Archive of Our Own

“You’ll never catch us alive!”

Dick is tired of this.

“Harls, honey, babe, that line sucks. Have some originality.”

They all are tired of this.

“When you’re right, you’re right, baby. How ‘bout, suck shit, fuckheads!”

Except Harley and Ivy, apparently. Those two still have plenty of energy.

“How about, you shut up the fuck up?” Jason yells.

Harley laughs, loud and clear, and somersaults from a hanging vine to the floor.

“But where’s the pizzazz? The drama? The emotion, the joy, the pathos? Come on, Hoody. Live a little!”

“Oh yes, because suck shit, fuckheads is so original,” Ivy drawls from the corner. She’s mostly just watching, amused and out of the way. It should make her easy to catch, but unfortunately she’s currently got a wall of living plants blocking her from all the commotion. They could blow it up, but currently she’s not causing them much trouble, and it’s really not worth it to make her pissed.

“You’re no fun,” Harley pouts, stopping her joyride on the unicycle she’s picked up somewhere to mime rubbing away her tears. “I thought you were supposed to be on my side.”

“I’m still here, aren’t I?” Ivy says, rolling her eyes. “Cheering from the sidelines or whatever.”

“Can I get you some pompoms?” Tim asks, having just grappled over. Dick has to resist the urge to facepalm. “Maybe some face paint? Party poppers?”

“Why, you got some handy?” Ivy says, raising an eyebrow.

“No,” Tim admits, hands splayed in a gesture of peace. “Think you could grab me some water though? Your girlfriend is leading us on a very merry chase and someone nabbed my water bottle last week and hasn’t given it back yet.” He turns a very focused stare on Steph, who is currently swinging through the air after Harley, who is delightedly throwing around small-scale smoke bombs.

God, is Dick exhausted. He’s got a headache too now, which is wonderful, what with all the yelling going on. As if spending the last three days clearing out Scarecrow’s lab after his attempted escape wasn’t enough.

Ivy throws a vine out. “Catch,” she says, and a metal water bottle comes flying through the air to almost whack Tim in the face.

“Thanks,” Tim says, and takes a few large swallows before pouring the rest over his face. “See ya round, Isley. Hey Spoiler, wait up!”

“I didn’t even do anything wrong,” Harley is whining, still leading them all around. And that is also precisely why they haven’t caught her yet. Because she hasn’t done anything enough to warrant pulling out all the stops to catch her, and because she promised to settle down if they managed to tag her.

It’s a game of chase, essentially. And Dick is too damn tired to deal with it today.

“You can’t set up shop here and you know it, Harley,” Batman calls. “I can overlook you occupying the place illegally, but you can't set up a lab to create what I’m choosing to believe aren’t toxins in a warehouse that is going to be being repurposed next week.”

Harley sticks her tongue out at him. “They’re only going to be storing furniture packets,” she grins. “That’s so boring! Our stuff is fun. Or, you know, Ivy’s stuff. I don’t know what she’s doing here at all but! I’m sure it’s thrilling.”

She cackles and dives under a table to avoid getting tagged by Steph’s outstretched arm. The she’s under some secret trapdoor and poking her head out of the vent in the wall next to Dick.

He stares at her.

“Not joining the game, sweetie?” she asks.

Dick leans back against the wall. “Headache,” he says.

She nods at him understandingly. “Get some rest, honeybuns. We’ll still be here later.” She grins brightly and vaults past him. Dick sighs and rubs his temple.

“Nightwing, what the hell?” Jason calls as he grapples past him. “She was right there!”

Dick just waves at him warily. Jason doesn’t see it, busily tucking into a roll as he flies from the ceiling to the floor, not five metres from Harley. She startles, picks something up from the bench littered in (now mostly smashed) jars and beakers and other things that are probably not that hazardous or important if Ivy doesn’t currently give a shit.

“Eat this!” she shouts as she throws it.

Jason immediately whacks it away with his gun, like he’s playing a game of baseball, and the small packet arcs through the air and lands at Dick’s feet.

It sits there for about three seconds, then explodes into a cloud of fine pollen. Because of course it does.

“Oops!” Harley calls. “Sorry.”

Jason uses the momentary distraction to put her into a headlock. “Fine,” she says. “You got me. Took you long enough!” And she cackles again.

Dick is too busy coughing to give them much notice. When he glances at his hand, it’s covered in a fine silvery powder.

“For fuck’s sake,” he mutters, and then, “Ivy! What’s in this?”

Ivy’s wall of plants slowly settles away. She strides over. “Relax,” she says. “Nothing in here is dangerous.” She wipes her hand along Dick’s arm, collecting some of the fine pollen, and licks it. Dick makes a face. She doesn’t notice.

“Yeah,” she says. “I made this to help with migraines. Still in testing stage, doesn’t even do that yet. You’re all good.”

Dick wants to ask her if she’s just considered aspirin, but when he opens his mouth Harley interrupts with, “Hey! Didn’t you say you had a migraine? You’re welcome!”

He sighs instead. “Thanks Ivy. Call if you need help moving, I know you found my number somehow.”

Ivy nods graciously. Somewhere in the distance, Harley and Stephanie have started doing the macarena.

“B, I’m heading home,” he calls.

Bruce just nods absently, eyeing the rest of his kids. Harley and Ivy are reformed, but only mostly, and he still doesn’t trust them entirely. Neither does Dick, or any of them really, but he trusts them enough to at least be honest about whatever ridiculous schemes they come up with, and he trusts them not to hurt innocent civilians.

Politicians and oil corporation CEOs are a different matter, but it’s not one he can bothered to deal with unless – or until – it comes.

He watches them all for one more moment, then crams on his helmet, jumps on his bike, and makes for the Manor.

It’s the knocking on the door that wakes him up in the morning. It’s loud, and it’s consistent, and it is chasing out the last dregs of a dream about twelve new chickens clucking around the living room, and a new pig grunting out in the garden, and a very smug little Damian cuddling a young goat in his arms, looking out at his new creatures. Once he is awake enough, he will make sure to be grateful that is was only a dream, and not a realising of a very plausible and probably inevitable eventuality.

He blinks blearily and reaches for his phone. 11am. He slept over twelve hours, and he mentally kicks himself for not setting an alarm. The knocking continues.

“One moment,” he mumbles, and pulls himself up, yawning as he does. He turns to face the door, getting ready to stand.

Damian, approximately 30 centimetres away from his face, stares back. “Good,” he says. “You are awake.”

“Oh. Hello.” Dick blinks a few times. He didn’t hear the door open. He must have been more tired than he thought.

It’s also a little strange, to find Damian here. He rarely comes into Dick’s room without an invite. Tim and Jason, whenever they come back to the Manor, are frequently assaulted by Damian’s random intrusions, as is Cass on the rare occasion she comes back, but not Dick. Steph is the only other exception. Damian is in no hurry to repeat that after what happened last time.

(He found glitter in his hair for weeks after. Dick was smart enough not to tell him how adorable – and hilarious – it was.)

“Hey,” he says, almost gently. “Everything alright?”

Damian stares at him. Then he nods his head, turns around, and leaves.

Weird. Dick makes a mental note to check up on him later.

He takes his time getting up, letting himself enjoy the sun streaming through the window. It’s getting warm, spring rapidly approaching. The flowers in the garden bed down below look ready to bloom any day now.

Last year, during the height of their blossoming, Dick picked out a bunch of carnations and presented them to Cass after her ballet performance. She wore one in her hair and dried out the others, and they remain in her room down the hall, carefully dusted by Alfred every Sunday.

Dick shakes his head doggedly. He can’t be held down by nostalgia today. He has things to do, cases to investigate, family bonding time to enforce before he makes the trek back down to Bludhaven.

He makes his way to the kitchen and grabs a bowl of cereal. There’s someone with a mop of dark hair half asleep on the chair, cup of coffee in hand. Dick smiles as he pours the milk. It’s infuriating when Tim skips sleeping, but he’s also slightly adorable when he’s tired, all blinking eyes and messy hair.

“Didn’t sleep well, huh?” he says as he sits down.

The head lifts, and a grin shines out. There’s a sheepish little wave and a nod.

It’s not Tim.

“I thought you were undercover,” Dick blurts in surprise. “I thought you were in Italy.”

Cass shrugs. She takes a long sip of her coffee and shakes her hands as she swallows. Surprise, she must mean.

He blinks. “I was just thinking I miss you,” he says, with a hesitant chuckle. “It’s nice to have you back,” he adds, although he knows she must be reading that from him already.

She grins, light and joyful. “Good to be back,” she says. “Long trip. Heard I missed a Quinn chase.”

Dick rolls his eyes, slipping easily into the kind of relaxed mood that comes so naturally, when chatting with Cass. “God, yeah. She was in a mood last night.”

Cass laughs, just a chuckle, barely audible. But she laughs with her whole body, and Dick is struck again by how much he missed her. Things with Cass are always so easy, now. She makes everyone better.

“How was your case?” he asks, smile curving his lips up. “All fixed, knowing you.”

She tilts her head to the side. “Not important,” she says, and smiles again. “Back now.”

Dick blinks. Normally she likes to share at least a few details, some of the funnier moments or more outrageous events. “Alright,” he says with a shrug. “You know I have no idea what you were even doing, I don’t think I could even begin to guess. I don’t think even Bruce knew. Keeping him on your toes, are you?”

Her expression doesn’t change. “Yes,” she says, still smiling. “But not important. Back now.”

Dick’s brow furrows. “Alright,” he says, a little cautiously. “Did you have a good trip back then? I didn’t hear that you were coming, I must have been asleep already when Bruce got the message.”

“Of course,” she says pleasantly.

Dick waits for her to elaborate, but she just keeps looking at him.

“Your coffee is getting cold,” he points out.

“It’s still warm,” she says.

Dick glances down at the coffee, and then back at her. He is not sure if it is his imagination, of if her smile is looking a little vapid, a little blank.

“Hey, are you okay?” he asks suddenly. “Sorry, I don’t know, you just seem to be acting a little…”

Cass’ odd smile stays put. “Strange?” she says. “I’m fine. You are on edge though. Jumpy. Sleep too much.”

He supposes that’s true, that he slept far too long this morning. He didn’t think he was that jumpy, but it makes sense. Why else would he be seeing things that aren’t there? Cass doesn’t keep silly secrets, nor would she lie about something like this. She knows what she’s talking about.

“Fair enough,” he says with a shrug. “So what can you tell me?”

Cass smiles, smiles, smiles, and begins talking.

He finds Damian out in the garden, sketching a sleeping Titus who is stretched out in the sun. “Hey, Dami,” he says. “Mind if I join you?”

“Your company would be acceptable,” Damian replies, not looking up from his sketchpad. “You may join.”

In Damian speak, this is hearty encouragement for bonding time, so Dick folds his legs up as he sits beside him. “So,” he says. “How are things going?”

Damian glances up just briefly before resuming his shading of Titus’ left foot. “Well enough, I suppose. I recently received feedback on that English essay. And we got our maths tests back. They sent the results through this morning.”

“And?” Dick prompts, knowing the news must be good if Damian is willing to bring it up with such little preamble.

Sure enough, Damian looks up and grins. “My writing is sophisticated and deeply analytical,” he quotes. “My teacher looks forward to seeing where I can take it in the future. I have real talent, he said. And an 82% for the test.”

Dick beams at him. “Oh Dami, I’m so proud of you,” he says scooping his brother into a hug. Damian squirms but offers no real resistance, and Dick can see him ducking to hide his grin.

Dick wonders how best to bring up how odd Damian was acting this morning. Delicately, definitely. He doesn’t want to break up his good mood, or to make him defensive. They are making progress, communicating, talking about feelings. But Damian still keeps things locked up tighter than even Bruce when he’s afraid of how it might reflect on him, and he needs to be careful.

Dick decides to go with the indirect route. “Hey, by the way, thanks for waking me up this morning,” he says. “I might’ve kept sleeping until noon if you hadn’t come along.”

Damian stills in his arms, and then he pulls away, giving Dick an odd look. His cheeks are slightly darkened; is he blushing? “I apologise. I did not realise. Alfred assured me no one could hear me from the music room.”

“The music room?” Dick says, mind suddenly blank with confusion.

“I assure you, I can find somewhere else to play if my music disturbs you,” Damian insists earnestly. “I admit that today’s song was one I am still in the process of learning. I will wait to play in the Manor until I am certain of my notes.”

“Damian, I can’t hear you play in the music room,” Dick interrupts. Even if I could, you know I love to hear you practice violin anyway.”

Damian dark eyebrows furrow together furiously. Then they relax. “I cannot recall any other instance this morning that I might have disturbed you. It must have been Timothy. Or Jason. His tread is rather heavy, especially in the morning.”

Dick laughs. “No, no, I mean you. When you came in this morning. About eleven? Don’t you remember?” he says, keeping his tone light and teasing.

Damian is staring at him.

Dick’s smile dies down. “Dami?” he says. “Everything okay?”

“You mean last night?” Damian says, almost cautiously.

“This morning,” Dick repeats, a little concerned now. “Dami, what’s wrong?”

“It is eleven o’clock in the morning now,” Damian says, and tilts his head slightly to the right. He’s squinting, squinting at Dick. “And I did not visit your room this morning. You had a headache last night. I know better than to wake you. I am not so inconsiderate.”

The words don’t register properly in his head. The he blinks and shakes himself. “You’re messing with me,” he says, relaxing. “Alright. Hey, you look like you’ve been out here a while, why don’t we go grab some lunch? I can sneak us some ice cream, to celebrate your results.”

Damian stares at him a moment longer, then lunges forward. Dick barely suppresses his squawk of surprise before Damian has his hand on his forehead. Then he sits back, face tight.

“You do not have a fever,” he asserts. “You must have been dreaming.”

Dick raises his eyebrows, amused. “You think I’m hallucinating or something?”

Damian’s face tightens further. “It is always best to consider the worst possibility,” he sniffs. “To do otherwise in our profession is to invite trouble.”

Dick laughs out loud at that. He ruffles Damian’s hair, and Damian squawks indignantly and wriggles away, so he wraps his arms around him and holds him tightly. “Couldn’t have said it better myself, Dami. Let’s go grab some lunch.”

Damian is grinning again as he wrestles his way out of Dick’s hold. “It is far too early for lunch,” he says. “But a snack would be… adequate.”

“I hid cookies in the top shelf,” Dick stage whispers, exaggeratedly, and he knows no one will ever believe it happened, but Damian’s giggle is just about the best thing he’s ever heard in his life.

Damian keeps insisting he is not hungry enough for lunch, so Dick finds himself in the kitchen making a sandwich alone while Damian munches his way through the cookies in the dining area.

His hands move on instinct, years of muscle memory kicking in and allowing his thoughts to drift as he butters his bread. It would be nice to get some of his other siblings down here, if not for their company than for their cookie-eating skills. Damian will never admit it, but he will eat himself sick if there is something sugary involved, and Alfred will not be happy if Damian’s lunch does end up being nothing but confectionary sweets.

He could probably invite Tim. He and Damian have been getting along a lot better these days, and cookies are always a good way to bond. If they start arguing, Dick can just convince them to stuff their faces with more, and they will be too distracted to stop Dick from subtly changing the topic.

“Hey,” a dull voice interrupts.

Speak of the devil and he shall appear, Dick thinks.

“Hey Tim,” he replies brightly. “What’s up?”

Tim looks at him strangely and then shuffles over to the coffee machine. “Fine, I guess. Why are you so bright and perky this morning?”

“It’s lunchtime,” Dick reminds him, turning to the fridge and rifling through. “Please tell me you actually went to bed last night.”

Tim grunts. The coffee machine dings. “You’re one to talk. Anyway, got work to do. Seeya round.”

“Get some sleep,” Dick calls after him, face still stuck in the fridge. He finds the jam and slams the door.

Tim’s still there, eyes tired and drooping. Dick tries to hide his smirk. Looks like Tim’s so tired he forgot to actually leave.

See? Adorable. Tim is adorable when he’s tired.

He was thinking that this morning, wasn’t he? He squints, trying to remember. Cass must have been right, about the too much sleep rattling his brain.

“Me and Damian are sharing cookies,” he says quickly, before he gets distracted.

“O… kay?” Tim says, sipping his coffee. “That’s. Nice?”

Dick rolls his eyes. “I’m asking if you want to join, you ass. There’s plenty for everyone.”

Tim’s face stutters, and then goes blank. “No thanks,” he says calmly.

Dick frowns. “Alright, that’s your I hate everything face. What’s up?”

Tim huffs into his coffee. “I just don’t want to be around Damian right now, that’s all.”

Okay, that’s not good. “Did something happen?” he asks quietly. “I can talk to him about it if you want?”

“Nothing happened,” Tim snaps. “I just don’t want to be around you two right now, okay?”

That’s worse. “Sorry,” he says. “Did… Did I do something wrong?”

Tim stares at him for a moment, then shakes his head. “No, you never do anything wrong,” he mutters sarcastically, so quietly Dick that wonders if he was meant to hear it. Then, louder, he says, “You’ve just been a little pushy lately, Dick. That’s all. But it’s fine.”

The ‘fine’ is a little too drawn out, the words a little too forced. Tim’s smile is tight, and he will not look up from his mug.

“I’m sorry,” Dick repeats. “I didn’t realise.”

“Yeah, well,” Tim says, that smile still painfully glued to his face. “When do you ever?”

He puts the mug down hard on the coffee table, grimaces, and then walks out of the room.

Dick stares after him.

“Tim—” he says, and then stops himself. Don’t be pushy, he reminds himself. Tim… probably just needs some space for a while. You can give him that.

Damian must notice something amiss when Dick comes back, because he immediately straightens, frowns, and then offers a cookie.

Dick gives him a tired smile and takes it, nodding his head in thanks. Damian grabs himself another. He holds it delicately between two fingers, gaze pointed directly at it but eyes unfocused.

“You are tired,” he says suddenly, and Dick lifts his head in surprise. “Perhaps you should look at getting some more sleep before lunch?”

“It is lunch,” Dick reminds him, taking a bite of his sandwich for emphasis.

Damian rolls his eyes. “Dinner, then. Alfred will not be pleased if you fall asleep in your soup.”

It’s Dick’s turn to roll his eyes. “I’m fine, Dami. I thought we were celebrating your work? Don’t you want to hang out for a bit?” He pouts dramatically, even as he internally winces at the forced cheer he’s portraying.

Damian ducks his head, the way he always done when embarrassed. “Certainly,” he says. “Of course. You know I welcome your company, Richard.”

“I’m sensing a ‘but’,” Dick teases gently.

Damian’s eyes widen, just a fraction, and then relax. He nibbles on his newest cookie. “Actually I was. Wondering if you would like to join me later. While I sketch.”

It takes a moment for the words to register properly. Damian is peculiar about people watching him sketch, and it is not an honour afforded to Dick with great frequency.

“You don’t have to!” Damian hurries to add. “You’re busy, I know, and it will be rather dull! I just thought…”

“No!” Dick interrupts. “No, of course I will. I’d love to. Really, I would love to. Thank you, Damian.”

Damian’s finger taps against the table, and his gaze goes down to it. When it comes back up, he’s smiling. It’s a small smile, gentle and warm and genuine. Best of all, Damian is making no real effort to hide it.

The cookies are almost gone. Damian is definitely not going to be hungry for lunch, and Alfred will most certainly be taking it out on Dick.

He makes a mental note to refill the jar anyway.

While Damian runs off to grab sunscreen and a hat for them both – because “sun safety is no joke, Richard, and the sun is at its peak now” (never mind that Dick has never gotten burned once in his life, but he supposes Dami still has a point) – Dick fills up two water bottles, knowing that Damian, once absorbed in his work, will forget all else.

Damian comes back not a minute later, holding his phone and biting his lip.

If Dick didn’t know better, he would say Damian is looking… guilty?

“Jon messaged me,” Damian says. “He would like to video call for a while.”

“Raincheck, then?” Dick says, filling the bottle up the rest of the way anyway. They can take them to their rooms instead. “I know it’s been ages since you two got to catch up. Where was it he went again? Space, or somewhere more local this time?”

Damian doesn’t say anything, and Dick quickly screws on the bottle lid and places the closed bottle on the bench.

When he turns to check on Damian, is to see him staring hard at the floor, lip just barely quivering.

“Hey, Dami,” he says, alarmed, and quickly kneels down beside him. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Damian snaps, looking sharply away, not so subtly scrubbing at his eyes. “I just. Aren’t you angry with me?”

“No?” Dick says bewildered. “What for?”

“For… for ditching you, I suppose,” Damian mutters, not quite meeting his eye.

Dick sits back, momentarily surprised into silence. “Dami, I… You know I want you to get to spend time with your friends, right? I love spending time with you, but I'm not going to begrudge you time you spend with others, okay?”

“Do you promise?” Damian says quietly.

“Of course. I promise.”

“It’s just that you sometimes—” Damian cuts himself off.

Dick’s heart catches in his throat. “What do I do, Dami?” he says somewhat hoarsely. “If I’m making you feel bad then I’ll do my best to fix it. I never want to hurt you.”

Damian swallows once, then shakes his head. “It is nothing,” he says. “Really. Don’t worry about it.”

Dick is worrying about it. He’s worrying about it a lot, and especially over how Damian hasn’t felt comfortable bringing this up to him, even though it’s clearly affecting him a lot. Damian doesn’t cry (or get this close to it, at least) easily – certainly not in common spaces, where others might see.

But Damian clearly doesn’t want to talk, and he’s not going to make him, so instead Dick will have to figure it out by himself without any clues in case he is somehow convincing Damian that he has to spend time with Dick, or Dick will somehow be upset with him.

Did he even want to sketch with Dick? Or did he just feel like he had to?

How on earth did he end up making Damian think this way?

Damian fidgets. “We were going to meet up in a few minutes…” he says.

Dick blinks, snapping himself out of his spiral. He can do that later, where Damian won’t see it. “Yeah, course,” he says, careful to make his voice as cheerful as ever. “Go have fun!”

Damian offers a hesitant smile in return, but it is clearly forced. He vanishes before Dick has a chance to hand him the water bottle.

Dick stares at them, then grabs one and heads to the grandfather clock. His fingers are shaking, and he feels a little faint, and he wants to work out until he either figures something out or stops feeling anything for a while.

Steph is already in the Bat-gym when he makes his way down there.

“Hey,” he says, keeping his smile bright. “Didn’t know you were down here. Thought you’d be hanging out with Cass, now that she’s back.”

Steph looks at him, and her eyebrows furrow a bit. Then she stands up, grabs her towel and water bottle.

“She’s sleeping,” she says shortly as she stalks past him. Dick hears the door slam behind her.

He stands there for a long moment, not quite sure what just happened. Perhaps this has something to do with how Tim was acting earlier? Did he do something wrong recently, something to make everyone mad at him?”

Maybe he should find Jason. Jason, no matter how mad he is, can almost always be counted on to be honest about it.

Has Jason already headed back home? He stays at the Manor after long missions more often than not, these days, but it’s still never a safe bet to assume either way.

As if on cue, Jason walks into the gym. “Dickhead,” he says as acknowledgement as he strides past.

“Jason,” Dick says a little distantly. Then he shakes himself and starts after him. “Do you know what Steph and Tim are mad about?”

“No idea,” Jason says gruffly as he sets up the weights. “Why, what happened?”

“I think they’re mad at me,” Dick says hesitantly.

“Aw, and poor little Dickie can’t handle the thought that anyone isn’t thinking of him as the perfect glowing golden boy, can he?” Jason’s voice is mocking, but Dick catches how his eyes spark green for just one moment.

Dick doesn’t really know how to respond to that. After a moment, he says, “You know it’s not like that. I just don’t want to be hurting anyone, if I can help it.”

“Bit late for that. Half of us have died because of you!” Jason snaps abruptly, and his eyes gleam green again before he visibly takes a deep breath to get himself back under control.

Dick stares at him, wide-eyed.

Jason grits his teeth, takes another steadying breath, and then says, “Get out of here, Dick. I don’t want to deal with this right now.”

Dick doesn’t bring up that he was here before him. He just nods and gathers his things.

He doesn’t head back upstairs, not sure if he can bring himself to. He desperately wants to talk to Cass, but if she really is sleeping, he doesn’t want to disturb that. Certainly not after knowing how tired she was this morning.

He heads to a distant corner of the cave and shakes for a little while. His head is buzzing. Is his headache coming back? He feels a little sick.

He stays there for ten minutes, letting himself breathe, and then stands up, heads to the work stations, and pulls out some case files that need analysing. He sits there, and works, and works, and works.

Alfred finds him, some indeterminable amount of time later.

“Master Dick,” he says sharply. “I expect this behaviour from the others, but certainly not you. We have been awaiting your attendance at dinner for some time.”

“Sorry Alfred,” Dick says sheepishly. “I lost track of time.”

“I should think so,” Alfred sniffs as they start heading up the stairs. When he gets to the entrance way to the Manor, he pauses. “You have quite distressed Master Damian,” he says, something gentler in his voice. “Not that he will admit it. But I suggest you talk to him later.”

Dick swallows and nods. His mouth is dry. He doesn’t know what to say, so he stands there for a moment, and then Alfred smiles warmly and pulls him along. “Come on,” he says. “Your dinner will get cold.”

There’s only one empty seat at the dining table. This is odd, because there should have been two people unaccounted for. Cass is conspicuously missing.

Everyone looks at them when he and Alfred enter the room, and Dick’s heart is pounding oddly, but he forces himself to smile.

“Sorry I’m late,” he says, taking a seat. “Is Cass still sleeping? She’s missing a plate.”

When he looks up, Bruce and Steph are both frowning at him. Damian has his whole face scrunched up, looking absolutely furious.

Dick automatically raises his hands defensively. “Um, did I say something wrong?”

“Cass is back?” Steph almost shrieks, clearly over her shock. “And she didn’t tell me?!”

“Cass is still undercover,” Bruce interrupts oddly. “Venice, remember?”

Damian’s face is somehow even more stony than it was a moment ago. “I told you,” he hisses at Bruce.

Dick doesn’t know what that means, so he says, slowly and carefully, “I saw her this morning. She was pretty tired, so I thought she would still be sleeping… She didn’t tell me it was supposed to be a surprise, don’t blame me for messing up!”

Jason, sitting to his left, leans over and puts his hand on Dick’s forehead.

“He doesn’t have a fever,” he says, and Dick annoyedly swats his hand away.

“Don’t be an ass,” he snaps. “Did you really not know she was back? Steph, I know you did.”

Steph stares at him.

“Master Richard,” Alfred’s voice smoothly interrupts. “No one gets in or out of this Manor without my knowing about it. Not even Miss Cassandra.”

Dick swivels in his chair to glare at him, but falters when he sees Alfred’s expression. Alfred is not above the occasion practical joke, but his face is serious, and worse, concerned.

“But Steph was the one who told me she was sleeping,” Dick says, just the tiniest bit uncertain.

Steph shakes her head. “I haven’t seen you all day,” she says.

“I told you!” Damian snaps, voice highly pitched. “I told you he’s been acting strange, but none of you believed me! He was acting strange and then he vanished and none of you believed me!”

Arguments break out over the table, but Dick tunes it all out. He is feeling just the slightest bit dizzy. He lets the voices swarm over him.

It’s the strangest thought, but he suddenly wonders if this is how Jason used to feel, back when he was Robin, and Dick and Bruce would argue and argue and argue.

Dick failed Jason in a lot of ways.

Jason died, and Dick wasn’t there to save him.

Jason died, and Dick didn’t even know until he found out he’d missed the funeral.

Jason died, Jason died, Jason died, and how does he not still blame Dick for it?

He swallows thickly, and when he turns again to his left, Jason is no longer in the seat. Or, well, he is, but not the same Jason that was sitting there a moment ago.

It’s Robin. It is Jason as Robin.

It’s Robin, and it’s Jason, and he is dead.

Dick flinches backwards, and Jason says, “Hey, dude, are you okay?” and Jason says, “Where were you?” and Jason says, “I don’t know, it came out of nowhere! Dick? Snap out of it,” and Jason says, “I died alone. Where were you?!”

There’s blood. So much blood. His uniform is in tatters. Dick is pretty sure that’s bone, sticking out of his broken arm.

He swallows back the urge to throw up, the urge to cry, the urge to beg for forgiveness.

“Robin,” he says. “Robin.”

“What?” someone says. Dick can’t tell who it is. “What’s he talking about?”

“Does he mean the brat? Damian, get over here!”

“Richard?”

“His eyes are unfocused, and he is not responding. I suggest we get him to medical immediately.”

“Robin,” Dick rasps one more time. “Robin, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Warm, heavy hands pick him up, and Dick clutches onto Bruce’s shoulder and cries as he is carried away.

He opens his eyes. He’s in the Batcave med station.

John and Mary Grayson look down at him.

“What have you become?” his mama says. “How could you tarnish our name like this? What have you done to my son?”

He opens his mouth to say something, but his parents are already turning away. John puts his arm around Mary, shooting Dick a disappointed glare as they leave.

“Wait,” he says. “Please, I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Don’t leave!”

“Shit,” someone says. “Fuck.”

“Settle down there, chum. You’re alright.”

“Dick? Is he awake?”

Dick can’t keep his eyes open long enough to find out the answer.

Deathstroke sits by his bed, idly reading a magazine. Dick would be in stitches laughing at the sight if not the cold terror that is choking his test.

“You’ll be mine soon,” Slade says, flipping a page. “You never did have the strength to say no anyone who might dare to hold you, no matter what they ask of you in return.”

“No,” Dick chokes out. “Get out. Go.”

Slade grins, all teeth, and slowly stands up. “They’ll kick you out sooner or later,” he murmurs, leaning low. “Stop kidding yourself. They can do better than you, but you can’t do better than what I can give you.”

He leaves before Dick can reply.

“You're such a piece of shit,” a voice says, and Dick startles awake.

His eyes fly open. He freezes.

“You’re a liar,” Catalina Flores snaps, “and a coward. You didn’t dare to even tell your family about me? I could have been with child. But you, you didn’t even check up on me! Gone, just like that. After everything we had.”

He can’t move. He can’t move. There’s rain pouring down, the smell of blood in his nose. He can’t move.

He closes his eyes and silently, desperately, prays to whatever god might listen.

It’s the cackling. The desperate laughter, the giggles and the wheezes that haunt Dick’s dreams, and now must haunt his waking hours too.

Joker stands by the bed, and all around him are bodies. There’s Bruce, and Cass and Alfred, and Wally and Donna and Damian and Tim and Steph and Garth and, and, and—

Jason pulls himself up onto one elbow, wheezing. His head is caved in on the right, and his leg is laid out at the wrong angle. “Where were you?” he rasps. “Where were you?”

Joker laughs and laughs and laughs.

“Right. That should do it.” The voice that says is high-pitched, fairly feminine. Pleased, certainly. Smug too.

“Has it worked already?” That voice is deeper, gruffer. That voice is Batman’s voice.

“Wake him up and find out. Hey! Sleepyhead!”

There’s a sharp stinging sensation on his cheek, and the last of the foggy sleep is knocked right out of him. He groans.

“Ivy!” Batman snaps.

“What?” the first voice drawls, sounding almost bored. “It worked, didn’t it?”

Dick slowly pushes himself up into a seating position. Almost immediately, he is pinned back to the bed as a massive weight crashes into him. “You’re awake!” Damian cries. “How are you feeling? Is it better, are you normal again? We missed you. Timothy was a right mess, it was embarrassing. But how are you feeling? Is he fixed? Did you fix him?”

Dick takes a moment before he realises these last two questions are not in fact aimed at him.

“Like I said,” Poison Ivy is saying. “He’s fine. All out of his system.”

“What’s out of my system?” Dick rasps out. Tim, standing on the other side of the bed, hands him a water bottle with a small smile. Dick accepts it gratefully.

“Ah,” Ivy says, and straightens, almost professionally. “Do you remember that packet that Harls threw at you?”

“The one that you assured me would do absolutely nothing?” Dick replies sourly, immediately where this is going.

She doesn’t seem to notice. “That’s the one! Now you just wouldn’t believe what happened. Your merry little band of bats tell me you had a run in with the old Scarecrow not long before you bumped into Harls and me. And you got dosed with the good old fear potion.”

“I took an antidote immediately,” Dick scowls. “I didn’t get any effects from it.”

“But that’s just it!” Ivy says delightedly. “The antidote counteracted it, but it didn’t flush it entirely out of your system. And my formula, which does absolutely nothing, also went into your system, and because you had a headache, it activated! Only it doesn’t actually do anything normally, because I didn’t perfect it. Ohhh, but this time, there was some dormant fear toxin in your blood, and when they combined…”

“For fuck’s sake,” Dick whispers.

“It’s a miracle!” Ivy cries. “The chances of this happening are… well, astronomically low. So the headache activated my mix, which combined with the fear toxin, to gradually over the next few hours activate it, causing a very slow onset of chills, nausea and faintness. Oh, but better than that! It changed the fear toxin to activate once it had built up enough residual stress in your system. So the fear symptoms manifested as hallucinations increasingly targeted towards uncertainty and insecurity, brought on by thoughts about the hallucination subject in question, until it built up enough to knock you right out! It’s brilliant! Old Scarecrow couldn’t have come up with this in a million years. I couldn’t have come up with it in a million years. It is an accidental phenomenon of science.”

Dick stares at her.

“If anything had happened even slightly differently,” Ivy continues, “this probably wouldn’t have happened. We were this close to not witnessing one of the greatest biological oddities I’ve ever encountered! It’s a major breakthrough do science.”

“Hooray,” Dick says flatly.

“She literally will not shut up about it,” Tim whispers at his side, rolling his eyes. “We’ve heard that exact speech like, five times. Apparently it’s really amazing that this happened.”

“You go girl!” Harley calls from the other side of the room, and great, she’s here too.

Poison Ivy giggles, and runs over to her, and oh isn’t that great, the two of them are making out now. Dick sighs and averts his eyes, because when those two start making out it’s only a matter of time before he sees something he really wished he didn’t.

“You feeling better now?” Tim asks, leaning against the bed. “No more hallucinations of whatever it was you were seeing.”

Dick hums. “Don’t think so. But I didn’t think so last time either. Hey, are you mad at me for something?”

Tim blinks. “No?” he says. “Why? Should I be?”

Dick shrugs. “I hope not. But yeah, I think I’m fine.”

Damian, whose face was until now still nuzzled into Dick’s chest, pulls himself to look him in the eye. “I told them all you were acting strange. They said you were probably ‘just tired or something', but I knew you wouldn’t turn me down on my invitation with no warning. I knew it!”

“Oh Dami, crap, you were sketching! I’m so sorry, I thought you told me you were busy.”

Damian, as usual, hides his face to avoid anyone seeing his embarrassment. Given he doesn’t blush, this is actually he is only tell, but everyone has unanimously and without discussion agreed not to tell him.

“Richard,” he chides, “that should really have been your first clue. I would never.”

“But you should,” Dick says, anxiety suddenly gripping his heart again. “If there’s something you want to do, or something else turns up, you know you won’t hurt my feelings by doing that instead, right?”

Damian looks at him as if he’s grown two heads. “If something else were to come up, I would reschedule our event. What else would I do?”

He says as if it is absurdly obvious. And, Dick supposes, it probably is.

“Would you... like to talk about what you saw?” Bruce offers quietly. “I didn’t think it was like you to get do caught up in these things.”

“It was just because I was tired,” Dick hurriedly assures him. “I would have caught it soon.”

Bruce doesn’t say anything for a moment, and Dick is frantically thinking of how else to reassure him when Tim clicks his tongue and gives Bruce a look.

Bruce clears his throat. “That’s not what I meant,” he says, slowly and carefully. “I am more concerned about... how you are feeling.”

Dick stares at him. Tim nudges Bruce’s foot and makes a sort of ‘go on’ gesture with his hands.

“Um,” Bruce says, because he is nothing if not eloquent. “How you are feeling, emotionally. And if there is any way we can help.”

Dick has to laugh when he catches Tim give Bruce a ‘subtle’ double thumbs up and a grin.

Bruce is giving him a quizzical look, but Dick doesn’t bother to explain what is so funny. He wouldn’t get it. “Thanks, B,” he says instead, and is surprised to find out it’s completely genuine. “Later, maybe.”

Bruce looks about as surprised as Dick feels at that admission, but strangely, Dick thinks he was being genuine.

It’s been an odd day.

“Where’s Alfred, by the way?” he asks, before the following silence can get too awkward for all of them.

Damian’s head pops up again to grin. “Alfred, accompanied by Brown and Todd, are picking up Cassandra at the airport.”

Tim flicks his finger against Damian’s ear. “They were causing too mu fuss here, Alfred said. Also, little twit. It was going to be a surprise, remember?”

Damian scowls and flicks Tim back, notably harder than Tim flicked him originally. Tim is already moving to retaliate.

“Boys,” Bruce interrupts tiredly.

“Yes?” they chorus innocently, right before pinching each other.

There’s the sound of a door slamming, and Steph’s voice bursts out at alarming volume.

“Guess whose fucking BACK and ohhh my god, oh my god, Cass, Cassandra, avert your eyes, avert those precious eyes of yours, for the love of god.”

“What’ll it take for you two to get out and get a room,” Jason is yelling.

Dick looks up to see Ivy pause doing something gross with her tongue just long enough to give them the middle finger.

“Language,” Alfred says tiredly.

“Brother!” Cass says delightedly, suddenly at his bed. “Heard you were unwell. Better now!”

He grins, and suddenly Damian is being pushed aside as Jason forces his way onto the bed as well. “Shove,” he says, and Damian sticks his tongue out.

“Oh man, is this a cuddle pile?” Steph cries, and immediately throws all her weight on top of them all. “Hell yeah!”

Tim gingerly climbs his way on top and Steph and Cass cheer. Cass, Dick can’t help but notice, is sitting on the very edge where quick escape is possible if needed.

Bruce and Alfred watch along, both clearly trying their best to hide their grins.

Dick sighs, although it’s more amused than anything. “You too,” he says.

Alfred immediately starts protesting, and then Cass is up and physically lifts him up and places him gently on Jason’s lap. Bruce hurriedly sets himself on the edge before she takes further drastic action.

Dick is considerably squished under all their bodies, but as Cass climbs carefully back onto the bed and glances inconspicuously his way, clearly checking he’s okay, he can’t help but rest his head back against the pillow, close his eyes, and smile.