Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A life saved for every life taken. There was a time Dick had thought redemption would be that simple.

That he would be forgiven if only he kept count, if only he promised the ghosts to make things right. He wasn’t sure if he ever really believed it, but the thought had kept him sane. Had stopped him from going somewhere with no return.

But then he’d sheathed his swords, and the nightmares hadn’t stopped. The scars hadn’t disappeared. The guilt hadn’t stopped tearing him apart.

Forgiven by who, exactly?

He could never forgive himself.

And he could never forgive Slade for making him into a monster.

Still, what else was he to do? His education, his skills, his life; they all began and ended on the rooftops.

So to the rooftops he would take.

He couldn't erase Renegade’s sins, but maybe Nightwing could make a difference for the people of Blüdhaven.

That would just have to be enough.

The handle of the backdoor Nightwing had been watching jostled. A thief wearing a ski mask popped out his head, then stepped into the cold night when he found the alley abandoned.

“Hurry up, you shitheads,” he hissed as he held the door for his partners in crime.

Dick grimaced when he saw the gun pressed in his hand. The Lycra of his new suit allowed him to soar like Kevlar never could, but it wasn’t exactly bulletproof.

Four more idiots wearing the same ridiculous ski masks hurried outside, heavy duffel bags pulling on their shoulders.

“Calm down,” another one said. “You know I made a deal with the cops.”

The first thief peered up at the dark rooftops. “It ain’t the cops I’m worried about.”

Nightwing didn’t move when the thief’s eyes raked over him. It would only betray his presence.

After a few agonising seconds, the man looked away.

The last thief closed the door behind him. “Don’t tell me you believe those fairy tales.”

“My cousin’s a dirty cheat, but he ain’t a liar. Said two of his friends got snatched by a nameless mask right in front of him.”

They all turned their backs, hurrying away from the crime scene.

“Even Batman stays out of Blud,” one of them said. “What kind of hero would burn their hands on this shithole?”

Dick smiled from his perch up on the roof. What hero, indeed. He cut a shadow into the moonlight as he stood, casting the alleyway into darkness.

He’d end this quickly.

He was already three stories down when the thieves turned around, somersaulting one, two, three times to stop himself from going splat on the concrete.

Yeah, he was never going back to Kevlar.

“It’s him!”

“Shit—”

“Told you there’s a bat in Blud!”

The thief with the gun aimed his weapon, but Nightwing shot out his grapple, the iron claw bashing it out of his hand. The man howled and doubled over, pressing his ruined arm against his chest.

At least the hundreds of hours Slade had made him spend on the shooting range hadn't been totally useless.

“Not a bat,” Dick said as he holstered the grapple. “Though I’m flattered by the comparison.”

None of the other thieves had firearms, as was the norm for low-level heists in Blud. Why bring the extra weight when no one gave a shit, anyway? They probably could’ve done this in broad daylight had Nightwing not stumbled upon their merry little band.

One thief dropped his duffel bags, turned, and made a run for it. So predictable.

Nightwing flung out a throwing star. It hit its target square in the back, the thief howling out as the blade cut into his skin. He fell forward face-first, head hitting the pavement with a crack that screamed concussion.

The other thieves stared at him with wide eyes.

Shit. He hadn’t—

Why had he thought it was a good idea to carry those around? This was why he’d already swapped his swords for escrima sticks—he’d been working so hard to stop himself from reacting with deadly force, but it was a slow-going battle.

He could switch the stars for bolas, maybe? But those would be impossible to carry around without a belt, and he really didn’t want to make any more changes to his Nightwing suit.

“Terry!” Another thief also dropped his loot and raced towards his friend. Only he didn’t slow down when he reached him.

No, he ran and disappeared around the corner.

Silence.

“Traitor!” one of the other ones yelled.

Nightwing sighed. Great. He’d stumbled upon these idiots on the way back from an already long patrol, and now he couldn’t call it a night until he’d tracked down that coward.

But first, three unarmed thieves still stood before him.

“So, how are we doing this?” he asked. “Hard or easy?”

The three of them shared a look, then balled their fists.

Nightwing smiled. At least these guys had some self-respect.

He pounced forward and slammed his heel into the first man’s chest. The thief crumpled like a sack of potatoes, but he should be alright—Dick hadn’t felt anything break under his boot. One down, two to go.

He danced out of the way of a clumsy fist, then used his opponent’s own momentum to bash his face against the brick wall. There went another one.

A glint of metal caught the moonlight.

Renegade reacted before he did. He deflected the kitchen knife with the palm of his hand, then plucked it out of his victim’s grasp.

Touching the hilt felt like coming home.

“Fuck—” The thief stumbled back, but Renegade grabbed his shoulder to stop him from retreating. The knife fluttered between his fingers, blade darting out the moment his grip was firm.

The tip froze a hair’s breadth from the man’s throat.

Shit.

Shit. He wasn’t supposed to—

He’d almost—

The knife clattered to the concrete. He let go of the thief, uncaring the man scrambled away and fled the alley.

Dick looked down at his hands. Dick. Not Renegade.

Never again Renegade.

Why. Why wouldn’t that part of him just die a quiet death?

Fuck Slade. Fuck him and his fucked-up games. Fuck his fucked-up training and the fucking torture it had been.

Fuck.

He balled his hands into fists, then opened them again, repeating the motion until his fingers stopped feeling numb.

Deep breaths.

He hadn’t killed.

He hadn’t, but it’d been way too close.

Who was he trying to fool by playing hero? Slade had ruined him, and he’d allowed it to happen.

It had felt fair in the beginning. Some people just deserved to die—why should Zucco get to live when he’d killed his parents? His innocent parents, guilty of nothing but being at the wrong place at the wrong time.

“The universe’s an unfair place,” Slade had told him when he’d handed Dick his first blade. “We have to make our own justice.”

And God, Dick had been so glad someone had finally understood.

Make his own justice. It had been those very same words that had planted the seed of rebellion. Because the older he grew, the more he saw of the outside world, the more he realised that Slade didn’t care about justice.

He was just a predator in love with the thrill of the hunt.

Dick took a deep breath and forced himself back to reality. He needed to get the two men he’d knocked out to the police station. Needed to return the duffel bags filled with money to the store.

And finally, he needed to chase and capture the two cowards that had gotten away—he couldn’t let Nightwing’s reputation slip after barely a month of patrolling.

If he gave up on the cowl now, he would have nothing left. The years of planning his escape, of dreaming about being where he was now, free to make his own rules and play his own games—

It would’ve all been pointless.

He could do this.

Nightwing stared up at the first of the two thieves he’d been tracking. The man was strung up by his feet to a lamppost, unconscious and bleeding like a stuck pig from long cuts that marred his body.

None of the cuts were deep enough to kill, but when he pressed his finger against the man’s neck his pulse was painfully slow, the puddle of blood below him way too big.

Whoever had done this had left this man to die. Had they watched Nightwing’s fight and decided to ‘help’?

He glanced up at the rooftops. He hadn’t been at his best tonight, but it still must’ve taken a good amount of stealth to remain out of his sight. Not good.

Now he was going to have to worry about this, too—because the Bat in the next city over might come knocking a hell of a lot sooner if he thought this was how Nightwing operated.

He’d hoped that choosing a city this close to Gotham would throw Slade off his scent, but it had definitely been a dangerous gamble.

One evil for another.

He cut down the thief and hauled him over his shoulder, trying his best to ignore the smell of copper that soaked into his suit. He was going to have to take a detour to the clinic before going after his final target.

Stars were already disappearing on the horizon when he aimed his grapple at the nearest roof. It wouldn’t be long until sunrise.

Who needed sleep, anyway?

The unknown reaper had gotten to the last thief only one alleyway over. He’d been propped up against a dumpster, the same deep cuts marring his body. When Nightwing crouched and pressed a finger to the man’s neck, he found his pulse slow but still going, just like his buddy’s.

These slices were too long to be made with a knife. It had to have been a longsword, or—

Dick’s breath hitched.

Could it be?

No, it was too soon. It had to be too soon.

His fingers trembled as he measured out the length of the cuts. One full hand and one and a half pointer fingers.

He let out a breath. If it weren’t for the brick wall against his back, he would’ve fallen over with relief. Thank God. Slade’s broadsword left cuts at least two hands long. No, this length, plus the slight curve of the welts—

It screamed League of Assassins. Which was, you know, still a problem, even if he’d much rather face some ninjas than his former master.

Something moved in the corner of his eye. A hooded figure disappeared behind the edge of a rooftop on the other side of the road.

Bingo.

Nightwing turned to give chase. The unconscious criminal should have at least two hours left before he bled out, and by then there would be more than enough early birds awake to call 911.

That he was playing hero didn’t mean he was a saint.

He grappled up to the rooftop, racing after the assassin the moment his feet hit the concrete.

The assassin sailed across the rooftops. Their hood stayed up even though their cape fluttered behind them, a single katana strapped to their small back. Definitely League. They flitted between the rooftops with a trained ease, each limb in harmony, each move calculated and graceful.

There probably weren’t many people that could keep up with them, but Dick had been running across rooftops since he was eight. And at six, he’d been playing tag with the other carney kids up in the big top, scurrying across the ropes and metal pipes that held their stage lights.

The distance between them shrank each step.

Four rooftops. Three.

Then two.

At one, the assassin turned around and pulled their blade. No use running when they were getting outpaced.

Nightwing blinked when they made eye contact. Because that wasn’t the face of a somewhat-smaller-than-regular assassin—it was the face of a child.

A child with piercing green eyes that held nothing but anger.

The boy charged, tip of his blade aimed at Dick’s throat.

He pulled his escrima sticks from his shoulders to deflect the blow.

Assassin boy snarled, then charged again. This time his first thrust was a feint, followed by a rapid flurry of cuts.

Nightwing could barely keep up, blocking the kid from cutting his abdomen, his chest, his throat. His escrima sticks were similar to the twin swords he’d carried as Renegade, but they didn’t have the same length or weight, didn’t have pommels to stop a katana from slicing right through his fingers if he made a mistake.

The kid smirked when one of his escrima clattered to the ground.

Oh, he was so lucky he hadn’t run into the person Dick had been a few years ago.

He jumped back to put some distance between them. “Can we talk?” He didn’t want to hurt the boy, but it was getting kinda hard to stay on the defensive when each jab was aimed at his heart or throat.

The kid held his sword between them. “I do not see a use in conversing with incompetent fools.”

“And I don’t believe in fighting five-year-olds, but here we are.”

“I am not five.”

Ah. Sore spot. “Still a bit young to carry that sword around, aren’t you?” He hadn’t figured Ra’s the type to use children, but he wasn’t very surprised either—he and Slade always raved about having standards, but neither had shied away from breaking their own rules if it suited their needs.

Kid must’ve had a shit childhood with the League, though. It took a lot of training to get that good.

“It’s a katana,” the boy bit.

“I know it’s a—” Nightwing sighed. “Look, kid. Do you have a number I can call? I’ve had a long night. I’m not in the mood to babysit.”

That had been the wrong thing to say. The kid tightened his fist around his blade, then charged again. He sliced it sideways, Nightwing only just ducking out of the way of being decapitated.

“Can you chill it with the vital blows?”

The kid snarled and jabbed at his heart.

Nightwing was forced to push the blade away with the palm of his hand, sharp edge biting right through his Lycra gloves. The wound throbbed as he pulled his arm back, blood dripping onto the rooftop. This couldn’t go on much longer.

Child or not, he was going to have to retaliate soon.

“Last warning,” he said.

The kid darted forward.

Enough.

Dick whipped out his escrima and hit the boy’s sword arm like a viper. The kid sucked in a breath as he lost grip of his weapon, eyes wide in disbelief.

Both of them watched the katana fall.

Nightwing caught it a hair’s breadth from the ground, then froze when he felt its weight in his hand.

No.

No, he shouldn’t—

He dropped the blade, metal clattering to the floor.

He’d almost killed a man with a kitchen knife earlier, and now he’d thought it was a good idea to aim a sword at a child?

He couldn’t trust his hands. Couldn’t trust his training. Couldn’t trust his instincts.

Who knew what would awaken if he wielded a sword so similar to the ones he’d used as Renegade?

Cutting throats, stabbing hearts. Numbness creeping into his fingertips as he forced his victims to fess up their sins.

And Slade had watched. Slade had watched and said ‘good job’ even when the blood wouldn’t wash away from under his fingertip, when his dreams wouldn’t stop smelling of copper and fear.

Breathe. He had to breathe. Fuck, was he really going to have two episodes in less than an hour? This was getting ridiculous.

“What is wrong with you?” The kid asked. He’d taken his katana back, holding it loose in his hand as he stared.

Dick didn’t answer.

“You would have won if you had used my blade.”

More silence.

“And you could have easily killed those imbeciles.”

Dick let out a laugh that turned into a cough. That had been the whole problem.

“Can’t say I appreciated you almost finishing the job,” he said between breaths. “Stealing doesn’t exactly deserve the death penalty.”

The boy’s frown cut deeper into his face. “They sealed their fate with their dishonourable actions.”

Oh, the kid was in deep.

“But why should a pipsqueak like you get to decide that?” Dick asked as he straightened his back. His breath came easier now, cold air allowing him to blink away the dark edges in his vision. “What makes you so special?”

“You sound like Father,” the kid mumbled.

“Father?”

The kid grimaced. Another sore spot, then. “I do not have time for this. I should—“

“Get back to the cave before your dad murders us both? Because yes, yes you should, you little hellspawn.”

Another vigilante in a purple suit swung onto the rooftop and stalked towards the little assassin.

The kid took a step back, tensing his muscles to flee.

“If you run, so help me I will tell B about the swords you’re hoarding below the floorboards.”

Nightwing’s heart beat in his throat. Because this was Spoiler, one of Batman’s many strays. Right here in Blüdhaven.

The kid gave her a suffering sigh. “I would have returned before sunrise.”

“And how many body bags would you have left behind?”

“I haven't killed.”

Spoiler raised an eyebrow.

The kid pointed his katana at Nightwing. “Tell her.”

And suddenly, he had Spoiler’s full attention.

Dick opened his mouth, then closed it. Shit. He should’ve run the moment she swung onto the rooftop—if this shit had anything to do with the Bat, he should stay far, far away.

A kid affiliated with the League in the care of Batman? It screamed trouble. Did the League even know he was here? Dick was far from ready if Ra’s decided to take a closer look at Blud—Slade had met up with the man often, which meant the villain had gotten a good look at Renegade throughout the years.

“Go on,” the kid ordered. “Explain that I did not dispose of those imbeciles.”

“I— uh, I guess technically they weren’t dead?” Nightwing said. “I had to rush one to the clinic before he went on blood loss, though.” He pointed his thumb over his shoulder. “And the other one may or may not still be bleeding out back there.”

The boy frowned. “They were supposed to live.”

Spoiler sighed. “This is why you can’t be sneaking out. It’s not safe, you can’t even tell when you’re using deadly force.”

And for the first time this night, the boy’s confidence faltered. His shoulders drooped as he bit his lip. What was he? Nine? Ten?

Not much older than Dick had been when Slade had pushed a gun in his hand.

Spoiler’s expression softened. “You know B’s never going to let you patrol for real if you keep doing this.”

The boy stared down at the concrete. “But how can I show him I’m ready if he will not let me prove myself?”

“By staying put and showing him you’re capable of following orders,” Dick said before he could stop himself. Obedience, after all, was what kept the inexperienced alive long enough to learn the game.

Or so Slade had claimed.

“Right,” Spoiler said after a tense silence. She gave him an assessing look, then held out her hand. “Sorry for the late intro. I’m Spoiler, vigilante and occasional babysitter.”

Dick stared at her hand.

She must be wearing a comm, which meant every bird and bat in Gotham could be listening in. He’d always known he’d have to have some contact with them this close to Gotham, but he hadn’t wanted it to happen this early. Nothing he could do about it now, though. Antagonizing them would only make him seem more suspicious.

He took her hand. “Name’s Nightwing.”

Spoiler eyed the blue bird on his chest. “Nice. You know we appreciate some good bird imagery over in Gotham. Batman's gonna to be happy I found out your name—he’s been insufferable since he found out about your existence last week.”

Last week. That meant he’d eluded Batman’s eye for a whole three weeks—not bad, all things considered. He and Slade had never stayed near Gotham for longer than a week to prevent being discovered.

“You guys do good work over there,” Nightwing said as he let go of her hand. “The baddies don’t mess around.”

Spoiler gave him a smile. “We also have BatBurger.”

The kid had sheathed his katana while he and Spoiler introduced themselves, still wearing that eternal frown. Dick was starting to think it was just his face.

“Does little hellspawn have a name?” he asked.

The boy opened his mouth.

“No,” Spoiler interrupted.

“But—”

“I’m not calling you Batboy. I know there’s been a Batgirl, but it’s not happening. You’ll have an eternity to figure out something better after the Houdini act you pulled tonight.”

“Do not patronize me.”

Spoiler held up her hands. “Just saying. You sneaked out when you had explicit orders to stay put. You went all the way to another city, a city we were all told to stay away from because an unknown mask had popped up. What if Nightwing here hadn’t been so nice? Or what if you had ruined any chance of an alliance by attacking him?”

The rooftop fell silent.

Spoiler narrowed her eyes. “Please tell me you didn't.”

The kid jutted out his chin. “The fool chased me. Was I not supposed to defend myself?”

Spoiler looked up at the sky, muttering something unsavoury under her breath. She turned to Nightwing. “I’m so sorry about him. Are you hurt?”

Dick clenched his hand into a fist, hoping the blood seeping from the cut would blend in with the black of his suit. “I’m not so green I can’t handle a child.”

Spoiler snorted. “He might be tiny, but he doesn’t pull his punches.”

“I have yet to be bested by a seven-year-old.“

“I’m ten,” the kid bit.

Dick nodded sagely. “That explains a lot, actually.”

Spoiler let out a startled laugh. “Oh, you’re going to fit in great.”

Mr Frowny Face looked seconds away from bursting, knuckles white and shaking. “Father does not need more useless minions!”

“Don't worry," Dick reassured him, "I don’t think I’d make a very good minion. I prefer to fly solo.”

The kid let out a huff, shoulders slumping in relief ever so slightly. He really wasn’t as subtle as he thought he was.

He must be a brand-new addition to Batman’s flock, or Dick would’ve seen him on the cover of at least one trashy tabloid—being taken in by Bruce Wayne tended to catch attention.

Because yes, he knew Wayne was Batman. Had known so for years, courtesy of Slade. His master had never told anyone but his apprentice, because, in his own words, he ‘needed the sword above Wayne’s head to make him stay in his lane.’

The Bats’ alter egos being semi-famous made it a lot easier to keep track of them. Dick had studied Gotham’s tabloids and trashy celebrity news closely since arriving, trying to gauge just how careful he should be.

Bruce Wayne himself had a bit of a reputation as a playboy, but nine times out of ten it was Selina Kyle—Catwoman, because the line between hero and villain was confusingly blurry in Gotham—caught on his arm.

His children—both the adopted ones and the friends of the family, because that line was blurry, too—only appeared in the tabloids occasionally, Wayne and his lawyers making it very, very clear that exploiting them was a big no no.

There was Tim Drake-Wayne, alias Red Cardinal, seventeen-year-old whizkid and heir to Wayne industries. Most recently featured in the Gotham Gazette for coming out as bisexual at last year’s Pride.

Then there was the vigilante standing in front of him, Spoiler, eighteen-year-old honorary Wayne kid and pre-med student. Most recently featured when she’d crashed a live TV interview with Wayne because, quote, ‘You promised to take us laser gaming, Bruce. Are you a dirty liar?’

The oldest was twenty-four-year-old former Batgirl Barbara Gordon, who'd been a full-time wheelchair user since a run in with Joker three years ago. She’d only spoken to the press once after it happened, pushing her own chair with shaky hands and an unwavering expression. She now called herself Oracle and ran the computers.

Finally, the last official addition had been Cassandra Cain, an eighteen-year-old former assassin who used short sentences and rapid sign language to communicate. She was good at staying away from the cameras, but her alter ego Black Bat had become a legend when she’d used clumsy sign to introduce herself as ‘Buttman’s new sidekick’ on public television.

That had even earned a snort from Slade.

And now there was the ten-year-old mystery kid who sneaked out to kill maim people.

Honestly, he wasn’t surprised to see new grey hairs pop up on Wayne in every single newspaper. It couldn’t be easy to live with a family like that.

He had vague memories of Haley’s being like that, too. Calling the other performers auntie or uncle, spending his afternoons bouncing between their trailers, eating together, living together, being a family in everything but blood.

He hadn’t kept contact with the Circus after leaving. Had never even typed their name into a search bar, too afraid of what he’d find.

He’d thought about going to see them when he’d escaped, but ultimately decided against it. Slade would most definitely be looking for him there, and even if they’d been a family all those years ago, he no longer deserved to be a part of that.

Point was, there was no trace of this kid anywhere near the Waynes. He’d probably defected or had been rescued from the League only recently.

“Once I become Batman, I will make all of you obsolete,” The kid said.

Spoiler snorted. “I think B would give it to Harley before even considering you.”

The kid bared his teeth. “As his only blood heir, his legacy is my birthright.”

“You know that’s not how things work around here.”

“They should.”

“They really, really shouldn’t.”

Blood heir? As in, Batman’s actual biological child?

That was… unexpected. And the kid was so clearly brainwashed by the League, too…

There was a story there. Guess he had to add it to his infinite list of things to research.

But first, it was time to end this impromptu meeting. The cut on his hand was beginning to sting, and he could only hide the blood from Spoiler for so much longer. The horizon was already turning purple, too, sunrise only minutes away.

He gave the two of them his best smile. “This has been nice, but I have adulting to do when the sun comes up.”

Only then Spoiler seemed to realise just how late it had gotten. “We’ll get out of your hair,” she said as she pushed the kid towards Gotham. It was quite the trip back, at least half an hour of rooftops interrupted by a stretch of flat highways that was impossible to cross by grapple. They both must’ve come in some sort of vehicle.

Spoiler froze halfway across the roof and pressed her hand against her ear. “You sure?” She asked. Then, after a silence, “Got it, Bossman.”

She strode back towards Dick, rummaged through her belt, then held out her hand.

In it, a comm.

Oh, hell no.

“Bats says hi,” she said. “Says he’ll respect your autonomy here in Blüdhaven too, as long as you promise to call if you need help.”

Nightwing pushed her hand away. The promise of backup wasn’t worth it, not when they would turn on him in an instant if they found out about Renegade. “What is he, my dad?”

At that, Spoiler got a dangerous glint in her eye. “Careful what you wish for, Mystery Man.”

“I’m in my twenties.”

“Age has never stopped him.”

Dick shook his head, wry smile on his face. “Thanks, but I work alone.”

Spoiler shrugged and put the comm back in her belt. “Your loss.”

His loss, indeed.

Nightwing jerked his head towards Gotham’s skyline. “Get out of my city.”

Spoiler gave him one last look-over, then saluted. “See you around, Nightwing,” she said as she disappeared.

The kid pulled his hood back up. He hesitated on the edge of the roof, back already turned. “Goodbye,” he mumbled towards the horizon. Then he, too, was gone.

Dick shook his head. That goodbye seemed as much of a ‘thank you for not tattling about cutting your hand’ as anything, even if his pride had stopped him from apologising properly.

Like a little kitten unable to retract his claws.

Cute.

Dick froze at the thought.

No, not cute. The kid had maimed him, for Christ’s sake. Cute. Where had the thought even come from?

He turned the opposite way those nuisances had disappeared to.

Even if he wanted nothing more than to go home, his conscience demanded he check if the second victim little hellspawn had left was still bleeding out in that alleyway.

Choosing a city this close to Gotham had been a mistake. He must be flying too close to the sun: a former villain, murderer, and mercenary trying to build a life right under the nose of the greatest detective on earth.

He should be making plans to leave. To make a new identity. To run far, far away before his past could come to light.

But all he could think about was Spoiler’s outstretched hand.

And he knew it wasn’t meant for him, but.

He wished he could’ve taken the comm.

Chapter Text

Dick winced when the brass ball at the end of his bola slammed into the training dummy. The computer pushed against the wall flashed red, a very helpful DEADLY FORCE DETECTED crowding the screen. Like the egg-sized dent between the dummy's eyes could mean anything else.

Bolas weren’t going to happen, either.

At least that saved him from having to put a belt on his Nightwing suit. Having a grapple as his only ranged weapon left him vulnerable, but he just couldn’t risk it. Not when sudden movements still had him flinch towards a nonexistent gun on his hip.

A new pop-up appeared on the flashing screen.

His swivel chair groaned as he sat down. The old thing had already been down here when he’d found the place and was dangerously close to breaking.

There was no way he could be Nightwing from his apartment with his thin walls and nosy neighbors, so instead he’d upcycled an abandoned sewer control room into his main hideout.

He had several of these pockets below the city, some little more than a place to gear up, others slowly accumulating equipment as he got his hands on it. He’d had to start over with nothing but a backpack full of dirty money, so getting the tech he needed was a long and ongoing process.

Especially since he was trying to fly below radar.

The screen showed the same warning it had given him ten, twenty, and thirty minutes ago: Red Cardinal was stalking Blüdhaven’s border right next to the tangle of highways that separated it from Gotham.

Very obviously angling for a meeting.

Problem was, Nightwing was very much not in the mood to gamble on the Bat’s goodwill tonight.

Who’s to say what the kid wanted? Or why he’d been sent? Things had been friendly enough with Spoiler and little hellspawn—Dick still needed to learn his name, no tabloids yet— but the risk was too high. They were detectives, which meant every second they spent looking at him was another they could use to figure out his past.

The dot on his screen made an abrupt left into the city. He frowned at it, willing it to jerk back to the border. His tech liked to play games sometimes.

But of course it kept going.

Dick sighed. He should’ve known a bat wouldn't take no for an answer.

He stood and grabbed his crumpled-up mask off the desk. Hiding while Red Cardinal ran around his city would only make it seem like it was fine for the bats to come and go as they pleased, which would be a way bigger problem than meeting the kid just this once.

He’d have to go send him home.

“You could just come say hello, you know,” Red Cardinal said without looking away from the hologram on his wrist. He stood on a rooftop overlooking the docks as he typed on his glove, red suit and cape making him impossible to miss.

He’d made a beeline for the harbour the moment he set foot inside the city, making Nightwing reconsider the goal of his visit. Dick had been tailing the kid for over ten minutes now, making sure to stay out of sight until he knew what he was up to.

Or so he’d thought. Guess being trained by the Bat made you pretty much immune to being sneaked up on.

Dick jumped down from his gargoyle. “You’re flying a bit far from the coop, little bird.”

Cardinal kept typing as he talked. “Spoiler said you're friendly.”

Dick blinked. He hadn’t expected him to be scared, exactly, but the kid didn’t seem the least bit wary. “I’m plenty friendly.”

“So you’ll help.”

“Absolutely not.”

Cardinal finally looked up. “We can do it without you if you’re busy. We just figured you’d like to know what’s going on.”

Dread pooled in Dick's stomach. “We?”

He had to stop himself from jumping when a shadow dropped down next to him.

Black Bat smiled. “Hello.”

Nightwing stared at her. Where had she even come from? Her suit might be solid black from head to toe, but she still shouldn’t have been able to follow him unnoticed for this long. Not to mention that his tech hadn't picked up on her presence in the slightest, suggesting Cardinal had deliberately allowed himself to be tracked.

Guess he wasn’t wrong to be so wary of his new neighbors.

“I think you guys missed a turn somewhere. Gotham’s back that way.”

Red Cardinal ignored him and pointed towards pier eleven. “See that warehouse? It’s got hundreds of gallons of modified fear gas stored away. We need to destroy it before they ship it to Gotham tomorrow morning.”

“Go boom,” Black Bat said.

Cardinal nodded. “Preferably while keeping a sample, of course. We still don’t know who’s trying to get the stuff to Scarecrow. We wasted like an hour trying to clue you in, but we really need to get this done.”

Dick stared at the two of them, briefing him like he was part of their little team. Like they weren’t in his city, like he was the kind of pushover that would just agree to something like this.

Then again.

He couldn’t not help when doing so might get people hurt.

He crossed his arms, giving them the most imposing stare he could muster. “I want a sample, too,” he said, "And this is a one time thing."

The two nuisances shared a smile. Black Bat signed something that definitely wasn’t ASL, making Cardinal snort.

“Nice working with you, Nightwing,” he said.

“What did she say?”

Both of them took out their grappling hooks.

“No, if we’re doing this, I need you guys to—”

Black Bat smiled over her shoulder. “Easy to read,” she said. Then they both grappled away.

This was going to be agonizing.

“Easy to read,” Dick muttered as he pushed himself through the vent. “You’re easy to read.”

Sue him for being prickly. He’d spend hours practising Nightwing’s quips and easy smiles, knowing the switch from wearing a full-face mask to just covering his eyes would leave much less of his expressions and emotions to the imagination.

Still, he’d needed the change like he’d needed to breathe.

Renegade had been silent. And when he talked, it had been through a modulator, voice distorted and inhuman.

Because Slade had never wanted him to be human.

Dick had tried to talk a lot in the beginning, when his master had still been patient, but he’d quickly learned to pick his battles.

So he’d be damned if he was going to muzzle himself now.

“Are you there yet?” Red Cardinal asked through the comm in his ear. Dick hadn’t wanted to take it, but it would’ve been irresponsible when they’d had to split up to execute their plan.

He’d dispose of it later.

“Almost.”

“ETA?”

“I don’t know,” he whispered. “Fourteen seconds? Thirteen? I'll tell you when I get there.”

“Bossy,” Black Bat said.

Dick ignored her as he crawled through the vent. Both Black Bat and Cardinal had offered to take this role, but it would’ve felt wrong to let them do all the work. Even if he didn’t want them to know how highly trained he was, he couldn’t let them think he was incompetent, either—both extremes would lead to problems.

There was a grate at the end of the vent which allowed him to peek into the room below. They’d already used infrared to identify a dozen blobs skulking around, but now he could finally see what the blobs were protecting.

“There’s five pallets stacked with crates,” he whispered into his comm.

“There should be six,” Red Cardinal said.

“I only see five.”

He could almost hear the kid frown. “That’s concerning. Are you sure—”

“I’m sure.”

Cardinal sighed. “Understood. Proceed as planned but keep an eye out. We can’t let this stuff get out on the streets.”

The warehouse consisted only of one big room, the five pellets pushed together in the middle. Only the goon standing watch by the door held his weapon, an old AK-47. The others sat in a circle, using empty crates as chairs and a table to play card games. Their guns lay discarded in a big pile a little distance away.

They obviously weren’t expecting any trouble.

Dick pushed his nails into his palms. And they wouldn’t have had any if the bats hadn’t interfered. He was only one person, but something like this shouldn’t have been able to slip through the cracks. He had to be better.

“The one by the door is the only one holding his gun,” he whispered. “The others are playing blackjack.”

“Good,” Red Cardinal said.

The only complication was the fear gas. If the crates hadn’t been so close to the henchmen a single stun grenade would’ve dealt with them, but they just couldn’t risk it. Tear gas was a no-go too, since the bats said mixing the stuff could create a violent explosion.

Renegade shouldn't have given a shit if it tore these idiots limb from limb, but Nightwing most definitely did.

So instead, they were going with a bit more of a subtle approach.

“I’m going in.”

“Good luck,” Black Bat whispered.

Good luck. ‘If you need luck, you need more practise,’ Slade had always said.

Nightwing smiled. Fuck that bitter old man.

He opened the vent slowly, making sure the rusty hinges wouldn't groan, then clutched onto a nearby pipe and climbed towards the lone gunman. To make things even easier, the crates obscured him and the door outside from his buddies playing cards.

Slade would’ve had his hide if he’d made a stupid mistake like that.

Nightwing dropped down and snaked his arms around the man’s mouth and gun before he could react. His target went limp the moment he pressed the cloth in his hand against his nose—that stuff the bats had given him sure didn’t mess around. Hopefully they wouldn't mind if he kept some.

He perked his ears for any sign he'd been discovered, but nothing but coughs and quiet rumbles came from the other side of the crates as he lowered the unconscious man to the ground.

So far so good.

The door wasn’t locked from the inside, so a simple twist of the knob revealed Cardinal and Black Bat waiting on the other side.

Black Bat gave him a thumbs up.

That much he understood, at least.

They closed the door behind them and tip-toed towards their bounty. Black Bat inspected the nearest crate while Cardinal’s eyes whipped between the pellets like a sixth one would just magically appear if he stared hard enough.

Black Bat pulled off the lid, revealing a sea of black metal canisters the size of a fist, each one equipped with a pin ready to be pulled.

“They made them into grenades,” Red Cardinal whispered.

Nightwing frowned. Not good—in this form, the gas would spread far further than it would on its own, making a little bit enough to cause a whole lot of trouble.

And five pellets of the stuff? That was more than enough to gas up Gotham.

Black Bat held a finger to her lips, frowning to the other side of the crates.

The goons had stopped chattering.

“You need a change of watch, Phil?” one of them asked, voice echoing through the empty space.

Phil didn’t answer, of course. He was unconscious and drooling onto the concrete.

Honestly, could these idiots have had any worse timing?

“Phil?” Wood scraped against the floor as the goon stood.

The three of them shared a look.

“Change of plans,” Red Cardinal whispered. “We take them out before they get their guns, then destroy the fear gas.”

“No,” Nightwing bit back. They were supposed to get in and out unnoticed, take a few samples, plant a bomb, then lure the henchmen outside so they could set it off.

Fighting wasn't part of the plan. Not with a dozen guns in the room that could turn the containers holding the fear gas into sieves.

“We have to come back later.”

“It’ll be gone later.”

“It's a bad idea,” Nightwing said.

Red Cardinal smiled. “No, this is great.” He pulled out a metal rod the size of his hand, sliding it out into a staff. “Now we can ask them about the last pellet.” He shot Black Bat a look. “So leave at least one conscious, please.“

She smiled. “No promises.“

These kids were absolutely insane.

More shuffling from the other side of the room. “Phil? If you’re sleeping on the job, I swear I’ll—”

Red Cardinal leaped over the crates and smashed his staff in the man’s face. Black Bat and Nightwing followed, stepping in-between the goons and the weapons they’d left on the floor.

“Fuck—”

“It’s the bats—”

“Get the guns!”

The room devolved into panic, the henchmen who were still seated scrambling to their feet, the man whose face Cardinal had rearranged falling backwards without getting up.

The three of them pounced forward before their opponents could get their bearings, smashing their way through with little difficulty. There might be a lot of them, but it didn’t matter when they couldn’t do more than throw a clumsy punch.

“See?” Red cardinal said as he swung his staff against another kneecap. “Scarecrow’s guys are never any trouble. He trusts his gas too much.”

Black Bat threw another goon over her shoulder, the man howling as his back hit the ground. “Gross.”

Cardinal gave her an exasperated look. “You know what I mean.”

Nightwing stayed close to the guns and crates, only throwing the occasional punch when someone came too close. His hand-to-hand skills would be a dead giveaway that he wasn’t new to the game, and Black Bat and Cardinal seemed to have little trouble disposing of these clowns.

That was until one of them cracked open the crate he’d been sitting on, revealing more black canisters. Had they really been using boxes full of grenades as chairs?

He really should stop underestimating just how fucking stupid people could be.

“I think I found the sixth pellet!” he yelled. All the heads in the room turned as the goon’s finger jerked on the pin.

“Don’t, you idiot!” One of his peers said, but it was already too late.

The man threw the grenade, pin clattering to the ground. The fear gas hissed as it forced its way outside, sickly green smoke exploding into the room.

“Hold your breath!” Red Cardinal yelled, and thankfully, Dick was used to obeying quick orders.

Everything disappeared as the gas spread, thick clouds obscuring his vision. Before he could even begin to get his bearings, a black glove grabbed his wrist and tugged him to follow. Black Bat.

She led him towards the door, Red Cardinal already there to hold it open. Both of them had see-through gas masks hugging their faces.

Would’ve been real nice if they’d given him one of those. His body screamed for oxygen as he held his breath, even if he knew he had at least another full minute before suffering any consequences.

Outside It had started to rain, heavy downpour stopping the green gas that trailed after them from creeping up beyond their ankles.

It was the small mercies.

Nightwing only dared to breathe again when Black Bat and Cardinal took their gas masks off, taking a deep breath of the fishy smell that always clung to the harbor.

“Told you it'd be a bad idea.”

Cardinal grimaced but didn’t disagree. “I hadn’t expected them to be this stupid.”

They watched the henchmen find their way outside, stumbling over their feet while they coughed and rubbed at their eyes. Most of them were openly crying and babbling as they held onto each other.

“Welcome to Blüdhaven.”

Black Bat shook her head.

Once the gas had dispersed, the henchmen hadn't been a lot of trouble to clear out. They’d simply given them the antidote and left them on the docks for the police to find.

After that, they’d dropped all but two canisters of fear gas into the harbour. The stuff didn’t like water, apparently.

It was barely one in the morning when they made it back to the highway separating their cities. Rain still poured, heavy drops tugging on Dick’s hair and dripping down his face.

“Well, this has been fun,” he said.

Neither Black Bat nor Red Cardinal moved. The two of them shared a look.

Nightwing took a step back. Could they be…

After all that, were they really going to...

“Not like that,” Black Bat said, but he could see the silent apology on her face.

The lie.

He took out his grapple and aimed it at the nearest building.

“Batman wants to meet you,” Red Cardinal blurted out.

Oh.

That was…

Even worse.

He lowered his arm. “No.”

“Just once, to talk.”

Nightwing laughed, heart beating in his throat. How naïve they were. “About what? You guys breaking that promise to stay out of Blud a week after making it? Or about how he lets literal children out on the streets?”

“If you mean the demon brat, he wasn’t supposed to—”

“I didn’t.”

Red Cardinal’s jaw set when he realised what Dick had implied. After a long pause he said, “So that’s a no on that meeting?”

Dick smiled and shook his head. he had to give the kid points for staying professional. “Get the fuck out of my city.”

Black Bat stepped towards Cardinal, throwing out rapid-fire sign that seemed like genuine gibberish.

Cardinal huffed back at her. “What do you want me to do? He clearly doesn’t—”

And Dick couldn't take it anymore.

“Can you please just use ASL?” He knew she knew it. He’d seen her use it on TV, not that he could tell them that.

She blinked at him. Then, for the first time this night, she signed something he understood. I didn’t know you knew. I would have switched.

Red Cardinal scoffed, his tone biting. “Why? He obviously doesn't want to talk to us.”

Dick raised an eyebrow. Seemed like Cardinal didn’t like to be reminded of his age, either.

Ah, youth. He remembered being seventeen and thinking himself so mature.

“Figured that out all on your own, did you?”

“No wonder the demon brat likes you.”

Black Bat stepped between them. Stop fighting.

Nightwing laughed. Fighting. Like this was fucking fighting. With Slade, he’d call this a civil fucking conversation.

He pulled out his grapple and shot it at the nearest building. “I’m only going to say this once. I’m not meeting with Batman. I’m not meeting with any of you ever again. And the next time any of you set foot in Blüdhaven, you'll be considered an enemy.”

He didn’t wait for a reply to grapple away.

His breath came quick as he raced across the rooftops, rain beating down his neck. He knew he’d made a mistake the moment he swung away, but the thought of meeting with Batman made his skin crawl.

Bruce Wayne might play the lovable idiot, but Batman was one of the few men Slade had feared. It was clear in the contracts he denied. In the quiet that followed any mention of him. In the way neither of them had set foot in Gotham again since they'd left it the first time all those years ago.

No, Deathstroke didn’t run from fights—that’s why he’d made damn sure Batman was never there to start one.

Something orange flickered in the corner of his eye.

Dick almost tripped over his own feet.

No.

It couldn’t be—

Deathstroke stood on top of the water tower, rain thundering off his silhouette.

His mind must be playing tricks on him again. The first few months on the run had made him see ghosts constantly, orange hats, coats and scarves haunting him every time he went outside.

But the itching behind his eyes always went away when he blinked.

So he forced himself to calm down. He breathed in deeply, and blinked.

And blinked again.

And again, again, again.

Again.

His breath hitched, and he could feel himself go numb as he stared up at the water tower.

Because Slade hadn't disappeared.

He…

He hadn't.

Instead he tore his broadsword from its hilt, metal slicing through the wind and thunder.

Dick didn’t think.

He ran.

He raced across the rooftops without a plan, heart beating in his throat, hands trembling, ragged breaths lost in the heavy rain.

Every time he turned, Slade had gotten closer.

Fuck, he couldn’t—

He couldn’t do this.

Not again.

He’d ran too, back in Seattle, the first time he'd tried to escape the life he'd been forced into. He remembered smiling as he gained ground, like being faster on the rooftops meant anything in the game they played.

It didn’t.

All had seemed fine the first few weeks. But soon Slade had introduced himself to his neighbors. To his colleagues. To his friends.

And then, he'd gone hunting.

Dick had lasted a day before he'd crawled back.

“Nightwing!”

He almost lost his footing when an unknown voice shouted in his ear. Hadn’t he given the bats their comm back?

“Can you hear me?”

“Leave me—” He coughed, chest heaving— “alone.”

When he turned his head, Slade was only two rooftops behind him. Fuck.

Fuck, he couldn’t—

“I need you to listen carefully,” the woman said. “Whatever you’re seeing isn’t real. The fear gas you guys destroyed was enhanced to work through skin contact. You need to get back to Black Bat and Red Cardinal for the antidote.”

He jumped another gap. His feet missed the roof by just a hair, sliding down the side of the building until he buried his nails into the wet concrete and hauled himself up.

“I know this probably is very disorienting, but I need you to—”

He desperately needed her to stop talking, but his hands were too occupied with keeping him on his feet to rip out the comm.

“Just—” another gasping breath. “Please just fuck off.”

He skidded to a halt, head whipping around for a way forward. But all the buildings except the one he came from were too far to jump to, and his hands shook too much for him to trust his grapple.

It was a dead end.

Slade wasn’t out of breath in the slightest when he sauntered onto the roof.

Dick took a step back, heels on the edge of the building. He wouldn’t exactly call himself suicidal, but if the alternative was going back to Slade…

It would be kind of poetic to share his parents' fate.

“It’s not real,” the woman said again. Dick raised his hand to tear out the comm, but froze halfway through the motion.

It had stopped raining, allowing the moon to cut deep shadows into the city. His own stretched out in front of him, reaching halfway across the rooftop.

And Slade.

Slade didn’t have a shadow.

They had dealt with something called fear gas earlier tonight. And Slade being here made no sense whatsoever—If he’d found Dick, there was no way he’d confront him out in the open this close to Gotham.

Dick reached out a trembling hand towards his master. Where his fingers should’ve touched Kevlar, he only felt air.

He let himself fall forward, knees and hands digging into the roof.

Thank God. Thank fucking God.

“Nightwing?”

“I’m here,” he said with a broken voice. “Sorry, I— you were right.”

The woman let out a breath. “Good. Can you make it back to the highway?”

Yes, he wanted to say, but his legs cramped up at the thought of moving. And even if he knew it was an illusion, Slade was still looming over him. His only defense from breaking down any further was to keep his eyes on the concrete.

“You’re— you’re Oracle, right?”

A pause on the other side of the line. “I see you’ve done your homework.”

“Just— just send them here. You must be tracking the comm.”

“What happened to ‘you will be considered an enemy’?”

Dick bit his tongue. “I was…”

Afraid.

“Angry.”

A snort. “You reek of issues, Nightwing. But I've sent them on their way.”

And that should’ve made his skin crawl, the thought of the bats seeing him doubled over and trembling, fingers digging into the wet concrete to keep them from going numb.

But all he felt was relief.

And then his mouth betrayed him by asking, “Are they okay?”

He could tell Oracle smiled as she talked. “They’re fine. They recognised the early signs and gave themselves the antidote before the more destructive symptoms could take hold. Here, let me—”

A buzz, and then voices exploded into his ear.

“Where is he—”

“I’m going to suit up.”

“No. You need to—”

“Maybe we can still—”

When Oracle spoke, the rumbling died down. “Behave yourselves, guys. We have a guest.”

“Nightwing?” That was Spoiler’s voice.

Oh, he so hadn’t signed up for this. Couldn’t Oracle at least have given him a warning? Wasn't she supposed to be the mature, considerate one?

“Hi?”

He was met with a chorus of relieved sighs.

“He lives,” Red Cardinal said in a deadpan voice. “We’re about fifteen minutes out. How did you get all the way to the other side of the city in like twenty minutes?”

Dick opened his mouth, then closed it.

“Cardio,” he settled on.

That earned a laugh from Spoiler. “Told you guys he was a hoot.”

They continued their banter until Red Cardinal and Black Bat swung onto the rooftop, not showing a trace of anger or resentment at the harsh words he’d given them.

They probably blamed the fear gas, even if they shouldn’t.

Black Bat shook her head when he tried to apologise. “Don’t worry,” she said. We understand.

Chapter Text

-*Cardinal added Nightwing to ‘Don’t worry B’s not here’*-

NIGHTWING
How did you get this number.

CARDINAL
*LINK*

NIGHTWING
Yeah I’m not clicking that.

-*Nightwing left the chat*-

-*Cardinal added Nightwing to ‘Don’t worry B’s not here’*-

CARDINAL
wait dont leave

NIGHTWING
What is your problem.

SPOILER
fsdkjghfdkjhgkjh

SPOILER
gffgdg

SPOILER
CLICK IT

-*Nightwing left the chat*-

-*Cardinal added Nightwing to ‘Don’t worry B’s not here’*-

CARDINAL
Just stay like 5 seconds

NIGHTWING
Why would I

ORACLE
It’ll be over quicker if you play along.

ORACLE
Speaking from experience.

-*Spoiler posted a screenshot*-

SPOILER
I got Batman!!!

BLACK BAT
Me too!

CARDINAL
literally how??

CARDINAL
I just got myself I feel so boring

NIGHTWING
Wait

NIGHTWING
Did you hack into my civilian phone just to send me a stupid buzzfeed quiz?

BLACK BAT
Yes

SPOILER
yes

CARDINAL
take it

NIGHTWING
No.

BLACK BAT
Coward

NIGHTWING
Still no.

-*Nightwing left the chat*-

-*Oracle added Nightwing to ‘Don’t worry B’s not here’*-

NIGHTWING
Seriously?

ORACLE
They’re not going to stop pestering you until you do it.

NIGHTWING
Speaking from experience?

ORACLE
Maybe.

ORACLE
I got Batgirl.

NIGHTWING
Fineee.

NIGHTWING
but I expect you guys to stay out of bludhaven for at least a month for this.

SPOILER
yeah not gonna happen

SPOILER
but we’ll bring you some batburger tomorrow

NIGHTWING
I hate all of you.

BLACK BAT
<3

NIGHTWING
Ok so

NIGHTWING
Why am I an option in this quiz.

NIGHTWING
And why did I get Spoiler instead of myself?

NIGHTWING
I didn’t even pick purple for the color question.

SPOILER
FJKHKDSFJHDKSFJH

SPOILER
YESSSS!!!!!!!

CARDINAL
Darn there go my 50 bucks

BLACK BAT
:(

SPOILER
Suck it losersssss

NIGHTWING
You guys seriously need to stay the hell away from Bludhaven.

NIGHTWING
People are beginning to think I’m one of you.

ORACLE
And would that be so bad, Mr. grumpy-lone-wolf?

NIGHTWING
Yes.

NIGHTWING
I did your thing, now leave me alone.

*Nightwing left the chat*

A lot had changed in the past month.

Mostly, he’d become a giant pushover.

No matter what he did, the bats refused to stay out of Blüdhaven.

They’d had good reasons at first. Like that thing with the fear gas, or the car chase that had left them stranded on the wrong side of the highway.

But then nothing had happened for a week, and those brats had still found reasons to come pester him. Showing up to patrol on random weekdays. Messaging him on his phone (he’d destroyed three before giving up—his civilian persona was as fake as his hero one, anyway), and each and every goddamn time they left, they tried to bribe him into taking one of their comms.

He’d tried asking them to fuck off nicely, but that obviously hadn’t worked.

Then he’d threatened with violence, but the little shits knew he couldn’t act on it. Fighting his fellow heroes wouldn’t be very heroic, and he’d never survive pissing off their entire flock plus Batman.

So instead, he’d been forced to play nice as they crept closer and closer. He already left everything but his escrima and his grapple at home when going out, but even that wasn't enough—too often his reflexes had him aiming for the head, their gazes lingering just a little too long on his hands afterward.

It was only a matter of time before they began asking questions.

There was only one logical solution. Only one way to make sure they’d never get too close.

Leave.

But the thought of starting over again, of being alone in a foreign city, making a whole new identity when Nightwing just began to fit—

He just couldn’t.

At least those brats had convinced Batman to stay away from Blüdhaven for now. Or that’s what he assumed, since the Bat himself was the only one staying away.

Him and the little hellspawn.

He’d been tempted to ask about him every time the others swung by, but he just couldn’t force the words past his pride.

He didn’t care.

He didn’t.

But every time he looked in the mirror, he saw the kid’s angry eyes staring back at him. You could help him, his reflection would whisper.

You’ve been him.

Nightwing sighed as looked over his city, only a few buildings rising above the blanket of smog.

What a joke he’d become.

A glint of metal to his right.

He turned just in time to intercept the katana aimed at his throat.

Speaking of the little hellspawn.

The kid snarled as his blade slid off the escrima stick. He stabbed it out again, hand shaking around the hilt.

They weren’t doing this. Not again.

Nightwing whipped his other escrima against the kid’s fingers, making him hiss and drop his weapon.

The boy looked up at him, and—

That wasn’t the same look he’d had on his face last time. His eyes were wild, pupils shrunken and panicked as he reached for the katana on the ground between them.

Nightwing kicked it away.

And the desperate way the boy lunged after it, digging his knees into the concrete as the tips of his fingers only just reached the hilt—

Something was wrong.

The kid stumbled back to his feet, katana shaking as he pointed it forward. He wore the same hood as last time, only now the clothes underneath weren’t fit for fighting, proper pants that had torn around his knees, a dirtied white dress shirt, scuffed dress-shoes with flat soles that wouldn’t grip anything.

“What happened?“

No reaction.

Nightwing put his escrimas back in their holsters, making sure to keep his movements slow and deliberate. “Let’s take it easy, yeah?“

The kid's eyes followed Dick's hands. Then he also sheathed his weapon.

Before Dick could say anything, he pulled his hands into fists and took a fighting stance.

“No, that’s not—”

The kid lunged a fist at his collar bone.

Nightwing had him on the ground in no time, chest on the concrete and hands on his back, holding him in place with little effort. He’d been using those escrima sticks for less than six months, but he’d been working on his hand-to-hand his whole life.

The kid thrashed against his hold, breathing heavily, nostrils flared and pupils wide like a trapped animal. He kept shaking even when he stopped struggling, pulse jumping below Dick’s hands as he held his wrists.

“I need you to take a deep breath.”

“Unhand me—”

“Can you promise to stop attacking?”

The kid’s nostrils flared. “I don’t make promises to plebeians.”

“Then I guess you’re staying on the floor.”

“The nerve—”

Dick squeezed the kid’s wrists. “Hey now. You’re lucky I didn’t throw you off the building.”

That seemed to knock some wind out of his sails. He frowned down at the concrete. “I just…” He closed his mouth.

“Just what?”

The kid shook his head.

“What are you even doing here?”

Silence.

“Aren’t you supposed to be under house arrest?”

More silence.

Dick sighed. Why did the bats have to keep involving him in their drama? “I’m going to let you go, and you’re not going to stab me, okay?”

He got no answer but let go anyway. It felt wrong to pin someone so young down like that.

Thankfully, little hellspawn had gained enough sense to rise to his feet without attacking. He still didn’t look a hundred percent as he rubbed his wrists, but at least his eyes were sharp.

Then came the problem of what to do next.

“God knows why I have their numbers, but do you want me to call Spoiler, Black Bat, or Red Cardinal?”

The boy’s ever-present frown cut deeper into his face. “You associate with those imbeciles?”

“I don’t, but that doesn’t mean I won’t call them to come get you.”

The kid gave him a disgusted look, then turned around. “I suppose it was foolish to assume you had a spine. Leave me be and we’ll have no trouble.”

Nightwing let out a laugh. “Leave you be? In my city? After you tried to slice my throat?”

“I was simply testing you,” little hellspawn bit over his shoulder. “You failed.”

It hadn’t felt like that. It had felt like something had bothered the kid, something he could only vent out by moving his limbs, by pushing and pushing until everything ached and he couldn’t think of anything but the next jump, the next punch, the next slice.

Forcing his mind to go quiet through sheer force.

And when he’d seen Nightwing, he’d seen a punching bag that would punch back.

“Are you going back to Gotham?” Dick asked.

The kid answered by speeding up and jumping to a roof in the polar opposite direction.

Nightwing watched him bumble away, exhaustion mixed with the smooth soles of his shoes giving him only a shadow of the grace he’d had that first night.

And he wasn’t carrying a grapple, either, was he?

Dick sighed.

Something about these bats was making his brain rot.

He jumped after the kid before one of his stumbles would take him to the pavement. It took less than ten seconds to step onto the same roof, another five to scoop him up and heave him over his shoulders into a fireman carry.

The kid cursed something in Arabic.

Nightwing turned back towards Gotham. “I’m taking you to the border and I'm calling someone to come pick you up. What you’re doing's dangerous.”

The kid thrashed in his hold. “How dare you! You can’t—”

“Save it for your father.”

That only made the kid struggle harder. “No! He’ll— He can’t—”

And that reaction made Dick pause.

Because what if Batman had been what happened?

He’d assumed it wasn’t like that because of how Spoiler, Black Bat and Red Cardinal acted around him in public, but was that any proof?

Slade had made him smile, too.

Had made him call him father. Had laid a hand on his shoulder and given him a soft smile as he called him ‘my boy’.

Dick removed the kid from his shoulders and kneeled in front of him. “I need you to tell me exactly what happened.”

The kid tried to tug himself away, but Dick kept a firm grasp on his wrists.

“Unhand me! You have no right—!”

“You gave me every right by bringing your mess into Blüdhaven. Now you’re going to tell me what’s going on, or I’m going to call Spoiler and ask her.”

“Why do you care?”

Dick grimaced. Why, indeed.

“I think I deserve to know if you’re going to hide in my city.”

The kid stopped struggling and stared at him. “If I talk, you will allow me to stay?”

Dick grimaced. Him and his stupid mouth. What did stay even mean? Stay in Blüdhaven? Stay at his apartment? Not that the distinction changed his answer.

“No, but I might not tattle to the tween team as quick.”

The kid scowled. “They will not be looking.”

“Why?”

“Because I made sure of it.”

Dick blinked. “Did something happen between all of you?”

The kid tried tugging his wrists loose, and this time, Dick let go.

“What happened is they are weak," he spit. "Father deserves better, but he insists on indulging in their silly games and prancing them around Gotham like pets. All I did was to show him how useless they are.”

Dick stared at the kid. Aren’t they family? He wanted to ask. Don’t you see how lucky you are? How much you could have if you let yourself have it?

“Did you hurt them?” he asked instead. He eyed the kid’s tattered clothes. He must’ve started a fight he couldn’t finish.

At least sibling beef was better than an abusive Batman.

The kid stared down at the concrete. “Father was supposed to understand, but instead he took Dra— Cardinal’s side and said he will send me back to Nanda Parbat. I cannot allow that to happen. Surely he will come to his senses if he is given time to reflect?”

And God, the hopeful way he’d asked.

Dick opened his mouth, then closed it. He’d love to tell the kid Batman had acted irrationally after presumably seeing one of his kids hurt, and that he would come to his senses, but he had no way of knowing it was the truth.

Either way, this wasn’t the kind of conversation to have on a rooftop.

He looked in the direction of his apartment.

He shouldn’t.

He really, really shouldn’t.

No.

No, of all the stupid thoughts—

But he didn’t have a sewer hideout with two beds or even two chairs. His civilian persona was as fake as his vigilante one, anyway—he hardly could’ve used the name Dick Grayson, or Slade would’ve come knocking the moment he settled.

Everywhere the bats dug, they’d find someone who’d lived in Blüdhaven his whole life. He’d even bribed a few teachers to say he attended their classes growing up.

Fuck it.

He was pretty sure the only reason they’d stayed away from his apartment was because they knew he didn’t want them there, anyway.

“You really want to stay here tonight?” he asked.

And the kid looked so surprised at the offer, his frown almost disappeared. “That would be acceptable.”

Dick gave him a nod. “Alright, but I will tell the others you’re here, and we will continue this conversation. And if Batman does show up, you’re on your own.”

And the corners of the kid’s mouth quirked right back down. “That is… also acceptable.”

SPOILER
So this is going to be a weird question

SPOILER
But have you seen the stabby kid I was babysitting?

SPOILER
We’re kinda having an emergency and he just blipped out

NIGHTWING
He’s here.

SPOILER
knew it

SPOILER
Figured he'd run to blud since B has promised he wouldn’t go scare you away

SPOILER
sorry you got involved into this mess

NIGHTWING
Is Cardinal hurt?

SPOILER
RC is fine. He almost wasn’t.

SPOILER
Like permanently.

NIGHTWING
Shit.

SPOILER
Yeah that just about sums it up.

SPOILER
Listen I know this is a lot to ask, but can you please please please look after stabby tonight? Its not going to end well if he even breathes in the wrong direction right now.

SPOILER
If not I can come get him, I have a place away from the others

SPOILER
But I really don't wanna leave RC right now

NIGHTWING
He can stay here tonight, but you guys need to do something about this. Kid needs some serious help. 

SPOILER
thanks. I'll msg you when I can come pick him up tmrw

SPOILER
and for the record, were trying

-*Spoiler went offline*-

Dick frowned down at his phone. He’d been ready to take Spoiler up on her offer to come pick up little hellspawn, but she’d sounded so tired over text. It probably wouldn’t be the first time the kid would be dumped on her.

And just like that, his fingers had refused to type out the words.

She better be grateful.

The microwave beeped, so he put down his phone and took out the two steaming mugs of hot chocolate.

He found the kid right where he told him to go after his shower, sitting on the couch with his back straight as a ruler. Hopefully the warm water had slowed down his thoughts enough to realise that murder wasn't exactly the way to win Batman’s favor.

Like, holy hell. He hadn’t expected the kid to go that hard.

Last time they'd met he’d at least tried to keep those random criminals alive, and now he was executing assassination plots on his semi-sort-of-brother?

What the hell had they all been doing over in Gotham?

He pushed the mess on his coffee table aside so he could set down the steaming mugs.

The kid almost drowned in his borrowed shirt. He’d changed back into his tattered clothes at first, but Dick had threatened to make him sleep on the floor if he didn’t clean himself up.

Not that his apartment was very clean—as sad as it was, he spent most of his time down in the sewers or up on the rooftops.

He sat down on the open spot on the couch. “You can relax, you know. If I was going to try something, I would’ve done so already.” Had the kid already forgotten how easily he'd been pinned down earlier?

Little hellspawn scooted away until he leaned against the opposite armrest. He glared at the mugs on the table. “Well if I were to plot your murder, I would drug your beverage. Or I would wait until you were asleep to slit your throat.”

Dick sighed. How charming.

He picked up the mugs of hot chocolate one after another, taking a hearty sip from both. “Satisfied?”

Little hellspawn was lucky he was even sharing this stuff with him. Slade had forbidden him most sweet things growing up, but he’d never forgotten the popcorn back at the Circus, the entire grounds smelling of sugar while they ran their shows.

His grocery budget might be pathetic, but he always made sure to save up for something sweet.

The kid scoffed. “Is consuming pure sugar supposed to be enjoyable?”

Dick picked up his own and downed half of it in a single gulp. “Don’t drink it, then. But it's this or tap water.”

The kid frowned at the hot chocolate in Dick’s hand, then down at the one on the table. He slowly reached out and put the mug against his lips for the tiniest of sips, then put it back on the table.

He'd take it.

They sat in silence for a while longer, neither knowing where to start. He should just put on the TV and give the kid the remote, but he’d been stupid back on the roof and told him they would ‘talk’.

Talk.

Like the amount of people he’d put in the ground gave him any authority to say ‘murder is bad’. But at least being raised by Slade gave him a pretty clear picture of what the kid must’ve dealt with at the League.

Let’s try that angle.

“So I’m going to speculate for a bit,” he said. “Correct me if I’m wrong."

The kid stayed silent, so Dick continued.

"You were raised like a little prince. Everyone knew you were Batman’s kid. Ra’s told you you were destined for greatness, and you trained day and night to be ready for that destiny.”

He set down his mug. “But then he sends you to Gotham and nothing is as he said it would be.”

The kid grimaced. Bingo.

“You trained your whole life to stand by Batman’s side. Were told he wouldn’t accept you unless you were this perfect weapon, the perfect tool for his crusade. But then you got here, and he didn’t care about those things at all. He forbade you from doing what you were trained to do. Tells you to change everything about yourself, to forget everything the League taught you. Then he turns around and gives allll the praise and love you worked your whole life for to a bunch of dumb teenagers that aren’t even related to him. Am I close?”

The kid frowned down at his lap. He opened his mouth, then closed it. Then, finally, he talked. “Mother and Grandfather had assured me Father needed me. That I would help him achieve his true purpose. But he forbade me from standing by his side and continues to endanger himself by allowing these poorly trained imbeciles to watch his back. I had to show him how foolish he was being.”

“By almost killing one of his kids?”

“They are not his children.”

“And you really believe that?”

“Yes. No. I mean—” The kid dug his fingers into his knees. “They are not supposed to be.”

“Didn’t the League teach you to work with the facts?” Dick asked gently. “Even if they aren't supposed to be, and even if Batman was supposed to like this little murder machine they turned you into, it just isn’t true, is it?”

The kid bit his lip, knuckles white as they pushed on his knees. “I just— I do not know what to do.”

Dick sighed. So young and already so twisted from the hand he’d been dealt. “Well, for starters, maybe actually listen to the people you're trying to please? I bet Batman told you murder was unacceptable, right? So why did you think trying to kill someone close to him would win his favor?”

The kid huffed. “It was not about winning his favor. Dra— Cardinal simply does not deserve to stand by his side. None of them do.”

“Okay, but if your Father is such a great person, shouldn’t he be allowed to pick his own allies?”

“You don’t understand—”

“No, you’ve got to understand that the League is using you. Why do you think they told you all these things you’re supposed to say to Batman? All these ways you’re supposed to act around him?”

“Mother would never—”

“Did Mother even tell Father you existed?”

The kid jerked upright, his borrowed shirt falling over his knees. “Coming here was foolish.”

He grabbed his hood from the chair he'd draped it over and reached for the window.

Dick blocked his path. “I’m not trying to be mean, but you have to come to your senses, kid. You’re young now, but the killing, the murder, the violence—it catches up to you.”

“You killed.”

Dick grimaced. Kid hadn’t framed it as a question, and why should he? He’d seen Renegade in action. Had seen how he'd handled that blade the night they'd first met.

“I’ve made my fair share of mistakes.”

“And yet you dare lecture me.”

He gave the kid a hard stare. “That’s exactly why I dare.”

For a while they stared at each other, willing the other to give up first. He was starting to understand what Spoiler had meant with ‘trying’.

Dick sighed. “Just— I’ll stop talking about it, okay? You'll have to fix whatever you screwed up yourself when you g back to Gotham tomorrow. I can’t fix your life for you.”

“I cannot simply 'fix' this.”

“Have you at least tried to make it work?“

The kid twisted away from the window, pacing the room. “I do not want it to work. I want them to leave.“

“You say that to their faces, too?“

little hellspawn whipped back around. “Why should I not? They make it clear they feel the same.“

“I’m sure they’re also very capable of being immature dickheads, but you’re literally trying to kill them.“

The kid’s nostrils flared. “But they—“

Dick stepped towards him. “I get you might’ve not started on the greatest of terms, but that doesn’t mean that can’t change. I mean, look at us! You attacked me both times we’ve met—what do you think would’ve happened if I hadn’t tried talking it out?“

And something about that finally got through, the kid’s shoulders slumping ever so slightly, tension leaving his limbs, frown turning thoughtful. “I suppose... we would have fought until one of us perished.“

Not exactly what he’d been going for, but close enough.

Dick knelt and looked him straight in his green eyes. “Listen, you can’t always expect others to break the cycle for you. Sometimes you have to be the one to reach out.”

The kid grimaced. He must be really scared of retracting his claws.

Dick could relate, but unlike him, the kid was still young. He could still change.

He still had the chance to gain a family.

“If you’re going to co-exist, you have to be willing to try. Listen to what they want. Be open to change.” He smiled. “Apologise to Cardinal.”

The kid gave him a disgusted look. “Surely that will not be necessary?”

Dick raised his eyebrow.

“I suppose it would be in order,” the kid mumbled.

And God, if he hadn’t been Batman’s, Dick might've taken him all for himself.

Dick woke up drooling on his dining table.

He jerked upright when he noticed the sunlight filtering through the blinds. Shit. He’d wanted to stay awake tonight, not quite trusting the kid enough to turn his back. Last he’d remembered the boy had been snuggled on his couch, some nature documentary buzzing on the TV as he refused to sleep for much the same reason.

Now the couch was empty except for a neatly folded shirt and blanket. His guest had put their cups of hot chocolate in the sink, too.

Both of them were empty.

Dick smiled. Maybe he'd just flushed it down the drain, but he would much rather tell himself the kid drank it, after all.

When he opened his blinds, there was a sticky-note stuck to the window.

I have thought about your advice. I will try your suggestions of ‘listening’ and ‘apologising’.

Thank you for your hospitality.

-Damian al Ghul

Damian.

The name fit.

The day after the impromptu sleepover had sucked major ass.

He’d been bone-achingly tired from staying up all night, but he’d still had to teach his classes at the gym and run a bartender shift after. As a cherry on top some of his worst regulars had shown up to have a jolly old time, refusing to fucking leave until two in the morning.

And he’d still had to drag himself down to the sewers afterwards. There were rumours of an important arms deal happening somewhere this week, so Nightwing couldn’t miss a single night of patrol until he either confirmed a date or caught them in the act.

He didn’t even stop by the sewers to change out of his suit after he was done for the night. He went straight for his apartment, the half-an-hour of extra sleep too tempting to pass up on.

He was going to have to move soon, anyway. His landlord had doubled rent the moment he’d realised Dick worked two jobs, the greedy fucking pig.

Dick fell onto his couch. He leaned back against the cushions and closed his eyes. Five seconds.

Five seconds, and then he would go get the spirit gum remover and take off his mask.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

He opened his eyes to see Red Cardinal climbing through his window.

“I’m like, so freaking pissed right now,” he said as he began pacing the room. “Like, that little demon tried to murder me in my own room less than 24 hours ago, and now I’m supposed to sleep there? When he’s two doors down the hall? He didn’t even say sorry! Just that he made a mistake! What do you mean ‘a mistake’? The little shitstain—”

Dick blinked, but Cardinal didn't disappear. “You’re real?”

Cardinal stopped pacing. “God, I’m sorry. I just— I couldn’t stay at the Manor and Step— Spoiler has been dealing with me all day. I would’ve gone to the mountain, but no one there even know the demon brat exists. Plus, I didn’t want to talk to—”

“Batman?”

Cardinal opened his mouth, then closed it.

Dick rubbed his eyes. Batman’s ‘promise’ to stay out of Blüdhaven wasn’t going to last much longer if his kids kept using it to get away from him.

Fuck, why did he have to be so tired?

“Is there any chance you’ll listen if I tell you to leave?”

And to his surprise, Cardinal immediately turned back towards the window. “Yeah, I— I should go. You obviously have nothing to do with this. Sorry.”

The kid didn’t look well. A frantic energy clung to his limbs, voice wavering as he rambled almost too fast to understand.

No wonder when he’d almost been killed less than a day ago.

Dick sighed. He just knew he’d guilt himself into chasing after Cardinal if he let him leave, which very much wasn’t how he wanted to spend the precious few hours he had until his alarm went off.

“No, wait.”

Cardinal stopped with one foot already on the fire escape.

Dick patted the empty spot next to him. “Come sit down.”

The kid hovered near the window. “No, this was stupid. B might come after me and you obviously don’t want that, and then you’ll leave and it’ll be my fault and—”

“Breathe.”

Cardinal took a shuddering breath. “Sorry.”

“If you want to say sorry, say sorry for making me get rid of three phones. Those things aren’t cheap.”

That made Cardinal pause. “You… didn’t just change the sim cards?”

“No, I—” Dick blinked the sleep out of his eyes and sat up straight. He’d wasted like half a month’s salary on those stupid things. “You can do that?”

Cardinal gave him a disbelieving look. “Yes? Aren’t you like, barely older than me?”

Dick had never had a permanent phone before Nightwing. Slade had given him a new burner in every city, making him get rid of it when they moved on.

That had been how phones worked.

I build my own gadgets, he wanted to bite back. I could build a bomb from stuff you’d find at the grocery store. Who cares about stupid sim cards?

He swallowed the back the words and forced himself to his feet. “Let’s just drop it, yeah?” He opened his fridge, eyes squinting at the bright light. “You want something to drink? I have milk, water, or… more milk. I can make hot chocolate if you’re willing to wait.”

Cardinal gave him a hesitant smile. “You, know, I wouldn’t mind showing you how to—”

“And will you close the window? There’s a Slavic grandma in the building across the street whose only hobby is looking outside.”

Cardinal closed the window.

So turned out little Damian had tied a pair of butcher knives above Cardinal’s bed. And when his target had retreated after a long day, he’d cut the ropes from another room.

Only he hadn’t realised Cardinal had a habit of finishing his e-mails in bed, back pushed against the headboard as he typed on his laptop.

And thus, both knives had skewered his computer instead of his head.

Honestly, Dick had expected better from Damian. Surely the League of Assassins would’ve taught him how to properly assassinate?

Then again, if it had been about showing Batman how ‘incompetent’ his sidekicks were, then Cardinal kicking the bucket because he hadn’t bothered to look up would prove his point nicely.

“That’s like, factually wrong,” Cardinal said as he stared at the TV. “We have—” he threw up his hands. “Oh my god, is this guy seriously implying the pyramids were built by aliens?”

Dick didn’t bother to reply. Cardinal had been talking non-stop since he'd had sat him down on his couch.

At first he’d needed it like breathing, words tumbling out about what had happened, how he felt about it, how he thought he should feel about it—he seemed to think he shouldn’t feel betrayed or angry, since Damian was ten and brainwashed.

Like him almost dying couldn’t also matter.

Dick knew he wasn’t exactly a paragon of self-worth, but even he thought the kid was being way too hard on himself.

“And like, it’s racist, too, right?” Cardinal continued. “Like those indigenous people could only do something that impressive with help from freaking aliens.”

Dick had hoped he’d leave after calming down enough to become coherent, but Cardinal hadn’t yet caught Dick’s hint of yawning and looking at his bedroom door.

He leaned further into his cushions. Guess this was going to be another sleepless night.

“You’re not from here, are you?”

Dick cracked open an eye, watching Cardinal study his olive skin. Was he implying Dick was an actual alien or just not American? “I was born in Blud.”

“Really?.”

“Hmmm.”

Cardinal lowered the volume of the TV. “What I mean is, your civilian ID, it's a cover too, right?”

Dick pushed away from the cushions. He shouldn’t get too cosy. Guess he couldn't blame Cardinal for making use of the situation.

He was a bat, after all.

“It’s not,” Dick bit. “And frankly, all this meddling is very rude. You see me skulking around trying to find out who you guys are?” That he already knew was besides the point.

“B needs to know these kinds of things.”

“Why? I stay out of Gotham.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Isn’t it?”

Cardinal turned to him. “It isn’t. According to the law, the Justice League is responsible vetting new heroes. Which means it’s literally our responsibility to make sure you aren’t some axe-murderer.”

That actually made a lot of sense. Of course that responsibility would be shoved off to the Justice League.

But that also meant…

All the times they had popped up unannounced. Every text they’d sent. All those nights they’d spent following him around, bribing him with fast food, trying to give him a comm—

Had it all been a lie?

He dug his fingers into the couch. “So all this time, you guys were just ‘testing’ me?”

Cardinal bit his lip. “I mean, at first? But we passed off our report after at the fear gas thing. After that, we could’ve left you alone.”

“But you didn’t.”

“We didn’t.”

Silence.

And he shouldn’t ask, but.

“Why?”

The corners of Cardinal’s mouth turned up. “Black Bat said you looked lonely.”

And if that wasn’t a punch to the fucking gut. “I have friends.”

More like colleagues, but whatever.

“We can stop, if that’s what you really want. I guess we just liked having someone new to talk to—it’s rare for newbies to not be afraid of us.”

“You’re dressed like a strawberry. Spoiler is bright purple.”

Cardinal shot him a look. “You know what I mean. Batman doesn’t exactly have the most… friendly reputation.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“This was the first time he trusted us to do the talking," Cardinal continued. "Normally he’s way too overprotective, but you seemed okay enough when Spoiler and the demon brat ran into you.”

“So I’m the only one who got his deranged little sidekicks instead of the real thing?”

Cardinal gave him an amused look. “I could still set up that meeting, if that’s what you want.”

“No,” Dick said a little too quickly. “No, that’s alright.”

Cardinal snorted. “It’s going to have to happen eventually, you know. He’s only staying out of 'haven because we threatened to stop patrolling with him if he scares you away.”

"I know."

He knew all too well that picking Blüdhaven meant he’d have to stand on the same rooftop as Batman one day. That had been his whole reason for coming here—because Deathstroke wouldn’t dare. Still, he needed more time before it happened, needed to get to a place where the thought didn't make his chest seize.

Dick looked at the kid sitting next to him, dressed in full costume, sitting on his couch and watching TV. If it weren’t for him and the rest of Batman’s flock accidentally keeping him away, Dick might’ve tucked tail and left town ages ago. God knows what would’ve happened if it’d been the Bat he met on that rooftop instead of his son. Everything might still crash and burn, but at least the last month hadn't been completely horrible.

"Thanks for keeping him out," he said.

 Cardinal smiled. "For now."

He woke up on the couch this time, neck twinging painfully from being squeezed into a pretzel. He tried to rub the sleep out of his eyes, but sighed when his fingers met fabric instead of skin. He'd left his mask on last night, just like he'd done the night before with Damian. Both boys had come to see Nightwing, after all. Not Dick.

As expected, the spot next to him on the couch was empty.

Unlike little Damian, Cardinal had left their mugs on the coffee table, Dick’s still half-full. He sniffed the milk, then shrugged and took a sip. He didn’t have the budget to waste food.

His muscles protested when he stood, mug still pressed against his lips. He turned to—

Batman sitting at his dining table.

He spit out his drink.

Fuck.

Fuck, he wasn’t—

Batman stood. “I—”

Dick hurled the mug at him.

Batman leaned right, cup shattering against the wall behind him.

Dick yanked the other mug from the coffee table and threw it, shortly followed by his remote.

The second mug shattered, too, but Batman caught the remote before it could meet the same fate.

Dick took a step back.

Breathe.

He had to breathe.

Batman put the remote on the dining table. “Easy.”

Think.

There had to be a way out—he hadn’t trained his whole life to be bested after throwing a few mugs.

Batman took a step forward. “Sorry for the intrusion. It's too light outside to wait on the fire escape.”

He couldn’t fight his way out. Not against Batman.

“I came to thank you,” Batman said.

Dick froze. Because… what?

He forced himself to take a deep breath and really look at the man standing in front of him.

Besides wearing a bat costume he was stiff, spoke carefully, and didn’t quite know where to leave his hands.

This couldn’t be who Batman was.

Could it?

“Cardinal looked much better when he came back earlier this morning,” Batman continued, “and my youngest had never tried to apologise before.”

Dick opened his mouth, then closed it. Because what could he even say to that? You’re welcome? That’ll be 50 dollars an hour for babysitting?

Please leave now?

“I don’t understand how you did it. I try to talk to him, but he just…” Batman grimaced. “Refuses.”

And he looked so miserable with that fact, that Dick couldn’t help but say, “It’s easier.”

Batman stayed silent.

Dick scratched his neck. “It’s— sometimes it’s easier to talk to strangers, you know? Their opinion matters less.”

“I suppose that’s true.”

More silence.

Dick glanced at his clock.

Batman followed his gaze, then stepped back towards the window. “I won’t overstay my welcome. It was nice meeting you, Nightwing. ”

Thank God. “I— yeah.”

Batman climbed onto the fire escape, then turned around to give Dick one final look. “And don’t sell yourself short. You’re far from a stranger to them.”

Then he was gone.

NIGHTWING
Hey weird question

SPOILER
Shoot

NIGHTIWNG
Does little hellspawn have a phone? I’d like to check on him after last week

NIGHTWING
If that’s okay.

SPOILER
Damn 

SPOILER
Hes still the favorite after nearly kiling RC? Harsh.

Nightwing
I hate all of you equally.

NIGHTWING
But if you have to know, I texted RC about it too

SPOILER
Look at you. All caring n shit

NIGHTWING
Shut up.

SPOILER
But yeah Ill ask B if I can give u his nomebr!! cant imagine he says no tho

SPOILER
if it were my murder toddler, I would be dancing on the rooftops if someone volunteered to babysit

NIGTHWING
Hey now. That was a one time thing.

SPOILER
Sure it was

NIGHTWING
It was.

SPOILER
Sure :)

NIGHTWING
Look, can you just give him my number? Tell him he can text me if he wants?

SPOILER
Aye aye captn

NIGHTWING
Thanks.

*Nightwing went offline*

Chapter Text

Nightwing peered through the skylight in the roof of the mall. It was almost two in the morning, the doors closed and the lights off. Normally there’d be security skulking around the halls, but tonight they’d been payed off, replaced by two armed men guarding the only door to the basement.

Tonight, Blüdhaven’s criminals had gathered to bid on illegal weapons a pair of smugglers had flaunted all over the city.

He'd spent the whole week trying to find out when and where those idiots were going to sell, but in the end it had been his contact at the BPD, Sergeant Amy Rohrbach, who had given him the golden tip.

She said she didn’t trust vigilantes, but when her corrupt coworkers wanted to attend the auction instead of busting it, she’d finally been driven in enough of a corner to call the number he’d given her.

One of them dies and it’s over, she’d said.

Of course he'd had no problem with those terms. He’d show her he could be trusted. If he’d learned anything from the bats, it's that being a vigilante is way easier if the police has your back.

He crouched and opened the skylight.

Heavy footsteps thudded onto the roof. “Wouldn’t do that if I were you,” a distorted, metallic voice said.

Dick jumped up and tore his escrima from their holsters.

Because that voice belonged to the last person he wanted to see.

Red Hood still wore that stupid fishbowl helmet he had back in Boston. His suit hadn't changed much either, the same old jacket over black Kevlar, leather gun slings wrapped around his chest and hips.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist,” Hood said as he walked towards the open window in the skylight. “I ain’t here to kill you.”

Nightwing stepped in front of him. “You're not getting anyone else, either.”

Red hood laughed, voice distorted and rasping like a chain-smoker. “Says you? What, you’re gonna throw those sticks at me?”

Nightwing pressed the button on his escrima, ends sparking with electricity. “They hurt worse than they look.”

Hood snorted. “Ain’t that cute.” He pointed down at the mall. “Look, here’s the deal. The two fuckheads selling their score down there are mine. This is your only warning to fuck off. You get in the way, I’ll still pull the trigger.”

“Not going to happen.”

They stared at each other.

“Always the hard way with you hero-types,” Hood muttered. Before Dick could stop him, he stomped down on the skylight, glass raining into the fountain below.

The goons guarding the door to the basement scrambled to aim their guns, but Hood was quicker—two bangs, and both of them were howling with their hands clutched to their chests, weapons clattering to the ground.

Hood jumped through the broken skylight. He landed between them and punched them in the face with quick fists.

They didn’t get up. Of course they didn’t—getting punched by Red Hood was like being hit by a fucking truck.

Dick peered through the now broken skylight as Hood threw the guards’ weapons into the fountain.

God, why did it have to be him? Couldn’t these smugglers have pissed off Catwoman, or Scarecrow?

Hell, he’d prefer Joker—at least Joker had never fought Renegade before.

Hood was probably the only Gothamite that had. He used to take mercenary jobs before he’d settled in Gotham, which meant he’d competed with Deathstroke and Renegade on a fair amount of contracts.

The last time they’d crossed paths had been in Boston, when Slade had been so done with Hood’s shit he’d punched a hole through the TV in their hotel room and told Renegade to just ‘deal with it’.

Of course Hood hadn’t liked that idea very much.

Dick hesitated. The smart thing would be to leave. Trying to stop Hood now would be dangerous. Not only because he was a skilled opponent, but also because every punch could lead to being recognised. Dick might have changed weapons, but he hadn’t been able to change his whole fighting style without becoming useless.

But backing off meant those smugglers wouldn’t survive the night, and if he let Sergeant Rohrbach down on her first-ever request, she might never ask for his help again.

Decision made, he jumped down through the broken skylight, somersaulting twice to slow his landing. Spoiler called it showing off, he called it not breaking his legs.

He stepped between Hood and the basement door. “No one's dying tonight.”

Red Hood cocked his gun and aimed, joking attitude gone. “You're misjudging how far you can fucking push me, newbie. When I say one warning, I mean one.”

Nightwing stood his ground.

Hood would have no trouble pulling the trigger on Renegade, but killing a new suit? It wasn’t his style.

Even back then he’d never been an indiscriminate killer. He was the same brand of confusing as Catwoman, not giving a shit about the law but having enough standards where the bats did little else but give him a slap on the wrist now and then. No, he was much more of a terror to other villains than he was to the innocent.

“This is my city,” Nightwing said. “Whatever fucked-up justice you want to exact, keep it in Gotham.”

Red Hood stared at him, expression indecipherable behind his helmet. “Aren’t you the brave one?”

“Shut the fuck up.” He hadn’t missed Hood’s fucked-up personality, that’s for sure.

Hood laughed, then stopped to kick one of the guard’s faces in when the man stirred. “You know what,” he said as he shook the blood off his shoe, “this was gonna be boring as shit, anyway. How about we play a little game? See if you’re worth all the attention the bats are giving you?”

Bad idea. “I don’t play games with murderers.”

“They’re yours if you cuff them before I shoot," Hood continued, "But I get to them first—” he leaned in close “—and those cockroaches are fucking dead.”

Dick stared at him.

It was a terrible idea.

But what would happen if he declined? He couldn’t beat Hood in a brawl without his old guns or swords, and there was no way he’d be able to protect the smugglers from being shot while carrying them back to Sergeant Rohrbach.

Not to mention that a well-placed sniper shot could just as easily be made the next morning.

Dick couldn’t see Hood’s expression behind his helmet, but it felt like he was grinning, already knowing he’d played checkmate.

Fine.

Even if he was an asshole, Red Hood kept his promises. If he wanted to underestimate Nightwing, let him.

He’d see his mistake soon enough.

“Deal.”

Nightwing hid between the mess of pipes snaking above the corridor. The basement was way too big for this little mall, but a few bribes had convinced the engineers into building a few extra rooms easily enough. Crime, after all, was way easier to hide below ground.

As was proven by him finding out about this place way too late.

He really should ask the bats some pointers on how to do detective work. Slade had always been the one thinking of the grander scheme. Sure, he hadn’t held his apprentice’s hand, but his trust had never extended beyond ‘deal with this’.

A group of men stepped around the corner. The smugglers weren’t hard to recognise in the crowd, the only two cowards hiding their faces behind cheap plastic masks. One a wolf, the other a bear, both of them gaudy and tasteless.

They were joined by six armed guards holding melee weapons, their guns untouched on their hips. Smart move, since firearms were useless in a confined space like this.

Which was how Nightwing knew Red Hood wouldn’t make his move until later, when the smugglers had joined their buyers in their makeshift auction room.

“I still think we could’ve gotten a better price in Europe,” wolf mask said as the men passed under Dick’s hiding spot.

“You and your Europe obsession,” bear mask answered. “The bribes it’d take to get it all overseas would leave us both broke before we can make any money back.”

“Bribes were never a problem before.”

“Well, before it was kids, you idiot. A grenade launcher ain't gonna smile going through customs no matter what we do.”

Nightwing grimaced. So that was how they’d pissed off Hood. Targeting kids was a surefire way to end up on his shit list. Over half the contracts he’d taken back then had been related to kids or trafficking.

Guess these fuckwads had passed the bar where he’d blow their brains for free.

“I still think it’s—” wolf mask pulled his buzzing phone out of his pocket. “Crowd’s getting impatient,” he said as he read the screen.

Bear mask yawned. “Then let’s get this over with. I hate being up at this hour.”

Nightwing tensed. That was his cue.

The smugglers would never expect to be attacked while being guarded by six gorillas, and Hood would never expect a newbie to try and take all eight of them on his own.

Which meant that winning this fight was the perfect way to win Hood’s bet.

He couldn’t help but smile as he slipped on the gas mask he’d borrowed from the bats, tear gas canister already in hand.

He’d never said he’d play fair.

He yanked the pin of the teargas canister and threw it at the smugglers’ feet.

“What the—”

“Who—”

“Fuck!”

Thick smoke enveloped the room, goons coughing and clawing at their eyes as they breathed it in.

One guard pushed the smugglers towards the exit. “Run!”

Not going to happen. Dick jumped between them and their way out.

“It’s Nightwing!” another guard yelled. He had tears streaming down his face but kept his ground, hunting knife clutched in his hands.

Dick took out his escrima sticks. He wasn’t expecting much trouble from these men after using the tear gas, but you could never be too sure.

The first three guards went down in a single hit, unable to hold their eyes open with the tear gas clouding the room. The next two shared a look, then dropped to their knees and held up their hands.

Seemed like Nightwing’s reputation was finally doing its job.

He rewarded them with a swift hit to the temple.

Then only the guard with the knife stood between him and the masked smugglers trying to stumble away. The man darted forward and swiped his knife at Dick’s throat.

Nightwing dodged left, but his opponent changed course mid-swipe, blade cutting through the Lycra on his hip.

Dick bit his lip to stop from crying out as he moved to counter. As quick as that fake-out had been, it left the guard unable to pull back before Nightwing slammed the knife out of his hand.

One more hit to the head, and the final guard was down.

Nightwing brushed his hand against the shallow cut on his hip. Shows he hadn’t been wrong to be careful—without the tear gas, these guys could’ve been serious trouble.

“Please!” wolf mask begged. Tears streamed down his face as he tried to use the wall to wobble away. He pointed to bear mask doing the same. “It was him! It was all him!”

When Dick ignored his screaming, wolf mask grabbed bear mask’s arm and threw him to the ground between them. “He’s the one you want!”

“You fucking coward!” bear mask yelled between coughs. He tried to stumble back up. “I’m going to fucking kill—”

Dick pushed his escrima against the man’s chest and activated its taser. They’d have more than enough time to sort out their beef behind bars.

Wolf mask stared at his felled comrade with wide eyes. When Nightwing took a single step forward, the coward fell over his own feet, coughing turning frantic, chest heaving, pupils shrinking and fingers shaking as he clawed at the concrete to get away. “No, please—”

Nightwing moved to taser him, but the smuggler’s eyes rolled back into his head before he could.

Dick blinked at the unconscious man, staring just a little too long before looking down at the blue bird on his chest.

He was Nightwing right now, wasn’t he?

So why had that smuggler begged like he was going to slice his throat?

Dick’s breath hitched behind his gas mask. Had Renegade slipped out?

No. He would’ve noticed, right? Would’ve felt something? That familiar static pulling at his fingertips?

He stalked back to the pile of guards and let himself fall to his knees. He pressed a trembling finger against one of their necks, shooting up a silent prayer when he found a heartbeat.

He kept going until he’d checked all of them, each heartbeat or breath like a weight falling off of him.

When he finished he couldn’t do anything but sit and stare, fingers numb and his own heart hammering against his ribs.

Alive.

All of them were alive.

So why did he still feel like this?

It took ten minutes to haul the smugglers to the alley Sergeant Rohrbach was waiting for him.

“Well I’ll be,” she said, leaning back against her police car with crossed arms. “And no one died?”

Nightwing shook his head as he dropped them at her feet. Unless Hood had taken out his anger on the crowd, of course. But that wasn’t his style.

He had to know he’d lost by now. His targets, after all, had never shown up to auction off their score.

Dick could only hope he’d taken the hint and ran back to Gotham. He wasn’t exactly in the mood to go back and tell him to fuck off in person. Not when the fog clouding in his mind still refused to lift.

Sergeant Rohrbach squatted down to cuff the unconscious men. “I had my doubts when a fifteen-year-old in spandex offered to ‘help’, but you get it done, kid.”

“Hmmm.” Dick wiggled his fingers, hands finally free after dropping his cargo. They were still numb, moving them like pushing through honey.

This was so stupid.

Nothing had happened.

Absolutely nothing.

Rohrbach frowned. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“Is that blood?”

Dick looked down at his hands.

Oh.

That.

That was a lot of red.

Had Renegade…

Rohrbach reached towards the hole in his suit. “This is why you should be wearing Kevlar.”

Dick let out a breath.

His blood.

It was his blood.

He stepped back before she could touch him. Swiping the blood away revealed a shallow cut the length of his finger. Nothing to worry about. It had seemed like a lot, but it wasn’t nearly enough to become a problem.

If anything, it was the hole in his suit that was the bigger tragedy. That was going to take forever to fix.

“It’s fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

He looked back up at Sergeant Rohrbach. She’d been the first and only cop he’d approached. She was honest, sometimes too much so. He knew it’d take work to charm her, the same attitude that kept her clean making her distrust him, too.

Yet she’d been the only one right for the job.

“I’m okay, Sergeant. Really.”

She gave him one more look, then opened the back door of her police car to hoist the unconscious smugglers inside. “You have someone back home to stitch that up, at least?”

Dick took out his grapple. This mess of a conversation had gone on long enough. “It won’t need stitches.”

“Still—.”

“They trafficked kids, too,” Dick said as he shot his grapple at the roof. “Please make sure they get what they deserve.”

He didn’t wait for a reply.

“You fucking ditched me.”

Dick had been so happy to finally reach his usual sewer entrance, limbs heavy and fingers still numb. He needed at least ten scorching showers.

But when he’d jumped down into the alleyway, Red Hood had stepped out of the shadows and glued his boot to the manhole cover.

Nightwing grappled back up to the roof. Guess he was going the long way round.

“What— hey!”

Of course Red Hood grappled after him.

He was so tired of this. Why was it so hard for people to understand that he wanted to be left alone? Were Gothamites just born not understanding boundaries?

He skidded to a halt before Hood could start firing warning shots. “You lost. Deal with it and fuck off.”

“Jesus, what the fuck happened?”

Dick threw up his hands. “Nothing! Nothing happened! Go back to Gotham!”

Of course Red Hood didn’t set a single step. How very predictable.

His helmet cocked to the side. “Is that blood?”

“It’s mine.”

“No fucking shit. Lemme see.”

Dick stared at him. Because what.

At his expression, Hood immediately dropped his hands. “Yeah okay, that would be weird. But you’re good, right?”

He kept staring. Even if Hood wasn’t the type to kill suits, he’d always liked messing with them. Had always been ready to twist the knife. Dick pushed his nails into his palms.

Tonight, one more twist would break him.

“What do you want from me, Hood? Either get to the shooting or leave. I’m not in the mood for more games.”

“You ain’t like they said you were.”

“They?”

Red Hood sighed. “Forget it.” He nodded towards the hole in his suit. “You better get that fixed. Wouldn’t surprise me if half of Blüdhaven has fucking hepatitis.”

Did Hood think he was fucking twelve? “I know how to dress a wound, asshole.” Dick wiped some of the fresh blood away, showing Hood how tiny the cut was.

He froze when his fingers brushed past scarred skin. He hadn’t felt it earlier, with the numbness chasing his limbs.

But of course it was there.

It had been there since he was thirteen.

Fuck, he’d—

He looked up.

Red Hood had frozen too, helmet tilted towards the wound.

Towards the S-shaped scar branded into his side.

“Holy fucking shit.”

Dick took a step back. “It’s not what you—”

Hood whipped out his gun and shot.

Who could blame him, really? Renegade wasn’t the kind of threat you let finish talking.

Dick dived to the right, bullet scraping his cheek. He leaped off the building without bothering with his grapple, using a lamppost to break his fall.

Bullets sailed past him as he ran through the alleyway.

Duck. A scrape against his shoulder.

Dive left. A bullet whipping through his hair.

He skidded around the corner and leaned against the brick as he tried to force his breathing back under control. He couched, his lungs refusing to listen.

Fuck.

Fuck!

Of all the stupid ways—

He dug his fingers into the S-shaped scar, taking a shuddering breath as hurt pulsed through his side.

He’d forgotten.

How could he have forgotten?

“Get back here, you fucking snake!” Red Hood pointed his gun straight down from the rooftop above.

Dick pushed away from the wall and ran around another corner. Giving away the high ground would usually be a death sentence, but he didn’t have any ranged weapons to force Hood behind cover. Using the rooftops would just give him free range to take aim and shoot until a bullet hit home.

Dick ran across the street and dived towards the alleyway on the other side, bullets scattering against the asphalt.

He had to get underground. Had to buy himself enough time to pack his stuff and leave, even if the thought hurt worse than the bullet graze burning his cheek.

But what choice did he have?

Three months it had taken him to ruin everything.

Three months after a lifetime of fighting.

“You don’t play games with murderers, do you?” Hood yelled down from the rooftop. “Real fucking funny! You must be having a sweet 'ol time cosying it up with the bats, huh? Was making you honeypot the only plan that old cunt could come up with?”

And the thought of Slade using him to get close to the bats, of using him to hurt those kids who had been nothing but kind to him—

It made him want to stand here and let Hood finish the job.

“I didn’t ask for any of this!” he yelled. “They’re the ones who—” He stepped out of the way of another bullet.

“I don’t give a shit!” Hood yelled back.

The manhole cover was right around the corner, but something made Dick stop in his tracks.

Because leaving now meant losing everything.

Not just Nightwing, but the whole life he'd built. The twelve-year-olds he taught gymnastics. The kind lady at 7/11 who always 'forgot' to charge his sweets. His neighbors who put post-it notes on his apartment door whenever they had leftovers.

The bats.

Because as much as he complained about their company, during patrol these days, he always found himself looking for their silhouettes on the horizon.

And on the rare nights they didn’t join him, he was always left wanting for something he couldn’t describe.

Dick balled his fists.

He’d worked too hard to let this happen.

Worked too hard to give it all up because of the fucking Red Hood.

One way or another, this would have to end tonight.

He darted up the fire escape and jumped the gap between their buildings.

Red Hood pulled the trigger on him mid-air, but Nightiwng shot out his grapple and changed course before the bullet could hit.

He landed behind Hood and yanked one of his handguns out of its holster.

Of course it was a Glock 17—hard to beat the original.

“Motherfucker—” Hood turned to hit him, but Dick jumped back before he could make contact.

He hated how right the gun felt in his hand. His body immediately forgot the last few months, like it had been pointless to try with escrima and bolas and whatever else.

Like it had been pointless to fight his nature.

Dick kept moving as he shot, Lycra too weak to tank even a single hit. Hood fired back as bullets tinked against his helmet, spiderwebs cracking the glass.

Then both of their guns clicked empty.

For a while they just stared at each other, Hood with his cracked helmet, Dick with bullet scrapes marring his limbs, blood seeping from the cut on his cheek.

Then Red Hood reached for a new magazine, and Dick knew he’d lost.

What was he even doing, trying to fight his way out? Even if he could still win, was he really prepared to kill Red Hood to keep Nightwing alive?

The gun proved it would be so easy to slip back into Renegade. To let him take over for one last kill.

One last kill, and he’d be free again.

But.

Dick let the empty gun fall to the ground.

He couldn’t. Not when that one kill meant tainting Nightwing forever.

He’d rather die now than betray the only good thing he’d ever done with his life.

Hood kept his gun trained on Dick’s chest as he changed out the magazine. “Why are you even still doing this? I saw how Slade fucking talked to you in Boston. Most people have more respect for their goddamn dogs.”

“You’re right.”

Hood froze. “I am?”

Dick held his hands out in front of him. “He did treat me like a dog. Which is why I’m not working with him anymore.”

At first, silence.

Then Hood laughed. “I’m supposed to believe that?”

Dick took a step forward with his hands still up. When Hood didn’t pull the trigger, he kept going until the gun pressed against his chest.

No going back.

“I never wanted to be Renegade. Slade, he—” Dick swallowed. “He took me in after my parents died. I thought he wanted to save me, but he never wanted a kid. He wanted an apprentice.”

That made Hood’s gun waver. “You ain’t his?”

Dick let out a bitter laugh. “God, no. I was eight when he busted me out of juvie.”

“You’re lying.”

Dick smiled at the broken reflection in Hood’s helmet. “I wish I was.”

The barrel of Hood’s gun burned against his chest.

If this was it, at least he’d go out as Nightwing. It was more than he deserved.

Red Hood sighed. The silence stretched. Then, he slowly lowered his gun. “Should've known no one wears that much orange on purpose.”

Dick doubled over as the tension left his body.

Too close.

Too fucking close.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” Hood said as he holstered his gun. “I smell any whiff of a lie, I’m hunting you down. And I’m telling the bats.”

“No!”

Hood laughed. “No? Who the fuck do you think you are?”

“I’ll stay in Blüdhaven. I’ll keep myself in line. No killing, no trouble. They don’t need to know.”

“You couldn’t have fucking picked Metropolis for this? Become Superman’s problem?”

“Look, of course you don't trust me. I wouldn’t either. But all I’ve done these last three months is fighting crime here in Blüdhaven, and that’s all I want to keep doing. I never would’ve even met the bats if they hadn’t come here. I don’t want anything to do with Gotham, and you’re free to shoot me if I ever change my mind.”

“Just— please,” he added in a whisper. “I can't lose this. I won’t have anything left.”

Silence.

Deafening, crushing silence.

It was too familiar, to be at someone’s mercy like this.

It reminded him of the nights he’d spent lying on rooftops, fingers curled around an unloaded sniper, breath shallow, shoulders unmoving, every muscle tensed as he waited for Slade to say he’d sat still for long enough.

Of the days he’d spent on the shooting range, alone from sunrise until dinnertime, when Slade came to see if he’d hit enough bulls-eyes to be allowed to eat.

Of being told to wait like a fucking dog, not knowing why or how long, but obeying anyway because the alternative wasn't an alternative at all.

Red Hood let out a suffering sigh. “Fine! Fucking fine. I won’t tell them as long as you stay in your festering shithole of a city.” He jabbed his finger against Dick’s chest. “But you set a single foot in Gotham, or I see any rumors of Deathstroke skulking around, and you’re dead. You know I don’t make idle threats.”

And just like that, Dick could breathe again.

“Thank you,” he whispered, “thank you.” He wasn’t sure if it was the tears or the blood loss that made his vision blur, sharpen, and then blur again, but he was too far gone to care. This whole night had been a train wreck.

At least he'd stopped dissociating.

Or that’s what he’d assumed had happened, anyway. He wasn't a therapist.

“Yeah, no way your ego would let you fake being this pathetic. Jesus Christ.”

Dick wiped at his burning eyes. “Shut up.”

“You know what? This... arrangement might have potential. Not every day you get to blackmail the fucking Renegade. Bat's gonna lose it when he finds out I knew before he did.”

Dick tensed. “But you just said—”

Hood waved his hand. “Oh relax. That I won’t tell him don’t mean he won’t find out. It's Batman.”

Fair.

Even if Dick didn’t know what to believe about Batman anymore. The only time he’d seen him in person, he hadn’t seemed like Batman at all.

“You really won’t tell?”

“Look, if you’re lying, it ain’t the bats who are gonna be in trouble. You try something, you’re getting exactly what you’re asking for even if I keep my ass out of it.” He tapped his helmet. “I owe you for that thing on the bridge, anyway. Could've been my final job if you'd played it by the book. Bet the orange asshole wasn’t very happy about that.”

Dick cringed. Yeah, that hadn’t been a good day. “I’m sorry about Boston.”

Hood waved his hand. “Nah, shit was kinda fun. Getting under Slade’s skin was a good bonus to the payout.”

And despite the situation, Dick smiled. “I'd never seen him so pissed at a job before. He destroyed half the hotel room.”

Boston had been an experience. Both Deathstroke and Red Hood had applied for the same assassination job, and when the client had gone with Slade, Hood—the petty bastard that he was—had offered his services to the other side.

Which had turned the weekend they’d planned into a four-week stay.

“You were staying at a fucking hotel? I was monitoring like seven different safe houses.”

“Hence the hotel.”

Red Hood laughed again before cutting himself off. “Shit, this is so fucking weird. I came here to scare the newbie, and instead I’m having a civil conversation with the fucking Renegade.”

“It’s Nightwing.”

Hood nodded to the blue bird on Dick’s chest. “What’s up with that? It’s very bird-themed for wanting nothing to do with Gotham.”

Dick opened his mouth, then closed it.

It wasn’t a very long story, but it was a personal one.

When he'd been too young to be useful, it hadn’t been uncommon for Slade to dump him somewhere if he had to deal with a particularly challenging contract. One of those ‘somewheres’ had been Metropolis’ Library.

Dick remembered scowling at the endless rows of books. Even if his English had improved, words refused to stay on their page. Back at the Circus he’d rarely bothered with reading, either, something about sitting still making him feel jittery and trapped.

So he’d brushed right past the colorful shelves the Librarian had pointed him towards and prepared to spend the day hiding in the darkest part of the ceiling he could find.

Then Superman had shown up.

And of course, he’d picked the spot right below where Dick was hiding to read to the gaggle of six-year-olds trailing after him.

Dick had been paralyzed, too scared to try and slink away. In hindsight Superman must've known he was there. Must've picked that spot just so he could listen in, but in the moment he couldn't do anything but hold his breath and pray he'd go unnoticed.

Then, in the middle of Little Red Riding Hood, a bold girl interrupted Superman to ask if he knew any ‘better’ stories.

And instead of punishing her, Superman had smiled and closed the book.

He told them the legends of the Kryptonian gods. Among them had been Nightwing, a shadow creature fated to spend his life alone, hunting the evils that hid in the darkness. His life was a constant circle of death and rebirth, of finding purpose in constant change, using his affinity for the dark to do what the other gods could not.

And the thought that being close to evil could be used to fight it—

It had saved him.

From that day forward, the name Nightwing had replaced Robin whenever he fantasized about the life he'd have after breaking free.

Back in the present, Hood still stared at him. With that stupid helmet of his it was impossible to know if he was expecting an honest answer or not, but he’d earned at least a half-truth.

“It’s from a story I heard at the library.”

Hood snorted. “Didn’t think you could read.”

Dick gave him a look. “Is being an asshole your only personality trait?”

“It is when you're making it this easy.”

Then Hood froze. He twisted his head and pressed a finger to the side of his helmet.

After a silence he said, “I’m not going to be fucking late. We ain’t starting for another…” He cringed. “yeah, okay. We might not finish all three tonight.” More silence. “Ain’t my fault you shitheads picked a weeknight. Yeah. No. I’m in Blud.”

Another silence. “Relax, Blondie. Nightwing’s fine. Just wanted to see what the fuss was about.”

And suddenly, Dick had a very bad feeling about this.

Because why did Red Hood even care if he fucked over the bats or not? He was a villain, wasn’t he? If anything, he should be happy if Slade was scheming against them.

Yet he’d immediately picked their side.

Hood turned his head. “Yeah, he’s very… honest.” And Dick could just imagine the shark-toothed grin behind his helmet. “Fuck no, I’m not inviting him. Jesus.”

Yeah, he was so talking to Spoiler.

Which meant that whoever he was behind that helmet, he knew the bats personally.

Like this situation couldn’t get any worse.

Hood scoffed. “Who gives a shit if he likes Star Wars.”

Of all the people to be at the mercy of.

It just had to be Red Hood.

Red Hood, who didn’t only know the bats, but who also was the pettiest fucking bastard on the planet.

“There ain’t no way I’m ordering a kids meal dressed like this. Tell those fuckers it’s fries or nothing.”

What even was his life.

Chapter Text

DAMIAN AL GHUL
Greetings. I was told to write to this number if I wished to contact you.

DAMIAN AL GHUL
Tonight will be the first time Father is allowing me to join him on patrol. As it was your advice that made this possible, I wanted to show my appreciation by inviting you along. Father has already agreed.

NIGHTWING
Hi kid.

NIGHTWING
First off, I’m glad things are working out! Cardinal told me you apologised, and I’m very proud you did. I know how hard it can be to admit you’re wrong.

NIGHTWING
I’m also glad your dad sees how hard you’re working. Cherish this second chance you’ve been given. Not everyone gets one.

NIGHTWING
However, I’m sad to say I won’t be able to come to Gotham.

NIGHTWING
I’m sorry.

DAMIAN AL GHUL
If it is agreeable, Father says we can visit Blüdhaven.

NIGHTWING
Maybe some other time.

NIGHTWING
You should enjoy spending time with your dad. You have ten years to catch up on, after all :)

DAMIAN AL GHUL
I suppose.

NIGHTWING
It was nice talking to you Damian. Good luck on your first patrol! I can’t wait to hear all about it later!

*Nightwing went offline.*

DAMIAN AL GHUL
Goodbye.

Dick handed the customer his drink, then swiftly pulled back his hand when the man tried to touch it. There were always a few people who got the wrong idea on Saturday nights, when the tables were pushed against the walls and lights flashed above the dance floor.

The place had just been a bar when he’d started working here, but of course that hadn’t lasted long. Nothing good ever did.

The man frowned and jerked his arm back, beer sloshing over his chest.

Already drunk, then. How lovely.

He opened his mouth, and Dick liked to play this game, guessing whether he’d say something dirty or cuss him out. The odds were always fifty-fifty on men like these, desperate types who found every ‘no’ an affront to their fragile egos.

“You—”

“Oi, Mick!”

Dick looked up to see one of the bouncers weaving through the crowd. It was strange to react to a name not really his, but the change had been a necessary evil. Slade could easily pull enough strings to get eyes on every Richard in the country if he thought it’d get him anywhere.

“This guy giving you trouble?” Ben wasn’t that big for a bouncer, but his presence was enough to make the sleazy customer slink back into the crowd.

“Not anymore, I guess.” Weird. Ben usually didn’t care enough to intervene before things got out of hand. “You need something?”

The bouncer gave him a wolfish grin. “Got someone waiting outside. Says he wants to take you for the night.”

“Excuse me?” They knew he wasn’t that kind of worker. As sad as it was, in Blüdhaven, things like that were discussed up front.

“Was real insistent.”

“You know I don’t do that shit.” He needed this job, but he’d rather sleep in the sewers than sink that low.

Besides— there was no way the bats would let it happen. These last few months, they hadn't had any qualms about messing with his civilian life. Climbing through his window for everything and anything. Texting him at every godforsaken hour of the day. He had yet to catch someone in the act, but sometimes when he opened his fridge he found name brand groceries and baked goods they must've gotten from an artisan bakery.

He'd tell them to stop, but he had yet to find a fix quite like that apple pie.

Ben waved his hand. “Oh relax, will you? I’m just messing—“

“Your security is entirely too lax,” a new voice said.

Speaking of bats. That better not be who he thought it was.

Damian popped up behind the bouncer. Ten-year-old Damian. In a twenty-one-and-over club.

Oh, how he hated being right.

Had the kid taken his rejection earlier this week that hard? Nightwing couldn’t have come to Gotham, and the idea of inviting Batman into Blüdhaven voluntarily was entirely too much, even if blowing off Damian had felt all kinds of awful.

Ben's mouth twitched. “I told you to wait outside.” He tried to grab Damian by the scruff.

Big mistake. “Don’t—” Dick started, but it was already too late.

Damian caught Ben's wrist and twisted him into a headlock. It might've been funny to watch the kid destroy a man four times his size if that man hadn't been best buds with Dick's boss.

“Damian!”

And thank god the kid actually let go, albeit with a scowl that said he’d rather slice the bouncer's throat. “Your servants need more training.”

“He’s not my—”

“What the fuck?" Ben coughed and massaged his throat. "That ain’t normal.”

Dick cringed. This got out of hand way too quickly. He stepped around the bar, grabbed Damian’s wrist, and made a beeline for the crew exit before things got even worse.

“Crazy fuckers,” Ben muttered behind them.

He didn't like this job, anyway.

Cold bit into Dick’s limbs as he dragged Damian into the alleyway, the shirt and jeans he’d worn inside unsuited for Blud’s shitty weather.

Damian was supposed to be over this. That had been the whole reason Dick had offered his number—to give him a listening ear without having to run to Blüdhaven.

He let go of the kid's wrist when the door closed behind them. “So that was not okay.”

Damian grimaced, only half his face illuminated by the dim emergency light.

Shit, even to his own ears his voice sounded way too harsh. Dick took a breath and forced himself to calm down. He might've just lost his job, but yelling wasn't going to solve anything. “Sorry, but you know I was working, right? Am working, technically.”

“I do, but.” Damian frowned, mouth opening and closing like he was unsure how to continue. He would’ve been dressed oddly if he hadn’t been himself, cloak draped over his shoulders and every inch of his body covered in black Kevlar. He only needed a mask and a symbol to fit right in with the other rooftop dwellers.

“But?”

“There has been an Arkham breakout.”

Dick tensed. Arkham was Gotham’s very own super prison. They might call themselves a psychiatric hospital, but their inmates wore the same old orange.

He wasn’t very familiar with Gotham’s rogues, but he knew there were a lot of them, and that a lot of those lot were serious trouble.

“Are the others okay?”

Damian's grimace turned into a real frown. “They assured me they would be fine, but I do not think they are speaking truthfully. Father is unavailable and someone is jamming the radio waves to disrupt our communications.”

“Unavailable?”

“Undercover. Deep enough where extraction would cost lives.”

So they had a city full of chaos, no comms, and no Batman to take the lead.

Dick let out a breath. Under these circumstances, there was only one reason Damian would’ve come all this way.

“I can’t,” he said. Not without Red Hood either shooting his brains out or spilling his secret.

That asshole was the loosest cannon he’d ever met. After that absolutely awful night he'd somehow gotten the hang of Dick's number, using it to text threats just vague enough where the bats—who, let’s be real, were a hundred percent reading his messages—didn’t catch on.

Then, on other days, he's send shit like Take a pic of black bat wearing that glittery fanny pack if you see her tonight. She lost a bet and thinks she can get out of the consequences by hiding in Blud.

Like. What was he supposed to do with that?

The other bats just called their relationship with Hood 'complicated’. Spoiler had even gone as far to say he wasn’t that bad after getting to know him. He’s kinda like Shrek, she’d said, you have to peel away the layers of assholery to get to his true personality.

Dick was perfectly fine letting those layers be, thank you very much.

Point was, there was no way he could go to Gotham, even if Batman wasn’t there. He couldn’t risk Hood making good on his threat.

Damian scowled at him. “I did not figure you a coward.”

“It’s not about—” Dick sighed. “Can’t you ask Superman to help out? Or anyone else in the Justice League?”

“The alien is off-planet, and as I said, our communications are disturbed. We cannot send word. Father has expressed direct displeasure over inviting meta humans into Gotham. They complicate things.”

“You all know I don’t leave Blud. Whoever sent you here is wasting everyone's time.”

Damian flinched ever so slightly. He tried to hide it by squaring his shoulders, but there was no mistaking it.

Of course.

“They told you to stay home, didn’t they?” Dick asked flatly.

“They hold no authority over me.”

Dick sighed. “Look, kid. They find out you’re gone, they’re going to have another problem on top of that breakout. If you’re right and they’re already stretched thin, going rogue won't help. It'll only make them worry.”

“But—”

“No buts. You need to get home before they realise—.”

Small hands pushed him. “You do not understand! It is— it is different this time!”

Dick stared at him. Damian actually looked his age for once, no thought behind that push, no ulterior motive beside his feelings flowing over.

He should cut this off right here. Stop talking and send the boy home.

But his mouth betrayed him. “Different?”

A stubborn blush crept up Damian’s neck. “I did not come here to spite them,” he said with a small voice. “I came because they need help, and they will not accept mine.”

And.

Maybe Hood had been right when he'd told him he should’ve picked Metropolis—at least Superman didn’t have an army of kids to pull at his heartstrings.

Surely that asshole would understand if it was an emergency, right? As weird as it was, he seemed to genuinely care for the bats. Would he really punish Nightwing for trying to help them if they were in trouble?

“How bad is it?” Dick asked.

Hope flickered in the boy's eyes. “The fools are, as they say, in over their heads. Five villains escaped before the guards contained the breach.”

Five villains. That meant they were outnumbered in the field, even if Red Hood had decided to help.

Those weren’t great odds. Even more so if they weren’t able to use their comms to contact Oracle or each other.

They were capable, but Red Cardinal was only seventeen, and at eighteen, Spoiler and Black Bat weren’t much better.

At that age, you can’t help but think yourself invincible. There was a reason Batman had them patrol in pairs.

He looked at little Damian, his scowl the same depth it’d had the first time he’d met him. He’d once again disobeyed direct orders to come here, something he’d promised he wouldn’t do again.

Only today, he’d done it because he cared.

And that changed everything.

“Just this once,” Dick said.

Just this once.

Nightwing froze when he and Damian stepped out of the alleyway.

The kid strode past him. “Stop gawking.”

Stop gawking. Like that wasn’t the fucking Batmobile he’d parallel parked across the street.

“Do you even have a license?” Dick asked. No, stupid question. The kid was ten, for god’s sake. Of course he didn’t.

Better question— “Are you allowed to drive this?”

The boy opened the door on the driver's side. “I know how.”

“Not what I asked.”

He’d never seen a car quite like it. Sleek, built low to the ground like a race car, made from a black metal that must cost more per square inch than both his kidneys.

“I did not think you would appreciate sharing my motorcycle.”

Yeah, hard pass. “I could've taken my own bike.”

Damian’s face twisted behind his mask. He’d put it on while Dick had changed into his Nightwing suit, just a simple black border around his eyes with whiteout lenses. He'd grabbed his katana from somewhere, too, hilt peeking over his right shoulder. “That monstrosity is not suited for combat.”

Some people might defend their bikes’ honor with their lives, but the kid was right—it was a piece of shit he’d only bought for emergencies.

Dick sighed. Not that it mattered when he couldn’t possibly leave a ten-year-old alone with what was basically a tank.

He pulled Damian away from the door. “Fine, but I’ll drive.”

He blinked when he saw the inside of the car. It looked like the cockpit of a plane, endless buttons and screens working their way up to the ceiling. There were no pedals, no ignition, and the steering wheel wasn’t mounted, making the driver able to pull on it like they would a joystick.

When he looked back up, Damian had his mouth curved up in a rare smirk. “Will you, now?”

Little shit.

Without a word, Dick slammed the door closed and stepped to the passenger side.

No use in fighting a losing battle.

He couldn’t help but grow quiet when they neared Gotham’s skyline.

He hadn’t spent long in this city, but it had been where his parents had died.

Their funeral had been the last time he’d seen Haly and the other circus performers. They’d crowded him the entire ceremony, and afterwards they’d hugged him close and promised they wouldn’t be separated for too long.

Then a nice lady had taken his hand and gently pulled him away.

Time to go home, she’d said.

Home.

The next day, one of the volunteers at the orphanage had asked him to pack his stuff. Hope had fluttered in his chest. Had they changed their minds? Allowed him to go back to the circus? Was that what the kind lady had meant yesterday?

He’d stretched to peek outside the car window the whole ride, clutching the garbage bag with his meager belongings.

But then the driver had given him a sympathetic look in the rear-view mirror and pulled into the parking lot of what looked like a prison.

Not enough beds, he’d said. It wouldn’t be forever.

And something had just… snapped.

No one was going to save him. No one was going to help him.

Gotham didn’t care.

No one cared.

He’d sneaked out three times already when he first met Slade. Deathstroke had been the only one who hadn't talked down to him. Who had told him his anger was justified. Who had made him feel like he'd had the power to change this fate he’d been given.

Joining him had been the easiest choice of his life.

“Why do you still fear Gotham?” Damian asked suddenly. “Surely meeting Father must’ve eased your worries.”

Dick opened his mouth to deny it, then changed his mind. The kid wasn’t stupid.

“I don’t belong here,” he said as he watched the WELCOME TO GOTHAM sign zip past.

He just didn’t.

“No,” Spoiler said. “We're not doing this tonight. Home. Now.” She looked awful, suit tattered and the tips of her blond hair scorched.

Damian gave her a defiant look. “I simply—”

“This isn’t a night for games,” Cardinal interrupted. He looked equally bad, long claw lines ragging over his chest, a nasty looking cut on his temple already scabbing.

Black Bat nodded. “Too dangerous.” At first glance she didn't look too hurt, but she was putting all of her weight on her right leg.

“Holy shit,” Red Hood said. Because of course that asshole was here, and of course he had to be the first to spot Nightwing trailing after the kid the others were scolding. “You went to fucking Blüdhaven?”

Dick took a breath and stepped into their circle. No turning back now.

They were on top Wayne tower, the bats’ designated meeting spot for when things turned sour. Not exactly subtle, but it was the highest skyscraper in the area. With their comms down, they were meeting here each hour to update and readjust. He and Damian had been just in time to catch the last meeting.

He gave them a wonky smile. “Heard you guys needed a hand.”

They blinked at him like he was a unicorn. He couldn’t blame them—if there was one thing he’d been clear about, it was that the line between their cities was one he’d never cross.

Hood was the first to break the silence. “You got some fucking nerve.”

Dick swallowed. As expected. “I figured—I can go back if that’s—”

“No!” the others yelled.

Spoiler flicked Hood’s helmet and gave him the dirtiest of looks. “Whatever beef you have with N, I'm begging you to use that helmet to play goldfish and forget about it. His presence is a gift from the gods we can not squander on a night like this.”

After a few tense seconds, Hood took a step back. “Yeah, that’s fair. Tonight fucking sucks.”

Dick let out a breath. That was one crisis averted.

An explosion rumbled in the distance, followed by a slew of car alarms.  Recess was over.

“Okay, new plan,” Red Cardinal said as they watched angry clouds of smoke blacken the sky. “Spoiler, you go get the evidence for the Two-Face case from the police station before his thugs get through the barricade. Black Bat and I will find Killer Croc, and Nightwing—” he turned to Dick “—You know how to diffuse a bomb?”

Dick blinked. Not the question he was expecting. “I do.”

“Good. Then you can help Hood get the comms back online.”

And the crisis was back.

“Not a fucking chance,” Hood said in a rare act of solidarity. “He doesn’t even fucking know how phones work. There ain’t no way—”

Red Cardinal massaged the scab on his temple. “And there's no way we can let him fight any of our rogues without briefing him on their abilities, either, which we don’t have time for.”

“I won’t fucking—”

“Hood,” Black Bat warned.

Hood let out a suffering sigh. “Fine.” He prodded a finger against Dick’s chest. “But you better act like every word from my mouth is fucking gospel.”

Great. This was going to be great.

“Just get it done,” Cardinal said. Then his gaze fell on Damian.

The kid had kept quiet so far, but now that he was being addressed, he puffed out his chest and steeled his expression. “I will not be sent—”

“You’re running comms,” Cardinal said. “Visit each of us in turn until we meet back here. That way, you can relay if anyone needs help before the next full hour so we won't have to abandon our assignments.”

At first, it looked like Damian might argue. I’m a trained assassin, Dick already heard him say. Not an errand boy for incompetent fools.

But when he opened his mouth all that came out was, “You’re letting me help?”

The kid couldn’t have meant to say it. It sounded too fragile, too unlike his normal, haughty tone. He must’ve never expected Cardinal to trust him with something like this after everything.

Cardinal huffed, also caught off guard by Damian's tone. “Don’t get used to it. You're still a stupid brat.”

“What he means,” Spoiler said with a smile, “is thanks for getting Nightwing. You did good, D.”

Damian tensed and looked away, clearly unused to such praise. “I merely did not think you could handle the situation without Father and acted accordingly.”

Black Bat laid a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “Good job.”

And.

Dick knew they were supposed to be a family, but this—

It was too bright. Too much. Too alien.

He had to look away.

Damian deserved the world, but he still couldn’t help the pang of jealousy stabbing his heart.

Couldn’t help but wonder what could’ve been if he’d had this instead of Slade.

“So got any dirt on the orange fuckhead?”

Nightwing shot Red Hood a look as they ran across the rooftops. Sure, the bats wouldn’t be able to listen in with the comms out, but what was this, gossip girls?

‘C’mon, you must have something. How long were you with him? Six years? Seven?”

“Twelve.”

“Got you from juvie at eight,” Hood muttered as they jumped the next gap. “That would make you…” He stopped when he landed on the next rooftop. “You’re twenty?”

Twenty-one, actually, since his birthday had happened shortly after he escaped, but who was counting? He’d put twenty-four on his new birth certificate, so it wasn’t like his ‘real’ age mattered all that much.

“That a problem?”

“No,” Hood said a little too quickly. “Of course fucking not.” He shot his grapple at the next building. “Just hurry the fuck up, will you? We gotta get this shit done.”

‘This shit’ were the bombs strapped to the disrupted comm towers all over the diamond district. They weren’t rigged to blow unless someone messed with them, clearly meant to stall vigilantes trying to get their comms back onlinw instead of actually killing anyone. With the Arkham breakout and Batman’s absence, whoever was behind this had picked the perfect moment to cause chaos.

The two of them had only disarmed one bomb so far, Hood refusing to let Nightwing out of his sight until he had proved he knew he was doing.

It’ll do, he’d said when Dick had handed him the device.

Smartass.

“So no dirt?”

Oh, what the hell. Not like he cared about keeping that bastard’s secrets.

“He loved Desperate Housewives,” Dick said as he jumped to the next building. “Enough to buy the collector’s box. All eight seasons.”

Hood nodded as he landed beside him. “That tracks.”

Dick gave him a heavy side eye. “It does?”

“Think about it—half that show’s about depraved shit like locking people in basements, and the other half’s petty fucking drama. Of course he loves it.”

“You watched it?”

Hood barked out a laugh. “Don’t pretend it ain’t a fucking masterpiece.”

“You just called it depraved.”

“And petty. Don’t forget petty.”

Dick snorted. Then he remembered this was Red Hood he was talking to, and that Red Hood was an asshole.

He pointed to the glass skyscraper in front of them. “We should split up now. You take the three towers south of here, and I’ll take the ones north. We meet up on top of that skyscraper once it’s done.”

“Sounds good. But we finishing this later.”

Finishing this later. Like they were having a heart to heart instead of discussing Desperate Housewives.

Still.

He’d never had the opportunity to talk about Slade like this. His men had been too loyal to trash talk, and even if they hadn’t been, they’d still had strict orders to ignore Renegade.

He hadn’t been a person, after all. Just another weapon in their master’s arsenal.

“Sure, Hood. Sure.”

It didn’t take long for things to turn sideways.

“I gave the evidence bag to D,” Spoiler said. She’d been helping the police cuff the last of Two-Face’s goons when Nightwing and Hood pulled her away. “He said he'd go check on Cardinal and BB.”

Dick grappled back to the rooftops before she’d finished talking. They'd thought they'd had time. Spoiler hadn't been that far away. But now, every minute counted.

“What’s wrong?” Spoiler asked as she grappled after him.

Hood trailed after them, voice ragged and breathless. “We fucked up.”

Understatement of the century.

Nightwing looked at his wrist. “Ten minutes.”

“Fuck, I really should’ve gotten my bike,” Hood wheezed.

“Should’ve thought of that before leaving it at the docks.”

“Fuck you! You didn’t even bring—”

“Guys. Explain.”

“There’s a eighth bomb,” Nightwing said as they swung between buildings. “Disarming the other seven made it begin its countdown.”

Realisation dawned on her face. “The evidence bag.”

“They knew we— you guys would take it,” Nightwing said. “Everything else was a distraction. They wanted to hit you, any of you, while Batman was away.”

“Shit didn’t even fix the fucking comms,” Hood muttered. “Should’ve known it was too easy.”

Nine minutes left.

Nine minutes until that bomb would explode right in Damian's face. And with their luck, he'd probably be close enough to Cardinal and Black Bat to hit them, too.

No amount of Kevlar could save you from something like that.

Don’t think about it.

Don’t.

Focus.

“I’m going to rush ahead,” he said. Neither Hood nor Spoiler were suited for speed—Hood too heavy, Spoiler still too clumsy at parkour.

It had to be him.

They yelled after him, but the words were hazy.

Focus.

No time for mistakes.

Black Bat and Red Cardinal were locked in a standoff with Killer Croc in the middle of the street when he reached them. The villain was more reptilian than he’d expected, ragged green scales trailing his body and his maw the length of a forearm with wicked sharp teeth.

Still, the cold fear thrumming in his chest had nothing to do with the monster.

Damian wasn’t with them.

He wasn’t with them.

Five minutes left, and he had no idea where he was.

He forced himself to take a deep breath. Of course the kid wasn’t there. They wouldn’t let a ten-year-old fight a monster like that.

Right?

He scanned the surrounding rooftops, but of course the Damian wasn’t there, either.

That would've been too easy.

Why couldn’t anything ever just be easy?

He dug his nails into his palms, using the sting to keep his hands from going numb. This wasn’t the time to panic. He still had time.

Breathe.

Focus.

Killer Croc roared. He grabbed a car by its bumper and hurled it at Black Bat. She jumped out of the way but fumbled her landing, left leg giving way under the pressure.

“BB!” Red Cardinal rushed to help her up, but in doing so he missed the wicked smile on Croc’s maw as he reached for the next car down the line.

Dick leapt off the building, doing his usual two somersaults to catch his fall. But at the end of the second the ground was still too far, Gotham’s buildings higher than Blüdhaven’s.

So he kept going for a third.

Then, a fourth.

It’d been a while since he’d performed a quadruple. He’d only done so a handful of times since leaving the circus, just to see if he still could.

He’d always made sure there was no one there to witness, but tonight, he couldn’t care less about having an audience.

He landed on Croc’s back heavily, making the beast stumble away from his new toys. He roared and tried to buck Nightwing off his back, claws swiping the air behind him.

None of that. Nightwing jabbed his escrima sticks in Croc’s spine. The monster howled out, then fell silent as Dick turned the taser. He locked in shock, maw open and raised to the sky, eyes bulging out of his skull, limbs frozen above his head.

Water and electricity weren't a good match.

Nightwing jumped off the Croc's shoulders, not bothering to turn around when the monster slammed into the concrete behind him.

“Where’s Damian?”

Both Red Cardinal and Black Bat blinked at him, Black Bat still half on the ground with Cardinal holding on to her.

They didn’t have fucking time for this. “Where is he? Did you send him to Wayne tower or somewhere else?”

“Tower,” Black Bat said.

That was all he needed.

“What’s wrong?” Cardinal yelled after him, but there was no time to explain. Spoiler and Hood could do so when they got here.

Wayne tower was like a lighthouse, the giant W on the roof a brilliant beacon shining through the smog.

His heart thumped against his ribs, pushing precious adrenaline through his body. There was no time for mistakes. No time for a single stumble. Every jump had to be calculated. Every line he shot out the perfect angle. Every step pushing against the ground full power.

The rooftops around him were vaguely familiar, buried deep in memories of searching for Zucco, of being angry and desperate, of giving in to the monster inside.

Breathe.

Three minutes left.

Focus.

Two minutes.

His limbs were heavy even if his mind was clear, chest burning with each breath. He pushed on.

One minute.

He'd never ran this fast before.

Thirty seconds.

Not even when fleeing from Slade.

Twenty.

Then, a shadow flitting across the skyscrapers in front of him, evidence bag slung over his shoulder.

“Damian!”

The kid skidded to a halt and whipped around.

Ten seconds.

Dick jumped the gap between their buildings without bothering with his grapple. “Give me the bag!”

Five.

Damian, bless him, must’ve heard the urgency in his voice and immediately shook it from his shoulders.

Four.

Dick yanked it from his hands.

Three.

Threw it as far away as he could.

Two.

And wrapped himself around the boy, hiding as much of him as he could. Damian fought the contact on instinct, but Dick squeezed his head against his chest and didn’t let go.

One.

A flash, and then his back is burning, Lycra sticking to his skin, ears popping from the pressure. They’re both flung back, the whole building shaking as Dick clutched onto the boy in his arms like he was the only thing that mattered.

The world went black.

Chapter Text

Shit— Fuck— Can’t you fucking give him something?”

“Not before making an MRI. He most definitely has a concussion—”

“Fuck, his nails are sharp!”

“Stop whining, Todd. If you would simply hold him correctly—”

“You want to carry him, you fucking brat?”

“I will not be intimidated by your incessant swearing, you—”

“Both of you shut up! We’re almost there.”

“If he doesn't fucking stop moving, I’m gonna—”

Darkness.

His eyes were open but only saw darkness. He tried to blink, but his eyelids refused to listen. He tried to move, but his limbs stayed glued to the bed.

Were the lights out? Was he chained down?

Had he gone blind? Broken his neck?

His eyes burned. His head pounded. His heart raced against his ribs.

He wanted to go home.

He groaned, tongue just as unresponsive as the rest of him.

“You said he wouldn’t wake up,” a voice said to his right.

“I had to do some guesswork on the dosage,” another answered to his left. “The sedative isn’t meant for children this young.”

“Fix it.”

Shuffling. Glass clinking. Someone tapping against a syringe.

No, he couldn’t—

He wouldn’t—

He tried to struggle, but it was pointless. 

A third voice spoke up. “Are we sure this is the best course of action?”

“I agree it's too soon, but what choice do we have? With the interest the Bat has shown in him, it'll be near impossible to take him again in the future.”

A sigh. “It’s just unfortunate, is all. Will we truly be happy with a caterpillar knowing we could’ve had a butterfly?”

“You sound like you have an alternative.”

Silence.

Then.

“I just might.”

He was floating, limbs numb and tingling, eyes only seeing blurry shapes. Rhythmic beeping thumped in the background, the smell of antiseptic a blanket smothering his face.

A dark shape loomed over him. “I think he’s waking up.” The voice was familiar, but his thoughts were too foggy to get any further.

“He shouldn’t yet,” another familiar voice answered. “The swelling needs more time to go down.”

“His eyes are open.”

A second blob entered his field of vision. “That should’ve been enough to knock out a horse. He must’ve built up an insane tolerance.”

“He’s got the scars for it.”

Silence.

“Tim?”

“Sorry. I just— never mind.”

Shuffling. Glass clinking. Someone tapping against a syringe.

No.

Not again.

The beeping sped up.

“What the—”

“Hold him down!”

Pressure against his chest. “Easy, Nightwing,” the first voice soothed. “You’re going to be fine. You just need to sleep off that thonk a little while longer.”

Nightwing. Something about that—

Something about it.

He—

Why couldn’t he—

“That’s it,” the voice said.

A prick in his shoulder. “Got it.”

Darkness.

He woke up alone and with a splitting headache.

His torso was swaddled in bandages, his entire back on fire like his skin had been flayed. Nausea crashed over him as he pushed himself upright, bile burning his throat before he swallowed it back down. His ribs throbbed painfully, each breath pulling at his chest.

He had to give himself a moment to just be when he finally sat upright.

Had he fucked up? He didn’t remember his orders, and he didn’t recognise the room, either. The white walls and heavy equipment almost made it look like a hospital, which meant he wasn't in any of their safe houses.

Which meant he had to get the hell out.

Deep breaths.

Something pulled his arm when he tried to remove his blanket. He frowned down to see a needle disappearing under his skin, clear tube sticking out of it.

An IV drip.

He tore it out without a second thought, then returned to the task at hand.

Below the blanket, he found himself wearing some strange, spandex-like material. Someone had cut into it to get to his chest and back, leaving scraps of fabric dangling around his hips.

Odd, but not odd enough to worry about right now.

He sucked in another breath, then pushed his legs over the side of the bed. His back burned as it rubbed against the bandages, and of course, moving made the nausea return tenfold.

Don’t puke. Don’t puke. Don’t puke.

When he was at least seventy percent sure he wasn’t going to throw up, he carefully pushed himself to his feet. His limbs felt weak and unresponsive, legs shaking under his weight.

Of course there were no windows, and of course the vent wasn’t big enough to crawl through. The only exit seemed to be the blank door in the corner, so blank door it was.

But first he needed a weapon—he wasn’t delusional enough to think someone would’ve saved him without an ulterior motive. Not with his body count.

A quick glance around the room yielded limited options, the medical machines stashed in the corner the only equipment not bolted to the wall or floor. They all had little wheels under them, meant to be easily moved despite their weight.

He tore a metal pipe the size of his forearm off the back of the closest one, ignoring how the tiny show of force already left him panting.

Head injuries were the fucking worst. On top of making him feel like shit, they were also mostly invisible, which meant his time to recover would only be as long as Slade was be willing to put up with his whining.

Which, from experience, wouldn't be long at all.

He turned the pipe in his hands. It was hollow, but it should be strong enough to deliver a decent whack.

It would have to do.

With any luck, he wouldn’t have to fight at all. Maybe whoever had taken him didn’t know who he was, or maybe they assumed he’d feel too shitty to get up and hadn’t bothered to posts any guards.

Not that anyone would be that stupid, but he had to give himself some hope.

One last breath.

He opened the door.

The other side wasn't the hallway he'd expected. It was too big to be a room but it wasn’t outside either, light too dim and air too stale, no stars in the inky black stretching above. A network of platforms hung suspended by heavy chains bolted into the rock walls, the other side of the railing fading into a black abyss below.

A giant computer screen dominated the platform the door opened to, the built-in desk around it full of research equipment and various pieces of junk and trinkets.

The swivel chairs in front of the desk turned.

Dick blinked, metal pipe still raised in the air. 

Red Cardinal blinked back at him. He wore a hoodie and jeans with his mask, but it was undeniably him.

Silence.

Then, like a dam breaking, his memories returned. Getting away from Slade. Settling in Blüdhaven. Becoming Nightwing. The bats refusing to leave him alone. Going to Gotham. The Arkham breakout.

The bomb.

He let go of the pipe, nausea and dizziness suddenly taking over.

“Damian, is he—” Dick coughed, his ribs screaming at the motion. He doubled over to hug his arms around them, then gagged over the railing as that motion made his head spin.

Fuck.

Fuck, he had to—

A hand on his back. “You need to get back in bed.”

“No, I—”

“The demon brat’s fine. His only injury is a torn muscle from catching your fall.”

And that was a relief. Really, it was, but realising what had happened had also made him realise exactly where he was.

He shrugged the hand off his back. “You shouldn’t have brought me here.”

Cardinal gave him an unimpressed look. “Sure, we'll just leave you to die next time.”

Dick let go off the railing and pushed the kid aside. He stopped in the middle of the platform, unsure of where to go. There was a staircase behind the computer, but any path going up was bound to lead to their stupid mansion instead of outside.

“Nightwing—”

“Where’s the exit?”

“You can’t—”

Dick whipped around, movement making him sway on his feet. “No, you can’t keep me here. Tell me where the exit is or I’ll— I’ll…” another cough, this one raw and heaving, bile stinging his tongue before he could swallow it back down.

Then his legs finally betrayed him. He fell to his knees, edges of his vision darkening as white hot pain tore at his back.

He’d never felt this pathetic before. This helpless.

“I can’t be here,” Dick whispered. “I can’t risk Batman—” he forced his jaw shut.

They didn’t know about Renegade yet. If they had, they never would’ve left him unsupervised in a room with the door unlocked.

Still, it would only be a matter of time if he stayed. Had they taken his blood? His fingerprints?

His fingers brushed over the Lycra hiding the scar on his hip. He’d cut into it until the S was unrecognizable before stitching the original knife wound back up, just to ensure that mess with Hood wouldn’t have an encore.

Good thing he did, even if it seemed like they hadn’t pulled his suit down far enough to reveal it.

Cardinal frowned down at him with an hardened expression. “I’m sorry if this is hard for you, but you almost died less than forty-eight hours ago. As your friend, I'm not going to apologise for saving your life. We all agreed to bring you here.”

And it was probably the wrong part to focus on, but—

“We’re friends?” They couldn’t be, right? Because he was him, and Cardinal was someone who shouldn’t talk to people like that.

He swayed dangerously getting back up to his feet, but Cardinal grabbed his arm and steadied him before he could fall. “Of course we are, you idiot. Now medbay, please.”

Dick tried to tug himself free, another wave of nausea washing over him. “I won’t—”

Cardinal clamped down on his wrist and dragged him back towards the medbay. “And stop talking before you throw up.”

Dick stopped talking.

He still threw up.

Cardinal had dumped Dick back into the same bed he’d fled from, grumbling about having to fix the EKG machine as he stabbed a new IV laden with painkillers and nausea-blockers into his arm.

Then began the damage report.

He hadn’t died.

Unfortunately, that was where the positives ended.

The heat from the blast had made the fabric of his suit melt into his back—they make fireproof Lycra, you idiot—resulting in a mosaic of nasty-looking second-degree burns that covered most of his shoulders and lower back.

He’d hit his head on an air conditioning unit while being flung over the edge of the building—never seen anyone be that unlucky—resulting in an egg-sized bump in the back skull that had given him a grade four concussion.

Three of his ribs had been bruised from slamming into the side of the building—forget fireproof Lycra, we should just make your new suit out of bubble wrap—, Damian saving both of them from going splat on the concrete by pulling out his grapple mid-air.

The kid had been miraculously alright, his only injury a single torn muscle in his shoulder from being forced to catch Dick’s weight with one arm. So at least Dick ending up in his literal worst nightmare—short of Slade finding him, of course—hadn’t been totally useless. No matter how big this mess was, he’d rather be in it than have Damian be dead.

“—you understand?” Cardinal said now, staring at him with a clinical expression.

When Dick didn’t answer, the kid made a frustrated noise. “Did you hear literally anything I just said?”

Maybe we should wait, Black Bat signed from the other side of the room. Dick wasn’t sure if she’d been here from the start or if she’d joined them later.

It was hard to focus.

Cardinal shook his head. “We have to confirm this. If it’s true, it’s— All these years, B, he—” He took a breath. “I need to know.”

Black Bat’s expression softened. I know this is important, but he needs rest.

Dick tensed. That didn’t sound good.

Surely they hadn’t—

It didn’t make sense. It didn’t.

And yet.

His heart beat in his throat.

There was only one secret they could’ve uncovered.

He glanced at the door. It was still the only exit, because who would bother with windows in an underground room.

Black Bat took a single step left to block his view, shooting him a look that said ‘I don’t blame you for wanting to run, but I also can’t let it happen.’

Curse her and her mind reading powers.

Cardinal's expression hardened. “No, we have to do this before B gets back tomorrow." He fumbled with something in his pocket. "He can rest afterwards.”

And before Dick could have a meltdown about the fact that Batman was coming back way before they’d allow him to leave, Cardinal shoved a piece of paper under his nose.

He blinked down at the photograph. It was old or had been taken with an old camera, image grainy and discolored. Two adults and two kids posed and smiled in front of Haly’s big top, three of the four wearing brightly colored gymnastic suits.

His breath hitched. Everything came crashing down.

Because that was him.

And those.

Those were his parents.

He’d taken a few photos with him when he went with Slade, but it’d only taken one incident to destroy them all.

He’d felt particularly lonely one night and had seen little harm in stuffing the photos in the lining of his suit, since Slade had only planned a stakeout. Then they’d been compromised and forced to wade across a river to get away.

He’d been sad to lose the pictures, but he hadn’t thought it was the end of the world—his parents had been performers. They’d posed in newspapers and had been plastered across many posters advertising their act. Surely he’d be able to find some kind of replacement on the internet?

It wouldn’t be the same as a family photo, but at least he wouldn’t forget their faces.

But then he’d looked. And looked. And looked.

And found nothing.

After a few weeks of worrying he’d finally felt raw enough to ask Slade. The asshole hadn’t even given him a glance as he told him that of course there wouldn’t be any photos—they were ghosts, and ghosts didn’t leave paper-trails.

That night, he had to mourn his parents all over again

Dick brushed his thumb over his mother’s face. He’d forgotten she’d had dimples. Who forgets something like that?

“Where did you get this?” he whispered.

“My mom took it,” Cardinal answered quietly.

Dick looked closer at the smallest kid in the photo, a boy who couldn’t be older than four or five who gave the camera a shy wave.

He only remembered the night his parents fell in hazy flashes—people screaming, blood staining his knees, someone wrapping a coat around his shoulders—but now that he saw the photo, he knew it'd been taken that same night.

Kids always wanted pictures after the show, but this one had known about them beforehand. Had shyly shaken his father’s hand and told him he’d been looking forward to the quadruple all year.

Of course. The quadruple. He hadn’t even thought about doing it last night, time too precious to spare a single thought for anything except racing against the clock.

Guess that had been a mistake.

He looked back up at Cardinal. At Tim Drake. At the boy in the photo.

“You were there.” The night they fell, he didn't add. He didn't need to.

Cardinal let out a breath and pushed his hand through his hair. “Sorry, this is just— I can’t believe it’s really— We spent so long, we never thought—”

Black Bat squeezed his arm, making Cardinal flash a smile at her.

Dick frowned. Sure this was a huge coincidence, but Cardinal made it seem way more personal than a single moment they'd shared as kids.

Your name isn’t new to any of us, Black Bat signed.

Dick blinked.

“B was there, too, that night,” Cardinal said. “He wanted to take in you in, but his playboy reputation was still horrible back then. The city fought him every step of the way. By the time the caseworker said it was okay to go meet you, you were gone. We all helped him look for you over the years, but it was like you’d vanished into thin air.”

“Poof,” Black Bat said.

“You were the one case none of us could solve. I don’t think B ever really stopped blaming himself.”

Dick looked down at his knees and tried to breathe.

People had been looking for him.

Batman had been looking for him.

All these years.

All these fucking years, and all he’d had to do was stay put in Gotham a few days longer.

His eyes burned.

What a cruel fucking joke.

It didn’t make sense to mourn something he’d never had, but there was no word but grief for the feeling aching through his chest, for the numbness creeping into his fingers.

It always had to start with his hands, like his body was punishing him for reaching out.

He forced himself to let go of the photo before he ruined it, too.

Black Bat pushed a blurry glass of water between his face and the bed sheets.

Dick took it without looking up, then took a breath and tried to compose himself. For better or for worse, he wasn’t alone right now and he still had secrets to keep.

Things were far from over.

After Dick's second sip of water, Cardinal finally broke the silence. “What happened to you?”

Case in point.

Dick opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

Because that kid they’d been looking for? That poor orphan boy who'd been taken, or trafficked, or whatever else they imagined—

He didn’t exist. He had never existed.

He had chosen to go with Slade. Had stolen the knife he’d pushed through Zucco’s throat all by himself. Hadn't cared there’d be no coming back from any of it. He hadn’t cared for years.

A hand on his shoulder. “Nightwing?”

Dick flinched, then groaned when the movement shot through his ribs.

“Sorry,” Black Bat said.

Dick frowned up at her. She’d been an assassin before she came here, hadn’t she? So had Damian. They both had a body count, and none of the others seemed to hold it against them. Telling the bats about Renegade didn't have to change anything.

Logically, he knew that.

Logically.

But if it did change things. If it did ruin everything—

He just knew he wouldn't be able to keep going.

And so the words still refused.

Black Bat gave him a soft look. You don’t have to say it. Not right now.

Cardinal made a sound of protest. “Cass—”

Black Bat shot him a look. “You promised.”

“I don’t think it’s too much to ask—”

Black bat cut him off with a sharp wave. You’re not being fair.

“Fair? You know how many years we’ve waited for these answers?”

Black Bat gestured back to Dick. Look at him.

And he must look like absolute shit, because one glance was enough to make Cardinal grimace and give in. “Sorry, I wasn’t— this must be hard for you, too.”

This must be hard for you, too.

And somehow, those were the words that broke him. Because they should’ve strung him up by his feet and whipped him until he gave in. Should’ve broken his toes one by one until he talked. Should’ve refused to feed him until he gave them their answers.

But here they were.

Offering him water and sympathies.

Dick wiped at his embarrassingly wet eyes. “I'm sorry. I don't deserve any of you.”

And despite being denied the answers he wanted, the corners of Cardinal's mouth stopped pointing down. “You know we can't agree with that.”

Black Bat smiled.

Dick stared down at the photo of his parents every time they left him alone in the medbay, even if focussing his eyes made his head pound. He wasn't going to forget again. It must be a copy, the paper not as worn as it should be if it’d been printed thirteen years ago. The fact made him feel a little bit less bad about keeping it.

Not that Tim had asked it back.

Tim. Cass.

It felt weird to call them by their real names. It hadn’t taken the bats long to realise that identifying the boy in the picture as Tim Drake, adopted son of Bruce Wayne, didn’t leave much questions about the rest of their identities. With that came Dick’s lukewarm reaction to ‘finding out’ who Batman was—blame his concussion for his poor acting—, which had forced him to lie and say he’d already had a ‘strong hunch’.

The white lie hadn't been that hard to believe when the bigger miracle was how clueless the rest of the world was.

He hadn’t wanted anything to change. They'd looked for him for a while a few years ago. Big whoop. He was still Nightwing, and they were still their vigilante personalities. There was no need to use each other's real names when that was the extend of their relationship.

The two of them had disagreed, of course.

Heavily.

He had tried Cassandra and Timothy in a last-ditch effort to keep some semblance of distance, but that had only led to them throwing Richard in his face until he couldn't stand it anymore, either.

They were just names, anyway. It changed nothing.

He was going to tell himself it changed nothing.

After that had been settled, Car—Tim had asked Dick if he could tell the other bats about his identity. It was a nice gesture to give him a semblance of a choice in the matter, even if that choice was 'you tell' or 'I tell'. He ended up giving him and Black Ba—Cass the green light. If all of them were going find out about Richard Grayson anyway, he'd much rather they all did at the same time.

At least he now he could be sure there wasn't single link between Richard Grayson and Renegade. The bats would've had no trouble finding it otherwise.

In an ideal world he would've told all of them himself instead of leaving it to Cardin—Tim, but he wasn’t exactly in a state to handle much more today. Especially when on top of everything else, Batman was coming back from his undercover mission tomorrow. There was no way Black B— Cass would be able to stop him from getting answers the way she’d done with Cardi—Tim.

And Dick had no delusions about Batman wanting answers.

There was no way they’d let him go back to Blüdhaven before the man came back. Not when he couldn't reach the burns on his back and could barely make the walk back and forth to the bathroom without holding on to someone.

The cruel bastards had unanimously decided that this was the perfect opportunity for him to ‘get over himself’ and ‘talk it out’ with Batman.

It sucked. It sucked, and he couldn’t find a single good reason to object when a) the only time he’d met Batman he’d actually been nice and b) the man had apparently been looking for him for years.

Yeah.

That had been a pill to swallow.

Actually, he was pretty sure the pill was still stuck in his throat. That, or there’d been nails between the glazed onions and roast beef of the absolutely amazing sandwich they’d fed him for lunch. He hadn’t realised just how good food could be if you didn’t care about spending a kidney on each ingredient.

The door to the medbay opened. Damian stepped through, trying very hard to look dignified while holding a serving tray with a single mug on it.

Dick frowned at the kid’s shoulder. “Weren’t you wearing a sling?” He might have a concussion, but that didn’t mean he forgot things that easily.

Damian set the tray down on the bedside table. “I fail to see how a piece of cloth will be beneficial to my recovery.”

"You can't just ignore—" Dick blinked down at the mug. “You made hot chocolate?”

“I did not," Damian said as stepped away from the tray. "Pennyworth said I should deliver it, as the choice of beverage was my suggestion.”

“Pennyworth?”

“The help.”

“Ah.” Figured they had staff—even with kidney-priced ingredients, Dick couldn’t imagine any of them making anything like that sandwich.

The mug was hot against his fingers, sweet smell of chocolate doing it's best to cut through the antiseptic. He hadn't realised just how cold his hands had gotten. "Thanks Damian. It's exactly what I needed.”

A blush crept up the boy’s neck. “Consider it a reward for satisfactory behaviour.”

Dick snorted. Somehow, the kid speaking like a mix of Arab prince and Victorian gentleman made the underlying sentiment feel even more endearing, like he had to try extra hard to sound nice.

“And thanks for catching me,” Dick added with a sincerity he rarely caught himself using. “You’re going to feel that shoulder a whole lot longer than I will this concussion.”

They’d technically already thanked each other earlier today, when Spoile—Steph had dragged the kid into the medbay for that exact reason. It’d been very clear Damian hadn’t been able to say what he really wanted. He’d been stiff, talking like he’d rehearsed the words in a mirror. A soldier thanking a fellow warrior.

They both knew Dick hadn’t needed to squeeze him that hard to save him. Hadn’t needed to push the kid’s head against his chest and bury his nose in his crown.

Damian looked down. “It was only natural.”

“I know a lot of people who wouldn’t have.”

“Then you must find better acquaintances.”

Dick smiled. “I think they found me, instead.”

The kid opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

He might be laying it on a bit thick, but he had no way to know what was going to happen when Batman came back tomorrow. If this was his last day on planet earth, he might as well make the best of it. “You’re a good kid, Dami. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

Damian let out a breath, then turned and fled for the door. “Get well soon,” he mumbled before throwing it closed.

Was it the nickname?

Must’ve been the nickname.

He’d have to use it again to make sure.

“You have to use your weight more,” Dick said from his chair next to the computer.

It hadn’t taken long for the walls of the medbay to begin closing in on him. His concussion had made any activity that could’ve distracted him impossible, which meant he’d had to choose between staring at his parents or joining the bats on the other side of the door.

In the end, he’d chosen to spend his last evening in the company of the living.

Steph stopped hitting the training dummy and stared at him. “Did you just call me fat?”

“No, I’m saying you’re not following through. You have to step in with your punches and put your weight behind them.”

Steph shook her head. “I’m not doing that purpose so I don’t over-commit.” She waved her hands towards Cass doing stretches on the other side of the mat. “She doesn’t step in, either.”

“Yes, but she’s strong enough where it doesn’t matter.”

“Ouch,” Tim muttered without looking away from the giant screen of the Batcomputer. Dick had quickly learned the Batmobile hadn’t been the only appliance to fall victim to whichever five-year-old had been in charge of naming things.

Steph gave him a murderous look. “So I’m fat and weak?”

Dick held up his hands, making sure to keep the rest of him as still as possible. He’d learned his burned back didn't like movement the hard way. “No, just— obviously don’t over-commit, but if you don’t commit at all, you give your opponent ten times more chances to beat you than they should’ve had. Find the right moment to strike and make the moment count.”

Steph frowned at the training dummy. “But what if I pick the wrong moment?”

“Then you take a hit. Next time, you’ll know better.”

Tim shot him a sideways glance. “That seems dangerous. What if they have a knife? Or a gun?”

Dick would’ve shrugged if it wouldn't have made his back feel like it was being ravaged by a cheese grater. “It’s how I learned.”

“Wow. Must’ve had some teacher.”

Dick didn't answer, and no one asked him to elaborate. He'd promised to tell all of them about his past as soon as he felt ready. He’d been lying, of course, but the promise had been the only thing that had stopped them from trying to pry it out of him.

Everything for one last evening of peace.

Steph hit the training dummy again. This time she stepped in properly, making the thing’s head slam against the ground before it bouncing back up. “I’m going to practice my timing during sparring instead of going stab-and-error, if you don’t mind.”

"Probably a good idea."

Cass stopped stretching and frowned at Tim.“Something wrong?”

The kid had gone quiet, body tense as he stared at the screen. “It’s probably nothing.”

Cass stepped towards him and followed his eyes to the screen of the Batcomputer. “But?”

“B missed his last check-in.”

Steph grabbed a towel and also hopped up to the main platform. “He didn’t send an SOS?”

“No. He just didn’t upload the report when he was supposed to.”

“You know protocol,” Steph said as she wiped her face. “No SOS, no problem. One missed check-in could mean anything. Like, he could be having a sick-ass owl orgy right now.”

Tim pulled a face. “Can you not.”

“C’mon, there has to be some truth to the rumours—a cult without orgies would be like a car without an engine, or a rich people garden without one of those stone birdbath tub thingies.”

They all stared at her.

It didn't affect her in the slightest. “Look, all I’m saying is there’s no need to get worried. B can handle himself.”

Tim sighed. “I guess you’re right. I just really don’t like this mission.”

It’ll be over tomorrow, Cass signed.

A loud rumbling echoed through the cave, chains bolting the platforms to the walls rattling as a red and black bike made its way towards them.

Dick blinked twice before he accepted it was Red Hood sitting on top of it.

On one hand, it made him feel a little bit less bad about being allowed inside the Batcave if they just let anyone in.

On the other hand, fuck.

He’d completely forgotten about that asshole.

Hood parked his bike on another platform, kicking open the stand and swinging his leg over the seat in a single motion. Unlike the bats he was in full costume, probably because he'd known Dick would be here. None of the others seemed fazed by his presence, which meant all of them probably knew each other's identities. If he hadn’t had a grade four concussion, Dick would’ve had a lot more thoughts about that.

Not that he was even remotely interested to know what kind of sad, middle-aged chain smoker was hiding behind that helmet.

“I need to talk to Mr. Mummy,” Hood said. “Alone.”

Steph stepped forward. “If you’re only here to scare Dick—”

Hood barked out a laugh. “Dick? You actually fucking believe he’s Richard Grayson? Like, the Richard Grayson? That one?”

Wow. Kudos to him for being able to make his name sound like a slur.

“I know what I saw,” Tim said, sharp voice cutting through the cave. “The profile fits. You think we'd be so easily fooled?“

“It’s just really fucking convenient, ain’t it?”

Dick sighed. Guess one last peaceful evening had been too much to ask.

“Fine.” He tried to stand without making his back feel like a pincushion. “Lead the way.”

Hood immediately whipped around and stalked towards the medbay. “Good choice.”

Cass frowned. I don’t think this is—

“It’s fine,” Dick said.

It wasn’t really, but.

Things hadn't been fine for while, anyway.

Dick eyed the camera in the corner as he closed the door to the medbay. “Won’t they just listen in?”

“Depends. You gonna give them a reason to do so?”

Dick sat down on one of the beds, that little walk already enough to leave him winded. Fuck concussions. “I don’t want trouble.”

Hood barked out another laugh. “You don’t want trouble. You.”

“Fuck off.”

Hood stabbed his finger against Dick’s chest.  “No, lemme just get straight to the fucking point. You said you wanted nothing to do with Gotham or these brats. But here you fucking are, playing our long-lost son-slash-brother.”

Dick tucked that our away for later. “You’re saying I planned all this?”

Hood loomed over him. “I’m saying it’s all awfully fucking convenient, and that we still have no fucking clue who planted those bombs.”

Dick stared back at his reflection in Hood’s helmet. He had to admit it were a lot of coincidences that had gotten him here, but that’s all they were. Coincidences. He hadn’t asked to be here. Hadn’t asked to be Richard Grayson.

“What would I possibly have to gain from all this?” He asked. He gestured towards the bandages wrapped around his chest. “I almost died, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

Hood scoffed. “And now you’re in the Batcave with the brats' complete trust during one of the few nights a year Batman isn't home. Don’t pretend these aren’t exactly the kind of games Deathstroke likes to play.”

Dick rubbed his temple, trying to ease the throbbing in his head. Couldn't they just get back to talking about Desperate Housewives? What had happened to that? “What do you want from me, Hood? I can’t tell you you’re right, because you’re not. I can’t tell you you’re wrong, because you won’t believe me, and I can’t get any proof without going to Slade, which I won’t because it took years of planning to get the fuck away from him. So tell me, please, what I’m supposed to do here.”

“You fucking tell them,” Hood answered like he'd been waiting for the question.

Dick blinked. “No, I—”

“You want me to believe you’ve fucking changed, you tell them everything. They deserve the whole story, anyway, If you’re actually Dick fucking Grayson. Some of them shed real tears over you.”

No.

No, not going to happen. “I’d have to leave Blüdhaven.”

Hood snorted. “Cass used to kill. So used that little demonic shit, and I still shoot people if I think they deserve it. You really think you’re special?”

Dick opened his mouth, then closed it.

“You have a week,” Hood said. “Better make it fucking count.”

Chapter Text

“Should I go for chemistry or statistics?” Steph sat cross-legged on the bed opposite of his, notebooks and pens littering the sheets, a stack of heavy textbooks wobbling on the bedside table.

She reached into the stack and pulled out a book the size of her torso. “I really need you to tell me to stop ignoring my statistics.”

“Stop ignoring your statistics.”

Steph grimaced at the book with instant regret. “But I hate statistics.”

Dick sighed. He’d been so close to freedom, halfway through hot-wiring one of their bikes when Tim had come back downstairs with a new pot of coffee.

As one might expect, that hadn’t gone over well.

He'd had to try, though—Hood's ultimatum had been the final straw. If he wanted to keep his secret, he had to get out and put enough distance between all of them to forget this ever happened. It might not really solve anything in the long run, but staying here wasn't helping either.

The bats had very much objected to the idea of him going home so soon. If his health had been the only issue, they probably would’ve respected his wishes. How much more trouble would it be to help him change his bandages back in Blud when they were already sneaking around just to fill his fridge?

But of course that hadn’t been the only issue. No, they just didn’t want him to disappear before Batman came back. Apparently they thought the man would be too self-conscious to come bother him in Blüdhaven when Dick so clearly wanted nothing to do with him.

Which sounded perfect, but of course those brats framed that scenario as an unacceptable outcome.

Yeah.

Their plan seemed to simply be to keep a close eye on him until Batman returned the next evening. Hence Spoiler getting ready to study all night in the medbay while Dick was already tucked below his sheets. He probably would’ve locked the door and be done with it, but hey, to each their own

Normally he'd judge his chances to escape such casual containment much higher, but hurt as he still was, they had him pretty much check mate.

“Why did you even pick statistics, then?” he asked. That was how college worked, right? Unlike high school, you got to choose what you studied?

Steph opened the book in her lap. “Because I need it for my degree?”

“You need to take math for a pre-med degree?”

Steph gave him an odd look. “You know pre-med isn’t actually a degree, right? I’m doing Psychology as a pre-med.”

Dick frowned. “They’re making you get a degree just so you can apply to get another one?”

Steph snorted. “Isn’t school just the best?”

He wouldn’t know. Technically, he’d never even finished elementary school.

At Haly’s, him and a handful of other kids had been home-schooled by Lady Risha, one of their contortionists. They’d had to bring their own folding tables to write on, kneeling in the soft grass in front of her trailer as she talked.

With Slade, school had come in the form of studying a new binder each month, pages filled with mundane facts about things like history, science and math. He’d hated sitting still on stakeouts, but he’d never minded spending time on his binders and imagining he was doing his homework like any other kid on the planet.

Actually going to school, sitting in a classroom, having recess and friends and packed lunches—he’d never had that experience.

“What’s it like?” He asked.

“Uni or school in general?” Steph asked back without missing a beat. These bats really needed to stop reading his mind.

“Both, I guess.”

She tapped her chin with a glittery gel pen. “It really depends,” she said after a pause. “We didn’t have much growing up, so my school was kinda shitty. The teachers didn’t really care if people were snorting glue as long as most of us made it through.” She smiled down at her book. “But at the time, it was also the only place I got to play around. My mom didn’t like having people over.”

“I’m sorry.”

Steph’s eyes flickered up as she scribbled in her notebook. “Don’t be. She did the best she could.”

His parents had tried their best, too. After their death, his caseworker had tried to explain to him that forcing him to travel with the circus had somehow ruined his childhood. Talking like getting handed over to social services had saved him from much worse than the penitentiary they'd shoved him in. And sure, he hadn’t had a typical youth in the circus. They'd been poor, and of course he’d sometimes wished they could’ve stayed somewhere a little while longer.

But that didn’t mean his parents hadn’t given him everything.

He put his head on his pillow and looked up at the ceiling. “The other kids at Haly’s were older, but they always let me play with them.”

The sound of pen on paper stopped. “What was it like?”

Dick swallowed.

He shouldn’t.

He really shouldn’t.

But he’d never had anyone to talk to about this before.

“We lived in a trailer half the size of this room,” he said slowly, gaze still lingering on the smooth, white ceiling. “Mom would have to fold out the countertops across the walkway whenever she wanted to bake something.” He smiled at the memory. “Sometimes, she’d leave such a mess Dad had to lift me through the back window to get the stuff we needed for our act.”

Steph only hummed, so he kept going.

“We usually ate dinner together with the other families in the big top, or sometimes outside if we had a campfire going. There were a lot of animals, too.” He’d always wondered what had happened to Zitka and the others after new laws forbid circuses from keeping wild animals for entertainment purposes. Looking back at the abysmal sizes of the cages it was probably for the best though, even if he remembered the lion tamers loving their cats more than their children.

“We were always traveling. The animals didn’t like the cold and most of the trailers weren’t insulated very well, so we chased the sun all over Europe. I didn’t see my first snow until… after.” He fell silent, still looking up at the ceiling.

‘After’ was such a stupid way of lumping things together, but at the same time, there really wasn’t any other way to describe his life.

There was the before, and there was the after.

Two different worlds divided by a cliff deeper than the grand canyon.

“Sounded like it was perfect,” Steph said.

Perfect.

When he woke up, Steph and her textbooks had been replaced by Cass doing crunches on a yoga mat in the middle of the room.

They really weren’t taking any chances.

She changed his bandages and helped him get dressed in some loose-fitting clothes she’d pulled from who knows where—they were too faded to be new and too big to fit to any of them. They could’ve been Batman’s, but somehow he didn’t seem the type to wear hoodies, even ones with the Wonder Woman logo on it.

Dick's back still killed him when Cass tightened the bandages, and his ribs still pulled when he wiggled into the hoodie, but at least moving his head didn’t make him want to throw up anymore. Concussions were like that, content to simmer in the background until pushed too hard. To prevent this from happening, Tim had stressed that training was a big no-no for the next two weeks, even if he was fine to walk around.

He would’ve fought the coddling, but what did it matter? Everything was going to crash and burn when Batman came home tonight, anyway. And even if by some miracle it wouldn't, Red Hood’s shitty ultimatum was only a week from now.

Those two weeks might as well be a decade away.

You want to have breakfast upstairs? Cass asked.

Dick paused. Did he? They’d probably be too nice to outright forbid him from going into their mansion, but he hadn’t expected them to bring it up, either. It would be easier for everyone if he stayed down here, separated from their life upstairs.

Then again, there might be less security up there. “If that’s okay?”

Cass smiled. You can meet Alfred.

“Alfred?”

Cass nodded as she led him out of the medbay. “Very nice.”

They both turned their head at the sound of clashing metal. Damian was on another platform, cutting away at a training dummy. When he noticed them he lowered his sword and set his jaw.

Cass crossed her arms and said nothing. Dick hadn’t been the only one barred from training.

“I did not think he would wake so soon,” Damian said, breath coming quick like he’d been at it for a while.

You promised, Damian. You’re still hurt.

“I am fine,” Damian said, his fist clenching around his katana. “These rules are completely arbitrary. Back at the League—”

“No one cared,” Dick interrupted, because he hadn’t been awake nearly long enough to hear the kid justify the shit the League had put him through. Back at his apartment he'd let it go, but that didn't mean he was giving up. The earlier Damian had his wake-up call, the sooner he'd be able to heal.

Damian stared at him. “Them trusting my judgement does not mean—”

“No, the only reason they let you ‘train’ while being injured is because they didn’t care as long as you were being useful.” He gestured to Cass. “They’re being hard on you because to them, you’re not expendable. ”

Damian looked like he wanted to object, but then a flash of hurt replaced his frown. He whipped around and stalked up the stairs, still clutching his katana. “I will be in my quarters.”

Shit, that wasn’t the reaction he’d expected at all. “Damian, I—”

“Do not follow me,” he warned before he disappeared.

Next to him, Cass sighed softly. “My father,” she said before switching to sign, was a bad man. It was easy to hate him when he never pretended to be anything else. She gave him a sad smile. But Damian says his mother was nice to him.

Dick grimaced. “I’m sorry. I should’ve let you deal with it.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. I wasn’t thinking.” Just like David Cain, Slade Wilson had been easy to hate. Knowing his master hadn’t cared about him had been a kind of freedom. It meant he didn’t have to care back, that he didn’t have to regret leaving. Didn’t have to feel guilty about never wanting to see his face again.

But obviously Damian wasn’t him, and hearing his mom didn’t care about him might not be the reassurance Dick had believed it to be.

Guess breakfast was going to have to wait.

Cass led him into another identical hallway and pointed him to another identical door. So far the only room with a shred of personality had been the one they’d exited the cave from, a cosy study with a solid wooden desk and an old couch, seats so sunken from use they almost reached the floor. The den, she’d dubbed it, one of the few rooms they actually used. It seemed like a waste, but they couldn’t exactly rent out the place without risking people stumbling into their basement.

“Good luck,” Cass said. She waved goodbye, then left him to fix this by himself like he’d asked. She and the others would be waiting for him and Damian in the ‘game room’, where they hung out when there were too many of them to fit into the den. They’d all planned to spend most of the day there, both to babysit him and to keep Tim from worrying too much.

Apparently, keeping him from spiraling was a full-time job this time around.

Dick couldn’t help but look back the way they came after Cass turned the corner. If he was going to try something, it’d have to be now.

After half a second, he sighed and turned back towards the door. He couldn’t leave Damian with that godawful expression on his face, especially when he’d been the one to put it there.

Besides—Cass never would’ve agreed to leave if there was a chance for him to get out, anyway. Even if—and that was a big if—he managed to get outside, they probably had an alarm system, or a wall, or a moat, or whatever else kind of security a limitless budget allowed.

He knocked on the door. “Damian?”

Nothing.

“Can we please talk?”

He held his breath and listened for any signs of life. A creaking bed. A shuffle on the carpet. A ruffle of paper.

Still nothing. Normally this meant the room was empty, but Damian was way too well-trained to be heard when he didn’t want to be.

Dick grabbed the handle. “Last warning before I’m coming in.”

He gave him three more seconds before pulling the door open.

The room was empty, after all. It was smaller than he’d expected, just big enough to comfortably fit its furniture. Every surface was wiped clean, the bed neatly made, the bookcase filled with actual books instead of the endless trinkets that had littered the one in the den.

The only signs of life were a leather notebook left on the desk and an unsheathed katana leaning against the wall next to the window.

Bingo.

The window seemed closed, but looking closer revealed the leaf sticking out below the lock—the oldest trick in the book to keep yourself from getting locked out.

He shivered as he opened the window. He’d gotten away from Slade in the beginning of winter, and now the nights were once again getting longer, sky a soft grey, wind that grazed his skin cold and mottled with water.

If he told his past self this was where he’d be a year later, climbing after Batman’s kid in the middle of Gotham because he'd hurt his feelings, he wouldn’t have believed himself.

Would’ve checked himself into Arkham, actually.

But here he was.

He hoisted himself through the window before he could change his mind, biting his lip as the top of the frame rasped over his back. His concussion made his limbs clumsy, and this definitely didn’t fit Tim’s definition of ‘taking it easy’, but it was too late to stop now.

Thankfully, Damian’s room was on a higher floor, his window leading to a roof that gently sloped to the top of this part of the building. Because of course there were multiple parts, all with nooks and crannies that made perfect hiding spots.

He let out a breath. Nothing to do but to go up until he found the kid.

He used both his hands and feet to climb, not taking any chances when his concussion made him wobblier than usual.

Halfway up, a roof tile sprung loose below his foot. He clawed at the roof, sliding backwards for a terrifying second.

A pair of boots thudded on the tiles in front of him.

“I told you to leave me be,” Damian hissed. He grabbed Dick’s arm and yanked him towards the roof's ridge. “Have you no sense of self-preservation?”

“I needed to apologise,” Dick gasped as he stumbled after him. His voice sounded way too breathy to his own ears. He’d never been afraid of heights, but falling was something else entirely.

“I have no need for meaningless words.” Damian dumped him on the ridge of the roof, then braced to jump back towards the tower he must’ve been hiding on.

“I’m sorry for being so harsh,” Dick said before the kid could take off, “but I’m not taking back what I said.”

Damian froze.

Dick sat down onto the ridge and prepared for battle. Maybe this wasn’t the time to press any more buttons, but it might be the only moment he’d get the kid alone before Batman came back. He had to try.

Damian whipped back around, anger radiating off him in waves. “You still insist on talking ill of the League? You have no proof! You know nothing about them! Know nothing about Mother!”

“I know they let you train while being injured.”

The kid’s nostrils flared. “I—”

“And I know your training must’ve started ridiculously young for you to be this good at ten. How old were you? Four? Five?”

“You’re not—”

“Did they even tell you what death meant before they made you make your first kill?”

Damian made a frustrated noise. “You are twisting everything out of context.”

“Maybe I am, but those aren’t things you do to someone you care about, Damian,” Dick said gently, “Or they shouldn’t be.”

The kid stared at him, arms shaking like he wanted to kill him, legs twitching like he wanted to bolt.

In the end, he did neither.

He crumbled.

A miserable expression marred his face. “Mother, she— she—”

Dick patted the roof on his right when Damian fell silent. The kid frowned at his hand for three, four, five seconds before giving in and dropping down next to him.

For a moment they just sat there, damp air soaking into their clothes, wind whipping the last leaves from the trees framing the neatly kept garden. He’d been right to assume they had a wall, made from intimidating black stones and metal bars, perfect for scaring off paparazzi.

He didn’t see a moat, though. Maybe he would’ve had a chance.

Damian took a breath, finally ready to speak. “Grandfather did not want me to leave Nanda Parbat,” he said quietly. “He said I was not yet ready, but Mother did not agree. They shed blood over the decision for a long time until Mother threatened to leave herself if he did not grant her wish.”

“I see.“

“She—” Damian swallowed, then looked down and whispered; “she told me I would be happier here.”

The rooftop was silent.

Dick opened his mouth, then closed it. He really hadn't known what he'd been talking about, had he? Because Damian hadn’t had a Haly’s before his Deathstroke. His Haly’s had been his Deathstroke, which made things all kinds of complicated.

The kid's shoulders trembled.

Dick pulled him against his side without thinking. He kept his touch loose so the boy could break free if he wanted, but he just stared down into the gardens and let himself be held.

“Do you miss her?”

A single nod.

Oh, he’d really screwed this up.

He squeezed his arm around Damian's shoulders. “I’m sorry, Dami. I shouldn’t have assumed anything.”

“Father says she’s a bad person.”

Dick grimaced. Denying it would betray the many innocent lives she and the League had ruined. He'd looked into Talia al Ghul after meeting Damian and hadn’t been able to find a single redeeming quality.

Except that apparently, she really did care for her son.

“That doesn’t mean you can’t miss her. You can’t help your feelings.”

“These feelings are pathetic.”

“They’re human.”

The kid scoffed. “Spoken like a pathetic weakling.”

“What do you miss about her?”

“I miss meditating with her before breakfast,” Damian muttered after a pause. “I miss speaking Farsi.”

More silence.

“I miss my Mom too, sometimes,” Dick said when the silence stretched too far.

Damian tensed against his side. The others must’ve told him about the fate of the Flying Graysons. He’d been the only one unfazed to learn his name, not yet here long enough to know about the now thirteen-year-old case.

Thirteen years. It’d really been a while.

He smiled down into the gardens. “She used to call me her little Robin.” Maybe this wasn’t what the kid needed to hear when he was already homesick, but he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Haly’s since yesterday. He’d been trying so hard to forget. To move on. But looking down at his parents’ faces, he’d realised they hadn’t deserved to be forgotten.

Damian pulled a face. “After the tiny, red-breasted thrush?”

Dick smiled. “Apparently, I was always hopping around. I used to hate the nickname, but she just refused to stop.” He pulled out the photo Tim had given him. “When I was finally old enough to join their act, she sewed us all new costumes. Guess where she got the inspiration.”

“The design was certainly… unique,” Damian said as he peered down at their colorful costumes, chests bright robin red, limbs a mix of clashing greens and yellows.

Dick snorted. "That’s one word for it. I knew she used the name with love, but I couldn't help but feel like she was calling me tiny and helpless. Only when we tried on the costumes for the first time, I realised she could’ve just sewn me one that matched theirs. Instead, she'd taken the extra time to make something new that represented all three of us. Something so bright people couldn’t help but watch us fly.”

He brushed his thumb over the photo, other arm still draped over Damian’s shoulders. The kid hadn’t moved at all since being pressed against his side.

“Wearing that costume should’ve been embarrassing,” he said, “and Robin was a very silly nickname, but that was exactly why owning it made me feel brave.”

He’d only gotten to wear the costume twice before the flying Graysons permanently retired, but he’d never forgotten about the name. Before Nightwing, it'd been Robin who he’d dreamed of being. He’d brush over the R on his chest and pretended it stood for Robin instead of Renegade, vowing to keep the memory of his parents alive, even if it was all in his head for now.

He’d hesitated between Robin and Nightwing after escaping, but in the end, Robin just didn’t fit anymore. Too much had changed for him to do the name justice, and the colors would've too impractical for stealth.

Speaking of names.

“Have you picked a name yet, anyway?”

Damian let out a suffering sigh, some of his normal bravado returning to his voice. “I do not understand what is wrong with Batboy. There have been multiple Batgirls. Cain chose Black Bat, and Drake’s bird-and-color theme is a blatant rip-off of the original. It really shouldn’t be as off-putting as those imbeciles make it out to be.”

The original. That was the first time any of the bats had referenced Blue Jay, Batman’s first sidekick. Excluding Barbara Gordon's Batgirl, of course, but she'd been semi-independent from the start. In comparison, Jason Todd hadn't just been Batman's sidekick. He'd been Bruce Wayne's son.

Things hadn’t ended well for him. The official story had been a plane crash, but that had only been a cover. NO, the kid's career had ended when Joker blew him up in some random warehouse in Ethiopia.

He’d been fifteen.

Dick and Slade had never been able to learn the full context of what had happened, the only news on the subject coming as whispers to stay away from Gotham until Batman stopped turning his grief into violence.

None of the bats had mentioned incident since he'd met them, and he hadn’t asked. It just seemed like an old wound not meant to be torn back open, even if logically, none of them except for Batman himself and Oracle would’ve met Blue Jay before he died.

But this wasn’t about Blue Jay, this was about Damian needing a little nudge away from Batboy.

“I don’t think the name itself is the problem,” Dick said. “It’s that you didn’t even think about it. The others all chose to join Batman, and their names represent that. You, on the other hand, were sent here by someone else.”

Damian grimaced.

“Choosing Batboy is fine if that’s what you really want,” Dick said gently, “but is it what you really want? Or is it just what you were told to want? You have a choice, now. I think that’s why they're all so against it—they want you to be your own person.”

Damian frowned down at the roof. “Their adverse reaction does make more sense with this context.” He finally broke free from Dick’s hold and looked him in the eye. “Thank you, Grayson. I will heed your advice and think about this before committing to a persona.”

Grayson. It felt weird, but the kid called the others by their last names, too, didn’t he?

He’d allow it.

“No problem, Dami.”

The wind picked up, beginnings of rain leaving dark splotches on the roof. They really should get back inside, even if climbing down was going to be awful. His back already ached just thinking about it. They’d both needed this conversation, but he’d much rather be having it inside than up here.

He cast one last longing look at the iron gate in the distance. “I don’t suppose you’re thankful enough to help me escape?”

At that, Damian cracked a rare smile. “No.”

Before leaving him in front of Damian’s room, Cass had told Dick to go by the kitchen and pick up lunch for all of them after he was done apologising. Knowing her, it was just an excuse to get him to meet this ‘Alfred’, but the combination of skipping breakfast and feeling less shitty than yesterday made him agree quickly.

When he’d heard they had a butler who prepared most of their meals, he’d imagined him a proper and posh gentleman. He’d immediately given himself a slap on the wrist for that—because of course anyone could be working the kitchen Damian was leading him to.

Then he met Alfred Pennyworth, whose picture could’ve replaced the words proper and posh in the dictionary.

“It’s wonderful to finally meet you, Master Grayson,” he said as they shook hands. “I'm looking forward to your reunion with Master Bruce—I must admit I had lost faith the day would come.”

Dick opened his mouth, then closed it. The word reunion felt wrong when Bruce Wayne had just been in the audience the night his parents fell, but Mr. Pennyworth had said it with the kind of certainty that didn’t allow discourse. “I— yeah, likewise. Thanks for having me.”

And the butler must’ve seen the doubt in his eyes when he said, “I have served the Waynes for a long time, dear boy. Long enough to know Master Bruce will be delighted to see you regardless of circumstance.”

Dick hoped the smile he gave back was less dead than it felt.

Thankfully, Mr. Pennyworth didn’t press further. “I hope the meals thus far have been satisfactory?”

Satisfactory. Like that sandwich had been the best thing he’d ever tasted. The hot chocolate had been amazing, too, made with real melted chocolate and milk instead of the powder and hot water he'd used back at his apartment.

Mr. Pennyworth gave Damian a fond look. “A most wonderful suggestion from the young sir.”

Damian scoffed. “I simply assumed more proper beverages would be too bitter for Grayson’s juvenile taste.”

Dick squeezed the boy's shoulder. “And you assumed right.”

Mr. Pennyworth smiled. “I dare say, you are going to fit right in.”

The butler had lunch already prepared and ready for them to take to the others, two giant plates of sandwiches and a smaller one with a vegetarian option just for Damian. He’d taken Batman’s ‘no killing’ rule to heart.

Thankfully, Mr. Pennyworth—call me Alfred, young sir—pulled out an old-school service cart instead of expecting them to carry the plates. Climbing up and down the roof had left him the kind of hollow that meant doing anything but getting from point a to b made his limbs ache, and he didn’t want Damian to carry anything heavy that could pull at his shoulder.

“Are you not coming?” Damian asked when Alfred didn't follow them out of the kitchen. The kid might’ve called him ‘the help’ yesterday, but it was pretty clear he was very much a part of their patchwork family.

“Heavens no,” Alfred said. “I have much to prepare with Master Bruce coming back this evening. You young sirs give the others my regards.”

“You’re sure this is it?” Dick asked when they stopped in front of yet another nondescript door. Damian hadn’t had any trouble finding the kitchen, but the game room had been another story.

Dick hadn’t wanted to complain, but his head had really started to throb after the third dead end.

Fuck concussions.

Muffled shouting came from the other side of the door.

“—ou’re the one who—”

“—B was here, he’d—”

“Stop it, or—”

Damian shot him a look. “I’m fairly certain. Now if you will excuse me,” he said as he reached for the plate with vegetarian sandwiches, “I am going back to my room.”

Dick swatted his hand away. “No you aren't. There's no way you’re leaving me alone with your crazy family.”

They both flinched when something crashed on the other side of the door, followed by more yelling.

“You’re free to join me,” Damian said.

The offer was tempting. Whatever was going on inside didn’t sound good for his budding headache. Even if they were just messing around in there, they were bound to rope him into something, regardless of his wishes.

Still. The fact that Damian hadn’t been able to find this room after living here for months…

It didn’t sit right, especially after Cass had said they hung out here often.

Dick grabbed the door handle. “If I have to suffer, so do you.”

They both braced as he opened the door.

“Fuck you!” Tim said with an uncharacteristic vigor, his back turned to them as he reached for the laptop in Steph’s hands.

She twisted just in time to keep him away. “You promised, Tim!”

Cass gave the two wrestling figures an exasperated look. She sat in a beanbag placed next to an old couch, the TV bolted to the wall in front of her frozen on some sort of racing game.

Tim's eyes bored into the laptop high above his head. “B could be in danger. He could need help, or be hurt, or—”

"You're right, but we have to give him time, Tim. You know we risk all our identities if we interfere too early. Even Alfie’s.”

Tim made a frustrated noise. “I’m not saying we have to suit up right this moment, but we have to be ready when he sends the message. I really think he’s in trouble.”

“Like you’re going to be any help like this."

“What’s that supposed to mean?"

"Steph's right," a familiar voice said, "there’s no sense in burning ourselves out before the times comes.” Oracle sat at the scuffed dining table that crowded the other half of the room, silhouette framed by the bookcase stuffed with board games behind her.

She looked exactly like she’d had on TV—red hair bunched up in a ponytail, knees pressed together in a simple self-pushing wheelchair, keen eyes that looked directly at the open door.

She smiled at him. "Now let's have lunch.”

“Okay, but like, what have you played before?”

Damian frowned at the futuristic-looking game systems from his spot on the couch, seeming very much out of his depth. “We did not have time for these… video games in Nanda Parbat.”

Steph grabbed another controller and pushed it into his hands. “More Mario Kart it is.”

“You could’ve just given him mine,” Tim mumbled from his beanbag. “Since you clearly don’t care about my belongings or general autonomy.”

Cass kicked him from her own beanbag and gave him a dirty look.

She hadn’t been exaggerating when she’d said Tim needed a heavy hand to be kept from spiraling. Even if the kid understood the logic in what the others were saying, waiting seemed to be his worst punishment, even if it was only a few hours until Batman came back.

If Batman came back.

Because the more Dick heard about this mission, the more he realised Tim was very much right to be concerned.

It had been a mess right from the start, a last-ditch effort after all their normal investigations had failed. The Court of Owls was the old money of Gotham, the dark side of high-society, working so deep in the shadows the bats hadn’t known about their existence until they’d accidentally stumbled upon a lead a few weeks ago.

The Owls had a secret base somewhere in Gotham where they were turning innocent people into Talons, mindless zombies that were near impossible to kill and even more impossible to restrain. As far as they knew, the process was irreversible.

Not finding their lair just wasn’t an option, so when Batman couldn’t figure it out, Bruce Wayne had decided to give it a shot. It made sense, with the Owls only accepting Gotham’s old money into their cult.

But that it made sense didn’t mean that going undercover as yourself wasn't a terrible idea. Now getting compromised didn’t mean ditching a fake ID. No, it meant putting everyone linked to the Wayne name into the crossfire with no masks to hide behind.

Which, ironically, was also the reason the others were right to wait—because if Bruce Wayne hadn’t been discovered, then going in guns blazing might just give the Owls the final clue they needed.

It was a big mess.

Steph plopped down into the third and final beanbag after she’d pushed the controller into Damian’s hands.

“You're not going to tell him how to play?” Barbara asked. She had her laptop open on her lap, occasionally looking away from the screen to join their conversation. Unlike Tim, she could apparently be trusted to not burn herself out as she kept an eye on vigilante stuff.

He hadn’t been ready to meet her. She was the oldest out of all of them, the one who’d been here the longest, even counting Blue Jay. The comms always went quiet when she spoke, but in person, even a breath was enough to make the others turn their heads to listen.

She’d told him to call her Babs, but he just couldn’t do it.

Steph waved towards Dick, who was sitting next to Damian on the couch. “He can help him figure it out—he can't really play with his concussion, anyway.”

Dick swallowed. They’d had an old TV at Haly's, but they’d only used it to watch back the VHS tapes of their performances. The only time he’d held a controller was when a local boy had invited him and a few other carney kids home so they could marvel at the little box plugged into his TV. They’d all taken turns playing some sort of fighting game, mashing buttons until the screen declared a victor.

Of course Slade hadn’t seen any reason to let his apprentice waste his time like that, and then he’d been free and hadn't had a single desire to indulge in something like this, his days already way too short to get things done.

Damian stared at the screen. “What are these pathetic options?”

The others had already locked in their characters, all of them weird-looking monster hybrids. Were they sure this was a racing game?

Luckily, Damian’s icon already blinked on one of the more normal looking ones, only one button-press needed to move on.

No such luck next time.

“Why is the default vehicle a dolphin?” Damian asked with genuine confusion.

“Because fun,” Cass said. Her character was a little green dinosaur, because of course it was.

And just like that, all of them except Damian had picked the dolphin bike in solidarity.

Then the screen split into four, Damian shooting him a panicked look as the countdown began.

Dick peered down at the controller, heart beating in his throat. “Just—press this one, maybe? And steer with— no— no, that one, I think?”

Damian’s character moved backwards.

Dick reached for the controller. “Maybe you should—”

Damian jerked his hands away, faith in Dick lost the moment he opened his mouth. “What is wrong with this infernal—”

They both were helpless to stop the bike from driving backwards off a cliff, screen going black.

All the other bikes had stopped moving, too.

They all stared at him.

Fuck.

Steph lowered her controller. “You… have played Mario Kart before, right?”

She’d asked it like he’d never breathed air.

“Of course I have,” Dick bit back. He grabbed the controller out of Damian’s hands so he could prove his point, but the moment he touched the damn thing, the screen froze into a menu. He stared down at his hands, not a clue how to undo the move.

“Oh my god,” Tim said. He was smiling now, a genuine shit-eating grin he hadn’t worn since before the Arkham breakout. “You’re serious?”

Dick sighed. Was it too late to blame this on his concussion? “And so what if I am?”

Steph let out a breath that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. “I’m sorry, just—” she pointed to Damian’s character. “You don’t know his name?”

Dick  frowned at the screen. “Why would I? It’s just a guy wearing red overalls.”

Silence.

“Oh my god,” Tim said again.

Dick glared at him. Glad to know that making fun of him was enough to get him out of his funk.

“No bullying,” Cass said, but even she was trying to hide a smile.

“I do not understand the issue,” Damian said, bless his soul. “I have never seen this man before, either.”

“Yes, but you’re a ten-year-old who was raised in a monastery,” Tim said. “Dick is an adult who owns a TV.”

Dick gave him a look. “Are you done?”

Steph shook her head in mock disappointment. “Sorry, but you might as well say you’ve never seen a Disney movie.”

Dick grimaced. This time, the silence felt heavy. The stares accusatory enough for him to rake his brain for any knowledge on the subject. Pop culture hadn’t exactly been on the top of his list of things to catch up on. “I know about Disney,” he said slowly. “Like, Lion King, right?”

Steph squinted her eyes. “What happens in the Lion King?”

“Uh. A lion becomes a king?”

“I’m convinced,” Barbara said without looking up from her laptop.

Steph huffed out a laugh. “Okay, that one's easy. What about Bambi? Or the little mermaid? Mulan?”

Dick blinked.

“I suppose I should ridicule you imbeciles for not knowing the difference between Kashmiri chai and Japanese milk tea, if we are now judging each other’s worth based on obscure trivia,” Damian bit.

Steph sprung to her feet, controller forgotten next to her beanbag. “Aww, Damian, we’re not judging him.” She opened a cabinet, rummaging through the DVD cases until she pulled out one with a lion on the cover. “We’re teasing, the difference being that we’re now going to watch Lion King and show you both exactly what you've been missing.”

The others shared a look.

“Let’s maybe not start with that one, actually,” Tim said.

Steph frowned, DVD case already open in her palm. After a few seconds, realization dawned on her face and she put the case back without bothering to explain.

“So how are we feeling about Mulan?”

And even if this was all going to end in a few hours. Even if the last few months had led him closer and closer to the sun until he crashed and burned—

He'd much rather have this fleeting belonging than another twenty years of loneliness.

Chapter Text

The cave was empty and cast in darkness. Dick sneaked towards the bikes parked on the other platform, the backpack he’d snagged pushing against his back. Thankfully, five days of bandages and miracle cream made it uncomfortable instead of grating against the burns.

The suit and grappling gun stashed inside were tattered and barely functional, but after losing his job at the club and missing a week’s worth of shifts at the gym, he didn’t have the reserves to buy replacements.

He stepped towards the least expensive looking bike and crouched to find the wires he needed to cut. It was already five in the morning, which meant he wouldn’t have long until the bats returned. This was the first night they’d stayed out long enough for Alfred to retire before they made it back, leaving the comms to Oracle in the Clock Tower so he could go drag a scowling but yawning Damian to bed.

Dick brushed his fingers over the wires, squinting to see if he grabbed the right one. Turning on the lights might set off an alarm. He’d swiped a wrist-computer to open the garage door, but if he had to use it to disable an alarm, first, Cardinal might revoke his access remotely before he could make it outside.

Then again, the odds of Cardinal caring enough to interfere were pretty low when the kid hadn’t come back to the cave once since suiting up that first night.

That had been a dumpster fire and a half. All of the bats had suited up to go meet Batman, even little Damian. His shoulder had still been hurt, but they wouldn’t be fighting, anyway.

Dick could’ve fled that night, too, left alone with Alfred and Oracle in the cave. He probably should’ve, but instead, he’d stood right next to them as they ran the comms.

Because something in his gut knew Batman wouldn’t be coming home that night.

And so he’d still been there when they returned, sun already peeking over the horizon, Batman still missing and Cardinal now gone, too.

Dick cut the two correct wires and pushed their ends together, engine sputtering to life. The sound thundered through the quiet cave, an necessary evil if he wanted to leave.

And he had to leave.

They hadn’t said it outright, but he could see it in their glances, in the way their shoulders hunched and their mouths pulled down when they talked to him—

They knew he had to be relieved that Batman hadn’t come home. Knew he’d only stayed because he’d had no hope from the beginning.

And when they all so desperately wanted their father back, that knowledge must leave a bitter aftertaste each time he crossed their paths.

He swung his leg over the bike and kicked on the ignition. Staying would be selfish.

Floodlights blinded him. He averted his eyes and pressed a hand to his face, trying to blink away the spots clouding his vision. When he could see again, he stared right into the headlights of the Batmobile.

“Going somewhere?” A voice called from behind. Oracle sat behind the computer on the other platform, face half amused, half disappointed.

He thought she was at the Clock Tower.

She was supposed to be at the Clock Tower.

Still. Dick didn’t step off the bike. If he backed off now, they might never let him leave. “You can’t keep me here forever.”

The engine of the Batmobile roared, wheels twisting in place. “The remote control works all the way to Metropolis.”

“Me being here isn’t helping anyone. You guys are busy. I have a job back in Blud. I’m very grateful for the help, but we all know this can’t last forever.”

After a tense silence, Oracle sighed. “You’re right.”

“I am?”

The headlights blinding him flickered out. Oracle gave him a wry smile. “Keeping you here against your will isn't very heroic, right?”

Dick blinked. “You’re letting me go?”

She turned her wheelchair back towards the computer and made the screen come to life. “I want you to see something first. But then, yes.” She sifted through old files, fingers gliding over the keyboard. The rest of the cave was still dark, lights only illuminating her and the screen.

Dick looked towards the exit, then back to Oracle. It might be a trap, but there was no way he was getting out of the cave without her blessing, anyway. She wouldn’t go against her word. If Oracle said he could leave after this, she would let him leave.

He turned off the engine.

A photo of his eight-year-old face appeared on the screen. Dick blinked. He remembered this one, the mugshot he’d been forced to make on his very first day of juvie. His hair tucked behind his ears, blue eyes empty and staring forward with dark bags smearing their underside. That cursed orange jumper had made him feel like a criminal. Next to the photo there was a brief description of his features, age and history right up until he’d gone with Slade.

Dick quietly stepped to Oracle's side. “What's this?”

“Your file. Or rather Richard Grayson’s—we still need to merge it with the Nightwing one.”

Oracle clicked on something on the sidebar, making the entire screen fill with text. Leads. Evidence. Transcripts of conversations between Pop Haly and the police, of conversations between his caseworkers, circus folk, friends of the family, the list went on. Copies of official documents they must’ve stolen.

The list seemed endless as Oracle scrolled through it.

All of this. All of this for him. He just couldn’t believe someone would care this much. Would try this much. Would keep going when every lead was another dead end for thirteen long years. They hadn’t even known each other. Batman had just been at the show. Sure, he might’ve sympathized because he’d also lost his parents at a similar age, but to do all of this…

“Why are you showing me this?” Dick asked. Was she trying to guilt him into staying? If so, she could keep trying. This knowledge was nothing more than a feather weighing against the piles of lead that was Renegade's sins.

Oracle finally got to the bottom of the list, files dating all the way back to the year he’d disappeared. “Do you remember meeting B?”

“I never did.” Excluding the time Batman had scared the shit out of him at his apartment over a month ago, but that didn’t count.

“So that’s a no.”

Dick frowned. “What do you—”

A video of his eight-year-old face appeared on screen, shivering as he scowled up at the camera. The footage was grainy and jerked like the lens was strapped to someone’s head.

“I thought you’d promised to stay put,” a gruff voice said.

Dick stilled as he stared at the screen.

Strapped to Batman’s head.

Eight-year-old Dick grimaced down at the rooftop. “Your friend didn’t show,” he said in a thick Romani accent. He’d forgotten how shitty his English had been.

Batman sighed. “I’m sorry, Dick. They want to make extra sure he’s a good person before letting you meet him.”

The boy shook his head. “What does it matter? He cannot be worse than prison.”

“It’s not a prison.”

“Then why do they lock the doors?”

“It won’t be forever.”

“I don’t want to stay there,” tiny Dick mumbled with a miserable expression. “It’s cold at night, the food is bad and we have to stay inside always. The adults are mean and my roommate calls me a gypsy thief—” the kid’s breath caught, angry tears welling up in his eyes. “I swear I did not steal his coat, but no one believes my words. They call me a liar and push me and— ”

Another sob, and then the camera moved past tiny Dick’s face, Batman crouching down to hug him.

“Hush, chum, I know you didn’t steal anything. I’m doing everything I can to get you somewhere safe, but you have to be strong just a little while longer. It’ll all be over soon.”

Another sniff. “You promise?”

The black gloves hugging Dick’s back squeezed just a little bit tighter. “I promise.”

The scene changed to a different night, weather grimier and night colder, Batman’s breath smoking from behind the camera. He looked over his shoulder, lens following his gaze to reveal eight-year-old Dick trailing after him, grinning as he somersaulted the gap between their buildings.

“Stop showing off,” Batman said. “We’re almost back at St. Helen’s.”

“Can’t I just come home with you?” Tiny Dick made a handstand and walked up and down along the roof’s ledge, swinging his legs in the air.

A hand moved from behind the camera and lifted the kid by his ankles, making him devolve into a giggling mess. “No.”

“I could be your sidekick,” Dick said, punching the air while dangling upside down. “Distract them with awesome flips while you beat them down.”

“Absolutely not.”

“But you’re out here all alone every night!” the kid whined. He kicked his legs until Batman let go, then twisted mid-air to land on his feet. “Don’t you need help? It been month and you still have not caught Zucco.”

Batman sighed. “Don’t worry about Zucco.”

“He murdered my parents,” Dick said, joking tone now completely gone.

“I know.”

“Then why won’t you let me help?”

A big, gloved hand engulfed the kid’s shoulder. “We talked about this, Dick. I don’t want you to lose yourself in revenge. I promised to bring Zucco to justice for you, and I will. But to do so, I need to find enough evidence to put him away for good. You have to be patient.”

Tiny Dick dropped his head. “It’s not fair.”

“No, it’s not.”

For a moment, both of them were silent.

Batman’s hand left Dick’s shoulder. “We should get you back. If they notice you sneaked out again, they might not let you see Mr. Wayne next week.”

At that, the kid perked up. “Is he really coming this time?”

“He is.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“And you trust him?”

The camera dropped to Dick’s level and looked him directly in the eye. “With my life and yours.”

The screen only just caught the kid’s smile before the recording froze.

And adult Dick kept staring.

Silent.

Unblinking.

Breath stuck in his throat.

Heart hammering against his ribs.

Because that was him. Old footage like this was near impossible to fabricate, which meant it had to be him.

Somehow, he knew it was him, even if he didn’t remember any of it.

Because he didn’t.

He didn’t remember.

He had sneaked out a lot, sure, but it had always been Slade who found him. Slade who had brought him back.

Slade who’d promised he’d get him out of there.

“That was the last time he saw you,” Oracle said quietly. Dick had almost forgotten she was there. “Whatever happened to you after, we thought you’d be happy to see him.” She gave him a sad smile. “But then you weren’t.”

Dick opened his mouth, then closed it. “I need to go,” he wheezed out, taking a step back. He needed to think about this. Needed to know what it all meant.

But he couldn’t do it here. Not like this.

Not when something—

Someone had messed with his mind.

Slade shouldn’t have had the power to do so.

But what if he had?

How much of his life was a lie?

“I’m sorry, I—” He turned back towards the bikes. “I need to think about this.”

“Dick—”

“You promised I could go.”

Oracle grimaced, but didn’t object. “Take the left one,” she said when Dick steered towards the bike he’d already hot-wired. “It's a gift.”

The bike was all black and sleek, the same kind of tech as their own vehicles, way too expensive to give away. It didn’t have a logo yet, but he could see where they were planning to spray paint the blue, the outline of his bird already etched into the metal.

Any other day he would’ve declined such an excessive donation, but today he gave Oracle a nod, put on the helmet on the seat, and kicked on the ignition.

“Don’t be a stranger,” Oracle said.

Dick twisted the bike into gear and sped away.

ORACLE
Check in, everyone.

SPOILER
Still chasing that lead at the docks

BLACK BAT
Listening for owl rumors at the iceberg.

BLACK BAT
Will move to a new location soon.

-*5 minutes Later*-

ORACLE
Check in, Cardinal, or I’m going to send someone to check up on you.

-*5 minutes Later*-

ORACLE
Anyone seen Cardinal tonight? Sent him a private message but he just turned off his tracker in response. He might be in trouble.

SPOILER
I’ll swing by his apartment

RED HOOD
Dont fucking bother

RED HOOD
Replacement just fucking crashed my meeting with mask and took the fuckers little talon toy

SPOILER
You met Black Mask without telling us????????

SPOILER
Not cool bro

BLACK BAT
>:C

RED HOOD
jesus christ

RED HOOD
Should I text next time I'm wiping my ass too?

SPOILER
Did you at least see where tim went???? Is he okay??

RED HOOD
The brat left me in a fucking gunfight

RED HOOD
 so who the fuck cares

SPOILER
harsh

RED HOOD
and leaving me to deal with his fucking mess isnt?

ORACLE
Stop it, everyone.

ORACLE
Hood, did you get anything out of Sionis?

RED HOOD
Of course not. Asked where he got his talon but he wouldn’t open his stupid fucking mouth even before replacement ruined it. They all know I’m with you brats.

SPOILER
That might not be a bad idea though?? to pose as someone new wanting to buy a talon???

SPOILER
It might get us to their lair at least

BLACK BAT
No.

ORACLE
Absolutely not.

ORACLE
 All of Gotham knows we’re looking for the owls by now. They’ll trust anyone new even less than Hood.

SPOILER
Then what do we do? Because no one I talk to knows anything and those zombies are too sneaky for even BB to follow

BLACK BAT
Sorry

SPOILER
Its not your fault, but B might be running out of time and were still no closer to finding these fuckers than we were two weeks ago

ORACLE
We have to keep going like we are.

ORACLE
They’ll slip up eventually.

RED CARDINAL
We can’t wait for eventually. They only made a single mistake in over a hundred years.

SPOILER
Where are you?????? you got your hands on a talon???

ORACLE
Turn your tracker back online. Now.

RED CARDINAL
I’ll explain later.

RED CARDINAL
 I need to go.

*RED CARDINAL WENT OFFLINE*

ORACLE
Sigh.

BLACK BAT
:/

SPOILER 
Idiot

Someone had done something to his mind.

To his memories.

It was hard to concentrate with the bats bickered in their group chat, words flying by inside his helmet as he sped back to Blüdhaven, rain flitting through his headlights and wind pulling at his limbs as he kept the bike steady.

They were desperate to find Batman. Batman, who had gone missing while risking everything to save strangers from being turned into talons.

Batman, who had fought for eight-year-old Dick, and had kept fighting for him for thirteen years.

Slade had kept him away from Gotham. Had wanted him afraid of Batman and everything he stood for. Had convinced him there’d been no other life for him but the violence and the murder, the running and the fear.

Dick switched lanes at the last second and took the next exit towards the docks.

He was done playing Slade’s games.

If the owls wouldn’t trust anyone new, he wouldn’t be anyone new.

There was one part of Renegade he hadn’t been able to get rid of.

He had needed those swords. No other weapon had felt right in his hands, and when running from a dangerous mercenary, he couldn’t afford to stumble.

When he’d gotten to Blüdhaven he’d kept them down in the sewers, just the knowledge that they were there to fall back on giving him comfort as he bumbled around with his escrima.

Then, when he’d finally felt ready to let them go, the swords had been impossible to destroy.

No matter how much he heated the metal, the blades remained firm. Cutting it only left shallow scratches, even using materials that should’ve had no problem slicing through steel.

When they wouldn’t break he’d tried to bend them, but even dropping them in the city’s giant trash compactor had left them pristine on the other side.

In the end, he’d stolen a boat, sailed out as far as he dared, and gave the blades their final resting place below the waves.

He’d gone to bed content, after, only to wake up in the middle of the night with the empty scabbards staring back at him.

So he’d booted up his computer, figured out the coordinates he’d sailed to, and scribbled them down.

Just in case.

He’d hoped there’d never be a ‘just in case’, but here he was.

He peered down into the dark waves, tiny boat he’d borrowed seesawing despite being anchored. This was going to suck so bad. Not just because he hated swimming, or because the water was freezing, or because his back was still torn open—no, because he wasn’t sure what holding those blades would do to him.

He’d been getting better at curbing the instincts of Slade’s training. It had been a while since he’d slipped up, escrima more sure in his hands, reflexes having him aim for limbs instead of throats.

But what would happen if he gave the monster its claws back?

He’d vowed to never be Renegade again. And in a way he wouldn’t be, not if he was only using the name to get what he wanted.

He looked down into the water and steeled his resolve. If there had been another way, the bats would’ve found it by now. Every minute was one Batman was slipping further away, both from the family that deserved him, and from giving Dick the answers he needed.

He had defeated Renegade once. He could do so again.

He dived into the waves.

No one turned to look when he entered, but Dick knew he was being watched. Eyes flickering as people nursed their drinks, weight shifting on their bar stools as they whispered, arms tensing as they clutched their weapons below their tables.

Outsiders weren’t meant to find this dingy basement bar, the heart of Black Mask’s criminal empire.

Two burly men blocked his path. “Scram, if you know what’s good for you,” one of them said. “We ain’t serving strangers.”

“I’m here to see Roman Sionis.” His voice was deep and twisted through the modulator, just like Renegade’s had been. He hadn’t been able to get the tone a hundred percent matching, but it should be close enough.

The men shared an amused look. “Are you, now?” the left one asked. “On behalf of who?”

“Deathstroke the Terminator.”

The goons’ grins vanished. The whispers stopped. Everyone turned to look at him properly.

Dick straightened his shoulders and channeled every piece of confidence he could muster. His ‘suit’ was a mess of black Kevlar and orange fabric, and the full face mask he wore was just a hockey mask he’d spray-painted black.

But the guns on his hips were real, just like the knife on his belt, and, of course, the swords strapped to his back.

“Prove it,” right goon said.

Dick pushed both men aside and stepped forward. He could just draw one of his swords and show them the insignia on the base of the blade, but that wouldn’t be what Renegade would do. He was here on behalf of Deathstroke. Deathstroke, who was way above Black Mask.

Which meant Renegade was way above explaining himself to these lowly henchmen.

One of them laid a heavy hand on his shoulder as he tried to brush past. “Hold the fuck on, you—”

“Let go,” Dick said without turning around.

Of course the goon didn’t. “You’re going to regret—”

Dick sighed. He’d hoped it wouldn’t have to come to this, but Renegade wouldn’t hesitate. The one warning had already been one too many.

He reached over his shoulder, grabbed the hilt of his sword, and sliced right though the fingers holding him back.

The goon howled out as he pulled his hand back, pinkie and ring finger thudding to the floor.

Everyone in the room reached for their guns, but Dick was quicker, flicking the Glock from his belt and shooting a hole clean through the gunhand of the woman who’d been the fastest. To her credit, she didn’t scream as her weapon fell to the table.

Renegade pressed the tip of his sword against the guard who still had ten fingers, gun smoking in his other hand.

He let it point to the floor despite the dozen or so handguns still trained on his chest. Aiming the weapon would mean he wasn’t confident he’d be quicker than all of them. Meant he thought one shot wouldn’t be enough to shut them up.

“Either you bring me to Sionis,” he said, pushing his blade against the man’s chest, “or I will find him myself.”

The entire room held its breath, guns clicking, blades glinting, the man whose fingers he’d cut quietly whimpering.

Then, the man held at blade point deflated. “Follow me.”

Black Mask wasn’t hard to recognise among his henchmen. His entire head was hidden by a realistic black skull, only his eyes peeking through. He and his merry men sat around a table littered with playing cards and drinks, the bud of a cigar still smoking from the ashtray as the villain flicked his lighter and lit the next one.

“ ’Scuse me boss," the goon leading Dick said as he entered, "but—”

Everyone's heads turned towards the open door. “What now?" Black Mask asked. "Can’t you idiots leave me the fuck alone for a single hour?”

“You have a guest.”

Black Mask’s eyes widened as Dick stepped into the room. His gaze lingered on the orange hilts sticking from his shoulders for a second too long before he schooled his expression back into an amused grin. “Wilson’s guard dog.”

Dick let out a quiet breath behind his mask. He’d been afraid his defection had become common knowledge, but if there were any rumors about him ditching Slade, they hadn’t reached Gotham yet. For once, Slade’s nature to deny and cover up his mistakes worked for Dick's advantage.

“I prefer Renegade.”

“Renegade,” Black Mask repeated, each syllable rolling over his tongue. “Bit pompous, isn't it?”

Dick didn’t respond.

“So what does your master want, then?”

Good. No beating around the bush or small talk. “He has need of a Talon," Dick said, "and has tasked me with contacting the Court to make a deal.”

Black Mask leaned forward on his chair and gave him a cheshire grin. “And I take it that task was harder than it seemed?“

“They remain… elusive.”

Mask snapped his fingers. "The Owls like to stick to their shadows,” he said as a golden shape dropped down from the ceiling.

Dick had to give everything to stop himself from flinching as the Talon landed right in front of him.

The creature’s body was covered in gold and black armor, skin on its neck and hands ghostly pale, glowing yellow eyes framed by an owl-shaped mask, its design vaguely familiar like he might've seen it on TV somewhere. Golden claws had replaced its nails, curved and wicked, looking sharp enough to tear through bone.

It stood deathly still in front of him, head bowed and hands hung at its side as it waited for its master to command it to move. There was something inherently wrong with its silence. Something that didn’t just make it seem inhuman, but unalive. Unnatural.

With a start, Dick realised it wasn’t even breathing.

And he’d thought Slade had turned him into a monster.

He sidestepped the Talon, forcing himself to keep his gaze on Mask and away from those wicked claws. “I heard rumors yours got destroyed, but I guess those were baseless whispers.”

Mask waved his hand. “Oh, one of those batbrats did break one, but the Court isn’t stingy with replacements as long as I supply them fresh recruits.”

Disgusting, vile man. “I see.”

“Talon, heel.”

The Talon turned away from Dick, not making a sound as it knelt at its master’s side like a fucking dog.

Oh, Slade would have absolutely loved one of these.

Black Mask took a long drag from his cigar. “So what does Deathstroke offer in exchange?”

Moment of truth.

Dick detached the briefcase he’d brought from his belt and showed the villain the cash inside. He’d pulled from every reserve he had, selling most of his furniture and even going by the gym to ask for an early paycheck. He wouldn’t be able to afford rent next month, but he hadn’t wanted to stay there, anyway. The cot in his safe house would do just fine.

Put together like this, it still was a measly amount for what he was asking.

Mask didn’t seem pleased, either. “How much?”

“Ten grand now, the other ninety after we’ve made contact with the owls.”

“A hundred thousand?” Black Mask gestured to the Talon. “That all you think one of these is worth?”

As he feared. Slade would’ve at least offered a mil for something like this, but promising that much with only ten grand up front would’ve been really suspicious.

“He’s not buying it from you,” Dick bit back. He closed the briefcase and shoved it on the table, empty glasses and the smoking ashtray clinking as they were pushed aside. “Consider it a tip on top of not making a dangerous enemy.”

Black Mask tapped the cigar against his chin, gaze on the ashtray wobbling dangerously close to the edge. “Are you threatening me?”

“I’m simply relaying my master’s wishes.”

The room was silent as Mask considered the deal. “I accept on one condition,” he said. “I tell Deathstroke personally.”

Of course. The one thing he couldn’t promise.

“He’s not in the city.”

Mask’s mouth curled into a sly grin. “So the rumours are true, then? The Bat really does makes old Wilson shit himself?”

Dick forced himself to grimace at the insult aimed at his ‘master’. He couldn’t care less, but Renegade wouldn’t be allowed to let something like that slide. “Watch your words.” He pulled one of his swords and aimed it at Mask’s chest. “You are but a—”

The Talon jumped the table and threw itself at the blade.

Dick stumbled back as its claws raked the steel. The Talon’s other hand reached for his face, but Dick found his footing and ducked just in time. The Talon followed as he jumped backwards, crowding him, going for his throat and eyes.

Then, a blow he couldn’t dodge.

No time to think. Dick darted out his blade and sliced right through the Talon’s wrist.

He froze in horror as the severed hand fell to the floor. He’d meant to disarm, but the Talon’s weapon op choice had been fused to its hand.

God, he hadn’t—

He couldn’t—

The Talon didn’t stop moving. It struck out its remaining hand, claws whizzing towards Dick’s eyes.

“Enough.”

The creature left thick grooves in Dick’s mask as it pulled back. It picked up its severed limb and held it to its stump, black blood dripping from the wound.

When it once again knelt at its master’s side, its hand had already fused back to its arm.

Suddenly, Dick understood why Batman had risked going undercover to stop this. Ignoring the fact that these talons had been people once, to have soldiers that kept fighting even after losing a limb, that showed blind obedience and had no fear or morals—these things could grant an evil heart anything it might desire.

“Tell your master,” Black Mask said, “that I don’t make deals with pets. Now get out.”

So that had been a disaster.

Dick leaned against a dumpster a few alleyways away from Black Mask’s bar. He was still deep in enemy territory, but he needed a moment to catch his breath after everything that had happened.

After what he’d done.

When he’d made the decision to dive up his swords, he’d known he’d have to use them to some extend. A slice here, a finger there—only if people deserved it, and only if he consciously made the decision. But cutting off that hand hadn’t been conscious. It had been instinct. Reflex.

Renegade.

He sighed. And it had been for nothing, because Black Mask had been his only lead. The bats would probably know more villains who employed talons, but they would never give him that info without asking what he wanted to do with it.

If they would even talk to him again at all, after he’d left without saying goodbye.

He pushed his nails into his palms and shook his head. Don’t think about that right now. He had to figure out his next move.

The longer he rooted around as Renegade, the bigger the chance was that rumours would eventually reach Slade, but what choice did he have? He’d already dropped Deathstroke’s name to Black Mask. There was no pedalling back now—he needed to focus on finding Batman and worry about the rest later.

A message popped up inside his mask. He'd left his phone down in the sewers, but somewhere during the days he'd spent at the manor, they'd helped him connect Nightwing's number to his suit.

RED HOOD
So I take it you ain’t gonna to tell them.

Dick grimaced. Right. Today had been the last day of Hood’s ultimatum. He’d forgotten all about it in the chaos.

NIGHTWING
Please give me a few more days with everything going on

RED HOOD
I’ve given you a million fucking chances.

NIGHTWING
Please

Hood typed for a long time on the other side of the screen, over ten seconds of the text icon stuttering on and off.

RED HOOD
look

RED HOOD
Just tell them, okay?

RED HOOD
Theyre not gonna give a shit

And just.

Out here, his old swords on his back, his reflection in the puddles at his feet staining the alley orange, any sound he made twisted and wrong through his mask—

He couldn’t deal with this tonight.

NIGHTWING
Why do you even care If you think they’re not going to give a shit??

NIGHTWING
you might as well mind your business

NIGHTWING
Go have a midlife crisis or something

RED HOOD
Jesus christ

RED HOOD
Im fukcing trying to help??

RED HOOD
Im THIS close saying fuck it and letting you burn yourself to the fucking ground

NIGHTWING
You say fuck every other fucking word anyway

NIGHTWING
Might as well add another to the list and fuck off

RED HOOD
God youre so fucking annoying

RED HOOD
Look.

RED HOOD
I hid who I was from them for a long time. All it did was waste fucking years of my life on petty bullshit.

RED HOOD
Its not fucking worth it.

RED HOOD
Its NEVER fucking worth it

-*Nightwing went offline*-

RED HOOD
Oh youre so fukcing dead

When Dick looked up from typing on his wrist, yellow eyes stared back at him.

The Talon crouched on the fire escape above him, golden mask and claws flickering as cars zipped past the dark alley.

Dick drew his swords and took a fighting stance. Had Mask changed his mind about letting him go?

The Talon cocked its head. “Renegade?” it asked, voice raspy and quiet from disuse.

Dick kept his swords aimed at its throat. Even if it didn't seem hostile right now, he wouldn’t be caught off guard again. “What do you want?”

The Talon took his words as an invitation to jump down into the alleyway. It was the same one as before, black blood still caking the place its wrist had been severed. “Renegade?”

“Yes.”

The Talon held out its claws with its palms facing up. “Prove it.”

Dick hesitated, then placed one of his swords in the creature’s hands. Something told him it wasn't Mask who had sent it here. Posturing would mean nothing to the owls and even less to the Talon.

It brushed its claws over the insignia at the base of the blade, twisting the sword to look at the hilt. Satisfied, it handed it back to Dick.

“The masters will see you.” It beckoned him to follow, then scaled the fire escape and disappeared over the edge of the building.

Dick stared after it. Every nerve in his body screamed to run the other way, but this was what he’d wanted, wasn’t it? To be led to the owls’ secret base? He needed to find Batman. Needed to find answers. Needed to stop these owls from turning people into monsters.

He sheathed his swords and followed.

Chapter Text

In the beginning the Talon peered over its shoulder every other rooftop, but once it realised Dick had no trouble keeping up, it quickened its pace and stopped looking back.

Even with the familiar burden of his swords and the heavy Kevlar of his improvised Renegade suit weighing him down, the Talon couldn’t outrun him. It might be faster than a normal human, but so was he.

Dick’s gaze darted over the horizon as he followed. They were in Gotham, after all. In Gotham, every rooftop could have eyes.

He wasn’t sure what he’d do if the bats confronted him like this, dressed in orange and conspiring with the enemy. He could only hope the voice modulator and changed weapons would be enough to stop them from recognising him.

But then again—

If they didn’t recognise him, he’d have to fight them, and their hands wouldn’t magically reattach to their bodies.

He pushed forward and caught up with the Talon. They made eye contact, and the creature seemed to understand. This time it sped up in earnest, barely leaving a shadow as it flitted across the rooftops.

Dick followed.

He’d thought the Talon had been joking when it lifted a manhole cover, but the creature jumped down with a kind of grace that betrayed it'd done it hundreds of times.

He wasn't judging—how could he, when he also used the sewers—but the bats had searched down here even more than they had up top, knowing these tunnels would be perfect to get talons through the city unnoticed. They'd found nothing, of course, and decided to focus on the old subway tunnels instead. People rich enough to buy single use yachts wouldn’t care much for the stench of sewage.

Which meant he was probably being led to an entrance just for talons. If he’d actually been here on Slade’s behalf, he might’ve made a fuss about that.

But he wasn’t, and he couldn’t afford a fight.

If a single talon had been enough to best him, Nightwing had little hope of stopping these owls on his own. Sure the creature had caught him off guard, but even in a fair fight it would’ve had the upper hand. The only way to win would've been through cutting off its limbs, but that meant he’d have to cut off its limbs. The way he was now, the thought had him swallowing back bile.

Renegade would’ve just decapitated the thing and be done with it, but these talons had been human once, and the talonisation process might still be reversible. The bats hadn’t been sure yet whether they could fabricate a cure when he'd sped out of the cave, but they’d been close enough to a breakthrough that he couldn’t risk taking talons down permanently.

No, he needed to find out where the owls’ hideout was, find out where they were keeping Batman, then make up some lie and get the hell out.

He only needed Renegade to do the part the bats couldn’t. After this, he was sending them the coordinates, and if they still wanted to talk to him, they could deal with the owls together.

Red Hood might not like it, but then again, that asshole would probably hate air if he didn’t need it to breathe.

The Talon stopped in the middle of the sewer tunnel. It whispered a claw over a bump in one of the pillars, the imperfection in the concrete resembling the heart-shaped face of an owl just barely enough to dismiss if you weren’t looking for it.

At the Talon’s touch, the bricks between the pillar and the next one quivered, opening up to reveal a brand new tunnel on the other side.

No wonder the bats hadn’t been able to find this place.

The wall closed behind them when they stepped through, leaving no sign of an exit.

No turning back now.

The new tunnel was almost three times the size of the sewer, walls, ceiling, and floor all made from the same glossy white material that hurt to look at. There were no doors, no signs with directions. The Talon went left, then right. They crossed a four-way intersection, then three more, each corner they turned leading to more empty tunnels.

“What is this place?” Dick muttered. Because what was the point of having a hidden base if you were just going to fill it with empty corridors?

“Labyrinth,” the Talon’s raspy voice answered.

Dick blinked. He hadn’t expected a reply. “You better not be leading me into a trap.”

“The masters will see you.”

“I don’t see your masters here.”

They turned another corner, coming to a dead end. “Masters do not enter labyrinth. Talon only.”

“Then why—”

The dead end wall in front of them slid open to reveal a grand staircase.

The Talon looked back for the first time since the rooftops, gaze boring into Dick’s mask. “Talons not allowed other way.”

And something in its voice. It sounded different, like it wanted to say more but couldn’t.

Before Dick could ask, the moment ended, the Talon’s features once again carefully blank as it led him up the stairs.

At least that meant there had to be an easier way out than going back into that impossible maze.

The hallway the staircase led to could’ve been the main hall of a castle, endless paintings and tapestries covering the walls, each corner flanked by medieval suits of armour holding shields with crests that must belong to the scummy families running this cult.

In here, the golden features on the Talon’s suit blended into the decor, just another symbol of wealth and extravagance.

They walked instead of ran, the Talon bowing its head as they passed the occasional owl passing by. They all wore fancy dresses and suits, hiding their faces behind pure white owl masks.

Not exactly subtle, but who was he to judge when he was wearing a mask, too?

Most of the owls just watched them pass silently before turning back to their conversations, and the few who dared to ask backed off when the Talon bowed deeply and explained the Grandmaster had requested his presence.

He hadn’t expected this place to be this big. First the labyrinth, now this castle—it must’ve been built hundreds of years ago, when the sewers and subways had still been young.

To go unnoticed for that long… Cardinal had been right to say that waiting for the owls to slip up would’ve been pointless.

The Talon stopped and turned its head.

Two seconds later Dick heard it too, angry voices echoing through the corridor to their left.

The words were too muffled to make out, but their meaning wasn’t hard to understand. The Talon took a fighting stance.

A figure darted from the hallway. He tried to run past them but the Talon blocked his path. He turned the other way, but another Talon dropped from the ceiling and cut him off there, too. Then the angry voices finally caught up, two owls flanked by even more talons blocking off the his last escape route.

The intruder wore all black except for the red ‘X’ marring their white mask, a single katana strapped to their back. He didn’t look like a traditional ‘good guy’, but if he was being chased by owls, he was probably on the right side of the fence.

Still Dick hesitated, unsure of what to do. If he got caught now, he’d never be able to tell the bats about this place. Saving this single stranger might doom many others.

“Seize him!” One of the owls yelled, suit disheveled and breath coming quick.

The figure drew his katana, and suddenly, the world stood still.

Because that was Damian’s katana.

He wouldn’t have recognised it if he hadn’t seen it perched against the kid’s windowsill, the leather wrapped around its hilt scuffed the exact the same way as the one in the intruder’s hands.

The figure was too big to be Damian himself, but with that built, and the way he held his free hand where the other half of a staff would be…

There was only one person it could be. One extremely stupid, irresponsible person pulling the stupidest, most irresponsible stunt of all time.

Tim had pulled away from the other bats after his worries about Batman had been proven right. He hadn’t seemed angry, exactly, but it’d been clear his trust in their judgement had been broken.

They’d all tried to get through to him, but they’d all been busy, had all been working against the clock to get their father back. And since Tim hadn’t come back to the manor, Dick hadn’t been able to speak with him, either.

Still. None of them could’ve predicted Cardinal would be stupid enough to take his findings and go after the owls alone.

He had an IQ of a hundred-fifty-six, for Christ’s sake—even if he was a teenager, that should’ve been enough to stop him from doing stupid teenage things.

The talons stepped forward in unison, claws glistering as their gaze bore into the lone figure in the middle of the room.

And.

He couldn’t let this happen.

“Hold on,” Dick said.

Everyone turned to him. The owl wearing a pink feather boa held up a hand, making the talons stop in their tracks. “You are not one of us. What business do you have in the nest?”

The nest. These people were way too deep into their little role-play.

The talon who’d brought him here bowed. “He is guest of Grandmaster, Mistress.”

“Of the Grandmaster?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Hm.” She turned to Dick. “We regret making a guest witness such violence, but you must understand rats cannot be allowed to plague our nest.” She threw the R in ‘rats’ like the word tasted foul, making Cardinal tense as he held onto his blade.

The kid hadn’t opened his mouth once since being cornered. Either he knew it would be pointless to argue after being caught red-handed, or he didn’t have a voice modulator and was afraid that speaking up might get him recognised.

Because no matter how bad it was to be caught as an unnamed intruder, it would be infinitely worse if the owls realised one of the bats had found their way inside their base.

Sorry. Nest.

The female owl turned back towards the talons and gestured for them to continue, but Dick stepped forward before she could raise her hand.

“He’s with me.”

Both owls stilled. So did Cardinal.

Dick swallowed, trying to keep his posture relaxed. This was only scheme he could think of that might get both of them out alive.

The owl with the boa pointed to the little device strapped to Cardinal’s belt. “You cannot be serious. This insolent thief stole a beacon from one of the talons generously gifted to a benefactor and used it to open a service entrance.”

“Well, you can hardly expect me to make a fair deal with your Grandmaster without testing the merchandise, can you?” Dick gestured for Tim to put away his weapon, and thankfully, the kid listened. “My... apprentice was just making sure these ‘talons’ are a good investment.”

The owls shared a look, but even if it sounded suspicious, him being a guest of the Grandmaster meant they probably weren’t allowed to argue. “Surely there must’ve been better ways—”

Dick waved his hand. “I’m not so naïve as to trust strangers without testing their claims.” He turned to Tim, hesitating how to address him until his gaze fell on the red cross on his mask. “Red X, are these owls worth dealing with?”

At first, Tim didn’t speak, clearly caught off guard by this turn of events. With Dick’s voice modulator, swords, and heavy Kevlar, there was no way for him to know it was Nightwing who was trying to save his hide right now.

Or at least Dick hoped so, because if this was how the bats found out about his former identity, he would rather jump off a cliff than deal with the fallout.

“Speak, apprentice, or I will allow these creatures to continue their lesson.”

That snapped Tim out of it. “The owls are overzealous and proud,” he began, voice gruff and different as he tensed his throat. “They believe that simply because they evaded notice in the past, they will continue to do so no matter how unsubtle their approaches.”

Both owls bristled. “How dare—”

“Their talons, however,” Red X interrupted, “are worth whatever they might ask.”

Dick gave him an approving nod. “I see. You did well. I will make sure Deathstroke rewards you when this is over.”

He hadn’t wanted to namedrop Slade again, but he wasn’t sure if Tim would recognise him as Renegade otherwise, and he needed to make sure he could play along when they met this ‘Grandmaster’. There was no way they’d be tricked as easily as their subjects.

At ‘Deathstroke’, the temperature dropped.

All Red X did was nod, but both owls stopped fuming to stare at him. To study him.

“You’re Renegade,” one said, almost breathless.

“The Grey Son,” the other added with the same bewilderment.

And the world stopped for a second time.

The Grey Son. Grayson.

How did these owls— and why—

He had to be missing something. Something about why the talon had invited him. He’d assumed the owls had been listening in on his conversation with Black Mask and had remotely ordered the creature to bring him in to make a deal, but was that really what had happened?

He took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down. For now, he needed to play along and get Tim out of here. Fighting this many talons was still a death sentence, and even if he might be able to outrun them on his own, Tim wasn’t nearly as fast.

He gave the owls a smile behind his mask, trying his best to make the threat translate into his words. “And you are maggots profiting off the greatness of others. Now get out of my way, or I will have to tell your Grandmaster why it took me so long to respond to his summons.”

After a silence that could’ve lasted a decade, both owls backed away.

“Welcome home,” the walls whispered as they disappeared.

Their escort counted four talons now, the three who’d been chasing ‘Red X’ staying after the owls left.

He and Tim walked side by side in silence. Even if they’d wanted to devise some sort of plan, it was too risky to talk with the talons here. They might not react unless given an order, but that didn’t mean they wouldn't understand their words.

Besides. He couldn’t exactly call Cardinal out without risking exposing himself as Nightwing. Hopefully, ditching the kid the moment they escaped the base out would be enough to keep him in the dark.

Of course Tim wasn’t the kind of person who let stuff like this go, but with any luck, he’d be too busy staging a rescue for Batman to worry about Renegade until his trail had gone cold.

But he could worry about that later. For now, his focus had to be on getting out with as many answers as he could find.

He had thought Slade had kept him away from Gotham because of his own fears, but the longer he spent here, the more he realised this city might be far more than just the place where his parents got murdered.

If these owls knew his name, they might know more about his missing memories, too.

Soon they arrived at a showy double door the width and height of the entire hallway, two talons rushing ahead to pull it open. The carpet ended where the door did, changing into sand as they entered the pit of a coliseum.

A fucking coliseum, because why make indestructible super soldiers if you can’t watch them fight for sport? Fucking rich people.

The ceiling was impossibly far away for how far they should be underground, the pit separated from the spectators by a stone wall that towered over them.

Masked owls wearing their fortunes on their sleeves stared down at them, talking in hushed voices as they nursed their drinks.

Directly in front, in what would’ve been the emperor’s tent, sat the Grandmaster. Or Dick assumed they were—they wore the same mask as the other owls, features hidden by a plush cloak that brushed the floor when they stood from their throne.

Renegade shared a look with ‘Red X’ when the two talons pulled the door closed behind them. He counted at least twelve more of the creatures in the room, and the talon standing next to the Grandmaster looked different, even more gold woven into its suit, rows of throwing knives strapped to its chest.

Maybe they should've taken the odds back in the hallway.

The talons all kneeled as the Grandmaster stood, heads bowing into their chests.

The whispering owls fell silent.

The Grandmaster stepped forward. “At last, our Grey Son has returned!”

And for the third time today, Dick's world fell away around him.

Hushed whispers echoed through the coliseum, the same bewildered energy the two owls had shown earlier bleeding into the crowd. Some began to clap, but the Grandmaster held up a hand and silenced them.

"I know many of you doubted the mercenary, even if none dared speak ill,” they said. “Doubted we had taken the right path.” They held out their arms, a grand gesture towards the heavens. “But behold the product of our patience!”

This time, they didn't stop the cheers that echoed through the coliseum.

“Our beautiful butterfly,” they purred when the noise died down, just loud enough for Dick to hear.

Even before the Grandmaster had opened their mouth he’d been drowning in dread, but now he stood frozen, staring up at their mask.

He couldn’t remember where or when, but.

He’d heard that voice before.

He needed to say something. Needed to keep acting. Needed to disagree and fight and run and—

Do anything.

He opened his mouth and—

“Who’s that with him?” The Grandmaster asked.

“He’s—”

“An intruder, Grandmaster,” One of the talons answered.

Tim tensed, katana held out in front of him.

Dick hadn’t seen him draw it. He reached for his own swords and pulled them from their scabbards. The kid had the right idea—whatever the owls wanted—don't think about it—they weren’t going to ask for permission. Dick had miscalculated their intentions and walked right into their trap.

There would be no more talking.

“An intruder? Here?”

All the talons in the room sunk even further towards the floor. “Talon apologise,” one of them said.

The Grandmaster sighed. “Useless rabble. Have every guard present when they sneaked in report to the Cryochamber.”

The talon swallowed thickly. “As you wish, Grandmaster.”

With that dealt with, the Grandmaster turned to the only talon still standing, the one next to them with the knives strapped to its chest.

“Cobb, get rid of the rat and bring your replacement to his chambers.”

The Talon jumped down into the pit without a word, drawing two of its throwing knives as it sauntered forward. The other talons pushed themselves upright to follow its example, but before they could fully rise, one of Cobb’s knives pierced the closest one’s throat.

“Do not interfere,” he said in perfect English as the smaller talon choked on the knife. “I have been granted the honor of welcoming my great-grandson home.”

Before Dick could process that statement, the Talon threw his next knife straight at his heart. Reflex had him dart out a sword just in time, metal clashing as the knife crashed into the sand at his feet.

“Do not harm him,” The Grandmaster called.

Cobb scoffed. “We tricked him into coming here by taking the bat.” He casually took two more knives from his belt. “Plus, he seems attached to the intruder. He will not go down without a fight.”

After a brief silence, the Grandmaster gave their blessing. “Fine, but do not kill him. The electrum in his blood should still lie dormant.”

“Of course,” the Talon said as he kept moving forward, blades hanging loosely in his claws.

Dick couldn’t see a single way out, but still he took a fighting stance. Surrender would mean instant death for Tim, and he would rather die than to be turned into one of those monsters.

He’d always known he’d die on the battlefield someday. Knew his lifestyle meant he’d be dead before thirty, making one mistake too many, taking one risk too dire.

He’d only wished Tim hadn’t been here.

The kid took a grounding breath next to him, both hands clutching Damian’s katana. If they somehow survived, Damian was definitely going to kill his brother for taking it.

Cardinal tensed.

“Get ready,” he whispered.

His hand reached into his belt.

Cobb’s gaze jerked to him. He threw both of his knives, not wasting a single second to see what he was trying to grab.

Dick struck out his swords and deflected both of them, but now the Talon was sprinting towards them, claws held open as Dick was stuck mid-strike.

Cardinal threw a little ball at the sprinting Talon. Cobb dodged it effortlessly, but he couldn’t resist looking over his shoulder as it sailed towards the stone wall encasing the pit.

“Close your eyes!” Cardinal yelled.

Light exploded behind his eyelids, flash-bang strong enough to leave dots even though he’d closed his eyes. Someone tugged his wrist, pulling him back towards the door. Cardinal.

Cobb roared after them as they sprinted towards it, blades whizzing past to embed themselves in the wood.

They slammed a shoulder into either side of the door and it flung open effortlessly, no one having bothered to lock it when there'd been talons standing guard.

But the creatures didn’t stop them, feet glued to the floor as they clawed at their eyes. Seemed like Cobb’s order to 'not interfere' coupled with the flash bang had been enough to escape the coliseum.

“Stop them, you useless morons!” Cobb yelled, but they were already sprinting down the fancy hallway they'd come from.

“They’re sensitive to light,” Cardinal said. He slid Damian’s katana back in its scabbard and held up his wrist, little computer appearing out of thin air as they ran.

Two talons jumped down from the ceiling to block their path, but Dick was done playing games. He didn’t stop running as he sliced through their legs, making sure they wouldn’t be able to follow.

“Get us out of here,” he said to Cardinal.

“Not without B.”

“No, we need to—”

Another talon caught up with them, but its outstretched arm fell to the floor before its claws could dig into Dick’s face.

Don’t think about it.

“We can come back for him later!”

Cardinal didn’t respond. Still Dick followed, because what choice did he have? He had no idea how to get out on his own, and he couldn’t just leave Tim. Even if the kid had brought a blade instead of his usual blunt weapon to fight the talons, that didn’t mean he’d be skilled enough for it to matter.

Cardinal took a left, then a right, gaze sunken into the hologram on his wrist.

Dick followed in a haze, hands numb as he sliced and sliced and sliced, black blood coating his swords as talons kept throwing themselves at the blades.

Don’t think about it. Don’t.

And thank God the talons came less and less frequently the further they followed Cardinal’s gadget, the creatures now only catching up from behind instead of blocking their path.

The temperature dropped at each corner, too, their breaths smoking as they ran.

Another talon, another slice—

Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it.

Keep looking forward.

“You okay for now?” Cardinal asked when they’d gone talon-less for almost a full minute. His gaze flitted to the blades still stuck in Renegade’s hands, then to the black blood staining his arms.

Dick opened his mouth to answer, then changed his mind and ignored the question. Acting familiar would only make the kid recognise—

“Nightwing?”

Dick stopped in the middle of the hallway.

No.

No, he—

Cardinal skidded to a halt too, stalking back to grab Dick’s wrist and yank him forward. “We can’t stop here.”

“No, I—” Dick tried to pull loose, but Cardinal’s grip was firm.

Another talon rounded the corner, forcing Tim to let go so he could draw Damian’s blade. He stepped between Dick and the talon.

“We have to move, Nightwing!”

Dick couldn’t feel his fingers. By the way his blades shook he knew he must be squeezing them, holding on too tightly.

Cardinal couldn’t know.

He wasn’t like Red Hood. He wouldn’t keep his secret.

Everyone would know.

Everything would end.

The Talon dashed forward.

Cardinal stepped out and swung his katana. It was a beautiful cut. Textbook. Exactly how someone should’ve been taught to use a blade like this.

But textbook only ever worked against training dummies.

The Talon sidestepped.

It struck out a hand, claws reaching for Cardinal’s throat.

Dick stayed frozen, but—

Renegade moved.

And the Talon fell to the ground in pieces.

When he turned around, Cardinal still held his katana out in front of him, tip pointing straight at Renegade’s heart.

He knew it must’ve been the end of the cut meant for the talon, but—

Like this.

Swords covered in black blood.

A broken body at his feet.

He’d almost forgotten this feeling. Had repressed so many scared faces. Had tried so hard to kill this part of him.

“Nightwing?”

But just like his swords had refused to break, his demons had refused to drown, no matter how long he’d pushed them under.

A touch on his shoulder. “Dick?”

He flinched, Tim having to jump back to dodge his blades as they jerked sideways. Even now his hands refused to let them go, something inside afraid he’d never dare pick them up again if he forsake them now.

“Hey, It’s— um, it’s alright. Can you breathe for me? We need to— Why isn’t this stupid SOS working— fuck, I never should’ve— Dick, please, we can’t stay here—”

At first, Cardinal’s words were soothing enough to ignore, but then his tone turned more frantic, forcing Dick to blink the haze out of his eyes.

Breathe.

Focus.

Grab the panic and push it into his fingertips so he could wield his swords. Into his toes so he could run. Deep into his heart, so he could remember nothing mattered but making sure this stupid kid in front of him got home safe.

He straightened his back and carefully put the swords back in their scabbards.

Keep a hold of the panic and don’t let go.

“Oh thank god,” Cardinal breathed. “I’m so sorry, I never should’ve come here, but B, he—”

“Later.”

“Yeah, okay. Let’s— We’re almost there.”

Dick didn’t ask where they were going. He didn’t need to—they’d come too far to leave Batman behind, now.

Soon the walls turned white like they had in the labyrinth, only here there were still doors and signs, proof these hallways still had use and purpose.

The temperature must’ve dropped over forty degrees by now.

“Talons can’t stand the cold,” Cardinal said quietly. That explained why there weren’t any of them in this part of the base. “The owls use it to train them. To control them.”

“The Cryochamber.”

“Yeah. These talons, they—nothing in their minds was altered when they were turned.”

And the implication of that. The broken speech. The servitude. The fear—how much suffering must it have taken to break a person so thoroughly it acted like these talons did?

“You think they…” Dick didn’t finish the sentence. They were looking for Batman, but they were going towards the place where talons were kept and punished.

“Logically, they shouldn’t have,” Cardinal answered without looking up from his wrist computer. “His face would be way too easy to recognise if he got unmasked, and the owls would make enemies of the entire Justice League. But—” He stopped in front of the next door and looked over his shoulder. “We can’t dismiss the possibility.”

“Tim, I—“

“This is where his signal went offline. Once I got inside, I could track it again.”

Dick would’ve hesitated if it’d been his father on the other side, but Tim just reached for the handle and pushed on.

The room was filled with coffins. Rows and rows of closed coffins, futuristic tech pumping blue liquid through holes drilled in the wood. The room was massive, coffins stacked on endless shelves like it was some fucked-up knockoff library.

The Cryochamber.

And just to confirm, he lifted the lid of the nearest coffin to reveal the frozen talon inside. If he hadn’t known they didn’t need to breathe, he’d thought it was dead. What a horrible fate.

What were they going to do if batman had been talonised? The process might still be reversible, but even if it was temporary, the damage something like this would’ve done…

Being turned into a monster did more than just give you claws.

Tim had walked ahead while Dick had lingered, the light of his wrist computer peeking through the coffin-filled shelves.

Then, a gasp. The hologram disappeared, quick footfalls replacing careful steps. “B!”

Dick rushed after him. On the other side of the shelves, there was an entire wall filled with equipment and buttons.

And there, smack-dab in the middle, was Bruce Wayne.

He was frozen in some sort of containment unit, eyes closed behind the glass, suit pristine like he’d just come out of a business meeting.

Dick let out his breath. Because even if Wayne was frozen and most likely not alright at all, his skin was blessedly pink instead of ghostly talon white.

Cardinal was already pressing buttons and flicking switches. “It’s the same tech as Belle Reve,” he muttered as his hands kept moving. “Meant to keep super criminals in stasis.”

“Which means?”

“Which means he’ll come out the same condition he went in,” Tim said as he pressed a final button, pressure fizzing from the stasis tube as its door slid open. “Which means they wanted him alive.”

Together, they dragged Batman out of the tube and eased his unconscious body into a sitting position against the wall. He didn’t have any obvious wounds or bone breaks, not a single bruise anywhere. The owls must’ve drugged or ambushed him, if he’d gone down without a fight.

“I’ve got a pulse,” Cardinal said. “We just need to get him to—”

Batman took a shuddering breath, like he reached the surface after almost drowning.

“—breathe,” Cardinal finished with clear relief in his voice. “I think he’s fine. He should wake up within a minute or five.”

Dick eyed the shelves between them and the door. There hadn’t been any talons for a while now, but the owls couldn’t have given up that easily. “Let’s hope we have five minutes.”

“The talons won’t be half as effective in this cold,” Cardinal said, still kneeling next to his unconscious father. “The catalyst at the core of the talonisation process freezes only a few degrees below room temperature.”

Electrum, Dick’s mind whispered, but he ignored the thought. Because thinking about it meant thinking about what the Grandmaster had said, and even just thinking about thinking about it already had his throat constricting.

“Will he be able to walk?” He asked instead. Cardinal was way stronger than the average teen, but Batman had to be at least two-hundred pounds of muscle. Dick might be able to carry him if he pushed himself, but that would mean leaving their defenses to Cardinal and the stolen katana he had no business wielding.

“He should be.”

“Good.”

Silence.

Dick rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m— I’m glad he’s alright.”

There was no guarantee it was going to stay that way, with their only way out back the way they’d came, but. What else could he say right now?

What else that didn’t ignore the fact that he was very much dressed as Renegade, blood staining his suit, Tim finding out about his past in the most horrible way possible?

“Glad to know you don’t actually hate him.”

Dick grimaced. “I’m sorry. I was— I—” He swallowed. “I didn’t think he would let me stay if he found out,” he said quietly. “And if I talked to him, then— then he might—”

Cardinal sighed. “We all knew you must’ve done some… questionable things before Nightwing. It wasn’t hard to figure out from your fighting style and skill set.”

He knew he hadn’t imagined the stares back when they’d first began bothering him on patrol.

“But we all trusted Black Bat’s judgement,” Cardinal continued, “And she said that the way you fought your instincts were the efforts of someone who truly wanted to change. Who had already changed.”

Tim shook his head, and Dick could just imagine the wry smile behind his mask. “It would’ve been hypocritical to judge you for your past when about half of us have body counts.”

Dick breathed out heavily. “But I’m—I’m not— it’s Deathstroke,” he said, like that would explain the difference. “Being an assassin is one thing, but I was—I was a villain. I was Renegade.”

“And now you’re Nightwing.”

Dick let out a wet laugh. “It’s not that easy.”

“It could be. Watch.” Cardinal patted Batman’s cheek, his Father’s eyelids fluttering like he was about to wake up. “I’m going to tell him it’s you the moment he wakes up, and he’s going to say ‘okay’ and not speak another word of it. He trusts Cass' judgement, too.”

“I really am glad he’s okay,” Dick said again. “That I was afraid to meet him didn’t mean I wanted him gone.”

“I’m just relieved they didn’t kill him. Even if they weren’t going to turn him into a talon, they didn’t have to keep him alive if their only purpose was to lure us here.”

“Ah, but everyone knows live bait catches the best prey,” a new voice said.

Dick froze.

No.

No.

Not here.

Not now.

Why—

Deathstroke stepped out from behind the coffins. “Wouldn’t you agree, apprentice?”

Chapter Text

Deathstroke stepped out from behind the coffins. “Wouldn’t you agree, apprentice?”

He wasn’t an illusion this time, white floors reflecting orange as he stalked forward, eye behind the black half of his mask flaming red.

“What, no ‘it’s good to see you?’ or ‘I missed you?’ I didn’t raise you to be this rude.” His face was hidden, but by the tone of his voice Dick knew he must be smiling behind the mask. Must be reveling in this moment.

And Dick.

He.

He—

Cardinal took the metal cylinder from his belt and slid it into his staff. “Leave him alone!”

Slade laughed, sound mocking and grating. “I didn’t expect you to bring your new little hero friends into this.” He drew his greatsword and pointed it at Cardinal. “That costume's even tackier than your usual, little bird.”

“Says the guy wearing bright orange.”

Slade shook his head. “Kids really have no respect these days. Right, Renegade?”

Dick flinched. He still hadn’t moved, feet frozen against the floor, limbs locked as his mind tried to catch up.

Nothing that had happened today had made sense. The owls calling him their Grey Son and now Slade, who was supposed to be afraid of Gotham, standing right here in front of him.

Had his master waited right here, knowing their paths would cross?

Had he known all along? About Nightwing? About Blüdhaven? About how close he’d gotten to the bats?

He must’ve, if he’d thought kidnapping Batman would bring him here.

Which meant.

Had he ever stopped playing Slade’s games? Or had this always been—

Was he always supposed to end up right here?

“Oh, my poor apprentice,” Slade said. “It was quite fun to watch you bumble around on your own, but all things must come to an end.”

Cardinal dared a step forward, holding his staff out in front of him. “Why are you doing this? If he’s really your apprentice, why would you work with the owls? Don't they want him, too?”

“Do they? I wouldn't know,” Slade said with an almost bored drawl. He nodded towards Batman’s unconscious body leaning against the wall. “I'm just here to take back what's mine, just like you're here for your daddy over there. The business does get lonely, after all.”

Cardinal kept up staff. “I won’t let you—”

A shuriken whipped the weapon out of his hands, metal clattering to the ground.

“Do you remember your first lesson, apprentice?” Slade called. He closed the distance between him and Cardinal in one smooth moment. Raised his sword. "About the best time to strike?"

He struck down, but metal met metal as Renegade jumped between them to catch the blow. His arms throbbed, whole body tense with effort as Deathstroke tried to push through his block.

“There you are,” his master said as their blades locked, mask so close Dick could smell his breath.

And.

He was just so done with this, with trying to figure out just how many steps Deathstroke was ahead. There was never a straight answer with him, never a single word that could be trusted. It was pointless to even try to talk to him.

And as he stared at his former master’s face, he realised he didn’t care why he was here.

He just wanted him to go away.

Their weapons were still locked, Deathstroke’s greatsword pushing against his twin blades.

Slade would be expecting him to step back and redirect the blow, so instead, Dick pushed against the block and held his ground.

Deathstroke’s eyes narrowed behind his mask. He tensed and put his weight behind his blade in earnest, making Dick’s arms scream for him to yield, but then Cardinal had picked up his staff.

Slade tried to jump back, but he was too late to stop Tim from hitting him square in the face. He smashed into one of the shelves, coffins wobbling dangerously. One of them crashed down, wood splintering as the lifeless talon inside sprawled out on the floor.

A normal human might’ve broken his jaw, but Slade merely massaged his chin as he pushed himself back to his feet. “I suppose one of the Bat’s apprentices can’t be completely—”

Renegade pounced forward, forcing Deathstroke to dodge away from where he’d dropped his sword. He kicked the blade backwards without looking, sending it as far away from its owner’s hands as he could.

Slade sighed deeply as it disappeared behind the rows of coffins, then took one of his guns from his holster. “If you insist on being difficult, I’ll—”

A batarang knocked the weapon out of his hand, followed by a second that ripped the his second Glock from his belt.

“You little—“ This time, Slade knew better than to finish his taunt. He drew his hunting knife and swung it at Cardinal, shoulders shaking with anger.

The kid dodged the first blow. The second he managed to get his staff between the blade and his heart, but Deathstroke cut the weapon in half in a single strike.

He stepped out to cut Cardinal’s throat, but then Nightwing was there, hunting knife bouncing off his blades.

They fought like there was nothing else. Every step a reaction, every action life or death, not a single blow wasted on either side. Dick should’ve had the advantage both in range and quantity, but Deathstroke’s knife was a viper, an extension of his arm, everywhere and anywhere at once.

He couldn’t remember ever having an honest fight against his master. Slade hadn’t believed in evening the odds, always equally brutal when they sparred as he was in the field.

He’d never been enough to beat Slade, but losing had been its own lesson.

If he wasn’t strong enough, he’d have to be faster. If he wasn’t fast enough, he’d have to be sneakier. And if he couldn’t be sneakier, he’d have to make a plan where he wouldn’t have to be.

The real world didn’t care about fair. Didn’t care about equal odds or justice.

If you were strong enough, you could take anything. And if you were weak, you had to make your own strength, or die.

And despite everything, Dick wasn’t ready to die.

He let go of his swords, dodged around Slade’s knife, planted both his hands against the man’s chest and pushed.

Slade’s eyes widened as he stumbled over the threshold of the freezer unit, back slamming into the metal on the other side.

“Now!” Dick yelled, but Cardinal was already at the controls, top of the tube sliding back over the exit.

“No! You won't—”

The tube slid closed.

Slade hammered against the glass, shoulders hunched in rage.

Cardinal pressed another button, same blue liquid that seeped into the coffins beginning to fill the tank.

Slade struck out his blade, glass forming a web of cracks around it, blue steam wafting from between the cracks.

Because of course it couldn’t be that easy.

“It won’t hold him long,” Dick said as every strike put more tension on the glass.

“Then let’s get out of here!”

Didn’t have to tell him twice. He picked up his swords and put them back into their sheaths, then turned to where they’d left Batman. Seemed like he was going to have to carry—

He blinked at the empty spot on the floor. “Where—”

An army of throwing knives whizzed towards him. He dodged all but one, pain flaring from his arm as the knife grazed it.

Cobb stalked forward through the rows of coffins, flexing his claws open at his side. “You brats will pay for making me look like a fool.”

Behind them, Slade kept pounding against the glass.

And in front, the Talon blocked the only way out.

“You are a disgrace,” Cobb spit as he crept closer. “Fleeing from combat, letting a mere child save your hide.” He let his claws drag along the coffins as he walked, deep scratches marring the wood. “I knew the masters were wrong to trust that arrogant mercenary with preparing you for the honor of Headtalon.”

Shit. Shit, they didn’t have time for this, Slade still clashing his knife against the glass.

“You will learn to—“

The half-broken shelf Cardinal had slammed Deathstroke into wobbled.

They all froze as it tipped over, crushing Cobb beneath a sea of coffins. It knocked into the shelf next to it on the way down, making that one groan and tilt, too, until shelves were falling like dominoes.

When the dust cleared the final shelf had rammed a hole into the wall, creating a convenient exit in this side of the room.

Bruce Wayne leaned against the shelf he’d pushed, giving both of them a wry smile. “Never liked him.”

“B!” Tim rushed to help his father up.

Bruce frowned at the kid’s mask. “Cardinal? What are you wearing?”

Another crack in the glass behind them.

Cardinal pushed Batman towards their shiny new exit. “I’ll explain later. B, this is Nightwing. Nightwing, this is B. I just realised you haven’t met face-to-face.”

Dick gave the kid a disbelieving look. “Really? You’re just going to—” he gestured to his mask. He’d thought Cardinal had been joking before. Of all the stupid fucking ways for Batman to find out he used to be Renegade—

“We have, actually,” Batman said, eyes shining like they shared a secret. Then he frowned down at his business suit, which very much clashed with the introduction 'Batman'. "He knows?"

"A lot happened. Please just tell him you're not gonna send him to Arkham."

Batman gave him a weird look. "Of course not. Though I would advise a trip to the Hall of Justice to explain your situation, so everyone knows which side you're on."

Dick let out a breath.

That was it?

Granted, the man didn’t know Renegade and Nightwing both were Dick Grayson, too, but that should’ve only made him less likely to take this in stride.

Someone should be yelling at him right now. Screaming at him. Putting him in handcuffs.

But the conversation had already moved on.

“You went to Blud?” Cardinal accused. His father still held onto his shoulder for support as they followed the hallway on the other side of the hole.

Batman grimaced. “I know, but—”

“You promised.”

“Hn. I needed to—”

“Completely disregard our judgement and go against your word?”

“He didn’t really do anything,” Dick found himself saying as he trailed after them. “It was—it was barely two sentences.”

Plus watching him drool onto the couch for an indeterminate amount of time, but he’d rather keep that one to himself.

Cardinal looked over his shoulder. “You don’t have to take his side just because he was kidnapped, you know. By that logic, we’d never be able to be mad at him about anything.”

“I know, but—”

They all stopped dead in their tracks when the hallway ended in another pure white room.

The ceiling curved into a dome and the walls into a circle, paths branching off in all directions. The only feature was a gigantic fountain made from white marble, water spewing from delicately carved birds.

“We need to turn back,” Batman said. He let go of Cardinal’s shoulder, feet only slightly unsteady.

His son didn’t move. “Deathstroke is back there. So are over a hundred talons that must’ve woken up by now.”

“The Labyrinth doesn’t have an exit. It’s a hunting grounds for talons, meant to drive their victims insane.”

Dick shook his head. “The maze connects to the sewers. There’s at least one hidden entrance.“

“Could you find it?”

He looked towards the branching corridors on the other side of the fountain. The Talon that led him here had taken so many turns, and they hadn’t even come across this room.

“Not a chance.”

But it didn’t matter when the first talon already slid around the corner in the hallway behind them, followed by at least a dozen more.

Dick was the first to move, picking a random corridor to run to. Even if they’d be trapped down here, at least they’d be getting further away from Slade.

Behind him, Cardinal and Batman followed with grim faces.

He didn’t think as he led them down the tunnels. There was no reason to waste time thinking about directions if he didn’t know where they were supposed to go, anyway.

Both Cardinal and Batman were too slow to outrun the talons for long. Claws nipped at their heels, but Batman had taken a hold of Damian’s blade and sliced at any talons daring to come too close.

Somehow the creatures knew how to navigate these twisting hallways, confronting them on every turn, waiting for them around every corner.

At first Dick sliced through them just like he’d done up in the castle, but his limbs were getting heavy, arms aching like they wouldn’t hold on much longer.

“Still no signal,” Cardinal mumbled from the middle of their group, gaze sunken into his wrist. “Maybe if we bust—”

A talon dropped from the ceiling, but Batman pushed his son aside and sliced through it.

“—a hole into a wall,” Cardinal continued, “we can contact the others.”

“Make a hole with what?” Dick said between breaths. “And we have no way to know which walls lead outside instead of to another part of the maze.”

“You have a better idea?”

“Focus,” Batman said. “Cardinal is right. We will never find a way out like this, especially if the doorway is hidden.”

He might not have his suit or cowl, but he sure as hell wasn’t Bruce Wayne right now, expression serious and katana clutched in his hand like it belonged there. Whoever had taught him to use it had done their job properly.

“What did the exit look like?” Cardinal asked.

Dick grimaced, because it’d been like any other wall in the labyrinth. Batman had been right—there was no escape for them here. Only Talons could find their way.

He shouldn’t have been such a coward and agreed to turn back.

At least up in the castle they’d be fighting towards something. Here, every slice was wearing them down for nothing, talons throwing themselves at their blades like cannon fodder.

He’d struggled against just one of them earlier this night, but then it hadn’t been the Talon so much as his own conscience he’d had trouble with.

No, a lone Talon was no threat at all if you didn’t care about slicing off its legs.

Another Talon blocked their way when they turned the next corner. Dick sighed and readied his swords.

He might hate everything about this, but there was no other choice if they wanted to live.

The Talon hesitated before it mirrored Dick’s intent and took a fighting stance.

Dick frowned. Talons didn’t hesitate. His gaze fell on the thin line of black blood marring the creature’s wrist. He and Batman must’ve cut off dozens of limbs by now, but none of their cuts had been as clean as his first back in Black Mask’s bar. This had to be the Talon that had led him here.

His step faltered. Even if it’d been ordered to bring him in, it had spoken to him. Had tried to warn him.

Talons not allowed other way, it’d said, and in hindsight the warning had been obvious—talons, not talon, the plural betraying its master’s intentions for him.

Dick stopped and lowered his blades.

Cardinal almost bumped into him. “What are you doing?”

Batman pushed both of them aside and raised his katana to intercept the Talon, but Dick put a hand on the blade and forced it down.

“Nightwing—”

“You tried to warn me, didn’t you?” Dick called out.

Cardinal took a step back. “It’s not going to—”

The Talon stopped.

“—listen,” Cardinal finished.

The Talon clicked its claws together as it hesitated in place, mouth opening and closing like it had to push itself to speak.

“Masters… want bad things,” it said eventually. “Talon no choice. Renegade choice.”

And against his better judgement, Dick stepped closer. The Talon might have the body of a zombie, but its mind was still human. And right now, that human was trying their best to reach them.

“You have a choice, too.”

The Talon pulled its arms back against its chest and shook its head.

Batman gave his katana to Cardinal and stepped forward. “It might not seem like it right now, but we can stop the court. If you help us find a way out, we will do everything in our power to make you human again.”

And for the first time, Dick understood the reverenced tone people assumed when they whispered about Batman. He wasn’t even wearing his suit or mask, and still there wasn’t a single doubt he’d keep his promise, back straight and gaze boring into the Talon’s glowing eyes.

Just like he’d done when he’d taken a hold of eight-year-old Dick’s shoulders in that video back in the cave.

At first the Talon didn’t answer, averting its gaze and pricking its claws against its chest.

Then, it turned and said, “Follow.”

It only took three hallways before the Talon stopped and pressed its palm against the wall, making a doorway appear just like it had earlier this night.

Earlier this night. They couldn’t have been in the owls’ base for more than an hour, but it might as well be a lifetime.

This wasn’t the same part of the sewer as they’d entered from, but it didn’t matter. The Talon had probably just brought them to the closest exit.

The creature waited as they ran through the opening, hand glued to the wall.

“Come on,” Cardinal said when they’d all made it through, but the Talon just shook its head.

“Court track Talon.”

“We can protect you,” Batman said.

The Talon let go of the wall, bricks sliding back in place.

“Masters will not give up,” it said before it disappeared on the other side of the doorway.

They stared at the wall for just a second before turning away. That they’d gotten out of the maze didn’t mean it was over. If the Talon had stayed behind to buy time, it wouldn’t do well for them to waste it. They had to get out of the sewers.

“We’ll come back for him,” Batman said as they rushed to the nearest manhole cover. “We’ll come back for all of them.”

Cardinal flinched and reached for his ear. “Oracle,” he mumbled, because of course she’d found them the moment they left the Labyrinth. “No, I know, but— Let me just—” He grabbed two more comms from his belt and handed them to Batman and Nightwing. “Can you just let me finish—”

“Of all the stupid and irresponsible—” Oracle’s voice ranted when Dick put in his comm, “We never would’ve agreed to this—”

“Which is why I didn’t tell you,” Cardinal bit, shoulders hunching like he’d had this argument a hundred times before. “Someone had to take the risk, so I figured it might as well be me.”

“Don’t talk like that, you stupid birdbrain,” Spoilers’ voice cut in. “So help me, if you died, I would’ve—”

Batman opened his mouth to speak up multiple times, but each time he was interrupted by more chaos and yelling.

“—are you in the sewers—”

“Can we just—”

“No, I need you to—”

“Guys,” Dick interrupted, and the voices fell quiet. They probably hadn’t expected him to be here. Why would they, when he’d left without bothering with a single goodbye?

But this wasn’t about him.

“We found Batman.”

More silence.

“Hello,” Batman finally said.

And thank God Dick had the foresight to remove his comm, the noise that exploded from it enough to even make Batman flinch.

Sometimes, it was hard to believe the bats were known for their stealth.

“Yes, I’m fine. I missed all of you, too. I’m coming back as soon as possible. We’re going above ground, now, although—” He grimaced, looking up at the manhole cover. “I don’t have my suit.”

Wordlessly, Cardinal removed his Red X mask and handed it to his father. Unlike Dick, he’d had the common sense to wear a simple eye mask underneath.

“That does mean they know my identity, yes,” Batman said as he fit on the mask. “But I suspect they have done so for years.”

Dick believed it, too—If they’d been working with Slade, then there was no way his former master hadn’t told them.

Or maybe it’d even been the other way around.

“I think it has something to do with Nightwing,” Cardinal said. He gestured for Dick to put his comm back in.

He stared at the little device in his hands. Would it be too late to slip away now? Let Cardinal tell the others he was Renegade? Let someone else explain to Batman that he was Dick Grayson?

A month ago, he might’ve tried. A day ago, even. But today he was done hiding.

It all felt so trivial in hindsight. The endless turns he’d twisted himself into. The secrets. The hiding. The waiting. Not leaving but not daring to stay, either, keeping himself in limbo because he’d known Slade wouldn’t give up.

Closing his eyes hadn’t done anything but leave him blind.

It’s not fucking worth it, Red Hood had texted. And he’d been right. It fucking hadn’t been.

He put his comm back in. “I’m sorry for leaving. I didn’t mean to, but I just—” he swallowed, then continued almost in a whisper. “I was afraid my past would change everything.”

“The important part is that you came back,” Steph said in his ear. “Whatever else we can figure out later, when we’re all safe at home.”

And if that didn’t sound like a dream.

The manhole they climbed from led to an empty playground walled by apartment blocks, moon still high in the sky.

Dick looked up at the rooftops, but after fighting for so long, even the ladder to the surface had left him drained. Cardinal and Batman couldn’t be faring much better, one being a teenager and the other being frozen for at least two weeks.

“The Batmobile is on its way,” Oracle said, and Dick never thought he’d hear Batman make such an undignified sound as the sigh of relief he let out as he leaned against the swing set.

Something moved on the rooftops. They all looked up as another shape joined it. Must be Black Bat and Spoiler.

Cardinal walked towards them, but his step faltered when even more shapes rose from the rooftops, moon casting long shadows into the playground.

Owl-shaped shadows.

The Masters will not give up.

He’d thought getting out of the sewers would’ve been enough. With the amount of damage they’d done, the owls should be licking their wounds. But they must’ve realised that after tonight, they’d be hard-pressed to find the bats this vulnerable again.

“We have a problem,” Batman said into his comm.

“Everyone's already on route,” Oracle answered. “ETA five minutes.“

It seemed like every single talon they’d fought was here, blocking the alleyways, peering down from the rooftops, dozens of yellow eyes staring at them from every direction.

Nowhere to run, and too many to fight.

Especially for five whole minutes.

Still, Dick ignored his aching limbs and drew his swords. He held one of them out to Batman, who took it without a word. He couldn’t exactly use Damian’s katana when it would leave Cardinal with a broken staff as his only defense.

“I was working on a weapon back at my apartment,” Cardinal said as the talons crawled down the buildings. “A raygun based on Freeze’s tech.”

Dick turned to him in disbelief. “And you didn’t think to bring it with you?”

The kid drew his blade, too, talons still stalking closer. “It’s bulky. And the freezing solution targets dionesium, which is the chemical compound that gives electrum its animating properties.“

Ah. That explained it.

“So it kills them,” Batman said with clear disdain in his voice.

“I mean, probably? I’m not a hundred percent sure—the effects could be temporary if they have enough electrum in their blood.”

The talons lurked closer, circling the playground like wolves.

Their comms buzzed to life. “I’ll send someone to get it,” Oracle said.

Batman’s shoulders tensed. “No—”

“We might not even have to use it,” Dick argued, “but we need some leverage to stop them from chasing us.” Because even if the others showed up, there were still way too many talons for them to fight off.

“Exactly,” Oracle said. “Which is why Spoiler—”

“I’ll go get it,” a new voice cut in. A new voice who was only just cleared for regular patrols and was supposed to be asleep on weeknights.

“Damian,” Batman breathed, voice both relieved and concerned. “Absolutely not.”

“Drake’s apartment is on the other side of the city. Sending Brown when she and the others are already close to your location would take three times as long, and would leave you down a combatant. I am the logical choice.”

This kid. Who would’ve thought he’d ever volunteer to be an errand boy?

Batman opened his mouth to argue, but then Cardinal surprised everyone and said, “He’s right.”

And if those two agreeing on something hadn’t shocked Batman enough to let Damian help, the talons chose the exact moment to pounce.

“I won’t let you down, Father,” the kid said before his comm cut off, and then they didn’t have time to think about anything but the threat in front of them.

The talons were too smart to wait turns and crowded forward as a single force. Cardinal threw another flash-bang, light exploding in the playground.

At first the talons shied away, but a second later they’d already recovered, pushing on even though they must still be blinded.

Seemed like Cobb’s orders to not interfere had been the real reason they’d been able to get away in the coliseum.

The talons’ movements were more clumsy when relying on sound and smell, but it didn’t matter when there were enough of them to trap them in a circle of razor-sharp claws.

The three of them might’ve been able to break free if they could’ve focussed their blows, but they were forced to turn their backs to each other, Nightwing and Batman desperately slicing away while Cardinal tried to do the same.

Dick grimaced when one of the talons finally got him, claws scraping his arm. Not enough to make him—

Mind-numbing pain exploded from his back, claws raking over the still-tender burns.

Renegade turned and darted out his sword without a second thought, piercing the talon right through its heart.

But of course the creature didn’t care. It just kept trying to push forward, sliding as it reached for his face—

Batman kicked it clean off the blade, body bowling into the talons behind it.

He had his own sets of scratches, business suit completely tattered with lines of red-crisscrossing his chest and arms.

Before Dick could thank him, they both turned to the sound of metal clattering to the ground.

Cardinal’s katana had been pushed from his grip, red streaks marring his hands.

One of the talons darted forward, too quick for either of them to help.

“Cardinal!“

And for a moment, Dick thought it was all over, the kid stumbling backwards as claws reached for his face.

A bullet pierced the Talon’s skull, force making its body tumble back into the tornado of claws surrounding them.

Red Hood peered down at them from the rooftops. “Sup, old man,” his voice came through the comms.

God, Dick never thought he’d feel happy to see that stupid helmet of his.

Two more shadows flitted forward, Spoiler and Black Bat cutting into the mass of talons from the outside, forcing the creatures to divide and conquer.

“Hey B!” Steph called while Black Bat risked a wave. “Why’d you guys go trick-or-treating without us?”

And. He was so glad they were here, but—

“Jesus,” Red Hood said while he kept shooting down from his rooftop. “When I said tell them, I didn’t mean you had to fucking dress for the occasion. And why the fuck does Replacement look like a burglar?”

“Shut up,” Cardinal said.

Dick grimaced as he cut into the next talon. Well. He’d known they’d all been on their way.

At least like this, he got to rip off the band-aid in one fell swoop.

Now only Damian was still in the dark, but the kid would find out soon enough—if he didn’t show up with that weapon, none of them were making it out of here alive.

“Holy shit,” Steph said, her and Cass’s gazes flitting to look at him in-between pushing back the talons.

Batman sighed. “Language, all of you.”

“Wait, you’re Renegade,” Steph continued, sounding way too excited about this. “I remember you! You were an option in the ‘which villain are you’ test I took last week!”

Cass huffed out a laugh. “Who get?” she asked in broken English, hands too occupied for sign.

“Count vertigo, but Renegade’s description was way cooler.”

And.

“What’s wrong with all of you?” Dick asked.

Because this wasn’t. This shouldn’t—

Dismissing all the evil he’d done, just like that?

Granted, this probably wasn’t the best time to talk about it, with the hordes of talons pushing them back, but—

Fuck, why were they like this?

Red Hood snorted through his comm. “Told you the brats wouldn’t give a shit. Why else would they let me into the house?”

“Uh, because you’re the only one of us allowed in the kitchen?” Spoiler said.

Cardinal jerked his gaze up to the rooftop. “Wait, you knew?”

Another round of gunshots rained down from the roof, opening a path for all of them to meet up and face their backs against a wall. “Please, fucker’s the worst fucking liar.”

“Hood,” Batman bit out.

Hood let out a suffering sigh. “Why do you even fucking bother at this point?”

“What’s Deathstroke like?” Steph asked as she kept hacking away at the talons.

Tim struck out his katana. “Probably very angry, considering we tried to lock him in a freezer.”

That made the banter fall silent.

“Deathstroke’s in Gotham?” Oracle asked, voice serious. “That’s highly unusual.”

“Well,” Dick said, words like ashes on his tongue, “he’s never had a reason to come here before.”

“It’s not your fault,” Spoiler immediately said, but she was panting, knuckles white with force as she clutched the batarangs she’d been using as blades.

They’d all been joking around, but.

None of them looked like they were having much fun.

It’s not your fault.

He smiled behind his mask. What a kind lie, when all of this was happening because of him.

Sure, Batman had chosen to infiltrate the owls himself, but what an amazing coincidence it was that they had exposed themselves now, exactly when doing so would result in Dick seeking them out.

Normally, it would’ve been a stretch to assume someone planned all this. They would’ve had to know exactly how everyone would react. Exactly what pieces they’d had to move to get everyone where he wanted them.

But this was Deathstroke, and these were exactly the kinds of games he played.

No, he was a hundred percent sure none of this would’ve happened if he hadn’t run exactly where Slade had wanted him to go.

He squeezed the hilt of his sword and breathed in deeply. There was nothing he could do about it now. Nothing, but make sure the bats wouldn’t pay for his mistakes.

Cobb was right.

He shouldn’t let children fight his battles.

He dashed forward, cutting into the talons in earnest. He wasn’t used to fighting with a single sword, but he’d make do.

Distressed voices tried to pierce through, but he tuned them out to focus on the fight.

He wouldn’t allow a single talon to touch them.

Stab. Slice. Cut.

Stab again. Slice again.

Cut. Cut. Cut.

He couldn’t remember ever fighting like this, head clouded and yet focus so sharp he could see the moonlight shimmer on the talons’ claws. Time moved in slow motion, instinct telling him when to dart out his sword, when to turn, when to dodge, flurry of cuts making the talons hesitate to step into range.

He’d always known he was good at this. Never as good as Slade, but even at fourteen he’d been hard-pressed to find an enemy skilled enough to face in an even fight.

He’d hated it, because it’d been proof he wanted this. Proof he’d asked for this.

Proof he’d been made for this.

The next talon caught his blade between two throwing knives.

Cobb.

The Talon hissed something before Dick pulled back his blade, words beyond the vicious tone lost. One of the lenses of his mask was splintered and his suit tattered, even if his body had long since recovered from being crushed.

Cobb pounced, throwing knife in each hand. He was much quicker than the other talons, both of them dancing around each other without landing a single hit, blades slicing nothing but air. Dick fought like he was in a trance, swords choosing their own path until he forced Cobb to drop one of his knives.

The Talon’s mouth twisted into a snarl as he stabbed the other one forward.

And Dick easily could’ve dodged it, but.

Cobb hadn’t been aiming for him.

Spoiler’s eyes widened as the blade darted towards her.

He hadn’t realised she’d been so close. Hadn’t realised all of them had been driven against the wall, talons unrelenting even if Dick had stopped to duel Cobb.

The knife darted out much too close for him to swing his sword at it, his blade too long and clumsy at this distance.

So.

He did the only thing he could and stepped in its way. The knife sunk into his forearm, Cobb pushing it in deep and leaving it there.

The Talon dashed forward like this would give him an opening, but Dick just raised his blade and countered the blow.

This pain was nothing. Absolutely nothing.

He stepped into the counter and put his weight behind it, making Cobb fly right through the mass of talons to crash into the iron slide on the other side of the playground.

The Talon raised himself slowly, metal below him dented, broken limbs cracking back in place. He wasn’t ever going to stay down.

Dick yanked the knife from his arm and threw it, making Cobb thud to the ground as he tried to dodge with his legs still twisted the wrong way.

An opening.

He’d vowed to never kill again, but for Cobb, he’d make an exception.

He’d learned to recognise it, living with Slade. This kind of evil that lingered inside some people, this sadistic edge that couldn’t be unlearned.

Cobb had it, as sure as anything he knew. Maybe he hadn’t always— if he really was his great-grandfather he must be over a hundred years old, and who knew how many of those he’d spend frozen, or tortured, or twisted, but it didn’t matter.

Once evil had settled in this deep, there was no more fixing it.

He aimed for the Talon’s neck and—

A shadow on the rooftop.

Deathstroke stared down at him, eye blazing behind the black half of his mask.

Dick froze half-way through his lunge.

No, what was he—

He shouldn’t—

What was he doing?

His blade clattered to the ground, knife wound finally shocking hurt through his arm.

And still Slade stared down, not making a single movement for his guns or sword.

Panicked voices swarmed around him, but the words were lost as his master slowly shook his head.

I’m disappointed.

You failed.

Even without me, you’re a murderer.

Cobb got back on his feet. He didn’t bother with his knives, this time.

The voices around him screamed.

The Talon lunged forward.

And yet Dick couldn’t tear his gaze away from Slade, who he’d just given a front-row seat to see Renegade was still the loyal little killer he’d raised.

The evil inside him unfixable, too.

Cobb raised his arm, and—

Was hit square in the face with a blue ray of light. He fell backwards from the force, limbs twitching, claws digging into himself as his mouth gaped open.

He must be screaming, but Dick’s ears weren’t working properly, only catching glimpses through the chaos.

He could feel the cold from here, the Talon’s white skin shimmering blue, condensing air steaming from exposed skin as he squirmed.

Damian.

The kid jumped down between him and the talons, big raygun pushing on his shoulder like a rocket-launcher. He powered up the weapon for a second shot, blue energy gathering at the tip.

And just like that, the talons flitted away, dragging Cobb’s twitching body back into the shadows.

As little self-preservation as they showed, their fear of the cold ran deep.

Damian powered down the raygun and turned to face them. The other side of his outfit was way too bright; black cloak traded for a cape with canary yellow lining, Kevlar around his chest hidden by a brilliant red tunic that clashed horribly with his frown.

“Father, I’m glad you’re—”

“What are you wearing?” Cardinal interrupted.

The conversation moved too quick to follow after that, everyone around him lowering their weapons, letting out their breaths and stepping closer to give proper hellos.

“—dare insult me when you are dressed like a common—”

“—picked a name? Please tell me you picked a—”

“—my katana—“

“—ocus, everyone. Let’s asses damage, then get out of here. We can’t afford another—.”

“Scratches.”

“—atches here, too—”

“—need stitches—”

“—didn’t jump down into that fucking deathpit—”

“—what about—”

The noise around him fell silent, eyes pricking into his back. The silence weighed heavy, shrouded in an air of hesitation.

Of fear.

And how could it not, the way he’d fought earlier?

He pushed their voices to the background and kept his gaze on the empty rooftops.

Slade might be gone, but his shadow lingered.

Chapter Text

In the beginning, the dissociating had been a blessing. A trick to stop himself from feeling, doing, sensing too much.

A trick to separate himself from his actions.

He’d wanted to kill Zucco. Or maybe wanting wasn’t the right word—no, he’d felt like it had to be him. Like his parents had deserved at least that much from him, when the rest of the world hadn’t cared.

He’d been done after that.

He’d known what Slade did for a living, but he’d thought he could be useful in other ways. He was small and could sneak into things. Steal things. Scope out locations. It wouldn’t be an honest life, but life hadn’t been honest with him, either.

But then Slade had held out a knife and asked him to finish the job.

He hadn’t been prepared. They hadn’t even been on a mission. No, he’d been sitting cross-legged on the carpet of their hotel room, trying to teach himself English from the TV.

Someone had rattled their door. The cleaning lady had swung it open, then immediately noticed her mistake when they made eye contact.

Unfortunately, she’d also noticed the sniper rifle Slade had been cleaning, parts disassembled and laid out on his bed.

Looking back, the action had been arrogant. Lazy. They’d be back at their hideout the very next day, where his master could’ve cleaned his stupid guns all stupid night long.

But in the moment, all Dick could think about was the woman’s terrified face as Slade knocked her unconscious and pulled her through the door.

He’d closed his eyes and turned away, because he knew what came next.

But the horrible sounds hadn’t come.

And when he opened his eyes, Slade was holding out his hunting knife for Dick to take.

A lesson, he’d called it.

A lesson in what, he’d never said.

Dick had refused.

Of course he’d refused.

Time had never moved so slowly as when Slade had stared down at him, holding his knife by the tip so Dick could grab the hilt. Would he hurt him if he wouldn’t listen? Push the knife into his hand and close his own fist around it, forcing him to cut?

Would he kill him if he couldn’t be useful?

But then Slade had pocketed his knife. Had put the disassembled sniper back in its case. Pushed it into Dick’s hands, and told him to climb the fire escape and wait on the rooftop.

He’d never fled a room that fast.

He’d assumed that had been it. That he’d won his right to keep his hands clean.

But he hadn’t yet learned how twisted his new master could be.

When they’d gotten back to their hideout, Slade had pushed him into an empty room and locked the door.

At first, Dick hadn’t understood what lesson he’d been supposed to learn, but then Slade had brought his first guest, mouth taped shut and eyes wide with terror.

Every day, it was someone new. Local gang members. Henchmen. People who wouldn’t be missed.

The game was simple. If Dick killed one, Slade would let him out. If he didn’t, his master would dispose of them himself, and Dick would spend another night sleeping on the floor in an empty room.

Simple.

He’d cried a lot the first few days. Had refused to eat, or leave his corner when Slade pushed in his latest victim. Had closed his eyes and covered his ears when his master returned to finish them off.

He wasn’t sure how long it’d been when he broke.

These people were already dead the moment they were pushed through that door. What did it matter if it was him or his master doing the act? At least he could make sure it was quick.

So he’d taken the knife from his dinner and imagined being somewhere else. Imagined his hands weren’t his. Imagined playing a game or watching a movie.

And stabbed forward with his eyes closed.

The disassociation had saved him from going somewhere beyond return, but soon its blessing had turned into a curse. All sounds muted except for the heartbeat thumping in his ears. His hands so numb he could barely close them. Fingertips tingling like they were asleep. Edges of his vision dark no matter how much he blinked or tried to focus.

He couldn’t stop it. Could only try to fight it, or let go.

He didn’t want to think about Cobb. About Slade. About this awful side of him he’d just shown the bats. They fluttered around him, blurry shapes with far-away voices, prodding him towards a big black blob in the distance.

He let go.

Soft hands pulling off his gloves. Gentle fingers easing off his mask.

Warm water on his back, red quietly washing down the drain.

Hushed voices, too far away to respond to.

“Should we tell B?”

“I don’t know. He deserves to know, but N also deserves a chance to tell him himself.”

“He might just want us to do it again.”

“Maybe, but what if he doesn’t?”

“I just hate all this waiting. He's been searching for him for over thirteen years, and now he’s here and B’s calling him Mick.”

“Alfred said he should snap out of it tomorrow. What’s one more night?”

A sigh. “I guess you’re right. But if he doesn’t, I’m telling B.”

“That’s fair.”

The hands on his back stopped.

“Strange.”

“What?”

“These claw marks are from tonight, but…”

“Tim?”

“Never mind. They probably just look weird because of the burns.”

The warmth disappeared. Something soft draped over his shoulders.

Dick closed his eyes.

He woke up against his will, a stripe of sunlight peeking through the curtains, covers so soft they were like water against his skin.

There was someone in the bed next to his. He didn’t turn to look, but wood creaked as they adjusted their seat, and light stuttered in the glass of water on his bedside table. They must be watching TV with the sound turned off.

He wasn’t sure what time it was. Or how long he continued to lie there, unfocused eyes on the dancing lights in the water.

He tried to remember.

Tried to understand.

He didn’t want this to be reality. Because these sheets being this soft was only going to make getting up more difficult.

Because he had to get up. Eventually.

Get up and deal.

He couldn’t get the word butterfly out of his head.

Butterfly. Butterfly. Butterfly.

Fuck.

Something else.

Cobb in a heap of limbs, dented slide behind him.

Sword aiming at his neck—

No.

Fuck, and then he hadn’t even thought about Sla—

No.

No.

He couldn’t help but shift below the covers this time, fists balling at his side.

He was pretty sure Cass knew he was awake, anyway. It could only be her, because that single creak of the bed frame had been all that betrayed her presence.

Of course they’d left her to keep an eye on him—next to Batman, she was their best fighter.

He couldn’t believe they’d taken him upstairs. He’d seen the ‘cells’ they had down in the cave, glass cubes the size of a small bathroom. Tim had explained they used them whenever one of them was affected by a new strand of feargas or Ivy’s pollen, or any kind of ailment that left them out of control.

One of those would’ve been perfect.

But instead they’d been soft and put him in a guestroom inside their home, when Slade knew he was here.

When Slade had wanted him to return to Gotham, so he could finish whatever fucked-up deal he had with those owls.

All those years.

He never thought his master actuality cared about him, but he had chosen him. Had told him he’d had potential. Had said he’d been the only one worthy.

But that must’ve been a lie, too, when Slade would’ve known he’d have to give him back, eventually.

No, he’d just been tasked to train him into a loyal little killer.

Into the perfect talon.

“Think too much,” Cass’s voice called through the room.

Dick flinched.

The bed next to his creaked. The lights in the glass on his bedside table disappeared. “Sorry.”

And.

Could they all stop being so nice for one fucking second?

“I was going to kill him,” He said without turning around. “I wanted to kill him.”

Silence.

“I would’ve done it if Slade hadn’t been there.”

Silence.

“Cobb would’ve deserved it.”

Silence.

“Way more than most people I’ve killed.”

More awful, awful silence.

He finally turned around. “Will you say something?”

Hard when you won’t look, she signed with a gentle smile.

God.

God fucking dammit. “I’m sorry. I’m just—” he pushed his hands through his hair. “I’m just the worst.”

“You’re not.” She was wearing fluffy pink socks and a silk pyjama, very much not the ghost she’d been when they first met. Unlike him, she’d been able to move on from her past.

“Please don’t lie.”

I’m not.

He shook his head. He wanted to look away, but he couldn’t risk missing anymore signs. He knew how awful it felt to be isolated by a language barrier—back in Juvie, even the guards had ignored him unless he’d tried to speak English.

Cass popped her feet over her bed and stepped towards his. She moved to sit down, only hesitating slightly to give him a chance to object.

He should’ve, but.

He didn’t.

The covers still hid most of his body, a barrier between them as the mattress dented under her weight.

He knew what she was doing, forcing him to sit up so he could still watch her hands.

But he pushed himself upright, anyway.

You’re not a bad person, Dick.

He stilled. She’d never signed his name like that before. Usually she finger-spelled it, or just signed ‘D’ or ‘N’ when it was clear he was the subject of the sentence.

The others all had sign names, usually their first letter followed by something that embodied them. Like Steph’s being S-Silly, and Mr. Wayne being B-safe.

And just now, she’d attached fly to his name.

And.

“How can you still be like this?” he asked. “After everything—” He closed his mouth. He wasn’t supposed to know her story. And in a way he didn’t, not beyond that she’d been forced to kill, too.

Beyond that she’d also been shattered and broken as a child.

She reached out a hand and carefully placed it over his heart. “Hurt,” she said, “not broken. People help. Time… heals.”

He stared down at it, contact soft against his shirt. “I don’t deserve to heal,” he whispered. “Not when so many people—” He hung his head, trying to stop his burning eyes from leaking.

Fuck.

Fuck, he couldn’t—

Her arm moved to lock around his neck, other joining it to envelop him in a hug.

And.

And.

He dug into her back and squeezed, clutching on like a drowning man. Tears began to fall in earnest, staining her shoulder as he pressed his face against it.

It wasn’t fair.

None of this was fair.

Cass didn’t say anything. She just held him and let herself be held, like she knew this was exactly what he needed.

“Slade locked me in this room,” he whispered against her shoulder. Her arms tensed around him, showing she was listening.

He told her everything.

He still felt raw when Tim came in hours later, holding a tray with hot tea and a sandwich.

Cass had promised the others would let him be for a while after she left, but ‘a while’ had long since passed, and he had to admit he’d been getting both hungry and lonely.

“The demon spawn said you’d prefer hot chocolate,” Tim said as he put the tray on his bedside table, “but Alfred didn’t think too much sugar would be good right now.”

His episodes usually didn’t leave any aftereffects, but guess he couldn’t blame the butler for being careful.

The mug felt nice in his hands, some of the warmth that had left with Cass returning.

He’d forgotten how much he’d used to touch people. Sitting on his father’s shoulders. His mother’s hands sure around his wrists as she caught him on the trapeze. Pressing between them as they ate dinner, even when he easily could’ve found another spot around the campfire.

It had been nice when Damian had leaned against him on the roof, but the touch hadn’t been as familiar as a true hug, the kind of hug that had died with his parents.

“Thanks,” He said, taking a careful sip. And then, because he wasn’t ready to be alone again; “So how mad are they?”

Tim pulled a face.

Dick snorted. “That bad?”

“I’m grounded for life.”

“As you should be.”

Tim gave him a disbelieving look. “You were there, too.”

“Yes, but I didn’t—” He closed his mouth.

Have anyone to worry back home, he was going to say, but he just knew the kid would feel pressured to disagree.

Were they friends? Sure. He’d even call them the good kind of friends, the kind that sometimes felt like family.

But actual family? Even if Bruce Wayne had wanted to adopt him all those years ago, that didn’t change the fact that he hadn’t.

“Well,” Tim said, “I won't apologise. We saved Bruce. And I think I saved you, too. Did you even know where you were going? Or have any sort of plan?”

Dick grimaced. “I thought my… reputation would be enough to make them let me leave. I didn’t know it was me they wanted.”

Tim schooled his face into something serious. He sat down on the other bed and leaned forward.

“I didn’t tell the others about this part yet,” he whispered like the walls had ears.

Dick frowned. They must all know about Renegade by now, and Batman had been there when Cobb had betrayed the owls’ plans to turn him into a talon.

But then the kid pulled an empty syringe from his sleeve, and he remembered.

The electrum.

The fact that he might not be entirely human.

“I wasn’t sure if you wanted them to know until we figure out what’s happening,” Tim said. “If you want, I could—”

“Just tell them.”

Tim blinked at him.

Dick held out his arm so the kid could take his blood.

He hadn’t realised just how awful lying had felt until he’d stopped. Even in moments he thought he’d been at peace, there’d been this pressure in his chest. This underlying tension of what if, when, and how. This shortness of breath whenever he saw them, this hesitation at every action, thinking when. When. When.

When would the hammer strike down?

Maybe it’d been the over twelve hours of sleep and the hug, but he felt so much lighter without the secrets. He wasn’t going to ruin that for this.

“Well, if you’re sure. Getting B and Oracle involved will make the research go a lot faster.”

“I’m sure.”

His blood was just as red as he remembered when Tim filled the syringe, nothing like the black, tar-like substance inside of the talons’. But just because it looked normal, that didn’t mean there wasn’t anything wrong with it.

“I’ll run this through our splicer,” Tim said as he tapped the bubbles out of the syringe. “It looks good, but…” The kid hesitated, eyes raking over him like he wasn’t sure Dick could handle his next words.

“Don’t freak, but I think whatever's in it is already having effects.”

“The healing,” Dick said. He’d patched himself up more than enough times to know how abnormal his recent injuries were behaving. The wound from where Cobb had pushed his knife deep into his arm was already scabbing despite only being inflicted yesterday, and his back only pulled slightly. Burns like that shouldn’t have healed that quickly, and neither should the claw-wounds that had raked over them.

Tim nodded. “That, and the fighting.”

Dick frowned. “Fighting?”

“How much of last night do you remember?”

Dick stared at the floor. He remembered wanting to kill Cobb. Locking Slade in a freezer. Slicing one talon after another. But the details itself were fuzzy, memories of his own movements making him dizzy as he chased them.

That definitely wasn’t normal.

“You matched Cobb’s speed,” Tim said quietly. “Cobb’s enhanced speed.”

Dick let out a breath. He’d always known he’d been fast. He’d credited his childhood, chasing the other kids up in the big top, running rooftops from an age where he should’ve been playing hopscotch. But thinking back, it was definitely strange he was able to keep up with the talons.

“I actually thought you were a meta when we first met,” Tim confessed. “Even pushed by feargas, there was just no way you should’ve been able to run that far in that time frame. But crunching the numbers showed it was technically possible, if improbable, so the others talked me out of it.”

Suddenly, a memory—

The sedative isn’t meant for children this young.

His body unmoving.

Are we sure this is the best course of action?

Shuffling. Glass clinking. Someone tapping against a syringe.

Will we truly be happy with a caterpillar knowing we could’ve had a butterfly?

Butterfly.

He groaned, fingers digging into his scalp.

“Dick?” a voice asked to his right.

Tim.

The kid had moved to sit on the bed next to him, gently shaking his shoulder to get him back to the present.

“The Grandmaster was there,” he spit out, frowning down at his now empty hands. His mug sat on his bedside table, water still steaming. Tim must’ve saved it before it could spill.

“There?”

Dick massaged his temple. “When they messed with my memories. That must’ve been when they put the electrum in, too.”

“When they did what with your memories?”

He looked up at Tim’s incredulous tone. “Barbara didn’t…”

Right. He hadn’t actually told her the memories she’d shown him hadn’t just been hazy but alien, refusing to be remembered even after seeing himself on that huge screen.

“Didn’t?” Tim prompted again.

“I don’t remember meeting Batman. Barbara showed me some footage from before I was with Slade, but I didn’t recognise any of it.”

Tim stared at him. “Like, nothing nothing?”

Dick gave him a sad smile. “If I hadn’t seen those tapes, I wouldn’t have believed I ever talked to him before he showed up at my apartment.”

The kid let out a breath. “That actually explains so much,” he said. “We just couldn’t figure out why you didn’t want to meet him.”

“Before you guys, I never met anyone who wasn’t afraid of him. I was a criminal. A murderer. Just because you guys liked me, that didn’t mean he would’ve made an exception for me.” He looked down at the floor. “I still think he shouldn’t.”

“You’re right.”

Dick blinked. That wasn't the response he'd expected.

“Because he’s not making an exception for you,” Tim continued in a stern voice. “He would never send a child soldier to prison. You weren’t responsible for any of those murders. Deathstroke was.”

Dick huffed out a laugh. Child soldier. It sounded so ridiculous, but he couldn’t deny it. Not when he’d been eight when it started.

“I wanted it,” he said instead, mouth curling in a mean smile. “I begged for him to help me.”

“You weren’t—”

“I would’ve killed Zucco even if Slade hadn’t been there.”

Tim stared at him. “Dick, Tony Zucco isn’t dead.”

He stilled.

No.

He could accept forgetting Batman. Could accept some of his first meetings with Slade being fabricated.

He didn’t want to, but he could.

But Zucco’s death had been the end of an era. The end of his innocence. Whenever he thought of how unfair, how pointless, how awful everything was, he’d thought back on how he’d cut Zucco’s throat and remembered this was what he deserved.

It’d taken him until sixteen to even begin to plot towards freedom. Those years in-between he’d simply laid down and accepted this was his life, just another weapon in Deathstroke's arsenal.

And even when he’d finally began plotting his escape, it was because he couldn’t bear the killing anymore. Because he thought his skills might do some good when pointed in the right direction.

Not because he’d deserved to be free.

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not,” Tim said as he whipped out his phone. “He did almost croak during an escape attempt from Joker a few years ago, but as far as I know, he’s still serving his sentence.”

Serving his sentence.

Tim held out his phone. “Here.”

An old news article was open on the screen. LIFE WITHOUT BAIL FOR TONY ZUCCO, the title read.

It wasn’t just for the murder of his parents. There were many other crimes, the oldest dating back almost twenty years. True to his word, Batman had left no stone unturned to make sure Zucco would have no chance of getting bail or parole on his lifelong sentence.

He handed Tim his phone back, trying his best to keep his hands from shaking.

Had Slade even been in Gotham all those years ago? Or was all of it fake? Not just a few scrambled memories, but a whole goddamn movie, planted by the court to make him think he belonged?

If he hadn’t killed Zucco, had he even chosen anything at all?

“You okay?” Tim asked.

And Dick just had to laugh, because— “Of course not.”

“Oh.”

He  smiled at how lost the honest answer made Tim look. It'd been the same back in the owls' hideout, the kid nearly working himself in a panic as he'd tried to calm him down. Strangely, seeing him struggle had pulled him right back to the present. "But I’ll get over it. I can’t hide in Batman’s mansion forever, after all.”

At ‘Batman', Tim’s eyes widened. “Right. We haven’t told him who you are yet.”

“You haven’t?” He hadn’t expected that. Not when they’d all been so fierce in trying to get them to meet.

“You weren’t coherent last night. We all agreed you should get the chance to tell him yourself. But if you don’t want to, I wouldn’t mind—"

“I’ll tell him.”

He was done with secrets. Done with hiding behind children.

He’d face Batman himself.

Tim had given him until dinner to go talk to Batman. Which, according to the expensive wooden clock on his bedside table, was about five hours away.

He’d already counted every book in the bookcase twice. Had figured out how the TV worked, only to find out his thoughts were too intrusive to focus on anything but the past, so many of them fighting for attention he could barely finish a memory before the next wormed its way into his mind.

Another glance at the clock made him sigh.

It’d only been ten minutes since Tim left.

He knew he was procrastinating. That his mind might quiet down if he went to find the others.

If he put his money where his mouth was and went to go to talk to Batman.

Tim said he’d be in the den, which, besides being the entrance to the Batcave, doubled as his home office. Apparently, paperwork hadn’t stopped coming when he’d gone missing.

Oh, the joys of capitalism.

A knock on his door. Seemed like the others had gotten tired of waiting, too.

Damian marched inside first. “Greetings.”

Behind him, Alfred shifted the big bag in his hands so he could close the door.

Dick had already been on top of the covers, but now he shifted his legs over the side of the bed and sat up to meet them. “Hi Dami. Alfred.”

“Pleasant afternoon, master Dick. Master Damian thought you might enjoy some familiar comforts.”

At his words, the kid stepped forward and held out a phone.

His phone. The one he’d left down in the sewers when he went to Black Mask’s place.

He took the device, sending a quick glance at the screen. 83 missed messages. Oh boy.

But first— “You went to Blud?”

Alfred pulled a stack of clothes from the bag.

His clothes. The ones he actually wore and permanently lived on top of his dresser. “You went to my apartment?”

He didn’t mean for it to sound so accusatory, but there were literally people waiting to kill them outside the walls of this mansion. People who knew their identities, and who most definitely knew where Dick lived.

If Slade had set up his sniper on a rooftop across the street, there wouldn’t have been a thing they could’ve done.

Damian jutted out his chin like he always did when he defended his horrible ideas. “We could not leave your belongings to that cretin.”

Dick’s breath caught. “Slade was after my stuff?” Had they actually seen him? Fought him?

“No, dear boy,” Alfred said before he could spiral. “Young master Damian speaks of the horrible ghoul that was your landlord.”

Dick let out a breath, but then—

Wait.

“Was my landlord?”

The kid pulled a face. “I couldn’t think of anyone more deserving of my blade, but no. The fool is still alive.”

“Regretfully so,” Alfred said as he folded the now empty bag. “No, the ‘was’ pertains to the fact that you have been evicted.”

Well. At least that solved the problem that giving the last of his rent to Black Mask had created.

With everything that had happened, he honestly couldn’t care less. He’d kept most of the important stuff down in the sewers, anyway. There was nothing sentimental about the place, except for maybe the chocolaty stain on his wall from when he’d thrown a mug at Batman.

Besides. Fat chance he’d be able to leave the manor anytime soon. Even if the others would let him (very unlikely), both the owls and Slade knew he was here. After yesterday, there was nothing stopping them from playing their hand anymore. If Dick left, they’d jump him before he could even make it to the highway.

Which brought him back to his original point.

“You shouldn’t have risked your lives for some clothes and a phone.”

“Nonsense,” Alfred said as he opened the dresser and put the folded clothes inside. “Bruce Wayne’s aide and alleged young son were out in broad daylight in their green Aston Martin. If one wanted to hide their presence from the public, there couldn’t have been a foolisher target to choose.”

Dick shook his head. Because that wasn’t how it worked, not with his former master. “You don’t know Slade. He would’ve known you’d think that. He would’ve planned around it. Would’ve—”

Alfred put a hand on his shoulder. His grip was much firmer than Dick had expected. “With all due respect, master Dick, Slade Wilson is only a man. A dangerous one, I admit, but still human. You should not think of him as infallible. He can be bested, and he will be.”

Dick let out a breath. In his head, he knew this. He did. Because even if Slade had wanted him to end up in the owl’s base, he couldn’t have wanted him to get out the way he had, escaping into the bats' home to become practically out of reach.

Still, it was hard to trust that thought when he’d seen firsthand just how much of a monster his former master could be.

“Thanks, Alfred.”

The butler gave him a warm smile. “Anytime, master Dick.”

He had to admit he’d actually missed his clothes. The ones they’d given him fit alright, and he didn’t mind them being older, colors faded from washing, but he’d felt so young in them—graphic Tee’s and hoodies, things a teenager might wear.

He couldn’t help but think they’d belonged to the late Jason Todd, which, if he really was wearing Batman’s dead son’s clothes…

He wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

“Now if you young sirs will excuse me, I must get started on dinner.”

At those words, Damian‘s demeanor took a one-eighty turn, haughty attitude gone as he tried to ghost back to the door.

Alfred blocked his path.

“Pennyworth—”

“Remember what we talked about, master Damian. I only agreed to help with your suit under the condition that you spoke with master Dick as soon as possible.”

Suit.

Another unlocked memory.

Damian hadn’t been wearing his cloak last night, had he? He’d worn a yellow cape and a red tunic, both colors very, very familiar.

Oh no.

Damian must’ve seen him put two and two together, eyes panicked as he tried to push past Alfred in a very non-assassin, but very a-caught-on-the-spot-ten-year-old way. “Pennyworth, please, I don’t think—”

The butler didn’t budge. “I’ll see you both at supper,” he said as he closed the door.

Then it was just the two of them, alone in silence.

Because Dick didn’t know what to say, either.

Damian kept facing the door even after it closed, hands worrying at his side as he considered his options. He could still flee—the door wasn't locked, after all.

“I didn’t mean to offend,” he said. “If you do not want me to wear those colors, I will change them and pick a different name.”

Dick let out a breath. So that was where this was going. But the boy had completely misunderstood his grimace—he’d love for Robin to actually be a thing. And he’d love for it to be Damian, the first of the bats he’d met, and the one he’d related to the most, still new in town and shaken by his strange, new family.

But.

“Do you know who I am?” Dick asked.

Damian turned to stare at him. “What kind of moronic—”

“Who Renegade was?”

This time, the kid at least looked mildly uncomfortable. Good. He must’ve found some source that described his many sins.

His many, many sins.

“I wasn’t a good person, Damian. If we met a few months earlier, I might’ve…” he pushed his hands into the sheets. “I might’ve tried to kill you. You really want your vigilante identity to be tied to someone like that?”

The kid’s jaw set into something stubborn. Dick knew that look—it meant he was getting ready to argue until his tongue fell out.

“And I did try to kill you,” Damian said. “Multiple times. Drake, too. I did not try Cain because I knew she would best me, and ignored Brown because she was beneath me. Pennyworth was too useful to dispose of.”

“I—”

“But I didn’t think twice about wanting to slit your throat. I had kept those buffoons alive just to show Father I was capable of doing so, but as a fellow vigilante, you were nothing but competition to eliminate.” The kid balled his fists. “If you had not been capable, you would’ve perished.”

“Damian—”

“And if you hadn’t been kind, I would’ve.”

Dick stared at him.

Kind.

Fucking kind. In what world was not murdering a child kind?

“I could not understand why you let me live,” Damian continued. “Why you let me stay at your house after I tried to hurt you. How could you fall asleep without even taking my weapons?”

He stared down at the floor, fists still clenched at his side. “The others tolerated me out of obligation, but you had no such restraints.”

Dick opened his mouth, then closed it. What was he even supposed to say to that?

No one had ever talked about him like this. Like he was some sort of saint. Someone worthy of praise.

“I killed people, Damian. Many people.”

“As did I. But you chose to be Nightwing regardless of that fact. Chose to shed your past and become more.”

“But why Robin?” Dick asked. Sure, it might fit Blue Jay and Red Cardinal’s bird themes, but the kid basically breathed shadows, his technique heavily dependent on his suit blending into the darkness like Batman’s. He’d have to change everything about his fighting style if he was going to wear something that bright.

But thinking about it, that might be the entire point.

And the kid stood there, unapologetic and fierce like Dick could’ve never been at that age. His words had always stayed inside his mind, but Damian said them.

Stood behind them.

“It is what I want,” he said. “If you will allow me the honor.”

And.

Was there a single universe where he could say no to that?

“Okay,” Dick whispered. “Okay.”

He didn’t trust his voice to say anything else, so instead he reached out and pulled Damian into a hug.

And this time, after a few hesitating seconds, the kid carefully wrapped his arms around him and returned the gesture.

“Thank you,” he said, sound muffled against Dick’s chest.

Thank you.

He hadn’t meant to wait this long to go find Batman, but once he and Damian had begun talking about the kid’s new suit, it’d been hard to stop.

It’d been a long time since he’d been this excited about something.

Of course Damian wasn’t exactly the Robin he’d imagined, but he was fine with that—the kid should be allowed to be his own person. He was keeping his katana, even if he promised to focus on hand-to-hand as much as he could. Dick’s original suit had also had a lot of green Damian had replaced with black, the reds and yellows more than enough to get the point across.

They’d brainstormed possible gadgets, too, weighing the pros and cons of adding a belt or keeping the pockets the kid was used to.

Damian was going to look absolutely ridiculous when they were done, and Dick couldn’t be more proud of him.

But now it was almost time for dinner, which meant there was no more delaying the inevitable.

Everything on the table. No more hiding anything from anyone.

Telling Batman everything.

He’d found his way to the den all by himself this time.

As per usual, he heard Steph’s voice right through the door. Somehow, it was always hers that rose above the others.

Only this time, a heavy, careful voice answered.

Dick swallowed, fist hesitating a whisper from the door. He wasn’t sure what was going to happen when he went inside, but he was done waiting for the other shoe to drop.

He knocked, waited for the voices to hum consent, and stepped inside.

Mr. Wayne sat behind his desk, hidden behind a laptop and three huge stacks of paperwork. Both Cass and Steph had settled on the sunken couch in the corner, basically in each other’s lap as they prodded at a hologram on the coffee table in front of them.

They both got up when they saw it was him standing in the door opening.

“Sup, N!” Steph swiped a little disk off the coffee table, hologram stuttering away before he could see what it showed. “Glad you’re feeling better.”

“I assume it’s time for our mysterious talk?” Mr. Wayne asked. He had already closed the laptop, curious eyes piercing into him.

Oh God. What had he gotten himself into?

“Sure is,” Steph said as she Cass stepped towards the grandfather clock. “Call us up when you’re done, okay? Alfie’s making lasagna and I’m not going to let it get cold.”

“We will,” Mr. Wayne said.

“You’re leaving?” Dick asked, heart beating in his throat. Because surely they wouldn’t leave him alone with Batman? That hadn’t been part of the plan.

Cass gave him an amused look. Breathe, was all she signed.

Thanks, Cass. Very helpful.

Fucking breathe.

And then, with one last wave, the clock closed, and it was just the two of them.

For a while Dick just… stood there, trying to make his mouth move. Why hadn’t he thought up a plan? Or at least somewhere to start?

Because where was he supposed to start when there was this much to say?

“Have a seat, Mick,” Mr. Wayne said. He gestured to one of the office chairs opposite of his desk. “The others told me this was important, but I hope you’re also feeling better.”

So.

That might be somewhere to start.

Rip the band-aid clean off.

“That isn’t my name, Mr. Wayne.”

“Hn. Figured it was an alias."

“My real name is Dick Grayson.”

Mr. Wayne froze behind his desk. His brows furrowed and he looked at Dick, really looked at him, no doubt trying to match his features to the boy he’d known all those years ago.

Dick wasn’t sure if he’d find any resemblance. He didn’t when he looked in the mirror, but what did he know—he hadn’t seen a picture of himself from that age for years until a few days ago. Mr. Wayne might’ve stared at those recordings for over a decade.

“Explain,” Batman said.

It was the clearest order he’d gotten in months.

So.

He straightened his back and began to talk.

He told Batman everything he knew. Or everything he thought he knew, after yesterday. Growing up with Slade. The court’s plans for him. His missing memories, and everything in between.

He didn’t take the chair, pacing back and forth, eyes wandering through the room. To the many, many pictures on the walls. To the old, wooden furniture, shiny and carved with delicate curls. To the heavy valleys in the old couch in the corner. If he’d grown up here, would he have been just as comfortable sitting there Steph and Cass had been, enjoying their Father’s company as he worked at his desk?

He turned to pace the other way, mouth unable to stop moving, lost in the endless details of where he’d been, what he’d done, and how he’d escaped.

And Mr. Wayne just listened, hands folded on his desk, silhouette framed by his black leather chair. Unmoving except for his eyes, which looked straight at him every time he turned, their expression unreadable.

“And then I woke up here,” Dick finished, brushing his finger over the little cat statue on one of the dressers. It looked vaguely Egyptian, made with smooth stone and sleek features. Must’ve been a gift from Catwoman.

He turned back towards the desk, then froze.

Batman was standing right behind him.

Dick tried to step away, but a hand stopped him by grabbing his shoulder. “Let me look properly,” Batman said, voice breathless and eyebrows furrowed. The touch on his shoulder burned but its hold wasn’t tight, just a suggestion for him to stay. “I can’t believe I didn’t see it.”

“I can,” Dick whispered, because what was left of the boy Batman had known? Barely a ghost.

Mr. Wayne grimaced. “I failed you.”

What a ridiculous thought. “You tried when no one else did.”

The corners of Mr. Wayne’s mouth turned up ever so slightly. “And despite everything, you grew up strong and kind, just like I thought you would.”

God. Was this the man so many people were afraid of? The shadow of Gotham? The spirit of vengeance? The Batman?

This wasn’t the Bruce Wayne he’d seen on TV, all smiles and winks and jokes, but it wasn’t the ruthless Batman criminals whispered about, either.

This was a man who cared.

Who cared about him, for some godforsaken reason.

And before he could change his mind, Dick wrapped his arms around him and buried his face in his chest. He must look like a child, but he didn’t care right now—he felt raw and frayed around the edges and needed to hold onto someone.

Mr. Wayne smelled of sharp cologne and fabric cleaner, chest so wide Dick’s arms stopped halfway on his back. At first the man stayed frozen, but after a moment he carefully returned the hug, his hesitation so much like Damian’s it made Dick snort.

Mr. Wayne pulled back to look at him, quiet question on his face.

“Sorry,” Dick said, but he was still smiling. “It’s nothing.”

“That’s what Stephanie says when she’s making fun of me.”

“I’m not making fun of you.”

“Those are usually her next words.”

Dick laughed, a joyful sound with no strings attached like he hadn’t felt in years.

Slade was still out there, and so was the Court. But today, he’d allow himself to have this.

To keep this.

Chapter Text

Inbox (83)

( 3 days ago )

STEPH
Heyo N

STEPH
So Babs said you left the manor and im like, trying not to judge

STEPH
But

STEPH
I just really don’t understand?

STEPH
Can you please just tell us if we did something wrong?

STEPH
I know things are tense with B missing but were not mad at you

STEPH
Whatever shit past you’re hiding, Hood, BB and the stabby gnome have all been forgiven for multiple homicides.

STEPH
So unless you were like, TRIGON levels evil, what could possibly be bad enough to keep quiet?

STEPH
You probably tripped over a dog and think you should still be repenting, so here I am to tell you no you dont you massive DONKEY.

————

( 2 day ago )

STEPH
I could ask Tim or Babs to hack your phone and tell me if youre fine but I don’t think that would help

STEPH
So here is your Wayne Family (TM) update for you to ignore:

STEPH
We haven’t found B. I haven’t seen Tim in 3 days. Babs is in the cave 24/7, Cass is out on patrol every night. Damian and Alfred are conspiring something they clearly don’t want me to be a part of. 

STEPH
I know you didn’t want to come here in the first place, but your houdini act really hit group morale. 

STEPH
Anyway

STEPH
Hope blud is as shitty as ever.

————

( 15 hours ago )

STEPH
Richard Dick Nightwing Grayson, you are the stupidest man alive.

STEPH
Cass said she’d knock some sense into you tomorrow, but just in case you still need to hear it:

STEPH
1 You were a literal child???

STEPH
2 Deathstroke took advantage of you, a literal child???

STEPH
3 You were eight??

STEPH
4 AND A CHILD????

STEPH
And I know you’re gonna bla bla that you stayed for way too many years, but ever heard the definition of being taken advantage of???? Of grooming??????? 

STEPH
I won’t believe you were there by your own free will no matter what you’ll say. No one’s personality can one-eighty from literal evil to puppies in a bottle.

STEPH
Anyway I just know you’re going to wake up and beat the shit out of yourself, so I thought Id text you some assurances

STEPH
Also because if I go talk to you IRL rn I might actually bite your head off for being this stupid.

————

( 5 hrs ago )

STEPH
I just realized you probably don’t have your phone.

STEPH
So whoops?

STEPH
I’m not sure if you’ll read this before we see each other IRL, but I’m glad you’re back, even if the circumstances could’ve been better. Tim says you’re going to talk to B yourself, which is like, massive kudos. Must feel scary as fuck.

STEPH
Anyway I’m still kinda mad, but I guess I understand. 

STEPH
I just wish you felt like you could’ve told us.

STEPH
Because you could’ve told us.

————

( 2 hrs ago )

STEPH
 *LINK*

STEPH
This is the villain buzzfeed quiz btw :)

STEPH
Let me know if it’s accurate

————

( now )

DICK
I’m sorry, but who in their right mind would describe me as ‘rugged and stoic’????

DICK
Like what the fuck

DICK
I’m not even mad I got Harley Quinn, because at least her description doesn’t say anything about her ass????

DICK
Like did someone seriously get paid to make this????

DICK
?????????????????????

STEPH
…

DICK
What?

STEPH
…..pleasescrollup

DICK
OH MY GOD IM SO SORRY

DICK
FUCK I didn’t scorlk before clicking that link so I didntd t see your oldet mesdsfages

STEPH
Good to have you back, Dick

DICK
Im sosorry

DICK
And I understand if you’re angry because you’re right I should’ve told you all a long time ago. Again I’m sorry

STEPH
Screenshotted your replies and sent them in groupchat.

DICK
Wait no

DICK
Please dont

STEPH
Too late enjoy being eaten alive
 
STEPH
:) 

DICK
Oh come onnnnnn that punishment did NOT fit the crime

STEPH
Hmmmm delicious tears

STEPH
But seriously, don’t worry about it

STEPH
I was just glad to see you were doing better during dinner <3

DICK
Thanks Steph. The world doesn’t deserve you.

STEPH
I know ;)

( 2 days ago )

RED HOOD
Look.

RED HOOD
I hid for a long time, and all it did was waste fucking years of my life on petty bullshit

RED HOOD
Its not fucking worth it

RED HOOD
Its NEVER fucking worth it

-*Nightwing went offline*- 

RED HOOD
Oh youre so fukcing dead

————

( Now )

NIGHTWING
So feel free to ignore this, but I just wanted to apologize. I was angry, and you were easy to lash out at.

NIGHTWING
Wrong place wrong time kinda deal

NIGHTWING
Also you’re just objectively an asshole, so I guess I just told myself you wouldn’t mind?

NIGHTWING
But reading this back I think you were trying to be genuine and I was just, idk, angry? 

NIGHTWING
Not to use my issues as an excuse, but wearing my old costume really messed with my head.

NIGHTWING
Also I want you to know I went offline because a talon found me, not because I was ignoring you.

NIGHTWING
But I guess I just would’ve continued insulting you if I hadn’t stopped, so...

NIGHTWING
This is me saying sorry for all of it

NIGHTWING
I’m not sure what your story is or who you are to those kids and Batman, but they clearly care for you, and you clearly care for them. You were just trying to protect them.

NIGHTWING
And you didn’t have to give me so many chances. I wouldn’t have in your position. 

NIGHTWING
Not when Slade was involved.

NIGHTWING
Again feel free to ignore this but I just needed to get it off my chest.

RED HOOD
Jesus christ I get it

RED HOOD
Apology accepted you fucking boyscout

RED HOOD
Now stop blowing up my phone while I’m trying to fucking read

NIGHTWING
You can read?

-*Red Hood went offline*- 

NIGHTWING
Ok ok I’m sorry

NIGHTWING
but do you see now how petty and cheap that joke is?

NIGHTWING
You know you can do better

“Here.” Cardinal pointed at one of the molecules pictured on the screen of the Batcomputer.

Dick squinted at it. He’d always been decent at chemistry, but recognizing atom bonds by shape was a bit too much.

“Fascinating,” Oracle said next to him, because of course this might as well be ‘cow goes moo’ for her. “The way it’s latched on without disturbing the hemoglobin-oxygen bond is almost unbelievable.”

“Right? They must’ve spent decades figuring this stuff out.”

“I never would’ve thought of using a protein bridge, either.”

“And that isn’t even the craziest part.” Cardinal pulled up another indecipherable image. “They actually altered the RNA strands in his bone marrow to include electrum in the amino acid synthesis.”

Oracle rolled her wheelchair closer to the screen. “Meaning each new blood cell will reabsorb the electrum when its predecessor dies, stopping elemental decay with ninety-nine point nine percent.”

“Right!”

Dick couldn’t help but give both of them the side eye.

They seemed way too excited about this.

The bats had all been so very careful around him until now. Dinner last night had been nothing but small talk and jokes, and so had the rest of yesterday been after his talk with Mr. Wayne.

The man hadn’t even returned to his paperwork, instead choosing to spend his time listening to the others’ bickering in the game room.

Sometimes they’d made eye contact, two quiet souls in the chaos, and Mr. Wayne had given him a grimace that said ‘can you believe this?’ or, ‘I’m sorry they’re so loud, but I also love that they’re this loud.’

And sometimes Dick had turned away and Batman’s gaze had kept pricking his back, some unreadable emotion stuck between his furrowed brows.

He probably had a lot more questions. Had a lot more stories to share.

How long had they’d known each other back then? Barbara had only shown him two videos, but in them they’d been so familiar that those couldn’t be it.

He must still be missing so much. Much more than a single conversation and a hug could heal.

“The electrum bond in the talons’ blood is much more forced,” Cardinal said. “It replaces the oxygen in their red blood cells completely, which is why they don’t have to breathe.”

But just because they all desperately needed time, that didn’t mean their enemies were going to wait.

So the next morning, they’d gotten right back to work.

“But why would they go through all this effort?” Oracle asked. “This structure completely denies the electrum unless there’s a critically low oxygen level in his blood.”

“It’s probably just a failsafe to make sure he didn’t die until he grew up. If they’d fully talonised him as a child, he would’ve appeared to be that age forever. Having your genetically modified super soldier be a little kid wouldn’t be much of a status symbol.”

Okay. He’d had enough of this.

Dick pushed between them, his face now just as close to the screen as theirs. “So, figured out if I’m a monster yet?”

The two of them grimaced and stopped leaning forward.

“Sorry,” Barbara said. “Your blood is just very fascinating.”

Dick wiggled his eyebrows. “Just my blood?”

She rolled her eyes. “I guess people also like your rugged, stoic personality.”

“And your ass,” Tim chirped in, because of course he did.

Dick sighed. They were never going to let that go, were they? “I deserved that.”

“You did,” Barbara said. “But to answer your question, no, you’re not a monster. Off course you still wouldn't be if you’d been more talon than human.”

Dick perked up. “But I’m not?”

Tim clicked the images on the screen away. “Your physiology is completely normal until your body thinks it’s dying, and the trace elements of electrum in your blood substitute itself for oxygen. It’s genius level genetic engineering.”

Genius. He didn’t want to be genius. He wanted to be normal all the time, thank you very much.

“Is there any way to get rid of it?”

Oracle and Cardinal shared a look.

“A bone marrow transplant would probably work,” Tim said carefully. “But you’d need a relative to serve as a donor, and afterwards, you’d need to build up a whole new immune system from scratch. Recovery would involve months of quarantine while you get your shots. It’d take years to return to the peak physical health you have now, if you ever do.”

Dick grimaced. That didn’t sound like a real option, especially not if he wanted to continue his night time activities. But the fact that it was possible made the decision to say no taste twice as sour.

Barbara twisted her wheelchair to face him. “I know it's hard, but you can live a completely normal life like this. Your healing is only slightly accelerated, and your speed and strength only increase in when you’re in a tough situation. Arguably, being like this makes you more suited for vigilante work than any of us.”

But he couldn’t help but think back to the night of the Arkham breakout, when he’d asked Damian why they hadn’t just called the Justice League for help.

 Father has expressed direct displeasure over inviting meta humans into Gotham, the kid had said. They complicate things.

Metas complicated things.

He complicated things.

He balled his fists on the desk, watching his veins pop blue from the pressure. “I didn’t ask to be like this.”

Tim sighed. “Dick, look at me.”

He reluctantly lifted his gaze. The bats had really learned to love that phrase these last two days, when his vision would drift anywhere and everywhere as he talked, something too vulnerable about meeting their eyes.

“Dad’s not going to send you away.”

He grimaced. Once again, they’d read him like a goddamn book.

“He’s right,” Barbara said. “Bruce only implemented the no meta rule because he got tired of having to send Clark back to Metropolis.”

Tim turned to her. “No he didn’t.”

She gave him a look.

At first the kid stared back just as defiantly, but gradually his expression became less and less sure. “Oh my god,” he said, staring into space, “he totally did, didn’t he?”

“You know he’s a disaster.”

“I can’t believe this,” Tim muttered. “Here we’ve been trying to hook them up for years, and he goes and undermines all of it because he’s scared of small talk.”

Dick frowned. Not just because they were trying to match Batman with Superman, but— “He’s not with Red Hood?”

And.

That must’ve been the wrong thing to say.

Barbara and Tim both slowly turned their heads.

“What,” Tim asked like he’d asked if they could eat babies for dinner.

Was the thought really that weird? How else could he explain the familiar relationship Hood had with all of them? These kids were far too friendly, but they still wouldn’t be stupid enough to go and befriend a middle-aged serial killer who was still openly serial-killing.

No, the only logical way for Hood to be this involved would be if Batman involved him.

So why were they looking at him like that?

“He still hasn’t told you?” Tim asked.

“What, his identity? Because I honestly don’t care.”

“You should go talk to him.”

Dick grimaced. “I don’t think he’d like that.”

Tim let out a breath that aged him over twenty years. “Okay, but please take my word for it when I say B would never date him. Like, never ever never. Never. I’m actually going to throw up.”

He hadn’t expected Tim to be that shallow. Was Hood really that ugly below his helmet? “I wasn’t trying to insult Batman’s taste. It’s just, after Catwoman, it’s not even that big of a—”

Barbara whipped her wheelchair around and pushed herself to the elevator. “Nope, not dealing with this.”

Tim let out a miserable sigh.

DAMIAN AL GHUL
I talked with Pennyworth, and I think I am going with the belt. Copying Father’s design will allow me to fit much more of the utilities I wish to carry.

DICK
Nice! As your chief design officer, I just have 1 request:

DICK
Make it bright yellow to match your cape!!! >:D

DAMIAN AL GHUL
You are so very predictable, Grayson.

DAMIAN AL GHUL
Which is why I have already requested Pennyworth to use that color.

DICK
Super proud of you kiddo <3

“What do you think?” Mr. Wayne asked.

Dick couldn’t help but stare.

This upstairs gym wasn’t as big as the one down in the cave. It didn’t have any dummies to smack, or any of the weightlifting machines they needed to keep their bodies vigilante-fit.

But it did have big, open windows. A vault with a foam pit. A high bar, rings and a pommel horse.

And towering above it all, a trapeze.

He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He hadn’t seen one of those since Haly’s.

“Most of the equipment is outdated, but it’s all sound to use,” Mr. Wayne said as he stepped inside. “Alfred made sure of that.”

The trapeze platforms weren’t as far up as remembered, and the net wasn’t anything like the one they’d had at Haly’s, made from nylon instead of rope.

Still.

“Why?” He finally managed to ask.

Mr. Wayne brushed a hand over the pommel horse. “The city wanted proof I wasn’t offering to foster you on a whim.”

Dick let out a breath. Of course it'd all been for him. The more time he spent in the manor, the more he realized just how much of a hole his disappearance had left. All these years this room had gone unused, and still there wasn’t a speck of dust or scratch in sight.

Unused, but not forgotten.

“I also wanted to give you somewhere to spend your energy so you wouldn't sneak out,” Mr. Wayne admitted.

At that, Dick had to smile. “I probably still would’ve.” Because once he’d gotten a taste for the rooftops, everything else had paled in comparison.

Mr. Wayne’s mouth twitched. “Alfred said the same.”

Both of them had been kicked from the cave. Mr. Wayne because he’d tried to sneak in a workout while he’d been waiting for the computer to finish an analysis—you’ve been unfrozen for less than forty-eight hours, so help me we will glue you to your chair—and Dick because, in Steph’s words, he should ‘go keep B company or whatever.’

Not exactly subtle, but he'd agreed he shouldn’t let a chance to get to know Batman go to waste when they were all this busy.

So here they were, Mr. I’m-Batman-But-Small-Talk-Makes-Me-Panic Wayne offering him a tour instead of a conversation.

Wait.

He eyed the shallow mats in the corner. “We aren’t here because you still want to work out, are we?”

Mr. Wayne removed his hand from the pommel horse. “No.”

Busted.

Still. He wasn't going to call out Batman. "I guess I'll believe you."

Mr. Wayne turned towards one of the trapeze towers. “I only wanted to show you the trapeze. I haven’t been trained to use any of this equipment.”

Neither had he been when he’d started his coaching job back in Blüdhaven, but it hadn’t mattered to his boss: even if he hadn’t known the rules or what any of the movements were called, his body had performed all the same.

Besides, she’d only hired him to teach the young kids she hadn’t had the patience for—he’d only really needed to be a good example while making them excited to try.

Which, it turned out, he’d enjoyed doing very much. I’d probably been the only part of his civilian life in Blud he had.

He dug his nails into his palms as he followed Mr. Wayne to the trapeze. And now that was gone, too, because earlier today, he’d finally made the difficult phone call to tell Grace he quit.

The last time Slade had found him, every single one of his civilian contacts had become a target.

He couldn’t let that happen again.

“Would you like to try?” Mr. Wayne asked.

Dick looked up at the trapeze platform, fingers already tingling, vision already darkening. “I don’t know,” he answered honestly. His father had sometimes practiced alone, but— “I’ve never used it without someone there to catch me.”

Mr. Wayne grimaced. “I think that would count as exercise.”

And God, had he really just implied— “I didn’t mean you had to—” He let out a breath. “It is possible to fly alone, don’t worry.”

 “Alright,” Mr. Wayne said, but why did that make him look so sad? Did he really want an excuse to work out that bad?

Dick sighed. “We can go for a run around the grounds, instead? If the others ask, you can say you wanted to show me the gardens or something.”

No way they would believe him, but at that point, they would’ve already had their forbidden exercise.

Mr. Wayne's brows furrowed. “You really don’t want to…”

Dick shot the trapeze one last look, then turned away. His parents had taught him better than to fly with a clouded mind. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think I’m ready.”

Breaking down in front of Batman once had been more than enough.

Mr. Wayne nodded. “I understand.” And normally he wouldn’t trust those words, but the way the man didn’t push after just one measly no said he truly did understand things couldn't always be that easy.

Dick smiled. “Thanks for showing me this, though.” He let his eyes wander through the room. Even if he was giving the trapeze a wide berth for now, it was nice to know there was a place he could practice gymnastics without having to leave the manor.

Maybe he could even teach the others a few things somewhere in the future—especially Tim and Steph could both really level up their patrol speed if they became more flexible in their parkour.

And maybe some of the others would even be interested in the trapeze, and he wouldn’t have to fly alone the next time he’d feel brave enough to grab the bar.

Whenever that may be.

“Follow me,” Mr. Wayne said as he made his way back to the door. “I have some exercise clothes hidden near the mudroom.”

After one final look over his shoulder, Dick followed.

“ …meeny, miny, moe,” he muttered, finger stopping to his right. Right hallway it was.

Mr. Wayne had trusted him to find his own way back after their run.

Which, naturally, meant he’d gotten hopelessly lost.

He’d only just gotten comfortable traveling between the den, the game room and his guest room, but in an attempt to hide their workout from Alfred (A futile endeavor, but they’d had to try) they’d showered and changed in a completely different part of the house.

He sighed when the hallway led to yet another junction, corridors on either side identical. Who even had designed this place?

He and Slade had raided smaller castles, for christ sake.

The next junction he finally got lucky, catching a glimpse of grey sky at the end of one of the hallways. A window was just what he needed—if he could get back outside, he could follow the walls to the front door. From there, he’d be able to find his way back easily.

He paced towards the window, then froze at the sound of clashing metal.

He ducked and pushed his back against the wall on instinct, hiding his presence from someone who might look inside.

His heart hammered in his throat. Had someone broken through the gate? Mr. Wayne had ensured him the grounds were just as impenetrable as the interior, their stone walls having the same security as the Batcave.

So who—

“You’re doing it too slow, Drake.”

“Shut up, demon. Show me again.”

A swish of air, like someone moved a blade. “Like that.”

“So I just—”

“No! Keep your right leg still when you twist your wrist. And do it faster.”

A frustrated noise. “How can I do it faster when I don’t have the correct form yet?”

“You will not develop the necessary reflex if you practice so sluggishly. Mother says it sets you up for failure.”

A sigh. “I should’ve known you’d be a horrible teacher.”

“Do not insult me when you are the one asking for aid, Drake.”

The sound of a sword being put back in its scabbard. “I guess that was my first mistake. I suck, anyway.”

“Your form is below average, yes.”

“Oh, will you just—”

“But I have seen you be a quick study. You should not give up this easily.”

Another sigh, this one much deeper than the last. “I was helpless out there, Damian. Dick and B had to step in every single time a talon targeted me. I’m going to be useless during the raid next week.”

A silence.

“Father says that lesser combat prowess does not make one useless.”

A sigh. “It does when your problem is solved by combat.”

Another brief silence.

Then, much quieter; “Surely you understand, neither Father nor Grayson would have survived without your invention.”

A bitter laugh. “And what would it have mattered if Dick and Bruce hadn’t fought their way outside, after? I can’t keep relying on gadgets.”

And.

Dick hadn’t wanted to interfere in what must be a vulnerable moment for both of them, but he couldn’t allow Tim be this hard on himself.

“But you can keep relying on us,” he said as he opened the window, two shell-shocked faces twisting towards him.

Tim and Damian stood on the shaded patio on the other side, Damian with his katana still in hand, Tim clutching onto the scabbard of a different blade.

“Dick,” Tim said with wide eyes. “How much—”

He stepped through the window. “Sorry for eavesdropping. I got lost and happened to overhear.”

“What kind of incompetent imbecile are you,” Damian spat, face multiple shades redder than usual. No wonder—he still bit at Tim nine out of ten times they talked, and now Dick had caught him being nice.

The horror.

“I’ve barely been here a week, Dami. Give me some time to learn.”

“Still—”

Tim turned towards the glass door of the patio, but no way Dick was going to let him run.

“Now hold on,” he said as he grabbed the kid’s shoulder. Thankfully Tim accepted his fate and let himself be pulled back without a struggle, even if his downcast eyes refused to meet Dick’s. So much for ‘look at me’.

Damian shuffled towards the open window, but one backwards glance rooted him to the spot, too. No running for either of them.

“You’re right, you can’t rely on gadgets all the time,” Dick said as he kept a gentle touch on Tim’s shoulder. “But that doesn’t mean you have to be perfect. We all have our strengths and weaknesses.”

Tim grimaced. “I didn’t stand a chance against Deathstroke.”

Was he actually being serious right now? “Tim. It was Deathstroke. And we still sort of beat him.”

“You did. I got my staff sliced and pressed a button.”

Dick shook his head. “If you hadn’t been there, Batman would still be a popsicle, and I would’ve been a talon by now. Didn’t you say just yesterday that you would’ve gone again? Because you knew you’d saved us?”

Tim’s shoulders trembled. “I would do it again,” he whispered at the ground. “I just wish—” His voice wavered, scabbard shaking in his grip. “I just wish I’d been a better me.”

Oh, curse his bleeding heart. What was it about this family that made all these kids so incredibly hard on themselves?

He pulled Tim into a hug, scabbard clattering to the ground between them. Even with Damian right there the kid didn’t fight it, a testament to how much he’d truly needed the touch.

“You’re only seventeen,” he whispered over Tim’s shoulder, “and I’ve been using those swords for over ten years. Besides—8 /those talons wouldn’t have stood a chance if they’d been weak to bo staffs.”

The kid let out a shaky laugh. “But they weren’t.”

“Which is why Batman and I used blades to take care of it. If it'd been a staff we’d needed, you would’ve stepped in to do the same. We can’t all do everything.”

Tim stepped out of reach way too quickly, eyes flickering behind him to where Damian must be. “I just wish I could’ve done more. You didn’t…” He swallowed, then looked him right in the eye with tired, hollow eyes. “You looked terrible, Dick. And then you went unresponsive, and I thought— I thought you might never come back. I could see the fighting hurt you, but I couldn’t do anything to help.”

Oh, of course something like that would weigh on someone like Tim.

He couldn’t remember much from their fight inside the owl’s base. Just panicked memories of black blood and flesh, of slicing and slicing and slicing. He’d been able to close his eyes and turn away like he always did, but Tim had been there for everything.

Through everything.

“I’m sorry you had to see me like that,” he said quietly. “But trust me when I say that you being there was the only reason I didn’t break down completely.”

Tim let out a breath. He wiped his sleeve past his face, catching the single stray tear he hadn’t been able to blink away. “Same, honestly.”

“Yes, it was very much a blessing both of you chose to be imbeciles on the very same night,” Damian said from behind.

Dick blinked. He’d stopped the kid from bolting, but he hadn’t expected him to speak up during a moment like this. Not when his own emotions still came so difficult.

“And you’re the pinnacle of correct judgment?” Tim returned, but there wasn’t any heat behind it. If anything, the way his shoulders sagged meant the familiar bickering was a welcome distraction.

Damian jutted out his chin. “I—”

“Yo losers!” A new voice yelled. They all looked up to see Steph and Cass leaning out a third-story window.

“Want anything from BatBurger?” Steph had her phone pressed against her ear, blond hair tickling her face as she looked down. Next to her, Cass gave them a lazy wave.

Dick had to stifle a laugh. Tim and Damian had sprung away the moment Steph had called out, like the few extra feet between them would somehow hide that they’d been hanging out.

Because that had been what they'd been doing, hadn’t it? Maybe the circumstances hadn’t been great, but they’d still chosen each other's company. Had felt comfortable enough to talk about their insecurities, and to help each other.

Like brothers.

“I’ll take a milkshake,” he yelled.

“You’re not planning to let Alfred get the door for you, are you?” Tim asked when they entered the game room. Steph and Cass were already on the couch, Steph still with her phone in hand.

The two of them had told them to come here to get their food, so here they were.

Steph grinned. “No one has to get the door when Stepdad is bringing it.”

At that, Tim’s expression changed from a slight frown to thunder. “Steph, no. You promised.”

“Isn’t the alien still in space?” Damian asked. The kid hadn’t wanted to order anything this close to dinner, but he’d given in once Dick had promised to steal half his fries.

“No, not him,“ Steph said as she held up her phone. “You know who I mean—wears a lot of red. Big muscles. Foul mouth.”

“Are you seriously filming right now?” Tim asked.

“I need to capture the moment.”

“You need to stop before Jas— Red Hood kills you.”

Damian’s face morphed into confusion. “Why on earth would you call that vile creature our stepfather? He is—”

“Dick, who do you think Red Hood is?” Steph interrupted, still pointing her phone at his face.

“Steph—”

“Are you called Dick, Timothy?”

“I’m going to strangle you.”

“No strangling,” Cass said.

Tim stared at her. “Seriously?”

She smiled. “Seriously.”

Dick narrowed his eyes. This reeked of a trap, but at the same time, he felt like he had to say something—even if Hood was kind of an asshole, no one deserved to be ridiculed like this.

“I think you’re all being very shallow. I don’t know what Hood looks like below that helmet, but ruling him out as a possible love interest for Mr. Wayne because of it isn’t what I expected from any of you.”

Silence.

Then Steph and Cass burst out laughing. Tim buried his face in his hands. Damian stared at him like he was trying to solve a puzzle.

“How old do you think he is?” Steph asked between breaths.

“I don’t see how that’s—”

She held up her phone, hand still shaking with laughter. “Please just give us a guess.”

“I don’t know, forty? But I still don’t think he deserves—”

At that, the laughter almost turned hysterical, both girls struggling to breathe.

“I can’t,” Steph said. “I can’t, I’m going to—”

“What the ever-loving fuck is going on here?”

There stood a man in the door opening. He was built like a truck and wore a red hoodie, multiple BatBurger bags hanging from his elbow. His eyes were tired and there was a scar cut across his cheek, but his face was clean-shaven, his features way too young.

Still, it could only be Red Hood.

“Jason,” Steph greeted, voice still shaking with laughter.

Hood tensed when he noticed Dick had been with them. “Why is he here? You brats know I ain’t talked to him yet.” He had a tacky white stripe in his hair, and his voice, while rough from smoking, was not nearly as deep as the modulator in his helmet had made it seem.

“Necess—ary e—vil,” Cass forced out between breaths, her hands still shaking too hard from laughing to sign.

“C’mon, like you were ever going to,” Steph accused. “B wants us all in the manor until this owl business blows over, and I was not going to watch you squirrel yourself away in your room just because N is here."

Hood’s nostrils flared. He opened his mouth, but then his eyes fell towards the phone in her hands. “Why the fuck are you filming?”

“No reason.“

“No reason my ass!“

Dick couldn’t shake the feeling he’d seen Hood’s face before.

Wait.

Had Steph said Jason?

Like.

That Jason?

The one in the pictures in the den?

In the photo in the corner of the TV, a broken Bruce Wayne reading his obituary?

It couldn’t be, but at the same time—

“You’re Jason Todd,” he said, bewildered.

Hood sighed deeply. “Guilty.”

Dick stared.

And stared.

Because—

“But you’re dead.”

At that, the laughter finally hushed.

Steph lowered her phone.

“What can I say,” Hood said as he put the BatBurger bags on the game table. “Didn’t stick.”

Dick opened his mouth, then closed it. How, he’d wanted to ask, but in their line of work it could’ve been anything. Maybe he’d died for real and he’d come back somehow, or maybe his death had been fake from the beginning.

No, the ‘how’ wasn’t half as important as the fact that the ruthless mercenary he’d met in Boston hadn’t been anything like Blue Jay, Batman’s bubbly little sidekick.

Blue Jay had ‘died’ only four years ago. What could possibly have happened in that time frame for that kid to turn into… this?

Wait.

He studied Hoo— Jason’s face. “How old are you, actually?”

Steph burst out laughing again, stopped by a swift elbow in the ribs from Cass.

“He’s nineteen,” Tim said with a flat voice. “And more important, Bruce’s son.”  

And.

Oh God. He’d made a terrible mistake.

“Who the fuck did he think I was?” Jason asked as he began pulling kid’s meals from the BatBurger bags. “The fucking mailman?”

Steph smiled and batted her eyelashes like she wasn't about to unleash a nuclear bomb. “Actually—”

“You were seventeen in Boston?” Dick interrupted. He shot Steph a dangerous look. He wasn’t ready to die tonight.

“Does it fucking matter?”

Dick shrugged. “Just figured you’d be older. Hard to believe you were so young, not many people could’ve given Slade grief like that.”

Thankfully, the flattery seemed to work. Jason pushed Dick’s milkshake into his hands. “Unlike your sorry ass, I’ve always been good at what I do.”

Dick flashed his teeth in a smile. That he wasn’t ready to die didn’t mean he was going to just roll over. “You forget about the bridge already?”

The corners of Jason’s mouth quirked up, too, eyes shining with challenge. “I remember you being too pussy to pull the trigger.”

Dick laughed. God. He’d really believed Hood to be a middle-aged man, when in reality he’d just been this jaded, angsty teenager looking for buttons to press. It actually explained so much about why he cared so deeply about the bats despite his shaky morals—he was their older brother.

Their family.

Steph swiped one of the kid’s meals off the table. “Girls, you’re both pretty, but let’s get rid of the evidence before Alfie finds out Jay smuggled snacks right before dinner.”

As tough as he thought he was, the threat of Alfred was still enough to make Jason deflate. “Fine, but you brats are gonna tell me exactly why the fuck you were filming.”

Steph smiled. “Gladly.”

Chapter Text

“I hate that thing Steph does with her eyes,” Tim said as he moved his metal top hat past ‘start’, “Where she rolls them up into her head. She thinks it’s funny, but it’s not. It looks horrifying and makes me want to gag.”

The others all shared a look. Then looked at Dick, who shrugged and handed the kid his twenty dollars.

Steph glared at him. “So being mean counts now?”

I don’t like it when you do that, either, Cass signed.

“Okay, but he’s supposed to say something about himself.”

Tim put his new twenty dollars with the others, his bills stacked evenly. “I hate when you do that. That’s a me fact.”

Steph turned to Mr. Wayne, who was still trying to find a place for his new property card on his limited space at the corner of the table. “You’re just going to let your own son cheat like that?”

“If the referee allows it.”

She turned back to Dick, but he just blinked and played dumb. No need to take her side when she still hadn’t deleted that Red Hood video. “Tim started with ‘I’. I can’t just say it doesn’t count because you feel called out.”

Steph sighed and snatched up the dice for her turn. “You all deserve each other.”

Dick had chosen Monopoly over the sea of other board games stuffed in the bookcase behind him. It had been one of the few games he'd played before, and he hadn't felt like learning new rules. But he’d quickly been forced to realize his hubris—of course ‘normal’ Monopoly would be way too boring for the Waynes.

Which was why they had made up their very own rule: you could only collect your twenty dollars from ‘start’ if you told a fact about yourself no one knew yet. For this session they’d limited it to ‘Dick or Damian didn’t know yet,’ but it was still way more than he’d signed up for when the others suggested a quick game to unwind now that they were skipping patrol until the Owl raid in a few days.

Steph rolled a six and a three, her race car crossing ‘start’, too. “I hate that some of Tim’s sneezes are more violent than a volcanic eruption. Like, they legit make me flinch even when I know they’re coming.”

Tim narrowed his eyes. “I’ve told you a million times that I can’t help that.”

“And yet none of us sneeze like we’re trying to wake a primordial being.”

“Sneezing is an involuntary movement! I can’t just—”

“Will you brats stop fucking bickering,” Jason said from the couch. He hadn’t wanted to join, but Mr. Wayne had still made him stay in the room with them.

Dick had gotten Jason’s story in bits and pieces these last few days, some parts from his own mouth, some from Cass, Steph, and even little Damian.

Apparently, him being alive had been the League’s doing, Damian’s Mom chucking his corpse into their Lazarus pit to do her beloved Batman a ‘favor’.

The Lazarus pit was how the League’s leader—and Damian’s Grandfather—Ra’s al Ghul had kept himself alive for centuries, rejuvenating his body with its mystic healing powers.

But those powers had never been meant to bring back the dead.

And Jason had, in fact, been very, very dead.

His return had damaged him, which explained the abrupt switch in personality between Blue Jay and Red Hood. He’d been angry, his mind clouded by something Cass had called ‘pit rage’. He’d even almost murdered Tim when he finally returned to Gotham, convinced Bruce had replaced him out of malice.

It’d been a big mess, one that had taken years of baby steps to get Jason ‘back’.

Back.

That had been the only word Mr. Wayne had used, but it’d been enough for him to understand.

Red Hood had always honored his word, but he’d still been violent and angry back in Boston, his temper short and his finger permanently stuck on the trigger.

And now that same person was sitting cross-legged on the couch on the other side of the room, some old book in his lap as he told his siblings to play nice.

Back where he belonged.

“Come join if you want us to shut up,” Steph said as she took her twenty dollars from Dick.

Jason didn’t even attempt to look up from his book. “No.”

Barbara’s battleship was the next to cross start. “My comfort show is actually storage wars,” she said, before Tim and Steph’s pettiness could take over.

Hood snorted, but before he could say something mean Mr. Wayne shot him a look, and he closed his mouth.

Good—it was Damian’s turn next, and the kid was already way too stressed about having to talk about himself to be worried about being ridiculed.

All of them watched as Barbara handed Damian the dice, the kid frowning down at the board like they’d asked him to dismantle a bomb. He’d have to throw an eleven or higher to cross ‘start’, so he’d probably be safe for another turn.

He shot out his wrist and the dice stumbled across the table, stopping a hair’s breath from the edge. Double sixes. Both Cass and Steph cheered, but Damian just frowned. None of them called him out for it—they all knew he was just nervous.

Dick smiled. It wasn’t like he didn’t know their ‘rule’ was probably complete bogus, a quick lie to get both him and Damian talking without feeling too much pressure. But as long as it was working, he’d gladly play along.

He grabbed another twenty from the box and held it out for Damian to take. “Well?”

The kid opened his mouth, then closed it. Glanced at his Father. At Jason over on the couch, who was wisely keeping his mouth shut.

“I quite enjoy drawing,” he said, the tips of his ears already turning red at the simple confession. Before they could ask anything else, he snatched the twenty dollars at light speed, then pushed the dice into Dick’s now empty hands to signal the end of his turn.

According to the rules his double sixes meant he’d have to roll again, but they all let it slide. Some battles weren’t worth fighting.

“Thank you, Damian,” Mr Wayne said, earning a very mumbled ‘you’re welcome’.

Then it was once again Dick’s turn.

And suddenly, the jittery, anxious look on Damian’s face hadn’t seemed half as endearing. They’d let the kid get away with mumbling and quick words, but they wouldn’t give him any slack whatsoever. He had to tell them something they didn’t know yet, something from before Nightwing and Blüdhaven.

Because it’d quickly become clear that nothing about his life in Blud had been a secret, from his favorite brand of cereal to the phone number of his insurance company.

A two and a one put his iron wheelbarrow exactly on ‘start’, a whole room of silent faces waiting for him to speak.

He licked his lips, raking his brain for something to talk about. He’d said more than enough about Slade at this point, and he didn’t want to bring down the mood. His eyes fell on Damian’s little iron dog, and he smiled. “My best friend growing up was an elephant.”

No one interrupted him, which meant it must’ve been an acceptable answer.

“Her name was Zitka,” he continued as he grabbed two twenties for himself, one extra for landing on ‘start’ instead of just passing. “I would ride on her back during the encore when I was still too little to join my parents' act.”

The ‘best friend’ title wasn’t even an exaggeration. There’d only been a handful of kids at Haly’s, all of them older. Most of the time they’d allowed him to tag along because their parents would scold them if they didn’t, but they’d always complained they should be getting paid for babysitting, even if they’d only been ten or eleven to his seven.

Because of this, he’d often slipped away to the animal pens and spend his time there. He’d look at the horses and big cats from afar, not wanting to disturb their family time, but Zitka? She’d been alone, too. Their only elephant, or rather the last one remaining after they’d decided to stop breeding due to new welfare standards.

He’d gravitated towards her, and before he knew it, he’d traded all his chores inside the big top to shovel elephant dung.

Maybe it wasn’t fair to Haly and the other human circus members, but next to his parents, Zitka had been his hardest goodbye. He knew she couldn’t be at Haly’s anymore, new laws forbidding circuses from keeping wild animals. He could only hope she was somewhere—

“I’ve met her, actually,” Tim said.

Dick smiled. “You remember that?” The kid couldn’t have been older than four back when he’d seen their show, but if his memory was good enough to remember the quadruple, it made sense he’d also—

Tim blinked. “It was only like a year ago. The staff offered us a meeting because Wayne Industries is such a big donor.”

Dick frowned. Staff? Donor?

“Slow down,” Cass said. I don’t think he knows.

Tim gave him an odd look. “But surely he would’ve kept up with the circus? The first result on google—”

Dick slammed his fist on the table. The little pieces on the board jumped up, the stack of chance cards fanning out across the ‘no parking’ in the middle.

Everyone was quiet.

Jason closed his book.

Guess he’d ruined the mood, anyway. “Please don’t tell me.”

“Don’t tell you what, Dick?” Mr. Wayne asked with a complicated look on his face.

He let out a breath. “About Zitka and Haly’s. I don’t need to know.”

“But why?” Tim asked, still frowning. “Weren’t they like… family?”

“I agree with Drake,” Damian said carefully. “Wouldn’t knowing everyone’s fate be a relief?”

Dick shook his head. They didn’t understand. He hadn’t been there—even when he’d been free and he could’ve been.

What right did he have to know after abandoning them?

Plus, he was legally dead and wouldn’t be able to meet any of them ever again. So what if Pop Haly was dead? So what if the big top had burned down? So what if Zitka had been sold to someone horrible?

What would knowing do, except for forcing him to live with that information?

A hand on his back. Cass had left her chair to stand next to him, her touch gently pulling him back to the present.

To the bats frowning back at him.

He sighed. If he said any of this out loud, they’d just call him an idiot.

And maybe. Just maybe, that was a sign that he shouldn’t listen to that sad, whiny voice in his head that whispered these stupid, self-depreciating things.

Legally dead? What kind of stupid excuse was that? He’d smuggled himself and a whole arsenal of Slade’s stuff on a passenger plane without raising suspicion. Had been undercover for a week before the prince he’d been getting dirt on had figured out ‘First Captain Major‘ wasn’t a real military rank.

If he wanted to see his old family, he would find a way to do so, legally dead be damned. He refused to be the kind of person who stuck his head in the sand any longer. Every second he spent hiding was another he was wasting.

“I changed my mind,” he said. “Please tell me everything.”

With the bats by his side, he knew he could handle whatever reality threw at him.

The room looked empty, but he still closed his eyes before going inside, listening for any signs of life. A breath, a creak. Shuffling fabric.

When he was met with nothing but silence, he stepped through the door and gently closed it behind him. His shoulders sagged the moment it shut—finally safe. He wasn’t afraid to admit he’d grown to love those kids like family, but his tolerance was all-but gone after both Monopoly and the conversation about Haly’s.

The others had all already gone back to their tasks when he’d slunk away; Mr. Wayne trying to make a dent in his CEO backlogs from Wayne Industries in the den, Cass and Steph staying in the game room to work on their mysterious hologram, Tim, Barbara and Damian all going down to the cave to train or plan for the owl raid later this week, and Jason going wherever Jason went when he disappeared.

He’d started towards his guest room before changing his mind and coming here, instead. Somewhere he knew they wouldn’t think to look for him.

Mr. Wayne had briefly passed the library during his tour, but Dick had only learned to truly appreciate the space a couple of days later, when Alfred had taken him back to pick a few books to put on the shelf in his guest room.

He hadn’t had the heart to reject such a kindness, even if he hadn’t picked up a book for fun in years. So there he’d been, following Alfred into what must’ve been the biggest room in the manor.

It was even grander than the foyer, ceiling two stories high, an elegant floating staircase connecting the main floor to a second-story balcony. The walls on both levels were completely hidden by bookshelves and there were no windows, Alfred explaining their humidity would hurt the old, fragile paper.

On the bottom level tall, wooden bookcases slotted together like a maze, someone taking great care to make sure each dead end was a cozy oasis filled with old furniture.

He beelined for the spot he’d found yesterday, a dead end tucked away in the back half of the room. It had an old couch, not ‘used’ old like the one in the den but actually old, legs carved like lion feet and cushions striped bold green with buttons sown into them. The books in the bookcase behind it were all bound in leather and written in French, most of them having handwritten notes inside the covers. And as a cherry on top the space was directly below the balcony, the lowered ceiling making it feel like entering a little cave.

He would never admit it out loud, but the cluttered bookcases and the tacky couch felt so much like his parent’s trailer it hurt.

The trailer he found out still existed, bought by Mr. Wayne after Haly’s had no choice but to sell. It was right here in Gotham, put in underground storage to keep the wood safe from the weather.

Zitka was in Gotham, too.

He let out a breath. Sat down on the couch and pulled his knees to his chin.

Pop had reached out to Mr. Wayne when the new animal laws set in, hoping his good will towards Dick would translate into goodwill towards the whole circus, which of course it did. So to fix the issue, Wayne Industries has become a patron of the Gotham City Zoo, arranging for Zitka to live out the rest of her life as a part of their already established elephant herd.

Which meant.

He could go see her.

Not right now of course, but once this all blew over (which it would—he had to believe it would) there’d be nothing—

Someone opened the door to the library.

Shit. He held his breath and kept stock-still. He didn’t want to be found right now.

After a few agonising seconds, the door finally closed. He let out his breath, but then quiet footsteps broke the silence.

Great. Just great.

He’d only hid here once before, but that time texting ‘I need a breather’ in group chat had bought him over two hours.

Today, he’d barely been here two minutes.

The footsteps were sure and even, the person leaving them knowing exactly where they were going. Still Dick kept quiet—maybe they just needed to return a book, and he wouldn’t have to betray his presence.

But the footsteps only got closer.

And closer.

Until he had to force himself to sit up properly to face whoever had come to find him.

“I know I should’ve texted,” he started before he could even see them, “but I just needed a moment to—”

He stopped when he saw it was Jason standing there, blinking back just as confused.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He still had that same book from earlier tucked below his arm. His frown was still just as hostile as he’d always imagined it’d be below that helmet, but wearing a hoodie and clutching a book, caught off guard so badly he’d almost flinched—

This was the first time he’d seen Red Hood look his age. Dick grimaced when he realised he must’ve stolen his safe haven. Of course Jason would know all the best places to hide after growing up here.

“Sorry,” Dick said as he stood from the couch. “I didn’t realize this place was taken.” He tried to shuffle past Hood, the bookcases just far enough apart for both of them to fit.

Something ugly cut into Jason’s face. He blocked Dick’s path, squeezing the book in his grip until his fingers paled. “I’m not here to fucking hide.”

Something felt off. “Okay.”

Jason shoved him aside and slid his book back into one of the empty spots in the bookcase next to him. He grabbed another book from the same shelf to replace it, this one’s cover green instead of brown.

Dick had actually opened that one—the note inside had been addressed to Martha Wayne, Mr. Wayne’s mother. It was a period drama, one the blurb on the back had described as a steamy romance.

And he shouldn’t, but— “You sure you’re old enough to read that?”

Jason froze. Whipped back around, expression angry, blue eyes flashing dangerously. “Don’t you fucking start babying me, too.”

Mistake. Very big mistake. “I’m not—”

Jason pricked a finger against Dick’s chest, forcing him to step back. “I’m not like them. I didn’t have any grand fucking dreams about the oh-so-great-Dick-Grayson coming back. All I need from you is to leave me the fuck alone.”

“Jason—” Every step Jason took forward he was forced to step back, until he was leaning into the couch with nowhere to run.

“It was always ‘Dick this’, ‘Dick that’,” Jason spat. “He never stopped fucking talking about you even though you weren’t even here, and then I died and he buried a fucking doll and moved on!” He slammed his fist into one of the bookcases, shoulders shaking and knuckles white from force.

Dick couldn’t stop himself from flinching. What was he supposed to say to any of that? Jason was right—he hadn’t known. Hadn’t been here. Maybe things would’ve been different if he had, but they were both adults now, and Jason’s perception of him would be forever jaded by the past.

“I’m sorry,” he said, because he had to say something.

“I know you are!” Jason yelled. He gave the bookcase one more slam. This time the shelf dented, wood creaking, books fluttering to the ground. They fell with their spines cracked open, pages creasing as they met the floor. “Fuck!”

Something was wrong. He’d seen Red Hood angry before, but Jason had held onto that book so carefully. Even the way he’d put it back on the shelf had had gravity, like he’d been paying his respects. He couldn’t want to destroy this place.

And sure enough, a closer look at his eyes revealed the splinters of green dotted through the blue, the Lazarus pit still messing with his emotions.

Jason struck out at the bookcase a third time, but this time, Dick caught his fist before he could make contact.

He bit his lip as the back of his hand hit a jutted spine, the force of the hit aching through his arm. That asshole better be grateful later.

Jason’s nostrils flared. He yanked his fist loose and wound up another punch, then faltered when Dick slowly sank through his knees with his arms held up.

Talking wouldn’t do anything right now, so instead he simply reached for one of the fallen books, smoothing out the paper before closing it carefully.

Jason just stared at him, breath heavy, arm still raised.

Dick held out the book for him to take. “You don’t want to do this.”

For a while they just stood there, Jason’s breathing the only thing breaking the silence. He frowned at the book with a look Dick had seen it in the mirror plenty of times, when his fingers had been numb and his vision had been fading, and he’d had to fight his way back to the present through sheer force of will.

Then, Jason’s shoulders sagged, and his fists unwound. His eyes wandered to the floor as he accepted the book, grimacing at the many more littering the floor.

“Fuck,” he said again for good measure.

“It’s okay.” Dick grabbed another book, checking it for damage before closing it gently.

“No it’s fucking not,” Jason said as he joined him in cleaning up.

“You weren’t in control.”

“And that’s supposed to make it better?”

Dick didn’t answer. He just kept handing Jason books to put back on the shelves, since he seemed to know exactly where they all belonged.

“I come here when it gets bad,” Jason said to break the silence, his voice much more even but also much more defeated. “I just can’t fucking stop it, so I just—” his voice faltered.

“Hide until it goes away?” Been there, done that.

Jason grimaced. “Don’t you fucking dare to throw me a pity party.”

“I won’t.”

“Good. It’s better if I deal alone.”

Dick frowned. That didn’t seem right, but at the same time, he’d be the worst kind of hypocrite if he called Jason out for trying to deal with his issues solo.

It must be terrifying to lose control like that—Dick couldn’t imagine getting that angry in front of the others, or hurting any of them. At least his disassociating left him unresponsive instead of violent.

Before he knew it, the last book was back in its bookcase, both of them unsure of what to do next.

Then, Jason seemed to make a decision. “They don’t know it still gets bad sometimes,” he said instead of leaving.

Dick sat down on the couch, and after a hesitating few seconds, Jason joined him.

“So you better not fucking tell them.”

Dick smiled. “After you kept my secret for so long? Of course not.”

Jason let out a suffering sigh, as if being caught doing something nice was embarrassing. “I just couldn’t fucking forget how awful it felt when B figured out it was me.”

His father, who was Batman, finding out he’d been the supervillain who’d almost killed his new sidekick? “Yeah, that must’ve sucked.”

Jason let out a huff. “That’s one way of saying it.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“Nah, you’re right, it fucking did.” He sighed again and worried his hand past the pack of cigarettes in his pocket. “And I know you didn’t choose any of that shit, either. I shouldn’t blame B for not giving up on you, but it still fucking hurt.”

What must it have been like, to grow up in a house full of ghosts? The others had all joined Batman when his sorrows had already been tempered by time, but Jason had done so right after Dick disappeared.

Barbara had only given him a brief rundown of that time, but even those few quick words had made her solemn, like those years it’d just been her, Blue Jay and Batman had been tainted by grief.

Grief for someone Jason hadn’t even known.

“You deserved better,” Dick said.

Jason set his jaw. Clawed at his cigarettes. Frowned.

But he didn’t leave.

“Guess we both had it rough,” he said eventually.

Dick smiled. They couldn’t change the past, but there’d always be the future.

“Guess we did.”

Dick sliced through the hologram, severing its forearm from its body. The light blue limb hovered mid-air, showing both sides of the cut. “This is the only place to guarantee a clean cut. Anywhere else, there’s an increased chance of your blade getting stuck in bone.”

He braved a glance over his shoulder, everyone staring ahead with grim faces. He turned back towards the hologram before their expressions cut too deep into his conscience.

He could do this.

He could.

Breathe and keep going.

He rested his blade against the hologram’s knee. “Here you’ll want to make sure to start from either the top or bottom of the joint and slice at an angle, or you’ll hit the kneecap and your blade could once again get stuck.”

He sliced carefully this time, making sure to swallow back the bile climbing in his throat.

This was so stupid. It was just a hologram. There wasn’t even a sensation to it—if he closed his eyes, it’d be just like cutting through air.

He pointed his blade at the hologram’s feet. “Technically the ankle would be easier to sever than the knee, but it moves unpredictably and reaching for it might leave you out of position.”

He didn’t bother cutting the ankle. Just took a breath, and turned around to see if he’d be fine to move on.

Mr Wayne and Barbara both watched from the Batcomputer, neither of them needing the lesson. Jason said he’d be fine sticking with his guns and had stayed upstairs. Damian, Cass, Steph and Tim all stood on the training mats behind him, eyes following his every move. Cass and Damian were probably just being polite, but this was all new to Tim and Steph.

Because, shockingly, their training hadn’t included a ‘how to maim someone properly’ session until today.

He hated everything about this, but he’d hate himself even more if he hadn’t given them every advantage he could for the raid tomorrow.

They’d had a breakthrough in a cure for the talons after studying his blood, but the serum wouldn’t be done for at least another month, way too long to wait with both the owls and Slade lurking around.

Which meant they’d probably have to contain or defeat many talons before getting to Cobb and the Grandmaster.

Maybe the talons would run or surrender when faced with Tim’s freezegun, but there was no guarantee—if they attacked anyway, they would all have to know how to defend themselves. The raygun could never be anything more than a bluff when a single shot was enough to kill.

So here he was.

Another breath, and then it was time for the last part of his demonstration.

He placed his blade against the hologram’s side. “As a last resort, you can sever their lower and upper body. Most of the time it won’t be worth it, but if you get caught off guard, it would be quicker than lining up a proper cut on a limb.” He moved his sword to the hologram’s back. “Preferably you’d start at the spine, so you can make sure your blade won’t get stuck halfway through.”

He moved his arm back. Took a deep breath.

Last one. After this, he’d be done.

He cut forward, but a hand grabbed his wrist before his sword met the hologram.

Cass gave him a gentle smile. As always, she’d seen right through him. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, I think we got it,” Steph said, face grim but trying not to be.

Dick sighed. “Sorry. I thought— I thought I could do this.” He let Cass pry the sword from his grip, then let her turn him away from the maimed hologram.

“It’s okay,” Tim said even though it wasn’t. “This was already really helpful.”

They were all quick to give him pity-nods, even Mr. Wayne and Barbara from all the way at the computer.

They’d tried so hard to get him to step away from the raid and everything it stood for, but he’d refused—this was his fight. His responsibility.

Cass laid a hand on his back, but this time he shook her off, the touch too scalding. “I think I need a break.”

The others shared a look. The kind of look that said ‘we knew this would happen.’

And he’d known, too, but he couldn’t justify sitting still while they prepared, and his expertise as a swordsman had been the only skill he’d had to offer. Everywhere else they outmatched him, their technology and planning leaps and bounds ahead of anything he’d ever be able to manage.

But now, as they frowned at him, he realized he hadn’t helped at all.

He’d only given them more to worry about.

He stalked towards the stairs before anyone could stop him, ignoring the voices that called after him.

He wanted to disappear.

He didn’t go to the library, because that was Jason’s spot. His guest room was out of the question, too. They’d find him way too quickly.

He didn’t know anywhere else, so instead he stalked the hallways, moving with no clear destination just like he’d done back at the labyrinth.

Left. Right. Right again, eyes closing just a little bit too long when he blinked. Feet tripping over the carpet, all feeling in his hands gone.

He knew he was being ridiculous.

Nothing had happened. Absolutely nothing, but still he ran, breath coming quick as he pushed himself around corner after corner.

The bats wouldn’t judge him, but he still didn’t want them to see this raw version of him, this broken, defeated creature.

Something made him stop in front of the next door, fingers still numb as he twisted the handle.

On the other side was the gym, the very same one Mr. Wayne had shown him. The lights were off and there was nothing but black outside the windows, the sun having set hours ago.

His shadow cut into the dark room, reaching all the way to the net below the trapeze.

The trapeze.

He closed his eyes. Told himself to shut the door. To keep running. To find somewhere else to hide, somewhere no one would think to look.

But he couldn’t stop himself from stepping inside. He was cast in darkness as soon as he closed the door, but he didn’t care enough to go find the light switch. His eyes would adjust to the moonlight soon enough.

They always did.

He didn’t pause when he got to the ladder, just clutched on and kept reaching for the next rung until he hauled himself up to the platform.

It’d been more than big enough for him to sit on back at Haly's, his feet the only part dangling over the edge when he’d press his back against the pole.

Now, there was barely enough space for him to pull his knees to his chest.

He had to fight himself to stop from yelling out. Why couldn’t anything good ever just stay the same? He squeezed his arms around his legs, ignoring the pain of his nails digging into his thighs. At least that pain meant his hands were still working, even if he couldn’t feel them.

God, he was such a fucking mess.

The door jostled, light from the hallway streaming in.

he held his breath and kept himself still, but then—

“Dick?” Mr. Wayne called.

He couldn’t help but shift up on his platform. Of course it’d be Batman who found him, the one person he didn’t want to see.

Why couldn’t it have been Cass? Or even Barbara, some evil part of his mind whispered, because she’d have no way of getting him down from here. He dug his fingers even deeper into his thighs. What kind of sick person had twisted thoughts like that?

Mr. Wayne didn’t turn on the lights when he closed the door behind him. “Dick, can you say something?”

What kind of stupid question was that? He turned his head to yell back something mean, but then he faltered—they must’ve asked him questions like that on the night of the owl fight, too.

Only then, he hadn’t been able to answer.

“I'm awake,” he mumbled down, defeated.

Mr. Wayne nodded, his face hard to read in the moonlight. He stepped further into the room, disappearing from view as he moved directly below the platform.

He should probably let go of his knees and peer over the side, but something kept him locked in place.

“Can I come up?”

“No.”

Silence.

Dick sighed. How even was he sounding so dejected without saying a word? “There won’t be enough space.”

A blatant lie. His parents had often shared a single platform during practice, and even then they’d always had plenty of space left over for him to mess around on.

“Then can I climb the other tower?”

Dick shrugged before he remembered they couldn’t see each other. “It’s your trapeze,” he said, trying his best to sound indifferent.

The pricklier he acted, the quicker Mr. Wayne would realize something was wrong.

Then again, not like anything could be ‘right’ after he’d fled the cave to go hide in a room with the lights turned off.

Real subtle, Grayson.

“Look, I’ll be fine,” he said as a shape climbed up the other ladder.

Mr. Wayne didn’t stop climbing. Of course he didn’t.

“I just need some time to breathe, and then I’ll be back to normal.”

What ‘normal’ meant in this context he didn’t know, but it’d always been the magic word with Slade. His master had never cared if he was alright or not as long as he’d ‘stopped being a bother’.

He knew the bats didn’t think like that, but he still didn’t want to be a bother, which was be impossible to achieve if they kept trying to fucking help.

Mr. Wayne sat down on the other platform, legs dangling over the edge, face pointed towards him even if they couldn’t read each other’s expressions in the moonlight.

“Why do you need some time?”

Dick let out a huff. The man was Batman, for Christ’s sake—no way he hadn’t pieced together what happened. “Like you don’t know.”

“I want to hear it from you.”

Dick stilled.

Ah.

So he’d already switched to victim protocol.

The bats’ victim protocol consisted of four easy steps:

Step one. Ask for permission to start the conversation, to give them a semblance of control.

Step two. Let them tell you what happened in their own words, to help them process.

Step three. Ask if they have someone to call, then call them.

Step four. Offer to take them home, or arrange for a police officer or EMT to do so.

He’d only seen them use it two times thus far. The first time had been a drunken girl who wouldn’t stop crying after they’d pulled an equally drunk man off her. The second had been a kid who’d gone into shock after a shootout between rival gangs had spilled into his basketball court.

“I’m not a victim.”

“I never said you were.”

“Then don’t treat me like one.”

Another silence, the shadow on the other tower unmoving.

Then, “Do you want me to go?”

Dick opened his mouth to say yes, then faltered. His nails still dug into his thighs. His body still hummed, and he wanted to scream and cry and curl up and die all at the same time, even if he couldn’t explain why.

Did he really want to be alone right now?

“I just couldn’t,” he said instead of answering the question. “I wanted to help, but I just… couldn’t.”

“Couldn’t what?”

He shrugged and looked outside. The wall to his right was basically one big window, soft light filtering into the room. With his eyes adjusted to the dark, he could finally see the few stubborn stars poking through the smog. “Couldn’t do anything.”

It wasn't just about the hologram. This ‘anything’ was about everything. About being helpless for all those years. About not standing up to Slade sooner. About giving in and being weak. Small. Broken.

Even if he’d known what he did now all those years ago, it wouldn’t have changed anything. He still would’ve been powerless to change his fate.

“You got yourself out,” Mr. Wayne said. “Built yourself a new life in a new city. Worked twice as hard because you didn’t just want to run, you wanted to help.” He hesitated, his form shifting on top of the other platform. “And you did it all on your own.”

All on his own.

All alone.

It already felt so long ago now, when he’d been struggling to get settled in Blüdhaven. He’d had no one to count on, had no one waiting for him back at his apartment. No one to call when he got banged up. No one to pick up the slack when he got tired. No one to talk to when he saw ghosts.

When he’d seen Slade in every shade of orange.

It felt too lonely to call it a victory, like the bitter taste of smoke stinging his tongue.

The fire might be gone, but the land was still broken. Still smoking. Still empty and barren.

“I didn’t want to do it alone,” he whispered.

For a while, Batman didn’t answer. They both just looked outside, like they’d only climbed the trapeze to stargaze.

“You won’t have to anymore,” Mr. Wayne answered quietly, and Dick knew he meant it.

He’d known for weeks, for months if he stopped lying to himself. He would never abandon the bats, and they would never leave him, even if he’d done nothing to deserve such kindness.

Whatever unspoken bond they had, they’d have it for life.

“Thanks, Mr. Wayne.”

He finally caught a glimpse of Batman’s face in the moonlight, the man’s crow’s feet wrinkling. “Call me Bruce.”

Dick smiled back. “Bruce.”

Chapter Text

Damian didn’t twirl when Dick gestured at him to do, which sadly kept the bright yellow lining inside his new cape hidden against his back.

The kid glared at him as he marched into the cave, but there was no real heat behind it. Had they been alone, he might’ve indulged Dick in his silliness.

But the cave was crowed tonight, and his father was already suited up and refilling his utility belt from a rack bolted into the wall.

Damian kept his ground as Batman turned to greet him. This was the first time anyone but Dick or Alfred got to see the finished product of his Robin suit.

The kid’s cheeks had often flushed redder than his tunic as they had worked on it, doubt sneaking in whenever he dared a glance at the mirror. But in the end, he had always remembered what the colors meant and had bravely pushed on.

Batman’s cowl was still off, the man underneath stuck somewhere between the manor and the rooftops. Dick was starting to understand why the others often simply called him B and didn't worry about the distinction.

When Batman laid eyes on his youngest son, the corner of his mouth twitched ever so slightly.

Dick couldn’t blame him—the only other time Damian had worn something this colorful had been when he’d come to their rescue against the talons. His usual wardrobe consisted only of shades that would fade into the night.

Now he stood there, chest robin red, belt just as yellow as the bat-signal, his expression unwavering. Like he wouldn’t even entertain the thought of his father’s usually infallible words ruining this for him.

Batman opened his mouth, and—

“You look like a Christmas tree,” Cardinal said as he and Spoiler stepped out of the dressing room. Tim already had his anti-talon raygun strapped to his back, even though it was definitely too heavy for him to effectively fight with. Stubborn as always.

Spoiler flicked his head. “You’re wearing the same red, dumbass.”

Tim just shrugged.

“You look fine,” Batman said before Damian could retaliate. He laid a careful hand on his son’s shoulder. “It certainly is colorful,” he was forced to agree, “but it suits you. I’m glad you found something you wanted, Damian. Robin.”

And Damian must’ve seen the twinkle in everyone’s eyes, because all he said was, “Thank you, Father.”

Bruce gave his shoulder one final squeeze, then looked past him to Dick. “Ready?”

Nightwing flexed his fingers. His new suit fit like a second skin, the blue wings of the bird on his chest traveling along his arms all the way to his fingertips. He’d convinced them to keep it Lycra instead of Kevlar, but it was flame retardant now, and they’d done some magic to make the material tougher without losing flexibility.

He never would’ve accepted a gift like this in the past.

But things were different now. When they’d said they wanted to do this for him, he had believed them.

Besides.

He’d really like it if all of them came home unscathed tonight, himself included.

“Ready.”

The banter that had dominated the comms died down as their bikes and cars crept onto the highway towards Gotham’s inner city. The night had turned unusually clear the past hour, moonlight weeping onto the rooftops that loomed in the distance.

Dick would’ve been cold in his old suit, wind pricking at his limbs as they all raced along.

Commissioner Gordon should have the whole GCPD waiting for them.

They’d wanted to go in quietly, but it had been Batman himself who had vetoed that plan.

“They know who we are,” he’d argued, “which means they’ll know we’re coming the moment we leave. We’ll walk into a trap if we believe we have the element of surprise.” At the last part, his mouth had pulled down like the words tasted sour, all of them reminded of how his last run-in with the owls had ended.

Dick had to agree with his logic. The way the cards had played, they had no choice but to act fast and hard. The owls knew who they were, and so did Slade. After last week’s events these facts were no longer a secret to be kept, which meant they now only served as a tool to be used against them.

Though it hurt to leave the safe comfort of the manor, they couldn’t stay holed up forever. They had to strike before the owls did.

They’d used the info Bruce squirreled away during his infiltration to strategically place police squads around Gotham, right outside the exits the owls used.

Gordon had only agreed after he’d been assured that at least one of them would spend this night supporting the arrests. In the end, a scowling Black Bat had won that honour.

Was it a good idea to use the Force? Probably not.

But butchering policemen was different from the quiet and clean murders the Owls usually ordered. Would they really risk getting involved in such blatant killings when they might end up unmasked?

At this point, they had no choice but to hope that would be the case.

Steph and Damian steered their bikes towards the next exit.

Dick raised his hand in a silent goodbye, getting back a playful salute and a quick nod. The two of them were on city duty, because there were always criminals who took advantage of the chaos. They’d both protested, of course, but it only took a few stern words from Batman for them to deflate.

An uncomfortable feeling set in Dick’s stomach as he watched them disappear in his rearview mirror.

There was a risk in letting their two most inexperienced fighters out alone on a night like this. If it’d been up to him, both of them would’ve spent the night tied to a chair in the cave.

Though Bruce seemed to vehemently share the sentiment, he’d just sighed with a look that said he’d tried it all before. Any attempt at stopping his kids from getting involved was always doomed to backfire, apparently.

At least this way, they wouldn’t cross paths with any owls or talons.

If nothing goes wrong, a quiet part of his mind whispered.

Cass swerved down another exit too, and then there were four.

Because Batman, Red Hood, Red Cardinal and Nightwing were storming the nest.

They parked their bikes at the steps of the opera house. The giant wooden door on top of the stairs had an intricate design, angels with sharp edges and distorted shadows gazing down at them with disdain.

Normally storming the front door would be an insane plan. Even now it still was, but they could hardly ask the entire GCPD to mobilize without taking the brunt of the danger for themselves.

Besides. There was just no way the owls would expect such a straightforward approach, and Batman had been very sure the Grandmaster wouldn’t run from where she felt most protected.

Slade was probably in there somewhere, too.

Dick forced himself to take a deep breath as he stashed his helmet inside his bike. His former master could’ve fled in anticipation of the inevitable confrontation with Batman, but Dick’s gut told him there was no way he’d skipped town. His ego wouldn’t allow it.

Deathstroke didn’t leave unfinished business. Because that was all Dick had ever been, he’d realised these last few days.

Just another deal.

But Dick was done running, too. If Slade wanted to finish things tonight, that was perfectly fine by him.

“Coming?” Cardinal asked Dick from halfway up the stairs, Batman and Hood already at the top.

“Remember,” Dick said as he stalked after him. “If any of you see him—”

“He’s all yours.”

Dick gave a nod, and that was that.

On the top of the stairs Batman was already on one knee, hands busy with the lock.

“You fuckers ready?” Red Hood asked.

“Language,” Batman said as he fiddled with the lock, more a reflex than a real warning.

Hood huffed. He lifted his boot and kicked the door open, splintering the old wood like a gunshot. The head of one of the carved angels crashed to the ground, echoes of its fall wailing through the empty corridor.

Batman put his lockpick back in his belt and sighed.

The four of them quickly made their way to the basement ballroom, the actual main entrance to the nest. There, a few lever pulls from Batman revealed a door with the same design as the one Dick and Tim had run past as Renegade and Red X. Probably the very same one.

Dick’s next step was interrupted by a shadow dropping from the ceiling.

Claws raked the air where his face had been. Before Nightwing could do anything but dodge, the talon had already jumped out of range. Their landing was clumsy.

The creature hissed as they pushed a hand against the wall to steady themselves.

“Easy,” Dick said as he held his hands in front of him. They’d all agreed they’d try talking first. Of course they had. These were people.

But the talon just shook their head violently, body swaying, their claws leaving deep grooves in the wall.

Red Robin stood deathly still, hand hovering over the handle of the raygun on his back. “Something’s wrong.”

Without warning, the Talon lurched towards Batman, aiming all ten claws at his heart.

Batman sidestepped with a flutter of his cape, the Talon’s claws sinking deep into the wooden closet behind him.

The creature howled and desperately thrashed to pry themselves loose, but it was no use. They all stood dumbfounded as the talon wailed and thrashed against their self-inflicted restraint.

“It’s lost its fucking mind,” Red Hood said.

Understatement of the century.

What had the owls done? Something between rage and despair set in Dick’s heart. Judging by the others’ faces, he wasn’t the only one. “We have to warn the others.”

Batman already had his finger pressed against his comm to relay the new scope of the situation. For them, these feral talons were way easier to deal with than trained, calculating killers. But to the police? The public? If even one Talon in a similar shape as this one took to the streets, it could kill dozens before someone could catch up.

Now they were forced to make a choice—stop and make sure every talon was accounted for, or pursue their actual goal and still try to capture the Grandmaster, Cobb, and—

“Fucking Slade,” Nightwing hissed. Somehow this had to have been his idea. It always was when things went wrong.

“We need a new plan,” Cardinal said as he handcuffed the struggling Talon with the dionesium cuffs he'd designed just for that purpose.

“No we don’t.” Batman’s hand left the comm. “Black Bat and the police will round up the Owls and subdue any stray talons with the cuffs we gave them, just as planned.”

Nightwing shook his head. “But what about Robin and Spoiler?”

“They will focus on evacuating civilians and registering first aid.”

Dick made a frustrated noise. “We can’t just—”

“We have to trust them.” Even if Batman said it, his stiff posture betrayed that he didn’t like it, either.

But still he didn’t take back his words.

Dick almost laughed. Trust them? He trusted them, alright. He trusted them to leap headfirst into danger. Trusted them to sacrifice themselves if the situation called for it.

He trusted Slade to make good use of their naive selflessness.

None of them knew his master like he did. And he just couldn’t… If Damian—

A hand on his shoulder. “Breathe, chum. They will call for backup if they need it.”

Dick took a few forceful breaths. When the room stopped spinning, the others still looked determined to finish what they’d started.

They were used to this, Dick realised. To villains turning and twisting. To situations changing at the drop of a hat. When they had left the cave, they’d prepared themselves for any possibility.

Suddenly, he understood what the bats had really been missing with Batman gone. They were all capable enough and worked well as a team, but there’d always been an edge to it, an uncertainty as to what they should do and who should do it.

But with Batman there, the path was clear.

Forward.

Dick stared at the hologram on his wrist.

The flash of a distant explosion flickered in the corner of his eye, but he didn’t look away from the little screen.

How had it all gone so terribly wrong?

“Nightwing!”

How. Why.

He knew he should’ve trusted his gut. Knew they had been underestimating Slade.

Or rather, had been underestimating how well that asshole knew how to get under his skin.

ANONYMOUS
Maria in 15 or the boy will take your place.

ANONYMOUS
Let’s settle this professionally.

ANONYMOUS
S.

“Fuck, can you fucking—” A hand grabbed his shoulder, and he let Red Hood drag him out of the path of the Talon they’d been subduing.

Take his place how? As his apprentice? As the next Headtalon? Both? He tried to take a deep breath like everyone always told him to, but it didn’t help at all.

Cardinal leaned against a satellite dish. “This isn’t working,” he huffed between breaths.

Red Hood handcuffed the talon to a pipe without giving the struggling creature a second glance. “You could use that fucking thing already.”

“Hm.” Cardinal’s eyes wandered to the raygun still strapped to his shoulders. When the Talons lost their reason, their fear of cold had disappeared with it. Sure, using it would be easier. But it wouldn’t be right.

But ‘right’ was getting harder to justify when people were being slaughtered down there, and they all knew it. Spoiler and Robin had done a good job evacuating civilians, but all the EMT, firefighters and police on the ground were putting their lives on the line.

Dick didn’t blame Tim for holding onto the thing despite Batman’s clear disdain.

The distant siren of an ambulance made them look down at the street, where Batman hurriedly talked with Commissioner Gordon. The two of them stepped aside to let the ambulance screech past.

They’d caught and unmasked a lot of owls the past hour.

Most of them had fled their nest right into the waiting arms of the police, just as Batman had planned.

But neither side had anticipated that when the now feral talons crossed their former masters’ paths, they would attack them with the same ferocity as the policemen.

As the moon rose on this exceptionally clear night, death did not discriminate.

Whatever The Grandmaster had done, it had sentenced all of Gotham to die.

Most of the owls were already dead despite all of their—especially Black Bat’s—best efforts.

So. At least that solved most of their secret identity problems. 

Meanwhile, the four of them that should’ve led the charge had only run into a few stranded talons and gutted owls as they made their way inside the nest.

No Cobb. No Grandmaster.

No Slade.

Dick balled his fists around his blades, steel dripping black blood onto the rooftop. And now, Deathstroke had Damian.

Still, it was himself he was really angry with.

He’d known it would turn out like this, yet he’d allowed himself to be reassured and led away from the truth. He should’ve known better. Shouldn’t have let down his guard. This plan had been stupid. Letting Damian out of his sight had been stupid.

He should’ve known Slade would sniff out how he felt about the kid.

He’d wanted to meet up with Robin and Spoiler when everything went to shit, but it had already been too late, then. They’d been in different parts of the city and every few rooftops him, Batman, Cardinal and Hood had been forced to stop and help the police with subduing talons and registering first aid.

Some part of his brain had turned off at the violence, bile in his throat as the smell of blood clung to his fancy new uniform.

Until Slade’s message had snapped him out of it.

He scanned the rooftops until he found the biggest fire. Thick smoke bellowed into the horizon, fire clawing at an old church like a hungry animal. Church. Maria.

There were probably ten minutes left of those fifteen. He should be able to make it if he ran. But the others? They’d have to go get their bikes from an alley over ten rooftops away.

Cardinal and Hood’s backs were tense as they looked down at the street, waiting for their father to finish his briefing with the commissioner so they could discuss their next move.

Nightwing sheathed his swords and took a silent step back.

‘Professionally’ meant alone.

Deathstroke was his score to settle.

And Batman had made the wrong call tonight, hadn’t he? Letting Damian join them. Involving the police. Leading a charge into an abandoned nest.

But then again, did a right call even exist at all on a night like this? 

Dick stared down at Batman and expected to feel angry.

But instead, he was reminded of his half-lit face on the trapeze in the dark gym. Of the warm hand on his shoulder, and the hug they’d shared in the den. Of his quiet worries and his loud actions that said;

You’re not alone anymore.

Dick brushed his hand past the blue bird on his chest, Lycra smooth under his fingertips. Forgetting everything else, what would give Damian the best chance of making it home tonight?

He cleared his throat. “Deathstroke has Robin,” he said as Red Hood and Cardinal turned. He pointed to the pillar of smoke in the distance. “They’re at the burning church, he gave me ten more minutes to get there.”

He turned around and ran without waiting for a reply, trusting them to catch up.

Static buzzed in his ear. “Go,” Oracle said.

More voices joined hers, concerned but affirming his decision to sprint ahead. After a few minutes the panicked voice of Spoiler joined the chorus, having fixed whatever Slade had done to jam her and Damian's comms. At least that confirmed that she had survived the encounter and was safe. Or as safe as anyone could be on a night like this, anyway. 

Breathe. One problem at a time.

A sense of calm came over him as he flitted across the rooftops. He couldn’t help but think back to the night Damian had disobeyed his siblings to come recruit his help. It seemed so long ago now, that night that had also ended a desperate chase.

That night, Damian had finally dared to retract his claws and had asked for help, yet Dick had still been busy with desperately trying to convince himself he didn’t need anyone or anything.

What a childish thought that had been.

The faint smell of smoke crept under his mask, a tinge of bitterness sticking to his tongue.

Voices still murmured through his comm, plans and promises of backup he understood without words.

There was no time to wait, so he didn’t. They understood.

His grappling hook strangled a lone gargoyle. Heat licked his skin as he jumped and let the line shoot him up through the flames. The fire was hot but the church still stood tall, the bronze bell in the belfry flickering beyond the smoke.

And of course that night had ended the same way as tonight, with him pushing himself to his limit to save a kid he should have nothing to do with. But he didn’t care anymore.

He had no reason to fight this protective feeling.

He was the one who had told Damian about Robin. Who had given the kid his blessing to don the cowl.

The moniker belonged to both of them now, and where Dick had fallen, Damian would fly.

History would not repeat.

He would not let it.

Chapter Text

When the line pulling him up went slack, Dick choked a gargoyle and vaulted into the belfry of the burning church.

Thankfully, the chamber was still untouched by the fire that licked the stone outside.

Once, a rope would’ve hung down the big hole in the middle of the room to sound the bell that loomed overhead. Now only hellfire clawed its way out of the pit, the flames that consumed the altar below dancing in the bronze bell, bathing the entire chamber orange.

He noticed Damian first, his brand-new uniform caked with dirt and his scowling face bloodied as he stood at attention. The boy’s hands were tied behind his back, and he had a metal collar around his neck, pushed down against his collarbone by a black-gloved hand.

“Just in time,” Slade said. He was almost invisible in this flickering orange room, a demon whose form danced away from the eye. Still, there was no mistaking the hand he had wrapped around Damian’s neck.

Dick tried to keep his voice even. “Slade.”

Damian gave him a fierce look, daring him to show pity. He seemed relatively unharmed considering the circumstances; most of the grime coating his uniform was dirt instead of blood. There was a cut on his temple and a partly wiped-away bloody smear on his cheek.

The real issue was that collar.

Damian opened his mouth to say something, but Slade’s hand tightened around his neck. “Kid put up a good fight.” He lifted him ever so slightly, making the boy gasp for air. “He’s got real potential.”

Before he knew it, Dick had unsheathed his swords.

Slade scoffed out a laugh. “There’s that annoying goodness I could never train out.”

“Fifteen ’til backup,” Oracle whispered in his ear. She didn’t sound like she liked that number.

Dick didn’t like it, either.

Breathe. He had to breathe.

Slade lifted his free hand, showing off a small metal remote. “Now, I don’t have to explain why sending in the flock would be a bad idea, right?”

Dick almost laughed. Because really? That was his plan? Threatening to set off a bomb? A bomb connected to Batman’s son, right in the middle of Gotham? Dick wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting when Slade had texted him, but something as crudely evil as this…

The man that had raised him would’ve punished him for even suggesting it. There was no poetry. No nuance. Just a madman with a bomb.

He had a very vivid memory of Deathstroke complaining that the Joker had no sense of style.

“You know you won’t get away with this.”

“I won’t?”

“Batman will—”

But then Deathstroke moved his thumb and Dick’s world stopped.

A feral “No!” tore itself from his throat.

Slade stopped right before he hit the button. “That’s what I thought,” he said as Dick’s heart hammered against his ribs.

Frantic voices in his ear asked what happened, but he couldn’t force himself to reply.

Damian had tensed, too. Despite his brave face, a single tear slid down his cheek, cutting a stark line in the caked-on grime and smoke.

And.

Suddenly, Slade’s plan didn’t seem so desperate anymore.

Would he actually kill Damian? No.

No, he wouldn’t.

Would he?

He had never minded killing to punish his apprentice.

But Damian was connected to the Bat.

Even if Slade wasn’t as afraid of Batman as Dick had previously thought, he should know that Bruce would make the whole Justice League come down on him for something like this. His former master was too smart, too cunning, too calculated to take a stupid risk like that.

…Right?

Slade didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to.

Just moving his thumb had been enough to freeze Dick in place.

“Now that we’re all motivated to behave,” he said pointedly, “let’s get this mess over with.”

Something moved on the ceiling. A talon appeared, golden claws and goggles flickering orange as it slunk down the church bell.

Cobb. The Talon gave Deathstroke a silent nod. It seemed that as Headtalon, he’d been spared from whatever fate the owls had inflicted on the others.

Dick tuned out the worried voices in his ear. They’d all known that Slade, Cobb, and the Grandmaster had probably orchestrated this whole mess. At least with the Talon out in the open, he didn’t have to watch the shadows for an ambush.

All cards on the table.

“You,” Slade began, “will join our feathery friend here and go meet your new master. Once I get confirmation you’re somewhere nice and frozen, I’ll let the brat go. Any funny business and he becomes my new bargaining chip, instead.” He tilted his head, a dangerous glint in his eye. “I’m sure the owls will be happy enough to make another deal. The boy has potential, after all.”

Dick’s knuckles turned white as he gripped his swords. “You really think we’ll let that happen?”

Slade laughed. “Of course not, but you’ll play along. All of you will. You goody-two-shoes are always too scared to call a bluff. Because what if, right?” He smiled down at the collar around Damian’s neck. “What if.”

“Buy us some time,” Oracle said. Dick tried not to think about how that wasn’t exactly a plan.

But he could do that. His former master might know how to get under his skin, but that knowledge went both ways.

“What do you even get out of this?” he asked, taking a careful step forward. “What's possibly worth wasting so many years on looking after me?”

“Don’t sell yourself short, little bird. It was handy having a second pair of hands around. But—” he turned to Cobb, a hint of annoyance lacing his voice, “—you lot better still have the serum after that hasty retreat. It won’t be good for your 'grandmaster' otherwise.”

Cobb bristled. “The deal stands.”

A serum? Was that what all of this was about? Slade wanting to make his own talons? Imagining Deathstroke with not just one talon, but with the resources to make infinite amounts of those deadly creatures…

“You would love your very own zombie army, wouldn’t you?” Dick asked with a bitter taste on his tongue. No one deserved to be turned into one of those things, but even less did anyone deserve to be changed just to serve Deathstroke’s wicked whims.

He would know.

Slade huffed like he was disappointed by Dick’s conclusion. “Of course I don’t. You think any of those mindless zombies could do what we do? Our line of work takes a certain… creativity.”

“Then why?”

“What I want,” Slade said, his hand still squeezing Robin’s neck, “is loyalty. Real loyalty, nothing like your piss-poor excuse of compliance.” He gestured to Cobb, casually flashing the remote that kept Dick frozen in place. “I want the unwavering trust this creature has in its master. I want the serum that broke its will but kept its mind.”

The belfry was silent except for the hollow whistle of fire, the flames outside and below devouring everything in their paths. Slade’s form flickered orange, a demon clawed straight out of hell.

Yet Nightwing could do nothing but throw back his head and laugh. “Kept his mind? Seriously?”

To his credit, Cobb didn’t react to the jab at his sanity. Still he seemed visibly on edge, his formerly human mannerisms now stiff and tipping the scale towards undead.

Slade sighed. “See, Cobb here would never question his master like that.”

Dick shook his head. Slade had trained and tortured him for years. Years! Just to get his hands on something that he thought would help mold his next victim into someone better suited to his needs.

To create someone who would truly worship him.

But he’d made a vital mistake.

He had trusted the owls.

Slade’s hand around Damian’s neck had relaxed a little during their exchange. Robin was doing his best to move with his captor’s movements, keeping quiet to make the man forget about him.

Good. Dick could work with that. It wasn’t really a plan yet, but it was something.

He smiled and took another step forward. “You know, the bats thought the talons’ behavior was due to something like a serum, too.”

He moved with all the theatrical flair he remembered his parents commanding. The real magic had been in their hands, every movement starting at their fingertips. Next had been their eyes, which had always looked back and forth at just the right times to tug the spotlight towards them. “But that was before they did their research.”

Another step. All eyes on him. “It’s just conditioning, Slade.” He gave his former master a big, sarcastic smile. “And you hardly need any help with that, right?”

Plus possibly some implanted memory shenanigans, but he didn’t need to remind Deathstroke about that.

Cobb tensed.

Most people wouldn’t have noticed, but Dick and Slade weren’t like most people.

Deathstroke slowly turned towards the talon.

“The boy aims to divide us,” Cobb said a little too quickly. “Trust the Grandmaster.”

“What was that about loy-al-ty?” Dick singsonged.

“Shut up,” Slade hissed. His hands jerked, Damian keeping quiet as a mouse as he moved with the movement. Deathstroke’s posture had become stiff, his attention divided. Without holding all the cards, he was out of his element.

And unlike the bats, he was not used to the feeling.

“Show me the serum. Now.”

Cobb didn’t move. “The Grandmaster—”

“Either you show me results, or the deal is off.”

“Five minutes,” Oracle said.

Cobb pointed a claw at Dick, his arm shaking even as the rest of him stayed deathly still. “He speaks to the Batman even now. We do not have time for this.”

Dick smiled. “No, no, take your time. I’d love for both of you to stick around.”

“Shut. Up,” Slade warned again, his tone betraying his clenched jaw under his cowl.

“Make me.”

Cobb made a frustrated noise that startled both of them. He stalked towards Dick, something in his posture unwinding, limbs jerking like coils springing loose from a mattress.

“How dare you disgrace the Grandmaster’s kindness this way,” the talon spat in his face.

Nightwing carefully kept himself from raising his swords. Cobb wouldn’t hurt him, not when he had orders to bring Dick back alive. This was good. This would buy him a few more minutes.

“You insolent little boy,” Cobb spat. “You are ungrateful and unworthy, ruined by the egotistical manchild that failed to discipline you.”

“Careful,” Slade warned.

Cobb ignored him. There was barely a whisper between him and Dick now, Cobb’s yellow eyes shining with hatred behind his goggles.

Nightwing smiled. “And yet your precious Grandmaster wants me to replace you.”

For a moment, Cobb didn’t react. He just stood there, suddenly deathly still.

“She hates that I served others before her,” he said eventually, voice flat. He brushed his hand past his chest, letting his claws clink against his throwing knives. “But she does not understand. The past means nothing to me now. I am hers.”

Cobb’s fist clenched around the knife covering his heart. “But she will see. She will learn. I am all she will ever need.”

In hindsight, it had been stupid.

Cobb had obviously been acting weird, but Dick had still judged him incapable of defying his orders, his outburst nothing but a dog barking at a squirrel with his leash pulled taut.

The leash should’ve choked him back.

But instead, it had snapped.

All this to say that Nightwing only moved after Cobb had stabbed the knife deep into his heart.

The world stopped. Dick gasped out for air, the rising of his chest exploding in white-hot pain. He stared at the hilt of the knife sticking out of his chest, then back up at Cobb.

Behind the goggles, flickering fire reflected in the Talon’s shrunken yellow eyes.

Eyes shaking not with anger.

But with fear.

“Nightwing!” Robin yelled.

Cobb pried the hilt of one of his swords loose from Dick’s grip with little effort. Within the same arc of movement the Talon swung for his neck, ready to end this once and for all.

Dick tried to scramble back. His mind raced but his body was too heavy, weighed down like he’d been swimming with his clothes on.

A shadow loomed over him. Metal met metal. Deathstroke’s broadsword blocked the slash.

Maybe their years of working together had made Slade move on reflex. Maybe he still thought he had a chance of getting paid.

Either way, he gave Dick enough time to push himself out of the way.

“What are you doing?” Slade hissed as their blades locked. “I don’t care what you do with him after, but you must pay me, first.”

“She doesn’t need him.” Cobb’s voice was even. Calculated. Not even a little out of breath. With the thin air and smoke, his unbeating heart held a distinct advantage. “Which means she doesn’t need you.”

Cobb’s movements were jerky and erratic, body and mind splintering. Still he almost matched Slade blow for blow. With his healing factor, the few hits Slade got in barely mattered.

“Nightwing,” Robin whispered as he entered Dick’s vision. Damian! Cobb’s charitable distraction had finally been enough to make Slade forget about him.

The kid was breathing hard, air getting thinner and thinner as the fire raged below. His hands were still tied behind his back. As soon as he reached Dick he contorted himself, grimacing as his shoulders almost popped out of their sockets. Once his hands were in front of him, he used the little knife in the toe of his boot to cut himself free.

Thank Alfred for that last-minute addition to his new suit.

With no breath in between, the kid was already crouched at Dick’s side and trying to push him back on his feet.

Huh.

How long had he been on the floor?

Robin’s eyes flickered to his chest, so Dick raised his hand to trace the hilt of the knife. The wound had stopped hurting, the touch only radiating a pleasant kind of numb. Still he resisted the urge to pull—removing it now would only risk further injury and blood loss.

His fingers came back red, but that wasn’t important right now. Damian was still wearing that metal collar.

Nightwing grabbed the kid’s shoulder, ignoring how stark red stained his yellow tunic. “The remote,” he whispered, turning Robin back towards the fighting men. Behind them, the detonator lay forgotten on the floor.

Damian caught on quickly. Still he hesitated, hands lingering for another second before he finally let go. “Don’t move,” he ordered as he flitted away.

His new costume, a bright spotlight in Gotham’s dark night, was now just another flicker in the flames.

Nightwing pushed himself to his feet despite his orders. He picked up the sword that had clattered to the floor with him. Unfortunately, his other one was still clutched in Cobb’s claws as he clashed with Slade.

He swayed but forced his next step to steady himself.

This was not the time to start acting human. Even with the throwing knife embedded in his chest, the electrum in his blood should be scrambling to keep him alive.

He gritted his teeth as he stepped in something wet. That was, if enough of that blood bothered to stay inside his body.

Breathe. He wouldn’t die from something like this. He had to make sure no one else did, either.

Damian was almost there.

Slade brought down a heavy blow, forcing Cobb to let go of his stolen blade. The Talon scrambled to block the broadsword with his claws instead, metal shrieking through the tower.

The movement left Slade facing Dick, their eyes meeting briefly.

Without thinking, Dick’s gaze shifted towards the flames behind his former master. Deathstroke turned with him, and together, they looked at Damian as he reached for the remote.

Slade let out a curse. He used all of his strength to force Cobb off his feet, making the talon crash into the wall on the other side of the room.

Dick moved without thinking.

Slade’s hand settled around his favourite Glock.

Nightwing dived between them.

Deathstroke pulled the trigger.

All air escaped his lungs as the bullet shredded through his shoulder. Nothing! This pain was nothing! Fuck, maybe he really should rethink the Lycra.

Damian's eyes were wide, his little form cast in the shadow of Dick’s body. Maybe the kid could’ve dodged the shot. Maybe Dick could’ve made Slade miss without jumping in the way.

But when it came to Damian, ‘maybe’ wasn’t good enough.

“The remote!” Nightwing yelled again, and this time Robin’s hands folded over the little piece of metal before anyone could interfere.

“Fuck!” Slade roared with uncharacteristic vigor. Safe to say he didn’t have another way to detonate the collar. He did, however, still have his gun.

His finger twitched again, Dick looking directly down the barrel.

Briefly, he wondered if whatever the owls had done to him would let him recover from a shot in the head.

He didn’t get to find out.

Because Cobb was already back on his feet.

The Talon ambushed Deathstroke from behind, snarling as he raked his claws over the mercenary’s back.

A piercing howl echoed through the tower. Slade doubled over and dropped his weapon, face behind his mask scrunching up in rage and adrenaline. “Enough!” he roared.

He whipped around faster than Dick had ever seen him move, his grip finding the top of Cobb’s head.

The Talon flinched as his hood was torn away, sensitive eyes squinting at the flames without his tinted goggles.

Slade grabbed him by the hair and tilted him back, exposing his neck.

Cobb writhed in his hold, but Slade ignored the claws ripping through the Kevlar at his sides even as they sliced through the leather of his gun belt.

He lifted his broadsword.

“Don’t!” Dick yelled. He tried to push himself to his feet again, vaguely aware of the small panicked hands flitting around him.

It was no use.

Slade struck.

Cobb’s body stumbled forward.

His head did not.

Deathstroke kicked the Talon’s headless body, its claws still clutching his gunbelt, into the fiery abyss in the middle of the belfry.

“Moron,” he said as he threw Cobb’s head after it. Like he chucked a wad of paper into the trash.

Dick tasted blood. He couldn’t breathe. The walls closed in, and he was back in that godforsaken room, watching his master deal with another victim Renegade had refused to kill.

Cobb had been a horrible person. But at the same time, he’d been robbed of the opportunity to be anything else.

And the irony was, he’d been right—his master had needed him. Especially now, the entire court captured or dead, and all other talons out of commission.

Yet his fear of being replaced had kept from him a truth Dick had only recently begun to see;

There didn’t have to be winners and losers.

They didn’t have to play their masters’ games.

Cobb had played, and he had lost.

Slade sighed. “Oh, don’t tell me you care about that.” His movements were stiff and controlled. Blood dripped down his back and sides. Cobb’s last acts of resistance had left glistening wounds all around his body that would definitely scar.

Dick swayed, but Damian kept him upright, the kid’s gloves sticky and slick with blood.

The hilt of Cobb’s knife still stuck out of his chest. The shot that had torn through his shoulder was just a pinprick in comparison, spouting a thin line of blood that wept past the now mostly red bird on his chest.

“So. What now?” Slade mused. He looked down at where he’d thrown Cobb, then outside, through the smoke and fire.

Then back at the two of them.

The Glock he’d dropped was nowhere to be found. Through sheer luck, it must’ve also slipped into the abyss. Or maybe Damian had somehow dealt with it.

All of them were down to their melee weapons, save for the grappling hook still strapped to Slade’s thigh.

“Batman is coming,” Damian warned. Somehow the boy had gotten the bomb collar off, the skin of his neck red and raw.

The voices in Dick’s ear had stopped whispering. Had it been five minutes yet? His grasp of time had slipped further out of his reach with every drop of blood he’d lost.

Slade sighed again, all of his cards played and discarded. “I suppose that means I shouldn’t stick around.” He placed his broadsword back in its hilt, hissing as it jostled the wounds on his back. He shot Dick a look of pure disdain. “Even if this whole reunion was most disappointing.”

Damian slumped ever so little with relief.

But it wasn’t over yet.

“No,” Dick said. He gave Robin a reassuring smile, then gently pushed the boy behind him. He bent down to grab the sword Cobb had stolen, gritting his teeth to force himself back upright.

He felt much more balanced with both of his blades back in his grasp.

His shoulder and chest didn’t hurt. He was floating, head light and fingertips numb.

As Renegade, he would’ve let himself drown in this feeling. Would’ve let himself sink in it, embracing the veil that kept him safe from reality.

But tonight, his mind was held afloat above the apathy by the small hands on his back.

By a returned photograph. By a stack of books on a bed. By a flickering light in a cup. By a shared hiding place.

By the stars and a trapeze.

Renegade had killed a lot of people. In turn, Dick had wanted to kill that part of him. The mask had been a martyr. A scapegoat. Something to cut away and leave to rot.

But despite all this, Renegade had also been the one who kept him alive. The one who had protected the good underneath.

The good that Slade hadn’t been able to break.

So he would wield Renegade’s swords. He would use Renegade’s training.

Because there was no Renegade.

There was only him, using everything he knew to do everything he could.

“Nightwing, don’t—” Damian pleaded.

Dick shook his head. He pointed a sword towards his former master. “This ends tonight.”

If Slade got away, this whole song and dance would repeat again and again. Though the bats had his back, he couldn’t rely on their kindness for everything.

His knuckles clenched white against the hilts of his swords. Plus, he really felt like bashing the bastard’s fucking face in right about now.

Slade just scoffed at his challenge. He turned away and pulled out his grapple.

Which was fair—Dick probably looked like hell frozen over. Like he shouldn’t even be able to move.

But right now, he didn’t care about any of that.

He was on Slade far before the asshole could shoot his line.

Deathstroke cursed as he jumped back, his grapple falling out of his hands as he was forced to quickly draw his broadsword. Dick didn’t give him the chance to do anything but block his next blow. He drove his former master back until he banged into the wall behind him.

Slade howled, his bleeding back grating against ash-stained stone. His nostrils flared under his mask, eyes squinted with indescribable fury.

Dick moved between him and the nearest window.

But Slade didn’t try to flee again. He charged at Dick, hacking his sword down like a lumberjack, crude moves leaving deep grooves in the stone floor.

“You want to play house with the Bat so bad?”

Dick could only just squirm his twin blades between the swing and his chest. He stumbled back as he did his best to redirect the blow.

“Be my guest! Be my fucking guest! Enjoy it! I’ll burn it all to the ground! Worthless cunt!”

Nightwing stumbled, Deathstroke didn’t. He went straight for Dick’s neck.

But at the last second, he was forced to twist his blade to block a batarang from Robin.

“Stay out of this, brat!”

The moment gave Dick enough time to regain his footing and jump back out of range.

Or it should’ve.

Then.

Midair, everything stopped.

He tried to get his feet under him, but they refused to obey. His knees buckled as he met the floor. He came down hard, white-hot pain surging through his chest as he fell.

“Nightwing!”

Still his limbs refused. Get up. He had to get up.

Shaking, one foot almost did what he asked. He stumbled once, then fell back onto his knees. His breath came quick, hilt sticking out of his chest pumping up and down as his numb and trembling hands tried not to let go of his swords.

Whatever force had pushed him forward had finally pushed him over the edge, uncaring about his resolve.

And Slade just looked at him, almost bewildered.

They’d been on even footing. Deathstroke hadn’t even nicked him yet, beyond the bullet already in his shoulder.

Slade’s startled laugh broke the silence.

Damian roared.

“Robin, don’t!” Dick slurred.

The boy charged and thrust his katana right at Slade’s heart.

But for all of his training and motivation, he was a ten-year-old boy, and Deathstroke was a genetically enhanced mercenary on par with Batman.

Slade was still chuckling as he sidestepped the katana. He struck out like a viper, smacking Damian’s outstretched hand with the pommel of his blade.

Damian hissed, blade clattering to the ground.

Bile rose in Dick’s throat. That had been the very same move he’d used to disarm the kid the first time they’d met.

Robin didn’t miss a beat. He went for a kick next, but Slade just grabbed his foot and casually hurled him at the bronze bell.

A heavy sound tolled through the burning church as Damian slammed into it.

“Robin!”

His body fell to the ground with a heavy thud. After a second that lasted a century, he groaned and clumsily tried to push himself up. Alive, thank God.

Slade stepped between them, obscuring the boy from Dick’s vision.

His chest throbbed. There was too much blood. He couldn’t move.

“What now?” Slade mused again. “What would make all of this stupid fucking hassle worth it?”

“Batman’s almost here,” Damian slurred behind him, his voice raspy and desperate.

At the mention of Batman, Slade didn’t cringe.

He lit up.

“That’s right, Wayne needs to learn he can’t interfere with my business,” he murmured as he pointed his sword at Dick. “With the owl deal off, you’re just an insignificant little fish." He once again raised his blade. “And cutting you to pieces will hurt daddy fish very much.”

Damian yelled.

Dick could only hang his head.

How long had it been since he’d swung into the belfry? How long until Oracle had told him the others were coming? He had tried his best to keep Slade from escaping, the man’s grappling hook forgotten on the floor as he loomed over him.

Damian was still yelling, but his father would come for him soon. Somehow Dick knew Batman would come in time to save his son.

The night would end with the owls gone, Slade captured, and all of Gotham’s birds and bats safe and sound. Good. He was glad.

It should be enough to redeem him.

Still.

Dick had wanted to go home, too.

And selfishly he thought, wouldn’t it be nice if Batman would come in time to save him, too?

But he knew better than to ask for more. These last few months with the bats had already been more than enough.

Dick looked up at his former master. If this was it, he wanted to look it in the eye. He wasn’t some scared little lamb anymore. He would not look away.

An orange glow smoldered in Deathstroke's blade as he raised it.

Then, he was gone.

A black blur sailed past him. Batman’s boots landed with a heavy thud as he ripped Slade from his feet. “Deathstroke,” he spat, his gravelly voice shaking with rage.

“Wayne,” Slade hissed back.

Batman put his whole body into his next punch. Slade’s nose cracked as he was flung back, his greatsword clattering to the ground. Before he could reach for it, Batman kicked the weapon into the pit under the church bell.

“Father!”

Batman was already at his side. He helped Damian back on his feet, squeezing his shoulder just a little too hard as he searched him for injuries.

“You’ll pay for that,” Slade said as he swayed back onto his feet, dazed. There were both a fist and a bootprint on his face. His nose was crooked, red blooming from his nostrils.

But Batman didn't even spare him a second glance. Instead, as he held on to Damian, his head whipped up to inspect Dick with the same calculating gaze as he’d given his son. Some tension left his shoulders as they met each other’s eyes.

Nightwing must look horrible, a blade stuck in his chest, his blood staining the entire belfry red.

But he was alive.

They were all alive.

“Help Nightwing,” Batman ordered Robin after he must’ve judged him okay enough to do so. Damian didn’t have to be told twice, eyes haunted but determined as he bounded towards Dick.

Slade had drawn his hunting knife, his final weapon. Blood dripped down his back, his stance light. Dick recognised the way he angled his hips, ready to snatch his grappling gun and make a quick escape.

Except his grapple lay on the floor on the other side of the room.

Slade reached for his side.

And grabbed air.

No one said anything.

Slade took a step back.

Batman one forward.

And Dick would be lying if he said that the panic in Slade’s eyes didn’t heal something deep inside his heart.

“Guess you’re afraid of him, after all,” he couldn’t help but slur.

“I’ll talk,” Slade said as he took another step back. “I’ll tell everyone who you are.”

“Go ahead,” Batman said. “You’re never going to leave League custody.”

“You will rot,” Damian added with a sneer. The boy was crouched next to Dick, his hands once again holding him upright.

Slade’s next step backwards left him right by a window.

“I’m not the only one out for your hide tonight,” Batman warned, the ‘and most of the others don’t share my moral code’ went unsaid.

A beat of silence.

Then Deathstroke finally made his move. He threw his hunting knife, Batman instinctively jumping in front of Robin and Nightwing to shield them with his cape.

But Slade hadn’t been aiming for them. The blade sailed up towards the church bell.

Dick cringed in anticipation of another hollow gong, but the sound didn’t come. Instead there was splintering wood and groaning metal.

The bell shook.

Then, it fell.

Batman jumped towards them, yanking both Dick and Damian away as the bell hit the blood-soaked floor right where they’d been. It was too big to fit through the hole. The ground shook, cracks fanning out all the way up the wall, stone above them crumbling as the bell’s momentum pushed down.

“You miserable piece of—” Robin spat at Slade.

The whole tower groaned. The biggest crack that spanned the whole room split, the orange hue of the fire below peeking through the floor.

Everything was coming down.

“Move, Father!” Robin yelled.

Together, Batman and Robin hauled Nightwing to his feet. Batman pressed a grappling gun into his hands.

Panic set in Dick’s throat. He could barely stand. How could he possibly fly? “B, I—”

Batman understood. He shifted his own grapple to his other hand and wrapped his arm around Dick’s shoulders. His armor was hard and sticky with grime, but Dick pressed himself against it like a drowning man.

Batman held up his grapple. “Together.”

Shaking and way too slow, Nightwing followed his lead and raised his arm.

They shot out their lines towards the same building, Batman keeping him steady as they zipped out of the belfry, Robin following close behind.

Pressed against Bruce’s chest, Dick remembered there had been a fourth person in the crumbling tower. He twisted backwards mid-swing, making Batman grunt and adjust his grip.

There, a shadow. Someone grappling towards another building through the smoke.

“Slade, he’s—”

A shot rang out. Close. Different from the distant gunfire of the police.

Slade’s line went slack.

His momentum stopped.

And.

He fell.

Dick’s breath hitched. He couldn’t look away.

Damian made a sound like he’d also noticed.

It was over in a moment, just like it had been all those years ago.

Just like that, his former master had been swallowed by smoke and fire.

They landed roughly, the concrete rooftop hard and unforgiving as Dick stumbled. But Batman didn’t let him fall, gently guiding him into a sit.

They all watched what was left of the church blaze like a giant candle.

Slade, he— he—

“I’ve got them both,” Batman said with his finger pressed to his ear. “Robin is walking and conscious. Nightwing lost a lot of blood. Stab wound to the chest and a bullet through the shoulder. Bullet went through. Blade’s still embedded.”

Their eyes met, but neither of them smiled. Batman looked… concerned?

Because a shot had rung out. Slade’s line had been broken.

Was Slade…

“Need immediate evac,” Batman said to finish his report.

“Affirmative,” Oracle said. “I’ve sent the Batmobile to your location. The others will finish up with the talons.”

They could hear her hesitate, the line crackling as the silence stretched. “What about Deathstroke?”

They all looked at each other.

“Later,” Batman said.

The bats’ voices murmured over the comms as Batman drove them home.

Dick was curled up on the back seat, eyes closed as he listened. Whenever he dared a peek, a blurry Damian was frowning back at him from the passenger seat despite his three at-least-cracked-but-suspected-to-be-broken ribs.

While Batman had come to their rescue, the others had been forced to continue subduing the over fifty feral talons that had been released into the city. The effort had taken the whole night, a sliver of sun already peeking over the horizon as they sped back to the cave. In a small mercy on a cruel night, the talons had become completely unresponsive after struggling against Cardinal’s dionyisium handcuffs for a few minutes.

Batman had called in some favors from a few trusted Leaguers, who were now scrambling to find a secure place to contain them for the foreseeable future.

Because even now, he spoke of cures and redemption.

A lot of lives had been lost. Commissioner Gordon wasn’t happy. Batman wasn’t, either.

But one way or another, dawn had come. The owls had been defeated.

Begrudgingly, the conversation shifted to ‘what next’.

The Grandmaster was still missing, but without her talons or her network, the bats were confident they would find her soon. The court was done.

They had found Cobb’s body.

But not Slade’s.

Dick sat on only cot in the medbay from which he could see the rest of the cave when the roars of multiple engines rumbled closer.

Alfred gently held him in place as he stitched up the hole in his shoulder. The shot had missed most of his tendrils, piercing the space between his collarbone and shoulder blade.

The throwing knife in his chest had been a different story. Alfred had paled when he’d first seen it, saying someone named Leslie should be the one to fix it.

But it’d been a long night. Dick’s thoughts had been hazy.

He had resisted the urge to remove the blade long enough.

The temperature in the room had tanked as he’d yanked it out.

“Master Dick!” Alfred had said, aghast. “Your heart—”

“Is fine.”

And sure enough, the blade that should’ve pierced his heart had done shockingly little damage. Or more likely, the damage had already been undone by whatever the owls had done to him in his youth.

There were some perks to his life, he supposed.

All of the bats seemed relatively unscathed. Physically, at least. They all lingered just a little too long as they kicked out their bike stands, movements weary and tired. Lots of first-aid calls did that to a vigilante.

Only Steph looked a bit worse for wear. She clutched her arm as Cass helped her off the backseat of the bike they'd shared, eyes downcast.

“I’m sorry,” she said as they all shuffled towards the medbay. She looked between all of them who’d already been gathered here; Alfred, who’d been stitching up Dick, Bruce and Barbara, who’d been speaking in hushed tones about Deathstroke the talons, and finally Damian, who’d been busying himself by collecting the blood-stained towels they’d used to clean themselves up.

Her gaze lingered on Damian. She swallowed. “I couldn’t—,” she said, her face pale. “I— He— I didn’t—”

Dick had almost forgotten she’d been there when Deathstroke had grabbed Damian. Did she really think they would blame her? How ridiculous. He knew he should reassure her, but his tongue was heavy, his mind still stuck in the belfy.

Damian dropped the dirty towels in the hamper in the corner of the medbay. “There is no need for this, Brown,” he said with a huff. A hand-shaped bruise had begun to appear on his neck, and his entire torso had been covered in bandages.

Still the prickly kitten seemed to understand this wasn’t the time for the jabs and harsh words. “We are all alive," he said as he stepped towards her. "According to Father, this fact alone constitutes a form of victory. We should only consider it fortunate the fiend mostly left you be.”

Oh, Dami. That boy.

Despite her misery, Steph snorted at his formal speech as she buried him in a bone-crushing hug.

Damian only protested once to uphold his reputation, then let her hold on for as long as she pleased.

“I suggest,” Alfred said as he tied off his final stitch, “that we continue this conversation after a healthy dose of sleep.”

Dick’s limbs were heavy, his eyes barely open as Alfred tied the final bandage around his chest. He’d sleep in the medbay tonight, an IV drip slowly replenishing the almost half a gallon of blood he’d lost.

Red Hood had a bag slung around his shoulder as he followed the others to the showers. It was long and thin, made from black Kevlar.

The same kind Slade had used to carry his favourite sniper rifle.

Dick closed his eyes and let his dreams take him.

Chapter Text

Steph wiggled her finger in front of Damian’s face. “This will be your most dangerous mission yet, young one. It will take every ounce of your skill, willpower, perseverance, and—”

She squawked as Dick wrapped his arms around her from behind, dodging a high heel to his shin as he lifted her off the ground.

She laughed as she struggled in his grip. “Stop!” 

Dick jostled her. “Then let him concentrate, you bully.”

“I yield, I yield!”

He doubted she did, but let go anyway after a look from Alfred.

“I do wish you would refrain from wrinkling Miss Stephanie’s dress minutes short of reception,” he said dryly.

Steph gave herself a once-over, patting down a few creases. “All good, Alfie!” Her purple dress was covered in glitter and barely fit the dress code, something the butler had only allowed because officially, she was here as Cass’ plus one instead of a Wayne.

In the short week leading up to the gala, Dick had learned the butler took these things very seriously.

All of them were in a little chamber close to the ballroom. According to Tim it'd been built for the express purpose of going unseen by early gala guests, though why any room with a lock couldn’t serve that purpose was beyond him. Rich people.

Alfred finally put down his comb, seemingly satisfied enough with Damian’s slicked-back hair to move on to his next intervention.

The kid didn’t move when the butler stepped away. His nose was buried deep in his flashcards, shoulders tense and brow cut low. Golden cuffs adorned his black suit, making him look like a perfect mini-me of both Bruce and Tim.

Sadly, Dick's last run-in with the ‘emergency knives’ the kid hoarded all throughout the manor kept his phone in his pocket. But even without his intervention, there would be more than enough photos of Damian tonight.

This whole song and dance was, after all, the final step of his formal induction into the Wayne family.

As he read his flashcards, The guest of honour was so pale he might be sick.

Dick quietly wound an arm around the kid’s neck.

Damian pressed the flashcards against his chest before Dick could take a peek. Only Alfred had been allowed to know what he’d been planning.

Much to everyone’s relief, the bruises Slade had left there had finally fully disappeared last week. Something sharp panged his chest as he thought of his former master, but Dick pushed it away.

“You got this, Dami.”

Damian huffed. “Of course I do.” He sounded confident but still leaned back against Dick’s chest, letting himself be hugged with his whole family bearing witness.

Their whole family, Dick reminded himself. They’d all made it abundantly clear that accepting a room in the manor meant having to bear with that title. Even if the room in question was just a guest room he occasionally crashed in.

“It’s fine to read off the cards, Damian,” Bruce said from the other side of the room as Alfred fiddled with his tie.

“I won’t need to.”

“It’ll be over before you know it.” Dick moved to ruffle the boy’s hair, but stopped inches from his scalp as Alfred gave him another rueful look.

“Easy for you to say,” Tim said. He’d been gala-ready for a while now, forced to stand next to the door with Cass because sitting would apparently crease their formal attire.

“Easy,” Cass agreed. Her black cocktail dress was sleek and elegant, reminding Dick of her Black Bat suit. Though with the way she’d been sulking, she herself would most definitely not make that comparison.

“C’mon, these things can’t be that bad.”

“Worse,” Cass said.

Steph shook her head. “Just wait. You’ll soon enough learn about the hells of Wayne galas. Enjoy your freedom while it lasts.”

Dick looked down at his sweatpants. Yeah, perhaps they had a point.

The clock struck. It was time to go.

Dick gently pushed Damian and his flashcards towards the door.

Damian resisted. “Grayson, can’t you…”

“I’ll be there the whole time, Little D.” He pointed at the ceiling. “Up there.”

“But—”

He peeled the flashcards from the boy’s hands and put them inside his coat pocket, resisting the urge to take a peek. “Just stick close to Bruce and you’ll be an official Wayne before you know it.”

“Unlike the rest of us, you’ll be able to leave after, like, an hour,” Tim said in a rare show of compassion. “Since you’re just a little baby who gets really sleepy when he stays up past his bedtime.”

“Shut up, Drake.”

They left the room bickering.

Like brothers should.

Nightwing stared down at the ballroom. Surrounded by gold, silver, and diamonds, no one noticed him high up in the rafters that suspended the chandelier. The golden structure sparkled like an expensive disco ball and looked very fun to swing from. A theory to test on another day, perhaps.

Red Hood slunk onto the beam next to him. “’Sup, Dickhead.”

“Hey Jay.”

“Enjoying your freedom?”

Dick shook his head. “Not you, too.”

“All I say is, I don’t mind being dead on days like these.”

“This whole family’s so dramatic.”

Hood took off his helmet, a simple domino mask still keeping his identity hidden. “What’s that make you?”

“Fair point.”

As the only two bats not expected to attend the gala, B had asked them to keep an eye on things from above. Hood hadn’t seemed the type to take him up on such an offer, but he’d shown up anyway.

Perhaps to laugh at his dolled-up siblings.

They weren’t expecting any real trouble. Mostly Dick was here just to watch Damian’s speech and to see what the others kept complaining about.

Still.

Nightwing balanced on the balls of his feet as he crouched on the narrow beam, ready to leap into action. His short conversation with Jason ended, he couldn’t help but scan the room like he would on patrol.

The buffet was on the left, sporting extravagant but bite-sized sweets on silver platters no one had disturbed yet. Neat folds ensured the white cloth stopped halfway down the table, floor underneath fully visible.

The master door had been open during the reception, but had since been closed after the last guests arrived. There were bodyguards outside, he knew, vetted employees borrowed from the Wayne Tower security team.

Garden lights twinkled through the glass art in the windows. They’d been reinforced and didn’t open, leaving the room’s air flow up to the vents near the ceiling where he was crouched. All of the grates had motion sensors except one, which had been turned off so he and Jason could shimmy up here without the cave’s systems having an aneurysm.

There was a shallow stage on the far side of the room, low enough to leave no space for people to crouch behind it.

Decades of gala experience had left this room unbreachable to malicious intent. Except if, of course, the malice in question could get themselves on the guest list.

Which is why, despite knowing all of this, Dick still found himself searching the room for traces of orange.

He huffed when he caught himself. He wasn’t doing that. Not tonight.

A lot had changed for the better since that night at the burning belfry over a month ago. But at the same time, the way things ended had left many questions unanswered.

He glanced at Red Hood, whose feet dangled dangerously close to the chandelier.

Like that gunshot. Like Slade—

He shook the thought away.

What he did know for sure, was that he’d promised himself to stop thinking about the bastard unless absolutely necessary.

He focused on finding friendly faces instead.

Babs and her father had come together, invited as friends of the family. They were talking to a woman with red hair he didn’t recognise.

Bruce was surrounded by a big group of people, glib smile on his face as Damian hid behind him from Selina Kyle’s curious glances. Nightwing hadn’t run into Catwoman yet. From what the others told him, she seemed more interested in getting on B’s nerves than causing harm.

“Watch.” Jason pointed at a wrinkly lady wrapped in a ridiculous red feather boa.

Steph sauntered past her turned back, seemingly heading towards the buffet table. But once she arrived, she veered back towards Cass empty-handed.

She met the other girl with a giddy look on her face, showing off the feather she’d snatched.

After a glance around the room, Cass revealed her own bounty, another feather she must’ve plucked earlier. They held them next to each other, presumably to compare sizes and declare a winner.

“Alfred’s gonna kill them,” Dick mused.

“Nah, this is tame shit. Once they switched all the sugar in the manor for salt the day before.”

“Alfred didn’t notice?”

“Not before those rich snobs’ faces started fucking convulsing. You should’ve seen it, none of them dared to admit the appetizers tasted like fucking ash. Not until Brucie Wayne took a bite and spit it out right on the fucking floor.”

Dick laughed quietly. “So that’s why the snack table’s untouched.”

“No one’s dared it since then. Get ready to take at least three boxes of leftovers back to ’haven.”

Dick smiled down at the girls still comparing their feathers. “How’d they even manage something like that?”

“Dunno. Probably switched the labels in the pantry or some shit. Alf gets real busy before parties, so he doesn’t notice as much.”

“You never asked?”

“No, I—” Jason fell silent. His jaw clenched as he stared at the chandelier.

“Hood?”

No answer.

It was quiet for a while. Dick didn’t push. Sometimes, Jason needed a little time to collect his thoughts.

He didn’t always want to share, but ever since their conversation in the manor's library, more often than not, he would eventually say what was on his mind.

“B doesn’t know,” Jason said, “that I was watching back then.” His hand ghosted the gun at his side. He’d indulged them with rubber bullets tonight, just like he always did during bat team-ups. “I imagined shooting his new little birdie’s face off. Just to make a real mess of everything.”

More silence.

“But you didn’t,” Dick said.

“Nah. Decided to slit his throat, instead.”

Dick let out a snort.

“What?”

“Again, so dramatic.”

A smile ghosted past Jason’s lips. “Still not as bad as the brat’s attempt. Now that was a real performance.”

Dick could only shake his head. Poor Tim had really pulled the shortest straw as far as assassination plots went. Who needed enemies with bats for brothers?

Down in the ballroom, current-day Tim talked to a dark-skinned man Dick recognised as Lucious Fox, head of R&D at Wayne Enterprises and designer of many bat-themed gadgets.

At seventeen, Tim was musing over a glass of apple juice. He shot Cass and Steph an exasperated look when they waved at him with their stolen feathers. Lucious only laughed, clearly used to their antics.

The lights in the room dimmed. Bruce accepted a microphone with an easy smile, raising his hand as he got some polite claps from the crowd.

“Thank you all for your generous donations to the Martha Wayne Foundation,” he started his little speech about how good and amazing everyone here was. It clearly was a skill he'd practiced, patting people on the back while also sounding so genuinely thankful that anyone accusing him of sucking up would get many disapproving looks. 

“Now, onto the real reason you’re all here.” He smiled like he was sharing a secret. “The newest addition to my family. My son, Damian.”

When his name was called, Damian strode onto the stage, nose in the air and cold gaze dissecting the crowd.

Jason let out a quiet huff. “Gotham Gazette’s next headline,” he whispered, “New Wayne Brat Already a Stuck-Up Prick!”

Dick swatted at him to shut up. “He’s just nervous,” he whispered back.

Bruce wrapped an arm around Damian from behind, earning a few coos and awws.

Jason mimicked throwing up, but stopped when Dick gave him a look.

“I’m so incredibly proud to present him to you all. In the short time I’ve gotten to know him, he’s grown into a remarkable young man. Through him, I’ve learned many valuable lessons.” He smiled down at Damian with a mushy and earnest look he never would've dared to make without Brucie to hide behind. “As our family grows, so do we.”

“Such a sap,” Jason whispered, but Dick detected at least a little fondness in his voice, too.

He wondered what Bruce had said when he’d introduced Jason into high society. He should ask Babs if they still had the footage.

On the stage below, Damian's ears had turned bright red, a stark contrast to his still ashen face. Dick couldn’t blame him.

“Now, a word from my son.”

Damian took a stiff step forward, his frown still etched deep into his face. He didn’t have his flashcards, hands at his side like a soldier standing at attention.

Jason laughed quietly at his misery.

Despite the confidence Dick had tried to instill in the kid earlier, a quiet worry simmered. Sure, this wasn’t life or death, but there were a lot of reporters here. Any slip-up south of normal could haunt his public appearances far into the future.

Not to mention what it would do to his school life, which was the real reason they’d decided that he should become an official Wayne so soon. It was high time he got to do things outside the manor as Damian instead of as Robin.

But still. Kids could be cruel.

Damian accepted the mic. “Thank you, Father.” He paused, waiting for the whispers to quiet down.

With a start, Dick realised the little princeling probably had experience addressing crowds from back at the League. But then why had he been so nervous earlier?

“I will not bore you with long-winded words,” Damian started. “When I arrived in Gotham, I knew nothing of my father except that he was a great man. I did not know…” The kid glanced up at the ceiling, took a breath, and set his jaw. “about his many charges.”

Another long silence. Damian pointedly did not look left, where the other Waynes stood next to the podium.

“I could not understand their merit to my father’s ambitions. I did not like them. And as I stand for you all today, I still believe they make poor company.”

More silence. Someone coughed.

“But,” Damian said as he clenched the microphone, “I suppose they must think the same of me.”

Dick stared down, hoping he could beam some courage into the kid. So this was why he’d been so nervous.

It hadn’t been about the cameras or crowds at all.

Dick still had the little note Damian had left after the first time he’d spent the night in Blüdhaven. Everything had been so much more complicated, and yet Dick had crouched down and told the kid, You can’t always wait on others to break the cycle.

“Yet even in Father’s absence, they tolerated my presence. They did not send me away even when I gave them much reason to.” He stubbornly kept his gaze forward and ignored the eyes boring into him from his left. “As such, it is my wish that our alliance will continue to endure. Thank you.”

Silence filled the ballroom. Damian still refused to look to the left.

Bruce was the first to clap. Halting applause and hushed whispers followed. No doubt most of the room was confused. The papers and the hallways at Gotham Academy were going to be a dumpster fire.

But it didn’t matter.

This hadn’t been for them.

Bruce whispered something in Damian’s ear, too far away to hear, but the kid’s relieved little nod betrayed the gist of it.

He was all but tackled as he stepped off the stage, Steph and Cass wrapping their arms around him and ruffling all of Alfred’s hard work out of his hair. In the back, Tim offered him a hesitant smile.

And God. How Dick wished he could join them.

A hand on his chest gently pushed him back. “Easy, big bird,” Jason murmured.

Dick hadn’t even noticed how far he’d been leaning forward.

“Sorry. It’s just—” Dick stopped himself before he could complain about their position as outsiders.

What was he even talking about, when Jason had been watching these galas since before the others even knew he was alive?

Suddenly, Damian looked up at the ceiling again. He searched the darkness in earnest this time, hidden from the cameras between Steph and Cass.

Soon the other bats followed his lead, until all of them stared up at Nightwing and Red Hood’s hiding spot.

“Every time,” Jason muttered. He put up his middle finger in greeting.

Damian met Dick’s eyes, offering him the same nervous little smile he’d given his father when he’d first shown him his Robin costume.

It was a glance that fit between blinks, over just like that as the Waynes were ambushed by brazen socialites eager to get in their good graces.

You next, Cass signed from behind Bruce’s back.

And god. They were killing him here. Jesus.

“Are you fucking crying?”

“Shut up, Jay.”

Dick found himself growing bored as the night wound down. Damian had long since been excused, Jason had pulled out a beat-up paperback, and the conversations below were too hushed to follow.

Yet he stayed, ignoring the ache in his joints as he crouched, eyes lazily following the Waynes as they trudged around the ballroom.

He hadn’t been alone with Jason for a long time. Not since before the burning church.

It wasn’t like they’d been avoiding each other. Dick was just never alone when he ran into him, be it in the manor or out on patrol when Nightwing visited Gotham.

These days, he attracted a lot of strays.

Nothing much had changed since then. He still found Alfred’s apple pie in his fridge. Would sometimes find a kid on his couch. And almost every other night, one or more of Gotham’s birds and bats would cross the highway to fly with him in Blud.

Yet at the same time, everything had changed. Not because of the incident itself, but because he'd spent three weeks at the manor afterwards.

He hadn’t planned to, at first.  But when he’d woken up the next morning, a hazy blanket had wrapped itself around his thoughts. To lift the veil, Alfred had ordered a healthy dose of bingeing movies in a big pile of bodies on the couch.

No one had argued.

His fingers would ghost the bruises on Damian’s neck as the TV murmured in the background, the boy quiet and compliant as Dick traced the angry purple lines that ravaged his throat. No one ever commented on how he would always end up curled around him when the credits rolled.

Damian’s trachea had been fine. Three of his ribs had cracked when he’d been used like an impromptu bell ringer, but it was nothing he wouldn’t recover from. Mentally, he seemed more preoccupied with making sure the pillow behind Dick’s back didn’t bother him.

Yet Dick had never resented his past more than in those moments, anger and grief piercing his heart as he curled around the kid that had been so close to sharing his fate.

During those moments gentle touches would cover him in blankets, warm and fresh from the dryer. Hushed whispers would promise they’d stay as fingers brushed through his hair. Hot soup would be pressed into his hands, warmth stubbornly forcing his numb fingers to feel the smooth ceramic.

And the moments would pass.

He should’ve felt guilty needing their help. For wanting it. For giving into it. He should’ve been ashamed to show this much weakness.

But more often than not, the feeling was shied away before it could take hold.

Soon he’d turned into a giant leech. At first he’d blamed the fog, but soon he was wrapping his arms around them for any silly reason. Though everyone eventually began to groan and huff about it, they never let go until he did.

Just like the first time with Cass, every touch made him remember more about Haly’s. About his mother’s hand carting through his hair and his father’s arms hugging his ankles as he rode on his shoulders. About squeezing past them in their tiny trailer, his mother playfully smacking his hand as he dipped his finger in the sugary batter she’d been busying over.

Alone the memories had taunted him, leaving him yearning for a past he could never return to.

But, pressed together on the couch, they were a gentle caress that reminded him he’d been loved.

Eventually, he’d started looking for a new apartment. Though he enjoyed the company in Gotham, he’d found himself starting to itch for the familiar rooftops of Blüdhaven.

The city wasn’t perfect, haunted by crime and gangs and seemingly resigned to that fate. But maybe it just needed someone to give it a chance. Someone to believe in its potential, like Batman believed in Gotham. So he moved back.

And only when he closed the door of his new apartment for the first time had he finally allowed himself to think about the orange elephant in the room.

They hadn’t found a body.

Which means Slade was probably alive.

Alive and out there.

They hadn’t stopped looking. The computer down in the cave whirred constantly, using League servers to match worldwide CCTV footage against Slade’s profile.

If he had survived, he would’ve been very hurt. Usually this meant someone couldn’t help but leave a paper trail, but this was Deathstroke, so no luck so far.

His line had been shot.

And after, Jason had shown up in the cave with a sniper bag.

No one had spoken about it. Maybe because they were waiting for Dick to bring it up. Maybe because there was nothing to gain by dredging up the obvious.

Dick glanced at Jason, both of them still perched high above the ballroom. He liked to think Hood was still here to keep him company, but more likely his habits around Wayne galas had been set long before they’d known each other.

He was still reading silently, sitting on the beam with his legs dangling down. On stakeouts none of them would dare entertain a position like that, too vulnerable and sluggish to spring away from.

“Hood?”

“What?”

Dick opened his mouth, then closed it. Would it really help to hear Jason say it?

“What, Wing?”

A beat of silence.

Dick didn’t fill it.

Jason gave him a strange look, book still open in his hands. “The fuck’s up with you?”

“Nothing. Just— it’s nothing.” Him and his stupid mouth.

Dick lifted himself out of his crouch, stretching his arms and faking a yawn. “I think I had enough, gonna go change and say hi to Damian.”

“Okay?”

Dick turned away, back towards the grate they’d shimmied through to get here. Jason was silent behind him. He wouldn’t push.

The same way Dick never did.

He clenched his hand around the grate. And yet Jason would always talk, eventually.

“Can we talk?” He forced himself to say. “Like, really?”

Jason dog-eared the page he’d been on and tucked the book away. “Try me.”

Dick glanced down at the ballroom, watching Bruce, Tim, and Babs chatter with some socialites who swayed like they’d nursed a few too many champagne flutes. “We really alone up here?”

Jason shrugged. “So long as we keep it civil.” He swung up his feet back up onto the bar with far more grace than most brick-shithouses. “The fuck’s this about?”

“I— Jason, I need to know.” A deep breath. Just like ripping off a band-aid. “Why did you have that rifle bag?”

Silence. Below, the murmur of polite conversation and clinking glass.

“Jason.”

“Fuck, N. Now? Really?”

“Does B know? He must’ve figured it out.” Breathe.

“Dick—.”

“I heard the shot.” He needed to breathe.

“I know, just—”

A hand grabbed his shoulder, squeezing just a little too hard as Jason forced him to meet his gaze. “Just fucking listen, you dipshit. I shot the line, okay? I did it. I fucked up.”

Dick closed his eyes and took a shuddering breath, his heart thumping painfully against his rib cage.

Really, he’d already known.

But only now that Jason had admitted it, he could finally be angry with him.

Because how dare he. He’d known what had happened to his parents, yet he’d made him watch another fall.

Dick swatted his hand away. “We would’ve captured him,” he hissed. “He was hurt. We were all there. We would’ve won.”

A bitter laugh. “You would’ve called that winning?”

“Yes!”

Jason stepped closer. “He’s in your head, Dick!” he whisper-yelled. “That won’t change if he’s behind bars.”

“It won’t if he’s six feet under, either!” It was Dick’s turn to laugh, the twisted sound hollow as it filled the silence. “But it doesn’t matter, does it? Because now, he’s neither.”

More silence.

“I shouldn’t have taken the fucking shot,” Jason admitted. “I was too far away. There was smoke. I couldn’t see the arch of his swing.” A rueful look graced his face. “But if I waited, that fuckass tower would’ve been in the way.”

That made Dick pause. Because— “You weren’t aiming for the line.”

All this time he’d assumed that Jason had wanted to bring some kind of poetic justice by making Slade fall. Shooting the line instead of his head had given the action some ambiguity, too, the kind that might even make Batman look the other way.

Dick hadn’t yet considered the possibility that Jason hadn’t cared about any of that and had simply missed Slade’s fat fucking skull.

Jason kicked at the steel walkway, making the chandelier tremble. “Lucky bastard must pray to every fucking god under the sun.”

“But Batman, wouldn’t he—”

Jason huffed. “Don’t even start. Me and B, we have an understanding. I play nice when we work together, and I give him the chance to do things his way. But if he fails, he doesn’t get to complain about my trigger finger. Especially not when it’s triggering at fucking Deathstroke!”

Their eyes met, both of them tense as they whisper-yelled at each other. Dick should stop pushing this. He knew he should. There were so many people down there. Dick’s mind went back to when Jason had torn through the library, pages and spines of so many well-loved books broken.

The only thing to break up here would be the chandelier, Dick, and their cover.

But.

He stepped in close. “Did you even think,” he spat, “about what I wanted?”

Jason’s nostrils flared. “I—”

But Dick didn’t want to hear it. “Fuck!” He pushed Jason away, hard, making him stumble back. The chandelier shook. Hood's body swayed when his feet landed halfway off the beam, arms flailing as he only just regained his balance.

Dick expected to see green when their eyes met. Was waiting for it. Counting on it.

But, despite everything, Jason stared back blue.

He sighed, running a tired hand past his face. “Look Dickface, I made the wrong fucking call, ok? I knew neither of us would get another chance to kill him if B got him in handcuffs, so I took a risky shot. But it wasn’t my peace of mind I risked. It was yours.”

And. Well. What could he say to that? He wanted to be angry at Jason. But without someone to mirror that anger, the feeling quickly disappeared.

Dick sighed. “Jason, I’m just— I understand what you meant to do. And I appreciate the thought, really I do.”

“But,” he said after a beat, “I don’t want him dead.”

Jason stared at him. “You can’t be fucking serious.”

A logical reaction. Because it wasn’t like Slade deserved to live. Far from it. The bastard deserved to visit every single layer of hell.

But when his line had snapped, it had finally sunk in that Deathstroke could be bested. Better yet, Deathstroke had been bested. He’d gotten away, sure, but it hadn’t been like before. No, he’d fled with his tail tucked behind his fucking legs.

Dick had never entertained that possibility before. Could he be escaped? Sure. But could he be stopped?

Of course not.

But then it had happened, and Dick had realised he’d never thought about the after. About what he really wanted, other than just getting away from him.

He’d closed his eyes at night and relived the moment Slade fell, his limbs flailing as he was swallowed by the fire.

A certain feeling would gnaw at his chest, something he didn’t know how to name. Was he horrified? Angry? Sad?

Happy?

What would happen if they found him again? Bested him again? If someone had pushed Slade to his knees and handed him a gun that night, would he have shot his former master? He was pretty sure the bats would forgive him just this once, considering the circumstances.

But he'd never killed anyone on his own volition. He thought he had, thirteen years ago. However fake it had turned out to be, the memory of Tony Zucco had only brought him a deep self-loathing that had made him feel like he had deserved his life. 

Deep in his heart, he knew that killing Slade would only give the ghost that haunted him more power over him. 

“Next time,” Dick said, “Let B take him to the Watchtower.”

Jason opened his mouth to protest, but Dick didn’t let him.

“Not because he deserves to live, but because I want him to rot. I want him to seethe. I want him to watch me and everyone else he hurt forget about him."

Slade would watch him from the other side of the glass. Would know he held no power anymore. Would know he could do nothing as Dick walked away.

The orange that haunted him no longer a reminder of a dangerous murderer, but of a pathetic, powerless man. Someone small. Insignificant.

"I want to stop thinking about him not because he’s six feet under, but because he means nothing to me anymore.”

Someone he could finally forget.

Jason studied his face. Dick wasn’t sure what he’d find there. Something twisted, maybe. Something vicious he rarely let himself be these days. Whatever it was, it made Jason smile.

“You make not killing the bastard sound like the worse punishment.”

“Exactly.”

Jason huffed, then gave in far too easily. “Torturous existence over death it is. Good to see you didn’t round off all your sharp edges.”

Dick smiled at the chandelier. “Just the ones that hurt the wrong people.”

Pale white hands snatched the puzzle out of Dick’s hands when he stepped through the door. Arty held the box in front of his face, yellow eyes scanning the fluffy cats on the cover.

“Hey Art,” Dick said softly. The talon gave him a quick nod, then jumped back into the ropes suspended above the room, where some less brave talons waited to inspect the gift.

“They look good,” Cass said as they watched them pass the rattling box around with visible glee and curiosity.

“Yeah.” A month ago, all of them would’ve been standing at attention when they entered, only showing interest in the stuff they brought after being given explicit permission. Even then most of them had only accepted the gifts out of politeness, holding them quietly until given new orders.

There were still a lot of talons at the facility with behaviours like that, but this particular group had been doing really well. Well enough that the cure they’d re-engineered from Dick’s blood might not have to go unused, after all.

Fresh out of the court, the talons had had no sense of self-preservation or understanding of the permanence of death. Most of them had no memory of their life before the court, and those who did could count a few precious memories on one hand. In that state, they couldn’t exactly make an informed decision on whether or not they wanted to lose their pseudo-immortality.

Dick and Cass took off their coats and hung them on the rack next to the door, a dozen or so eyes following their every move.

The room was modelled after a studio apartment, made for the explicit purpose of showing the talons behaviours they could both expect and mimic in the outside world. Just like last time they’d been here, signs of life were hard to find. The kitchen was spotless, the wooden table in the middle of the room empty except for a plastic vase with slightly wilted wildflowers.

Despite everyone’s prodding, most of the talons still preferred to spend their time as close as possible to the heightened ceiling, crouching in the top ropes where the light was dimmer and kinder to their sensitive eyes.

Cass strode over to the fridge and began to make a big pitcher of strawberry lemonade like she always did. Without a word, two talons jumped down from the ropes to help, grabbing plastic cups from the cupboard and placing them on the table.

“Thanks, guys,” Dick said, making them preen silently. Most of them didn’t speak much, though they should all be capable. The running theory was that any vocalisations were likely linked to painful memories, as they’d only been allowed to speak in the presence of owls.

But it was fine. It just meant that Cass liked them a lot. In here, the silence was comfortable. The talons didn't have to fit a mold—they just needed to be able to live the lives they wanted to.

Arty came back down with the puzzle after Cass and her helpers finished filling the plastic cups with lemonade. He tried to give the box back to Dick, but he gestured for the Talon to place it on the table.

“Open it, please.”

“Okay.” Arty’s voice was much less scraggly than it’d been back in the labyrinth. He wiggled the box open, placing the top down gently as he poked at the plastic bag of puzzle pieces inside.

“Thank you,” Dick said deliberately, because it had been a request, not an order.

“Thank you,” the Talon repeated, his curly mob of hair dangling down as Cass showed him how to remove the puzzle pieces from the plastic bag.

Dick shouldn’t play favourites, but Arty, or Arthur Shaw, had been the Talon who’d led him, Tim, and Bruce out of the labyrinth. He’d been afraid the owls would’ve ‘decommissioned’ him after the betrayal, but the Talon had had enough awareness to lie about their paths crossing that night.

Arty had been one of the few talons who’d chosen to keep their old names. They’d been able to dredge up birth certificates of a little over half of them, most of their birthdays dating back somewhere between the 17th and 18th century. Like most of them, Arty had been an orphan snatched from the streets.

Cobb and Dick’s other ancestors before him had been the exception, shining pearls plucked directly from talented circus stock to lead the common rabble.

Bred like dogs for the fucking honour of losing their humanity.

Thinking about Cobb was complicated. Maybe he could’ve been reformed like the other talons, or maybe he couldn’t have. In a perfect world, he should’ve at least gotten the chance to try. But at least he wasn’t forced to live the way he had anymore, kept frozen and needy and desperate to please cruel masters.

The thought held a sad kind of kindness, but it was better than nothing.

Six more brave talons jumped down and sat around the table when gently prompted, the other half of the group happy to observe from above. Dick smiled up at them. Disobeying direct requests was also a great sign.

Cass explained the puzzle and the cuteness of the fluffy cats on the box cover, prompting the talons to pick up the pieces and inspect them. They tried to come over at least once a week to introduce something new, slowly catching them up on what they’d missed.

Back at the manor Dick was always at the receiving end of these kinds of efforts, the others constantly shoving their phones under his nose or dragging him towards the TV when he asked stupid questions.

It felt good to give some of that energy back.

Last week it’d been glitter pens and paper, the talons’ scratchy doodles still taped to the wall. There were a few plants next to the window from a few weeks back, new leaves sprouting under the caring hands of the two talons who’d taken a liking to them.

Things were never going to be the same for these people.

But they would live.

They would be free.

Arty brushed his fingers through the grass, careful not to disturb his fresh bouquet of wildflowers. His bright blue turtleneck was pulled up all the way to his chin despite the warm spring sun, thick sunglasses protecting his sensitive eyes. As per usual, he’d been the only talon to accept the offer to go outside while the sun was still up.

Though it most likely had to do with their aversion to daylight, Dick couldn’t help but think there was another factor at play. The same factor that still shook him awake sometimes, the word ‘butterfly’ whispering in his ear.

They still hadn’t caught the Grandmaster.

Though she probably posed little threat without her tunnels, lackeys, and serums, it grated. The talons didn’t deserve to go through what Dick had on top of their other struggles, seeing ghosts around every corner.

Yet they hadn’t come any closer to finding her.

While looking for clues in her lair, they had instead stumbled on what looked like an MRI machine near the coffin room. Dick had instantly recognised it, the scene burned into his mind like a snapshot without context. He knew he’d been there before.

Alien tech, B and Cardinal had concluded, from who knows what corner of the universe. Stuff to mess with memories.

So. That had solved that mystery.

The very same machine had also been the key to the feral talons. The owls had simply removed all of their memories, turning them into mindless creatures of instinct. But the machine had never been meant to erase such large chunks of information, so as the night wound down, so had the Talons’ more recent memories started to reappear.

Bruce had offered to find out if Dick’s altered memories could be returned, too, but he’d refused the offer.

No one was going to rattle around in his brain anymore. Not even Bruce. Not even for this.

The cowl footage was enough.

Arty pulled up his sleeve and held out his arm, watching curiously as the sunlight fell on his pale skin. “It’s warm.”

Dick hummed. “It was winter when you came here, but it’s spring now. It’ll get even warmer when it’s summer.”

“Summer,” Arty said with a hint of longing.

For a while they were quiet, watching the wind brush through the high grass of the garden. Soon it would be time to go back inside and meet Cass.

“The Grandmaster is not here,” Arty said.

Dick did his best to hide his surprise. This was the first time any of the talons had spoken about the court unprompted.

“She’s not.”

“Where?”

Dick hesitated, then decided to be honest. “We don’t know.”

Arty closed his eyes and stopped pawing at the grass.

“You’ll never have to see her again,” Dick reassured him. “You’re safe here.”

Arty shook his head and gave him a complicated look. ‘You can’t promise that,’ his eyes seemed to say.

Dick sighed. Because yeah, he couldn’t. “We’ll never stop trying to find her,” he tried instead. “And if she comes here, we’ll protect you.”

B wouldn’t mind if Dick borrowed his words, spoken only a few nights after Slade had fallen.

Dick had shaken awake from a dream he couldn’t recall. Without thinking, he’d gotten up to get a glass of water, mind and body both jittery, his heartbeat rabbiting in his chest.

But when he’d arrived at the bathroom, he realised it wasn’t a drink he’d needed. Something had tugged his feet towards the master bedroom, and when he’d found it empty, towards the grandfather clock.

B had been typing in the dark cave, the screen of the computer illuminating his tense frown as he once again scanned the footage they’d collected around Slade’s disappearance. When he’d heard Dick shuffle down the stairs, he’d whipped around like a dog caught drinking from the toilet bowl. They’d all promised Alfred to sleep.

Together they’d gone back upstairs, Bruce’s steady hands guiding a half-asleep Dick back towards his mattress. There, he’d whispered just a few words.

We’ll find him. And if he comes here, I’ll protect you.

Arty stared at his flowers and didn’t reply. Which was fair. It’d taken Dick a lot of time to come to a place where he could dare to believe such words.

They sat in silence a while longer. Until suddenly, the talon raked his nails over his face with an agonising wail.

“Whoa, hey!” Dick quickly grabbed his wrists, stopping him before he could draw more blood. “What’s wrong?”

“It hurts,” the talon said as he struggled. “It hurts to talk.”

“Then don’t.”

“No—”

“Let’s sit back down, okay?” With steady hands, Dick pulled himself and the talon back into the grass. “Can I let you go?” he asked after Arty stopped fighting him. After a few more seconds of heavy breathing, the talon gave a quick nod, and Dick let go of his wrists.

“It hurts to talk,” Arty said again. This time he hugged himself just a little too hard, but Dick didn’t stop him. It was better than the scratching. “I’m not supposed to say.”

“Say what?”

“Want to find her. Want to protect.” He looked at Dick with haunted but determined eyes. “Like Nightwing.”

Suddenly, Dick understood. Arty had information. Information that could help them find the Grandmaster.

“Grandmaster has a place,” the talon spat out. “Below the nest. Hide. Only talon know, no other masters. Family in Argentina, Comodoro Rivadavia.” At every word Arty flinched like he’d been hit, but still he spoke the next until the whole story was laid bare.

The entrance of her secret exit had been in the middle of the labyrinth, ensuring no other owls would dare follow her. Ironically, Arty himself had been one of the few talons spared all but the base necessary conditioning so he wouldn’t forget how to lead her there. 

From there she would’ve escaped to the harbour and had smuggled herself away to Argentina, where she had old family connections.

After his story, Arty was a shaking mess of heavy limbs. He leaned against the tree they’d been sitting under and stared out over the garden, gaze both hollow and satisfied.

Dick hadn’t dared to ask him to move, so instead they sat under the tree until Cass finally came to find them.

Seeing her, Arty finally pushed his shaking limbs under him.

“You’ve been very brave,” Dick couldn't help but say.

“Like Nightwing?”

Cass smiled. “Like Nightwing.”