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I. Jason
Looking back on it, Dick could clearly see that Jason had served as his own impetus for the master plan constructed to troll his brother.
It started when the White Collar team needed an assist, at a time where their plans failed and backup plans failed, and their outcome looked dire. Dire enough that Dick actually pressed the small panic button built into his watch (not the FBI watch with the feeble and easily broken tracker, but a watch built by the Bat himself.) The signal went straight to the rest of the family, but there was no guarantee who would show up. He knew he needed someone from Gotham, though; he had seen vials holding a familiar substance- fear toxin.
To be completely honest, he was hoping for Red Robin. Tim was competent, social, and people usually didn’t fear for their lives after interacting with him. Which is more than could be said about most of his family. As luck would have it, though, Tim was with Kon in an entirely other country. Same with Damian, and Cass, and Steph, and Duke… even Alfred was off in England visiting family; Bruce was off-planet . He knew this when he pressed the distress button, knew that the Red Hood was likely the only family member free to assist, but Dick didn’t have another choice- the White Collar team’s situation was bad, and only going to get worse.
Red Hood wasn’t exactly on any decent terms with the FBI- not after the duffel bag incident. Dick loved all his brothers equally (okay maybe he was a little extra fond of Damian but at this point the kid was more a son and less a brother,) but he was really hoping someone other than Hood could assist. He didn’t want to deal with the feds arresting his little brother, and it would almost certainly break his cover- Dick went feral when defending his family.
However, he was correct in his original intel- the Red Hood was the ally to show up for the assist. Jason was professional though, knocking out the bad guys and quickly using zip ties to bind their wrists and then attach them to a nearby exposed pipe for the FBI to deal with in a moment.
“Dear G-d I’m here to help ,” came the voice from the helmet, Jason’s voice hidden by a modulator, “you don’t have to be such babies about it.” Okay, yeah, maybe the reactions of the agents were a little extreme, especially considering that the Red Hood’s crimes had been exonerated. Then again, a duffel bag of severed heads did tend to make a lasting impression.
Though, to be completely honest, as soon as they were out of immediate danger and he saw his little brother, he was overjoyed to see his Little Wing.
Overjoyed enough for an octopus hug!
The rest of the team stared in shock as Neal- their nonviolent criminal informant- plastered himself against a guy who matched a picture on their ‘most wanted’ list. The image was made even more absurd by the contrast between Dick’s suit and Jason’s leather jacket and armor, not to mention the amount of guns strapped to his person (B was off planet, and Jason was taking full advantage of that fact.)
Still, Dick managed to half-climb up Jason, knowing that underneath the helmet and the domino, his brother was rolling his eyes. Still, he could feel Jason moving to adjust him so that he wouldn’t fall to the ground, and strong arms wrapped around him. That was uncharacteristically nice of Jason, and Dick hated himself for the fact that he was immediately suspicious of that action. Then Jason spoke, and any guilt he had over being suspicious faded away.
“Yeah yeah, missed you too Dickface.”
Dick’s first thought was that it was too bad that Hood’s armor blocked tickling fingers. His second thought was I’m screwed, as Peter spoke from behind where Dick was still plastered to Hood.
“Neal, why does an extremely violent crime lord know you?”
“Allegedly.”
II. Slade
Dick could only imagine the look of glee the mercenary had behind his mask as he dropped down through the skylight of the building the White Collar team was currently investigating. It was a large warehouse full of antiques, seized in a recent bust. Some of the antiques were legitimate and some were fakes- he was brought in to help distinguish between. He was inspecting a Ming vase (fake, definitely a fake) when he heard a thud followed by the sound of safeties clicking off as his team declared themselves as FBI. Sighing, he turned around to see what the commotion was.
Peter, Diana, and Jones all had their weapons trained on a figure beneath the open skylight- a figure wearing orange and black armor and looking entirely nonchalant about the fact he had multiple weapons trained on him. Of course Dick knew that Slade’s armor was resistant to normal FBI-issued bullets, and Slade had a healing factor that would prevent too much damage, plus the man was heavily armed himself; still, he couldn’t help but feel a spike of anxiety looking at the scene.
Slade would be fine, he knew. But still, seeing multiple guns trained on your… whatever Slade was to him at this point- was enough to cause a little bit of worry, right? Then, Slade pulled off his mask and swept his eyes across the agents, taking in their stance and weapons before fixing his eyes directly on Dick.
“Really, Little Bird?” he started, “how far you’ve fallen, these people barely know how to hold a gun. And you’re…” he very obviously checked Dick out, “weaponless?”
“Shut up, Slade,” he ground out, the response practically instinct at this point- enough so that he didn’t think about the fact that the FBI might take issue with the fact that their CI clearly knew the mercenary, and was, in fact, familiar enough with Deathstroke the Terminator to greet him by his first name.
He stared at Slade; the dust from the warehouse was visualized by the light streaming through the ceiling, small particles gently floating around where Slade stood. Okay, Slade might have had a point- how far had he fallen if he started thinking of musty warehouse dust as a beautiful thing? Yes, he normally appreciated things with aesthetic value, but he had definitely spent too much time as Caffrey if he was willing to see romance in dust .
“Neal?” he heard Peter say, though he sounded more distant and thus Dick paid him no attention. It had been so long since he had seen Slade; the mercenary had taken a several months long contract before Dick had left for his undercover mission, and this was the first time he was meeting the assassin as Neal Caffrey.
“Neal!” he heard again, though he still tried to block the agent’s voice from his mind as he focused on taking in every detail of Slade before him, starting to breathe heavily, “Neal!”
“What, Peter?” Dick snapped, unhappy to be having this particular conversation. Still, he made no move to tear his eyes from Slade.
“Tell me right now- don’t lie to me- why do you know Deathstroke, the mercenary assassin? You, Mr. ‘I hate guns and I’m strictly non-violent. Did you have a job together? Did you hire him? What the hell is going on, Neal?’” Dick could have sworn he heard Slade stifle a laugh at that, and shot the older man a mild glare.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, I don’t know this…” he very obviously checked Slade out, and took some glee in the strangled noise Peter was making “fine man.” He rocked back on his feet and shot Slade a look that was all Caffrey charm, then, feeling bold, he approached the mercenary and held out his hand to shake, “Neal Caffrey, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Slade rolled his visible eye before meeting his handshake, then used the grip he had on Dick’s wrist to pull him closer until they were standing with lips only inches apart, his other hand drifting up to cup the base of the undercover vigilante’s neck.
“It’s a pleasure to meet your acquaintance, Little Bird,” Slade murmured before closing the gap between them and- oh, Dick had forgotten how good at kissing Slade was.
The mercenary was the first to pull away with a small chuckle, his eyes roaming over Dick’s face much the same way they used to when he got injured as Nightwing. He knew how oxymoronic it sounded, that Slade could make him feel safe, but the two men had an extensive history beyond Slade’s chosen career. The Batfamily wasn’t exactly happy about the fact that Dick and Slade had become occasional allies (and, for the ones who knew, they weren’t happy about the fact that Dick and Slade had become occasional lovers as well.) Still, they mostly respected Dick enough to not say anything. He realized, with a sinking stomach, that the FBI did not share the same reservations.
“Neal!” Peter barked, “what do you think you’re doing?! Step away from the criminal, now, please.” Dick idly wondered if he should be pleased that Peter seemed to not think of him as a criminal in that moment, or disappointed that it took a literal mercenary within the same vicinity for him to not see Neal as a criminal.
Dick stepped back, shook his head lightly with a chuckle, and made his way back to Peter- of course, after he had leaned in once more to whisper the address of his apartment to Slade. With a smirk, Slade made quick work of leaving the warehouse the same way he came in- through the skylight, though this time there were agents shooting at him.
He better not get any blood on the couch, Dick idly thought before Peter’s voice drew him back to the present.
“Neal!” he snapped again, “what do you think you’re doing?! You do not make out with the criminals!”
“C’mon Peter,” Dick said with a grin, “I do it all the time on undercover ops.”
“How the hell do you know Deathstroke the Terminator anyways?” Jones asked.
Dick briefly contemplated once again maintaining that he did not, in fact, know the mercenary until that very moment. However, he couldn’t help the quick retort meant to confuse the FBI even further,
“Oh, he’s a childhood friend.”
“Childhood?! Neal, he’s like thirty years your senior!” Dick couldn’t help but laugh at that, if only Peter knew that he was a good deal younger than the Caffrey file stated. Then, with a twinkle in his eye promising mischief, he casually dropped another statement,
“A man never kisses and tells.”
“Creepy,” he heard Diana mumble under his breath.
“Can we get back to what we’re doing? June has book club tonight,” and if by ‘book club’ he meant introducing June to Slade, well, the FBI was none the wiser.
III. Damian
When the office went randomly, eerily silent, Dick glanced up and followed the stares of his coworkers, eventually landing on a small but heavily armed figure in the doorway of the bullpen. Dick sighed- who had let the kid wear all those knives? Worse, he was brandishing the katana in front of him, angrily lecturing the agent who had apparently deigned to treat him like an actual child.
Realizing that this would undoubtedly lead to an unfortunate conversation with Peter later, Dick stood up and headed for the scene- the junior agent that the sword pointed to could be annoying at times, but he didn’t deserve to be stabbed. Besides, Dick really didn’t want to have to deal with the fallout of Damian stabbing an FBI agent.
“You dare to insult my intelligence,” Dick heard his son brother say haughtily, but Damian cut off his tirade mid-sentence upon hearing Dick’s quiet cough. He had to acknowledge that the way his son’s brother’s head rapidly lifted and began searching for Dick was pretty cute.
Though not as cute as Damian dropping his sword and proceeding to run to where Dick was standing, throwing a small flip in as he ran, and then launching himself at Dick. That was really cute, and Dick had to hold back coos as he held Damian close to him, not wanting to offend the assassin-trained child.
“I missed you, Grayson,” Damian mumbled into his neck, sounding nearly teary , which took Dick by surprise- Damian almost never did tears, and Dick felt his concern rise rapidly. He tried to tamp down any rising panic as he finally got to hold his kid brother- sure, they video called on occasion, but they hadn’t really had the opportunity to see each other in person. There was always a concern that Peter would show up unannounced, and it was safer for the Caffrey cover if the rest of the bats stayed away. All the bats disliked the rule, but they knew it was important and therefore they honored it. So for Damian to show up to Dick’s undercover place of employment wearing a substantial number of knives was concerning.
“Dami,” Dick murmured under his breath even as he swayed them back and forth, enjoying the feeling of having his baby in his arms again, “is everything alright?”
“Father and I had a verbal disagreement, so Todd proposed a strategy to leave the Manor by taking the zeta here to you,” Damian sniffed a little bit, and Dick was livid at whatever Bruce had said to put Damian in such a state. Despite his ire, he resolved to talk to his father later; otherwise, he risked growing angry and having Damian misinterpret the recipient of that anger. Instead, he kept swaying them back and forth, dropping a kiss to the top of the boy’s head. Damian didn’t even fight the affection as he typically would, instead leaning closer, and Dick’s concern continued to rise- what did Bruce do ?
“Neal?” Dick started, lost in thoughts of his family, he hadn’t heard Peter approach the duo, “is there a reason why you know a heavily armed child that somehow got past security to threaten the junior agents?” Peter sounded absolutely done , and Dick really couldn’t blame him- Slade literally ‘dropped in’ on them not even an entire week prior, and that incident had put Peter on edge. Probably for good reason- yeah, he had that sort-of-relationship thing with Slade, but that didn’t negate his knowledge of how dangerous the older man could be.
Remembering the way he had refused to initially acknowledge he actually knew both Hood and Deathstroke brought a small smirk to his face as he contemplated continuing that theme, but decided against it. For starters, Damian was far more important than the Caffrey cover identity, though Dick knew the child would never believe that himself. Dick also didn’t want to pretend like he didn’t know his own kid brother- he knew that would hurt Damian as well, even if he was loath to admit it. Besides, even inside Dick’s head, the thought of pretending to not know Damian hurt him, too. His smirk widened as he thought of a differently chaotic answer, looking Peter directly in the eyes as he answered his handler’s question.
“Yeah,” Dick shrugged, still refusing to let go of Damian, “he’s my kid.”
“Your… kid? Neal, what?!” Peter spluttered.
“It’s best if you try to not think about it too hard.”
“I’m not saying I believe you, but let’s say this really is your child. How did you- the vehemently nonviolent criminal- raise a heavily armed child?”
“Oh, you should meet his mother.”
IV. Bruce
Dick’s entire family was full of overdramatic assholes, and he couldn’t even blame them considering he had the same tendency- it must be residual from being raised by a guy who dresses up as a bat to fight crime at night in what was possibly the most shady city on the East Coast, if not the entire nation.
Still, he was caught off-guard by the shadow of the Batman that appeared to be nearing where he and Peter were crouched, examining evidence. The man was overdramatic, sure, but he’d never jeopardize the mission, no matter the cost. Which meant…
Holy homecoming Batman, was he finally able to go home?!
Though Dick had noticed Bruce’s shadow, the man had made no noise in his approach and Peter gave no sign of registering the increasing looming presence until a shadow eclipsed both men. Peter jumped up, pulling his gun and spinning around to face Batman; Dick, on the other hand, was completely casual about the presence of the Batman, standing up gracefully and grinning at the vigilante.
“You… you’re…” Peter stuttered, looking mildly alarmed.
“Neal’s father,” Bruce replied, and Dick rolled his eyes at the man’s theatrics. Truly, he could give Jason a run for his money. He couldn’t deny, however, that it still made a warm feeling bloom in his chest every time the older man referred to himself as Dick’s father, despite there being no legal adoption. Though… he had learned that adult adoption was a thing on one of the cases he worked here, and wondered if Bruce might be open to that; he’d ask later, after he got to hug his brothers, and more-than-likely after he’d had at least one glass of good wine. That was one part of the Caffrey cover he actively enjoyed- the man had good taste in food and drink.
“Hi Dad!” Dick chirped with a shit-eating grin, leaning into the chaos, “how are my baby brothers?” At that, Batman’s lip twitched upward minutely, so subtle of a gesture that if Dick hadn’t been raised by the man, he would have missed it entirely. Clearly, Bruce understood Dick’s propensity for chaos.
“They miss you, chum,” Batman- no, that was definitely Bruce - said, “they’re ready for you to come home.”
“And… Can I?” he asked tentatively, hopefully, “can I come home?”
“The mission is over, chum,” Batman said, his voice still softer and gentler than what it should be with the cape and cowl in place, and gentle hands settled on his shoulders, “you can come home.”
“Neal, might I remind you that-” Dick cut Peter off before the other man could continue.
“I have a two mile radius, yes, I’m aware,” Dick barely refrained from rolling his eyes, “however…” he reached down to his anklet, took the gizmo Bruce handed to him, and removed it himself to the sounds of Peter’s spluttered objections.
“Neal, what do you think you’re doing?! You can’t just… could you remove it this entire time? Did you slip it before this? Oh, you definitely did. Neal, you could go back to prison for this and I won’t be able to save you!” Dick was, at the very least, sort of touched at Peter’s show of friendship, though the man could be more emotionally constipated than Bruce at times, at least where his CI was concerned.
“I think you’ll find this document most illuminating,” Batman said, handing over a thick file with ‘CONFIDENTIAL’ written in blocky red text. “Ready?” he asked, turning to Dick.
The moment Dick nodded, Batman shot a grappling gun towards the sky and whisked them away.
They landed on a nearby rooftop, and Dick exchanged his sharp suit for his Nightwing uniform. The blue and black bodysuit was like a second skin, and a sense of comfort settled over him as he remembered how it felt to fly, to remember who he was. It was a breath of fresh air to shed Neal Caffrey and his radius, and to fly along the rooftops with Bruce, like they used to do way back when.
He’d have to come back, later, and explain it to Peter and El- he hoped he could at least keep their friendship, though he would understand if they felt betrayed. After all, he probably would have, if his CI and friend was suddenly revealed to be the child of a vigilante who was able to escape his tether to the FBI and seemingly vanish into thin air.
But for now, Dick simply enjoyed the freedom of Nightwing.