Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Someone please tell me backup is on the way.” Jason said through gritted teeth. He tightened his grip on the suspension wire. Corded metal bit into his skin even through his glove. Sweat rolled down his face, trickled down his spine.

“Three minutes out.” Batman growled over the comm. “Getting in the Batplane now.”

“Yeah, that’s not gonna fucking work.” The dark bay water churned far below. Stubbornly, Jason tried to pull himself up onto the bridge again. But his muscles were burning, exhausted from waves of fighting. He was barely able to hold their combined weight as it was. 

Heights never bothered Jason. Dangling helplessly from a towering bridge over Gotham Bay with a seriously injured teammate? Different story. He glanced down at Dick. The older man was dangling from Jason’s right hand, looking very much like a sad rag doll. 

“How you doing ‘Wing?” They swayed gently in the wind, each movement straining his shoulders.  

“Still bleeding.”

“Just a few more minutes. Hang in there.”

Dick tipped his head back. A pained smile spread across his face. Blood loss made the fresh bruises stand out sickeningly and turned the smile into a grotesque mimicry. He’d taken the brunt of the battle and it showed. “Your shoulders will give out before then.”

“I’m fine.” Agony blazed through Jason’s shoulders as the lie left his lips, muscles desperate for relief. “We’re fine.”

“You have to let go.”

The words were spoken so calmly and with such a reassuring warmth that Jason’s weary body almost did just that.

Instead he gripped Dick’s arm tighter. One gloved finger slid on a spot of blood. “No.” He snapped.

“Jay, it’s ok–”

“Shut the fuck up.” His heart rate was picking up now. If only he could have grabbed something larger, if only he could’ve gotten his arm around the wire instead of just his hand. If only he’d been faster, better– 

Fingers let go of his wrist.

Panic slammed through him, turning every nerve into a live wire. “Don’t you dare!” Jason screamed. Dick’s face was a frighteningly calm mask. “Grab my arm right now!” The joint was protesting now, stretched beyond its limit. But he would hold. He would hold until his body was utterly wrecked and even then he would hold.

“Let me go and climb up.” Dick coaxed. Blood dripped steadily from his limp right arm. “The family can’t lose you again. And it’s only water, not concrete. Much softer landing.”

“Selfish bastard!” A hot flash in Jason’s left shoulder, like a knife slowly slicing and splitting sinew from bone. Something was tearing. “You think any of us want to lose you ?” He meant to scream it, fueled by the fresh pain, but it came out a choked sob instead. His grip was beyond bruising now, it felt like he was going to snap Dick’s wrist like a twig. “Or watch you drown? Because you’ll drown like this! Your fucking arm is broken! You have a concussion!”  

“Jay–” 

“Grab my fucking hand!” Another dry sob wracked him. “We fall together or not at all, got it, Dickface?” Dick stared up at him, jaw set with that infuriating stubbornness. Dread seized Jason’s heart like bands of iron. Another plea died in his throat. 

"I love you, Jason.” Dick’s smile was far too sad to be any comfort. “Tell everyone for me, please?" Without waiting for a reply, Dick yanked on his hand.

"No! Fuck, Dick, no!" Jason tried to tighten his hold but blood made Dick's gauntlet too slick. His hand slipped free. A wordless, desperate sound clawed its way out of Jason's throat as Dick tumbled towards the murky water. 

Without hesitation Jason let go, plummeting after him. Diving from this height wasn't going to be pretty, no matter how streamlined he made his body. All he could do was minimize the damage. Sure enough, agony engulfed his throbbing ankle as he split the water like a torpedo, almost making him inhale. If it wasn't broken before, it was now. 

Pressure squeezed his head like a vice without his helmet’s protection. It felt like needles being shoved in his ears. Cold water stung his eyes as he forced them open. Ahead of him, sinking limply, was Dick. 

Jason swam desperately, shoulders screaming and muscles tearing every time he used his arms to pull himself forward in the gloom. Pushing through, he seized Dick around the waist, kicking towards the surface with all he had. Fatigue was stabbing into his legs. Cramps were next. City lights rippled above them. Beckoning. This was it. He had to. He had to.

They exploded from the water with loud gasps. Clutching Dick against his chest, Jason lay back in the choppy water, keeping Dick's face well above the water. “You good, Dickie?” A wave slapped against his cheek, filling his mouth with water that tasted far too earthy to be healthy. Jason coughed, doing his best to spit it all out. They’d need tetanus boosters for sure. 

Blood loss and cold water had Dick shivering, teeth chattering softly. Jason tightened his arm, careful not to aggravate Dick’s ribs or broken arm. "Talk to me!"

Dick nodded, still sputtering. “Why d’you let go?” He gasped when he had his breath back. 

A crazed laugh exploded from Jason as he weakly kicked them towards shore with one leg. He tried a backstroke but the sharp, stabbing sensation in his left shoulder quickly put an end to that. Not that it mattered too much now. High above he could see the Batplane cutting a tight U-turn and begin to circle down to them. 

“We're gonna have a long talk about self-preservation and needless sacrifice when we get back to cave, you absolute fucking dumbbell."

Chapter Text

It stung. 

Cold wire sliced into the side of his neck. Beads of hot blood sprang up, spilling down his neck and into his suit. On the other side the wire crushed, caught on the thick and high collar of his cape. Tim sucked in a breath, hands flying to his neck. 

Too late. Fingers scrambled uselessly at the garotte all but embedded in his neck. No, his cape. There was still a chance. He had ten seconds to escape before he passed out. And only a prayer that his attacker wouldn't twist the wire and seal his fate. 

Tim shoved his hand under and up the front of his cape, wedging two fingers between his crushed windpipe and the collar. Instantly the pressure lessened and he gasped reflexively. He shoved the rest of his hand under, freeing his windpipe fully, before reaching back and jamming his free thumb into the attacker's eye. 

Screeching, they fell back and Tim spun, putting them down with a kick to the head. Then he slumped over, hands on his knees, coughing and wheezing. His throat burned, as if he'd swallowed gravel mixed with razor blades and glass. 

Something bumped against his chest; the wooden handles of the garotte. Numbly, he unwound the wire, wincing as it peeled out of the gouge in his neck. A tiny shake went through his hands as he looked at the bloody weapon. 

If the henchman had been better, he would have gotten the entire wire above Robin's collar with nothing to prevent it slicing neatly through flesh. 

If he was smarter, he would have twisted it then turned and hoisted Robin over his shoulder like a sack, making sure there was no chance of escape while he choked. 

If he was anything but a fool who watched too many mafia movies and lived in Gotham... 

Ten seconds. 

Tim tipped his hands, wire clattering onto the ground. 

---

He slunk into the cave, grateful Bruce was nowhere in sight. Clumsily he grabbed cotton balls and disinfectant, shedding his cape as he staggered into the bathroom. At the sight of his reflection he froze. He was in worse shape than he thought. Mechanically, he forced his hand to lift a soaked cotton ball to the sluggishly bleeding slice. 

The first press revealed it was deeper than it looked. The ground rocked, his legs turning to jelly, as a fuzzy lightheadedness washed over him. Tim grabbed the counter. He was not going to faint. Once it settled, thanks to some deep breaths, Tim tried again. He cleaned almost half the cut when footsteps drew closer. 

“Master Timothy, you know very well that your cape does not belong–” Their eyes meet in the mirror, Alfred’s widening. “Oh good heav–Master Bruce!” 

Alfred rushed to Tim's side, plucking the red tinged cotton from his fingers. “Sit.” He said firmly as he led Tim to the medical bed. His gray mustache twitched with disapproval and worry. 

Bruce came rushing over, still holding wire strippers. He must’ve been repairing the Batmobile circuitry they fried the other night. “What–” The question died on his lips. Horror twisted his face. A reasonable reaction. 

Because along with the 4-inch cut there was a waterfall of red cascading down Tim’s throat. Bruises bloomed dark across his skin like a gruesome lace collar. His left eye, the side where the wire had crushed not cut, had at least one broken blood vessel. 

“I'm okay.” Tim said as Bruce surged forward. Or at least he tried to. But all that came out was a weak rasp. 

“Don't,” Bruce shook his head. “Don't speak.” Alfred's sturdy hand was making quick work of cleaning the cut. The disinfectant stung and Tim grunted softly. Bruce was checking his eyes, flashing a pen light in them. 

“I’m going to ask you questions.” He said, a touch of Batman’s growl in his voice. Oh Bruce was really worried . A sheepish guilt bled into Tim. Maybe attempting to treat himself without even calling in an attack was a bit too reckless. “Sign your answers. Do you know how you got here?” 

Tim bobbed his fist yes. “Can you breathe easily?” Tim hesitated then bobbed his fist. “Did you hesitate because it hurts?” Another yes. 

“Did you pass out?” Tim pinched his first three fingers together for no. “Headache?” Yes. Coming on strong now, bright lights were beginning to be uncomfortable and the rattle of tools on metal trays made him flinch. “Any other major injuries?” He pinched his fingers again and Bruce looked mildly relieved at last. 

Alfred finished cleaning the wound and helped him lay down for stitches. Bruce busied himself with wiping the blood that had slipped under the suit off Tim’s chest. Only then did his restless energy seem satisfied and he sat at Tim’s side as Alfred threaded a needle. 

“You’ll be alright,'' Bruce said. “We’ll monitor your headaches and oxygen levels and make sure there's no other damage. Tomorrow we can–” 

But Tim wasn't listening. Normally a breakdown helped. Hearing everything listed out orderly and logically with next steps. But right now each tug of the needle through numbed skin felt like a garotte wrapping around him, the only thing between life and death being one person's ignorance. 

Tears began blurring his vision. Claws of pain dragged down his throat when it tightened out of reflex. A whimper escaped him and Bruce stopped talking. Steel blue eyes took in the tears threatening to spill over and his bobbing throat. 

“It's alright.” Bruce said again. He combed fingers through Tim's hair, careful to not move his head. His other hand clasped Tim’s. Bruce’s voice was tender now, lists and logic abandoned.  “I know it hurts. It's almost over, son.” 

Another pull. A wire twisting with no chance of escape. Tim desperately wanted Alfred to stop touching his neck, itched to slap his hands away. It hurt to swallow. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to stay still. 

Bruce brushed a tear from the corner of Tim’s eye. “Last one Tim, last one.” One more tug, a few light presses as a bandage was smoothed on, and then...nothing. Blissful nothing. 

Muscles slowly unclenching, Tim let out a shaky breath. Bruce smiled, still combing through his hair. “We're going to keep you in the cave overnight for monitoring but I'll stay with you the whole time.” 

Relief exploded through Tim at that. Not very tough and Robin of him but he was tired of being Robin tonight. He wanted to be Tim Drake-Wayne with his dad at his side.

“Ready for some ice, Master Timothy?” Alfred asked from the foot of the bed.

Blinking away tears, Tim bobbed his fist yes.

Chapter Text

Public school was not Dick’s idea of a good time. It’s not that he didn’t enjoy his classes. Or have a few friends. It was being other that dragged the whole thing down. Gotham Junior High didn’t like other. And being a half Romani, circus trained acrobat, who happened to be adopted by one of the richest men in Gotham definitely counted as other. They didn’t like that he was clever and a mathlete either. 

Normally it didn’t bug him. Their snide remarks rolled off him like water on a duck. But today– 

“Circus freak.” A girl hissed as she strutted past.

Dick hunched his shoulders a little bit more.

“Ew, why does it smell like monkeys?” Two boys pinched their noses by the wall of lockers. 

Dick picked up his pace. Today was extra hard. A bit too humiliating. And it was all made worse by the twisting, knotting feeling clogging Dick’s chest for the past few days. The one he’d usually expel by crashing into his mother’s embrace and crying as she comforted him.

He couldn’t do that anymore.

Tears pricked at his eyes. Keeping his head down, Dick hurried towards the front doors. Alfred would be there in the pick-up line. Prompt as always. He had to be. Or Dick might end up crying in front of everyone and that would be the cherry on top of this crap sundae.

“Hey Grayson!” 

Ignore them. Keep walk– 

A bright burst of pain pierced the side of his head, startling a cry from him. His hand flew to the pulsing spot, fingers touching sticky blood. Dick spun around. 

A sharp-cornered binder lay open on the floor, pictures of elephants scattered across the hall. An older boy stood smirking a few feet away. “We learned about your mom today in bio.”

Grief welled in him, more so than anger. And as Dick considered decking him, really letting him have it even if it was only one punch, he could hear his father telling him to be the bigger man. 

Blurry eyed, Dick rushed out the front doors, yanking his jacket hood up. A bit of blood trickled down by his ear and he wiped it away, irritated. 

“Master Dick, is something wrong?” Alfred asked, opening the backseat door. Dick shook his head as he clambered in. He pressed himself against the car door, surreptitiously wiping his eyes. 

Alfred humored him until they pulled up to the manor. He turned around once the car was parked, kind eyes settling on Dick. “Would you like to talk about it?” He asked gently. Like a grandfather might.

“No.” Dick wrestled with his backpack, shoving the door open. His hood fell back and Alfred sucked in a breath. 

“You’re bleeding!”

“I’m fine!” Abandoning the bag, Dick sprinted into the house, weaving down halls and through doorways until he was in his room, tucked away in his closet. In the darkness his breaths were heavy and loud. That twisty feeling was still tangled up in his ribs. Hugging his knees to his chest, Dick let out a low whine. 

Everything he wanted right now he couldn’t have. So why bother thinking of it? Why bother thinking of his father catching him on the trapeze, shouting praises. Or his mother scooping him up in her arms and calling him her little robin. And there was definitely no point in thinking of nights spent with them on a blanket, watching the stars. Dick squeezed his eyes shut, digging his chin into his knees. His chest ached more now.

“Dick? You in here, chum?” The bedroom door opened slowly. Dick froze, breathing shallowly. Of course Alfie ratted him out once he saw the blood. Muffled footsteps crossed the rug until they tapped softly on the wood floor by the closet door. There was a soft knock. “Dickie? Can I come in?” 

Bruce waited patiently but Dick didn’t budge. It wasn’t the comfort he yearned for. But...B was his dad too. And it wasn’t the same but maybe it could be good too. In a different way.

“Yeah.” Dick finally said and Bruce slowly opened the door. He had to push some shoes and coats aside but he managed to sit cross-legged across from Dick. 

Concerned eyes raked over him, zeroing in on the drops of blood by his temple. Something flickered over Bruce’s face, a dark anger more fitting for Batman. “Who did this to you?”

“A binder.” Dick mumbled, picking at his shoelaces.

“And how did a binder cause this?” B’s voice was stern now. Dick glanced up then back down with a shrug. “Dick,” Bruce’s voice softened. “You won’t get in trouble. But if someone is hurting you then they need to be held accountable.”

It made sense. Why else did Batman and Robin go out every night? Dick heaved a sigh. Plus there was no point in trying to resist a Batman interrogation. Even in a closet. “Lucas Pearsons threw it at me.” He admitted. “But don’t worry about it. It’s fine.”

“It is not fine–” 

“If you tell the school then he’ll know that I told on him and they’ll keep being mean!” Dick exploded, waving his arms as much as he could in the small space. “I can handle being called a circus freak and the animal jokes and–” 

His voice hitched, tears making it hard to speak. “Most of the time I don’t care b-but today Lucas threw the binder and there were pictures of elephants and he-he-he called them my mom –” Dick sobbed, whole body shaking. It felt like his bones were about to rattle apart. “ I want my mom!”  

Bruce’s face crumbled. And it was then Dick remembered that his dad understood. His dad knew how horrible it was to want and know you could only have memories. What it meant to miss someone so badly it hurt worse than any broken bone. How it felt to mourn a future that would never happen.

Dick launched himself into Bruce’s opening arms. Into safety.

“I know, chum.” Bruce whispered as he pulled Dick into his lap, hugging him as he came apart. “I know.” 

Dick knew he was being loud and messy, wailing into Bruce’s neck as snot ran onto the designer button up. The closet was heating up, sweat beading beneath his kacket. But Bruce didn’t move, kept one hand solidly on the back of Dick’s head, the other wrapped around his back. 

Low vibrations hummed through him as Bruce kept murmuring reassurances, gently rocking them back and forth. Gradually Dick's cries subsided until he was just gasping and hiccuping unevenly. 

“Deep breaths, chum. Follow me.” Bruce said, taking exaggerated breaths that Dick did his best to imitate. “That's it, good job.” 

Bruce waited until his breathing was steady before he shifted Dick to sit on his thigh, tucking him into his arm, as if he were cradling Dick. “I know it’s uncomfortable but if kids are being mean to you, I have to tell the school. Especially now that they’re hurting you. It’s wrong.” Dick sniffed hard and nodded. “Don’t worry. You’ll tell me what happened and I’ll handle the rest, got it?”

“Got it.” Dick wiped his face on his sleeves. “I don’t wanna do my homework yet.”

Chuckling, Bruce leaned back against the closet wall, getting comfortable. “We can sit here a little while longer. But then we need to clean up your head and have dinner. Does that sound alright?”

Dick nodded, head nestled beneath Bruce’s chin. “Dad?" He whispered.

“Yes?”

“You know I love you too, right?”

Bruce audibly swallowed before crushing Dick tight for a moment. “I know, Dickie.” Bruce pressed a kiss to his head. “And I love you too.”

Chapter Text

It was 2:00 p.m. on a Sunday when they were grabbed. Richard didn't have any ice cream that wasn't freezer burned in his barely used Blüdhaven apartment. Todd volunteered to go buy some. Damian didn't trust him to get what he liked so he tagged along. Maybe he was the reason they were grabbed two blocks from the store. Maybe not. 

All Damian knew was the moment the van rolled to a stop and black clad men swarmed out, he was fighting. At least as much as he could without compromising his identity. It didn't matter. He crashed into the van wall right after Todd did. 

“How dare–!” He lunged at the men climbing in after them but Todd seized him, hauling him back. 

“Cool it kid.” 

“But!” The door slammed shut. They were moving now, careening down the streets. The muzzle of a gun flashed and Damian went limp in Todd's arms. Too many weapons in a small space. Terrible odds.

“Do you trust me?” Todd whispered in his ear, sharp eyes fixed on their captors. 

Did he? Damian hadn't given it much thought. Sure they fought together but that was towards a mutual goal, the betterment of Gotham. Father obviously let him hang around. Beyond that... 

But Damian didn't have much of a choice right now. Todd was his one ally. He gave a sharp nod and Todd loosened his arms. 

“Then follow my lead and stay docile.”

---

The cell was damp and cold. Underground most likely. No one told them why they were there. Or who their captors were. The first day they were left alone, aside from a man taking a photo of them sitting on the scratchy blankets. Both of them checked the room over several times, trying to find even the smallest chance of escape. Nothing.

"No sweat, brat." Todd said when they went to sleep that night. He insisted that Damian sleep along the wall, Todd lying down between him and the door. "I have a plan."

"If you say so." Damian muttered. He didn’t doubt it. But Father would probably be here by the next day anyway so what did it matter?

---

In the morning, as loud footsteps came stomping their way, Damian knew the peace of yesterday was gone. Todd stood listening at the door before crouching in front of him. “When they open that door, make no move or sound. Got it?” 

“Why?” Damian wanted to fight. Wanted to break free and make them pay in the process. Why hadn't Father arrived yet? Were they really that hard to find? 

“Do you trust me?” Todd grabbed his shoulders, an urgency in his voice. Damian found himself nodding. Todd leapt to his feet and the door flew open with a bang. Three people filled the doorway menacingly. 

“I was wondering when we'd get the fun started!” Todd said loudly, getting right up in their masked faces. “Took your sweet time, huh?” Hand seized him and he was gone. Damian barely moved.

It was hours before Todd was tossed back in, landing sprawled on the dirty floor. Blood streaked his skin. “Todd!” Damian scrambled over as his brother sat up with a wince. 

“All good, Dames. Don't worry about me.” Todd flashed a red-stained smile that looked more like a grimace. “All good.”

---

The next few days went the same way. Their masked captors would come and yank Todd away in the morning only to return him much later with new signs of torture. And every time Damian worried, Todd simply said, “Do you trust me?” 

Infuriatingly enough, Damian did trust him. A realization he made sitting huddled in the corner alone on the fifth day, waiting for Todd to return. Waiting to not be alone anymore. 

The cell reminded him of the League. Of the isolation chambers used as punishment. He hated them then and hated them even more now. The way his thoughts grew louder and louder, the walls shrinking and shrinking. 

It was worse now because Damian knew Father must be looking for them. Richard would be going out of his mind with worry. Knowing they could be saved was it’s own torture because everyday he woke wondering if this was it. Freedom. And every evening he wondered if this was it. Jason being thrown in limp and unbreathing. 

Tonight it was neither. Jason hit the stone floor with a grunt, hissing swears under his breath. He made a weak attempt to push himself up but his arm buckled. 

“I’ve got you, Jason.” Damian was at his side, carefully helping him hobble to their barely padded corner and slump against the wall. His hand came away bloody from Jason’s side.

A small chuckle slipped from Jason’s split lips as Damian passed him the canteen of water. Only one for the whole day. Damian barely sipped from it when he was alone, trying to save it for more important things. Like cleaning wounds. 

“So I’m Jason now?” Even with the nasty gash in his forehead, Jason managed to raise a brow. “Sounds weird.” 

“Shut up or I’ll eat your chunk of stale bread.” Damian grumbled. 

---

They slept the same way they always did with Damian tucked against the wall and Jason curled around him, one arm over Damian as if he were a human cage. Jason added the arm after their door flew open the second night, hands trying to drag Damian away. Before Damian could strike, Jason threw blankets over him. Then broke one of their captor’s arms. 

That torture session had been especially long and sadistic. 

The wheeze was more pronounced in Jason’s breath tonight and Damian lay awake listening to it seeping in and out of his lungs. “Jason?” He whispered. 

“Yeah, baby bat?” Jason’s voice sounded thick and groggy.

“Why...why are you doing this? Sacrificing yourself?” Damian asked. “I can handle one session of torture, I’ve endured worse with the League!” 

Jason let out a slow sigh, breath ruffling Damian’s hair. “I know you have.” He whispered, with a tinge of...mournfulness? “That’s why...just trust me, okay kiddo?” 

“I trust you.” Damian replied immediately. The way he trusted Jason with his life every night on the Gotham streets. The way he trusted him to take his side against Richard and Father only to betray him for Drake if the price was right. The way he trusted enough to let his guard down and allow Jason to dig shrapnel out of his bare back with a knife.

Jason held him a bit closer. “Get some rest, D. We’re gonna be out of this soon. Only one more day.”

“How do you know?”

The smirk rang clear in Jason’s voice. “They’re not the only ones who’ve been busy.”

---

Their rescue was loud, chaotic and right on time. Jason didn’t even have to ask this time. Damian was nodding before Jason’s mouth opened, grabbing his hand as they sprinted through the flying shards of stone and bullets towards their vengeful family. The entire time they ran, Jason kept himself between the fighting and Damian. 

That afternoon Jason was resting at last in his bed with Drake and Richard at his side. White bandages dotted his body, twined around his arms and legs. Damian didn’t want to see the medical reports Father typed up. He saw enough helping Jason clean the worst of his wounds. Guilt threatened to strangle Damian when he thought about what his brother chose to endure to protect him. 

He sat vigil by Jason’s bedside when the others left during the night, curled up in the armchair beside the king-sized bed Jason always made disparaging remarks about. Determined to stay awake. 

“You don’t owe him.” Richard reassured him earlier. “He wouldn’t want you thinking like that.” Richard was right but after a week of torture that Jason could’ve easily let fall on him...this was the least Damian could do.

A sharp gasp split the dark room as Jason shot up in bed, grabbing at the sheets. Teal eyes stared wildly into the dark room, searching for invisible enemies. Rough breaths made his whole body heave.

“It’s alright!” Damian seized his grasping hands before they could rip off bandages. “It’s alright Jason! Stop thrashing before you hurt yourself more, you fool.” 

“Damian?” Jason’s face twisted in confusion, scanning the room suspiciously. “Where…”

“We’re home. We’re safe.” Damian said but still Jason looked unconvinced. He was moving now as if he wanted to climb out of the bed, hand groping for one of the weapons usually hidden close by. Drake had been smart to remove them.

“Do you trust me?” Damian blurted out.

Jason’s gaze snapped back to him. Tension eased from his body. “Yes.” He said softly. 

“Then lie back down and sleep. Please.” Reluctantly, Jason slumped back against his pillow. Damian sat back against the headboard beside him. He let his knee press against Jason’s shoulder. Maybe the touch would help soothe him.

“Don’t worry,” Damian said, as exhaustion and pain meds pulled Jason’s eyes closed again. “I’m keeping you safe now.”

Chapter Text

Jason lit another cigarette, taking a slow drag. His brothers’ nagging echoed in the back of his mind as he exhaled into the inky night. Always complaining about his bad habit. He'd been trying to quit. Been making good progress too. But if he wanted to chain smoke tonight, he was going to fucking chain smoke tonight. He earned it. 

No, he deserved it. Deserved whatever chemicals he was putting into his body, yet another slow poison in his veins. As much as he tried, the night wouldn't fade. He felt uneasy, like a stranger in his own body. It would be easier if he was. Then he wouldn't be responsible for what happened. 

He couldn't even remember what set him off now. Some small insignificant thing. Or something larger and understandable. Either way, he lost control tonight. Green haze swarmed over his vision and he'd let it. Embraced it. Let the anger and rage and hurt and grief power each hit over and over. 

Until his fists landed on the wrong person. Poor stupid, caring, worried, selfless, brilliant, moronic Tim. Who’d seen Jason struggling, noticed the signs of pit rage, and came rushing to his aid. Only for Jason to not recognize him. To turn and crash reinforced knuckles into Tim's face with unrestrained violence. 

He'd likely have to burn those gloves. Because Jason kept seeing blood stains on them even after he’d violently scrubbed them. Even as the water ran clear, the knuckles were still splattered with dark red. His cigarette was all ash now, barely smoked. He crushed the embers and lit another one, clamping it tight between his lips. 

The sharp, startled cry that Tim let out was ringing in his ears. Pain, surprise, and betrayal all mixed into one sound. Dick came running of course, trying to help Tim staunch the blood streaming from his nose. Bruce arrived seconds later, standing protectively between them and Jason, arms outstretched. 

“Jay?” Bruce said, not sure if he should expect a fight. But Jason was lucid by then. Was well aware of why his knuckles stung. Why Tim was huddled on the ground, watery blue eyes peering over the hands clasped to his face. 

Jason bolted. Cowardly maybe, but he couldn't stay there. And yet, he found himself back at the Manor anyway, pacing anxiously up and down the main hall. He couldn't bring himself to go down in the cave where they were setting Tim's nose. Couldn't bear to see what damage he’d done. Or the fear and hatred in Tim's eyes. Something he hadn't seen in so long and hoped he would never have to see again. 

Dick and Bruce had to like him. Or at least tolerate him. On his worst days, he saw himself as their project. An experiment gone wrong that they were responsible for. On his best days, he was their family. The three of them against the world for a few blissful years.

But Tim...Tim had a choice. He didn't have any lingering attachments to whoever Jason might have been before. His acceptance was proof. Proof that Jason could change, that Jason wanted to change, that people wanted Jason to change. He couldn't bear to see that stripped away. 

And so the moment he heard calm voices headed towards the cave exit, a sign that Tim was okay, he fled for the rooftop. Maybe he was just a coward. Maybe that was okay. 

Jason lit another cigarette, staring at the glowing tip and thin wisp of smoke curling from it. He was a loose cannon. Why did he ever think he could find peace or family again? All he did was wreck and ruin and destroy. 

He crushed the cigarette out then ran both hands harshly through his hair, tugging at it. He should just leave. Run and not look back. Spare everyone from having to deal with him. Protect them from himself.

A soft creak of the hatch door made him freeze. Hardly breathing, Jason listened to soft footsteps climb onto the roof with him. 

Tim’s footsteps. 

Jason’s heart hammered against his ribs. What would Tim say? Would he tell Jason to leave? Tell him that he always knew deep down inside that Jason was a monster? That he'd been waiting for the day Jason would finally snap and prove how unworthy he was? Would Tim say he always hated him, all along? 

For a long moment there were no sounds except the gentle rustling of trees in the night breeze. 

Then a hand settled gentle and reassuring on Jason's shoulder. “It's okay.” 

Tears finally spilled from his eyes. Jason bit down on his fist to muffle his heaving sobs. Tim squeezed tight, still standing behind Jason as he wept. His leg pressed against Jason's back and Jason returned the pressure, deeply relieved in a way he couldn't even begin to fathom. 

After another long minute, Tim finally shifted to sit beside him. He pressed close, mashing their shoulders together. Warmth bled through the oversized hoodie Tim was practically swimming in. A wide bandage crowned the bridge of his swollen nose, bruises already spreading out and up into the bags under his eyes. 

“I'm sorry.” Jason choked out. “I’m so sorry.” Steady hands pried the half crushed carton from his trembling grip, setting it aside.

“I know.” Tim lay his head on Jason's shoulder, slipping his hand into Jason’s now empty ones and squeezing. “I'm okay.” Tim whispered. “We're okay.”

Fresh tears ran down Jason's face as he hesitantly closed his hands around Tim’s. Accepting forgiveness he didn't expect. From a brother he didn’t deserve.

Chapter Text

The only thing Tim wanted while held captive by Mister Oz, desperately, soul-wrenchingly yearned for, was his family. Memories played at all hours in his mind; joyful hugs from Dick, Bruce proudly setting a hand on his shoulder, playful punches from Jason, an earned handshake with Damian, slumber parties with Steph and Cass. 

Until like an overplayed VHS the tapes began wearing out. Was that really how it felt? Did Damian ever actually hug him? Or was he making it up? 

But when he finally got what he wished for, his family all around him again...it was overwhelming. Too many people, too many questions, too much. And Tim found himself hiding out, avoiding, skirting around them in the manor. 

It must've hurt them. To lose him for a year only to barely have him now that he's back. It wasn't that he didn't want to see them, God he'd missed them. He just...wasn't ready.

Alfred understood. He made tea and simply sat with Tim as he listened longingly to his siblings talking and laughing in another room, knees hugged to his chest. "A year is a long time, isn't it?" Alfred mused one day over a cup of chamomile and Tim nodded wearily.

Sometimes Dick joined them with a bright smile, talking mostly to Alfred and keeping his normally boisterous voice soft. Jason sat and read with Tim a few times in a secluded study, not a single word exchanged. Cassandra would appear at night, showing herself only long enough that Tim knew she was perched nearby watching over him. Damian shoved various pets into whatever room Tim was in, with not so quietly whispered commands to go to him.

Tim was grateful for it. It helped ease him back in. Like slowly wading into freezing water. But weeks passed and his dreams still consisted of the same memories on repeat, an endless merry-go-round taunting him. 

He used all the various weighted blankets they had, even the extra heavy one Jason preferred that always made Tim feel like he was being smothered. He wore hoodies and held body pillows as he slept. Nothing. Nothing satisfied that hollow ache in his chest that made his skin prickle and he was going out of his mind with it. 

Which is how he ended up in the study, in his pajamas way after midnight, wringing his hands as he stared at Bruce's back. Bruce was typing on his laptop, probably some WE emails or reports. There was a small furrow in his brow, lips moving silently as he read back what was written.

Anxiety whirred in Tim’s mind, unsure of what their relationship would look like after so much time apart and his isolation. Interacting with people took effort now. But all that was second to the desperation he felt slithering under his skin. 

"B?" He finally whispered, voice smaller than he'd expected. 

Bruce turned quickly, surprised. "Tim." He closed the laptop and set it aside. The full weight of his gaze made Tim hunch, shoulders curling in. "Is everything alright?"

Tim's mouth opened and closed uselessly, like a fish, as small bitten off noises escaped him. "No…" His voice wavered. "I–” Something in him broke, couldn't take being alone anymore. Tears burned his eyes, blurred his vision and all his prepared lines and explanations went out the window. 

"Please," Tim gasped, clutching at his arms, a tremble building in him, swelling like a wave that threatened to rip him away from the safety of the shore he fought so desperately to reach. "I need a hug, or I-I-anything really, just touch me, please–”  

He was cut off by Bruce's arms pulling him into the most suffocating hug he'd ever experienced. It wasn't nearly enough. Tim twisted his fingers into Bruce's shirt, clung tight as he gasped shakily. His cheek was mashed against Bruce's chest, heart beating steady compared to Tim’s galloping pulse.

This was what he needed. When he’d first come back, still struggling to believe it was real, he’d barely embraced Bruce. Exhaustion and treating injuries had come first and when that was over...everything had become real. Too real. Too much.

"Shh, it's alright sweetheart." Tim was vaguely aware of Bruce carrying him over to the sofa, feet skimming over the rug, before sitting down and pulling him in his lap like he was a little kid with a scraped knee. "We can stay here as long as you need." Bruce kissed his head, arms still crushing him. 

"I'm sorry," Tim hiccuped, "I'm sorry I didn't come to you sooner. I wanted to. But I was alone for so long." 

"You needed time." Bruce murmured into his hair. "I'm glad you came to me now."

Minutes passed, or was it longer? Hours? Tim wasn’t sure but gradually his aching muscles relaxed, fingers releasing their death grip on Bruce’s shirt as Bruce murmured reassurances. 

"Not even Jason's weighted blanket helped." Tim grumbled, breathing slower now. 

Bruce chuckled. The laugh rumbled through his chest and into Tim, like the warmest earthquake ever. "And how’s this? Helping?"

"Yes." Tim whispered, snuggling even closer to his dad. Familiar scents put his mind at ease; Bruce’s aftershave, the fresh linen detergent Alfred had been using for years because it was the only one everyone liked, the spice of the shampoo in the cave shower dispensers, whiffs of the smoldering fireplace. "Not ready to stop yet." 

A strong hand rubbed his back in soothing circles. Tim felt drunk off it. Overwhelmed in the best possible way. His muscles were loose like rubber now. How long had it been since he truly slept well? Felt safe enough to completely relax, even with his sister keeping watch? His eyes were already growing heavy and his head tipped forward. 

Bruce caught on his head, cradling it against his shoulder. "Then it's a good thing my bed is the size of a cruise ship, as Jason says. Because neither am I and you look ready to pass out." 

A wet laugh bubbled up in Tim's chest. He hadn’t realized there were tears in his eyes. "I think...I'm ready to be around everyone again. Or at least I need to be. I miss them."

"They'll be happy to see you. And if it's too much, tell me." Bruce tilted his chin up to look him in the eye. "You're not alone anymore, Tim. I'm here for you. And always will be."

Chapter Text

“Oracle?”

“I’m here, Robin.” Babs didn’t look away from the Gotham city map open on her laptop. Green dots flashed on it, all balls she was juggling and couldn't afford to drop. Not now. She hit a button, speaking to the main com channel. “Be advised, fire engines are moving to handle the Richards Avenue blaze.”

“Copy. Clearing the route.” Hood grunted.

Barbara glanced at the news feed playing on the hotel TV. Of course a devastating earthquake would happen while she was gone across the country. Even with two laptops and the TV, coordinating rescue efforts with all the Bats scattered across Gotham was difficult. Not to mention frustrating.

“Talk to me Robin,” She said, “You still there?”

“Yes.” Damian sounded strained, a weird distortion to his voice. “I need help.”

Her stomach dropped. Oh no. “What kind of help? Are you alone?” Her mind was racing ahead, already planning for the worst.

“An aftershock trapped us in the basement before I could evacuate everyone. Three adults and five animals are with me.”

What? Swift keystrokes zoomed in on Damian’s location. An animal hospital. “Oh Dames.” She sighed. Of course he would’ve thought to check there.

He sucked his teeth, annoyed. “I don’t appreciate criticism–”

“It’s not.” She rolled her eyes. “Spend less time with Red Hood. I’m sending a call to the rest of the team.”

“No!” Damian interrupted, “No, don’t tell Batman or Nightwing. That’s why I called you.”

“Why?” Barbara asked, trying not to lose patience. She sent an update on newly cleared roads to city rescue coordinators. Jason was moving fast. Tim was hailing her on another line, hopefully with updates on first aid camps. No pings from Nightwing or Spoiler for a while. Their beacons were stationary and Babs prayed it was because they were concentrating on one spot.

“Because they’ll drop everything to save me but they’re needed elsewhere.”

Something in Damian’s voice sounded so young. It hurt. Another thing she couldn't afford to drop. “You need to spend less time with Nightwing too.” She gently scolded. “Lucky for you Signal and Orphan are the closest ones. I’m sending them your way. Keep this channel open–” 

A low rumble bled into Damian’s feed. Someone screamed, the shrill sound blending with the howl of a dog. And then it cut off. “Robin? Can you read me?” Nothing. Her heart rate spiked. "Robin?"

“Oracle, an aftershock just hit the city.” Cassandra, right on time.

“I know. Grab Signal and head to the coordinates I’m sending you. Robin is trapped and I just lost communication with him. I don’t think the structure is stable.”

“We’ll get him, O!” Duke chimed in.

Barbara tried hailing Damian several more times but to no avail. Shit. Spoiler still hadn’t checked in either. Dick had, relaying he’d evacuated an apartment building but suffered a minor injury. Worry was seeping through her now like a poison. Voices were overlapping in her ear, from the comms, the TV, and the police scanners. 

Keep it together. Focus on the data. Focus on what she can do. Because if she let her mind dwell on the tech she didn’t have with her, how frustrating it was to be so far from home when it needed her, how helpless she felt sitting in a mediocre hotel room instead of the clocktower or even her apartment…

“Spoiler checking in.” Stephanie’s voice sounded watery. “Sorry for the delay. Evacuated ten, one with major injuries. Performed first aid but lost them." Barbara's heart sank. That was always the hardest part. The ones you reached but couldn't save. They stayed with you. Steph sniffed hard. "Where do you need me?”  

“Take a minute and get your head right.” Batman’s order felt like a direct reminder to Babs too. “Then meet me at the Rec center.”  

Barbara took a deep breath. The family was handling things even with her limited help. Cass and Duke’s were closing in on Damian’s location. She squeezed the wheelchair armrests, staring hard at the cluster of three green dots. Please, please …

“Got him.” Cass relayed. Barbara heaved a sigh, slumping forward. “Everyone is okay.”

---

The sun was peeking over the horizon when Babs finally collapsed into bed, utterly drained. Bruce and Alfred were tending to everyone in the cave. Gotham officials and the Red Cross were handling the city. And Oracle…

She wouldn’t cry. Because the truth was that she wasn’t helpless. Maybe it felt like that, thousands of miles away from the people she loved with limited equipment. But she’d helped. Those nasty voices and doubts wouldn’t win today. 

Her phone buzzed as she dragged the comforter over herself. She answered with a smile. “Hey Dick.”

“Heya Babs.” He was clearly exhausted, sheets rustling as he climbed into his own bed. “Just wanted to check on you. Are you alright?”

“Yeah.” She said and it wasn’t a lie. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Chapter Text

“Whoa, Timmy,” Dick did a double take. “Are you feeling okay?” 

Tim cocked his head, still pulling his hair into a half-up do. “I’m fine. Why?” But the frogginess of his voice failed to sell the lie.

“‘Cause you look like shit.” Jason said around a mouthful of food.

“Screw you too.” Tim muttered with a sharp sniff. The tip of his nose was red. “It’s definitely just a cold. What’s this?” He peered at the bowls of hummus and pita chips on the kitchen island that his brothers were huddled around.

“Samples for the non contagious.” Damian sucked his teeth and snatched a bowl away from Tim’s reaching hand. Tim stuck out his tongue. “Pennyworth asked us to try some new flavors.”

“Are you sure you’re feeling alright?” Dick asked again, frowning. Tim was pale and his cheeks were beginning to look flushed. A hoodie was a suspicious choice too for the middle of summer, even if they were indoors. He stepped closer to Tim, reaching a hand out to feel his forehead. “We need to be cautious, especially with your splenectomy–” 

“I said–” Tim ducked under his hand, spinning low before snagging a muffin and dodging his way out of the kitchen, “I’m fine!”

“Tim…” Dick sighed.

“Kid says he’s fine.” Jason shrugged. “Hey, stop touching that red pepper hummus brat! It’s mine!”

---

Coughing echoed down the hall to Dick’s room later that evening. “He’s sick.” Dick muttered, sitting cross legged on the bed, typing on his laptop. “And as stubborn as Bruce. I don’t understand why he won’t let us help?”

“Timbo’s a smart kid. If it’s bad he’ll let us know.” Jason waved a hand flippantly, sprawled across the foot of Dick’s bed texting. 

Dick snorted skeptically. “Yes, the same way Bruce takes a day off when he’s injured.”

The next round of coughing was louder, closer. Dick’s door creaked open and he looked up. Standing in the doorway, face flushed bright red with fever and shoulders jumping as he held in more coughs, was Tim. Jason pushed himself up on one elbow.

“I think–” Tim took a labored breath. “–I need help.” Then his legs gave out. 

Jason sprang off the bed, diving to catch Tim before he could slam his head on the hardwood floor. “Tim!” Dick scrambled over to them. “Tim, can you hear me?” Tim nodded weakly, wheezing with each exhale. But his eyes were half-open and unfocused. Sweat dampened his hair, coughs still racking him.

Damian came rushing down the hall. "What's going on?" He froze outside the doorway, staring stunned at Tim cradled in Jason's arms. "But...he said he was fine."

“Tim's a pathological liar. Who needs oxygen.” Jason pointed with his chin, “Look at his lips.”

They were far too pale. Dick pressed the back of his hand to Tim's forehead and swore. Burning up. Bruce was out of town. They could try and treat Tim in the cave but with his compromised immune system and how quickly he was deteriorating…were they really prepared for this? 

If Dick chose wrong, his little brother could die. Dick raked a hand through his hair. Dammit, why did Tim wait so long! Why didn’t he check on him again? Why didn’t he insist?

"Jason, carry him to the car. Damian, grab his go bag." Dick said firmly. “We're taking him to the hospital."

--- 

It hurt to be touched. Like every nerve was raw and exposed. Careful hands on his feverish skin brought ripples of pain. Joints throbbed with every movement. 

“Hurts.” Tim panted between coughs, shoving at the hands holding him, trying to escape the coarse fabrics scraping against his skin. Mallets beat against his skull and he squeezed his eyes even tighter. What was going on?

“I know, Timbers.” A deep voice said. “Just a few more seconds, yeah? Almost inside.”

The sharp scent of the hospital seeped through his stuffy nose. A whimper died in the back of his throat. Not good. Hospital meant a major problem, usually someone was coding minutes later. If he was here…

New hands were grabbing him, pulling him away from the person holding him. Jason? It had to be Jason, no one else called him Timbers. Tim seized the rough fabric, despite how it grated against his hypersensitive hands. No. Jason was safe . He didn’t want to leave. He wasn’t sure what was happening and knew that he was too out of it to comprehend. 

“Yeah, it’s me Tim.” Jason carefully worked Tim’s fingers loose. “It’s alright kiddo, the doctors are gonna help you. Dickie and Damian are here too and we’re not leaving. Promise you.”

Reluctantly Tim let go, sinking back into the softness under him. Something pressed into his face, air blowing softly on his mouth and nose. A needle pierced his skin. Foreign voices and sounds made his headache pound harder. 

“It’s alright, Tim. Just rest.” Dick’s voice broke through the cacophony. “We’ll be here when you wake up. Just rest.”

So Tim did.

---

Tim cracked his eyes open, so dry he could feel his eyelids scraping across the cornea. Where was he? A cough escaped him and he winced at how sore his ribs felt from his earlier coughing fits. 

Water. He needed water. But when he reached for the bottle he always kept on his nightstand, his hand bumped into a plastic railing.

“You’re in the hospital. Don’t move too much or you’ll dislodge your cannula or IV.”

Damian. Tim rolled his head to the left. His brother was sitting next to the bed, illuminated by weak yellow lamp light. His throat was too dry and scratchy to speak so Tim clumsily signed for water. 

“Todd and Pennyworth are off finding something edible that isn’t jello or snack cakes.” Damian said in a low voice as he held out a cup and bendy straw. “Richard is finally asleep. And Father is rushing home.”

“Why ‘m I here?” Tim rasped. Holding a coherent train of thoughts was near impossible. Especially with sleep clawing at him, trying to drag him back under.

“Tt. You really don’t remember?” Damian took the empty cup back. “You collapsed in Richard’s room. Doctors said you have respiratory syncytial virus. For any of us it would be a mild cold but for you…” Damian let his words trail off, jaw working. His next words were much softer. “You should take better care of yourself, Drake. Everyone has been in a panic.”

“Sorry.” Tim slurred, unable to fight his exhaustion anymore. His eyelids slid shut, heavy as bricks.

---

Tim wasn’t sure if he was dreaming or not. Waking up to Dick’s relieved smile seemed real. So did shivering while sweating through his hospital gown. Killer Croc wearing a doctor's coat was definitely a dream. Asking Alfred to smuggle hummus into the hospital could go either way.

But when Tim woke up with a surprising amount of clarity to Bruce sitting on the edge of his bed in an expensive button up shirt and slacks, he knew it wasn’t a dream. Tim smiled, feeling the cannula tube shift against his cheek. “Hi, B.”

Bruce returned the smile, squeezing Tim's needle free arm. “What am I going to do with you kids?” He sighed, “I leave for a few days and one of you ends up in the hospital.”

“It’s all Jason’s fault.”

“Funny, they were all blaming you.” Bruce chuckled. “How are you feeling?”

“Sore and tired but better. I can actually form full sentences now.”

“Good. Your fever has been gone for 24 hours and oxygen levels are much better. Doctor is probably going to discharge you today or tomorrow. We’ll continue with home care.”

“No patrol for a while, huh?”

“Don’t make me change the password.” Bruce threatened, sitting back. The couch behind him came into view. Jason was slouched in the middle, arm propped on the back and holding up his head as he slept. A jacket was balled in his lap that Dick was using as a pillow. On Jason’s other side, Damian was slumped against him, hood pulled low over his face.

They’d stayed. Like they promised too. Tim never doubted they would but still his heart clenched. How many times had it been him sleeping on a hard hospital sofa or piled on the cave medical bed? That persistent worry needling through him the entire time?

“No password change needed.” Tim said, looking back at his dad. “I’ll take better care of myself. Promise.”

Chapter Text

He meant to stop. 

Splintered wood was scattered across the aisle, pews overturned and broken. His chest was heaving, knuckles throbbing. Grief and anger swirled inside of Dick but he was still in control. He was going to stop.

Slumped before him, blood dripping from his broken nose, Joker giggled. “I hit Jason a lot harder than that.”  Dick went rigid, nostrils flaring. The words echoed cruelly through his head.  Bloodshot eyes met his, red lips splitting to reveal a twisted toothy grin. “His name was Jason, right?” 

Yes. Jason. Jason Peter Todd. His friend. His little brother. The snarky, mischievous, sweet boy who changed their lives for the better. 

The one they'd buried in a closed casket. 

And now Tim is dead too. Another death at the hands of the Joker. Enough. Enough. No more loss. No more funerals. 

Dick bared his teeth, feeling feral as he seized Joker's collar and swung. 

“He cried–” 

Another punch. Blood splattered. 

“–more than the new Robin–” 

A backhand sent Joker sprawling on his back. 

“Of course I broke more of Jason’s bones!” 

Dick was on him in a flash, raining fury. He couldn't stop. No. He didn't want to stop. He kept hitting. For Jason. For Tim. For Barbara. For every life this clown had stolen. 

Bone snapped under his hands. The laughter ceased. Still he kept going, kept hitting. Each hit felt euphoric. Felt like freedom– 

“Enough! He's had enough!” 

Dick's head snapped around to see Tim, disheveled with a tattered cape...but alive. “This is a trick.” The words sounded broken even to him. “You're not real.” 

“It's me, Wing!” Tim seized his bicep, yanking hard. Dick fell back. Real. This was real. Tim was alive. And Joker was...blood coated Dick's aching knuckles, gauntlets torn. And Dick was...happy. 

He staggered to his feet, grasping his head, pulling at his hair as he fought back nausea. Elation and guilt warred in him. "What have I done?" The words slipped broken from his lips.

Tim pressed fingers to Joker's neck. A high pitched ringing in Dick's ears drowned out Tim's words but Dick read his lips easily. “He's dead.” 

“I killed him.” Dick stumbled back, turning away. A sharp pew corner jabbed into his thigh but he barely felt it. “I killed him.” And he'd been happy about it. Enjoyed it. Didn't want to stop because finally letting out the rage and grief felt so cathartic. 

But that was gone now. He felt sickeningly hollow. Numb. Ashamed. 

With trembling breaths Dick looked back to see Batman kneeling above Joker, giving him CPR. By the time Joker gasped, eyes popping open, Dick was fully consumed by a floaty weightless feeling. No thoughts stayed anchored in his mind. 

His legs felt like lead as he stumbled out into the humid night. Muscle memory guided him to the manor, and dragged his body through the halls. A spray of hot water brought awareness with a gasp. Pink tinged water swirled down the drain. 

Blood. 

Joker's blood. 

“He won.” Dick whispered. And collapsed to the shower floor with a sob.

---

Bruce knocked before slowly pushing the bedroom door open. “How are you doing chum?” 

Dick's head was tucked between his knees, arms hugging them tight to his chest, back pressed to the wooden headboard. He lifted his face to reveal blotchy cheeks. Despair darkened his sky blue eyes. Broken was the only way to describe him.

“You heard what he said? About…” Dick's voice trailed off.  Bruce nodded. Dick wiped his face with a soggy sleeve, puffy eyes drifting away from Bruce. “Why did you save him?” His voice came out as a croak. But there was none of the expected accusation.

For a split second, Bruce considered lying to him. Or simply reciting the code. The same code he knew was partly responsible for Dick's guilt. But after all they've been through today, after what each of them had done...Dick deserved the truth. 

“I lost Jason. I almost lost Tim. I couldn't–” Bruce's words cracked like glass. “I couldn't lose another son. I couldn't lose you too.” 

Bruce couldn't bear to see the bright shining star that was Dick Grayson go out, smothered under guilt and self-inflicted punishment. Not his boy who was meant for more than a cave. Was meant for the center ring. Meant to be better than Batman. 

So Bruce would bear the burden instead. The sick feeling of that bastard's heart restarting under his hands while Jason's remains still and cold. And Bruce would be the one to look at that glass case and beg forgiveness every time. He would live with this decision so that his son did not. Dick already had to live with crossing the line tonight. Bruce would spare him as much additional pain as he could.

Dick's eyes widened almost imperceptibly, breath catching. Silence hovered thick over the room, like a quilt on a too hot night. Bruce cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Get some rest Dickie. Do you need anything?” 

Dick shook his head, curling around his knees again. “Just...wanna be alone right now.” 

The door closed behind Bruce with a soft click. He took two steps before staggering, hand grasping at the wall to study himself. The other dragged across his face as he took a shuddering breath. Clenching his jaw, he straightened and headed down to the cave. Case work was the distraction he needed. Maybe there was something to be fixed in the Batmobile. 

But once he was there, Bruce found his eyes locked on a glass case, the ghost of a heartbeat burned into his palms.

Chapter Text

“Your turn, Master Dick.”

The ten-year-old frowned, tongue poking out the corner of his mouth as he stared intently at the reversi board. A grin split his face and he lunged forward, flipping a line of black tiles over to white. He beamed up at Alfred with such a precious smile it nearly bowled him over. 

Alfred cleared his throat. “Very good move!” He encouraged, even though he was still winning. Dick sat back against the stacked pillows, contentedly picking ice chips out of his cup. “Do you still have enough?” The boy nodded, tipping the insulated cup so Alfred could see it was still half full. “Good. Do let me know if you run out or they melt.”

He went easy on Dick the next round, only flipping three tiles so Dick actually had a chance of winning. Idly sucking on an ice chip, Dick hunched over the board with a serious frown. Such a simple act and yet Alfred felt emotion rising in him again. This sweet boy was his grandson-dare he say son-for all intents and purposes. Alfred loved him. 

And only two days ago he’d been a small, pale bundle in Batman’s arms, swathed in a canary yellow cape. Flecked with red.

“He’s hurt, Alfred.” Bruce panted, rushing from the Batmobile. Desperation strained his voice. “Struggling to breathe, he needs a ventilator.” 

Of course Alfred complied, pulled the machine over to the hospital bed and tipped Dick’s head back. How fragile Dick felt, delicate like a bird’s wing. How horrid and invasive it looked to stick cold metal in his child's mouth, carefully passing a tube down Dick's throat while his lips turned blue. 

Bruce sat the whole night at Dick’s bedside, heels of his hands pressed against his eyes. Alfred checked on them periodically, brushing the dark hair from Dick’s forehead, making sure the tape around the breathing tube was secure, and that the blanket was tucked nice and high to protect from the damp chill of the cave. It hurt to see their bright and happy boy unable to even breath on his own.

It hurt more to hear how Dick cried when the tube was removed, leaving his throat raw and aching. His whimpers as Alfred changed bandages were like daggers.

Bruce needed rest and to tend to his own wounds so Alfred took over sitting at the bedside. He read books to Dick, helped him put together a small puzzle, and now board games, all the while supplying ice chips to soothe and hydrate. Anything to keep Dick distracted from the pain.

“Won!” Dick whispered hoarsely and Alfred patted his head.

“You’re getting better and better at it, Master Richard. You'll be a champion by tomorrow! However, right now it’s time for bed.” Alfred rose from the chair only for Dick to grab his sleeve, yanking as he pouted. “You can put those sad eyes away, young man. I’m merely getting your medicine.” Once that was done, and Dick was finished making disgusted faces, Alfred sat on the bed beside him. “I suppose this is what you wanted?”

Dick nodded happily, shoving more ice in his mouth. He curled up beside Alfred, laying his head on his thigh. Affection washed over Alfred like a warm summer breeze. Bruce used to be this small, this affectionate and cheerful. Alfred might only be one man against the cruelty of the world and Gotham but he was determined to preserve Dick’s hope and joy. To do his part in his and Bruce’s shared mission of making sure Dick’s future wasn’t dictated by tragedy but instead was defined by hope.

“Rest my boy,” Alfred tugged the blanket over Dick and carded his fingers through soft black hair. Dick snuggled closer. “Tomorrow will be a better day.”

Chapter Text

“Why are we watching this ridiculous movie?” Stifling a cough, Damian fished for popcorn. 

“Because I like seeing cars blow up.” Tim said around a mouthful of his own popcorn. “And imitating Vin Diesel.” After the night they’d had, Tim wanted something mindless to unwind. 

“Raise your standards.” Damian coughed again, clearing his throat. “At least criticize the ridiculous physics too.” 

“Oh that's a given! It doesn't even need to be said.” Damian coughed louder this time, muffling them in his arm. “Do you need a cough drop?” Tim raised an eyebrow. “Or did the little baby bat catch a cold from splashing in the water with ninjas today?” He cooed mockingly.

“I was fighting not splashing! And almost drowned, no thanks to the rest of you.” But Damian kept coughing, harder this time as if he was trying to expel something stubborn. He pressed a hand to his chest. And then he wheezed. 

Tim sat up straight, pausing the movie. “Damian?” Panicked eyes met Tim's. Damian's hand fluttered around his throat, still coughing and now gasping. As if he was suddenly struggling to breathe. “Dad!” Tim screamed, scrambling across the couch to his brother. “Dad!”  

Tim rolled Damian on to his side, shoving a pillow between his knees and laying Damian's head on Tim's leg to help him breathe easier. He rubbed Damian’s back, fighting to stay calm himself. “It's okay, it's okay.” He wasn't sure if he was talking to himself or Damian. The sounds Damian was making were eerily similar to when he’d been sputtering and gasping for air in the fountain. As if he were drowning on dry land.

Bruce and Jason came running into the room, eyes wide. “What's going on?” Bruce said. 

“I don’t know, he kept coughing and now he’s struggling to breathe! But his airways are clear!” 

Bruce leaned over the back of the couch, smoothly scooping Damian into his arms. “Deep breaths, son.” He soothed, “Try not to panic.” Damian's chest was rising and falling rapidly now, both hands pressed flat to it. “Jason and Tim, get the ventilator and fluids ready.” 

They raced to the cave, Tim setting up the ventilator beside the wide hospital bed as Jason hung bags from the IV stand. Dick was with Bruce when they came rushing into the cave. Damian looked small against the white sheets, like the bed was swallowing him up as frantically gasped. Dick crouched beside him, holding his hand and whispering reassurances.

With a grim face, Bruce slipped the ventilator mask over Damian's head. “You're likely experiencing secondary drowning from water you inhaled earlier.” Bruce said, adjusting the straps so the clear mask fit snugly over Damian’s mouth and nose. “Fluid is building up in your lungs, that's what you're feeling. We're going to run some blood tests and see what your oxygen levels are at. Until then the ventilator will help you breathe.” 

Damian gave a jerky nod, squeezing Dick's hand. Tim wasn't sure how much Damian knew about secondary drowning. If he knew that he might need a chest drain to resolve the pulmonary edema in his lungs. Or that if his breathing couldn’t be regulated with noninvasive ventilation, he would be intubated. 

The look Tim exchanged with Dick said at least they were aware of what could happen. But neither of them voiced the possibilities. Both of them had been intubated before. Would they even perform it here? It wasn’t as much of an emergency as his and Dick’s situations had been, they could make it to the ER. The same oversized hospital bed in a foreign, sterile environment where they’d be forced to leave Damian alone. But at least Tim wouldn’t be the one helping to stick a tube down his little brother’s throat.

Jason handed Bruce a sealed kit, tying a tourniquet around Damian's right arm, before gently nudging Tim aside. He moved numbly, just standing there. It’d been a while since Tim felt this deeply terrified and unsettled. Injuries in the field were something he was used to reacting to. 

But home was supposed to be safe. The living room was where he and Damian playfully bickered while pretending they weren’t rapidly speeding towards a full fledged friendship. His little brother wasn’t supposed to fight for his life on the couch.  

“Drake.” Damian whispered under the mask. Tim stepped quickly to his brother's side. “Sorry about the movie.” 

“All good, D.” Tim smiled. Already his breathing was steadier, coughing subsiding. Maybe oxygen and fluids were all he needed. Please let it be all he needed. “You can make it up to me by watching the next three with me too.” 

Damian huffed a small laugh that morphed into a cough. “I'd rather drown.” 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! No gallows humor after 11!” Jason scolded, taking a vial of blood from Bruce. 

“Since when is that a rule?” Tim scoffed as he sat on the edge of the hospital bed. The ventilator whirred softly, the hiss of air flowing into the mask an invasive noise that Tim wanted to overpower for Damian's sake. 

“You're only upset that it's not you making the jokes and getting the attention.” Dick fired back. 

Jason grinned over his shoulder. “This is low stakes. High quality material like my jokes deserve only the highest stakes.” 

“When that finally happens, let us know.” Bruce said in a gruff voice. Laughter rang through the cave, Jason lightly punching Bruce in the shoulder. Tim squeezed Damian's arm as he laughed weakly under the mask, relieved to see him smiling at last.

Chapter Text

“Tell us where those weapons are being kept or it’s about to get real messy, Mr. Wayne.” The ski-mask clad man spat his name out. Bruce recoiled, gloved hands tightening on his arms. Like hell was he telling this gang where to find a bunch of guns on their way to be destroyed. They’d rip through Gotham, leaving death in their wake. 

“I’m sure we can work something out.” Bruce said. “Why don’t you let the boy go first? He doesn’t know anything about Wayne Enterprises.” The man glanced over at Tim, also bound and held between two men. He was still in his school uniform, tie askew. They were going to get gelato when a van rammed their car. A failed attempt at a little bonding time outside the suits.

“Nah. You’re playing games.” The leader tapped a cold muzzle against Bruce’s cheek. “But I know what’ll make you squeal.” A wicked grin spread across his face. “Let’s get messy boys.”

Laughing, the men hauled Tim towards a dangling chain. “Dad?” Tim called, thrashing in their grip. Bruce wasn’t sure if the fear in Tim’s wide eyes and shaking voice was an act or not. And it didn’t matter.

Bruce lunged forward with a snarl. But they’d been expecting it. A cattle prod dropped him to his knees, shuddering as the electricity surged through him. Steel toed boots kicked his knees wide apart, mimicking the painful position Tim had been forced into. The men yanked off his school jacket and were tying his hands to the dangling chain overhead. 

“It’s going to be okay!” Bruce forced out, muscles cramping. More ropes wrapped around him, securing him in place. “I promise you Tim, it’s going to be okay.” 

Tim’s chest was heaving. His jaw was set like Robin’s. But his eyes...they were fourteen and terrified. He nodded and it broke Bruce’s heart.

“Don’t lie to the kid!” Their captor laughed. “Come on Brucie! Tell us where the weapons are and you won’t have to watch us beat the shit out of junior here.”

“B, don’t–” Tim started when a hand cracked across his face. Blood dripped from his nose. The man hit him again.

“Tim!” Bruce jerked forward but the ropes held. Tim was right, all those experimental weapons on the streets of Gotham would create a bloodbath. But how could Bruce bear to see him tortured?

Tim loved being Robin, loved learning from Bruce and Dick. Wanted nothing more than to make them proud and reassure them that taking him on as Robin was the right decision. Dick and Tim called themselves brothers almost from the start.

But Bruce...he’d been so overcome by grief that he wanted none of it. A partner he could handle. But another son? Another precious life he cared about and was responsible for and would mourn to the point of physical pain? Already he’d been trying and failing to push Dick away, a credit to Dick’s stubbornness. 

Even after taking Tim in, Bruce told himself it was out of altruism. He was simply giving Tim a home where it’s easy to continue the crusade so he wouldn’t be sneaking out every night. 

What a lie that had been. Because Bruce knew now he considered Tim his son since the moment he donned the Robin suit. That he loved him as fiercely as he loved Dick and Jason.

Fitting that he would only realize the truth now.

“Aw, are you trying to be good people?” The man mocked. “Hit the kid some more until Moneybags loses the rest of his morality.”

A boot crashed into Tim's stomach. He groaned, sagging in his bonds. People were laughing in the warehouse around them. Someone dug out a metal pipe and tossed it to the torturer. It slammed into Tim’s side and he let out a sharp cry. Cracked ribs. A furious yell erupted from Bruce as he yanked at the ropes. 

“Comfy?” The man taunted before striking Tim’s trembling thighs. Tim screwed his eyes shut, teeth clenched in a vain effort to smother his noises of pain. If Bruce’s thighs were already burning from being forced to kneel like this, how much worse were Tim’s? He’d dislocate his shoulders if his legs couldn’t bear his weight.

“How about now?” The pipe struck his back and air rushed from Tim in a choked wheeze, winded. 

Hoots of laughter echoed as Bruce struggled to reach his hidden blade. The ropes around his arms were anchored to something behind him with little slack to maneuver. “I’ll tell you where the guns are!” Bruce shouted, “Leave him alone!”

“Too late! We’re having fun now.” The cattle prod he’d been hit with was being passed over to the torturer, sparking cruelly. Tim’s pale blue eyes followed it, still struggling to get his breath back. His hands clenched in anticipation. His eyes flickered to Bruce before giving the tiniest shake of his head.

Bruce didn’t care. He wouldn’t allow his son to be hurt anymore. The last time his son had been tortured...Bruce ended up burying him.

A hand knotted in Tim's hair, yanking his head back, buzzing electricity moving closer and closer to his chest.

“They’re in a warehouse outside Gotham,” Bruce yelled. Tim's eyes snapped wide open. “The coordinates are–”

Glass shattered high above. Metal canisters clattered on the ground. “Eyes!” A woman’s familiar voice shouted and Bruce squeezed his eyes shut. The flashbangs’ explosion echoed off the metal walls, coupled with the screams of the now blinded men. 

Someone landed softly next to Bruce, cutting at the ropes. As they fell away, sharp metal was pressed into his hand. “Go get Tim.” Nightwing said before drawing his escrima and leaping at their captors. Bruce staggered across the room as Batgirl mowed through men, guns clattering as she tossed them aside. 

Tim made a noise of relief when Bruce freed his hands with the wing-ding. He slumped into Bruce’s arms, taking deep, shaky breaths. 

“I’ve got you.” Bruce whispered as he held Tim, hands carefully checking where he’d been struck. Tim was trembling like a leaf. "I'm here." Dick and Barbara were tying people up now. Police sirens wailed in the distance.

“Were you...were you really going to give up the guns for me?” Tim asked. His cheek was swelling up where he’d been struck, one nostril bloody. 

“Yes.” Bruce said. “We could’ve figured out some kind of containment or tracked them all down before any harm was done. But you’re the priority. Protecting you is the priority.”

Tim looked awe-struck, as if he never thought Bruce would put anything above Gotham. As if the mere thought of Bruce not wanting him to endure cruelty was such an abstract concept. He’d truly shut Tim out, hadn’t he? Sure, Tim wore the suit and had free run of the cave and manor but to see him so shocked that Bruce cared…

“I’m sorry they hurt you.” Bruce’s voice was thick with emotion. “I’m sorry I–" 

I failed you.  

The words stuck, refused to leave his throat which felt like it was stapled shut no matter how hard he swallowed. Tim’s forehead dropped on Bruce’s chest as GCPD flooded the building, pressing in. “It all turned out okay,” Tim whispered. Bruce laid a hand gently on the back of his head. “Just like you promised.”

Chapter Text

Damian still kept secrets. Over the years he’d shared some. Mostly with Richard. Some with Father. Darker ones with Todd and Cain. And once accidentally with Drake and Brown each. 

But he kept the rest to himself. It was better that way. Most were easy to keep. All he had to do was keep his mouth shut. But some...they were trickier.

“You getting in the pool, Little D?” Richard flung a pool noodle at Damian before running and somersaulting into the pool. Swears erupted from Todd in his poolside chair as he shielded his book from the splash.

“Perhaps.” Damian made his way to the second step, cool water lapping at his knees.

 “In your clothes?” Drake peered over the edge of his sunglasses, clinging to an inflatable watermelon slice. Cain was lounging on a floating recliner beside him, eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses. 

“Tt. These are swim shorts, detective. And I don’t want to put on sunscreen.” Damian crossed his arms moodily, as if daring one of them to try and remove his shirt. But no one moved. His answer was accepted and the conversation turned to Richard’s lack of pool etiquette. 

Scars dotted his brothers’ and sister’s bodies. Some were faded and barely noticeable. Others pink and fresh. Todd and Cain had several marks that hadn’t healed well, still dark and uneven on their skin. Richard bore a starburst on his left shoulder from a bullet. Drake sported a precise incision from his splenectomy.

Still, Damian kept his shirt on as he sat on the pool steps.

He did the same on the training mats. Brown and Cain wore crop tops and sports bras. His brothers more often than not opted for no shirt or baggy tank tops. 

At times Damian almost cracked. Sweat soaked fabric clung to him, overheating and chafing in ways that brought endless irritation. But Damian remained covered until he was safely in a shower stall, fresh clothes ready to be donned before exiting. 

He'd been so careful guarding that secret. Until a concussion grenade had him stumbling around like a newborn foal. He was far too disoriented to handle himself, much less clean the long slices on his back from the shrapnel. Struggling to focus, he didn't even comprehend Richard helping him remove the final layer of his Robin suit until it was too late. 

Which led to now. Damian sitting frozen on the exam table, one hand slapped back over his shoulder, palm pressed to his shoulder blade. Richard behind him still clutching the suit in his hands, face most likely frozen in shock. 

Because Damian's hand couldn't fully cover the symbol seared into his flesh.

"When…" Richard's question faded away. As if he suddenly answered his own question. It wasn't a very difficult one to figure out.

"Grandfather." Damian went to pull his hand away, there was no point anymore, but his muscles were locked in place. The same way his mouth kept moving against his will. "It's the League's symbol for a coward. A mark of weakness. And shame."

"Why?" It was whispered, as if Richard wasn't sure he wanted to know.

And because it was Richard, Damian swallowed hard and admitted the truth. "I...I refused to kill someone. Early in my training. They were innocent, I saw no purpose in their death. Grandfather offered me a second chance to take their life and be spared but..." The burn told the rest of the story for him.

A ragged breath echoed in the too still cave. Both of them bracing themselves for the next inevitable question. 

"How early?"

"I was six." 

Richard let out a wounded noise, fingertips hesitantly touching Damian's hand. "My god. Ra's, he...at six? You were barely a child!"

Damian knew his brother wasn't doubting him but simply struggling to comprehend. To imagine the red hot brand burning away his skin with a sickening smell. To picture how Damian must've writhed and howled which only brought more reprimands after. The agonizing healing process and subsequent shame. 

An unsteady breath signaled tears and again Damian wished he could move. He wanted to offer a measure of comfort to the brother who taught him unconditional love. 

But the hot tears were dripping into his lap, not Richard's.

"Oh, Dames." As Damian's arm finally fell limp in his lap, Richard circled the table. "I've got you." Strong arms reeled him in. "You're safe." Richard whispered. A shudder ran through Damian as he leaned into the embrace. 

"You weren't supposed to know." He said miserably, face smashed against black and blue.

"Why not?"

"Because it's shameful." Damian sniffed, annoyed at himself. "It's meant to ridicule me and my lack of commitment."

Richard pulled back and Damian almost lunged forward after him, missing the comfort. Hands seized his shoulders firmly. Sky blue eyes drilled into him until Damian's gaze dropped. "Listen carefully." Richard spoke in a commanding voice, "That mark is not shameful. Ra's may have intended it that way but that's not what it is. It's a mark of bravery." Damian straightened slightly. 

"At six years old you stood up to the Demon's Head and said no. You spared a life. Those aren't the actions of a coward. That took immense courage." Richard's hands cradled Damian's face, tipping his chin up to look him in the eye again. His voice quivered ever so slightly. "And I'm proud of you."

This time Damian did lunge forward, clamping his arms around Richard so tightly it probably hurt. But his brother didn't protest. He stepped closer, returning the hug, carefully avoiding the fresh cuts on Damian's back. 

"Nothing has to change.” Dick said, “I won't say a word to anyone and you can continue keeping it covered. But Dami...if you decide not to hide it, I promise you everyone will see it the same way I do."

"Will you...help me tell them?"

"Of course."

"Thank you." Damian whispered in a tight voice. Richard buried his face in Damian's hair, still holding him secure.

It would be uncomfortable. Especially seeing Father upset. But Richard was right. Damian wouldn't allow Ra's to loom over him any longer. 

Not when the brand symbolized the very thing that made him Robin.

Chapter Text

His cheek scraped against chilly wet concrete. Something jangled in the distance, metal on metal. Where was he? Mind fuzzy, Jason forced his eyes open. It took several blinks before the dilapidated room came into view. 

It looked like an abandoned factory. Leftover conveyor belts criss-crossed under rusted machines. Wires dangled from the ceiling alongside half-collapsed catwalks. What the fuck? Why was he here? Jason went to push himself up.

Rope bit into his wrists, tied behind his back.

Alarms went off in his mind. Adrenaline and a hint of fear cleared the haziness from him. Something rubbed against his face as he began shifting. A gag. Shit. First things first, get his hands in front of him. No, wait. Should he look for a captor first? Okay, maybe all the haziness wasn’t gone. Screw it, hands first. Get this foul gag off his mouth next.

But when he moved his legs, cold concrete rubbed against his bare feet. Jason whipped his head down as if touch alone wasn’t convincing. But it wasn’t a trick. Bare feet, tied at the ankle. Utility belt gone. His body felt heavy and drugged. 

What the hell was going on? What happened to him? Jason began to move with a bit more urgency. Footsteps made him freeze. Jangling grew louder with each step. 

“Oh goody, we can finally get started!”

Something shriveled and died inside of him. That voice. It grated against him, made it terrifyingly clear what was going on. Yanked his mind right back to fifteen. 

Wingtip shoes came to a stop inches from his face. Then a pasty white face popped into view with a sick grin. “Isn't this exciting?” Joker giggled. “It’s like seeing your favorite book be turned into a movie! What parts will they keep? What will they add? Will it be terrible?” A length of thick chain crashed to the ground, the other end held tight in Joker’s hand. “Well the answer to the last one is easy. It’ll be terrible for you!” 

Jason clenched his teeth, nostrils flaring. Too many times he thought about what he would do if this happened again. How he’d fight back. That he wouldn’t let a sound slip from his lips. But now that it was...the plans, the comebacks, the grit, all of it went right out the door. 

Chains came crashing down across his arms and back. Jason swallowed a shout when they hit his spine and ribs, spikes of pain shooting through him. He could do this. 

Metal links bit into his legs again and again. Rough concrete pressed into his heels as he writhed in agony. But he could handle this. Jason breathed harshly through his nose, biting down on the gag. Torture was torture. Physical endurance. Nothing more.

“Seems like these aren’t a hit with the audience!” Joker cracked the chains across Jason’s torso one more time before tossing them aside. “Guess they prefer the original!”

No. Anything but that.

Cackling, Joker hefted a crowbar into his hands. Crazed eyes met Jason’s, laughter intensifying when he saw the panic Jason couldn’t hide any longer. Joker’s voice dropped low, almost predatory. “I’ve been working on my swing.”

Metal slammed into his thigh and Jason let out a broken howl behind the gag. He couldn’t help it. He wasn’t Red Hood anymore. He was Robin. He was fifteen. He made a mistake going too far ahead of Batman and let himself get snatched away. He was going to die. 

Alone. 

Again.

Joker planted a foot on his shoulder and rolled him onto his back. Dirty water trickled across Jason's face as he glared up at Joker. “Whoospie, forgot the gag! There, now you can scream your heart out!” 

The next was on his stomach, forcing a grunt from Jason before it struck his shoulder. Another scream was barely out of his lips when the crowbar sliced across his arm. White hot pain flared through his hip and Jason barely choked back his cry. 

Rope chaffed his ankles as he strained against his bonds. How was this happening again? Mercy would be Joker knocking him out so he wouldn’t have to endure anymore of this. But instinct made him shield his head anyway. 

“Naughty naughty! Trying to ruin my fun!” Joker growled, raising his arm high. 

“JOKER!” 

Batman’s booming voice exploded through the warehouse. Joker froze. “Batsy? Is that you, dear?” The lights shut off. Jason closed his eyes. Don’t hope. This could all be a cruel elaborate hoax. Joker was vile enough to do that. Something clanged in the distance but the rushing of blood and his own breathing overpowered it. Don’t hope. 

But what if...what if…

Jason was too light headed to think. Good. Maybe he would pass out and finally be free of this twisted game. Distantly he felt the painfully tight ropes release his ankles. Then his wrists. All part of the game. Don’t hope. He braced himself for another hit.

Something touched his face. 

Fuck it. Jason lashed out wildly with numb hands and feet. His elbow connected with something soft but before he could strike it again, his wrists were seized.

“–look. Jase, look at me. Open your eyes!” Words finally broke through his haze and Jason warily obeyed. Illuminated by the bright white light of a flashlight was Tim, kneeling in front of him. “Hey." Tim smiled. "It’s me. I’m here man, you’re–” 

But he could barely hear what Tim was saying. Jason slumped to the wet floor with a gasp. He barely felt it. His mind was swinging between today and seven years ago. He couldn’t feel any of the pain throbbing through him. Or could he? Was that an old injury or new? Memories were overlapping. 

Buzzing filled his head as Jason began hyperventilating, chest stuttering. This wasn’t real. Tim wasn’t here. Jason was dying and this was just his mind’s attempt to comfort him. Don’t hope. Hope hurts. More than a timer reaching zero.

“Jase...you hear...along with me?” Broken bits of sentences sliced through the chaos and Jason seized them anyway. Tumbled through the tangled thoughts after them. Because if he was dying, maybe this wasn’t a bad way to go. Sensations broke through next; being lifted, a hand dragging slow and purposeful up and down his back. 

The voice was counting now and Jason found himself joining in by instinct, automatically trying to match his frantic breathing to the hand’s movements. Slowly, his breathing began to even out and the buzzing faded away. 

“Jason?” The voice, Tim, asked. “Are you back with me?” Jason gave a stiff nod, feeling fingers buried in his hair, gently rubbing his scalp. Concrete wasn’t digging into his cheek anymore. Reluctantly, Jason opened his eyes. His head was resting in Tim’s lap.

“Can you tell me five things you see?”

“‘m okay.” Jason croaked. Well, that was a lie but he didn’t have the mental strength to be more specific.

Tim hummed, hand still keeping time for his breathing. Fingers pressed gently into Jason's knotted muscles as Tim ran them up and down his spine with each inhale and exhale. “What do you need?” Tim asked softly. "What can I do?"

Jason closed his eyes, exhaling through his mouth. “I can’t...go to the manor. Not now. Bruce and Dick...if they see me like this…please–” 

They'd be beside themselves, all their meaningful hovering and questions sending Jason deeper in his spiral. Dealing with their emotions on top of his was too much for tonight. Even thinking about it was making Jason tremble again.

“It’s just us then.” Tim reassured him. “I’ll take you back to the Nest and get you cleaned up, okay?”

---

Compared to last time, the damage was minimal. Tim kept up a steady stream of reassurances as he methodically cleaned and bandaged all of Jason’s wounds. Jason tried to help but he was practically useless beyond wiping his face and hair off with a wet rag. When Tim plucked the needle from his shaking fingers, Jason didn't protest. 

Bruises mottled his body, clear chain link patterns in some spots. Several gashes from the crowbar needed quick stitches. They suspected some fractures in his left femur and hip that would need the cave x-ray tomorrow. If it weren’t for his armor, they'd probably be broken.

Jason was just grateful he was alive.

An hour later he was tucked into a classically oversized Wayne bed with ice packs on his hip and shoulder. Empty pizza boxes sat between him and Tim. Classic Star Trek episodes neither of them were truly watching lit the room in pale colors. 

“What happened to Joker?” Jason finally asked.

Tim studied the crust in his hand. “He’s in Arkham.”

 “How?” Jason balked. “You haven’t left my side.”

“I wasn’t the only one there.”

“What?”

Tim shifted on the bed to face him. “Joker left clues. He wanted the entire family in on his game this time.”

The fact that everyone saw him whimpering pathetically was one Jason barreled right past. Not tonight. “So that wasn’t just a recording you played of B to scare him shitless?”

“No.” Tim chuckled. “I flushed him out and the rest of the family handled him. But I told them to stay back and give us space until I knew what shape you were in. I wasn’t sure if having Bruce and Dick would help or hinder. You were in and out so I’m not surprised you don’t remember me telling them to clear the area before we left.”

And they’d actually obeyed. A minor miracle because Bruce must’ve been chomping at the bit to rush to Jason’s side. Dick must be half mad with worry right now. And Alfred…

As much as Jason didn’t want to deal with their emotions tonight, he couldn’t help but be concerned. They loved him and he loved them, even if he barely said it. The last thing he wanted was any of them pacing the manor ripping out their hair while he was throwing back pepperoni. 

"Did you tell them I'm okay?"

Tim nodded, nibbling on the bread. "Said there were no major wounds and I'm staying with you overnight. Didn't want to over share, I know you like privacy. Didn’t say we’d be back tomorrow either, in case you needed more time."

Jason meant to ask more questions. Like how did Bruce and Dick react to him rejecting the manor? What were the clues? What made Tim think ahead and keep the family away? But Jason was tired. Too tired. And Tim's thoughtfulness was unexpected and overwhelming.

“I thought I was going to die alone again. And I just laid there.” Jason whispered. “I couldn’t even bear to let myself hope when I saw you.” Tears slipped down his face. “I gave up, Tim." A small sob escaped. "I just gave up.” 

“No, you didn’t.” Tim scooted closer, shoving the pizza boxes aside. Jason tipped over and let his head fall on Tim’s knee again, not caring that it made his ice pack fall off and his shoulder twinge. It was far more vulnerable than Jason liked but considering he had a panic attack in the kid's lap only hours ago, this was an improvement. 

“It overwhelmed you and that’s so fucking understandable, Jase. But the moment I cut you free, you were fighting. Nailed me right in the gut with your pointy ass elbows, I almost threw up on you.” 

A wet laugh burst from Jason and Tim joined in, resting a hand on his head again, running fingers through his hair. “Don’t be hard on yourself." He sighed. "Especially not tonight. Please.” 

Jason nodded, sniffing and clearing his throat. God, Tim was a fucking saint. Jason was going to get him the best Christmas gift ever , legal or not. “I’m glad I didn’t kill you.” He joked weakly and Tim snorted. 

“You never came close to killing me, even when you tried. By the way," Tim's tone was lighter now, steering the conversation back into a less emotional zone as Jason wiped his tears. "I saved the receipt so you can pay half later. Pity pizza is not cheap.”

“You literally have a trust fund!”

"So do you, so cough up freeloader!" They dissolved into laughter. It felt good, even if it was an exhausted, semi-hysterical, everything-is-suddenly-funny, kind of laughter. It felt like a release, a turning point. Grounding and familiar, like the rest of the night was turning out to be. 

Tim plopped the ice pack back on Jason’s shoulder, spouting off his usual random trivia about whatever episode was playing now. Jason called him a nerd even though he did the same with books he loved. They bickered over the remaining brownie bites as Tim updated him on the latest Titans gossip. 

Neither of them moved from their spots on the bed that entire time. It was safe and comforting. No conversation was needed for Tim to know how much Jason needed that tonight. He merely tugged the comforter over them both, checking that Jason was still comfortable using his thigh as a pillow and didn’t need a real one. When the TV finally turned off, the room didn't go dark. Instead, Tim hit a button and a faint, warm glow lit the edges of the recessed ceiling. Enough that Jason wouldn't have flashbacks of a coffin and Tim could sleep.

Fucking. Saint.

City lights peeked through the blinds. Distant traffic sounds were Gotham's own brand of white noise, comforting in the oddest way. Jason traced the dim outlines of the room for what felt like hours, fluctuating between too wired to sleep and mind-numbingly exhausted. 

"Tim?"

"Yeah?" He sounded groggy, the lucky bastard, shifting against the pillows he'd stacked behind himself. 

“Thank you.” Jason whispered into the peaceful room, finding Tim's hand on his shoulder and squeezing it. “For finding me. And staying.”

“Of course, Jay." Tim seized Jason’s hand tight, not letting go. "What else are brothers for?”

Chapter Text

Jason buried his face in the pillow, bit down on it, and screamed. It did nothing. Pain continued pulsing through his hips, radiating down his leg and into his back. He was beyond frustrated. Fed up. Wanted to cry and rage as if any of that would fix him.

He tried telling himself at least it was just this. Only his hip and not nerve pain slithering through him, making even soft touches painful. Or his shoulder being too stiff and sore to even raise his gun. Or all of it at once.

It was a shitty pep talk.

Annoyed, Jason climbed out of bed. No point in wallowing. No sleep came last night. Tonight would be no different. The kitchen light was on, probably someone getting a perfectly normal 3am snack. Jason limped the opposite direction towards the cave. Pain was normal in his life. Had been since he was a kid running around the Narrows. But this...it was debilitating some days. 

His siblings had their fair share of chronic problems too. Dick’s knee started acting up again a few days ago, never the same after that bullet. Tim just finished another round of preventative antibiotics from Leslie. Damian was having another rough week of nightmares he'd finally begun talking about. But Jason never told anyone about his. Snuck off on his own to wait out the episodes in miserable isolation. 

Tonight the cave was empty. A minor miracle considering all the workaholics in the family. "If I were a steroid shot, where would I be?” Jason sang, opening the large medicine cabinet and picking through meticulously arranged glass vials. “Bingo!” Sterile syringes and alcohol wipes were in another drawer and he dumped some on a rolling tray by the exam table.

Jason sat on the cold metal and pushed his boxers further up his right thigh. He felt impatient, desperate for any chance at relief and rest. But too many nights with barely any sleep made his hands shake. “Fuck.” Jason muttered before ripping the alcohol wipe open with his teeth.

“Jason?”

His head snapped up. Bruce was standing by the fabric privacy screen with a frown, steaming mug of tea in his hand. Just his luck. “Hey old man,” He forced a stiff grin onto his face, cleaning his thigh with the alcohol wipe. “Didn’t know anyone else was up.”

“Couldn’t sleep.” Bruce walked over, picking up the glass vial beside the syringe to read the label. One eyebrow shot up. “Steroids?”

“Yup.” Jason dragged the word out, popping off the cap of the syringe using his teeth. He snatched the vial from Bruce’s fingers and, going slower than he liked, stabbed at the rubber top of the vial. 

And missed. “Fuck.” He hissed. He missed again, hands too unsteady to maneuver the thin needle. Of course the tremors would start now. Because this was his life. One giant cosmic joke. 

Sighing angrily, Jason set the vial back on the tray, kneading his forehead. “Why are you still here?” He snapped, glaring up at Bruce. Picking a fight sounded heavenly right now. A good old shouting match to vent all the feelings inside of him. “You staring at me cause there’s nothing to watch on TV?” 

Bruce didn’t take the bait. Instead he set his mug down and picked up the vial. “May I?”

No, Jason wanted to spit back. He could handle this alone, he’d always handled this alone. Even as a child, left to fend for himself. But it felt like fire was crawling through his pelvis so he reluctantly held out the syringe. Relief first, then pick a fight.

Bruce pulled a dose with practice ease and tapped out the air bubbles. “Where do you want it?” 

Jason pointed to a spot in a patch of pale knotted skin trailing up to the hip joint. “Already disinfected. Aren’t you glad I chose my thigh and not my ass?”

“Hnn. You know there’s a slim chance of the muscle dimpling, right?”

“Like one more scar is going to fucking matter.” 

The needle stung, more than Jason expected considering how much other pain he was in. A small grunt escaped him, Bruce glancing up briefly. Then it was over. “Hold this in place.” Bruce pressed a piece of gauze to the injection site. 

“Thanks.” Jason said begrudgingly.

“Of course.” The syringe rattled into the sharps container. “If you don’t mind me asking, why a steroid shot?”

Jason sighed, watching Bruce cleaning up his mess. Most likely Bruce already guessed why but wanted to confirm his theory. “It helps with inflammation and lasts a few months. My hip and back have been killing me.”

“Were you injured?” Bruce frowned, closing the medicine cabinet. 

“Yeah," Jason snorted, "About six and a half years ago.”

Bruce’s face fell and Jason immediately regretted his choice of words. “It...still hurts?” Jesus, the old man sounded crushed. Not at all the reaction he expected.

“Not all the time.” Bruce’s heavy gaze made him shift uncomfortably so Jason smoothed a bandaid on, focusing on it’s cartoon design instead. Steph must’ve restocked the box as a joke. “Flares up now and then. Been especially bad this time. I haven’t been sleeping. Thought this might take the edge off for a while.”

“The shot will take a bit to start working. Do you want some vicodin? Percocet?”

“Whoa, Brucie is breaking out the big guns! Am I that pitiful?” Laughing, Jason leaned back on his hands, legs gently swinging as if he were a restless kid. “Nah, I took celecoxib a couple hours ago, can’t take anything else.” 

Bruce nodded thoughtfully before sitting on the exam table beside him. If he wasn’t limping, Jason would’ve bolted. But running would just result in more pain and face planting. So staying put it was. 

“Is it...just your hip and back?” Bruce said, not meeting his eyes.

“Nope but they act up the most often. Guess the pit couldn’t fix everything. Kept all my Robin scars and some of the worst Joker scars, like this one.” He patted his thigh. “Gives me character, like a piece of antique furniture.”

A muscle worked in Bruce’s jaw as he stared into the distance, ignoring the joke. Shame. It was a pretty good joke. Jason went back to tracing the bandaid. Part of him wondered what Bruce was thinking. Then again...maybe he didn't want to know. 

“What do you normally do when you have an episode?”

“Safehouse.” Jason mumbled. “Take some pain meds, get a heating pad and ice packs, and hope they help make the next few days less terrible.” Why did he suddenly feel like a little kid being scolded? Bruce hadn’t even flinched, a blank mask hiding whatever he thought of Jason hiding away to lick his wounds.

At last Bruce cleared his throat, turning to Jason. “I’m sorry. I know how frustrating chronic pain can be.” Jason didn’t control his skeptical face fast enough because B smiled ruefully. “I know, I never talk about it–” 

“Cause God forbid any of us find out you’re only a mere mortal .” He rolled his eyes.

To his surprise, Bruce huffed a laugh. “You don’t have your back broken by Bane and walk away without any issues. If you want...I could show you some exercises and techniques that might help. And medicines. They’re not a cure but...they’ve given me some relief. Maybe they’ll help you manage the pain too.”

Jason glanced over at his dad, at the tender look in his gray blue eyes and unsure smile. Eager to help in anyway Jason would accept. It almost undid him. 

Lips pressed tight, Jason nodded. No words because he didn't trust every emotion he’d been stomping down the past week to not come flooding up.

“Good.” Bruce squeezed his shoulder lightly. And since it was almost 4am and Bruce was probably exhausted and caught off guard by the whole situation, he did a very un-Bruce-like thing. He kept talking. 

“I really am sorry you’re going through this, Jay. I wish I could take it all away, take it on myself so none of you have to suffer–”

Jason couldn’t stand it. His hand snapped up, seizing Bruce’s on his shoulder. “Stop.” His plea was a hoarse whisper but Bruce heard it nonetheless. Mercifully he did. Because if one more word had left his mouth, Jason would’ve broken down. 

All his restraint had been spent on not going feral with pain. There was nothing left to stop him from dissolving into a puddle of misery on the cave floor. And Jason really didn’t want to spend the rest of his night like that.

Still an angry, dry sob forced its way up Jason’s throat, followed by another. Anger at Joker. The pain. The despair. That he didn't go to his dad sooner. Drawing a shuddering breath he slumped against Bruce’s side, laying his head on Bruce’s shoulder. 

“I’ve got you, Jaylad,” Still holding his hand, Bruce pressed his cheek to Jason’s hair. “It’s alright, you can be upset. I’ve got you.” 

“I’m so fucking tired,” Jason sighed, “but it hurts to walk back up.” 

“I could carry you.”

Jason let out a weary laugh, “That’ll be a cold day in hell. I just need a few more minutes, then I can hobble back up.”

“Take all the time you need.” Bruce rubbed the back of Jason’s hand with his thumb. “I don’t mind. And Jay...next time you have an episode like this, let me know. Even if you decide to go to a safehouse, okay?"

"Why? Don't trust the Crime Alley kid around the drugs?" Cheap shot but it was reflexive at times like this. Too vulnerable and weak to be comfortable.

"No." Bruce’s voice was calm, still rubbing his hand. "Because I'm your father. And I…I worry about you. I want to make sure you're alright.”

The prickliness faded with the sincere words. Jason grunted an affirmative, letting his eyes close at last as Bruce slipped an arm around him. Even if the pain persisted and the shot did nothing...he finally felt long awaited relief among the frustration now. Because at least he wasn’t dealing with it on his own anymore.

Chapter Text

“Left now. Then right.” Oracle instructed. Nightwing refired his grapple, swinging around the corner and into an alley. There. A man with a long ponytail, hands raised, fear twisting his face. But it was too late. Shining metal impaled the man’s chest. A wet crunch filled Dick’s ears as the man slumped to the ground.

“No!” Dick whipped an escrima into the shadows in front of the man. At the gleaming white mask. 

Heartless dodged the ricocheting baton, bloody prize in hand. “Have fun narrating this .” He sneered. The escrima rebounded into Dick’s raised hand with a smack. Before he could throw it again there was a tiny gasp at his feet.

“It’s okay, I’m here to help.” Enemy forgotten, Dick dropped to his knees. The man twitched, mouth open. A gaping wound marred the center of his chest, blood spilling from it. His heart…

“Oh my god.” Babs whispered. The mask camera. He’d forgotten.

“Don’t move!” Nightwing instructed, “I’m applying pressure.” He fished emergency compression bandages out, tearing them open with his teeth.

“Nightwing–”   

The bandages weren’t enough. Dick grabbed the man’s beanie, adding it to the soaked pile. “Hang on!” Habit made him say the words, made him press the man’s beanie to the hole but why? His heart...there was no hope. 

“I’m here. You’re not alone.’ His voice was shaking. He cleared his throat. “You’re not alone. Please, just hang on–”

“Dick.” Babs’ voice was far too soft. “He’s gone.”

Dull eyes stared at the overcast sky. The last thing this man saw. There wasn’t even a star in sight. A roar filled Dick’s head, his breathing becoming dangerously close to hyperventilating. 

No. Not again. Not another.

“Dick?” Babs spoke softly. “What did you say?”

Reality started floating away from him but Dick seized it, grounded himself in it despite how painful it was. “I should’ve–should’ve saved him.”

“There was literally nothing you could’ve done.”

Wrong. He could’ve been faster. Smarter. Better. 

With unnaturally steady hands, Dick reached to close the man’s eyes. One last kind gesture. He stopped. Bloody fingers. He would only make a mess. Swallowing hard, Dick sat back on his heels. “I’m sorry.” He whispered. An acrid taste crept up his throat and he swallowed harder. "I'm sorry."

The roar was morphing now, reforming into hissing words that burrowed their way into him.

Failure.

Useless.

Worthless.

Weak.

 A shuddering breath exploded from his chest. Dick staggered to his feet, fumbling for his escrima. No point in hanging around. Nothing else he could do in this state. “Call it in, Oracle.”

“I already did.” She paused. “Are you alright?”

“Fine.” He answered a little too quickly. There was the trigger at last, grappling line shooting into the night.

“Do you want me to come over?”

“No. Stay in Gotham.”

“Maybe Tim? I’m sure he–”

“I said, I’m fine. Nightwing out." Dick dug the comm out of his ear, cutting off whatever Babs was saying. He didn’t want anyone around. They’d say nice things, encouragements, tell him it wasn’t his fault. 

But it was. Blüdhaven was his city. His responsibility. And it wasn’t just one death but multiple. Heartless was tormenting his city. Killing unchecked while Dick appeared just in time to see them take their last breaths. Some protector he was. Lying to a dying man. God, Dick didn’t even know his name.  

A breath hitched in Dick’s chest as he wrenched the window open. Hold it together, Grayson. Just a few more seconds. He peeled his mask off and launched it in the direction of the sofa before he even finished climbing into the apartment. No well-meaning spying, please and thank you.  

A sharp bark echoed off the sparsely decorated walls as Haley came bounding over as fast as her little puppy legs could carry her. Automatically, Dick stooped to pick her up. But he froze when he saw his blood coated hands again. 

Pathetic.

Mistake.

Disgrace.

Haley yapped again, spinning in circles around his feet. “Yeah, one second girl.” Dick swallowed hard, yanking the gloves off. “Gimme a sec.” Wash them. No, not right now, not in this headspace. Put them aside, fix it later.  

He dropped them in an empty cardboard box he'd been meaning to recycle, escrima sticks following a moment later. Haley was sprinting impatiently across the room, tail wagging so hard she might sprain it. Zoomies, Tim called it before laughing at Dick for not knowing the term.

Eyes burning, Dick shed the rest of his costume until he was just in his boxer briefs and at last scooped the puppy into his arms. She writhed happily in his arms, twisting to lick his face, no matter how much he ducked and turned his head. Her tail thumped against his ribs as he climbed the stairs to his bed. Haley was happy to see him. No, overjoyed to see him.

For some reason, that was the last straw. That anyone would be excited to see him, a monumental failure who sat helpless while people died . Tears came bursting out like floodwaters. Dick collapsed sobbing onto the bed, Haley cradled against his chest. She wiggled free a moment later, sniffing out the perfect sleeping spot like she did every night. 

Rolling over, Dick buried his face in the blanket. Closing his eyes brought up images of a gaping wound, blank eyes, a taunting white mask. His hands twitched with the feeling of too many hearts stopping, too many pulses ceasing. Strangers, friends, family. He cried harder.

No relief came from tears this time. Only an aching hollow in his own chest followed by a numbness spreading through his limbs. He felt heavy, unable to lift his head from where it was mashed into the mattress, fabric soaked with tears. 

Pathetic. Nightwing was failing Blüdhaven again. No surprise there. This wasn't the first time he'd let someone die. It wouldn't be the last.

A soft whine cut through his self pity, a wet lick on his ear making him twitch. Dick flopped back over and Haley licked his face with another whine. “I’m…” Dick caught himself before the lie rolled off his tongue with frightening ease. 

“I’m not okay.” He whispered, fresh hot tears rolling down his cheek. “I’m not okay, Haley. Sorry there’s no playing tonight. Maybe I’ll be better tomorrow but right now–” His voice cracked and he gave up on speaking. Right now all his energy had been spent on getting home and into bed. Couldn't even manage a shower or pajamas.

As if she knew how bad off he was, Haley didn’t settle down in her usual spot, half sprawled on the other pillow or nesting by his feet. Instead she tucked herself right into Dick’s armpit, head resting on his heart. She blinked slowly several times, letting out a long content sigh. A wet laugh escaped Dick as he stroked the soft white fur between her eyes. “At least one of us is doing alright. Goodnight Bitewing.”

Night brought dreams. And morning brought memories. As soon as he woke up, Dick was assaulted with the storm of emotions he’d passed out in last night. Despair, loathing, grief. A dehydration headache was lingering at the base of his skull. His throat was dry and scratchy from mouth breathing all night because his nose was hopelessly stuffy. 

Dick sighed, making no move to take care of any of that. It was too early for this. He couldn't handle it. Wasn’t strong enough to even face the day while it all beat down on him. His body felt like it was glued to the bed. Not that there was a reason to try and drag himself from it. 

A musical jingling filled the room as Haley stretched and vigorously shook herself out. Then she came clambering across his chest, licking any part of his face she could reach. 

“Bad alarm clock.” Dick mumbled, throwing an arm over his face. He heard the soft click of nails as she jumped off the bed. Then a soft thud. Another thud. And another. Dick cracked open one eye to see her jumping as high as she could to see onto the bed, tail wagging. “Sure you’re not part kangaroo?” More jumps and panting. 

She knew he was awake now. Haley wanted to go out. Wanted him to walk and feed her. Wanted to play with him.

Haley wanted his company. 

It was a spot of light in the darkness of his mind. Tears pricked Dick's eyes but he blinked them away. More crying meant a worse headache. Stiffly, he climbed out of bed, fishing for something reasonably unwrinkled on the bedroom floor. 

Nightwing had fallen plenty of times. And Nightwing got back up each time and would continue to. Blüdhaven needed him, no matter what he or they thought. 

But if all Dick could manage right now was being here for Haley...that was enough. Dick Grayson needed to find his grip on the bar before Nightwing could soar. 

After calming Haley down enough to actually fasten her harness, Dick shoved on a pair of sunglasses and let Haley lead him down the street. As they walked, Haley excitedly sniffing, he fished out his phone. The screen was full of missed messages.

Babs: Sorry for pushing but I’m concerned about you

Babs: I’ll give you space. Text me and let me know you’re alright tomorrow, please?

Bruce: I heard what happened. I’m sorry. I’m here if you need me.

Tim: Can I stay over this weekend? I need to get out of the manor.

Jason: Drinks? I owe you a round.

Dick laughed at the begrudging offer, knowing full well Jason owed him several rounds by now. Before responding to his family's efforts to reach out, there was someone he needed to talk to first. He dialled a number by memory. It rang twice before being picked up.

“Hey Alfie, it’s me.” Dick couldn’t help but smile. “Not great actually. I was hoping we could talk.”

Chapter Text

Static burst across the sprawling Batcomputer screen. Bruce gripped the back of the chair, fingers digging in as the livestream started. A poorly lit kitchen came into view, camera swinging wildly. “Hold it steady!” A nasal voice snapped. Bruce recognized the voice easily. Penguin. Was this filmed in the Iceberg Lounge? No. Too obvious. Penguin was taunting him. Wanted him to run wild across the city searching for– 

At last a chair came into view. A figure was tied to it, a ridiculous amount of rope around their chest, arms pulled back. Their head was drooping over their chest. “Turn the light on you idiot!” A floodlight clicked on and Robin came into view.

Searching for him.  

Bruce was sure his fingers would break right through the leather as he stared at his son, limp in his restraints. It was too eerily similar to how Dick looked when he fell asleep reading in Bruce’s bed last night. One minute he was complaining about book reports, Charles Dickens, and annotating, the next he was fast asleep against Bruce, head lolling to the side.

He’d do anything to go back to that moment, to redo today and keep Dick at his side during patrol.

“Oh come on now birdie! Smile for the camera.” Penguin leered and poked at Dick with his cane. Slowly Dick lifted his head. A growl started low in Bruce’s throat. Dried blood trailed down from his nose, mingling with the fresh blood dripping from his swollen lip and cheek. A rip in his pants revealed a sluggishly bleeding gash in his thigh. 

Bruce’s heart clenched. He thought Dick could handle solo patrol. Too soon. He let him go too soon. Should’ve trained Dick longer. No, this was his fault. Batman should’ve been there with him, watching his back. Robin should've been able to rely on his partner. Instead Dick was being beaten by a crime boss who squawked and wore a pinstripe suit. 

“Dammit!” Bruce roared, shoving the chair so hard it crashed to the ground. He'd failed. Miserably. And his son was paying the price. His son– 

“Master Bruce!” Alfred snapped. “Control yourself!” Bruce clenched his fists, digging knuckles into his forehead. “Master Dick needs you focused! Not feeling sorry for yourself!”

“Anything to say to dear old Bats?” Both of them turned to the screen again. Dick drew in a slow breath, speaking too soft to hear. “What?” Oswald pushed the cameraman, the picture swinging again. “Get closer to him!” 

A henchman shoved the lens right into Robin's bloody face. “Speak up Bird Brain!” Violence surged through Bruce. He ground his teeth, looking away.

“I...said,” Dick took another labored breath. Then he spit the next words out in a rush. “Forty, forty-five, thirty-eight.” Bruce’s head snapped up. “Seventy-three, fifty-nine, thirty-four.”

“Clever boy!” Alfred gasped as Bruce lunged for the keyboard. 

“What the hell? He’s just saying numbers, boss.” The camera moved back as Dick grinned cockily into the lens, obviously proud of himself. He was breathing easily now, sitting up straight and alert. Bruce almost smiled back. Clever boy indeed, sharing his coordinates. 

“Shut him up!” Penguin lunged forward and cracked Dick across the head with his cane. “You idiot! He told Batman where to find us!” The cane smacked into Dick’s head again but the boy just laughed. 

“See you soon, Batman!” Dick shouted as men hauled him out of the chair. Alfred turned away as Dick was dropped to the floor, boots kicking him again and again. 

An address popped up on the screen, a restaurant that no doubt had an industrial kitchen. On screen Robin was being hauled to his feet, a thick strand of bloody saliva hanging from his mouth. Dread sat heavy in Bruce’s stomach. Then Dick spit it onto a henchman’s foot who leapt back with a yowl.

“He’s enjoying himself far too much.” Alfred said, wringing his hands.

“He’s playing with them.” Bruce snatched up equipment. “Getting them too aggravated to keep him around.” Hopefully it wasn’t a strategy that ended up backfiring on him. It didn’t look like Robin could take another beating.

“Yes, see you soon Bats!” Penguin seethed into the camera. He swung it around to reveal a door heaved open to reveal frozen, hanging slabs of meat. Dick was tossed onto the icy floor, still bound. “Better hurry before Robin is nothing but a meat popsicle!” A bloody smile flashed at the camera before the door slammed shut.

“Oh God, Master Br–”

“On it.” Bruce pulled his cowl on, leaping into the Batmobile. “Four minutes max. I’ll get him, Alfred. Have medical ready.” 

“Do give them hell sir.” Alfred sniffed.

“Oh, I plan to.” Bruce slammed the door shut and shot out of the cave, tires squealing. Penguin had a world of pain waiting for him.

Chapter Text

“–and I know you and your sons have an active social life, Mr. Wayne, but I need to emphasize that Damian needs as much bed rest as possible. He has a long recovery ahead of him.”

“Understood. Thank you for all your help.” Bruce shook the doctor’s hand firmly, handed over the clipboard full of signed discharge papers, and stepped back into the hospital room. 

Damian was sitting on the edge of the hospital bed with a tiny scowl as Dick put slides on his feet. “Socks and sandals are tacky, Richard.”

“Would it be better if they were Gucci?” Dick teased.

“Tt. I’m not Drake.”

“I heard that!” Tim sang across the room. He and Jason were stuffing blankets, books, and other random items that accumulated over the last two weeks into a duffel bag. His too-long black hair was loose, falling over his face and helping to hide the signs of his black eye and split lip that makeup couldn’t.

“Please, anyone! We need backup!” Red Robin yelled into the comms. “It’s an ambush! Robin and I were forced apart! He needs help, I can’t–” His feed was cut off with a disturbing crack.

“You were meant to.”

“Cheer up, Dames.” Dick sighed, helping Damian maneuver into a jacket now. “You’re going home! Titus is going to be ecstatic.” For a moment, Damian’s face brightened and Bruce seized the opportunity to pull out the wheelchair he was required to leave in. 

His gloomy demeanor returned in a snap. “Cain better have taken good care of Titus and Alfred.” Damian grumbled as they wheeled him through the hospital.

Bruce pulled the car around to the pick-up zone, rolling his eyes good naturedly as Jason dramatically draped himself across the hood of the car while Tim cackled. Jokes were always quick to follow when Bruce got behind the wheel. 

Despite his protests, Dick scooped Damian into his arms and set him carefully in the passenger seat. As he leaned over to buckle Damian in, threats of bodily harm continuing, Dick gave Bruce an amused shake of his head.

Nightwing flung himself over Robin’s still, prone body. A human shield absorbing the blows raining down on them. A board cracked across his back but Nightwing didn’t budge. He stayed solid, huddled over Robin’s head.

Bruce returned the wry smile.

When they arrived at the manor, Bruce carried Damian out of the car, cradling his son tenderly against his chest. Was this...what it would’ve been like? If Damian had been with him earlier? Or from the beginning? Dick was eight when Bruce adopted him, he couldn’t imagine Damian being even smaller than that. Bruce clutched him closer.

Cass, Alfred, and Alfred the cat were waiting for them at the front door. “He’s missed you.” Cass said, holding the purring cat out so he could bump his head against Damian’s, meowing as he rubbed against his cheek.

Damian looked up at his father. “May I hold him?” 

“When you’re sitting. He needs to stay on your lap.”

“I’ve made an autumnal squash soup if you’re hungry, Master Damian.” Alfred walked alongside them to Damian’s room. When Damian nodded, Alfred turned to Jason, who was trailing along behind them. The other kids had disappeared but Bruce expected it wouldn’t be for long. “Come with me Master Jason, I have food for the rest of you too.” 

Titus was sitting at the foot of Damian’s bed, tail thumping excitedly on the rug. As soon as Bruce set Damian down on the bed, Titus was shoving his head onto Damian’s lap with a soft whine. “Gentle.” Bruce said, reminding his son and Titus.

“Yes, yes. We’ll be fine, Father.” Damian said flippantly, too absorbed in scratching Titus’s ears. Alfred leapt onto the bed, rubbing against Damian’s side with happy little chirps. It was a sight to see. Animals brought out a tenderness in Damian. They softened him in a way no one had expected. Bruce could watch this forever. The childhood Damian should’ve had, surrounded by love that didn’t need to be fought for.

“Soup for the baby. Paninis for the adults.” Jason swept into the room with a full tray, setting it on the dresser. Bruce took the opportunity to turn away, wiping at his eyes. “Here you go, kiddo.” Jason put a bowl with handles on the nightstand beside Damian.

“Did Pennyworth not give you anything to eat?” 

Jason grinned wide at the jab. “Cute. Just wait until you’re on the mats again, I’ll make you regret that.” Then, so quick Bruce almost missed it, Jason pressed a kiss to Damian’s messy hair and darted from the room.

“Come on, baby bat!” Red Hood tilted Robin’s chin up again, pinching his nose shut. He blew a measured breath into Robin’s mouth, then another. Robin shook from the impact of Nightwing doing chest compressions. Red Robin was shouting into his comm, rushing to pack bleeding wounds. “Come on!” Red Hood begged. “Fucking breathe!”

“Is everything alright, Damian?” Bruce sat on the edge of the bed. “You seemed aggravated earlier.” No reply. Just distant green eyes watching Titus sniff at the tray of food. But Bruce waited patiently. Emotional awareness wasn’t the League’s specialty. Nor was it Bruce’s but at least he was trying to get better at it. 

“I crashed.” It was a statement. Damian continued petting Alfred as he spoke. “Several times.”

“Yes. Once with your brothers. Twice in the hospital.” But Damian knew that. Bruce gave him a full rundown after his initial surgery and the emergency surgery two days after. 

“So why am I here? Why not stay in the hospital? Damian twisted his hands in the quilt, breath speeding up. “If I started bleeding internally and crashed after the operation to fix me, wouldn’t it be better to be at the hospital?”  

“Your surgeons and doctors assured us–”

“I was stabbed in the abdomen five times, Father!” His chin was trembling now. Hints of panic bled into his voice now. Titus was back, half on the bed, nosing at Damian’s legs. “Even moving too fast could rip one of many stitches! What if–”

Bruce took an unsteady step forward, terror ripping through him. Cassandra pressed a steadying hand to his back. There were puddles of blood in the alley. More blood on Tim’s face and dripping from his hands. Dick’s ear was pressed to Damian’s chest, listening to the heartbeat he’d just restarted. Jason was kneeling with his head flung back, chest heaving in time with Damian’s. 

“I know this is scary,” Bruce gently untangled Damian’s hands and held them. “But that’s not going to happen. It’s been well over a week since your last surgery and everything is healing. And if anything were to happen,” He paused as Damian looked up at him with watery green eyes. “I’ll be here. And so will your siblings. We’ll take care of you. All you need to do is rest, sweetheart.”

“You think I’m being silly.”

“No. I think being scared is a very reasonable reaction. All of us were scared at one point these past few weeks.” Bruce kissed Damian’s head, smoothing his unruly hair. “But you don’t have to be anymore.” Laughter rang through the hallway. Everyone was on their way back. “I’m going to change. I’ll check on all of you later, okay?”

Damian’s grip on his hands tightened, a silent question.

It was rare that Damian asked for something. Especially if it was for his own comfort. How could Bruce deny him? "Actually, I think I’ll stay a little longer." Damian’s grip eased off. Bruce sat back beside him as the rest of his children came bursting in, arms filled with soft blankets and pillows.

“Dames, have you seen Indiana Jones?” Dick chucked two oversized, fluffy blankets on the bed before climbing on. He wedged himself between Bruce and Damian, wrapping both arms around his little brother and cradling him against his chest. 

To Bruce’s surprise, there was no protest from Damian. Instead he melted in Dick’s hug with a slow exhale. Alfred was still purring in his lap. Titus took it as an invitation to jump up and curl around Damian’s feet. Damian was still holding one of Bruce’s hands.

“He hasn’t and I don’t care if he doesn’t want to!” Jason turned the TV on, sticking a DVD in. He’d changed into sweatpants and a baggy shirt like the rest of his siblings.

“DVD?” Tim wrinkled his nose. He was sprawled on his stomach, pressed along Damian’s legs, biting into his panini. Titus's tongue darted out to catch his fallen crumbs. “Why not stream it?” 

“Does technology scare you, Jason?” Cass asked sweetly, stacking pillows against the headboard. 

“Hardy har! You’re just scared that I’m going to catch more continuity errors than you.”

Cass patted Jason’s arm patronizingly as he sat beside her. “It’s okay to lose sometimes.”

“Tt. You’ll both lose to me.”

“You’re supposed to be watching the movie, D! Not picking it apart the first time!” Dick scolded, leaning back against Bruce. Bruce wrapped his arm around Dick’s shoulders, still holding Damian’s hand. He chuckled to himself as his kids chattered, passing out food and pillows. All of them clustered around Damian. 

The way Bruce and Cassandra found them in the alley.

The way they’d been at Damian’s hospital bedside; reading and talking to him, simply sitting with him through the countless needles and pain despite their own exhaustion.

Tears sprang to Bruce’s eyes, much to his surprise. He blinked them back, softly clearing his throat. Suddenly he didn’t care that his clothes smelled of the hospital or that he hadn’t showered or slept in a bed for several days. 

He didn’t care that the whole thing was a bit chaotic and loud considering they were fresh from the hospital and this likely wasn't the rest the doctor had in mind. Or that he should really be discouraging such intense competitiveness over a movie.  

His family might be a bit bruised and battered but it was whole by some miracle. Damian was smiling and laughing for the first time in weeks. Surrounded by love.

Bruce wouldn’t have it any other way.

Chapter Text

Stephanie held her hand out to a woman huddled against a seat in the middle of the bus. "Can you come closer?" The woman shook her head frantically, eyes blown wide. Frozen with fear. Can't really blame her. "There's one person left!" Stephanie called over her shoulder. "I'm going after her."

“No!” Batman shot another anchor line into the undercarriage of the dangling bus. "It's not stable!" 

"Well, I can't leave her!"

"I said–" A twanging snap cut Bruce off. He grabbed Stephanie's head, pulling her down as cables snapped above them. The woman let out a shrill shriek as the bus plunged into the water. 

"No!" Stephanie threw Bruce's arms off, scrambling to the ledge. 

"It's not safe, stop!" Batman lunged for her but it was too late. Steph dove off the bridge. "Dammit Spoil–"

Cold water silenced the scolding. But she'd heard enough over the years to fill in the rest for Bruce. After a while, all it took was one frown or grunt to know exactly what he thought about her. She wasn't Tim. Or Jason. Or Dick. Sure as hell wasn't Damian, thank God. So maybe sometimes she was a little more driven to prove she was just as good. 

But this wasn't one of those times. A life was at stake, not just reputation. No Robin would've sat there and let an innocent person down.

And she was a Robin.

She swam through the mangled back door and pressed her rebreather into the woman's hands. The woman shoved it in her mouth without any miming from Steph at all. Perfect. A little coaxing and Stephanie was swimming them both to the back door. Frantic, the woman burst from the water. She clung tight to the metal frame, rebreather still clenched in her teeth.

“Hold this!” Steph fired her grapple gun at the bridge. She gave it a tug and almost lost her footing on the slippery seatback she was standing on. It reminded her of her old school bus, lumpy uncomfortable gray benches. Steady, Spoiler. “It’s going to take you up to Batman.” The woman nodded frantically, white-knuckling the gun. And then she was gone, shooting up through the night sky.

“My turn.” Steph muttered, reaching for her backup grapple. The bus was sinking quickly, water lapping at her shoulders now. Damn, this vinyl was slick. She raised the gun.

A yelp burst from her as she plunged back into the water. No, no, no! Waste of oxygen ! She tried to kick but her legs couldn’t move. Metal clamped around her thighs and waist. The seat! It wasn’t made for holding her weight, she'd punched right through it. 

Now she was trapped. Betrayed by vinyl. Springs caught in her suit and cape, like fingers trying to keep her in what was rapidly becoming her grave. Her lungs burned. Rebreather. Get the spare–  

Her fingers closed around nothing. Shit! Where is it? Did she even pack it? Stephanie shoved at the seat back again, trying to free herself from the tangle of metal and fabric. Her chest spasmed. It felt like daggers piercing her from the inside out. Stop moving or you’ll run out of air!   

Stephanie looked desperately at the dim lights rippling above her. Did Bruce know she was trapped? Air bubbles streamed up as the bus continued sinking. Was this it? Was she going to drown? Not a bad way to go. At least it was as Spoiler. Saving lives. A former Robin and Batgirl. Hey, Babs said she was proud of her! That counted for a lot.

It would’ve been nice to say goodbye to everyone. But they must know, right? Tim, Cass and Duke were her best friends. And the brothers she never expected. Dick was supposed to teach her how to use the trapeze this weekend. Her prank war with Jason and Damian was far from over. Missed opportunities but at least she’d taken all the ones life had given her.

Spots floated across her vision and she closed her eyes. Fire was blazing through her lungs, dizziness starting to set in. Maybe if she hadn’t screamed there’d be enough oxygen to try harder. Maybe she’d still have a chance. Maybe it was easier to just breathe in...

No. 

No.  

She wasn’t going out like this! A whole life of fighting only to get taken out by a bus seat? God, Cass would never let her live it down. Stephanie thrashed again. This wasn’t how her story was ending! Another weak push got her nowhere. Her body wanted oxygen, every instinct trying to force her mouth open. Keep fighting!

A black figure plunged into the water before her, white eyes glowing bright in the murkiness. Bruce yanked her mask down, holding up a rebreather. Stephanie chomped down on it desperately and sucked in a deep breath. The air tasted stale but it was air.  

Batman had his own rebreather and was sawing at the seat, ripping metal out of the way. Until at last he hooked his arms under Stephanie’s and hauled her to freedom. 

The second air hit her face, Stephanie ripped out the rebreather. She gulped in deep breaths as Bruce dragged them to shore, waves splashing in her face. Then they were both sprawled panting and gasping on the muddy bank. 

“I’m sorry.” She coughed, slowly rising onto her elbows. Wet, stringy hair stuck uncomfortably to her face. “I’m sorry, I thought I could handle it–”

“Did you swallow any water?” Bruce demanded, dropping to his knees beside her. Thick rivulets of water ran down his armor. “Are you hurt?”

“I don’t think so. Maybe when I put the rebreather in?” Steph sat up slowly beside him, pushing her wet hair back. “My legs hurt from hitting metal but they’re moving fine.”

“Hnn. Pay attention to your coughs.” Batman carefully investigated a tear along her calf. “Possible lacerations but mostly likely minor.”

“B, I…” The permanently scowling cowl snapped up to meet her eyes and she trailed off. Words were already ringing through her mind. What were you thinking? How dare you disobey me? What made you think that was a good idea? You’re not fit to be on these streets!

Steph grit her teeth, fingers digging into the dirt.

But none of that happened. “You’re staying at the manor tonight.” Bruce said instead. It was an order, gruff with no room for arguing. Yeah right. As if any of the Robins let that stop them.

“Um...why?”

“I want to make sure you didn’t aspirate any water or have any hidden injuries we can’t see yet. A tetanus booster is probably in order if you were cut by the seat.”

“Aren’t you gonna...lecture me or something?” Stephanie waved a hand around. “Isn’t that what should happen right now? ‘ You disobeyed me, you’re fired!’ and then you rip the bat off my chest?” It was a pretty mediocre imitation, she’d done better, but considering she almost died, it would have to do. 

Bruce’s lips twitched, as if he were holding back a smile. He set a hand on her shoulder. “You did a good job, Spoiler.”

Oh holy shit, a compliment.

“Thanks to you, not a single person died tonight. No lecture needed. Except that you scared me and I would very much like it if you didn’t do that again.”

“No promises there. Throwing yourself headlong into danger to save others is a basic Bat behavior.”

This time the corner of Bruce’s mouth ticked up into a reluctant smile. “I suppose it is.” His hand tightened and it was then she realized she was trembling. But not from the cold, it was warm tonight, even soaking wet.

“I was about to breathe in. Quit fighting.” The words exploded from her. B’s tiny smile vanished. “I thought it wasn’t too bad.” Steph kept rambling. Bruce told her once he enjoyed her talking so here it is! Albeit a tad adrenaline-fueled. “Because I was a hero. I didn’t turn out like my dad. Or mom. I made my own way. Fought to break free–” Her voice cracked.

Strong arms reeled her into an overwhelming tender embrace. Stephanie pressed closer to Bruce, returning the hug. Wet suits were wildly uncomfortable, mud was getting everywhere, and Batman’s cape was even heavier wet. But right now they needed this. A grounding reminder after a close call that shook them both. 

Sirens and the chatter of paramedics drifted down to them. Bruce rubbed her arm slowly, neither moving. “Thanks for coming after me.” Steph whispered. A small shiver went through her, warm air not keeping her as comfortable as before.

Bruce hummed, giving her a tight squeeze before releasing her. “Always. Now let’s get you home and warmed up before you get sick. Otherwise I’ll be the one getting a lecture from Alfred.”  

As they stood at the edge of the road, waiting for the Batmobile to arrive, Bruce kept an arm wrapped tight around Stephanie, grunting worried questions if she so much as cleared her throat. 

And Stephanie decided that it was probably a good thing she turned out like one of her dads after all.

Chapter Text

“Veggie omelette. The meal of kings.” Jason muttered under his breath, poking at the eggs. Chopped vegetables sat waiting on a cutting board. Since almost everyone was on patrol or out of town, he’d typically cook up a bigger dinner. No people meant no pestering for a plate of their own. But tonight he was exhausted. His ribs were smarting and his ankle and elbow were throbbing in time. 

Sighing, he adjusted his sling and shifted on the bar stool he was using. Leslie cleared him to walk on his foot but standing for long periods of time was still a no-no. Steam wafted up as he dumped the veggies in. Maybe he’d add some cheese in. Live on the edge a little.

The kitchen door bumped open and Jason glanced over his shoulder. Irritation shot through him. Right. Almost everyone was out. He slammed the spatula down on the marble countertop. “What the hell are you doing up, Dickface?”

“Got hungry.” Unbothered, Dick continued his shuffle to the fridge. Bandages wound around his head and left arm. Even more were covering his torso under his shirt. Jason would know because he helped apply them. Helped dragged Dick back from the brink of death using bag after bag of blood. And here he was strutting around as if it were nothing more than a papercut.

“Then you call me or Alfred, not haul your half-dead ass out of bed and across the whole manor to eat some shredded cheese!”

“Was gonna have a sandwich.” Dick corrected in a mumble, pulling ingredients out of the fridge with stiff, jerky movements. His usually golden skin was dull and pale.

Jason turned the burner off with a snap. “I don’t fucking care what you were going to eat! You shouldn’t be here!” Sky blue eyes flickered to the stool Jason was sitting on.  “This is not the same!” Jason was on his feet now, marching across the room. Dick rolled his eyes. “I’m medically cleared. You’re high on painkillers after almost bleeding to death!”

“Which is basically a monthly occurrence in this house!” Dick complained, fishing out a glass bottle of juice. “Lay off, Jay.”

“Don’t–”

“Back off!” Dick shouted, turning impressively quickly.

“Fuck you!” Jason roared, grabbing at the bottle in Dick’s hand. Dick pulled back stubbornly. He might have fractured his elbow but Jason wasn’t the one who was 20% stitches now. He yanked harder and the damp bottle slipped from Dick’s and his hands, glass and cranberry juice exploding across the floor. All of it threw Dick off balance. He stumbled, heel slipping on juice. And Jason watched in horror as Dick fell, twisting as he hit the floor. 

“Alfred!” Jason screamed, lunging forward. The door blew open mere seconds later. He must’ve heard the glass break and already been on his way.

“What happened?” Alfred asked, kneeling beside Dick’s head. 

Dick was coughing, winded from landing on his back. “‘m good.” He wheezed.

“Idiot slipped and fell.” Ignoring Dick’s protests, Jason pulled his faded shirt up. Red bloomed like poppies across several bandages, slowly spreading. “And he ripped stitches. Jesus, you moron, was it so hard to send a text? ”

“Let’s get him back to his room. Kindly.” Alfred shot Jason a withering look. “Then we can repair the damage.” 

Scowling, Jason helped Alfred heft Dick off the floor with his good arm. “Which he deserves. Along with a few insults.” Dick sighed between them as Jason continued laying into him. “How many times do we have to tell you to take care of yourself before it clicks? Or to stay in bed! Or stop moving!”

“To be fair, I wasn’t really listening in the cave. Too busy bleeding to death.” Sarcasm dripped from Dick’s dragging words.

“This is funny to you?” Jason was incredulous as they laid Dick on his bed. Alfred snapped on medical gloves, peeling off the bloodiest bandage. “You’re bleeding again and making jokes?”

“Jay–” Dick broke off with a wince as Alfred began fresh stitches.

“Do you ever stop and think? Do you even pause before making the stupidest fucking decisions? ‘Maybe I shouldn’t put myself in needless danger! My family might miss me if I died!' And don’t even get me started on your double standards! If any of us were in your position, you’d be tying us to the bed, weeping about caring for ourselves!” 

“Master Jason.” Alfred warned, glasses perched on the tip of his nose as he sewed. Two other bandages were nearly soaked. More stitches needing to be repaired. Dick was even paler. But Jason couldn’t hold back any longer. He was ranting, practically raving now. 

“You told me once,” He stabbed a finger at Dick who was watching him with pinched lips. “That you cried at my grave every day for three weeks straight. Three. Weeks. And I was just your replacement! Some scrawny street kid you took pity on. You–” Jason’s voice cracked. “You were my idol. My big brother. Everything I want to be. Have you ever stopped and thought how I would feel if you bled out over a damn sandwich?”

“Master Jason.”

“And it would be my fault! Because I didn’t keep you in bed! I knocked you off balance! I didn’t catch you!” Dick eyes were watering now, body trembling. And some sick part of Jason was glad. “You’d die and it would be all my fault! Because I wasn’t good enough to save you! I’d be the one crying at your grave asking why it wasn’t me!”

A choked sob burst from Dick, chest heaving unevenly.

“That is enough!” Alfred yelled as he flung an arm at the door. “Out! Now!”

“Gladly!” 

The door slammed shut behind Jason, shuddering in the frame. Angry tears stung his eyes but he blinked them back. Dick needed to hear all of that. If he didn’t listen to his and Bruce's chastising in the Batmobile then he was going to hear it now. Hobbling around with a braced ankle wasn’t the same as being bedridden. Reckless, stupid, idiot! 

He found himself in the cave, breathing hard. Fury made his hands twitch, desperate for an outlet that wasn’t smashing every computer screen in sight with Tim’s bo staff. 

A hanging bag caught his attention. No patience to attempt tape or wraps while one-handed. Something he’d regret tomorrow. But right now he could care less. Punching felt good. Feeling his fist slam into the leather was cathartic. Jason kept hitting with his good arm. His knuckles began to sting. But he kept hitting. 

“Master Jason.” Firm words brought his assault to an end. Panting, Jason turned around. Alfred heaved a sigh when he saw his raw knuckles, fixing him with a disapproving look. 

“He needed to hear it, Alfie.” He brushed past Alfred, headed for the sink and bandages.

“Yes. But perhaps not in such a distressing way.”

“Asking nicely clearly didn’t work!”

“Neither does a cruel guilt trip!”

Was it cruel? Bringing up his death was a low blow. But it was an honest comparison. It may not have been a grave but Jason cried in the showers after they stabilized Dick, a release of fear and relief. If Dick couldn’t see the whole picture himself, then Jason was going to show it to him. By any means necessary. 

“He needed to hear it.” Jason fumbled with the antiseptic. Here was the price for his own stubborn stupidity. He should’ve settled for the bo staff and computer screens. Much easier to accomplish one-handed. 

Wrinkled, steady hands took the bottle from him. The antiseptic stung as Alfred sprayed it on. “All of you frustrate me to no end and yet,” Alfred fixed him with a hard look, “I am not throwing upsetting memories back in your faces. There’s a kind way to speak the truth.”

“Pretty sure that’s what you did to Bruce last week–ow!” Jason jerked his hand away. 

“Do not miss the point of my words." Alfred sniffed primly as he began tidying up. "Master Dick was asking for you when I left.”

Jason flexed his bandaged hand. “Not going. I’ll just yell at him again and then you’ll yell at me. I’m gonna finish my omelette and go to bed.”

But that was a lie. Jason stabbed at his stone cold omelette, appetite gone. Uneasiness sat heavy in his chest even after cleaning the floor and sitting at the table for three silent hours. There would be no rest until he appeased it. Grumbling, Jason yanked open the fridge and grabbed bread and deli meat.

Dick’s room was dark when Jason slipped in. He set the sandwich on the bedside table then sank down beside it, back to bedframe. Why was he here? Dick was asleep. Jason waited until he was to avoid conversation on purpose. So why was he lingering?

Maybe it was because his guilt trip backfired. And now he couldn't stop thinking of all the close calls they had. All the times they really did lose each other. And now fighting over a sandwich was added to the list. 

Sheets rustled as Dick shifted above him. “Little Wing?” Jason said nothing. Fingers groped blindly, brushing against his hair until they settled on his shoulder. 

“I’m sorry.” Dick whispered, a slight hoarseness to his voice. From sleep or from crying? “Sorry that any of this felt like it was your fault. And that I scared you tonight. I should’ve been in bed, none of this is on you.” 

The steady tick of a clock cut through the heavy silence. Jason leaned his head back against the mattress. So many feelings were churning in him it was better to stay silent than risk the wrong one coming out. But leaving the apology unacknowledged felt cruel in it’s own way. Even if Jason was still miffed.

He settled for a gentle scolding. “You should also be asleep.”

The fingers pressed into a shoulder a little firmer. “You were never a pity project. Not to me.” Dick’s voice wobbled. “You know that, right Little Wing?”

Jason slowly snaked his good hand up to grab his brother’s. There was a soft noise from above when Dick felt the bandages. “How many times until it clicks, huh?” He said softly.

“You did say you want to be like me.” Laughing under his breath, Dick shifted closer to the edge of the bed. “Stay? If...you’re not mad at me, that is.”

“Still pissed but of course I’m staying.” Jason sighed, bumping Dick’s arm with his head. “You’re on bed arrest and I’m your warden.”

Chapter Text

“Stay in the car.”

“But–!”

“Stay. In. The. Car.” The door slammed shut and Damian scowled at Todd through the window. 

“This was my idea!” He yelled but Todd just pointed to his ears, shrugged, and put on his helmet. Ass. Why was he acting so shifty? Damian was the reason they were here in the first place. He should be coming along! 

This was probably his punishment. Practicing navigating the manor in the dark seemed like a good idea. Until Damian misjudged the distance between him and a pedestal. Of all the vases to break, it had to be the expensive, antique one his grandfather gifted his grandmother as a birthday gift.

Begging Todd for help finding a replacement was humiliating but it was still easier than seeing Father look at him with disappointment. But he didn’t endure Todd’s relentless teasing to be locked in the car while he went to Gotham’s infamous black market alone!

Damian pulled on a skull cap then his jacket hood before clambering from the car. Using the shadows, he slipped into the building Todd disappeared into. It wasn’t hard to spot him in the open room. A makeshift platform was set up on the far end, groups of people milling around as they sized each other up. 

Planted in the dead center of the room, Berettas strapped to his thighs, was the Red Hood. His arms were crossed over his armored chest, seemingly staring straight ahead. Something about his demeanor made Damian pause instead of going to his side. He felt... unfamiliar. This wasn't the casual stance Damian was used to seeing, even in uniform.

A group of mobsters were staring hard at Damian, whispering faster. Others began looking his way too. Pausing was a bad idea. Should've melted into the shadows. Hood shifted slightly, glancing over his shoulder. Then his head snapped around in the world's most intimidating double take. Two fingers stabbed at Damian and then at the stained concrete beside Todd.

"What part of 'stay in the car' did you not understand?" An electronic voice hissed once Damian scurried over. "And without even a mask, are you fucking brain dead?" Damian opened his mouth and Todd held up his hand. "Don't.” Someone was peeling off from their group, moving their way. “Shut up and follow my lead if you want to get out of here in one piece." 

"I didn't know you'd taken on a protege, Red Hood." A Maroni capo Damian vaguely recognized came strutting over. "A bit young isn't he?" 

An iron grip closed on Damian's shoulder, warning him. "I'd already maimed my first man by his age." Hood drawled. Damian started a little. Was that true? He didn’t know much about his brother’s life before Batman. Unlike Richard and Drake, Todd didn’t happily offer up stories. "What do you want, Vincente?"

"It's been a while since we've seen you at one of these little get-togethers!" Vincente spread his arms wide, a fake smile plastered on. "Haven't received any duffel bags full of heads lately! Thought maybe the Batman broke you, Red Hood." 

Duffel bag full of heads.

Damian heard of the duffel bag before. But just the bag. It symbolized something upsetting, that much was clear by the way Father and Richard would say it in careful voices as Todd's face twisted. Todd never said it himself without venom in his voice. The one time Damian tried to search it up, the files were heavily encrypted and Drake icily told him to drop it when Damian tried to coerce the key from him.

Everything was clear now. And for some reason the truth surprised him. A gunshot, blunt force, stabbing. None of it was unfamiliar to either of them when it came to taking lives. But Todd had gone a step further. Taken a life then desecrated it and used it to taunt.

It was a side of his brother he’d never seen before.

Fingers dug into his collarbone, whether to keep him from reacting or an involuntary response Damian didn't know. The mocking tone in Vincente’s voice was clear. And Damian suddenly understood why Todd complained about his reputation being ruined so often. It was the only thing keeping them alive right now.

"That can be arranged." Red Hood cocked his head, fingers tracing the wicked knife strapped beside his gun. "You'd fit nicely in a backpack. How about a Jansport?" The man stepped back. It wasn't hard to imagine the wicked grin under the hood. "No?” Hood shrugged. “Maybe next time. Bring your friends, I'm sure we could fit ten in the bag."

All eyes were on them now. 

"Ah, I've missed your spunkiness, Red Hood!" They turned to see Black Mask walking up, hands casually in his jacket pockets. "Let's not end my auction in a bloodbath, hm?"

"I'm not here to start any fights." Todd quipped easily, "But I’ll happily finish them."

With a long suffering sigh, Sionis stood beside them. “The biggest pains in my ass are always from Crime Alley. Why are you here, Hood?”

“Had some things to move, thought I’d take a trip down memory lane.”

“Show junior where you cut your teeth?”

“Something like that.”

Black Mask peeked over at Damian who kept his head down. Todd was right, he should’ve brought a domino. “He’s not... yours is he?”

A genuine laugh erupted from Todd and Damian felt oddly insulted. “Fuck no! And since when did you care?”

Sionis shrugged. “Never a bad idea to try and keep the peace with the maniac who shot a bazooka into your office and methodically killed all of your personal assistants. Enjoy the auction.” Only when Black Mask was over by the stage did Todd fully relax his painful grip on Damian. But his hand remained. His discomfort was palpable and it made Damian feel equally uneasy.

“What ‘things’ are you moving?” Damian asked as a man onstage held up a rifle and began calling out prices. 

“You’ll see.” Hood grunted, back still ramrod straight. It had to be weapons. Todd’s cache was impressive and many of the guns were unused now. Plus most of the things being auctioned were either art or weapons. 

A silver briefcase was passed to the auctioneer. He popped it open to display a set of ten brand-new Batarangs. The claw-like grip returned before Damian could open his mouth. Impressed nods and mutters passed through the gathered criminals as they bid for Father’s equipment. Proof that Red Hood was simply using Batman.

“What were you thinking?” Damian hissed angrily. A trafficker placed the winning bid, a foul man he and Drake were trying to get evidence on. A man like that didn’t deserve to have Father’s tools. He’d only use them for evil. 

Todd didn’t reply. 

The Batarangs were carried off and the vase they were waiting for was revealed. Hood’s hand twitched the second the price left the auctioneer’s lips. It jumped by 10k. Another mobster nodded and Todd’s hand flicked again, and again, impatient as the bidding continued. What if they didn’t get it?

The price kept crawling up. Todd growled in frustration and fixed his stare at the other man before obviously flicking his hand again. The man gulped and stayed still.

“Auction closed! Please come collect your items!”

Two towering men blocked their path. “Mr. Hood, Roman has requested you come pick up your item in the back office. He has some business he’d like to discuss.”

“He couldn’t call?” Hood grumbled, steering Damian along. He was practically crushed to his side.

“It’ll be brief.” 

Todd muttered an insult about another part of Sionis that was brief as they were ushered into an office. It was practically bare, a pathetic light bulb hanging from the ceiling. Sionis was sitting behind the cheap desk, fingers steepled. 

"Nice vase. Redecorating?" He tilted his head and a man handed it to Hood. 

"It compliments my RPG launchers." Hood passed the crate on to Damian. Bits of straw packing poked out. "Can we go now?"

"That was quite a sum you just dropped." Black Mask leaned forward, seat creaking. "It wouldn't happen to be the money you stole from me, right? Tell me I'm wrong and you walk right out of here."

He was lying and they both knew it. There would be no leaving without trouble. "And if it was?" Todd said bluntly, subtly shifting his weight into more of a fighting stance. 

Black Mask slammed a hand down on the table. "Enough games, Hood! Grab the kid!" 

Hands darted for Damian from all sides. 

Todd reached him first, yanking Damian in front of him, guarding his back. Both Berettas snapped up.

BANG!

Damian jumped. Todd's armor dug into his spine. Two men fell back, hands clutching gushing bullet holes. Live rounds. Todd was using live rounds for the first time in a year.

"We're leaving." Hood snapped, fingers hovering on the triggers.

"No you're not." Sionis growled, standing up. "Bring me their fucking heads!"

"Go!" Todd kicked a man away, shooting another at the same time. Damian ducked out of the way, lashing out at another's legs. The room was small, too many people moving around. Too easy to see Damian's face if he fought all out. He was quickly becoming a hindrance.

Still Damian protested. "I'm not leaving you!" One arm was cradling the vase while he was punching with the other. Glass shattered as Todd shot out a grimy window. Suddenly Damian was airborne, lifted off his feet and half shoved through it.

"I said run!" Hood ordered, shouting above the gunfire.

He almost nicked himself on glass several times but Damian stumbled to his feet outside the building. A bullet zipped past his cheek as he sprinted across the parking lot. He didn’t hear Todd follow him.

Only once he was deep in the alleys did Damian start climbing, making his way across Gotham until he was well out of Black Mask's territory. Panting, he slumped down next to an AC unit. Todd would be alright. He could handle himself. Damian hugged his knees, staring at the wooden box beside him as he repeated the reassurances. 

A vase for a brother. What a horrible trade that would be. All because he didn't want to disappoint his father. 

The early fall chill was making his muscles stiff by the time Red Hood landed on the rooftop. "Jesus, Forrest Gump, you really ran." Damian looked up in relief. Only to get flicked in the forehead, hard.  

“Ow!” He clapped both hands over his head.

"I said stay in the car!" Jason slid down next to him, pulling off his hood. He was favoring his left arm. Fresh red bruises on his jaw followed the edge of his helmet. "They were simple instructions! But it almost went completely south because you always know better! This whole family has authority issues!"

"I'm sorry." Because he was.

Todd let out a long, heavy sigh as he ruffled sweat damp hair. "Yeah, yeah. I know, kiddo."

"Why hasn't the auction been shut down?" Damian asked. "Those criminals were all gathered there, we could've brought the others and rounded them up!"

Boots scraped against the gravel sprinkled over the roof as Todd stretched his legs out. A muscle jumped in his jaw as he contemplated his next words. "When I was a kid," he said softly, "My mom would barely have enough to buy a loaf of bread for us. And when she was gone…” He trailed off, gaze haunted and distant. “I learned about the market not long after. 

“It's not just Roman's auction, normal people trying to survive use it too. I realized I could sell things that I stole for decent change. Was planning on moving B's tires this way." He laughed softly, head tipping back against the metal. "You can't end something like this, Dames. It's a necessary evil that'll always pop up again."

"All the things you said in there...you weren't lying, were you?" Todd shook his head. And as dangerous as his next question was, Damian needed to know. "Did you kill them?"

The question hung in the air for a long minute. "No." Todd finally said with a soft exhale that was almost drowned out by horns blaring below. "No, I didn't kill anyone." He audibly swallowed, closing his eyes. When he spoke again there was an unsteadiness to his voice. "I... didn't want you to see me like that. I'm not that person anymore. Some of those things I did to survive and protect people I loved. Other things…they were decisions that felt justified then."

Decisions like a duffel bag.

"This doesn't change the way I see you." Damian said honestly. Because he needed his brother to know. The same way Father and Richard always let him know. "The two of us...we've had to survive. By any means necessary at times. I’ve also done things no one knows about. I’d like it to stay that way."

Todd slid an arm around his shoulders, pulling him in closer. "I don't want that for you. Not anymore. And, God I'm gonna sound like Bruce and Dickie, but I'm trying to protect you, D. Not ruin your fun by locking you in the car."

"Yes, I can see that now."

"Good answer.” Clearing his throat, Todd released him. But Damian stayed leaning into him and Todd slid his arm back around him. “You check the box yet?" He nodded at the vase. “I’m gonna be pissed if it’s broken.” 

Damian carefully pried it open to reveal an intact vase. A perfect replacement. "What will Father say when he realizes the Batarangs are missing?"

Todd snorted. "The old man isn't going to notice. Timbers hid a whole ass car in the Batarang budget once. The real question is," He pulled out a GPS tracker. "Do you want to go catch the sucker who bought them and finally put him away?" 

Damian's face lit up.

“Hell yes.”

Chapter Text

His breaths sounded harsh in his own ears. Overwhelming in the too small space. Tim pressed a hand to the wood lid and pushed. It didn’t budge.

“Red Robin? Can you read me?”

Tim took a shaky breath in before responding. “I’m here O, I read you.”

“Oh thank God!” Babs sighed. “Your signal blinked after the explosion. What’s your status?”

He pushed on the door with both hands now. A bit of dirt crumbled onto his face. “Trapped. I hid from the sentries in an old in-ground gun cache but the explosion must’ve buried the door.” Silence. “O?” A hint of panic slithered through him. “Are you there?”

“I’m here, don't panic.” She reassured. "I’m trying to pull up your location, their jammers still aren’t fully disabled.”

“I’m not panicking.” He lied. He wiggled around in the small space, taking it in. A foot of space above and below him but barely six inches on each side. Almost like he was in a rough hewn coffin. Tim gasped softly, closing his eyes. “Okay, maybe I’m panicking a little.”

“Figures.” Babs said, not unkindly. “I’m adding Nightwing and A’s cave feed to the channel so they can help, alright?” Right, everyone else was out of Gotham. Worst timing ever.

“Mmhm.” Tim nodded, unwilling to open his eyes as he checked the equipment on his belt. A small flashlight which he immediately clicked on. Bandages, explosives, grapple guns. No shovels obviously but he had a rebreather which might buy him a little extra time. It was a logical thought that should’ve given him relief but instead his heart lurched.

“Hey Timbo,” Dick’s gentle voice washed over him, “Babs filled me in. How are you doing?”

“Okay, I think.” He couldn’t keep his voice from shaking. “Not a lot of room but with rent prices in Gotham, I can’t really complain.”

“Ever considered a roommate?” Dick laughed and Tim chuckled along nervously. He could feel panic poking at the edge of his mind, barely held at bay. But it was okay. Because they were looking for him. This wouldn’t be long. A few minutes and then– 

“Tim, I can’t find you.” Barbara said in a matter of fact voice. “Your signal is too weak to pinpoint. There's nothing I can do.”

Ice flooded his veins. Suddenly, his mouth was dry, throat sticking together.

"Wait." His voice cracked, "Babs wait, you-you're Oracle, isn't there something–"

“Timmers," Dick said, "Is there space to reach your wrist computer? Can you try and boost your emergency signal?”

Right. Why didn’t he think of that? Tim lifted his hands in the small space, craning his neck to try and see what he was doing. But a violent trembling overtook him. His hands were shaking too much to even attempt messing with wires.

“I can’t.” he panted, going limp. “I can’t, I can’t.”

“Work with us or we can't help you!” Dick snapped.

A whimper died in Tim's throat. "I'm trying, Dick, please, I’m scared–" 

His big brother made a disgusted sound. "Waste of time. I need to go deal with a robbery. Guess you weren't cut out to be Robin after all."

“No, stay! Dick please!"

“You’re on your own. Oracle out.”

“Babs, please! Don’t leave me here! Stop!” Tim beat a fist against the door. "Find me! Please, please!” More earth showered down on him, making his eyes water. 

Buried alive he could semi-handle as long as he knew someone was coming for him. But if they couldn’t find him then he was alone. Trapped. Struggling to breathe. Out in the damn woods somewhere by a smuggler’s keep.

He was already in his grave.

“TIM!” 

Someone shouted in his ear as the box shook. Tim flinched hard. “Jason?” He croaked. “What…you have a concussion...”

A snort. “I can still answer comms, I’m in the cave, not a coma.”

"Then you have to help me!" Tim begged, "Jase, please! No one else is helping, you have to get me out!"

“Listen carefully." Something in Jason's voice reminded Tim of that night in Titan Tower. Dread coiled around him. " No one is looking for you, got it? Now, shut up before you give us all panic attacks.”

“No, wait–”

"No one came for me! What makes you think they'd come for you? A replacement?" Tim squeezed his eyes shut, as if he could escape the darkness that way. Jason let out a dry, mirthless laugh. "I'll give you a final word of advice... dig."  

A soft tone signalled Jason leaving the line. Silence filled his ear. And Tim screamed until sobs choked him. His chest heaved, tears spilling down the sides of his face. "Steph! Cass!" He wailed uselessly. "Bruce! Please, dad, I’m so scared!" 

His parents had left him once. A punishment for misbehaving. It didn't matter how hard he beat on the door, they didn't come back until they wanted to. Bruce promised he'd never do that, never treat Tim like that. So why wasn't he answering? Where was his dad?

"Someone come get me, please! I don’t want to die!" It was hard to breathe. A tingling numbness he felt whenever he was dizzy. Too much screaming. Was he running out of air already? No! He was supposed to have more time! 

He gasped harder, clawing at the wood. Dirt began falling in faster. Splinters stabbed under his nails. Between sobs he called for his family. Wood was closing in on him, crushing–

The box shook, like there was an earthquake, jostling him back and forth. A distant voice. Hands.  

"Babybird!"

Tim flung himself upright in bed, gasping so violently it hurt. His forehead almost smacked into Jason’s who was kneeling in front of him, both hands on his shoulders, eyes wide. 

"I've been trying to wake you–" Jason started. But Tim wasn't listening. Sheets were tangled around him, trapping him, holding tight like the dirt he couldn't escape. 

"Get it off!" Tim screamed, yanking and kicking wildly at the fabric. "Get me out! Get me out!"  

Ripping filled the room and suddenly Tim was free and being dragged to the ground. Jason held him tight to his chest as he rocked them back and forth. 

"You left me!" With a ragged sob, Tim threw his arms around his brother’s neck despite how badly he wanted to push him away. "You left me there! Told me to-to–"

"Just a dream, Timbers." Jason whispered in a strained voice. His cheek was pressed against Tim's hair, warm breath ghosting over his ear. A welcome sensation, like the rug scratching against his bare calf and cool, smooth wood under his feet. Anything but smothering dirt around him. "I didn't leave you, remember? I stayed on the line until you walked in.”

Faint memories pushed through the wild frenzy of Tim’s mind. Memories of a calm voice talking him through deep breathing, coaching him on listening for any noises seeping through the ground, the look of desperate relief on Jason’s face when Dick and Tim arrived in the cave and the crushing hug Jason yanked him into. As if he couldn’t relax until he knew Tim was safe for himself.

“I'd never leave you."

Tim let out a shuddering breath, burying his face harder into Jason’s shoulder. 

The bedroom door flew open with a bang. Dick and Cass came rushing in. "What happened?"

"Another nightmare." Jason's voice was steadier now, still gently rocking them. "Babybird is a little disoriented."

As Dick knelt beside them, Tim whimpered and shied away. "Sorry I wasn't better as Robin."

"No, Tim. You were great. I was proud to see you wear my colors." Dick ran fingers through Tim's hair then pressed a kiss to it. The same way he did after pulling Tim from the cache and into his mud-streaked arms. "Do you know where you are?"

“The manor.” A strained breath in and out as Jason murmured encouragement. “Home.”

“That’s right.” When Tim peeked out, he saw Dick smiling at him. “It’s been four days since the explosion. You’re safe.”

“Everyone was s-so cruel.” Tim gasped softly, “You abandoned me. Dad p-promised–” Panic was starting to crest again, breath hiccuping. Jason began counting softly in his ear, rubbing slow circles on back.

“Don’t listen to lies.” said Cass after he’d calmed, crouching beside Dick. “We’re here with you. Like we've always been.”

"Bruce didn't leave you either." Dick added. "He and Steph are out on patrol tonight. Want me to recall them early?"

As desperately as Tim wanted his dad, he could wait a little longer. Patrol was important, especially with so many people staying home for him. So he shook his head.

"Call him." Jason said at the same time. "B wanted to at least know. It's his decision after that." Neither brother was saying it outright but Tim understood. Bruce wanted to know if he got worse. And this was the worst one yet. 

With a nod, Dick rose and slipped his earbud in, wandering to the far corner as he spoke in a low voice. Cass shifted to sit beside them, leaning her head on Jason’s shoulder, pressing against Tim’s head. They weren’t rocking anymore but Jason was still clutching Tim in an iron hold. 

Dick returned, running a hand over Tim’s hair again, settling on the nape of his neck. “It’s a slow night. They’ll be back within the hour.”

Warmth washed over Tim and he took several deeper breaths in time with his siblings. Exhaustion was rapidly replacing the falding adrenaline though he was still too uneasy to try and sleep again. But at least he wasn’t as terrified now. The stillness was welcome.

“Tt. Look at the state of him!” They all turned to see Damian backlit in the doorway. “Not one of you thought to have a hot drink ready?” 

Before his siblings could get a single scolding word out, Tim barked out a rough laugh. “I’m a few degrees short of a hot mess, aren’t I?” 

“I’d say you’ve escalated past that into a full meltdown,” Damian turned on his heel. “I’ll be in the kitchen. Don’t linger.”

“Is it just me or is he getting bossier every time he grows another inch?” Jason muttered. 

“Don’t tease him, he’s worried.” Cass chided as she held a hand out to Tim. After a beat of hesitation, Tim took it. He was unsteady on his feet as his sister helped him up, two other sets of hands bracing him. 

As they walked, Cass kept a supportive arm around his waist. The open and familiar hallway was a welcome sight. Nothing sounded better than a drink and passing out on the couch surrounded by his siblings. Maybe he could still manage a few hours of rest.

“You good?” Dick whispered to Jason behind them. 

A dagger of guilt sliced into Tim’s heart. Oh God. What nightmares were resurfacing in Jason because of him? What horrors was his brother fighting off after hearing Tim screaming and panicking? Was he talking in his sleep? Is that why Jason said to call Bruce? Did he hear something?

He’d tried to convince Jason to sleep elsewhere from the first night but he insisted on sleeping beside Tim. “I get it.” Was Jason’s stubborn response before he rolled over. 

Every night since, without fail, Tim woke up screaming. Once several times in the same night. Always Jason was there to soothe, holding him, rubbing his back as he coaxed Tim from the depths of hysteria.

His shoulders curled. His siblings were missing out on patrol and sleep because of him. Because of where he chose to hide to escape an explosion. His poor decision.

Cass gave him a tight squeeze, as if she knew he was lamenting what an inconvenience he was. “You’re worth it.” She whispered.

Tim tried harder to believe her.

Jason’s reply to Dick was too soft to hear, if he replied at all, but his next line was a little louder. “Think Alfie will be pissed I ripped Timbo’s sheets?”

“Nah.” Tim glanced back to see Dick sling his arm around Jason’s shoulders as they descended the stairs. A kettle whistled faintly, the smell of cocoa wafting out to them. “I think he’ll understand.”

Chapter Text

Tim knew he wasn’t in the living room before he even opened his eyes. The biggest giveaway was that the couch wasn’t nearly this comfortable. Dick not snoring quietly in his ear was another. He was in his own bed, almost crushed between two people. 

The first person was Bruce. Tim opened his eyes to see his hands pressed to his father’s chest, safely tucked in his arms. That cocoa must’ve put him to sleep fast. And Tim was willing to bet his entire Drake Industries trust fund that the back pressed against his belonged to Jason. 

“Good morning.” Bruce whispered, shuffling back a bit to see Tim’s bleary face. “Did you sleep well?”

“I think Damian drugged the cocoa.” He mumbled, wiping sleep from his eyes. “I don’t remember being moved from the living room.”

Bruce chuckled. “Good. You needed the rest.”

“Hm.” Tim grunted, closing his eyes again. Judging by the slants of sunlight spilling in, it was probably close to noon. “How’s Jase?”

At that Bruce let out a poorly disguised sigh. “Sleeping. He insisted on staying.”

“I’m worried about him.” Tim admitted, keeping his voice low and listening for any changes in Jason’s breathing. “I think...helping me might be hurting him more than he wants to admit. He says he knows his limits but...”

“He can just as easily ignore them.” Bruce squeezed Tim. “I’ll talk to him. Try not to worry too much, alright? Now I’m happy to stay here as long as you like but if you’re hungry, I believe Alfred is making lunch. Pasta salad.”

“The recipe he stole from that New York guy?” Bruce nodded and Tim grinned. “I’ll see you later, B.” Carefully, he clambered over Bruce so as not to disturb Jason. He paused in the door, looking back at the bed. At Jason who was frowning in his sleep. He hoped Bruce could get through to him.

---

Even with Tim gone, Bruce was close enough to Jason to reach out and smooth his messy bedhead. Wavy half curls had appeared once Jason began reluctantly using the pricey shampoo and conditioner Alfred bought him so many years ago.

About a half hour later, Jason began to stir. When he rolled back with no resistance, his head snapped around. “Tim’s fine.” Bruce spoke softly. “He’s eating right now.”

With a low hum, Jason rolled fully on his back, eyes closed again. “Any more dreams?”

“No. He slept well.”

“Finally. Poor bastard.” Jason rubbed his temples and let out a jaw-cracking yawn. “Poor me.”

“Hnn. Speaking of you,” Despite trying to keep his tone light, Jason stiffened. “How are you handling all of this, Jaylad?”

For a long moment, Bruce didn’t expect him to speak. Part of him braced for an explosion of anger because he was poking at something so guarded and vulnerable. Instead Jason blew out a slow breath. 

“I thought I was doing okay. Talking to him on the comms, the first couple of nights. All of that was hard and a bit upsetting but I was managing. But then last night...some of the things he said when I was trying to wake him were just...too close to my own words.” Jason had been talking with his hands but now they were limp on his stomach. “Things I said. And I’m pretty sure dream Jason told him to dig out and that’s just...fucked up on another level, you know? It was hard not hyperventilating with him last night.”

“If you need some space Jay, it’s okay to take it.” Bruce reached out hesitantly for his shoulder. “I know you want to be there for him. But you have to be there for yourself first.”

Nodding, Jason grasped his hand. He opened his mouth then snapped it shut, chin quivering as he nodded again. And again, blinking rapidly now.

“Jay, it’s okay–” Before Bruce could finish the sentence, Jason came crashing into his arms. He was shaking and Bruce held him tight. Neither spoke. The only sounds were birds outside the windows and Jason’s ragged breaths muffled against Bruce’s shirt.

“Can you tell Tim that I...I’ll be back.” Jason sniffed softly. “Later tonight. I’m keeping my promise. But you’re right, I need to get out and clear my head.”

“Of course.” Bruce murmured. “He’ll understand.”

“And…” Jason trailed off. He moved back and looked Bruce in the eye. “Can you call Dinah? I know both of you offered before and I wasn’t ready then but-but I am now.”

Bruce swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded. “I’m proud of you.” He whispered. 

Jason let out an embarrassed huff as he rolled his eyes and leaned back into the hug. “Thanks.” He mumbled, once his face was hidden away. And Bruce went back to smoothing his son's wild curls, feeling Jason gradually relax.  

Chapter Text

Even without the sickening crack that echoed off the cave walls, Tim knew his leg was broken. His scream ricocheted off the stone seconds later, so loud he was sure his brothers must’ve heard it. Well, they might have if the heavy trap door he'd fallen through didn’t snap shut high above him. 

Straightening his leg almost made him sick so awkwardly sprawled on the ground it was. Panting through the pain, Tim took inventory of what was left. Utility belt ripped off. Comm full of incoming static. Domino worked but night vision could only help so much. The damp, slimy stone beneath him was chilling even through his suit. 

“Nightwing?” Tim yelled, using all his domino settings to search for some kind of escape. He’d kill for Conner’s x-ray vision right now. “Hood? Robin?” Soft plinks of dripping water were his only reply. 

“Come on, Red. It'll be fun, Red.” Tim grumbled sarcastically. “Cave pirates are cool, Red. Jackasses.”

Not the time to mope. He couldn't stay sitting on the floor, he needed to move. There was something on the other side of the cave he was in, half hidden beneath a still pool of water. An exit...maybe. 

Grabbing slick hand holds on the wall next to him, Tim pulled himself into a standing position. Agony ripped through him as he straightened up, stopping him halfway. This time he couldn't stop himself. Nausea rolled through him and Tim retched all over the moss covered stone. 

“Oh shit,” he whispered, spitting to the side, “now I have to move.” Biting down more cries of pain, he hobbled a few feet away and sank down on a flat stone. Maybe now was the time to mope a little. His stomach clenched painfully several times but mercifully nothing else came up. 

What if...what if he died here? What if his brothers couldn't find him? What if he went into shock from his leg or–

Water lapped gently a foot away from him. Tim's head shot up. Forget shock or abandonment. He was going to drown here. The exit he hoped would save him was going to be his doom instead. It was completely submerged beneath the rapidly rising water line. 

Water was at his boots now, promising a slow death with plenty of time for overthinking. There was no point in even trying to climb. He'd only break his other leg that way. Best to conserve his energy for treading water. 

Damn his luck, because Tim knew he could find a way out if he wasn't hindered by his leg. He was more than capable and the sheer frustration of it made him laugh sharply, the sound echoing. 

“This is Red Robin, does anyone read me?” Tim said into his com. “My leg is broken and I'm trapped with the rising tide. I do not have my rebreather. Repeat, I do not have my rebreather. If someone could rescue me, that would be pretty awesome. Especially since you guys dragged me into this mess.” 

His lower body was submerged by then. Were these pirates pumping water into the cave? Even movie caves filled slower than this! Maybe if he had a love interest to have one last romantic moment with, the water would slow down. If any of his siblings were here, they could make jokes and swap cheesy lines together. But they weren’t and it only made being alone sting that much more.  

When the water reached his neck, Tim braced himself for the inevitable pain that was treading water with a broken leg. But it didn't matter. One swish of his legs had spots dancing across his vision, tingling crawling through him that felt eerily like he was about to pass out. 

“Okay, arms only.” He hissed, moving his arms in measured strokes. Conserve energy. Figure out a plan. Don't pass out and drown. At the rate it was filling he only had minutes. Reflexively, Tim kicked his legs again and choked on water when he gasped. 

Oh, he was going to drown. 

He was going to drown and no one would find his body. 

Desperate, he tried his com again. “Guys please, I don't have much air left and can't tread for long for my leg like this.” He took a shaky breath. “If...if you're getting this by some miracle there's a locked document box in my closet. The code is Robin's birthday because absolutely no one would have guessed that and–” 

Tim paused to spit water out. He was struggling to keep himself afloat, head bobbing low in the water. “Inside there's letters for everyone. And a will. Not that I have much to will.”

 His shoulders were burning now, growing tired from doing all the work. The stone ceiling was closer, stalactites piercing the water beside him. The small space made his voice echo in a much more hollow way. 

“I…” Tim trailed off. Was he giving up hope to say it? Or was he taking the chance while he still had it? “Being Robin, Red Robin, being part of the family, all of it was incredible. Yeah, some parts sucked, but in the end...I love all of you. You made me and my life better, so...thank you. And hopefully I’ll see you later and we can laugh at this.”

 5 feet of space left. Damn, this water moved fast. The one benefit to being submerged was that as long as he didn't move his leg, floating provided some relief. At least the end wouldn't be too painful. 

Ripples spread through the water ahead of him. 

Oh great. He jinxed it. Time for a water monster to come and make him miserable again. On the plus side, much cooler death.

A dark head emerged before him, rebreather over their mouth. “Dick!” Tim almost laughed hysterically with relief. 

“Hey Timbo, you scared us with those messages.” Dick's voice was soft, smile warm. He held out a second rebreather for Tim. “Which leg?” 

“Right.” 

“Okay, hold on to me. I'm going to take us down then pass you through the exit.” Tim nodded, biting down on the mouthpiece as Dick wrapped his arm tight around Tim from the left side. Then they were diving, propelled by the long flippers on Dick's feet. 

It was wildly uncomfortable, the water jostling his broken leg. But compared to drowning while feeling forgotten by his family? This was his new favorite water sport.

When they reached the exit Tim spotted earlier, Dick mimed reaching his arms above his head. Tim did so and Dick pushed him through the narrow chute as if he were loading a torpedo. His hand was at Tim's good ankle now, pressing the bottom of his foot for one final propelling push out of reach

Strong hands suddenly seized him and pulled him the rest of the way out of the tunnel. Tim burst from the water as hands hauled him onto solid stone. It was another echoing cavern but he glimpsed a passage turning upwards.

“Watch his leg, Todd!” A voice snapped. 

“I know , brat.” He was gently rolled onto his back. Jason was grinning down at him, helmet discarded. “Looks like we found buried treasure after all!”

“Fuck you.” Tim said with a shaky but relieved laugh. Damian was at the edge of the stone, watching as Dick surfaced from the tunnel. 

“And that's why you pack fins for any missions near water!” Dick's tone said this was something he'd been given grief for. “You good Tim?” 

“Yeah, just my leg.” 

“You will change your lock combination from my birthday.” Damian huffed. “I won't be associated with something so macabre.” 

“I don't know, it fits your vibe.” Jason shrugged, messing with something by Tim's feet. Dick kneeled by Tim’s head. “Hey Timbers, can I read my letter?” Jason said. “Do I even have a letter?” 

Tim let out a scandalized noise. “Of course you have a letter! And, no! You–” 

Jason's hands moved faster than Tim could react, Dick's clamping down on his shoulders at the same time. A ragged scream ripped from him a second later as Jason straightened his leg and tied a splint on. 

“Sorry Babybird.” At least Jason had the decency to sound sheepish. “Needed you distracted.”

“No one is reading any letters.” Dick gave him a reassuring pat on the chest.

“I'm burning both of your letters now.” Tim hissed, breathing shallowly through the lingering waves of pain. 

“That's a spirit.” Jason laughed as he helped him stand and wrapped an arm around his waist. “Now let's get the hell out of here.”

Chapter Text

The heavy cape flared open with a dull snap as Batman dove at the skylight. Gliding was something he loved. Sometimes he let himself indulge in a little more than necessary on slow patrols. Especially after being severely scolded before by Leslie for grappling around with a concussion. Bedrest was something he couldn’t afford but he could avoid the roughness of grappling. 

It also made for a very impressive entry. Bruce pulled back, clenching the excess fabric in his fists and extending booted feet that smashed through the glass with ease. He landed in the middle of the panicking room, cape draping around him.

Batarangs shot out as he flung his arms open, hitting their targets dead on. He was already gone in the shadows by the time bullets slammed into where he landed. 

"Show off!" Nightwing accused as he came flipping over a desk, escrima sticks sparking and ricocheting off walls.

A throwing star shot past Bruce's face, Robin following it closely. "And what would you call your behavior right now?"

"Keep the comms clear." Bruce reminded them, knowing full well it was in vain. He threw a would-be shooter to the ground, stomping on the gun. As he stood, pain lanced through his skull, left ear ringing. Batman staggered. 

A gleeful man stood to his side with a pipe, ready to strike again until an escrima nailed him in the solar plexus and knocked him back. Good. Because the ground was tilting uneasily beneath Bruce. A hit to the head was the last thing he needed right now. 

Gunshots echoed in the backroom. Hood came rolling out, dodging and throwing punches and kicks with as much grace as Nightwing. "Yes father dearest." He sang and Dick groaned. 

"I think I threw up in my mouth a little."

“Boys.” But Bruce couldn’t fully keep the amusement out of his voice. It was nice having a night where everyone was getting along. Clean up also went fairly quickly with four of them. Which was good because the minor headache he spent the evening ignoring was splitting now. At least the ringing was gone. 

The boys were chatting as they ziptied criminals–well Dick and Damian were zip tying. Jason was busy trying to get Dick’s escrima to rebound with limited success. Bruce stayed stationary, trying not to sway with the rocking of the world. Breathe and push through it. Let the pain settle enough to get back to the cave.

“We're all set.” Nightwing snatched the escrima from the air, much to Jason's dismay, and slid it onto his back. “Ready to go, Batman?”

“Hnn.” Two steps were all Bruce could manage before stopping. He was too dizzy. A cold sweat was pricking his skin. Numbness crept out from his knees.

“Bats?” Hood asked. Their attention was solely on him now. “You good?”

"You don't look good." Dick added helpfully.

“I’m fine.” He grunted, reaching for his grapple. “I promi–” His mind went fuzzy as his knees gave out and he pitched forward.

It was almost relieving. Passing out meant no more splitting pain through his skull. His vision tunneled, barely letting him see all three boys lunge towards him. And the last thing he heard as concrete rushed towards him, was Damian shouting, “Father!” 

---

Bruce wasn't sure what woke him. How long had he been out? It took several tries before he managed to force his eyes open. Bats fluttered high above, wheeling between the stalactites. The cave. Safety. One less thing to worry about. 

His body felt heavy. Was he drugged? Fabric brushed against his skin. Slowly, so as not to send the world spinning again, Bruce tilted his head down to look. Then bit back a laugh. He was in the medical bed, that much he expected. What was unexpected were his children. 

Tim was sleeping alongside him, a faint whistle in his breath. His head tucked against Bruce's neck and his body was carefully twisted to avoid touching the IV in Bruce's left arm which trailed back to a half empty saline bag hanging on the IV pole. 

Damian and Cassandra were wedged on his other side with Damian half sprawled across his chest. Further down, Jason was curled up with his back pressed to Bruce’s legs, a pillow making Tim’s calves actually comfortable for sleeping. 

Which was subjective because how any of this was comfortable, Bruce didn’t know. 

But he stayed still, unwilling to wake them and lose the moment of tender peace. His right arm was free and he gently laid his hand on Damian's back, watching it rise and fall with each of his son's breaths. Despite his condition he felt...happy.

“You’re awake.” 

Bruce looked up to see Dick at the foot of his bed. “Hi, chum.” He whispered. “What happened?”

“You passed out.” Dick said, equally quiet, checking the saline drip. “And you’re dehydrated, which didn’t help. Why didn’t you tell us you had a concussion?”

“It was old.”

“Not that old." He could hear Dick rolling his eyes. "One smack on the head was all it took to take you down. You hit the ground like a sack of bricks. Very Gulliver's Travels.” 

Finished fussing with the bag, Dick moved closer to the bed. He held Bruce's gaze for a brief moment before looking down, brushing stray locks of hair out of Tim’s face. “You scared us." His son admitted softly. "Thought you’d been shot or stabbed without us realizing.”

Bruce thought of Damian’s cry as he’d slipped under. He cleared his throat. “Everyone is alright?”

“Right as rain.”

“They didn’t leave any room for you on here, did they?”

Dick grinned and shook his head. “But that’s alright. I’m on big brother duty, making sure everything and one is taken care of while you’re down. You need anything?”

“I’m fine. You should be resting too.”

“In a bit.” Dick said, leaning on the bed rail and looking at his siblings with a small smile. Something stirred in Bruce's chest. He loved all his children equally. He had no favorites, even when they used up every last ounce of his grace and patience, which happened at least once a week. 

But Dick was, as Selina once teased, his baby. The first and youngest of his kids when Bruce took him in. He had been utterly clueless on how to be a father then. And despite remaining clueless in so many ways and making countless mistakes, seeing Dick grow over the years to become resilient, whole, loving, and here despite it all…it gave him hope.

“That used to be my job.” Bruce said softly. Dick raised an eyebrow. “Watching over you. Taking care of you.” So many nights spent talking in hushed voices, reading stories, just sitting at his son's side. Little precious moments.

Dick’s smile took on a melancholy tint. “Still is with our lifestyle.”

“Maybe. But you don’t need me anymore. You have your own life and city. You can take care of yourself.”

“That doesn’t write you out of my life though. Or give you a pass to not be waiting on me hand and foot next time I’m laid up. Besides, you still have them.” Dick tilted his head at the sleeping kids.

“They still need you, B. And you've been doing a great job of being there for them." Dick squeezed his hand. "So let us take care of you this time, okay? Then the world can go back to normal.” 

Bruce nodded, not trusting himself to speak. "Good. Go back to sleep before I have to bring in Alfred to scold you." Dick leaned over to press a kiss to Bruce’s head. “ Now our roles are truly flipped!” Chuckling, he padded back towards the Batcomputer.

Bruce leaned his head on Cass’s and she shifted closer in her sleep. All of his kids needed different things from him. They'd all lived different lives, saw the world in a unique way, and he did his best to give what he could. But there was one thing they all needed. And he could stand to say it much more often. 

“Dickie,” He called softly, waiting until Dick turned around. “I love you.”

Dick flashed his bright, charming smile. Still the same as when he was a loving eight-year-old that saved Bruce from spiraling into despair. “Love you too, Dad.”

Chapter Text

The bigtop was empty, not a soul in sight in the red and white tent. Dick stood on the platform, looking down at the sand covered floor the same way he did night after night. The Flying Graysons in action once more. 

He looked up to see his parents soaring towards him, each with one hand on the bar and the others outstretched. Inviting him with bright and encouraging smiles. Joyful, Dick reached for them, ready to fly together. A moment that defied gravity and was utterly and completely theirs.

He never reached them. The ropes snapped and John and Mary’s smiling faces warped into ones of fear as they plummeted. Dick screamed, throwing himself flat on the platform as he grasped for their ever reaching hands. But it was in vain. 

And Dick sobbed as he watched his parents die. 

Again.

With a crack, the wood under his chest vanished and Dick tumbled to the sand beside them with a thud. He couldn’t open his eyes. Didn’t want to. Didn’t want to see his parents...mom holding him on her hip while singing in Romani...dad teaching him to use the trapeze and shouting encouragements. 

Or Bruce. Looking down at him with regret. Leaving him there covered in blood and sand instead of extending a hand. Never taking on the burden that is Dick Grayson.

Trembling, he forced himself to look. And choked back a wail. 

Little Wing.  

Lying mere feet away was Jason. Gasping for air, crumpled and broken in a pool of his own blood. Teal eyes watched him from beneath swollen eyelids. Pleading. 

Without hesitation, Dick crawled to his brother. Blood was sticky between their skin as he pressed their foreheads together. “I’m here, sweetheart.” Dick whispered. A stifled cry slipped from Jason. “You’re not alone. You’re not–” His voice cracked. “You’re not alone, Jaybird. This time I’m here, I’m–”

His ankle was seized. And yanked.  

“No!” Dick screamed, grabbing for Jason. Bloody fingers clutched at him in return, bloodshot eyes wide with panic. His leg was jerked painfully, quickly dragging him away from his little brother. “Jay! Let me stay!” 

He clawed at the dirt, leaving deep gouges. Jason was too far now, tears slipping down his cheeks, hand still outstretched as Joker loomed over him. “I want to stay! Jay!”

 Doors slammed in Dick’s face as he howled in anger. He struggled to his feet, beating his fists against the doors, screaming until his voice cracked. “I need to save him! Please!” 

“Like you saved me?”

His blood ran cold. This was hell. Soft footsteps came up behind him. “No...no more.” Dick twisted his hands in his hair, moaning softly as he slumped to the ground. “Please.”

Damian crouched before him. “No more? Do you think you’re not deserving of this? That you’re better than this?”

Tears blurred his vision as Dick looked up at him. Blood soaked his uniform, dripping from a familiar wound in his chest. “I tried to save you. I really did. I’m sorry–”

Familiar words. The same ones he whispered cradling his baby brother’s still, cold body, feeling entirely too much like the panes of glass shattered around them.

“Tt. Save your breath, Richard.” A disgusted sneer twisted Damian’s bloodless lips. “Pathetic. You spew so many grand statements about saving us. Protecting us. Caring about us. But in the end? What have you actually accomplished? Have you kept us alive? Whole? Together? Have you even managed any of that for yourself?”

“I’ve tried my best.” Dick wept. “I’m only human. But I’ve tried–”

Damian cocked his head. “Where is Drake?” He interrupted. “You’ve driven him away to such a degree that even in your nightmares he’s absent. You utterly wrecked the one relationship in your life that was pure and good and untainted. He loathes the very idea of you. Well done.”

“Why are you doing this?” Dick begged. “What do you want from me? To say I wish I could fix it all? Be the perfect brother and mentor? That I wish it was me? Well I do!” His shout echoed off the walls. “I wish it was me and not you! Not any of you!”

Damian blinked. Unphased. “Wake up, Dick.” He said, but it wasn’t his voice leaving his lips.

Confused, Dick recoiled. “W-what?”

“It’s not real, chum.” 

“Bruce?”

“Wake up!”

Dick snapped his eyes open, panting. His chest felt like a horse kicked him. Mallets beat against the inside of his skull. An armchair had been scooted beside the head of his bed and Bruce's half empty coffee mug sat on the nightstand. He must've stepped away for a moment. Worst timing ever.

"It's not real. It's not real." Dick chanted quietly, crushing a pillow in his arms and pulling his knees up until he was practically a ball. “It’s not real.” He was safe and sound. At home. Where he wasn’t being tormented with every horrific moment his mind could possibly conjure. 

But the glaring fact was that some parts of it were real. Pieces had been warped and twisted but at the core...they were real memories. Real pain.

"Oh God," He moaned. With shaky sobs he buried his face in the pillow. A fuck up. He was nothing more than a giant fuck up with a lifetime of failures to prove it.

“Dick?” A sliver of light lit the room as his bedroom door creaked open. “Can I come in?” Tim called softly. Dick nodded weakly, lifting his head enough to peer over the soaked pillowcase. “I was up late reading and heard noises."

"Sorry." Dick’s voice cracked. Causing problems. Again.

Tim sank down on the edge of the bed, face unreadable. "Fear toxin?”

“Antidote took a bit to kick in." He hid his face again. The room fell silent and Dick waited tersely to hear Tim leave. Or to say something along the lines of Dick deserving this. Waiting for confirmation of his fears.

You’ve driven him away.

“Can I stay?”

Dick’s head jerked up. His little brother was watching him with blatant worry, chewing his lip. The bewilderment Dick felt must’ve crept onto his face because Tim began stuttering an explanation. 

“I can leave too. I-I just thought since you always stay with me and it makes me feel better that maybe I could...could stay.” Tim twisted his baggy Justice League shirt nervously in his hand. 

He loathes the very idea of you.

“Please.” Dick gasped like he was a drowning man being thrown a line. He shuddered violently under the quilt, unsure if it was from the chemicals or hallucinations. “Please, please stay. I promise I’m sorry Tim, I’m so sorry–”

“I know you are.” Moving the pillow aside, Tim climbed into his big brother's arms. Dick clutched him closer, burying his face in Tim’s too long hair. “I forgive you, Dickie.”

Dick made a choked off noise. "How? I can barely forgive myself for what I did to you."

"Because you're my brother." Tim said softly, cheek pressed to Dick’s collarbone, arms wrapped around him. "And that means sometimes we’re gonna screw up and fight. But you'll always be my brother. Don’t let Crane lie to you."

“This sucks.” Dick laughed shakily, wiping his eyes. Tim hummed in agreement. Even after their countless exposures to the toxin, it never got any easier. If anything it got worse as tragedies accumulated in their lives.

“Want me to get the others?”

Dick took a steadying breath before shaking his head. He was still too keyed up and seeing Jason and Damian alive would only make him cry more right now. Maybe after the antidote finished working. 

“I love you, Dick.”

Forget the others making him cry, Dick was about to turn into a blubbering mess again from only four words. “I love you too.” He pressed a kiss to Tim’s head. “Thanks for staying, Timbo.” 

When Bruce returned to Dick's room, it was silent and unchanged except for an extra lump under the blankets. He moved closer to investigate and a smile crept across his face.

Dick was curled up asleep like before. But this time there was no furrow between his brows and fearful whimpers. Because Tim was tucked against him, head nestled under his brother’s chin as they slept. Peaceful at last.

Chapter Text

“How far, Oracle?” Batman growled. Bones snapped under his boot. Another fighter swung at him but he blocked it with his gauntlet and cracked their heads together. Each hit was fueled by unbridled rage. It was treading a fine line but he couldn’t care less. They’d taken Batgirl. Nothing would stop him from getting her back.

“Next door. Red Robin and Spoiler are holding off the rest.”

With a grunt, Bruce dropped the limp assailant on the stone floor. He stalked down the narrow, underground hallway and pulled a laser pen from his belt. It sliced through the padlock with ease. 

Fear gripped him when he pressed his hand to the metal. A mere split second of hesitation. Hong Kong wasn’t his turf. What should he be expecting? Should he even dare to…

He shoved the door open and his heart clenched. “Batgirl?” 

Dangling in the center of the room, chains wrapped around her wrists and wrenching her arms overhead, was Cassandra. Only the balls of her feet were touching the floor, a single point of contact keeping her from dislocating both shoulders. Shredded pieces of her cape and bat symbol were scattered around her, mask trampled in a puddle. 

Even though her legs were taunt, keeping most of the weight off her arms, she didn’t react to his voice. 

“Cass.” He said insistently, moving closer. Stringy black hair dangled over her bruised and bloodied face. Breaking bones wasn’t enough. Bruce wanted to maim. Wanted to kill whoever dared lay a hand on her. “Cassie.” A faint moan slipped from her lips. “Hold on, sweetie. I’m getting you down.”

She didn’t make a sound as he untangled her wrists. Dark bruises marred her skin. With the chains gone, Cassandra slumped, trembling legs unable to hold her weight any longer. Bruce darted to catch her. They sank to the floor, Bruce’s legs folded awkwardly beneath him. Cass was sprawled limp in his arms. Unmoving. Silent. 

Fear was almost smothering now. Was he too late? Pulse. Check her pulse. He yanked his gauntlet off using his teeth. Memories of a smoldering warehouse lingered in the back of his mind as he pressed bare fingers to her neck. He couldn’t lose another child. Not again. Not like this.

Her pulse was steady and Bruce exhaled in a rush. Next was making sure there was no major trauma. Let logic try and drown out his worry. 

Because just weeks ago she’d bested him in a sparring match. And then proceeded to take on her brothers, one after another. Now...now his daughter was so hurt she was practically a rag doll. It was wrong. And Bruce wanted to make it right but where did he even start? Healing from physical injuries was one thing. Recovering from two weeks of torture was another.

Once he was absolutely positive she wasn’t going to bleed out and there were no major breaks, Bruce brushed the hair away from her face, lightly running his thumb across her cheek. His chest ached with the need to wash the streaks of blood from her skin. 

“Can you hear me, Cassandra?” He picked up her limp hand. “Squeeze my hand if you can hear me.” Come on, Cass. Fight a little longer.

“Not…real…” 

The words were hoarse, barely a whisper. But relief exploded through Bruce all the same. “No, no this is real Cass.” He insisted. “I’m real.” Warm brown eyes fluttered open, flickering over his face. Analyzing. Hints of old walls were in her guarded expression. Retreating to safety. 

Bruce forced a smile. For her sake. “You’re safe now. I’m taking you home.”

Tears welled in her eyes. “Safe?” She asked in that broken whisper. 

Bruce nodded. “Safe, sweetheart.”

Cass let out a soft exhale. Then, with probably the last ounce of strength she had, she tucked her face against Bruce’s chest, weakly grabbing his cape. “Dad.”  

“I’ve got you.” Bruce held her as tight as he dared, cradling her head. “I won’t let anyone else hurt you.”

“I can’t walk.” She whispered. “Hurts too much.”

“Don’t worry, Cassie.” He shifted carefully and rolled to his feet, jostling her as little as possible. Oracle chimed in his ear, letting him know Tim and Steph secured their exit route. “I’ll carry you. You can rest now.”

Chapter Text

"Nightwing!" The moment his feet touched down, Jason was sprinting. He didn’t care if he blew his cover. The emergency beacon went off almost three whole minutes ago. Countless things could’ve happened in that time. 

Countless things could’ve happened before because Dick Grayson was not known for playing it safe. How long did the moron wait to signal them? What damage had already been done?

There. Dick was crumpled on the roof, discarded like trash. One of his escrima lay beside him, snapped in half. The thin layer of snow clinging to the concrete was splattered with red. Was it only his? Was it his attackers? 

Jason tore his helmet off. The icy air stung his lungs, making his throat constrict as breaths scraped in and out. "Dick!" He fell to his knees beside Dick’s head. Blood trickled from the corner of his brother's mouth. The black and blue suit was shredded, covered in rips and tears that revealed sickly red and black bruises and bleeding gashes. 

"Dickie?" Jason's voice wobbled this time. Fear began seeping through him, making his throat tighten painfully for a whole new reason.

No. No time to cry. Stubbornly, he yanked off his jacket, wrapping it around Dick’s upper body. Hypothermia would set in fast thanks to blood loss and the torn suit. He needed to keep Dick warm.

There was no need to remove Dick’s domino, the milky lenses were shattered. Slivers of blue peeked from under slack eyelids. For a split second Jason hesitated, shaking fingers hovering over the carotid artery, too frightened of what they might find. There was no way Dick could be...he just couldn’t be…he wasn't supposed to...

Grinding his teeth, Jason pressed down. His own pulse beat wildly in his ears. He felt like he was floating. He couldn’t breathe.

A thready pulse beat under his fingertips. Once. Twice. Three times.

Jason let out a strangled noise of relief. His forehead fell to Dick’s chest as he took a long shuddering breath. He wanted nothing more than to gather Dick into his arms but he couldn't risk aggravating any hidden head or spine injuries. This little comfort would have to do.

“Oracle, Batman, I have him. He’s-” Jason's voice caught. “He’s alive. Badly hurt but alive. You need to hurry!”

“One minute out.” The order barked at him, not a shred of fear in Batman’s voice. That would come later, as they kept worried vigil by a hospital bed. “Attend to any major trauma.”

Nodding, Jason’s hand found a puncture wound in Dick’s side, the source of most of the bleeding, and pressed down. Would it help? Dick needed an ER, not field dressings. What could Jason do? What could Bruce do? They weren’t doctors or surgeons. Not really. It was a drop in a bucket but still Jason applied pressure.

“It’s gonna be okay, Dickie.” Jason whispered anyway, swallowing fear as he wiped some of the blood from his brother’s face. He kept his voice as steady and comforting as he could, the same way Dick did for him when he was young and frightened from nightmares or flashbacks. God, Dick had been a better brother than he gave him credit for. “B is on his way. And I’m here. So just hang on, Big Bird. Please?”

Shaky fingers touched his now blood-soaked hand. “Jay?” A wrecked voice whispered, so faint it was almost carried away in the wind. 

Jason seized Dick’s limp hand tight, bowing his head to his brother’s chest again. A tremble was building in him, no matter how hard he tried to suppress it. “I’m right here, Dickiebird. I’m not leaving. Little Wing is here.” 

Dick’s eyes remained closed but his fingers twitched in Jason’s grip, curling weakly around his hand. Labored breaths wheezed through his chest. Above them the soft whir of jet engines began to fill the night sky. 

“Please...please stay with us.” Jason tucked his face into the crook of Dick's neck. Phantom memories of fingers carding through his hair accompanied the action. "Dickie, please. Please don't go." Hot tears slipped down his cheeks. It felt unreal. As if he were trapped in a dream that would end any second. 

He’d wake up to his big brother snoring in his bed because Dick had a tendency to just show up once he knew it was okay. And Jason would wake him and explain his nightmare to a bemused and groggy face. Only to be wrapped up in a warm and secure hug as Dick chased the fear away with gentle words. Like he always did for them. The dependable big brother who wanted nothing more than to make the world a better place. 

Instead the wheezing breaths were fainter now, pulse slowing beneath Jason's ear. He held Dick's hand tighter, shifting to kiss his brother's cold cheek before it was too late. "We all love you so much, Dickie. Say hi to your parents for us, yeah?" Jason said in a surprisingly steady voice. "And make sure you only tell them good stories about me and terrible ones about Tim."

The corner of Dick's mouth twitched. He seemed at peace now, though that only made Jason’s stomach twist more. Batman was sprinting desperately towards them. Jason went back to holding Dick and weeping silently against his neck, eyes fixed on the broken escrima, wishing it was him instead.

Chapter Text

It'd be better if he wasn’t gagged.

Last time, Dick could speak. Beg Bruce to run. To save himself and the others. Tell his father that he never abandoned them. 

But this time a foul tasting rag was pulled painfully tight across his mouth. Silencing any last words. 

Dick yanked at the chains pinning him flat to the wall. His hands were chained up by his head, arms bent at right angles. A thick metal band enclosed his waist and more chains wrapped secure around his legs. 

It was in vain and he knew it. They hadn’t given out in the past 3 days and they weren’t giving out now. Unlike the other bonds his captors previously tried and he’d consistently broken out of.

“Calm down, there.” A man grinned at him, a machine gun slung across his back. He’d been the main overseer, doling out hits like candy. “Just because your little friends arrived doesn’t mean they’re going to make it here alive.”

They would. Dick knew that much. He threw his weight forward again in defiance.

His captor’s radio squawked, garbled messages coming through. The Bats were closing in. Dick smirked as best he could and the man scowled before barking his own message back. 

“We’re screwed. I’m burning the merchandise. Evac to the helipad but take out as many as you can.” Then he grabbed a syringe.

Shit. Dick thrashed in the chains but he barely moved. Helpless, he watched as the syringe neared his bicep, nostrils flaring. 

“Big bad bird is scared now, huh?” The man laughed. “This is what you get for costing me millions. You’re just not worth the trouble anymore. Maybe one of the little ones will be more docile. Imagine how much they'd go for at auction.” The liquid stung going in and Dick bit down on the gag in rage and pain. The man patted his cheek before backing out of the dark cell. “Have a nice death.”

The sounds of fighting were moving closer. Dick tried to take deep breaths and calm his heart rate. Maybe whatever toxin was just injected would move slower if his heart rate wasn’t through the roof. Buy him a little time until the others arrive. Maybe even enough for them to do a tox screen on the Batplane. He took another deep breath. 

His heart beat slowly.

Too slowly.

Panic slammed into Dick, jolting every nerve to life. And yet his heart was still beating sluggishly slow. No. No no no. He squeezed his eyes shut. The whole thing felt like some kind of sick deja vu now. Being completely immobilized, family rushing to save him. Heart gradually slowing down until it finally just...stopped.

It was hard to breathe now. His chest hurt. Dick could taste the powdery cardioplegia pill Luther forced down his throat. Hear Bruce screaming his name as he fought to save him.

Another too slow beat. 

With each arrhythmic thump his mind screamed WRONG . Old fear filled his lungs. If it weren’t for the chains he would’ve collapsed from dizziness. If only he could press a hand to his chest, feel the beats himself because maybe it was just his imagination and this wasn’t happening again. His heart wouldn’t just stop.

The gag felt like a sweaty hand clamped over his bruised face. The steady beep of a monitor rang in his ears. Other sounds were muffled and distant. The part of his mind that was always on alert recognized it was Jason and Tim. But he could barely muster relief. Sorrow filled him instead. 

He didn’t want his little brothers to watch him die.

By the time Tim came crashing into the cell, Dick could focus only on counting his heartbeats. 

"Time to go home, Wing." Tim ripped the gag from his mouth.

"Brachy." Dick gasped. Chains were quickly disappearing, less and less holding him upright. When the final ones were gone, Dick dropped to his hands and knees. Frantic, he pressed a palm flat on his chest, feeling for the irregular rhythm. It didn’t bring as much comfort as he hoped.

Tim knelt beside him. "What?"

"Brachycardia." He panted again and Tim's eyes snapped wide.

“Shit.” It only took him seconds to spot the discarded syringe. “Nightwing is down.” Tim shouted into his comm, snatching up the needle. He pushed at Dick, maneuvering him flat on his back. “They injected him with something, his heart rate is slowing down. I need a-a-an AED or adrenaline or–”

“Atropine.” Bruce growled. “I’m on my way.”

“Since when did you start carrying atropine?” Jason asked. 

There was no response but Dick knew the exact date Bruce added it to his utility belt. A whimper escaped him. He closed his eyes, focusing on not fainting. 

“Hang on, Dick.” Tim knelt beside him, messing with something on his belt. There was a soft hiss and then a rebreather was pressing on his face. “Oxygen. Not a lot but it should help until B arrives.”

The makeshift oxygen mask helped clear some of the fuzziness from his head. Tim was raising his feet up, as if he’d simply passed out.

Each thud of his heart still felt slower and slower.

Dick didn’t remember what it was like to die. Traumatic amnesia, Dinah said. Most of the memory was all foggy and blurry. Which had been nice afterwards but now...part of him wanted to know what to expect. What Tim would suffer through watching him.

A new needle bit into his arm. Dick snapped his eyes open, ready to fight, only to see Batman looming over him. “Keep breathing, chum. Give it a second to work.” Bruce said, pressing two fingers under Dick’s jaw. “I’ll keep count.” 

His other hand ran through Dick’s hair. Like Bruce had then, whispering apologies in the last minutes of Dick’s life. Death was the fastest way to realize which arguments and disagreements didn’t matter at all. And all the life missed out on after them. 

After several more minutes of deep breathing, Dick felt his heart returning to a closer to normal, albeit slow, rhythm. He finally allowed himself to look at his worried siblings gathered around them. Tim and Cass were crouching side by side while Jason was standing by the door, guns still drawn as he kept guard.

"What happened?" Damian stood behind Cass with a frown, arms crossed. 

"I…" Dick licked his lips. "I died." He choked out. They were talking about now, wondering why he’d melted down, but the truth was on the tip of his tongue already.

"It was just a toxin." Tim said kindly, "Probably laced with blood pressure medicine or something to slow down–"

"No, before.” Dick closed his eyes and swallowed hard as memories surged. A phantom whip wound around his neck. Burning. Yanking. Cold metal wrapped around him. His father crying out for him.

“Nightwing.” Bruce said. A warning that came too late because his mouth was already forming the words.

“Before Spyral."

Tim's mouth fell open as he sank back onto his heels. Jason was looking between them, head snapping back and forth. "No, that was a lie. ” Jason protested. “You were waiting in the cave, alive and well. It was all a ruse!"

“This isn’t the time–” Bruce tried again.

"My heart stopped." Dick whispered. "I was...I was dead."

Pure horror twisted Jason's face. "And you just... forgot to tell us that little detail? Both of you? For over a year?" He sounded aghast, caught between disbelief and anger. "Dickie, what the fuck?"

"B, you said you tricked the machine into thinking he died and then escaped. Not that…" Tim trailed off. "It wasn't a trick then, was it?"

Dick shook his head. A tightness was creeping through his chest again.

“This isn’t the place for this.” Cass said suddenly, rising to her feet and reaching for Dick. Perfect timing as always. Bruce grunted in agreement.

"I'm sorry." Tim said softly, helping him rise. "Let’s get you back to the cave. There’s more medical supplies on the jet if needed."

Dick swayed on his feet. Before anyone else could hold out a hand, Damian swooped in. “Thanks Little D.” He whispered as he leaned on Damian, exhaustion rapidly spreading through his limbs.

The flight home was tense to say the least. Jason looked murderous, insisting that he fly. He needed something else to focus on and Dick couldn’t blame him. Tim sat in the co-pilot’s seat, talking to him in a hushed voice as he tested the remnants of the syringe. 

In the back, Dick was sitting between Cass and Damian, holding an oxygen mask to his face. His mind was clearer now, the ache in his chest steadily fading. Bruce was hunched over in the seat across from him. Silent. Both of them nervously anticipating what was coming next.

It was more chaotic than Dick expected. 

Once he was settled into the medbay bed, groggy as hell, everything went to shit. Tim hooked up the heart monitor before Dick realized it and at the first beep he slammed back into panic mode, grabbing at the nodes stuck on him.

“No monitors!” He gasped, grabbing at the leads. A countdown floated before his eyes. Each beep was the droning, high pitched tone of the flatline alarm. 

“Calm down, Richard!” Damian grabbed his arm. “Drake and Cain are getting them off. Be still and it’ll go faster.”

“Why didn’t we know about this?” Jason roared, getting right in Bruce’s face. “More fucking secrets! Look at him! How can you say it’s worth it?” 

“What more do you want to know?” Bruce pulled down his own cowl as he shouted back. Even in the midst of his own panic Dick could spot Bruce’s tells from a mile away. Could easily see how upset his father was having to relive this nightmare again. “We told you the truth! The Syndicate captured–” 

“Oh my god! Loopholes! Fucking loopholes!” The crash of metal made them all start as Jason slammed his helmet into a tool covered table. He whirled to face Bruce again, “Dick fucking died! And we didn’t know! I made goddamn jokes!” His voice cracked, the slightest tremble in his chin. “We made jokes about it and we didn’t know–!”

“Stop it!” Cass stepped between them, pushing Jason back. “This isn’t helping.”

“It’s sure as hell helping me.”

“No it isn’t.” Her voice was low and steady and Jason fell silent, shrugging off her hands and stalking away.

Tim pulled off the last node and Dick scrambled out of bed. “I’ll tell you all the truth.” He panted. “But not here.”

---

They ended up in the kitchen. It was still tense but Dick breathed easier now, sitting on a long bench at the breakfast table instead of a hospital bed. Not surrounded by wires and tubes and darkness. Damian sat smashed against his side, gripping Dick’s hand in both of his. Neither commented on his fingers periodically drifting to Dick’s pulse point. Nor would they acknowledge this moment of softness later.

Bruce was hovering awkwardly by the island as Tim pulled leftovers from the fridge to reheat. Normally Jason would cook but he was still too keyed up, pacing by the pantry with a hand knotted in his hair.

“Jay…” Dick held out his arm but his brother just shook his head and Dick let him continue. Cass slid a bowl of curry in front of Dick before sitting on the other bench with her knees pulled up to her chest.

Now was as good a time as any. With the hum of the microwave in the background, Dick took a deep breath. "The murder machine was connected to my heartbeat. Unless it stopped, a bomb would detonate and kill everyone. Luthor, he…” His lips were suddenly paper dry. “Bruce wasn't going to harm me so Luthor forced me to swallow a pill that stopped my heart.

“I remember my heart slowing into nothing...and then suddenly kicking into high gear, beating so fast it hurt. Bruce said Luthor gave me a shot of adrenaline and brought me back." 

Tim let out a heavy exhale, pinching the bridge of his nose by the microwave. Bruce was hunched over the counter, grip so tight it might crack the granite. Damian squeezed Dick’s hand tighter.

The truth was heavy. Which is why he’d chosen to keep the burden to himself.

"Answer me honestly," Jason threatened, finally standing still. His hands were white-knuckled fists at his side. "Luthor never planned to revive you, did he?"

Dick gave a small shake of his head and Jason closed his eyes, jaw clenching. "Bruce scared him into it. Or he had a moment of weakness and was moved by Bruce's efforts to save me." Bruce hunched further over the countertop, eyes closed.

"But either way it was plan B." Tim set a tray of bowls on the table and sat down next to Cass. Immediately she rested her head on his shoulder. "The drug tonight...it felt like it didn't it?" 

"Yes."

Eerie silence settled over the kitchen. No one moved for their spoons. Stiffly, Jason sank down on the bench beside Dick, his back to him. It was an invitation Dick recognized so he slid his arm around Jason’s shoulders, across his chest. Jason grabbed it with both hands, leaning back against his side. Across the kitchen Bruce watched them with a mournful look.  

“I don’t understand why neither you or Father told us.” Damian said softly. “Did you not think we would care?”

“It was only a minute or two,” Dick said, “I...I didn’t want to upset all of you even more. And I didn’t think it would affect me this much.”

Cass lightly kicked his ankle. “For someone so smart…”

“I make a lot of stupid decisons. I know, I know.” He smiled ruefully. “I’m sorry. I asked Bruce not to tell anyone.” Jason stiffened beside him. “After everything I put you all through...I didn’t want to add to it.”

“That’s moronic.” Tim said casually, reaching for a bowl. “All of us have died or been presumed dead. You’re not special.” It broke the tension somehow, though Dick suspected that was his brother’s goal. Cass reached for one next, followed by Damian. Bruce floated closer. 

“We were already mourning you, Dickface.” Jason grumbled.

“Agreed. It was foolish, Richard.” Damian stabbed at his rice, then glanced at Dick. “However, I’m glad you’re feeling better now. You are feeling better...right?”

“Yeah, Dames.” Dick ruffled his hair then pulled his own food closer with his free arm. “I’m feeling better.”

---

No traumatic flashback or incident in the Wayne household went without a bad movie marathon. How the tradition started, Dick didn’t know. It was an easy way to lighten the mood or distract yourself. Or for background noise during heart to hearts. 

Whatever the origin, Dick wasn’t surprised to be herded into the living room after he’d been bandaged up so he could be put in the center of a sibling dogpile. Truthfully he’d been looking forward to it. There was nowhere he’d rather be than surrounded by his family right now.

Which is why when he woke up on the couch later that night, he was unsurprised by the combined weight of Tim and Damian snoring on his chest, almost crushing him to death. Cass was curled up by his head and was thankfully not attempting to asphyxiate him too. 

What he was a bit surprised to see was Jason and Bruce hugging across the room. His brother’s shoulders shaking as Bruce clutched him close. Bruce’s lips were moving by Jason’s ear but Dick was too tired to even attempt lip reading. But from the way they were clinging to each other, it was clear their earlier fight was water under the bridge.

Bruce caught his eye and they shared a small smile. A smile that finally unraveled the last big knot of worry from Dick’s chest. All was well. Or would be well. Carefully, he scooted Tim off his left lung, tugged the blankets up on Damian and Cass, then closed his eyes again. 

The truth was heavy. This life was heavy. 

But sharing it with people he loved...that helped.

Chapter Text

Jason wasn’t sure if he was happy or not to be in the hospital waiting room. On one hand, it was his least favorite place to be. Isolated, barely any information, stuck in an anxious limbo. The chairs weren’t as soft as they looked and the vinyl couch stuck to bare skin. The food wasn’t too bad. If you liked snack cakes, chips, and absolutely zero seasoning in anything.

On the other hand...being here meant Dick had a chance. No thanks to him.

Jason expected a wall of noise when he rushed into the ER, stumbling under the weight of his brother’s limp body. But it had been relatively peaceful. And it remained relatively peaceful after Dick had been put on a bed and wheeled off surrounded by shouting doctors. 

He knew better yet he still tried to follow until a nurse directed him to the public waiting room. And then to a private one once Bruce showed up moments later, panting and in civilian clothes. Jason’s suit was quicker to change into regular clothes. Granting him the honor of bringing Dick in under the guise of being mugged.

“Dammit.” Jason hissed, pressing his forehead to the pale green wall. He wanted to bash his head against it but that would only land him in his own room with even less information. 

Now that he was trapped with his own thoughts, all he could do was replay that rooftop exchange over and over. Think about what he did...what he should’ve done differently. 

Hot tears burned behind his eyes and he ground his teeth. Both fists slammed against the wall. “Dammit!”

“Jason…” Bruce came up behind him, lightly touching his shoulder. 

“It’s my fault.” He spit the words out. “I gave up. I just...just accepted it! I barely tried, I failed him.” No amount of blinking held the tears back anymore. “Dickie’s gonna die because I gave up–”

Insistent hands pulled him away from the wall and into Bruce’s arms. He was crushed into a cable-knit sweater and God he wanted to laugh because how was that something you put in a clothes cache? 

Bruce’s hand slid to the back of his head, thumb rubbing the nape of his neck. “It’s not your fault, sweetheart.”

Instinct told Jason to shove Bruce away, snap that he wasn’t a baby, to stop lying to him, to fight because anger was better than showing weakness. But the truth was...he wanted nothing more than to be held and soothed and told promises no one could keep or guarantee.

“I’m sorry.” Jason whimpered, snaking his arms around Bruce and clutching at the sweater. “I’m sorry, dad.” 

Please don’t send me away. Please let me stay. Please forgive me. Please love me.

Bruce nestled his face in his son’s helmet flattened waves. They both still smelled of Gotham, a reminder of what forced them here in the first place. 

“Jaybird,” He whispered, “Dick would’ve bled out if you hadn’t kept pressure on his stab wound. You’re the reason he held on long enough for me to get to him. And I’m glad you comforted him. That he knew how much we–” 

Bruce choked on his words and fell silent as he continued crushing Jason to himself. Several long minutes passed before he found his voice again. “There’s nothing to apologize for.”

---

Twenty minutes later, with still no word from the doctors, Tim and Damian came bursting into the waiting room, Barbara calmly wheeling in after them.

“Where is he?” Damian demanded. Jason and Bruce both jumped up from the beige hospital couch. And then stood there, neither sure how to respond. “Where’s Richard?”

“He’s in surgery.” Bruce said. But a lack of reactivity wasn’t going to calm Damian today.

“I want to see him!”

“You can’t go up right now. But once he’s out then we can all go up–”

“I want to see him now, Father!” Tim, face entirely too tight with worry, reached for Damian’s shoulder at the same time Jason stepped forward. But the brat evaded them both, bolting across the room. “I need to see him! I don’t trust these hacks!” 

Damian was yelling now, body in a fighting stance as he backed towards a corner. Green eyes flickered towards the door, as if he’d go sprinting through the hospital until he found Dick. “What if they try and finish the job! Or make a mistake in surgery! Or–!”

Bruce darted forward, scooping his son into his arms and holding him against his chest like he was a toddler, not thirteen and lethal. For a brief moment, Damian thrashed. Then he went limp, like a puppet whose strings were cut. 

“I know you’re scared,” Bruce whispered, “But we need to trust the surgeons and let them work. Okay?”

“I want to see Richard.” Damian whined into his father’s shoulder, low and full of tears, before sliding his arms around Bruce’s neck, legs dangling.

“I know. So do I.” Bruce slowly paced the length of the room as he held his youngest, rubbing his back as he shushed him. Jason felt rooted to the spot, watching. 

All his fault. 

Someone tugged on his sleeve. “Come sit.” Babs said when he finally looked at her. “You look like you might pass out.”

“I feel like I might pass out.” Jason sighed and fell back onto the couch beside Tim. “Wasn’t expecting you to show up, Babs.”

“Sometimes a queen has to walk among the peasants.” Tim joked and Barbara smiled.

“Precisely. And I...needed to be here. For him. For all of you.” She squeezed Jason’s knee. 

“How are you doing?” Tim asked quietly. "Babs said you were first on scene."

Blood spattered snow. A broken escrima and shattered lenses.

Jason hunched over, running both hands through his hair. For a wild moment he wanted to lie. Say he didn’t stop trying until Bruce arrived. But only for a moment. 

“I told him that we all loved him, to say hi to his parents and shit-talk Tim–”

“Offended but I’ll let it slide.”

“–and then I...I just held him.” Fresh tears dripped off his nose. Jason wiped at them angrily. “What else could I do? I’m not a fucking medic. I tried to slow the bleeding but I was fully expecting him to die in my arms.”

Barbara’s hand tightened, lips pressed into a thin line. He wondered how much she heard. Did she have camera access? Did she watch the entire scene play out? What did she relay to Bruce? 

Jason had no idea if Dick and Babs were together right now or not. Dick gave evasive answers last time he asked. What he did know was they loved each other. And Jason would have been livid if he was forced to see someone he loved suffer from afar, hands tied by distance.

Tim leaned against his side with a soft sigh. It sounded weary beyond his nineteen years. “I’m sorry, Jase.” 

Jason just nodded, sniffing softly, not sure he deserved the sentiment. "Nothing to do now except wait. How was your patrol, Timbers? Tired?"

"Mhmm." Stifling a yawn, Tim nodded. "Chased Quilt Man most of the night. I was about to knock off when Babs called. Y'think it's bad if I take a nap?"

"Nah kiddo, Dickie would prefer you rest than worry yourself sick." Jason sank back into the couch, slipping an arm around him. “It's gonna be a long night." Tim nestled closer and Jason didn't realize until that moment how badly he needed the comfort. 

His little brother definitely needed it too but if there was one thing Tim always did during a crisis, it was fly under the radar. Not a wave in sight caused by him. The only tell of how worried he was were too-tense muscles.

Probably some shit Tim’s parents drilled into him, the cruel bastards, and Jason needed to stop thinking about them before he got angry again. 

"You should take your own advice." Babs said wearily. She pulled off her glasses, rubbing the indentations on the bridge of her nose. “I’ll wake you if there’s any news.”

Jason let out a hollow laugh, tipping his head back against the couch. “I’m not sleeping for a while.” It wasn’t being dramatic. It was the truth. Jason knew he wouldn’t feel at ease until he knew, beyond a doubt, his brother was okay. 

Across the room, Bruce had stopped pacing and was sitting in a pale blue armchair, Damian still cradled in his arms. His chin was resting on Damian’s windswept hair, eyes staring haunted and blank at the door.

---

Tim was almost entirely curled up in Jason’s lap when the doctors finally arrived. 

A nurse had brought blankets and flat, scratchy pillows for all of them several hours ago, though only Tim and Damian ended up using them. 

Tim barely stopped snoring when Jason slid the pillow under his head and draped the thin blanket over him. He only tucked himself closer to Jason with a small noise. Worried even in his sleep. 

Damian was forcing himself to stay awake, blanket wrapped around his shoulders as he sat ramrod straight by Bruce’s side. His head kept dipping and bobbing as he nodded off. Stubborn like his dad.

Babs and Jason had been going through Gotham security cameras to pass the time, tracking Dick’s attackers, making notes of possible hideouts to investigate later with excessive violence. It was oddly cathartic. 

Alfred had arrived with the last of Jason’s siblings about an hour ago. Cass, Steph, and Duke were scattered around the room, fast asleep because it was already pushing five in the morning and they should’ve been in bed hours ago. 

Cass joined Jason on the couch, giving him a small hug before tucking herself against the armrest with a pillow. Duke declared he didn’t want to be left out and shoved himself under Tim’s legs to sit on Jason’s other side. 

And Steph was slumped against Bruce’s other shoulder, hair still tangled from flying across Gotham. There was also a nasty shiner on her jaw that Jason would be sure to follow up on later. Any outlet for his aggression right now was a good one.

Despite how he wanted to focus solely on plotting bloody revenge, Jason found himself watching his sleeping siblings. Wondering how they would have reacted if they’d been the one to find Dick. 

Would they have saved him? Or simply accepted it as the inevitable end they would all face. The one destined for them the moment they put on a mask?

“Mr. Wayne?”

“Yes?” Bruce shot out of his seat, Damian and Stephanie snapping awake beside him. He looked like hell. Face covered in stubble, bloodshot eyes with bags, just overall haggard and run down. And that was saying a lot considering their hobby of choice.

Jason knew only a second passed, confirmed by the monotonous tick of the clock keeping them company all night. But it felt like ages before the woman spoke. His heart was thundering so fast and loud it nearly drowned out her words.

“Your son is out of surgery and stable.” She said. A collective sigh of relief went around the room. “We expect him to make a full recovery, although it may be a slow one. You can go back and see him now.”

Bruce started to step forward then paused. “All of us?”

The doctor shook her head. “Just you for now, I’m afraid. The rest of the family can go back a few at a time once the anesthesia has worn off. We don’t want to overwhelm him. I can explain more about his condition on the way.”

“Go B.” Jason urged. “We’ll be fine.” With a curt nod, Bruce and the doctor disappeared, speaking in low voices. Damian came shuffling over to their couch, wedging himself between Jason and Cass. Was there a weight limit to this thing? There had to be.

“Since when did I become a bug trap and start attracting all you pests?” Jason grumbled good naturedly. Barbara huffed a laugh, sliding her laptop away.

“You’re practically a furnace, Todd.” Damian’s pointy elbows jabbed Jason’s ribs as the kid squirmed around. “Which is why you’ve overlooked how chilly this godforsaken room is.”

“Y’have a blanket.” Tim mumbled. “Stop whining, it woke me up.”

“Tt. Your own snoring woke you, Drake.” 

Duke rolled his eyes. “Oh my god, you both snore. We’ve talked about this. Cass can back me up.”

“Sometimes you sync up.” Cass added with a crooked smile. 

“Oh my god, it’s adorable when they do that!” Steph added, spine cracking as she stretched. “Like two moose talking to each other.”

Both boys began sputtering protests and Jason couldn’t help but laugh. There was a collective sense of relief now. The fact that his siblings were even bantering was proof of how much weight slid off their shoulders. 

Dick was ok. And he was going to continue being okay because his family was going to make sure of it. 

In that moment, Jason decided he would let them go first. Let them see their big brother, hug him, then hustle them off home and into bed. Someone was likely hiding a patrol injury and none of them had eaten anything substantial since their early dinner. 

He could wait and go last. Besides his own guilt, Dick being out of commission meant Jason was the oldest now. This gaggle of children was his responsibility now in a weird way. 

Honestly, he’d pay whatever money necessary to go back in time and see someone tell Red Hood, murderous and freshly arrived in Gotham, that in only a few years he’d be surrounded by Waynes and happy about it.

“Jay?” Jason’s head snapped up to see Bruce leaning into the room. “He’s asking for you.”

Anxiety fluttered in his chest; a tight, uncomfortable feeling. No, he wasn’t ready. Hadn’t prepared himself to see Dick hurt and vulnerable because...because he didn’t act sooner. Dick would understand, right? Surely he would be happy to see Damian first, or Babs.

“I…”

Alfred stood from his chair, straightening his jacket. “Best to not keep him waiting.” He said kindly. Wrinkled hands shooed Tim from Jason’s lap. Stephanie quickly took his spot and he was left with no choice but to follow Bruce stiffly down the hall, Alfred at his side. 

But he froze at the room door, watching it swing shut after Bruce. He wasn’t ready. Alfred set a hand on his back and Jason took a ragged breath. “I’m...I’m scared Alfie.” He ran a hand over his face. 

“Why?” There was no judgement in that kind, steady voice.

“What if...what if he’s mad at me?” It was more than that but Jason would like to avoid adding a public meltdown to the shit show that was tonight. He could make a laundry list of things that could still happen to Dick. Things that would make sure his big brother never set foot in Wayne Manor again. All traced back to him.

“Would you be upset if Master Dick did the same for you?” Alfred asked. “If he chose to act as your brother and not as an impersonal paramedic?”

“No.” The answer flew from his mouth before he could fully process it. “Of course not.”

How many times had Dick told Jason he loved him before a stupidly risky maneuver to save their lives? Not to mention all the times Dick held his hand as they waited for a field dressing or applied one themselves even when Jason insisted he was fine. And all the nightmares where Dick would stay up with him and whisper that he wasn’t alone.

Jason stepped in, forcing himself to keep breathing.

It was as he expected. A hospital bed surrounded by machines, wires, and canisters of oxygen with Dick lying in the center of it all. 

Bruises and minor cuts littered Dick’s body. A large padded bandage covered the right side of his forehead. His left leg was in traction with a temporary cast from the knee down. The hospital gown and blankets covered the rest of his injuries and for that Jason was grateful. 

Under the oxygen mask, Dick smiled. It had a dreamy quality to it. Whether that was from the morphine or Jason’s own exhaustion, he wasn’t sure. When Dick lifted his shaking hand off the bed a few inches, fingers spread, Jason darted to take it. 

He knit their scarred fingers together, holding Dick’s arm up for him. “Hi Dickie.” Jason whispered, surprised he was already choking up.

Dick smiled wider and tugged weakly on Jason’s hand until he came closer. “I’m not leaving you yet.” He whispered. “Promise, Little Wing.”

A lump swelled in Jason’s throat and he swallowed hard. He was prepared to apologize, needing absolution from Dick more than anyone else. Because as relieved as he was to actually see Dick alive, God he hadn’t truly believed Dick was alive until now , Jason knew he couldn’t truly forgive himself until he knew.

“Dick–” 

Dick cut him off. “I was scared. Alone. Having you there...made it easier to fight. Made me feel safe.”

Appearances be damned. Jason turned his head away, ugly sobbing into his free hand and couldn’t care less. He hadn’t failed. Safe. He made Dick feel safe. Kept his brother alive. And if anyone knew how it felt to die alone, to desperately wish he could at least hear or glimpse someone he loved before the bitter, excruciating end, it was Jason.

Dick kept tugging insistently on his hand until Jason gave in and slumped over on the bed, face buried in an uninjured spot on Dick’s shoulder. “Love you, Jay.” Dick sighed, squeezing his hand. 

Jason drew in a shuddering breath, returning the gesture. “I love you too.”