Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"You'll never know if you can learn to fly, unless you take the risk of falling"

-Dick Grayson

“As for cats, tortoiseshell’s have the best coloring; I mean, just look at them,” Brown said, waving a fork at Drake.

“Tortoiseshells? I thought you’d be all about black cats, with cute little white paws,” Drake said, making irritating pawing motions with his hands at her.

“That was one time! It’s not my fault Selina has the best cats.” 

Damian listened to the conversation as he worked his way through his yogurt, not eating as much as stirring berries and granola deeper in. He bit back a question about Selina having cats and responses to each of the other’s cat comments. What did adding to the conversation matter at this point? He would not be here much longer, and the butler’s last rebuke still rang in his ears regarding his previous comment. No, it would be best if he held his tongue for now.

Instead, Damian chose to examine those at the table and catalog them. Many of its occupants he’d only met a few days prior at his father’s funeral and were new to him. He had, of course, heard of these people. Mother had debriefed him before he came, and when he had first met Father, the man had done the same.

The butler, Alfred Pennyworth, was seated just to the right of the head, a seat still left open in honor of Father. Damian had gained a healthy respect for the man quickly. Not only did he abide no disrespect, but he had sided with Damian when he had arrived on the run from his Grandfather months ago. And while he was quick to rebuke, he also had done his best to make sure Damian was comfortable. Damian was still not sure why he was so attentive; he had done little to earn any of it. In fact, he was certain that in light of Pennyworth’s personality, Damian did not deserve any sympathy after his initial introduction to the house.

“All bets are off when it comes to her cats; they don’t count in arguments,” Jason Todd said before sipping his coffee.

“Ha!” Brown crowed, slamming her palms on the table in victory. “Jason’s my new favorite.”

Drake glowered. “No, he’s not.”

“Yes, he is,” Brown shot back. “Get your cat opinions straight and you can reclaim your spot. Until then, Jason wins.”

“Since when is this a freaking game?!” Todd spluttered.

Todd was seated across from Pennyworth. When he’d arrived at the table, he had looked as excited to be there as Damian felt, but time and coffee had coaxed a better mood out of him. 

Damian was still not sure what to think about him. He was aware the man held anger towards Father, but he had also come to the funeral and stayed. It was perplexing.

Beside Brown sat Cassandra Cain. If Todd was perplexing, Cain was an enigma. Damian knew very little about her beyond her parentage and skills. She was quiet, which he could appreciate, but had an air of danger around her, and Grayson had declared her the best fighter out of all of them. He would not be letting his guard down any time soon. At the moment, she grinned at the others with a look akin to that of cats Damian had seen, taking pleasure from chaos. 

Between Brown and Pennyworth was Timothy Drake. Father’s third child. Robin. 

Damian did not like him, and he was well aware the feeling was mutual. Much of that animosity was since he had broken the boy’s arm upon their first meeting. He’d been proud then, his bid for superiority in the household a success in taking down the boy. 

And yet, how wrong he had been to feel proud. Damian winced internally at the memory of Father’s reaction. 

The man had been livid. It had been Damian’s first lesson of the different expectations of his Father’s household, which varied wildly from that of his mother’s. And because of these differences, Damian couldn’t help but feel Mother had prepared him for all of the wrong things. 

Not that it was her fault. Damian had a feeling no one — somehow, not even Mother — would have expected the kind of things Father permitted. 

However, it was frustrating, because instead of quickly integrating himself into the family, Damian found himself pushed more and more to the edges of the group, almost more of an outsider than he was when he first arrived. And now, without Father here to tie him to them, Damian felt adrift. 

He wondered if Mother was on her way yet. Because she would, of course, be returning for him. 

With Father gone, there was no reason for him to stay in Gotham. The people he currently shared a house with were his relations in writing only, not by blood, and surely they wanted him gone. They had been obvious enough about that in the two days he had spent here so far. With Father dead, they had lost their reason to tolerate his presence. It was only a matter of time before he was whisked back to his home.

He only wished it would happen soon. He was tired of clashing with them, against their grief and strange ways, and most of all, against the idea that they were so together and he was so apart. 

The conversation at the table broke into actual bickering, snatching Damian’s attention once more. 

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Todd groaned. “A lion would be an awesome pet. I’d name him Screw You Tim Drake and train him to bite your scrawny butt.”

Damian scoffed out loud. 

It was a mistake, apparently. Brown stopped mid-punch to Drake’s shoulder, and Todd held a fork pointed in Drake’s direction frozen midair. Every single eye was suddenly on him.

Damian scowled, “What?” 

Brown dropped her fist, regaining her composure to smile at him. “Sounds like you disagree on Jason’s outrageous lion idea. Care to share?”

“Tt.” Damian gave his yogurt another stir, “Outrageous is one word for it. A lion does not belong in a palace, let alone a house. Even one of this size.” 

“See, Baby Bat actually has some common sense,” Brown declared. 

Damian bristled at the nickname but before he could object to it, the last member of their party entered the room with a loud and boisterous! “Good morning everyone!” 

Richard Grayson had entered, prompting a series of responses, including good morning’s and calls for his opinion on lions. He took it in stride and shrugged off all questions until he’d filled his plate from food set out on the table and plopped down in the empty chair next to Damian.

This surprised Damian because as of yet, no one had sat beside him, even though he had arrived first. Todd had left a seat between him and Damian when he had arrived. It was this chair that Grayson sat in, and Damian assumed it was to sit next to Todd. 

He was further caught off guard when Grayson turned his blinding smile on him — really, it was too early in the day for smiles so bright. 

“Morning, Damian.” 

Damian blinked at him before answering with a sharp nod. He expected Grayson to turn away from him, but the man did not relent. His smile grew somewhat less blinding, though it did not seem to be Damian’s fault, only a softening look. 

“Did you sleep well?” 

“My sleep was adequate.” 

The man looked at him again, apparently waiting on more. It made Damian want to scowl, but he could feel Pennyworth’s eyes on him, and he did not wish to be kicked out before Mother came. Having to call her and admit he had been ejected would be mortifying. 

“And you?” he asked. 

There was that infuriating brightness back on display as Grayson answered, “Pretty good. It’s weird having the house full again.”

Damian made a noncommittal grunt and turned back to his breakfast, hoping the man would get the hint and move on to other things. It was a conversation he had no part in, having had limited exposure to the house so far. 

Around them, the conversation about lions had continued.

“Are you kidding me? Dick, tell Jason he’s out of his mind for wishing big cats could stay in the house,” Drake called out before deflecting another light punch from Brown. “Steph, stop. You’re not even on Jason’s side!”

“I told you he’s my new favorite. So yes, I am.” Brown declared.

Grayson shook his head fondly before winking at Damian. He turned his attention back to the group, “Jason’s just egging you on, Timmy. It’s too early to let him get under your skin.”

“What, am I supposed to wait until after lunch?” Drake asked incredulously. “Oh my—Stephanie, stop it!”

Brown snorted. “Never!”

When he was finally finished with breakfast, Damian left both the room and the conversation behind, retreating to his room to change into clothing more suitable for training. He had brought a number of outfits with him when he and Mother had come to Gotham, and Damian had taken them into his father’s house when he’d moved in. Somehow more had materialized, probably Pennyworth’s doing, but Damian preferred what he had brought. 

The top and sweatpants he pulled out were soft from use and familiar to him. There was some weakness in leaning into things that were old and comforting like this, but Damian shrugged off the thought. It was simply practical to use what he knew. This would not chafe or restrict him, and he knew that; he did not know the same for what Pennyworth had purchased for him. 

A crash resounded somewhere down the hall, and Damian could hear voices yelling. Probably continuing the inane lion argument from earlier. 

He had to admit that Grayson was correct in that the building felt odd being so full. Though Damian was sure he did not see it the same way, Grayson did. For him, it was probably a happy feeling to have his family close by for so long. Especially since Pennyworth had convinced everyone to stay for at least a week. 

Grayson was a fool for relying so much on them. To be so enamored with family made one weak. Mother--and Grandfather more so had taught Damian that anyone could turn on you at any time. To react as Grayson had done was opening himself up for innumerable opportunities against himself. 

Even so, Damian could not shake the feeling of being an intruder. 

While he knew the building based on memorized floor plans, Damian had not yet explored it all. He had intended on doing so, however, every time he walked into an occupied room, eyes turned on him like they’d forgotten he was there, and he hated stumbling upon people. So he had begun exploring the cave instead. 

Father had mapped out much of the subterranean system set below the house, and Damian used those to help him explore. No one seemed to mind his frequent long absences, and since no one asked, he continued to spend hours thereafter training. It was peaceful and gave Damian something to do with his energy, as well as a goal to aim towards. Perhaps he could discover other ways in and out of the cave for Mother. 

He moved quickly from his room to the living area containing the entrance to the cave. It was not a long journey as Damian was still housed in one of the guest rooms on the manor’s first floor. Along the way, he almost ran into Grayson as the man was adjusting a tie and rushing toward the door.

“Watch where you are going,” Damian snapped, stumbling back. 

“Oh, Damian, hey. Sorry about that.” Grayson was still fumbling with the tie, the thing looking more like a knotted mess than a proper accessory, “I’m running late and can’t seem to get this thing to tie right, and I didn’t want to bother Alfred and—”

Damian crossed his arms and glared at the man. “Disgraceful. If you cannot manage to dress yourself, what good would you be in the field?”  

Grayson blinked at him for a few seconds, registering the question, “Well, I don’t normally wear a tie, and it’s not even really required. I just want to make a good first impression with the board and staff, and there’s going to be this meeting...” the trailed off, attention drifting up for a moment before it locked onto Damian. “Anyway, you wouldn’t know how to tie a tie, would you?” 

Damian did not. He knew he had seen Grandfather in one, but the day-to-day and ceremonial clothing worn by the League was far different than the American standard. Damian had never thought he would wear a tie, and never bothered asking to learn. 

“The League of Assassins does not follow the American standard of dress.” Damian snapped, “One does not normally assassinate someone while wearing a tie.” 

“Ah.” Grayson started, “Drat. Maybe I can get Timmy to help, he’s coming too. We’ve got even control until we figure something else out.” He scratched his head as he spoke. 

Damian sniffed, “I do not see why you two who are running my Father’s company. I am his heir by blood. It is my inheritance.” 

“Maybe, someday in the future.” Grayson acknowledged, “But the company’s board of trustees wouldn’t take well to a ten-year-old running things. Besides, I told you, we’re all family, and in turn, all rightfully entitled to what Bruce had.” 

“I am not a child. Besides, Mother had me trained in everything I would need to know to take over Father’s empire. I am beyond capable of running things.”

Grayson cut him off, “Sure, but why bother with little things when your mom wants you to have the whole world?” 

Damian knew the words were an insult, even if they were true. Before he could sort out a properly scathing response about his rightful ownership of Father’s company, Grayson continued. 

“Listen, none of it matters right now, the company doesn’t even know Bruce is—” Grayson hesitated, fingers fidgeting with the tie instead of really attempting to knot or unknot it anymore, “gone. All they know is that he’s taking an extended leave of absence and left Tim and I in charge.” 

“Drake is seventeen, hardly old enough to run a company either.” 

“But old enough to co-run with me. He’s also helped Bruce with several things over the years, and the public knows his face,” Grayson countered. “Listen, I don’t really have time to argue about this. We’ll sort out WE later, alright?”

Drake showed up then, dressed as nicely as Grayson was, properly tied tie and all. Grayson brightened, immediately pestering his brother with requests to fix his tie. Damian bit back the argument that had been building in him against their supposed right to be his family. As Drake sighed and began fiddling with Grayson’s tie, Damian pushed past them both heedless of how he bumped the younger man on his way through. 

Damian ignored the elevator that would take him down to the cave quickly and opted for stomping down the long staircase that acted as both a backup and emergency entrance. His fists curled at his sides the whole way down. 

How dare Grayson simply assume he could not manage the company? He had been trained for just such a thing. He huffed; in fact, his training was suited to one who would one day hold the world in his grasp, a company was nothing compared to that except a fruitful training ground. Besides, it was Damian’s by right. He might not have his Father any longer, but he still had his legacy to protect. 

He hoped that some training would soothe the fire bubbling up in his chest. Still, Damian had hardly started into his regular routine when Brown and Cain arrived, speaking of a sparring match. They stopped upon seeing him, though at the very least, neither gave him odd looks. In fact, Brown seemed to animate.

“Damian! Hey there!” she said, hurrying over, her expression open, if not a little mischievous.

“What do you want?” Damian bit out.

“Alfred was looking for you. He said something about wanting to talk about what kind of lessons your tutors had you on?” she raised an eyebrow at him. 

Damian scowled; he had forgotten that Pennyworth had wished to consult him on his previous curriculum. Apparently, he was interested in ensuring Damian’s education continued while he waited on Mother’s arrival. Though Damian could not see the point, Mother would return any day now, and any work Pennyworth put into lessons would be lost. It would be impossible to get him caught up and on the right track by then. 

He scoffed, “My mother hired the greatest tutors in the world to teach me. I will not learn from anyone substandard.”

“Well, you’re in luck, because Alfred’s one of the best,” Brown said. “He raised your dad after all, and he’s been helping Cass catch up on the things she missed.” The girl shrugged, “He’s as good as you’ll get here.”

“Tt, if that is all, I will simply continue as I have with my own studies.” 

He looked Brown up and down with an examining eye and sneered, “And what about you? Shouldn’t you be in school, or have you dropped out because it was too much work?” 

“For your information, I’m doing great in school. I have the rest of the week off because of, well, you know—” she waved her hand around them. 

“What? The universe granted you a break?”

“No, Damian.” Brown sighed and looked as if she were trying not to shake him. “I mean, you know. Bruce.” 

The way she said Father’s name was different than Damian had heard so far. From what Damian knew of Brown’s relationship with Father, it was not exactly a smooth one. Their personalities often clashed, and her tenure as Robin had been the shortest of anyone’s. The few times he had heard her speak of him, it had not seemed flattering. Now, there was grief lining her words, and hesitation in her voice. Something in her eyes said she had been holding back, not just for herself. 

Damian bristled. He did not wish to be pitied or handled with children’s gloves. “It does not seem to me that you need an entire week off, not with how jovial you have been acting of late,” he sneered. “It is as if none of this even matters.” 

It was meant to sting, and he could see the effect of his words immediately. Her eyes widened, and the openness in her stance closed off, her shoulders tightening, hands curling. Damian felt good for a moment, then the memory of her face tear-streaked at the funeral came back to him, and a spike of guilt pierced his chest. 

Still, he would not apologize. She needed to know he did not need to be treated like a child. 

She squared her shoulders, “If you think that, you definitely need to go see Alfred about school and tell him you learned nothing before coming here.” 

Damian had learned plenty, more than Brown ever would, and he was about to say just that. His shoulders squared, hands clenched, but Cain shot him a look that warned that he would not like continuing this fight. Damian had not known his sister very long, but he had learned quickly during a spat with Drake that Cain was not to be messed with. 

“Tt, I do not have time to squabble like this,” he said as a dismissal, then turned on his heel to grab his bag, before leaving the two girls alone in the cave. 

Neither tried to stop him nor continue the argument, for which Damian was glad. His chest felt tight, even as he stomped his way back upstairs. His desire to work out his frustrations was doubled but equally foiled by the fact that he would not be returning to the cave for some time. Not while it was occupied, at least. 

He ignored the request from Pennyworth that Brown had relayed, instead retreating back to his room to flop onto his bed with a huff. Damian lay there for a few moments before the energy inside him forced him back up and pacing. He was bored, irritated, and in desperate need of an outlet. 

His fingers itched to draw. If he could not beat the stuffing out of a punching bag or dummy, then he could draw. Sketch out the thoughts in his head and fill the page until his mind had stilled, and his chest had loosened into something more sensible. It was not befitting an Al Ghul to react the way he had been. He needed to get his emotions under control now, rather than later when he would inevitably explode in a fashion unbefitting either of his birthrights. 

He knelt beside his bed and reached up and under it, into the boards that held the mattress aloft. There, he had tucked the sketchbook he’d brought with him, along with a small case of supplies, pencils, erasers, charcoal, and even some oil pastels. As much as he disliked using the pastels, they were color, and Damian had not been able to bring his paints with him. 

He placed the supplies on the room’s desk with care, and then Damian locked the door. He did not wish to be disturbed while he drew, and he cared little to let anyone know of the hobby. It was likely they would see it as a weakness. A crutch to which Damian fled whenever he was bubbling up with too much---too much of anything really. And he did not wish them taken away from him, no matter how little time he may spend at his Father’s home. 

When he was certain he would not be disturbed, Damian slid into the chair at the desk and flipped the book open, searching for an empty page. With growing dread and the inkling of a memory discarded due to exhaustion, each page gave way to another one filled with art. Some were just warmups. Others were filled with lines, circles, or other shapes. Still, more were blurred with charcoal. Even one or two pages were splashed with color. Not a single revealed itself to be blank. 

Something like desperation welled inside him, and Damian shoved it down with all his might. Al Ghuls were not desperate. They took every situation in hand and controlled it. No surprise was one for long, and they always bounced back. 

Still, he bit back a howl of frustration as he slammed the book closed. How could he have forgotten? How could he have allowed every page to be filled already? 

His mind grasped for another option. Leave and purchase a new book? But he did not know where a store was, even if he did have a small bit of money. He was not allowed to drive on his own, and he refused to ask any of the imbeciles in the house to take him. Not that they would give in to the request. 

But, he needed to draw. The desire was all-encompassing at this point, and it was all he could do not to throw the book and box of supplies. Simply coloring in a finished piece would not do, nor would erasing the lines poured out onto a page. 

He cast his eyes around the room for some source of clean paper and found none. It was sparse, decorated with a bed, desk, nightstand, and lamp. There was even a fireplace, but books or loose paper? None to be found. 

Briefly, Damian considered going up to the library to find the dustiest book he could get his hands on, then remembered his Father’s study. There was a printer in there, and while not optimal, printer paper was far better than cramped doodles in the margins of books. 

With silence born of years of practice, Damian crept once more from the room, his socked feet never making a sound as he moved down one hall, then another, and over to the room Father had used for daily work. 

As far as Damian knew, no one had been in since Father’s passing, and he doubted anyone would care that he was planning to empty out the printer. 

The office was all wood, leather, and warm tones. Two plush chairs rested by one wall that was lined with books, another was taken up by a huge window, and the third covered in pictures. Damian did not recall the photographs from the last time he had been in, but Damian had not spent much time there at all. 

He paused now to look them over, an array of images taken through the years and organized with no real sense of order beyond which part of the wall had space for anything new. 

In one, Father stood, beaming as he had an arm slung across a younger Richard Grayson. Both wore suits, and somehow Grayson’s smile was even larger than Father’s as they held between them what was obviously adoption papers. 

Another featured Todd, far younger than he was now, balanced precariously on a bike, one tooth missing from his grin as he rode towards the camera, arms held out to his sides as if he were showing off. 

Then there was Drake and Brown fighting over a bowl of some kind of dough in the kitchen, both coated with flour and frosting. Brown was in the middle of pressing dough into Drake’s face. Damian snickered a bit at the image. He wished he had been there for that moment. 

Cain was, in many, almost always dancing. She looked ethereal, even frozen in time in the photos. Damian had not known she practiced ballet. 

Then Grayson playing guitar. A Todd of today reading in the library. Drake bent over a desk. Cain and Brown outside by a lake. Pennyworth smiling alongside Father while in the garden. On and on and on, Damian examined the photos. As he did, he felt something tight in his chest, --not his heart, it was certainly not that-- the tightness only grew as he looked over the photos. 

His eyes stopped on a framed photo of the family. Father in a chair with the others ringed around him. Grayson and Todd standing to either side, Cain perched on the arm of his chair, and Drake leaning on the opposite side, ducking away from Grayson as he ruffled his hair. Pennyworth smiled with pride from Todd’s side. The tightness moved from his chest to his throat, like he’d been stung there, and it had swollen thick and hot so that it was hard to swallow.

Damian spun away from the wall, searching for the printer. He all but flew to it, tearing open the bottom tray and lifting all the paper from it. It was almost full, but Damian did not care. It would save him future trips to this room. 

He paused before moving away from the desk. There was another photo there. A smaller version of the same family photo hanging above. Damian scooped it off the desk, tucking it under the paper and close to his side, purposefully not thinking about why he’d taken it. 

Chapter Text

When Dick returned to the manor after his first day at Wayne Enterprises, he was seriously considering quitting. It had felt less like a day of introductions of him and Tim to people they had known for years and more like the Spanish Inquisition.

He had no idea how Tim was still there, but his brother had insisted on sticking around well past closing time. Dick couldn’t really argue; no one was set to patrol again tonight — not for the rest of the week according to Alfred’s edict, so-- it’s not like he’d be missing a chance to warm up or anything. And Dick had felt like there were things Tim wanted to do on his own, both to make his office his own and for Bruce. And Dick wasn’t going to impose on that. Not when he had his own baggage to carry about his dad. 

Setting aside thoughts of Bruce—he’d get back to them later, he promised, and he would, even if it were only late at night when it was dark and he was forced to face them painted across his ceiling by the light of the moon— Dick turned his attention to how eerily quiet the manor was. 

The silence shouldn’t have really been a surprise, even with everyone staying in it. The manor was simply large, big enough for everyone to be off doing their own things. 

Still, they’d congregated on the first floor a lot lately, clumping in the kitchen or on couches with TVs running to keep thoughts and tough talks at bay. It was odd not to hear any of that going on. 

Dick should have gone up to his room, showered the day off, and changed into something comfortable, but the most he did was loosen his tie and set his new briefcase down close to the door to be returned for later. It was nice dropping the thing. Both he and Tim had been given one at their first meeting of the day. A type of welcome present that Dick still couldn’t quite figure out. 

He hadn’t planned on carrying one ever. He’d never pictured himself as someone to carry a briefcase, and the thought of packing documents into it to take back and forth from WE was a foreign one. When he was a kid, he’d often grab Bruce’s and cart it around with him, teasing the man about how serious he was and how old it made him look. So as an adult now, who wasn’t sure if he even wanted to keep up the charade of working in Bruce’s place, it felt wrong. 

He hadn’t wanted to offend, so he’d dutifully packed all their documents and the papers he might need to deal with at home inside and taken it back with him. Still, he was pretty sure he wouldn’t be taking it back. 

He poked his head into the living room and then the kitchen, and he found them empty. Where the girls or Alfred were, Dick didn’t have a clue, but he knew right where he’d find Jason. Hopefully, his brother would be able to give him a good feel for what he’d missed during the day. 

Jason had all but taken over the library in the few days he’d been staying at the manor. He spent so much time there, Dick had asked Alfred if Jason had been sleeping in one of the armchairs or window benches. Alfred’s response had been something like, “There are rules in this house, Master Dick, that must be followed, and sleeping in a bed is one I do my best to enforce.”  

Dick didn’t find Jason sleeping, but any other person would be at risk of it. His brother was lounging on one of the seats set into large windows at the back of the library. A stack of books that would put any bibliophile to shame rested next to the seat, towering so high it almost reached the beige cushion. He looked like a cat, lounging in the sun and totally satisfied with itself—that is if cats could also read. Jason ignored him as Dick tugged a chair close to sit down, the sun kissing his cheeks and forehead.  

He waited patiently for Jason to finish the paragraph or line or whatever, and when the book was closed against a finger, Dick said, “Hey.” 

“To what do I owe this pleasure? Did Timmy fall down a well?” 

Dick rolled his eyes, “I can’t come to say hello?” 

“Not usually.” 

“Well, that’s what I’m here for.” Dick leaned back in his chair, his eyes casting up, past Jason, and out to the trees visible on the grounds.“I just thought you might want to talk or something.” 

Jason didn’t move beyond raising an eyebrow, “About what?”

He shrugged, “I dunno, life? Books? Your day? Normal stuff.” 

It was weird thinking about it. They didn’t just talk. About capes stuff sure, and back when Jason had been a kid, and Dick had sorted things out with Bruce, they’d talked about lots of stuff. But wasn’t that what all this was about? Reconnecting, trying to find new ground between family too long pulled apart? 

It’s what Alfred wanted. What Bruce would have wanted. 

“Listen,” Dick leaned his elbows onto his thighs, “Things are weird, and if you’re happy to hole up here and catch up on reading that’s fine, but if you’re going to stick around--"

“I’m not. Once this ‘stay a week’ order is up, I’m out.” 

Dick held back an eye roll, “Alright then, for as long as you stay, let’s try to find some common ground. Just talk a bit. Breakfast was nice, right?” 

The book snapped shut and Jason sat up straighter, “Listen, Dick. We’re not buddy-buddy, and I have no intention of becoming that. Alf wants me here, so I’m here. Alf wants group gatherings to be free of bloodshed, I’m keeping up that end of the bargain. But Alfred hasn’t asked me to be your best friend or share my reading time with you. If you want someone to talk to, the house is full of people.” 

He guessed he’d pushed too soon. It was understandable that Jason wasn’t ready to jump right into family stuff. He’d spent so much time skirting them in the time he’d been back. So much time butting heads with Bruce, angry but unsure why. Dick could see it in him. That anger that he’d felt so much when he’d been finding his own independence. It wasn’t the same, of course not, but the feeling was there. Jason wanted his dad, but he wanted to be himself, and he wanted so much more than that, and had no idea how to say it. 

And now? Bruce wasn’t there to fight with anymore. 

It had been Bruce Jason had most of his problems with. He’d worked fairly well with Dick and Tim when they’d come together from time to time across Gotham, and once or twice they’d grabbed four a.m. post-patrol breakfast at Waffle House, exhausted but proud of their work. 

The fact that Jason was here, staying, and actually talking with any of them was progress in itself. It was a sign he might be willing to build bridges. Dick just needed to give him some space, as well as whatever openings he needed. 

“Alright,” he nodded. “I get it, but if you do want to talk or just read together, let me know? I’ll be up here on weekends.” He shot his brother a grin, “Alfred wouldn’t shut up about work-life balance, so I promised him I’d take some ‘me time’ each weekend and read or something.” 

With that he stood, tugging the chair to where it would be out of Jason’s way. He pointed at Jason’s book, the cover decorated with a painted fantasy image, “You know who I like? Brandon Sanderson. I made B buy a bunch of his stuff last time I was here, I’m pretty sure they’re somewhere on the shelves.” 

With that he waved, and moved out of the room, more than ready for that hot shower he’d skipped. 

Dick was halfway to his room before he remembered the briefcase, and the fact that he really should move it or risk Alfred’s disapproval. 

He paused for a second at the staircase leading back downstairs, his feet deciding before his mind did. Dick took two steps back before darting forward, hopping up onto the rail, and sliding down it with a whoop of joy. His stomach jumped to his throat, air pushed his hair back. Dick felt ten again, for the few seconds it took to slide all the way down and hop off, his hands flying into the air. 

“Ten out of ten!” he announced, to no audience. 

Part of Dick wanted to feel silly at being a grown man sliding down a banister, or for cheering at an imaginary stunt. He shoved that part down with the determination that, yes, he was a grown man, and that was all the reason he needed to have fun sometimes. One might age, but that did not mean they had to stop doing things for the joy of it.

He scooped the briefcase up from where he’d left it and slung it over his shoulder. There was a spring back in his step, one that carried him all the way into his meeting with Stephanie and Cassandra, as both girls were on their way into the kitchen. 

“You are really taking this whole CEO thing seriously,” Steph said, pointing at the case. 

Dick shrugged, “Do you know how easy it is to crumple paper?” 

Cass hooked his arm, “Tell us about your day.” 

She led him into the kitchen, along with Stephanie. Dick sat on one of the barstools, setting the briefcase by it, and watched as the two girls dug through the fridge for snacks. 

“Alfred is going to have food ready soon,” he pointed out. 

Steph tossed him an orange, “Now you’re really sounding like an adult. It’s just a snack, we’ll eat plenty later.” 

Dick rolled the fruit between his palms. He did sound old. “If you think I’m boring now, just wait for me to have been on the job for a week,” he told them with a laugh. “The meetings are so dull I thought I’d aged five years in ten minutes.” 

Cass plopped down beside him, a bottle of Tim’s sparkling water in hand. She grinned at him as she cracked it open, “No wonder Bruce always skipped them.” 

“Any chance he could,” Dick agreed.

“Other than meetings, what did you do?” Stephanie asked, taking a seat of her own. 

She’d pulled a bowl of pasta salad out, left over from the wake, and was eating directly out of it with a fork. Dick pulled a face at her, then one at Cass when she reached over, her own fork in hand, and speared some pasta. 

“Don’t judge.” Steph said, pointing at him with a tomato pierced fork, “When you’re hungry, you’re hungry.” 

“Too hungry for a bowl of your own?” 

“I gave you an orange, we’re going to finish this. Carbs are good after exercise.” 

Now that Dick looked at them, he realized both Steph and Cass’s hair looked like it was still drying. It was harder to tell with both in buns and Cass’s dark hair, but Steph’s bright blond was dulled by water. 

“I thought you guys were going to do that when I was leaving this morning?” 

“We did, then we played Mario Kart, started the new season of Bake Off , and then we did some ballet. Well, Cass did most of it while I acted as commentary, but she needed a partner a few times, and I had her show me a few moves.”

Cass nodded, “We danced for a while.” 

“Hence, carbs,” Stephanie added. 

“And the orange?” Dick asked.

She shrugged, “You looked like you needed some sugar.” 

Dick wouldn’t deny that. As with much of the day, lunch had not been what he’d hoped it would be. He distinctly remembered the food options at Wayne Enterprises being better when he was ten. 

He nodded. “Well, thanks. And about your earlier question, we were shown the building, introduced to staff, dropped in offices, and handed more paperwork than I ever want to see again.” 

“So the real work starts tomorrow,” Steph said, speaking around a mouthful of noodle salad. 

“Just thinking about it makes my head hurt,” Dick said, then slipped off the bar stool. “And with that, I am going upstairs to shower.” 

“With the orange?” Cass asked. 

Dick tossed it in the air and caught it, “Nothing goes better with a shower than an orange fresh, cool, and straight from the fridge.” 

He waved, and left the kitchen, Steph’s call of “ Maniac! ” following behind him. 

Dick did in fact enjoy his orange in the shower while he let the heat and steam wash away lingering exhaustion from the day. There was something about using a shower to help step away from work and into reality that Dick liked: it made him feel real again. Like he could drop the act and masks and turn back into Dick Grayson, brother, vigilante, and actual human being. 

He tossed the orange peels in the waste bin and scrubbed at his hair with a towel, before drying off and tugging on shorts and a soft tee shirt, his toes curling into the plush bath mat. He was in the middle of deciding between actually brushing his hair or just running his fingers through it when a light knock came from the door to his room. Dick settled for the easier option and hurried out of the bathroom to open the door. 

Tim stood there with papers tucked under one arm, looking far more energetic than he had any right to be. 

“Hey! You’re home.” Dick smiled, then nodded down at the papers, “I didn’t leave something at the office, did I?”

He shook his head, “No, these are mine. I just thought I’d let you know I made it back.” 

Dick reached out and tugged his brother into a hug, “Thanks, I appreciate it.” 

Tim returned the hug with his open arm then pulled back, “Yeah, you seemed so concerned when I said I was staying and well—” he shrugged, letting the sentence drop off there. 

“You’re a great brother.” Dick beamed, “And, you’ve got a much better handle on all this than I feel like I do. I’m lucky to have you by my side.” 

“Hey, that’s a Robin’s duty.” 

The sudden crystal clear image of Dick back in the uniform hit him like Croc getting in a good hit. He couldn’t get air in his lungs, and his whole chest ached. He swallowed and shrugged. “Yeah, I guess.” 

“Dick?” 

“Thanks for checking in, Tim, really.” He smiled. “You go grab a shower and we’ll catch up over dinner alright?” 

“Sure, okay.” His brother hesitated. “You alright?” 

“Yeah, yeah, just tired.” Dick waved him off. “Now shoo. Go shower. I need to finish tidying up the bathroom. You know how Al gets if we leave towels lying around.” 

Tim accepted this excuse with a nod and a wave. When he was down the hall, Dick closed his door, and let his forehead drop against it. A sob wormed its way up his throat, but Tim was still too close. He might hear. 

Instead, Dick straightened and moved to sit on his bed, looking into the bathroom with it’s lights still on and the towel still lying on the floor. He breathed, in and out, and in and out. He thought for a moment he’d managed to put a lid back on his grief.

Then, his eyes flicked up and caught his own expression in the mirror. Somehow that did it. The dam in his chest burst and all at once he was crying, his face scrunching up in the mirror, ugly and red and not at all graceful. Once the tears started, he couldn’t stop. The flood turned to sobbing. 

Dick fumbled for a pillow, and pressed it to his face, sobbing into it and trying to just breathe, but everything hurt. It hurt so much he collapsed in on himself on the bed, curling around the pillow, like it could miraculously stop this. Stop the pain bleeding from his eyes and chest. Stop the empty gnawing hole where Bruce had been. Stop the fact that Dick was going to have to pull himself together and keep going . 

He didn’t pull himself together for a long while. 

In the back of his head, he knew dinner was being put out and Tim was making excuses for him. That Alfred had set something aside for him and the others were all down there trying to navigate this as well as they could. He knew that they were missing him—his light conversation, and ability to keep everyone smiling. 

But he couldn’t. He couldn’t make himself get up and go down there. He couldn’t be the big brother who held them all together right now. 

And maybe that made him selfish. Maybe that made him lose points in the big brother category, but he didn’t care. 

Every time he thought maybe he’d cried himself out, something started the flood again. He sat up, and caught his face in the mirror again, blotched and red, and started crying over the fact that it would make Bruce frown. Then it was the bed itself, the one B used to tuck him into every night. And then it was nonsensical things, a deep yearning, the ache that didn’t seem to stop even though he was sure he’d cried it out by now. 

At some point the tears did stop, but Dick didn’t move. He’d wrapped himself so tightly around the pillow, just his toes tucked under a blanket tossed over the comforter. It felt like if he did move he might crack apart, or break the sudden stillness that had come over him. 

His door eased open, and someone walked in. Dick’s back was to them, but he always knew Alfred by the man’s footsteps. Alfred, unlike the rest of the household, rarely took silent steps. He announced his presence in his confident, but still quiet tread.

The bed dipped as he sat down on the edge, and a hand rested on Dick’s upturned shoulder. They sat that way for a long while. Dick still laying there, Alfred quiet with his hand in place. At last, Dick shifted, sitting up, with his legs crossed, and the pillow pressed to his chest. He leaned over, against Alfred’s arm and sniffed. 

“Sorry,” he said, voice hoarse. 

“There is nothing to be sorry about, my boy. I miss him too.” 

Dick nodded, then dropped his grip on the pillow to lean over and hug Alfred, “Thank you, and I’m sorry. Not about me, but Bruce. If I could have done anything to change what happened--” his voice broke, “I’m just sorry.” 

Alfred squeezed him tight, then pulled away with a nod. Dick had a feeling the man had been doing his fair share of crying. Everyone had. 

“Gosh, please don’t tell me I missed your excellent dinner,” Dick said, hoping to lighten things. 

“Stroganoff, but it will reheat.” 

“Between us, I always liked it cold.” Dick grinned, and wiped at the corners of his eyes to catch any lingering wetness. 

“Master Timothy seems to as well.”

Dick chuckled, “I think he just forgets and lets it go cold sometimes. Did dinner go okay?” 

Alfred nodded, “They are doing as well as can be hoped for. Master Damian still seems quite distant. He spent most of the day in his room.” 

That was troubling. Dick was hoping Damian would have started to integrate himself a bit with everyone. He’d seemed so determined to be a part of things when Dick had met him, and he’d thought the kid would be grasping for anything to remind him of Bruce. But then again, grief did funny things to people. 

He felt bad. He hadn’t given Damian nearly as much attention as he’d planned on. If he were in Damian’s shoes he’d probably feel pretty lost, and Dick had hoped to make it clear the kid was part of the family. He’d wanted to be there for the kid to help him navigate losing a dad he hardly knew. He understood what it was to lose a parent, how confusing and painful it was. He couldn’t even imagine spending years wanting to meet his dad, just to lose him right away.

“Think I should check with him tonight? Or can it wait for tomorrow?” Dick asked. He didn’t wait for Alfred’s response, “Tonight, I’ll talk to him tonight. Where’s he at?”

Chapter Text

Damian exited the elevator and into an empty cave. He knew for a fact it would be unoccupied for a while after dinner since everyone had declared activities unassociated with it, and Grayson was still holed up in his room. Meaning Damian could finally train in peace. 

He moved to the training mats, set down his water bottle, and began a set of katas designed to help him warm up and focus on the task ahead. 

Gradually he worked his way through them, his body pulling through familiar motions, and the buzz in the back of his mind beginning to quiet. Even after a nap and long hours sketching and staring out his window, he had not quite found the sense of calm he’d been searching for earlier. 

There was a pressure building within him that Damian was not totally familiar or comfortable with. It was not unlike the stress of a mission or a particularly long week of training, but the root was none of those things. There was nothing to stress him out or push him. It was frustrating, not knowing why his head hummed and his chest hurt, why his attention seemed pulled in a hundred different places. 

What he did know was that training dulled it. If he could stay busy, exhaust himself, or fully engage his mind on a task --like exploring the caves-- it made it go away for a short bit. 

So when the elevator opened up and a female voice said, “There you are!” in a tone far too chipper Damian thought he might scream. 

He kept his eyes closed, and focused on the feeling of turning from one pose to the other, his body shifting, fist moving down with his foot.

“You warming up or cooling down?” Brown asked, her voice much closer now. 

Damian grit his teeth as his concentration was fully broken. He straightened and opened his eyes to glare at the girl, “What do you want?” 

“It won’t take but a second,” Brown said. 

She was not dressed for exercise, instead wearing what she had worn to dinner, jeans and a shirt of bright pink with the words “Bring on the sunshine” printed boldly on it. 

“I just wanted to check in with you after this morning.” 

He blinked at her, confused. In Damian’s mind there was no need to reference back to this morning. Unless this was an apology? Though, that was unlikely. Brown had not been the one to end the conversation on an insult. 

“Concerning?” 

She put her hands on her hips and eyed him, “Don’t do that. You know what I’m talking about. Listen, I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. It’s hard to lose someone, and that can make people react in weird ways.” She huffed and shifted to crossing her arms, “What I’m saying is, if you need someone to talk to, I’m here, and so are Alfred and the others.” 

“Tt. I am not a child . I do not need to talk out my feelings about my father’s passing.” 

“Damian--” Brown started. 

“No.” He cut her off, irritated she’d think him some sniveling baby that would break over the death of one man.

He straightened. “Do not assume to know me. Only fools waste their time crying over the dead.”

“You really shouldn’t pretend like you feel nothing. He was your dad, it’s okay to be upset,” Brown responded, dropping her arms to her sides, before she leaned forward to reach out to him.

Damian swatted her hand away and snapped, “Do not make yourself more of an idiot than you already are. I am not some pathetic child who is brought low by the loss of a man I hardly knew.” 

He sneered, “I do not need the pity of someone who was only given Robin to entice a better option back.” 

She jerked back at those words, her expression one of open hurt. Then, after a moment the expression was replaced by steel. Good, Damian would rather have a fight than sympathy. 

He did not wish to have people assume he could not handle the loss of his father. They did not understand. How could any of them? They had not spent every birthday they could remember fighting for a chance to meet him. They had not crept secretly into their mother’s room to try on a cowl far too big. Nor dreamt of a man who was shadow and power. They had not worked every day to be enough for the man his mother had turned into myth. 

No. He would brook no sympathy from those who had not had to work to get to know him only to have him torn away all too soon. 

Brown started forward, “You can be a real brat sometimes, you know that?” 

“Who's being a brat?” Grayson startled them both by showing up as if out of nowhere. 

Damian assumed he’d come down the stairs, but he’d been so focused on Brown he had missed the man’s approach. He should not have let his guard down like that, even in this setting it could be dangerous. He did not really know these people, even as they professed to be his ‘family’. Any one of them could end him if he were to let his guard down at the wrong time. 

“Oh good, you deal with him. I’m out,” Brown said.

She spun on her heel and stormed out of the room, mumbling to herself about ungrateful brats. 

“Okay.” Grayson said, the word slow and confused. “What did I miss?” 

“Tt, Brown interrupted my training.”

“So you made her angry?” 

“She insinuated that I was a child who needed coddling because I lost my father.” he said, and resisted the urge to make Brown’s words true by stamping his foot. 

Damian watched as a number of emotions flickered over Grayson’s face before he nodded, “That’s quite a bit to unpack, and it doesn’t seem like you want to.”

“There is nothing to unpack,” he confirmed. 

“Right, so what do you want to do?” 

What was it with this family and their ability to throw Damian off today? He had not expected that question at all, nor did he really know what Grayson was referring to in the grander scheme of things. He could guess that the man was asking about Brown perhaps. But Damian did not want to address her or anyone one else for that matter. There was only one thing he really wanted in that moment, and that was to take the pressure in his chest and make it go away. 

“I want to finish training.” 

Without any hesitation Grayson smiled, and dropped into a fighting pose. 

“Come on then,” he said with a wave. 

“What?” Damian sputtered.

“You heard me, let’s fight.” 

Damian was baffled. “You are not even dressed to fight. Nor have you warmed up.”

“You wanted to finish training, and I came down here to talk to you. So let’s train and then we talk.” 

Ah. An ulterior motive. Damian could respect that. Grayson was giving him what he wanted, and it had been far too long since he’d been able to test himself against someone else. As ill-fitting as he believed Batman’s cowl to be for Grayson, the man had been trained by Father and would make an acceptable opponent. 

He charged forward, hoping to catch Grayson off guard. The man deftly stepped out of the way, and their fight began in earnest. Even for someone dressed in jeans and having lacked any warm up at all, Grayson was an excellent opponent. Damian rarely got a hit in and was on the defensive more than he would like. 

It was thrilling. Damian had not fought someone like this in a while, and losing himself in the bounds of the fight was the exact distraction he had been looking for. His focus was locked on Grayson’s every move, his mind racing to find an opening and learn the man’s style. 

Only Grayson did not fight like the men and women Damian had gone up against before. He was showy . He flipped and spun as if this were a dance not a fight. He could pick out different styles in the way the man fought, and yet some moves were totally foreign to him. It would have made Damian angry if it did not fascinate him. 

Damian thought he’d caught an opening, where Grayson swung wide with his left fist, and ducked into it, intending on aiming a blow at his exposed side. He was stopped as his own arm was grabbed and then he was flying through the air to land on his back, the air rushing out of him in an “oof”.

Grayson stood above him, his face split wide in a grin, with an arm held out. “That was fun.” 

“Tt.” Damian clicked his tongue and ignored the hand. 

He pushed himself up and stood, examining the man before him with a wary eye. A small bud of respect for his skills had grown over the course of the match, but that did not mean he trusted him. If anything, he was more wary now that he knew what to expect. 

“Well?” Damian prompted, stepping past him to retrieve his water. “Stop wasting time and tell me what you wished to discuss.”

He scooped up the bottle and took a long sip. He was thirstier than he’d thought a sparring match would make him. 

Grayson followed him, and settled on one of the benches, patting the open space next to him in an invitation for Damian to sit. Cautiously he did, setting the bottle beside him.

“I wanted to check in with you.” 

‘Not this again’ , Damian thought. He bristled, preparing to set into Grayson much like he had Brown earlier. The man held up a hand to stop him. 

“We don’t have to talk about Bruce. That’s obviously a touchy subject right now, and not entirely what I wanted to talk about. Alfred said you spent most of the day in your room even though just about everyone was home. Is there any reason you’ve been avoiding us?” 

“I do not see the point.” Damian shrugged.

“Of my question?”

He rolled his eyes, “No, you idiot. In engaging with people who I will not be around much longer.” 

Grayson sat up a little straighter, a frown pulling his lips down. Damian found it an odd expression for a face he was already so used to seeing carry a smile. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Do not be a fool, Grayson, you know what I mean.” 

Damian was getting angry, that odd feeling worming its way back into his chest and mind. He’d been happy to shed it for the few minutes they’d sparred. To have it back so soon was infuriating. And confusing. Was Grayson so blind that he did not realize Damian would be leaving soon? That he had no place in his father’s house with his only tie gone? What did the man think, that he would simply exist there, with nothing holding him in place?

“No,” Grayson said, slowly, the frown deepening, “I don’t. I think we might have some expectations mixed up. Tell me, Damian, where do you see yourself in the next few days or even weeks?” 

“Is it not obvious?” he snapped. “Mother will retrieve me soon enough and I will return home with her. And so, I do not see the point in keeping up this charade. You all do not wish to have me clogging up your lives and I have no place here without Father.” 

The words twisted something in his stomach. Sharp and painful. Why did Grayson even care? Was this some test? Or a cruel joke? 

He realized with a start that he was not ready to return to Mother. Even without Father here, there were wisps of him everywhere. Ghosts of history clinging to the walls and people that inhabited his house. And it was all Damian had left to know him by. 

But he did not belong here, no one wanted him here, and Mother was coming. No matter what his desires were, she would retrieve him and that would be it. There was nothing for Damian to picture when he looked ahead. 

He stood, with a motion so sudden the water bottle went tumbling off the bench. The lid snapped open and water poured out onto the floor. Damian glared at it and then turned, intent on storming off, at least able to still choose who he interacted with. 

“Damian, wait,” Grayson called. 

When Damian did not stop the sound of footsteps hurried to catch up with him. Grayson pushed ahead, and stopped in front of him, his expression pleading. 

“You didn’t let me tell you what my expectations were.” 

Damian stopped, crossing his arms, his gaze anywhere but on the man before him. 

“See, I figured you would stay. I assumed it, and I’m sorry if that was a wrong assumption. If you want to go home with your mom that’s fine, but I need you to know you have a place here. You’re family.” 

“Tt.”

“You are, even if you won’t admit it yet.” His tone was firm, then softer, “You’re my little brother, and you have every right to stay here. If you want to.” 

“And if I stay?” Damian asked, at last raising his eyes to meet Grayson’s. “What is your plan for me?” 

Grayson ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t have a plan for you, Damian. Honestly I’d just thought, well I don’t know what I thought. That you’d stick around and be a normal kid?” 

That was enough to make Damian roll his eyes and move to push past the man. It was obvious by his statement that he did not want Damian there. To want him there, he would have a use for Damian. A goal, plan, a desire. Even if that plan were to warp him away from his Mother and Grandfather’s teachings and turn him against them. 

If he had no plan this was just...he did not know. Everyone had a plan for Damian, and the thought that Grayson did not was unsettling. 

“Hey wait,” Grayson stopped him with a hand to his shoulder.

Damian shoved the hand off, but did not move forward.

 “Everyone has a plan. What would you expect of me if I stayed? That I would continue to sit in my room with no goal? I came here to learn from my Father and advance my skills. I will not let those atrophy simply because you have no foresight.” 

He raised his chin in defiance, “Or is this some plot to keep me from my mother? To ruin her plans?” 

“What? No, I just told you if you want to go home to your mom you can. I could even give her a call, I’m sure Bruce had contact information somewhere. That’s not at all what I meant.” Grayson sighed and ran a hand through his hair. 

“I’m not good at this. Listen, Damian, your dad took me in when I lost my parents, and you just lost one of yours. If you wanted to stay and get to know the people who were a part of his life, and get to know him through them, I’d be happy to be that for you. I know the others would too.” 

He scratched his head, uncertain not of his offer, but perhaps in the way it had been worded, then shrugged. “And if learning his skills is so important to you--”

“It is the only reason I came,” Damian told him, tone firm.

“Right, well if you want to learn about how he fought and what he did in the field I’d be happy to teach you. I spent the most time with him, and no matter what you think of me taking up his legacy I can at least show you what he taught me.” 

“Will you allow me to assist you on patrol?” Damian asked. “Training is worthless without field experience.” 

The man crossed his arms, “Not yet--”

“Then--”

“No, listen.” Something in Grayson’s tone warned Damian that this offer might be rescinded if he did not, so he snapped his jaw closed. 

“None of us started out patrolling right away. If I’m going to teach you, I’m going to teach you the way Batman showed me, and you’re going to learn more than just a few new moves. We’ll talk about detective work and Batman’s cause. You can’t learn from him if you don’t follow his rules, got it?”

Damian’s brows furrowed, “And if I believe my way is correct?” 

“That’s what all our work here at home will be for. To help us figure out what’s right and wrong and what works and which way is correct. Who knows, you might teach me a thing or two.” The man shrugged. 

“Can I be Robin? Once you have deemed it acceptable for me to go into the field?”

Grayson shook his head. “Tim is Robin. We’ll have plenty of time to figure something out for you. Batman can have more than one partner.” Grayson’s lips twitched up in an almost-smile, “Maybe even a Flamebird.” 

Obviously the name held some significance to Grayson, but Damian’s attention was on the promise of training, of going out with Batman eventually. Of learning about his father.

“I have spent my entire life training.” He said, “I will prove a better partner than Drake sooner than you expect.” 

Now Grayson did smile, and laughed, the  noise a light, quick, sound. “That’s not what I said at all. I know you’ve been trained, and trained well. You proved that tonight.” 

Damian tried to ignore the warmth in his chest at the praise. It was cut off by the memory that none of this would happen if Mother came for him soon.

“And what of my mother?” 

The man considered this question. “Do you want to stay? Learn from us, and give us a chance to be your family?” 

Those were different questions, and yet Grayson had made them sound like the same thing. Made both ideas sound right. 

“I want to learn,” he confirmed. “No matter how long that takes.” 

“Then you stay as long as you want to.” 

~

Tim had not thought it was going to be easy to integrate himself into working at Wayne Enterprises. Especially after the first day when he and Dick had basically been looked on as incompetent. But something had risen up in him after that, and he’d quickly taken control of the situation. It didn't hurt that Lucius had their backs in all of this, and had stepped in to help where he could.

Still, Tim's knowledge and skills had already reshaped the board's opinion of him, and he knew for a fact that Dick had made similar progress. Together they were making a great team, like Batman and Robin but in business and Tim was thriving. 

Well, kind of. Work gave him something to devote his energy to. It gave him more than just school or old case files to focus on, and it gave him a place to go that was away from the Manor. Tim knew he was avoiding the house and thoughts of Bruce, but who could blame him? It wasn’t like the rest of the family was handling things any better. 

Dick was similarly overworking himself by piling his schedule high with things like training Damian, coordinating with the Birds of Prey to planning future patrols, and work. Jason was holed up in the library and snapping at anyone who came close. Cass was talking about leaving, going to Hong Kong or someplace like that, and no one was sure if she was serious or not. And Damian, well Tim didn’t know the kid well enough to determine how he was dealing with things, but he had so much Bruce in him that Tim’s best guess was that he was repressing it all or pretending things were fine. 

And they weren’t. But Tim wasn’t going to think about that. If he did he’d lose focus and his mind, probably. 

He wasn’t really sure. He hadn’t given himself time to think or process. It was all at the back of his mind, pressing and pushing against the wall of work he’d thrown up against it, and he knew sooner or later the wall would crumble and he’d have to deal with it. But not now. Maybe he’d figure out how and then he could, but not now. 

Now he had a meeting to attend. 

The meeting dragged on, as did the two after it, a slew of paperwork, and by the time Tim was sent designs for a proposed restructuring of the R&D department his eyes were starting to glaze over. The meetings paired with the fact that Tim quite simply had not been sleeping lately had sapped any energy he’d come in with.  

He left the pdf file sitting open on his desktop and went in search of coffee. 

Sometimes it was nice to take the long way down to the coffee shop on the building’s first floor, and today Tim found himself doing just that. He paused at windows and enjoyed the sun filtering in, while watching people hurry by on the street below. Then slowed at doorways to copy rooms and chatted with staff. He even took the stairs part of the way, just to make sure he was still moving. 

When he returned with his coffee he felt refreshed, and the warm smell of his drink helped his brain lock back onto the task at hand. For good measure, he pulled out his headphone case and unzipped it before staring down at them. They were Superman styled ones, blue and red with his symbol plastered on each ear. They'd been a gift from Kon, ironic at the time, and now? Tim swallowed back a thick knot in his throat. How many times over the past few days had Tim wished he could go to his friend and talk out his grief only to have that feeling doubled? He reached a hand out to brush it over the plastic and had to blink away mist from his eyes. 

He zipped the case shut, and fumbled in his drawer for his extra set of earbuds he knew would be there. These were safe, plain with no adornments beyond the Wayne Enterprises logo, and simple. He plugged those into the computer and stuck one each in his ear, still eyeing the black case sitting on his desk. 

Work. He needed to work. 

He put on a playlist designed to help him focus that Cassie had sent him, and the pain in his chest eased just a bit. He still had friends. Still had family. Still had people to help him through this if he'd let them. Though, he wasn't sure he was ready for that just yet. What he needed now was his head empty of thoughts and memories so he could breathe again. 

It was easy to lose an hour to going over the form, making changes, and adding notes. Somewhere along the line, the background noise changed from the playlist to a more peaceful coffee shop setting with rain drizzling in the background. It wasn’t too stark a change, but it was enough to pull his attention off his work and make it drift onto other things. 

Somehow, Tim found himself staring out the window in the office, and then all too soon he was resting his head on his desk, against pillowed arms, thinking about how tomorrow night he and Dick were going to head out as Batman and Robin for the first time since way back when they’d been partnered up after Bane had broken Bruce’s back. 

He wondered what it would feel like now that Dick was Batman permanently? They’d made plans, worked out patrol routes, and even set up new channels to keep in touch with Oracle, so they were about as prepared as one could be. But still, it was going to be different. Just how different was to be determined. 

A hand on his shoulder shook Tim awake.

He pulled one arm out from under his head and swatted at the hand before replacing it, and turning his face away from the interruption. 

After another second someone was pulling the earbuds out of his ears and Dick’s voice came clearly. “Wake up, Tim. We’re going home.”

Home? No, he had work to do. 

Tim shifted, and lifted his head to blink at his brother. “No,” he said, slowly, his brain catching up to what was going on, “I’ve got a meeting, I think.” 

“Cancelled. Tragic, really. Your cat died.” 

He furrowed his brows at Dick and frowned. “I don’t have a cat.” 

“Not anymore, you don’t.” Dick’s voice was chipper as he pulled Tim up from the chair. 

Tim had enough time to scoop his phone off the table and grumble, “Don’t sound so happy about it.” 

His brain had finally reset itself and before they left Tim stopped to shoot a glare at his computer, now firmly sleeping itself. 

“Traitor,” he mumbled, the door closing behind them. 

“That’s a little harsh, don’t you think?” 

“Not you.” Tim pulled away from Dick and rolled his shoulders.“Youtube’s autoplay. It put on relaxing background noise when I specifically wanted something to keep me awake.” 

Dick laughed at that, and hooked his arm between Tim’s. “It and I knew you weren’t getting enough rest it seems. Come on, Al’s here and we don’t want to keep him waiting.”

He was tugged along through the building, down the elevator, and out the doors, more willing than the front he was putting on. He was tired, and maybe the middle of the day was the best time to sleep, but there were far less shadows right then than could be seen at night. 

The car ride was a haze of half finished conversations and then Tim was home, falling face first onto his bed without even pulling off his socks. He grabbed a pillow and folded himself around it before letting sleep take him again. 

Tim dreamed of fire. Of it’s light flickering and painting the walls of a cave red. Of the fire burning away in the center of a room so large it was almost impossible to find a wall. And there, at the back a lone bat symbol rested, carved in the stone, black and burning as the fire lighting it. 

The image lasted long enough to sear itself into his mind before transforming into a bullet that zig zagged through the air. It pierced Tim’s heart, but strangely caused no pain. It sent him falling back and back and back into darkness.

He landed in water, all of it flooding around him and swirling to drag him down again. He struggled to surface, but the water was thick, like some kind of gel that kept getting more and more viscous as he tried to escape it. His lungs burned, and arms ached with the effort to escape, before at last his head broke free of the gelatinous fluid and he sucked in air.

Above him stood a ring of people, heroes? Villains? Tim wasn’t sure as they loomed, tall and imposing figures set to stand judgment over him and his crimes. His errors, his lack of determination. The figures morphed, fusing into the familiar silhouette of Ra’s Al Ghul, who now towered over him, his face grave. 

“Why are you wasting your time, Timothy?” he asked, “On such trivialities as running a company? You have more important work to accomplish.”

“What do you mean?” Tim asked. “What work?” 

But Ra’s warped, changing now into a huge black expanse, it’s ends scalloped and twisting over and over until it was Batman, wrapped and made of shadows. Tim’s heart soared seeing him alive. He was real, there, a solid figure that Tim could touch. 

He ran forward, tripping over his feet in his rush to get to his dad, and then before Tim could reach him, Batman burst apart into a hundred bats, all diving towards Tim ready to rip and rend and--

He shot up in bed his heart racing, a blanket tangled around his legs. His room was dim, lit only but the sun as it crept towards the horizon, the only sound around him his ragged breaths and the far too loud beating of his own heart.

A dream. It had been a dream. 

A dream that had settled in the back of Tim’s mind like peanut butter coated one’s throat. Sticky and there, that bat symbol carved into stone. He shivered, and ran a hand through his hair as his breathing slowed. It had only been a dream. Right?

He glanced at the clock on his bedside table, it was just after five. He had a little time before dinner, maybe. There was something odd about that cave. And what were dreams if not the mind’s way of trying to sort things out? 

Tim pushed back the most sensible answer to that. If he was thinking properly, he'd admit the dream was his brain attempting to grieve via the only outlet Tim was letting it. But he didn't want to be sensible right now. He didn't want his dad dead and gone forever like so many others. He wanted to fix this. To change things. To re-write this story how he needed it to go.

So maybe his brain was telling him he had missed something. Seen some news article or clickbait online that pointed to--he had no idea. Which was exactly why he needed to investigate. Not because he was suddenly scrambling for the smallest glimmers of hope, but because he needed to know. To confirm it had been some kind of article about new bats found in Argentina or something. 

He swung his legs off the bed and stood, considering where he would do his research. The last place he wanted to work was in his room. He wasn’t sure why, maybe it was Alfred’s many lectures on attempting to keep up a proper work life balance finally sinking in. Speaking of Al, he had promised him he wouldn’t work on anything vigilante related until tomorrow. This was tangentially related to that, and he really didn’t want to explain his strange reasoning if the man caught him at the cave’s computer. Jason was holed up in the library taking that spot off Tim’s list, and Damian was sure to be skulking around the manor somewhere, meaning he’d need to be careful wherever he picked. They were still in a weird place, and the last thing Tim wanted today was a heart to heart. 

Bruce’s office hadn’t been used since he’d--since the funeral. Tim had been keeping out of it, and he knew Dick had been skirting the room even when they’d both brought home work. So it was probably empty, and safe from siblings who might ask too many questions. 

Tim tucked his laptop under his arm and set off for Bruce’s office. 

He opened the door to the office, stepped inside and froze. For half a second he thought Bruce was there, seated at his desk and working. Then the dark hair peeking out above the computer screen moved, it’s owner shifting too look around, and Dick’s face appeared. 

“Tim!” he said, mouth dropping open. 

They stared at each other for a breath before Dick’s face lit up in a smile, “I’m glad you’re up. Did your nap help?” 

“Uh, yeah. It was refreshing.” Tim shifted his laptop from under one arm to the other. “What are you doing here?” 

Dick’s smile turned sheepish. “It was the only place I could think of to get some work done in peace. I tried sitting on the couch but Damian won’t stop bugging me about more training, and I’m still nursing bruises from the last time I worked with him. Then Jason’s got the library on lockdown and won’t let me in for anything but reading for fun.” He shrugged.

“I guess we both had the same idea then,” he said, lifting the laptop up so Dick could see it. 

“We did!” Dick said, “You’d think in a house this big we’d have at least one other office.” 

He glanced around the room and pointed at one of the plush chairs by the bookshelves, “Want to join me? I won’t talk your ear off, I promise.” 

Tim hummed, thinking about the offer. Dick could promise all he wanted, but he was a chatterbox. Any time they worked together in a room on something that wasn’t time sensitive like a case, Dick had the tendency to talk at him, then pull Tim into a conversation about something totally unrelated to what either of them were working on. If he stayed, it would only be a matter of time before his laptop was closed and they were deep into a conversation about music or whatever new food craze Dick wanted to try. 

“Sure, but after today we need to get a few new office spaces set up. If everyone’s going to stay here, we’re going to need more than one printer.” 

Dick laughed at that. “Agreed.” 

Tim got his laptop booted up and had just started a search for ‘strange bat symbols found in caves’ before Dick slid back, away from the desk. 

“So I started looking up office furniture - do you want a gamer chair or something more normal?” 

Dick’s sudden desire to fix their office situation officially derailed any actual searching Tim could get done. They worked together to pick out new stuff until Cass found them to announce dinner. 

He didn’t get another chance to sit down and start his search for the rest of the night. Then work and diving into regular patrolling again continued to keep him busy. And honestly, Tim had forgotten how much patrol took out of him. Even a week off had helped him catch up on much needed rest. From the way Dick had called things early their first night out, he had a feeling his brother was feeling much the same way. 

They were almost a week into their new routine when Tim decided to call work early and go home for some personal research. They were still waiting on furniture for office spaces, so Tim settled on working on a couch in the living room. There, he could gaze out the window to the lawn or flick on the television if he needed background noise. 

It took some digging, but Tim eventually stumbled on a blog post made within the past week that looked promising. Okay, so he hadn’t stumbled on it. He’d fallen down a rabbit hole into what was a series of twists and turns on the internet that led him to a reddit thread dedicated to the Berenstein Bears conspiracy, and other related ideas. 

Someone calling themselves CatchMeWithMyTinFoilHat pointed out that on a recent trip to Spain they’d noticed a strange bat shaped symbol on an old wall in Toledo. The thing was, they couldn’t remember it having been there before even though they’d spent an entire semester there as an art student in an exchange program. 

Replies to their post included the same type of thing showing up in a few other parts of Spain, one from Prague and a guy who worked at a museum in Germany mentioning feeling like some of the exhibits had changed. 

All Tim had really needed to see was the word bat. It was the sign he needed proving (maybe) that Bruce wasn’t dead. He was...somewhere else and trying to contact them. A different time? Place? Alternate Earth? Who knew when it came to battles with Darkseid. 

What Tim was certain of was that this was something he had to see through. His own dream of the cave with the symbol told him as much. They were connected. They had to be. Right? 

Even if they weren’t, he needed to know. He needed to be sure, because if even the slightest chance existed that Bruce was alive and in need of help Tim was going to find him. He’d find his dad and bring him home. There was no way he was letting go of this. Like he hadn’t been able to let go of the fact that Batman needed a Robin or how he’d been sure Dick Grayson and Robin were one in the same. This was something Tim was going to have to see through, one way or another.

Chapter Text

Dick ducked as a fist came flying at him. He turned on the back of his heel, and shoved his elbow up and into the attacker’s sternum. It connected, and the man cried out before falling backwards. Dick grinned as he danced backwards and away.

Something caught as he moved, making Dick stumble backwards, one foot getting caught in the long cape that was for some reason under him now. It wrapped around his ankle as he twisted and turned in his attempt to find his balance, and finally tore even that from him, sending him stumbling to the ground. 

The man he’d been fighting caught his own breath and straightened, now towering over Dick as he struggled to untangle himself from his cape. The guy had scooped a plank of wood up from somewhere and hefted it to swing downwards while Dick fumbled for a batarang. A slim metal rod interrupted its descent. 

Robin moved in between Dick and the thug, giving him enough time to finally untangle his boot from the traitorous cape and locate what had caused all the trouble. The cape had caught on a part of raised concrete, just crooked enough to catch a cape that was ever so slightly too long. 

Dick yanked it back and finally stood again. He looked around and realized Robin had finished off the men they’d been fighting. He was currently crouched over and securing zip ties around the guy’s wrists. 

He contacted Oracle while Robin finished securing the men, and then they were off, ready to continue patrol. Dick held in his frustration for all of five minutes, just long enough for them to have made it far enough away from the thugs they’d fought and into a relatively quiet part of town.

“You know, things like that never happened when I was Robin.” 

Tim snorted, “When you were Robin your cape was about as big as a napkin.”

“First of all, rude. Secondly, it was not. My cape was long enough to be fantastic, but not so long it tripped me up at the littlest thing.” 

As if to make his point, part of the cape curled up and threatened to tangle around his leg again. Dick swatted at it, tugging it loose.

Tim chuckled, “We’ll just have to ask Alfred to take off another inch when we get back.” 

Dick grunted and reached up to fiddle with the cowl again. “An inch there and some adjustments to the cowl. My peripherals are a nightmare."

“You didn’t complain this much when you were filling in for Bruce last time,” Tim pointed out, as they both stopped atop the edge of the roof they were on. 

Their patrol route was well planned, but they’d gotten off it when they’d moved to stop the thugs. Dick paused while trying to sort out what direction they needed to go in order to get back on track. He wouldn’t lie that the break was so he could school the emotions suddenly rushing through him. 

It was the permanence of their situation that fueled Dick’s many complaints. After Bane, he’d been able to ignore the little irritants that came with donning the cape and cowl, because he understood that sooner or later he’d be back in his Nightwing uniform. Now? A miracle had to happen for him to be allowed to step back into the life he’d made for himself. 

He didn’t want to complain. Well he did, but he didn’t. This was simply what he had to do, and whining about it would help no one. What he could rail against were all the inconveniences that came with added kevlar, a heavy cape, and a cowl that made his head sweat. 

The wind caught his cape in a sudden rush and dragged at him, causing a spark of irritation to flare up in his chest. 

“Yes, well this time I’m not just filling in, am I?” Dick snapped. 

His anger fizzled out almost as soon as he said the words, as he realized that he’d lashed out at Tim. He looked over at his partner, ready to apologize, but Tim didn’t look like he’d even processed Dick’s words. 

“Robin?” Dick prompted. 

“What would you do if I said this might not be as permanent as you think?” Tim said, face straight ahead, without looking at Dick at all. 

“What?” 

Something sharp and painful flooded Dick’s chest, stealing his breath. He couldn’t quite breathe against this new pressure, couldn’t even name it. 

Tim leaned back a bit and tapped a foot behind him, “I might have found something? It’s not really--It’s not solid proof. It’s really not much more than a rumor and my gut.” 

The hope, for that’s what had pressed against Dick’s chest, evaporated. “Tim,” he said, dropping code names, “I want him to be alive too, but a rumor?” 

His brother turned to face him now, face set. “I know what it sounds like, but something’s telling me that maybe Bruce is alive.” 

Everything in Dick wanted to take Tim’s words and run with them. Instead he released a slow breath. “I know we’re really bad at grieving, but Tim, I saw the body. Dr. Mid-nite confirmed it was Bruce. DNA doesn’t lie, Tim.” 

It was as much to convince himself as it was to convince his brother. 

“I know.” Tim’s shoulders shrank for a moment before he straightened. “I know, and it’s the longest of long shots, but I can’t stop thinking about what if. What if there’s the slimmest of possibilities he’s not?” 

Before Dick could argue again Tim held up his hand. “I’m not saying we quit everything to look into this. Just a couple days. You and me and Spain. That’s where most of the rumors have come from so far and if we find nothing then that’s it. We come home and I stop thinking about it.” 

The words felt caught in his throat. Yes, I want to go . Yes, I want to find my dad . Yes, I want to hope . They warred against sense. They warred against the fact that Dick had seen Bruce. Seen what remained of him. Heard the story of what happened, and buried his dad. He couldn’t--he wouldn’t get that hope up for a rumor. 

“Tim, I--” 

“Think on it?” Tim’s words were rushed, a plea. 

“I can’t.” Dick shook his head. “Tim, I can’t. You have to understand that I--”

His brother swallowed. “I get it.” Dick could hear the disappointment in his voice. “I do, but Dick I need this.” 

“And I can’t just leave Gotham, or Alfred, or Damian, or the rest of the family trying to move on. I don’t think Jason would stay with just Damian, Cass, and Steph around. We’re all trying to move on in our own ways, and they need me there to help. And you, Tim need to move on too, it’s okay to let him go.”

As he said those words his heart ached. He didn’t want to let Bruce go either, but they couldn’t keep living this way. Living like--like he was going to pop back up or something.

His brother shook his head. “Not until I’ve checked. If I’m wrong, I will. I’ll come home and you can lock me in my room or force me into therapy or whatever. But I need to know, Dick. I need to at least check.” 

Dick understood Tim’s drive. He knew if their places were switched, and if he’d been the one to stumble on whatever this was, he’d probably also be as attached to the idea as Tim was. Just putting himself in Tim’s shoes told Dick the kid was probably hanging onto any hope he could. He hadn’t had the best year, not with losing Kon and Bruce. 

“You really think there might be a chance?” 

“I don’t know, but I have to rule it out.” 

Dick nodded. “I can’t leave Gotham. Not right now. I want to hope you’re right, but I can’t devote the energy to that. Not when so many people are relying on me.”

Tim seemed to deflate at that. Dick shook his head and put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “That doesn’t mean I’m saying no or you’re losing me. Whatever you need, Tim, you have it. You go, find Bruce if he’s out there, with my full support.” 

“But you’re not coming?” 

“I trust you. It’s your journey, your adventure. Besides if I go, you know that Damian’s going to try to make himself boss or WE or something and that’s the last thing we want.” This prompted a small smile from Tim. 

Dick continued, “I’m holding down the fort here, but that doesn’t mean you can’t reach out, and if you get in trouble, you call. I’ll be there.” 

Tim nodded. “It’s just going to be a weekend.” He shifted again, hand reaching up to cover Dick’s. “If I’m being honest, I’m not sure what I’ll find. I want to find something, but--”

“Listen, I’ll be here no matter what happens, okay?” 

He tugged Tim into a hug, and squeezed him tight, “I love you.” 

Tim returned the embrace, face buried in Dick’s shoulder so much that his response was a bit muffled. “Thanks.” 

~

Jason knew he could not simply live in the library and kitchen. And yet, for almost three weeks now he had been attempting just that. The first week was understandable. It had been a kind of special time of mourning for him, not unlike when people used to don black and cover mirrors for weeks to show respect.  

For Jason, it was not mirrors or black clothes but time, carved out for him to rage and cry and sit and stare out the window with a book in hand and try to sort out the knotted mess that was his head and heart. Jason couldn’t say he’d actually sorted anything out. In fact, he felt messier than before. But he knew he’d needed that time. 

Now? He wasn’t sure what he was doing. Extending it, maybe? Waiting on the world to feel right again? Hiding? 

Cassandra had accused him of hiding. Jason had thrown a book at her, but now he was starting to feel like maybe she was right. 

Truth be told, he hadn’t been spending one hundred percent of his time in the library --even if he’d made everyone think that. He’d been around. He trained downstairs with Dick and Cass sometimes, helped Alfred in the kitchen, took long walks around the grounds, and generally avoided all thoughts of returning to patrol. 

Everyone else had at this point, but Jason couldn’t quite bring himself to don the uniform again. It felt a bit like he did - gutted and empty. 

He paced, like a panther waiting for its prey up a tree, back and forth and forth and back. Past windows whose domed glass glittered in all kinds of colors, past the books set on shelves just out of the sun’s reach and then a heel turn, and he’d pass them again. 

It was almost like going in circles, and if he just added a few steps to this dance he would be. 

Abruptly he stopped, freezing in front of one of the windows. The library had two stories and could be entered either from the ground or second floors. Jason’s preferred reading nook rested on the second floor, where he could feel the sun and look down from one of the manor’s sides, across green grass, Alfred’s garden, and an expanse of trees that stretched beyond where Jason could see. 

He cracked the window open and let in air that was fresh and smelled of green things drifting up. It was sun-warmed this late in the day, and only held the smallest of bites. 

Jason closed his eyes and breathed in the air, almost able to pretend he was a kid again, doing homework in the library, with Bruce working below him. And if he waited long enough they’d be suiting up to go out into Gotham and save people, or maybe it was the weekend and Bruce was packing the car for a camping trip. Or a hundred other perfect days. 

A tear dripped down his cheek and made him open his eyes to run a hand under them. “Stupid Bruce,” he mumbled, “stupid crusade, and stupid me.” 

In the end, he didn’t think the anger had been worth it. He had traded innumerable perfect days for anger and solitude, and because of that any future good times were gone, lost to another bullet. 

Jason turned and looked around the library. He really could not keep spending so much time in here. If he did, he’d-he wasn’t sure what would happen but he had a feeling he’d regret it in much the same way he was fighting regret now. 

So, before anyone came to collect him for dinner or poke their head into the library in a misguided attempt at getting him to join a game of Mario Kart, Jason left on his own, with a book tucked under his arm. 

He was still getting used to everything that was different since he’d lived there. It was mostly little changes. A new couch here, a few added tables there, carpet of a different shade, and more pictures, so many more pictures. It hurt to look at all the ones he wasn’t in. As for the ones he was? Those almost hurt more to see. 

Jason swung by the kitchen for a glass of water and then wandered about, ears pricked for the tell-tale sounds of conversation. While he’d been cooped up, he knew the others had been moving around the building, going outside for games, and generally filling the space in the way a full house could. It was a little after five now, so everyone should be filtering back from school or work and in turn, should be making some kind of noise. 

He found some noise centered in the screening room. When Jason poked his head inside, he found Cassandra and Stephanie lounging on one of the couches with the projector playing cartoons? Jason took a better look at the screen and grinned. 

“You guys watching Avatar?” 

Cass patted the cushion beside her. “Steph says it should only be watched on the big screen.” 

“Heck yes, it should.” He moved inside and, instead of joining them on the couch, took an armchair, releasing the footrest with a grin at both as a sort of peace offering. He was joining them, but they weren’t at the cuddling on the couch stage of things. Jason didn’t even know where he’d be in three days, so yeah. Joining for Avatar? Yes. Buddy-buddy? Not quite. 

“Season one? Did you just start?” he asked. 

Steph nodded. “We had to wait for Tim to help us with the download.”

Jason frowned. “Is he back from his hunt?” 

She sat up, leaning on an elbow, and shook her head. “Nah, video chat. He’s in...” she paused thinking.

“Prague,” Cass supplied. 

Steph nodded. “Yeah, there. Said he’d found something in Spain that was a hint or another somethin, something?” she shrugged. “I’ve honestly got no clue, he was talking way too fast to really comprehend what he’d found.”

“Yeah,” Jason said, distantly. 

He’d initially reacted to Tim’s quest the way any sane person would, which was to say he’d thought his little brother had lost his marbles. They had DNA, a body, the word of the Justice League. There really wasn’t any wiggle room for doubt. Not in Jason’s eyes at least. 

But, the thought of Bruce being alive kept digging at Jason. A tiny spark of hope, like a second chance. 

He understood why Tim had felt he’d needed to see this through. Hope did that to you. It drove and pushed and generally did everything it could to keep you going. And when Tim had extended his two day trip abroad to telling everyone he’d be gone for a week, well, that seed of hope in Jason’s chest had sprouted. 

Of course he wanted Tim to be right. All the insanely complicated emotions and thoughts that brought up were naught compared to just the idea that maybe Bruce was alive. But he didn’t want to hope too much. He had a feeling that if he thought about it too much he’d get invested, and if he got invested, well he might not be out there next to Tim, but he’d sure be tech support from home. 

“Anyway, because of that we’re only on episode three, but we could go back if you wanted?” Steph’s voice brought Jason back to Earth. 

“Nah, I’m happy to start here.” 

They watched Avatar up until dinner, and picked it up again after, all the way up until the girls had to get suited up for patrol. Jason was left on his own then. The book he’d been carrying around with him still rested on the arm of the chair and  he lifted it, tapping his fingers on the cover. 

He didn’t really want to head back to the library, or be alone, so instead he moved down to the cave. Alfred was on the comms, with Damian hovering like the overeager ten year old he was, yammering on about how he could help and had finished his homework (when had the brat started school?) to Alfred’s very firm refusals. 

“Does three make a party?” Jason asked, announcing his presence. 

“Have you finally found your nerve again?” Damian asked, all hints of childlike eagerness wiped away in exchange for the haughtiness bred into him by the Al Ghuls. 

“Never lost it.” Jason shrugged. “I’m taking a break. It’s something you all could learn to do once in a while.” 

“Tt. A true warrior doesn’t take breaks.” 

Oh boy. Jason wondered how Dick had put up with the kid this long. He knew for a fact the little gremlin was pushing Dick’s buttons. The man had spent almost the entirety of Saturday hiding in the library with Jason and complaining. At the time Jason had thought it hilarious. Now he just felt bad for his older brother. 

“If that were true, all warriors would die young from overexertion and stupid mistakes that come from being tired,” Jason responded, then smirked. “Since you’re still kicking, I’d say that means you’re on the stupid mistakes part.”

Damian sneered at him, “I guess you would be the expert, having allowed yourself to be killed as Robin.” 

“Why you snot nosed little--”

“That is quite enough, both of you.” Alfred did not snap at them, but he might as well have had with all the iron his tone held.

The words had been aimed at both of them, but Alfred was looking directly at Damian. The boy tsked again and turned on his heel to move to the training mats. 

“Don’t mind me,” Jason said, holding up his book, “I’m just here for company.”

He was, but he was also a little curious about how Dick was faring without a Robin. He hadn’t talked much about going out as Batman, probably thinking it a sore spot, and Jason hadn’t prompted him for information. That didn’t mean he didn’t want to know.

Jason read and glanced up from time to time either to chat with Alfred or look over the screens detailing out Dick’s night of patrol. He was following a pretty simple four-hour patrol route, with a max desired time of five-and-a-half hours. It was something similar to what Jason had done. One couldn’t reasonably be out for eight hours. So evening patrols were staggered through the night, with different teams taking different shifts through the week.

From what Jason was picking up while listening to Alfred’s side of conversations and the scattered info on the screen, the night wasn’t going smoothly. It seemed like Dick still hadn’t managed to sort out his cape problems --and who could blame him, Jason had ditched the cape as soon as possible for all the same reasons-- and generally hadn’t quite gotten a handle on dealing one-on-one with Gotham’s variety of bad guy.

Still, he made it back in one piece. One ragged, rumpled piece that Damian immediately took down another couple pegs before Alfred’s glare sent him scuttling back upstairs. 

“Tough night?” Jason asked once Dick stepped out of the locker room. 

Even after a shower he looked like he hadn’t slept in a week. He had indeed slept, Jason knew it for a fact since Alfred had let Dick sleep in so long he’d missed breakfast that morning. So his worn out expression only pointed to just how exhausted Dick was becoming. Tim hadn’t even been gone that long and Dick was already starting to show the strain of being without his partner both on patrol and at Wayne Enterprises. 

Dick shrugged. “I’ve had better.”

“You look like you’ve had better.”

“Rude,” Dick said, but didn’t move to deny it further. 

He hesitated a moment and then said, “You know, I could use some help with Tim gone.” 

Jason had a feeling Dick was going to ask for his help sooner or later. It was part of the reason he’d decided to lurk in the cave that evening. Despite what he’d told Damian hours earlier, Jason knew he needed to try something. He’d been avoiding patrol, but he couldn’t keep doing that. 

Still, what kind of a brother would he be if he gave in easily? 

He crossed his arms, then raised one to rub at his chin, “I’ve heard Batwoman’s back in town. Or maybe you could join the Birds of Prey?”

“Bold of you to assume I hadn’t asked them already,” Dick said, with a grin. 

Jason snorted, then shrugged, “Well if they rejected you, I guess it’s up to me to take pity on you and lend a hand, but ask me to wear the scaly undies and I’m out.” 

“Listen, those were your choice. I didn’t say you had to keep the outfit design the same.”

Chapter Text

The relief Dick felt just having someone by his side again in Gotham was palpable. He’d gotten used to Tim being with him. They’d quickly fallen into old habits, and having someone working with him had made Dick feel like he was on a team again, even if that was a team of two. If anything had become clear since he’d taken up Batman’s mantle, it was that he preferred having a partner to his lone patrols in Bludhaven. 

Dick didn’t have the same history patrolling with Jason that he did with Tim or his Titans teammates, but they weren’t strangers. Barring a fairly awkward first hour filled with some fumbles Dick was glad Damian was not privy to, they were working well together. It helped Dick begin to relax a bit, letting go of some of the tension he’d piled high on himself when Tim had left and it had been just him on his patrol route. 

The first couple hours went really well, he and Jason teased each other, and started to move closer to what they’d had those few wonderful times Dick had gotten to patrol beside him when he was Robin. Jason might be grown now, but pits and growth and a red hood couldn’t hide moves Dick had taught him when he was still in the R.  

Dick loved it. And he let himself relax back into the comfort of being with a sibling, of having someone who had his back. Unfortunately, Dick noticed as he grew more relaxed Jason was acting just the opposite, growing tenser and tenser. By the third hour, their casual conversation from the start of patrol turned to sharp remarks and short responses when he could get Jason to talk, and Jason seemed to be fighting harder and sloppier. 

The last thing Dick wanted to do was pry so much he scared Jason off, so after a couple attempts he let up. It was probably just first-patrol-in-a-while jitters catching up with him. Dick had gotten them his first night back out, and Tim had admitted to feeling a bit nervous too. This was probably just Jason’s way of shaking off the reset. 

Oracle alerted them of an alarm going off at a bank and they shifted to cover it. She couldn’t tell them more than the movement sensors had gone off, and the outside doors weren’t reporting any foul play. That itself indicated that the robbers at least had some sort of plan, even if it was a faulty one. 

They scoped out the building as they approached it, noting the front door hanging open. There were no lights flashing nor on; the alarm was a silent one so the hapless thieves probably weren’t even aware it was blaring. He did wonder why the GCPD hadn’t picked up on the signal, but that didn’t matter since he and Red Hood were already on the scene.

“Thermals read five men in the main room. If there are any further in or at the safe I can’t see them yet.” Jason said, from his side.

Dick nodded, “Any at the door?”

His brother scoffed, “You want to go in the front door?”

“They did leave it open for us.”

A huff and then, “No one’s close to the door.”

He shot his brother a wide grin, “The front door it is then. We can sneak up on each one and take them out before they even know we’re there.” 

He almost stopped at that, but Jason was still stressed, and maybe he could add some fun into his brother’s night, “Want to see who can knock the most out? Post-patrol ice cream is on the loser.”

He had a feeling the promise of some light competition would be enough to spur Jason into accepting. His brother liked competition as much as any of the Bats, and usually instigated it himself. Tonight the suggestion did not ease Jason’s shoulders, but caused them to tighten further. Dick wondered at how he could be so tense, so long. It had to be uncomfortable. 

“No games. Let’s just get inside and take care of this.” Jason told him, then to emphasize his point, he shot a grapple and swung down to the front of the building. Dick followed, frowning.  

They split up inside the building, working silently as they knocked out each of the masked robbers. Some had been raiding drawers, some supposedly on the lookout for the police, all were now safely unconscious and zip tied. 

Finally, they reached the safe door, which was hanging open. Jason peered into it, and flashed Dick two fingers to indicate the number of men. Almost immediately after, he started to creep in. Dick moved behind him.

As indicated, there were only two men in the room. Safety deposit boxes lined one wall, and open shelves the other two. Jason was moving a little too fast for Dick’s comfort. His attention seemed focused solely on the guy he was sneaking up on, leaving none for the floor under his boots. It was littered with things that had been tossed off shelves. 

A large cracking sound resonated through the quiet room as one of Jason’s boots crunched down on a discarded porcelain figure’s arm.  

Both men turned at the noise, and Dick caught sight of handguns in both their hands. The room was small, way too small, to let those guns go off. He lunged at the nearest one to wrestle the gun away from him. From the sounds of further struggle and distinct lack of gunfire so far, it seemed like Jason had done the same. 

Dick grabbed the man’s wrist and hefted it up in the air, away from immediate danger if he was to pull the trigger, and punched him square in the nose. It should have knocked the man out. While the man’s eyes did cross, he didn’t go down right away. He stayed standing for a second and even raised an arm to block a second blow from Dick. 

Dick caught that wrist and heard a gunshot go off. Close, but not as ear splitting as if it were the one raised above his and the robber’s heads. Dick shoved the man’s fist back towards his face, finally sending his eyes rolling back, and grabbed the gun as he collapsed. 

Then he turned to find Jason, furiously kicking the second gun away and zip tying the arms of the man he’d been fighting. 

“You good, Hood?” Dick asked, looking him over. 

“Fine,” Jason ground out, sounding furious and not fine at all. 

Dick couldn’t see anything immediately wrong, and he wasn’t going to push just yet, so he secured his own thug and did a once-over of the room to ensure they’d gotten everyone. When he was sure the robbery had been stopped, he contacted Oracle and let her know to send the police around. 

He let Jason get outside and halfway down the block before he stopped him, “Okay tell me what happened.” 

Jason shrugged, a few feet in front of him, “Wasn’t fast enough, that’s all.”

“Did he hit you?” Dick asked. 

“No,” Jason lied. 

And Dick knew it. Knew it from the way he was carrying himself, in how he hadn’t let Dick get in front of him. His rush to leave the building.

“Jay.” 

“Code names, Dickwad. Batman of all people should insist on those,” Jason said but turned. 

Dick didn’t bother to correct him on the nickname, he was too focused on Jason’s arm. The shot had caught him right above his elbow. It didn’t look deep and wasn’t bleeding so much Dick would have caught on right away, still it wasn’t good.  

“Let’s call it a night.” Dick said, “We’re close enough to the end of the night anyway, and I think we need to talk.” 

It was telling that Jason didn’t argue. He sighed and dropped to the ground to sit on the curb, the tension leaching from his shoulders even as he did so. He waved his good arm in the air dismissively. 

“Call the car.” 

Dick hit the button to turn on the Batmobile’s remote activation. It would hone in on their location and pull right up. Hopefully not over Jason’s toes. After that, he too sat down beside his brother, hands on the ground behind him so he could lean on them.

There were a number of things Dick could do to start this conversation, but he’d learned after years of working with Bruce that sometimes you just had to be quiet and let your partner decide when to talk. It was not a skill he could claim to be the best at, but he could when the situation called for it. 

So Dick sat there. Gave his brother room while Jason also sat, slapped a bandage on the knick on his arm, and sat again. Eventually he mirrored Dick’s position, leaning back on his hands. He held that for a minute at most, before leaning forward to pull his knees forward and rest his arms on them. 

He’d just dropped his head into his arms when the car rolled up. Jason was up and in the car so fast he might as well have been imitating a speedster. Dick took things a bit slower; he stood, dusted off his cape, and then got in on the driver’s side. He glanced at Jason to make sure he was ready and then started home. 

“‘M sorry,” Jason mumbled, staring out at street lights as they lit the interior of the car, one swooping after another. 

“For what?” Dick asked, surprised. 

“It was dumb to come out. Dumb to stay out after I realized--” Jason broke off with a huff of frustration that Dick felt wasn’t at him. 

They passed one light, and another. 

“I’m not ready for this again.” Jason said, at last, “But you were so relaxed, and you needed help, and once we were out I kept thinking that I’d get over it. But I can’t.” 

He broke off again, and Dick glanced over at him. Jason was still staring out the window, hands in fists on his lap. 

“I don’t know what to do.” 

Jason’s voice was quiet, almost like the time Dick had found him hiding on the roof after a fight with Bruce so bad he’d been convinced he’d finally messed up bad enough he’d be sent away. Back then, Dick had easily been able to soothe his fears, and convince him things would be fine. Dick wanted to do the same, but he had no idea if he could. 

“I just know I can’t go back out.”

“Is it Bruce?” Dick asked, and regretted the words immediately, they could have a million different meanings. Any one of those could turn Jason off this whole conversation. 

Jason coughed a laugh, “Probably. The old man spiting me one more time from the grave.” He tugged off his helmet and sighed, finally leaning back against the chair, now looking ahead. 

“I don’t mean that. Least, I don’t think I do. It is partially his fault, yes, but it’s mine too. I dunno. There’s still something off in me, something that doesn’t want this.” He waved his helmet at the car then glanced at Dick. 

“I get that.” Dick told him with a hum, “You don’t have to go back out if you don’t want to. I think Bruce would want us to find our own paths, whether he was alive or not.” 

They fell into silence for a bit, Jason considering Dick’s words and Dick trying to mull over Jason’s. He had a feeling Jason, out of all of them, was facing the biggest choice in what to do. His own path was laid out, Dick wasn’t going to let the city fall or make anyone else take up Batman’s mantle. Tim, Cass, and Steph all seemed happy to keep pushing forward as they had. And Damian? Well, the kid wouldn’t stop asking when he could go out into the field, no matter how much Dick might want him to have a normal life. 

But Jason? So much of who he’d been after he came back was wrapped up in Bruce. In anger and irritation and hurt. And to have that driving force stripped away, to leave him bare and face to face with his own feelings? 

“Have you thought about maybe seeing a therapist? You know Dinah’s been working with a few heroes and even some retired ones. Helping them sort things out, find purpose, and just giving them a place to talk.” 

He glanced again over at his brother. Jason was looking at him, mouth agape. For a moment Dick thought he was going to be angry. Then, Jason blinked and snapped his mouth shut, thinking. 

“That’s not too bad an idea,” he said. “I’ll think on it.”

“You’ll have her number by morning.” Dick said, with a smile. 

Jason nodded, “I know I’m leaving you in the lurch and if I can--”

Dick held up a hand, “Don’t worry about it. I managed Bludhaven alone for a long time, and Tim’s got to come back soon. I’ll be fine.” 

“But the comms, Alfred shouldn’t have to cover them every night. Maybe I could help with those?”

He switched the car into autopilot, they were just about out of Gotham now anyway. Then, he turned to really look at Jason, tugging his cowl back so they could make eye contact.

“Do you want to? And really think about it, Jason, then answer.”

To his credit, Jason did. His eyes glanced down and for a long while they were quiet again, “I--I’m not sure. I don’t know if I want anything to do with vigilantes anymore. But--”

“Then don’t worry about it. I’ll have Damian cover some nights for Alfred. It’ll get him off my back about being useful. He’s still convinced that if he’s not pulling his weight we’re going to kick him out and send him back to Talia. While I don’t want to promote unhealthy thoughts like that,” he grinned sheepishly, “This will give him something to do. Plus, it’ll help prep him for fieldwork.” 

Jason whistled, then shook his head, “Sounds like he needs as much therapy as I do.”

“If you want to help, he's the one who could really use it.” Dick frowned, “He comes off as a pain, but at his center he’s ten and desperate for someone to love him.” 

“Weren’t we all?” Jason joked, then added, “I’ll see what I can do. The league has a great library, but crap selection for fiction. The kid’s probably never even heard of Jane Austen, and it’d be a shame if he went any longer without some proper education.” 

That was one more on his team, Dick thought. One more member of the family working to try to heal Damian. And, heal themselves too. He had a feeling Jason was going to turn out just fine. 

Chapter Text

Damian was delighted he’d been finally given something to do. He was not going to admit that out loud, nor was he planning on smiling at all tonight. It was a mission after all. He had been tasked with accompanying Pennyworth and learning the ins and outs of running the comms so that he could take over on night’s when the man needed a break. 

It sent a thrill through him as he took the offered chair next to Pennyworth at the Batcomputer. Damian was not normally allowed to use the computer, nor do much to assist with patrols. At first, Damian had believed it was because they did not trust him. Grayson had explained that the system was complicated, and had made it clear to Damian that mistakes might cost lives, and so he had reluctantly agreed to wait. Now that he was being given permission, his stomach fluttered with those same warnings. 

The chair was soft but not so plush one might fall asleep sitting in it too long. It was just the sort of comfortable that helped keep someone from being distracted by aches and pains from hours sitting there paying close attention. And close attention was exactly what was required of Damian if he were to watch Grayson’s back as he was out working in Gotham. 

“Tonight I will run everything and talk you through the steps.” Pennyworth explained, “We will do the same for the next week. After that you’ll be in my seat and at the controls. I will be here to assist you the rest of the week, then after we will take shifts. Does that sound acceptable to you, Master Damian?” 

He nodded, perhaps a little too eagerly, but Damian’s heart was racing. He was being allowed to learn. To help. To do something, anything that wasn’t constant training, Pennyworth’s accursed lessons, or skulking around. 

It felt good. Even though Damian didn’t get to hit any buttons nor comment to Grayson beyond a hello, he felt like he was finally accomplishing something. It set a warm feeling in his stomach that didn’t leave the whole night. Even when Batman got in a spot of trouble and had to be bailed out by Batgirl and Spoiler, the worry was soon replaced by that wonderful feeling of being needed. 

Damian was in such a good mood that when Grayson returned and insisted on giving him a hug as congratulations for making it through a first night on the comms, he allowed it with little grumbling. 

He tried not to think about  how that hug felt much like the warm, soft feeling in his chest he’d had all night. 

The next two nights went much the same, though Damian grew more and more impatient to physically be at the controls and to make full use of the knowledge that Pennyworth was imparting on him. 

He expressed this impatience once, on the third day, “I do not see the point in watching for a week. Clicking buttons to check maps is hardly challenging.”

“It has been a calm few nights.” Pennyworth explained, “However, there is nothing simple about this job when Riddler is on the loose, or when Batman is working on a larger case. Even without those situations, to consider this ‘simple’ is to risk his life. He relies on our information, backup, and eyes on information he cannot easily pull up. If you see this as a lax job then I am not sure I can trust you to take over.”

“No!” Damian all but yelled, “No, that is not what I meant. It is an important duty, and I take it seriously.” 

There was something unreadable in Pennyworth’s eye at that. “Then prove it, take this portion of the training seriously so that I know I can trust you when our positions are swapped.”

Damian did not complain again after that. He wanted to, especially as the week grew to a close and his hands itched to type out a command or practice information that had been drilled into him. But, he did not speak up; he would not lose this one opportunity to foolish impatience. He had waited far longer for far more important events. 

When at last it was Damian in the command seat and Alfred waiting patiently next to him, Damian thought he was going to be excited. Instead, his chest buzzed with nervousness. There was a stark difference in sitting next to someone as they worked, and being the one to actually do things himself. 

It was silly to feel nervous. Damian had trained for a week, and this was by no means the first time he’d touched the computer. Pennyworth had made him come early a number of nights to run him through tests and once or twice allowed him to suggest a course of action. Beyond that, he was an Al Ghul. Failure was not an option, certainly not when he was directing Batman’s actions for the night. 

He glanced at the screen to watch the footage coming from Grayson’s cowl, then to another window indicating his vitals. Everything looked normal, even as Damian checked and checked again, anxiety twisting in his chest.

He could not help but wonder if this was all a test. What if they were tricking him? Trying to see if Damian would purposefully let Grayson fail? It was a lot of work to put into such a test, but not unheard of. Damian had often found himself in the middle of similar situations set by his Grandfather. 

Then, the rules had often changed halfway through. He wondered if this were the same. Would things change? Was Pennyworth not here to continue instructing, but to strip him of this opportunity at the first sign of his inability to recall everything correctly? At an incorrect decision he made? Were they waiting for him to turn on them? 

Nothing indicated any of this, but Damian knew better. Damian had been trained to know better. His fingers hesitated over the keyboard, as nerves seemed to strip them of their strength. 

Up until this point, little had been expected of Damian --a frustrating thing on its own-- and this was the first real task anyone had for him. Was this all some test designed to see if he was worth keeping around? A test of his loyalty? 

He shook the thoughts away. There was little point in lingering on them, no matter how this turned out, he had a job to do. 

Grayson was not having a good night, and so Damian must focus on that instead of his own doubts. 

The streets were busy, the Birds had their own problems to deal with, and even Damian could tell Batman was tired. He had hoped that Drake returning for a few days last week --only to already be gone again-- and Grayson taking the weekend off would have recharged him but he could hear the stress in the man’s voice. 

Then he picked up some chatter about a “really weird statue” in the college district that was also described as “incredibly creepy” and “giving chills”. It was strange enough Damian felt inclined to check it out, just to make sure it was not some trap being set up by one of Gotham’s many costumed criminals. 

He glanced at Pennyworth for permission even as he opened a new window to start a search for security cameras in the area covering the street listed. He hesitated to hit enter, and then Pennyworth nodded. 

“If your instinct says to check it out, then by all means.” 

It was not the sour, dismissive, kind of permission Damian would sometimes receive from tutors. This was genuine. Pennyworth seemed to truly approve and almost sounded proud. Though pride would be determined by Damian’s discovery, he was certain. 

He found the street and quickly located the “strange, scary” sculpture. What he could see, lit by street lights and a light from a bookstore across the street was certainly odd, though he would not classify it as extremely creepy. 

However, Brown had told him his sense of what could be considered creepy was skewed. Damian could not outright deny that fact even if he wanted to. There was no getting around the fact that once he had brought his grandfather a horned crown from some ancient ritual. 

Still, this surely could not be considered too creepy. It was just large and odd. It was a towering, oddly shaped set of statues. They looked to perhaps be made of wood? And were shaped like people, bending over with legs spread strangely. He zoomed the camera in, still keeping his ears open in case Grayson needed him. 

Two people, with hoods drawn up to conceal their faces, were lifting another piece of wood that looked a bit like an arm, to press it’s palm into the ground. Zoomed in, Damian could see a series of colorful dots littering the sidewalk. 

He heard Pennyworth hmm curiously. 

“What do you think it is?” Damian asked, glancing over at him.

“It looks to be a statue of people playing Twister.”

Damian frowned, “I am unfamiliar with that game.”

“Master Richard is quite good at it.” Pennyworth said, with the hint of a smile on his lips. 

Damian nodded, it was obvious that whatever these people were doing seemed less dangerous than inconvenient. Problematic for anyone who could not duck between the lowered arms and legs, but nothing outright impossible to bypass. 

Damian’s heart sunk as he realized this was probably nothing to worry about, at least nothing for Batman to be concerned with. Still, it might be good to warn Grayson and the Birds in case they ended up close by so they did not end up tripped up. 

He screenshotted the cleanest version of the scene he could get, in case anyone wanted a visual, then shot off a message to Oracle. 

“Batman, there is a large structure in the college district.” he said, into his radio, “If you cross it, be aware it’s difficult to go under.”

“That’s odd. Anything I should check out?” 

“No,” Damian said, eyes flickering back over to the still open window, the figures seemed to have finished their task, “I simply did not think you wished to break your neck attempting to fly through it.” 

He waited for Pennyworth to inform him that he had wasted time investigating the statue. He really needn't have bothered reporting it; no one who was out currently was scheduled to go by that area during the evening’s patrol. And so, it was of little real practical use to have looked at. 

As soon as his image was saved, he closed out of the window and tried not to think about it. Still, doubt circled in his head. Had he made the right call? Or was Pennyworth waiting on Grayson’s return to announce his failure? Was this the end of his chance to help? Sure, the man had told him to go with his instincts, and had not seemed upset by the outcome, but Damian knew better. 

Grandfather had once sat him and his mother down in front of two glasses filled with tea and told him to choose. One was poisoned, the other not. Grandfather had also told him to choose based on his instincts.

He had been given this test before with instructions to select the safe cup. Let the other participant die. It was obvious Grandfather wanted him to do the same, to let his instincts choose the one without poison. Damian knew which it was, he could smell the sharp scent through the spices in the tea easily. It was obvious. 

At the same time, Damian knew the rules had changed. He could not let his mother die. Grandfather would not let his mother die. But Damian was also not supposed to take the poison. 

In the end he had failed the test. He drank the poisoned cup. 

To say Grandfather was disappointed would be putting it lightly. Damian had failed in choosing love. His wrist he’d used to lift the cup ached faintly at the memory, and he winced remembering the way Grandfather had so casually ordered it broken.

“Now, you will remember your lessons,” Grandfather had said.

Damian remembered, remembered the pain, the way he had been sick for days, and his mother’s disappointed look. 

It was that memory which fueled the uncertainty in his chest. He did not think that kind of punishment waited for him here. Not for something as small as taking extra time to look over a possible danger. But he was not entirely sure what to expect. He did not wish to be a disappointment, but how could he choose correctly when no one had told him the rules? 

No one had told him much of anything. 

He had to work to keep his breathing even as the weight of not knowing hit him again. He had felt it often enough during training sessions, being dropped off at places with no explanation as to what he was to do. Being handed assignment sheets wordlessly only to have them snatched up after an undescribed period of time. It was to keep him thinking on his feet, always on guard, aware. 

Damian hated it. It made him tight, tense, and tired. 

He hated that he still felt that way. 

Not that he could do much about it. If his father’s family had expectations for him, well he would learn them soon enough. Grayson could not simply wish he “be a normal boy”. It was a foolhardy idea, and one the man did not seem interested in following through on. So far, Damian rarely saw him outside of meals and training.

Brown and Todd were different. Damian did not know what to make of them. Of the unrelenting nature of Brown’s attempts to rope him into idiodic activities like bike riding and watching cartoons. Or Todd pushing books onto him and dragging him to the library for ‘cultural education’ in the form of reading fiction. 

At least they seemed to be attempting Grayson’s promise. Still. It was probably a trap. An attack on multiple sides to get him to lower his guard and then--well Damian was unsure what their plan was. And that was the problem wasn’t it? 

He shook off his worries as best as he could, and set his focus to not making any more mistakes. 

When Grayson returned from patrol and praised his handling of the comms Damian was certain he had made the right decision, and no one was upset with him. He only wished he could take that confidence into the rest of his life. 

Damian’s nights running comms continued to get better over the week. Though, he found himself more and more exhausted as the week continued. He had grown weak in his time with the family, prior to this he’d been sleeping more here than he had ever. And the lack of it, after two weeks of surveillance, was catching up to him. 

He took to doodling to keep himself awake, not really caring that Pennyworth saw the scribbles. It was not full-on art, and it kept his mind busy on slower nights. The ones Drake returned for were especially boring, with Batman needing them little as he had a partner. 

Currently Damian did not have to worry about Drake. The boy was off with his Titans friends, called away from both Grayson’s side and his own search for Father by an emergency with them. 

Drake’s willingness to up and leave Batman dug at Damian. Could he not see that Grayson needed him? That the man was far more exhausted than he let on, that Gotham was a harsher mistress than Nightwing’s ‘Bludhaven’? It was a foolish time to be so lax in one’s duties, and yet Drake was gone more than he was around. 

Damian brushed off those thoughts, it wouldn’t do to linger on irritations he could do little about. No, the best thing to do was prove his own worth by showing Grayson he could be the partner that would not fail him. 

He cast his eyes up and down from screen to sticky note as he doodled and kept an eye on Grayson’s cowl footage, currently in the middle of a stakeout. 

A yawn built up at the back of his throat, and Damian tried to swallow it down. Instead it came out loud and somewhat obnoxious. He dropped his pencil to slap his hand over his mouth. When the accursed yawn was over, he turned to look at Pennyworth. 

The two weeks Damian had spent with the butler had taught him much about Pennyworth. He was clever and witty and delightful to be around. He was far more patient than Damian deserved, and yet more fearsome than any of Damian’s tutors had been. 

Right now, he seemed to be reading Damian like a book.

“I will make us both some ceylon,” he declared, standing. “It will do good to stretch my legs.” 

Damian nodded. “I would appreciate that.” 

He did his best to stay awake, doodling a picture of the docks Grayson was observing, adding tiny boats and a little jutting pier. Bored and tired, Damian paused to rest his chin on his arms, that was all it took. His eyelids fluttered closed and  he was out. 

Someone clearing their throat woke him. Damian sat up with a start, the pencil once gripped loosely now held tight as he spun, ready to defend himself from---

“Pennyworth.” Damian said, heat already beginning to flood into his cheeks. 

“Guys? Anyone got that traffic update for me?” Grayson’s voice came crackling over the radio. He sounded like he was moving. 

Damian scrambled to respond. “The street again, Batman?” 

“Bernard and Second.” 

Through the white noise filling his head, Damian’s fingers flew over the keyboard to fulfil Batman’s request. “Clear,” he said, voice clipped. 

“Thanks!” There was the sound of air moving quickly, like he’d jumped from something. A glance at the cam footage confirmed it, with the ground quickly rising to meet Batman before his grapple line went taut and he was swinging. 

Damian sat frozen then, fear making his heart beat rabbit-quick against his chest. He had fallen asleep. Failed in the worst of ways. It was as if he’d gotten up and simply left Grayson. The man could have died because he had allowed himself to fall prey to something so stupid as sleep. 

“I would guess you were only out for a few minutes. The tea hardly took long at all,” Pennyworth said, taking his seat and lowering the tray he’d brought in. 

Damian hadn’t even noticed it when he’d woken. Like it had been invisible. Another failure. 

Pennyworth set a cup of tea before Damian and placed his own on the table before setting the tray aside. 

“It is nothing to be ashamed of.” Pennyworth said, “I was here, and it was not an emergency.” 

An answer felt stuck in Damian’s throat. He reached out for his tea and tapped the side of the cup, his wrist aching.

“Master Damian, look at me.” 

Damian turned his gaze slowly to the man beside him, and waited. 

Pennyworth did not look angry or disapproving. But that did not stop Damian from fretting. His wrist positively ached, and his stomach turned a bit thinking of the tea. This mistake was far worse than spending time on investigating a mystery.  

“Do not worry on it, it is all part of learning.” 

All he could do was nod, a single, sharp movement.  

Pennyworth returned to his seat, and sipped on his tea, “If it helps, it has happened to us all before.” he added, “When it is important, you will be awake. Adrenaline does have a way of keeping one awake.” 

Damian did, of course, worry on it. Shame and guilt pooled in his stomach. All he could think of for the rest of the night was his mistake. The fact that he had fallen asleep doing the one and only thing he’d been asked to do since he’d arrived here. It did not matter that he was not the only one to have done it, or that in an emergency situation things would be different. 

By the time Grayson returned, Damian felt so tightly wound with anticipation --what was going to happen, would he be punished? Removed from his position? Never allowed out to patrol?-- he had no idea what to expect. 

The man looked tired, Damian could read that easily on Grayson’s face as he pulled the cowl back, and unclasped the cape from his shoulders. When he saw Damian, he gave him a worn smile. 

“Good job tonight,” he said. 

Damian stiffened, “What?” 

Grayson blinked at him, “I mean, you did a good job.” He turned his gaze on Pennyworth, who nodded in agreement. 

“Master Damian did quite well. I only had to prompt his attention once.” 

His heart started to race at that, and Damian had to work to keep his face neutral. Pennyworth had so casually exposed his moment of weakness, and now Grayson knew. Grayson knew, and Damian did not know how the man would respond. 

“Prompting hmm? I used to be prompted by Alfred all the time, you’ll get used to it.” Grayson’s smile returned at this. 

It was too much. The utter lack of...anything. Too much paired with all the unknowing and the uncertainty and the--everything. Every emotion Damian had tried to bury and shove away burst forward, like he had seen blood do when a blade drove through a body. Flowing and unstoppable, and in a flood far heavier than one expected.

“I do not know what you are playing at but, enough,” he snapped. 

Grayson actually took a step back at this. “Damian, what are you talking about?” 

He waved at Grayson and Pennyworth. “This, you. I failed.” The word tasted like his poisoned tea had.

And now, Grayson took a step forward, like if he were dancing with him. “Damian, I don’t think there’s anything for you to feel guilty of.” 

“Of course there is; need I spell it out for you? I fell asleep. You could have died.” 

“I mean, I’m glad you care, but, kiddo, falling asleep is understandable.” 

“Not when I am your partner!” Damian shouted, hands in fists at his side. 

Pennyworth moved to intervene. “Master Damian, please calm down. It is nothing to get so worked up over. You have had a number of long nights; it is my fault for keeping you up so often.” 

Damian shook his head, words lost again. They were not going to blame him. Not going to do anything. Or tell him anything or make any of this clear. 

Frustration was hot and sick in his chest. Like wanting to throw up; only, he wanted to scream as well. Scream and fight, and wear himself out until everything was gone and he was simply tired. 

“Dames--”

“No,” he snarled. “No, no, no. No nicknames or niceties or soft words. Do something!” he yelled and snapped at last, throwing himself at Grayson.

The man was surprised, catching Damian’s fist in one hand. Damian twisted away from him, darting to the side to charge again. He fought as much and as hard as he could, throwing punches that were dodged, kicks that missed by a mile, and flips that got him no closer to Grayson.

At last, Grayson caught another punch and didn’t let go. Instead, Damian found himself pulled forward and shifted until his back was pressed against Grayson’s chest, his arms wrapped tight around him. 

All the fight flooded out of him in that instant and Damian slumped forward, heaving sobs catching in his chest. He didn’t even know when he’d started crying. It had been too much. Too much fear and exhaustion and not knowing. 

Grayson pulled them both to the cold concrete. Damian wanted to turn, to bury his face in Grayson’s chest, but that was more weakness, and he’d fallen so far tonight. 

Instead, he cried until he’d worn himself out and his eyes felt dry, his chest hollow. He wanted--wanted---he wanted Mother. He wanted to know what to do, wanted the comforting knowledge of a Father there and alive, anchoring him. 

“I’m sorry.” Grayson murmured, “I’m sorry I can’t be him.” 

Had Damian spoken aloud?

“What do you want?” he asked instead. 

“Oh, Dames.” Grayson’s voice was sad. “I just want to help. To be whatever I can be.” 

Grayson’s grip loosened a bit, from a desperate hold to an almost cradle. “I haven’t been here as much as I should, and I’m sorry. I’ve been busy, but I should have made more time. Made sure you knew I meant it when I said I wanted you here.”

He sat there for a moment silent again, before Grayson spoke back up, “Damian?” 

“Yes?” 

“What do you want?” he asked, turning Damian’s question back on him.

“I--” Damian broke off, “I don’t know. I want--I want to know what to do.” 

The floodgates felt like they wanted to open again, but Damian was too tired, he hiccupped, “I don’t know the rules. I don’t know what you want.” 

“Oh, Dames” -- the nickname felt warm, like the hug Grayson held him in -- “does it bother you that much?” 

“Yes.” The word was a sob.

“Alright.” Grayson’s nod brushed against his hair. “Structure, Steph mentioned you needed it, and I was hoping you’d find it on your own, but, yes. Let’s talk? I’ll answer all your questions.” 

Grayson shifted, pulling away a bit to move around and face Damian before continuing, “First though, I need to shower, and you might like one to help soothe your nerves. You’re not in any trouble, ‘kay? So don’t go start assuming things.”

He hiccupped again, “Okay.” 

“Good. Then we’ll both meet up in the kitchen in twenty minutes for cocoa, alright?” 

Damian nodded. “Alright.”

Chapter Text

It was obvious, the moment Damian shuffled into the kitchen, that he’d gone from being upset to embarrassed. He wouldn’t meet Dick’s eye and the way he was glaring at his cocoa said leagues about what the shower had done for his mood. 

“Hey, I thought I told you not to blame yourself,” Dick chided, gently. 

Damian’s head shot up, eyes wide and bloodshot. “I--”

Dick grinned at him. “You might not have figured out everything about us yet, but I’m starting to understand you. It was easy enough to guess. Drink some cocoa, it’ll help you feel better.” 

His brother nodded and sipped at the drink, then blinked in surprise at it, before taking a longer sip. “It’s good,” he said, a little awe in his voice. 

It was then that Dick realized his little brother might not have tried cocoa yet. It was still too warm in Gotham for them to have the drink regularly. Which meant it was mostly reserved as a post-patrol treat. Something sweet and safe after a tough night. 

“It is.” Dick agreed, “Now let’s talk about what’s been bothering you.”

Damian’s admission earlier had squeezed Dick’s heart. He’d sounded scared and so worn out. Dick hadn’t realized how much stress Damian had been under not having the same rigid schedule he’d been used to before he came here, but it made so much sense. He’d gone from having his entire life directed by Ra’s or Talia, to all those strings cut loose. 

And Dick, the idiot he’d been, had thought that some lessons and time with other family members would fix that. Fix a life of training and fear and a life structured to the point even his sleep was scheduled. 

“It is what I said earlier,” Damian said, the smallest hint of red on his cheeks. 

“So, rules? And what I want then?”

“Yes.” There was some hope in his voice. “Mother--Everyone had a goal for me.” 

Dick sighed, “Damian, first of all, I need you to know I don’t have a ‘goal’ for you. Not in the same sense your mom does. I want you to be happy, whatever form that takes.” 

Damian’s lips twisted at that. “I do not understand.” 

“Okay, let me ask you again, what do you want? And not at this moment, but you, Damian, what do you want? Who do you want to be?” 

“Batman.” Damian said, automatically, “I want to be like Father. I want--I do not hate it here.” 

Dick smiled, “You’re a little young for Batman yet.”

“Then Robin, or whoever. Batman’s partner. I can be useful, far more so than that idiot Drake who keeps abandoning you.” 

He wondered if Damian knew how protective he was sounding. It was actually really cute. Not that Dick was going to say that to his face. He hummed, “I need you to wait a little longer on that one.” 

It wasn’t that Dick didn’t think Damian was capable. The kid was more ready to be Robin than any of them had been. He picked up on Dick’s training quickly, learned his lessons well, and once Dick got him talking had a ton of great ideas. But Dick wasn’t going to take him out yet, because he still had Tim.

He wanted to talk to Tim; he’d been thinking about it for a while, asking his brother if he’d mind Damian coming out with him. Tim was gone a lot these days, looking for Bruce, out with the Teen Titans, and spending time with friends inexplicably back from the dead. He was comfortable being able to come and go, and Dick wouldn’t tie him down. Everyone was finding their own way and he was happy for Tim.

But Dick was also desperate for some help. And Damian was right there, asking to go out. He was proud the boy hadn’t snuck out at all, shocked it hadn’t happened yet. He was also sure that if he didn’t get Damian out patrolling soon the kid would end up out in the city in some cobbled together costume and in danger. 

He just couldn’t, not yet. Dick needed Tim home long enough to start that conversation. 

Damian stared at him, and seemed to accept whatever he found in Dick’s eyes. “But, you will let me go out right? You promised.”

“Of course, I just need a little more time before we can get you out and about.” He let a finger slide along the handle of his mug, “Let’s talk about the other things bothering you. You said you like it here, but what do you need to feel like you belong?” 

Damian seemed taken aback at that, “I--I would like to pick a room. Cain told me everyone had that opportunity, but I was simply assigned one.” 

“I didn’t realize, Damian. I’m sorry. If I’d--I thought Alfred had taken care of that.” 

The boy shrugged. “He asked me if I was happy with my room, and at the time I did not feel I could say no.” 

“But you’re comfortable asking now.” Grayson smiled. “That’s good, I mean the situation isn’t but. Yeah. Tomorrow we’ll pick you out a spot, and go shopping for some decorations. No room is complete without some posters and books.” 

“And rules.” Damian added, “I--”

“You’re tired of walking on eggshells.” Dick nodded. “I’m sorry, I just made some assumptions and didn’t talk to you about them. So, how about this as a first rule, communication is key. If you’re wondering about something, ask. No question is stupid or will be frowned on.” 

Damian sipped at his cocoa. “That is acceptable.”

“No killing, obviously.” 

“Tt, I have already promised not to.” 

“Treat the others with respect, even Tim.” 

At that Damian rolled his eyes. 

Dick listed off a few other ‘house rules’ that should have been obvious, but with every one Damian seemed to relax more and more. Finally, he ran out of things to think of and let his words trail off before he sipped his own cooled drink. 

“I understand." Damian nodded, when Dick was finished, "I will endeavor to follow your directions." 

It wasn't a thank you, but it was pretty close. Just the total change from the Damian who'd been full of pent up stress down in the cave, and this one, relaxed and almost happy was enough of a thank you for Dick. He just had to remember too keep in mind that Damian needed this kind of structure, but also somehow find a balance in helping him feel free of rules like this. It would take time, time and patience, and Dick making sure they were communicating, but it would happen. He had faith. 

“Glad I could help.” Dick told him, chest warming, “One more thing, Damian.”

“Yes?” 

It was amazing how he still reacted like a startled deer. 

“We’re not going to punish you the way you might have been at the League. It’s mostly grounding or getting benched from patrol. And if you do ever do something worth grounding I won’t make you wait to figure out what it is. I’ll tell you right away, okay?”

His brother nodded. “Okay.”

“And,” Dick added, “It’s okay to ask if you think you’ve done something wrong. I know things are really different here, and some things don’t hold the same weight. I don’t want you to stew in confusion thinking you’ve made a mistake. Tell me, and I’ll explain why you’re right or wrong. There’s no punishment for questions.”

“Right.” Damian looked a little more comfortable, “I will try harder to ask when I am unclear about something.” 

After breakfast the next morning, Dick took Damian up to the hall where everyone else’s rooms were. He pointed out the rooms taken by various members of the family and the open ones. Damian explored each open room, slowly and meticulously. He did not seem to mind Dick trailing after him. 

For his part, Dick told whatever stories he could think of about the rooms. The hall was long, and there were still four empty rooms, all of which he’d gotten up to various antics in. Most had been hide and seek related, one involved a broken leg, and another he’d had the great idea to try his hand at painting in. He’d never told anyone about that adventure, and hid it well by moving the bed so that it covered the splotches of red, yellow, and orange paint he’d gotten all over the place. 

“Surely, Pennyworth found out,” Damian said, looking around the room in question.

Dick shrugged unsure himself. “Why don’t we check?” 

He dropped to his knees and lifted the bed skirt, then waved his phone, screen lit up, under it. The littlest spots of color could be seen on the wood. He pulled back and grinned. 

“No.” Damian’s voice was surprised, and apparently forgetting all airs of being prim and proper, as he too crouched to check under the bed. 

Dick turned on the flashlight function on his phone to better help Damian see, and the boy gasped.

“It’s our little secret now.” Dick said, when Damian had sat back up, “It’d be sad to spill the beans and see it cleaned up.”

The boy nodded, considering. Then he stood and moved to the window, drawing back the curtains. “It overlooks the garden.” 

“That’s one of the reasons I tried to paint in here, thought I’d make Al a picture of his hard work.” 

“Do you paint?” Damian asked, looking at him curiously. He seemed oddly serious about the question, like this information was vital. 

Dick shrugged, “Not really. I tried just about everything as a kid, but I never had the patience to really sit and learn art beyond the basics.” Damian deflated a bit at that.

“Your dad though?” Dick continued, hoping to brighten the topic even as talking about Bruce still  stung, “He could draw all kinds of things. He did a book once about Superman, and illustrated the whole thing. Remind me to find it for you one of these days.”

“I would like that.” Damian said, “I was not aware he was an artist.”

Dick hummed, “I don’t know if he did it as a hobby, but he was really skilled. I think he just liked being the best at everything.” he added with a chuckle. 

They left, and looked over the other rooms once again before Damian stood in the hallway, eyes scanning the doors. 

“That one,” he said, pointing to the paint room. “The view is the best.” 

And that was it. Together they gathered the few things Damian had in his old room and moved them to his new spot. It really wasn’t much, some clothes, books Dick knew were from upstairs, and the katana he had brought. Dick frowned at the utter lack of things. 

“How have you been here this long with just this?” 

Damian shrugged. “I had no need of much more.” 

Something on his face seemed to say that otherwise. Dick couldn’t quite place it, but he felt it in his gut. Damian was lying. He was getting to know the kid, and even if he didn’t know the root of the feeling, he knew it like he knew when Bruce would lie. 

“Really?” he asked. “No entertainment at all?” 

“Todd has kept me busy with books from the library.” Damian said, “And Brown’s presence is often entertainment enough. Cain helps as well, she likes to spar.” 

But none of that was what seemed to be missing. Toys, Dick knew, Damian wouldn’t want. Books they could collect, and knickknacks for the walls were on their list of things to pick up later, along with a proper desk and some new lamps. Maybe even a chest for him to keep things in. And some supplies for notes and-- drawings . 

Damian’s attention had drifted back to the garden, his fingers tapping at his thigh like they were full of energy, desire. A million little puzzle pieces fell together in Dick’s mind. The image of fingers dark with graphite, of little doodles left on sticky notes at the end of patrol, of Stephanie mentioning the only activity she’d had real luck with was coloring of all things. And of course, of Damian picking the room with the best view for an artist’s eye along with his earlier eagerness to learn about Bruce and Dick’s artistic endeavors. 

“Well, I think you need something more.” 

Damian turned to him, brow raised with curiosity. “Tt, I do not need to waste my time on trivial things, Grayson. This family is doing enough of that as it is.” 

“We’ll see about that. You just let me know how trivial it is when we get to the store.” 

“You are not going to tell me what it is?” Damian asked. 

Dick shook his head. “Nah, I think it’ll be better if it’s a surprise.”

He made Damian wait through all their other shopping activities and lunch, saving the art store for last. He remembered going there once with Bruce when he’d had a science project where he’d had to make a shadow box. It was supposed to feature a ‘chosen ecosystem’ and Dick had picked a cave full of bats. 

Bruce being Bruce hadn’t just wanted to buy cardboard and construction paper for the project, no, if they were going to do this they’d do it right. So they’d gone to this little art store, its shelves packed with specialty goods, and Dick had spent more money on a weekend’s project than he’d had on any school supplies ever. 

The memory of that day brought a smile to his face. Bruce hadn’t just shopped with him, but he’d helped him put together the shadowbox, and by the end it had almost been more Bruce’s project than Dick’s. 

When they stepped into the store, the smell of oil, paint, and wood for stretching canvases hit him like a ton of bricks and sent a pang of longing through his chest. He missed his dad. He wished it could be Bruce there with them, taking Damian. Both of them getting to see how the boy’s eyes lit up brighter than a Christmas tree. But it was just Dick now. Dick and Damian, and the rest of them. He hadn’t lost his whole family, and that was something to be thankful for. 

“Hi,” he said, moving to the counter to speak to the cashier there. “Do you guys have carts or maybe a handbasket? My brother’s going to be picking up a lot of stuff.” 

“Oh, yes,” the young lady said, smiling brightly. 

She reached below the counter and lifted out a bright red basket with the store’s name emblazoned on the side. “Is he taking classes?” 

“Nope, he’s just in dire need of a resupply trip,” he answered, taking the proffered basket and looping it around an arm. “Thanks!”

Damian, who was still standing at the front door gaping, turned his attention back on Dick when he returned, his eyes wide, mouth slightly open.

“How did you know?” he asked, voice so quiet Dick almost missed it. 

“World’s greatest detective, remember?” Dick answered, handing him the basket. “Now, you get anything you want, okay? Anything and everything.” 

Despite Dick’s assurance that Damian could get whatever, the boy was hesitant in his choosing of supplies. He picked up two sketchbooks of varying sizes, weighed his options, and returned one to the shelf. The same with pens, pencils, and inks. His eyes took in the shelves like a thirsty traveler, trapped too long in the desert only to find himself at a water park, but he did not take everything he wanted. 

Dick took note of the returned sketchbook, the paints and brushes Damian lingered on for ten minutes --seemingly without realizing he’d done so-- and slipped little extras into his basket where he could. A set of colored pencils, oil pastels Damian had held for a long moment before returning to the shelf, and even an eraser in the shape of a puppy. 

Still, even as hesitant as Damian was to go all out shopping, his whole being had softened during the experience. His expression stayed open, and shoulders relaxed. He even told Dick all about the supplies he was picking up, describing the differences between H and B written on pencils and the importance of papers of different weights and textures. 

It was obviously something he loved, one good thing he’d had, and Dick was going to make sure he could do as much of it as he wanted. 

The cashier who’d given Dick the basket talked animatedly with Damian while they checked out and handed him a flyer for a club meetup of other kids his age, all of them interested in art as a hobby instead of school requirement. He wondered if Damian would want to go.

Damian held onto the rather large bag of supplies like it was a grand treasure, and Dick supposed it was. He kept it in his lap as they drove home, and it was the first thing hauled upstairs and into his room when they started unloading things. 

It was obvious Damian wanted to start using his new supplies, so Dick suggested he help Damian finish decorating tomorrow and excused himself from his brother’s room with a knowing smile. 

“Grayson--” Damian called, just as Dick was about to close the door behind him.

“Yeah?” 

“Thank you. This has been a most acceptable day.” 

“Of course, Damian. We should do it again soon. I like hanging out somewhere that’s not a cave.” 

He left Damian to his exploration of art and told Alfred he was headed back out, his mind still running over all the supplies Damian hadn’t gotten. He wasn’t sure when he’d give them to the kid, but with the list of things fresh on his mind he wanted to have them, and then who knows. Maybe he’d just sneak them all into Damian’s room when he wasn’t looking.

Chapter Text

For all that Dick was getting used to going out and patrolling alone, he also hated it. It made everything harder, not having someone to watch his back. He missed having a partner alongside him. Someone to talk to and to keep him chipper, and just someone to share the load. 

Dick was not looking forward to going out again tonight, not alone at least. His body ached from bruises that could have been avoided if he’d had a partner. Thankfully that ache was also easily washed away under the fondness growing in his chest when he spent time with Damian. 

He could feel that warmth again as he sat with Damian and sharpened batarangs as both preparation and part of the boy’s lesson. 

“Here,” he said, hiding a smile as Damian seemed unsure just how to get a fine edge on the inner curved part. 

Damian leaned back, silently giving Dick permission to help. Dick took it, and reached out to adjust Damian’s grip, and the angle he was holding the batarang at. 

“Like this, see now the stone can catch this part. And if you move it like this, you can get the whole thing in one fluid motion.” he eased Damian’s hands forward and then tilted them, and the batarang, amazed that the kid was letting him be this close. 

They’d been growing in leaps and bounds. Not just since Dick had taken Damian out, but that had helped a lot. The kid was starting to open up and act like he understood he had a place in the house, and even leaning into it. 

Dick enjoyed spending time with him. Even if everyone else still remarked on Damian’s prickly nature, Dick had learned to look past it, and see the ten year old beneath. It took patience, and some coaxing, but he was getting better at teasing smiles out of Damian and getting him to talk about his interests. 

He’d almost made Dick late for a meeting the other morning at breakfast as he’d chattered about his progress with one of the Batmobiles. He was modifying it based on some of Bruce’s old designs and promised he’d have it flying by the end of the week. All it had taken to get him to open up and talk were a few questions, and appropriate responses. Even if Damian didn’t realize it, he was all kid on the inside. 

When Dick left for patrol, his mind was still on Damian. Specifically Damian joining him on patrol. His youngest sibling was ready to go out, but Dick hadn’t seen Tim for long enough yet to talk to him. His brother was supposed to be getting back from another trip abroad hunting for Bruce this week. Dick decided once Tim had settled in he’d sit him down and gently suggest the idea of two Robins. 

He’d tried to come up with something that wasn’t Robin for Damian, but every time Dick found himself doodling himself and Damian it was in a Robin uniform. Even Flamebird just didn’t feel right without Nightwing to accompany him, and right now Dick was Batman. Robin was the uniform that felt right. Batman and Robin was how it had always been, and Dick’s brain couldn’t shake the image. But Tim was Robin, and Dick had promised him he could stay that way. He didn’t want to make Tim change either, not if his brother was content in his role.  

Except, Tim was rarely in town long enough to help these days. Which was the whole problem. So, two Robins. There could be two, just as there were often two of many other heroes. He just had to make sure Tim was on board, and didn’t feel like he was trying to replace him. 

He shook off the thoughts, and turned instead to Gotham proper, his ears pricked for Damian’s voice in case his brother needed to alert him of anything odd. The night had been relatively quiet so far and Dick was hoping it’d stay that way. 

Alfred had fully relinquished the comms to Damian by now, and Dick was getting used to the kid’s voice in his ear. He was a whole different kind of communicator than Alfred or Barbara or any of them were. It took some translating to get “you idiot” to mean “I’m worried about you” but Dick was getting pretty good at it. 

“Grayson, there is something strange that Batman needs to check out.” Damian said, getting his attention. 

His voice sounded odd, a bit confused, perhaps about whatever this ‘strange’ thing was. It was early in the night, only ten o’clock and in Dick’s opinion things didn’t really start getting weird until midnight. It was strange to have an actual incident right now. Still, weirder things had happened. Like that time Nygma had lit up a giant question mark on top of one of the colleges for no reason but to terrify students before finals week. 

“What’s up?”

“There are a number of reports of people not coming home tonight. People who left hours ago and were apparently supposed to return rather quickly.” 

“Okay, people stay out late, and sometimes families get overprotective.” Dick said. 

“Yes, but these reports are disproportionate to the normal rate. Plus, all of these people were either going to or last seen downtown. There are a number of specific statements about them going to see a “new pop up show” I cannot help but remember that strange statue we saw a while back. That area is relatively close to the one in question.” 

“Alright, I’ll go check it out, did you see if Oracle had any other information?” 

“She is looking into it as we speak.” Damian responded. 

Dick’s heart bloomed with pride. He had needed to prod Damian to ask Barbara for assistance at first, but it seemed like he was getting this whole ‘teamwork’ thing at last. 

“Good, heading over now. Keep me updated.” 

It did not take Dick long to find the pop up show. He perched on a nearby rooftop and zoomed his cowl lenses in to get a good look at the brightly lit and colored building that seemed to be attracting a number of people. 

A recently vacated storefront had gone from being grey and empty with signs threatening legal ramifications against trespassers to something bright and colorful. The sign above it was ringed by flashing lights and painted in red, yellow, and blue letters and read: Dreamland. Music poured from the building, though from here Dick couldn’t quite make out what beyond the rhythm he was familiar with. The store’s windows were filled with what looked like toys. 

Dick watched as someone walked up and stopped to read something posted on the front door. After a moment they shot off a quick text and moved in. 

“It looks like a toy store of some kind, called Dreamland.” Dick said, updating Damian, “I’m going to send you the exact address. Get me any info you can on them, I’m going to keep an eye on the front.” he typed it out on a keyboard on his glove even as he was speaking and sent it to Damian. 

“Strange, no one said anything about shopping.” Damian said, sounding distracted. 

Dick guessed he was already inputting the name into the computer to pull up the business’s information. He waited ten minutes and saw a couple go in, and another two individuals. No one came out. Ten minutes wasn’t long, but for a store that seemed as apparently busy as this one was, someone should have left in the time he’d been watching. 

All the while he was waiting, he kept an ear on Damian who’d gone very quiet beyond a “hmm” and “what?” here or there. At last, the boy spoke directly to him, confirming Dick’s suspicions. 

“No company named Dreamland has been registered in Gotham in the last six months, and the building in question is still listed as unoccupied and up for rent.” Damian said, “Do you think it is one of Batman’s Rogues?” 

Dick hummed, “Not yet, Hatter might go for something called Dreamland, but I can't think of many others who’d pick such a childish theme. No this might just really be an illegal one night pop up, or something else. I’m going to go in, check it out. Send me the building’s blueprints?” 

“Give me a moment.”

While Damian was sending him the blueprints, Dick dropped quietly from his rooftop and crept up to the door to read the sign that had stopped everyone who’d gone in. This close he could clearly hear the music, and he snorted. The speakers were blaring the Spice Girls. 

He couldn’t see inside at all. The door was solid wood, and displays in the windows all had full backdrops that kept Dick from seeing into the store proper. The sign was prominent enough on the door though and  read:

“Relive your childhood in a Wonderland of games, toys, and memories as you explore this pop up exhibition featuring an assortment of games from the 90s! Join us for this one night exhibition for free!” 

That explained the music, and the fact that people seemed to be pouring in at 10 pm on a Friday night. Any bored or curious passerby with a little time to kill was sure to head in and see a recreation of old games. Dick himself would probably have gone in just for fun if he’d been out with the gang. He knew Wally and Donna would get a kick out of something like this. He even pictured himself taking Damian in to show him some of the old games he’d played. 

His vision flickered as his cowl received the blueprints. Dick slipped away from the front and into the alleyway beside the building, tapping at controls to see the schematics.

“Thanks, Lil’ D.” 

“If you are to give me a code name, it will not be that one.” 

“It’s a nickname then.” Dick said, turning off the overlay of the building.

He didn’t want to just stroll in through the front door. Dreamland might turn out to be a real one night only display, but if it wasn’t Dick didn’t think Batman walking in through the front was the way to handle things. 

The building was mostly open concept, with one huge main room and then a few back offices. It was no wonder someone picked this space to set up an exhibit. It did make it hard to sneak in, but Dick spotted a skylight on the schematics, trained right above the main room. 

“No.” Damian was still refusing the nickname, “It highlights my lack of height, and I will not have you making fun of it every time you address me.”

Dick chuckled, “We’ll workshop it then. You’re getting a nickname or three no matter how you feel about it.” 

He took the fire-escape up to the roof, and padded along until he reached the skylight. It was latched tight, but he could see inside. 

It actually looked really cool. There were a number of stations set up that featured old video games, Dick could see a Dreamcast and a Nintendo console hooked up to huge box televisions. Additionally, there were an assortment of outdoor games. There was a swingset, a hacky sack game, a jump rope, and even a hopscotch game scribbled into the ground. Each one was set on a path, cordoned off by blue tape on the ground. It looked like you were supposed to follow it from the door to the back of the room, then back out.  

Despite how it looked there was something very wrong going on inside. The unfortunate attendees looked at the very least highly uncomfortable. Here or there someone wearing a mask featuring an old cartoon character directed people through the lines. They weren’t holding weapons, and beyond the masks didn’t look threatening, but it wasn’t normal. 

From his vantage point, Dick couldn’t see the front doors from where he was, but he had a feeling they were blocked. 

“Alright, new plan. I’m going to cut the power and then drop in on them.” 

“What is going on?” Damian asked. 

“It doesn’t really look like anyone’s still inside of their own free will, and--oh my.” Dick stopped talking as he watched someone miss bouncing what he’d thought was a hacky sack. It landed on the floor and exploded in a puff of light, confetti and something that made the player jerk back.

“Batman, what is going on?” Damian asked again, his tone worried. 

“The games seemed rigged to, maybe blow up when someone messes up? Or I don’t know, do something not great. I don’t care to sit here and find out, I need to get in and help.” 

He unlocked the skylight first, counted the number of masked individuals. There were five in total. After, he moved to the edge of the roof to drop back down. 

He hopped off at the back of the building where he knew a fusebox was located. He could have dropped a smoke bomb inside, but that would put the civilians inside in more danger. Still, dropping in and giving the masked people a clear view of Batman as a target was also a bad idea. So, he would switch off the power. It might even turn off some of the games and if the door was electronically locked fix that problem too. 

Dick found the box easily. As he opened it up he wished that he had a partner to turn off the power while he dropped in simultaneously. But he didn’t so he’d just have to be fast. 

Quickly, he flipped every switch off, shoved the door closed, and jabbed at the lock with one of the sharp ends of his gauntlets, jamming it. Hopefully that would keep anyone from getting the lights back on too soon. 

Then he was back up, onto the roof and flinging the glass back to dive into the room, alive with noise and confusion now that the lights had gone out. Dick flicked on his night vision and started systematically moving through the crowds and knocking out masked goons. 

He’d made it through four of the five when phone flashlights started to go on, and Dick’s cover was blown as he heard cries of, “Batman!” and “Batman’s here!” “He came to help!” fill the room. 

This started another flurry of people as they crowded around him, a cacophony of voices trying to explain the situation, beg him to get them out of there, or just simply yelling for help. Dick did his best not to hurt anyone as he pushed and shoved through the crowd. Before he was even free, the lights came back on, and music started again, blaring the Backstreet Boys. 

For a moment Dick was sure the fifth masked person had been the one to turn the lights on, then Dick spotted him in a Pikachu mask, standing guard at the front door. One last obstacle to Dick getting everyone out of there.

He saw Dick at the same time Dick saw him and charged forward. In that moment, he dearly wished he had his escarmas simply for their reach. As it was, he flung three batarangs at the guy, catching an arm and leg with one of each. 

It did little to slow his charge, and Dick had to throw himself out of the way. He rolled right into the hacky sack game, and scooped up a handful before spinning on a heel and standing. The goon had turned himself at this point and was gearing up to charge again. 

Dick charged this time, and started throwing the hacky sacks at the guy, hoping they’d pop as a distraction. They did, each one exploding in a puff of sound, confetti, and with the sharp scent of cheap fireworks. 

It gave him the opening he needed to tackle the man, and get in a good hit to his temple, knocking him out. 

When he stood, he realized that someone had wrenched open the front doors and the terrorized civilians had started running out. Good, less corralling he’d have to do. He directed anyone else still gawking to leave, and left the unconscious men to check the back rooms, to see if he could find whoever was in charge. 

Before he even reached the door, the music cut off and Dick could hear the sound of something quietly beeping. The only thing he could imagine making that sound was a bomb. 

He abandoned his quest to search the back, and started hauling unconscious thugs out the front door. He’d gotten the last one out and was doing one final check for any remaining people when the world around him exploded and the ceiling started to fall. 

Chapter Text

The moment Grayson dropped into the building the connection to his comm went silent, and nothing Damian tried could get it to turn back on. He suspected some kind of interference, if people had been trapped in that building for hours, something was blocking their phone signals, and that same something was probably interrupting their comm line as well. Not that either of them had thought of that before Grayson entered.

A stupid miscalculation on Damian's part. One he would not repeat again. 

Damian found an external camera he could hack, and caught sight of a hooded figure whose shape was roughly the same as that of one of the people who had set up the strange twister game. The person was fiddling with something blocky that Damian couldn’t quite make out, before pressing it to the side of the building. 

Could it be a bomb? A listening device of some sort? He wasn’t sure, and he couldn’t hail Grayson. But, perhaps he could send backup Batman’s way. 

“Oracle, I need your assistance.” 

“Hey Lil’ D, what’s up?” Gordon asked, sounding far too bright for this hour, and curious. 

He ignored the outrageous nickname usage, “Are the Birds close to the downtown shopping district?” 

“Batgirl and Black Bat are currently stowed away on a ship, getting ready to turn it around. Why?” 

“Tt, Batman is in need of backup. There are unknown hostiles approaching him and a possible bomb threat, but I cannot contact him.” 

“I’ll give it a shot on my end. Is Tim home yet? Can he head out?” 

Damian ground his teeth. No his brother, and Grayson’s supposed partner, had not returned yet. If he had, he had not made it known to any of them. There was no one to back Batman up. No one but Damian himself. 

He shoved aside all thoughts of possible punishment for going out without permission, and pushed his chair away from the desk. 

“No. He is not.” Damian stood, “It seems it is up to me to handle the situation. Oracle, stay on this line so that when Pennyworth comes down you can inform him of the situation.” 

He looked down at himself and frowned. He was wearing a brightly colored shirt Pennyworth had purchased him, featuring a cartoon dog on the front. There was no way he could rescue Batman in that. 

He hurried to the lockers and grabbed the first dark thing he could find, a black hoodie. It turned out to not be solid, but had a Nightwing emblem splashed across the front. The sleeves were also too long, but Damian easily rolled those up, before tugging the hood over his hair. Then he grabbed an extra domino mask and affixed it to his face. Lastly, he grabbed one of Drake’s Robin belts. Grayson had made Damian take inventory of the belt a number of times to get familiar with its contents, and he was confident it was small enough to fit him. It also would have medical supplies and weapons to defend himself if the situation called for it. He didn’t bother changing out of his black jeans or tennis shoes, both would do fine for the rescue mission. 

Through his quick change, he ignored Oracle’s requests for more information, and demands that he stay right there and send Alfred instead. Damian respected Pennyworth, but he didn’t want to waste time. 

Besides, this was partially his fault, and he was the only one who really knew how to fly the Batmobile. It would be the fastest way to reach Grayson. 

Damian was quite proud of his achievement. After growing bored of exploring the cave systems, and discovered some of Father’s schematics and future plans to make his car fly and had taken to making those plans a reality. He had even gotten permission to work on it. Grayson had happily supplied not only permission, but any supplies he needed when Damian had asked. He was further encouraged by the fact that the man had come downstairs to sit with him a few times. However, it was Damian's project and he was most familiar with the systems. He had not even had time to tell anyone that he’d actually managed to get it to fly. 

Gordon must have called Pennyworth, because Damian spotted the man hurrying down the stairs as he climbed into the car.

“Master Damian, wait!” he called. 

Damian ignored the request, closing the door, and starting the engine. He felt a little bad for ignoring Pennyworth, but time was of the essence and he needed to get to Grayson. He hoped Pennyworth would not be too upset with him as he raced past the man and out the exit, but he would have to understand just how important this was. There was no time left to dally if he were to stop something bad from happening to the man he was beginning to consider family.

A few meters out of the cave, Damian hit the button to begin the car’s flying sequence. After a brief moment of panic that it would not work, slowly but surely it lifted off, and Damian's shoulders relaxed minutely. Soon he was zooming over trees and streets, and obstacles that would have cut into the time it took to get to Grayson’s location. 

He fretted as he flew, his mind coming up with every terrible thing that could happen, his stomach growing sicker at each thought. Most of all, he couldn't stop thinking about why he was betraying every house rule to rush out and save Grayson. 

When had he really started to care about him? When had it become more than his just using the man to learn more about his Father? He’d come to respect Grayson quickly, that was certain. But this sick feeling of worry was one Damian had only held for his mother on the rare occasion she was late returning from a dangerous mission. 

Damian tolerated Brown and Todd and Cain, but Grayson? He looked forward to seeing the man. Had come to enjoy his smiles, and even put up with his nicknames. They were warm, like a blanket wrapped around his shoulders when he was tired, or a coat on a cold day. 

It was stupid. And weak. And foolish. Feelings like this were compromising, they would get him killed. Make him run headlong into danger without a thought for himself, much like he was doing now. But Damian found he didn’t care about being weak in that sense. It hurt to imagine not caring about Grayson. And so he fretted. He fretted and worried and ignored the pinging of a message from Oracle. 

That sick feeling in Damian’s chest exploded into awful panic as Main Street finally came into view and he caught sight of what used to be Wonderland, now a smoking wreck, collapsed in on itself. 

He held his emotions in check long enough to take the car down, right onto the street and bolt out of it. 

“Batman!” he yelled, bolting for the wreckage “Where are you?” 

Damian should not be panicking. Panic made one miss things, it made them sloppy. But Batman had been in the building. It had blown up. He could be--Grayson might be--

No. Grayson would be fine. Damian would find him, and get him home, and he would be fine. 

He scanned the rubble of the building, and yelled for Batman again, his voice raspy in the smoke billowing around. Belatedly he remembered the domino was equipped with some basic alternate vision options, Damian poked at it until it showed heat signatures. 

It didn’t look like the building had caught fire, thank goodness, but there was a large area of warmth towards where the back would have been that radiated out into other areas. 

“Batman!” he called again, vision slowly creeping across rubble. 

He had no idea how deep the lenses would penetrate. Some parts of the rubble were raised higher than others, like they’d all fallen in that direction, while others were spars, bits and pieces here and there still showing the floor that had once been inside.

“Here.” the word was faint, and trailing at the end, but it gave Damian hope. 

He jerked his attention towards the sound, and there! A figure, the heat registering as cooler than Damian wanted it to be, but that could have been the weather or injury or just rubble blocking it. Whatever it was, he bolted in it’s direction, only turning off the filter when he was close enough to clearly see Batman. 

He was on his back, partially trapped under fallen drywall. Damian had missed him on his first glance due to the drywall’s angle, tilted up and slightly against Grayson to block him from proper view. 

“Batman!” He called again, and started climbing over the rubble as carefully as he could without risking dislodging something and shifting the whole pile, “I am on my way.” 

His heart was racing. He was terrified, he realized. Afraid of what he’d find. Afraid of what had happened. Afraid to be too late, even now. 

When he reached Batman, he dropped to his knees to examine him. The most obvious injury was the blood that seeped out from under his cowl. Everything else was hidden under the fallen drywall.

“Batman, I am going to have to lift this, brace yourself.” he said. 

“Nightwing?” Grayson asked, the word slurring, “What?”

Damian looked down at his hoodie and the Nightwing emblem emblazoned on it, “Oh. No, you idiot. It is me. Now hold still while I lift this.”

He leaned forward, and gripped the drywall to lift it. It was lighter than Damian imagined it to be, but still quite heavy. When he got it up high enough, he shifted to shove his shoulder under it to help him leverage it even higher and then away, angled just far enough that his brother’s body was revealed. 

“Scoot back.” Damian grunted.

Thankfully, Grayson seemed to have enough sense to listen. He dragged himself back from Damian and the drywall, moving just far enough that after a moment, Damian let the whole thing drop again with a crash. 

His shoulder ached, but he had more important things to worry about than it. He quickly examined Batman, the suit on Grayson’s right thigh had been torn open by something, and his leg was slowly oozing blood. The wound did not seem to be serious enough for Damian to stop and take care of it now, so instead he focused on getting the man home for a full check up and proper medical attention. 

He leaned over to take Grayson by the arm, “Come, we are leaving.” 

He hauled his brother up onto unsteady legs. Grayson stood for a few seconds before slumping. He would have fallen if Damian hadn’t caught him, still the man was much taller than him, and carrying him was going to be difficult. 

“This is not going to be comfortable, Batman.” Damian said, “But we will make it work.” 

He tugged one of Grayson’s arms over his shoulder, and gripped the back of Batman's utility belt as tightly as he could under the cape to help hoist him up, and then started forward. He was basically dragging Grayson as they moved, and because of that he could not be as careful moving across the rubble. Thankfully, he was not worried about further crushing his brother, so the only real obstacle was tripping or dislodging something so that he fell into a hole. 

Grayson seemed to come a bit back to himself, at least enough to speak, “But I’m Nightwing?”  

Damian shook his head, “No, as I explained, you are Batman, I am--” he dreaded having to use the nickname, “Lil’ D.”

His brother shook his head, “No, no, I’m Nightwing. Batman is--Bruce is--”

“Grayson, Father is-- he is gone.” Damian said, “You are Batman now.” 

That was the wrong thing to say because it made Grayson try to pull away from his grip. He was confused, and hurting, which added some strength to his attempts and threatened to topple them both. 

“No!” Grayson cried, “I don’t want to be Batman. I never-- I don’t have to because Bruce is.” 

His attempts to get away from Damian finally succeeded in making Damian slip, a stone dislodged from under his foot, and then the ground disappeared and Damian fell down, then to the side. He lost his grip on Grayson, and landed hard on his already aching shoulder. 

Behind him, he heard rumbling as the structure shifted. He felt the vibrations under his palms as he pushed himself up, to spin and search for his brother. 

Grayson had landed on his knees, and was staring down at the bat on his chest, one hand brushing over it.

“Father is dead, Grayson.” Damian snapped, as he stepped over to lift Grayson again. 

“That is why you are Batman, now act like it and pull yourself together for a moment.” 

Normally, he would not have cared about being so brusque, but even with the cowl covering most of his face the effect of Damian’s words on Grayson was obvious. He looked like a kicked puppy. It twisted Damian’s heart, but he couldn’t waste time on feelings. He needed to get Grayson home, first and foremost. Then worry about the hurt his words caused. 

He managed to drag Grayson off the rubble and back to the car. It took some work to get him settled in the passenger’s seat, but Grayson had stopped fighting him, and was mostly responsive to directions.

It did not take long for Grayson to pass out once they were moving. Damian tried to wake him, but there was no autopilot function build into the flying portion of the car yet --he had that on his list of activities for next week-- so he had to focus on getting them home, and hoping that Grayson would be fine. 

He did phone the Batcave to update Pennyworth on their status. The butler’s anger was quickly set aside for worry, and a flood of questions about Grayson’s condition. Damian did his best to describe it, and estimate an arrival time. 

Pennyworth took over when Damian finally parked. He went from being in command of the situation to following whatever directions were aimed at him, and he did so happily. Grayson had woken again when they moved him from the car, and was now babbling about Father. He was alternating between asking where he was and crying over losing him. 

The guilt Damian had been able to ignore earlier came back at those words, and he felt terrible for snapping at his brother. He felt even worse that he could not seem to muster any grief over his father. Not in the same way Grayson was feeling it now. He was too concerned about his brother. His not quite partner who he’d almost lost tonight. Who had been out because of a Father who was not there. Who was alone because of a father Drake was still searching for. Who was now crying out for that same father. 

He did his best to ignore the strange twist of emotions in his chest and help Pennyworth instead. He collected blankets, lifted Grayson’s head, and handed over bandages as they were requested. 

Damian finally stopped moving when Grayson was at last sleeping and settled into a medical cot. He could not leave Grayson, no matter how conflicted looking at the man made him. So Damian settled in a chair and declared he’d keep an eye on him while Pennyworth got some rest. 

He tugged his legs up, onto the chair, so he could wrap his arms around them, and rested his chin on his knees. Somewhere in all the chaos, the sleeves of his borrowed hoodie had slipped down, and fallen over his hands to flop. Damian didn’t bother re-rolling them, but instead enjoyed the way they gave him a feeling of being further wrapped up, snuggled in something tight and comforting.

Sitting there, his odd feelings from earlier returned. He called them odd because he had not had time to pick at the strange ball of emotion in his chest and sort out what it all meant. 

There was irritation with himself over this attachment. He could hear mother’s voice in his head, chiding him and reminding him that love was a weakness. That caring about others only held one back. She was right of course, Damian had thrown all caution to the wind, disobeyed Pennyworth, and Oracle and run headlong after Grayson over a hunch. It had been correct, but even that was neither here nor there in consideration of the danger it had posed. 

The caring itself was another factor Damian turned over in his head, like he had turned the batarangs Grayson had shown him how to sharpen in his hands. Love, or at the very least, like, was dangerous. It was sharp, like the ends of the batarang, and would cut him if he was not careful, but it was also warm, like Grayson’s words had been. Gentle like his hands had felt in adjusting Damian’s grip. Something soft and happy like Damian’s heart had felt at Grayson’s praise. 

Damian looked back down at his brother. Grayson’s arms were laid out on top of the light blanket covering him. One hand was already showing bruising, ugly black and blue splotches where he must have raised them in defense. The bruises flowed down his forearm, and ended in a bullseye on his elbow. It made Damian wince just imagining it.

He released his hold on his legs and brushed a hand across the back of Grayson's palm, considering taking it in his own. Then the man groaned, and shifted, his hand slipping away from Damian's feather light grasp. He swallowed, and wrapped his arm back around his legs to grab his other hand, before resting his chin on his knees to continue his vigil. 

Chapter Text

Dick woke to a splitting headache. 

He blinked up at the roof of the cave and wondered how he’d gotten there. The last thing he really remembered was the building coming down around him. So, who had gotten him home? 

“Grayson? Are you awake at last?” a small voice asked from beside him. 

Dick turned his head and saw Damian, curled up in a chair, hands wrapped around his legs, wearing a Nightwing hoodie of all things. 

“Dames?” 

The boy scowled, “Tt, I see you finally recognize me. Perhaps you did not lose all your sense when you allowed a building to fall on you.” 

At that, Dick remembered his rescue. The image of Nightwing’s symbol the only clear thing on Damian’s then blurred figure, his terrified tone, and unrelenting grip as he dragged Dick to safety. He swallowed, at the memory of being lost in grief over Bruce, and wondered how much he’d admitted out loud. 

“Hope I didn’t worry you too much.” 

Damian rolled his eyes and laid his head back down on his knees, facing away from Dick, which Dick took as “yes, you did worry me.” He wouldn’t have needed the eye roll to know that. Damian had come after him, hardly dressed to be on patrol with little more than a domino and utility belt to help him, and was here sitting by his bed. Yeah, the kid was upset. 

“Drake should have been there.” Damian mumbled, voice muffled due to one cheek being squished against a knee. 

Dick pushed himself up so he was sitting, his chest twinged at that, but wasn’t nearly as painful as it might have been. His legs, however, were not pleased with the movement, and Dick winced at the sharp pain in his thighs. 

“It’s not like he bailed, Damian. I planned to go out on my own.” 

The boy squeezed his legs tighter, “He failed in his duty as Robin.” 

“Batman used to go out all the time without Robin. I mean, when I was growing up I only went with Bruce on the weekends for the longest time. A partner is not a requirement, Dames.” 

“He has not been a partner though, has he?” Damian asked, raising his head suddenly to level a serious look at Dick, “He has hardly been here for weeks, he left Batman at one of his most crucial times, while you were getting used to the cowl, and now because no one was by your side you almost--” he broke off, swallowing whatever he was going to say, “a building crashed down on you. It is not a question of what Batman has done in the past, but what he needs now.” 

He dropped his legs to the ground, and balled his hands on his thighs, “You need a partner, Robin or not. This is a different Gotham than Father’s, if only because you are a different type of Batman.” 

Dick was surprised that Damian didn’t tag on a jab at his skills as Batman as he’d done regularly. He expected to be told that he needed a partner because he wasn’t good enough to be Batman. What he had not expected was a heartfelt --for Damian-- speech about Dick needing to be safe. 

He leaned forward and took one of Damian’s hands in his own, Damian hadn’t released his fist, so Dick ran this thumb over the top of his hand, “I’m sorry I made you worry. Thank you for looking out for me no matter what, and thank you for being so patient with me while we sort things out.” 

He wanted to tell Damian he’d been thinking the same thing, and how much he wanted to bring him out as his partner, but he bit back those sentiments. He still needed to talk to Tim. 

“I’ll talk to Tim when he’s back, see if he can stick around a little longer or something.” 

Damian pulled his hand out of Dick’s and stood, “Good.” the word was clipped, “Let us hope he decides to stick around long enough to keep you alive this time.” 

“Are you leaving?” Dick asked, frowning at him. 

He hesitated, “I was going to get Pennyworth and let him know you were awake.”

Dick reached his hand out again, “Stay for a bit longer? You haven’t even told me just how much damage the building did to me.” 

Damian sighed, and flopped back down into the chair, “You are surprisingly indestructible. Between your armor and pure luck you only need contend with a concussion, some heavy bruising, and mild lacerations to your thigh.”

“I’m sure Alfred will insist I stay in bed for a week.” 

His brother shrugged, “He mentioned something of the sort. Brown and Cain have also agreed to look into the explosion while you are incapacitated. They would have gone after I returned with you, but by then emergency crews had arrived on the scene."

He wrinkled his nose, which made Dick raise an eyebrow. 

"It took far too long to rally any kind of emergency response. Considering the time it took me to arrive and find you, firetrucks should have been swarming the area. It is as if something had delayed the signal."

"We'll have to look into that too then." Dick hummed.

He was about to ask Damian for more details, when the sound of a bike roaring came into the cave. Both Dick and Damian looked to see who was arriving. Robin's Redbird bike pulled in, and Tim was just turning it off. 

“Damian, don’t start a fight, okay?” 

“Tt. I will go get Pennyworth.”

This time, when Damian stood Dick did not stop him from walking away. He hated it, but the kid was dealing with a lot of emotions right now, and one of those was profound anger at Tim, maybe not Tim himself, but the fact that Dick had gotten hurt without Tim there. It was understandable, and Dick was willing to let him go and cool off a bit. Something told him that the longer he and Damian spent together, the more likely he'd become just about as overprotective as Bruce could be. 

Dick shook his head, and put on a smile for Tim. 

A light, angry, set of stomping feet preceded Damian’s entry to the kitchen. The sound was enough to alert Stephanie of the kid’s mood. She eyed Cass who nodded, having also picked up Damian’s emotional state even before seeing him.  It wasn’t like it was a hard guess. Beyond Cass, the kid was the only one who was still small enough to make a sound that light while also stomping, and Dick was downstairs hurt on a gurney. One plus one equals two, or in this case injured mentor plus stomping feet equaled an upset Damian. 

The boy stopped short at the door to the kitchen, his face a veritable movie of emotions as he flipped from deep concentration to surprise, irritation, and at last settled on mild annoyance. 

“Brown. Cain.” he said, by way of greeting.

“Hey.” Steph said. 

Cass waved, and said, “Cocoa is on the stove.” 

Both of them waited for Damian to pour himself a mug of the still warm hot chocolate, and settle on a stool across from them at the island.

“So, what’s the news? Did Dick wake up at last?” Stephanie asked him. 

Damian scowled down at his drink, “Yes, the fool is awake.”

Steph raised an eyebrow, Damian wasn’t usually so grumpy when he talked about Dick. At least not anymore, especially since they’d gone out and bought all those art supplies. A genius stroke on Dick’s part, one she’d been planning to make him take if he hadn’t caught on sooner or later. Really, the kid screamed artist.

“What did he do to earn your ire?” 

The boy tsked at her and sipped at his cocoa. 

“We are not mind readers, Little Brother.” Cass said, gently. 

Damian huffed, and looked up, “Drake has returned.” 

Ah. That made sense. Steph stifled a smile, Damian’s little rivalry with Tim was pretty one sided, and while it had originally be born out of a need to fit in, it was obvious now it was about Dick’s attention. 

“He’s been away a while, I’m sure Dick missed him.” 

“Tt. That is not why I am upset.” 

“Because Dick got hurt?” Cass asked, though they all knew it was the truth. 

The boy squirmed in his chair, his scowl deepening. 

“It’s pretty obvious.” Steph said. 

“You two are insufferable.” Damian declared and took a large sip of his hot chocolate.

Now Stephanie did let herself laugh, “You know, if you gave Tim a chance I bet you’d find him as ‘tolerable’ as you find the rest of us lately.”

Damian tilted his head back, adding an air of superiority to him, even as he sat there in a hoodie too big for him, cupping hot chocolate in a Superman mug, “If he were here more often, then perhaps I could.” 

“That, I can't fault.” Steph said, “But I won’t judge him for his actions either.” 

“How is Dick?” Cass asked, changing the conversation. 

Damian looked relieved he didn’t have to answer any more questions about his ‘rival’ and tapped a finger on the side of his mug. 

“He is surprisingly well, and in far too good a mood for a man who had a building fall on him.” 

There was something fond about Damian’s tone, even if he meant it to be dismissive. Steph was oh so tempted to tease him, but held off. 

“Good.” she said, shifting in her chair, “Hey, what do you say to a trip to the park tomorrow? I need to get out and get some fresh air that’s not tinged with doom, gloom, and nighttime, and you told me you were bored of painting Alfred’s garden. A change of scenery would be fun.”

“You are trying to ensure I do not start a fight with Drake.” 

Steph dropped her mouth open in an imitation of surprise, “Me? Never. I just thought you might want a change of scenery, and --since you’re ten and most certainty grounded from being alone in any kind of vehicle after tonight-- might need a ride.” 

Damian groaned, “Pennyworth told you?” 

She grinned, “A good deed does not go unpunished.” 

The kid glared at her for a moment before nodding, “Fine, but I will not go to the last park we visited. The duck pond had no ducks at all.”

Chapter Text

“You really had no idea I was back in town?” Tim asked again as he adjusted his grip on Dick’s wrist.

The two of them were in the middle of climbing the manor’s staircase to the second floor. It was Tim’s way of making sure he rested. Especially since his brother was apparently insistent on still working the case that had landed him under a building.

He’d thought he could leave Dick safely downstairs for a bit while he got situated back in the manor, the man was injured and had promised to rest, but apparently Dick had picked up more Batman habits from Bruce than he cared to admit to. It was baffling, especially since Tim knew for a fact everyone else in the family was hard at work investigating things in some way or another. So here they were with Tim in charge of getting Dick upstairs without tearing stitches, while Alfred was busy making sure the room was presentable, clean, and free of tripping hazards.

“Nope, I can show you my phone when we get upstairs. Last text from you was--” Dick winced as he put his leg down wrong.

Tim hefted him a little closer to his side.

“An update on just how tasty the food really is in Paris.” his brother finished, just as they reached the top.

“I know I sent you a message.” Tim said, his brows furrowing.

His brother waved him off, “It’s not a big deal either way, Timmy.”

Except it was. Dick had been in such straits Damian had needed to go save him. Damian who hadn’t been in the field yet. Damian who as far as Tim knew was still two seconds away from taking off someone’s head instead of knocking them out. Even if Dick promised the kid was leaps and bounds better than that now. Besides, Tim was Robin, he should have been there to back up Batman.

Even not considering the most recent disaster, Tim hadn’t been around nearly as much as he should, and it was showing. Dick was exhausted. One bad night didn’t create the deep purple bags under Dick’s eyes or the exhaustion lacing his voice.

Tim should have known. Should have been on the lookout for those tell tale signs. It didn’t matter who wore the cowl, Batman was going to keep secrets from his Robin. It was Robin’s duty to figure those out and keep him safe, yet Dick had pulled the wool over Tim’s eyes completely because he hadn’t been there. And of course he had, Tim was spending most of his time looking for a different Batman. When he wasn’t doing that, he was keeping himself busy with the Titans. Anything to be out of the house that just kept reminding him of the second dad he’d lost.

Alfred had left the door open for them, and was waiting inside when Tim helped Dick into the room. Together, he and Alfred got Dick in bed and settled in. As his brother leaned back against his pillows he sighed with relief.

“Perfect. Thanks guys.”

Alfred hummed and adjusted Dick’s blankets again, “Would you like some tea?”

Dick shot him a blinding grin, “Please.”

“You know he’s probably going to drug it right?” Tim joked after Alfred had left.

His brother snorted, “He only ever did that to B.”

Mostly when Bruce had been shutting everyone out and overworking himself. In fact, Tim remembered seeing Bruce looking an awful lot like Dick did now. His heart squeezed at the comparison, at the way he missed his dad, at what Dick seemed to be silently pushing himself through.

“Hmm.” Tim said, and pulled his phone from his pocket to check his text history with Dick. “Oh.” he blinked down at the phone.

“Oh?” Dick asked.

“I forgot to hit send.” Tim felt his face heat up.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw a hand flash, and jerked his head up in surprise. It wasn’t a dismissal, but instead Dick was holding his arm out in invitation.

“Want to join me? I don’t really care to sit here alone all day.”

Tim rolled his eyes but smiled, “That’s the most obvious comfort attempt I’ve seen in a long time.”

“I don’t have to trick you into giving hugs.”

Something about that made Tim think not only of Damian, but of Jason too. He chuckled, and settled on the bed next to Dick, and leaned into his side.

“Glad I can be the agreeable brother.”

He received a tight hug for that as Dick tugged him closer to his side, before leaning over to press a kiss into his hair, “And I thank you so much for that.”

“Now, tell me all about your adventures. Any more leads on strange bat symbols?”

Tim entertained Dick until Cass came in to take over for him, and he headed downstairs for a late lunch. He found Damian in the kitchen, picking his way through a bowl of salad. Tim stood for a moment and watched the kid spear a couple cherry tomatoes with his fork and then stare at them for a few seconds before popping them in his mouth.

“Hey.” Tim said, not wanting to make him think he was spying.

Damian looked up at him and scowled. No surprise there. They weren’t close, but Tim had thought Damian had cooled towards him lately. He’d even apologized for challenging Tim to a duel when he’d first arrived. The apology had been stiff, and most likely initiated by Dick, but honestly the fact that he’d done it at all had been progress.

“Dick’s in his room now.” Tim said, trying to find some common ground as he ducked into the fridge.

Bless Alfred and his legendary meal prepping skills. Neat little tupperware lined the fridge, pre portioned meals that were filling and basic enough to meet any of their pallets for a quick meal. He snagged one at random, lifted one corner of the lid and popped it into the microwave.

“Are you sticking around?” Damian demanded.

“What?” Tim turned to blink at Damian surprised.

The boy crossed his arms, salad forgotten. He looked fierce, not angry, but protective?

“Are you finally going to take your duties as Robin seriously, and watch Grayson’s back?”

Oh. That made sense. Dick had gone on about Damian with such affection earlier it had made Tim a bit jealous, and now he saw that the feelings were mutual. Gone was the Damian who had no time for anyone, now replaced with a tiny protective pit bull of a kid who had latched onto his oldest brother.

Tim frowned, “I’m sorry I wasn’t there last night, I feel terrible.”

Damian opened his mouth to berate him, but Tim held up a hand, “Let me finish. I’m not trying to make an excuse, just explain. If he wants me to stay, I’m staying. I shouldn’t have spent so much time away.”

His heart was torn even saying that. Tim loved Dick. He loved his brother desperately, but he also loved Bruce, and he couldn’t picture up and abandoning his quest. Except he couldn’t be in two places at once, and he just---he didn’t know what to do.

“Good.” Damian gave a sharp nod, “He needs a partner, and if you were not up to the task I was going to insist on taking up your slack.”

“Oh really? And has Dick okayed you for field work yet?”

Damian’s scowl returned, “He will have to eventually. His lessons are growing repetitive with nothing new to test me against.”

Tim doubted that, but did agree that eventually Damian was going to have to go out on patrol. It’s all he wanted, and even with him apparently gaining new interests since Tim had been gone, his goal was still to join Batman on patrol.

The microwave beeped. Tim turned his attention to his food. He opened the door, tugged his sleeves over his hands, and pulled out the tupperware. Quickly, he took it over to the bar and set it down before he returned to the microwave to close it and find a fork.

When he sat down again, Damian had returned to picking tomatoes out of his salad.

“You know, even if I join Dick, I think he’d appreciate having more than one partner. He’s used to working with a team.”

“Like you are?” Damian asked, not looking up, “Grayson tells me you have been splitting your time between the Teen Titans and searching for Father.”

Tim hummed, and gently lifted the lid off the food, letting the steam escape slowly. Inside the tupperware was a mix of rice, diced chicken, and an assortment of vegetables. A warm, spiced, scent came up from the container that made Tim’s mouth water.

“I have.” he nodded, “Most of my time’s been spent looking for Bruce though.”

He gave the food a good stir with his fork, and glanced up at Damian, “Your Grandpa’s even tried to help.”

Damian snorted, “I doubt what Grandfather has been doing is helpful.”

A chuckle escaped Tim’s chest, and he let it turn into a full laugh, “Yeah, he’s the worst.”

Damian gave him a half smile at that and hummed. He turned back down to the salad, now stabbing at cucumber slices, “Do you have any solid leads on Father?”

“Some.” Tim said, “Jay’s been helping too, hunting down locations from here in his spare time. So far it’s been a lot of nothing, but I’m sure we’ll find solid evidence soon.”

“And if you do?” Damian asked.

Tim shrugged, “Use it to start triangulating a location. My running theory is that Bruce is stuck somewhere in time, though there's also the possibility he could be in an alternate universe shifted slightly from our own.”

Damian didn’t ask about Tim’s plans if he didn’t find evidence. Instead he nodded, and stirred his salad, accidentally sending a slice of red onion sliding out of the bowl. He glared at it, before lifting it and dropping it in his mouth. It was actually really cute.

They spent the rest of their meal in comfortable silence. Tim devouring his rice bowl, while Damian continued to pick his salad apart, ingredient by ingredient. Tim remembered Bruce doing that sometimes if he was working out a puzzle. Normally it had nothing to do with a case, but instead was work or relationship related. One time it was over something Dick had snapped at him before storming out. It had taken him the whole meal to sort out Dick was mad that he’d forgotten about a lunch they’d had planned. He wondered what Damian was trying to puzzle out.

He didn’t get another chance to hang out with Dick alone until the next evening. Everyone else had insisted on crowding him to make sure he rested and didn’t do too much. Jason spent time reading silently close by while Cass played games with him on his DS. Tim would watch movies with him while Damian sat with a sketchbook perched on his knees, sitting in the bed just far enough away from Dick that no one would suspect him of trying to be comforting --his little ruse fooling no one.

Dick at last managed to convince Alfred to let him out of bed and move down into Bruce’s office to get some WE work done if he promised to have someone with him. Tim volunteered, eager for some quiet time with his oldest sibling.

They sat together for a while in comfortable silence. Tim worked on some of his own long overdue WE projects, and then wrangled some away from Dick to devote a fresh set of eyes to.

It was nice, just sitting there and working. Tim was settled by the book shelves, a laptop perched on his lap, and Dick was seated at the desk proper, with one of his legs propped up on a stool. Tim had been so busy, so in a rush to go off and do things, he’d missed the quiet. It was odd, thinking of Dick as quiet, and another marked change from the last time they’d sat in this office working together. Dick hadn’t interrupted him for anything but work in almost an hour. He’d settled in, brow furrowed, and just...worked.

Tim didn’t think he liked it.

As little as he wanted to admit it, Tim had begun to realize Dick needed more backup here, and he wasn’t sure he was the one to give it.

They worked for a while longer, Tim’s discomfort growing with each minute that ticked by until he cleared his throat to get Dick’s attention.

“Hm?” his brother glanced up from his computer.

“Can we talk?” Tim asked.

Dick really looked at him this time, studying his face for a few seconds before nodding. Tim dragged his chair over to the desk so Dick didn’t have to get up, and then sat down unsure of what to say, or how to bring up what he wanted to talk about.

For his part, Dick looked nervous too. He was leaning forward in his chair, his good leg raised up to rest on the edge of the seat. One of his hands fiddled with the corner of a notebook, lifting the pages and letting them slide down his thumb making a thwiping noise.

He tapped a finger on the arm of his chair, “I’m sorry.” he said at last, then before Dick could respond charged ahead, “I know I apologized already and we had a whole talk, but I’m talking about more than just the other night.”

“Tim, we talked about that too. I’m happy you’re out looking for Bruce, and being with your friends. I know how much they benefit from having you there.”

“Yes, but I’ve left you without a proper partner.” Tim said, “And it’s obvious you need one.”

Dick scoffed, “You too? Damian told me the same.”

“He’s right. And actually, that’s the other thing.”

This was what he’d been fighting with himself about. Handing over his partnership with Dick to someone else. He could say Damian could pick any name but Robin, but Batman needed a Robin. Tim knew that better than anyone. Gotham needed to see Robin out there as much as they needed Batman.

Tim could pretend that things wouldn’t be any different when he got done with his quest (however that ended), he could pretend he’d be able to slip right back into being Batman’s partner the same way he’d been prior to all this, but that was a lie. Even now he and Dick were more comrades than hero and sidekick, and that gulf would only grow if Dick and Damian started patrolling together. The two were already practically joined at the hip.

“I think you should make Damian Robin.” he said.

He found that it wasn’t as upsetting as he’d thought it would be, to imagine a different Robin. To picture the little gremlin in that role. To just, hand it over like that.

Dick visibly relaxed, his hand flattened on the book, “Really?”

Tim shrugged, “I’ve been thinking about it. More than just being here. I told Damian that I’d stay and be your partner if you wanted. But I honestly think he’d be better taking over, he can be here all the time, and doesn’t have a team or the distractions I do.”

“I’d been thinking about it too.” Dick sounded almost guilty, and he slid the book over, flipping it to a page with a corner folded down.

A few sketches filled the page. There was a full sketch of a new Robin uniform, with pieces doodled around it, a hooded cape, and combat boots instead of Tim’s old style.

The irritation Tim thought he wasn’t going to feel suddenly rose up. Dick had wanted to replace him? He’d told Tim that he wasn’t going to give Robin to Damian, that they’d pick something else.

Dick seemed to read the change in his mood, “I wasn’t going to give it to him until I’d asked you.” he reached out and put a hand on Tim’s, “I wouldn’t take Robin from you, even if I did think you were ready to spread your own wings.”

He flipped the pages back, showing Tim other uniform designs, one with a motorcycle helmet type mask and a fathered cape called Red Bird, another that looked a lot like a Nightwing uniform but with more armor and a scalloped cape. Tim’s irritation settled a bit at that.

“But you did consider Robin too.”

His brother shrugged, and looked a little chagrined, “You can’t really get mad at me for imagining it. You were never going to stay Robin forever.”

Tim sighed, “Yeah. I just, I don’t know. It’s dumb, I shouldn’t be upset when I said the same thing just a minute ago.”

“So, you’re still okay with it?” Dick asked.

“Yeah, yeah I am.” Tim nodded, “It’ll be good for the Gremlin. He’s already grown leaps and bounds just training with you.”

Dick smiled, “Thank you, Tim. You know I've still got your back no matter what right? Whatever name you pick or outfit, and hey!” the smile turned into a full grin, “I can even help you pick out a new uniform. Maybe break out the old disco wing outfit?”

Tim pulled a face, “No way, Damian might have to suffer through your fashion decisions, but I’ll make my own. Besides, I’ve already picked out a new name and outfit.”

“Oh?” Dick’s eyes lit up, “Do tell.”

So Tim did. He pushed his brother over and pulled up his directory on their shared drive to show him some rendered images. He’d been excited to finalize the idea, and he was even more excited to share it with Dick.

They spent the rest of the evening looking over Red Robin images, with Tim defending the name choice to his brother.

Chapter Text

Damian adjusted his gauntlets, feeling the comfortable weight of them on his wrists and arms. He stretched his fingers in the gloves, still marveling at how green now covered his hands. Where sun kissed skin had once been, something new now flashed. The pop of color kept surprising him, like a fresh wound on his palm or when he'd lost a fingernail climbing a mountain. It was the otherness of it, and the difference from what he was used to that kept surprising him.

The leather felt good wrapped around his fingers and under his palm. He could smell the newness of it as he applied a mask to his face, fingers gentle but firm as he pressed the spirit glue in place.

Gloves and masks and tactical gear were nothing new, but Damian had been without them so long they almost felt foreign. Like formal wear left too long in a closet, but brought out for a special occasion. Though, this was no special occasion. He would prove himself capable enough of the R resting over his heart.

He brushed a hand over it, feeling the metal slide under his fingers, the hard ridges smooth even against his glove. He had been surprised when Drake and Grayson had approached him, Grayson holding the uniform, Drake a symbolic R pin, and declared him Batman's next partner. It had taken Damian a while to figure out it was not a test. In fact, he was still unsure if it was or not. He could not believe Drake so willing to relinquish the title of Robin without a fight. Damian was sure that if their roles were replaced he would never just hand it over.

But perhaps he believed in Damian. Or perhaps he was simply ready for his own title and path.

Damian was not sure if he could bear thoughts of losing Robin, even without having gone out yet in the uniform. So he pushed aside those doubts, and bent to tighten the laces on his boots. He snorted lightly thinking of Grayson's desire for him to be in trainers of all things. As if those would be any help on patrol. He had needed to modify a few of Grayson's designs in regards to his Robin uniform, but they had come to an agreement at last and Damian was pleased with the result. It was not the traffic light of Grayson's youth, but it was still familiar in its colors. His cape was black, but lined with brilliant yellow, and his chest still resembled his namesake as he wore a vest of red.

"You ready yet, Baby Bat?" Grayson's voice filtered into the locker room even before the man himself appeared.

He had his cowl pulled back, and his cape slung over one arm but was otherwise prepared to go out as Batman. He looked at Damian with open fondness that made the boy scowl.

"Do not call me that. It is bad enough you have piled other nicknames upon me, I do not need one more."

His brother rolled his eyes, but his smile did not fade. Damian wondered if it would be pasted to his face the entire night.

"Is Drake ready as well?" Damian asked.

"Red Robin is, we're just waiting on you. Though, no rush, I know we fitted you for the uniform, but I want you to feel comfortable in it before we're out in the field."

Damian hummed, and stood from where he had been seated on a bench, "I am ready."

He imagined he could feel the way his cape whispered across his back as he followed Grayson out of the locker room. Between the undershirt and armored vest the only part of the cape he could actually feel was its weight, but that did not stop him imagining it's swish.

His brother slipped his own cape on, clipping it in place as they moved. That itself meant their departure was imminent. Grayson did not wear the cape unless he was leaving or physically on patrol.

Damian was not surprised to see Drake and Pennyworth waiting for them in the cave. He was however shocked to find Todd there as well. The man had rarely ventured downstairs for patrol reasons since he had declared himself done with the vigilante lifestyle. He was not in uniform, but lounge wear.

"Thought I'd see our two newly minted heroes off." he said, waving between Damian and Drake.

"I'm not new." Drake protested.

"Your uniform is, name too. Though, not too new Red Robin ." he said, grinning wickedly.

Drake tutted and crossed his arms, "Well Red Hood someone needed to keep the tradition going."

Damian felt he was missing something, but did not care enough to discover just what that was. Instead he turned his attention to Pennyworth.

"You will be manning communications tonight?"

"With Oracle as back up."

Damian nodded, "Excellent."

Damian was not sure what to expect of patrol. He had certainly been out in Gotham with Mother back when they'd kept tabs on Father, then had flown to rescue Grayson, and had much experience watching others patrol. None of that told him what it would really feel like to dive off the roof of a building, grapple tight in his hand.

He was sure to learn of it now, out in Gotham proper as he followed after Drake, with Batman right behind him. Damian didn't even argue at the obvious safety net that was having his brother (and Batman) at his back, just in case he fell. No, he was too busy focusing on the wind, and the feel of a grapple he'd shot a hundred times in the cave but never out in open air before.

When he jumped, his stomach tried to climb into his throat, and when he shot the grapple he felt it jolt through his whole arm and shoulder. When it connected and caught him, swinging him in a wide, wonderful arc, he allowed himself to laugh. Free and open and so so excited.

Damian of course clammed up the moment his feet crunched against the gravel of the roof he'd swung to. Drake's knowing half grin was enough to make him throw his walls back up, and cross his arms as he stepped out of the way to allow Batman access.

"So?" Drake asked.

Damian shrugged.

It was like that all night. Damian bottled the joy that threatened to bubbled up and out again, and put on as serious a face as he could through the rest of patrol. He had to take this seriously, had to make sure that Grayson and Drake understood this was not a game to him, that he could be trusted to handle Robin with the dignity the mantle required.

They did not have a hard patrol. Damian knew this to be one of the easier routes, a beginner's path not simply chosen for Grayson's healing injuries, but also for his sake, and he tried not to resent it early on. As the hours of patrol passed and he ran, jumped, and punched his way over roofs and through thugs that resentment faded to exhaustion.

When they arrived back in the cave, Damian was almost asleep on his feet, but made sure to keep his back straight, and his attention sharp as he debriefed, then wrote up a report of the night's events, showered, and at last trudged upstairs.

He fell into bed exhausted, his feet humming with little aches, as tired as the rest of him. After laying on the blankets for a moment, he pulled himself up, burrowed under the covers, and fell fast asleep.

It was like that for the next couple nights, Damian finding himself more tired than he had in a long time as he acclimated to the physical rigors of patrol. It was different of course than training at both the Manor and back home with Mother. Damian knew that he had grown soft. If this had been days or even a week after he'd arrived in Gotham, patrol would seem easy to him, and he would still be full of energy when returning from them. But he had not followed as rigorous a schedule in the time he had been in his Father's home and his body was showing it.

Still, he argued the first night Grayson suggested he take a break from patrolling. Drake was still in town, and still accompanying Batman, and Damian did not wish to be pushed out of a role so new to himself.

"Do you think me incapable?" Damian demanded, standing in the middle of the hallway where Grayson had deigned to suggest he take the night off.

Grayson crossed his arms and sighed, "No, Damian, that's not what I mean. Just, it's a lot to patrol on a regular basis, and Batman has never expected Robin to go out every night. In fact. until I graduated Bruce rarely let me out on weeknights."

"But I am being home schooled, and I have had far more training than you did at my age."

"I know that, Dames, but still. I want you to have a good balance in your life. It's important to know that taking a night off doesn't mean you've failed, instead it means you're taking care of your body."

"You are not taking the night off." Damian accused.

His brother huffed out a puff of semi-frustrated air, "I'm Batman."

"Does Batman also not need to take care of himself?" Damian pressed, knowing he was either going to win this battle or take Grayson down with him.

In fact, the more he thought on it, the more he decided that Grayson needed a night off. His words rang as true for himself as they did Damian, and he was still recovering from his injuries he'd sustained during the explosion. Damian could see exhaustion creeping back in after his few nights off, and now that he was Robin, he felt he could do something about it.

"If Robin is to take the night off, then so should Batman." Damian declared, thinking quickly, "We do not have to avoid work, just patrol. I have some theories on the explosion I have not yet shared with you, and some observations from previous strange happenings around Gotham. It is not something we can do while patrolling, and a good compromise. What do you say?"

Grayson considered his words, then nodded, "I could see if Tim wants to join Cass tonight. Steph's got a test tomorrow so she's taking the evening off. And I know Cass and Tim like working together."

"Then it is agreed, you and I will research and they can handle Gotham's criminal lot for the evening."

Chapter Text

Jason reached up and clasped his hands above his head to stretch, reaching his arms up and up, feeling a nice pull in his muscles and back before he dropped them with a sigh. He rolled his head back and around before turning up one shoulder, and the other imagining the tension there slithering off and away from him. 

It was less stress than just tightness that had built up from being stationary too long, but it was still good to imagine the feeling leaving his body. Somehow that always helped. It helped more when he was overly stressed or trying to see clearly through the haze of clouding emotions, but Black Canary’s advice was good for more than one setting. 

Thinking further on her advice, Jason slipped one of the pads of sticky notes across the desk and close to the edge, where he lifted it for a second, watching the little papers accordion up, then fall back down in a blur of yellow when he dropped the top sheet. He was supposed to be filling them out with helpful advice to himself, but Jason had tried that already, accomplishing little more than managing to annoy himself. So, he figured it would annoy the rest of his family too. 

He set about writing various types of advice to different siblings. Some of it was legitimate, and might be helpful if they were not too irritated with him, and some was downright terrible, like telling Dick he should try dying his hair hot pink. It was a fun distraction, and Jason knew the seeds of chaos he sewed with them would be well worth the time spent on the task. 

A light knocking at the door had Jason flip the pad on its back before he looked up and waved Tim in. 

His younger brother carried two mugs in his hands, and took a chair by Jason’s side before settling one of the mugs on the desk. 

“Hey!” Jason cried, lifting it almost as soon as the ceramic touched the wood, “Coasters were created for a reason, Timbo. And that reason is keeping the wood of this desk free of horrid little rings from coffee mugs.” 

“Horrid?” Tim snorted, “Someone’s been spending too much time with Damian. What are you two doing, reading old classics out loud and taking notes?” 

Jason huffed, and set his mug on a coaster --one that had been in clear view when Tim had set the mug down the first time-- then slid one close to his brother shooting him a look. 

He held up a finger before speaking, “One, we are reading classics, because the squirt’s mom didn’t even have him read Pride and Prejudice . But we are not reading out loud.” he held up a second finger, “And two: if anyone’s spending too much time with the kid, it’s officially Dick.” 

Tim sipped at his coffee and shrugged, his face mostly hidden by the mug. 

The lack of response prompted Jason to drop his hand and find his mug again, tone more gentle as he prompted, “Dick said it was your idea to give him Robin?” 

“He was thinking the same thing too. I was just first to say the words.” Tim said, setting his own mug down on the coaster. 

Jason leaned back, “Well I for one am glad you’ve grown up and stepped away from the kiddie shorts.” 

“That uniform hasn’t had shorts in years.” 

Jason continued, “It’s high time. Your new suit is a good look, though you could stand to go back to a domino instead of that cowl. Trust me, cowl hair is the worst . Even worse than helmet hair.” 

He was happy for Tim. Robin wasn’t a role anyone needed to keep forever, and his kid brother had outgrown it. His personal quest to find Bruce was proof enough. If Jason considered the team the kid was running with the Titans, and all the missions he’d been on, yeah it was well and truly time for him to step out and become his own man. And despite his teasing the night before, he didn’t mind the name Red Robin. 

“You think you’ll ever don the suit again?” Tim asked, kicking his feet up so they rested on the bar under the chair. 

Jason thought on the question for a minute, leaning forward to grab his mug and sip at the overly sweet coffee, “Nah.” he said at last, “I think I’m done. I was in it for Bruce, for good or bad, and now I think I want something more than nightly bruises and anger.” 

“It’s not all that, but I get it.” Tim nodded, “How’s Dinah?”

“Good, she’s good. Helping me sort some stuff out.” Jason grinned over at him, “She even suggested I come back to life, for real.” 

Tim raised an eyebrow at that, “You want to?” 

Something warm stirred in Jason’s chest. “I’d like to be Jason Wayne again, I think. Whether we find him or not.” He nodded at the computer, and the whole reason he and Tim were meeting. 

“Dick’ll be delighted. Alfred even more so.” Tim grinned, “I bet he’d throw you a party, and bake a huge cake. Even if you don’t make the whole living thing big in the news.” 

Jason hummed. He hadn’t really talked with the others yet about his decision. He didn’t really want a big affair, the media would do enough of that when they found out. The thought of the media figuring it out had Jason in a cold sweat. The best thing about being legally dead was that he didn’t have to do the whole song and dance that came with being a Wayne. But--he also wanted his life back. All of it, and everything that went with it. 

Tim put a hand on his shoulder, “I’m happy for you. It’s a good decision.” 

Jason nodded, “Yeah, well, I haven’t done it yet. For now, why don’t we focus on the here and now.” 

He leaned forward and wiggled the mouse, making the blank computer screen flash back to life from where it had gone into sleep mode, “I think I’ve got another lead. You know how you can take virtual tours of museums now?” 

Tim shook his head, “I hadn’t really ever cared to check.” he admitted. 

Jason tried not to roll his eyes. Really, all of his siblings needed to spend more time enjoying the arts, even if it was done virtually. 

“Well you can, and a lot of museums have set up virtual tours of some of their spaces, as a way to hype up tourism and draw in more people. Anyway, there’s one in Berlin that’s done it, and by sheer stupid luck, I think I might have found our next clue.” 

Tim grinned at him, “By luck you mean because you were thinking about going to the museum.” 

Jason shoved him in the shoulder, “I don’t make fun of you for taking pictures of ducks at ponds.” 

“Actually you do--”

He waved off Tim’s protests, “Yeah but I only do it because big brother rules say I can. You’ve got that power now too. Find something to tease Damian about and see how quickly it goes to your head.” 

Tim’s mouth dropped open in surprise. Like he hadn’t really considered the fact that he was now an older brother. Or that he could tease Damian. Honestly, Jason thought teasing the kid was still risky, he might have mellowed out but he still slept with a knife under his pillow and was quick to throw a punch when needed. 

“I-- hmm,” he dropped his chin on his open palm, “I guess I need to get to know him better. Short jokes will only end up getting me stabbed.” 

Jason grinned, happy they were on the same page, “Now then, back to the museum.” 

He took his brother through the virtual tour he’d loaded up, “It’s blurry because they didn’t take the camera into that room, but if you zoom you can just make out--”

“A bat.” Tim breathed, “Was it there before?” 

“I have no idea, and I don’t speak German well enough to ask. But I’ve put some feelers out.” 

Tim looked absolutely ready to bolt from his chair and get on a plane, “How long until you know?” 

Jason shrugged, “Couple of days maybe? I’ll let you know.” 

Damian felt a little like an outsider still as he watched Cain suit up, and joke with Drake as they prepared for patrol. Normally she would have left, gone to the Belfry to join Gordon and Brown as they prepared for their own patrol and routes, but since she was joining Tim she'd declared it was no use going off just to find him again.

It was odd seeing her and Drake interact in uniform. Damian had seen them together of course, but that was around the manor. Especially since Drake had elected to stick around for a little while longer than he usually did. He'd said it was to make sure Grayson was healing right and Damian was settling into Robin well, but Damian wondered if he was also simply missing the family as a unit.

Damian was surprised to realize that he had come to value them all as a family, even if he still felt like he needed more time to get to know them all better, and feel–set in his place. They were more than just the people his father had chosen, and instead people Damian had decided to accept as part of his life. Grayson and Pennyworth mostly, but the others were important as well, and Damian thought that without them the manor and life would be emptier. Grayson would not like that, and Damian thought he would not either.

They were better as a group, he decided.

Grayson waved them off while Damian settled into a chair by the Batcomputer. Oracle was on main comms duty tonight with Damian and Grayson there as backup. This left the computer open for research and Damian to share what he'd learned with his brother.

"Alright, so tell me what you think you've figured out." Grayson said, moving to settle into his own chair.

"I believe the strange facility you entered the other night is tied to that odd spider we saw a few weeks ago." Damian said, taking over the keyboard to pull up his file on both events.

He drew a red circle over both hooded men he'd thought had been the same person, and told Grayson as much.

"I have also discovered videos that show both 'exhibits', with the one featuring the playground cutting off around the same time you cut the power to the building. They were both only up for a short period of time, and if the metadata is to be believed were streamed live to a small audience."

Grayson whistled, "You've been doing your homework. Anything else?"

Damian shook his head, "I have been trying to get clean images of the faces of any of the perpetrators but they are all obscured in some way. Many keep out of line of sight with cameras, and those that are on film have hoods pulled low across their faces or have hair long enough it makes identification difficult."

Grayson seemed fully invested now, and was nodding, "The videos? Any luck with the people who put those up?"

"I am still looking into it." Damian admitted, "They've worked hard to make their path difficult to follow. The account who streamed the videos has no other activity beyond those two, and was created the day the first video went live."

Next to him, Grayson leaned back in his seat, "What about supplies? It'd take quite a bit of money and physical stuff to set up these elaborate art exhibits."

"I had not gotten to that yet." Damian admitted, "I've really only been looking into this in my spare time, trying to build a case as to why they are connected. It's possible that the explosion has nothing to do with any of this. That building had been vacant for a while. The owner seems unwilling to make upgrades and repairs that would make it marketable. It's possible they demolished it to cash in on insurance or make the land easier to sell."

Grayson nodded, "Still, the art is connected. We'll have to keep an eye on it to make sure this isn't someone new moving into Gotham."

"Or one of Batman's villains trying a new tactic." Damian pointed out, "It has the makings of being something the Riddler might attempt, or perhaps the Mad Hatter with the oddness of the structures."

His brother shot him a grin, "You did learn something from all my training."

"Tt. Do not be an idiot. Of course I did, what kind of Robin would I be if I did not make myself aware of Batman's gallery of rogues?"

"Still, I'm proud of you. That's a lot of information to take in and try to consider in regards to a new threat. This is all great work, no matter what it amounts to in the end."

Damian felt his cheeks heat up and he tried to push away the feeling of pride that caused them to flush, "Yes, well, let us hope it amounts to something. I do not wish to have wasted my time."

Chapter Text

Dick was happy to find his whole family at breakfast the next morning. Alfred and Jason were busy chatting as Dick came in, and paid him no heed. Tim and Cass looked well for their night on patrol, and Damian actually seemed refreshed instead of sullen and grumpy. 

He took his place beside his youngest brother and reached out to pour himself some coffee from the still warm percolator set on the table. Chatter washed over him as he added milk and sugar, and stirred. It ebbed and flowed as he filled a plate with eggs and bacon and a couple warm biscuits. 

“Grayson.” Damian’s voice broke through Dick’s concentration on his food. 

He turned, setting his fork down, “Yeah?” 

The boy’s mouth clamped closed, like he suddenly did not want to finish what he’d started, “You are late.” he decided on, at last. 

Dick shrugged, “Some mornings are like that.”

“It is Friday.” Jason pointed out, “The perfect day for sleeping in.” 

Damian scowled at him, “Yes, but Grayson has work. Do you not?” he asked, swiveling to address Dick. 

Dick grinned at Damian, “Are you sad to have missed some time seeing me?” 

The boy’s cheeks turned red, something that had been happening more and more lately as he’d grown comfortable around them, “I simply do not wish you to be fired. It would be embarrassing to the whole family.” 

“And we’re your family now, then?” Dick’s smile widened even more. 

“I will stab you.” Damian hissed. 

“If I may?” 

Alfred’s gentle tone got everyone’s attention.

“I think it is time the family took a break and did something together.” 

“Not a gala.” Tim said, voice almost pleading. 

The butler chuckled, “No, I think not. But the Waynes have been invited to a new display at the Gotham Museum of Art.”

Dick caught Damian leaning forward at those words. 

“As each of your schedules have the opening day open, I took the liberty of accepting for the family. It has been too long since the public saw the Waynes, and too long since we did something together.” 

“You will be coming too, Pennyworth?” Damian asked, some hope in his voice. 

Alfred smiled at him, “Of course, Master Damian. Someone should chaperone you lot and keep you from burning down one of Gotham’s few undisturbed locations. The opening is on Saturday, and I have also reserved a ticket for Miss Stephanie. I trust one of you will let her know.” 

“Already texting her. I bet she’ll be delighted to do something that’s not studying.” Tim said. 

And so the rest of breakfast turned into a discussion of the museum as everyone peppered Alfred for details on what would be shown, what to wear, and most importantly, if they’d have to deal with anything troublesome like speeches or not. 

Dick was less excited about the art and more about the idea of everyone going together. Thoughts of their soon to be grand adventure carried him through getting ready for work, and down into the front hall to wait for Alfred, filling his head like he was a kid again, excited for a field trip.

He was surprised to find Damian waiting there too, bent over to tie his sneakers, and dressed for the cooling weather outside. 

“Damian, what’s up?” Dick asked. 

The boy straightened, “I had meant to tell you at breakfast. I will be accompanying you on your way to work today.” 

“It’s not take your kid to work day, Dames.” Dick said, wondering if this was what he’d been trying to say earlier. 

Damian shook his head and tutted at him, “I have no intentions of joining you, I have asked Pennyworth to take me back to that art store we visited. I am in need of new pencils already and another sketch book.” 

Dick nodded, it made sense to make the trip all one instead of asking Alfred for a ride later in the day. “You have been carrying that book around with you quite a bit, so I’m not surprised.” 

He remembered the art supplies he’d picked up for Damian after their last visit. He’d been too excited to wait for a good time to give them to Damian, so he’d snuck in like Santa on Christmas Eve and decked Damian’s room out with them the moment the kid had gone downstairs to spar with Cass.

“Did you try painting yet?” 

“I have done some. I am also in need of more green and yellow paint.” Damian kicked one foot behind him, “Thank you, by the way. For the rest of the supplies.” 

“Of course, kiddo. I hoped you’d like them.” He hesitated, “Have you thought about going to that club thing that lady mentioned?” 

Damian shrugged, “I have considered it.” 

Translation, he wanted to go but didn’t want to look weak asking to go. 

“I think it’d be good. If just to give you another outlet. I could go with you, if you wanted? Or maybe Stephanie, she’s artsy.” 

“I will keep considering it, and let you know.” Damian said. 

“Cool, you could ask for some more details today when you drop by, just to see if it’s up your alley.” Dick suggested. 

Alfred arrived then, and they all hurried to the car to get a head start on traffic for the day. 

Normally the drive into Gotham in the mornings was a boring one, if wrought with traffic sometimes. Today it was mostly quiet, leaving Dick time to prod Damian about how his studies were going and if he’d done anything interesting outside their nightlife. 

It was a nice way to pass the time, and Dick was really enjoying himself until Damian suddenly broke off and all but pressed his face up against one of the windows to the car. 

“Grayson, look at  this.” he said, leaning back. 

Dick leaned forward, frowning, “What’s up?” he asked, and any further words died on his lips as he saw what Damian was referring to. 

Alfred had slowed the car down, Dick realized, due to traffic and an absolute backlo of cars stopped to stare at the sight. Windows and doors of buildings all down the street they were on were covered from roof to sidewalk in some kind of paper, blocking people from seeing inside, or even getting doors open. On the papers were paintings of all different kinds. Some looked like imitations of famous pieces, while others were little more than graffiti, still others were still lifes or even just tons of flowers painted to climb up the side of a building. 

“What is going on?” Dick murmured, “Al, can you?” He trailed off as his eyes scanned the street for somewhere to pull over, and found none.

“I will look for a place to park, but we are almost at our destination. Perhaps it would be easier to walk over?” 

Dick nodded, attention still mostly focused on the growing crowds of people, many were dressed in business attire standing confused outside of the buildings. This was a busy block, everything on it businesses, mostly firms or high end shopping. People seemed at a loss of what to do, and were mostly standing around or making phone calls. 

“Dames take some pictures.” Dick directed, leaning away to roll the window down. 

Damian already had his phone out, and leaned forward to take Dick’s place, holding the device slightly outside the window.

“I am filming.” 

Dick pulled his own phone out and started snapping shots of the people standing around and the images painted on the paper covering the buildings. It was wild, and totally improbable. Dick had no idea how someone had managed to clear this street out long enough to essentially seal off a block of buildings then paint over them. 

A few moments after they passed the block, the traffic let up and they were able to move faster. There weren’t really any good places to park so Dick made a snap decision.

“Pull over, we’ll get out and you can park at WE and wait for us. We won’t be too long.” 

Alfred didn’t look like he was happy with the idea, but Dick could hear the click click click as Alfred put the emergency lights on and pulled to the curb.

“Might I remind you both it is daylight and neither of you are in uniform.” Alfred called after Dick and Damian as they spilled out of the car to hurry back the way they came. 

“Do you think it is dangerous?” Damian asked, keeping pace with Dick.

“Not sure,” Dick shook his head, “It might be a harmless prank, or a continuation of the strangeness we’ve been seeing.”

“Or something worse.” Damian suggested. 

“Let’s hope not.” 

When they got to the street, Dick realized he wasn’t actually sure what to do now that he was there. They could take clearer pictures, and Damian already had his phone out doing just that, but otherwise all they could do was lurk and see if anyone knew anything. 

So they did. Dick, keeping Damian close to his side, picked his way up one end of the block intending to do the same down the other side. As they moved, they periodically stopped to listen to conversations. 

There was the obvious confusion Dick expected, and growing frustration as people were late and schedules were messed up and no one seemed to have answers. Some people had torn at some of the paintings, only to find more paper behind them, a dull brown paper Damian said was probably butcher paper. 

“You can get it in long rolls.” he said, “They probably bought tons of the stuff for this.” 

“Who’s financing all this?” Dick wondered.

People had torn further and found cardboard under it, taped across with duct tape to create the oddly smooth surface the paintings had rested on. 

Sirens could be heard over the noise of the crowd, but at this point cars had actually stopped on the street, totally blocking incoming traffic. If the sirens were for this, they’d have a hard time getting through.  

The phone in Dick’s pocket started to buzz, the ringer on silent in preparation for being at work. He’d taken enough pictures at this point he’d put the phone away. But now he tugged it out and glanced down at the screen, Barbara’s smiling face looked back up at him paired with the word: Babs. He hit the green accept button and put the phone to his ear. 

“You’re dressed for work with that terrible orange tie, and Damian’s in a Nightwing hoodie you probably got for him after he stole yours.” she said. 

“Yeah, how do you know that?” Dick asked. 

“You and about a hundred other people are on Twitch right now.”

“It’s at least two hundred.” 

“Well the camera is moving” 

Dick huffed, “Okay, so why and also how do you know this?” 

They were just about at the end of the block, and Dick waved a hand at Damian to stop walking. He looked around himself and realized that an awful lot of people were doing what he and Damian had done earlier, phones were in just about every hand snapping photos and taking video. There was no way he was going to figure out who in this crowd was live streaming. 

“I got a notification.” 

Dick could hear the glee in her voice over just giving him bits of information. He sighed, and ran a hand through his hair.

“Are you going to explain?” 

“Damian asked me to keep an eye on the guys who’d uploaded those odd art videos, so I tried to follow anyone with the same username anywhere there might be a stream. It looks like this is also up on youtube. It’s got about five viewers on twitch, and another ten or so on Youtube.”

“So it’s the same person.” Dick murmured. 

Damian seemed to hear him, and raised an eyebrow, “Then they are all related.” 

“Ah, someone seems to have pointed out you’re there and others are joining, it’s up to twenty on Youtube.”

“Keep an eye on it for us, and see if you can figure out who’s streaming. Everyone here has their phones out.” Dick said, “We’re going to look out here. Are we still on camera?” 

“Your backs are turned, but it’s been steadily focused on your area for almost a minute now.” 

“Alright. Dames, do me a favor and turn to see if anyone’s staring at us, act like my phone call is boring you.”

“It is terribly boring.” Damian grumbled, “We should not be standing around.” 

“Then get to finding that cameraman, you’ve got twenty seconds and I’ll grab your attention and we start moving again.” 

“Oh, look at you Mr. Spy, really out there doing some out of uniform reconnaissance.” Babs teased him.

“Hush,” he said, lightly, “You wouldn’t have called if you didn’t want it happening.”

“Grayson, I think--” Damian’s voice was cut off by a sudden crashing sound. 

The whole crowd turned as glass shattered. Something cracked like a gunshot, and one of the buildings, two stories tall, sagged, the plastic and paper at the front slipping almost like ice melting in the sun, except louder and more terrifying. 

Then, like a tidal wave, the crowd of people fell back, some turning to run, others just backing up in a hurry. Their momentum building and pushing and shoving, until Dick was pushed into the street, his heels kicking up against a tire, then his back against the rest of the car. He threw his arms up to protect himself from flailing limbs. 

Dick couldn’t get a good view of what was going on, or really hear clearly. His place by the car seemed to be a good one, since it forced people to cut around him. He realized, belatedly that Damian was no longer by his side.

“Damian!” he yelled, “Dames! Where are you?” 

He looked around, trying to locate his little brother, his stomach dropping at the idea that he might have been washed away with the crowd. People were starting to disburse, and Dick hoped that would help him find Damian.

Deciding he couldn’t just stand there, Dick pushed forward, and felt his phone press into his palm, Barbara’s picture was still on it, the elapsed time of the call still ticking away. He put it back against his ear, and started moving forward, against the push of the crowd. 

“Babs.” he said, breathless as he elbowed people out of the way.

“Dick! What’s going on? The stream cut out when there was a bang–what’s all that yelling?”

“Something happened to one of the buildings, I’m not really sure what. I’m going to have to call you back, I can’t find Damian.” With that he clicked the phone off and shoved it in his pocket. 

Almost as soon as he had, it started buzzing again. Dick ignored it, and yelled out into the crowd again, “Damian! Where are you?” 

Panic started to bubble up in his chest at the thought of losing Damian in this crowd. What if he’d been knocked over? Trampled? What if some enterprising person took advantage of the chaos and snatched him? How would Dick find him then, and what would he do if his brother was hurt? 

The mere idea of anything happening to the kid felt like a punch in his gut. Dick had grown fond of him over the months, but more than that, he’d come to see Damian as more than just a partner, maybe more than just a brother. He was Dick’s responsibility, Dick’s charge, Dick’s--no matter what he was, he was Dick’s and he’d lost him. 

He paused, the crowd lighter, but still feeling like too much. Were there really so many people there? He couldn’t think, but he needed to.

Where would Damian go if he could?

There was another sound of glass breaking, and Dick realized it even as his feet started moving. The building. Of course, he’d go to the building, to make sure people weren’t getting hurt and to figure out what had happened. 

He doubled his energy pushing through the crowd. They’d split now, half of them sensible in their desire for self preservation, the other half just as foolish as Dick and Damian in their desire to know what was going on. 

At last Dick pushed his way to the front and scanned the gawkers. He caught sight of Damian, holding something to the side of his face. He felt his chest constrict, what if he was hurt? What if something had hit him? 

He hurried over, the crowd a bit easier to move past now, especially as he said things like, “I need to get over to my brother, my brother’s there, let me through, just need to find my kid brother.” People seemed to part at the word kid, and the urgency in Dick’s voice. 

“Damian!” Dick said, reaching the kid at last. 

Damian turned, and looked at him surprised for a moment, before dropping his hand, and the phone in it. He opened his mouth to speak, but squawked instead as Dick dropped down to pull him into a hug, tight enough the kid didn’t fight him for a few seconds.

He pulled away, hands going to Damian’s face to check for injuries, then skimming down his shoulders and arms until at last his brother grew tired of the fretting and shoved his hands away with a scowl. 

“I am fine, Grayson.” 

He was rumpled from the crowd. His hair a mess, and the hood of his hoodie flipped inside out, but otherwise he was telling the truth. He was fine. Dick felt the tight line of worry in his chest ease at last. 

Dick resisted the urge to pull him into a second hug, instead he stood, willing his heart to slow down now that he’d located his brother. 

“It seems like someone was trying to force the building open, and instead shattered the glass, which caused a domino effect. If I were to guess, this building’s exterior is mostly made of glass, possibly already weak from a previous issue, and so when the structure shattered--”

“That crack went higher than first anticipated.” Dick finished, “It probably doesn’t help that there was new pressure and weight added to the building.” 

Damian nodded, “I do not think anyone is seriously injured.” 

“Babs said the filming stopped too. I think this might have been an accident.”

“The damage? Yes, the result of cutting corners when ordering materials I’d suspect. Tt, if this happened at home Mother would have the builders flayed for such a failure.” Damian crossed his arms. 

Dick wasn’t quite sure how seriously to take that, “I’m sure there will be an investigation when their insurance looks into things, though it’ll probably end in a lawsuit not a lashing.” 

There wasn’t much they could do lingering there, and the once distant sirens had now finally grown close again as people had begun to disperse, from fear of the building breaking, and of any future issues that might come up. Everyone seemed to remember all at the same time that this was Gotham, and this might be something far more terrifying than a late start to the work day. 

“Come on. We’ll catch the rest of the news later.” Dick said, putting a hand on Damian’s shoulder to herd him away from the crowd.

“And we will return tonight.” It was a statement, not a question.

“If no one comes forward to announce this was their prank, then yeah. Tonight.” 

Batman and Robin did go out that evening to investigate, but came up with little more than they’d learned that morning or from news reports that told how the buildings were opened back up, and listed the damage report on the one that had glass shatter. 

Dick took down a note to check to make sure there were no obvious people who might want that particular building damaged. There had been some evidence to say the bomb that had taken out the Dreamland  Pop-Up that for a while had him thinking it was a coincidence, but he wasn’t so sure now. Babs had found streams of all three events under the same username: Auld Lang Syne.

He’d have to look into the name and see if it had any significance to the art or the growing case or anything really beyond just being weird.  

And, Dick was realizing, they were all following a theme. If Nostalgia could count as a theme, and if he could really say they’d all been ‘nostalgic in nature’. Dreamland had totally been, and the paintings were all things that had been pervading pop culture when Dick was growing up, the spider was still a bit up in the air, but Dick figured it had some significance. 

There was plenty to work on, but Dick figured it could at least wait one more day. He wasn’t sure he had the energy to dive in after patrol, and besides, he needed his beauty rest. He had a museum to attend with his family in the morning. 

Chapter Text

Damian closed his eyes and tilted his face up to the sun, relishing the feel of cool air on his arms and the heat of the sun on his closed eyelids. The air was crisp and clean, the smell of freshly cut grass drifting past him. Birds chirped and water gurgled in the fountain just a few feet away from him. 

“If I’d known you wanted to bask in the sun instead of look at artwork, I would have suggested we skipped this whole trip and planned a picnic on the roof of the manor.” Grayson’s voice interrupted him, cutting through the ambient noise Damian had wrapped himself in. 

He hummed, and turned his attention from the weather --so different yet so like home with Mother-- onto his companion. 

“This was not your plan. Besides, I have been enjoying the museum.” Damian admitted, then added, “You were simply taking too long in purchasing your, what did you call it?”

“Slushies.” Grayson told him, proffering one of two plastic cups at him. 

Damian took his, examining it with a critical eye. The cup was filled with layered blue and red liquid and topped with a domed lid made to resemble the dome adorning the museum, with ridges like the tiles and little plastic windows in circles. Even the red straw was decorated with a tiny flag representing the museum’s. 

He squinted at the liquid while Grayson slurped noisily at his, stopping to pop his lips.

“Go ahead, try it. It’s blue coconut and tropical punch.” 

“Coconuts are not blue .” Damian said, but put the straw to his lips and took a sip.

Its texture was not unlike frozen fruits or juice that had become too cold and had just started to freeze, though its taste was syrupy and far sweeter than fresh juice. Damian thought he rather liked it. 

“So?” Grayson asked. 

“It is an acceptable treat, though I suspect it has far too much sugar to be good for anyone.” 

“That much sugar is good for the soul, Dames.” Grayson told him, winking. 

Damian ignored Grayson’s use of the nickname in favor of taking another sip of his slushie, the coconut was better than the mixed flavor, and he almost wished the whole thing was one flavor. 

While he pondered the flavor he tried not to think of the strange comfort he felt hearing Grayson use a nickname for him. While Damian had initially been vehemently against nicknames, Grayson had worn him down at this point. Especially after the man had argued that Grayson was not his first name, nor was Dick his full name and thus Damian must have a nickname if he wasn’t going to call him Richard. It made absolutely no sense while seeming perfectly sensible. Damian had learned quickly that Grayson was quite good at that sort of roundabout logic. 

Still, no one had given him a nickname in the League. Mother, on very rare occasions would call him habibi. She would murmur the name into his ear if he were very ill or had done an excellent job, and give him a smile that could rival even Grayson’s.

Grayson and then the rest of his family calling Damian all kinds of little endearments was not entirely unwelcome. It made his chest warm, and reminded him of bright, gentle times. 

He felt his brother elbow his side and looked up at him quizzical. 

Grayson was smiling but this was not the playful or even Cheshire smile of before, this was--Damian was not sure what kind of smile it was. 

Without warning, Grayson tugged him into a tight side hug and leaned down to plant a kiss in his hair. 

“Disgusting, Grayson. Release me at once, and tell me what this is about.” Damian demanded, attempting to squirm out of the sudden embrace. 

His brother laughed, then that same odd smile Damian could not figure out returned to his face, “Bruce would be so proud of you.” he said. 

Damian wrinkled his nose, not in distaste but confusion, “Why?” 

“Because of how much you’ve grown.” Grayson told him, all seriousness. 

That was about as unreadable as Grayson’s smile. Grown? Damian had not grown in inches, and he still felt much himself. Perhaps he was more open with the others, but they had earned his respect. It was nothing more than that. 

“And,” Grayson leaned down, his tone going conspiratorial. 

Damian leaned in, curious to learn what else Grayson might believe his father would be proud of him over. 

Grayson surprised him for the second time in as many minutes by taking him by the cheeks and squishing them, the cool plastic from Grayson’s cup also pressing against his face as much a surprise as the action was.

“Because you’re just so darn cute when you’re enjoying something you love.” 

He squawked in outrage and swatted at Grayson’s hands, “Unhand me, I am not cute . I am a deadly assassin.” 

Somehow he felt his words were doing little to sway his brother, so instead he crossed his arms  --careful not to spill his drink-- and huffed, obviously pouting but unwilling to ruin the day by getting legitimately angry. Really, Grayson could be such an idiot sometimes. 

His brother teased his free hand away from his chest and laced their fingers together. Damian had to resist the urge to twist and grab the hand in a defensive move. It was still only Grayson, grinning at him again, “Let's get moving. The lady who sold me these said they had balloon animal statues in the outdoor exhibits and I have got to see those before we need to meet back up with the others.” 

They had split off from the bigger group after viewing the main attraction they’d come to see and properly oohing and ahhing over it. Damian had enjoyed the paintings, all done by local Gotham talent, and featuring the city done in different styles. Many had included references to Batman such as the signal that often lit the sky, or even Batman himself.

Alfred had given everyone a time and location to return to and sent them on their way to enjoy the museum in its fullness without staying in the chaotic and large group they’d viewed the original exhibit as. It was nice, spending time with the others and then just Grayson. He might be loud often, but he was kind enough to allow Damian quiet to enjoy the art.  

The sun and heat came out in full force while they stood and watched the woman make balloon animals, and Damian’s drink was soon finished as he used its coolness to combat the warmth. They returned inside after Grayson insisted on putting balloon hats on both their heads. 

Together they explored the other levels of the building, climbing from the first floor to the second third, and at last the fourth --which was really more of half a floor looking out over the others as they cascaded down on their way to meet back up with everyone else in the restaurant at the top. 

The restaurant had seating overlooking the other exhibits, and clear glass set in squares around the floor so people dining could enjoy the view of art below them in little windows. Damian thought it both odd and incredibly foolish to allow yourself to be seen from below like that, and tried his best to avoid the glass altogether. 

Pennyworth and Cain had already taken their seats when Damian and Grayson arrived, so they filed in around them. Damian took a chair beside Pennyworth, secretly pleased he could steal Todd’s usual place. Not because it would spite his brother, but because Damian enjoyed talking with Pennyworth and had a number of opinions on art below them he wished to discuss with the man. 

They chatted and ordered tea while they waited for the others to arrive. Soon the relative peace was gradually broken up more and more as Brown and Drake arrived, then Todd, who physically moved Damian’s chair over beside Grayson’s to sit by Pennyworth. Damian of course, expressed his outrage, but quieted with a stern glance from the butler. He huffed, and slumped in his chair for a few moments before Grayson managed to catch his attention again and he was sufficiently distracted from his loss. 

It was all in all, an excellent way to spend the day. 

Chapter Text

Damian was not nearly as pleased with the way patrol went later that evening. It was not terrible, but they also made no progress looking into the odd art exhibits. He spent the whole of the evening wishing to do something in that vein, and instead patrol followed it’s normal route. 

When they returned to the cave, he stopped Grayson from moving to the computer to write up the night’s report.

“Are we going to continue looking into the art case?” 

“Yeah, of course Damian. But that’s still very much in the research phase.” Grayson answered him, looking somewhat confused, “Why?” 

“It did not seem like you had any interest in it tonight, and we have not talked about it since last evening when we finished at the site of the paintings.”

His brother nodded, “I can see why you’d think I might have put it off, but this isn’t something we’ll just solve overnight. I’d like to, but we just don’t have enough information yet. It was better to patrol tonight, then do some research tomorrow when the Birds take care of the city.” 

Damian hummed, “So then patience is the key here?” 

Grayson smiled at him, “And balance. We can’t do everything all at once, and right now Mr. Auld Lang Syne hasn’t done anything that’s outright dangerous.”

“He dropped a building on you.” Damian pointed out, unable to keep the heat from his voice, “And his actions caused the front of another to collapse.”

“True, but in the first case there was no danger until I interrupted, and the second was an accident. I’m not convinced he’s malevolent yet. Up to something yes, but out to kill thousands of people tomorrow? I doubt it.” 

“You are acting as if this is not serious.” Damian snapped, how could Grayson not see the need for haste in this matter? What if that idiot caused something worse to happen, and Grayson was again caught up in it?

“It is obvious he is dangerous, even if he is not meaning to be.” he pointed out, “That should be cause enough for haste.”

Grayson unclipped his cape and sighed, “I’m not saying we’ll move at a snail's pace, or that I don’t think he’s dangerous. But, there are also other things that need Batman and Robin’s attention. The city can’t just wait until we’ve figured this one mystery out. There’s all kinds of things going on, and one of the things you need to learn about being a vigilante and possible future Batman is how to juggle those things.” 

He folded the cape and draped it across one arm, “I’ve asked Babs to do some digging already, and tomorrow night you and I will do a lot more. It’ll be our focus. But just imagine if all we did was that every night until we figured something out.” 

Damian could see the wisdom in Grayson’s words. They would not be fulfilling their duties as Batman and Robin if they put all their energies towards this. And if they did not go out they might end up missing a vital clue that could help with their search for answers. 

“I think I understand. Even as partners we cannot do everything.”

“Right. Plus, despite what Gothamites might think of us, we do need to sleep sometime,” Grayson gave him a toothy grin, “Speaking of, you need to shower then head up to bed yourself. You’ll be a bear in the morning if you don’t get proper sleep.” 

He crossed his arms, “Tt. As if you are not a bear yourself in the mornings.” 

“Then we can be Papa bear and Baby bear together, still, I’d rather you be a better slept one. Now go, so I can finish this and get some beauty rest of my own.” 

Damian followed his instructions and was soon snuggled beneath his own blankets. He’d thought he would be out soon, but instead he stared up at the ceiling, his mind racing. No one thought really stuck in place, instead he kept going over different things. The case, his latest painting, the museum, wondering what they might discover tomorrow, round and round different thoughts kept playing out like a mobile spinning lazily above his head, all of them keeping sleep from coming. 

At last he decided he needed a warm drink. Pennyworth had introduced him to chamomile, and his own blend of sleepy time tea that featured lemongrass, spearmint, and the littlest hint of pepper along with the chamomile to help soothe anxious thoughts and ease the mind. 

He crept silently out of his room, careful of squeaky floorboards, and was about to move down the hall when a noise caught his attention. He froze, his attention high for another sound. 

Then it came again, a sob, wet and louder than it’s issuer would probably be willing to make if they were aware someone was listening. Another, and Damian caught the tone of Grayson’s voice in it this time. 

Cautious, he inched towards his oldest brother’s room, and pushed the door open. It wasn’t closed all the way, so he did not have to worry about latches making sounds. And it was dark in the hall so opening the door would not let in light.

Damian had to blink at his brother’s form for a few seconds, the moonlight drifting in from open curtains just enough to help him see the shadow of Grayson on the bed. He was thrashing, obviously asleep and in the middle of a nightmare. 

He swallowed, unsure what to do. Damian did not comfort people during nightmares, well at least up until this point he had never done it. Grayson had woken him up from a few, and sat with him until he’d fallen back asleep, but Damian was not sure that was the right course of action here. Or what the correct one was. 

Indecision froze him, he was not equipped for this. Not experienced. But he was Robin . Robin to Grayson’s Batman. Was it not his duty to take care of his Batman? To ease his own struggles? He had to do something. 

The image of Todd came to mind. He was still at the manor, and far more accessible than Drake. Would he have an answer? He was, if anyone, the next oldest and next most likely to know how to help Grayson. 

Damian eased his way back, and then over to Todd’s door. This one he did have to open, though he was less careful about being quiet. It would be best to wake Todd with the sound rather than doing something foolish like shaking him. Damian knew the man still slept armed. Plus, if he heard Grayson perhaps he would move automatically to help. 

“What?” Todd’s voice was groggy and awake, just as Damian had hoped. 

“Todd.” 

“Damian?” Todd sounded surprised. 

Damian hissed, not willing to wake anyone else, “I require your assistance.” 

His brother groaned, “Whatever it is, Gremlin, it can wait for tomorrow.” 

This was not helping. Perhaps if he named Grayson?

“It is Grayson, he his having a nightmare.” 

Todd waved a hand at him, limp and dismissive, “Pfft, is that all? Go snuggle with him. Fixes him right up, just be careful he doesn’t smother you.” 

“Todd.” it sounded more like a whine than Damian wanted it to. 

“Go away, Damian.” with that, Todd grabbed a pillow and tossed it at Damian. 

He jumped back, and huffed. Fine, he would deal with this on his own. 

Damian turned and almost stomped back towards Grayson’s door, but stopped himself. He did not wish to upset one brother out of irritation with another. He softened his steps, and found himself standing within Grayson’s room now, inches from the bed. 

Again, indecision washed over him. Did he need to wake Grayson? Or could he simply maneuver himself into the bed and then what? Damian had no experience cuddling. He had seen it of course, on television. But Damian had not ever imagined himself sleeping so close to someone he could be embraced, let alone laying within one. 

The thought of being wrapped tightly at all, let alone by someone, sent a sharp spark of fear though his chest. Memories of escape drills flashed through his mind. Of blankets or a sack tangled about him. Of rough arms grabbing him to keep him from fighting. 

He swallowed. Grayson would not be any of those things. Besides, he was the one in distress. That much was obvious through his continued sobs, and thrashing. And Damian needed to fix it. 

He put a hand on the bed, intent on climbing up to at least attempt a hug. But then one of Grayson’s fell on his own, and his attention snapped up to the figure on the bed. There was a beat, then another, and his brother’s eyes shot open. 

He stared widely at Damian for a moment before his mouth dropped open, “Damian?”

“You were having a nightmare.” Damian rushed the words, “I thought to help ease your anxiety by providing some kind of comfort.” 

All of a sudden, Damian realized that perhaps Grayson might not want his comfort. What had he ever done to really show that he could provide it, let alone be the person Grayson might want to see when he was dealing with nightmares? It hurt to consider, but Damian had to. Grayson might be the first person on his mind if he were to wake up from a nightmare, but he highly doubted he was Grayson’s first choice. 

Grayson reached out a hand to cup Damian’s cheek, “Damian.”  he said again, his voice full of relief, “You’re here.”

“Of course I am, where would you think I was?” 

The hand moved up to run through Damian’s hair, “Lost,” Grayson sounded lost, “I couldn’t find you, and then you were gone and I couldn’t save you.”

“Do not be ridiculous, Grayson. You found me just fine.” Damian said, his voice softer than he’d meant the rebuke to be. 

His brother hummed and dropped his hand. Damian almost wished he hadn’t, the loss was so noticeable. 

Grayson pressed his hand to his own face and sighed, rubbing at his forehead and cheeks before he returned his gaze to Damian. 

“I’m okay now, thank you for coming to check on me.”

Damian hesitated. His words were akin to a dismissal, but--

“Todd said I needed to snuggle with you. To help ease the nightmares.” 

Laughter was not what Damian expected from Grayson, but it was what he got. Perhaps he should expect laughter more often from this man.

“Did he now? Well, he’s got me figured out.”

“Then physical comfort would help you sleep through the night?” Damian asked. 

The conversation was sparking something in his memory. An offhanded remark from Brown perhaps? About Grayson not liking sleeping alone. He wondered just how much the man did not like being on his own, and how much of that he could ease simply through setting aside his own discomfort to help.

“I would be happy to follow his instructions, if that is what you need?” 

Grayson’s whole expression seemed to relax, “Yeah, I would appreciate that, Dames.” 

He nodded and then moved forward to climb into the bed. Grayson scooted back to make room and soon Damian was laying face to face with his brother, completely unsure what to do next. Thankfully, Grayson seemed to understand and simply wrapped Damian in his arms to tug him close. 

Damian allowed it, focusing on making sure he did not react badly to the embrace. He had been hugged, but held like this? It was odd and new and strange. He did not know if he liked it, but he would endure for Grayson. 

“Relax, you don’t have to be stiff as a board, just find a comfortable position. No matter what Jason said, I won’t smother you.”

Now it was Damian’s turn to laugh, or rather, snort, “That is exactly what he warned me of.”

“You accidentally roll over on a guy one time and never hear the end of it.” Grayson mumbled. 

Gradually Damian made himself relax. If he closed his eyes it was easier, especially as Grayson chatted, his voice tired but consistent. At last, he felt as comfortable as he could in this strange situation. 

Grayson’s chin dropped against his head, and the man sighed, “Thank’s Damian.”

“You would do the same for me.” Damian said, knowing it was as true as anything he’d ever believed. 

His brother hummed, already falling back asleep. Damian let him, and then closed his own eyes, and let the rise and fall of Grayson’s steady breaths lull him to sleep.

Chapter Text

Dick was already down in the cave, hard at work searching for connections to the various art related puzzles they’d come up against when the elevator pinged, letting him know someone else had come downstairs. 

He pulled his attention from the screen, blinking away the residual brightness compared to the rest of the cave, and found Tim moving in his direction. Or generally that way, he was dressed for sparring, so Dick figured he’d probably come downstairs to work out. 

“Tim! Hey.” Dick called, happy to see a friendly face down in the cave. 

He stood, and stretched, his back popping with the movement. He’d sat for too long again. It was becoming a bad habit, one Dick had never imagined himself developing. 

His brother waved at him as Dick approached. 

“How’ve you been? Rested up after yesterday’s fun?” he asked, turning to walk with Tim to the practice mats. 

Tim smiled and rolled his eyes, “I wouldn’t count that as something exhausting, Dick. It was just a museum.” 

“You say that, but I know I heard Steph complain about her feet hurting from too much walking.” 

“Steph was being dramatic, and trying to guilt me into a piggy back ride.” 

Tim dropped onto a bench to check his shoelaces, “You want to join me?” 

Dick shook his head, “Nah, I let Cass beat me up earlier. Besides, I’ve got some research to be doing.”

He bounced lightly on his feet, enjoying the feeling of standing after sitting so long, “Hey, are you going to be in town long enough to give us a hand with this art thing?” 

Tim shook his head, standing, “Actually, I meant to tell you. I’m heading back out in the morning.”

To Tim’s credit, he looked a little embarrassed for waiting this long. Still, he’d spoken with confidence and Dick knew he wouldn’t sway him.

“Did you find a new lead?”

His brother nodded, “Yeah, Jason found something in,” he chuckled laughing at some sudden humor before continuing, “a museum of all places.”

Dick reached out and put a hand on his shoulder, smiling down at him. He realized, standing there face to face, that Tim had grown a bit more, and wasn’t quite as small as Dick remembered him being. Too much time was passing with him always gone, but he still wouldn’t push to keep Tim here. He told him he had his back, and he’d meant it. 

“Hey, that’s great! You know, I’m really happy you two have been working together. I was hoping that you and Jason might grow a bit closer, especially since he’s decided to stick around and it’s great to see that he’s still finding a way to help he’s comfortable with.”

Tim nodded, and smiled, “Yeah, he’s been great. Not that you wouldn’t have been, but you know you’ve been so busy and I didn’t want to add anything else to your plate, especially when it was my fault you were down a partner for a while you know?”

Dick moved his hand from Tim’s shoulder to cup the back of his head, “You wouldn’t have been a bother at all. I told you I’d be there for support, and I’m still here for whatever Jason can’t help with.” 

“Yeah, of course. I know.” Tim said. 

He let Dick tug him into a quick hug before he stepped back, “Well, I do need to get some practice in, and you need to figure out what Mr. Scary Artist is going to do next.” 

Dick tried. He put Babs on research, and asked Cass and Steph to be on the lookout for anything even mildly weird while they patrolled. He and Damian did their own research and spent many nights sipping at tea and throwing ideas back and forth between the two of them to try and sort out how to find the guy. 

They came up with nothing until one night, while Dick and Damian were just starting patrol, they got a call from Oracle saying a stream had gone live on Youtube. She had just enough time to grab a location before the stream cut off abruptly. 

Batman and Robin arrived in time to see a number of masked men and women hauling what looked like arcade game cabinets out of the back of a moving van. They were setting them up in an empty lot. Beyond the cabinets, there wasn’t a lot going on. People were dragging them into various spots, while others directed the action. 

The masks all looked like cheap party store makes, some in the style of mardi gras masks, while others were imitations of various superheroes. 

Dick signaled to Damian to crouch, so they could watch the crew for a while. He wanted to get a little more information, see what they were planning, and maybe find the person in charge. Robin nodded, and flattened on the roof they’d perched on. 

He pulled something out of his utility belt, a small box with headphones attached and a little device that looked like a satellite attached to the end, an image of a bat rested on the center of the box as it’s only real decoration. It pulled sound in and amplified it as long as it was in range. They were close enough it could at least pick up anyone talking at a normal level. 

Damian offered the headphones to Dick who declined. He was planning to watch while Damian took notes on their conversations. He used his lenses to zoom in on the arcade cabinets to try and get a feel for what the games were. None were familiar, in fact he wasn’t sure they represented real games. 

It took two people to move them, but it seemed like they weren’t that heavy, as if they were empty on the inside. When they were lifted, no one seemed strained or off balance, and Dick guessed they had two people to a cabinet because they were large and unwieldy, and not for their weight. 

They watched while the group emptied the van. All told they took eight cabinets out and had set them in the lot to line the sides and back, like a square missing one end. Then everyone stood around, no cabinets were turned on (if they even could) or shifted, the people simply lingered, as if they were waiting. 

“There is another van on the way.” Damian told him, his voice quiet.

“Just one?” Dick asked, keeping his own voice low. They were a good ways away, but he still didn’t want either of their voices to carry down to the group and spook them. 

“For now. No one seems to have the full plan. Though they seem to be following the one wearing that absurd tuxedo hat.”

Dick grinned, “He’s dressed as Tuxedo Mask.”

Damian shot him a look that even with his eyes hidden behind lenses said “Do I want to know why you know that?”. He did not ask the question, just tutted at him and turned back to the crowd. 

“The Tuxedo man is not the leader, he seems to be the one entrusted with the phone their leader is communicating by.” 

“I wonder why the artist man himself isn’t here.” Dick mused. 

“You mean, Auld Lang Syne.” Damian corrected. 

Dick rolled his eyes, “That name is way too long, I say we call him Auldy.” 

“Auld perhaps.” Damian nodded, “But Auldy is just demeaning.” 

“We’re not cheering for the bad guy Robin.” 

“Tt.” Damian repeated.

Dick was debating interrupting them right there and grabbing Mr. Tuxedo Mask to dangle off a roof higher than the one they were on. He’d at least get the guy’s phone that way, if not some real solid information about what was going on. But he also wanted to wait to see if Auld would show up himself. He had to at some point, no artist would just let their subordinates put everything together without a final look at least. At least, he thought so. 

His decision was made for him, when Damian jerked up, tearing the headphones from his ears.

“We have been spotted.” 

He said the words at the same moment Dick noticed the group of people start to disburse, some running for the moving van, some trying to grab the cabinets to take with them, everyone like ants kicked into a frenzy by a child who dropped something on their hill. 

“Let’s go. Get Tuxedo Mask, but if he slips away anyone will do.” Dick said, readying his grapple. 

He and Damian swung down into the frey. The first thing Dick did was throw batarangs at the van’s tires. He hit two of them, and heard a satisfying pop before watching the van sink down it’s weight pushing the air out quickly. 

Swearing filled the lot, and Dick grinned. No fast get away for this group.

Robin was chasing down Tuxedo Mask, so Dick turned his attention to finding someone else to catch. He turned from the van and his eyes went wide as a cabinet was hurtling towards him. 

He threw himself out of the way and pulled his cape up and over himself as it crashed, sending plywood and glass flying. Dick felt some of it bounce off his cape and arm, before flinging the cape back to shake anything that had caught in it away. 

Then he straightened, and turned in the direction of where it had come from. A man wearing a black mask stared at him for a moment before turning to follow the rest of the crowd. The lot was emptying out. Dick bolted after the man, but he was already well ahead of him.

At some point, the second van had pulled up, and someone had thrown open the back, with everyone piling inside. Dick pulled more batarangs out to throw and disable this one. 

His first shot went wild when he heard Damian cry out. 

Dick spun to find Robin under a cabinet, this one still mostly intact, and being pressed into him by the Tuxedo Mask figure. Dick didn’t hesitate, he threw the other two batarangs in his hand towards Tuxedo Mask, one clipping the man’s hat off, and the other embedding itself into his hand, making him cry out and back away from the cabinet. 

He pulled a bolas from his belt and threw it at the hastily retreating Tuxedo Mask figure, the ball and cord catching around the man’s ankles and taking him down. 

The sound of a vehicle speeding away alerted Dick to the fact that everyone else had escaped, and he confirmed that in turning to watch the truck speed down the street. Well, at least they’d gotten one of them. 

By the time Dick made it over to Robin and the prone man, Damian had managed to shove the cabinet off himself, and was standing, dusting dirt and mud off his uniform with a scowl. He seemed fine, so Dick passed him up to haul the other man to his feet, and give him his best toothy grin.

“I thought Tuxedo Mask was on the side of truth and justice?”

“Let go! I didn’t do anything wrong.” the man said, raising his hands to grip at Dick’s gauntlets.

“Not yet, true. But you and your crew were planning to, weren't you, Auldy?” 

“What? Who?” 

“Auld Lang Syne.” Robin said, stepping up to stand next to Dick, his arms crossed, “Are you the artist behind the series of strange exhibits that have plagued Gotham for the last month or so?” 

The man turned from looking frightened to irritated, and actually pointed one of his hands towards Robin, “Plagued? We have been bringing beauty to Gotham. Helping her citizens learn how to truly experience art in it’s most wonderful form.”

“By forcing a bunch of people to play old games, and damaging buildings?” Dick asked. 

“The incident last week was an accident. And that particular group of patrons simply did not understand what we were trying to achieve.” 

Damian stamped his foot, “What you did was dangerous, that is not how art should be viewed.”

The man scoffed, “Art is dangerous. Beauty is danger. Life is danger. One cannot truly exist or understand art without feeling the thrill of fear in their chests, or the rush of uncertainty that comes with seeing something that may turn on you.” 

“Nonsense.” Damian said, heated, “Art is peace, and a chance to find one's center. It is not danger. You know nothing about true danger or putting one’s life at risk for something.” 

“You speak like an artist yourself, Robin.”

“Tt.”

“Enough.” Dick shook him, “You still haven’t answered our question. Are you Auld?” 

The man shook his head, “I wish. But no, I am simply a follower of his ways.” 

“Useless.” Damian spat. 

Dick wanted to tell him to hush, but tamped down the urge, “So where is the artist himself? How come he wasn’t running this operation.” 

The man managed to shrug, “He does not need to oversee every minute of set up. He trusts us.” then he glared at them, “And before you ask, I will never betray him. On pain of death you will not find out who he is from me.”

It was Dick’s turn to shrug, and give him a careless grin, “You’ve already helped so much though, now we know he’s a he, and we know a little bit about his philosophy. It won’t be long before we hunt him down.” 

With that, Dick reached out and snagged the phone from the man’s pocket, “I’ll take that, and you’ll wait here. I’m sure the police can charge you with trespassing at the very least. This is private property after all.” 

He dropped the man, “Robin, get me his identity. I’m going to check out the cabinets.”

“Look at the one the oaf threw at me first. It was heavy.” Damian said, already kneeling to pull off the guy’s mask. 

The one lying on its side was heavy, much more so than what had been thrown at Dick earlier. He moved behind it, and tore the exposed back off the machine. Inside weren’t what he’d imagine were traditional pieces to an arcade cabinet, but instead another box rested inside. It was wired to the controls at the front of the cabinet, and seemed to be warm. 

Dick scanned it with his lenses, taking photos of the various parts of it, and forwarding them directly to Oracle. Whatever it was, it seemed designed to activate when the buttons were pressed on the cabinet, but not before that. 

The cabinet was too big to move, but after some work, Dick got the box out, and tucked it under one arm. When he stood, he found Robin busy examining the other cabinets, done dealing with the now un-masked man. 

When they finished, and were settled into the Batmobile, Dick turned to Damian and asked, “So, you really have no idea who Tuxedo Mask is?” 

“If you are asking about the man, his name was Norman Pike.” Damian answered, crossing his arms, and shooting Dick a look that dared him to press further.

He waved off the look and answered, “No, I mean from Sailor Moon. Has Tim not told you about Sailor Moon yet? The pretty guardian who fights for love and justice? The most epic story about masked vigilantes saving the day from magical monsters?” 

“It sounds like you are the fan, not Drake.”

“Oh, Dames. It’s practically required viewing for us Bats.” he grinned at Damian, “When Tim gets back next, I’m making him sit you down for a marathon. You’ll love it.”

Chapter Text

amian thought that now that they’d shown Batman and Robin were onto Auld and his art schemes things would slow down for a bit, and give them time to analyze the device they’d taken, and look into Norman to see if they could locate Auld that way. 

The phone had proven to be utterly useless, a burner purchased just for that evening, with texts from another burner on it. It had been hope to think it would have been Norman’s personal device, and that hope was proved folly quite quickly. 

They were further delayed by a string of high stakes robberies that occurred over the next week and Riddler deciding that now was the best time to test the new Batman. That had not been a fun experience for anyone, and had only added to Damian’s irritation with trying to solve their other case. 

His own theory that Auld would keep quiet for a while was dashed when exactly a week after they’d foiled his last attempt the phone they’d taken pinged with an alert. It was a link to Auld’s Youtube channel where a new video had just gone up. 

Grayson and Damian sat together to watch it, pulling the video up on the batcomputer, to view it on screens larger than the phone. 

This one was not live, but prerecorded. The backdrop was black, as if they’d hung a curtain in whatever room they were recording, and the only figure on screen was one wearing another one of the same type of masks they’d encountered at the lot. This one was a simple mardi gras mask. It was black and trimmed with gold, revealing striking blue eyes behind it.

“I recognize that mask.” Damian said, scowling, “They were at the lot last week.”

Grayson nodded, “Yeah, I’m pretty sure they threw a cabinet at me.” 

“That is what you are concerned about?” Damian asked, only to be shushed by his brother. 

“Listen.” Grayson’s voice was quiet. 

The man on the screen was talking about art. He was repeating a lot of what Norman had said, and really emphasizing how being in just a little danger could really open up the mind to the greater possibilities of art. Damian’s scowl deepened hearing this, the man was a fool. An absolute idiot who was going to get someone killed. 

He went on to announce that he would be putting on a show in a week, starting at 9 p.m. and invited anyone and everyone to join. Then, he looked straight into the camera and grinned. 

“And I’d like to extend a special invitation to Batman and Robin. If you think what I’m doing is really so wrong, then find me and stop it. If you can.”

With that the video ended. 

Damian was seething. He squeezed his hands into fists at his side in an effort not to lash out and hit the screen or keyboard and irritate Grayson. He did not want a lecture on damaging equipment or controlling his anger. Not when they needed to hone on in on Auld’s plans. 

“Well, that gives us a timetable at least.” Grayson said, leaning back in his chair. 

He was frowning at the video, “I have a bad feeling that whatever he’s planning is going to be worse. What do you think?” he turned his head to look at Damian. His frown pulled up into a questioning purse, “Dames?” 

“Whatever he is planning, it is paramount we stop him.” Damian said. 

“Hey, you’re pretty riled up. You were the last time we ran into these guys too. What’s up?” 

Damian bit his lip, he was ready to explode into a tirade about what was ‘up’ but he was not sure how Grayson would respond. So far the man had proved himself to be trustworthy and a good listener. But Damian ranting might not go over well. Instead, he took in a deep breath, to still some of the irritation rising up like choppy waves inside him. 

“That ingrate is ruining art.” he said at last, “Art is not supposed to be dangerous. It should be--”

“Soothing? Peaceful?” Grayson guessed, “You mentioned something like that the other day. You also seemed irritated he thought danger would help them find beauty?” 

“Tt, the fool does not understand danger or pain. Pain is ugly, it is cruel and harsh and--” he broke off, swallowing, “It is not something that should be mixed with art. Not in the way he is describing.” 

Grayson was quiet, but his eyes seemed to say ‘go on’. So Damian explained. 

“Art can be used to explore pain, to release it, and to share emotions that are not allowed to show. It is a raging storm on a calm day, thunder against blue skies. The canvas is a place that one may pour their soul into, and share their pain with. It is not something to inflict it, or inspire it. To do that is to sully what art can do for a person, and the emotions it inspires. It is twisted, to make art something that could hurt people, especially when there is so much hurt already.” 

“You really love to create art, don’t you?” Grayson asked, voice gentle. 

Damian crossed his arms, covering a heart that was beating too hard, and his chest which felt strange, “It was one of the few things that was mine.” he admitted. 

“And to make it dangerous makes it like everything else you came from.” Grayson said, putting the ache in Damian’s chest into words, “It makes it scary.”

“I hate him.” Damian spat, venom in his tone, “He cannot be allowed to continue.” 

Grayson nodded, “We’ll get him.” 

They spent the next few days looking into various aspects of the case. Grayson was busy taking apart the device they’d retrieved, and working with Gordon to figure out what it did. Damian did not think it would give them a lead on where to find the next show or who Auld really was, but he hoped it could at least provide some insight. 

Damian looked into Norman. He researched the man’s associates, where he went to school, what his career was, even his family life. He learned that Norman had already been released back into the world with a citation against him and had just as quickly fallen back off the map. 

He believed that perhaps he could find something in the days leading up to the failed exhibit, and with some help from Gordon collected security footage following much of the man’s steps for three days before they’d caught him. 

It left Damian exhausted, and no closer to finding out the truth. The man was frustratingly boring. He traveled to work --an ad firm-- home, and did little else beyond order takeout to his apartment. It was useless information. His credit card was no help either, it followed the same pattern video had shown with no unusual purchases going back a month. 

“You need a break, little man.” Todd announced his arrival by resting an arm on Damian’s head and leaning on it to add pressure. 

Damian hissed, and swatted at the arm, accidentally catching Todd in the cheek. His brother yelped, and jumped back, while Damian hopped up out of his chair to glare. 

“Do not startle me!” 

“Don’t attack a man in his own house.” Todd said, rubbing at his cheek, “You really need a break, kid.”

“I am not a child.” Damian returned, and crossed his arms, “What did you come down here for? You spend as little time in the cave as possible.” 

Todd shrugged, “Is worrying about you not a good enough reason? You’ve been down here for hours.” 

“It is an important case.” Damian said, defensive, “The sooner we find something out the better.” 

“But working all hours of the day and night will wear you out. No, there’s really only one way to keep you from turning into Dick or Bruce altogether.” Todd said, sadly shaking his head. 

Damian did not say that he wouldn’t mind turning into Grayson. He was certain if he said so he would never hear the end of it. Besides, it would not do to puff Grayson up that way. The man was too self assured as it was. 

“And what do you propose to keep me from ‘becoming like my father’?” he asked, air quoting the last few words. 

Todd hooked an arm around his shoulder, “Well, I’m so glad you asked. See, Stephanie booked three seats at this place called painting with a twist. Only Cass refuses to go because she’s got ballet practice, and a little birdy--”

“Grayson.” Damian interrupted. 

“Shush, brother’s talking.” Todd said, already leading Damian to the stairs, “Anyway, a birdy told me you are very into painting. Which I thought was strange since I’ve only ever seen you with that notebook of yours, but you are Bruce’s son after all and good at keeping secrets.” 

“Get to the point, Todd.” Damian ground out.

“You, my dear Baby Bat, are going to be artist number three. And you can’t say no because I’ve already bought the sparkling grape juice and Steph would be just devastated if you didn’t come with us.” 

Todd grinned at him, like he was readying the ultimate of weapons at getting Damian to go, “Plus, if you don’t I’ll tell Dick you skipped both breakfast and lunch, and we all know what he’ll say to that.”

“Fine.” Damian relented, “Explain to me what this painting with a twist is.” 

Jason settled on his stool, propping his feet up on the lower bar to take a look at the various paints laid out on the easel before him. He had to admit he’d never actually been to one of these before. They always seemed so mundane. 

But Black Canary had been on him a bunch lately to get out and try new things. To meet people and do the stuff he once might find far too normal for his existence. Taking Damian was the perfect excuse to get out and do one of those things, even if he wasn’t sure he’d be any good at it at all. 

Painting wasn’t really his thing. And if he was being honest, he wasn’t super jazzed about the alcohol aspect of the day either. That wasn’t for something as bright and happy as all this. Besides, he didn’t really have anyone to drink with. There was no way Dames was having any, and Steph was still too young even if she rarely seemed to care. 

He was more looking forward to just spending time with the two of them. Jason hadn’t really been around Stephanie much, but he and Damian had been growing tighter. At least he thought so. The kid had good taste in books once he’d been allowed to start picking his own, and Jason had thoroughly enjoyed spending weekends up in the library curled up with a book as Damian read close by, and Dick sometimes joined them. 

It was weird, and another strangely normal thing Jason hadn’t ever really thought he’d experience. He thought he liked it though. 

In fact, he kind of liked all the new normalness in his life. 

And if he were being honest, he wished he could convince the rest of his dumb family to try it out themselves. Damian especially was too young to stick around being a vigilante the rest of his life. Even if his mom had told him it was his ‘duty’. 

Steph, Jason knew, longed for the same normalcy even if she wasn’t willing to give up the tights just yet. One day she would, and she’d do great at adapting back to normal stuff. He could easily get her on his team in swaying the others. 

The thump of a stool wobbling next to Jason pulled his attention from the out of focus colors and to his neighbor. Damian was struggling to climb up onto his raised stool. 

He had to bite back a laugh as he watched the kid press his palms into the stool seat again, then attempt to hop up, backwards onto it. He missed, his foot kicking off the bottom rung and he swore violently under his breath. 

“Language, Baby Bat.” Jason chided while biting back a grin, “Need a hand?”

“I am capable of sitting down on my own, Todd .” Damian snapped, still facing away from him.

Jason guessed he was trying to school his face into something not beet red. Damian tried again, and this time slipped up onto the stool with little issue. His irritation was quickly wiped away as he got to looking at the canvas resting there, and the assortment of paints and brushes laid out for his use. 

That fascination was all Jason needed to make the trip a success. Dick had talked about Damian’s love of art, and how he’d lit up on trips to the art store, but Jason hadn’t gotten to experience a Damian in love with art himself. Jason had a feeling Damian’s interest was only going to grow over the next hour and a half. Even if he was skilled well beyond this simple exercise. 

“Alright! I’ve got the sparkling juice, you boys want white, red, or a mix?” Stephanie asked, popping between them, two bottles held between her hands, “Personally, I like to mix them up. It makes things more fun.” 

Damian frowned at the bottles, “What is it?” 

“Sparkling grape juice of course. It’s painting with a twist, and since you and I aren’t old enough to drink alcohol we’re enjoying bubbly the best way possible. Now pick or I choose for you.” 

“Red for both of us.” Jason said, “Trust me, Dames, the white’s too sweet for you.” 

He huffed, “I can handle sweet.” 

“No, he’s right.” Stephanie said, considering, “It’s kind of like carbonated sugar. You’d hate it.” 

The kid wrinkled his nose, “One should never carbonate sugar. I bet it is Grayson’s favorite.” 

Jason snorted, “You got that right. Bruce used to love this one too. That man had a sweet tooth like no one’s business.” 

It was shocking how easy it was to talk about Bruce. Jason didn’t talk about him very much, at least he didn’t outside his sessions. His heart twinged thinking of his dad, but not in a way that threatened an onslaught of tears, or his chest tightening to the point he couldn’t do anything else. Instead, it was a dull ache. Like missing someone you hoped to see again. 

And Jason did hope. He had faith in Tim’s journey. If anyone was going to find Bruce, it’d be Tim. He’d bring their dad back, and Damian would get to see for himself Bruce’s not-so-secret love of sweets. 

“Indeed?” Damian asked, some hint of wistfulness to his voice, not much his walls were still too high for that, but enough Jason could tell the kid would be open to learning more. 

Stephanie cracked open one of the lids, and the liquid inside crackled, “Totally. The baddies think he keeps gadgets in every pouch on his utility belt, but in reality so many used to be filled with stuff like gummy candies and chocolates, some for kids we came across, and some for Batman and Robin.” 

Jason chuckled, “He did do that. You could also almost always talk him into an ice cream run on a good night.” 

“Grayson will do that.” Damian said, kicking his feet up on the bar on the stool, “Though, usually I am the one in need of convincing.”

“The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree it seems.” Jason grinned. 

Stephanie got them set up with sparkling juice poured in plastic champagne glasses, and poured herself plain white. 

“I’ve got to balance things out somehow.” she explained, settling into her own chair with her drink. 

The lesson started soon after that. The scene was of a snow covered path, with trees in the background and a sky so full of stars the location could never be Gotham. Jason had no idea if he was going to manage this or not. 

Damian on the other hand was so eager to move forward, he kept wiggling in his seat as the instructor spoke. Jason started to wonder if maybe they’d picked something too easy for the kid, but once they started it was obvious he just wanted to be painting. 

The moment Damian’s brush touched canvas he was lost. Jason wasn’t sure you could physically see someone become engulfed in an activity before then, but Damian made it happen. His whole body relaxed in a way Jason had never seen before. He wondered if anyone had seen Damian’s shoulders drop like this, or watched the tension slip out of his brow, saw how his whole expression softened, until it was just him and the canvas. 

He got so caught up in watching Damian work he fell behind, and when the instructor walked past to see Jason’s canvas only just started with base colors she paused.

“It’s not too hard, don’t get caught up in details now. Just flow with it like your brother.” she said. 

“Oh, yeah, right.” Jason said, trying not to jump, “Of course.” 

He pulled his attention to his own canvas then and let Damian work. Eventually they paused so paint could dry, and Jason took another moment to glance at Damian’s painting. He was following the instructions, but somehow his looked better than everyone else's, even the instructor’s. He really was extraordinarily talented. 

Jason made a mental note to remind him of that in the future.