Dick tells her, following along. He grabs a slice of his own, making a face at how cold it really is. It’s not like he doesn’t not like cold pizza, but he’s not a fan of it- unless it’s the morning after you buy the pizza. It just hits differently like that. He takes a bite and swallows it as they hit the stairs. “Oddly good, for someone so young.” 

“It’s a gift,” Steph replies. While Dick takes the stairs two at a time, she rushes up them one at a time- nearing a jog just to keep up. “Damn men.” Dick sticks out his tongue and heads down the hall. “I used to call people like you the Science Wing People. ‘Cuz everyone used to do it in the science wing of the high school- too many stairs. You had to rush just to get to Chemistry on time, no matter what class you had before it.” 

“Imagine going to high school.” It’s a joke- one that Jason would probably make- but Dick does remember going to high school. It hadn’t been his favorite time of his life, but school never really had been. “Actually, scrap that. Imagine going to school in general.” 

They stop in front of Damian’s- old Damian’s, normal Damian’s- room, and Stephanie creaks open the door. They don’t know for sure that he’s in here, but he hasn’t been assigned a guest room like the other counterparts, so it’s their best bet-

And sure enough, Ruby-red Damian is sitting on his bed, staring out at the window, knees drawn up to his chest and arms wrapped around them. He gives them a half-hearted glare- though Dick can tell that his eyes are watery. “Get out,” he hisses, when Steph takes a step into the room. “This is my space.” 

“I know you grabbed food earlier, but I wasn’t sure if you were still hungry,” Steph explains, holding up the pizza box she’d brought. She’d already finished her piece up. “Plus, we have to say goodnight, don’t we?” 

Damian gives her a calculated stare, watching her every step as she breaches the room. Dick follows, keeping his movements slow and deliberate, like he had when Robin had his nightmare, like he had when Dami had been upset. Somehow, Steph seems to know how to work her way around this Damian better than Dick does- it’s a new feeling, like he’s walking into all of this blind. Dick has always prided himself on being the one who knew Damian best. 

Now he’s just not- he’s just not always enough.

When Steph gets close enough, she sets down the box in her hands. Dick peeks into the box that Damian had brought up earlier, only to find it full. Steph sees it too, but doesn’t say anything. Instead, she reaches for another slice, handing one off to Dick before stuffing it into her mouth. She hands a third over to Damian, but Damian only glares at it. 

“What do you want?” Damian hisses. “Come to make fun of me some more, Fatgirl?” 

“You’re the only one making the jokes,” Steph comments, easily. Dick crouches enough so that he can drop to the floor without jarring his arm. “Eat it.” 

Damian takes it, and he promptly drops it onto Dick’s leg. “Get the hell out of my room,” he says. 

Dick peels the slice off of his leg and eats it, flashing five fingers to Steph when she makes a face. He struggles back to his feet and leans over Damian, carefully and cautiously wrapping a hand around the back of his neck. Damian goes still, fists clenching. Dick presses a kiss to his temple when it becomes apparent that he’s allowing the contact--

But the kiss proves too far, and Dick gets shoved back onto the floor for his troubles. He swallows the cry that threatens to break through when he lands hard on his shoulder, but rolls with it and- using the desk beside him- picks himself back up. It’d be easier to deal with the kid without his bum arm at the moment, he thinks. 

“What is wrong with you?!” Damian rages, standing on the bed. Steph gets up to allow him space, but doesn’t make a scene about checking Dick over. “What’s wrong with all of you?! You’re not supposed to reward me for this- You’re- You’re supposed to punish me, not--” 

“Bruce took you off patrol,” Dick says. “We don’t like your attitude or your actions, but-” 

“Then hit me!” Damian shrieks. “That bumbling fool earlier- he was going to, but all of you-” 

Steph’s face goes sad, sad in a way that Dick can’t really place or describe. Her eyes lose their twinkle as she takes a step towards Dick and gently pulls on his good arm. “We aren’t going to hurt you, kid. We promise you that Jason’s outburst was just a one time thing. None of us are going to ever put a hand on you with mal-intent. Not ever.”

“You will,” Damian says. “You will. Everyone always does. It’s just a matter of when.” 

Dick looks at his little brother and wishes he could fix this, wishes he could put him back together again and erase all of the pain he’s ever felt, but- He can’t. He can’t. There’s nothing he can do to make Damian feel safe just yet, but he swears on his life that he will. Eventually, he’ll help Damian realize there’s no need to fight.

“We love you, Damian,” Dick whispers. “Goodnight.” 

“Get out of my room!” 

They do.

Chapter Text

Dick’s first instinct, when he gets back up, is to check up on Damian. Instead, he finds himself making his way downstairs to groggily pour himself a bowl of cereal. 

There’s, what, five other certified adults- okay, technically less, what with Tim and Steph both being teenagers, and Jason and Bruce not being very good at the whole adulting thing- in the manor? Can’t they deal with everything for once, while Dick enjoys a nice breakfast? 

He’s relieved to find out that there’s no one in the kitchen when he slips in. He sets his sugary cereal on the counter beside the milk, pulls out a bowl and a spoon for himself. Being careful not to knock anything over, he hoists himself up onto the counter and folds his legs up. It’s weird to be able to actually put together his breakfast without any interruptions- without Robin sticking to his side, or without one of Dami’s breakdowns, or without Lil’ D rushing around to pour himself the same meal. 

It’s almost reminiscent of the first few days he’d spent after Bruce came back. 

(How funny, that Bruce just came back this time too.) 

He’d spent that first week in the penthouse, tying up loose corners. His heart had ached knowing where Damian was, knowing that Damian was with Bruce instead of him. It’d been a disgusting sense of jealousy that had driven him, back then. He’d refused to call or text Damian, ghosted Bruce and pretended to be mad.  

By the second week, the longing in his heart was too much, so he’d stolen the kid from under Bruce’s nose to go try out a new restaurant. 

But, there was no denying the stark sense of relief that filled him that very first morning. There was no child to watch after. Dick was void of a responsibility for the first time in half a year. He’d done what he’s doing now- crawled up on the counters and stared out the windows listlessly, taking his first free breath in weeks. 

And then he’d been hit by how terrible he was. He shouldn’t have been glad about Damian being gone. He had committed to raising the kid- had told himself that he was going to love and respect the kid because no one else found themselves able, had told himself that he would do it no matter what it took, that he wouldn’t mistreat him or toss him around. He promised that he’d be there for Damian, both physically and mentally and emotionally, that he wouldn’t be like Bruce or Talia or anyone before him. 

That same feeling comes back, muted and watered down. 

This time, though, he’s not running away. He’s not pushing Damian away. He’s going to stick around, no matter what.  

Even if Damian doesn’t need him. 

Even if Damian doesn’t want him?

God, he hopes Damian wants him around. 

As he stares out the window peering out into the garden, he shoves another soggy spoonful of cereal into his mouth and sighs. He feels like he’s getting old. His entire body aches- though at least today he got himself out of bed and downstairs by himself. 

Which reminds him that, hey, he forgot his fucking sling. 

He goes to lean back, forgetting that there’s really nothing but open air behind him, and flails for balance. He only just catches himself, instead rocking himself forward an inch or two-

And that’s when he spots it. 

Bruce. Outside. In sweatpants and a sweatshirt. There’s a baseball in his hand as he rears back his arm, hair sticking out at all angles against the cool morning air, breath coming out in a slight fog. On his face sits a smile- an honest to God smile- and Dick immediately thinks: hey, I’m hallucinating. 

He’s on his feet in seconds, all of his problems shoved aside for the time being. Just as he gets to the kitchen door that leads outside, he sees Stephanie. She’s smiling, so much wider than Bruce, her hair flying as she leaps up to catch the ball that Bruce had thrown. She’s in a lilac sweater, a puffy white vest pulled over it. On her feet are thick boots, on her legs are a pair of baby blue jeans. Her hair’s pulled back with a headband Dick hasn’t seen her wear in months- Hell, he hasn’t seen her wear a headband since she was Robin. 

She looks happier than she has in a while, if Dick’s being honest. 

Part of him doesn’t want to open the door anymore. He doesn’t want to get in the way of Steph and Bruce- they’re happy, completely and utterly happy with each other, right now- just tossing back and forth some ratty ball. 

He imagines hearing Steph’s laugh, Bruce’s soft snort- 

As he watches out the window, he sees Lil’ D, eyes alight and glowing as he beams infinitely brighter than the sun itself. He’s swaddled up in a Batman themed sweatshirt, one that goes down past his thighs. The sleeves are rolled up so he can use his hands, but he’s still moving slowly. He holds his hands up and Steph tosses it to him, underhand, and he lobs it to Bruce, hard enough that Dick can see the man pretend to stumble as he fumbles for the ball. 

Dick’s next thought is something along the lines of, Lil’ D is hurt, he should be resting-

But they’re getting along. 

He turns away and grabs his cereal bowl, and without thinking, he beelines it out of the kitchen. Normally, he’d love to stick around and watch Lil’ D run around- watch Steph laugh like she deserves to- watch Bruce actually be happy for once. Hell, normally, he’d throw himself into the mix, pick Damian up and swing him around, pull Steph into a side hug and then steal the ball from her, joke around with Bruce and throw an insult that he knows won’t ruin the day. 

But- 

But that’s not Damian, and- and they’re getting along, and Dick had just been relieved at being alone- So why would he ruin that now? 

His feet bring him to the den they’d eaten in for dinner yesterday. Before he swings around to the doorway, he hears Tim’s soft muttering. What he’s saying is too quiet for Dick to catch, and out of curiosity, Dick looks around the corner. 

Tim’s standing in the center of the room, the forgotten pizza boxes from the previous night stacked up in a neat pile beside him. Dami’s standing off to the side awkwardly, a vacuum in his hands as he fiddles with the controls. It’s not turning on, because it hasn’t been plugged into the wall yet. But, Tim’s attention isn’t on Dami or the vacuum- it’s on Robin, who’s managed to wedge himself between the couch and the wall. 

Tim crouches down, but doesn’t scoot forward. “C’mon, kiddo,” he says, “you’re alright-” 

“Akhi,” Robin breathes out, instead. 

Dick finds himself stilling, instead of entering. He puts his bowl on the floor softly, and his hands wrap around the edge of the doorway, still out of sight, since Tim’s back is to him. He’s not sure what happened, but he’s sure that it had something to do with the fear toxin. Since their run-in with Crane, Robin’s been acting weird. Like with last night, when he’d stood up and walked away. 

Like now. 

“I know, R- Jay went upstairs.” Tim gestures for Robin to come out, but the kid doesn’t move. Even with how out of his depth Tim looks, he doesn't leave him. “R, I promise you’re okay- I’m your- I’m your akhi too, kiddo, I’m not gonna hurt you.” 

And- And Robin actually starts to pull himself out- 

Dick tears himself away, nearly flinging himself down the corridor. 

Part of him is filled with pride- Tim just dealt with Robin all on his own, without calling for Dick or someone else to take care of the problem for him. He just admitted to being Robin’s brother, too. That’s leaps and bounds from just the other day, when Dick had called Tim up and asked for him to come, pleaded because Tim had said I can’t, Dick, I won’t-

Another part of him is panicking, because- 

Because his brothers don’t need him. 

Tim’s dealing with Robin himself. Bruce is playing with Lil’ D at Steph’s insistence. 

They’re moving through life and they don’t need Dick to do it, and for some reason, that hurts. He understands that Tim can do things himself. He understands that Steph can move a mountain if she tried, that Bruce does love his children-

But Damian doesn’t need him, and for the past year, Dick’s staked everything on the sole fact that he has Damian.

(Because Bruce had left, and Bruce wasn’t there for him. Bruce was never supposed to leave, but he had, and then Tim had too- because Dick couldn’t see him as anything less than an equal and because Tim was hurting and he needed space- All Dick had was a child destroyed by life’s cruel ways, and all he had was the belief that he could do something.) 

It finally registers that Jason had gone upstairs, so Dick flees for the stairs. Jason’s always good at knocking some sense into Dick, and right now, more than anything, Dick wants to stop thinking senselessly. 

He knows there’s no reason to feel jealous.  

He can’t help it.

“Jason?” Dick calls, heading for the bedrooms. He feels that wayward panic building in his gut, something whispering in his ear as he makes his way through the dark hallway. “Jay-?” 

A door opens. 

It’s Damian’s room. 

Jason’s walking into Damian’s room.  

“Jay-” 

Dick skids to the door, just in time to get it clapped in his face. The force of it makes it swing open an inch, and again, he feels himself pausing instead of surging forth. 

“Get the hell out!” Damian roars, as he perches up on his bed. His brows furrow, nose scrunching, but the blaze of his red eyes still catches Dick off guard. “How many times must I say it-!?” 

Jason, who’s back is to Dick, lifts up his arms- the universal sign for peace. “Listen, kid. I just wanted to apologize. I know that sounds like shit, 'cuz, yeah, like you said, I’m walking in on your space and stuff, but-” He’s rambling, even as one of his hands slips down to his hoodie pocket. Dick can’t tell if he’s rambling because he wants to get it done as quickly as he can, or because he needs to get this out and he knows that Damian will throw him out as soon as he physically can. “I have something for you, okay? To, like, apologize-” 

Damian’s eyes widen as soon as he sees Jason’s hand move, so he moves first-

-Dick’s hand goes for the doorknob, ready to break the two up-

Jason leaps back towards the door, and out of surprise, Dick backs away from the door just enough that he’s cast back in the shadows of the hall. He can see enough of the room to watch as Jason pulls a slim box out of his pocket and tosses it on the bed, before he slides out of the room and slams the door behind him, just as loudly. 

He doesn’t see Dick as he slides down to the ground, throwing his arms around his knees and burying his face in them. 

“Fuck,” Jason mutters, and Dick thinks he should walk up and help, but- he can’t. “I shouldn’t have done that- Stupid.” He leans his head back against the door, and as the silence suddenly stretches, Dick can hear Damian in the room, shoving something to the ground. “I should’ve just slipped the fucking thing under the door.” 

For some reason, Dick finds himself slipping back to his room instead of assuring Jason. He closes the door softer than Jason had Damian’s, and backs away from it. 

His breath is coming out really fast, he realizes. Really, really fast. 

He slips to the floor. 

He lets himself cry as he tries to breathe-

I’m not needed, he thinks. Oh God- I’m not needed.

(Stephanie pulls Lil’ D up on her hip as they walk into the manor. She ushers Bruce off and tells him to find Dami, as her and Lil’ D start looking for Dick. “It’s a shame he missed playing with us,” Lil’ D mutters, losing his last word to a yawn. “Do you think he’ll come out later?” 

“Maybe when his arm heals up a little more, but yeah,” Steph assures. “Where is he, anyway?”

“Sleeping, probably.” 

“Should we bother him?” 

Lil’ D looks up, meeting Steph’s eyes with his own bubblegum pink. He gives her a grin, something beautifully bright. “I think we should, Stephanie!” 

And so they go.) 

(Tim watches as Bruce slips into the den, picking up the pizza boxes and reaching out for Dami. In soft tones, he asks if it’d be alright to talk, and Dami replies, “I’d rather we wait for Grayson.” He still hasn’t gotten the vacuum to work, and Tim doesn’t have the heart to point out the unplugged cord. 

Beside him, Robin shifts, and Tim gestures for Dami to come join his side. “C’mon. We’ll go find Jason and Dick, okay?” 

At least Dami looks like it’s a good plan.

Bruce leans down, grabs the vacuum's cord, waves them out of the room-

Huh, Tim thinks. What’s up with the cereal bowl?) 

(Jason pushes himself up from the floor, rubbing at his cheek with the palm of his hand. There’s no way to fix the mess he’s just created, but at least he got the damn present in the room. He wants to open up the door and see the kid’s reaction to it, so, so badly, but instead he starts in a beeline to Dick’s room. 

Dick will know if he did the right thing, won’t he? 

Dick always knows what’s best for Damian- it’s a wonder why Jason hadn’t consulted him before going to Damian’s room.

“God,” he utters. “I’m an idiot.”)

Chapter Text

Jason finds Dick in a dingy bar, two hours after he booked it out of the house. He’d gone out through the window, taken a bag with an overnight change of clothes so he could camp out in the penthouse. The bar was just a pit stop before he disappeared down the way, powered down phone tucked into his back pocket, it’s charger left forgotten in his room back at the manor. 

Dick hadn’t thought that anyone would have noticed his disappearance, at least, not for a while more, so when Jason plops himself down beside him, he nearly startles bad enough to jolt himself out of the barstool. While Dick’s gone for incognito- a baseball cap tucked over his head and a mono-colored sweatshirt on his chest- Jason’s in a loud red shirt, his brown Red Hood jacket and blue jeans. 

“Heya, Dickhead,” Jason says, once he’s ordered his own drink. “You made Dami cry.” 

Something curdles in Dick’s gut, but he tactfully shoves it down. He’s not going to think about the boys, because if he thinks about the boys, he’ll want to go back to the manor and scoop them up. So, instead of thinking about them- about Dami tearing up because of Dick, about Lil’ D taking charge because Dick left them- he chugs his beer and calls for another one. 

The bartender dishes them out a bottle each, and Dick thinks that he should ask for something stronger. 

Jason takes a swig of his, and asks, “Why’d you run?” 

It’s a heavy question, honestly, and it’s one that Dick doesn’t want to answer. Does he really want to admit that he cried in his room? That he drove himself into a panic so bad he stumbled out of the manor through his window? No, he really doesn’t.  

Dick ignores the question and downs half of his beer, reeling at the taste of it almost immediately. Dick’s never been a big drinker- he’s always squirreled himself away to a club for the people rather than the drinks, for the atmosphere and the good time he can manage to chop in before patrol. 

Even as he thinks that, he knows his eyes are drifting around the bar. It’s not his ideal spot, by far, and he’s planning more on returning home alone to stew in his miserable cloud of self-loathing a little while longer. With Jason here, he really doesn’t want to be caught with anyone else. That’s a part of himself that he tries to keep under wraps- he’s always tried to put up a healthy front for his family, so he can’t have them repeating the behavior back. 

Well, like any of this is healthy behavior. He’s running away from home, ignoring his siblings in favor of drinking cheap beer. God, what has he done with himself? That’s all not even considering how shitty he must look. He knows his cheeks are flushed, his hair’s a mess from combing through it for leaves and sticks, his clothes are old and splattered with old stains. There’s a hole in the sleeve of his sweatshirt just big enough for his thumb to slip through, so he does and pretends like it’s okay. 

He’s okay. 

He’s- He hasn’t answered Jason, and now Jason’s looking at him funny. 

“Are you drunk?” Jason hazards, reaching for Dick’s bottle. Dick pulls it out of his brother’s grip. “How many have you had?” 

He knows his intelligent response of “fuck off” isn’t helping his case, but honestly, he hasn’t had that much. This is only his third one, or so he thinks, and he’s always had a relatively good tolerance for all alcohol. 

“I’m fine, Jay,” he replies, tersely. The next sip he takes is more angry than he means for it to be. “I just needed a night away from- from all of them.” 

It’s a lie and he knows it. The truth is that the boys needed a night away from him- A long one without Dick breathing down their backs and forcing himself into the conversation. And, hey, now they can spend the night with Bruce, just how it’s supposed to be. 

He feels like it’s those first few weeks all over again, separating himself from Damian because Bruce is home, because Dick isn’t his dad, because- 

Dick groans, and puts his head in his hands, and tries to hold himself together. He’s repeating history, sure, but he knows that he’ll go home this time. Eventually, anyway. All he needs is a bit of a breather, some time to get away and collect himself without being presented the real problem.

He’s never done well with not being needed. 

“You don’t look fine,” Jason says. “The dickhead I know would never claim to need a night off.” 

“Well, maybe I’m not the dickhead you used to know,” Dick replies, crass. 

In response, Jason hums a line from Somebody That I Used to Know under his breath. “You’re so dramatic,” he laminates, with a sigh. “Well, if you need a night off, I think we should do this right.” 

Dryly, he asks, “Right?” 

Without pretense, Jason throws himself from his seat, slapping down a twenty. He gestures for Dick to follow suit, knocking back the last of his bottle. “I’m not letting you spend the rest of moping in this hell hole- Instead, we’re going clubbing. At least you can wallow with neon lights flashing over your head.” 

“I’m not going to a club, Jay-” 

“Not dressed like that,” he continues, getting annoyed when Dick still doesn’t stand. He forcefully plucks Dick from his seat and pulls him out the door, shoving him into the car he has parked around the block. “We’ll have a quick pit stop at my apartment, and you can borrow something of Kori’s.”

Dick is not going clubbing in Kori’s clothes. 

(Nothing against her, but they don’t do his chest justice, okay?)

Still, he silently lets Jason drive down to Crime Alley. Jason’s apartment lies in a shabby looking building- it’s one of his many safe houses, and probably his most recent one. When Jason tells him to get up and get out of the car, he makes a snarl-y face. In the end, Jason rounds the car and yanks Dick out of the car, nearly manhandling him up the stairs. They get an odd look from a man rushing down the stairs, but Dick catalogs it away so he doesn’t have to think about it. Once they’re in the apartment, Jason pushes Dick onto the grungy couch, before disappearing into the single bedroom. 

He emerges with a pile of Kori’s clothes and throws them beside Dick. Then, he goes back into the room, to change into his own outfit. 

When Dick finally decides, fuck it, I’ll change, he pulls out a crop top- (sue him. He can do what he wants)- and decides to snag a pair of Jason’s black ripped jeans as he messes up his hair. The crop top has a hood, thankfully, so he decides he’ll just go to the bar and ignore the word. 

Jason snakes out in a tight shirt and tight jeans, and Dick slips around him to grab at a pair of his pants. He finds Roy’s, instead- which fit him much better than Jason’s would have. 

“This sucks,” he voices, when he pulls them on. 

“You suck,” Jason returns. “Go home to the manor if you don’t want to go out.” 

“I’ll go to the goddamn penthouse,” Dick grumbles, crossing his arms. “If I don’t want to go to the manor, I don’t have to. I’m an adult, Jay.” 

“And so am I,” Jason sings back. “Now let's go paint the town red!” 

Let’s go paint the town red turns out to just mean hitting the club furthest from Jason’s apartment- somewhere close to Robinson Park. Jason nearly shoves Dick into the club, and the loud sound of booming music and flashing lights slams into him. The atmosphere is pumped up with more energy than Dick’s felt in a while, and he tries his best to drink some of it in as Jason heads towards the bar. 

“We’ll start with a drink or two,” he nearly shouts. It’s hard to hear over the song playing and everyone’s conversations. “Then we’ll head to the dance floor.” 

“Go to the dance floor by yourself,” Dick replies, just as loud. They each order a drink- Jason’s much more fruity and ‘girly’ than Dick’s. Dick downs his in only a few swallows, wincing at the taste of it. As he’s about to order another one, Jason knocks back the rest of his, rolling his shoulders as he pulls Dick from his seat. “Leave me alone, Jason-” 

“You’re not just gonna get drunk, man. We’re going to have fun while doing it. Remember-” and he boops Dick’s nose with every word- “Never. Go. Drinking. Alone.” 

When they blend into the chaotic scene of the dance floor, Dick grumbles, “I hate you,” to his brother. Jason doesn’t hear it as he starts dancing along to the music, and as much as Dick just wants to stand and mope, the song playing is good, and he finds his body moving on it’s own. He tries to shut off his brain as he starts dancing, too, and he can’t help the loose smile that graces his face by the third song that comes on. 

After a bit, they both get kind of tired, and they retreat back to the bar for a couple more drinks. Dick’s a bit more of a lightweight than Jason- but it doesn’t mean they can’t handle their alcohol. It’s because, when Jason gets upset, he’s used to buying a six-pack and downing all of it if no one stops him. 

Still, when they return to the dance floor, Dick’s face is red and flushed. Jason’s cheeks are going a little pink, but he’s only tipsy. 

As they dance for the second round, Dick loses Jason in the crowd. He melts in with the people around him, moving his body to match them. He leans close to one of the women, who grins in a mirror image of Dick, before she’s whisked away by one of her friends. Once she’s gone, Dick’s partner becomes a lean man, who looks a little younger than Dick himself. They don’t speak, they don’t make eye contact, and Dick thinks it’s the perfect way to end his shitty night. 

Just when he’s about to start making out with someone else- people get handsy, and Dick’s somewhat drunk, so, hey- Jason pops back into the picture and pulls Dick into a different section of the crowd, where Dick repeats the whole process once or twice more. Every time he gets close enough to start something, Jason appears by his side to move them around. 

Eventually, there’s lips pressed against Dick’s, a body spreading warmth through the both of them. He knows it’s not going to get much further than this, even as Dick’s back presses against a wall somewhere in the club, his arms settled around the other’s shoulders. It’s messy and needy, all clashing teeth and tongue, and Dick’s half ready for Jason to come along and ruin it. As hands start sneaking to places they shouldn’t be, Dick starts forgetting about all of his problems- he might not be needed at home, but he’s needed, somewhat, here and now in the present and that’s enough for him. 

The other’s shirt rides up and Dick lets his hands travel blindly-

The other is pulled away from him, a little violently, the lights framing their blazing face and their wide eyes. Jason stands behind them, hand wrapped up in their shirt. “Better luck next time,” he says, setting them to the side. When they scamper off, Jason reaches for Dick’s hood and mutters, “I think it’s time we go home, yeah?” 

“‘S not late,” Dick grumbles, in return, lips swollen. He wants another drink. He wants Jason to leave him alone. He wants to forget, to press himself against someone and to lose himself in the motions. “Go away.” 

Jason guides him to the exit, and says, “C’mon, buck-a-roo.” 

“No-” Dick whines. 

He ends up in the car, anyway, ready to doze on the seat. Jason sits in the driver’s seat, staring off into space, before he growls, “I’m fucking drunk. I can’t drive.” 

“Drive,” Dick groans. “Just fucking drive.” Jason, instead, pulls out his phone. As he scrolls through his contacts, Dick leans over for the wheel and starts the car. He reaches over for Jason’s phone and snarls, “Just drive, Jay.”

“Are you fuckin’ crazy?” Jason returns. “What if I fucking- what if I- I could fucking kill us, you goddamn dumbass-” 

“Drive,” Dick repeats.

Jason doesn’t.

He calls Bruce, and Bruce promises he’s on his way.

Chapter Text

Bruce comes about half an hour after Jason calls. Steph’s leaned back in the passenger seat, scrolling through her phone. She’s saying something to him when Bruce rolls up beside Jason’s car, and when Bruce opens up his door, Dick catches, “-just saying. It wasn’t a good idea!” 

“What wasn’t a good idea?” Jason asks, through his open window. They’d cracked all four of them open, sometime between calling Bruce and when Dick tried dozing off. “Why are you here?” 

Steph makes a pretend-hurt face. “What, you don’t want me around? Someone has to drive your car.” 

“You can drive? ” 

“I’m nineteen,” Steph replies. “Of-fucking- course I can drive.” 

Jason’s face goes very carefully still in response, his eyes wide in disbelief. He turns to Dick, silently asking, is she serious? Dick, far too tired to deal with it, just shrugs, and fumbles for the car door. Now that someone who can actually drive is here, Dick wants to get as far away from the club behind them as he possibly can. 

Jason follows suit, slipping out of the car much easier than Dick. He crawls into the back seat of Bruce’s car, lying flat on it’s seat. He’s so tall that his legs stick right out of the open door. Dick really wants to lay down, too, but with Jason taking up the entire back of the car, Dick sulks and goes to open Steph’s door. Steph steps out when he does, making a pit stop by Jason to steal his keys, before she slides into the front seat of his car. 

“I’ll drive on ahead,” Steph says. “I need to make sure that Tim doesn’t die.” 

“Why would Tim die?” Dick asks, nearly throwing himself down into the passenger seat. He pushes the back of the seat all the way down, so the headrest is touching Jason’s calves. Jason groans and grumbles about it, but Dick doesn’t move. He just wants to lay down. He wants to sleep.

Steph looks at him like he’s stupid and rolls up the windows. Then, once she slams her door shut, she’s off like a shot. 

Bruce doesn’t follow. His hands sit on the steering wheel as he peers down at Dick, eyebrow raised in amusement. “We’re going to get pulled over if we drive like this.” 

“No, we won’t,” Jason mutters. It sounds more like oo ee oo because his face is squished into the back seat. “If they do, you can tell them to shove their safety laws up their a-” 

Apparently, in the few hours that Dick was away, Bruce developed a rule for no swearing. He tells Jason, watch your language, and Dick strains his ears for a ‘young man’ that never follows. Huh. Everyone always says, watch your language, young man. At least, Dick’s mom did. His dad liked to swear sometimes and Dick just so happened to pick it up, too. 

“You sound like Alfie,” Dick returns, hazily. 

“What’s wrong with Alfie? ” Jason shoots back, despite Dick’s comeback being aimed towards Bruce. 

Like a ten year old, Dick returns, “Nothing. What’s wrong with you?” 

“Boys,” Bruce warns, sounding like a suburban mother of three growing boys. Like a suburban mother with one of those short hair cuts, who’s also a soccer mom and on the PTA or whatever they call them these days. “This car isn’t moving until you both sit up and buckle up.” 

When Jason follows Bruce’s orders, his nose is scrunched up kind of like Damian’s always did-

Damian.

Damian.

Dick shoves whatever thoughts that threaten to form straight down and focuses on sitting back up and buckling his seat belt. Once he does that, he reaches over to play with the radio. He doesn’t like silent cars- he’d had the radio on in the other one, too, before Bruce and Steph had pulled up. Instead of a song coming on, the first thing that Dick hears is an ad for some fast food place that he doesn’t catch the name of. 

“I want fries,” Jason suddenly declares. “I wanna greasy fuckin’ burger, goddamnit.” 

As much as Dick wants to sleep, he could really go for something greasy and nasty and horrible for his heart too. Ahh, fast food. 

“We’re going home,” Bruce says, but his voice carries some humor. He finally pulls out from where he’d parked and drives onto the road, rushing down past other clubs and closed shops. After a bit, he pulls into a drive through, and right up to those speaker things. 

Do they even have names? ‘Speaker things.’ 

“This doesn’t look like home,” Dick jokes. 

They go through and they order, and while Dick just gets two burgers, some chicken nuggets, and some fries- along with a soda, of course- Jason takes his sweet time ordering half of the menu. When Bruce rolls up to the pay window, the price is outrageously high. Bruce, however, takes it in stride and just passes over his credit card. The cashier looks absolutely whelmed as she gives it back.

See? That word can be used, Wally.  

Because- Because she didn’t look underwhelmed or overwhelmed, she just looked highly bored and a little like life was just going, and, hey, at least there’s a customer here. 

Whatever.

A huge chunk of the fast food bags they get are shoved into the back for Jason to devour. Dick keeps his singular back and starts eating his first burger, and damn does it taste good. Halfway through it, Bruce reaches over and plucks a fry from Dick’s bag. And then another. And another. And-

“If you keep doing that,” Dick says, petulantly, “I won’t have any fries left. Why didn’t you just get your own thing of fries?” 

“I didn’t want any,” Bruce returns. 

Well, he certainly did. He’s eating Dick’s fries. 

“Have some of Jay’s. He just tried to buy out the whole establishment.” 

Jason’s brows crease as he speaks through a mouthful of chicken sandwich. A piece of lettuce falls from his mouth and into the box on his lap. “Establishment?” he asks. “What the fuck are you- a fucking college  professor or something? Just say restaurant. Say place. Establishment? Eat my ass.” 

“Language,” Bruce admonishes. He parks in some out of the way spot, where a street lamp hovers right over them, illuminating the inside of the car. It’s oddly bright, for just a street lamp. Dick wants it to turn off. He wants everything to turn off. He- He wants to turn himself off.

Not permanently. Just- just for ten whole hours. 

“Penthouse,” Dick says. 

It must seem really random, because Bruce just leans back and grabs one of Jason’s many fry boxes and eats three of them at the same time. “These need more salt,” he says.

“You need to keep your hands to yourself,” Jason grouses, in return. Bruce reaches back again and grabs one of his cheeseburgers. “That’s it, I’m walking home.” 

After unwrapping it, Bruce takes a gentle bite. Dick stares at him for a second. The last time they’d eaten fast food together, he distinctly remembers Bruce eating his food with a fork and a knife. Suddenly, Bruce makes a face, nose scrunching- seriously, is this a family tic that Dick didn’t pick up? 

“Does this have onions?” he asks. 

“It has everything,” Jason returns, clearly not having exited the car to go walk home. “Who doesn’t like onions? ” 

“People who say establishment,” Dick says. He doesn’t like onions either. At least, not that much, anyway. “And people who steal other’s food because they didn’t want any.” 

Jason rocks in his seat, throwing his empty box and sandwich wrapper towards the side of the car. It hits the door and lands in an empty bag. Neat. “Timmy-Tim-Buck-Two likes onions,” he says, thoughtfully, reaching for a box of twenty chicken nuggets. “And he steals my food a lot.” 

While Damian doesn’t steal food, he does say establishment. Plus, Dick’s pretty sure he doesn’t mind onions-

Ugh, stop thinking about Damian.

“Penthouse,” Dick says again. “I want to go back to the penthouse.” 

“We’re going to the manor,” Bruce replies. “I’ll make some of that tea Alfred makes that you two like- It’s good for hangovers, if I’m right-” 

Jason chirps out a very helpful, you’re not!

“-and then I’ll tell the rest of the boys to leave you two be for a bit. Alright?” 

“You sound like a dad,” Dick says. For some odd reason, there’s no malice in his tone. “You fucking suck at being a dad, where is all of this coming from?”  

“Language,” Jason says. “Did you hear that? Fucking language.” 

“Language, Jaylad,” Bruce replies. He doesn’t scold Dick, though. His tone sounds very light. “I know I haven’t been a very good father, lately, but I figured that I should start. If it starts by making sure you two get home safely, and deal with your hangovers healthily, then it will. 

“How come Dickhead doesn’t have to watch his language?” 

“I’m older,” Dick replies, promptly deciding not to continue his possibly-very-deep conversation with Bruce. That, and all of his other possibly-very-deep thoughts, will be carded away for Future Dick to take care of. “Take that.” 

Bruce starts the car again, having finished his fries. “Don’t call your brother ‘Dickhead’. And, Dick, it’s not Jason’s fault he’s not quite as old as you are.” 

“Yeah!” Jason choruses. “It’s time’s fault. And the Joker’s.” Jason means it all in good fun- as a joke- but that doesn’t stop both Bruce and Dick from stilling. “Seriously. I should be at least a couple years older than I am.” 

“It feels like we should all be older than we are,” Dick finally chooses to say. 

He’s only in his twenties- though, he’s shamefully close to being thirty- but he feels like an old man, through and through. All of the events of the past- past however long it’s been, they all feel like they’re dragging Dick straight down to an early grave. He might just end up in one, if he keeps all of this up. The unhealthy way he’s coping to all of his stress- it’s-

It’s something. 

He draws in a long breath through his nose. 

“Where the fuck is my sauce,” Jason mutters to himself, ruining the serious atmosphere. “Where the fuck are you, you goddamn- aha!” 

“Language,” Bruce says again, like a broken record. “Seriously. Language.” 

Jason replies with, kiss my ass, and Bruce returns that with another language.

“You’re both hopeless,” Dick says. 

Jason hums, takes a bite of his chicken nugget- which is covered in far too much sauce to be legal, because he’d asked for at least double the amount he should’ve gotten. “You know, before I came back to the manor, I was talking with this guy. Like- not as Red Hood. Just one of my neighbors, y’anno?” 

Dick tries to urge him to go on, but he forgets to speak, and just ends up doing a really slow lizard’s blink. 

“He was like, damn that Batman guy and his- his punk kid. So, naturally, I asked him which one, right? But I think he was drunk of some shit-” - language, Bruce repeats, looking amused and tired and absolutely done all at the same time- “-’cause he just shrugged at me and said, oh, the annoying one. Again, I’m like, which one, man? And- and he goes, I dunno man, they’re all fucking annoying.” 

Jason barks out a laugh, like it’s literally the funniest thing that he’s ever had the pleasure of hearing. For some reason, the joke doesn’t register with Dick, so he just awkwardly laughs in response. 

Bruce, oddly enough, just says, “None of you are annoying. No matter how annoying you are.” 

That makes Dick do a full-blown laugh, a snort tearing from his nose and some kind of weird choked hee-haw-haw come from his throat. It’s in no way his normal laugh, and for some reason, that makes him laugh harder, in that weird-as-hell hee-haw-haw hee-haw-haw, and soon enough, Jason starts laughing again in a hee-haw-haw hee-haw-haw, and Dick promptly wants to throw himself out the window because it’s so goddamn funny, and Bruce is just kind of sitting to the side like, hey what’d I say, and it’s all really fucking stupid and funny and weird and-

And Dick starts to honest-to-god cry.

He starts to cry in the middle of Gotham, in his dad’s old car that costs more than Dick’s whole outfit even though it’s Kori’s, and he feels like he’s about to throw up because his gut hurts and his second hamburger has probably gone cold. 

Jason stops laughing. 

Bruce reaches over, pulls Dick’s head against his chest, and they just sit.

They just sit, and Dick just cries.

Chapter Text

When Dick comes home, he’s half-leaning on Bruce. Jason trudges along behind them, dead on his feet. There’s nothing more that Dick wants to do than pass out, or maybe curl up on the ground and pretend like he’s asleep. He’s sure that Jason feels the same way, especially when he misses a step when walking up the grand staircase, and decides to just lay down on them for a bit. 

Bruce stills long enough to give a suffering look at Dick, and a confused stare at Jason, but in the end decides to continue moving forward. Once they’re at the top of the stairs, he leaves Dick and goes back to pick Jason up. 

It’s late, so Dick decides to slink through the halls instead of waiting for Jason and Bruce. He passes Lil’ D’s room, then Dami’s, and then Robin’s. He doesn’t stop by a single one, despite how much his mind screams at him to follow through with it. When he gets to Tim’s door, he thinks about stopping, just to check on his younger brother. In the end, he passes that up too, in favor of wrenching open his door and collapsing onto his mattress, clothes be-damned. 

He’s dead to the world as soon as he hits the pillow, and by the time he wakes up, it’s been three hours. Once he takes a quick trip to the bathroom, he passes out again. This time, when his eyes open, the sun is shining through the curtains he forgot to pull shut, and there’s a cup of tea settled on his bed stand. 

It takes a while for him to sit up and grab the mug. It’s cold and probably gross, but Dick takes a sip of it anyway. 

His phone is lying on the bed, having slid out of his pocket sometime during his sleep. When he picks it up, it’s dead. He plugs it in and huffs, taking another sip of his cold-and-insanely-gross tea. 

He knows from experience that he won’t get to spend the day alone. Either Jason will end up in here, searching for some peace and quiet, or Tim will come in and see how he’s feeling. Or, actually, Bruce might come in. Maybe he’ll bring some more tea- a nice warm cup. That’d be a great way to start the day. 

For a bit, he thinks if he should wait it out or just go downstairs. Whoever it is will come up, and Dick will have to interact with them, until they decide that Dick’s due some me-time. It’ll be the same thing, if he gets up and out of bed, anyway. Just- more people. A lot more people. All of the boys, and Jason, and Tim, and Bruce- oh, and Steph. Steph might just come upstairs, too, if only to lay in bed beside him and talk until the world doesn’t seem so dismal. 

Maybe it’d be for the best, if Steph came upstairs, or if Tim did. Or if Jason did. Not Bruce, though. Dick’s not really in the mood for an awkward dad-talk right now. At least his siblings are good at making him feel better. 

Bruce isn’t very good at emotional stuff, and, honestly, Dick’s not feeling up to helping him with it.

With a groan, Dick splays back out across his bed and slaps a pillow over his head. Why did he have to be blessed with such a good family?! Why do they all have to care so much, and love him, and- God! All he wants to do is have a really bad day, and-

Well, at least he knows that his freak-out from last night wasn’t exactly needed. 

His family really does love him. Too much, if he’s being completely honest. 

It takes another hour of his own internal-complaining about how lucky he is, before there’s a knock on the door. Through the pillow, Dick calls out, “C’mon in”, praying that it’s someone with warm tea. Steaming tea. It comes out really weird and he’s not sure if whoever’s at the door really understood what he said, but the door opens anyway. 

“Get out of bed, and get the hell downstairs,” they say, so very- well, not nicely. At all. In fact, they sound-

Dick pulls the pillow off of his head and nearly rockets up into a sitting position. He almost falls off the bed with how careless he is. When he’s up, he has to blink a couple times, unsure if what he’s seeing is right. It’s Tim, fists curled up at his side and shoulders shaking. His cheeks are flushed, and his hair is a mess- His eyes are red and glassy and he looks like he’s favoring his left leg, though Dick knows he didn’t go out for patrol last night, because he must’ve been watching the boys, so, what?

“Tim, what’s-” 

“I said,” Tim repeats, angry and not very Tim-like, “get the hell downstairs. You don’t just get to go hide in your fucking room after ditching us- You hadn’t even told us where the hell you were going, by the way-” 

“Tim,” Dick urges. “Slow down for a moment, okay? Come over here, and sit down for a second, and breathe for me.” 

Tim does as told, but the second he’s seated in front of Dick, he seethes, “Go downstairs, or I’ll drag you out of bed my-fucking-self.” 

He’s livid. Completely livid. Far more livid than Dick’s ever seen him- and swearing more than Dick’s ever heard from him. Dick can’t help but reach up and swipe a thumb under his brother’s eye, wiping away a tear. He whispers to Tim, “You’ve gotta tell me what’s wrong, before I can help.” 

And, for some reason unknown to Dick, Tim starts to cry- just as hard as Dick had last night, curled up against Bruce’s chest. 

It’s always times like these that Dick understands what’s going on in Bruce’s mind. Some kind of raw panic, some sort of haze that pulls all of the wires out of your brain and tangles them up until there’s nothing more than a static that says, What can you do, what do you do, there’s nothing you can do. Dick does exactly what Bruce does- turns off his mind and reaches forward, far less awkwardly than Bruce. He pulls Tim close, chin in Tim’s hair and shirt against his head. 

“Tell me what’s wrong, Timmy,” he urges, again, though far less urgently. 

“Go downstairs,” Tim chokes out, instead of answering. He fists his hand into Dick’s shirt, pulling it taut. Like a switch, though, all of his anger fizzes out. Dick just holds him. “I- I can’t even be fucking mad at you- It’s not your fault you had to get away from all of us-” 

“Hey, hey,” Dick says, quickly. He pulls away just enough to look Tim in the eyes, hands going to his shoulder, and back to Tim’s face to wipe his tears. “It’s not like that. I promise it’s not like that, okay? I didn’t- I didn’t need to get away from you all because of you- I just-” He deflates himself, sighing. Dick cracks a smile, but knows it falls short. “I’ll explain it later, okay? What’s going on downstairs?” 

It’s nothing more than three words. 

Dick vaults himself from his bed, throwing out a curse as he does, nearly stumbling in his race to the door. Tim follows, just as hectic, but far more graceful. Once the door is flung open, Dick nearly takes the stairs three at a time, thinking, what the hell, what the hell, what the hell.

“Little D- He’s- Pinkie’s livid, Dick.” 

Pinkie’s livid, Dick.

Pinkie’s livid, Dick.

While they race for the den, Tim says, “I didn’t know how to deal with it- and neither does Jason or Steph, but Bruce isn’t here right now because he said he had to run out real quick for something, and- And Damian-” -Red- “-came downstairs while everyone was there- Dami’s upset from you just up and leaving-”

The story isn’t really making a whole lot of sense, with Tim jumping around a whole hell-of-a-lot. What Dick mostly catches is the urgency- Dami’s upset, Red’s probably pissed, and Lil’ D is somehow angry. Tim’s hurt- someone must have lashed out- and somehow, not even Steph can fix it. 

When Dick finally bursts into the den, the scene is enough to floor him. 

Little D’s on top of Red, pushing him down and screaming in his face. Jason’s in the process of surging forward and wrapping his arms around Lil’ D’s waist, to hoist him up and off of his counterpart. Steph’s sprawled out against the broken remains of the coffee table, off to the side. Dami’s by her side, helping her stand back up as she holds her ribs. Robin’s somewhere off to the side, watching with oddly-wide eyes, hands wrapped around his wrists, almost like he’s hugging himself. 

“STOP!” Dick shouts, suddenly. It’s surprising enough that Jason manages to peel Lil’ D off of Red, with enough force that he almost doesn’t catch himself as he hoists Lil’ D off the ground. Lil’ D snarls like a wounded animal, clawing at Jason’s arms. 

Dick swears that his eyes flash red. 

His shout also draws the attention of Dami and Robin, and albeit very briefly, Red. Dick moves quickly to pick Red off the floor and hold him in the same fashion as Jason’s holding Lil’ D, just to keep Red from attacking. 

“I want someone to explain to me what the hell just happened,” Dick almost hisses, taking control of the situation as if he’d never lost his shit last night, and left to go get drunk. “None of this is appropriate, and I hope that none of you think it was.” 

He’s not really talking to Steph or Jason, but the two of them wince none-the-less. 

“He started it!” Lil’ D screeches, like an indignant ten year old kid who wasn’t raised to be an assassin. He points at Red, pausing in his frantic rush to get out of Jason’s arms. “He’s the one who came in here and he’s the one who-” 

“I’m the one who started it?!” Red returns, done with trying to bite at Dick’s hands. “You’re the one who pounced on me, you barbaric imp of a-” 

“Steph,” Dick says, because she's always the most level headed, “can you please tell me what the hell is going on.” 

Steph- now standing, and brushing her hair out of her face haphazardly- lets out a heavy sigh. “We were all just sitting down, like, five minutes ago. Dames over here was upset-” -she gestures to Dami- “-because someone decided to leave without a note-” -her scathing tone falls somewhat flat, but Dick knows he’ll still be at the receiving end of one very pissed off Steph later- “-and I was trying to work damage control with Tim.

“Then Red came in, and I wasn’t really paying attention-” -she makes a ‘so sue me’ gesture- “-but next thing I know, Lil’ D’s launching himself at Red and Red’s screaming and Lil’ D’s screaming, and Tim’s rushing over to try and stop Lil D.” 

“It didn’t work so well,” Tim says, calmer now. He rubs a hand over his face and looks to the side. “When I tried to help, Red tried attacking me, and he said some stuff- but, no, I didn’t catch what started it either.” 

Dick looks to Jason, who just hazards a shrug. “No idea. I was kind of zoning out. My head’s ringing from last night.” 

Dami’s obviously out of the question to ask- but, Dick makes a mental note to sit everyone down and explain how what he did was wrong and uncalled for and frankly stupid. If it upset Dami to the point of tears, made Tim upset too, and made Steph angry, there’s a chance it’s bothering Lil’ D t-

Something tugs on Dick’s crop top. 

Dick looks down, and there’s Robin, hand wrapped in the folds of Dick’s shirt sleeve- right by his elbow. His eyes are focused on something beyond Dick, face scrunched in that way that Damian’s used to do, when he was new at the manor and uncertain if he was reaching too far. 

“I know-” Robin starts, before snapping his jaw shut. 

Dick wants to spin around to face him, and to crouch by his side. He wants to take Robin’s hands in his, and ask softly, “What?” 

Instead, he’s got an arm-full of Red, so all he can do is soften his face, and ask as easily as he can, “What do you know, kiddo?” 

Robin looks Dick in the eyes, finally, and breathes out, “I know what happened.”

Chapter Text

Red is sent up to his room, again, despite claiming that he did nothing more than say the blatant truth. Lil’ D is sent to the kitchen with Jason, in order to cool off. That leaves Tim, who’s still wiping at his glassy eyes, to sit beside Dami, while Dick deals with whatever Robin has to say. 

He won’t lie- he’s still reeling from hearing Robin speak. Those had been the most words he’s said since- since Robin first came around. Even now, as he sits before Dick on the couch, he’s fidgety.

Something’s not right, and Dick knows it. Robin’s speaking. Lil’ D’s pissed.  

It’s not in character for either of them, but Dick finds solstice in the fact that it seems like Dami hasn’t changed a bit. He’s still bittersweet and shy, teary-eyed and blue. 

(Dick swears on his mother’s grave that he sees a flash of color in Robin’s green eyes. It scares him half to death.) 

“Alright,” he says. “What’s going on here, kid?” 

Robin wiggles in his seat, twirling his thumbs in his lap. It’s the most action that he’s made on his own in days. Dick’s beginning to think that the fear toxin was having a much bigger effect on Robin than he realized. Not only was he getting over his soldier-barrack creepy ‘I don’t move, or fidget, or do literally anything besides what you tell me to do’ thing, but he’s talking. He’s talking freely, and he’s acting for himself.

Dick can’t help but he’s so proud- his kid is breaking through his own walls, and he’s working through it. If he hadn’t rushed away and left, had tried to separate himself from these kids, maybe he would have rushed forward to sweep Robin off of his feet and hug him tight. Maybe he would’ve told Robin just how proud he was. 

“We were all in here. Damian-” -his nose scrunches up at the name, though Dick isn’t sure why, if not out of awkwardness- “-he walked into the room. He noticed that you weren’t here. But you’ve always been here.” 

The way that Robin says ‘you’ve always been here’ makes Dick want to scream, but he’s far too much concerned with how many words Robin is saying in one go, even if his sentences are short and clipped. 

“He told us that you left,” Robin continues, sounding somewhat frustrated. “We knew you left. But he said it was because of us. He told D we were the problem. D thought he was wrong. D thought Damian was wrong even though he thought the same thing. Back when we left. After Scarecrow, he stopped thinking that. Because you came for us. So D got mad.” 

Moral of the story, everyone’s been affected by Dick’s disappearance. Of course everyone would be affected- Steph’s pissed, Dami’s upset, Tim’s mad, and it’s clear that Robin isn’t too sure what to think. Lil’ D’s upset over it, and probably shaken in whatever his thoughts are. 

“I’m really proud of you for telling me all of this,” Dick says, because it’s true. He doesn’t rush up, though, and hug Robin. He doesn’t want to startle him. “Here’s the deal- We’ve got a lot to talk about, and I’ve got some stuff to apologize for. I’m sure it’s all going to be a very long talk- I’ve still got B to talk to, on my own, and with Dami. For now, what we’re going to talk about is what I did. Then, after that, I’d like to talk to you, okay?” 

Robin, though his feet are too short to touch the ground, kicks at the open air. “Okay,” he says, squirming. 

“Let’s go call everyone in. Timmy, you wanna help?” 

Tim only gives a shrug, but in no time, Dick’s got everyone gathered around into one of the other dens- where the coffee table isn’t smashed to pieces. They’ve even gotten Red settled onto the arm chair, tucked away from everyone else. 

Jason, Stephanie, Tim and the boys all squished themselves into the same couch, legs overlapping and bodies pressed far too close together. Robin’s towards the arms of the couch, nearly sitting on the arm itself. Jason sits beside him, Stephanie’s legs thrown over his lap, where Lil’ D sits, happily perched on top of the two. All his anger from earlier is completely gone. Beside them sits Tim, Dami’s head leaning on his shoulder, and Stephanie’s back pressing into his other arm.

It’s cute, and Dick wishes that he could get a picture of it, but he knows that he needs to be focused on the problem at hand. Not on how Dami’s blue eyes keep shifting through the room. 

(When Red had walked it, he’d sneered at Dami for the tear tracks down his cheeks. “You’re always crying,” he’d said. “Normally, Mother would have beaten you for it, but she’s not here-” His following comment- which Dick presumed to be along the lines of, I’ll do it for her- had been cut off when Dick had wrapped his arms around Dami’s waist, picked him up, and sat him down with Tim on the couch. 

He hadn’t missed Robin’s wince at Red’s words, nor Lil’ D’s half-scowl.) 

“It’s kind of weird to have all of us here,” Dick starts, looking out at all of them with his hands on his hips. Steph looks at him blandly, so Dick amends his statement with, “Well, most of us, anyway.” 

Cass isn’t here- though, she did tend to skip bigger gatherings, since she wasn’t that integrated into the family yet. Bruce isn’t here either, still out running whatever errand he’d left to complete. Alfred wasn’t even here. It really is hard to do full-family get-togethers, even with Bruce being back in the picture. 

“Listen, I’m going to start a very important conversation, and I hope to make this as easy as possible, because I know that none of you really want to sit for this long. None of us are good with emotional talks- Steph excluded, don’t give me that, Tim- but this is a needed one, alright?” 

He watches Jason shift awkwardly, lifting Stephanie’s legs- and Lil’ D- as he does. He puts them both back down once he’s done, but he doesn’t look comfortable. Instead, he leans back, spreading his arms along the back of the couch. 

“Firstly, I’d just like to apologize,” Dick continues, “I shouldn’t have left without telling someone here. Leaving through my window without a word wasn’t a very mature response, especially when we just got back from rescuing the boys- and because we’re trying to teach you guys a lesson.” 

As he talks, he realizes that Damian’s smirking at him, red eyes glinting in the light. Dick doesn’t maintain eye contact for long enough to decipher what emotion he’s feeling, but he’s probably laughing at him for actually making a mistake. Still, it’s not something that bothers him. The boys- all of them- should know that Dick’s only human. He makes mistakes, just like everyone else.

“It’s not okay to just up and leave, and even though I’m an adult, I could have sent someone a text. Instead, I thought it’d be better to ignore my problems and ignore all of you. So, I’m sorry. I really am sorry.” 

He drops his hands from his waist as he says, I’m sorry, only to gesticulate as he does. He’s always talked more with his hands.

“The one thing I’m not going to apologize for,” he says, a bit loudly, “is the fact that I left.” 

Tim’s brows furrow up. Unlike Damian- where his nose scrunches up- Tim bites down on his lip. Sometimes he does it hard enough that he starts to bleed, if he’s really worked up, or confused. It’s one of the first tics that Dick had picked up. 

“It’s okay to need some time away from other people. It’s okay to need to break away from things if they’re really overwhelming. You can walk away and you can take some time to breathe, if that’s what you need. Of course, it can’t be for forever. You need to face your problems at some point or another. And that’s what I’m going to do. I took some time off. Now I need to deal with the problems head on.” 

Dick feels really mature, the longer he talks for. He has everyone’s attention, even as he moves his entire body- as if his point is too much for his body to take. Even Red doesn’t look away. It feels really nice to be taken seriously, and to see Lil’ D look at him with his wide, curious eyes. 

Finally, as Dick stills in his speech, Lil’ D asks, “What was wrong, Richard?” 

For all he’s worth, Dick can only look Lil’ D in the eyes. He can hardly remember what the problem had been in the first place, as he watches his little brother’s pink eyes twinkle. His fingers twitch when he remembers that Damian’s eyes used to be green. With each passing day, Dick forgets a little more about who Damian used to be, compared to who he is now. 

He’s gotten used to having these four boys here, even while he’ll remember a little tic from Damian’s past. For a second, he wonders if he’ll ever see a full-Damian ever again. 

Then, he thinks that if he never does, at least he’ll still have a part of Damian with him, forever and always. He’ll have parts of Damian, scattered throughout his life. There will be these four Damians, and the rich memory of who-  

But, no. It’s not right to call them all Damian. All of them are their own people. Each one is someone new that Dick had the privilege to get to know. They might carry the old-Damian with them, but Lil’ D is only Lil’ D. Red is Red. Dami is Dami and Robin is Robin.

They’re no one else but themselves.

Again, Lil’ D asks, “What was wrong, Richard?” 

“Nothing,” Dick ends up saying. Jason, Tim, and Steph all give Dick the same kind of look, but Dick ignores them. He surges forward and pulls Lil’ D into his arms, tugging him close to his chest. “Nothing’s wrong. Not when I’m with you guys.” 

Lil’ D gives off an adorable giggle and plants a big, wet kiss onto Dick’s cheek. 

There’s too much that they leave unsaid. Dick never tells Lil’ D that he loves him. He never comments on the horrible feeling that he’d felt in his gut, at not being needed. He doesn’t ever get to move through the rest of his family, and tell them, I love you guys, so, so much. I love all of you and I’m so sorry for ever leaving in the first place.

Lil’ D never gets to talk about his underlying worries, but for right now, it feels okay. They’ll have to talk about it later- talk about it someday. And, maybe they will. 

Dick hopes they will, but for right now, he prefers the feeling of Lil’ D sitting in his arms. He prefers the feeling of moving to plop down on top of Stephanie and Jason, listening to the two of them laugh at him. 

Stephanie leans over and whispers in Dick’s ear, “We’re talking about all of this, buddy. Don’t think you’re off the hook.” When she pulls away, it’s with a playful cuff to the back of Dick’s head, and a tickle to Lil’ D’s side. Lil’ D giggles again, smiling wide as he kicks out and happens to clip Robin’s side. Instead of reacting like Dick thought he would, Robin looks over and blinks with big, green eyes. Then, Robin moves up and reaches for Lil’ D with clumsy movements. His hand grabs at Lil’ D’s nose, but Lil’ D moves away.

Tim barks out a loud laugh, and Jason wraps his arms around Robin’s waist, before standing up with the kid wrapped up in his arms. He twists around, wiggling Robin in the air. Robin- for the first time ever- lets out a laugh of his own, before snapping shut his mouth. 

It’s the best sound that Dick’s ever heard. 

Dick gets to his feet and wraps his arms around both of his brothers, following Lil’ D’s lead and plastering a kiss to Robin’s cheek. 

In the corner of his eye, Dick watches as Red silently vaults himself over the edge of the armchair and disappears out into the hallway.

No more than three seconds later, the door slams shut. 

Chapter Text

The only reason why Dick tears away from his siblings and the boys is because of the door. He thinks, Red’s leaving. He thinks, Red left. Red left us and he’s out in Gotham all by himself and he’s going to get hurt just like Lil’ D.

He’s down the hall in seconds flat, hardly even noticing how far he’d gone in the short amount of time. Instead, he keeps his eyes forward. There’s a chance that it hadn’t been the front door, and that it might’ve just been a random outburst from somewhere else in the house. Maybe it was even the back door, or a random door from somewhere in the house that Red had just decided to slam for the attention-

And, maybe that’s it. Maybe Red’s only looking for attention, in the end. Negative attention is better than none, in some children’s minds, and if that’s why Red’s acting out-

Dick can strive to help him. No matter how off-putting and horrible it is to deal with Red, sometimes, what Dick had thought that day still stands. What Damian needs- what this red version of him needs- is endless patience. Damian needs someone to be there for him, no matter how hard life might get, at times. After all, he’d only stormed off after everyone had settled in with each other, having a good time in front of him, clearly not needing him to be there in order for it to go okay.

That’s the same feeling Dick had felt, before fleeing. The ‘being unneeded’ feeling. Though, Dick’s sure that Red’s is more like a ‘being unwanted’ feeling, rather than Dick’s own brand. Still. They can work through it. They can.

All Red needs is some love. He needs to know that he’s wanted, here in the manor and in their family. 

Dick knows he can do that- Red is a part of Damian, and Dick had sworn he’d love Damian until his dying breath. He’d love all of Damian- each crabby, prickly, lovable piece. Red just so happens to be more prickly than Dick has dealt with, in a while, but he’s hardly any different than Damian had been at the beginning of their relationship. 

I’ll love you, Dick thinks, and pretends like if he thinks it hard enough, Red will hear it. I’ll love you even if you hurt me and push me around. You need time. I’m willing to give it.

He gets to the stairwell, and that’s where he finds Red, standing stock still on the first step, facing towards the front doors. Without paying the main foyer any mind, Dick zeroes in on Red and swings towards him. He’ll start the way he’d done with Damian- he’ll bleed love until Red accepts it, tread gently in order to not get burnt. He won’t let Red push him away. Not this time.

“There you are-” Dick gasps, reaching out for Red. Red takes a step back, eyes widening for a millisecond before they narrow in rage and anger and fear. Just like- Dick needs to stop comparing Red to old Damian. Maybe that’s part of the problem, too. He doesn’t really think of old Damian, in relation to the other boys anymore. But, maybe Bruce had, when he was dealing with Red. “I was worried that you’d left or something-”

Red’s hands curl into fists, so tight his fingers go white. “What?” he snarls. “Am I not allowed the right to my basic human freedom of movement?” 

“You are,” Dick stresses, “but sometimes I worry because I love you.” 

He’s really laying it on thick, now. Very thick- but Red needs to know that Dick loves him. It’s vital that he hears it now instead of later- communication has always been far too important in Dick and Damian’s relationship, over the years, and it’s not okay for Dick to just let Red flounder. 

“You love-”  

Red’s words are cut off- though, honestly, Dick did want to know what he was about to say- by Bruce’s voice, coming from behind Dick. “What’s going on here?” he asks, sounding a little tired from whatever errand he’d been running. Then, probably realizing how bad he’d worded it, Bruce amends by asking, “Is everything alright?” 

“Things are perfectly fine,” Red says, turning on his heel. He marches right back upstairs, and Dick makes a mental note to check on him as soon as he’s done figuring out just where in the hell Bruce had run off too. He can’t get mad about Bruce not telling him- he told someone, just hadn’t told anyone where or what or-

Okay, Dick can get mad. Just a little bit. 

But, Bruce seems to be in the habit of interrupting people today, because when Dick attempts to say anything, Bruce says, “I was about to go get you- I know you’ve had a rough couple of days-” -more like ‘couple of weeks’. Months, maybe. Years? A rough life?- “-but I require some heavy lifters.”

“I can go get Jay,” Dick says, quickly, almost afraid that Bruce will cut him off again. Bruce doesn’t, but he does shake his head in response.

“It’s a surprise for Jaylad,” Bruce replies, holding a finger to his lips like it’s a little secret meant to stay between the two of them. Hearing Bruce refer to Jason as Jaylad makes Dick’s stomach flip. He’s actually trying to be a good dad, and God, Dick is here for it. “Can you come out to the car quickly? It’s also a surprise for the boys.” 

Ah, it seems Bruce has adopted Dick’s ‘the boys’, in order to talk about the ‘Damians’. That’s good. That’s really good. Also- a surprise for Jason and the boys? What in the world could he have brought home? A new dog?

Speaking of, Dick’s been missing Titus just as much as Alfred (the butler). Though Lil’ D and Dami seem content to curl up with Batcow, he wonders if they’re missing Titus and Alfred (the cat) too. It’s certainly plausible, even if they’ve never said it out loud to Dick. There’s things they don’t tell him, after all.

So, Dick follows Bruce out to the car, curiosity getting the better of him. He’s a little cautious, of course, as he takes in the mostly-empty circle and the driveway further down. His eyes land on Bruce’s car- one of his nicer ones, but with much more trunk room. There’s someone leaning into said trunk, a suitcase standing at their leg-

It’s-

It’s Alfred!  

“Alfie!” Dick cries, loud enough to make him jump three feet in the air. Well, okay, it doesn’t really make Alfred jump- he’s a soldier through and through, and when he hears Dick’s call, he turns with a smile on his face. Dick can’t help but crash into his grandfather, holding him tightly. “Where have you been?”

“On vacation, Master Richard,” says Alfred, his ‘Richard’ hitting differently than Lil’ D’s constant chirp. “I was visiting my daughter- Master Bruce says some things may have… changed… in my absence?” 

It’s clear to Dick that Bruce never told Alfred what happened. Well- it’s best to rip it all off like a band-aid, Dick thinks, so he resolves to just lead Alfred into the den as Bruce deals with his luggage. Still- why wouldn’t Bruce inform Alfred of what happened? Speaking of informing people of things- Dick should let Bruce know about his new plan for Red, and all of the developments he’d missed. Lil’ D getting pissed, Robin speaking freely- 

Gosh, Dick’s so proud of his boys. 

“You can say that again,” Dick sighs, pulling back albeit reluctantly. He notices that Alfred’s wearing sunglasses on his head, and instead of his normal suit-and-tie, he’s wearing shorts and a floral button-up tee-shirt. It makes him feel a little silly in his own crop-top he still hasn’t changed out of. They must look like quite the pair to Bruce, who’s looking at them fondly. 

Dick keeps his arm around Alfred as he peers into the trunk. In Alfred’s free hand is a little blue carrier with a cage door- “Is that Alfred?!”

“The cat, in the flesh and blood,” Alfred replies, holding the carrier up. True to his word, Damian’s little cat is curled up, peacefully ignoring the world inside his cage. Dick quickly averts his gaze to the second carrier that Bruce is reaching for. The black mass resting inside of this carrier- an awkward bright pink that makes Dick want to bark out a laugh- is so clearly Titus.

Dick nearly crumples to the floor. “You took the animals on vacation with you?” 

“Why not?” 

“Did Damian know?” 

“But of course.” 

Alfred looks at Dick for a second. Dick knows his jaw is hanging open, but he feels like he’s just got run over by a goddamn semi-truck. How did he not know? Did Alfred tell him? Did Alfred send something? Oh god- Dick might be a horrible person for not knowing where Alfred went- but Jason didn’t know, and Tim didn’t know-

“I told Master Bruce before I left- I’m afraid I didn’t have enough time to pass the message on to all of you, but I believed that either Master Bruce or Master Damian would pass the information on.” Alfed looks guilty, and it makes Dick’s gut churn. “Apologies, Master Richard, I never meant to cause any strife-” 

“It’s okay, Alfie!” Dick says, going back in for a second hug. God, he’s missed Alfred so much. Honestly, Damian would have told Dick, had this whole magic-thing not happened, so Alfred shouldn’t blame himself. “You better tell me how that vacation went, though. That’ll have to come later, of course, ‘cause we’ve got the entire-” -mostly, anyway, and plus a few extra- “-family here. Can you believe it?” 

The look on Alfred’s face tells Dick he does not. 

Dick helps Bruce unload Titus once he gives Alfred a final squeeze. They let Titus out and stretch his legs before Dick grabs onto Titus’ collar, hoping that Titus won’t run off.

Then, Dick gets an idea. He can use Titus, once greetings are exchanged. Red will adore Titus, just as every part of Damian should- he can use their big Great Dane as a bridge. Dick will- as horrible as it might seem- use Titus as an olive branch, in order to prove to Red that the world isn’t as bad as it seems. And, with Alfred back home now, Alfred can help, too. Alfred’s exceptional with every child he’s ever met, including Damian when he first came along. 

Instead of grabbing Alfred’s suitcases, he grabs Alfred the cat’s carrier and gestures Alfred inside. Bruce can grab them, if he wants, or Dick can come out later himself to bring them in. Right now, what matters is introductions.

“Everyone’s been missing you,” Dick explains, wanting to bounce on the balls of his feet. To at least attempt to contain his excitement, he starts walking. “Jay wasn’t too happy when he realized he was here, and that you weren’t, but I’m glad he decided to stick around.” 

Alfred’s brows crease. He’s smart and it’s clear he’s picked up something. “Master Jason only ever returns to the manor when I invite him over for supper. I assume there was a family emergency, then.” 

Perhaps. Perhaps not. Though, Dick would definitely call this a family something. Damian split into four people- that’s more family to add, more little boys to run through the manor halls. To call it an emergency? Maybe- but Dick wouldn’t necessarily go that far. Sure, he’d called Jason and Tim- and had asked Steph to stay- because the boys were a handful, but.

What’s his point, again?

When they pass the stairs, Dick gives them a pointed look. Alfred might catch it, but it’s more for Bruce than him. As much as Dick doesn’t really want Bruce talking to the boys without someone else there, Bruce needs to understand- not just know- that something’s up with him. Dick will have to pull him aside once introductions are out of the way. 

As they walk through the hall, Dick starts to hope that everyone stayed in the den, and that nothing else had happened. The chances of Dami crying over something have increased, after that talk, and Lil’ D’s emotions are- honestly- up in the air right now. Even Robin’s a wild card. But, if Jason, Steph and Tim have managed to keep them all happy like they were before Dick had parted ways, then this’ll go on without a hitch. 

Once they make it to the den- hanging by the doorway, Alfred turned just so, so he can’t see inside- Dick looks to Alfred. “So, a while ago- I think at the beginning of your vacation, Dames and B were out on patrol.” 

Dick starts the talk like that, if only to lead into the shock it might bring. He knows that Alfred would rather he just get to the point, but details are always important. 

“Nothing out of the ordinary, I do hope,” replies Alfred, lips quirking up. 

With his hand, Dick makes a see-saw motion, telling him ‘somewhat’. “I don’t know what happened, but I think that Dames got hit by some sort of magic,” he explains, careful to say Dames rather than Damian or Dami or Lil’ D. He doesn’t need any of the boys running in- and while none of them reply to Damian much, Dick’s been doing his best not to say that name out loud. 

Bruce steps up beside them, clearly thinking that the talking was more than enough. He places a hand on Alfred’s shoulder and directs him into the room, coughing to gather everyone’s attention. 

By the couch, Jason’s still holding Robin in his arms. Though, now, Robin’s more-or-less resting on his hips, as Jason dramatically tells a story everyone’s heard about a trillion times. It’s from what little he remembers of his days in the League of Assassins. 

Steph’s blonde hair peeks out from the couch, done up in a messy bun. Dick moves into the room in order to see if everyone else is there, since they’re all obscured by the couch- meaning Alfred’s only seen Robin, who looks the most like normal Damian out of everyone else- as soon as he hands Titus and Alfred the cat off to Bruce. There they all are- Lil’ D and Dami curled up like they do with Batcow, Tim leaning his head onto Dami’s black, baby curls. 

“We’ve got a surprise for you,” Dick says, interrupting Jason’s wonderful story. Jason finally looks up to the doorway. No recognition flashes through Robin’s eyes when he sees Alfred, but the way that Jason’s entire body lights up lets Dick know that he sees him. 

As soon as Jason shouts Aflred’s name in joy, Robin pushes at Jason’s arm, trying to tell Jason to put him down. Steph pokes up from her seat, a smile rushing onto her face. Tim does the same, wrestling to get out from beneath the boys. Lil’ D’s the first one out of the boys to vault himself over the couch, and by then, it’s too late to warn Alfred about what’s happened.

Alfred sees two Damians. 

The look on his face makes Dick wonder how he’ll react when he sees the other two.

Chapter Text

Alfred raises his hand up to his lips, but it does nothing to smother his gasp of, “My word."

Robin pats down on Jason’s shoulders again as Steph gets a grasp on Lil’ D’s ankle, holding him back so that he can’t crash into Alfred. They give Robin enough time to silently look at the ‘newcomer’, no hint of recognition in his eyes. Once Jason sets him down, he makes no move towards Alfred, but he watches as Jason throws all restraint to the wind and throws himself towards Alfred like a giddy little kid rushing down the stairs on Christmas Day. He sweeps Alfred up into his arms, in an energetic bear hug, twirling Alfred around a little.

“Alfie!” he cries, once he sets Alfred down. “I didn’t think you’d ever get home! Where have you been? It’s been a trainwreck and a fuckin’ half, without you.” 

Alfred just lets out a breathless wheeze. 

Sheepishly, Jason pats Alfred on the back. No more than four seconds later, Steph accidentally lets go of Lil’ D, letting him launch himself at Alfred again. No gentler than Jason, Lil’ D wraps his arms around Alfred’s waist. Instead of lifting him up, Lil’ D looks up at Alfred with pink, pink eyes, as he grins widely. 

“How was Julia? I bet your stay was splendid, wasn’t it?” 

Instead of replying, Alfred reaches out and puts a hand on Jason’s shoulder. He squeezes tight, before crouching down to hug Lil’ D. Then, to himself, he says, “I fear I’m getting to old for all of this.” 

Lil’ D’s face melts into one of raw horror. He pulls back, but before he can say anything, Dick moves forward and plucks him into his arms. “That’s not what he meant, and you know it, kiddo,” he says, as Alfred stands back up. “Alfie this is Lil’ D. Lil’ D, this is Alfie.”

“I know that!” Lil’ D queals, like Dick’s just made the funniest joke in the world. Sometimes, it’s a little hard to believe that this kid, out of all of the others, can be the most serious and grown-up little bugger Dick’s ever met. Still, Dick loves him to bits and pieces. 

To Lil’ D, he says, “Well, Alfie didn’t, I don’t think.” Then, to Alfred, he explains about what happened. He talks about the patrol that went wrong, the four Damians that had been created, how Bruce had taken away Red, Dick calling Tim and Jason, Steph showing up out of the blue and helping Dick wrangle the boys. He even talks about their run-in with Scarecrow, though he keeps the details sparse since Bruce is still standing in the doorway. He doesn’t talk about how he ran away, of course. 

He boops Lil’ D’s nose as he explains the boys’ personalities. “Pink- Lil’ D- he’s basically childhood’s favorite little playmate.” He gestures over to Robin, standing by himself on the carpet. “That’s Robin over there. He didn’t used to talk much.” In a whisper, he leans close to Alfred and ays, “Talia's the perfect soldier. He’s breaking out of it, though.” 

Before Dick can continue, Alfred takes two strides across the way, and kneels down by Robin, not paying attention to Steph, Dami, or Tim on the couch. He speaks too soft for Dick to hear, but he’s probably only introducing himself. Steph pulls Dami and Tim over and crouches down beside the two. 

Dick wanders over. He hears Steph introduce Dami- “Here’s Baby Blue! He’s a bit of a crybaby, but we love him.” -as she pulls him into her lap. Dick sits down next to her, still holding Lil’ D, and once they’re situated, he tugs Tim close to him. 

He listens to the boys chitter and chatter with Alfred. Robin sits stock still, even when Jason worms his way between him and Alfred. Then, Dick remembers Bruce, who he’d left at the door with both of Damian’s pets. 

He’s still standing there, looking out at all of his boys with a little smile on his face. When his eyes meet Dick’s, Dick gives him a wide, toothy smile. Dick moves Lil’ D around so that he’s sitting properly in Dick’s lap, with Dick’s arms around his waist. Once Dick’s able to raise his hand up, he waves Bruce over, trying not to upset Tim’s head, which is still resting on his shoulder. 

There’s a lull in the conversation. Dick takes it.

“That’s not the only surprise we’ve got,” he says, giving Lil’ D a squeeze. 

Absolutely nothing prepares him for the way Lil’ D’s entire face lights up like a Christmas tree, once he sees Titus burst into the room. Titus dashes across the way and slams into Lil’ D and Dick- and Tim, by extension- like a steam roller. The dog enthusiastically licks every part of Lil’ D’s face as he can, since Dick does his best to keep himself out of the way. Lil’ D continues to squeal, wrapping his arms around Titus’ neck and pulling the Great Dane into a big hug. 

With much more grace, Alfred the cat stalks into the room, finding his way to Dami, affectionately rubbing his body against Dami’s legs. Silently, Dami marvels him, before gently pulling him into his own lap, so that Steph and he can pet him. 

Even Tim reaches over at one point, to stroke Alfred’s back and to ruffle Titus’ fur, subtly telling them, Welcome home. Jason smiles at the lot of them, nudging Robin as Bruce wanders over. Bruce places himself between the two of them, whispering to Robin, “Do you want to pet them?” 

Robin says the world’s smallest, tiniest, yes. There’s no sir attached, though, so Dick hazards a smile. Without a word, Lil’ D releases his hold on Titus and crawls over Tim, who’s still laying down against Dick, so that he can run a hand over Alfred the cat. 

Once there’s no more Lil’ D all over Dick’s body, he sits up so he can look on at Robin, who carefully drags a hand over Titus’ back. Jason’s holding onto the dog’s collar to keep him from knocking into Robin. 

Titus gives a happy little bark when Bruce directs Robin to scratch behind his ears. Bruce gives a happy little smile when Robin does, and it only grows bigger when Jason lets go of Titus’ collar, letting the dog barrel straight into Robin, forcing him back. Robin shouts, trying to gather Titus into his arms as if that’ll help him, and calls Akhi?, when Jason barks out a laugh. 

Dick leans over to Alfred amiss the ‘chaos’, and says, “There’s one more person to meet. Now or later?” 

“Might as well be now,” Alfred says, with a smile. “We’ve got supper to prepare soon, and I’m sure we’ll have a handful of little helpers.” 

It’s been so long since Wayne Manor’s kitchens have seen any ‘little helpers’. Jason had been the last one, and had been one of the only ones to actually pick up any skills. Neither Tim or Damian had ever seemed that interested in helping out- or, rather, Tim had been a bit too busy to ever take a break. 

Bruce and Jason turn Robin’s attention to Alfred the cat- the poor thing- letting Dick beckon Titus after him. He, Alfred, and the dog take to the stairs, treading carefully as Dick explains everything about Red- from what he gathered about his stay with Bruce, to his tendency to poke and prod and tear.  

Call him Damian, he says. We need to be patient with him. He’s still just a little kid. He’s hurting. Being angry is all that he can be. 

“To be frank, I’m amazed that he and Master Timothy can be in the same house,” Alfred jokes, once they near the door to his room. 

Dick cracks a grin. “Actually, I don't think that Damian’s done anything to Timmy. Not yet, anyway. I’m not sure if this whole ‘You don’t even exist to me’ act is better than the whole ‘I’m going to kill you’ one, but at least Tim and Dami’s relationship is doing way better.” 

They stop in front of Damian’s door. Alfred sets his hand on Dick’s shoulder and says, “I’m proud of what you’ve done, Master Dick. It couldn’t have been easy.”

“It wasn’t- though it makes the first time seem worlds better.” Dick half-laughs. He pulls Alfred in for a quick hug. “Thank you, Alfie. That means a lot coming from you.” 

Instead of answering, Alfred gestures for Dick to go ahead and knock on the door. Dick does, softly calling out, “Dames? We’ve got a little surprise for you.” 

He’s not surprised to hear Damian’s short and curt fuck you as a response.

Dick knocks again. “Please?” 

The door swings open. Damian’s red hot and angry, fists tight and face screwed up. “Why the hell don’t any of you listen? No one wants you around! That no one includes me, you circus rat-”  

“Plenty of people want me around,” Dick says. “But, I’m serious. We have a surprise for you.” 

“Does it look like I give a shit?”  

Alfred crouches down again, tugging Titus forward. Happily, the dog’s tongue lolls out of his mouth. “Now, now, young man,” Alfred chides, gently. “I’m sure you’ve been missing Titus, haven’t you? He was out on a bit of a vacation.” 

The expected response is: Why in the hell would I miss some flea ridden mutt? The expected response is: A scoff. Folded arms. Really? You think I give a shit about a dog of all things? The expected response is: A door slammed in their face. 

Instead, Damian looks at Titus. Titus looks back. Damian inches his hand out. Titus licks it. Damian reels back as if burned. Titus barks, tilts his head to the side. It’s like watching a baby meet a dog for the first time. It’s like Damian is meeting Titus for the first time, even if the kid clearly remembers him. 

Damian opens up his arms. Dick lets go of Titus and lets him run forward, watching as the dog tackles Damian to the ground like he’d done to the other boys. There’s no smile on Damian’s face, but the look of this is it, this is it, this is it- that kind of peaceful, serene look when you finally reach a calm- almost floors Dick. 

“There we go,” Alfred says, softly. Damian looks up as if he’d forgotten they were there, his hands stilling as they shake and soothe Titus’ fur. “It’s delightful to see you again, Master Damian.” 

“I suppose so,” Damian returns, curtly. He looks like he’s going to burst like a bomb if anyone says another word.

At least the whole dog thing worked- it’s a breakthrough that makes him feel a bit giddy inside. Small victories, he thinks, smaller steps. It’s kind of weird that he hasn’t snapped back against Alfred, at all. It can’t only be because Alfred called him young man instead of kiddo, or because Alfred’s now going to be associated with the one who brought the dog. There’s got to be something else there. Maybe Damian- whole Damian- had always felt more comfortable with Alfred? 

More comfortable with Alfred than Dick-? 

Dick shakes his head and takes a step back from that thought. He’s not going back down that road. If this is what Damian needs, then this is what Damian needs. Dick’s not going to work himself up over a fact that might not even be true. Besides, it could be a multitude of different things. Like, maybe Damian just doesn’t feel the need to protect himself around Alfred.

Alfred can’t shatter him like someone else could. Is that it? 

“We should leave the two of you to it, hm?” Alfred says, realizing that they’re lucky that this went so peacefully. He pushes himself up and wipes the dust off of his knees. “I’ll come call you down for supper once it’s ready, Master Damian. Perhaps you can take Titus out on a walk around the manor’s grounds- he’s been cooped up for far too long.” 

Damian says nothing. Alfred places his hand on Dick’s back and forces him to walk away. 

Damian’s door shuts. It doesn’t even slam. 

“Should we let him have free rein around the manor?” Dick asks, worried. “Something could happen.” 

Alfred gives a curt nod. “Many things could happen, Master Dick, but you think too much about what might happen, compared to what will. He’ll simply walk about the gardens with his dog like he had before.” 

Dick doesn’t know what ‘like he had before’ means. Bruce was the one who got Damian Titus, while Dick was still separating himself from his little brother. 

“He’ll be alright, Richard,” Alfred utters. 

They walk down the stairs and they don’t turn back.

Chapter Text

They leave Damian with Titus, and for the rest of that night, Alfred becomes re-acquainted with the boys. Dinner is something of a disaster- not even because of Red, since he doesn’t come down to join them and Alfred’s left to deliver his food to him. No, it’s not even really the ‘eating dinner’ aspect of it at all. It’s the fact that they thought it’d be a good idea to let all three of the boys help out with dinner at the same time, with only Jason and Alfred as supervision. 

Dick will never know the full story on what happened in the kitchen. All he’ll ever get to know is how fast he’d booked it out of his chair when he’d heard Dami’s scream. When he’d raced to the kitchen- only stopping to help Tim up, once he’d knocked him out of his seat, because his legs had been on Dick’s lap- it’d been to the sight of a smiling Dami and a red-faced Lil’ D. 

He found Jason sprawled out behind the counter, foot hiked up on it’s edge, as Robin sat on his chest. The kid was poking at Jason’s cheeks, his wide, green eyes looking far more panicked than he had any right to be. Alfred, as it's turned out, had been in the pantry at the time of the incident. The pot of pasta they’d been making was turned over onto its side, dripping half-cooked noodles onto the ground. The sauce- miraculously unharmed- was still simmering.

Once they’d gotten Jason up and walking, Dick’s little brother had picked up Robin and set him against his hip. Then he’d picked up Lil’ D with his other arm, holding him beneath his armpit as if he was a sack of flour. With his arms full of two little boys, he’d beckoned for Dami to follow him. 

Dick hadn’t seen them until dinner.

Now it’s past dinner, and Robin’s handing close to Jason’s side as if he’ll disappear any moment now. Never in a million years did Dick ever think he’d see his little and littlest brothers cuddle with each other- (Tim was, obviously, the littler brother, since he’s Dick’s middle little brother). Now, as he looks at them curled up with each other, it feels normal. Even Tim and Dami, sitting side by side on the floor as Steph deals out a hand for goldfish. That’s normal now. 

Dick’s sitting on the couch, Lil’ D wedged between him and Bruce, watching Alfred shift through the newspaper. Alfred the cat is perched on Dick’s lap, contently purring as Lil’ D runs his hands over his fur. 

All is quiet.

Naturally, it’s not meant to last.  Bruce’s phone rings at the same time his specialized Bat-watch- (there should be a ™ there, Dick thinks)- flashes to life. For the most part, the boys have stuck the city with Kate, and Tim, up until he rejoined their ragtag party of babysitters. That’s why Dick can’t help but feel a little ticked off when Bruce stands up. He immediately feels guilty for it. Batman doesn’t get days off. 

Silently, he mouths, Do you need help?  

Bruce shakes his head and mouths back, It’s not a Gotham emergency. I’m not going out.  

True to his word, he doesn’t go out. He does step out of the room for a moment to take a call, giving Dami ample time to crawl over to Dick and to tug on his pant leg. Dick’s finally changed out of Kori’s clothes, so he doesn’t feel embarrassed. 

“What’s up, kiddo?” he asks. 

Everyone politely turns their attention away from Dami when the kid awkwardly wiggles in his spot. Jason and Robin strike up a (very one-sided) conversation about Shakespere or something. Steph and Tim invite Lil’ D to take Dami’s place in their game, and as Lil’ D slides down to join, he takes Alfred the cat with him. 

“I want to talk with Father,” Dami finally says, once everyone seems occupied. “But- I- I’d like it if you were there.” His face goes pink, before he quickly tacks on, “If that’s alright, of course!” 

A smile blossoms on Dick’s face, though it’s mostly for show. He’s happy that Dami wants to talk with Bruce, and at least with Dick there, he can try and steer Bruce in the right direction. Still. That doesn’t really mean that he wants to hear Bruce’s emotionally-unavailable attempt to comfort his son. It could backfire, and make everything worse. 

“‘Course, Dami! It’s perfectly fine!” He takes his little brother’s hands in his. Very seriously, he says, “I’m really proud of you for wanting to do this.” 

Dami almost physically sags in relief, like he’d been expecting Dick to say no. “Would it be alright if we did it tonight?” he asks, looking up at Dick with his big, big eyes. They’re starting to water up. Dick feels his heart threaten to break. “Every time I feel ready to talk to him, it feels like something else happens.”

Immediately, Dick assumes this statement is partially his fault, and quickly stands up. He scoops Dami up into his arms and heads off into the hall, promising him that as soon as Bruce finishes his call, they’ll talk. As they go, Dick silently cheers to himself. The boys are changing rapidly, but Dami’s still the same old kid that he was when Dick first saw him. He promptly feels horrible for that thought, too, of course. It’s a good thing that the boys are flourishing and growing. And, besides. He doesn’t want Dami to be sad forever.  

But, the normalcy is welcomed. Dick hasn’t had much of that lately, no matter how much Red reminds him of the original Damian.

They nearly crash into Bruce when they turn the corner, and Bruce reaches out to stabilize the two by setting a hand on Dick’s shoulder, before he gives them his Bruce-equivalent of a smile. “I was about to go get you,” he says.

Dick hikes Dami up a little more on his hip. Speaking of changing and growing- the boys are starting to get a little taller and heavier. Well, not taller. They’re gaining more muscle weight, or something. It’s getting to be a bit of a workout to carry them around all the time. 

He has to remind himself that the boys are almost eleven- only a few more months to go! Then he has to remind himself that the doctors had all told him that Damian’s not supposed to grow all that tall, unless his ‘stressors’ disappear. Since they’re not planning a lifestyle change- and since life isn’t being any kinder to them- they’ll all stay small for a while yet. At least this pseudo-vacation is helping with the stress. To an extent. 

The boys will be just like Jason was meant to be, pre-pit and pre-Joker. (God, Dick prays that nothing comes along like that that will impede the boys’ lives. Please don’t let them get hurt, once they- or, rather, one solid Damian- goes back into the field.) 

“Well, here we are,” Dick grins. “What d’ya need?” 

“That was Zatanna on the phone,” Bruce explains. “She said to call her back once I got you, since you’re the one whose been around the- the, uh, Damians?- for most of the time.” 

He has the gall to look sheepish, even as Dick mutters, the boys, not the Damians, B, under his breath. “Is it time sensitive?” he asks. 

Bruce makes a see-saw motion in the air. 

“I’ll take that as a, yes, Dick, I do have time for my two most favorite sons.” He ignores Bruce’s reply of, I don’t have favorites, because he totally does. “Dami needs to talk to you before we call her back- and as much as I’d like to know what she has to say, the boys always come first.” 

Bruce’s face scrunches up, in a much less adorable image of Lil’ D’s own pout. Something in Dick’s expression must spur him into action, though, because he nods. “I suppose I’m all yours for the next few hours, then. Should we talk in my office, or the upstairs lounge?” 

“The lounge,” Dick quickly chooses. Definitely the lounge.

With a sharp lead the way gesture from Bruce, Dick hoists Dami up on his hip again and beelines for the stairs. Bruce lags behind a little as he shoots off a text to- probably- Zatanna, using voice-to-text for some god-awful reason. “Old people,” he grins, just to get Dami to smile. It doesn’t really work. The kid’s too caught up in his own head for the joke to sweep him up. 

The little screech Dami lets out when Dick drops him onto the sofa only further cements the fact. Dick wishes he knew what to say- wishes he knew how to pull Dami out of his thoughts. It’s good to see him so focused on something, but he wishes that it’d come without the stress and the worry. (He wishes for a lot of things, involving Dami and the other boys. So many things, that it clutters his head and weighs him down some days.)

He does what he can by settling down beside Dami, pulling his body close. Bruce takes a seat across from them on the other couch, leaning forward with his hands folded and forearms braced over his knees. “What did you want to talk about?” he asks. 

Dami- brave little Dami- looks up and takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” he says, chopped and quiet and almost afraid. “I know that I haven’t been- That I-” 

Dick swipes his thumb over Dami’s shoulder, quietly urging him on. 

“I know I haven’t been the easiest child to take care of and to raise. Ever since the very moment Mother dropped me off at your feet, all I’ve ever done for you is cause trouble. From stealing the batmobile-” -Dick barely suppresses his surprised chuckle- “-and nearly killing Ti-Drake-” The kid looks off to the side, cheeks red and brows furrowed. “I want to be better. To be like D.” To be like Pinkie. “But I’m not. I’m all of the worst parts of myself- Red and Blue. Angry and self-absorbed and haughty-”  

Bruce shifts, but doesn’t say a word. His eyes are intensely trained on Dami, though the rest of his body only radiates discomfort. 

“I want to apologize for not being what you need me to be. For not being the little boy you want me to be- for not being nice enough and for only destroying. That’s what I want to do.” 

“Dami,” Dick says, so very soft. It really hurts to hear. 

But then- then- 

Dami stands up, and his body is tense in all the wrong places. His fists are curled up by his sides, his eyes are narrowed in on Bruce like he’s the only one in the room. “And I want you to do the same,” he says, he orders. “I want you to apologize for not being what I need you to be. I will never ask you to be what I want you to be. Never. But I, at the very least, need you to be there for me, Father.” 

“Damian,” starts Bruce. “I-” 

“You lock me in my room,” continues Dami, and while his tone is still chopped, it is in no way small and afraid. “You push me to the side, over and over and over. You neglect to see all of my progress, you always choose the mission over me! I know that this isn’t how you act, Father! I know that the real you would choose his family over the mission every time, and I know that I’ve thrown a blasted wrench into whatever plans you had- I’m not what you needed in your life, but I am what you’ve got, and I just want you to-” 

His voice raises, creeping louder and louder, until it booms around the room. “I need you to be my father! I need you to stop running from me, and I need you to treat me more like I’m your son, not just some flippant mistake that you can’t seem to fix!” 

“I do see you as my son!” Bruce cries, right back. “I have always seen you as my son, Damian-” 

“It’s Dami, now!” 

Bruce pauses, stunned. Dick’s reeling, too, as if Dami’s shout had sent him tumbling to the floor. He’d been expecting tears, not- Not anger. Not this.  

“I can’t be Damian anymore!” Dami continues, and Dick wishes that the kid’s back wasn’t too him, because whatever emotions that are spread over his face must be heartbreaking to see and because Dick needs to be there to wipe them away. “I’m Dami. Blue. The crybaby! But you’re expecting me to be Damian- the full one that you know. Maybe that’s what you need me to be. But I can’t be him. I physically cannot, because I have changed.  

“That Damian would’ve let you walk all over him because he worshipped you. Ever since we came to live with you-” -we, now, not I, Dick notes- “-he had thought you as the man from Mother’s stories. We know that’s not who you are, not anymore. And now that we know that- I- I think it’s about time we start realizing that we deserve better. We deserve better than a man who’d rather run away- and shove his own children into the arms of someone else, over and over- because the mission is more important.” 

Dami heaves, shoulders shaking. A tear drips down the side of his face, slowly tracking it’s way down until it spirals off of his cheek and onto the floor. “I love Richard- we all do. But he is supposed to be my brother. He is not supposed to be more of a dad than my own father!”  

With Dami’s proclamation, Dick’s heart threatens to burst. He gathers that Dami needs a moment to compose himself, so he stands and sweeps the kid back up into his arms, holding him close. 

“It’s okay, kiddo,” he says, rubbing at Dami’s back. “You’re okay.” 

It’s like Dami doesn’t even hear him. Now that Dick’s back is to Bruce, and Dami’s facing right at him, the kid says, “I’m sorry,” in the most bitter voice that Dick thinks he’s ever heard him use. “I’m sorry I’m not Damian- even though you never seemed to want him either. I’m sorry that I’m not D, either- That I’m not better like you want me to be. But- I think you should be sorry, too. I think you should be really, really sorry.” 

Dick gets the feeling that he’s supposed to walk them out of the room. 

He does.

Chapter Text

After returning Dami to the others and playing a round of BS with everyone- (it was extremely hard, he’ll tell you that much)- Dick makes his way back up the stairs to head to Bruce’s study. There he finds Bruce, sitting at his desk with his head in his hands. He’d relocated from the lounge to hear, just like Dick had thought. 

“How do I fix this?” he asks, as Dick finds himself a seat. 

“You apologize,” Dick tells him, trying to push down his conflicting feelings. He’s already let his emotions rule over his mind lately, and now more than ever he needs to keep a clear head. Oddly enough, he feels like he’s the parent in this situation, calmly telling a toddler why they should share. “You go up to the boys and you tell them that you’ll love them no matter who they are.” 

Bruce seems to slump further in on himself. “Is it wrong to want him back?” 

Dick allows himself a moment to really think about his answer. On one hand, he’s furious at Bruce for even asking that question- for assuming Dick would know the right thing to say, for not being the strong one, for not loving those four boys downstairs. On the other, he understands where Bruce is coming from. Dick wants his little brother back. He wants his Damian- the one with the sparkling green eyes and tiny, genuine smile. The one who speaks like a Shakespeare play, who loves with his entire heart and tries to hide it. Bruce is lost, adrift on the sea, and he’s only looking for help. 

The thing is, Dick’s in the same boat.

I don’t think I’m qualified to answer that question, Dick wants to say. I don’t think I’m the right person for you to be asking.  

Because, yes, Dick wants Damian back. But he knows it’s going to hurt to give up Dami, Lil’ D, and Robin. It’s going to feel like a punch in the gut when he wakes up one of these days, to one ten year old boy and one complicated Robin. The four boys are growing and changing. Dami isn’t teary and self-conscious all the time- he gets mad and he’s happy. Lil’ D gets upset and mad, too, and Robin’s becoming more independent by the day. It feels wrong to compare them to Damian. 

“No,” Dick says. “It’s not wrong to want Damian back. What is wrong is looking at the boys and wishing that this had never happened. What’s wrong is you wishing they’d just go back to being Damian, because they aren’t him, Bruce. They’re pieces of him, pieces that are becoming their own selves. They have their own independent thoughts and memories and emotions. They’re different people, now.” 

“I know,” says Bruce, quietly. “I know.”

“Then why do you do it?” 

Bruce falls silent. He doesn’t reply to Dick’s question, and Dick doesn’t feel like pushing him. “You’re a grown man, Bruce,” is all he says. “You’re better than this.” 

The sad thing is, he really is. Dick knows it. Bruce, and Alfred of course, raised him. Then raised Jason, helped to raise Tim. Dick knows that Bruce can set aside the mission, can look past what he’d had once upon a time for what he has now. You’re better than this, Dick says, because Bruce used to be the father Dick always knew he could be. So, what happened? At what point did Bruce begin to slip? When did Bruce push his children away and onto someone else, when did he start clinging to the past, when did he become this man Dick sees before him? 

Dick feels something churn deep down in his chest. He peers at Bruce, eyes dancing from his left eye to his right, trying to find something buried beneath his irises. When Dick was young and he thought of Bruce’s eyes, he always thought of a brilliant, sunny, cloudless sky. Now Bruce’s eyes look dark blue, like Gotham Harbor. 

You’re losing yourself, he thinks. You’re becoming more like the Bat than the man. How do I reel you back in?

There are laugh lines crossing over Bruce’s face. Creases born of late nights, worrying over Robins who’ve fallen out of the nest. If Dick looked closer, he’d probably see the beginning wisps of greying hair dancing above his brows. Bruce is aging. It’s no secret. He’s aging, but he’s established a life for himself in these halls, so why does he keep pushing it away? 

Do you think you don’t deserve it? Do you think it’s easier to shove everyone away before they can hurt you? Or leave you? You didn’t do that before.

Maybe he did. 

Maybe it’s been too long since Dick came home to see Bruce- Dick doesn’t know him anymore. He doesn’t know why he hurts, both others and himself. He doesn’t know, because Dick pushed Bruce away, too. Dick came home for Tim. Dick came home for Alfred, and for Damian, and he eventually came home for Jason, too. But, ever since that day that Dick walked out those manor doors to become his own man, Dick had never returned for Bruce’s sake. 

That’s on him. 

So, what. Does Dick apologize? Does he tell Bruce, ‘I’m sorry for not saving you like you saved me.’? Does he blame it all on himself, because if he’d just stayed or if he’d just come home, he could have prevented this?

God- what does Dick do?

Well, for one, he sets the conversation aside. He can deal with this later, when he’s had time to think it all over.

“We should call Zatanna back,” Dick finally says. “Figure out if this is temporary or reversible.” 

With a nod, Bruce reaches for his phone. Dick scoots his chair closer to Bruce’s desk, watching as he painstakingly maneuvers to his phone app and begins typing out Zatanna’s number. If Dick didn’t know any better, he’d say that Bruce is only doing it to get a rise out of him, especially after living through years of watching Bruce deal with Batman and WE tech. 

Eventually, the phone begins ringing. Bruce sets it between them and Dick turns it on speaker, folding his legs up beneath him as they wait for her to pick up.

“Hello?” she asks, after the fourth ring. “Batman?”

“Zatanna,” Bruce greets. His tone, which had previously sounded destroyed and unsure, has gained it’s normal Batman quality. He’s all work, no play. Serious and steady. Batman doesn’t waver, not like Bruce does. “I have Dick here with me now.” 

Zatanna’s own tone loosens when Bruce opts to use Dick’s real name over his code name. “Hey, D. How have you been?”  

“Just fine,” says Dick. “How about you, Z?” 

She makes a loud ‘ugh’ sound, which Dick takes note of. He’ll ask her about whatever she’s been up to later, after they get business out of the way and Bruce isn’t listening in on the call. Bruce and Zatanna are close, sure, but Dick and Zatanna are close-knit, too. “Don’t get me started. Constantine this, Constantine that. I’m over it- I heard you ran into some magic trouble, though.”  

“Kind of. Bruce and Damian were out a while back on patrol and Dames got hit with a spell. It split him up into four versions of himself- like clones, but emotion based. Lately they’ve been diverging from their ‘emotion’, I guess? Like Dami- he’s, like, worried personified- got all mad and stuff, earlier.” 

“How long has Damian been split up?”  

Well- Dick doesn’t actually know the answer to that one. Long enough for both him and the boys to run away at least once each. “Definitely over a week. Half a month?” 

“You don’t know?”  

“Nope.” 

“Of course not. You know, instead of waiting for me, you could’ve just called Raven- I think she had some experience with this whole ‘emoticlone’ thing. Though, I distinctly remember her talking about crystals. Do you have any crystals?”  

“No?” Dick replies, confused. He racks his brain, trying to remember a point in time where Raven had been split up into different emotions, and comes up empty. “You talk to Raven?” 

“Maybe,” Zatanna laughs, cryptically. “No crystals- Let me look through one of my books.”  

Patiently, Dick allows her some time to grab whatever she needs. When he hears her shift the phone, then hears the tell-tale flipping of pages, he changes the way he’s sitting. Rather than being criss-cross-apple-sauce, he pulls his knees to his chest and settles his chin between them. He hazards a glance at Bruce, who’s settled back to allow Dick to work his magic. There’s something almost fond glimmering in his eyes when Dick catches them. 

Why is it here, now? Why isn’t it there when he’s talking with one of the boys?

“Well, D, you’re in luck. I’ve got a book with a ‘Shard’ spell that outlines what you described. There’s a tiny paragraph on ‘shards’- which are the different versions of Damian- becoming more self-aware and deviating from their assigned emotion or personality. There’s variations of the spell, of course. Do you think you could describe the four ‘shards’ for me?”

“Well, there’s Dami. I already told you about him. Then there’s Lil’ D, who’s Dames’ innocence, I think. Or his happiness, but he seems to act less like Damian and more like a normal ten year old. He’s very smart, though, and mature. He’s the best kid I could’ve ever asked for, honestly. He knows when enough is enough and when- er.” If Dick were just a little more self-conscious, he’d fight back the blush burning at his cheeks. “Sorry. The next one is Robin, who’s like, Lil’ D’s counterpart, kind of? You know about how Talia raised him, right?” 

“Yeah. Not all of it, but I know that any kid who was brought up in the League couldn’t have left without some sort of trauma and training.”  

“Yeah, basically. Robin’s the-” -and he says it, this time, like it’s poisonous and rotten- “-perfect little soldier. At first, he didn’t do anything for himself. He only responded to you with yessir and stuff. It really hurt to see- and then he started breaking out from his conditioning. He’s doing things on his own, thinking for himself. It’s slow-going, but. I’m really proud of him.” 

Dick falls silent without meaning to. It’s a few moments before Zatanna quietly says, “You really love these kids, don’t you, Dick?”  

Horribly aware of Bruce’s presence, Dick says, “Yeah. Yeah, I do. They’re- They’re my kids.”  

“It’s really good they have someone in their life like you,” says Zatanna.

It takes all of Dick’s will power to turn his gaze upwards. The look on Bruce’s face is one Dick wishes he’d never have to see- He looks crushed. Destroyed. This is where I failed, his tense shoulders read. This is where I wasn’t enough. This is where I came up short.

“There’s one more, isn’t there?”  

“Yeah.” Dick diverts his eyes, looking down to the phone and then to his hands. “Uh, Red. He’s just afraid of getting hurt, so he lashes out at everyone. It’s not like he wants to be angry at everything.” 

“You’ll get him out of the habit,” she tells him. “I believe in you.” 

Dick can’t make himself reply. 

“I think that they’re less based on emotions than you’re thinking. They’re personalities- more apt to deviate and be someone else. Good news is, I can reverse this. I can be up at the manor by tomorrow. How’s that sound?”  

Part of Dick wants to tell her not to. Part of him wants to draw his boys close and watch them flourish- become their own people, find their own names and likes and lives. That part of him doesn’t get the chance to act. 

Bruce reaches for the phone. “That’s fine. Thank you, Zatanna.” 

And then he hangs up, and then the silence hangs there like an ever present weight that Dick’s never going to break free from.

Immediately, Dick stands up. “I’m not going to apologize,” he says, quickly. “I’m- you know what Dami said. About how I act more like his dad than you. Maybe it’s true both ways. That doesn’t mean that you can’t- that doesn’t mean you can’t still be his dad. You just have to try. I need you to try. You’re the adult here, Bruce. You’re the one who needs to fix this.” 

Then, just like he’d done when he was holding Dami against his hip, Dick spins on his heel and he walks straight out the door. His feet start moving, his brain stops working, and before he knows it, Dick finds himself peering at the door to Damian’s bedroom.

Normal Damian’s bedroom, now taken over by Red Damian. 

If he knocks, will Damian scream at him? Will Dick ruin what little peace they’ve made between each other? Titus is in there with Damian- he seems calmer around Titus, and around Alfred. Does that mean Dick probably won’t get torn apart for daring to check in? 

At this point, whatever Dick does, he’s going to feel wrong. If he turns around and leaves, he’ll feel horrible for leaving Damian up here in his room, all alone. He’d felt like that all the time, when whole-Damian had first come to live with them. Whole-Damian kept to himself and hid in his room, and each time Dick stepped past his door, something wrenched inside of his body. But, if Dick knocks, he could destroy Damian’s sliver of peace. 

You’ll get him out of the habit, Zatanna had said. I believe in you.  

Dick’s tired of soothing people. He’s tired of knowing the right answers- of having to know them, of people thinking he knows them in the first place. All he wants to do right now is peacefully coexist with someone. 

He wants to peacefully coexist with his little brother, without having to talk or know or try.  

Dick doesn’t stop himself from knocking on the door, and when Damian throws it open- his hair is ruffled, his eyes are tired, and Titus stands faithfully by his side- Dick says, “Can I sit with you? We don’t have to talk- I just- I just want to sit.” 

Damian steps away from the door, warily watching Dick’s every move, and motions for him to come in.

It’s all Dick can do not to fall apart in relief.

Chapter Text

True to Dick’s word, he doesn’t try and urge Damian to talk. Instead, he lets his little brother flock to the bed where he’d discarded his sketchbook. Titus is curled up on the sheets, eyes half-lidded as though Dick’s entrance has interrupted his nap.

Dick instinctively reaches out and scratches the space behind Titus’ ears. He pulls away quickly just in case it seems as though he’s encroaching a little too much on Damian’s space and takes up a space on the floor instead. He leans back against the bed and rests his head on the comforter.

This is how they spend the next few hours, up until Dick drifts off. The room is filled with the constant scratch of Damian’s pencils- the sound almost surprises and startles him when he realizes Damian has yet to stop in his presence. He would’ve thought he would have set it aside just because of how personal it seems to be to him. 

That’s what it was like for Damian, all that time ago. Every time Dick entered the room, Damian would hurriedly clap the cover of his sketchbook closed. It was less because Damian was embarrassed of his abilities- no, he was proud of how well he could draw- and more because he felt it was extremely personal and a waste of precious skill. 

Would Damian- angry, insecure, red-eyed Damian- think the same? Did he draw the same things? 

Dick slips his eyes shut and tried not to think too much about it. He’s tired of thinking. 

When he wakes back up again, it’s to Titus’ tongue sweeping over his face. He groans and tries to push him away, one hand coming up to wipe away all of the slobber. “Titus-” 

“I believe,” says a voice from the doorway, “that he’s trying to tell you something, Master Richard.” 

Alfred, matter-of-fact as always, steps into the room, hand dropping from the doorknob. Damian closes his sketchbook and set it aside, swinging himself from the bed onto light feet. Titus takes after him and, together, the two slip out the door without a word. It hardly occurs to Dick to say something about the hunch of his shoulders or the way he stuffs his hands into his pockets, but as quickly as the thought had come, Damian is gone. 

“What time is it?” Dick asks, staring hard at the doorway.

Alfred raises a brow. “Eight a.m.” 

“Wh-?” In a panic, Dick scrambles to his feet, slapping a hand down onto the side of Damian’s bed for leverage. He nearly ends up falling right back down onto his ass, movements distracted and clumsy. “Wait, wait - a.m.? As in, tomorrow, a.m.?” 

“As in today a.m., I believe.” At least he can always count on Alfred’s dry humor, even if all else changes. “Zatanna has arrived. Bruce expects you in the Cave in roughly” - he peaks at his wrist, where a silver Rolex sits: a gift from Bruce prior to his foray into the time stream - “ah, thirty minutes.”

The panic in his chest only grows. Dick knows he’s just standing there by Damian’s empty bed looking like a complete idiot, but he can’t help it. He hadn’t expected to sleep through the entire night, especially not on the floor of his little brother’s room - the crick in his neck and ache in his back forces themselves into awareness, forcing a frown onto his face. God. Somehow, he’d managed to pass the entire night by; the last night, he realizes, that he might have been able to spend with his brothers. 

A ringing makes itself known in his ears. Floundering for purchase, literally and mentally, Dick stumbles back. His calves hit the back of Damian’s mattress and he falls onto it heavily. To his side, Alfred calls out his name. 

Get yourself together, Dick tells himself. Take a shower. Go meet Bruce and the boys. 

“I can’t do this.” The words throw themselves out of Dick’s mouth without his permission. The force of it wracks his shoulders and he gasps, putting his head in his hands. “Alfred, what the hell am I supposed to do?” 

A weight appears on his shoulder. Dick doesn’t look up. “I’m afraid it isn’t your call to make, Master Richard,” Alfred replies, softly. “It isn’t yours, nor is it mine - and, most of all, it isn’t Master Bruce’s decision either.” 

Finally, Dick looks up. Alfred is crouching before him, now, hand still in place on Dick’s shoulder. There’s a worried expression on his face as Alfred’s eyes dart over him as though scanning for injuries. There’s none, of course, but Dick long ago learned that that’s just Alfred: the crease of his brows, the curve of his lips as he presses them thin. 

“What does that mean?” Dick asks, pleadingly. 

He remembers, faintly, being fresh at the mansion; just a child, hardly any older than Damian, searching Alfred’s face for something in the shape of an answer. Bruce had been terrified, at that point, of doing something wrong when it came to raising a child and Alfred was often left to pick up the pieces - not that Bruce didn’t have his fair share of comforting Dick in the aftermath of any breakdowns. 

It’s odd to think about the fact that Dick had once been small once. That he’d once sought out Alfred and Bruce for any and all comfort he could find as his first instinct. Now, it comes as a later thought; adulthood has stripped Dick of many things and his unconditional trust in those who love him is one of the things he regrets losing the most. 

“The boys will decide what’s best for them,” says Alfred, easily. He squeezes Dick’s shoulder, and then lets go. Pushing his hands against his knees, Alfred stands, and then smooths out the creases in his pants. “I know it’s a difficult thought to face, leaving the decision up to them, but I’ve told Bruce the same I’ll tell you. It’s their choice, Master Richard. And no matter the choice-” 

“It’ll be the right one.” His next sigh releases all of the built up tension in his body, but he can’t find it in himself to stand up as Alfred had. “Was it ever hard for Bruce? To let all of us choose for ourselves?” 

A beat of silence; then, Alfred takes a seat beside Dick, the bed creasing beneath his weight. This time, when he reaches out, his hand settles on Dick’s knee. “You know your father. He finds it hard to let others make decisions - no matter how he tries to let you all do as you’d like, he’ll always worry after you.” 

His voice lowers and he looks down to his upturned hands. Something inside Dick aches, both at the loss of contact and for the despair in Alfred’s voice.

“I find myself thinking the same some days,” Alfred confides. “No matter what choices you all make, I worry it’s the wrong choice. I worry that I could have made the right one, in cases the choice backfires. I worry I could have spared you a little grief. Bruce thought the same for the longest time about you. Letting you run around as Robin, a choice you made on your own, was the hardest thing for him.” 

Dick breathes in. Breathes out, and says, “He let me do it anyway.” 

“We cannot make all of the hard choices for you boys. I’ve long since discovered that I need to let Bruce have autonomy; he’s found the same thing out, though through harder trials than I’ve faced myself. Sometimes he forgets. Sometimes it’s easier to make all of the choices yourself, so that when something does go wrong, you have someone to blame.” Alfred looks up, meeting Dick’s eyes. His stare is rock-hard and leaves no room for argument. “It leads to nothing but self-blame and self-hatred. Master Bruce knows this better than most.” 

“What if they choose to stay like this?” Dick’s voice is hardly more than a whisper. “What if there never is a Damian again? Bruce wouldn’t let that happen.” 

“If that’s what they choose, then he’ll have to respect that. If they choose otherwise, he’ll respect that, too. You’ll have to do the same, Master Richard. No matter the choice. No matter your reservations, your worries, your hopes, this is one of those choices you have to let go of.” 

Dick closes his eyes. He leans his head against Alfred’s shoulder and, ever so gently, Alfred wraps an arm around him. There’s a swarm of emotions running rampant through his body; it’s the most stressed he’s been since this entire thing happened, somehow. Shouldn’t he feel relieved that all of this might be over soon? Shouldn’t he feel relieved that Damian, the real one, is right around the corner? 

No. Thinking that way isn’t fair. Not to him, not to the boys. All of them are just as real as Damian had been, once - and that past Damian may never come back. Not if the boys choose to remain, and grow, and be. 

He knows why he doesn’t feel relieved, though. He loves each one of the boys without shame: from Dami’s watery smile to Lil’ D’s joyous clarity, from Robin’s slow progress to Red’s calming rage. They’re changing before Dick’s eyes - growing up, really. It’s so hard to see them all as one unit. The four of them being one, solid Damian is such a hard idea to wrap his head around, these days, after watching them all be so independent for so long. 

And yet. And yet. 

It isn’t his choice. He needs to be prepared for whatever the boys choose, and he needs to support that choice. Unconditionally.

“If I ever have to do this whole parenting thing again,” says Dick, “I hope I wind up just like you.” 

If Alfred’s cough comes out wet and if his eyes look a little glassy, then it’s a secret Dick will take to his grave. Alfred holds him a little tighter and Dick feels a little safer, a little smaller, than before. “I believe it’s already too late. You’re already much better than I was, back when I was raising Master Bruce, my boy.”

Dick laughs, watery in it’s own right. “Yeah, thanks to you.” 

Alfred just hums. The seconds tick on and the conversation falls away; they just sit there, sitting on the edge of a bed that belongs to a boy who hardly exists anymore. Downstairs, without a doubt, the boys are gathering, talking amongst themselves about a plan of action. Dick can imagine Bruce pacing the floor, wearing a track into the metal, pretending as though he knows exactly the right outcome. 

Bruce wants the old Damian back. 

It hurts, more than words can express, to know that Dick wants nothing more than the opposite. 

“I love you,” Dick says. “Thank you for being here.” 

Alfred says, “Always,” and the child inside of Dick’s chest - in the shape of a boy who hardly exists anymore; in the shape of a boy who’s changed and grown and still does, day by day - quiets. 

They sit there until eight thirty comes and goes. When ten-to-nine hits, Dick finally sits up straight. He lets his head fall, lets his shoulders relax, lets his back curl. A second passes and turns into ten more. 

Then, finally, he straightens out and smiles at Alfred. “I guess we’ll go see what option they chose, huh?”

Chapter Text

Out the door, through the hall. Down the stairs and to the foyer. Dick walks in a haze, static crawling up the back of his neck. He swallows hard against the feeling of his heart in his throat. Alfred, ever the saint, walks a step and a half behind him, allowing him to take the lead. 

For the first time in what feels like years, the manor has fallen quiet. It’s hard to tell if it’s a side effect of the events about to unfold, or the time of the day. Surely, though, if everyone else were still around, it wouldn’t be so silent. Dick closes his eyes, lets his feet guide him towards the old grandfather clock. He tries to imagine Jason and Tim solemnly sitting at the kitchen island, trying to give the boys and Bruce some space. It’s hard to think that Steph chose last night to go home; surely Bruce had gone to break the news to everyone as soon as Dick had vanished. 

A small part of him begs to drop the thread -- to think of anything else. The bigger part of him wonders how everyone took the news. 

How did the boys take it? 

Bruce wouldn’t have sugar coated anything. He would have walked into the room, so sure of himself, and would have commanded the attention of everyone inside. Dick pictures him standing in the doorway, entirely uncertain of how to breach the moment without shattering it whole. We’ve figured it out, he’d say. Zatanna’s on her way. Simple and to the point. 

Was it a relief to everyone else? Was this as terrible to them as it was for Dick? He can’t help but wonder if it was a relief to the boys, most of all. A solution, a way to go back -- was that what they all wanted? 

Dick knows, without a shadow of a doubt, what option he would have chosen if it were up to him. He doesn’t, however, know what option the boys would have chosen. There’s no telling how any of them took Bruce’s offering -- if it made Dami freeze in the middle of the room, if Lil’ D paused in the middle of his game. What did Robin think? How did Damian react, this morning, when he’d gone off to find everyone else? If Bruce broke the news to him, too, it can’t have gone well. 

He stops in front of the clock, hand poised mid-air in front of the glass. He could turn away. He could go back upstairs and sleep this all of, like some kind of bad nightmare. The boys will come and find him of their own accord at some point -- that, or Jason will get sick of his bullshit or Tim will come wandering around. 

“It’s all going to be different,” Dick murmurs, more to the clock than anyone else, “isn’t it?”

There’s only the sound of Alfred’s loafers stilling against the floor, a single foot away. “Only one way to find out, I suppose, Master Richard.” 

Dick reaches for the clock hands. His breath catches in his throat, locked in his lungs, as he starts descending down the stairs. Even the cave, expansive and dreary, is far too quiet for his liking. One step at a time becomes two, becomes a full on sprint until Dick finds himself stumbling down the final few steps into the base of the cave proper. His head is on a swivel, despite the fact he knows the layout of the lair far too well. 

Before him, a few meters away, is the sprawling batcomputer in all it’s glory. The tabletop has been recently cleared, and the chair is facing away from the plethora of screens. Someone recently stood up from it, evident from the fact that the screens are still lit up a dreary, transparent blue. To the left sits the entrance to the lockers and benches; further behind it sits the showers. To the right is the infirmary, blocked off by sprawling cabinets of extra antidotes, bandages, and medical equipment. 

Dick can only see the very tail end of Bruce’s cape, dragging against the floor. He’s there, talking in a low tone -- too quiet, too far to hear clearly. 

Taking another step forward feels almost too daunting a task. He’s walking toward what feels like his own execution site, willingly allowing Bruce to hold the executioner’s ax. His heart pounds like a jackrabbit caught in the maw of a fox. Whatever the boys have decided, Dick can’t let his expression show. No matter how much his chest pounds and aches and begs, it’s for the better. Whatever those boys decide is for the better. 

Yet -- hope swells in his chest, taking a step closer. The whisper grows louder; a little clamor, the sound of feet hitting a metal bar. There’s no certainty, here, but -- the boys have been growing separate, perhaps for too long already. Who’s to say that they want to go back to being one person? Who’s to say that they haven’t decided that staying separate was the best call? It has to be so much less isolating, to be their own selves, instead of one suffocating version of a lost, troubled boy. They’ve changed, evolved. They’ve made their own bonds with the family members that have come along to visit Dick. 

Do they all want to lose that? That independence and certainty, knowing that they’re so much more than a stifled unit?

No. 

Dick shakes his head out, tightens his fists. He glances behind him, more on reflex, and notices that Alfred is no where to be seen. Had he even followed Dick through the opened doorway earlier, or had he stilled at the top of the stairs? 

No matter what Dick was facing, Alfred and the rest of the family were also facing it. Four boys or one. Four boys.

God, Dick could only hope. When all of this was over, and Zatanna went home, Dick would tuck them all in -- regardless of how much Damian fussed over the attention. Dick would sit at the foot of Robin’s bed, ward away the bad dreams, and check in on Lil’ D and Dami before heading to his own room. In the morning, he’d figure out what the next step was. Enrolling them in school, possibly getting Tim’s help in forging official paper work for all four of them. 

They’ll want to stay. Something deep, deep within Dick’s chest squeezed tight, wrapping around his gut, and hoped so terribly hard. 

His next step draws Bruce’s attention. It’s a subtle shift, at first -- just the stir of the cape, slightly brushing against the floor, and then the full body turn as Bruce looks past the cabinets. He looks surprised, exhaustion etched into every line of his face. He probably hadn’t slept at all; the Batman suit speaks of a long night around the city, killing restless energy and time. Dick knows that Bruce is chasing away the very same terror Dick is currently trying to swallow, though in a completely different way. 

Bruce wants his one son back -- to erase the past few weeks completely from his mind, and to go back to his back-and-forth dance with the single Damian he was starting to know. Is it more selfish of him, of Dick, to want to take that dream away from him? 

“Bruce,” Dick says, coming closer. He’s only a few steps away from seeing the cot, seeing the boys. Bruce, at this point, has stepped fully in the way of Dick’s line of sight, making it impossible to see anything more than the fluorescent light above the bed. “Where’s Zatanna?” 

“Zatanna left,” Bruce says, deftly. The metal clanging has long since stopped -- it probably ceased somewhere around when Bruce noticed Dick was near. Was that Dami, nervously hitting his heel against the edge of the bed under Bruce’s watchful eye? “I wasn’t sure you were coming down.” 

Dick shrugs, nonchalantly, despite the way his blood turns to ice. He tries to read the answer on Bruce’s face and only finds a bone-deep, weary sense of loss. If Zatanna’s already gone, that means that the boys reached a conclusion -- and whatever conclusion that was, there’s something entirely unhappy about the way Bruce is reacting. Something didn’t go according to plan. Something, judging by the way Bruce’s jaw seizes when he stops speaking, went entirely wrong.

That flicker of hope, as tiny as a firefly in the air, ignites into a match-stick fire held against paper. Without thinking, Dick surges forward, pushing past Bruce’s larger frame. If Bruce is disappointed, if he’s displeased, that means-- 

Right when Dick finally gets a full look of the cot in front of him, Bruce grabs his forearm. There’s a sharp, cut-off, chum, but Dick’s not listening. 

On the cot sits Robin, barefoot and shirtless. He’s perched on the edge of the thin mattress, blanket discarded and drooping to the floor. Though he’s not looking directly at Dick -- or directly anywhere at all, really -- Dick can still see the tell-tale green of his eyes.

“Where’s everyone else?” Dick says, almost giddy. He tries to bite back the joy that threatens to split him in two -- this isn’t what Bruce wanted, but it’s exactly what Dick did. The boys are still separate, still his, still here. “Where’d Lil’ D and Dami get off to?” 

Robin doesn’t glance up, despite the question. Bruce stands, a solid wall of stone, hand still in a vice grip around Dick’s upper arm. 

“Dick--” 

“Would you let go? Really?” Dick shoves at Bruce’s fingers. His eagerness runs laps around his limbs and he feels almost faint. His own hands start tingling. “We can talk about this later. Where’d Damian go?” 

A quick, pregnant silence. Robin finally looks up. 

The expression on his face is only a single step away from furious, painted on like a thick swath of embarrassment. It’s only then that Dick notices Robin’s fingers have gone white around the edge of the cot from gripping on so tightly. His jaw is locked, a mirror image of Bruce’s own displeasure. Robin looks -- uncomfortable. Like a child who’s been wrongfully blamed for breaking a vase, who doesn’t know how to do anything other than take the punishment. 

Bruce says, “That is Damian.” 

Robin -- Damian -- doesn’t say anything at all.

Chapter Text

The weeks go slow, after Zatanna comes. 

She sends him a few messages here and there, asking him to check in -- she wonders if there’s been any side effects, if Damian’s seemed off in the past couple days. “These things are hard, sometimes,” she tells him over the phone, one early Sunday morning. “It’s an easy fix, but that’s the surface level. The body goes easily, the mind does not.” 

Dick knows. God, does Dick know. 

He still catches himself leaning into the living room, expecting to see Lil’ D and Dami playing around with Titus, or to find Robin somewhere in the library on days when Jason’s over. Their names sit on the tip of his tongue over dinner, and he always finds himself stumbling over what to call Damian now that there’s only the one. The nicknames often go sour in his mouth, drawing him to an awkward stop whenever he meets Damian’s eyes.

Damian avoids him, for the most part. Dick understands completely. He’d probably try to hide, if every time he made eye contact with someone, they visibly froze and looked away. 

It’s just -- it’s hard. It’s not even that Dick doesn’t recognize Damian; he recognizes him, but only as Robin. He goes to call him that in public, and then slaps himself for getting so twisted up. He goes to reply differently, or suggest something specific, only to have the words die mid-sentence when Damian finally turns around. 

Jason confronts him, about half a week in. He raises his voice, clicks his tongue, slams the door. Dick sits on his bed throughout the other thing and lets the ache grow, like some kind of parasite trapped inside of his ribs. He’s not trying to be a horrible older brother -- truly. He just -- he misses his other little brothers. The one’s he can’t seem to forget whenever he hears Damian speak a little too softly, or scoff a little too loud. 

Sometimes, Dick finds himself defaulting to how he spoke to Red when he’s around Damian. It still stops him in his tracks, to notice those green eyes instead of red -- but it’s easy. It’s easier. It’s -- it makes it manageable to keep mourning someone who’s still there. 

Two weeks in, Tim comes knocking. He doesn’t yell, he just sits at the counter of the manor’s kitchen island next to Dick, and folds his hands in front of him. 

“Damian’s been over a couple times,” he says. “I guess he and Bruce are doing okay.” 

There’s a frog in Dick’s throat. He swallows a spoonful of froot loops and winces when all he tastes is ash. “Great.” 

“Bruce didn’t tell him what to do, you know.” 

“So Jason said.” The spoon clatters against the side of the bowl louder than Dick speaks. The scraping is more bearable than the conversation. “And Steph.” 

Steph swung around sometime after Jason, all pity and false cheer. She’d tried to knock some sense into him by shoving Damian at him -- quite literally -- before slipping up and calling Damian Lil’ D, stammering when Damian had met her eyes. I’m working on it, she’d stuttered out, almost spitting out the words when choking them back got too hard. I mean -- cut me some slack. At least I’m not avoiding him.  

Harsh, but true. Not that it was going to fix the way Dick was just kind of ghosting through the days. 

“I’m not upset with Bruce,” Dick tells him, honestly. “We talked it out. He was actually more upset with how I’d react to one Damian than I think he would’ve been if Damian never chose to -- to condense.”  

“Condense is putting it lightly.” Tim eyes the cereal, long gone soggy, for a single critical moment. “I’m surprised you guys talked it out.” 

“I kind of blew up at him. The talking just happened naturally after that.” 

Blew up is also putting it lightly, but Dick’s not willing to elaborate. It was after a long, sleepless night wherein patrol had gone awry. He’d been so angry, so entirely pissed, at Bruce for his perceived slight -- only to find out that Alfred had been telling the truth. Not a single word had passed Bruce’s lips about what he thought the boys should do. The decision to reverse the spell had been entirely, completely their choice. 

Why, Dick still didn’t know. He was entirely too afraid to ask. 

“You should try that with Damian, then,” Tim suggests. He slips off of his stool and reaches for his bag, discarded on the table. He’d unzipped it when he first sat down, but hadn’t taken anything out. Now, he just zips it back shut and slings it over his shoulder. “I mean, it didn’t go over well last time you tried to distance yourself. Or the time before that.” 

Without much more preamble, Tim leaves the room. Dick stares down at his cereal and jabs one of the circles with the tip of the spoon. 

A week later, Alfred won’t stop staring at him. Bruce talks to him like he’s some sort of shattered, antique china plate -- like a harsh tone will send him splintering long before the glue dries. Jason doesn’t come around, Steph only pops by to chat with Damian, and Tim’s gone off on some new mission in the stars.

Four weeks after Zatanna comes around, Damian corners Dick in his bedroom. 

“If you want nothing to do with me now,” he says, sharply, “then leave the manor. I will not play some part just to quell your own inadequacy.” 

Damian’s stood atop the mattress, bedsheets compressing beneath his feet as if the entire bed is attempting to swallow him whole. He’s still not very tall; he hardly makes for an imposing site, but Dick’s breath still catches in his lungs regardless. It’s early morning, just before nine -- Dick blames the pause as he gathers himself on the time.

“Good morning to you, too” -- Dick cuts a look to Damian, hardly able to stand more than a second of eye contact with him -- “R--Damian.” 

“Call me whatever you want,” Damian shoots back. “If you find yourself unable to say my name, that’s your own problem.” 

“Damian.” The weariness in his voice shocks even himself. How long has it been since he and Damian had a conversation that lasted so long -- even with the amount of barbs Damian’s throwing his way? “Can I help you?” 

Every inch of Damian is rigid, pulled in taut lines the way Robin always used to stand. “Yes. You can leave the manor. You can stop looking at me -- you can stop looking at me the way that you do.” 

“I’m staying at least until you’re cleared for patrol,” Dick says. He brushes himself off mentally and kicks himself back into gear. Even though Damian’s appearance is like a wild wrench thrown into his morning, there’s no reason to not continue going about his day. At the very least, going through the motions of getting dressed will give him something else to focus on -- something other than the fact that his brother is the only one standing in front of him. “It’s been a month. Maybe you’ll be back to the streets soon.” 

Damian makes a noise in the back of his throat, like a wolf’s choked growl before stalking off to find some better prey. He moves, just slightly, to keep the bed from making a lasting imprint. 

The silence permeates for a little longer as Dick goes about the motions. He pulls on a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie, grasping blindly for the first of each he finds in his dresser. The sweatpants are plain, but the hoodie is subtly Robin themed -- classic, really. Dick almost wants to cry. 

By the time Dick’s finally given up and is reaching for the door, ready to go hunt down something to have for breakfast, Damian clears his throat. 

“Would you at least look at me?” 

Dick hates himself for the sole fact that he keeps his eyes on the door. 

“Look, D, I don’t really have time to just play around--” 

“You’re a coward!” Damian suddenly shouts. “You’re a lousy, lying coward who can’t even face me!” 

His feet thud against the ground when he jumps off, and the stomp of his stride only quiets when he’s directly behind Dick. Not knowing what else to do, Dick turns around, staring at a spot vaguely to the left of Damian’s shoulder. He still has to look down, the same way he did with Lil’ D.

There’s a very brief moment Dick almost worries that Damian is going to grab him, or shove him against the door. Instead, Damian’s fists twitch in the air before he takes a sharp step back, spinning in a half circle. 

“I don’t know why I ever bothered to believe you!” He kicks out, but his foot catches nothing but a discarded shirt. “I thought you loved me! That -- that you wanted me--” 

His words catch Dick in the chest like a bullet; like he’s standing in an alleyway, or at the base of a tent, watching everything fall apart. “Dami--” 

“I want you to leave!” Damian screeches. “I want you to leave, and this time, I do not want you to come back -- I do not want your -- your foolish, embellished lies, about how much you ‘care’--” 

“D--” 

“I thought I made the right choice, this time! I thought that I would fix everything, and that it would be easier on you--” His voice dies, only slightly, taking on an almost pleading tone that Dick can only ever recall hearing Dami use. “--I thought having only one would make you more inclined to stay. But I was wrong. You clearly do not care -- and I was foolish for believing--” 

“Damian.” Dick’s voice waivers. 

Something inside of him breaks and every single terrible thought within his head that said I want them all back withers so quickly it leaves him breathless. Damian -- honest and trying, almost begging in front of him as tears well up in the corner of his eyes -- is standing in front of him, and all Dick can see is every other iteration of him in the tight lines of his shoulders. There’s Little D’s determination, Dami’s desperation, Robin’s fortitude. Red stares back at him with green eyes, and Dick feels sick to his stomach. It’s been weeks, but--

“I’m sorry,” Dick whispers. “I still see them. In everything that you do, I still see them.” 

“They’re still here,” Damian replies, almost desperately -- if the slight waiver in his voice, leagues apart from the version that first stood before Dick so long ago now, is anything to go by. “I’m still here. Why will you not just look at me?” 

Dick closes his eyes. Bows his head. “I’m going to miss them every day, Damian. I can’t -- I just--” 

“Do you not miss me?”

With his eyes shut, Damian sounds so entirely young. Dick images Dami, all baby blues, standing before him, reaching for his hands. Almost immediately, he chides himself -- Dami’s become so much more than a watery voice and a few crocodile tears. He’s so much more than just Dami, now, too. He’s back to being just another facet of Damian, standing before him, betraying so much more of himself than he ever used to when it was just Dick and him learning to live without Bruce’s shadow looming over the city. 

“Oh, Dames,” Dick says, finally looking up. He grabs Damian’s hands of his own accord, and revels in the contact after so long spent licking his wounds. His eyes dart over every inch of Damian’s face, trying to memorize everything he can. There’s Dami’s creased brows, Little D’s tight frown, Robin’s eyes, and Red’s crinkled nose. “I’ve missed you every single day.” 

It’s true. It’s the most true thing that Dick’s said this entire month, wasting away as Damian put himself back together of his own accord. There’s so many questions Dick has, so many things he wants to beg to know -- why did Damian decide to do this? What is Dick supposed to do now? How does he fix the separation he dug with his own two hands, desperate to run away from the truth? 

Dick reaches up, pushes his fingers through Damian’s soft, unruly hair. He pulls Damian a little closer and presses his lips to the crown of his brother’s head. 

“I’m so sorry, Dames.” There’s not much else he thinks he can say -- no other words he knows how to speak. “It’s just -- it’s so different, now.” 

“It was different before,” Damian says, raw and drowning. The fact that he’s kept his voice almost entirely steady despite the emotion lacing every word is nothing short of a miracle, to Dick, who feels like he’s unraveling at the seams. “It was different before, and you still took care of them. I hear them, all of the time. They’re always asking about you -- and you would -- you wouldn’t even look me in the eyes.” 

Just like Bruce, in the very beginning -- all denial, no give. What the hell was Dick thinking? 

Dick pulls back and holds Damian’s face between both of his hands. A brief flutter of indignation passes over Damian’s expression, before he stamps it down and attempts for an air of indifference. Regardless of the front, to Dick, it’s plain to see the turmoil written in every single line of his stance. 

“I’m sorry,” Dick repeats. “God, I’m so sorry. I wanted to keep what I had because I thought it was easier for you to stay split up. I got attached, and I thought that maybe I was doing you a favor. Instead, all I did was want something so badly that I pushed you away when I lost it. Damian, I swear -- I’ll make it up to you. Somehow.” 

Damian says nothing. He reaches up, covers Dick’s hand with his own palm, and meets Dick’s eyes. They waiver, almost shaking, as if trying to find any imperfection in Dick’s demeanor that will spell out a lie. He must find nothing, as after a moment, he sags.

“Okay,” says Damian. He doesn’t drop his hand, or his gaze. 

His eyes are bright -- nothing like Robin’s at all. 

“More than anything,” Dick says, stressing every word, “I’m so glad that you made the decision for yourself. I’m sorry I made you feel bad about it. I’m sorry it took me so long to see it -- to see you.” 

He’s looking at him, now. That’s got to count for something, after so long. 

For the first time, Damian smiles -- it’s nothing like anything else Dick has ever seen. It’s slight, barely there. A hidden gem. Nothing at all like Little D’s face-splitting grin. It’s a little thing, so much like Bruce it aches. 

That glimmer of hope returns -- a match against the wick, reigniting.