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Par for the course for most of Dick’s plans that went sideways, at the time, it had seemed like a good idea.

His dad and brothers were away on a business trip in Georgia, so it was the perfect weekend to surprise Uncle Clark with a visit. He even had Alfred’s blessing. Well mostly.

But he was getting a clue that his timing was off when his elevated train that was cutting through Metropolis was slammed into by a flying bad guy battling with none other than Superman. The grappling duo impacted with the north side of the train’s last car, which, as was his luck, was the one Dick was riding in. The concussion knocked passengers to the floor …and, oh yeah, shoved the train off its elevated tracks.

Instinctively, Dick grabbed onto the seat in front of him and prayed he didn’t lose his grip as his world rocked to the left and passengers, purses, briefcases and dislodged phones all tumbled free as the train pitched on its side. Fingers digging into the seat, Dick dangled in the air, looked down past his own body to see the mesh of passengers already crumbled together among the seats, windows, and ceiling of the toppled train. And out one of those windows, he saw the open expansion that lay between the train’s bridge and the ground stories below. There was a frozen second of horror as the train teetered on the edge of the bridge and Dick grimly realized this was out of his hands, that he couldn’t do a thing to help anyone.. even himself.

Dick had a moment to pray Clark didn’t blame himself for whatever ended up happening to him, then his mind went to his family and he cursed. He couldn’t do this to them! Not after he had left them a few months ago, albeit unintentionally, let them miss him, had reveled in all their love for him when he miraculously returned, and now only to go and die on them?!   ‘Well then suck it up Grayson. Guess you better not die today.’ Then panicked screams and shouts stole every molecule of air from the compartment as the train pitched over the edge and was plummeting to the ground thirty-five feet below.

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It didn’t go unnoticed by Bruce that Jason kept his phone face up on the conference room table and kept tapping it to life, as if he’d missed a ding of a message in the two minutes he’d not checked it. He just prayed the speaker taking himself so seriously at the head of the table didn’t know that the Wayne Enterprises VP for Construction found his words far less interesting than getting a text from his youngest brother. Wished he was close enough to kick his son’s shin under the table…or could covertly send him a text to pay attention to the here and now, that Dick was safe and sound at home, wasn’t doing anything reckless. ‘Well I pray he’s not doing anything reckless,’ because that was the thing about his youngest, even without sporting a vigilante suit he still managed to find trouble..or it found him, Dick swore.

Shifting in his seat, Bruce’s movement thankfully drew Jason’s attention and Bruce shot him a reprimanding look.  How his son could mentally sigh and roll his eyes without changing his expression was a marvel. But Jason did raise his eyebrows and Bruce knew his son was silently asking if he’d heard from Dick. Bruce blinked once in an answer of no, saw Jason’s scowl, and knew his son was worried. Hated that part of him was too, thought, knowing Dick, he purposefully wasn’t texting them because he didn’t want to interfere in their business meeting, took their WE responsibilities seriously. ‘More seriously than his big brother’, Bruce scoffed but wasn’t able to maintain the judgement, especially since he was nearly as bad.

Tim’s voice brought them both back to the meeting at hand. The WE Technology Division’s VP’s question seemed absolutely necessary ..but Bruce knew his son was only asking it to bring his wayward family’s minds back to the meeting.  Tim even cheekily turned to his father with a twinkle in his eyes, “Father, I’ll let you address the other questions you have.”

Duly chastised for letting Jason sidetrack him, Bruce put on his CEO face and returned his focus to the meeting. “That’s my son’s not so subtle lead-in to my doubts that our two companies working together can be a beneficial endeavor.  Honestly, I fear we will spend too much time trying to find middle ground, time that could be utilized by my company to manufacture the product within our own facilities.”

Jason knew he too should get his mind back on the meeting, could sense his brother looking at him and shot Tim a ‘brown noser’ mocking glare. Tim, however, didn’t reply in kind, instead seemingly absently tapped his fingers on the table…in their bat variation of morse code for ‘He’s fine.’ And Jason smirked, his brother and dad knew his tendencies to worry about Dick too well. Tapped back, ‘He better be,’ and then put his reckless little brother out of his mind, well almost out of mind. Wouldn’t totally be at ease until the dumb-behind texted him back.

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The train fell for an eternity and Dick coached himself to hold on to the seat as long as he could. That when his grip inevitably slipped, he knew to bend his knees when he landed, hoping to balance out the impact so just maybe he’d be able to stay alive like he’d vowed to do for his family’s sake. But when the train’s momentum jerked to a halt sooner than he expected, Dick managed to keep his hold on the seat. Surprisingly he didn’t feel the impact of the train crashing onto the street. Looking down past his suspended feet, he saw through a window that the street was still 20 feet below them.

Catching a flash of red, he looked to the right and saw Superman’s cape flapping in the breeze, knew his uncle was out there holding up the train from falling. Couldn’t help but wish he had a line of sight to see Clark. Seconds later he got his wish as the villain plowed into Superman in his vulnerable distracted position and they both flew by in a tangle of limbs while the train once again was caught in the grip of gravity and resumed falling to earth.

The abrupt shift from stillness to falling sent one passenger slamming forcible into the window and it shattered under him. As he started to drop out of the train, he barely managed to grab ahold of the edge of the window to keep himself attached to the train.

 Every instinct Dick possessed compelled him to go help the man but rationally he knew, even if he pulled the man into the train, it wouldn’t ensure he’d live. That either of them would.

But then the train’s descent was again halted and Dick could see by the back window that Clark was using one hand to hold up the train and lashing out at his antagonist with the other. Cursing his unarmed status, Dick scoured the train for anything to use as a weapon against the bad guy, to aid his uncle. Finding nothing, he consoled himself with his faith that Clark could and would defeat his opponent.

But the man dangling above the precipice of the broken window, he was losing his grip.

‘I can do something to help him,’ Dick vowed, even as he grimaced at his next step, knew his family would curse him out heartily for what he was about to do. ‘They don’t ever have to know,’ he reconciled with himself as he purposefully released his death grip on the seat and let himself drop.

Though he intended to bend his knees to cushion the impact, he landed on a luggage rack and his body slammed unmercifully against the top right side of the inverted train. Used to ignoring pain, he pushed himself up to his hands and knees and started carefully crawling toward the open window and the man clinging there. Bracing one hand on the side of the window frame, he leaned down through the window and coiled his hand around the dangling man’s forearm. The man yelped in surprise and his terrified eyes swung up from the length he had to fall to his death to the man preventing him from that fate.

“I’m going to pull you up, don’t move too much,” Dick instructed as he used his muscles to lever the man up. Backing up, he made progress until he could loop his other hand under the man’s other arm and drag him back into the “safety” of the train. The man frantically crawled on all fours away from the open window. Dick sank back against the floor/wall, relieved he’d managed to pull the guy to safety even if he didn’t get thanked. He also spared the time to look at his leg that hurt like a mother. Impassively saw the blood and the tear in his jeans, thanks to his “graceful” drop onto the luggage rack.

Looking at the frozen pile of people terrified to move, fearing that any shift in their weight would send the train plummeting, Dick knew it wasn’t their weight that kept things balanced in the air but Superman’s grip. He was again contemplating how he could help Clark when his uncle punched his opponent hard enough to send him sailing away from him. And it that moment, Superman lifted the train safely back onto the tracks and flew off to take up the fight again in a different location. One away from the train, thank God.

When the train was resettled upright, everyone pinned to the side of the train slid, tumbled and fell to the train’s floor, including Dick. Minutes later, there were the moans of pain, the relieved nervous laughter, and the random clapping and “Go Superman!” ebbing through the train.

Dick, regaining his breath from having it knocked out of him on his landing, had an urge to gloat, “That’s my uncle!”  Even through his haze of pain, he still felt ridiculously proud of his ties to this Clark. Because, even locked in a deadly fight, Clark risked his life to save a bunch of strangers caught in the crossfire of their battle.

Well, a bunch of strangers and unknowingly, his nephew.

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Alfred had smiled as the caller ID read ‘Bruce’. Wasn’t foolish or egotistical enough to think Bruce calling during what could only be a break in his meeting was about the man’s need to hear his voice. Dick had worried about this occurring, that his dad and brothers might unreasonably worry if they learned he’d left Gotham, were super vigilant in their protectiveness over him since his return. Which was why Dick had purposefully not told them his plans to visit Metropolis, nor was he keen to answer his phone and be forced to attempt to bamboozle them.

‘No, since they can’t reach him, it falls to me to curtail their frantic apprehension,’ Alfred thought without true resentment, wholly willing to be the buffer for his grandson. He answered the phone in his best dry British tone. “Homesick so soon, Sir?”

“Why do I think you know exactly why I’m calling?” Bruce’s all too observe voice carried through the cell reception.

“Because you know me so well? Or I know you so well…or I know how you feel about your youngest son so well,” Alfred replied, had to admit he was enjoying being in the loop when Bruce was not.

“Meaning you know why Dick’s not answering any of our texts, huh?” relief and amusement in Bruce’s tone now that Alfred was playing things so lightheartedly.

“I may have some insight into that strange occurrence,” Alfred answered with mirth. Hadn’t exactly promised Dick to not reveal his location if he was directly asked for it. The boy had a little bit to learn about the loopholes of promises made by those who loved him.

“You do, do you? And what bribery do I need to offer up?” Bruce drawled, heart lightened at the assurance he was soon going to be able to ascertain what his so dear and yet so devious son was up to in his absence.

Alfred was about to give a few good bribery suggestions when a scene on the muted television snagged his attention, along with the breaking news banner running at the bottom of the screen of “Superman’s battle causes carnage in Metropolis- Train plummets off the elevated rails.” And the frozen image on the screen was of the train freefalling toward the street below with the helpful number 67 clearly embossed on the top of the train. 67: The number of the train Dick had boarded only a few hours earlier while Alfred wished him a great weekend.

Alfred’s nerveless fingers lost their grip on his teacup. He startled when it shattered on the hardwood floor, jarring him from his stupor. Hearing Bruce’s frantic call from a distance, he realized he still held the phone in his hand. As much as he wanted to share his fears with Bruce, he knew the man could do nothing from where he was, was even a greater distance from Metropolis than Alfred was.

Fearing that Bruce and his sons would panic, do something rash, even find a way to endanger their lives in their hast to reach Metropolis, to reach Dick, Alfred was determined to protect the remaining members of his family like he’d seemingly failed to do for Dick. So he swallowed down his words and his emotions, raised the phone in his shaking hand and cut across Bruce’s panicked call of his name. “I’m sorry, sir. We have a minor..” his voice cracked at that word, like it was a terrible sin he’d uttered but steeled himself to lie to his son, because he loved his son, “..crisis in the manor. I’ll call you back when it’s been averted.”

“Alfred, wait! What’s wrong?!” Bruce demanded frantically but Alfred ruthlessly disconnected the call.

Immediately Alfred began dialing Dick’s cell number while his heart thudded in his chest. His breath froze in his chest when that cold automatic message of out of service slipped into his ear instead of his grandson’s treasured voice.

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Alfred had hung up on him. Alfred?! The man who thought courteous phone manners was next to cleanliness. And Bruce could have sworn that he heard something shatter seconds before Alfred was unresponsive. Quickly dialing the manor back, he growled when it came up with a busy signal. Ending the call, he tried Alfred’s cell phone but it rang and rang until it went to voice mail. “Alfred, call me back, right now!” he growled into the phone, and then he called Dick, again, because his father’s heart said this had something to do with his son. But Dick’s phone went right to an out of service message. So damn not helpful!!

He was in the middle of calling the manor back when their esteemed host, Cole Baxter, president of the company, stalked up to him, said without the requisite of polite business etiquette, “Mr. Wayne, I have a business schedule to maintain. I’m only granting your company this window of time out of courtesy to my board’s fallacy that we could come to an agreement to fulfil the contracts in a partnership capacity. The sooner you prove my board members wrong, the sooner we can both get back to our respective businesses.”

Bruce bristled, didn’t think this egotistical cold man knew what “courtesy” was if it bit him on his bottom line. Trying to be the better man, Bruce said aloud, “Sorry there’s been a family emergency.”

The other man’s smile was a cold, reptilian gesture. “That seems a blatant lie considering your sole family members are in the same meeting here with you.”

Eyes flashing and his voice edged with something dark few would associate with Brucie Wayne, Bruce derided, “Your corporate spies aren’t earning their keep. I also have a surrogate father and an..” bit off his ‘another son’ claim in the last moment, remembering Dick’s connection to him had to remain hidden. “..boy who’s like family to me.”

Ignoring that information and focusing on the insult, Baxter snapped, “If you’re implying that I’ve been spying…”

“Oh, I wasn’t implying,” Bruce interrupted not with apology but a cold tone, “I was stating it as a foregone conclusion.” Was one of the reasons he wasn’t jumping into a partnership with this company, the CEO was too…worried about something. And worried people made irrational decisions. ‘You should know,’ he churlishly told himself, “you are worried right now and you shouldn’t be showing any weakness to this egomaniac.’

From the glassed-in conference room, Jason was watching the exchange between his father and their host, knew by the tension in Baxter’s back it wasn’t a congenial exchange. But Baxter had shifted, was blocking his line of sight to see his father’s face and he didn’t like that. Nudged Tim beside him and jerked his head toward the windows. When Baxter moved his position, allowed them to get a look at their father’s face, Jason and Tim both surged to their feet and hurried out of the conference room.  Because the man facing off with their host wasn’t Brucie, CEO of WE, was instead a dangerous mixture between Bruce’s fierce papa bear face and Batman’s ‘I’m about to punch you repeatedly until I feel better’ face.

“What’s wrong?” Jason demanded the second he was close enough to his father to fully read his facial giveaways.

Wholly dismissing his host’s presence, Bruce faced his perceptive sons, felt his tension edge off as he was reassured by their presence, that they would tackle this new problem together. “Alfred just hung up on me.” Both their faces registering that that was akin to King Kong sitting down for an English tea break. Then Bruce put the zinger on it, “After it sounded like he dropped something, like his teacup.”

Jason and Tim paled noticeably even as Tim reached for his phone, was dialing the manor, ending the call when it came up busy and redailing, again and again. Meanwhile Jason came to his father’s side, wasn’t sure if he was drawing comfort from his father’s presence or offering his presence as a comfort to Bruce. Realizing the company’s president was still there, intruding on their family trauma, he gruffly dismissed him, “This doesn’t concern you.”

The president was stunned into silence at being dismissed in his own company’s hallway. “This is my company. My damn conference room and my damn hallway,” Baxter growled back, voice raising with each petulant statement.

Responding to the man’s anger, Jason breached Baxter’s personal space, said in a quiet but thoroughly menacing tone worthy of Red Hood, “If you want it to stay yours, walk away. Right now.”

Wayne’s oldest son, that Baxter had written off as shining example of blatant undeserved nepotism in a family run business, suddenly put a shiver down the other man’s spine. Cowardly (and with a show of surprising intelligence), he retreated back two steps before turning on his heel and reentering the safety of the conference room where there were ten associates to cower behind if the kid came after him.

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“Hey Alfred, what’s up?” Dick tried for his most casual tone, like he hadn’t seen the four missed calls and the innumerable texts popping up across his previously muted cell phone’s broken screen. Voice messages he hadn’t listened to and texts he hadn’t opened but hoped they didn’t contain what he worried they might.

“Thank God Dick! The news about a train..your train..” Alfred’s voice caught and Dick felt shaken at hearing the older man’s emotional trauma. Quickly although ruefully, he replied, “Ah yeah. Contrary to what you and I thought this morning, I can’t stay out of trouble, no matter where I go.”

Alfred’s breath caught at the confirmation that Dick had indeed been on that train, in that life threatening accident. “Are you alright? Were you hurt?”

“I’m good,” Dick demurred, hand guilty pressing on his still bleeding leg, wondering if the taxi driver would have picked up his fare if he knew he was redecorating the backseat of his cab in blood red.

In the Wayne Manor, Alfred’s lips pressed together in a stern unhappy line. He knew his youngest grandson’s perchance to outright lie about his wellbeing. Clipped out in a no-nonsense command, “Turn on your phone’s facetime.”

“Alfred, come on. I’m on the move,” Dick whined like a boy much younger than his nineteen years.

“Now, young man, “Alfred stringently instructed, pulling back his own cell phone to active his own facetime application. There were a few seconds pause and then he was rewarded with his grandson’s face on his phone screen…which vividly showed a bloody gash on his forehead, blood staining his cheek, his hair disheveled, and the collar of his shirt torn. “You bloody well aren’t good,” Alfred growled, wavering between anger, a sense of betrayal and panicked concern for his grandson.

“It’s all minor, Alfred. Others were hurt worse,” Dick demurred, knowing worry was prompting his grandfather’s pissed tone.

Alfred rubbed a trembling hand over his puckered brow, heaved out an overburdened breath. “I don’t dare hope that you are “on the move” to a hospital or an urgent care clinic.”

“On my way to Clark’s actually. I want to make sure he’s ok,” Dick announced, worry of his own creasing his features.

Alfred closed his eyes, felt more gray hairs sprouting right then and there. Of course, Dick wasn’t seeking out Clark for assistance for his injuries but was worried for the other man, the super powered, nearly invincible man. Drily he asked, “Can I at least request you let him patch you up when you visit with him.” At Dick’s look of embarrassed protest at his request, of imposing on Clark in that fashion, Alfred implored, “For my peace of mind, if not your own. Not to mention your father and brothers’ peace of mind.”

Dick paled at the idea of his dad and brothers finding out his secret squirrel adventure had turned life threatening. “Don’t tell them about this. I’ll tell them when they are home.” ‘When they can see for themselves that I’m fine, that they don’t need to freak out or forbid me to leave the manor without one of them playing guardian.’

Alfred’s face morphed into a chagrined expression. “I might have inadvertently given the game away.” But truly he wasn’t all that sorry to not carry this secret that shouldn’t be a secret, not when it came to Dick’s life, health, and safety.

“How?! Why?! There was nothing…” Dick broke off with a growl of frustration.

“I was speaking with Bruce when I saw the news coverage of your train accident and the grim headline of ‘carnage in Metropolis’. I cut my call off with Bruce to start my frantic calling and recalling of you.”

“You hung up…on Bruce?!” Dick incredulously said, fighting back a smirk at the pompous so polite English butler being American-rude enough to hang up on anyone, let alone freaking Batman.

“I did no such thing,” Alfred denied with affrontery. “I told him I had a minor Manor crisis and would call him back before I disconnected the call.”

Dick was clearly enjoying this as he cross examined knowingly, “Did you give him a chance to say goodbye?”

“Well…no,” Alfred confessed.

“That, my good man, is you hanging up on him,” Dick chuckled, couldn’t wait to get Bruce’s reaction to this momentous occasion.

 “You are enjoying this too well, young man.” Alfred was clearly not sharing in his mirth.

“Maybe,” Dick conceded with an impish grin. Then his eyes flickered away from the screen before he abruptly announced, “Oh, here’s my stop. Call you later.” Made a long drawn out “Bye Alfred” to imply he was yes, hanging up on him without giving him a chance to waylay him or agree to the call ending like a civilized English gentleman would do.

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It was the unevenness of the steps that snagged Clark’s acute hearing. Stilling in his apartment, he heard those steps heading for his apartment door and wondered who would be visiting him. When the footfalls did a surprising retreat back the way they had come, his curiosity got the better of him. Going to the door, he casually opened it up, wasn’t expecting to recognize the dark-haired young man heading back down the hallway. Called out in astonishment, “Dick?!”

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TBC

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Dick winced at Clark’s call, at being caught in the act of running away, ok, limping away. But he had second thoughts about imposing on Clark after the crappy day his uncle had had. Certainly, Clark didn’t need him to pop in for an unannounced visit, nor did he need him worriedly checking up on him because he might be his Uncle Clark but he was freaking Superman. But after that whole kryptonite trap thing, Dick had started to think of Superman as being more vulnerable than he ever had before. ‘Then today happened.’ Reawakening that worry, leaving him wanting to reassure himself that Clark was ok. But halfway to Clark’s door, it had all seemed about his selfish needs, not about what Clark needed. So he had turned tail.

Hesitantly turning around, Dick faced the surprised look on Clark’s face with chagrin. “I have the worst timing to surprise you with a visit. I’ll just go grab the next train home to Gotham…well maybe bus,” he amended because he’d had enough of trains for a while.

But during his ramble, Clark had closed in the distance between them, distraughtly took in his nephew’s rough appearance. He worriedly demanded, “Dick, what happened?” as he so gently cupped Dick’s pale, dirty, bleeding face, his eyes drawn to the cut on Dick’s forehead still sluggishly bleeding. But then Dick’s words caught up with him, hit him like one of Amazo’s punches. ‘The train! Dick came to town on the train!’

Dick didn’t think Clark could go pale but he proved him wrong the next second as he breathlessly stammered, “You came in on the train. I..I almost got you killed.” Dropping his hands from Dick, Clark took a step back, like his touch, his closeness would hurt the boy further than he already had.

“No!” Dick emphatically denied but whatever he would have said next was cut off as the apartment door beside him creaked open. An old lady in a robe and toting a baseball bat shuffled into the hallway. “Clark, sweety, are you ok? Is this riff raff bothering you?”

Before Clark turned to his neighbor, he saw Dick’s highly amused grin at his ancient and pint sized “protector”. Ignoring his nephew, Clark reassured, “Mrs. Sandmeyer, everything is fine. This is …a friend of mine,” felt unworthy in that moment to claim any family ties to Dick.

But this declaration didn’t do much to lessen the evil eye she bestowed on Dick or loosen her arthritic grip on her trusty bat. “Your friend’s bleeding all over the hallway.”

Alarmed, Clark swung back to inspect Dick, noticed for the first time that Dick’s pant leg was torn from knee nearly to ankle and blood was slipping down his leg onto the hardwood floor of the hallway.

Putting on his most charming, choir boy smile, Dick vowed, “I’ll clean it up, ma’am.”

The lady snorted, unaffected by his charisma. “I’ll call maintenance. Those lazy bones can do some work for once.” Then she turned her soft gaze back to Clark. “Clark, if your friend needs a hot toddy to sleep, come over late as you like and I’ll whip one up for you …like I made for you Christmas Eve,” innuendo in the look she graced Clark with.

Clark blushed, embarrassed by her flirting. “Ah thanks but he’s under 21, gets hot cocoa, not hot toddies.”

Dick cringed at the set down over his age. “I’m nineteen not nine,” he grumbled.

Ignoring his nephew’s sullenness, Clark loped his arm around Dick’s waist. Although he acutely wanted to carry Dick to his apartment, he knew he couldn’t risk showing his strength under Mrs. Sandmeyer’s lascivious eyes. It left him wincing in emotional torture at every unconscious hitch in Dick’s breathing when the younger man walked on his injured leg. So it was slow going until they reached the privacy of his apartment. And once his apartment door was firmly shut, Clark didn’t even debate or warn Dick, just bent over, slid his arms under Dick’s knees and back and carefully picked his nephew up.

“I can walk! Walked up all your stupid steps to your apartment,” Dick groused as he found himself cradled in Clark’s arms. Begrudged his relief at not having to walk another millimeter, and more so his traitorous desire to be taken care of, to be babied, to have someone not look to him to save them but for someone to save him. It was weak and stupid and he was wholly disgusted with himself.

“You shouldn’t have walked anywhere on that leg!” Clark scolded as he carried his nephew across his apartment, made sure he didn’t catch Dick’s legs on his bedroom doorway.  Arriving at his destination, he carefully settled Dick onto his bed like he was fragile enough to break apart.

Dick was about to make another protest at the soft handling when he realized Clark’s intentions. “Don’t rip my pants! I’ll take them off!” he called out, but he was a second too late. Clark had already ripped his pantleg open to inspect Dick’s wounded leg.

“Never knew you to be a fashionista like Jason,” Clark distractedly teased, but was grimly assessing the wound.

“It’s not about fashion but my dislike of standing on a train platform..or a bus depot in my underwear. It gets…drafty,” Dick grumbled, pretending offense at being lumped into Jason’s fashion obsession.

Clark forced a smirk in appreciation for Dick’s attempt to lighten his worry, but it was fleeting, was all too soon replaced by a worried frown. “You should have gone to an ER, or an urgent care.”

“They had bigger concerns than my lacerated leg.”

Clark sighed, feeling the guilt wash over him anew. “I know. I..I never meant…” and to think Dick got hurt today too because of him.

Dick grabbed Clark’s hand, snagging his attention. “I’m not laying blame on you. All of it goes at your antagonist’s feet.”

But Clark couldn’t accept the absolution Dick wanted to award him, needed to know the extent of his culpability for Dick’s present pain. “The train..you were on it..when I hit it…when it almost…” Clark felt sick to his stomach remembering how close he’d come to letting the train fall, to being so blinded by his determination to stop his enemy, that he didn’t care about anything else…like a train full of people getting hurt or worse, killed. And in that split second of weighing his priorities, he had almost killed Dick by his actions, no, by his inaction.

“You saved everyone on the train, including me,” Dick was quick to declare, wanted Clark to focus on the good he’d done, the final happy outcome.

Clark was having none of Dick’s hero worship, knew his sins were grievous that day, were a knife’s edge away from being unforgiveable. “No, I put everyone on that train in jeopardy, the whole city too.” Knew he was a coward to not check with the hospital intake numbers, find out if lives were lost because of him. Had stopped seeking those answers in his early days of being Superman, found that no matter his good intentions, bad things could still happen because of his desire to help someone.

Totally not happy to see the sorrowful guilt settling on Clark’s shoulders, Dick smart mouthed back, “Huh? So you go around throwing yourself into trains. I never knew that.”

It was ridiculous enough of a taunt that it drew a chuckled “Smartass” from Clark, who couldn’t help think, ‘I love this kid so much.’

“I’m a Dick actually,” Dick corrected, with a roguish grin.

Clark fought the urge to drown the kid in a hug for writing off his own pain to make sure Superman didn’t feel bad about himself. Amazing! Satisfied himself with stroking the back of his fingers lightly down Dick’s unbloodied cheek. “But you’re an amazing one of a kind Dick who I’m blessed to have in my life.”

Dick felt a blush coming on, had to do something to break the sappiness of the moment. “So this seems the perfect time to ask for that hot toddy.”

Clark smirked while he totally shot his nephew down with a “Yeah, not happening.”  But then his mirth died as his eyes fall upon Dick’s bloody forehead, dropped to his wounded leg.  Was swamped with helplessness and ineptitude as he admitted, “I don’t have anything here to treat you.”

Dick felt nine ways stupid, expecting a first aid kit to be found in an invincible man’s apartment. “Oh yeah, right. Sorry. Forgot. You don’t need bandages or suture kits. Should have thought of that. I can go get…” starting to sit up in the bed, remembered passing a corner market three or four blocks from Clark’s apartment that might have at least some rudimentary first aid supplies. But he had barely sat up an inch off the mattress when a hand that could finger punt an asteroid gently pushed him back down again to the bed.

Looking down at Dick with an exasperated, long suffering and deeply loving gaze, Clark felt in awe of the fortitude of Bruce’s nerves having such a stubborn, unconcerned-with-his-own-welfare son to worry about.  Honestly felt pangs of rising stress just in his role as uncle to the kid. “Don’t move. My neighbor….”

“Whoa! I think she’d like to do first aid on you, not on me,” Dick retorted, didn’t want another encounter with her, especially if it required her hands to be on him. Hard pass. 

Clark laughed at the vision that invoked, the shiver he knew Dick was fighting down.  “Not her, silly boy. My other neighbor. He was a medic in Vietnam, and I think he ran with the ambulance crew a few years ago. He’ll have supplies.”

“No, wait. I’m not interested in being..” but Clark had already zipped out the door so Dick was left finishing his sentence to the abandoned apartment, “…your apartment building’s charity case.” Resigned to his fate, he closed his tired, burning eyes, felt like it had been two days since he’d waved goodbye to Alfred at the Gotham train station.  His mind slipped back to the events in the train after Superman had reset it back onto the tracks.

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The sounds of elation and relief soon switched into children crying, moans of pain, inquiries on who was hurt and needed assistance and questions on how they were supposed to exit the train and get to the nearest platform. Dick was on the floor where Superman’s turning the train right side up again had sent him falling.

Of course, his luck had continued, so on that journey to the floor his temple had clipped a cracked edge of a seat. The concussion of metal with human fragile muscles and bones jarred him enough to spin him around so he ended up slamming back first onto the train floor. The impact, not so dissimilar to a Connor smackdown with prejudice, knocked the breath out of him for a moment. He was regaining it, probably when the first child cried, and the moans were chorused around the sprawled passengers.

Moving to sit up, he bit his lip to hold back a startled grunt of pain as his head exploded in pain. Reaching a hand up to his forehead, he felt the warm goo that he knew only too well as blood.  Figured it was a good time as any to do a full assessment of his physical condition, so he dropped his eyes to his leg, grimaced at the ripped fabric of his jeans edged with blood. ‘Least they aren’t Jason’s jeans I’ve ruined but still…they were broken in just right,’ he allowed himself to whine before he prodded the wounded flesh under his pant leg. It was a wince worthy injury, but he could detect no foreign objects in the wound. Writing it off as just a laceration, he turned his focus onto the other people in his section of the train, the injured, scared, lost people around him.

Getting to his feet by levering himself up by a white knuckled grip on the nearest seat, he saw two men were trying to get the back door of the train to open but the door frame had been dented in the accident, only allowing the door to open no more than a few inches. Turning, he saw the other door leading to another train car had been opened but the other car apparently had come off its hitch and shifted to settle against Dick’s car, causing their door to open to the metal end of the other car instead of a matching doorway.

Dick looked to the window already shattered by the wreck, knew that could be a makeshift exit. Hobbling over to the window, he looked out and saw the elevated train track didn’t count on needing much of a “sidewalk”.  Sure they could climb out the window but there wasn’t much of a ledge they could walk on to reach the track behind their car. Knowing the emergency exits were the windows on both sides, he limped across the aisle to the other windows, looked down and saw there was as much of a sliver of a ledge on that side as the other.

Then, as was his usual first instinct, Dick looked up…and smiled. Thank God for emergency hatches on ceilings. “Our way out is up,” he announced to no one in particular, but his words halted the arguments and theorizing happening within the train. At the subdued noise, Dick dropped his eyes from the hatch and looked around the train, realized he had attracted attention…which yeah he’d needed to soon but wasn’t prepared for so many eyes and so many lives to suddenly be depending on his logic. Wanted to back down, demure his suggestion, hoped someone would rally the troops with his idea like it was their own, but no one did. Instead, they seemed to be waiting for him to lead them. Dick’s stomach clenched. This so wasn’t what he wanted, for people to entrust their lives into his feeble hands. Had been done with being anyone’s savior..well except for his family’s because they were and always would be the exception to that rule and every other one Dick could conjure up.

“How do we get everyone up there?” a man in a business suit asked of Dick, not with scorn or rejection but like he just needed Dick to give the word and they’d put his plan into motion.

For a second, Dick’s mind froze and he felt a cold sweat shiver through him. Was this how his YJ team used to look at him, with so much faith? Before he’d burned all that to the ground by lying to them, playing them, hurting them…even if it was for the greatest good outcome. ‘Don’t look to me for help! Don’t trust me to save you!’ Dick wanted to scream at them. Might even had done it if a little boy with red hair like Wally’s hadn’t squeezed his way through the crowd to stare up at Dick with big eyes, in awe of him, like he was a hero again.

And Dick couldn’t fail that boy, do more to taint the sacrifice Wally had made to ensure he was alive right then and there. Alive so he could help these people, like Wally would have, in civvies or in uniform. “Well, I can go through first and help others up…” Seeing the doubts in the eyes of the elderly, the injured and the more meek surrounding him, Dick let his eyes trail around the room, looking for something they could stand on and then he smiled. The freaking luggage rack that took a bite out of his leg was gonna be useful. “The luggage rack, we’ll detach it and use it as a ladder.”

There was a flood of smiles and then two men tried to use brute strength to remove the rack screwed to the side of the train.  Dick pulled a gift from Bruce from his pocket and handed it to the one man, who smiled and gave an approving nod.

‘Thanks, Dad, for the heirloom pocketknife. For taking care of me when you’re not even with me,’ Dick silently thanked his father as the man used the knife’s blade to begin unscrewing the bolts of the luggage rack.

While they worked on the rack, Dick wanted to be sure that the ceiling hatch would open, wasn’t a “safety precaution” that was more aesthetic than functional to pass safety regulations. So with a little three step (ignore the fire each step caused his bleeding leg) run down the aisle, Dick launched himself off the ground to grab onto the hatch’s handle. He dangled there for a few seconds before he pulled his legs up and pressed his one foot against the wall and knelt his other on the ceiling. Then he used his hold on the hatch to hang on the ceiling like…well..a freaking bat. After ensuring he could maintain the position, he loosened a hand on the hatch and used the side of his closed fist to give a healthy rap on the emergency release button.

There was a tense moment of nothing happening and then the hatch’s locks snapped open. Dick pushed the door open onto the roof and the sun beamed down its glorious light and building heat onto his face. Using one hand, he pulled himself up through the hatch until he could draw his feet through and come to a crouch on the train roof.

From there, Dick could survey the damage to the train cars ahead of him. He saw that the two closest cars had shifted and were off the tracks and showed damage on their right sides. The cars beyond seemed undamaged. But no one would dare to put the train in motion with the unstableness of the last three cars. Dick could also see smoke from other areas of the city and the crash booming of the fight still raging with Superman.

Dick sent a prayer out of ‘be safe’ for his uncle.

Forcing himself to focus on his own problems, Dick knew, with more destruction still happening in the city, the train wouldn’t be a first responder’s priority. Might not even be on their to-do list yet. That left him to miserably surmise, ‘We’re on our own.’ Hoped that the passengers in the other two damaged train cars weren’t trapped too, that their connecting doors worked and those passengers could funnel into the undamaged cars. But again, that couldn’t be his concern. He already had a whole train car full of people naïvely counting on him to get them free.

Crouching down again by the hatch, he noted people were starting to line up to make the climb as two men were still maneuvering the luggage rack under the hatch. Once they had it positioned as close to the hatch opening as they could get it, they held it up as the first person began using its “rungs” to climb up. Dick reached his hand down and clasp it around the man’s forearm. Levering him past the gap in the makeshift ladder, Dick pulled the man through the hatch and onto the roof. Had to steady the man when he wobbled at the height he found himself at. 

“There should be a ladder at the end of the train that we can use to climb down. Help others get down and keep everyone together on the tracks.” Then Dick pulled the next person up, repeated the process time and again. Too soon, he felt his shoulder burning fiercely at the repetitive motion. He had honestly lost count of how many people he’d pulled topside but was relieved when one sole passenger remained in the car. It was the man in the business suit who had helped everyone else get to the roof.

“You’re last man standing. Ready to get some air,” Dick joked and the man chuckled and nodded his head.

Unable to use the luggage rack he’d provided to others, the man looked worriedly around for something to step on. “Should I stand on a seat…do a bit of a jump to reach you,” the man theorized.

Dick had accounted for the necessity to change things up. Had retreated back onto the roof to change positions. A few seconds later he was hanging down backwards in the exit, using his legs to brace him on the roof of the train like he used to swing upside down from the trapeze bars in his Flying Grayson act.  Nostalgically, he wished for some powder for his hands that felt a little slippy.

“I’ll get you most of the way but you’ll have to pull yourself onto the roof. That doable?” Dick asked the man who was now upside-down in his perspective.

The man’s apprehension eased and he gave Dick a shadow of a grin. “Long time since my chin-up regiments but I’ll manage.”

Clasping the man by his forearms, Dick swung up at his waist, high enough for the man to free a hand from Dick’s grip and get a good purchase on the roof. Then with Dick’s push the man clambered onto the roof, wasn’t too proud to crawl away from the opening on all fours before sinking down to sit on the train’s roof. Watched in awe the ease with which his rescuer arched his upper body up and through the opening and then did a graceful body roll to the left and came up into a crouch. Was startled when he asked him, “You ok?” as if he’d been the one doing something strenuous. He replied with a nod, was still trying to settle down his racing heart.  To appear more unaffected than he was, he joked, “Think this is a sign I should walk to work?”

Dick smiled, “My grandfather forbids me to Uber anywhere. Maybe this a sign that I actually should Uber?”

Both men chuckled, enjoyed their moment of levity after the stress of the last hour. Then they stood up, walked down the train’s roof to the ladder. Standing on the roof, waiting for the other man to reach the ground, Dick saw a hi-rail pickup truck was coming down the tracks toward them, and beyond, there were some emergency personnel walking their way.

Once he’d descended from the train, Dick helped the more seriously injured into the hi-rail truck and then started walking behind the reversing truck along with the uninjured and other walking wounded like him. Once the ragtag, misplaced passengers made it back to the closest stop, Dick evaded the medical checkup and the few reporters trying to snag the byline on one of the day’s top stories and disappeared down the stairs. Limped his way down six blocks until he was finally able to grab a taxi.

BTMNW – Present – BTMNW

 It was only after Bruce and his sons stormed out the front doors of the company that they had considered collaborating with that it hit them that they had no car to take them anywhere. Bruce tried to wave down a taxi but it zoomed by, busy delivering a fare at the height of midday traffic. Cursing, he turned to Tim, who was repeat dialing on his cellphone.

“Any luck reaching Alfred?” though he already knew the answer.

“No,” Tim grimly responded. “He’s not answering the manor phone and his cell phone goes right to voice mail.”

Jason stepped in front of his dad, demanded, “Tell me again what he said?”

Bruce huffed out an exasperated breath, rubbed at his forehead. “He didn’t say much only that there was a minor manor crisis but he hung.up.on.me,” stressing the last words which were the key to his whole panic moment.

It slammed home the gravity of the situation to Jason, who vehemently cursed and Bruce murmured “yeah” in agreement. Whatever was going on at home, it was nothing good.

Tim’s hand coiled destructively around his too fragile cellphone. “Meanwhile we’re standing out here with no ride, no plane tickets to get home and we have no idea what’s going on.”

Jason drawled, “We did, however, come to a quicker resolution to the meeting than I hoped,” a twinkle of muted but still there amusement in his eyes. “Surprisingly, their president was even more of a tool than WE’s,” he joked, winking at his father, said president of WE.

At his son’s snark, Bruce smirked then spurted in a somewhat unstable laugh. “He honestly thought you were threatening to buy out his company if he didn’t walk away.”

Jason’s laugh meshed with Bruce’s. “Yeah. He doesn’t get I’m more the ‘burn-your-company-down-around-you’ type than into corporate takeovers.”

Tim snorted. “Yeah, he wasn’t nearly as scared of you as he should have been.”

Bruce recalled his own threat to the man and murmured, “Least you just threatened his company.”

Stilling at his father’s implications, Tim quietly demanded, “Tell me you didn’t do worse?”

Bruce shook his head. “No, you guys intervened before things could go that way.”

“Had I known that, I would have eaten another donut before joining you, given you time to throw down on him,” Jason joked, didn’t give a flying fig if his dad had made a bodily threat to the guy or even followed through with it. He had read Bruce’s ridge body language, which strongly indicated, dollars to donuts, that the guy had said something that clearly upset his dad. And if the other CEO managed to upset his dad?! Than Jason knew he most certainly would have been sparked into a rage if he’d heard their little chat.

Not wanting to get distracted by speculating on what that conversation had included, Tim chose to focus on problem solving duty. “I’m calling your secretary to have her get us on the next flight she can.”

“And I’ll get us a ride to the airport,” Jason announced as he stalked down the block, hoping to get to a busier intersection.

Standing on the curb, Bruce couldn’t help but dwell on his worry. It was so out of character for Alfred to get so flustered and then rudely end their call. Not to mention he wasn’t answering any of their calls and he hadn’t called him back to profusely apologize for his break in phone etiquette civility. Bruce was left to conjure up all kinds of dire situations to explain Alfred’s palpable distress when they had been on the phone: the manor had started on fire, Dick had just walked in the Manor’s front door bleeding out…or a hundred other terrifying scenarios.

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TBC

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Chapter Text

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Embroiled in his dark scenarios for Alfred’s obvious panic on the phone, Bruce was caught unaware by the appearance of one of the company’s board members. Recognized him as the primary speaker in their disastrous meeting.

“Mr. Wayne, I’m not sure what Mr. Baxter said to upset you but be reassured the board holds the power to override his decisions considering a collaboration on contracts with your company. We have voted in favor of the collaboration already or else we would have never wasted your time in setting up this meeting,” the middle-aged board member imparted. “If you would only give us a little bit more of your time…”

Bruce stopped him there. “I’m sorry. Time is one thing I can’t give you. I received a distressing message from home and my sons and I are leaving for the airport directly.”

“Oh..I’m so sorry to delay you. Let me drive you to the airport. Well..to your hotel to gather your things and then on to the airport,” the man surprisingly offered and with it, he earned Bruce’s undivided attention.

But Bruce had been in business long enough to be wary, to foresee this just might only be a manipulation on the other man’s part.  “I would be appreciative of your help but I’m not willing to make any different considerations toward your company’s collaborating with mine. That deal is simply not going to happen now,” he frankly said, knew his words were strong enough and clear enough to stand up in a court hearing if this conversation led to the company suing him for a false breach of contract.

Disappointed but resigned, the man honorably didn’t revoke his overture. “You came and listened, and I am grateful for that. My taxi service comes with absolutely no strings, Mr. Wayne.”

Bruce felt a rush of fierce gratitude for the man’s kindness in their time of need, it reassured him that there was still good people in the world. A lesson he needed once in a while because, sometimes as Batman, it was hard to tally the good when the bad seemed to exist in overwhelming numbers.  With rare candor, he expressed his earnest gratitude, “Thank you”, shaking the good Samaritan’s hand. With the matter settled, he gave a shrill whistle for Jason and waved his son to come back his way. Jason trotted back to his dad and brother and the Waynes follow the board member into the underground garage of the building, which Tim found out blocked all wi-fi signals.

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Dick startled awake when he heard Clark’s apartment door open, didn’t know how long he’d dropped off to sleep but tried to sit up, not feel so vulnerable. Especially when he heard the extra footfalls indicating that Clark’s other neighbor was paying a house-call. Then Clark walked through the bedroom with a soft smile of encouragement and behind him was a black man in his seventies with well-defined muscular arms that said he still lifted weights and a confident walk he’d never shook off from his military service. As Clark had predicted he would, the man was hefting a medical bag.

“Dick, this is Carl. Carl, my nephew Dick,” Clark introduced, wanting Carl to know Dick’s true connection with him, how important he was to him. ‘So important you almost killed him.’ With effort, Clark squelched his inner-voice, instead focused on the privilege he had that, in his city, he could not only call Dick by his real name but could also claim him as a family member. Maybe for the first time, he grasped, to a small degree, how it must hurt Bruce to not have that honor. To have to deny what Dick was to him, meant to him. To not be able to let pride surge in his tone and even his look when it was centered upon his youngest son.

Dick’s next words drew Clark out of his dark reverie.

“Sir, I’m sorry that Clark troubled you. If I can just use some of your supplies, I’ll reimburse you..” Dick began, his words dropping off as the medic didn’t falter in his steps but confidently claimed a seat on the bed by Dick’s wounded leg. 

The medic gave Dick a smirk like he thought Dick was amusingly thick headed. “Who is going to stitch up this leg? Your head? I know from personal experience, doing it yourself is no picnic. And Clark here,” jerking a thumb behind him to Clark, “looks like he’s about to have a case of the vapors,” he assessed with a light mocking laugh.

That observation had Dick looking to Clark to see what the medic was reading in his uncle. Was startled to see that Clark did look unnerved, not at the sight of the blood seeping from Dick’s leg onto his mattress, but wore a troubled expression Dick knew too well as guilt. Guilt that Dick got hurt unintentionally by him.  “Yeah, Uncle Clark’s a wuss when it comes to a little bloodletting,” he teased with a ballsy wink to Clark, whose tension melted into a sardonic smirk at his nephew’s sense of humor.

“Just don’t faint on me, Kent,” Carl snarkily commanded Clark without looking at him, was already focused on inspecting the leg wound. Raising his eyes from the bloody ten-inch laceration to the kid’s too calm features, he bit out, “I know you and Kent are both smart enough to know you should be at an urgent care getting this seen to.” Eyed up Dick as if he’d offer up an excuse why he didn’t react like any normal person would have to gushing blood and being in pain. Dick, however, blandly stared back at him like he didn’t get that there was an appropriate reaction for the medic’s admonishment.

Clark stepped into the staring contest. “He said he didn’t think it was that bad and the hospitals and urgent care centers were overflowing with people hurt worse than him today because of …” Clark faltered, guilt welling again, not only for Dick’s pain but the innumerable others hurt today because of him.

“Yeah, another battle royale in our fair city,” Carl retorted with disdain, dropping his eyes from Dick’s to again focus on the wound. “Kid will need stitches.”

“Can you..” Clark began worriedly, wondering if Carl would insist he take Dick to a medical facility.

But Carl’s response was amiable enough, “Why I came prepared.” Then he put action into words by digging into his med kit and unrolling a suture kit. His eyes scanned the nightstand table beside the bed. “Where’s the scissors you used to cut his pants?”

Dick barely choked back a laugh at Clark’s surprised ‘oh crap’ expression behind the medic’s back. But he didn’t try and rescue his uncle, enjoyed getting a chance to witness Clark’s methods for covering up his Superman persona.

“Ah…I…I put it away. I’ll get them again..” Clark stammered, worried that the scissors he did own wouldn’t even crease the denim, let along cut it.

Thankfully, Carl replied, “Nope, I’ll use mine.”  Dick let out a longsuffering sigh as the scissors were positioned at his jean’s ripped epicenter.  Clark snorted a laugh at his nephew’s theatrics about the sacrifice of his jeans. But Carl was alarmed by his patient’s reaction, tensely asked, “You hurting somewhere else?”

“The only pain he’s admitting to is the loss of his favorite pair of jeans,” Clark supplied, enjoyed roasting Dick for a change.

“Hey, it isn’t about them being my favorite just…like my only pair for the weekend,” Dick groused.

“Save the leg or save the jeans, I don’t think it’s much of a debate for your uncle here,” the medic joked.

To which Clark drawled in contemplation, “Hmm…the jeans do look expensive, especially knowing your brand snobbery.”

“Me?! A brand snob?! You have me confused with my brothers,” Dick reacted in effrontery but couldn’t dampen the twinkle in his eyes as he verbally sparred with his uncle. Was such a relief to be here with Clark, joking around, after the stress of having lives in his hands earlier that day. Knew Clark felt the same way when his eyes glittered too.

“Expensive or not, torn jeans might be in style but the blood is a little too Walking Dead for most fashion police,” Carl quirked as he began cutting the jeans up the length of Dick’s leg to allow for better access to the wound. As he shifted the denim fabric off his patient’s left leg, he didn’t miss the scar on the young man’s thigh. A scar that looked like a puncture wound but one he hadn’t seen in his urban ambulance crew role. More like his time in Vietnam…when someone stepped on a speared trap in the jungle…or was shot with an arrow.

Dick read the medic’s stillness and struggled with the urge to reach down and cover up the arrow wound scar like it was a sin he’d rather keep buried. Forced his left hand instead to fist at his side and purposefully didn’t look at the medic. But that had his eyes colliding with Clark’s and he knew his uncle hadn’t missed his squirreliness.

Reading the discomfort rolling off of Dick, not from physical pain but more embarrassment, shame, Clark tensed too. Wasn’t sure what it was about that scar that engendered that reaction from Dick but felt very protective of his nephew, wanted to shield him from any and all harm, even from years old pain.

Dick was on edge enough to not foresee the medic shifting gears and starting to lift up his shirt. But his instincts kicked in and he grabbed the man’s arm, arresting his intensions.

At Dick’s reaction, Clark stepped forward, ready to guard Dick even against the medic he’d sicced on him. Would do what he could to dismantle that haunted look in the young man eyes. Cursed himself for not remembering that Bruce had alluded to Dick not being fond of strangers invading his personal space, touching him, seeing his battle-scarred body. Of how Dick had had the balls to even stop frigging Batman from touching him when they first met.

Admonishing himself for subjecting Dick to feeling vulnerable in the presence of a stranger, Clark was about to yank Carl back from Dick with more force than necessary and more strength than Clark Kent should be gifted with. Before he could though, the medic responded with his own insight to Dick’s reaction.

Not scared off or offended by Dick’s rebuff of his invasion of his personal space, Carl had enough experience with PTSD in himself and his war buddies to know how to deal with the reactions. He spoke gently, his eyes meeting Dick’s with regret, “Sorry. I should have asked your permission. Been dealing with too many civilians, kinda forgot my way,” he easily apologized, assigning Dick military status without any other proof. Noted that the kid didn’t deny that honorable membership.

Dick blushed, readily released Carl’s wrist. “No, I’m…the one sorry.” Sent a chagrined look to Clark for embarrassing him in front of his friend but Clark’s only expression was open concern for him. Not wanting to be the recipient of that concern, Dick turned back to the medic. “It’s just my leg that was injured,” didn’t intend for the man to see his torso and the scars there. And oh yeah, the likely bruising from the tossing around he’d gotten in the train. Because he didn’t need Clark to see that and get even more guilt ridden than he already was.

“And your head,” Carl corrected Dick’s tally, jerking his chin to the bloody gash that had turned the right side of Dick’s temple and cheek red and had some of his hair clumped together with the gooey red plasma.

Dick had to concede that obvious one. “Ah yeah, right. My head.”

The medic gave an unhumorous snort. “Probably why you have a killer headache, huh?”

With a soft demurring smile, Dick hedged, “Maybe.”

Carl shook his head, wasn’t sure if he admired the kid or wanted to get a switch and tan his hide. Turned to Clark, who was hovering over his shoulder. “Your nephew is a real piece of harden steel work, Kent.”

Clark’s smile was a mix of pride and sardonicism. “He is.”

Then the medic pressed a sterile pad to stem the welling blood so he could get a good look at the laceration on Dick’s leg. Satisfied at his assessment of that wound, he took another pad, doused it in a solution and began dabbing it across the blood encrusted headwound. He leaned close to eye up that cut and then seemed ready to resume his attention to Dick’s leg without offering up any commentary.

Nervously waiting for an update on the severity of Dick’s injuries that didn’t seem to be forthcoming, Clark prompted, “So how’s the patient?” peering over Carl’s shoulder to see the damage he’d inflicted on Dick. Hated the sight of the torn flesh and the blood. ‘And the kid’s saying he’s not in pain. No wonder Bruce swears he’s gotten more gray hairs in the last half year since he’s gotten this hellion to worry about.’ But there was only love in Clark’s regard for his nephew. Knew Bruce and his sons would have each chopped off an arm if that’s what it’d have cost them to get Dick back from that portal if the kid hadn’t wrangled his own return trip home to them.

‘And when they found out my part in them almost losing him today?!’ Clark fought down a shiver of apprehension of how that scene was likely to play out.

Not missing his friend’s shudder, Carl reassured with more gentleness than he’d even used on his patient, “Kid’s going to be fine, Kent. Few stitches, some ice, nice round of antibiotics and he’ll be feeling good enough to foolishly think he can take on the world again.” Softened that taunt with a wink to Dick whose smirk was more ballsy than humbled.

“I’m sorry, have you met my nephew before? Because you’ve got him pegged to a T,” Clark drawled in mocking humor, earned a “Hey you’re not supposed to pick on the injured guy” whine from Dick.

“Now you wanna drop the bravado act, huh?” Carl caught Dick in the act of giving away his half lie. His next words were in answer to Clark’s snarkiness. “And I know this kid because I’ve been this kid: too young, too bullheaded.”

“And too busy working hard to convince me to not worry about him,” Clark tacked on, hoping Dick took the hint that he didn’t need to conceal the painful cost Dick was paying for Clark’s failures today. That Dick could be vulnerable around him and he’d never exploit him for it.

“Uncles don’t get paid enough to worry,” Dick sallied back, ‘especially when I bring so much of my own troubles down upon my own head.’ Seeing Clark gearing up to contradict him, he teased, “Well, unless my dad’s giving you stock options in exchange for being my babysitter.”

“That’s certainly a viable payment plan,” Clark pretended to contemplate before his smirk couldn’t be repressed. “Believe it or not, worrying about you is my honor, kiddo,” reaching out and affectionately squeezing Dick’s ankle.

“Are you taking sap lessons from my dad?” Dick accused even as Clark’s words brought a sting to his eyes.

Clark bestowed a tender smile upon his nephew. “No lessons necessary. Your brothers say I’m a natural at it.”

Carl couldn’t hold back a smile at the uncle and nephew’s loving banter as he rummaged in his bag until he found what he was looking for. Opening the Tylenol bottle, he held out two pills to his patient.  “Take these awhile to get ahead of the pain.”

“Nah, I’m fine. Pain’s not bad,” Dick demurred.

The medic’s eyes narrowed. “We already agreed you’ve got a splitting headache.  And considering how deep that laceration on your leg is and the blood trail you left down the hallway, that injury ain’t feeling like a bee sting either.”

Unintimidated, Dick replied, “Nothing I can’t work through without the drugs.”

Carl looked to Clark over his shoulder. “Don’t suppose you can talk sense into him.”

Clark suppressed a grimace at the herculean task asked of him before turning a beseeching look upon his nephew. “Dick, just humor me and take the pills.”

“There’s no need. I’ve had..” Dick began his normal brag.

“Worse?” Clark provided with disdain. “No wonder your family flinches every time that’s your leading argument.”

Dick was unrepentant. “They are getting immune to it.”

Clark shook his head as if he didn’t believe the kid’s audacity to try and sell that. “That is an out and out lie, kiddo.”

“Maybe,” Dick conceded before he contradicted it, “Maybe not.” While he was distracted, the medic gave him a local anesthetic shot in his leg to numb the limb. “Hey!” Dick squawked in protest. “I didn’t…”

“…Get to be awarded the stubborn donkey award?!” Carl snarked. “Don’t worry, you’re still reigning king right now anyway.”

Clark let loose a startled chuckle even as Dick glared at him. He subdued his amusement, kind of, before he told Dick, “That’s too good a comeback to not pass it onto your brothers.”

“Oh no you will not!” Dick objected, already envisioning the ridiculous enjoyment it would bring Jason and Tim.  Then he got wholly distracted by a flinch of pain as the medic shifted his not-quite-numb-to-pain leg. Fell into a tense silence as he clamped his jaw tightly shut as the medic went to work irrigating his leg wound, disinfecting it and then stitching it up.

Standing by Dick’s head on the opposite side of the bed as the medic, Clark noted the way Dick dispassionately watched the long line of stitches being put into his damaged flesh like it was so common place it had lost its seriousness. ‘But with all his other scars, this is just another mark on his body. A mark I put on him, that will be a scar, a remembrance that he can’t trust me to not hurt him.’ Which brought Clark’s thoughts back to Dick’s family.

As much as Dick absolved him his liability for his pain, Dick’s family wouldn’t be so generous, nor should they be. Mindful of their audience, Clark said, “Speaking of your brothers..” which got Dick’s eyes flying up to his in something akin to alarm.

Dick’s voice was hoarse when he retorted a bit gruffy, “Were we speaking of them?”

Refusing to be put off by a freaking nineteen-year-old kid’s snippiness, Clark drawled, “Sort of. I’m sure they were just relieved to hear your voice and know you weren’t hurt worse. Doesn’t mean they won’t motherhen you when you get home,” the last said with a smile, which Dick didn’t return.

Dick felt a wash of chagrin, looked away from Clark’s too intense gaze.

Hearing Dick’s heartrate increase and detecting that his nephew’s breathing had tightened up, Clark started to get a bad feeling about the direction of their conversation. “Tell me you didn’t lie and say that you weren’t hurt.”

“I didn’t,” Dick truthfully answered, meeting Clark’s eyes head on.

This, however, wasn’t Clark’s first day dealing with a Bat’s version of truth or even Dick’s knack for withholding vital details. “Didn’t lie to them or didn’t tell them you were hurt?” he cross examined.

“Right,” Dick answered firmly but Clark’s forehead furrowed in growing worry, knew Dick had found a loophole in his questioning.

“Maybe your dad would be more relieved if I called and talked to him.” Though Clark dreaded that conversation and the blame that rightfully would be heaped on his head by  Bruce, he had to make sure Dick had told his family he’d been hurt. But Dick grabbed his hand before it could dive in his pocket for his phone.

Dick’s eyes gleamed into Clark’s with desperation. “Don’t call him. He’s on a business trip along with my brothers. I’ll tell them when they’re home and can see I’m ok.” ‘And hopefully Alfred doesn’t tell them before then,’ Dick silently tacked on.

Clark’s heart sank at the confession that Dick had NOT told his family he’d been hurt. Sighed at the foolishness of the kid to think he should continue to keep that vital information from them, or that Clark would be a party to that plan. “Dick, they need to know you’re hurt, would want to know.”

“They’ll freak out,” Dick spat with something akin to disgust. Seeing Clark’s surprised and even disapproving look, he felt he had to make a confession. “I’m mad at myself for giving them cause to freak out, not at them for caring enough to freak out.”

Clark should have known it was more complicated than just bravado. This was the bats after all. His voice was soft as he tried to get Dick to see things in the correct light, “Dick, what happened today wasn’t something you did wrong.” Wished he could put the blame where it belonged instead of letting Dick carry it, ached to stress, ‘You didn’t cause this, I did,’ but couldn’t with Carl there. Gently reassured, “Dick, your family won’t be mad at you.” ‘Me, yes. Dick, no.’

“Maybe,” Dick uncertainly granted because Clark didn’t know his family wasn’t aware he wasn’t even in Gotham. Recognizing that Clark was gearing up to play counselor for the Bats, Dick decided to waylay it, didn’t want to have the inevitable conversation with company present. “How about we agree to a compromise? I’ll call them after I’m all stitched up, ok?” Dick negotiated, wanting the time to figure out how best to phrase things to his dad and brothers that would minimize the backlash of him not telling them he was leaving Gotham while they were gone.

“Alright,” Clark conceded, even as he could envision Bruce taunting him that Dick had him wrapped around his pinkie. And, ok sure, maybe there was some truth in that. But so what? He only had three nephews to dote on.

Carl broke through their tete-a-tete with a groused, “Stitching that,” pointing to Dick’s gashed open forehead, “will go smoother if you stop furrowing your brow and reopening your head wound.”

Chagrined, Dick mumbled, “Sorry.” Reaching up to blindly inspect the headwound, his fingers came away with blood. He stilled his face into a mask as the medic took Clark’s spot beside his head. “Let’s see if you’ve earned yourself a concussion,” Carl drawled, as he asked Dick to follow his moving fingers with his eyes, shone a light to check the dilation of his pupils. “You must have a steel plate in that head…to match that steely stubborn streak of yours.”

“Thank God that’s true,” Clark said, with only half mockery, earning a stinkeye from Dick which he winked off.

Hoping Dick was distracted by Kent, Carl tried to be sneaky enough a second time around to administer a local anesthetic shot. But his hand was arrested mid attempt by Dick’s not inconsequential grip on his wrist. For a moment they had a staredown.

Accepting Dick wasn’t going to give in, Carl pulled his hand free of Dick’s hold with a muttered curse. He dropped the needle onto the nightstand with a disgruntle, “Suit yourself and be in pain.” But none of his aggravation with his patient bled into his fingers as they gently examined Dick’s headwound. His eyes slipped from the torn flesh to Dick’s eyes. “Clipped something pretty good to gash it like this. Will probably have a nice bump there before long.”

Dick wasn’t going to make a reply but then Clark gave him that probing look from his new position at the foot of the bed. “It’s no big deal, ok. When the train was…uprighted…,” Dick hesitated to continue as he saw Clark go all still, knew his uncle would assign himself blame for this injury in particular because it happened when he saved him.

Reading Dick’s hesitation and knew his nephew was trying to protect his feelings, Clark fought down a sigh. Kid had too big a heart for his own good. “You got the headwound, not from the train failing, but Superman ‘saving’ you,” bitterness creeping into his tone because saving someone he loved by hurting them was a piss poor rescue in his book.

Hearing the bitterness that Dick knew Clark was directing only to himself, he tried to minimize Clark’s self-chastisement. “It was a fluke thing. When the train was put back on the tracks, everyone got tossed to the ground. Wasn’t Superman’s fault I’m one of those ‘if it can go wrong, it will’ kinda guys and I did a header into the corner of a seat on my way to the floor.”

“Course you did,” Clark miserably remarked because that was so Dick’s luck.

Now some of the puzzle pieces were falling into place for the medic. “You were in the train that almost fell off the elevated tracks?”

“Yeah,” Dick shamefully admitted like he’d been the one doing something wrong. But Clark knew it was all on him, on his disregard for the collateral damage his fight with the superpowered villain was ravaging across the city.

“You’ll have a doozy of a story to go along with these stitches,” the medic tried to lighten the suddenly oppressive mood in the room.

Dick seemed to flinch at the word ‘stitches’, thinking of his family’s reaction to big old black stitches on his forehead. “Actually, can you make the stitches small as you can? Or better yet, butterfly bandages work, because it doesn’t seem worthy of stitches.”

“Ah, so you’re a medic now and can examine your own head without even a mirror,” the medic snarked back, not altering his preparation one iota to stitch up the deep cut.

Taking that as a sharp ‘no’ on passing on stitches, Dick jaw clenched. This wasn’t going to go over well at all with his dad and brothers. If only he’d chosen another weekend, or told them he would be heading to Metropolis, or if his crappy luck hadn’t put him smack in the middle of trouble again.  For sure, after this, they would be even more overprotective of him than they already were.

Seeing Dick’s forlorn expression, Clark wished he could wipe it off the young man’s face. But accepted he’d have to wait to enact any kind of succor until they were alone. Whatever Dick was feeling, it wasn’t something Clark wanted to exploit by exposing it to Carl. Even though Clark could tell Carl liked Dick, was giving Dick more compassion than he’d offered to any of the kids in the apartment complex. But then again, that was Dick’s gift: the ability to break down the walls to the hearts of emotionally constipated men.

Carl proved that supposition a moment later by attempting to distract Dick from the pained strain on his features as Carl’s worked on his headwound. “I saw the news, they even had an amateur video of it. Not surprised you got thrown around. Superman practically crushed in the last car, seemed to only stop the train from falling as an afterthought.”

‘So not helping, Carl,’ Dick wanted to growl as Clark’s jaw clenched. Knew his uncle wasn’t angry at Carl’s insult to him but was in guilty agreement.  “It wasn’t an afterthought!” Dick protested but Clark didn’t cheer on his defense of him but seemed to stagger back like Dick had landed a blow instead.

Sensing the tension building in the kid, Carl backed down, “Ok, right, wasn’t an afterthought. Superman saw the wrong he’d done and made sure no one got hurt..,” he allowed before he took it partially back, “…well not too hurt,” jerking his chin toward Dick’s bloody headwound. Liked the kid enough to be kind of pissed at the man of steel for hurting him, intentional or not.

“I’m fine,” Dick insistently hissed back, wished Carl would zip it about the accident already. Talk about the freaking weather or something else.

But that claim had Carl snapping back, “You wanna go all fanboy on Superman, that’s your choice, but let’s not lie about how damn close you came to dying today. Because if that train would have fallen, we’d be IDing your body parts not your body, kid. I know that because I was called to an elevated train derailment years ago and it was about the worst thing I’ve seen in my medic career, the war included, because it involved dead kids.”

Carl’s words restituted Dick’s fears that he’d had when he was preparing for the train to make that fall. Grimly calculating the body count it’d rack up, that there were kids on the train, that regardless of his vow to not die for his family’s sake, he most likely would be killed and his family wouldn’t even know it. Not until later, maybe days later.

               Clark felt Dick’s heartrate kick up, saw the young man’s face go absolutely white, knew by the troubled eyes that rose to his that Dick had thought he was going to die, by his hands. Had been…scared…was rattled by it even now. And Clark was no less so, maybe more. Because it was lashing into his heart deeper and deeper just how close he’d come to killing Dick that day. And he wouldn’t have even known his nephew’s body was among the casualty count for his fight across the city. Or maybe Dick would have been only hurt initially in the crash, but died anyway because Clark hadn’t known he was there…hadn’t gotten to him in time. The horror of might have beens were stacking up, higher than Clark’s fortified emotional walls were built to withstand.

Seeing Clark take another withdrawing step back, like he thought he was in danger of hurting Dick again, Dick wished his uncle was within reaching distance, that he could curl his fingers around Clark’s forearm and snap him out of his spiraling fear. Dick had to use his words instead. “I. am. ok, Clark,” he drawled out, trying to ensure that fact sank in with Clark.

Clark knew Dick wanted to reassure him but the sharp memories, the mental images of other possible outcomes for the day and the blood Dick had shed wasn’t all that convincing. “I should call your dad now, shouldn’t wait. If they see the news..” he began as he headed for the door, phone already in hand.

“No! Wait!” Dick called out, trying to get up, to stop Clark, even as he still wanted to avoid having to confess to his uncle that nobody but Alfred even knew he had left Gotham, was in Metropolis.

The medic pushed him back down onto the bed with a curse. “You want a Frankenstein scar on that pretty boy face?! You moving like that wasn’t smart!”

“Add it to my growing tally of stupidity,” Dick grumbled, defeatedly slumping back onto the bed because Clark was already out the door. The day just kept getting worse and worse.

For long moments there was only silence among them but the medic couldn’t help remarking. “I’ve never seen Kent rattled before. Clearly he takes his uncle status with you seriously.”

 “He does,” Dick vowed even as he knew Clark shouldn’t. Should drop kick him to the curb like this world’s Connor was smart enough to do.

“Bet he is the kind to spoil you rotten. Take your side when you’re in trouble,” Carl guessed, hoping to cheer the kid up.

Dick smiled fondly at the memories that evoked. “Yup.”

“Which is often with you, huh?” The medic teased, batting a thousand.

Dick’s comeback was disheartened. “More than it should be.”

Bothered that he’d somehow brought the kid’s spirits low, Carl felt a surge of protectiveness toward Clark’s nephew. “Hey, this wasn’t your fault,” waving his hand over Dick’s battered body indicating his injuries. “Half the city is walking wounded.”

Dick instantly defended Clark. “Wasn’t Superman’s fault,” an edge to his tone if Carl thought to besmirch Superman’s good name.

In concession, Carl raised the hand he wasn’t using to sew up Dick’s forehead, quietly replied, “Let’s agree that he didn’t mean to knock around your train and get you bloody.” This seemed to go a little way at least to mollify the young man. But Carl couldn’t quite drop the topic, ventured carefully, “So you’re all sold on Superman, huh? By your accent, I peg you as an out of towner.”

“Whole world knows about Superman.” At the medic’s lack of response, Dick posed conversationally, like he didn’t have a personal stake in TeamSuperman, “Clearly you’re NOT a fan.”

Carl gave a shrug. “I don’t have a Superman poster on my wall, if that’s what you mean.”

Dick couldn’t hold back a smirk at Carl’s smart aleck comeback, snorted at the thought of this tough, Vietnam vet having a Superman poster glued to his wall or being involved in one of the Superman fan conventions springing up. Saw the medic’s lips turn up to mirror his own. When Clark reentered the room just then, Dick feared his uncle had heard the medic’s caustic statement about Superman. Which Dick realized Clark had, not by a scowl on his face but his sly wink to him. It lightened Dick’s mood, like Clark intended it too.

Still Dick sighed as he nervously asked, “So what did Bruce have to say?” ‘About me being hurt…AND not being in Gotham but in Metropolis?!’

“He didn’t answer, just had to leave him a message,” Clark said, but was sensing a level of anxiety in Dick that didn’t quite match the situation. It had him worrying that Dick was hiding a worse injury.

“Oh that will go over swell. He loves bad news via voice message,” Dick muttered even as he was relieved he’d had a stay of execution.

Clark felt his own strained nerves twinge and caustically retorted, “Well then he shouldn’t screen his calls when it’s me.”

Silence fell in the room, the medic wisely not intervening with the uncle and nephew’s verbal battle. But it was the kid who broke the tension as he posed, “I didn’t know that you usually give him bad news on the phone. Guess that’s why he had you come to see me in person that first time instead of telling you about me on the phone. Didn’t want to risk you spouting out bummer stats, like maybe the Gotham Raiders football team was on another losing streak.”

Clark snorted, sarcastically said, “Funny,” but his smile was emerging to his usual 1000 watts it was around the people that he loved. “For your information, Mr. comedian, Bruce wanted me to call him NOT visit. He practically tried to shut the door in my face instead of letting me meet you. Was super protective of you from the start, even from little old me, believe it or not.”

This was all news to Dick, couldn’t envision anyone, let alone Bruce, trying to shut a door in Clark’s face knowing he was Superman. It was almost…humorous if it didn’t cause Dick to get a little teary eyed at Bruce’s devotion to him back when he didn’t even know his fake name! ‘And you risked losing all that devotion coming here, skipping out on Gotham like you’re twelve again and just got fired being Robin, the first time. What the hell is wrong with you, that you have to burn everything to the ground when things are going good, when people love you.’

 Clark watched Dick’s ballsy smirk turn into glistening eyes before his features shut down entirely. Suddenly Clark wished Carl was finished, that he could speak privately with Dick, understand what he’d said to upset the young man. To that end, he posed to Carl, “How’s he doing?”

“Putting the final touches on patching up his pretty face and then I’m done,” Carl supplied and then he worked in silence for a few more minutes until the last stitch was set. Gathering up his supplies and pointedly setting a bottle of antibiotics on the nightstand, he earnestly said to Dick, “Nice meeting you kid. Hope to see you next visit but without the blood.”

Dick shook Carl’s hand, solemnly offered, “Thank you very much, sir.”

Carl’s eyebrow quirked up at the address. “Sir? Huh? Someone raised you right?!”

“Took lots of someones to get the job done,” Dick admitted, thinking of both Alfreds, Bruces and Clarks putting in time with him on manners, on treating others with respect, offering gratitude when aid was provided, even to crime fighting vigilantes that should be invincible but weren’t.

Carl chuckled at Dick’s humbleness, remarked not unkindly, “Not surprised there.” Then he walked to the door, Clark trailing him. At the door, Clark pulled his wallet out but Carl put his hand over Clark’s. “Whoa. Don’t insult our friendship by assigning monetary price tags to favors. You helped me move my furniture when I had that pipe burst, this is me paying you back.”

“Thank you, Carl. Dick is special to me, to a lot of people and if something happened to him…” visions of what could have been flashing in his mind, making him feel cold down to his bones.

Carl reached out, squeezed Clark’s shoulder, reassured his shaken friend, “He’s not badly hurt. He’s gonna heal fine, Kent.”

Clark nodded, felt too choked up right then for words and then he watched Carl head back to his apartment. Chided himself to pull himself together and find his words. Dick needed him. Clark knew in his gut that there was more troubling the young man than the day’s near-death experience, because, sadly, that was old hat to Dick. 

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They were locked in traffic on the exit to the airport when Bruce’s phone finally binged letting him know he’d gotten a message…eighteen minutes earlier. Cursing cell phones and technology in general, he opened his messages and frowned when the message was only from Clark. He silently cursed! He needed Alfred to call him. Or Dick. Because he couldn’t help think Alfred’s crisis involved Dick and yeah, Jason still hadn’t gotten a text back from his little brother that he sent now nearly three hours ago.

Though he wanted to ignore Clark’s message to keep the line open for Alfred to call him, he reminded himself that Tim was already roto dialing Alfred, leaving him little to do on that front. Feeling a bit of curiosity wondering what Clark had to say and hoping it might take his mind off his worry, he tapped the play message icon and listened to Clark’s voice. Immediately he detected nervousness and tension in his best friend’s voice. Two emotions Clark hardly ever expressed.

“Hey Bruce, It’s..Clark. Call me back as soon as you get this message.” There Clark paused like he was going to hang up, like  that was his total message but then he timorously added on, “Dick’s with me.”

Bruce’s blood froze in his veins. Dick was with Clark?! Why?! Where?! Had Dick needed them and they weren’t available so he called for Clark’s help?! Had something happened to Alfred?!

He could barely hear Clark’s prerecorded voice over his racing thudding heartbeat. “He’s ok…mostly.”

Bruce’s heart stopped for a forlorn second in fear. ‘Wait?!! What?! Ok…mostly? Who?!!?! Dick?!?!’

Then Clark sheepishly mumbled, more to himself than his listener, “Crap that doesn’t sound right.”

Bruce’s hand nearly crushed the cellphone in it. ‘Not Right?! Meaning Dick wasn’t ok? At all?! Let alone mostly ok?!’

“I mean…he’s hurt but nothing serious.” Clark almost cleared things up.

Bruce’s stomach plummeted because one thing was finally clear: Dick was hurt. ‘NO!’ he shouted in his head in outrage, in fear. Hating the world in that moment, wanting to instantly be with his son and simultaneously wanting to repeatedly punch whoever had hurt his son.

“He has two lacerations. Nothing else..…I don’t think so anyway.” There Clark was again, not being reassuring!

‘You don’t THINK he’s hurt worse?! But you don’t KNOW!?!’ Bruce raged, would have socked Clark in his unbreakable jaw if he’d been standing in front of him right then.

“A medic is seeing to him. Someone that I trust.”

That didn’t soothe Bruce’s raw nerves all that much because the only ones he trusted to fix one of my sons was himself, one of his sons or Alfred. ‘You trusting someone doesn’t count, Clark. Not when Dick’s hurt!’

“I’m so sorry, Bruce.”

And Bruce was cognizant enough through his panic to be stunned by the way Clark’s voice cracked, and how remorseful he sounded.

“If I’d known…”

‘Known what?!’

“This probably doesn’t make any sense to you so call me back already. Bye.” Then the coward hung up!

Heaping curses on Clark for confusing and yeah, scaring the hell out of him, Bruce immediately called Clark.  Was going to let his sons know the meager information he had but Tim and Jason were off getting food.

Unbeknownst to him, his sons were talking to Alfred that very moment to get their own scoop on the situation.

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When Alfred finally answered his call, Tim bailed out of the food line, dragged Jason with him to the side of the traffic flow in the airport. Shooting a look to his dad, Tim saw that Bruce was already on the phone, guessed maybe it was with Dick.  So he put his phone on speaker so his brother could hear their grandfather too.

“Tim, I expected this call to come from your father,” Alfred answered, sounding like his normal unflustered self.

“He’s on the other line. Alfred, what’s happening there?” Tim demanded, didn’t want to waste another moment on small talk.

“Here, nothing,” came Alfred’s calm drawl, hoping to be a balm to his palpably upset grandson.

But Tim was having none of that, refused to be brushed off by Alfred now that he finally had him on the line. “Alfred, you hung up! On dad!? So don’t try to stonewall me!”

Jason’s hand wrapped around Tim’s to bring the cellphone closer to him, growled to Alfred, “Tell me what’s wrong. Right damn now!” in that commanding, don’t-think-of-messing-with-me tone that he’d learned from Batman.

Alfred accepted that it was time for him to take a side in this family debacle. Gave Dick a silent apology of ‘Sorry Dick, but my disloyalty is for your best interest, to keep you safe. Even if your dad and brothers might contemplate lynching you once they hear how your day without them has gone to hell in a handbasket.’ His decision made, Alfred sought to formulate his opening remarks into a positive spin, “The situation isn’t as dire as I might have led your father to believe.”

Jason was relieved, marginally, but still sensed that trouble hadn’t entirely passed them by. “But it’s still dire.”

“Depending on your priorities, yes,” Alfred truthfully answered, because anyone who loved Dick, especially his family who loved him fiercely, would never write off him being injured as anything less than dire. Regardless that he wasn’t mortally wounded.

Sharing an aggravated look with Tim, Jason gritted out though his teeth, “Don’t do that thing where you try and confuse me with your British snobbery instead of telling me something straight up.” Was all too familiar with verbal runarounds, because, duh, he had Batman as a father.

Alfred accepted that the time for subterfuge was over, that he had tried to minimize Dick’s brothers’ panic before the truth came out and now had only the hard part to accomplish. “Yes, fine. Your brother received minor injuries in an accident.” Cringed at his half-truth because it hadn’t seemed inconsequential when he saw his nephew’s blood smeared features from his phone screen. Was a tribute to his medic background and association with vigilantes who came home to him shot, blown up, bleeding out that allowed him to label any shedding of blood by those he loved as a minor incident.

“Accident?!” Tim sputtered back in shock, shooting a look to Jason’s blood drained face before his eyes darted across the airport to desperately seek out his dad. Because in that moment, Tim wanted his dad, suddenly needed him there with them, sharply. But Bruce had his back to them, was still on his own phone call. Returning his look back to Jason, who seemed too stunned to do this line of questioning, Tim began to fire off grim guesses. “On his bike? That rustbucket car that’s not up to any modern safety standards? On his job?! But I thought he had the weekend off?”

“Train accident,” Alfred mildly interjected when Tim took a momentary break in his panicked theories to gasp for breath.

Jason’s mind came to a full out standstill and he felt a woozy buzzing in his head at the implication that Dick had left town, had fled. ‘No, please, not again. Please tell me he doesn’t doubt his place with us! Our love, my love for him.’ Dreading the answers but needing them like air, Jason snapped out like Red Hood was grilling a bad guy for vital information to save someone, in this case, his brother, “Why was he on a train? Where was he going?! Where is he?!”

“Metropolis.”

It wasn’t the answer Jason was braced for. He met Tim’s look and felt the well of relief between them, at their worst fears not being realized. “Clark. He went to Clark’s,” he murmured, almost weak kneed with relief. Bowing his head, Jason released Tim’s hand and subsequently his control of the phone. He did a pace or two around his brother as he reassured himself that Dick hadn’t been running away from them, hadn’t intended to go somewhere they couldn’t find him, had merely went to see Clark.

“Yes, he thought it a great opportunity to visit Clark,” Alfred intentionally put an emphasis on the word ‘visit.’ Because he wasn’t unaware of Jason’s insecurities when it came to Dick’s permanence with them, with him.  

At Alfred’s disastrous turn of phrase, Tim’s voice cracked with outrage, “Great opportunity?!?! He was in a train accident?!”

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          TBC

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Chapter Text

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Detouring to the bathroom, Clark returned to his bedroom bearing a basin of water and some towels.  Felt Dick watching him silently as he bypassed the chair and claimed a seat by Dick’s side. Putting the basin on the bedside table, he doused the washcloth, wrung it out and began to gently dab at Dick’s stitched head wound. Dick’s eyes narrowed a little in pain but he didn’t flinch away: because he trusted him.

‘Even after what I did to him today, he still trusts me?!’ Clark’s jaw tightened. He still felt so unworthy of that trust, regardless that Dick had forgiven him.  Felt sick knowing even now he was hurting Dick with his good intentions. So he cowardly abandoned his efforts to remove all the dried blood from the stitched area, turned his attention to Dick’s temple and his cheek, both of which had gotten painted in blood. Using as tenderly light strokes as he could to scrub away the blood, he noted Dick’s frame lost its tension and Dick began to tilt his head against his hand instead of forcing himself to not shirk away in discomfort.

Though Clark’s gentle ministrations seemed like heaven compared to the rough treatment his body and yeah, his head had suffered that day, Dick quietly offered, “My arm’s not broken..or recently had a bullet in it. I can clean my own face.” Because Superman shouldn’t have to be his personal nursemaid, though Clark had played that role admirably more than once. Had been this gentle with him after the gala, when his identity secret was out and had induced that hellacious reaction from Bruce.

Contrary to Dick’s thoughts, Clark wanted to be able to do this, to offer Dick some comfort at his hands. Though he deemed it a pathetic, ineffectual counter to the pain he’d caused Dick that day.  His beseeching need to do this for Dick must have been revealed in his eyes because Dick didn’t press the issue. Moving onto a new task, Clark began brushing the cloth through Dick’s locks of hair which were stuck together with dried blood. When he rewet the washcloth, it turned the basin water red.

Clark looked at his hands, soiled with the same red: Dick’s blood. His hands trembled and he fought down a shiver. Though he never ever liked it when someone he loved bled, this..this was different. Dick’s blood loss was a stain on his soul. One he was having trouble bearing. ‘You can’t undo what happened today, but you can help him now. Don’t fail Dick again when he needs you!’ Fisting his hands for a few seconds, he was able to steady them before returning to his task. Hated that Dick seemed to be purposefully not meeting his eyes, was staring ahead like he wasn’t even there, was seemingly embarrassed that Clark was taking care of him. With a few more brushes with the washcloth, Clark was able to cleanse most of Dick’s dark tresses of blood

Dick wasn’t sure what was more mortifying: Superman subserviently and so very gently cleaning his face and hair or Clark knowing he was keeping something from him and not pressuring him to confess to it. Course that only made him ache to blurt it all out, get Clark to somehow make it better what he’d clearly f’d up. He started with his lesser failings. “Dad, Jason and Tim, they don’t know I was even coming here. Only Alfred knows I’m here.”

Clark forced his hands to not pause in their work, though surprise shot through him. He wasn’t sure why visiting him had been something Dick thought he had to sneak behind his family’s backs to do. “Why didn’t you tell them?!” he softly asked, thinking that maybe Bruce had told Dick to stay away from him, thought he was a danger magnet. Afterall, the Bats had been bait for the trap for him, and Dick had had to go against his vows and don a mask again to rescue them all. ‘And when Bruce knows I almost killed Dick today…I’ll be lucky if he ever lets me see Dick again.’

But Dick’s explanation a moment later didn’t have a single thing to do with him.

Dick knew that he could blow off Clark’s question, could lie, but honestly, he wasn’t there just to hang with Clark, had wanted the older man’s insight too. So he told him the unvarnished reason he’d skipped out of Gotham, sought him out, did it without any of the bats’ consent or knowledge. “They practically insist I text them when I’m leaving work for home. They text me when they’re out on patrol, all three of them. They think if they keep track of me..” Dick’s voice fractured apart in despair and confusion, didn’t know exactly what his family wanted from him. What pledges they needed from him to reinstate their trust that he’d had before and had seemingly lost.

At Dick’s fragile tone of voice, Clark paused in his ministrations as he realized with shock that Dick thought he was doing something wrong to engender his family’s overprotectiveness. Bowing his head a bit so his eyes could intently hold Dick’s gaze, he gently guaranteed with wholehearted conviction, “Dick, them being protective of you isn’t…it’s them just being …well, them, you know. It’s not anything you did wrong.”

But Dick shook his head, choked out, “Yeah, yeah I did…must have, because they don’t…”

When Dick tightly clamped his jaw shut and looked away, Clark ached to reach out to him, to comfort him but he didn’t. Didn’t want Dick to think he saw him as a child. “They don’t what?” he instead prompted, careful to use his mildest tone. The one he used on skittish victims.

“Trust me,” Dick bit out. Disgusted with himself as he wiped a tear away that had broken free of his resolve to be emotionally locked down. But this was killing him, this tension he felt between him and his family. “I’ve tried so hard to give them no reasons to doubt me. Now…when they find out I left town without telling them…and then this crap that always happens around me went and happened again…” He roughly tapped his stitched forehead, angrily gestured to his bandaged leg.

Huffing out a breath, Dick’s voice was thready when he continued, “They shouldn’t feel that they have to be my freaking bodyguards or…or…babysitters. But when I get hurt, it just reinforces their belief that I’m weak. Makes them feel all guilty, thinking that I needed them and they weren’t there. And I don’t want them thinking that I’m…you know…still seeking out pain…or contemplating leaving them.” Which he wasn’t, hadn’t been for a long while now. “I don’t know how I can convince them…or even myself that I’m trustworthy when I f’d up and am bleeding again.” Felt a panic building across his nerves thinking about how his family would interpret his newest fubar stunt.  Sourly he sent a fist swinging down toward his injured leg.

But a superpowered hand caught his fist before it could land.

Clark gently closed his hand around Dick’s clenched fist, desired to meet Dick’s eyes but the young man had his head bowed in shame. Using his other hand to cup the back of Dick’s neck, he moved his thumb rhythmically across Dick’s nape, hoping to sooth the trembling teenager. Wished Bruce was there for Dick, but he wasn’t. Dick only had him right then.

Clark cursed his own ineptitude. He was letting Dick down, didn’t know what to say or do to help the upset young man. ‘This right here, is why I never took in Connor!’ Because he’d always maintained a barrier around himself ..and his secret, which left him clumsy at interpersonal relationship, wallowing when it came to comforting people or solving problems with something other than his kryptonian strength. And Dick had had way too much of that strength directed his way that day already.

Clark abruptly released Dick’s hand, shamed that he’d used brute strength to stop Dick from hurting himself. Breaking off physical contact, he leaned away from the younger man, contemplating removing himself from the bed and retreating to the chair. Dick’s next words froze him in place.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be making this your problem. Going all flaky on you,” Dick hated how weak he always was, that he couldn’t pick up the indomitable mantle he’d carried almost seamlessly in his world. That he couldn’t remember being that person, imagine that he’d ever been that person. It was so far removed of who he was since he’d come to this world, found this new family, who didn’t think less of him for not being that bigger than life hero. ‘And I repay them by betraying their trust. Try to drag Clark into my mess.”

“It kinda is my problem, considering you’re hurt because of me,” Clark sheepishly pointed out. Was gratified that his manipulation worked and Dick raised his head to defend him like he thought he would. Because anything was better than watching the kid hate on himself. Said before Dick could again declare none of this was his fault, “Dick, someone you trusted almost got you killed today. It would rattle anyone.”

Dick processed Clark’s excuse for him and still came up lacking. Offered Clark a miniscule sardonic smile. “Sad thing is, friendly fire, that’s not all that out of the ordinary for me.” Thought of nearly dying in the sacrificial destruction of Mount Justice to cement Kaldur’s undercover persona, of a mind controlled Batman wanting to take his head off, a hypnotized Batgirl going all stabby Fatal Attraction on him. Seeing Clark stiffen, he decided against rehashing old wounds, well those old wounds anyway. Spoke of others instead, relevant ones. “But people worrying about me and not just in terms of how an injury effects my efficiency on patrol…that’s been a while. And someone actually coming out and admitting they love me….” Dick shook his head. “That’s new to me.”

Clark paled, couldn’t believe Dick hadn’t felt loved in his own world, at least before the whole Reach/Light war happened. “Since your …” he broke off, almost said dad but chose not to at the last moment, “…Bruce kidnapped you to take you back to your universe, I thought his love was obvious. It was to all of us.”

Dick’s smirk was painful. “Not to me.” He leaned back against the headboard, fingers fiddling with the wrap around his leg. “Living in Bludhaven, it didn’t matter if I got hurt being reckless on patrol. If I screwed up, I accepted the consequences and there wasn’t anyone there to be disappointed in me.”

‘Or anyone there to tend to his wounds or worry about him or to tell him his life was precious to them and should never ever be treated inconsequently.’ Clark nearly sighed. Hated with new fervor the life Dick had been living in his world.

“Things were…easier there.” Dick did his own sigh.  Didn’t want to go back to that loneliness but at least in Bludhaven he only disappointed himself, didn’t cause pain to the ones he loved with his failures. There, his pain only affected him. But now, his pain…was his family’s pain. Knew that without a shred of doubt or humility. They loved him that deeply. And he…abused that love, ran away from it.

What a dick he was, in all its connotations.

Clark had to admit, he understood the allure of that isolation. Like today. He would have licked his wounds here in his apartment, alone. Would have hidden away, shut out the world and the fallout for his actions. And there was liberty in that, burying his sins as Superman…and his hurts.

Then Dick had blown all that out of the water by his unexpected appearance. Even bleeding and hurt, Dick brought light into Clark’s dark day, stubbornly refused to let him drown in guilt for his injuries or for the other collateral damage caused by his actions. And Clark desperately wanted to return the favor, give Dick hope and joy instead of the doubt and recriminations he was downing in.

“Bludhaven was easier, but you didn’t choose to go back there,” Clark quietly pointed out. Knew the Bats would have a conniption if they were there, didn’t like any mention of the choice Dick had made. Irrationally fearing Dick would regret it, change his mind. And that was at the heart of their stalking of Dick too. That fear. Which Dick blew out of the water in the next second.

Looking at Clark like he’d been the one to slam his head into something metal that day instead of him, Dick scoffed, “Course I didn’t go back. There’s nothing left for me there and even if I had seriously thought about leaving with B, I would have gone to the Manor for a while then maybe parts unknown.” Because Bludhaven was as dead to him as Mount Justice. There were memories there he didn’t want to remember of his deceptions, of the lies he told while his teammates hid out there after the YJ headquarters were destroyed.

And worse than that, there were good memories there. Memories that were too painful to cling to, because they revolved around people he’d lost, either by death or by his manipulations. So yeah, Bludhaven had never been an option for him.

Clark had gotten more than he’d bargained for, kicking open that door. Wished he’d kept his stupid mouth shut, hadn’t heard Dick’s true thoughts on Bludhaven. Or his pseudo plans if he’d purposefully walked through that portal back to his own universe. It was…rattling. To think Dick had contemplated it. More so to realize Dick hadn’t envisioned that he would have a good life back there, one where he truly reconciled with his family and friends. Instead it was only one with even more loneliness than he’d had in Bludhaven to start with.

Reading Clark’s stunned expression, Dick gave a dark laugh, ran his hand through his hair, unmindful of the lump on his head and winced. “Sorry, I took us to a dark place there. But to answer your question, no, I haven’t wished for a single second to be in Bludhaven instead of here, with my family, with you. I made the right decision. I know that.”

Feeling more emotionally stable, Clark teased, “Even with all the stalking?”

To which Dick smirked, had to agree. “Yeah, even with all that. I wouldn’t know, but I’m assuming that privacy is probably overrated on this earth.”

“Totally,” Clark concurred with a winsome smile. Then he met Dick’s eyes head on because he needed his nephew to hear his next words, let them sink in. “And to set the record straight, your dad and brothers needing to know where you are at all hours of the day, it’s not about any lack of faith in you, Dick.  Faith that you can take care of yourself or worry that you’ll leave them.”

“Could have fooled me,” Dick grumbled. “I think they have the CIA beat on assessing where I’m at 24/7.” Which got a small smile from Clark but his uncle wasn’t fooled, knew Dick was hiding behind the humor. Abandoning the funny man front, Dick solemnly continued, “I know they love me. But it’s…like they think I’ll disappear on them, or they expect to catch me in a lie. Not surprising considering I lied about so much when I first came to them. And now here I am, proving they were right because today I did both those things: disappeared and lied.”

Clark’s heart ached for Dick, for everything he was putting on himself. “Ah, Dick, what you did today, why you felt a need to get away, it’s not unforgiveable and it’s easily understandable.”

“Have you met my family?” Dick retorted because Clark couldn’t seriously think this wasn’t going to be a big deal to his dad and brothers.

“I have,” Clark allowed with a smirk. “And yes, there might be some “freaking out” as you say, but not because you skipped across the borders of Gotham but because you got hurt.” ‘I’m the one who is going to have to bear the brunt of their anger, whose loyalty will be questioned. Not yours Dick.’

Dick knew Clark was not getting the line he’d crossed coming to him on the sly, and it wasn’t just about stepping over Gotham city limits.  “We lie to everyone about who we are. So there’s always been this unspoken rule that we don’t lie to each other. It’s the rule I broke in my world, and it cost me…everything,” Dick’s voice shook on that last word, on the scope of that devastation. “And here I am again, lying. Having secret agendas, pretending my actions don’t have consequences. No wonder my family here doesn’t trust me, not with my track record,” he bitterly concluded.

“They do trust you, Dick,” Clark knew that with absolute certainty. But at the same time, what was really generating the Bats’ overprotectiveness of Dick, it was harder to openly talk about, dug into barely healed wounds, Dick’s and his family’s. But seeing the doubt in Dick’s features, Clark knew it couldn’t remain the elephant in the room any longer. Dick had to grasp what motived his family’s tight rein on him, even if it overwhelmed him. “All of this is about..you don’t really understand how…” he broke off, ran his hand down his face, his eyes troubled when they resighted with Dick’s. Started a bit breathlessly, “Dick, when you were gone..”

Clark didn’t think he’d forget those days when Dick had seemingly been lost to them forever. Though he’d been forbidden to even go to Gotham, see them in person, witness their pain with his own eyes, he knew the scars that had been scored upon all of Dick’s family. Now Dick needed to realize that too, to know why they were so very protective of him. And it wasn’t about lack of trust, was about grief and fierce love.

“Bruce wouldn’t talk to me, or even let me come to Gotham,” Clark said, hurt resurfacing at the memory, at how alienated he’d felt even as he was suffering from his own sense of loss. “Alfred told me how concerned he was for Bruce. Jason……he didn’t let me say your name. And Tim, he kept asking me to be the go between for him and Starlabs to try and find a way to open another portal to get you back.” Watched as Dick went taunt as the broken version of his family came into sharper focus for him. “Dick, they can’t go through that again. So it’s not about trust. It’s about love, their fierce love for you.”

Choked up, Dick swallowed hard then remorsefully said, “If I had left the inbetween earlier, gotten back to them sooner…”

Clark couldn’t help leaning forward and drawing Dick into a careful hug as he softly objected to Dick’s guilt, “No, no, no. Not what I was implying, Kiddo.”

Dick dropped his head onto Clark’s shoulder, his voice muffled but the tears evident in his words, “I put them through that hell. If I hadn’t freaked out, had trusted Bruce, no matter what had happened to that other Dick Grayson. If I’d given Bruce the free pass he gave me for my past mistakes, B wouldn’t have had the opening to…to….”

“Sh..sh,” Clark soothed, wanting to stop Dick’s outpouring of guilt as he rubbed his hand up and down Dick’s back and tilted his head tenderly against his nephew’s. Knew he should have seen this coming, that Dick would believe this was about a failing on his part, that there had been some way he could have prevented his family’s round of grief. “I think today is a great example of events we didn’t initiate hurting the people we love.”

“Not the same thing, at all,” Dick refuted, knew Clark’s action had been about saving people today, while his own had been all about how Bruce’s past actions made him feel, about the ache he had to be loved and accepted by B. About wanting to see and know how that other Dick Grayson had died by Bruce’s hands. So very selfish.

Smiling slightly and bittersweetly at Dick’s double standards, Clark replied, “You can’t give me a pass for nearly killing you today and then still blame yourself for being kidnapped and forced through a portal.”

Raising his head from Clark’s shoulder, Dick offered Clark a shadow of a smile. “You’re really going to refuse my absolution today if I don’t agree to this screwed up logic of yours?”

“I am,” Clark vowed like he was making an official oath.

Sensing Clark wasn’t going to budge, Dick shook his head in dismay. “You’ve been hanging out too long with stubborn bats.”

“Maybe…maybe not,” Clark replied like Dick had earlier. Slowly, he released his hold on his nephew and watched him resettle back against the propped up pillows.

Dick gave Clark a measuring look.

Clark was gearing up for another round of no-one’s-more-stubborn-than-a-true-Bat when Dick zinged a topic in from far-left field.  

“Speaking of being afraid of losing someone, I was scared I’d lose you today,” Dick admitted, saw Clark’s eyebrows go up in earnest shock. “I told Alfred I was skipping the urgent care run to come here and ensure that you weren’t blaming yourself for what happened today. But really, I just needed to see for myself that you were ok. You know, us bats always demand infallible proof.”

With respect for Dick’s feelings of worry, no matter how unnecessary they were, Clark pointed out softly, “Dick, I’m Kryptonian.”

But Dick wasn’t placated at the knowledge he knew full well. “Yeah that used to reassure me but after that trap I made you walk right into..”

“You didn’t know!” Clark immediately defended Dick’s actions.  “None of us knew. Not me and not your dad.” Then he tilted his head, gave Dick a narrow-eyed inspection. “Do we have to have another debate about misplaced blame? Namely yours?” because he was ready and able to talk all night until that sank into Dick.

“Rather not,” Dick demurred with a grimace at the thought of that debate raging on. “My head’s pounding as it is,” offered up a smile to pretend it wasn’t a real confession of pain, didn’t know it was so feeble that it acted like a sure fire sign he was in pain.

 Dick’s admission of pain, though he tried to sell it as a fabricated whine, had Clark reaching up and gently rubbing his fingers over Dick’s one temple pressure point.

How a man who could bench press the planet was able to be so gentle, Dick was always amazed. But regardless of Superman’s known strength, he still earnestly prodded, “So are you ok?”

Dropping his fingers from Dick’s temple, Clark sighed, wondered how a nineteen-year-old kid could read him better than the entire populace could. But he did and he was worried about him.  Clark could see it in the blue eyes that watched his every facial tick for signs of what he might hold back. So he honored Dick’s open concern with the truth, a commodity he gave out very sparingly, even among the JLA. “Honestly…I…I wasn’t ok,” saw Dick didn’t show a flicker of disappointment that the man of steel wasn’t invulnerable as advertised. Instead there was only heighted concern for his wellbeing ebbing off the youngest Wayne. Dick’s lack of disenchantment gave Clark the space to further admit, “I felt…useless and horrible that I caused the city so much trauma and causalities. Until I got this visit from my nephew.”

“Your favorite nephew,” Dick ballsy supplied with an impish grin, relieved enough that Clark was opening up to him to feel free to offer up that joke.

“My youngest one at least,” Clark teasingly shot him down.

At the put-down, Dick mockingly clutched his heart, moaned, “Ouch,” but he was laughing the entire time.

But then Clark sobered, knew Dick deserved more than deflections from him. That if he expected Dick to trust him again, he had to admit to his own vulnerabilities.  “I guess Metropolis is my Bludhaven,” Clark compared, which had Dick’s eyes snapping up to his in surprise. “No one here knows I’m Superman. I tell myself that Clark Kent isn’t tainted with Superman’s sins. Let people believe that Superman is invincible to even emotions. That neither of my personas needs anyone else. I even believe that most days, have to for my own peace of mind. But then today, you came, and you care enough to ask me if I am ok, to worry about Superman. And it’s..” Clark smiled fondly at Dick, “…like someone saw the real me, the one who is both Clark and Superman, who knows insecurity and regret and pain and ..yeah, loneliness.”

“Honestly, I just came to burden you with my problems,” Dick joked to lighten the mood, reveled in Clark’s chuckle.

“Maybe to start with, but you improvised pretty well after a very busy morning,” Clark drawled back fondly, wouldn’t let Dick downplay his good-heartedness.

Dick’s expression fell back into serious lines. “You matter to me. Have been…there for me,” felt choked up remembering Clark’s kindness when he was emotionally reeling or physically hurting. “I just…didn’t want anything to happen to you. For you to think the crap that happened today was on you.”

Clark beamed at Dick. “That’s how your family feels about you, kiddo. But a thousand fold. Them texting you, tracking your every move, that’s because you matter to them, more than they can express in any other way than over obsessive stalking.”

“It’s a bat thing,” Dick allowed, not with censure now but some twisted pride.

“Probably,” Clark chuckled but couldn’t let the subject drop before doing his own confession. “And for the record, I wasn’t doing great when you left through that portal either.” Remembered the sharp loss he’d felt when Tim had called and told him Dick was gone. Remembered how the resilient young man had tried so hard to pretend he was confident that he could reopen that portal and get Dick back, all the while never letting himself think Dick might choose to not come back. And Clark hadn’t voiced that grim possibility, not when to do so would have likely shredded the last walls holding back the swell of his own grief. Those memories only made Clark’s next words all the more heartfelt, “So I get your family’s fear, their need to know you’re safe. Just give them some time to let it sink in that they really have you back with them. That they won’t lose you if they aren’t vigilantly guarding you. “

Dick sighed but nodded his head in agreement to Clark’s advice before his eyes widened. “Oh crap.  With sneaking off here and today’s misadventure, I just ensured that timeframe is like… doubled.”

Clark’s eyes twinkled as he predicted, “Probably like tripled. I figure they’ll drop their overprotectiveness …mmmhhh..when you’re like…in your thirties.”

“Thanks for that,” Dick sarcastically drawled.

Clark was having too much fun at Dick’s expense. “Hey, you came here for my wise insight.”

“I did, huh? So when you gonna start imparting it to me?” Dick zinged back, laughed at Clark’s snarky fake “ha ha”.

But Clark had a point. After running off and getting hurt today, he’d only made his family’s fears for him seemingly come true. Now he had to do damage control the best he could. “I can’t let them find out second hand. I have to call Bruce, tell him myself that I’m ok.”

“Considering your habit of saying you’re ok when you’re not, it might be a hard sell,” Clark warned, knew Bruce would need to see his son for himself, assess his every wound, before he’d let his worry ebb down from def-con-five status.

Dick gave Clark a narrow eyed look. “Were you eavesdropping on my conversation with Alfred before I got here? Because he made me freaking facetime him and about blew a gasket when I had a little blood on me.”

Clark gave a playful yank on Dick’s bangs that were still red tainted due to their time clumped with blood. “Little blood?! You were leaving a blood trail in the hallway that even Mrs. Sandmeyer could see without getting on her glasses.”

“She wasn’t checking out the blood but you, you big old strong hunk of glorious manhood,” Dick teased, but tensed when Clark held out his phone to him. His time of reckoning was at hand. Hoped Bruce understood his reasons as well as Alfred seemed to that morning when he caught him trying to sneak out of the manor undetected.

BTMNWBTMWNW – Earlier that morning – BTMNWBTMNW

Dick knew it had been an unrealistic goal really: to sneak out of the Manor without Alfred catching him in the act.

He was up before the sun, walking through the kitchen as he slung his messenger bag over his shoulder. Had been thisclose to making his escape until Alfred’s voice jarred him.

“Bruce used to do this too. Try to get up earlier than me and sneak out,” Alfred wryly said from his position behind the guilty acting young man.

               Dick sighed, truly caught in the act. Bravely, he turned to face the music. “Did he make it further than me?”

               “Only once he learned how to climb out one of the second story windows,” Alfred recalled, a twinkle of mischief in his eyes at the memories. Didn’t add on that Bruce had only gotten away with that trick once before Alfred curtailed that escape too.

               Dick flushed, it was as this Alfred was his Alfred, knew all his little tricks the way his grandfather did.  “I thought that exit might seem a bit…guilty looking.”

               “Yes, and you look so innocent now,” Alfred drawled, finding he had honestly missed catching young men in snares of their own making. It made him love being a grandfather more every day.

               Chastened, Dick knew his fate was sealed but still hazarded, “You’re not going to just let me say, see ya later, and let that stand, are you?”

               “I could…” Alfred saw Dick’s hope but deflated it the next second, “.. but I think you were raised to have better manners than that.”

               ‘Now that was totally an Alfred thing to say.’ Dick sent a ‘sorry Alfred’ to his other grandfather for dinging his reputation as well as his own. “He’d have caught me too and given me the lecture you’re gearing up to deliver.”

“No lecture,” Alfred reassured because he honestly didn’t want to pressure Dick on his day’s itinerary. After all, the young man had enough restraints on his going out and coming ins from his father and brothers. But Alfred couldn’t help but confess, “But I will…” he hesitated before choosing to reveal, “…worry.” Held up his hand when he saw Dick was about to protest. “I know you are quite capable of taking care of yourself but your…need for secrecy, it never bodes well.”

“It’s not a secret.”  At Alfred’s arched eyebrow, Dick relented, “Not really. Doesn’t have to be.” But Alfred was still giving him that look, so he sank down into a chair by the kitchen island and put his bag on the table. Alfred came around to the other side of the island, unwearyingly waited for him to continue.  “I’m going to see Clark. That’s it. Not a big deal. I just need…”

Alfred waited for Dick to explain, felt a little upset that he and the other members of his family weren’t providing something Dick needed. Something Dick thought he could only get from Clark. But then he had a revelation. ‘No, wait. Not just something he needs from Clark but an opportunity to be away from Gotham.’  “Ah, you need to spread your wings.”

A wash of relief swept over Dick, that he didn’t have to explain what he barely understood himself, that Alfred wasn’t condemning him. “I’m just …restless.  Feel like I’ve been tethered here and I …I’m used to more…freedom.” Never thought he’d ache for that, bitterly recalled how that “freedom” had become a double-edged sword at home. Sure, he had had a lot more freedom, mostly because no one cared where he was, let alone if he was in one piece or not.

“Love can be a little …suffocating, especially when it’s mixed in with worry,” Alfred pointed out, not in the vein of a reprimand but of a gentle reminder that his freedom wasn’t being curtailed out of mistrust. 

“But like you said, they don’t have to worry about me,” Dick claimed.

“I don’t believe I said that, precisely,” Alfred dryly retorted. “None of us can handle every situation we find ourselves in, need help sometimes. If that were not true, there would be no need for Batman and his Reds.”

“Always with the sage advice,” Dick smirked.

But Alfred wasn’t going to be waylaid by compliments. “So I’m assuming your father and brothers aren’t aware of your plans for your day.”

“It’s a day trip, I’ll be home tonight. Nothing to bother them with,” Dick tried for nonchalance, knowing full well his dad and brothers would so want to be apprised of his leaving the city.

“And you honestly believe they wouldn’t want to know you are leaving Gotham, even for just the day?” Alfred interrogated with a furrowed brow. Because he knew his son and was coming to know his two eldest grandsons pretty well and there was absolutely no way they wouldn’t have sharp opinions on Dick’s itinerary.

“Want to know? Yes. Need to know? Eh,” Dick quirked but sobered at Alfred’s look, knew he wasn’t getting out of the kitchen, let alone the manor without some soul bearing truths. So he shifted uncomfortably in his chair, dropped his eyes to the handle of his messenger bag, nervously picked at a loose thread. His voice was embarrassingly hoarse with emotion when he predicted, “They wouldn’t let me go. They would…I don’t know, envision me being kidnapped by aliens or something. But I…” he rubbed his burning eyes, “..I need this, Alfred. This…getaway. To be…free to go somewhere without someone figuring out how long it will take me to reach home, work, freak out if I make a pit stop on the way to either place. I just…” he shook his head, bit his lip, didn’t want it to seem he didn’t value his family’s protectiveness, but it was suffocating him.

“Oh my boy, I didn’t know all this has been so distressing for you,” Alfred soothed, coming around to Dick and dropping his hand upon Dick’s shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze. “We’ve gotten so caught up in our own feelings, we’ve quite run over yours.”

But Dick’s head shot up to Alfred. “No, you’ve been so forgiving and I’m happy to be here, with all of you. And I don’t want to seem ungrateful or to seem to reject their love, yours. I just…maybe it’s selfish..”

“None of us think of you as selfish, Dick,” Alfred quickly refuted Dick’s erroneous viewpoint. And then, confronted with the realization of just how much this was affecting Dick, their, albeit loving, restraints on him, Alfred modified his view on Dick’s travel plans. “And I think you deserve some of that freedom you have been missing.”

“Really?” Dick’s voice was so hopeful and sounded so very young, Alfred’s heart melted even more than it already had been.

Alfred found himself nodding firmly in answer to Dick’s expectant inquiry.  “Yes. A day trip might be just the thing for you and us both. You’ll get the freedom that you crave and we’ll have infallible proof that you are quite capable of remaining safe and sound out of our sight.”

“And they won’t take it as a betrayal?” Dick hesitantly asked, feared that most of all.

“They may be…” Alfred envisioned their reaction, chose a less drastic description, “…shocked at your unannounced daytrip to Metropolis. But with you standing before them, back in one piece and all hale, they’ll recognize that they don’t need to maintain such a militant safeguard over you.”

“Two birds, one stone?” Dick quired with a smirk.

“Something along those lines. Now, I’ll take you to the train station,” Alfred summarily announced. At Dick’s look of objection, he forcefully laid down the law, “We do not Uber, young man. There are some risks I have to allow this family to undertake but jumping into strangers’ cars where there is no GPS tracking, or central logs of your fare will not be one I tolerate.”

Dick couldn’t repress a chuckle. “Uber drivers?! Your son and grandsons fight Gotham’s worst criminals every night and Uber drivers freak you out?”

Nonplussed at Dick’s light jeering, Alfred winked. “Calculated risks, young man. No need to up that number by entrusting the ones I love into incapable hands.”

Alfred said it so easily, implied it so naturally that he loved him, would protect him, even from stranger danger. As he stood up, obediently followed his grandfather toward the garage, Dick again felt that miraculous wonder at the world he found himself in. Smothered the voice in his head that sneered how unworthy he was to be there, to be so loved.

BTMNWBTMWNW – PRESENT – BTMBWBTMNW

And it was as if fate had taken up the challenge to prove that voice in his head was right, because everything had backfired on Dick. He wasn’t all hale, it wasn’t a stranger that had posed the greatest danger to him that day and his omission of sins was biting him on the butt. He had done, in spectacular fashion, the exact opposite of proving to his family that they could forgo their aggressive restrictions over him.

Epic fail on all fronts. And now he had to pay the piper. Big time.

He startled when the phone he held rang. The caller ID said Bruce and Dick knew his time of reckoning was at hand.

BTMNWBTMNW

       TBC

BTMNWBTMNW

Chapter Text

BTMNWBTMNW

The caller ID said Bruce and Dick knew his time of reckoning was at hand.

BTMNWBTMNW

Unbeknownst to Dick, Clark felt the exact same way when the phone rang. Because when Bruce found out that HE almost got his son killed, their friendship would be as strained as it had ever been before. Grimly knew it might not survive this nearly tragic incident. Giving Dick’s shoulder a gentle encouraging squeeze, he slipped out of the room.

Bracing himself for the lecturing and disappointment about to be unleashed on him, Dick decided to start the conversation like everything was hunky dory. “Hey, Bruce, have that other company eating out of your hand already?”

Bruce’s planned greeting got stuck in his throat, was too weak-kneed with relief at hearing his son’s voice. “Dick?!” didn’t wait for his son’s reply before he demanded information.  “What happened?! I just listened to Clark’s so not reassuring voice message. He said you were hurt?!”

“Minor lacerations, that’s all,” Dick was quick to tell him, hated that Bruce had spent even the time it took to dial Clark’s number in worry for him. “Nothing that justifies all this drama,” said more to Clark who had come back to hover in the doorway like he was worried he’d need his backup talking to Bruce.

Bruce reclaimed Dick’s attention by defiantly volleying back, “I’m your dad. I’ll be as dramatic as I like about you being hurt,”. And Dick couldn’t hold back a smile because Clark was kinda right. He did love when Bruce went all motherhen on him. Seeing Dick’s smile, Clark gave Dick a wink and left him to talk privately with his father, was confident that Bruce’s love for Dick would reign over his anger.

Bruce barked out the next words in his Batman mode. “Sitrep. Now!”

Dick started to rub his brow and then winced as his fingers came into contact with his stitched wound. Tried to say his account of his day’s activities as nonchalantly as he could. “My train had a little accident…” he composedly reported before he unburied the lead, “…in Metropolis.”

“You’re in Metropolis?!” Surprise more than anger in Bruce’s tone. When Clark had said Dick was with him, he had assumed Clark had come to Gotham, that Dick was where he expected him to be. Not hours away from home, where Bruce wouldn’t even know to look for him if he went missing. Or got hurt.

Dick put on a light tone to his explanation. “Day trip to surprise Clark,” before he morosely tagged on, “that didn’t quite go as planned.”

It had Bruce’s mind reeling with the grim possibilities. “How bad was the train accident? What kind of lacerations do you have? Did others get hurt? Were you trapped in there? Why didn’t you call me?!”

The last question was the one Dick was dreading most, decided to field first. “I maybe didn’t call you because I knew you’d freak out like you are doing right now.” Hearing Bruce’s intake of air, knowing his dad was prepping to give him a tongue lashing, Dick hurriedly continued before Bruce could unleash his offensive attack. “Plus, I was helping everyone get out of the train and get medical attention. Then there was…a lot of…traffic getting to Clark’s place. But Clark called you as soon as he could.”

“You called Alfred,” Bruce sharply pointed out, felt a shameful spike of jealousy. But he couldn’t quiet the recriminations thrumming through his mind. ‘What did it imply that Dick hadn’t reached out to me but had contacted Alfred?! Told him he was hurt while I…I was left stewing in terrified ignorance?!’ Pettily Bruce internally grumbled that Dick had known Alfred far less time than he’d known him.  ‘And I’m his father!’ The more he processed everything, Bruce felt immeasurably hurt and yet, at the same time, he worried that he wasn’t as close to Dick as he thought he was. That Dick didn’t trust him?! Or Dick just didn’t know how much he’d be worried about him. Or..

“Actually, Alfred called me,” Dick corrected, really hadn’t intended to call any of his family members and let them know he’d gotten in trouble again. “He saw something on the news…”

Bruce put the pieces together, felt a bit guilty and silly that he had been so envious of Alfred’s relationship with Dick.  “Alfred saw the train accident on the news..saw it while he and I were talking,” he surmised, the whole picture coming into focus now that he had more intel.

“Yup. And I hear he hung up on you,” mirth in Dick’s tone.

But Bruce wasn’t feeling mirthful. Not when Dick was hurt. Now then his son had nearly been taken from him.

“So this accident…it was serious enough to be national news.” Bruce knew Dick was trying to downplay what had happened,  like he did whenever he was hurt or in danger. But the facts said his son was again lowballing how worried Bruce should be.

“No, it wasn’t…,” Dick denied before he hedged, “…that serious.” Knowing the reason it went national news was the why it had happened and he didn’t want to throw Clark under the bus…train as it was.

But Bruce knew a runaround when he heard one. And Dick? He was the master at avoiding answering questions, had spent weeks without telling them his real name, had spent days with them before he even provided a fake one. His tone gentle instead of grilling, Bruce asked, “Dick, what don’t you want to tell me?” Because he’d come to know that, whenever Dick did this, it wasn’t about stubbornness. Instead, it was more than likely about his vulnerabilities.

His Dad’s soft tone sent an ache through Dick to be truthful. But it wasn’t his truth to tell…wasn’t his head that would be on the chopping block once Bruce knew the details. And yeah, it was on the national news so it wasn’t a secret but still, he worried what it would do to the two men’s relationship. And he, of all people, didn’t want to be the reason Superman and Batman, Clark and Bruce, had a falling out. He’d done enough damage to the relationships of the people he loved in his own world.

As if he sensed Dick needed him, or more than likely had eavesdropped on the conversation from the kitchen, Clark was suddenly there by his bed. He gave Dick a warm ‘it’s going to be ok’ small smile and waved for the phone. Dick sighed and handed it over to his uncle. Knew he’d have to contend himself with watching Clark’s features to get a read on how badly the conversation went.

“Bruce, it’s Clark.”

Bruce wasn’t prepared to lose his connection with his son, felt a bit ticked at Clark for intruding. Reactively, he snapped, “Just for the record, you’re crap at leaving reassuring messages. You tell me my son’s hurt but ok…maybe ok…or, wait…he might be hurt badly?! What the hell Clark!! After Alfred hanging up on me and your grim message, I’m in no mood to be yanked around by any more deflections, even by Dick. So you tell me, right now! Is my son badly hurt?!”

Clark reported the facts like it was a JLA debrief. “No. Like I said in my voice message, he has two lacerations. One to his leg and one to his temple and both have been expertly cleaned and stitched up.”

 It wasn’t all that heartening, hearing in clinical terms that Dick needed stitches. Bruce was instantly worried about the head wound. And Dick’s leg? Like Dick would agree to stay off it and let it heal. But Bruce forced himself to focus on the other details he didn’t know, wasn’t being told. “This train accident..Dick’s being sketchy about the details. Fill in the gaps for me.”

Clark stiffened, knew this was the moment when everything might change between him and Bruce. “He was trying to protect me.” Heard the catch in Bruce’s breathing and grimly knew there was nothing to do but tell the truth. “It was my fault. I caused the train accident and it…” swallowed hard as the memories hit. That he almost didn’t catch the train, almost let his anger at his opponent blind him to the collateral damage he was inflicting around him. Almost wrote off the lives he was putting in danger to defeat his adversary. “It could have ended very badly,” he choked out the words, the cowardly euphemism. That admission had been hard enough to get out. To confess to the unvarnished facts?! Absolutely impossible to utter but in his head: ‘I could have killed Dick and not even known it.’

“Caused how?” Bruce demanded with a charged edge to his words.

“I was fighting a superpowered opponent and I got…thrown into the train. The train’s last car…it toppled off the elevated rails.” Picking up on Bruce’s panicked breathing, Clark rushed to calm him. “But I didn’t let it fall, put it back on the tracks. I didn’t know..Dick was in that train, that particular car of the train until he was at my door.” Then he felt his resolve falter, and his voice cracked as he implored, “I’m so sorry, Bruce. I almost got him killed…wouldn’t have even known…”

Bruce had a white knuckled grip on his cell phone, couldn’t forgive Clark, not then, thinking of how close he had come to killing his son. “Put my son back on the phone,” he angrily commanded. Anger, betrayal colliding with fear and desperation to hear his son’s voice again, know for himself that Dick was ok.

Pretty sure the conversation was going as crappy as he feared, Dick wasn’t surprised to have Clark go all stiff, hand the phone back to him and make a hasty departure from the room. Lifting the phone, Dick hurriedly tried to defuse the situation. “It’s not his fault and I’m fine.”

Bruce forced his voice to be gentle for his son’s sake, because Dick was hurt…and traumatized that someone he loved, trusted, had almost gotten him killed. “Did you take something for the pain?”

Dick was thrown for a loop with the question, enough that he answered it directly. “No.”

Bruce fought back a sigh at his son’s stubbornness. “Do so now,” he instructed, a note of beseeching in his tone, like he needed Dick to do this for him, for his own peace of mind.

“Dad,” Dick protested like a teenager embarrassed by his parent’s show of love.

“Please, Dick. Please,” Bruce implored, torn up that he couldn’t be with his son immediately, hadn’t been there to keep him safe that day. So he needed to know Dick wasn’t suffering in pain just to prove something to him, but he didn’t need to prove a thing. He knew how brave, strong and good his son was.

“Pulling that tone on me is so uncalled for,” Dick grumbled even as he reached over and took the pain pills Carl had left on the bedside table for him. Shook out one pill and dry swallowed it. “There, down the hatch.”

“The second pill too,” Bruce ordered with the long suffering tone of a parent who loved their rebellious child with infinite patience.

“How did you know?” Dick scoffed at Bruce’s scary perceptiveness, almost wondered if he was video stalking him at Clark’s apartment.

“I know you, Dick. Second one. Now.” Still no true censure in his tone and that put a guilty twinge in Dick’s gut for being such a defiant idiot.

Swallowing another pain pill, he announced, truthfully, “Done.”

“Good. I’ll be there in two hours, three tops to get you.”

Dick was naïve enough on how important he was to Bruce to not see that coming. “What?! No. Your trip. The business conference, you can’t flake on it over this..this nothing. I’m barely hurt. I’ll hang with Clark and tomorrow I’ll hop on a train to go back home.”

“You’ll be home tonight,” Bruce growled, couldn’t bear the idea of not seeing Dick as soon as possible, that his son wouldn’t be safe at home that night. Felt physically ill contemplating spending a sleepless night worrying about his son’s injuries, wondering if they were as minor as Dick claimed, as Dick led Clark to believe they were. That there might be complications because of those unconfessed injuries or even the known ones.

At that implacable growl, that disregard of his desires, the cavalier overrule of his free will, Dick flinched like he’d been struck. Had never thought to be on the receiving end of any of that again. “Don’t do this,” Dick wretchedly pleaded, his voice barely above a whisper but his anguish…revibrated through Bruce’s heart like a scream. A scream of pain he’d inflicted on his child.

“He did this…all the time and it’s not…I don’t …” Dick choked out, squeezing his eyes shut but the tears still slipped free. He’d never really recognized how B’s actions had scored hurt across him until now, until Bruce tried to do the same thing: to take away his choices, to pretend what he wanted didn’t matter. But Bruce, he wasn’t B, didn’t mean it…Dick prayed he didn’t mean it like B had. Out of faithlessness in his ability to make good choices, because B, after everything, never really trusted him.

Maybe Clark was wrong, maybe Bruce and his brothers’ overprotectiveness was about mistrust. But he wanted it not to be true. Decided he had to be brave enough to give his new family a chance. A chance to see what they were doing to him and make other choices, to not do this to him, hurt him like this. Like B had. “I get you’re concerned but I need to be able to make my own assessment of when I’m fine. Decide if I need help..and who I spent time with when I’m not at 100% strength.”

Bruce felt his stomach plummet, at the hurt in Dick’s tone, at the fact he’d put it there, at the proof that Dick didn’t want him…wanted Clark. “And Clark..he’s that guy?” ‘That you want with you when you’re hurt, not me? Even when Clark is the one who hurt you!?!’

Realizing that he might be hurting Bruce, Dick replied carefully, “He is today.” Tried to explain when Bruce said nothing. “I just…being ordered around like my opinion, what I want..what I need doesn’t matter….I can’t…”

“It matters,” Bruce was quick to assure his son, never meant to override Dick’s wishes, to make him think he didn’t trust his choices, respect them. “I’m ..I’m sorry. I just…” he exhaled a shaky breath because his nerves were pulled taunt over all of this, “…lose it when one of you gets hurt. I can’t…think…be rational, just want to protect you.”

Dick’s eyes watered, it was words, sentiments B never said..not until he’d lost him to the family here. “I know you…you do it out of love. And I shouldn’t…rail so hard against that, be such a  …pain in the ass, should have learned my lesson. That’s how I ruin all my relationships.”

“No, sweetheart. Not ruin. Never ruin,” Bruce quickly comforted his son. “You’re right to tell me to back off, let you make your own decisions. I just…it’s hard..I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“I know,” Dick managed to choke out, part of him wondering how Bruce could find him worthy of his love, even after he was railing against him. “Thanks for …caring. Offering to come for me, disrupt your meeting even.”

Bruce cleared his throat uncomfortably but confessed in the nature of openness with Dick. “Actually, my meeting is over.”

“Thought it was a two-day event,” Dick remarked. At the telling silence on the other end of the line, Dick made his own deductions. “What did you do?”

Sounding remarkably like a scolded schoolboy, Bruce hedged, “Let’s just say there will be no future collaboration with that company.”

“Because…” Dick pressed, thought there was more to this, fearing it had to do with him.

“Well Alfred hung up on me and I knew something was wrong and the company president demanded I get back in the meeting,” Bruce coolly recapped.

“Oh crap,” Dick huffed out, realizing those chain of events were a disastrous catalyst that most likely prompted Batman’s persona to make an appearance. “You went off on him?”

“Sort of,” Bruce admitted, with a grimace. “I might have accused him of corporate spying on me. Then Jason might have given him the impression we’d do a corporate takeover if he didn’t get out of our faces while we had an emergency family meeting.”

Dick found himself chuckling, envisioning that scene. “How do you three ever manage to keep WE afloat acting so irrational?!”

“I say it’s your fault, brat,” Bruce good-naturedly accused.

“Whoa, hold on,” Dick began to protest with a laugh, “I might have something to do with today but there’s no evidence…”

“When I was in a meeting where WE was getting sued, I kept checking my phone for updates on this wounded kid who had a knack for trying to skip out on our well-meaning affection,” Bruce reported, remembered that meeting and his worry very vividly.

“Nu hu. Don’t blame me. I say poor phone etiquette is dictated by the man at the top,” Dick deflected.

“That poor man is besieged with kids that worry him half to death,” Bruce offered up in his own defense.

Dick started to take pity on said besieged man. “Fine. I accept some minimal blame for your diminished phone etiquette lately. And now with Alfred’s own phone faux pas today, I’m starting to think you didn’t have such a great teacher in that area after all. So I might consider grading on a curve for future infractions.”

“So generous of you, especially since Alfred’s faux pas was in reaction to your antics, once again,” Bruce retorted, a smirk evident in his tone.

“I’m never going to win this, am I?” Dick muttered under his breath. Before Bruce could reply in the affirmative, Dick asked, “So you’re on your way home?”

“Yes.”

Dick recognized the hope there in his dad’s tone and it melted his heart and further soften his resolve. “And you will be passing right over Metropolis?”

“Or stopping there. From a reliable source I learned that the city’s been revamping some of its trains. I’m interested in seeing their progress.”

Dick laughed outright at his dad’s surprising brand of humor. “Now who’s the smart aleck?”

Bruce smiled from ear to ear at the lighthearted jab from his son. “Learned from my sons, particularly my youngest.”

Dick felt warmth spread through him at being called Bruce’s youngest son, still couldn’t believe he’d been graced with that title. Was going to swallow down his emotions and make a reply when Clark reentered the room and held up a note he’d written: Pizza for 5 tonight?

Which said Clark was obviously giving his vote for what Dick’s answer to Bruce should be. Dick smiled and said into the phone. “Clark’s getting enough pizza for 5. You know of three people who could join Clark and me on chowing down the best pizza pie Metropolis has to offer?”

“I have three very willing candidates.” Dick could hear the happiness in his dad’s tone.

“That would be a great ending to a kinda sucky day,” Dick unabashedly admitted.

“We’ll be there soon as we can,” Bruce’s words a heartfelt promise.  

Before Bruce could sign off, Dick called out, “Hey Dad, wait. Bring a pair of Jason’s jeans to Clark’s. Mine are toast.”

Pushing down the worry that information rose about his son’s injury, Bruce answered lightly, like he knew Dick needed from him right then, “Messing with your brother’s clothing again? Some things never change.”

“Guess not, especially since I’ll have to cut them off to fit me,” a hint of mischievous glee in that supposition.

“Hey, I’m not telling him that,” Bruce laughingly retorted.

“Smart man.”

“See you soon, Dick. In the meantime, get some rest, huh? Sounds like you earned it,” his dad’s affectionate voice ordered and gave him praise in the same breath.

“Sure. Bye Dad.” And Dick ended the call and smiled to himself. His dad had taken the news today better than he expect him to. Surely his brothers would be too busy mother-henning him too to ream him out for his sneaking off maneuver. But then he sobered. Bats could multitask with the very best of them. Had proven on more than one occasion that they were quite efficient at fretting over his injuries while chewing him out for getting injured. So no, the worst part wasn’t over. It was just approaching stage 2: the face-to-face confrontation. Oh crap, maybe his dad meant he ‘needed’ his rest because it would require his full strength to deal with the upcoming lectures that were going to reign down on his head when they had him in sight.

‘Sometimes there is such a thing as being loved too much,’ Dick grumpily thought but, with a joyous laugh, he knew he wasn’t anywhere near his threshold for that blessing.

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It was a horrifyingly bad idea and Tim knew it before he hit the enter button on his laptop. As braced as he thought he was, it was not nothing to see a train with your brother in it start to plummet to the ground from an elevated railway. Twice!! Like some damn twisted version of the Disney Tower of Terror ride.

Dick’s falling to his death!! No, Superman’s saved him! Hurrah! Nope, he’s falling to his death again.

Tim could hear the screams from the onlookers, maybe even the scream of the person making the YouTube video of the train accident. He felt a scream trap in his own throat watching the freaking thing, now hours later, even with assurances that Dick was ok. Mostly.

But Dick almost wasn’t ok. Almost died…in a city they didn’t even know he was in. ‘I should have kept a damn tracker on him!’ Though Dick was getting to be a pretty good custom agent, tended to find the trackers Tim tried to smuggle on him.

Almost against his own will, Tim hit the play button again. Watched it. Felt the razor’s edge moment between witnessing the death of his brother and the reality that he was going to see him soon, that Dick wasn’t gone, had survived.

That Clark, in his Superman guise, was the reason Dick nearly died?! Tim couldn’t…process that.

Not even as he watched the video playout for the second time: Superman derailing the train, that ‘Oops?! Did I do that??!’ realization and then Clark catching the train before it hit the ground. Only for Superman to be waylaid by his bad guy and the train was falling all over again. Then Superman pulled out one of his ‘saved in the nick of time’ routines and reset the train back on its tracks. Huzza the Kryptonian saved the day! The crowd goes wild! And no one wants to punch him in the face for what he let/caused to happen to the kid he supposedly considered another nephew.

Tim went to hit the play button again, to continue to analyze the drop of the train, figure out the torque of the motion, the damage to the train, the force in which the passengers (Dick) would have been thrown around like rag dolls. But a hand caught his before he could tap the play icon again. He looked up to see, not his father, but Jason taking the open seat beside him.

“Don’t play that damn thing again or I might…” Jason’s lips compressed into a tight line, like he was fighting back saying something he shouldn’t…or retching. Tim nodded his acquiesce and Jason gave his little brother’s hand a gentle, supportive squeeze before releasing it. Shifted in his seat like it needed broken in, wasn’t just like the one he’d had beside their father in the first-class section of the plane bulleting them towards Metropolis.

“Why was he there without us knowing he was there?” Tim posed in an upset hiss. “Did Clark ask him to come…think to draw him into some…some…takedown? Why didn’t Dick tell us he was going? Why did he want Alfred to keep it under wraps?”

“I don’t know,” Jason shot back, hoping his gruff tone shut Tim up but he wasn’t that lucky.

“He purposefully wasn’t answering your texts. Clearly he was hiding this from us. What else is he…”

“Stop!” Jason snapped, turning in his seat to his brother but some of his frustration fled at Tim’s upset features. Tim was as shaken as he was. “Sorry buddy,” he soothed, reaching out and giving Tim’s head a two fingered light duck rub. “We’re all a little shaken..and confused.”

“Dad too?” Tim lowly asked, hoping to not have his words reach his dad in the seat behind him.

Jason nodded, though Bruce hadn’t said much since they’d shared the findings of each of their conversations, he had been emotionally shut down since he’d boarded the plane. Which made him a not so awesome seat mate. Jason pointed to Tim’s laptop. “They releasing names..pictures of people in the train?”

“No, why?” Then Tim understood. “I’ll set up a program and if Dan Gilroy’s name or picture shows up, I’ll be notified and I’ll delete it.”

“Yeah, not sure if the Court of Owls likes watching Superheroes Gone Wild but I don’t want any trace of Dick out there,” Jason said wearily, slumped down on his seat and rested his head on Tim’s shoulder. “Wish I could have talked to Dick.”

Looking down at his brother using him as a pillow, Tim reassured, “Dad would have told us if he were hurt badly.”

“Badly?” Jason snorted. “What’s a “not hurt badly” rating in Dick’s books? Only a partial amputation?”

Both startled when a voice behind them provided, “A ruined pair of jeans,” causing them both to sit up and twist in their seats to see their father who was standing behind their chairs. Bruce pulled on a wane but real smile for his sons as he qualified, “Dick wanted me to ask Jason to bring a pair of his jeans for him to use.”

“Jeans?” Tim repeated in confusion while Jason’s reaction was more in the way of a whine.

“Why one of my jeans? Tim’s got jeans too, even you…no. You got old man pants,” Jason quipped, smirking up at his dad’s manufactured scowl. But then a devious smile emerged. “As luck would have it, I bought him something in Georgia that will fit the bill.” Quickly sobering, Jason questioned with worry, “He’s really not hurt seriously because…” he waved to Tim’s laptop, “..it looked …” voice strangled when he forced out the next word, “…bad.”

“I know,” Bruce agreed with a thready breath. He had seen the video before he’d boarded the plane, was not able to close his eyes and not see that train falling, envisioning his son’s broken body in the wreckage.

“So how pissed are you at S?” Jason prodded, fearing that this could become a fault line between the two best friends.

“Pretty,” Tim spoke up on his own behalf, earning him his brother and father’s surprised looks. He was usually the kindhearted, give-everyone-a-pass guy in the family. “What? Dick almost died because of him.”

“It wasn’t intentional,” Jason quietly defended Superman.

“Dead is dead,” Tim snapped back, looked to his father for support on his indignation but Bruce wasn’t forthcoming with his feelings. Shocker there. Fine, he didn’t need anyone else to agree with him, he knew where the blame should lie.  Turning around in his seat, he put in his ear buds and cranked up his music, to drown out any other comments his brother or dad would have offered to him.

Jason and Bruce exchanged a look between them, knew they’d have a hard road to travel that day to keep their family together, because, regardless of the day’s events, Clark was family. Was Bruce’s brother and Jason, Dick and yes, Tim’s uncle. And the Wayne motto still applied: mea semper venire primum. Family first always.

Knowing there was nothing to do about any of that now, Jason resettled into his seat beside his brother and Bruce resumed his own. But in truth, Bruce couldn’t quiet his own anger at Clark. But Clark was his best friend, one of his closest confidants, his brother in more ways than blood. Bruce would have vowed on a stack of Bibles that he trusted that Clark wouldn’t hurt Dick for anything…and yet…he had. Unintentional, yes. But if Dick had died?!?

Like Tim had said dead is dead and if he’d lost Dick…because of something Clark did..or didn’t do?

Bruce bowed his head into his hands. He of all people understood bad things happening, even the hell of hurting someone you loved by mistake. How could he judge Clark for a sin, with a far less horrific outcome, that he was so very guilty of himself?  And yet…that moment when Dick’s train was falling because of Clark, when his son’s life hung in the balance, that’s where his logic, his benevolence shorted out. Those. Few. Seconds. And he just couldn’t…push those feelings that lived in those seconds aside, no matter how hard he was trying to because this was Clark.

But they were talking about his son, about him losing Dick. Because of Clark.

He needed the hours it would take to get to Dick to calm down, to right his thinking, to get his heart to make peace with his head. To realize Clark was hurting in this too, feeling guilty, ashamed even. That he didn’t have the sole right to loving Dick, of knowing what it was like to endanger a life of someone you loved by some sick twist of fate.

Taking a steadying breath, Bruce raised his head, leaned back in his seat. Was anxious to see Dick and dreading to see Clark at the same time.

 Dichotomy seemed his lot in life, even when it didn’t involve his cowl.

BWNWBTMNW

TBC

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Chapter Text

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Clark had given Dick some space after his phone call with his dad, peeked in now to see he’d dropped off to sleep.  Was enough of a nervous nellie to track Dick’s breathing, the rise and fall of his chest to reassure himself his nephew was fine. Was turning to leave as quietly as he had come when Dick spoke.

“While you’re here stalking me, can we talk before we’re overrun by Waynes?” Wincing as he sat up to lean against the headboard, Dick however enjoyed Clark’s frozen caught- in- the- act posture on his trek halfway back out the door.

Sheepishly, Clark smiled as he swung around to face Dick and came back to the bed. He gently tucked a pillow behind Dick to support his back before he pointed out, “Waynes: which you are one of.”

The reminder brought a boyish smile to Dick’s face. “Sometimes I kinda forget that.”

“Don’t tell them that,” Clark ruefully warned, knew it would wound them in ways Dick would never want them to be. To know Dick still had, even fleeting, doubts that he belonged with them, was a part of them. Didn’t know that he was irrevocably and vitally linked to their sanity and survival.

Dick, however, was smiling at the thought of his family’s reaction to his goof. “Yeah, they would each remind me daily of my Wayne status. Of course in their own unique ways.”

“Jason would get you a sports team jersey with Wayne printed on it,” Clark predicted.

Dick nodded his head in agreement before hazarding Tim’s reaction. “Tim would probably dig out the official Wayne Family tree documentation and tell me about the background of fourteen generations of Waynes that I’m now a part of.”

Clark laughed at that scene he could so see being played out. “Exactly. And Bruce? What would your dad do?”

That question brought Dick to a soberness that was shocking in its wild swing from his previous mirth. “Feel guilty. Blame himself for my inability to accept my place with them…with him.”

Clark knew sadly Dick had hit it on the head. Claiming a spot on the bed by his nephew’s knees, he softly declared,
“Bruce doubts his worthiness to have you in his life.”

“He never doubted my worthiness to be in his?! Even before he knew who I was,” Dick decried Bruce’s two-sided grading system.

Which Clark confirmed. “He judges himself on a different scale. Give him time to know you’re here to stay, don’t regret your choice to stay…or come back.”

Dick looked horrified that Bruce might be harboring any grains of doubt on that.  “You believe he really thinks I have regrets? Because I don’t, not for one second.”

Giving his nephew an affectionate smile, Clark demurred, “I know you don’t. And all of us are really blessed you’re with us.” Enjoyed Dick’s blush before he teased a bit ruefully, “Though, I wish you hadn’t picked today to visit me.”

Shame washed over Dick. “I know. I shouldn’t be here when your day’s been crappy enough without an unwanted…”

“No, Dick!” Clark quickly contradicted Dick’s self-blame. “I meant you getting hurt while you’re here. That I hurt you.”

“Again, you didn’t hurt me,” Dick stubbornly protested. “Thought we made that pact that if I can’t blame myself for unintentionally portal jumping than you can’t blame yourself for today.”

“We never shook on that,” Clark remarked solemnly.

Dick gave his uncle an affectionate look as he reprimanded, “Your thinking is about as two sided as my dad’s.”

“I have to take responsibility for my actions, my inactions. And intentional or not, you’re hurt because of me.” Clark didn’t think he’d ever not feel sick about that or how badly things might have turned out. “And what if I had written the train passengers off as collateral damage ….”

“That’s not who you are. You CARE when people get hurt, blame yourself. That’s why I came here right after I got off the train tracks, to make sure you were ok. Because I understand how it feels when your best intentions yield collateral damage that impacts a lot of lives. Negatively.” Dick had never tallied the lives his win over the Reach and the Light cost, had never wanted to know. It broke him enough that Wally was among that number.

Clark hated the somber weight Dick still carried. Reaching out, he clasped his nephew’s wrist, gave it a tender squeeze. “Today was different than your situation. You were at war…”

“You’re right, today was different,” Dick agreed but Clark knew it wasn’t going to be in a good way, especially when his nephew pulled his wrist out of his hold, as if he didn’t deserve that comfort. “Because they were my plans, my decisions. Whereas today, none of it was in your control. They threatened the city and you stopped them.”

“And people were hurt. You were hurt.” Clark would never forgive himself for that.

“No one died, Clark. That is thanks to you stopping the bad guy.”

“So I’m supposed to feel just great because my incompetence got some people only marginally hurt? That you’re only down one leg and can add another head trauma to your way too many numbers in your too short life?” a bite to Clark’s words because, damn it, he never wanted to add to Dick’s scar count.

“If you were incompetent, half the city would be in ruins. And if you weren’t always considering everyone’s wellbeing, you wouldn’t have realized my train was falling, let alone took the time to not let it,” Dick calmly pointed out.

“Thank God I did. Losing you would have been devasting …but…to have played a part in it…” Clark couldn’t suppress the shiver that racked him. “I’d never forgive myself and neither would your family.”

“Don’t say that!” Dick sharply commanded, was in no way comfortable with Clark’s dark prediction. He had destroyed enough relationships, didn’t want to think his death today would have destroyed more. “My death today wouldn’t have been your fault. You didn’t order me to my death.” ‘Like I did Wally.’

Knowing where Dick’s thoughts led, Clark countered stridently, “And you didn’t order Wally to his. You didn’t know Dick.”

“Didn’t I? I should have. Maybe in the back of my mind, I knew…saw the possibilities…the risk..” he darkly wondered, his trembling hand fisting. “Maybe I did know and thought it was worth it. The whole greater good thing. What is one speedster’s life for the entire planet’s survival, right?! Maybe I’ve always been an ‘ends justify the means’ guy…”

Clark gently grabbed Dick’s trembling hand and held it in his own. “You didn’t fail Wally. He did his duty, saved the world willingly. I know that because he’s got to be at least a fraction like our own Wally West.”

But Dick shook his head in rejection. “You’re prejudice, just like my dad and brothers. Alfred too.”

Clark smiled tenderly and allowed, “Course I am but that doesn’t make me wrong. Come on, I may not be your uncle by blood but you are my nephew in my heart, Dick. That means it’s my duty and honor to protect you.” Didn’t voice his clarification of ‘protect you even above any citizens of Metropolis..or Gotham.’

Dick shook his head in objection. “No! Not if I willingly…or unknowingly put my life on the line. Then it’s on me to pr…”

But Clark cut him off, his tone light but his conviction resolute. “No can-do, kiddo. Roofer or vigilante, you are MINE to protect..” When Dick opened his mouth, clearly intending to contradict that right, Clark pulled out the big guns and added, “…because I love you,” which blew Dick’s defense to smithereens. Watched the effect the declaration had on the younger man, the surprise that he’d said it out loud and the warmth it gave him. Humble in victory, Clark taunted, “You just have to deal with that.”

Dick waved a finger at him. “You don’t play fair.”

Clark’s smile was wholly unrepentantly. “Now how about you get some real unfaked rest like your dad ordered you to.” Put action to words by standing up and, when Dick had obediently leaned forward when he beckoned him to, he slipped the pillow out that was propping Dick’s back against the headboard.

As Dick began shifting his aching body to lay down on the bed, he grumbled, “Eavesdropping is beneath you.” Because of course Clark had to tune in to hear Bruce’s parting command to him.

“No, actually, it isn’t. Also, it’s a well-known Bat trait,” Clark unremorsefully defended his actions, fussily shifting the pillow under Dick’s head until it was in the perfect position.

Amid a unfabricated yawn, Dick ordered, “Wake me before they get here.”

“Fine, but why?” But a beat later, Clark answered his own question. “Ah, you want them to think you’re barely hurt.”

“I am barely hurt. They don’t need to worry over me,” Dick insisted.

Clark couldn’t resist brushing Dick’s bangs off his forehead, his nephew looked so endearingly young right then. “It’s what family does.”

“Not all families,” Dick countered before he amended at Clark’s pitying look, “well, not in the same ways.” Thought of B, his other brothers and YJ team. It had been impossible sometimes for Dick to reconcile B’s gruff reprimands when he made a mistake that got him hurt to be labeled as concern. Because even if it had come from a place of worry, it had always savagely torn into Dick’s self-confidence.

“You’re right,” Clark allowed grimly, could see by Dick’s pale features he wasn’t thinking of good instances. “More to the point, it is what YOUR family does and me by extension. So please give us all a break and go easy on trying to prove how unhurt you are. None of us are going to buy it anyway.”

“Hey, I’m an awesome actor, could have pulled it off,” Dick bragged, even as his eyelids were fluttering closed.

“Sure you could have…if not for the blood trail,” Clark said, smirked as Dick made to reply but instead dropped off to sleep. He stood there a moment, drinking in the sight of his nephew alive and mostly well before he forced himself to leave the bedroom.

‘And speaking of a blood trail,’ he internally sighed, looking at that incriminating and stomach twisting evidence of Dick’s injury that was still on his apartment floor.  Fought down a shiver at the memories of Dick arriving on his doorstep, blood dripping down his leg, tainting his face. Remembering the state of the hallway, he crossed to his apartment door and opened it, saw that a maintenance man was mopping up Dick’s blood, because Mrs. Sandmeyer was as good as her word.

Closing the door, he started to do his own cleaning. Because he might have told Dick to forego the ‘I’m barely hurt’ schtick but he certainly didn’t want the Bats more upset than they were already by having to follow a blood trail to their precious youngest member.

BTMNWBTMWN

Clark didn’t want to be accused again of being a stalker, but Dick’s restlessness drew him into the bedroom, had him worriedly watching the young man struggle with whatever invaded his dreams. Bruce had told him Dick had nightmares that sometimes even escalated into night terrors but seeing Dick fighting through that, tossing his head, his nearly panicked breathing…it was torture to helplessly watch. Clark felt torn between knowing Dick needed his rest, in whatever form it came in, and wanting to snatch his nephew out of the clutches of whatever horror was playing in his head. Was spared the indecision when he heard familiar voices outside his apartment building.

With relief, Clark woke Dick with a gentle hand on his shoulder. At his touch, his nephew’s eyes jerked open like he’d gotten an electric shock.

Dick’s initial response was to flinch away from the physical touch. Took him a few racing heartbeats to come back to reality, to recognize that it was Clark with him. He visibly relaxed. 

It was a balm to Clark’s soul that, no matter how he’d hurt Dick that day, the sight of him standing over him didn’t scare Dick. Instead, his presence seemed to comfort the younger man as his breathing settled into its normal rhythm and he bestowed on him a sleepy, affectionate smile.  Clark quietly announced with a matching warm smile, “Here’s your five second wake up call.”

“They are here?” Dick unnecessarily asked even as his heart rate kicked up, half in anticipation of his family’s arrival and half in dread of the awkward conversations to come. When Clark simply nodded and left for the door, Dick sat up, knocking the bag of once frozen corn off the lump on his head and onto his lap. Smirking at Clark’s makeshift ice compress, he self-consciously pulled the sheet over himself to conceal his bared leg and the bandage that decorated it. His stitched forehead he couldn’t hide away but tried anyway by pulling his bangs down.

BTMNWBTNWBTMNW

The Waynes blew into Clark’s apartment without knocking. Course Clark had heard them coming and yes, he opened the door for them while they were a few steps away. Surprisingly, it was Tim who gave Clark the evil eye and Jason who bestowed a forgiving pat on his chest as they entered his home and dropped their luggage unceremoniously on his living room floor.

That left Clark and Bruce facing off in the apartment doorway.

Not finding Dick on the couch, Tim, with Jason trailing him, headed to Clark’s bedroom even as his concern spiked. Because if Dick was on the couch, it was minor injuries. But his brother needing to be lying down on Clark’s bed? That spoke of a whole other level of injury and cause for Tim’s concern. Negotiating the distance to the bedroom in two seconds flat, he felt his heart trip up at his first sight of his brother, alive…and pale and sporting bruises and stitches on his forehead.

“Hey,” Dick greeted his brothers, his smile caught between happy to see them and guilty that he’d worried them yet again. As if that wasn’t bad enough, with his newest fubar he had even managed to screw up their WE business.

Wordlessly, Tim came around the bed, used tender fingers to swipe Dick’s bangs off the stitched wound on his forehead.

Looking up at his older brother’s face and seeing Tim’s features tight with too many emotions to catalogue, Dick proclaimed, hoping to ease Tim’s distress, “I’m fine, not hurt bad at all.” Felt like the worst brother in the world when Tim’s eyes welled with tears, knew he full well deserved the reaming out Tim launched into the next second.

“Fine?! You son of a bitch, you nearly died! And we…we wouldn’t have even known…” Tim had to break off to swallow down the constriction in his throat. Looked away from Dick like he disgusted him.

Jason, meanwhile, found himself too glad to see Dick to join Tim in feeling angry. He went to the opposite side of the bed as Tim and dove down to hug Dick, gently but with no lack of desperation. “Love you, you know that right?” he hoarsely said right by Dick’s ear.

Dick’s arms went around his brother even as his heart melted, like it always did when his family said stuff like that and meant it a 1000%. “Yeah, I know you do,” his own voice thick with repressed tears, wondered why he was always so undeserving of their love in the moment when they declared it. A new wave of guilt hit him for sneaking off to Clark without telling them, for not trusting them. He was all mopey they didn’t trust him when it might really be the other way around. ‘Shit. Dick Grayson wrong again?! Have I ever been in the right?!’

Tim sighed at Jason going all sappy soft. “Dude, how is he supposed to feel all repentant of once again downplaying his pain if you’re all gooey sappy with him?” but there was a thread of amusement in his tone of ire.

Jason chuckled unrepentantly as he pulled back from Dick, raised an eyebrow at his frowning middle brother. “Don’t pout because I did what you wanted to do. So go to it,” waving a hand to Dick.

Aware of the uneasy way Dick was watching him, Tim shook his head, “Nope, you’re totally ruined our moment,” but there was a grin emerging on his face. So instead of hugging Dick, he slid his hand tenderly through his brother’s hair before leaning over and kissing the top of Dick’s head. When he pulled back, however, he pointed an accusatory finger at him. “But I’m still pissed you’re hurt, weren’t safe and sound at home like we thought you were. Didn’t call us the second you could, to tell us about all…” he waved his hand over Dick’s damaged body, “…this.”

Bruce stood at the bedroom door, taking in the sight of his youngest son like air to starving lungs. He had had his terse conversation with Clark at the apartment door of, “He’s really ok?” to which Clark had nodded an affirmative before saying, “Bruce I’m really..” Bruce had ruthlessly cut him off in a tone worthy of Batman’s most pissed interaction. “Save it. I want to see my son.”

It hit home to Bruce just how very anxious he had been to see his son for himself, even with his earlier conversation with Dick and Clark’s reassurances. Because that video, the way things could have turned out, it constricted his heart in a vice. Though he didn’t give away his presence, all three of his sons’ eyes swiveled to him, like they had bat radar when it came to their dad. Tim came around from the bed to give their dad the space beside Dick, which he occupied almost immediately.

Looking down into his son’s upturned face, Bruce winced at the stitches and the bruising on Dick’s face, reached out to sweep his thumb feather light across the stitches in more a caress than an inspection. “Your leg?” because ruined pants equaled ruined skin and muscle and…

“Still there?” Dick quipped but knew the joke was inappropriate by the sudden paleness in his father’s features. “Sorry,” he quickly said in chagrin. Reported a second later like one of Batman’s partners were expected to, “My left leg sustained a laceration that has been cleaned and stitched.”

From his new position at the foot of Dick’s bed, Tim pulled back the sheet to see a bandage around Dick’s calf, inching dangerously close to his knee. Felt tension zing through him at the blood stains on the sheet under that leg. It made him ache to remove the wrappings to inspect the wound himself. Felt cheated to not have the torture yet satisfaction of putting in the stitches to help his brother instead of some stranger having done it. Because, when it came down to it, he only trusted family to take care of family. (Which Clark was usually counted as a member of but now, with how well he “took care of” Dick, his membership was in serious jeopardy of being revoked in Tim’s book.)

Troubled gaze swinging up from his son’s injured leg, Bruce prodded, eyes inspecting his son’s, “Concussion?”

“No,” Dick firmly reported, praying his pupils didn’t fail him now under his father’s, which were too well versed in concussion inspection.

Reading the truth in Dick’s declaration and his eyes, Bruce relaxed a bit, claimed a spot on the bed at his son’s side. “Now tell me what you didn’t tell Clark or his medical expert?”

Dick stiffened even as he cursed himself for thinking he’d get anything by his dad. Saw that Tim and Jason were looking at him grimly, so no help was coming from that quarter. Returning his look to his father’s unrelenting gaze, he softly said, “He felt bad enough as it was.”

Bruce knew Dick spoke of Clark. That his son, injured, in pain, who had nearly been killed by the man, yet he still wanted to save Clark any measure of guilt.  What was he to do about his young one’s too generous heart when Dick refused to put his own health ahead of safeguarding someone’s feelings?!? He gave Dick a probing look, saw him crumbling under it before he confessed.

“Ribs and my back are bruised, head is pounding like a mother and my right shoulder..” Dick rolled his shoulder to reevaluate it and had to still conclude, “..is really tight.”

Bruce couldn’t hold back his sigh. Silently cursed, ‘Damn it, Dick. Why do you do this? Think you deserve to be in pain, to not be taken care of like you are one of the most precious things in my life, in all of our lives.’ But this wasn’t the moment to try, for the thousand time, to drill that into his kid’s head. Instead, he forced himself to be the pragmatic medic. He gently tugged Dick’s shirt up, but unlike an unaffected medic, Bruce winced at the bruising coloring his son’s torso in not so appealing colors. Ran his fingers along his son’s ribs and assessed, like Dick had, that there didn’t seem to be any breaks in the bones.

“Can you lean forward without help?” To which Dick answered with action instead of words and leaned forward even as Bruce stood up and stepped into a position to lift the back of his son’s shirt to view the bruising covering nearly every inch of Dick’s back. Drew the shirt up further to view Dick’s shoulder but there was no bruising there. Dropping the shirt back and pulling it back down into place, he helped Dick lean against the headboard again. Bruce didn’t resume his seat but gently put his hands to his son’s right shoulder and began to carefully massage the so very tight muscles under his fingers.

Dick closed his eyes and tilted his head back, part in pain and part in joyous relief from the ache in his shoulder that the pain pills hadn’t taken the edge off of even after all these hours. Startled a bit when his father spoke, he opened his eyes to see Bruce looking down into his face from his position standing at his shoulder.

“Shoulder isn’t bruised so …”

Anticipating his dad’s question, Dick headed it off at the pass, tried to say it nonchalantly because it wasn’t just Clark’s guilt that he wanted to negate but his dad and brothers’ worry too. “I helped people get off the train.” Clearly that wasn’t informative enough so Dick had to clarify, “Ah…we couldn’t go out the window exits because, someone clearly wasn’t thinking ‘hello, elevated train, jumping out the windows leads to a long drop.’” Again, his humor was not appreciated but Tim stepped into the thick lull.

“They have ceiling exits,” Tim realizing suddenly what his brother’s mode of escape had been for a train that apparently the normal exit doors weren’t an option.

“Give the kid a cookie,” Dick smirked. But clearly this Tim was far harder to make laugh than his younger brother Tim, mostly because that Tim thought his big bro was invincible, that his pain…what pain?! Right. While this Tim…knew better, loved him in spite of all the times he’d been helpless, was drowning in PTSD episodes. His older brother Tim saw through his bullshit instantly on most occasions, especially when it came to him being in pain. Case in point.

“You went through the ceiling exit first and then you pulled people onto the roof,” Tim surmised, wasn’t beaming with pride however but scowling. “And let me guess, you didn’t let anyone else spot you, had to pull every single passenger in that train car up yourself.”

“Right place, right time,” Dick quipped, because he was in trouble already, might as well not waste the smart comebacks that kept popping into his head.

“Only you would be screwed up enough in the head to think ‘right place, right time’ about a freaking train wreck,” Jason quipped and for all the reprimand there was in his tone, there was an amused quirk to his lips. Little brothers?! What were you to do with them but love them in all their troublesome glory.

“We need to get ice on your ribs and apply a topical muscle relaxant,” Bruce prescribed, still using his professional level masseuse skills on his son’s overworked shoulder.

“Ice is doable if you’re partial to frozen veggies as a stand in. But a tube of Aspercreme? Yeah, no. Not unless his next-door neighbor loaned him her’s,” Dick warned his father of the chances of an invincible man having any first aid kit offerings. “So ice will have to suffice.”

“No, it won’t,” Bruce flatly rejected that notion. “If we wait to get these muscles treated properly, you’ll be in worse pain tomorrow.”

“Pain is unavoidable sometimes,” Dick remarked, knowing that one from way too much experience. At Bruce’s dark look, Dick defended, “Hey, you…well B taught me that early in my gig of being Robin and he’s not been wrong.”

Bruce hated that answer, resented B’s complacency that his son would be in pain, their son. “Well, that’s unacceptable.”

“Welcome to life outside the well-stocked med section of the batcave,” Dick said cheerlessly, like he was well versed in that sort of life.

It made Bruce remark softly, probingly even, “Like living in Bludhaven, all on your own?”

Dick didn’t flinch from the question, thought of the conversation he’d had with Clark, about how he wouldn’t choose to be back in Bludhaven, back living that lonely existence. So he answered truthfully, “Very nearly but I at least had a fair sized first aid kit.”

But that gave Bruce, Jason and Tim little comfort, not a one of them liking to think of Dick hurt and on his own with no one to patch him up, let alone care if he was in pain.

“Fine, then we get some Aspercream from that neighbor,” Tim rashly plotted, didn’t understand the wicked grin this prompted in Dick.

“Sure, but have Clark go ask for it,” Dick stipulated with drollness, envisioned how the lady would ogle Clark knocking at her door. Knew she would so offer to rub the cream on Kent’s broad shoulders.

Tim’s jaw clenched. “We don’t need a thing from him. I’ll go…” But Jason stilled his brother’s departure with a hand on his forearm, announced, “I’ll have Clark get it.” Shared a relieved look with Dick and then was out the bedroom door.

BTMNWBTMNW

Jason searched the apartment and not finding Clark, went out on the fire escape landing. “You turning into Dick now, a height junkie?” he joked as he clamored out the window with the ease of a caped crusader whose main egresses most nights was via windows.

“Wanted to give you guys some privacy and my apartment is small, has thin walls,” Clark said a bit detachedly.

“And you have super hearing so …” Jason tried to lighten the mood with a teasing tone but Clark stiffened.

“I can choose to not listen and I did,” Clark abruptly declared, didn’t want the bats to think he didn’t know his boundaries. Couldn’t be trusted in yet another arena. ‘Like not killing one of them inadvertently.’

Jason raised his hand in placation. “Whoa, I know that. Man, you are wound tight today,” worry carrying in his voice now as he deliberately drew closer to his uncle.

Sighing, Clark rubbed a hand over his face. “Yes. It’s been a hellish day.”

Jason startled, wasn’t used to hearing such negativity or defeat from his uncle. Or being able to read his distress. Knew that was one of the reasons his dad and Clark hit it off, because they were emotional blackout sites when they were in character, didn’t flinch or blink or react outwardly to whatever they were facing in their capes. But he had come to know that wholly didn’t mean Batman wasn’t being shredded apart inside. Now had to add Superman to that assessment too. He sorely wanted to offer Clark some absolution for the day’s snafu but Clark didn’t give him the chance.

“I’m assuming you tore yourself away from your wounded little brother on a mission. What do you need?” Even as he asked it, he knew it wouldn’t be what Jason needed but what Dick needed, something he’d failed to provide to Dick. More guilt settled onto his soul at his continued deficiencies in taking care of Dick that day.

“Dick could use some topical muscle pain relief cream. We didn’t think you would have any, but Dick said you had a neighbor who might?” Jason wasn’t prepared for Clark’s guilty, harried expression to crack into a grin and a bark of laughter.

“That brother of yours..” Clark drawled, love in every syllable as he patted Jason’s shoulder on his way back into the apartment. Muttered with good humor, “I knew he’d use that against me,” knowing full well it wasn’t Carl Dick was asking him to visit but Mrs. Sandmeyer with her traveling hands.

Not knowing the inside joke, Jason was just relieved at Clark’s lightened mood. Reentering the apartment, he did a stopover to get something out of his suitcase before heading back to the apartment’s sole bedroom in time to hear Dick challenge, “What? You guys are the only ones who get to have a change of scenery this weekend?”

Jason knew the convo he’d missed the start of, the ‘why aren’t you in Gotham, how come you didn’t tell us you were going to be in Metropolis today’ cross examination. Thought Bruce would demand Dick to cut the crap but it was Tim who made the first reply.

“Dick, please,” and it wasn’t a sarcastic, ‘stop stonewalling us’ tone but an imploring one. It revealed how shaken Tim was, they all were that Dick was somewhere they didn’t know that day. That Dick could have died and they wouldn’t have known he was even out of town, in Metropolis.

Ashamed at the hurt look he encountered in his dad and brothers, Dick dropped his eyes from theirs, mumbled, “I just needed to go it alone.”

And that made absolutely no sense to Jason. “If it was us you were trying to get away from, we were already out of town, stupid.” His hurt buried under his indignation because what had he done wrong but love Dick, want the best for him. And Dick didn’t want him around, to even stay in the manor?!

Perceiving the hurt under Jason’s groused insult, Dick quickly denied, “Not away from you. Just…not…” but this was harder to admit, would kick open a can of worms he’d not wanted to disturb. But by his actions, by getting caught sneaking out of town, he’d doomed this conversation into being. “Not being tracked like I’m still a flight risk.”

“Which apparently you still are,” Jason shot back, even as he trusted Dick had every intention of coming back to them, of this simply being a weekend jaunt. ‘That he might have died on and never come back to us ever again.’

“Jason,” Bruce warned, softly, because he knew Jason was hurting too.

But Tim took up the mantle Jason had started. “We left him safe in Gotham and he’s in Metropolis without telling us! Nearly got himself killed and when would we have known that?! His IDs don’t even have his real f’ing name on them! Dan Gilroy has no ties to us! So when would we have found out he’d been killed, huh? When they built a damn memorial listing the names of the people who lost their lives today because of Superman?!”

That had Dick sitting up in bed, outraged at the scolding heaped on his head. “I’m not some damn latchkey kid who has to come straight home and stay there! Get your permission to go out on my own, to go wherever the hell I want to go. And maybe you missed the headlines, but Clark saved me! Me and everyone else on that train.”

“Least he could do since it was his fault you nearly died, that you got hurt!” Tim volleyed back, was in no way willing to give Clark a free pass on almost killing his freaking little brother!

“Get off your high horse, Tim! We’ve all had to come to grips with collateral damage,” Dick retorted, even as it made his stomach turn to speak so offhandedly of the lives he’d sacrificed for the greater good. But maybe Tim’s hands were blessedly clean of such blood? Dick didn’t resent him for it if that were true, was glad. Didn’t want Tim or Jason’s souls tainted like his was. But by Tim’s paling complexion, his brother hadn’t been spared that. Dick was about to offer up his regret for saying any of that but his dad caught his chin in his head, turned his face to meet his glittering eyes.

“Don’t you…” Bruce growled but seeing Dick flinch, he knew he couldn’t say it with anger. So he let that drain out of him as he said the next words with a lurching heart, “..don’t you ever catalog yourself as collateral damage. Not ever.”

Caught off guard by Bruce’s disconcerted, imploring demand, Dick meekly agreed with a “Ok. Ok.”

Not knowing what he was walking into, Clark entered the bedroom, watched as Bruce dropped his hand from his son’s chin and took a step back as if he needed to get himself together. Focusing on Dick, Clark gave the kid a stink eye as he waved the muscle pain relief cream in his hand with a put upon grouse of, “If this doesn’t say I love you ..” but broke off abruptly, becoming uncomfortably aware of their audience and the nearly unforgiveable black marks he had earned that day.

Dick pretended to be oblivious of the tension, smirked, “You must love me since you even forwent having a hot toddy during your visit.”

“Paybacks, kiddo, paybacks,” Clark teased before doing a hit and run look with Bruce as he handed off the medicinal tube to him. Then he did a quick exit out of the bedroom and fled back to the fire escape.

“How dare he talk about paybacks after what he’s done,” Tim hissed when he no longer heard Clark’s steps in the vicinity of the bedroom.

“Done?! Like save my life?” Dick emphatically shot back, frustrated no one was realizing Clark was the hero in this story, not the bad guy.

“After he endangered it!” Tim charged.

“Tim, please, don’t,” Dick implored, hated this tension because of him. All over minor injuries and danger rated pretty mild compared to…well, most of his life with B and as Nightwing.

Recognizing Dick’s turmoil, Bruce intervened, though he truly was in Tim’s camp on this. “Alright, let’s put recriminations on the back burner right now. Tim, will you give Alfred a call? Knowing Dick as well as he’s come to, he will require an unbiased report on Dick’s injuries and wellbeing.”

“Hey, I feel like there’s a case for slander there,” Dick mumbled, affronted.

“Really?” Bruce drawled with a raised eyebrow. “So you told him about the extensive bruising you got going on?”

“Well, no, but it wasn’t…” Dick started to defend himself.

“If you say it wasn’t important, so help me, I’ll make you travel home in your underwear,” Jason threatened.

Dick paled at the threat because Jason would so do it. “Fine, call Alfred and rat me out,” he snapped, sounding so much like a pouting teenager.

Tim smirked. “I got absolutely no problem doing that.” And he merrily headed out the door on his mission.

Bruce gave Dick’s jawline a light brush with his thumb. “Don’t bristle so hard at us being worried about you. It became our God given right as soon as you took the Wayne name.”

Still disgruntled, Dick retorted, “You were a bunch of worried grandmas even before I became a Wayne.”

Wholly unrepentant of that true accusation, Jason answered with a smug, “Yup. And that means we’ve now turned up that dial to 10.”

“Can we negotiate these terms?” Dick posed, half in jest and half hoping he could convince them to ease up on the worry scale.

“No!” Jason and Bruce both unequivocally denied his request.

Bruce got up from the bed and headed toward the door with an announcement of “I’m going to get some air.” But Dick knew it was AKA for ‘get all in Clark’s face about what happened.’

“Dad, please don’t..” Dick started to beg but Bruce halted his words.

“Let Jason help you out of your jeans,” he ordered and then he was out the door.

Dick cursed, afraid of the confrontation that would unfold between Bruce and Clark. And, ok, none too happy to be treated like a toddler who needed help getting into his onesie.

“Got you something of your very own during our trip, well actually at the airport but it still totally counts as a souvenir,” Jason announced as he unfurled the bundle in his arm to be revealed as sweatpants.  Which had "I love Georgia” written down one leg and a slogan of “Proud to be a Goober” down the other leg.  Immensely enjoying his little brother’s scowl, Jason teased, "It seemed so ....you."

BTMNWBTMWN“

TBC

BTMNWBTMNW

Chapter Text

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Eyeing up the sweatpants with distaste, Dick drooly said “You shouldn’t have." Tacked on with an evil grin, “Your jeans would have been fine.”

“I bet,” Jason could just envision the joy Dick would have gotten out of destroying said jeans. But it turned out Dick wasn’t totally unappreciative of his gift because he was reaching for it…which Jason quickly whipped out of Dick’s grasp. “Nun uh. Not letting you pull your stitches by playing the macho man changing without help. I’m supposed to help you dress, Dad said so.”

“What are you ten?” Dick snapped back, couldn’t believe he was going to have to endure this babying.

“If I’m ten than you are..” Jason did the math and chuckled, “… like a new born baby but you’re acting like you’re older, like two. At the headstrong me-do-it-meself stage.”

“You’re hilarious,” Dick’s sarcasm enough to drench the bed as he tried for another grab at the pants with no success. “What if I tell you I’ve gone commando, turning over a new freer leaf.”

Jason snorted at his brother’s scare tactic. “You, princess?!? I might be the fashionista but you’re the one who whines if a shirt is scratchy against your so sensitive skin. You will NEVER be the commando type.”

“Ok, but that means I’m also the shy, don’t-exhibit-in-public type, so don’t make me uncomfortable,” Dick threw in a shy, timid, begging expression to sell it.

Jason spurted out a laugh, his brother was just so funny he couldn’t help it. “Uncomfortable??” He repeated his brother’s word with all out incredulity. “First day I met you, you went shirtless, barfed all over the place and put me in a position to defend you, against my own dad from burying you in the back forty. I think we’re wwwwaaaayyy past the uncomfortable stage, dude.”

“You had to recap all that, huh?” Dick griped, felt like he was trapped in a humiliating ‘this is your life Dick Grayson’ game.

Jason only goaded Dick further. “Didn’t have to recap it? No. But enjoyed doing it? Yes. Yes, I did.”  And it was so awesome to remember that day, now with mirth and thanking God for having their paths cross. It was little over two months since those memories had been more bittersweet, memories he had despairingly clung to when he thought Dick had chosen his original Jason over him.

Dick had to relent on that point, though it was with ill grace. “Fine, I don’t feel uncomfortable with you helping me change, Jason, but I feel stupid. I don’t need coddled.”

“Tough. You’re my kid brother and you’re…” Jason’s voice had gone from light banter to constricted and his eyes met Dick’s gaze with an unguarded look of worry. His voice, when he continued was an uncanny beginning of vulnerability and a finale of stubbornness, “…you’re hurt, Dick. I’m not letting you hurt yourself worse.”

“This seems like a repeat episode,” Dick quirked, his frustration overrun by his need to wipe that tortured look from his big brother’s face.

“Stop getting hurt and we’ll stop replaying this scene,” Jason volleyed back in the same light vein, wasn’t prepared for Dick to drop his eyes from his in shame or for his brother’s next words to come out aching of defeat.

“Wasn’t the plan, you know.” Dick wished his crappy days didn’t always manage to slosh over and negatively affect his family. What good was his love for them if they got emotionally hurt because they loved him back.  Tim’s belief that love solved everything was such a crock of steamy crap.

“I know,” Jason tenderly absolved him with a sigh, taking a seat on the bed by Dick’s hip and drawing up a leg. Why trouble had to sic itself on Dick all the time, he just didn’t know. “I was more …scared than mad, you know. About all of this. The video…” his inhale was sharp because, those images, they weren’t for the faint hearted. Or for those who didn’t love someone on that train as strongly as he loved his little brother. He saw his statement or maybe his hesitation to continue had earned him his brother’s eye contact again. “Dick…watching that…it wasn’t…pretty. What almost happened…” Jason had to be the one to look away then, didn’t want Dick to misinterpret his crumbling emotional walls, to think it was his fault or his job to wash away his lingering fears.

“Almost is the key word,” Dick quickly but insistently pointed out, hand snaking down to tap Jason’s thigh, to snap his brother out of his grim ‘could have happened’ game. But felt like he’d failed when Jason’s eyes met his, Jason’s welling eyes. Damn it! “Jason..” he tenderly cooed, like he was still the big brother, hated to see his little brother in any type of pain and felt it was his job to make that pain go away.

But Jason wasn’t confused about who was the big brother, not for a second. “Don’t try to tell me it was no big deal, that you weren’t…scared, had every right to be. That we couldn’t have…lost you.”

Dick felt like his breath just got knocked out of him. How long had it been since anyone had asked him if he was scared?  Years? Maybe since he’d been with the circus when some kid would ask in wonder if he was scared of falling and he had always bragged, ‘Nope. We Graysons fly…we don’t fall.’ Damn, he hadn’t remembered saying that until now, being so…brazen and sure and wrong wrong wrong.  And when had anyone, EVER, given him the leeway to BE scared?!  Absolutely never.

Until now. Until Jason did.

But that wasn’t right either.

This new family, they hadn’t said it in so many words but they allowed for his fear, made concessions for it, nearly every day, with so many considerations. His fear of losing people, of wearing a mask and getting people killed, of making the wrong decisions, of being too weak, of being too stubborn, of being too cowardly, too prideful. Of loving too deeply…of being loved. Of being utterly unworthy. Of having not enough good left in him, of being too broken. He was scared every day in so many ways. And his family just…loved him anyways. Like Jason was proving all over again. And that kind of love…absolution…it was owed greater loyalty than more deflections and untruths.

Dick hoarsely admitted, “I was scared,” his eyes quickly skittering away from Jason’s before he could interpret his brother’s facial expression. Clenching his jaw, he tried to hold back his emotions. Sure, Jason might say he had a right to be scared but he didn’t want his brother to know how scared he’d been. ‘I mean, come on, I’m a freaking vigilante. Was. Was Robin before I was Nightwing. Heroes aren’t supposed to DO scared.’ Then he internally snorted. ‘Course I haven’t been much of a hero recently. Must have turned in my backbone with my mask. Put another stroke in Connor’s ‘Grayson’s a coward’ tally.’

Reading the misery in his brother’s eyes at his confession, watching him shamefully turn his head away from him, Jason cursed himself for forcing Dick to be open with him. But he knew it wasn’t good for Dick to bottle things up, think he had to be invincible. Falsely believe that Jason would love him any less for actually being scared of dying, like anyone would be. Should be.

Moving into a position beside his brother and coming to lean back against the headboard, Jason cupped the nape of Dick’s bowed head with his hand and gently tugged his brother toward him. Was relieved Dick didn’t fight it, instantly sank against him, his head coming to rest on his collarbone.  Achingly, Jason wanted to ground Dick, comfort him, prove he was there for him, wasn’t ashamed of him. Did it with actions while he tried to figure out the words.

Dick’s breath caught when Jason began running his fingers gently up and down his back. It reminded Dick of when he was younger, when it was his mother’s waist he threw his arms around, her hugging him, her fingers soothingly stroking his back to stop his runaway crying. As good of a memory as it was, it was more comforting having someone there, now, offering him that grounding familial touch again.

“I bet that, however sacred you were, I was more scared,” Jason quietly made his own confession, his voice a rumble in Dick’s ear that was pressed against him. “Knowing you were on that train, I was downright sick with terror, Dick. Even before I knew you were in danger, I was nervous because you hadn’t replied to my texts all morning.”

“I didn’t…want to out and out lie to you about what I was doing for the day,” Dick fessed up. Jason’s body stiffen under his head, and he felt bereft when his brother’s hand slipped from his back. In hindsight, Dick surmised that maybe lying was the slighter sin, a lesser degree of betrayal than cutting off all communication to cover up his unsanctioned actions.  “It wasn’t…I just…It was a stupid rebellious move, ok. You guys have just been…smothering me.” Was somehow easier to say without having to look at his brother, so he kept his head resting on Jason’s shoulder and let out the words that had been building inside him, compressing his breath until he couldn’t breathe some days. “Treating me like I’m so freaking fragile you’re afraid I’ll break apart. Or can’t handle myself. Or…or will go AWOL on you again.”

Guilt assaulted Jason, knowing he’d hurt Dick, damaged his brother’s faith in him, Dick’s faith in himself by his paranoia.  Was working up how to apologize for loving him too much, for freaking the H out when he couldn’t verify he was ok, for letting that still healing scar of grief he’d felt when Dick disappeared through that portal bleed into his relationship with Dick. But before he could beg forgiveness for all the ways he’d f’d up, Dick sighed dishearteningly.

The sound was the demarcation of Dick’s rant boiling down to the bitter truth that it wasn’t Jason’s fault or Bruce or Tim’s. Was his own. “And I get I’ve only brought all those things on myself, with my actions, with being…well, broken and running away and being…so pathetically…” Giving a huff, Dick lifted his head from Jason’s shoulder and maturely met his brother’s gaze, said in the way of an apology, “I just can’t do anything right. I even screwed up a visit to relatives.”

‘Leave it to Dick to give me a free pass for strangling him with my obsessive need to contact him fifty times a day to ensure he’s here, hadn’t gone, was ok, while he found every way conceivable to put himself down.’ Jason internally sighed, ached to wipe away his brother’s so twisted view of himself. “Let’s put on the back burner my neurotic need to reassure myself you are ok hourly, put a pin in all the bullshit you incorporated into that last blatantly flawed statement, because it’s not the time to say how wrong you are to EVER think so piss poorly of yourself. But be warned, when you’re back to 100%, I’ll gladly kick your butt for doubting your awesomeness. Right now, we’re gonna talk about the whole ‘screwed up a visit’ thing. Because I’m so not agreeing with that.”

Dick was genuinely stunned, thought that was one point he and Jason would agree upon.  “But the train…the accident… if I hadn’t come here…”

“Dick, you helped people today. Helped them all get out of your train car,” Jason reminded him sharply before he posed, “How can you think that’s screwing up?!”

But Dick gave a despondent shrug. “If I hadn’t been there, it would have been someone else.”

Jason wanted to knock his adorable little brother’s head against a wall. Forced himself to not let his frustration leek through the love in his next words. “You’re not interchangeable, Dick. Your heart, your skillset, your selflessness, it’s not a cookie cutter stamp of even ten percent of the populace.”

“Probably goes along with the crazy in me,” Dick sallied back, wasn’t ready to put too much stock in his big brother’s highly biased opinion of him.

Jason offered up a tender smirk, knew Dick would find a way to deflect his compliments and instead find another fault in himself. But his brother said it in a way of a joke so he’d just have to take that teeny tiny victory. Allowed with an overflowing of pride in his brother, “Maybe. But there’s some crazy in all of us Bats.” Then he playfully finger snapped Dick under the chin. “Now, let’s get you sporting these pants…”

“Pants which say I’m proud to be nuts,” Dick pointed out before giving a narrowed eyed look to his brother. “You drive this conversation to suit that slogan or…”

Jason smiled brightly. “Sometimes things are kismet, buddy. Poor kismet.”

BTMNWBTMNW

“I’m relieved to hear an unbiased report of Dick’s condition,” Alfred thanked Tim over the phone lines.

“That’s exactly what dad said you’d want: an unbiased report, meaning not from Dick. Guess you and Dad still know each other pretty well,” Tim surmised, kind of jealous of the two men’s bond, but then again, they’d had years to perfect it. ‘And shatter it apart for fifteen long years.’ Not wanting to dwell on that fracture, he led the conversation a little with his next supposition. “Which was why he knew something was seriously wrong this morning with how you ended your call.”

“I regret my actions, that I didn’t have better control of my emotions when I witnessed the news feed.” There was shame in the other man’s voice that made Tim feel awful for generating it.

Trying to dig them out of their blackhole of recriminations, Tim proved that he sided with Alfred by saying, “I get it. That news clip was scary as shi…crap,” he ineptly amended his curse word at the last second. “And that was me watching it AFTER knowing Dick was ok. You didn’t know that then, only saw it was his train involved in the accident. Accident?!?” Tim scoffed at his own choice of words. “More like another f’d up Kent “rescue”. Connor and now Clark’s “good Samaritan” routine nearly punched Dick’s ticket. Twice. Freaking Kryptonians have no clue how….how fragile…” Tim snapped his mouth shut, hadn’t wanted to go down that path. Had wanted to keep his anger stoked because being angry and placing blame was less terrifying than realizing just how close Dick had come to losing his life.

After a moment of debate, Alfred spoke in defense of Clark but not with a tone of reprimand for Tim’s anger but compassion for how Tim AND Clark would view the day’s events. “Tim, I believe that Clark is only too aware how fragile human lives are. For he, like you, has lost both his parents. One to a heart attack and another to cancer. He was…powerless to save them. I think it makes him even more determined to save as many lives as he can. And knowing how much he loves your little brother, Dick is one of the last people on this earth he’d want to lose, to fail to save. And the fact that he endangered him in the first place?! I have begun to realize why Dick was worried about Clark’s wellbeing after the train accident.”

“That’s because he’s a self-sacrificing, big-hearted moron,” but there was adoration in Tim’s tone for Dick, side by side the scorn he directed at his brother.

“That may be,” Alfred conceded with a chuckle. “But Dick is very perceptive when it comes to other’s feelings.”

“He wasn’t thinking of my feelings when he slipped out of Gotham without a say so and went to Metropolis,” Tim caustically protested. “Or Dad’s either, when he went to see Clark without telling him. And the fact Dick told you?!” he growled, was still fuming at that. “Sorry, but that just makes me jealous.”  Because he wasn’t going to deny his feelings, what they were, that he was territorial about his brother, even when it came to his own family sometimes.

“He didn’t exactly tell me…” Alfred slowly disclosed, “..more like I saw him on his way out the door this morning. By his surprise, he didn’t think to see me up at such an uncivilized hour.”

That gave Tim pause. “You didn’t know his plans?” a little tinge of relief edging the question.

“No. And he seemed to tell me most begrudgingly by the way I had to interrogate it out of him.” Strangely, Alfred felt better that he had not been in Dick’s confidence that morning now, especially if it put him back in better graces with the rest of his family.

Better graces for about a split second.

“But you didn’t stop him …or think to tell Dad or Jason or me?” Tim’s voice rising with frustrated disapproval.

It had been a long time since Alfred had taken a set down by someone so far younger in age, but he conceded, it wasn’t unjustified. So he had to give a sigh of regret, which hued his next words. “No. I thought….he needed this moment of freedom. I even drove him to the train station.” Because if he was going to confess, he was going to make a full showing of it. In for a pound and all that.

It was Tim’s analytical mind that sparked to attention enough to focus on the details of Alfred’s statement. “Which is how you knew his train’s number and that it was the one derailed.”

“Yes,” grim remembrance there of that horror, of that fear, of thinking he’d never see Dick alive again. Alfred fought down a shiver.

“If you hadn’t known where he went…hadn’t seen the news…when would we have…” Tim bit his lip, knew that when Dick didn’t return home, they might have thought he had jumped worlds again. That they might have wrongly been angry with Dick, all the while his brother would have been among the unidentified corpses caused by a train derailment thanks to Superman.

Knowing what Tim’s stammered words were leading to, Alfred put a positive spin on the outcome. “That is a terrifying scenario, which, thankful we were not faced with.”

“So I’m supposed to forget Clark’s role in all this and be happy it didn’t end worse?!” Tim defiantly challenged before he had to brokenly concede, “And I am, you know. I was freaking out the whole way here about how injured Dick was.”

Alfred’s heart went out to the young man. “I know that, Tim. You love your brother, that’s not in contention. But neither can Clark’s love for Dick be doubted. On top of this is Dick’s knowledge of what it feels like to hurt the ones he loves, whether unintentional, for good causes or not. And I would surmise that, any guilt and unforgiveness you want to heap on Clark’s head, Dick will see that as a mirror reaction to what’s been heaped on his head by his family and friends in his world.”

Horrified at that comparison, Tim heatedly denied, “Not the same thing! At all.”

“I fear that Dick will not see it that way,” Alfred quietly declared, unshaken in his belief of that.

Running a hand through his hair, Tim then fisted it and bumped it…lightly against the wall. “I’m starting to think Dad set me up to call you so you could sway me with your innate logic,” said only half in jest but wholly without resentment.

“Hmmmm, astute guess. After all, you did compliment my son and I on being on the same wavelength,” Alfred drawled, not answering the accusation as much as avoiding it. Another trait Tim now knew Alfred had taught his son. And in true Batman fashion, Batman had amped up those learned deflection skills to the nth degree.  

Worried Alfred also took on the world’s weight like Bruce did, Tim prodded, “You know this wasn’t your fault, right? That I’m not mad you didn’t stop Dick. Because the kid’s super hardheaded and I know that.”

Alfred refrained from pointing out that he thought of Tim as a “kid” as well and he was just as hardheaded as his little brother at times. Instead, he focused on Tim’s absolution, felt his heart swelled at his grandson’s worry for him. “I simply wish things hadn’t unfolded like they had. But I thank God Dick wasn’t hurt worse. And I do appreciate your absolution for any part I played today. My emotions got the better of me, shaded my judgement and allowed you and your father and brother to worry unduly.”

“Not unduly,” Tim corrected a little grimly. Then he sighed, “Bet life was a whole lot less stressful before you came back to the manor, huh?” Praying Alfred wasn’t thinking of bailing on them, retreating back to a more peaceful existence.

Surprised at Tim’s statement, Alfred gave him a heartfelt reply. “It was a life that was wholly lacking in love, family and a sense of belonging and purpose. I think I’ve made a pretty admirable trade off.”

Tim smiled, felt joy and relief coil in his chest. “Even when you have to rescue three bats dangling from a skyscraper?”

“Even then, my boy. Even then,” Alfred mirthfully replied.

BTMNWBTMWN

TBC

BTMNWBTMNW

Chapter Text

BRMNWBTMNWBTM

Coming to stand by the bed, Jason pushed the covers off Dick, grimaced at the blood-stained sheets he hadn’t seen before. It just never got any easier to see the ones he loved bleeding, knew it never would. But then he was distracted by his stubborn brother rolling onto his injured leg and beginning to scoot toward the edge of the bed as he sat up.

Realizing his brother was insanely planning on hopping out of bed, Jason curled a restraining hand around Dick’s shoulder and cautioned, “Slow your roll.” Didn’t know how the idiot kept the pain from showing after moving as much as he just had, when he was covered in bruises and his leg and head had to be hurting, pain meds or not.

“Trust me, my roll is pretty pathetically slow right now,” Dick sourly replied. Felt a bit lightheaded as he sat on the side of the bed, hands curled around the mattress to ensure he didn’t pitch forward and really give Jason a reason to go all big brother on him.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Jason insisted in that gentle tone he seemed to only drag out for his wayward little brother. “I bet the rest of your train patrons will be laid up for days with bruises and muscle pains that you brush off like scrapped knees. And speaking of bruises and abused muscles, we should put the cream on your shoulder awhile.”

“Dad didn’t assign you that task,” Dick was quick to point out.

“Call it my license as your big bro to assign other duties to my rooster at will.” But as Jason reached to lift Dick’s shirt up from the bottom, Dick brushed his hands away.

“Like I told Clark, I’m not sporting a bullet wound in my shoulder this time, can take off my own shirt.” Because Dick knew he had to stop being vulnerable around Jason and the other members of his family. By soaking up their motherhenning, he was only enforcing their idea that he was the young, helpless kid they all thought he was. And that was no way to prove his declaration that he was a full-fledged adult. One who had lead others, in a time of war, for Pete’s sake.

“Fine,” Jason allowed, sensing Dick needed to regain some of his self-assurance. But that hands off policy only lasted until he saw Dick’s almost unperceptive wince when his right shoulder was utilized in trying to lift his shirt past his midriff.  Catching Dick’s right wrist with gentle but strong fingers and halting it mid motion, Jason’s gaze collided with Dick’s.

Dick easily read the entreaty in Jason’s eyes to let him help, to not ask him to sit back and watch his little brother torture himself. After the hell he’d put Jason through that day, all of his family actually, Dick couldn’t justify adding to it. Resignedly deciding that he’d have to prove his adult status another day, Dick sighed even as he nodded in submission. 

Relieved he didn’t have to fight Dick for the right to take care of him, Jason took over, maneuvered the shirt gently off Dick’s bruised torso, enflamed shoulder and finally slid it over his head. He made it a point to fold the shirt with some respect and sit it on the end of the bed. After all, he didn’t want his brother to think he could snag one of his shirts and treat it as carelessly as he had this one.

Without the cover of the shirt, Jason took in the extent of the bruising on his brother’s body and fought back a curse. Turning his focus onto Dick’s right shoulder, which was deceptively bruise free, he knew it would have never come under their inspection as a point of pain if Dick hadn’t confessed to it. And that confession, even if it was given under their dad’s prodding, was such a show of trust that Jason couldn’t help smirking. The fact that Dick hadn’t told Clark about it? Somehow that made him even more cocky and awash with brotherly love.

Using the lightest touch he could, Jason rubbed the cream on Dick’s shoulder. And without permission, and thankfully with only a sigh of subdued protest from his patient, he slipped his hands coated with the muscle pain cream around his brother’s ribs for good measure. Through it all, Dick remained stoically silent, but there was tension in his body, of holding back his reaction to the painful touch on his bruises. So same old Dick MO.

Jason was surprised Dick broke the silence, until he realized it was because he was worried about people other than himself.

“Dad’s not gonna…you know…hold this against Clark, right?” Dick uneasily asked, knew his brother’s moods were similar enough to Bruce’s, which made Jason the closest thing to an expert to answer his question. Jason, however, didn’t raise his eyes to him, pretended his whole focus had to be on greasing him up like a pig in a pig catching game. “He gets it was just a bad coincidence and that Clark is actually the reason I’m not hurt worse, right? That a lot of people in this city are alive?”

Hearing the upset in his brother’s voice, Jason couldn’t brush Dick’s concerns aside any longer. Looking up to Dick’s searching gaze, he admitted, his tone soft because his words were not all that comforting, “Can’t say how it will go down, Dick. Clark’s never…failed dad like this before.” Failed them all, hurt them in ways…Jason never thought the man he trusted, loved as an uncle would.

“He didn’t fail him! Or me!” Dick vehemently insisted, frustrated that no one was listening to him, caring how he felt about being the one Clark had inadvertently hurt, nearly killed. If anyone had a right to be pissed, it was him and he wasn’t. Not at all.

Some of Jason’s tension must have leaked into his touch because Dick winced when his fingers dug a little too deeply into his abused muscles on his back. “Shit, sorry, sorry,” Jason sputtered, yanking his hands back from his brother like he had burned him with his touch. He startled when Dick grabbed his wrist and his breath caught. His eyes flew up to Dick’s, wondering if he was about to be rebuffed, cut off, but there was love in his brother’s eyes, not disownment. And then Dick pulled Jason’s hand back to rest on his torso, saying he absolutely trusted him. The Idiot.

But Jason retreated a few steps back, would not chance his raw emotions causing his hands to be rough again with his brother. Seeing Dick’s unhappiness with his distance, Jason’s eyes welled. Tightly closing them, he struggled to not think about how he’d almost lost this idiot who forgave too easily. Who wanted his touch even when he hurt him.

 “That’s not how it seems to us,” Jason ground out, picking up the conversation where Dick had taken it. But he knew he’d come through a lot of emotions since first learning about the train accident, had settled in a different camp than he had at the start. So he put a rider on his statement as he opened his eyes, met Dick’s troubled gaze. “Well mostly Dad and Tim.” Needed Dick to know he was in his corner, well about 80%. Or…70%…65%, now that he was seeing the hurt Dick was in, physically and emotionally.

Dick wasn’t all that encouraged by Jason’s one foot in his corner and the other solidly blaming Clark. “I don’t want to be the catalyst for breaking up another family,” his voice wobbling with choked back emotions that were nearly decimating him. “I did that to YJ with my deceptions. And..and Kaldur was almost rendered a vegetable by M’gann, was catatonic and she had to…to…” He pressed his trembling hands to his eyes, like he could hold himself together with the gesture. “I can’t let this fracture Bruce and Clark’s friendship, brotherhood. I won’t,” the last growled out with steely conviction as he dropped his hands and stood up. Was 100% set on getting in the middle of Bruce and Clark’s discussion that was happening right then.

Unexpectedly nimble for someone down a leg, Dick had made three limping strides toward the door before Jason snapped out of his stupor and caught up with him. Terrified he’d hurt Dick even if he grabbed his arm, Jason dismissed physical restraint and dodged in front of his brother and used his freaking words. Words he offered gently, with his own share of regret. Maybe not regret that he himself couldn’t intervene between Bruce and Clark’s uncomfortable convo, but that Dick couldn’t. “They have to work it out themselves, buddy.”

Which didn’t sway Dick one iota because he stubbornly went to step around him.  

It wasn’t Dick’s determined, set jawline that upset Jason, was instead the rampant fear in his brother’s eyes.   It made it impossible for him to not reach out to his brother, not to restrain him but to comfort him. Gently bracketing Dick’s face in his hands, Jason soothed, “Hey, hey…none of this is your fault,” felt his own emotional walls tremble when Dick’s inhale was shaky as crap, on the verge of erupting into crying.

“It is! I’m at the center of. …of…this…this…pending disaster.  Like I always am.” Bitterly Dick thought, ‘What does that say about me?! That I only bring estrangement to people who love each other?!’

“What’d you say, right place, right time,” Jason threw Dick’s words back at him but tenderly.

“You’re a jerk, you know that right,” Dick charged with a pale but legitimate shadow of a grin.

Relieved, Jason detected a diminished chance of Dick crying and the darkness in his brother’s eyes was lifting a tiny bit. “One of my better qualities,” he smugly retorted, playfully patted his brother’s cheeks. But then he sobered, turned his piercing determined gaze into his brother’s soul. “Just because you’re standing at ground zero doesn’t mean you set the bomb off.”

“Feels like I have,” Dick disheartenedly countered.

“I know,” Jason breathed in sympathy, wholly not blowing off his brother’s pain and misplaced guilt. “Dick, you defended Clark, told us how he saved you after he put you in danger. Now it’s for Dad and him to work out what comes next. It’s down to the facts you can’t manipulate, Dick. And whatever Dad decides, you have to accept.” Seeing the protest forming on Dick’s features, Jason enforced, “No, you do. Because he doesn’t deserve your displeasure when he’s pissed at Clark on your behalf. Well not on your behalf because you’d forgive him without an angry glare. So it’s on our behalf, for almost losing you, for Clark’s actions hurting you.” When Dick opened his mouth, Jason finished with a steely, “No matter it wasn’t intentional. You feel me?”

At the slang, Dick couldn’t fight back a halfhearted smile. “I feel you,” though it felt like he was sitting on his hands and letting his world implode again. But he trusted Jason, and he had to trust his dad to do the right thing.

Reading the fight go out of Dick, Jason reciprocated with his own smile, a little more real than Dick’s. “Since I am so not allowing you to get between Dad and Clark right now, how about you get off your leg.”

Dick gave a sad but little boy obedient nod. When Jason’s hands slid from his face, he started to turn around and head back to the bed. His head, however, took offense to the quick motion, or more like it, decided to up the dial to make him feel like he was spinning as much as the room was tilting sharply. He stumbled left, inadvertently putting his whole weight on his injured leg. His leg absolutely refused to do its duty and it began to crumble under him.

“Dick!” Jason called out in alarm as Dick stumbled and then was falling. He had no choice but to tackle Dick around the waist regardless of how savagely it hurt his brother’s ribs because hitting the floor would be ten times worse for the younger man’s injuries. Pulling Dick back against his chest to keep him upright, he was about to scoop him up in his arms when Dick seemed to read his mind.

“Don’t even think about it!” Dick growled a little breathlessly from the pain of Jason’s grab. Not to mention his eyes were clamped shut and he honestly couldn’t figure out which was up or down definitively right then to even crawl back to the bed. Leaning back against his brother’s chest to anchor himself, he grumbled, “I’ve already had the indignity of being carried once today.”

“Another point in Clark’s favor,” Jason unabashedly cheered on his uncle’s actions. Bobbing his head over Dick’s shoulder, he saw his brother’s ashen face and the fact his eyes were cinched shut. “Dick, you sure you don’t have a concussion?” he quietly prodded, wanted to act in the best way for his brother’s health.

“Just give me a minute, ‘kay?” Dick just as quietly negotiated back.

“We’re in no rush. I rather you didn’t push yourself, buddy,” and Jason’s voice was so understanding, so kind, it pierced Dick’s heart. Didn’t think his world’s Jason would ever have had that level of kindness in any words he’d ever say to him. No matter if Dick had been on his deathbed. Course that Jason would know all about deathbeds.

Shutting down those unhappy memories, Dick took in some steadying breathes, willed away his lightheadedness and drew strength from his brother’s presence, his arm locked around him, keeping him upright. A few moments passed until he felt steady enough to open his eyes. The good news was the room was now only tilting at a 10%-degree angle.

“I should have texted you back this morning..told you the truth.” It was easier for Dick to make that concession/flimsy apology not looking at Jason, having to see his reaction.

“Yeah. But I admit…we’ve been micromanaging your every move.” Feeling Dick’s body stiffen in surprise at his admission, Jason conceded, “It’s not that we don’t trust you. And we know you can take care of yourself. It’s just…”

Dick miserably finished his brother’s thought, “I get myself in fubar situations like today. A lot.”

Though Jason wanted to ease Dick’s guilt and renounce his statement, he couldn’t. It really was too true. Said instead, “And we just got you back and are still…raw from that.” Raw was such a gross understatement of how it felt to grieve as savagely as he had, as his dad and brother had and then to try and rewind it because it was a falsity. His heart, his soul just didn’t rebound like that. And his head?! That insidious realistic voice in his head, said it would happen again, that this was just a reprieve, that no one got to keep the ones they loved forever. 

“I think I’m ok to walk now,” Dick said, tapping Jason’s forearms which were still cinched around his waist. For a moment, Dick swore Jason’s arms tighten possessively around him before they slipped free. But a hand coiled at the crux of his elbow which he didn’t even try to dislodge. Appreciated that guiding support as he limped back to the bed, was about to sink down onto its side when Jason grabbed his other forearm, halting his descent.

“It’s time for you to sport your new sweatpants with honor,” Jason suggested lightly, so it didn’t come out as a command.  “You ok to stand here on your own a second so I can grab them?”

Dick held back rolling his eyes, only because he saw the shadow of worry in Jason’s. Answered with conviction to reassure his brother. “Yeah, I’m good, not dizzy anymore.”  When Jason’s lips quirked up, he knew he’d left himself open to his brother’s jab.

“Well, you’re still dizzy, think you will always be, but you’re not lightheaded anymore.”

“Funny. You should take that humor on a long walk…off a short pier,” Dick joked back, which eased the tension lines in Jason’s face he hadn’t really noted before.

“Wouldn’t help. I can swim and verbally slam you at the same time,” Jason retorted as he slowly released Dick. He waited a beat to see if he was swaying and when he didn’t, he went to the chair in the room to retrieve the sweatpants. He zipped back to Dick in record time, who already had undone his jean’s button and zipper and was starting to slide his jeans down his legs to reveal his boxers. (To Jason’s relief because he had been like 99% sure on the commando thing.)

“Ok, ok, I can take it from there,” Jason quickly said before Dick could lean too far and topple over. As it was, he wrapped his arm around Dick’s waist to stop that toppling from happening. “Ok, park it,” he ordered quietly, helping Dick to sit on the edge of the bed. Then he bent down, slipped the jeans off Dick’s legs and shimmed the sweatpants up and over the bandaged area of his leg with infinite care to just above his knees. Looking up to Dick, Jason didn’t find his brother’s sweating face all that encouraging to move on to the next step. “Shit, are you going to pass out or throw up?”

“Don’t know,” Dick breathlessly allowed, the room was spinning again and he felt overheated. Knew enough to bend over and put his head toward his knees. “Shouldn’t feel this bad…no concussion…” but then he had to shut up or upchuck.

“Maybe your “expert” was wrong,” Jason said, spying a basin beside the bed with water and a wash towel in it. He grabbed it and then dropped to a kneeing position by his brother’s troubled form. Wrung out the washcloth and ran it over the back of Dick’s neck, then over his brother’s sweat beaded forehead, down his face, across his neck in soothing gentle swipes.

And Dick was weak enough to lean into the gentle swoosh of the washcloth across his cheek, caused Jason to halt his motion, lean close and pull Dick against the crook of his neck. “Easy. You’ve had a crappy day that’s just catching up with you.”

“You know what was worse than thinking I was going to die today?” Dick began, was glad he couldn’t see Jason’s face but he could feel his brother’s body tense against his own. “That I was going to hurt you guys, make you grieve me all over again. I wanted to live to spare you that.”

“Very considerate of you,” Jason sardonically wisecracked but his voice was thready, too caught up in the ramifications of his brother’s words. Of Dick thinking he was going to die, of wanting to live, not for his own sake, but for theirs.

Tim spoke as he entered the room, “Let’s wait until you’re less likely to pass out mid-lecture to discuss how you shouldn’t want to die for your own sake.” Then he was on the other side of Dick, exchanged a worried look with Jason before he planned, “Ok, Jason will get you up and I’ll finish the job you two lazy dudes couldn’t complete.”

“You’re the one with the to-do lists all checked off,” Jason quipped, but felt Dick’s effort to raise his head from his shoulder, saw him blink with lethargy. “On three, nice and gentle.” He did the count down and pulled Dick to his feet while Tim got the sweatpants around Dick’s waist. But instead of easing Dick back onto the bed, Jason held Dick up while Tim did a super fast exchange of the blood-stained sheets for new ones that he had carried into the room with him.

Then Jason lowered Dick to the bed, and Tim was there, bracing his brother’s neck and shifting the pillow under his head and carefully arranging Dick’s legs down the length of the bed. Couldn’t resist running a feather light hand down his brother’s arm before coiling his hand in Dick’s. Saw his brother eyes open to slits and his mouth quirk up into a smile as his hand squeezed his back.

“How about you open those baby blues for me and let me decide if you have a concussion,” Jason said and Dick obeyed. Tracked Jason’s finger until he couldn’t, had to close his eyes as the room spun again.

Jason stated his findings more to Tim than Dick, “Eyes aren’t showing signs of a concussion, though he clearly took a good hit to the head.” The obvious stitchwork proof positive of that. But he ran his hands lightly across Dick’s forehead, knew there was some swelling there. “And Clark’s medic thought he didn’t have a concussion but now he’s lightheaded, looked seconds away from passing out.” Worry there, he bit his lip in concentration, wished his dad would reappear to help make a proper diagnosis. But knew Tim was doing great as a collaborator when he got that contemplative look on his face.

“Head trauma, shock, blood loss,” Tim ticked off the effects his brother was dealing with that could explain his symptoms.

And Dick couldn’t help interjecting in a sing song voice, “But I’ve had way way worse.” Because Tim and Jason were getting themselves worked up over nothing.

“Not helping my nerves,” Tim groaned, and Jason growled a “Shut up, you know I hate when you say that.”

“Especially when you can’t give me a proper beatdown because you feel too sorry for me,” Dick boasted, was just fine with getting a free pass from Jason because his big brother got all sappy when he was hurt.

“Yeah, you manipulative jerk,” Jason groused, not even trying to protest his brother’s statement.

Tim was tapping his fingers unconsciously against Dick’s hand in his hold. When Tim’s fingers stilled, Dick knew his brother had a new line of thought. “Dick, when did you eat last?”

Dick stiffened. ‘Crap.’ He hadn’t thought of that and hated to admit it to his brothers now.

As if reading his body language and he probably was, Tim insisted, “When Dick?”

“Ah…like…last night.”

His brothers cursed in unison.

“You do know people need to eat?! Daily?! Right?! Some people get crazy and eat three meals in one whole day,” Jason quipped with a razor edge of admonishment even as he was leaving the room, for certain on a food run.

Dick made his case to his other big brother. “The day obviously didn’t go as planned and the hours got away from me and with the pain…I’ve not been hungry,” apology in his tone because he was once again heaping worry on their heads for him because he was, in fact, an idiot.

“I get it. I don’t approve but I get it, out of anyone,” Tim allowed, was known to get obsessive like someone else and forget to eat. Usually Dick wasn’t like that, but Tim was willing to give him a pass, this time, on not taking care of himself in that manner. Gave his brother a soft smile as he kiddingly said, “Course who knows what Jason will bring you to eat.”

“Clark was going to order pizza.”

Tim made a rejecting face. “Yeah, I’d go a little lighter on the fare unless you want to make street pizza.”

“So didn’t need that mental picture,” Dick moaned, closing his eyes.

Jason hustled back in the room a few minutes later and sat by Dick’s waist. Earning his brother’s wary gaze, he said in the way of an apology/excuse, “Clark is not a gourmet cook and he’s not a foodie. Hmm..…don’t think he really needs to eat. Meaning the pickings were slim. So, I made you toast, lightly buttered and some tea.”

Dick’s eyes burned a bit and Jason shifted uncertainly, “What’s wrong? How did I f this up?”

“You didn’t, not at all,” Dick quickly reassured before he offered up a bittersweet smile. “Just my Alfred…it’s exactly what he’d bring me when I let myself get concussioned or got locked away without food too long or…”

“You got locked away without food? When? Who?” Jason demanded, ready to exact revenge through a portal to whoever dared to do that to his brother.

“Bad guys aren’t real considerate when it comes to catering a kidnapping or an imprisonment gig,” Dick quipped.

“You’re not funny,” Tim bit out, not liking the mental pictures those scenarios conjured up any more than Jason.

“I’m hilarious,” Dick contradicted with an impish grin. “Wish you’d just accept that.” But then his grin fell away, was replaced by a grim frown. “Will one of you check on Dad and Uncle Clark?”

“Absolutely not.”  “No way.”

Dick reacted with a sulking charge of “Cowards.”

But without hesitation or indignation his brothers said in synch, “Yup.”

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Clark didn’t have to turn away from the view of his neighborhood to know who had joined him on his balcony. He had been dreading this moment since he’d realized he was the one who had hurt Bruce’s son. Cowardly, with his back to his best friend, he quietly speculated with heartbreaking misery, “It this where you tell me to stay away from your son? All of your sons?”

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      TBC

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Chapter Text

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Cowardly, with his back to his best friend, Clark quietly speculated with heartbreaking misery, “It this where you tell me to stay away from your son? All of your sons?”

But Clark couldn’t bear for Bruce to confirm his worst fears, spoke again before Bruce could. “Accuse me of being egotistical? That my imperviousness to most harm makes me inconsiderate of the fact that human lives are fragile? That I could have…have…killed Dick! And not even known it.”

Bruce too had not looked forward to this conversation, was still trying to settle on the emotion that tipped the scales in his heart, knew it really wasn’t his love for Clark vs his love for Dick. It was neither that complicated or that easy. “Am I happy your actions almost killed my son? No.” Though the words were calm, the undercurrent of emotion in them was not.

Clamping his eyes shut at the pain in Bruce’s voice, the pain mirrored in his own soul, Clark exhaled and turned to face the man he considered a brother. Saw the conflict in Bruce’s eyes, the tension in his stance, none of it boding well for his friend’s forgiveness. And it awoke a sharp desperation in Clark, one he’d never acknowledged before, even to himself. “Don’t…don’t take them away from me, Bruce. Please,” he pleaded like none had ever heard from Superman or thought to. But this was the man underneath Superman, concealed, protected, a man who loved greatly and couldn’t bear to lose those he loved. “They mean…so much to me. I don’t have close relationships and since my parents passed…” His eyes burned with tears, as he thickly confessed, “…you’ve become my entire family. You and your sons. I don’t have the luxury of letting anyone into my life, not fully, not knowing who I am behind the Clark façade. Bruce, you of all people understand that loneliness.”

Bruce sighed, not unaffected by Clark’s entreaties. Not at all. Not when he did understand that enforced loneliness, how tightly you clung to the ones who brought light to your life. Like he did his sons. ‘Like I had Alfred and the first Dick before I lost them from my life.’ He rubbed a hand over his creased brow and through his hair. “Yes, you know I do.” After Alfred, after what happened to eight-year-old Dick Grayson, there was no one who knew him, who he could let know him.  Until Jason. Then Tim.”

Wanting to grab that middle ground between them with all the strength he had, Clark stepped toward Bruce, passionately vowed, “I know their lives are fragile. That…they…break easily. Do you know how I felt…seeing Dick bleeding and knowing…I caused it? Worse, that he almost died if I hadn’t thought, oh yeah, I shouldn’t let that train fall off the tracks, people might get hurt. It was such an….an…offhanded thought. I almost…” the words were strangled by the emotion welling up his throat and he looked away, couldn’t say it out loud and incriminate himself further. But Bruce knew.

“You almost didn’t take the time to prevent the train from falling,” Bruce quietly surmised. Passing by Clark, he braced his hands on the railing and looked out at the city. His eyes were welling, his heart tripping up, as it hit him again the outcome he’d almost been faced with that day if Clark had done things differently. Had other priorities he had focused on. Had turned a blind eye to everything but victory. Clark said as much in the next moment.

There was self-contempt in Clark’s tone. “I got so…narrowed in on the battle. I…I …nearly lost myself, my…humanity.”

But that had gone too far, was not something Bruce could let go unchallenged. Knew and, yes, loved Clark too well as a brother to let it stand. Turning around, he resolutely corrected his friend, “Not your humanity, Clark. I know you too well to believe that.” Saw the small lessening of the tension in his friend but it wasn’t enough, found in that moment he didn’t want Clark to be wracked with guilt, any more than Dick wanted that. ‘It’s the young ones that sometimes guide us best,” he fondly thought of his son’s good heart.

It gave Bruce the power and the mercy to tell Clark, “You can’t always see the big picture…or have the luxury of caring about the big picture. Have to focus on the threat at hand. But…learn from me. Sometimes the threat…how you stop the threat…it can taint your soul.” Knew what it was like to be so blinded by his mission, by his refusal to lose a battle, that he’d sacrificed a life very precious to him. Like Clark unknowingly nearly had that day. Just as Bruce had not known who it was he had battled under that Talon’s suit, Clark hadn’t known who was on that train he derailed.

Strangely, it was a Bible verse that popped into Bruce’s head in that moment, about being kind to strangers for you might be entertaining angels unaware. But he and Clark, they both lived in a world where they had ended up battling and endangering angels unaware. Angels that they loved dearly, who made their world a place worthy of putting on their respective suits to save.

It exacted a heavy burden to be aware of how they fought their battles.

Eyes stinging, Bruce said, “I never told you what happened to this world’s Dick Grayson.”

“Bruce, you don’t have to…”

“I do,” Bruce emphatically cut across the free pass Clark was trying to give him. But knew this was the moment, not when Bruce needed to tell it but when Clark should hear it. To know Bruce knew how he was feeling, how soul crushing it was to hurt someone you loved. “You know he was taken from the orphanage before I could take him in.”

Clark nodded, dreading the story Bruce would tell even as he was sickly aching to hear it.  It was the reporter in him, wanting the facts, even if they would corrode his soul.

Bruce came to lean against the railing, but this time facing Clark. “The Court of Owls had taken him.” Bruce still felt the painful impact of that statement, even after all the years that had passed, after getting his Dick in his life. 

Clark’s face went ashen at the truth he’d never thought was coming, had heard Bruce tell enough tales about the Court to know how insidious a group they were. Felt sick thinking of the Dick he knew, even at nineteen, being in their murderous hands and his fists clenched.

“They…raised him,” bitterness resonating in Bruce’s words, at what the Court had done and he hadn’t. “Trained him…brainwashed him to be…their weapon.”

Clark reached out, coiled his hand around Bruce’s shoulder in support, abysmally knew where this horrible tale was leading: to Dick Grayson being a Talon.

Bruce thought he could say it dispassionately, to separate his feelings but that was asking the impossible. His voice cracked apart in the telling, “I didn’t….know. We fought..” a tear slipped down his face unchecked and when he closed his eyes tightly, more joined in. Couldn’t look to Clark when he confessed his greatest sin, “I killed him.”

Cold coiled around Clark, making him shiver. It was …worse than he’d ever imagined.

Daring to look at Clark, Bruce winced at the utter shock on Clark’s face. Pulling away from Clark’s hand on his shoulder, he headed for the apartment window, said as he went, “So I know what it’s like to cause someone you love pain, to take…a life that you love. So I have no room to judge..” Wasn’t expecting a hand to grab his forearm, to stop his leaving, to gently spin him back around to face his brother in all but blood. Never expected to be pulled into arms that could crush his ribs and instead those arms took the utmost care to not hold on too tightly to hurt but to assure Bruce that Clark was there, that he had him. That Clark wasn’t so disgusted with him that he wanted him gone from his sight.

Hugging Bruce, Clark breathed out with a voice not all that steady, “I’m so sorry, Bruce. That shouldn’t have happened to you…to either of you.”

The absolution, Bruce didn’t even know he needed that from Clark until he had it. Without any more reservations, he clung to Clark, tightly, before he got himself under control enough to step back, face his best friend and admit another one of his failings. “I should have told you sooner,” he declared with regret.

“Dick is the only one who needed to hear it. So he’d know why you reacted the way you did to his name, who he was.” Clark remembered that day vividly. He had tried to console Dick and convince him Bruce’s reaction wasn’t about not loving or wanting him. And now it made sense, Bruce getting sick at who Dan Gilroy actually was.

“Learning what I’d done..it almost cost me Dick. And Jason and Tim.” That remembered fear made Bruce’s breath catch in his chest.

Hands coiled around Bruce’s shoulders and eyes holding his friend’s troubled gaze to ensure he didn’t blow off what he said next, Clark decreed, “But it didn’t. Being truthful, vulnerable with them, it made them love you more for the pain you’d suffered. It gave them the chance to help you heal.” Then Clark’s expression changed…to one of surprised understanding. “And that’s why you’re telling me this now, to help me heal.”

Bruce’s smile was a bit watery. “Worked on me, thought it would help you too. Catharsis is a bitch, huh?”

Clark’s smile was bittersweet. “Yeah, it is.” Before he shook his head, not negatively but in awe of his friend’s goodhearted, devious actions. “Guess you really do know how much I love your sons.”

Bruce nodded, was never a doubt in his mind, even when it came to Dick though Clark hadn’t known him that long. But the kid had a way of engendering instant love. So yeah, today was never about Clark ever wanting to hurt Dick. Was about actions, consequences, shortsightedness when it came to the cost of fighting and defeating evil. He reached up, cupped the nape of Clark’s neck. “Dick’s been saying it, repeatedly, that you saved him today. And he’s right. You hurt him, yes, but you saved him. And that’s the outcome we need to focus on. You saved him, Clark. Thank you.”

Clark closed his eyes, nodded, was too choked to speak. He saved Dick. Dick hadn’t died today because of him. No matter his motivations, or distractions or ego, it had ended happily. Here, with Dick ok, Bruce forgiving him and his nephews…well two of them forgiving him. As for Tim, he would have to regain his trust. ‘And my trust in myself.’

But Clark knew he wasn’t alone in either of those struggles. Dick was a one-man defense team and Bruce understood his situation today better than he should have ever had to.  Jason was good at sweet talking his little brothers into his way of thinking. And Tim? Clark loved the kid and knew Tim loved him back. He’d just have to re-earn that love. And that was ok, he deserved that mistrust. Would prove all over again that he was still someone Tim could trust with what he treasured most: the lives of the people he loved.

Relieved Clark was accepting his absolution, Bruce stepped back toward the apartment intending to give his friend some emotional space. “Don’t stay out here too long. Dick will want to confirm I didn’t murder you,” he jokingly remarked, earning a snort from Clark. Then Bruce reentered the apartment via the window.

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All three of his sons’ eyes snapped to him when Bruce rejoined them in the bedroom. He sardonically observed how each of his sons reacted to the fact that he was alone.

 Dick markedly looked behind Bruce, hoping to see his uncle who preferably was not sporting Kryptonite shards in his chest. But there was no Clark in sight. His panicked gaze flew back to Bruce as he feared the worst, that Bruce hadn’t forgiven Clark, was going to cut ties with him. And Dick couldn’t bear it, to be the reason another family shattered into a thousand piercing shards.

Initially Bruce had smirked at Dick’s obvious nervous need for proof of life that Clark was still among the living. But seeing the horror darkening his son’s eyes, his amusement vanished. Hurriedly reassured as he reached his son, put his hand on his uninjured shoulder, “Hey, hey, everything is alright, Dick. Clark and I…we’re ok.”

“Really?” Dick timidly asked, hated that he needed verification, like his dad’s word wasn’t good enough for him. When it was.

Bruce allowed his smirk to make an encore as he nodded, “Yeah, we are.”

Dick felt the pressure in his chest melt away at the news. At the relief that this family, his family was still intact. That he hadn’t destroyed it with his bad karma. But then he recalled there was one sticking point remaining. Looking to Tim, he saw his brother’s features weren’t reflecting disgust at Bruce’s peace with Clark but more a show of resignation. Like he’d been outvoted. Dick was about to plead his case to Tim when his dad’s question alerted him to another danger zone for him.

 Noticing the plate on Dick’s lap, Bruce remarked with an edge of suspicion, “Couldn’t wait for pizza, huh?”  A second later felt rising concern when he took stock of what his son was eating. It sent up red flags to his overprotective father’s heart.

Dick wasn’t sure if he wanted to confess the reason he needed food, but Tim took the decision out of his hands by speaking up.

“He’s lightheaded.” At Bruce’s rising anxiety, Tim clarified AKA ratted Dick out, “Because he didn’t eat anything today until now AND with a head injury and blood loss on top of that, it’s not a winning combo.”

“Tattle tale,” Dick mockingly shot at Tim, who didn’t look repentant, not at all.

“Since he’s relegated toast for supper, the good news is, that’ll leave more pizza for us,” Jason taunted, received a death glare from Dick which he laughed off.

“Speaking of pizza,” Clark announced as he entered the room bearing a stack of pizza boxes and paper plates.

Bruce looked a little stunned. “How did you…I just left you like five minutes ago. Do you have a pizza joint that does super speed?!”

Clark returned the question with a smug smirk. “I have my connections,” wasn’t about to say he knew a pizza guy who moved almost as fast as him and that he had used his own heat vision to bake it on the way.  Then he sat the pizza on the end of the mattress, saw that he and his pizza guy weren’t the only one with super speed when it came to grabbing pizza slices. One box was depleted and another opened before he even reached for his own slice.

Holding his plate piled up with four slices of pizza, Bruce claimed the spot on the bed beside his son. Leaning back against the headboard, he merrily began munching on his pizza because, in all honestly, Dick wasn’t he only one who had skipped a meal that day. Worry and terror always made food taste like ash in his mouth, so Bruce hadn’t even tried to choke anything down for lunch.

Meanwhile, Jason and Tim staked property at Dick’s feet: Tim sitting Indian style and Jason draping his long legs over the end of the bed. For once all were quiet because they were too busy stuffing pizza into their pie holes. Clark smiled at the scene and went to leave but Dick called out, nodding to the unoccupied chair in the room, “Chair’s open, Uncle Clark.”

Clark shot a look to Tim, saw his steely expression and demurred, “I’ll give you time together…”

 But Dick finished for him, in a way Clark hadn’t intended to, “…for them to interrogate and lecture me? They already had enough time to do that. So please stay. After all, it’s your apartment.”

Clark exchanged a look with Bruce, who give him a nod of agreement. He didn’t miss Tim’s still just as stony expression but meanwhile Jason kicked out the chair in his direction. Then there was Dick’s expectant look. Knew the kid was worried how his family was treating him after the day’s events. Three welcoming family members out of four wasn’t bad, so he took a seat.

They fell into light banter until Dick’s eyes started to flicker shut too often. Clark excused himself and Bruce nodded to his sons, who took the signal and slid off the bed. But the brothers didn’t leave right away. Jason gave Dick a marinara-ed, greasy kiss on the crown of his head to which Dick laughing sputtered, “jerk” and playful pushed Jason away. Tim was more reserved, gave Dick’s hand a gentle squeeze, seemed on the verge of saying something but didn’t, which left a wake of silence behind him.

Then Bruce went to push off the bed too but Dick grabbed his arm, halting his movement. The held back words burst from him in a rush, “I’m sorry, dad, I should have told you my plans, that I was coming to see..”

“It’s ok, Dick,” Bruce comfortingly cut off his son’s panicked apology with a hand cupping his cheek. “Just get some sleep, sweetheart,” he quietly said, kissing him gently on the forehead over his stitches. Then he stood up, gave a loving smile down upon his youngest before leaving the room so his injured son could sleep.

Dick’s heart swelled, not only at his father’s tenderness to him but the rest of them, forgiving him for being a stupid jerk and skipping town without telling them. For thinking their protectiveness lately was about them not trusting him. When it was fate, kismet, his personal freaking ‘wrong place, wrong time’ karma that they didn’t trust.

None of which he could control. Neither could his dad and brothers. And that …that was what troubled them all the most.

He slid down more comfortably in the bed and sighed. It was such a bat ego thing to actually think they should be able to wield some control over the whims of fate. Was probably why he had been destined to be a bat, at home and here. Startled a bit at that insight because he wasn’t really a bat here, was more bat adjacent. Wasn’t he?

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The apartment was small, too small for Tim to avoid Clark, so he opted to take a walk. Wasn’t happy at all at having someone tag along. “I didn’t ask for company.”

“I’m not company, I’m family,” Jason good-naturedly corrected, loping beside Tim as they made their determined stride down the sidewalk in the near midnight streets.  Though Clark lived in a good section of the city, Jason’s hackles were raised all the same, knew only too well darkness emboldened people to do their worst. Made him wish that he had at least a batarang at his disposal.  Sardonically thought they could always call out for Superman like the rest of the civilians did in Metropolis if some bad guy took a liking to their wallets.

“I don’t want to talk,” Tim growled, his angry pace eating up the pavement.

Jason shrugged unoffended, simply remained looking straight ahead. But he wasn’t surprised in the least when Mr.  I-don’t-want-to-talk actually started the communication.

“I know you and dad, even Alfred, think I shouldn’t be pissed at Clark but Dick almost died, could have…” Tim’s voice broke emotionally before he forged it with steel hardened anger, “…and it would have been Clark’s fault. All his fault.”

Jason said nothing, knew Tim sometimes needed him to listen more than he needed him to agree with him.

“Damn it! Dick trusted him. Him?! And look…” Tim broke off, felt his teeth in jeopardy of cracking as he grinded them together so tightly to fight down all the emotions raging inside of him, to choke back the words. So many words he couldn’t form, knew he shouldn’t say them. It was long moments later before he could speak, though his voice was still shaky, “Like you said…love doesn’t always heal you, sometimes it hurts you.”

Jason wanted to ask if that meant Tim’s love for Clark hurt him, or Clark’s love for Dick, Dick’s love for Clark? Didn’t ask because, really, he knew it was all of it. Loving someone was complicated…and painful, which was the bitch of it all.

“I never thought…” Tim bit his lip, remembered a scene ingrained in his mind, of Clark with Dick. “He was so….careful with Dick. Carried him when Dad flipped his shit when Dick told us who he was. I was…jealous,” looked to Jason to see if that made him an awful person in his brother’s eyes but Jason was giving him that tender look, like he loved him in all his messed-up glory. He gritted out the next erroneous admission, “I trusted him to never hurt Dick.”

Jason sighed at that, at his little brother’s naivety even after all the evil Tim had witnessed in the world, in people. “Life is more complicated than that, kiddo.” Tugging Tim to his side, he kissed him on his hair, a kiss not so tomato saucy as Dick had received but still with as much love. “People interacting with others, it gets…messy. And with the line of work Clark’s in…we’re in…messy can turn nuclear real quick. That doesn’t mean our love isn’t real, or deep..only human.”

“And humans are screwed up? That’s your takeaway?” a little mockery in Tim’s tone for his brother’s simplistic answer.

Jason smirked. “And Metas and aliens and every living sentient being, I think. We don’t have a monopoly on being screwed up.”

But Tim knew what Jason wasn’t saying. “You’re talking about a certain alien we know being screwed up?”

“Screwed up over today’s events? Hmmm,” Jason drawled as if he had to contemplate his answer but then he became serious as he looked at his brother. “I can think of a few screwed up aliens, one in particular, that loves you as deeply as he loves Dad.”

Tim sighed, conceded, “I don’t doubt his…love. But if it doesn’t…didn’t…couldn’t…What good was his love for me, for even Dick if he…”

“Killed Dick today by mistake?” Jason bluntly posed, let Tim push off of him and step away, be reflectively silent.  But the alternate scenario didn’t leave Jason unaffected, showed in the hoarseness of his voice when he spoke next. “You think I wouldn’t want to inflict pain on Clark if Dick had died today?”

Tim’s eyes flew to Jason’s in shock. Throughout the day, Jason had been the unexpected pacifist, hadn’t openly laid any blame on Clark.

 Jason realized he couldn’t leave it there, had to make his point clear, that he wasn’t above feeling as betrayed as Tim did if things had ended differently that day. “I love Dick too, Tim. To lose him…” he shook his head, remembered that feeling, that grief only too well, sometimes felt it was just under the surface, fighting to bleed out. “But we didn’t lose him. And that’s because of Clark. I have to..to focus on the real outcomes, can’t …can’t bear thinking of the what might-have-beens or I’ll…”

Jason swallowed down his emotions, but they were still there in his welling eyes. “Seriously, I’d have a nervous breakdown because with our lives, we could be killed…you…dad…. Hell, Dick almost died doing nothing more dangerous than taking a train. Life isn’t safe, for anyone. And we risk our lives more than anyone else in Gotham but…we are still alive, still here, still together,” he declared, reaching a hand out to reassuringly squeeze his little brother’s shoulder, like he needed physical proof of that truth, that his brother was there with him, that he was there for Tim. “And I have to focus on that. That we still have Dick, that we didn’t…didn’t…” his voice cracked on his next words, “…lose him all over again.”

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Tim hurriedly apologized at his brother’s distress, went in for a hug because Jason was clearly hurting and the big idiot never admitted it until now. “I didn’t mean to open wounds for everyone, for you, Jason,” felt his big brother’s arms tighten around him, proof positive that Jason needed his presence. Chin resting on Jason’s shoulder, Tim choked out, “I know you…you grieved him, like we all did. And I see the way you look at Dick sometimes, like he’s a mirage, like you’re afraid you’ll blink and he’ll be gone.”

Jason squeezed his eyes closed, felt a tear escape down his cheek, gave a raw bitter chuckle, “Thought I hid that. It’s not right, putting that pressure on Dick.  To need validation. Or some damn proof of life throughout the day. Like I did today.”

Tim sighed, got it, what was prompting Jason’s persistent texting of Dick in their meeting that morning. They broke off the hug but Tim wasn’t willing to just let Jason’s hurt and fear be swept under the rug like it didn’t matter. “The texting, you needed to know he was ok for your piece of mind,” giving reasoning for Jason’s actions, even his fears, because today proved they were wholly justified.

“What of Dick’s piece of mind?!” Jason countered, angry at himself now. “That he cuts me off, runs away to Clark without telling us, all to get away from my sick insecurities? Our suffocating him.  We might as well have pushed his train off the tracks ourselves because we put him there. I put him there.”

“We put him there. Me too.” At Jason’s questioning look, Tim timidly confessed, “I put a new tracker..ok, two of them on his bike.” An impish grin emerged before he added, “And on the Mustang in case he switched things up. We do get heavy rain in Gotham that precludes motorcycle riding, as you know.”

“Yeah, I’m aware,” Jason smirkingly agreed, because heavy rain was how they managed to convince Dick (AKA Dan at the time) to stay with them another day when they first met him. Forestalled Dick from leaving them and dropping off the grid, even their bat grid. Course that led to him attending a gala and saving it from bad guys and eventually telling them who he was, what connection he had to them. “I kinda enjoy a good storm lately.”

“Me too.” Because something wonderful had come out of one once: Tim gaining another brother.

Those memories had them walking in content silence for a block or two. “We can’t live in fear,” Jason declared wearily. “It’s not healthy and it’s not fair to Dick having to deal with us hovering over him.”

“Even if we only hover because we love him, can’t bear to ever lose him for real?” Tim sulkily asked even as he knew the answer, saw Jason’s eyes sparkle with mirth as he replied with a flippant, “Yup.” But there was another conclusion Tim knew this was leading up to, construed with grumpy resentment, “I have to forgive Clark, don’t I?”

“You don’t have to…” Jason started, saw Tim’s hope and then crushed it, “…but I think you should. Not only for Clark’s sake but Dick’s…and your own. You love Uncle Clark, and he loves you. Whatever interaction you were jealous of between him and Dick, he’s shown you that love too. On so many occasions.” Couldn’t bear for Tim to not see that for himself, to know how deeply Clark loved him.

“I know he has. You too. And dad,” Tim acknowledged, knew he’d purposefully not let that truth soften his anger at Clark, wanting to hang onto it because it was easier than just being terrified after the day’s happenings.

“He’s family and you and I know what it’s like to lose family members. And so does Clark,” Jason gently pointed out, that even the man of steel wasn’t impervious to grief. “But losing family to death, when it’s out of our hands, is 1000% different than cutting them out of our lives. Look at Alfred and Dad, how much that estrangement hurt both of them. And how good it is for them to be back together, to forgive old sins and help heal old hurts.”

“I know. I thought of them too.” Tim kicked at a soda can that hadn’t made it to a trash can, looked at the darkened storefronts they were now walking by. “Even if you and I back off from techno stalking Dick, doesn’t mean Dad will..or can. And I’m not going be the one to tell Dad he can’t be a raging motherhen with Dick.”

“I think Clark will have that unsavory duty,” Jason announced, his tone saying he was super glad he wasn’t in Clark’s position.

Turning to his brother, Tim said with surprise, “Clark?”

Jason offered up a sardonic smile. “Yeah. He’s really earning his Wayne membership this go around.”

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Clark didn’t want to do it, implode the healed ruptures in his brotherhood with Bruce. Would have gladly been the coward if he knew his silence wouldn’t be detrimental to Dick. With that motivation, he decided to not sugar coat things, to cut to the chase. Or more like it, down to the bone, on first contact. “You guys being super protective of Dick, always checking up on him, he’s misinterpreting it as you not trusting him. To either take care of himself…or not leave you again.”

Bruce’s head had snapped up in surprise when Clark had started his speech and he was now horrified by the ramifications implied. “That’s not…”

“I know,” Clark gently assured his honorary brother. “I told him it was about you never wanting to lose him again, but me saying it isn’t going to convince him.”

“I’m screwing up with him lately,” Bruce morosely choked out, more guilt washing over him. “I came off too strong today, ordering him home like he was a truant school boy and now he’s taking my desire to reassure myself he’s ok as…as.. Damn it!” He ran his hand through his hair, turning the locks unruly as he sank into a kitchen chair across from Clark. “That’s why he didn’t tell me or his brothers he was visiting you today.”

“Pretty much, yeah. Course I’m not winning any uncle awards lately either,” Clark scornfully admitted.

Bruce latched onto that assertion, sardonically drawled, “Yeah, you Kents and your good intentions are pretty hard on my youngest,” thinking of Connor’s first meeting with Dick ending up with Dick shot…but consequently Dick with the bats where he belonged.

“Bite me,” Clark good naturedly snapped back. Then they both chuckled and it felt heavenly to release the tension that still lingered between them even after their earlier talk.

“Seriously I’m not mad at you. Or Connor…mostly,” Bruce tacked on, because the kid still had to answer for the way he’d practically called Dick a coward. “I’m more mad at the world in general that seems to have it out for Dick.”

“If it’s any consolation, he’s one of the calmest presences under duress that I know.” Had watched him as Dan when he confronted the robbers at the gala, had heard details about his exploits when he rescued them all from the trap someone had laid for him with the Bats as bait. And yes, he’d cyber stalked him by reading comments by the train passengers about the young man who’d helped them all off the train and yup, also saved a guy from falling out a window to his death. So yeah, his nephew was no wallflower to sit back when his strength was needed.

Bruce nodded but it wasn’t a happy gesture. “I recognized that trait the first time I met him. Too damn used to being in pain. Could have sworn he didn’t feel right if he wasn’t in pain. I’d hoped we had made things better for him, that he’d realize he doesn’t deserve pain.”

“I think he’s getting there,” Clark allowed but Bruce’s look was skeptical.

“Meaning he was going to take the pain pills without me ordering him to?” Bruce interrogated, already knowing the answer.

Clark’s lips twitched into a smirk. “Well, no. My medic friend gave him the ‘stubborn jackass’ award and said, I quote, “your nephew is a real piece of harden steel work, Kent.””

Bruce chuckled, pointed his finger at Clark. “I like this medic guy.”

“Me too. I wouldn’t have exposed Dick to him if I didn’t.” But that reminded Clark of that moment when he felt overprotective of Dick at Carl’s hands. “Hey, wanted to ask, the old wound on Dick’s left thigh, he seems ashamed of it. Know the backstory?”

“No,” Bruce grimly answered, had noted a time or two that Dick was especially skittish when that scar was in plain sight. “He hasn’t offered anything up about it and I haven’t pressed him.”

“Still being all careful around him, huh?” At Bruce’s scowl and before he could object, Clark mused, “Maybe he’s misreading that too.”

“That I’m worried that if I push him, he’ll bolt?”

“Which he won’t,” Clark firmly declared in response to Bruce’s pensive look. “Bruce, he loves you and with you is where he wants to be most in the world.”

“In this world,” Bruce muttered before he said loud enough to be an actual response, “But I’m not safe. I killed one Dick Grayson, how can he not think I’ll get him killed too. Or Jason or Tim. This life that I’ve chosen, it was supposed to be me at risk, not anyone I loved.”

“Why are you having doubts? What brought this on?” Clark wondered. Though Bruce was very protective of his kids, he had never shown any wavering to let them be vigilantes like their dear old dad.

Bruce surged out of his chair, paced to the window. “The Court of Owls,” said the sect like it was a vile curse word. “They are out there, and I feel like they are waiting on their chance to destroy my world all over again.”

Clark felt like he was missing a vital clue, knew just as surely that any talk of the Court could hurt Bruce and he’d already done enough of that. So he warned himself to tread gently. “I know what they …cost you. But out of all the enemies you’ve made, why do you fear them the most? Why would they devote themselves to destroying Batman? Especially after all these years. As far as you’ve told me, they didn’t target the young Dick Grayson because of his small link to you.”

Bruce felt his chest tighten, like it always did when he let his fears for Dick boil to the surface. Turning to face Clark, he provided the missing link Clark’s investigative mind knew he’d been withholding, “The Court didn’t just randomly pick that young Dick Grayson.” At Clark’s alarmed look, he qualified, “And not because of his ties to Batman or Bruce Wayne.”

Mind reeling, Clark slowly asked, “They didn’t just pick any orphan? Specifically wanted Dick Grayson?” Felt a shiver creep down his spine when Bruce grimly nodded. “Dick…our Dick…they wouldn’t…”

Bruce suddenly looked ten years older, sank heavily back against the kitchen counter. “If they knew he was here, yes, yes they would come for him, I don’t doubt that. And neither does Dick.”

“Why?” Clark demanded, his tone edging toward Superman’s most stringent timbre. His protective instincts thrumming through him, goading him to track down this Court of Owls and rout out every single member, no matter how long it took him.

Sensing Clark’s change of emotions, Bruce knew his friend would be there if he needed help annihilating the Court so it was never a threat to his son. He explained Dick’s ties as succinctly as he could, “The down and dirty of it is: Dick’s a legacy. His grandfather is a Talon, groomed his future generations to join him on his mission.”

“Join him? You mean carry on for him,” Clark corrected.

Bruce shook his head. “He’s got longevity, maybe even immortality as a Talon. I’ve faced off with him, struck mortal wounds upon him and he …didn’t die.”

Clark looked pale, like the news was hitting him in the gut. “He’s the one that took the child Dick and trained him to be a Talon. And if he realized a Dick Grayson, our Dick Grayson was here…he’d try and indoctrinate him into being a Talon.”

“He’d love a second chance,” Bruce grimly agreed with Clark’s assessment.

Clark wanted to protest that they wouldn’t be dealing with a child they could easy manipulate, twist his moral code before he knew right from wrong. That their Dick would never be a loyal follower of their sect. But Bruce would know all that too, would have complete faith in Dick to retain his goodness. So if Bruce was afraid for Dick, the Court had to have ways of breaking people down to be their weapon. Ways that absolutely terrified Bruce, his friend revealed as much the next moment.

“I can’t even talk about this!” Bruce’s growled, his escalating anxiety evident in his restless body language, in the way his voice rose. “Contemplate those bastards getting their hands on him. His ..his grandfather manipulating him to follow in his sick footsteps.”

Clark got up and came to his friend, cupped his hand around the side of Bruce’s neck, hoping to calm his best friend, give him an anchor to hang onto. It did enough to get Bruce’s agitated attention to focus on him. “We won’t let that happen,” Clark vowed, as much for Bruce’s peace of mind as his own.

“You don’t know how badly I want to hunt them down right now and …and…” Bruce cut himself off. Had walked the path of executioner and it had gotten a young boy he cared for killed by his hands. And besides, Dick had made him promise to not take on the Court, not unless they truly posed a threat to him.

“I know,” Clark gently acknowledged Bruce’s unspoken desire without judgement but with sorrowful understanding. Part of him wanting to wipe every last Court member off the earth too if it would keep Dick safe. But that…wasn’t their way. His or Bruce’s. Not Bruce’s anymore. It cost too much to seek justice through such a level of violence.

Now Clark understood the turmoil his friend was facing each day with the threat hanging over his son’s life. Why any time Dick was out of his sight, or out of touch was so terrifying to Bruce. It wasn’t just about having gotten Dick back after he’d lost him or about Dick’s perchance to be at the heart of trouble. Was about Dick being a target for this Court, for his freaking Grandfather’s sick legacy he would enslave Dick to continue if he knew he had another grandson. He gave Bruce’s shoulder a squeeze before he stepped back, did his own pacing in the kitchen. Ached to do something to ensure Dick was always safe. ‘But you can’t. there are no guarantees in life. You know that.

It caused Clark to recall what his father had told him. “No matter how strong you are, how fast you are, it’s not possible for you to save everyone. And it’s not your responsibility to try.”

“Sometimes I think I’d worry less if Dick were putting on a suit every night, going out there with us,” Bruce guilty confessed, thought he was a crap father for even thinking it, let alone saying it. “If he had batarangs strapped to him at all times. Was keeping his skills sharp, wasn’t letting down his guard. Had some protection if they came for him. And I know that’s not fair, wanting to drag him unwillingly back into the life. The Court, they may never find him, probably can’t if he stays off the radar, never dons a mask. It’s like a damn twisted catch 22.”

Clark knew that catch only too well, torn between being Clark Kent and Superman. Divided loyalties. Wondering what he was trading off when he was one or the other, could never be both at the same time. His dad had a saying for that too. “You follow this,” tapped his 16 year old chest where his heart lay underneath, “and you’ll always make me proud. Superpowers or not, you’re my son. That’s all I ever need you to be.”

And he knew Bruce had the same abiding love for his son, all three of them. “Bruce, Dick doesn’t need a mask or suit or a vigilante name to be who he is down to his core.”

“What’s that? A hero? He doesn’t believe he’s that anymore, even after helping all those people today.” Bruce felt gutted that he couldn’t make Dick see himself in a better light.

“He’s a hero, yes, but he’s a survivor and strong as any Kryptonain… here,” Clark said, tapping his heart. “And on top of that, he’s a freaking Wayne. And those stubborn idiots never go down without a fight, generally make the bad guys wish they had never crossed their paths. So maybe it’s the Court that I should warn about you and your brood, huh?”

Bruce gave a tremulous smile that grew into something feral. “Too bad for the Court, we bats don’t let anyone off with just a warning.”

And Clark’s smile surprisingly matched Bruce’s savage intensity. “I know,” darkly glad for that trait when it came to predators targeting the ones he loved.

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TBC

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Chapter Text

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Sitting in a chair beside his sleeping youngest son, Bruce looked through Dick’s wallet, fingered the driver’s license: Dan Gilroy. It felt a thousand ways wrong that it wasn’t at least Dan Wayne. Sifting through the rest of the wallet, he found nothing listing any emergency contact info or anything else with their home address on it. In fact, his driver’s license was for another state and his fake military ID was that same out of state address. Nothing to link him to the Waynes. ‘To us.’

 Curiosity engaged, Bruce couldn’t help check out Dick’s phone and there were no contact lists. And the calls in and out were wiped clear, evidence of some computer program Dick had created and installed on his phone to make it as clean as a burner phone. Even as he knew it was Dick being protective of them, in case the Court came after him, that they wouldn’t associate Dick with the Waynes or the Bats, it made Bruce ill. To think if something had happened to Dick, if he was injured so badly he wasn’t conscious or worse, Bruce would never have gotten a notification call. None of them would have. All of his son’s IDs were linked to that false background Tim had set up, which gave him no family, only a brief bio of a false dojo membership and a military stint. Absolutely no ties to another soul on the planet.

It was the isolation Dick had had in this universe before his path crossed with theirs.

An isolation Dick would have still had if they hadn’t fought long and hard for him to stay with them. If they hadn’t felt that tie..that connection. If Bruce hadn’t listened to his fatherly instincts, which had ached to help the so obviously hurting kid. What if he had instead let Batman’s cold blooded compulsions dictate his reaction?! Leading to him begrudgingly patching the stranger up, only to dose him with Halifan, wipe his memories of their secrets and kick him back into the world. All alone.

‘I would have lost him. Discarded him. Worse, the Court might have found him. Like they found the first one. Then I would have lost two Dick Graysons to the damn Owls.’

“I thought you trademarked that scowl as Batman property,” Dick quipped, having woken up a few minutes earlier, surprised to see his dad checking out his phone. He didn’t feel a violation of privacy only a curiosity about what his father would want with it.  And then had watched as that deep visceral glower transformed his father’s features into that crap-in-your-pants Batman scowl.

Ignoring his son’s inquiry into his emotional state, Bruce now smiled tenderly at Dick, “Hey, how you feeling? Need some Tylenol?”

“I’m good,” Dick replied around a yawn.

“Why’d I bother asking,” Bruce undertoned even as he shook out two pills from the bottle on the nightstand and held them out to his son along with a glass of water.

“Most dads don’t say, ‘hey son, go ahead and do drugs’,” Dick joked but he knew it wasn’t softening up his dad’s resolve. “I’m really not in …much pain,” he amended the last second when his dad’s eyes narrowed at his almost out and out lie.

“Your eyes and the crease in your brow say differently,” his dad countered, his tone concerned not admonishing. “Plus, you woke up, I’m guessing, because of the pain.”

“My eyes and brow talk too much,” Dick groused as he did as instructed and tossed the pills in his mouth and washed them down with a few swallows of water. “Why aren’t you sacked out? Oh right, I’m in the only bed. I can…” Dick made to sit up but Bruce put his hand on his shoulder.

“You’re staying right there. Chair’s fine for me,” Bruce said with a small smile at his son’s worry for him.

“With your creaky old body? Nah uh. Here I’ll scoot over.” Putting action to words, Dick moved to the left side of the bed, then patted the right open area. “I promise I don’t have cuddies.”

Bruce shook his head. “No need. I’ve slept…”

“….In worse places?” Dick finished Bruce’s statement with a smart aleck smirk. “Doesn’t mean this has to be one of those times. Come on,” he said, patting the mattress at his side again.

“If I sleep there, I may hurt you, jostle your leg.”  And Dick had been hurt enough by family members that day.

“You don’t sack out with me, you’ll hurt my feelings. And my feelings are way more sensitive than my leg,” Dick joked. “Who knows, I may even require therapy to get over your rejection.”

“You’re right, I shouldn’t have given you drugs,” Bruce quipped, but he was carefully laying down on the bed by his son. Laid still as a statue until Dick laughed, causing Bruce to look over to see his son’s mirth.

“You’re allowed to move, you know,” Dick chuckled, wasn’t used to his dad being so careful around him. Protective, yes. Treating him like he would shatter apart if he bumped him, no.

Given permission to move and also realizing he was making Dick feel uncomfortable, Bruce shifted until he was actually comfortable on the bed and a safe distance from his injured son. But he vowed he’d wouldn’t fall asleep there, would leave when Dick dropped off back to sleep.

Dick out of the blue said, “Thank you for forgiving Clark,” quietly but the depth of his gratitude vibrated in his tone.

Bruce’s eyes flew to his son, whose head was turned to face him. He divulged frankly, “It wasn’t easy.”

“I know,” Dick softly allowed. Knew it wasn’t any more unproblematic for his dad to forgive Clark than it was for Dick to let the two men come to their own peace without his interference to sway the vote.

Silence fell again but Dick knew he couldn’t let it stand, owed an explanation to his father. Turning on his side, Dick grimaced as the shift hurt his leg but he needed to fully face his father for this, not cowardly hide away.  “I wasn’t running away or …or …trying to pull something over on you. Well, ok, maybe I was but not for…bad reasons.”

“Clark told me why,” Bruce quietly told his son, trying to not attach any expectation to the statement, as if that was all that needed to be said on the matter. But underneath the bland statement, he felt a well of self-recrimination for making his son feel that he had to skip town to get away from his overprotectiveness. It made him uncertain of obtaining Dick’s forgiveness, of how to regain his son’s trust in him.

Dick held his breath, unsure if his dad was disappointed in him, sad, or angry. Felt panicked when his dad pushed back his covers and sat up, seemingly couldn’t stand another second with him. Dick couldn’t talk himself out of reaching for his dad, grabbing his shirt in a trembling hand as if that fragile hold could stop Bruce’s departure. To his surprise, his dad didn’t leave, only shifted on the bed, bending his knee as he pivoted to be able to look down upon Dick.

Having felt a tug as he sat up, Bruce spared a look to its source. His heart broke a little bit to see his son’s trembling hand fisted in his shirt as if to keep him with him. As if Dick thought he was mad, was huffing off in anger because of his own foolish fears. He curled his hand around Dick’s fist, to offer comfort, not dislodge the hold. Hated that his son’s hand was shaking, like it did when he was emotionally compromised. Had been a common occurrence in the days when they just met but Bruce had thought Dick was past that.

‘I’ve set back his healing with my bullshit parenting and unchecked fears!’ Bruce seethed but knew his self-reproach couldn’t help Dick. So he put it away. Instead focused on the love he had for his son and ways to heal the hurt he’d inflicted on him. Rubbing his thumb along the knuckles of the hand he held, he tenderly soothed, “Hey, hey, I’m not going anywhere.” ‘Though I probably should and stop hurting him with my toxic love but I can’t do it!’  And he knew Dick wouldn’t want him to. But his son did need him to stop suffocating him with his love. It wasn’t a big ask really but it was…still a hard one for Bruce to achieve, to say he’d stop his frantic watch over Dick, to trust fate to not snatch him away from him if he wasn’t fervently wary.

But that was his shortfalls, not something Dick should think was a fault in him, should hurt him. Ironic that he was terrified someone would hurt Dick and it was him and his love hurting him most of all. Hurting Dick worse than the physical wounds his son wore, because Dick felt emotional wounds deepest of all. And the last LAST thing Bruce wanted was to add to that cache of pain his son carried on his soul. So the apology came wholeheartedly and with a well of sorrow, “I’m so sorry, Dick, for holding onto you so tightly it was choking you.”

If the exact scenario had played out on his Earth, an apology was the last thing Dick could have expected from B.  Even here, with this Bruce’s knack of open displays of emotion, the act of contrition was all the same a shock. Still, Dick knew Bruce had had coaching on which response would most likely be met with Dick’s favor. Coaching by Clark, who had apparently championed him to Bruce.

Suddenly Dick felt ridiculously young and childishly impetuous.  Releasing his pathetic grip on his dad’s shirt, he slipped his hand free of his dad’s fingers. Sliding up to a sitting position against the headboard, he reached over to turn on the lamp. Faced his father like a freaking adult would when he admitted his blame in all of their misunderstandings.  “It’s ok. I overreacted, like I always do,” he scathingly reproached himself. “And that’s my probl…”

“No, it’s not ok,” Bruce passionately protested, hated the look of shame in his son’s eyes when he’d done nothing wrong. “Not when…when you thought it was about me not trusting you. It was never that, please believe me, Dick. I trust you, to stay with us, that you love us.”

“But not to take care of myself,” Dick objected before sullenly concluding, “… and apparently for good reason.”

And that just reminded Bruce of how close he’d come to losing his son that day, made it impossible for him to not reach out, connect with his son physically, have proof that Dick was alive and mostly well. Gently rubbed his knuckles down Dick’s cheek before withdrawing his touch and proudly declaring, “You survived today, helped others too. That’s proof positive you can take care of yourself.”

“Is it? I almost got taken out by a freak train accident by my uncle, of all people. With crazy bad karma like that..” Dick shook his head at the mockery his life sometimes was.

Bruce couldn’t help when his lips curved up into a smirk at Dick’s statement, lightly teased, “Guess you can kinda see then why we worry about you.”

“I know,” Dick conceded with a sigh, his eyes holding his father’s affectionate gaze. “But it’s not your responsibly to protect me from every danger I face. That’s on me. And I know I’ve been…” and yup he had to admit this, “…been pretty weak around you but I’m not helpless. I can will myself to be pretty awesome if the need arises.”

“You’re always awesome,” Bruce beamed with fatherly love.

“You think that ‘cause you are my dad,” Dick grumbled like a very young nineteen year old.

“And your brothers, Clark and Alfred think that,” Bruce presented in his defense.

“The votes are rigged, like we’ve talked about before,” Dick dismissed even if it was with a smirk at the tally of people that biasedly thought he was awesome all the time.

Knowing he had to give some impartial proof to sway Dick’s poor self-image, Bruce presented his case. “Ok. Let’s talk about the people on that train today. I read some comments tonight from those in your car. They talked about this guy who got them out via the roof, turned their panic into calmness.”

“Could have been a passenger in another car…” Dick demurred, knew the car in front of his might have had to use that method of escape too.

“This guy did it all while dealing with a bleeding leg wound. And oh yeah, jumped up to the ceiling exit like a freaking acrobat?” There was an impish gleam in his father’s eyes at this evidence.

“Ok, that does sound a lot like me…” Dick had to admit, felt his cheeks pink up a bit at his dad’s obvious pride in him.

Bruce’s eyes glistened as he held his son’s gaze, so freaking proud of this kid, of all his kids. At the blessing he’d gotten in his life with each and every one of his sons. And Dick, how could he doubt that he was a blessing?! That just wasn’t acceptable. Anymore than Dick not knowing how he positively affected even strangers.  “No matter where you are, masked or unmasked, you’re still this…light, this good force, Dick.” But knew if Dick was to see his full goodness, Bruce had to make a sacrifice of his own, for his son’s sake, even if it scared him down to his core. “And I can’t…maybe even shouldn’t try and shelter you from the world that needs you, even when you’re Dan Gilroy.”

Dick’s breath caught, tentatively posed, “Meaning no more trackers following my every move?”

Bruce gave a somewhat thready chuckle, felt his eyes burn as he backpedaled Dick’s expectations. “Let’s not get ridiculous. More like…no more viewing the manor camera to check up on you while I’m on patrol.”

“You do that?!” Dick incredulously squawked.

Bruce had the grace to blush. “Might have, once or twenty times since I’ve gotten you back.”

Dick smirked at the invasion of his privacy, now especially that he was assured it was going to stop. He teasingly posed, “What about all the texting, checking up on my location when I’m not at the manor?”

Bruce held up his hands, said with a grin, “That’s Jason’s forte.”

“And Tim…he’s the tracker king, right?” Dick had just found another tracker on his bike the other day. Felt a whole lot less upset by it now after this conversation, after seeing his family’s vigils over him in a new light.

“Maybe,” Bruce noncommittally replied, because ok, he’d utilized like only five trackers between Dick’s work van and on his person. Only five.  Then his tone softened. “You’ll need to tell your brothers how you feel about all that. The last thing, the very last thing they would ever want you to think is that they don’t trust you, that you doubt, even for a millisecond, that they love you and that’s what’s prompting all this…motherhenning to the nth degree.”

Dick gave a humble nod, wasn’t really looking forward to that conversation. But knew…it would be ok. His family would be ok. So, he lightened the worried look in his dad’s eyes with a smug question. “But what will you do with all the spare time you’ll have from not stalking me?”

“Brat,” Bruce chuckled. Then he settled back against the headboard beside his son. “I should probably use that time to brush up on my diplomatic airs because Wayne Enterprises is definitely getting a bad Yelp review from that company we ditched today.’

Dick didn’t bother pointing out to his dad that Yelp was so five years ago. Instead, he said softly, “I’m sorry my drama effected your real life.”

Bruce’s head snapped in his son’s direction at his apology, and he forcibly stressed, “My real life, the one I care about most of all, is my family, my son’s life being in jeopardy. Don’t apologize for nearly being killed Dick, just…don’t,” voice cracking apart at that end of his order.

Because his dad was looking at him for positive confirmation he’d heard and respected that command, Dick nodded in obedience, asked a moment later, “You’re not going to get sued are you?”

Soothed by Dick’s agreement to never ever feel guilty for being hurt, nearly killed, Bruce could relax, focus again on things like him losing his cool when he was supposed to be the emotional stoic CEO Bruce Wayne. “No, our bylaws will protect us since we didn’t go into any contractional agreements. It’s more likely a restraining order will be issued.”

“Please say you’re kidding?” Dick asked, his mouth open in shock.

Far from continuing to be repentant, Bruce smirked, pride in his tone when he advised Dick, “Ask Jason about that one. He’ll tell it better.” Relished the retelling with his son’s flare for strong emotions, especially when it came to his protectiveness of his family. Red Hood had nothing over Jason Wayne in that scenario.

Envisioning the story told in Jason’s colorful style, Dick couldn’t help smirking back. Then he remembered something he wanted to tell his dad, hoping it’d go a little way in helping ease his Dad’s guilt that he’d not been there to prevent him getting hurt that day. “Even though you weren’t with me today physically, you were still with me …saving me all the same.” Reaching over, he picked up his pocketknife from the table, showed it to his dad. “Your gift helped save others today, dad. And knowing you all …” felt his throat tighten with emotion as he said the rest, “…love me, that it would hurt you to lose me…it gave me the drive to not die.”

“Well never forget that and I think we can make our way through your bad karma,” Bruce happily predicted. But then he recalled it wasn’t just karma and overprotective stalking that had hurt his son lately.

Watching his dad’s features cloud over, Dick pressed, “Why the scowl? I thought we were at the happy stage of the air cleaned between us and get a good night’s sleep portion of our day.”

But Bruce wouldn’t be good humored out of his guilt at the wound he’d inflicted on Dick. “I owe you an apology for the way I ordered you around today.”

Dick paled and turned away to set the pocketknife on the nightstand to avoid his dad’s intense look. “It’s fine. I get what prompted it.” Hated that it still bothered him, how his dad had disregarded what he wanted, wasn’t going to allow him to make his own choice who was with him when he was at his weakest. Because it was over, done with.  Bruce had relented a moment later. ‘When I frigging stooped to begging like a hurt little kid. Pathetic.’

“No. You don’t understand what prompted it.” At Dick’s surprised look at his insistence, Bruce carefully began, “Your Bruce…”

Dick interrupted with, “I called him B. So let’s do that to clarify.”

Bruce’s features tightened, not in anger but worry, which carried in the tone of his quiet query, “Are you trying to deflect me?”

“No,” Dick vigorously denied but at his father’s gentle probing look, he relented, “Maybe…probably. Just.. we don’t need to go there. I’m ..ok…really embarrassed I acted like a whiny, belligerent kid. If we could just put it in the ‘never to discuss again’ box..”

“Can’t do that,” Bruce tenderly but emphatically responded, wouldn’t let his son burrow away his hurt, any more than he already did.

“Why not?” Dick shot back with a tinge of a whine. “Neither of us were in our best light and …”

“I hurt you,” Bruce voice was so choked with regret, it stole the air from the room.

It took Dick a moment to regain his equilibrium enough to refute offhandedly, “Come on, you didn’t hurt me. I ..I  got on my high horse…like an egotistical idiot, like I always did with B.”

“Oh, kiddo,” Bruce tenderly breathed out, couldn’t resist slipping his arm over Dick’s shoulders and tugging his son over to lean against his shoulder. He carded his fingers lightly through his son’s hair, wanting to give succor, not more pain. “You think I didn’t hear the hurt in your voice,” he so gently prodded, flinched at that echo of his son’s voice that haunted him now.

Dick flushed in shame but kept his head on his dad’s shoulder. “Like I said, it was my ego that got bruised, not me.”

“You’re allowed to feel however you actually feel Dick,” Bruce firmly declared, fingers still stroking his son’s locks of hair. “And me ordering you around, it made you feel pressured and …and like if you didn’t do what I wanted you to, you’d lose some of my love.” And that ate at Bruce, that Dick could think anything he did could induce him to stop loving him.

“It’s childish,” Dick mumbled, glad he didn’t have to hold Bruce’s gaze. Bitterly theorized, “A therapist would say that my anxiety that I’ll do something to lose someone’s love is in direct result of the trauma of my life: Losing my parents, my shaky relationship with B, now losing the respect and love of my world’s brothers and teammates.  But to me, it’s clearly a case of my reactions leading to dissolutions of all my relationships.”

Bruce couldn’t let that belief stand. Moving his fingers to under his son’s downturned chin, he tilted Dick’s face up to his, didn’t want Dick to dismiss his next words. “Wrong, sweetheart. You have the right to not let me browbeat you into doing things for my benefit but not yours.”

Dick’s eyes shimmered with tears at his dad’s tender care and also with humiliation, “But you were coming here to be with me, because you were concerned about me.” Good things, not bad things. Reasons he should have rejoiced in, not rebelled against. Ego ego ego. When would he ever realize he wasn’t right all the time, nearly any of the time?!

‘Yes, Dick is right, I was concerned about him but it still gave me no right to overrule Dick’s own decisions,’ Bruce silently admitted his missteps in the day. Because for all that Dick was young, he was a grown man, a hero in his own right. And Bruce trusted him and needed Dick to know that. “Yes, I was concerned for you but if my love, my overprotectiveness comes and tramps all over your rights and dings your self-worth, I’m doing it the wrong way. Using my love for you as an excuse for hurting you.”

“It’s a pretty good excuse as excuses go,” Dick permitted with a weak smile.

“No, it’s not,” Bruce refused to let Dick accept pain in any connotation. “I have to…fully trust you. That’s what this trip was about, wasn’t it? You thought I didn’t trust your decisions, that you could take care of yourself, and me trying to railroad you to do what I wanted just seemed to prove you were right. I have to…loosen my hold on you…or I’ll…push you away. Like B did.”

“B didn’t hold on tight so much because he loved me but because he always perceived he knew best for me, for the entire City and the entire world sometimes.” Because B was a conceited idiot, and yeah, still a dad to him. Didn’t mean B saying the L word solved all the problems between them, wiped away all the hurt their volatile relationship scored on Dick’s heart.

Bruce couldn’t help the spike of anger he felt at his counter, that B so carelessly dismissed Dick’s wishes so often. Him drugging him and dragging him through a portal to take him back with him was a shining example of that brutish rule he maintained over Dick, over his son.  ‘Please God, don’t let me become like him! Suppressing Dick’s venturous soul, albeit to protect him, but end up making him doubt he has the right to be his own man.’

Aloud, Bruce said with sorrowful understanding for his son’s pain, “But he didn’t always know what was best for you. Didn’t think about what you wanted, only forced you to do what he wanted. I don’t want to fall into that trap. To break what we have between us. Ever. So you keep doing that…telling me when I do something that hurts you, smothers you, or takes choices out of your hands. As much as I’m claiming you my son, I know I also have to see you as an adult, a leader, someone who carried the weight to save his entire planet. That just…” He shook his head at the enormity of that even as a sheen of tears blinded him. “As proud of you as I am for all that you are, for all that you’re done, I still…ache to shelter you. And that…need that pierces me down to my soul…I can’t just…turn it off, can’t be expected to. Any more than I could stop loving you.”

Dick was overwhelmed by Bruce’s forbearance for all his foolishness and ever steadfast love. ‘I love this man, so much.’ But wanted to play it cool, wryly stated, “Clearly I’m not pushing you away.” Never wanted to intentionally push Bruce away, or anyone he loved. Wanted to lock away Bruce’s love, Jason, Tim, Clark and Alfred’s love for him somewhere down deep, where they couldn’t take it back if..when he screwed up. Because Bruce hadn’t been betrayed by him as deeply as Dick had betrayed the ones who had once loved him in his own world. Bruce didn’t know how…tainted love got when he used it, twisted it, even if it was to save billions of people.

As if he could read Dick’s mind, knew his words for the smokescreen they were, Bruce bluntly vowed as he cradled his son’s face in his hands, “I will NEVER stop loving you. EVER. No matter what.” Saw the doubt, the fear in his son’s luminous eyes and it reminded him that he too knew what it was like to be through a hellish landscape of betrayal of his own making. That maybe his pain could do some good, help heal his son. “When I ..I killed that child Dick Grayson, I thought…I wasn’t worthy of love. That Alfred leaving meant he no longer loved me. That I didn’t deserve to be loved, by anyone.  But…I still loved Alfred. And shockingly enough, he still loved me. Betrayal, murder, mistakes and all, Alfred still loved me. Because a father’s love…it doesn’t…die, Dick. B’s love for you is forever, like John’s is, and mine.”

“But I’m…” Dick choked out, didn’t know which description to settle on: ‘broken, evil, weak, egotistical, stubborn.’

“Human, Dick,” Bruce gently finished for him. “That’s all you are, all we ask you to be. And humans make mistakes, have feelings that get in the way and have to forge new paths when they get lost. It’s ok. All of that.”

But even if Bruce could see his way to ignore all his human frailty, what about his perchance to be at ground zero for trouble?! “But I am cursed to be wherever I shouldn’t be, in the middle of…fubar situations that make you worry and that’s not fair to you..to my brothers. And this time Clark got caught in my…”

“Sh…sh. It’s not that you’re cursed to be a trouble magnet, sweetheart,” he refuted his son’s false beliefs. Steadily met Dick’s apprehensive gaze, knew he had to say the words, and mean them. “I think… “ he haltingly began before he found the fortitude, the love to say the rest, “…that you have been where you’re supposed to be to save people, without you being anyone other than the good hearted guy you are. No mask, no armor, no weapons needed, only your need to help people. As much as I hate you being in danger, wished you hadn’t been through so much hell, I see now that you’ve been where you were needed. Not just in your world, for the big hero saves but here too: the gala, that warehouse, the train.”

“I didn’t do any of that alone. I had help saving the day in every one of those instances,” Dick readily reminded his dad.

“And I’m grateful that you didn’t have to face those dangers alone. But you were leading the charge in those fights to save lives. You were the pinnacle that swayed the balances, Dick.” Bruce knew it wasn’t anything but the truth, that things would have turned out badly if Dick hadn’t stepped in, risked his life to saves others. “It doesn’t matter whether you liked that responsibility or if I’m comfortable with my son in that danger or not. It’s who you are and I’m so proud of you.”

Dick blushed at his father’s praise, brushed it off with a grumbled, “Because you’re a biased, sappy…”

Bruce pled out with a “Guilty as charged,” as he leaned forward, kissed Dick’s forehead before pulling back, his eyes shining with love. “Now, I’m going to totally pull the dad card and order you to get some sleep, son of mine.”

“I think that’s one command I’ll concede to your superior age and frail need for rest,” Dick snarkily drawled, smart enough to pull away and slide down to lay on the bed before his dad could retaliate with tickling or some other payback.

“You’ll pay for that,” Bruce vowed mockingly.

“No doubt,” Dick happily accepted. Then Bruce turned out the light and, contrary to what Dick feared he’d do, his dad settled back onto the bed at his side, as if he would stay with him for the night. Turning on his side, giving his back to his dad in the shadowy moonlit room, Dick declared, so quietly it was nearly a fervent whisper, “Love you too, dad.”

Bruce smiled, knew that, among all the words he’d used that night, he’d done something right because Dick had heard the most important thing that he’d ever needed him to know: That he loved him and always would.

BTMNBTMNWBTMNW

Clark was tinkering in the kitchen when Tim and Jason returned from their walk. Was obtrusively seeking to get a chance to talk privately with Tim, desperate to mend a little of what he’d broken between them.

In the living room, Jason parted from Tim with a small tender ‘I’m proud of you, kiddo,’ smile to his little brother. Drawing courage from his brother’s faith in him to do the right thing, Tim walked to the kitchen to have that talk with Clark.

“You want a midnight snack? I have double stuffed Oreo cookies,” Clark aimed for nonchalance but felt too keyed up to pull it off.

It wasn’t lost on Tim that Clark only had those Oreos for him. Felt touched his uncle had stocked them in his kitchen in the hopes he’d visit sometime soon. ‘Bet he didn’t expect me to be such a judgmental grouch monster when I did,’ Tim silently chided himself.

So olive branch offered.

And accepted.

“There’s no better nightcap in my book,” Tim replied with a tentative smile, knew Clark could just as easily be mad at him after all the blame he’d put on him.

At Tim’s nonvolatile comeback to his peace offering, Clark felt a miniscule loosening of his taut nerves. Retrieving the cookies from the shelf, he laid the package on the table and claimed the open chair beside Tim. Thought randomly, ‘This is the only time my three other kitchen chairs get used, when the Waynes visit,’ when his adopted brother and nephews blessed him with their presence.  Clark was desperate to not lose that loving connection with Tim.

“I’m sorry..” Clark and Tim both ended up saying at the same time, only increasing the tension between them.

“I never meant…” Clark fervently began to claim.

“I know,” Tim cut across his uncle’s beseeching declaration.  Because he did know that Clark would not intentionally hurt Dick, or any of them. But that belief didn’t negate how shaken Tim had been that Clark had unintentionally hurt Dick. “I just…” he rubbed his suddenly burning eyes, didn’t want to go all mushy but his voice fell apart as he continued, “…trusted you…”

His own emotions too near the surface to allow for speech, Clark didn’t make a sound in his own defense, just grimly nodded.  Self-hatred twisted in his gut until he couldn’t breathe. He dropped his gaze to the table top because it was easier than facing Tim’s pain.

Clark startled when arms looped around him from behind, wrapped him in a hug. A moment later, a chin came to rest on his shoulder. He hadn’t even heard or sensed Tim getting up, coming behind him.

Tim regretted the fissure he’d put in their relationship, ached to mend it.  “You didn’t betray my trust,” he exonerated, his words by his uncle’s ear soft and tinged with a helping of shame.  “I know that you didn’t initiate the battle or plan to derail a train that my ‘wrong place, wrong time’ little brother was on.”

Clark emitted a trembling chuckle at Tim’s mockery of Dick’s perchance to be in the midst of trouble. “We should soon stop being surprised by that trait of his.” Putting his hand across the arms hugging him, soaking up not only Tim’s love but his forgiveness, Clark cocked his head to look at his nephew, quietly said, “I’m still sorry it was me who hurt him.”

“Know you are,” Tim just as softly returned, wanted to ease his uncle’s distress at his part in the day’s mayhem. Lifting his chin from Clark’s shoulder and sliding his arms free of Clark’s impressive ribcage, Tim bestowed a peck of a kiss on Clark’s head. Followed it up by ruffling Clark’s perfectly coiffed hair until it stood up like a punk rocker’s. Because, come on, Clark so used too much hair gel to maintain his Clark appearance.

Once his nephew stepped back, his sabotage complete, Clark guessed, “I look like Sid Vicious, don’t I?”

“Yup,” Tim merrily confirmed. “See ya in the morning, Sid.”

“It technically is already morning,” Clark corrected Tim as his nephew strolled out of the kitchen.

“Not to a bat. It’s the best time of the night, before the sun ruins everything,” Tim threw over his shoulder as he continued on his trek.

“Crazy bats,” murmured Clark but his tone was brimming with fondness. Looking to his living room, he wasn’t all that surprised that, instead of settling down on the couch and the one sleeping bag Clark owned, Jason picked up the bag while Tim grabbed two pillows and the elder Wayne brothers headed into the bedroom where their dad and youngest brother were.

BTMNWBTMNWBTMNW

Bruce and Dick were too well trained to not wake up when someone crossed the threshold of the bedroom, two someones actually. Bruce smirked as the two shadows quietly entering, had mentally bet his two older sons couldn’t stand to be that far away from Dick for the night.

Dick, meanwhile, felt wholly touched his brothers were giving up the comfort and spaciousness of Clark’s living room just to be with him. Lifting his head enough to see his brothers spreading out the single sleeping bag on the floor, Dick couldn’t help lightly tease, “You know you don’t have to do this vigil, any of you,” including his dad in his statement because he knew Bruce, though he hadn’t left the bed, wasn’t allowing himself to drop down into a deeper sleep, was doing that light sleep, protective thing like a new mother with an infant.  “Because I’ve been hurt way worse…” laughed out loud as three grumbled replies came back at him.

“Shut up, Dick!”

Smiling, knowing his family wasn’t going to budge from his side, Dick dropped his head back onto his pillow, smiled into his dad’s moonlit face. Heard the rustling of his brothers as they settled side by side on the sleeping bag on the floor. Then each of his brother’s disembodied voices softly called out in turn, “Night Dick,” and he called back, “Night Jason. Night Tim,” before quiet again settled on the room.

And still his dad was watching him, reached out and tucked locks of his hair behind his ear like he was twelve not nearly twenty.

“It’s never been distrust, Dick…” Bruce quietly declared, didn’t want Dick to think them there with him now was for anything but what it was.

“I get that…now,” Dick softly conceded, his embarrassment at misreading everything ringing loud and clear in that last word. And with that new insight, he recategorized his dad and brothers’ need to keep tabs on him, not as suffocating or judgmental or about them thinking he was weak or a flight risk. Instead, it was something entirely different that motivated their tight reign over his every movement since his return: Love. Love for him and a means to heal the rips their grief had savagely lashed into their souls when he’d been gone, when they thought they had lost him forever.

Grimly Dick knew he’d set back that healing. ‘Jerk that I am, I just hurt them more.’ By misinterpreting their motives, railing against their need to watch over him, ensure that he was ok. ‘I was so selfish.  Made it all about me.’  Remorsefully admitted, “I’m the one who was lacking in trust…”

“Sh..sh…there’s no blame to go around, Dick. None. Just…” Bruce paused, rubbed his thumb gently over the stitches in his son’s forehead.

Another voice floated up from the floor at the foot of the bed to express the sentiment Bruce was struggling to reveal. “Give us a little leeway for a while, please,” Tim beseeched. “We just…got you back and …we can’t…” Now it was Tim who couldn’t finish around the lump in his throat.

Jason took up the mantle for him. “We can’t lose you again, ok. So how about keeping the near-death experiences to a bare minimum, huh, buddy?”

Dick smirked at Jason’s teasing tone, didn’t have to see his brother to know the twinkle that would be his eyes. Meeting his dad’s expectant look, he vowed, “I’ll do my best, Jason.”

“Good enough for me,” Tim generously accepted around a yawn. “Now seriously, sleep. Everyone.”

“You don’t tell me what to do,” Jason grumbled, sounding suddenly too tired to not slur his words.

Bruce winked at Dick who smiled at his brothers’ antics, then watched contently as Dick closed his eyes. Though Bruce knew he couldn’t fight against his own burning eyes much longer, he couldn’t settle until he sat up far enough to steal a peek at his two sons on the floor, who were sacked out on the open sleeping bag and sharing a blanket. Laying back down again, he studied every line of Dick’s peaceful features in the moonlight. And it felt like the last score of grief he’d carried with him was lifted, that he knew in his heart and soul that he hadn’t lost Dick, not those painful months ago or that day. He was with him, safe.  

Acknowledged in that moment that Clark too had experienced his own bout of grief when Dick had disappeared through the portal. That Clark had needed time with the returned Dick to do his own healing. Course it was just like Dick to make sure that time was memorable in a ‘I’m giving you more grey hairs’ kind of way. ‘Welcome to the Dick Grayson fan club, Clark. Hope your man of steel heart can take all the thrills and chills this kid brings to you.’ But Bruce was smiling as he dropped off to sleep, knew without a doubt that Clark would think a few grey hairs, even an apartment full of judgmental pissed Bats, was a fair tradeoff for getting to spend time with his youngest nephew. 

BTMNWBTMNW

TBC

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Chapter Text

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“Ok, lean on me and take it slow,” Bruce cautioned Dick, his arm lightly bracing his son’s abused torso so Dick didn’t have to put his full weight on his injured leg.

“We should have gotten him some crutches,” Jason murmured watching with trepidation their progress across the apartment.

“Or at the very least a cool walking stick,” Tim countered with a smirk.

“Thought Bruce was my walking stick,” Dick quipped from his position ahead of his brothers.

Watching the Waynes shuffling for his front door, Clark, in all honesty, felt kind of bereaved, wished they’d had more non tense time together. But that was the Bats for you. Always up to their ears in trouble. Was why Dick fit in so well with them. And it was also why Clark knew he had to let them go, couldn’t hide them under his cape so none of them would ever get hurt. That wasn’t the kind of love they needed. Dick had proved that this weekend.

Dick drew out of his dad’s hold and came to lean against the apartment’s open door, waved his dad off to do his goodbye with Clark. Was braced to witness some lingering tension between Clark and his family, was coaching himself to not get upset, that it just might take some more time to have everything back to normal. But there was no hesitation as Bruce went to Clark and right away hugged the Kryptonian. When Dick’s eyes burned a little at the scene, he silently blamed his sappiness on his family’s contagious knack for that. 

Clark returned Bruce’s hug a little harder than was his habit, held on a few seconds longer too, and Bruce didn’t object. When they pulled apart, Bruce was smiling, matched Clark’s own contentment at their reforged brotherhood. “Is this where you tell me to call first before I sic one of my horde on you to run rodshod over your tranquility?” Bruce challenged, teasingly turning around Clark’s question from the other night. Winked at his friend when Dick’s protest came even quicker than he predicted.

“Hey, my plan for the visit was all about tranquility,” Dick defended himself. He remembered on the train ride there he thought he and Clark would grab lunch, sit around have some conversation, get a little ‘how can I get back my family’s trust and get them to stop treating me like a tagged steer’ therapeutic counselling. You know, easy stuff.

“Tranquility?” Jason scoffed. “What are we, Zen monks? We don’t do tranquility.” But then he turned to Tim and taunted, “Well maybe Timmy does when he gets his Yoga Yoda mojo on.”

But Tim fired back with a deadshot comeback. “Like you don’t know Yoga. Because you so weren’t too manly to do it when you were seeing that one hot brunette Yoga instructor with the Red Robin tattoo on her shoulder.”

“That wasn’t a Red Robin tattoo that was a Robin tattoo…for when I was Robin,” Jason insisted. “She’s not one of your twelve-year-old fan girls.”

Tim opened his mouth to make a retort but Bruce played the father card, said teasingly, “Boys, cease and desist with the popularity contest.”

“Yeah, you’re both pretty,” Dick sallied, laughed at the twin death glares leveled at him. Watched as Jason took his turn and hugged Clark, knew he said something to his uncle but he wasn’t privy to know what it was. Then it was Tim standing in front of Clark. Tim didn’t make a move to close in the distance between he and Clark, didn’t even fake a smile. Dick’s heart clenched painfully, no matter his speeches to himself, he had gotten his hopes up that Tim had forgiven Clark. Was about to plead his case again to Tim when his brother laughed and went willingly and easily into Clark’s arms for a hug. When they disengaged, Tim turned to his family’s relieved faces and shook his finger at them, laughingly boasted, “I had you.”

“No. Nope. Not for a second,” Jason denied, slinging an arm around Tim’s shoulders as he dragged him out the door. Shook his head at Tim’s brag of “I so tricked you!”  When Jason shook his head in denial, he taunted, “Come on! You were geared up to go into another big brother speech about forgiveness and unicorns and the skies are never grey.” To which Jason retorted, “Bite me.”

Bruce couldn’t help give Clark an exaggerated wide eyed expression as he shook his head in a ‘I so don’t know what to do with them but I love them like crazy’ expression which had Clark bursting into a big chuckle.

Clark recalled his long ago conversation with Bruce about taking in each of his sons. “Hey, I told you they would change your life forever. I meant FOREVER!”

“Yeah yeah, save your wisdom for fortune cookies,” Bruce mockingly demurred. His hand was warm as he settled companionably onto Clark’s shoulder for a moment before he also headed out the door. But he didn’t go far, waited in the hallway a few paces away just to give Dick space to make his own private goodbye with Clark.

Neither Dick nor Clark were shocked that Dick’s dad and brothers hadn’t gone far down the hallway, were maintaining a close proximity to their injured member. ‘So much for them loosening up on their watchdog protocols,’ Dick sardonically thought but honestly, he wasn’t upset. It was stupid to be mad someone loved him as fiercely as his family did.

Dick went to push off the wall, go to Clark but his uncle instantly closed in the space between them before Dick attempted to walk on his injured leg. Clark readily slipped his arms around Dick, carefully drew Dick against his chest. Was infinitely cautious to not hold his nephew too tightly and aggravate the kid’s bruised and battered body. 

But Dick didn’t demonstrate any such care for his injuries, gave Clark a tight, fierce hug. Said by Clark’s ear, low enough his family couldn’t hear, “Everyone thinks how awesome it would be to have Superman on speed dial. But me, I know better.” He felt Clark’s stiffen in his hold, probably thinking he was disparaging him. It made it all the more important for Dick to get his message across to his uncle. “When your life is coming down around you, Clark Kent’s the guy you want to stroll in your front door and save you.”

Clark felt his nearly indestructible heart stutter in surprise. Then Dick was pulling back, gave him a ballsy wink and was gone, his dad and Tim aiding him on his limping progress down the hallway. And still Clark stood in his doorway, processing Dick’s words. He didn’t even know how demeaning he’d ranked himself against Superman’s strength. Always thought that he as Clark had so little to offer the world sometimes that he wondered why he kept the persona around.  Now this nineteen-year-old kid went and gave him worth.  A kid that knew the struggle between being idolized as a disguised, beloved hero and being accepted as a regular guy living life the best he knew how.

Though Clark had realized a long time ago that his relationship with the Bats was a dichotomy, he was struck anew with that revelation. Superman was known as a creature of the light, of hope. So it seemed impossible to contemplate that he had a fierce love for Batman and his partners, who were creatures of the night, dealt out justice by reigning down fear and brutal punishment. But what no one understood, instead of dragging him into that darkness they haunted, the Bats brought him into the purest light he knew.

And Batman’s youngest son, mask or no mask, going by Robin, Nightwing, Dick or even an alias of Dan, he was absolutely no different. As much as the darkness loomed over him, Dick hadn’t let it destroy his soul. And stubbornly, he would bravely fight off that darkness from leaving its mark on Clark Kent or even Superman.

Clark ended up smiling as he closed his door. Knew that it was all good having super powered allies to help you save the world. But sometimes, when it came to personal crisis of faith, it didn’t take a Leaguer but instead a teenager with a heart of gold to turn the day around into a pretty great one. But then again, wasn’t that the miracle of family? Being able to turn life’s dark days into ones of laughter and love.

BTMBTMNTM

There was a military tricked out HUMVEE waiting for the Waynes when they reached the street. After they clamored in, Dick getting a not so nice butt boost into the interior by Jason, the driver welcomed them and, with a knowing smirk, handed a note that had been faxed to the Wayne’s private plane the night before.

{{Dick, I took the precaution of assigning you a car that could withstand your perchance to run into trouble. And next time you are considering traveling by train…please think of my nerves and allow me to personally ferry you to your destination. Highly anticipating your safe return home. Love Alfred. }}

His brothers on either side of Dick read the note over their brother’s shoulders. Jason chuckled at Alfred’s dry humor while Tim conveyed the message to Bruce, “Alfred thought Dick needed a combat vehicle to survive the urban dangers on the way to the airport.”

               “Haha, you’re all hilarious,” Dick snarked but he tucked the note in his pocket, felt immeasurably touched by Alfred’s sentiments, the worried ones anyway.

“By the way, pay up,” Jason said and held his hand out, palm up across Dick to Tim.

“For what?” Tim retorted but there was a gleam in his eyes that said he knew absolutely for what.

Jason made an obvious gesture of jerking his chin down to Dick’s choice of pants. “You bet he would never wear them in public. So pay your dues, Timmy.”

“This is extenuating circumstances, you jerk! No way you would foresee him normally wearing pants calling himself a goober,” Tim protesting even as he was pulling out his wallet.

“Extenuating circumstances is AKA for a normal weekend for Dick,” Jason quipped.

“Hardy har,” Dick snarked as he interceded the pass off of the twenty dollar bill from Tim to Jason, tucked it into his pocket in said ‘goober’ pants.

“Hey, that’s mine!” Jason protested.

With a ballsy smirk, Dick claimed, “Consider it my cut.”

“Dad!” Jason whined to his dad to intervene because his brother wasn’t playing fair.

Bruce smiled in the front passenger seat of the Humvee, called over his shoulder, “What did I always tell you? If you’re old enough to take the bet…”

“You’ve old enough to not whine when you lose the bet,” Tim and Jason said together, Tim smugly and Jason begrudgingly.

Though he was all for family sharing, Dick was glad he had no part in that lesson.

The HUMVEE slowed down as the driver had to maneuver around a part of the city that had been extensively damaged by Superman’s fight. Ironically, that led them on the road that ran alongside the elevated train tracks where Dick’s accident had happened. And of course, karma what it was, they had to stop for a red light right there.

Heavy silence fell in the vehicle. All their eyes drawn above to the elevated tracks that showed the crumbling edge of the bridge. Then their collective attention lowered, to the debris splintered into fragments on the empty lot below the tracks.

Where Dick’s train would have impacted.

Dick startled a little when Tim’s hand suddenly inter-coiled with his own. Meeting his brother’s eyes, Dick wasn’t sure if the contact was to steady him or Tim. Maybe both. Felt Jason lean over against him, supposedly to see better out the window on Tim’s side of the vehicle but even when they got the green light and moved off from the location, Jason’s shoulder still touched his. He gave Jason a gentle smile, of ‘I’m ok, things turned out ok,’ like he’d offer up to his little brother. Reading his sentiment, Jason nodded, his own lips slowly turning up into a weak smile, the could-have-been scenarios still cutting a little too close to shrug off.

Bruce’s hands clenched so hard his nails nearly drew blood in his palms. Thought it was just another cruel twist of fate that had them not only passing the place he’d almost lost his son but that they had to sit there through the cycle of the red light. ‘Calm down. Dick doesn’t need you freaking out. He’s alive, ok, still here with you.’ Though he was instructing himself to draw in a few calming breaths, it really wasn’t working until the Humvee moved forward, put that intersection in their rearview mirror.

Dick hadn’t thought Bruce had taken notice of the importance of their scenery. But he was proved wrong when they reached the private air strip. Doing a one-legged hop to exit the Humvee and staying upright with Tim’s support, Dick found his dad was there, right in front of him, his eyes a little wet and dark. When Bruce reached out to him, he knew his dad needed a physical reassurance that he was whole and with him, like his brothers had needed. Dick willingly let his dad draw him into a hug, didn’t hesitate to circle his arms around his dad and lean into his chest. Said what he thought his dad needed to hear most of all. “I’m alright,” gently but with conviction. But then he couldn’t help tag on, “And on a positive note, I’m sure I’ll get some free round trip train tickets out of the deal.”

“Brat!” Bruce accused, snapping Dick’s ear with his finger.

“Ouch!” Dick exclaimed, pulling out of his dad’s arms but was too busy showcasing a wholly unrepentant smirk to really be in any pain.

“I’m with Alfred on this one. Trains rides are officially off limits for you,” his dad decreed.

“Fine…” Dick seemingly agreed until he teasingly put as a coda to his consent, “I’ll put them on my bucket list.”

“Dick!!!” Three voices exclaimed in exasperation.

“What? Too soon?” Dick smiled at his dad and brothers, glad his joking was able to lighten the mood.

Grabbing his brother by the elbow and turning him toward the private jet, Tim groused, “Just for that I’m totally gonna keep all my trackers on you, your bike and the ‘stang AND zap you with a subdermal tracker.”

“I’m not a household pet,” Dick grumbled as Jason cinched to his other side and put his arm around his waist to help Tim usher him forward.

“Yeah, because a pet can be domesticated and taught to follow rules,” Jason sardonically countered.

Dick snorted. “Now who’s trying to be hilarious.”

“Give me your phone?” Jason demanded.

With suspicious Dick asked, “Why?”

“So I can load an app that shocks the crap out of you if you even step into a train station.”

 “An app doesn’t exist for that,” Dick smugly retorted.

Undeterred, Jason countered, “Fine. I’ll have Tim design one.”

Having let his sons take the lead, Bruce picked up the pace to flank his sons, intervened, “Guys, guys.  Dick requested we give him more breathing room, back off with the trackers, the texting to make sure he’s ok…”

“Including the creepy surveillance in the manor and in my work van..” Dick added Bruce’s own transgressions.

“Yeah, right, forgot.” But Bruce’s look said he wholly hadn’t forgotten that, had held out hope that Dick had though. “So let’s try to concede to his wishes…” Dick smiled, felt like he was really getting somewhere, right until Bruce finished his sentence, “…and simply house arrest him.”

“Oh no no no. Not happening,” Dick immediately protested.

But his brothers totally got behind the idea. “Yeah, and he gets zapped with a charge if he steps out the front door of the manor…” Jason suggested.

But Tim balked, “Wait, we can’t do that.” Enjoyed Dick’s grateful smile before he explained his objection to his brother’s plan. “It can’t be a debilitating shock, just the voltage they use on the big dogs to keep them fenced in. Maybe more like an electric fence because Dick’s hide is about as thick as a steer’s.”

Dick looked accusingly to his dad. “You started this.”

“Actually, you did by sneaking out of the state,” his dad unhelpfully pointed out. “But don’t worry, by the time you’re Tim’s age, we might consider letting you go somewhere with spotty cell reception that’s too far away for our trackers to triangulate your location.”

“I thought we were making headway to me being out from under the protective motherhen zone?!”  Dick sulked.

Bruce’s smile was its most devious Brucie one. “Oh kiddo, that isn’t a zone, that’s a done deal. What is under consideration is the extent we will take that motherhenning. I believe you were motioning for minimal trackers…”

“No trackers,” Dick corrected.

Bruce continued like Dick hadn’t said anything, “..reduced daily check-ins…”

“Zero daily check-ins and only like normal texts with ..cat videos or something which I can choose to reply to or like or simply receive without initiating a response.”

Bruce was still building his own list of acceptable modifications. “…and moderated surveillance…”

Dick shook his head. “Zip, zilch on the surveillance.”

“Aaaannnddd..” Bruce drew out with a grin. “…we will take all these requests under serious advisement.”

“Clark was right. He said after this trip, I’ll be lucky if I’ll be tracker free even by the time I’m Jason’s age,” Dick grumbled.

“Nope, more like dad’s age because …” Tim halted as they reached the stairs to the plane. Making sure Jason had hold of Dick before he withdrew his support and, surprisingly, pulled off his shoe. Mystified by his brother’s actions, Dick was going to tease Tim for being a princess, feeling a pebble in his shoe when Tim pulled a tracker out of the left outside seam of his sneaker.

Holding up the evidence, Tim gave Dick the bad news. “Dad is still tracking Jason and I like we’re latchkey kids. So Dicky, suck it up. It’s not gonna get any better.”

“Wait, you have trackers..in my shoes too?” Jason’s surprise real before it turned to indignation, but not for a violation of his privacy. “These are Michael Jordon’s! Limited editions! You can’t go cutting into them, stuffing bugs in them and ruining their value.”

“And now we’re back to dealing with another one of his fashion crises,” Tim muttered but he winked at Dick, not so secretly enjoyed those crises way better than his family’s normal ones. As Bruce and Jason both began talking at the same time to justify their actions, Tim waved Dick ahead of him on the stairs, shadowed behind him like a new mother with a first time walking toddler in case Dick lost his balance and fell.

Dick limped his way up the stairs, into their private jet and even hobbled to a seat without disaster. Watched as Tim bypassed taking a seat and seemed to be on a mission to find something in the plane. Meanwhile his dad and Jason walked past him, still debating the necessity of safety over the frivolousness of being fashionable. He suppressed a smile at seeing Jason, mister it’s-ok-to-text-stalk-him taking offense to his dad’s tracker stalking. ‘What goes around, comes around,’ he merrily sing songed in his head.

 Then Tim was back bearing two pillows. He swiveled around a chair to face Dick but didn’t take that open seat, instead settled the pillows on it. “Better if we elevate your leg,” he proposed even as he gently lifted Dick’s injured leg and settled his foot onto the pillows. Crouching down, he made a big deal of shifting the pillows and Dick was about to protest the pampering when his brother’s eyes intensely pierced his own. “I can remove the trackers. All of them,” Tim offered earnestly, if a bit morosely. “Every single one that I have planted on you, your bike and the Mustang. If..if they make you feel…uncomfortable.”

Dick was touched by Tim’s guileless offer, was starting to realize what it cost his brother to make such a concession. But the day, it had caused Dick to see all the motherhenning in another light. Like Bruce said, it wasn’t about distrust, instead it was all about love. “Nah, I’m coming around to accepting the trackers, the texts, the surveillance. I get now that it’s just the byproduct of the Wayne motto : family first.”

Having heard Dick and Tim’s conversation even as he held his own with Jason, Bruce retreated back a few steps until he stood in front of his youngest son. Conceded in all sincerity, “But seriously Dick, we’ll tone it down, give you some breathing room. Just…don’t cut us out,” his voice catching on the imploring appeal. ‘Cut my heart out by keeping me at arm’s length, punish me for my insecurities, for loving you too much to ever survive losing you again.’ Added a beat later because he knew what part he played in prompting Dick’s covert trip that day, “Even if you’re doing something I might not like, I’d still want to know you’re ok. Need to know that.” ‘Like I need air.’ When he felt Jason’s shoulder brush his own, he knew it was his oldest son’s way to comfort him, be there for him.

Dick felt shamed all over again for his radio silence that day. Knew he’d had learned that trait being raised by B, the whole doing-things-in-secret-to-avoid-B’s-sure-censure thing. But the fact he’d pulled that crap on Bruce, didn’t trust him to not tear him down if he walked his own path?! If was so wrong, was unfair to Bruce and wholly undeserved based on every single time he’d confessed a wrong or did a wrong and had received Bruce’s absolution and forgiveness. ‘And your bullshit insecurities might have bounced right off B’s armored heart but Bruce is different, is hurting because of your ego games.’

“I was a jerk today,” Dick gruffly condemned himself. “Only thought of myself and I’m so sorry I stressed you out, all of you,” his contrite look encompassing his dad and his two brothers.

“Us? Stressed?” Jason blew out an exaggerated scoffing breath.

Some of his lingering guilt abated by his brother’s antics, Dick teased, “Right, you’re Mr. Joe Cool…who threatened a Company takeover because you needed to have a family conference because…? Right. You weren’t upset or worried about a thing.”

“Hey, that was a confidential WE event that little nosy brothers haven’t got the clearance to be briefed on,” Jason taunted before his face hardened. “Besides that moron deserved to be quaking in his boots. He had the audacity to say Bruce couldn’t have a family emergency because his entire family was already with him. Idiot.”

“In the guy’s defense, no one knows I’m a Wayne,” Dick rationally supplied.

“Don’t defend him!” Jason commanded before his features softened as they focused on his brother’s. “And it doesn’t matter that the world doesn’t know you are a Wayne, long as you never question you belong with us.”

Dick beamed, thought about keeping his thoughts to himself but then changed his mind. His family deserved to know how he felt about them. “Want to undo one of the best things that’s ever happened to me? Not happening! Ever!”

“Well might happen..” Jason contradicted, earning him shocked looks from every one of his family members to which he got a good chuckle before he finished his prediction, “If you continue to get hit in the melon and get amnesia.” Reaching over, he lightly scratched Dick’s head. “Then you might think you are a part of a boring non cool family instead of ours. Maybe we should revisit you wearing a helmet…even when you are using public transportation…”

“What’s got me scared is you probably half mean it!” Dick laughed.

“Wayne Enterprises has been testing out new combat helmets. I can get a few prototypes..” Bruce teasingly posed, laughed out loud at the deadly look of ‘don’t you dare’ Dick shot him.

It was the pilot that broke up the moment. He conferred with Bruce a few minutes before returning to the cockpit. Soon after the Waynes were claiming their seats: Bruce took advantage of his parental rights and claimed the chair beside Dick. That left Jason and Tim to take their seat behind them.  Bruce noted his sons didn’t take their customary seats to Dick’s back but instead lay claim to the ones facing forward, as if they still needed the reassuring sight of their brother there with them. With a small knowing smile at his sons’ actions, Bruce wholly didn’t fault them that necessity. And no, that was not stalking. Any more than his furtive glances at his youngest son could be termed that.

In mirth, he wondered if Dick or even Alfred would agree.

Because Bruce had gotten his own message from Alfred that morning, albeit not in paper format but a well worded text.

{{Bruce, I’ll be at the Gotham airport myself to pick you all up upon your arrival. And please, son, remember what it was like many, many years ago when you were a young man first with his driver’s license and ventured out into the world on your own…and got lost by turning right out of the Wayne driveway instead of left. Young men need their freedom to, yes, get a little lost but that’s ok, as long as they aren’t too proud to get directions back home. 

Dick never lost sight of where he wanted to be when the day drew to a close.}}

Chagrinned, Bruce had remembered the instance Alfred was alluding to. His wrong turn had led him into a seedy section of Bludhaven. Panic overriding his pride, he had pulled into the first gas station that didn’t look like a horror movie set and called Alfred, blurted out his mistake among his frightened ramblings. And Alfred, man with a heart of gold, neither reprimanded him or jeered at him, instead gently and steadily gave him directions to get him where he had intended to go in the first place.

But Bruce had had enough wanderlust for one day, had confessed meekly, “I think I just want to come home. If that’s ok, not…the coward’s way out.”

Even now Bruce’s heart swelled remembering Alfred’s comeback. “Thank goodness, young sir.  I’ve about worn the carpet thin waiting for your return. So here’s how you get home to me…”

‘And now I know only too well what I put him through, that day and all the others to come,’ Bruce ruefully thought. Would have to find a way to show Alfred how grateful he was that he’d come back to him, took up that worry again, not only for him now but for his sons too. And speaking of worry, there was one point still not cleared up between he and Dick.

Reaching a hand out to cover his son’s, he drew Dick’s stare from out the window as the plane took to the sky. “I know on the big picture, your injures were minor compared to what they could have been but…” Here Bruce hesitated, felt like to speak of the possibility was like willing it to come true. And yet he couldn’t not set the safety parameters in place in case ..…His lips compressed a moment before he forced the words out. “If they weren’t minor, if you needed me..us…”

“I’ll call you, dad,” Dick readily reassured in the future tense. Because now he understood that, to not call in that situation, out of some misplaced desire to protect them from worry, would inevitably end up deeply hurting his family. Turning his hand over, he squeezed his father’s hand in his own. “You know I trust you. More than I allowed myself to trust B in years.”

It was not a competition but.. Bruce was ridiculously touched by Dick’s declaration. He promised, “And I’ll try my very best to deserve that trust.” Shamefully thought of how he’d tried to run roughshod over Dick’s wishes earlier, he vowed to himself to not so that again.

“Course you deserve it! You’ve been…have done…shown me…” Dick huffed out a breath, frustratingly unable to articulate all the ways Bruce had been there for him. Saved him.

Giving a soft smile at his son’s awkward response, Bruce earnestly responded with a “Thank you, son.”

Releasing his dad’s hand, Dick shifted in his chair, winced a bit in pain as he tried to find a comfortable position. Once he found a moderately unpainful one, he felt his dad’s gaze on him and sighed. “Don’t stress yourself out again. I’m ok, just a little bruised up,” he insisted gently, meeting his dad’s too intense gaze.

Instead of contradicting his son’s deflection, Bruce pointed out with a little too much satisfaction for Dick’s taste, “I’m totally warning you, Alfred will insist on looking you over. Will order you to your bed and probably personally escort you there. And he is a ninja when it comes to sneaking up on you and catching you in the act of jail breaking from his prescribed bedrest.”

Instead of dreading that overbearing caretaking, Dick was actually looking forward to it because part of him had missed his Alfred’s strident caretaking practices, though it had been years since he’d been a recipient of them. Not because he hadn’t sustained wounds in the past years, but it had become a rarity him being at the manor at all. And he had made it a point to never willingly show up there if he wasn’t in tip top shape, never wanting to give B a reason to think he was anything but 100 percent efficient. Said in response to Bruce’s right on the money assessment of Alfred’s skill set, “Yeah he’s freaky stealthy when he wants to be.”

“Don’t I know it,” Bruce laughingly agreed before he ventured a guess with a brassy smirk, “So he caught you trying to slip out this morning, huh?”

Pinking up in embarrassment, Dick meekly confessed, “In the kitchen. Almost scared the crap out of me when he was suddenly just there.”

“I know. He loves pulling that stunt,” Bruce affectionately accused of his surrogate father.

“Batman’s stealth? That’s his training?” Dick guessed, his own B having never alluded to getting that trait from anyone but himself. ‘Like B was born being able to meld into the shadows, walk without making a sound…in his freaking saggy diapers and in a onsie,’  Dick sardonically quipped.

 Bruce, however, readily and happily gave credit where it was due. “Yup. So wrong that he can still use it on me,” he bemoaned with a shake of his head to which Dick only laughed at his dad’s antics. Then Bruce cracked a huge yawn and Dick frowned, knew his dad’s lack of sleep could be laid at his feet.

“Hey you don’t have to stay awake to entertain me,” Dick said.

Bruce did a whole body stretch, shot Dick a gentle smile. “I’ll sleep if you do,” he negotiated, tried to make it a light jest, not like he ached for his son to agree to his terms. Because Dick was worn thin, his eyes bruised and red from lack of sleep and his face drawn and Bruce knew it wasn’t all due to his injuries. That his son’s mind couldn’t even give him a break for a night, had to torment him with a nightmare that had him screaming awake.

BTMNWBTMNW - - 4 am That Morning --- BTMNWBTMNW

 Dick had jackknifed up from the bed, crying out with a heart wrenching sound of anguish.

Sadly, Bruce had anticipated it. He had woken up a few seconds earlier to his son thrashing beside him on the bed, was set to wake Dick when the nightmare did it for him. Partly fearful Dick would flee from the bed and further injury his leg, and partly needing to comfort his son, Bruce wrapped his arms around Dick, pinning Dick’s arms to his side.

Even from past experience with Dick’s night terrors, Bruce still wasn’t prepared for the frenzy his restrictive hold evoked in his son. Dick began frantically struggling, albeit weakly, to be freed and muttered, too entrenched in his unconsciousness for the words to be suppressed, “Let me go! Let me be with them!” Dick demanded.

His son’s appeal twisted Bruce’s heart, knowing that Dick, unconsciously, still wanted to forsake everyone, (him) to be with his parents. That what he offered him, his all-encompassing love, it still wasn’t enough to hold Dick to him. He had egotistically thought since Dick’s return that he had banished Dick’s doubts about his self worth and established that his rightful place would always be with them.

In that moment, he chastised himself for such naivety.

Or was it blind refusal to face the truth?

Dick had alluded to wanting to be with his parents before. Sadistically, Bruce could recall verbatim what Dick had said when his betrayal had become uncovered, when Dick knew he’d killed the child Dick Grayson, before B had taken him into that portal. 

“Maybe it would have been simpler if I’d been that Dick Grayson. Or if I’d fallen with my parents and never been Robin at all….Did he beg…that Dick Grayson..or was he relieved it was all over?”

‘Dick no! You can’t think that ever again! Want to be with them, want to leave me, even if it’s an unconscious wish!’ Bruce’s desperation made his arms tighten around his son’s chest, mindless of Dick’s injuries, of the struggle Dick was making to be released. The struggle, not of a trained combatant, but that of a child trying to jerk free, using his legs to kick off the covers.

Trying to break through to his son, Bruce delivered a rough shake to the young man in his arms with more force than care, enough to snap Dick’s head back. And his words, they were a command, not an entreaty. “Dick, wake up! Wake up!” ‘Come back to me! Stay with me! Don’t beg me to let you go be with your parents! It’s a request I can never ever grant you. Ask almost anything else of me but that.’

Though Tim was the first one to scramble to his feet and gain the side of the bed, he was stunned to immobility at the scene caught in the moonlight: Dick fighting to be free of Bruce’s hold and Bruce’s face contorted in grief. Felt wholly uncertain what to do to help, Dick or his dad. Then Jason was there, turning on the light, sitting on the bed by Dick’s side. Jason’s hands came up to cup Dick’s face, even as Dick shook his head trying to flee his touch.

All the while, Dick was murmuring the same plea over and over again: “Let me be with them. Let me be with them!”

A little tighter than he wanted to be forced to, Jason dug his fingers bitingly into Dick’s cheeks, gave his little brother’s face a stern shake. His eyes intensely fixed on Dick’s, he saw the exact moment when a small measure of the glossiness receded in Dick’s eyes. “Dick? You awake? Back with us?” Jason’s voice immeasurably gentle to counter his physical contact that couldn’t be.

Dick blinked repeatedly, like he was just waking up, hadn’t shrieked like he was witnessing the worst thing to ever happen to him, sending his family’s hearts jumping out of their chests. “Jason?” Dick breathed in confused concern, like it was a mystery why his big brother’s eyes were wide in fear.

Jason ran a shaking hand over Dick’s hair, offered a tremulous smile to comfort his brother while his own emotions were blown to the four winds. “Yeah, kiddo. Just me. You were…dreaming again,” said it quietly, worriedly.

Dick inhaled sharply as the images of the nightmare returned. Looking beside the bed, he saw Tim, looking scared and shaken, then swiveled his look to the other side of bed, to see his dad’s face inches from his own, so close, so real, so alive. Realized it was his dad’s arms around him, not restraining him any longer but holding him. With a bit of a traumatized sob, Dick slumped right, his forehead coming to rest on his dad’s chin. Brokenly, he let out a litany of “Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry.”

Bruce’s lips brushed Dick’s hair as he murmured, “No sorries necessary, Dick. None.”  ‘I can’t ask you to stop loving your parents, to stop missing them, anymore than I can stop my own heart from doing the same with my own parents. But don’t leave me to be with them. Don’t ever think to leave me to be with them. However much they loved you…I love you with the same intensity, the same devotion. Don’t you know that? Can’t I be as important to an adult Dick as they were to a child Dick?’ Wondered if that was selfishness in the extreme to need that level of Dick’s love, of his loyalty that would ensure he didn’t choose his dead parents over a living loving father? Over two adoring big brothers?

Jason and Tim watched Dick sink bonelessly against their father. Their father’s arms drew him even closer until he was fully resting on his chest. Feeling they were no longer needed, were voyeurs to a scene not their right to be witnesses to, Jason made to get up from his position on the bed as Tim took a step back. But Dick detected their intentions even among his peaceful place in Bruce’s arms, shot his hands out, one to grab Jason’s shirt front and the other to catch hold of Tim’s hand. When he looked at them, he didn’t utter a word but his brothers read the plea in his eyes all the same.

Tim broke the silence. “Think we made it pretty clear you’re not gonna be able to ditch us, Dick.” His breath catching in his chest, wondering if Dick would make the same claim to him, to them, when he just woke up pleading to be with his family, for them to let him go to them. But then another possibility reared its ugly head to Tim, that maybe it wasn’t his parents Dick asked to be with but his Wally, his first set of brothers, his other father. Maybe Dick was asking to go back to them. That whatever grief he repressed during the day at their loss snuck up on him in the darkness, when his mind’s fortifications were lowered.

Dick gave a watery smile at Tim’s reassurances. When a tear slid down his cheek, Dick didn’t flinch when Jason brushed it away with a calloused but gentle thumb. Leaned into the touch instead and didn’t protest Jason’s pretense that it wasn’t a shameful sign of weakness but just another service he provided as a big brother.

Bruce, meanwhile, kept his lips pressed in Dick’s hair and slipped his hand up to soothingly rub the fine hairs at the base of Dick’s neck. Seeing a figure at the bedroom doorway, Bruce met Clark’s look, felt his best friend’s palpable worry for Dick, for his child and it endeared him more to Bruce than even before. Giving a nod of ‘it’s ok, he’s ok’, he noted Clark’s tightened features slacken somewhat but his eyes, they were nearly as grieved as Bruce knew his own were at Dick’s pain. Clark gave a short unhappy nod and left the family to heal its youngest member.

“I’m sorry for disturbing you, all of us, really,” Dick apologized, shamed his psychosis was scaring his family. “If I knew I’d be spending the night in Metropolis, I’d have brought my sleeping pills.”

Bruce hated that Dick still felt the need to apologize, hated more that his son dosed himself with drugs nightly to fend off night terrors like the one he’d just had. In was a point of pain that he couldn’t protect Dick, even if it was just in his sleep. That his love couldn’t ever overpower Dick’s grief and his \need to be with his parents.  Hoping to lighten his son’s heart, he responded to Dick’s apology with a sally, “You disturb me?! Everyone knows Batman is already highly disturbed, so you can’t take any credit for that.”

It garnered a snort from Dick. “A joke as bedside manner? Nice one!”

“I’m learning,” Bruce returned almost solemnly, as if he was chagrined at how slowly he was learning. Then he gave an adoring kiss to his son’s hair. Felt a bit bereaved when Dick pulled out of his hold. Knew his other sons felt the same emotion when Dick retracted his possessive hold on each of them and resettled on the bed.

Taking the signal, Jason and Tim returned to their position on the floor at the end of Dick’s bed and Bruce laid back down beside his son. But Bruce knew he had no chance of sleeping without offering, though it would cost him a part of his heart if Dick took him up on it, “You know I’ll always listen…” ‘to how much you want to leave me, be with your parents.’

“I know. I just…” Dick swallowed down the emotions threatening to break free as the nightmare images scored across his mind again. With effort, he tried to finish strongly with,”… I need to get my head on straight, work through this latest one on my own.” 

“Ok, we don’t have to talk about it, not if it’s not what you want,” Bruce agreed, hated he was relieved at Dick’s pass on his offer even as he hated more that Dick was in pain and he wasn’t doing a damn thing to ease it.  But then again, he couldn’t bring Dick’s parents back to life any more than he’d allow Dick to join them in death. Was at a freaking impasse. But that’s what a father had to endure sometimes: having his own heart ripped apart because his child was hurting.

Sensing what it cost Bruce to not press him, to not have a way to heal him, Dick met his dad’s gaze, pointed out, “It helps, you have no idea how much, that you’re here. Jason and Tim too. Thanks for coming , for…being my dad first and being WE’s stoic, strategical minded CEO second,” he retorted with affectionate gratitude and irrepressible smart-aleckness.

“That WE’s CEO guy is a tool,” Jason snarked from his place on the floor.

“Just like the head of WE’s construction division,” Tim rejoined.

“Hey, watch it.” There was an elbow jab delivered and some blanket ruffling as Dick’s brothers engaged in some fingers poking before their “fight” broke down into laughter.

Dick smiled outright at his brothers’ antics and so did Bruce.  Closing his eyes,  Dick sighed and tilted his head to rest it on his dad’s shoulder. Bruce relaxed, trusted that the rest of the night would be peaceful. Silently made his own reply to his son who had already dropped off into peace slumber: ‘Thanks for letting me be your dad, Dick. It means…so much to me. I won’t make you regret being here, with me. Not ever again.’

BTMNW--- PRESENT  ----BTMNW

Though he’d only been up a few hours and knew he’d slept away a lot of the day before, Dick was immeasurably tired but he wouldn’t agree to his Dad’s counteroffer that he’d sleep if Dick did. Had vowed to himself that he wouldn’t fall asleep on the plane in the presence of his family. Refused to put them through what he had at 4am that morning. Because it was pretty hard to sleep through someone in the same room as you, or even in the same apartment, bolting awake and shouting nearly at the top of their lungs.

The nightmare had come again like it had numerous times since he’d returned from his trip in the portal. But whereas Clark had woken him from it earlier in the day before it got really rolling, at 4am Dick got treated to the whole scream inducing enchilada. 

BTMNWBTMNW

One minute he was in the fields of the inbetween and then he was on a rooftop. Again.

But it wasn’t the same one where that other Dick Grayson had died or even the one across the expansion where he was a sick specter to that death. No, he was up close for this new tragedy. Though just as helpless to intervene, to save anyone. To save them.

They were falling. Just like his parents had.

And worse than seeing them fall, he was going to see them hit the ground. He’d never forgotten what gravity did to the human body. But this time, the drop was from a far greater height. So much greater. Bile rose up in his throat as he envisioned how their bodies would just…spill apart, like cubes of glass shattered, not even recognizable as once being a body. As someone that he loved.

He was standing on the ledge, and they were falling, not sporting their costumes like they had in the surveillance feed he’d watched but as civilians, as themselves. So it was Bruce who had blue arcs of electricity sparking over his chest,  Jason tied to him by a grappling line, then Tim, tying himself to Jason and his own line zinging above, searching for an anchor.

That line, it came arching toward Dick. And he reached out…and it brushed his finger tips, that gossamer taste of hope he’d felt once before. But there would be no redemption, not this time either. The line caught on the wind, swung out of his reach and even as he made to dive for it…his feet wouldn’t move and his reach wasn’t long enough.

Just like it hadn’t been when he was eight years old.

And the line…it seemed to hoover a moment in the air, tauntingly elusive and then it zinged back over the roof, fell, was a tail to the three falling bodies. Just like his mother’s skirt had flared up as she fell, in some gross moment of elegance. The last beautiful image of an act that would end in splattering blood.

The unattached line drifting down from his father and brothers’ free falling bodies, it was like that: a harbinger, the last impression of good in the world. In his world.

He would have dove off the ledge, followed that line, followed them, regardless that he hadn’t been in his Nightwing suit or even a borrowed suit, had no grappling line of his own, not even a trapeze wire to break his fall.

But he wasn’t even permitted that:  to share in their fate.

But then again, he hadn’t really been there to save them. Or join them. He was there to do what he had always done.

Watch.

Fail.

Feel utterly alone. 

Live. (And maybe that was the cruelest consequence of them all.)

And as he stood on the edge, watched his new family fall, they looked up at him, saw him, reached for him. Screamed his name.

All In vain.

He won’t save them. Even Alfred won’t be there to save them this time. Because Alfred had misguided faith in him to save them.

They will die because he was there. Because he taints everything he touches, destroys everyone he loves.

His dad and brothers, they fall and then they….Hit. the. Ground.

A visceral scream of torment savagely tears out of Dick. And he doesn’t think he’ll stop this time, will spend the rest of his miserable existence screaming. While he wishes that his body would die like his soul already had.

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As if sensing Dick had lost time, been in his own head, Bruce repeated his call to his son. “Dick?” Dick blinked, lost his thousand-yard stare as he put away the residual imprints of his nightmare and met his dad’s concerned eyes. Felt chastised that he was again worrying his dad, who had enough on his plate without adding a son who couldn’t sleep through the night without bringing down the house with his screams.

“I’ll try to grab some z’s,” Dick lied right to his father’s face. With a smile, too. But he didn’t miss the hesitation in his dad’s expression to believe him. Sardonically, he quipped to himself, ‘Bruce’s bat sensors for bullshit are still second to none.’ Feeling caught out telling an untruth, Dick amended his statement, went with a partial truth.  “Maybe later. I’m kind of full up on sleep, rather stay in the land of the living for a while.”

Bruce barely held back the flinch his son’s words evoked. Stay in the Land of the living for a while?! It made him want to seize onto his son and demand him to take it back, to vow to never forsake the land of the living. Ever. But instead, he chided himself for taking things too literally, being too sensitive, giving other meanings to Dick’s offhanded comments. Regardless, he felt his eyes burning, managed to force out an agreement to his son. “Alright. As for me, the jet lag is catching up with this old body.  But you wake me if you need anything,” the intensity of his look telling Dick how important he should treat his dad’s instructions.

“I will,” Dick meekly agreed, realizing it was no time for a reappearance of his stiff-necked pride, not with his dad being so concerned about him right then.

Bruce gave an accepting nod before he closed his eyes. Prayed that, once he dissipated some of his exhaustion, he’d be off the emotional edge he felt like he was teetered upon.

Unaware of the wrong impression his offhanded words had evoked in his father, Dick ignorantly congratulated himself on easing some of his father’s worries. Was less keyed up himself now that he wasn’t lying outright to his dad and no one was insisting that he get more sleep. Well, nobody but his own body. It made Dick almost thankful that he was in too much pain to sleep.

Shooting a look at his father, Dick saw he was asleep or making a good show of it and his brothers were uncharacteristically quiet. Which made him bet they too were succumbing to their bodies’ need for rest. Being the only one awake, that was just fine with Dick. Because the only thing worse than terrorizing his family again with another one of his nightmares…was having to confess what his most recent nightmares were about.

Ok, yes. He felt a tinge of regret, even shame that he refused Bruce’s offer to talk about his nightmare. But really it was his crap to sort out, or if he had his way, he’d bury it down as deep as he could. It wasn’t Bruce’s job to be his therapist, was more than enough that he took on the role of being his dad. Way more.

Then there was the other reason to not talk about the nightmare. Because dollars to donuts, Bruce would feel guilty that Dick had watched the surveillance of their ill-fated patrol and was now having nightmares about it. Would say his “incompetency” was traumatizing Dick after it had almost got his two sons killed. And knowing Bruce, he would have taken things to the next level, ruminated on the far-reaching consequences. That he almost doomed Dick to come home to no dad and no brothers because of his ineptitude. So yeah, no way was Dick giving Bruce a chance to lay that on his own shoulders.

Besides, Dick knew it was his own stupid fault anyway. He should have never watched that surveillance, knew it was the stuff of nightmares. Even as he had teased his family about it, their near fatalities, he knew that image would haunt him, was scored on his soul. Watching it, he had guiltily thought ‘I should have been there to save them! Shouldn’t have had a crisis of faith in Bruce. Been cowardly taking a time out in the inbetween.’ But then it had hit him: he wouldn’t have been there with them even if he wasn’t in the inbetween. He didn’t go out on patrols with them. Ever. Not to protect them. And not to save them. He would have cowardly watched Alfred take the batplane to make the rescue he should have been enacting.

Yet his sins didn’t lie in the could have beens, the suppositions, but in the reality that he was the cause of it.

Of their falling, of their distraction, of their minds not being on the most important thing: their survival. Knew that indelibly because, though he had only wanted to watch the cave surveillance to ensure they were ok when they got home, didn’t intend to back it up, he did. To an hour before their patrol. Watched the startlingly cold way Jason and Tim treated Bruce, forcing Dick to realize that they had blamed Bruce for his leaving. That they knew then the fate of the first Dick Grayson, Bruce’s part in that. Had none of the backstory that would absolve Bruce like Dick would gain in the inbetween.

And there was more grim fodder to lay at Dick’s door when he was privy to Alfred’s conversation with Bruce:

“You are not physically, emotionally, or rationally ready to resume your nightwork,” Alfred’s words blunt and seemingly cruel but Dick knew it was fear talking. Especially when Bruce was taking on all the blame himself, thought he failed him, his older sons, everyone.

That was enough to have Dick escape out of that video feed, not wanting to hear more, to be a voyeur to the pain he’d caused. But it laid the groundwork for just how fubar his family’s patrol that night would unfold.

Bruce, Jason and Tim clearly hadn’t been a cohesive unit heading into that deadly situation with the Utopia Tech thieves. Not with Bruce’s part of this universe’s Dick Grayson’s fate sparking strife between he and his sons. Strife that Dick had only increased by his own reactions at that revelation. And Dick knew it wasn’t just his ego talking that his disappearance through the portal had done a real number on each member of his family.

So yeah, his family nearly falling to their deaths? His fault. Utterly. And his repeating nightmare, it seemed intent on proving that, even if he’d been there with them, he still wouldn’t have saved them. He would have been doomed to watch them fall. Alfred was the hero in the story. Not him. Not ever him.

‘And I vowed to not hurt them. To do better, be better when I came back from the portal. Who was I lying to then? Me or Bruce? Or both of us?!’ Because today, he’d hurt them, badly. Like he hadn’t learned a damn thing by all the pain he’d caused innumerable people.

Dick bit his lip as he looked out the plane’s window, knew his family would obstinately argue with his guilt trip, would take it upon themselves to again try and prove what a great guy he was. It made him huff out a half laugh. What could you do about a freaking family who loved you like that? Wouldn’t even let you do a little self hating to deflate your own overblown ego? The answer: love them to the depths of your soul and thank God for them.

Dick could wholeheartedly check both those things off his to-do list.

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TBC

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Chapter Text

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 An hour later, Dick wished he’d pocketed some of the pain pills so he could unobtrusively take some. Didn’t want to make a big deal about it. Or, more accurately, he didn’t want to alert his family of his pain and have them do some bat style recriminations that they hadn’t jammed pills down his gullet before the pain even thought of touching him.

But then again, there was Bat-instincts he’d forgotten to take into account. Or was it bat-observations that had Tim noting how carefully he shifted in his chair to try and minimize his pain. Either way, a glass of water and pain medication were being held out to him. Ruefully, Dick looked up at his brother, saw the set look on Tim’s features and knew a losing battle when he saw it. Swallowing down the pills, he thanked his brother and thought Tim would resume his seat. Instead, Tim held his gaze, seemed either uncertain of what to say or debating if he should say what he thought to say. “Are you alright?” Dick quietly pressed, his brow creased in worry.

Tim fought the urge to shake his head. ‘That is so Dick. To worry about me. Never himself.’ Offering up a gentle smile, he quipped, “That’s my line.” Paused a beat before he voiced his concerned suggestion, “You should get some sleep.”

Dick’s jaw clenched a moment at the reoccurring theme his family had going. It made his reply come out a bit clipped, “I’m good.” Wasn’t prepared for Tim to blurt out, “I’m sorry that I froze…” Confused, Dick was going to say ‘froze when?’ but his brother was plunging forward with his apology.

“..when you had your nightmare. I’m not…” Tim’s face twisted in self-reproach and it tinged his next words, “…good with that…the comfort thing. The …big brother thing. But I swear, I’ll get better.  You can count on me,” he pledged, vowing to himself that he wouldn’t let Dick down again. Would take notes from Jason. He would even endure Jason’s joking and get a book on how to be the best big brother. Would do whatever he had to do to be there for Dick when he needed him in the capacity of a big brother.

Horrified that Tim doubted that he was a wonderful big brother to him, Dick unwaveringly declared, “I know I can trust you, Tim. I DO trust you. Keeping your distance when I’m riding out a nightmare…” here he gave a rueful smile, “…that just means you’re the smart one. Just ask your dad and Jason who both walked away with bruises after waking me up. They’ll tell you it’s not a fun job. At all.” Found it easy to depreciate himself, his weaknesses, if it built up his brother’s faith in himself.

But Tim knew he’d failed him and Dick trying to give him a free pass didn’t change that. Bit out with revulsion, “ I was useless…”

“No. No, you weren’t,” Dick emphatically refuted Tim’s recrimination. “You were there, didn’t ignore the fact that I was in distress. That’s…that’s huge, Tim.” Dick didn’t expect it to hit him that hard, the memories of the times he’d been hurting and no one seemed to care. That no one comforted him in his grief over Wally’s death, only offered him condemnation.

“Did he? Your ..Tim? Did he ignore your distress?” Tim timidly asked, knowing the answer even before he finished asking by the wounded expression that had flickered across his brother’s features.

Memories resurfaced, ones Dick had tried to pretend didn’t matter, then or now. When he would wake up with his throat raw and the manor a deadly tomb of silence and no one came to check on him. No lights even came on. That darkness…it was suffocatingly unbroken. And that was long before the whole snafu with the Light/Reach, Kaldur, Artemis, Wally thing ever happened. Because after that, he knew better than to darken the Manor doorway, knew he wasn’t welcome there, or anywhere else Tim was.

Dick’s smile was a painful mockery. “I was the big brother. It wasn’t his job to take care of me but mine to take care of him.”

“Meaning no,” Tim grimly surmised. Crouching down by Dick’s chair to better hold his little brother’s gaze, he fervently promised, “I’m not like him, will never do that to you. Pretend I don’t see your pain, won’t do everything I can to ease it.”

“Tim, you don’t have to promise me that.” Because Dick of all people knew the weight of a promise like that. Hadn’t he promised himself to ease B’s pain in repayment for taking him in when he’d had no one else in the world? Hadn’t he vowed to be the best big brother after how crappy he’d taken the news that Jason and then Tim had replaced him as Robin, were claimed sons to B when he never was? Had thought of Wally and his teammates as his to protect and all he’d done was hurt them. Hurt everyone. Fail everyone.

So the last thing Dick wanted was for Tim to set himself up to a task that wasn’t possible. Worse, to think Dick’s brokenness was his job to piece back together. Because that wasn’t anyone’s burden. Well, was maybe Dick’s but he wasn’t naïve enough to think it was an achievable goal. He was broken. Period. Those were just the facts that couldn’t be changed. “I don’t NEED you to …”

“Yes, yes you do! And I need you to let me do it,” Tim forcefully insisted. Wanted to say what his father already had, for Dick to not cut him out, to not hide away his pain. That Dick shouldn’t try and keep himself separate from him just because he wasn’t some impregnable fortress of mental health. After all, none of them could reside in that make believe fortress.

Curling his hand around Dick’s forearm, Tim implored, “I need the chance to prove I’ll be there for you. I might be new to this big brother thing, but I’ll get better at it.”

“Tim, you’re already an awesome big brother!” Dick immediately declared, thinking of how understanding Tim was with his weaknesses, how he looked out for him, forgave him so much. Things he’d not offered his own brothers. “A better big brother than I ever was.”  Him leaving his little brothers without a backwards glance said pretty much what a sucky big bro he was.

Unaware of the depths of Dick’s derogatory view of himself, Tim smiled, even as he shook his head, denying Dick’s demurring of his own big brother skills. “I think that’s not even humanly possible, but I’ll gladly take the awesome big brother compliment.” But his smile faltered in the next moment, returned to somberness as did his words. “I’m sorry he didn’t…wasn’t…that that Tim let you down when you needed him.” Wished he could make good on his pledge and soak up all of Dick’s pain, the pain that other Tim lashed onto Dick’s soul.

Dick did a shrug even as it pulled on his strained shoulder muscles. “That Tim and I were different than you and I. The failing in that relationship…that’s on me.” Knowing Tim was gearing up to defend him, Dick spoke over him, “Hey, that’s the past and I’m boycotting that topic from here on out today. So, thinking of the future, I’m holding you to your promise to hit that street fair with me in a couple weeks. And just we are clear: getting funnel cake is nonnegotiable.”

Tim’s smile was genuine and without a hint of seriousness. “So is the deep-fried vegetables.”

“Vegetables?” Dick scoffed. “Come on, you have to raise the ante with at least something wholly un-nutritious like…greasy french fries and sloppy meatball sandwiches.”

“And top it all off with a healthy popping of antiacid pills,” Tim predicted.

“No way. I have a stomach of iron,” patting his stomach in proof.

“That must be why you’re so heavy. I thought you had a lead filled leg with how hard it was to support you today,” Tim teased, made a show of knocking on Dick’s uninjured leg to check if it resonated back a metallic echo.

“Shut up!” Dick laughed, shoving Tim’s hand off his leg. “It’s all muscle and manly curves that, apparently, you’re jealous of!

“Not jealous, more like permanently injured hauling your gimpy butt around.” Tim made a show of rubbing his “aching” back. “I think I’ve developed a hernia. I should make you sign up for those Yoga classes Jason’s been skipping.”

“Only if I get his bombshell instructor,” Dick said with a cocky smile and jumping eyebrows.

From behind them a sleepy voice snarked, “Wouldn’t help you. She’s into men, not boys just starting to shave. But she did have a little sister still in the no makeup allowed stage of puberty.  She’s your style,” Jason helpfully offered.

“You are NOT EVER matchmaking for me. I can get my own dates, any time I want,” Dick bragged over his shoulder as he saw Jason was fighting off the last traces of sleep.

“I have cause to doubt that,” Bruce drawled, opening his eyes and proving he was mostly faking being asleep. Swiveling his devious look to his youngest son, he brought up what Dick dreaded he would. “There was a certain waitress that you crashed and burned on.”

“Because you sabotaged it! I was… and then you….” Dick broke off at Tim’s interested look and when he heard the chair creak behind him indicating Jason had leaned forward, not wanting to miss any part of the conversation. Dick ended up muttering under his breath, “Wasn’t my fault we never got to go on that date."

“Wait! Wait! We’re taking about THAT waitress?!” Jason drawled with unabashed pleasure that this topic was finally free game. “Dad telling her you had STD!” Amused at Dick’s killer look he glinted over his shoulder at him even as he knew, if it had been him his dad had pulled that crap on, he would have been outraged. But that his dad had done it to Dick, to ensure Dick couldn’t escape him, had to agree to return back to the manor? Damn but he loved his dad for that sneakiness that ended up with him being blessed with another little brother. He gushed in praise for his dad’s stroke of genius manipulation. “That was AWESOME! I would have loved to see that.”

“You wouldn’t have thought it awesome if he did it to you. Either of you,” Dick grumbled, not liking the way the winds had shifted and his brothers were ganging up on him.

“Nope, not one bit,” Tim was honest enough to admit but he was grinning ear to ear. Knew too that his Dad’s tricky underhandedness, it had been a necessary tactic to keep Dick with them. “Besides, admit it. Hot young women aren’t really your type, Dick. You go for more the …matronly, gray haired rich ladies who still know how to do up their hair and wear estate jewelry and still have an eye for the cute young men.”

Knowing his brother was alluding to Mrs. Marvester, who he had come to rescue at the gala and consequently earned the stylish old lady’s warm regard. Not willing to dis the lady Dick secretly thought was still a beauty for her age and had grace a thousand young women would never possess, he simply countered with, “You’re just jealous she passed you over all these years, Tim. But hey, maybe she has a sister with lower standard for her men and we can double date.”

“Haha,” Tim laughed back, did a fake punch to Dick’s arm. Felt ridiculously happy to be the butt of the joke, of having Dick there with him alive and well enough to taunt him. Looked to his dad and Jason and knew they were caught up in that euphoria too. All that was left to settle his nerves was for them to get Dick home, reunite with Alfred and ensure that Dick was pain free, pampered and not with a single doubt he was where he was loved best.

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True to his word, Alfred was there waiting for them when they stepped out of the private plane. Dick couldn’t read his expression at first but when he had to limp his way down the stairs of the plane, it became apparent the man was far from pleased.

Hoping to gain some leniency, Dick opened with, “Hey, I didn’t Uber anywhere. That has to count for something,”

“Very little, seeing the state of you,” Alfred retorted but was already going in for a careful hug. Affectionally said by Dick’s ear, “But I grade on a curve for those I love.” Pulling back, Alfred took in everything, from his stitched forehead, the leg he wasn’t putting his full weight on, the crinkles around his eyes from lack of sleep, to the paleness of his complexion. “Let’s get you home, your wounds reassessed and rebandaged, and then you can get some much needed rest.”

“I’m all for the first, but in all seriousness, my wounds are…” Dick broke off as Alfred raised a finger to halt his declaration.

“Please do not attempt to bamboozle me for a second day in a row. We do not deal in selective truths when it comes to injuries, right Bruce?” he turned to his son who had been giving Dick a ‘told you so’ smirk behind Alfred’s back.

Sobering up his expression, Bruce stoically agreed with his father, “Absolutely,” to which Dick stuck out his tongue, and Bruce had to stifle a chuckle. Then Alfred swung back around, almost catching Dick in the act but Dick had already schooled his features into a charade of contriteness. Honestly, he deserved an Oscar.

“I’ll do better with that,” Dick swore, mostly meaning it.

Jason coughed which sounded a lot like “bullshit”, earning him a punch to the arm by Tim, though he was trying to not laugh himself. Dick threw a ‘not helping guys’ silent reproach to his brothers. 

Pretending to be oblivious to the young men’s antics, Alfred gave instructions to the plane attendants and grabbed some of their luggage. Bruce diligently made himself useful by taking charge of his own bag.

Meanwhile, Dick was helped to the car by his brothers. While Tim circled the car to the other side, Dick tried to broker a deal with Jason. “I’ll give you your bet winnings if you help me dodge Alfred’s exam.”

Jason crushed his hopes without even the pretense of regret. “No can do, Dicky boy. I wouldn’t get on that man’s bad side and lose out on his extraordinary culinary delights.”

“You’re turning on me over ..” Dick began in affrontery before he had to concede, “…oh wait, we are talking about Alfred’s cooking. Gotta admit, I’ve done a lot I’m not proud of over the years for Alfred’s table scraps. That totally doesn’t mean that there won’t be payback for you choosing food over me. Major payb..” he cut off his threat as the rest of his family clambered into the car.

Alfred snuck an assessing look to Bruce, who was occupying the Lincoln Towncar’s front passenger seat. Quietly asked with unhidden concern, “Are you ok, son? No surprise you look as tired as Dick.”

“Slept ok, just…” Bruce shrugged, dropped his declaration off mid-mistruth, looked to Alfred’s profile while he drove. Saw the older man’s jaw tighten ever so slightly, a sign that his father knew he was being something less than honest with him. Hating to disappoint his father by a deception, Bruce sighed tiredly.

Shooting a look to his son, wondering why he had broken off his deflection, Alfred almost felt guilty for feeling frustrated that he still felt cut off from his family. Even now when they were right beside him, no longer in another state. Chastised himself, ‘You are not the injured party here, Pennyworth!  Dick has been injured physically and the rest of us..’ Knew the events of the prior day had been traumatizing to all of them, maybe none more than Bruce who had the closest bond with Clark. Watching Bruce run a hand through his hair, which Alfred knew intimately as one of his son’s stressed tells. It had him tenderly apologizing, “I didn’t mean to pry or demand answers.”

“I’m still …” Bruce struggled to find the right word. Looking to Alfred, he saw his enduring patience with him, knew he didn’t have to be articulate for his dad to understand him. Hoarsely continued, “I don’t know what I am. Just…I didn’t have a plan. Not for …what happened. I’m grimly expecting injuries on patrol, have procedures in place, supplies, contingencies. But this was Dick just…visiting Clark. Seemingly random twisted bad luck that I…didn’t see coming, couldn’t. And I’m …”

“Shaken up,” Alfred provided gently, with compassion and commiseration.

“It shows, huh?” Bruce sardonically returned with a weak smile to his dad.

“I see in you what I myself experienced. I saw no …harm…” there was recrimination in Alfred’s tone, all for himself and his shortsightedness, “….in him going to Metropolis, leaving Gotham. Without your express permission. I didn’t…keep him safe either.”

“Dick would say that’s not our jobs,” Bruce pointed out, not like he agreed though.

Silently Alfred disagreed as well. ‘But it is my job. Why I’m here, to make your lives easier, safer, to make sure nothing happens to any of you. It is why you called me to come here, to be there for Dick, to ease his pain. Today I let him walk right into danger, drove him there in fact. Said aloud, “It’s not a job, it’s an honor.”

“Tell him that,” Bruce rejoined, hooking his finger over the seat toward Dick. Wished someone could get that sentiment through to his youngest son.

“Young men do not like to be coddled. You didn’t. I imagine Jason and Tim would not tolerate it at Dick’s age,” Alfred sagely pointed out, didn’t mean he liked it one bit. Would keep them all sequestered in the manor every single night if he could, if their very souls didn’t ache to go out into the night and save people.

“Jason and Tim had to tolerate my watching over them if they wanted to patrol with me.  I had leverage. Control. I could safeguard them from the worst of what Gotham threw at us…at least until they were older,” Bruce’s tone hinting at his regret that things had had to change. If he had it his way, he’d send them to safety whenever the threats to their survival topped above 25%. Ok, more like 5%.

“Dick might be younger in years but in experience…I’d say he rivals you.” Though Alfred knew it needed saying, he wasn’t any more pleased by that notion than his son.

“That’s a grim picture,” Bruce growled, didn’t need his dad pointing such things out to him. His only consolation was that Dick was no longer putting more scars on his soul by donning a mask. Though his scars to his body had been added to today as a freaking civilian.

“Yes, it does paint a grim picture,” Alfred agreed but didn’t take back his insight any more than Bruce challenged it. As if his mind too went to the new physical scars Dick earned the prior day, he drily drawled, “I’m assuming Clark is still alive to save the day at a later date?”

“Yes,” Bruce confirmed with a smirk. “Tim and I were pretty hard on him but Dick…he defended him the whole way, saying he’d be dead if it weren’t for him. Totally refusing to dwell on the fact that he wouldn’t have BEEN in danger if not for Clark.”

“A technicality in his mind,” Alfred sharply surmised.

Detecting bitterness in Alfred’s tone, Bruce took a moment to study his father, noted the way he was gripping the steering wheel a tad harder than he had to, that he wasn’t looking at him, even for a moment, was a profile of repressed emotions. It made Bruce hazard in surprise, “Are you mad at Clark?”

“It’s not my place to be…” Alfred stole a look to Bruce and saw his son was not going to let him redirect. He let out a sigh of resignation similar to the one his son had unleashed earlier. Shared traits and all that. “I did harbor…” he searched for the right word for his feelings toward Superman yesterday, settled on, “..biased resentment at him. For a small time. But, with more rationale thinking…” Saw Bruce’s eyebrows arch a bit skeptically, he amended, “…or rather, once I knew Dick had survived the train accident, and with minimal injuries, I was able to recapture my faith in Clark, knew in my heart that he would never want to cause Dick any pain. That the train accident and Dick’s presence on it, was just a horrible coincidence.”

“Coincidence? Or fate?” Bruce wondered aloud. “Dick…he saved people yesterday. Helped everyone get out of his train car.”

“Course he did,” Alfred declared, as if that were a forgone conclusion. 

Bruce smiled proudly if a little sadly, “Yeah, course he did.”

Silence fell for a few moments, both men realizing that they had to come to terms with the possibility that danger found Dick because he was supposed to be the one to save others. Even as he put the notion of taking care of himself on a low rung of importance.

When Alfred spoke next, it was quietly, like his words were shameful, “I just wish it didn’t have to be him, that he’d get the normal life he deserves.”

Even though Bruce whole heartedly concurred with Alfred, he found himself repeating Dick’s phrase. “Right place, right time.” At Alfred’s shocked and not so pleased look, he explained, “Dick said that. It was offhanded but …”

“You believe he thinks he was supposed to be on that train? In that accident yesterday? That he was fated to be there to help those people?” Alfred questioned, not sure how he felt about Dick’s prediction.

Bruce threw his hands up. “I don’t know…maybe…probably. I Just…I wanted him at least to be safe.” Was bad enough Jason and Tim put their lives in jeopardy night after night. Thought he’d have one son he didn’t have to worry about.

“I know the feeling,” Alfred pointedly drawled back, saw the rueful look settle on Bruce’s features.

‘I guess you do know exactly how I’m feeling,’ Bruce silently conceded. Remembered just how hard Alfred tried to keep him safe, out of the vigilante lifestyle and when he couldn’t…he helped him. Frantically worked to make sure his suit, his equipment, his transportation was in tip top shape, was his father’s way to safeguard him since he couldn’t be out on patrol with him. So yes, Alfred knew intimately how it felt to want his son to be safe and have to accept he would never be safe. Didn’t want to be safe, even.

Not relishing Bruce’s pain, Alfred consoled, “At least Dick isn’t habitually in the line of fire.  Won’t run from trouble, surely, but he doesn’t seek it out.”

“Doesn’t have to seek it out, it comes right at him head on.” Still, it was some solace that Dick wasn’t in the life, was a civilian. Even as part of him feared that wouldn’t last, another part of him wanted Dick armored up and as skilled as possible to be able to handle whatever threat came his way. He had forgotten how nerve-wracking it was to be a father to someone as young as Dick. But then again, as Alfred pointed out, and even Clark in his way, Dick wasn’t an innocent to being in danger, his mileage nearly racked his own. Alfred distracted him with his next inquiry.

“Jason and Tim, I’m sure gave you a run for your money worrying about them at nineteen too?”

Bruce bittersweetly recalled those days. “Yeah, each in their own way. Wanted to prove they were adults, could patrol on their own. We had some major arguments. Least when it was Tim’s turn, Jason joined my ranks, so it was two against one.”

“Well, there’s good news than with Dick.” At Bruce’s speaking look, Alfred remarked with a twinkle in his eyes, “Dick’s up against four to one odds.”

“Five. We can count on Clark.” Bruce knew by his conversation with Clark the night before about the Court of Owls that his best friend would be there to protect Dick any way he could. Clark too hated that there was a threat looming over Dick’s head.

“Fair odds, then.” Though in his head, Alfred knew they could worry and try to protect the ones they loved and still have to endure them being hurt.

Bruce shrugged, not wholly convinced. Yesterday, case in point. Pulled his focus from the father to out his side window, tried to sound calm, detached.  “This isn’t the sedate lifestyle you deserve. I know I asked you here to help Dick, and you have. Then you had to go rescuing me and the boys on that patrol. Then with the scare yesterday…” let his voice drift off. Wished Alfred would talk in the interim, but he didn’t. Forcing his gaze back to his father, his eyes met Alfred’s who wea stealing looks from the road to him, a question in his features, meaning he didn’t know where Bruce’s recap was leading.

“I’m sorry. I wanted things to be less tense and Lord knows I love having you home again but if…” Bruce had to swallow hard, was like ripping his own heart out to think of making this offer but he had to do it, if he loved Alfred, “…if this isn’t what you wanted, I’d understand. I …would miss you as deeply as before and the boys..” Here Bruce cut off, knew his sons, especially Dick, would be devastated if Alfred left. “But if you wanted to leave…or just…take a beat to rethink…”

Not prepared for Bruce’s train of thought, Alfred’s breath had caught in his chest, initially worried Bruce wanted him gone but when his son continued, when his voice cracked, he knew Bruce was trying to be the self-sacrificing fool he always was.  Was making the offer because he loved him and thought this was not the life he wanted. The family he envisioned having.

Taking a hand off the steering wheel to cup Bruce’s face, he saw the fear flare in his son’s eyes, misreading his physical contact, believing it was a preamble for a devasting emotional blow. “I am exactly where I want to be, with the people I love the best. That it’s not boring…well, I never did want to be the kind of grandfather that let life pass him by, only rallied when he talked about the long past days of his youth.” Bruce’s tense features broke into a blazing smile and his hand covered Alfred’s and gave it a loving squeeze. But his dad had one postscript of caution to offer him: “However, I feel I must warn you that your China tea services might need to be replenished on a monthly basis should this status quo continue.”

Bruce didn’t even try to repress his bark of laughter. “I’ll have my buyer on standby.”

“Very good,” Alfred said with the tone of a stiff English butler who never got ruffled. But his eyes twinkled. To regain his proficient status of the runner of Master Bruce Wayne’s manor, he inquired, “Since you had to cut your business trip short, do you have a makeup date slated for returning to finish the meeting?” Had to admit, even if it was only to himself, that he didn’t relish the idea of any of his family being out of town in the near future, for say at least the next year.

“Ah….yeah, that’s not happening,” Bruce clumsily demurred, hoped he wasn’t blushing because that would be embarrassing.

Reading his son all too well, Alfred let out a lament of “Oh no.”  Knew he had to shoulder some of the fallout for whatever had occurred in Bruce’s meeting due to his own reprehensible reaction to Dick’s jeopardy.

“Was never going to work. The company president didn’t have my core values,” Bruce explained like it was simply a sound business decision.

Recalling Wayne Enterprise’s mission statement, Alfred quoted, “To better our world by innovations and…”

But Bruce stopped him before he could recite the entire paragraph. “Not WE’s values. Mine.”

“Ah,” Alfred understood immediately and utterly agreed with his son’s decision to terminate such an affiliation before it even began. “Yes, well then it was wholly unacceptable to align yourself with his company.” Paused a moment before his curiosity got the better of him. “Just to be clear, which value…”

“Family comes first,” Bruce declared, his tone giving away that that was one value he’d never ever compromise on, for anyone.

“Oh, yes, quite the deal breaker,” Alfred murmured, his lips twitching up in amusement.

Then the father and son shared a smile outright. Yes, that totally was a deal breaker, for both of them. Because they’d learned the hard way how wrong it felt to let other things tear them apart from the people they loved. Wouldn’t stand by and let it happen again, even if by allies, freak accidents or wayward young men seeking some freedoms. What was the saying: freedom wasn’t free.

“What are you two conspiring to up front there?” Jason jeered.

“World domination?” Dick guessed.

“How to hack into all of Metropolis’s video feeds before Dick’s next visit to Clark?” Tim hazarded, laughed as Dick poked him in ribs for that slam…or giving his dad and grandfather ideas.

“More like…” Bruce began and he and Alfred said in synch, “the trials of fatherhood.”

“What?! We’re awesome!” Jason protested the understood insult. Amended a beat later, “Well, except for Dick. He’s a hellion.”

“Me? I’m so easy going, personable, have a winsome smile..” Dick bragged.

Tim traitorously had a counter for each of Dick’s attributes, “So easy going that he doesn’t mind at all if people try to shoot him, uses his charm to piss off bad guys, smiles to goad someone to punch him…or to cover up when he says he’s fine and he’s soooo far from being fine.”

Dick put a theatrical hand to his chest, bemoaned, “You’re so mean to me. I’m gonna start to cry.”

Without missing a beat, Alfred pulled his handkerchief from his suit pocket and offered it over the seat to his grandson. “Do try and not snivel on the upholstery.”

Dick barked out a laugh. “Traitor! You’re supposed to defend me from these heathens,” giving a finger poke to Tim’s shoulder and elbowing Jason’s ribs to interrupt his big brother’s laughter.

“Like it or not, you’re irrevocably tied to those heathens. We both are,” Bruce drawled like he and Dick would just have to suffer that indignity.

In reprisal, Jason leaned forward and gave his dad’s hair a brisk duck rub. But he didn’t retreat fast enough. His dad spun around in time to snag his son’s hand and begin tickling his palm. “Stop it!” Jason squired his hand from his dad’s hold and rubbed at the still tingling skin, cursed the day he’d let his dad find out that weakness of his. Then he and his dad started volleying promises of tickling retribution when they got out of the car.

“Children!” Alfred barked.

Ashamed that he reacted the same as his sons to that strident tone of his dad’s and halted mid taunt, Bruce indignantly protested, “Hey! No using that tone on me anymore.” In reply, Alfred gave him a haughty look that in no way was repentant, only promised more such tones if he didn’t turn around in his seat.

“You started it,” Bruce accused biting back his smirk but it was useless when Alfred shot him a surprised stunned look. He pointed at him, “Gotcha!”

That had the entire car bursting into laughter, Alfred included.  Then there were denials from Alfred and Jason getting in the action remembering the times he’d pull one over on Bruce.

Immersed in the happiness he felt with his family all around him, Dick eyes welled. He would never deserve them, would continue to screw up nine ways from Sunday, would totally stress them out and yet he knew, without a shred of a doubt, that not a single one of them would ever turn their backs on him. They would be with him through family food fights, corporate hiccups, train derailments and his foolish insecurities that had him doing even stupider things than normal.  

Tim, noticing his little brother’s shining eyes, leaned over, whispered among the chattering of his family, “You doing ok?”

Dick turned a blindingly happy smile upon his awesome big brother. “I’m just soaking it all up.”

Understanding Dick was reveling in all their craziness, their love, the unique dynamics of their family, Tim smiled back with love shining in his eyes. “Better pace yourself, little brother. You’ve got a lifetime ahead of you to put up with all of us.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Dick beamed, saw Tim’s eyes were a little shiny then too as he gently patted Dick on the chest. Tim might have returned the sentiment, but Jason called for him to collaborate on the time they pranked their dad. But Dick didn’t need to hear the words Tim might have said, sometimes actions said it better…or like a million trackers pinging your location so your motherhenning family would know where you were at all times. Yeah, that was pretty much like them shouting ‘I love you’ ‘You’re part of us’, ‘We’ll never let you go’ on the top of Wayne Enterprises building in their bat suits for all the world to hear.

After all, no one ever accused the Bats of being subtle.

Not when it came to how they felt about crime…or how much they loved each other. So maybe Dick wouldn’t be donning a mask and joining them on patrol but he was totally going to take a page out of their batcomputer and not be subtle. Not about how much he loved them, not about how much he knew they loved him back and not about how much he treasured his place with them.

Or about when he had to call bullcrap on their tall tales. “Come on, you totally didn’t make Batman laugh while he was wearing the cowl. NEVER. HAPPENED.”

“Oh darn, we’re home. Everyone out of the car,” Bruce announced, flinging himself from the towncar with gusto before opening the back door and yanking Jason out hastily with a sarcastic, “Here let me help you.”

The father and son faced off on the Manor’s driveway. After a beat, Jason deviously relented with a “The story will keep,” as he smirked at his dad, planning on unveiling it when it was most advantages to him.

“Or you could file 13 it,” Bruce grumbled but wasn’t surprised when Jason’s smile turned even more goading and he shook his head. Deciding that was a battle for another time, Bruce turned back to the car in time to gently grip Dick’s elbow and aid his son out of the car. Pulling Dick close, he let his son lean on him as they made careful progress toward the manor’s front door.

From Dick’s other side, Alfred mischievously confessed, “I have to say my curiosity is peaked,” earning a searing glare from his son.

“No, it’ not peaked,” Bruce gritted out, not liking his dad taking sides against him. Knew it would lead to the full story coming out.

Only Dick seemed to understand his dad’s distaste for the topic. “Tell me it wasn’t caught on video, Batman laughing,” Dick cross examined, like that was a truly horrible thought.

“Was on the bat computer files ..” Tim saw Alfred’s expectation for a viewing before he crushed his hopes, “..until dad erased them.”

It was Dick who summed up Bruce’s feelings on the audience’s disappointment. “Sometimes what happens in the cowl..should stay in the cowl.” Totally believed in the sanctity of that mantle.

“I agree. At least one of my sons isn’t prone to having a twisted sense of humor,” shooting his two older sons a mocking glare.

“I don’t know about that,” Jason drawled. “He is son to one of the richest men in the country and he took public transportation?!” Jason did a whole body shake. “If that’ not twisted, I’m not sure what is.”

“You’re such a snob!” Dick laughingly accused.

“Considering how your foray into public transportation turned out, my snobbery certainly has proven it has value.”

“You act like you are royalty and would never have to suffer being with the commoners. Sure you’re not British like Alfred?”

“I feel there was an insult in there directed at my culture,” Alfred dryly reacted, fighting hard to not let a smile tip up his lips.

Shamed, Dick stammered, “Sorry, Alfred, I didn’t…”

“He so did,” Jason rejoined, enjoying putting Dick in the hot seat and stoking the fire. “He thinks you’re a snob too. Personally, I think he’s the snob for being all snobby toward rich people, which he is one of.”

“I’m not rich, I have like three dollars to my name right now,” Dick defended himself.

“That’s not even remotely true,” Bruce corrected manner-of-factly, causing a silence to fall over everything.

Dick looked to Bruce in confusion until he realized something. “Oh, right. You riffled through my wallet while I was napping. So I exaggerated a little, might have a ten spot in there.” But the rest of his family retained their vow of silence, making him start to worry that he was missing a joke somewhere. What he didn’t miss was the looks ping ponging between Bruce and Jason and Tim. “Hey, what’s going on…”

Alfred stepped in to save the day. “Ok, young man, no longer stalling me. We were reconvening in the batcave and get your injuries evaluated.”

Dick shot a beseeching look to Jason to rescue him from his fate. But his big brother smiled ballsy and gave him a little wave goodbye as Alfred slide his arm around his waist and turned him toward the door. By Dick’s expression, you’d think his grandfather was leading him to the gallows.

That woebegone expression sparked sympathy in Bruce, who intended to follow and try and intercede on Dick’s behalf. But Tim grabbed Bruce’s elbow before he could follow them. “You didn’t tell Dick you gave him stock opts in WE yet? Thought you were going to do that soon,” a slight reprimand in Tim’s tone, especially after their whole ‘be open, be honest,’ lecture they’d read Dick that weekend.

“I will,” Bruce forcefully replied before he weakly tagged on, “…when the time is right.”

Sensing more at work than a time crunch, Tim guessed at the reasons behind his father’s dawdling.  “You think he’ll turn it down?” Knew it was more than that, that his dad feared Dick would turn him down. It made his tone immeasurably soft when he spoke next. “Dad, even if he says he doesn’t want the stock options or the money,that’s not him turning YOU down.”

Bruce should have known Tim would see right through his weak walls to the heart of the matter. Admitted a bit sadly, “I know but…I want him to be a part of this family. To know he’s part of it in all aspects.”

“You’ll find the right time and way to tell him,” Tim’s faith in his dad unrattled by his delay. Dick’s reaction? That was more of a mixed bag.

“Right place, right time? Now where did I hear that today?” Bruce mockingly retorted and both of his sons groaned.  

“Don’t take up his bad habits,” Tim admonished his dad with a finger pointed his way in scolding/warning.

To which Jason tagged on, “Yeah that will only encourage Dick to up the ante.”

All three shivered at the notion Dick would become even more nonchalant about his own welfare. But then the intercom from the batcave beeped, “Bruce, I require your assistance in convincing your son to adhere to my ministrations.”

“Sure, he’s not your grandson when he’s being stubborn but my son,” Bruce laughed even as he started to head out of the room, turned when he sensed his sons weren’t following him. “Come on, you two. Your big brother duties are calling your name.”

“They are calling your name,” Jason insisted, pushing Tim ahead and Tim retorted, “No your name.” Because there was brotherly devotion but defending Dick from a determined and worried Alfred?! One had to weigh the risk factors on that one.

The intercom beeped again. This time Dick’s voice came through. “He’s getting out needles. A little help here, guys!”

That had all three Waynes exchanging long suffering looks before they started for the batcave. But Jason and Tim totally pushed Bruce down the stairs ahead of them.  Because that was another thing Bats instinctively knew: when to duck and cover and when it was time to send in your strongest player to even out the odds.  And in their book, no one topped their dad when it came to protecting his sons, even from well-meaning grandfathers.

And if he needed reinforcements, sure they’d step in. AFTER they put on their armor.

BTMNWBTMWN

The End

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