Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

When Bruce meets Talia for the first time in almost seven years after leaving the League of Assassins, he is unsure what to expect. Talia’s message was as near desperation as she would ever allow herself to be. It set him on edge. They meet in Paris, in the apartment above a small bakery, away from the tourist traps in the city. They had their first date at this bakery. The nostalgia is a calculated play on Talia’s part, Bruce knows, but he does not know why. He purchased some beignets before the store owner directed him upstairs. His back is to the door as he stares out the window. The vulnerable position is calculated, meant to show Talia he does not intend to fight. Their fights always escalated far too quickly.

There are two sets of footsteps ascending the stairs. One set is Talia’s; Bruce will always recognize the intentionality of the sound. The other set is off-balance, unpracticed, light. The other set reminds him of a child’s footsteps, and Bruce’s mind slips back to the night before he left, his last night with Talia. The door opens and closes, but Bruce stays facing the window, allowing Talia to make the first move. A few whispered words in Arabic, the League’s unique dialect. A few affectionate assurances are all it takes to solidify in Bruce’s mind why he is here.

“Turn around, Beloved,” Talia requests. Requests, not demands. She never demanded anything from him. Sometimes he wishes she had.

Bruce turns slowly, restraining himself from looking downward, from looking for the child that is surely standing in front of their mother, Talia’s hands resting softly on their shoulders. He smiles when he meets her eyes, and she returns the look. The depth of her affection for him always intimidated him before. This time it doesn’t.

“It’s good to see you, Talia,” he murmurs, his gaze not straying from hers. He has to let her lead him in this delicate, tentative dance.

Talia’s chin tilts down. Bruce follows the subtle direction and looks at the child—the little boy—standing before him, dressed in royal robes befitting the Demon’s heir. Bruce’s smile widens minutely as he takes a knee. The boy’s eyes are averted, bashful somehow, despite his birthright.

“Look at me, son,” he whispers.

The boy’s body is strung like a bow, corded with tension as he looks up from his sandals. His wrist is casted, resting in a sling. Broken.

“This is Damian al Ghul Wayne,” Talia introduces, “your son, as you seem to have concluded. He turns six tomorrow.”

Bruce looks up at Talia, noting the maternal pride glinting in her eyes. “Why tell me now?”

“I was sent by my father on a mission, requiring that I take leave of our son for a month.” Talia’s brow furrows in a scowl, and Bruce knows he will not like what he hears next. “While I was gone, Damian’s grandfather sent him to climb a mountain without supplies, food, or water. Damian, strong boy that he is, succeeded, but not without injury. I do not agree with my father’s growing interest in Damian’s education, so I have brought him to you.”

“I see.” Bruce does his best to reign in his temper as he focuses back on Damian and says in Arabic, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Damian.”

Damian nods and clears his throat. “It is an honor to meet you, Father.” Damian’s English is heavily accented, but his diction is strong. Bruce smiles and opens his arms for Damian to come to him. Talia nudges Damian forward, and he looks up at her in askance. She motions him forward again, and he steps into Bruce’s hold, tension dropping away as he leans into the embrace.

“Damian’s things are being taken to your jet as we speak.”

Sorrow edges into Talia’s words, and Bruce takes the moment as he stands to consider how difficult it must be for Talia to hand over her only child, not knowing if she will ever have the chance to see him again. Damian turns in Bruce’s hold and frowns, reaching for her. Bruce pulls his son securely into his arms.

“I must take leave of you now, Bruce. By this time, I know my father has determined my destination and my purpose.” Talia’s expression turns stony. “There is no time to waste. Take Damian and leave, Beloved.” She places a hand on the doorknob and looks back over her shoulder. “I hope to see you both again one day.”

Bruce gives Talia five minutes to vacate the premises before leaving, Damian clutching his jacket tightly. They are lucky to make it to the landing strip without incident, likely the result of diversion caused by Talia. The jet is already prepared for takeoff. The flight back to Gotham passes in silence, only broken on occasion by a quiet sniffle hidden in Bruce’s shoulder.

Damian is twelve when he finally manages to sneak into the Batmobile and follow Bruce on patrol. He is wearing a set of royal warrior’s robes, sent by his mother on his last birthday. When Bruce manages to wrangle his son back to the Batcave, he has to practice a world of self-restraint to keep from yelling his fears and frustrations. Damian is sensitive to anger, though, and Bruce had to learn that the hard way.

After a long, steadying breath, Bruce sits down in the chair in front of the batcomputer and turns around, facing his son. Damian opens his mouth to speak, but Bruce holds up a hand. “I know you can handle yourself out there, Damian, but you’re twelve, and you’re my son.” Bruce runs a hand through his hair. “I am terrified of what could happen to you.”

Damian looks at his feet, hands clasped behind his back. “I only want to be like you, Father. I did not mean to cause you distress.”

Bruce sighs. “I know, son, and I’m not going to you that you can’t be like me. That would be hypocritical. Just not yet.”

Damian looks up sharply, lips set in a grim line. “As you have said before. But when will I be allowed, Father? I grow sick of waiting, always wondering when the time will come.”

“I don’t want you out in the field until you’re at least old enough to drive.”

“That is still four years yet, Father! Surely you do not expect me to merely bide my time until then?”

Bruce shakes his head, smiling fondly. “How about this? When you turn fourteen, you can start helping Alfred down here in the Batcave, but strictly no fieldwork until you turn sixteen.”

“I suppose that is reasonable. You must promise that it will be so.”

“I promise, Damian.”

 Damian nods in sharp approval. “I feel it is worth informing you that I detest waiting.”

“I’m fully aware of that, Damian.” Bruce chuckles as he stands up, ruffling Damian’s hair.

Bruce watches fondly as Damian strides through the crowd of socialites, snatching two champagne glasses off a tray as he passes. Damian does not stop until he reaches Bruce’s side, offering one of the flutes. Bruce takes it with a nod of thanks and continues his conversation with Jack Drake about recent innovations in the medical field.

It is not long before Janet Drake joins them, ten-year-old Timothy by her side. Damian smiles at the little boy and strikes up a conversation with him while Bruce continues smooth-talking his way out of a business proposal.

Jack and Janet do not notice when Damian slips away, Timothy’s hand in his. Bruce watches in his periphery as Damian leads Timothy out of the ballroom, likely down to the kitchens, to get the best hors d'oeuvres before they are brought to the guests.

When Bruce manages to escape Jack and Janet Drake’s attempts to secure a business deal, he thinks about the new uniform stashed in the Batcave alongside his own. He remembers sneaking glimpses of his son’s sketches for months, trying to get ideas for the design. He wonders if Damian thinks Bruce forgot about his promise four years ago when he did not receive a uniform when they held a private birthday celebration over brunch.

Bruce is impatient for the gala to end, which might be why it seems to drag on as long as it does. When he manages to say his goodbyes to the last of the night’s guests, he breathes a sigh of relief. Damian begins to bid him goodnight, and Bruce stops him with a smile.

“Come down to the cave before you turn in for the night.”

Damian does not have a lot of tells, but the way he inclines his head and the slight pursing of his lips give away his curiosity and excitement. Bruce leads the way to his study and then down the stairs to the Batcave. Along one wall of the main cavern, versions of the Batman uniform stand in their cases. At the end of the row is the most recent rendition, the uniform Bruce will be putting on for patrol. Beside it, a new uniform stands in a case of its own. The uniform has black body armor and a cloak of deep green and gold that glints in the dim light. The emblem of the Bat is emblazoned on the chest, outlined in gold and shaded in green.

“Is this for me?” Damian murmurs, reaching a hand toward the case before drawing back. He glances back at Bruce.

“If you want it.” Bruce smiles as Damian’s eyes widen. “I promised you, didn’t I?”

Damian places a hand on the palm scanner beside the case and it turns green as the case unlocks. “You must have looked through my sketchbook.” Damian reaches into the case and rests a hand on the breastplate. “It is perfect, Father. Thank you.”

“Go try it on.”

When Damian emerges from the locker room, Bruce is fastening his cape around his shoulders. Damian’s uniform fits him perfectly.

Damian walks over to the rack holding his katanas and sheathes them on his back.

“What will you call yourself?”

Damian grins dangerously. “I think I shall go by Blackwing.”

Chapter Text

Blackwing swings into the building just behind his father, the two of them descending on Joker. Damian has been doing this for a year and a half now but facing the Joker never gets easier; Damian knows this because he can see it in his father’s tense shoulders, the set of his jaw, the extra force in each punch he throws. No. If anything, facing the Joker only gets harder. This fight may well be the most difficult to date.

The boy bouncing along behind Joker is laughing. His face is painted white, lips painted red, hair dyed green. The little purple suit Joker has dressed the boy up in is anything but cute. Batman hits Joker hard. Joker stumbles. Blackwing bats Joker back into Batman’s waiting fist before the villain can hit the ground. The boy laughs from the sidelines. There is an aching familiarity in the boy’s laughter. The similarities are subtle, the sound mangled by Joker’s latest scheme, but Damian knows, though he is loath to admit it.

This so-called Joker Junior is Timothy Drake.

Damian stops pulling his punches.

Batman breaks away from the fight, moving toward Timothy, the antidote for Joker’s toxin in his hand. Damian jabs Joker in the solar plexus, knees Joker in the face when he hunches over to gasp for breath, restrains himself from gripping both sides of Joker’s head and snapping his neck. Timothy is still laughing, that inhumanly large grin still stretching across his face. He ducks away from Bruce, weaving through the stacks of crates in the warehouse. Joker dodges Damian’s next swing, cackling as he too races through the maze. Damian does not hesitate to follow, darting after him with righteous fury coursing through his veins, his heart the pounding bass in an anthem of vengeance.

The most difficult part of this job, of being both civilian Damian al Ghul Wayne and vigilante Blackwing, is keeping the two parts of his life separate. Batman has mastered the skill (sometimes Damian wonders if Bruce has learned the skill a little too well). Blackwing is not so much separate from Damian as they are two sides of the same coin.

When Damian catches up to Joker, he lunges, tackling the Rogue to the ground. Damian jerks the clown up, standing behind him with an arm wrapped around his throat. Batman stops suddenly when he sees Blackwing, poised like a snake before the kill. Timothy is standing ten feet away, still giggling but now trembling uncontrollably.

“Oh, JJ,” Joker sings, choking a little as Damian tightens his hold, “be a dear and get Daddy’s gun, won’t you?”

Damian squeezes tighter.

Timothy has a gun in his shaking hands.

“Shoot Batman,” Joker hisses, “Shoot him, JJ.”

The room is silent aside from Joker’s gasping breaths as Timothy takes aim and fires. The bullet passes clean through Joker’s skull and into Damian’s chest. It takes a long moment before the pain registers, but only half a second passes before Damian recognizes the sound of Timothy’s heart-wrenching sobs. Bruce makes it to Timothy several seconds before Damian—and it is Bruce now, Damian knows, because his shoulders have fallen, and he almost tripped over his own feet as he hurried to comfort the boy shaking and crying on the dirty warehouse floor.

Damian collapses to his knees as he reaches them, breathing through the burning pain from the wound in his chest. It is relatively shallow, not yet causing any lasting damage, but it needs treatment before the bullet sinks deeper. Bruce tucks Timothy into his side, hides the boy behind his cape, and gently prods Damian into laying out on the ground. Vaguely, Damian registers that the police have begun to swarm the place, but his focus is on his father and on the boy clinging to Batman’s side.

Timothy giggles as he eases Damian’s bedroom door open. The boy thinks he is sneaky, but he still laughs every time he does something even remotely mischievous. It has been a year. Damian is almost through his first year of college.

“Good evening, Tim,” Damian whispers. “What brings you to my room? I thought you were already in bed.”

Timothy scrambles onto Damian’s lap and curls into a ball. Timothy is thirteen but so small for his age. Damian sets his paintbrush down and wraps his arms around his little brother.

“Can’t sleep.” Timothy chokes on another giggle.

Damian sighs, picking Timothy up and beginning to tidy up his art supplies. “Would you like to stay with me tonight?”

Timothy nods into his chest.

There is a long, heavy silence as Damian finishes cleaning his paintbrushes and then crawls into bed, pulling the comforter over himself and Timothy. Timothy switches between holding his breath and giggling uncontrollably every minute or so. Damian just holds his brother against his chest, rubs his hand against the boy’s back, whispers soothing words and promises into Timothy’s hair. Timothy eventually slips into fitful sleep and Damian reaches for his phone, sending a quick message to his father that he won’t be able to go on patrol.

A few minutes later, Damian’s door creaks open for a second time tonight. Bruce is silhouetted in the light from the hallway. He eases the door closed behind him as he enters the room and takes a seat on the edge of Damian’s mattress.

“He was having another fit,” Damian murmurs, carding his fingers through Timothy’s hair.

“Are you alright?”

Damian hesitates a moment. “No.” He meets his father’s eyes. “I have a difficult time being alright when Timothy is not.”

Bruce nods and leans down, kissing the top of Timothy’s head and then Damian’s as well. “Patrol shouldn’t be too bad tonight. Make sure you get some sleep, okay?”

Damian smiles softly. “Goodnight, Father.”

“Goodnight, Damian.”

Timothy laughs in his ear as Damian grapples to the next building. The sound is nearly the same as it was years ago, before Timothy was captured by Joker, before Joker tried to make Timothy into a miniature version of himself, before Joker Junior, and before Timothy became a Wayne. Timothy’s laughter sounds happy again. Damian’s little brother, laughing without fear of losing control, telling stories about misadventures with high school friends while Damian races across the rooftops of Gotham.

“You should have seen the look on his face, ‘Wing!”

“Just to be clear, this is your conspiracy theorist friend, correct? The blond?”

“Yeah, yeah. Bernard. He’s a genius but he’s also a complete moron. It’s fantastic.”

Damian laughs a little as he fires his grapple to the next highest building. “Imagine the look on his face if he found out you live with Batman and Blackwing.”

Timothy snorts. “Imagine the look on his face if he found out I was Joker Junior.”

And isn’t that another thing? Timothy has come so far in the past two and a half years to talk about Joker Junior so casually. Damian could not be any prouder if he tried. “Have you decided if you want to join Father and I on the streets in the future?”

“I think I want to, but I want to do things differently and I don’t know if I want any direct links to the Batman when I start out.”

Damian is almost out of the diamond district now, approaching Old Gotham. “How so?”

Timothy hums. “Well, we don’t really have any kind of real-time inside knowledge about the criminal scene in the city. I was thinking I could give being a crime lord a try. You know, try to get a handle on the drug trade until we make more progress with some of the new Wayne Foundation initiatives.”

“Have you shared this idea with Father?”

“No. Not yet. I was wondering if you would back me up? I know he won’t like it.”

Wayne Tower is in sight now. Damian starts grappling to the tops of taller buildings, preparing for his approach to the highest building in Gotham.

“I can see how your idea would be helpful, strategic even, but you are right to assume Father would not be happy. If you want an in with the criminal underworld, you will need to use a name that already has a reputation in the city.” Damian fires off his grapple.

“I know.” Damian grins, hearing the smugness in Timothy’s tone. “The name is actually where I got the idea. I mean, isn’t it only fitting if Joker Junior grows up to be the Red Hood?”

“It is fitting. I dare even say it is poetic.” Damian comes to a stop on top of Wayne Tower. “I will back you up when you speak to Father. I look forward to working with you, Red Hood.”

Chapter Text

Red Hood gains traction in Crime Alley even quicker than Tim expected. To say Bruce was against Tim’s idea would be an understatement. It took a lot of negotiating, but Bruce finally agreed to let Tim take on his project under the condition that Tim pulls out the second things started turning sour and that he keeps a communicator and panic button on him at all times. So, here Tim is, just over a year after he finally began to tackle the massive undertaking that was controlling the criminal underworld of Crime Alley and his reach has already expanded into Burnley, the Bowery, the Coventry, and the Narrows. His control over the drug trade is measured but almost absolute and he’s broken up two major anchors for nationwide human trafficking rings. Long story short, his decision to befriend the working girls has paid off more than paid off.

Some nights are still rough, though, and tonight is one of them. Black Mask is encroaching on his territory, pushing his drug runners into the edges of Crime Alley. Tim knew a few weeks ago that tensions with Black Mask were approaching explosive levels and it seems Black Mask has decided to begin retaliating against Tim’s attempts to phase out his influence. Overdoses and other drug-related fatalities have gone up by nearly twenty percent.

When Tim hits the ground in an alley behind one of the working girls’ hangouts, he’s met by their de facto leader, Trina, at the end of the alley. Her eyes are hard and her lips are set in a tight line. He straightens his shoulders and glances out at the street before leading Trina into the shadows behind a dumpster.

“What do you have for me?”

“Black Mask’s guys are targeting some of the newer girls with the hard drugs. They’ve also started selling roofies near some of the dives. I think this is moving into human trafficking.”

Tim grits his teeth, feeling an angry laugh crawling up the back of his throat. Sometimes it’s far too tempting to load his guns with live rounds instead of rubber bullets. Trina glances out at the street and shuffles her feet.

“There’s something else bothering you.”

Trina hums. “There’s this kid,” she begins, voice hard, “who’s been hanging out near the corners. I’d put good money on him not even being in high school yet. He’s homeless, for sure, and probably short on cash.”

“You think he’s desperate.”

“I’m scared he’s gonna try something and get himself killed.”

“You know where he’s at?”

“He’s out there now.”

Tim nods. “Alright. Lead the way.”

Trina walks back to the end of the alley and Tim leans against the shadowed side of the building, just out of the streetlight. One of the girls, Candy, is sitting on the steps outside the next building over, a young boy beside her. Trina walks over to them, and they both look up at her. Tim doesn’t care to try and hear what they say, only cares that Trina subtly motions in his direction and the boy’s eyes widen in shock as Trina nudges him in Tim’s direction.

“Hey, kid. What’s your name?”

The boy crosses his arms over his chest and straightens up, trying to look bigger than he is. Tim can’t help a little grin, even as a hysterical giggle tries to escape, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes as he swallows it down.

“M’ name’s Jason.”

“How old are you, Jason?”

“Fifteen.”

Tim scoffs in lieu of the guffaw that sneaks up on him. “You’re not fifteen, kid. Be straight with me.”

“Thirteen. Or I will be in a few weeks.”

“That sounds a lot more reasonable.” Tim takes a moment to consider his options. He could let the kid stay with him for a few days until he finds a safe, stable home for him or Tim could take the kid to Bruce. Tim’s breath hitches as he holds back another giggle. He needs to go back to the manor tonight anyway. “Tell you what, Jason. You need a place to stay, right?” Jason nods reluctantly. “Well, I know a place. Probably the safest place in all of Gotham, honestly, and it comes with a roof over your head, all the food you could want, and some people who would die before they let you try to make it on your own ever again.”

Jason’s eyes widen. “For real? And you think they’d let a street rat like me have that?”

Tim nods. “Yep. I know they would.” He squats down to be at eye level with Jason. “Between you and me, I think if they took in Joker Junior, a stubborn, independent, little rascal like you would fit right in.”

Tim wonders if it’s safe for Jason’s eyes to be as wide as they are.

Tim pulls down his hood and his mask as soon as he parks in the Batcave, barely waiting for Jason to clamber off the back of his motorcycle before he’s striding across the cave, opening a cabinet in the medbay, and reaching for a syringe of the Laughing Gas antidote created specifically for episodes like the one that’s been trying to force the breath out of his lungs all night. He manages to twist the cap off before his hands start shaking too badly for him to administer the antidote properly. Heavy footfalls come up beside him and ease the syringe out of his fist.

“Breathe, Timothy,” Damian whispers, pulling Tim back into his chest and carefully finding the vein in his arm before sticking him with the needle.

Tim laughs through breathing exercises as he lets the antidote begin to work. Damian is wearing a domino with his t-shirt and sweatpants.

“Father is with the boy you brought here with you. He decided it would be best to keep him away until you’ve collected yourself.”

Tim nods sluggishly. “Smart.”

“You should have had an antidote with you,” Damian scolds. “You know better.”

“Sorry.”

Damian hums and wraps an arm around Tim’s waist to help him back into the cave proper. Bruce is sitting in the chair in front of the Batcomputer with his back to the screens as he listens intently to whatever Jason has chosen to rant about. Whatever it is, it’s clear Jason is excited by it and the sight makes Tim smile. Damian lets Tim lean on him as he takes a seat on the desk.

Jason’s rant tapers off and Bruce turns to Tim and Damian. His cowl is still pulled up over his face. “Are you feeling better?”

Tim nods. “Yeah. Just one of those nights.” Bruce starts to open his mouth and Tim holds up a hand. “Don’t bother berating me for not having an antidote with me. I already got the Disappointed Big Brother treatment from Blackwing here.” He jabs his thumb at Damian who has decided to stand beside him.

Bruce hums. “Jason was telling me that you offered him a place to stay.”

“I mean, only if Bruce Wayne is fine with taking in another kid with way too much trauma. I didn’t see any reason he wouldn’t be though.”

Bruce smiles softly and shakes his head. “You boys are going to be the death of me. You need to stop bringing me children to adopt.” He pulls back his cowl and turns back to Jason. “What do you say, champ? Do you want to live with Gotham’s finest?”

Again, Tim is left to wonder if Jason is going to blink before his eyes dry out completely.

“So, when do I get to go out and punch the bad guys?” Jason asks, throwing punches at the air after family movie night.

“We’ve been over this, Jaylad.” Bruce chuckles. “You should know by now that my answer isn’t going to change. You can help out in the cave for now, but you don’t get to join us on the streets until you’re sixteen.”

Tim grins widely when he sees Jason pout. Tim and Damian both tried pulling the kicked puppy look on Bruce when they were younger to no avail. “That’s not going to work, Jay.”

“But I wanna go kick ass!”

“Fifty cents in the swear jar,” Damian hums, not looking up from his phone.

Jason groans and reaches into his pocket, pulling out two quarters and dropping them in the Mason jar on the side table. “I already have a name picked out and everything though!”

Tim laughs. “So did I, Jay. I almost had to wait until I was eighteen to go out. Having a plan isn’t going to give you bonus points.”

“Sixteen is still a whole year away, though!”

“And until then, you’ll be helping Alfred in the cave,” Bruce states. “However, if you want to share your ideas, you’re more than welcome to.”

Jason lights up and the grin on his face is only a little bit terrifying. “Raptor. That’s what I wanna be called.”

“Do you have a color scheme in mind?” Tim asks, already brainstorming uniform ideas.

“Well, black, obviously. I was also thinking of adding in some red and maybe a bit of yellow for accents.”

Tim glances over at Damian who is already staring at him, a knowing look in his eyes. “Tell you what, Jay. If you start brainstorming some aesthetics and design ideas, I’ll get to work on coming up with options. We can make prototypes for you to train in so you can figure out what you like.”

“Really?” Jason turns to Bruce expectantly.

Bruce sighs. “I suppose that’s only fair.”

Jason pumps his fist and lets out a whoop of excitement that has everyone laughing.

Chapter Text

Jason would prefer to be curled up in his armchair in the library with a good book right now, but he supposes the circus has to be at least somewhat entertaining if even Damian has agreed to attend. On second thought though, Damian might have only come along to make sure the animals are being treated humanely. He insisted on coming early to meet some of the performers but Jason hasn’t seen Damian since they arrived. No one bothered telling Jason what the acts were going to be tonight, but he’s hoping there will be tigers and maybe a sword-swallower or someone who juggles fire.

The most surprising part of the evening though is that Tim agreed and was even excited to attend. Jason hasn’t noticed him cringing away from any of the clowns, but Jason knows Bruce also brought along two emergency doses of Tim’s medication. Tim straightens suddenly and grips Jason’s shoulder, pointing out a small group of performers in leotards straight ahead.

“Look, Jay! It’s the Flying Graysons!” Tim laughs as he starts dragging Jason over to them. “They’re the only acrobats in the world who can do a quadruple somersault. And see the littlest one there? That’s Richard. His debut performance was last week and people are saying he’s a natural, like he was born on the trapeze.”

Jason smiles up at his older brother. Tim’s excitement tends to be infectious. When they make it over to where the Graysons are all clustered together Tim squeezes Jason’s shoulder before stepping forward, wiping his palms off on his jeans.

“Hi! I’m Tim Drake. I’m a big fan.”

One of the Graysons steps forward, a genial smile on his face. “John Grayson.” He gestures to the woman beside him. “This is my wife, Mary”—and then to the boy in front of her—“and our son, little Dickie Grayson.”

The others introduce themselves one after another. Jason doesn’t think he’s ever seen Tim so overwhelmed. “I’m really looking forward to your act tonight. I’ve been following your performances for years now and I’m so glad Haly’s Circus has finally circled back to Gotham.”

Bruce walks up behind Jason and places an arm around his shoulders, smiling gently as Tim continues to gush and embarrass himself. “Tim saw the Graysons perform when the circus came to Gotham almost nine years ago, shortly before his encounter with the Joker. Haly’s hasn’t been back since.”

“Is this why he’s been so annoying all week?”

Bruce chuckles. “Yes.”

Little Richard Grayson catches Jason’s eye then and waves. Jason smiles and returns the gesture. Little Richard Grayson has the brightest blue eyes Jason has ever seen.

There is an eleven-year-old with tan skin, dark hair, and the most birdlike yellow eyes Jason has ever seen sitting at the breakfast table. Jason blinks twice, frozen in the doorway, before he remembers the events of the night before. Despite all their efforts to make reparations to the foster system in Gotham and the surrounding areas, Dick Grayson still managed to slip through the cracks right into the waiting arms of the Court of Owls. After two and a half years of ripping through Gotham’s aristocracy and dismantling the Court, they finally managed to bring the boy home to Wayne Manor.

Bruce is sitting at the head of the table like nothing is out of the ordinary. Jason is not surprised in the slightest, but it makes the scene a little more disconcerting. He does his best to hide his unease as he takes a seat across the table from Dick or Talon or whatever the kid is calling himself at the moment. He hasn’t spoken more than a few words and those only to correct them on what they call him.

Jason thanks Alfred as he sets a plate of crepes in front of him. Damian is the next one to enter the dining room with Tim stumbling behind him. Dick brightens up considerably when Damian takes a seat beside him, leaving Tim to take the seat beside Jason. Bruce looks up from the morning paper and smiles.

“Good morning, boys. How did you all sleep?”

“I slept well, Father, though I did notice a little bird spying on me this morning.” Damian smirks in Dick’s direction, raising an amused eyebrow as Dick slouches back into his chair.

Bruce chuckles and ruffles Dick’s hair. “How about the rest of you?”

“Had a nightmare.” Tim doesn’t look up as he says it, staring into his mug of coffee. Bruce’s forehead wrinkles in concern.

Jason speaks up before Bruce gets the chance to smother Tim. “I slept alright. Not gonna lie, kinda forgot what we did last night until I came down and saw Dickiebird sitting at the breakfast table.”

Bruce nods. “How about you, Dickie? How’d you sleep?”

“Didn’t.”

Jason frowns then. “Why not?”

The kid shakes his head and somehow slumps further into his seat, making himself smaller though he’s already tiny.

Damian reaches over then and pulls Dick into his lap, letting the boy turn around and bury his face in Damian’s chest. “Would it help if someone stayed with you, to keep watch?”

Dick nods against Damian’s shirt. Jason can’t help feeling a little jealous. He’s never been as close to Damian as Tim is and now it seems Dick will be closer to Damian too. Jason knows it’s not Damian’s fault, and it’s not Tim’s or Dick’s either, but god if he doesn’t get jealous sometimes for the stupidest reasons.

They finish breakfast in near silence and Jason is the first to excuse himself, taking his dishes to the kitchen. Tim says something to Damian about carpooling and Damian agrees, but only if he gets to drive (“You drive like you have a death wish, Timothy.”). Jason doesn’t have classes on Thursdays, though, so he’ll have the manor to himself as soon as Alfred heads out for his weekly grocery shopping expedition.

Damian stops Jason in the hallway, Dick clinging to his torso like a koala, and Jason realizes he is not, in fact, going to have the manor to himself.

“You want me to stay with him while he tries to get some sleep, don’t you?”

Damian offers an apologetic smile. “I know you would likely prefer to spend the day relaxing, but I would appreciate it if you did. I do not believe it would be wise to bring him with us to the office.”

Jason snorts. “What are you talking about? That would work out beautifully.” Damian raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll look out for him.” He holds out his arms and Damian carefully transfers the drowsy baby assassin to Jason.

Dick tumbles through the air gracefully, perfectly executing a quadruple somersault and landing squarely on his feet, basking in the sound of applause. Jason lets out a sharp whistle, whooping in praise. Dick’s eyes dart to where Jason is standing in the crowd, the rest of the family around him. Dick’s owlish yellow eyes shine under the lights of the gymnasium, but his smile is even brighter as he signs enthusiastic thank-yous to the audience before turning to the judges.

The eyes are one of the few lingering traits from Dick’s time as a talon. The Court of Owls never did finish the transformation, preferring to wait until Dick was fully grown, but their opportunity never came. While the healing factor and enhanced senses have remained, everything else seems to have slowly worked out of Dick’s system. He had to jump through a lot of hoops in order to be allowed to compete in gymnastics and acrobatics competitions, but here they are, and Jason is pretty sure Dick just won gold in the Olympics.

Bruce is the one who gets to stand with Dick while the reporters swarm him, translating Dick’s signing. Jason can tell, even from the edges of the crowd that Dick is overwhelmed, but he’s smiling and laughing, and Jason is positively certain those are happy tears shining in Dick’s eyes as he talks about his parents, the circus, and how he never would have made it here without the support of his family. It’s the first time Dick has used the word without “adoptive” as a modifier. Jason will protest if anyone says he got teary-eyed over that bit.

When Dick and Bruce finally get to break away and make their way back to Damian, Tim, and Jason, they’re both grinning and Bruce’s arm is wrapped around Dick’s shoulders. Jason is the first to pull their little brother into a hug and Dick returns the embrace with every ounce of strength in his body, nearly lifting Jason off the ground. They both laugh and then Dick pulls away, hands moving so quickly it would be difficult to follow if not for the amount of time they’ve all spent learning to communicate with each other.

It takes a while before they finally make it back to their hotel. Dick perches on the back of the couch as they all arrange themselves in the living room. Bruce disappears for a moment into the master bedroom of the suite before he comes back with a box, wrapped up in bright blue paper with a black ribbon.

Dick rips the package open excitedly and turns to Bruce with wide eyes when he sees what’s inside.

“Do you want to try it on?”

Dick nods and tears out of the living room to go change. When he comes back, he’s practically vibrating with anticipation. The costume is in his family colors and the emblem he sketched one night on a piece of scrap paper by the Batcomputer is in black and gold on the left side of his chest.

Bruce smiles softly. “How does it feel, Robin?”

“Like flying.”