Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Bruce was halfway down the street, and the impact of the building exploding still nearly knocked him over. Once the ringing in his ears died down, he turned on his comm and demanded, "Everyone, report!"

Tim was the first to check in, almost instantaneously. "Red Robin here, I'm with a group of civilians about four buildings down. We're all a little banged up, but no one's badly hurt."

"Signal here," Duke said. "I'm on the roof two buildings over. I, uh, hit my head and may be bleeding a little bit, but I don't think it's serious."

"Spoiler here, heading to Signal's location to check on him," Steph said. "Black Bat and I were far enough away from the explosion that we didn't get hurt."

"Black Bat, following suspects," Cass added.

"Red Hood, also following suspects," Jason said, followed by something that sounded suspiciously like gunfire. Given that Jason didn't ask for help, Bruce assumed he was probably the one firing the guns.

"Robin, checking in," Damian said. "I am uninjured."

And then, the comms were silent.

"Nightwing?" Bruce demanded, his heart in his throat. "Nightwing, come in. Nightwing, report!"

The last he heard, Dick had still been in the building, checking for any more civilians.

The others took up his call as Dick failed to respond. Bruce did his best to ignore their increasingly desperate begging - and the pounding of his own heart - and contacted Barbara. "Oracle. What's Nightwing's status?"

There was a pause, which Bruce knew meant nothing good. "I don't know," Barbara finally said. "Everything's dark. I'm not getting any signal from his comm, or his trackers, or anything. Nothing is transmitting at all."

Bruce forced his breathing to stay even. "What could cause that?"

"Batman… It's like the comm and trackers no longer exist. It's like they've been completely destroyed."

She didn't say, like they were caught in a massive explosion. She didn't have to. Bruce could put those pieces together himself.

"Nightwing," he demanded. "Report, now."

He could be unresponsive for some other reason. It was possible that he, like Duke, had been close enough to the explosion to be knocked around, and unlike Duke, his blow to the head had been serious enough to knock him unconscious. It was possible that his comm had fallen out in the building, which was why Barbara couldn't get a read on it and why he wasn't responding.

But that didn't explain the trackers. And it didn't explain the cold feeling in Bruce's chest, one he'd felt only a few times before. One he'd hoped to never feel again.

"Nightwing, please," he begged, his voice cracking, but deep down, he knew he wasn't going to get a response.

He knew he never would again.

SIX MONTHS LATER

Renegade was packing up the sniper rifle when Deathstroke entered the room. He flicked his gaze up at him, then refocused on his work.

"Do we have a new target?"

"Yes," Deathstroke said, although he sounded even more gruff than usual about it. "Wintergreen has a contract for us in Gotham."

"Gotham?" Renegade repeated. "I thought you didn't like Gotham."

Deathstroke shot him a look. "What makes you think that?"

Renegade had spoken without thinking, which meant he now had to tread carefully. "We've never taken contracts in Gotham before," he said tentatively. "At least, not as far as I remember."

That was, he would admit, not very far.

Deathstroke scowled. "Gotham has its annoyances. But a contract is a contract."

"Yes, sir."

"Have you packed our things?"

"Almost everything," Renegade reported. "I didn't go in your room, and there are still a few more weapons to be packed."

Deathstroke nodded. "Don't pack the escrima sticks."

"Sir?" Those were Renegade's favorite weapons. He always brought those with him when they went to fill a new contract.

"You rely on them too much," Deathstroke said. "You need to build your proficiency with the other weapons as well."

Renegade swallowed down the urge to retort that he was more than proficient with every weapon Deathstroke had. "Yes, sir."

Deathstroke picked up Renegade's helmet and tossed it to him. "I want you to keep this on at all times when we're in Gotham."

Questioning Deathstroke a third time in one conversation was practically asking for trouble, but Renegade couldn't help it. "Why, sir?"

"Gotham is full of two-bit psychos who call themselves supervillains," Deathstroke dismissed. "Many of them use gas-based weapons. The hermetic seal will prevent you from breathing it in."

"Aren't we immune to poison gas?"

"Not all of these gases are poisonous," Deathstroke said. "Some of them can drive you insane. Wear your helmet."

Renegade nodded, looking down at his helmet. "Yes, sir."

"And Renegade?"

"Yes, sir?"

In a movement almost too quick for Renegade to catch, Deathstroke pulled out his gun and shot Renegade in the gut. The pain took a moment to register, then it hit, white-hot and blinding. Renegade doubled over, gasping.

"Don't question me again."

"Y-yes, sir," Renegade managed.

Deathstroke holstered his gun and disappeared into his room. Renegade pressed a hand to the hole in his gut, trying to slow the bleeding. He reached around his back with his other hand tentatively and was relieved to find an exit wound. This would begin healing over soon enough, and the exit wound meant he wouldn't have to dig the bullet out. If Deathstroke had been really angry, he would have aimed somewhere where the bullet would have lodged in bone. Renegade had known what he was risking with all the questions.

After a minute, the wound was healed enough that Renegade could stand and wobble over to the sink. He washed the blood off of his hands, but he didn't bother trying to clean himself up beyond that. The shirt was a lost cause, and he would mop up the blood on his torso once the wound was fully healed. While he waited for that, he would pack up the last few weapons.

And, he thought ruefully as he looked at the puddle of blood where he'd been sitting, he also had some cleaning to do.

Gotham was a gray, dingy city. It wasn't Renegade's sort of place at all, and yet something about it felt familiar and almost comforting. He wondered if he'd spent time in Gotham before. He didn't ask Deathstroke. He'd been acting strange ever since they arrived, and Renegade wasn't in the mood to get shot for his impertinence.

He'd done his research on Gotham before they arrived, and he could see why Deathstroke avoided it. It was full of people who would make fulfilling a contract a nightmare. There were all of the so-called "supervillains" Deathstroke had already told him about, the ones who were the reason Renegade couldn't take off his helmet even in their safe house, and then there were the Bats. A whole team of vigilantes, and each of them looked like they'd be a pain in the ass. The only upside was that one of them hadn't been seen in months, but even with Nightwing out of the picture, there were still seven others running around. They'd definitely complicate things. Not enough that Deathstroke wouldn't be able to fulfill the contract, but enough that it wouldn't be easy.

Deathstroke had gone out to get the lay of the land, which left Renegade to set up their safe house. That mostly meant unpacking all of their weapons and setting up a place to spar. They wouldn't be able to do target practice with guns while in the safe house - it was in a seedy area of Gotham, the sort of place where one gunshot might be ignored, but it wasn't seedy enough that people would ignore a continuous string of them - but Renegade set up the target anyway. If he finished getting everything ready before Deathstroke returned, maybe he'd do some target practice with knives. If he practiced with all of their weapons enough, maybe Deathstroke wouldn't make him leave behind his escrima sticks next time. Renegade knew he didn't need them, but he liked them, and his back felt bare without their holsters. He wondered if he'd liked escrima sticks before as well. He thought he probably had; Deathstroke hadn't seem surprised when he picked them up as his favorite weapon.

He didn't know much about before. That was what both he and Deathstroke always called it. Before six months ago, before the accident that did so much damage to Renegade that even his healing factor couldn't handle it. He'd recovered physically, other than his chronic headaches. But his memory still hadn't returned, and it didn't seem like it was going to. Renegade remembered nothing from before the accident. He didn't remember the accident either; he just had to trust Deathstroke's word about it.

Deathstroke had no reason to lie, but Renegade hated that he couldn't remember his own past.

The worst thing was that Deathstroke mostly refused to talk about before. He only answered some of Renegade's questions, and Renegade never knew which questions would get him shot. He didn't even know his own name. He was sure he must have had a real name, a normal name, but Deathstroke refused to tell him what it was. Renegade had entertained the idea that Deathstroke didn't know it, but that didn't make sense. Renegade knew that Deathstroke was Slade Wilson, even if he never called him that, so Deathstroke must have known Renegade's name. He just refused to share it.

Renegade had done his own research, of course. When Deathstroke wasn't looking, he'd run his fingerprints and DNA through every database he could think of, but nothing had ever come up. It wasn't particularly surprising, even if it was disappointing. Most people didn't even know that Renegade existed. Deathstroke was the face of their partnership while he stayed silent and hidden in the background. Normally, the only people who saw Renegade died immediately after. It worked well for his career as a mercenary, although it did prevent him from building up much of an independent reputation, but it also made for a lonely life. The only person he had was Deathstroke, and Deathstroke wasn't always the best companion.

The door slammed, and Renegade straightened immediately. He hoped the safe house was set up enough for Deathstroke's standards. He hadn't expected him to be back quite yet, so he'd thought he'd have a bit more time.

"Sir."

Deathstroke pulled out his sword and stepped onto the training mat Renegade had set up in the middle of the room. "We're sparring."

"Yes, sir." Renegade reached for a sword of his own, but Deathstroke cut him off.

"No weapon for you."

Renegade swallowed, hoping his helmet obscured the bobbing of his throat. "Yes, sir."

He stepped onto the mat and got into a ready position. Immediately, Deathstroke swung at him, and Renegade dropped to the ground and somersaulted away. He popped up behind Deathstroke and kicked him hard in the small of the back, but Deathstroke hardly reacted to the blow. He was in his full armor, after all, while Renegade was in casual clothes other than his helmet. Deathstroke was also significantly larger than Renegade, and although the serum that ran through both of their veins meant that Renegade was stronger than he looked, it also meant that Deathstroke was incredibly durable. Renegade didn't think he had ever managed to actually bruise him with his bare hands. Which meant that, as long as he wasn't allowed to have a weapon, he doubted he could win this fight.

He could still do his best to last as long as possible, though, so he dodged Deathstroke's next swing as well and twisted around with him, trying to stay in his blind spot. He was perfectly aware, of course, that Deathstroke's enhanced senses mostly made up for the fact that he was missing an eye, but he also knew that staying in his blind spot could give a minuscule advantage. Right now, Renegade needed any advantage he could get.

Renegade kept fighting, but the outcome was never really in doubt, especially not after one of his headaches started pounding in the back of his brain. After a few minutes of sparring, Deathstroke's sword embedded itself in Renegade's gut, thankfully far enough to the side that it wouldn't sever his spine. Renegade choked on a breath as the sword slid in, then gasped as it slid back out. It was only because he locked his knees that he didn't fall to the floor.

"Pathetic," Deathstroke announced. "I shouldn't have even brought you along."

"I'm sorry, sir," Renegade managed, pressing one hand to his stomach in a feeble attempt to keep from bleeding on the mat too much. He'd have to clean it up later, after all.

Deathstroke tossed the bloody sword aside. "Again, but with no weapons for either of us this time. Do better."

Renegade's gut wound hadn't closed over yet, but he knew better than to argue with Deathstroke, especially when he was in a mood like this. He dropped into a ready stance, then dropped to the ground and swung out a leg to trip Deathstroke. It worked, but Deathstroke grabbed his leg before he could move it away and snapped it like a twig. Renegade did his best not to scream. Normally, he would move too quickly for Deathstroke to have the chance to grab him, but he always moved slower when he was healing. Deathstroke had been trying to beat that out of him for months.

"Keep going," Deathstroke snapped, and Renegade pulled his leg back and quickly reset the bone. He was barely able to move out of the way before Deathstroke swung at him again, his broken leg shrieking as he forced it to take his weight. At least his gut wound didn't seem to be bleeding anymore.

Deathstroke swung at him again, and Renegade dodged as quickly as he could, trying to make an effort to move as fast as usual even as his leg healed. He just had to dodge Deathstroke's hits for a bit longer, just to give his leg a bit more time to heal, and then-

Deathstroke's fist hit him hard in the jaw, and Renegade quickly used the momentum to spin away from Deathstroke and into his blind spot. He judged that his leg was healed enough and threw himself forward, jumping up and wrapping his thighs around Deathstroke's neck. Deathstroke stumbled back but didn't fall, and Renegade did his best to use his own momentum to twist Deathstroke onto the mat. It didn't work, but he did manage to deal two sharp blows to his neck before leaping off his shoulders and landing behind him. He kicked again, hitting him in the back, then dropped to the floor as Deathstroke swung at him again.

"Better," Deathstroke allowed. He took a step back, which Renegade took to mean that they were at least taking a break. "You need to be at your best here. Gotham isn't like the other places where we've filled contracts. Their heroes always have to get involved."

"The Bat family," Renegade said, then wondered why family had been the first word to pop into his mind to describe them. "I read about them."

Deathstroke's mask covered his face, but Renegade could see the way his shoulders stiffened. "What did you read?"

"There are eight of them," Renegade reported. "Well, there are some others who have been linked with them in the past, but there are eight main vigilantes. Batman, Nightwing, Red Hood, Red Robin, Black Bat, Spoiler, Robin, and Signal."

Deathstroke nodded slowly. "Correct."

"Nightwing has been missing for months, though," Renegade added. "No one's spotted him for a long time. So we probably won't have to deal with him."

"Also correct."

"Have you… fought them before?" Renegade asked slowly.

"They're not your concern," Deathstroke said flatly. "Focus on fulfilling the contract."

"Yes, sir," Renegade said quickly. He'd already been stabbed and had his leg broken; he wasn't in the mood to get shot on top of that.

"Get your sword," Deathstroke said, picking up his own off the ground. "We'll go again."

Renegade pulled out his sword, holding it at the ready. Deathstroke lunged forward, and Renegade lifted his sword to block it, and thoughts of the Bat family fled to the back of his mind as he focused on staying alive. He'd focus on fulfilling the contract, as ordered, and if they did their job well enough, the Bat family wouldn't even know they were there until it was too late.

Deathstroke swung at him again, and Renegade didn't have the time to wonder why the thought of the Bats being too late made him feel a strange ache, just behind his ribs.

"Stick with me tonight," Deathstroke said as he and Renegade suited up.

"Yes, sir," Renegade replied, still sore enough from their sparring that he didn't want to risk getting shot for asking why. It was strange, though. They normally split up when they were in new areas, so both of them could get the lay of the land independently. Something about Gotham was making Deathstroke act unusually. He almost seemed anxious. Renegade wondered if this was where he'd had his accident, then dismissed the thought; perhaps it was, but that wouldn't be enough to make Deathstroke act like this.

They went out and explored the city from the rooftops. Renegade, as ordered, stuck with Deathstroke. The city felt strangely familiar, and Renegade was almost certain he'd been there before. If he didn't know better, he'd think he spent a lot of time there. Then again, it was possible that he had; maybe he was from Gotham originally. He must have had some sort of life before he joined Deathstroke. Maybe he'd grown up here, on the dingy streets and among the heroes and villains that roamed them.

He didn't dare ask Deathstroke.

They paused occasionally so Deathstroke could jot down notes or make marks on his map of the city. Renegade made his own notes in his head, and he put together a mental map of the city. It came to him more easily than most cities, yet another indicator that he'd been there before. It felt less like making a new map and more like uncovering an old one. There were still some parts of that old map that he couldn't remember, though; there were areas that felt vaguely important without him knowing why. He wondered if they were old safe houses. He wondered if one of them was where he'd lived.

"Stop," Deathstroke said abruptly as they reached a new rooftop, and Renegade obediently came to a quick stop. Deathstroke shifted in a way that told Renegade he was narrowing his eye under his mask, then he said, "Wait here."

"Yes, sir," Renegade agreed, and Deathstroke was gone.

Renegade sat, ready to wait on the rooftop as ordered. He closed his eyes and focused on his mental map, trying to figure out why certain places felt so important for him to remember. There was one of those places nearby, and he itched to go check it out, but he knew what Deathstroke would do if he came back to the rooftop and found Renegade missing, and the thought of it kept him from going anywhere.

He was still waiting, eyes closed under the helmet, when he heard the soft thud of someone landing on the roof behind him.

He stood and turned in one fluid motion, opening his eyes. Batman was behind him, cloaked in shadows. Renegade met his gaze, lifting his chin, and wondered how angry Deathstroke would be if he tangled with one of the Bats. Not as angry as he'd be if Batman got the better of him, Renegade decided, and he prepared to fight.

"You're here with Deathstroke," Batman said, his voice low and gravely and somehow familiar. "What are you two doing in my city?"

"Nothing that involves you," Renegade said, keeping his voice even.

"If it's happening in Gotham, it involves me," Batman said. "Especially when Slade Wilson is part of it."

Renegade tried to read any weaknesses on Batman's body, but the cape covered too much of him to see clearly. "We're not here to fight with you. We're just here to do the job we've been contracted for."

Even with the cowl, Renegade could tell Batman was eyeing him. "You're Deathstroke's partner, then."

"We're just here to do our job," Renegade said again. "Are you going to let us do it?"

"Your job is killing someone," Batman said. "I'm not going to stand aside and let you commit murder."

Honestly, that was what Renegade had been expecting. He didn't bother responding; he just lunged forward. He knew Batman wouldn't let him leave without a fight, so he'd give him one.

The attack itself didn't take Batman by surprise, but the speed of it seemed to, just a little bit; his dodge was almost too slow. Renegade followed up with another quick attack, hoping that he could keep Batman on the defensive and keep him from being able to do too much. He didn't necessarily have high hopes for it, given all he knew about Batman, but he did think it might help him stand a chance of winning.

Batman dodged his moves and sent back hits of his own that Renegade dodged in return, and the whole time, it seemed almost familiar. Batman wasn't predictable, not at all, but Renegade still felt that he knew what Batman was going to do before Batman did it. Sometimes, his body remembered things like this that his mind didn't.

Renegade wondered when he'd fought Batman before. He wondered if that had anything to do with Deathstroke's uneasiness.

He knew it the second Deathstroke returned, although he didn't make himself known. Renegade could tell, though; he'd spent months honing his ability to track Deathstroke when he was nearby. He wasn't sure if Batman knew, but he decided it was best to assume that he did. Batman did seem to be particularly observant. But the fight was still just between the two of them, so Renegade focused on Batman and tried not to let Deathstroke distract him.

Batman swung at him, but somehow, Renegade knew it was a feint. There was no actual evidence that Batman was feinting that he could pinpoint, but his instincts screamed at him that he was. Renegade took the chance and followed his instincts, then he moved to catch the kick he felt was coming. His hands wrapped around Batman's boot and he flipped the man onto the rooftop, then he looked down at him and-

And he hesitated.

He was frozen for a crucial moment before he belatedly moved to finish Batman off. Before he could, Batman threw something at him that exploded into smoke, and by the time Renegade adjusted his helmet lenses to accommodate for it, Batman was gone.

"What happened?" Deathstroke asked as he landed on the roof behind Renegade.

Honestly, Renegade still wasn't sure. "He recovered more quickly than I expected," he said, aware that the explanation was feeble. "I apologize, sir."

Renegade could feel Deathstroke's heavy gaze on him, even through the helmet. "We're going back to the safe house. If the Bats know where we are, they'll come for us again, and we'll waste the whole night."

"Yes, sir."

They headed back to the safe house, and Deathstroke immediately sat and began cleaning his weapons. He pulled off his helmet to see the weapons better, and Renegade didn't ask if he could remove his own. He hovered behind him instead, wavering. This was Deathstroke's usual evening ritual, and Renegade normally didn't interrupt it, but tonight, he couldn't help it.

"Sir? Can I ask a question?"

Deathstroke grunted his agreement, not looking up from the gun he was cleaning.

Renegade hesitated a moment, then asked, "Have I ever fought Batman before?"

That got Deathstroke's attention. He looked over at him, frowning. "Why do you ask?"

"He's…" Renegade searched for the word. "He's not predictable, but I always felt like I knew what he was going to do next. Like I've fought him before."

Deathstroke watched him for a moment, his eye cold and unreadable. "You did," he finally said. "Before."

Renegade nodded slowly. "He didn't seem to recognize me."

"It was before you had your helmet."

That made sense. The helmet was a new development, after all. Or, so Deathstroke said. Before Renegade lost his memory, he'd been cocky, and he'd relied too much on his healing factor. He hadn't worn a helmet because he didn't think he needed one. Then, of course, he'd gotten caught up in the accident, which proved that he was wrong. After that, Deathstroke made him wear a helmet.

Renegade assumed that was the truth, but if it wasn't, he had no way to know.

"Stay away from him," Deathstroke added. "Leave the Batman to me."

"Did I lose to him, before?" Renegade asked. It was the only reason he could think of that Deathstroke would sound so strict about not letting him fight Batman.

"He's none of your business," Deathstroke said flatly. "Focus on the contract. We're not here for the Batman."

"Yes, sir," Renegade agreed, and he began to plan how he'd learn more about Batman as soon as possible. Clearly, his early research hadn't been enough, and anyone who could get Deathstroke rattled like that was worth looking into.

And maybe, if Renegade found out more about him, he'd figure out why fighting him had felt so strange.

"I'm going out," Deathstroke said the next day, wearing civilian clothes and sunglasses instead of his usual eyepatch. "I'll be back tonight."

"Could I go out as well, sir?" Renegade asked. "I want to do some research and some more exploring."

Deathstroke frowned. "No. Stay here, and keep your helmet on."

Renegade bit back a retort about how Deathstroke wasn't wearing his helmet. "Yes, sir."

He wondered if, the last time they'd been in Gotham, he'd been hit by one of those toxins Deathstroke had mentioned. That might explain why Deathstroke was so insistent on him keeping his helmet on. If that was the case, he didn't understand why Deathstroke couldn't just tell him that, but Deathstroke often kept things from him. It was maddening, but Renegade knew better than to complain about it.

"Don't open the door for anyone but me," Deathstroke added, as if Renegade were a naïve child. "And don't take off your helmet for any reason."

"Yes, sir."

Deathstroke nodded, then he left.

Renegade waited a solid five minutes before he pulled out their slightly battered laptop and booted it up. Deathstroke had told him not to worry about Batman, but the thought of the vigilante was like an itch; Renegade couldn't help but scratch it. He pulled up an incognito window and began to google.

It was surprising, honestly, how few quality images of Batman and the rest of his sidekicks existed. Most of the pictures were blurry or too dark or grainy, as if taken at night from a distance and zoomed in too much. Renegade wondered if that was by chance or if Batman actively took down higher-quality images. He didn't see why it would be necessary, though, given how little of Batman's face was visible through his cowl. For some of the others who only wore domino masks, though, perhaps it would be a bit more important. There weren't many pictures of them either.

Renegade researched all of the Bats, and he managed to piece together a sort of timeline. Batman had been active for about twenty years, and he'd had at least one sidekick for most of that time. The first person to wear the Robin mantle, it was widely speculated if never officially confirmed, grew up to become Nightwing. The second person to wear the mantle died. The third Robin took on the mantle of Red Robin, the fourth died as well (or perhaps became Spoiler or Batgirl, according to some fringe theories), and the fifth was still out as Robin. There were also Black Bat and Signal, neither of whom seemed to have ever been Robin. There had been a Batgirl for a while, years ago, but she hadn't been seen since even before the second Robin's death. Two other people had taken on the name, but neither of them kept it.

There was also, Renegade discovered, a Batwoman, but she seemed to be mostly independent of the family. They would work together sometimes, but she would also do her own thing. Renegade mentally marked her down as a variable. He did the same with Batwing, who seemed equally independent. Both could be called in in an emergency, it seemed, but he doubted he'd run into either one otherwise.

He poked into Nightwing's disappearance a bit, wondering if there was any chance they might have to deal with him. If he'd retired or was undercover, then perhaps Batman would call him in if things got rough. But apparently, no one had seen Nightwing since a building that he was allegedly inside exploded, so Renegade thought he was probably dead. He felt a pang of sympathy for the rest of the family.

Once he'd found out everything he could about all of the Bats, Renegade slowly typed "batman and deathstroke" into the search bar. He found a few reports about the two of them fighting, but nothing much. He repeated similar searches with the rest of the Bats, but all he found was one shaky video of Nightwing and Deathstroke fighting. It was too wobbly to actually see anything, which Renegade assumed was why it was allowed to remain up. Not expecting much, he searched "batman and renegade." Nothing came up.

With a sigh, Renegade closed the windows, wiped the system, and shut the laptop. He'd learned more about Batman and the rest, yes, but he still felt that there was something missing here, something he didn't know. He was missing some important piece of the puzzle, something that would make everything else fall properly into place. The only problem was, he had no idea what that missing piece was, and he had no idea where to start looking for it.

If this were a normal case, Renegade would start researching the target directly, but Deathstroke's edict that he had to keep his helmet on kept him from being able to do anything undercover, and even if that weren't the case, Deathstroke had told him to stay away from Batman. Renegade knew what would happen if he disobeyed. However, that also meant that he couldn't effectively research Batman in person. He'd need to figure out another way to put the pieces together.

He was aware that the contract probably didn't require him to do as much research on Batman as he was doing. He was also aware that he wasn't going to stop. He'd fought Batman before, he knew he had. Deathstroke had confirmed it. And Batman knew Deathstroke's real name. He hadn't recognized Renegade with his helmet, but maybe he would know him without it, and just maybe, he knew Renegade's name too.

There wasn't much Renegade wouldn't do to find out his name.

He'd keep looking as much as he could, he decided. And if it turned out that the only way to find anything out was to get close to Batman, well…

There were some things that were worth disobeying over.

"We're staking out Wayne Enterprises this evening," Deathstroke declared when he returned from his day out. He didn't volunteer any information about what he'd been doing, and Renegade didn't dare ask. "Suit up."

Renegade did as he was told, and within a few minutes, they were running across rooftops on their way to the Wayne Enterprises building. It was large and conspicuous, situated in the center of the city. Something about it seemed familiar. Renegade kept that fact to himself.

"Our target works here," Deathstroke declared when they were close enough that they could see the doors. "My sources tell me he often stays late."

"He's the CEO, isn't he?" Renegade asked.

"He is," Deathstroke agreed. "Lucius Fox has worked in a lot of places, and he's made a lot of enemies, but this is the first time I've heard of that anyone's hired someone to assassinate him. Wintergreen thought it was because Fox works with Batman."

The connection made sense in Renegade's mind, even though it was the first he'd heard of it. That fact hadn't come up in his research. He knew better than to ask more about the person who'd hired them; when deals came through Wintergreen, they usually had a certain level of anonymity to them. It was mostly performative anonymity, of course, but their clients preferred it. Besides, if Deathstroke wanted to tell him more about the client, he already would have.

"His office is on the top floor," Deathstroke said. "You can see him through the window."

Renegade followed Deathstroke's gaze to the window and saw an older Black man sitting at a desk. "I see him." He looked over at Deathstroke. "It won't be this simple, will it?"

"No," Deathstroke replied, some amusement in his tone. "The glass is almost definitely strong enough to stop most bullets, and anything that would get through it would be too much of a spectacle. We want to avoid the Bats as much as we can. We'll do things more subtly."

"Yes, sir."

"I made a deal with one of the security guards for video footage from the past month of the exit," Deathstroke added. Renegade wondered if the deal had been encouraged with cash or steel. "We can track any patterns in Fox's comings and goings."

"We're not going to watch him ourselves?" Renegade asked. Normally, they did this sort of observation personally.

"This is a rush job," Deathstroke said. "I want us out of here by the end of the month."

Renegade bit back his initial startled reaction. There were less than two weeks left in the month, and while there were some jobs they could do in that time, high-profile and subtle jobs like this one were usually done more slowly. He would think that the whole added vigilante element would also slow down the job, although perhaps Deathstroke was taking the opposite approach and trying to finish things as quickly as possible so the Bats didn't have enough time to stop them. It was risky, but perhaps it could work. Renegade wasn't sure he liked their odds, but he wasn't about to say that to Deathstroke.

"Keep an eye on Fox," Deathstroke told Renegade. "I'm going to get the footage."

"Yes, sir."

Deathstroke left, and Renegade watched Lucius Fox through his window, trying to figure out what about him at the whole Wayne Enterprises building felt so familiar. He had to think he'd lived in Gotham, at least for a while. The city felt too familiar for anything else to make sense. If he'd lived there, he would have had to pass the Wayne Enterprises building frequently, given its central location. He'd probably heard about Fox in the news, since he was the CEO. The familiarity felt a bit more personal than that, and he wondered briefly if he'd worked at Wayne Enterprises, but that didn't feel quite right. Perhaps he'd met Fox somehow. Perhaps he'd visited Wayne Enterprises on a school tour; he'd discovered in his research that those weren't uncommon. None of the options felt like they clicked properly, but Renegade had learned over the past six months that a lot of memories didn't click properly, even when he found them again. They were disconnected in his mind, and they wouldn't reconnect on their own. There were plenty of things Deathstroke had reminded him of that didn't feel quite right, even though Deathstroke told him they were. Perhaps this was another situation like that.

Fox stood up at his desk suddenly and crossed to the door, where he let in a tall, dark-haired man. Bruce Wayne himself, Renegade realized, and his head gave a sudden, awful pang. He winced, reaching up to massage his temples before he remembered the helmet. His headaches were nothing new - he'd had a low-grade headache pretty much since they first arrived in Gotham, honestly - but they normally didn't spike quite that painfully, not that quickly. There had been no build in the pain, just a sudden feeling like an ice pick had been shoved through his skull. He didn't think he'd ever felt that before.

He tried to watch Wayne and Fox, but his sudden headache kept him from being able to focus properly. Wayne was facing the window, and Renegade knew he should have been able to read his lips, but trying to focus on Wayne just made his head hurt more. He could hardly think. He wasn't sure he'd be able to move.

"Renegade," Deathstroke said, his voice cutting through the pain like a blade. Renegade gritted his teeth against a whimper.

Deathstroke looked in the window to Fox's office, cursed under his breath, and stood between Renegade and the window. With his line of sight interrupted, the headache lessened slightly, but his head still pounded.

"Renegade," Deathstroke said again. "Follow me."

Renegade stumbled after Deathstroke, leaping from rooftop to rooftop. He misjudged some of his landings and slammed too hard into the ground, but the pain hardly registered against the pain still pounding in his head. His headache was lessening, though, and by the time they reached the safe house, it no longer felt like Renegade's head was going to crack right open.

"What happened?" Deathstroke asked. His voice wasn't necessarily gentle, but it wasn't particularly harsh, which was about as gentle as Deathstroke got.

"I don't know," Renegade said. He itched to take his helmet off, but he knew Deathstroke wouldn't allow it. "I was watching Fox, as you ordered, and Wayne entered the room, and then- It felt like a knife went through my brain. My headaches have never been that bad before."

Deathstroke hummed. Renegade could picture the frown on his face. "Have your headaches been worse since coming to Gotham?"

"They have," Renegade agreed, frowning to himself. "How did you know?"

"You're slower and more distracted when your headaches are worse," Deathstroke dismissed. "I could tell."

"Do you have any idea why they've gotten worse?" Renegade asked. "They're practically constant now."

"No," Deathstroke said, "but we'll figure it out."

"Okay," Renegade said. "May I shower, sir?" Showering was the only time he was allowed to take his helmet off, and he needed to breathe fresh air right now.

"Go ahead," Deathstroke said. "You'll be useless for the rest of the night. I'm going back out. Stay here."

"Yes, sir."

Deathstroke left the safe house, and Renegade went into the bathroom. He unlatched his helmet and set it on the counter, then he took a deep breath and looked at himself in the mirror.

There were lines of pain around his eyes, but otherwise, he looked the same as ever. Dark hair, tousled and slightly matted from the helmet. Blue eyes. Tan skin. He smiled at the mirror. His reflection looked natural when he smiled, despite the fact that there wasn't much call for it in the life of mercenary.

He stripped out of his suit quickly and efficiently and stepped into the shower. As the hot spray poured over him, he closed his eyes and reviewed what he knew.

Gotham was familiar. Wayne Enterprises and Lucius Fox were familiar. Bruce Wayne, he thought, had felt familiar before the pain set in. He'd fought Batman before.

Deathstroke was paranoid about them being in Gotham. He wouldn't let Renegade take off his helmet for fear of toxic gases that could cause insanity. He was keeping Renegade on a much shorter leash than usual.

His headaches had worsened since they arrived in Gotham. When he saw Bruce Wayne, his headache got even worse. And, perhaps the most damning bit of evidence, Deathstroke knew why.

Renegade had been working with Deathstroke for all six months of his memory. He'd spent much of that time learning - relearning, most likely - how to read him. Renegade could tell when Deathstroke was lying to him. Not always, perhaps, and he wouldn't necessarily rely on it entirely, but most times, he knew. And when Deathstroke told him he didn't know why Renegade's headaches gotten worse, it had been a lie.

He didn't know why Deathstroke would lie to him about that. He intended to find out.

The next night, Renegade stood on a Gotham rooftop, watching the city bustle beneath his feet. Deathstroke had allowed him to go out on his own, although he'd impressed upon Renegade once again how crucial it was to be careful of Batman. "We don't need him messing up our plans," Deathstroke had said. "Stay away from him."

Renegade wasn't going to disobey a direct order by engaging with Batman again, not after Deathstroke had made his opinions so clear. He knew what would come of that, and it was nothing good. But as he watched Red Robin run across the next rooftop over, he couldn't help but follow him through the Gotham night.

He didn't know why he felt this strange pull to the Bat family. They were only going to make fulfilling the contract difficult, and he didn't think it made sense for him to have any real connection to them. But there was something about them that was so compelling, and even if Renegade couldn't place it, he also couldn't resist it.

Besides, Red Robin was one of the smaller ones. Perhaps Deathstroke saw Batman as a real threat, but Red Robin was still a child. He couldn't be any sort of danger to Renegade.

Following Red Robin through the city felt strangely familiar. It felt almost… playful, even though Renegade knew full well that Red Robin would probably attack him if he realized he was being followed. But even still…

One of Renegade's familiar headaches began pounding through his brain. He ignored it and continued following Red Robin. He was surprised that the vigilante didn't notice that someone was behind him; he'd have thought that he would be more attuned to the sensation of being followed. Renegade was very good at sneaking around, of course, but he'd thought the Bats would be equally good at noticing when someone was sneaking. Instead, Red Robin didn't seem to notice him at all.

Renegade kept a safe distance, even still, so he was one rooftop over when Red Robin stopped and settled, like he was waiting for something. Sure enough, a moment later, another figure swung onto the rooftop. Renegade saw the glint of light on the red metal helmet and mentally marked him down as the Red Hood.

"Hey, Red," Red Robin said. "Did you find any of the information I wanted?"

"Hey, Red," Red Hood replied dryly. "I've got some of it, but first, you're going to cough up your side of the bargain."

Red Robin's playful derision was clear, but he pulled a small bag out of one of the pouches around his belt. "Penny-One's cookies, as requested. Now, the information?"

Red Hood pulled a manila folder out from under his jacket, then he froze.

"You were followed."

Renegade went still, then he slowly reached for his guns.

"I- What? No, I wasn't," Red Robin protested. "I would have noticed."

"You're slipping, Double R," Red Hood said, pulling out a gun. "Come out, come out, wherever you are."

Renegade quickly weighed his options. Red Robin may have been too young to be a real threat, but he knew from his research that the same sentiment didn't extend to Red Hood. He probably wouldn't be able to deal permanent damage, of course, but that didn't mean he couldn't do anything.

There was also a story about a bag of severed heads, which was one of the few things Renegade wouldn't be able to heal from.

"Who is it?" Red Robin whispered. "B said Deathstroke is in town. Do you think it's him?"

"It's not Deathstroke," Red Hood dismissed. "He'd already be down here fighting us. Someone is watching instead."

"Do you think they'll attack?"

"I think you should shut up and get ready in case they do."

Red Robin extended his bo staff. Renegade swallowed hard. If he moved, they'd see him. If he stayed still, they'd probably go looking. Neither option was good, but if he moved fast enough…

He leapt out of his hiding place and to the next rooftop over. A shot rang out, but he ducked it easily. He heard Red Hood swear. Renegade disappeared down the fire escape and into the alleyway, then he held his breath as he strained his ears to hear Red Hood and Red Robin, still on the rooftop.

"Shit, who was that?" Red Hood was demanding. "I don't think I've ever seen him before. Do we have a new crazy asshole in town?"

"I think it's Deathstroke's partner," Red Robin said. "He fought B the other day. Apparently, he's really good. B says he almost beat him."

"Since when does Deathstroke have a partner?" Red Hood complained. "He's bad enough on his own."

"Oracle is looking into it, but there doesn't seem to be much to find on this guy. Maybe he's new. She did find a name, though. At least, it's probably a name. Renegade."

"That sounds like the sort of stupid, pretentious name someone running around with Deathstroke would use."

"How long do you think he was following me?" Red Robin asked, sounding a bit nervous. "I didn't even notice him."

"Maybe I'm just better at paying attention than you are," Red Hood replied dryly. "We should probably tell B about this."

"Ugh, do we have to?" Red Robin groaned. "He'll give me situational awareness classes again."

"Maybe you need situational awareness classes."

"You're supposed to be the fun big brother-" Red Robin began, then he stopped speaking abruptly. The rooftop went quiet. If Renegade really strained, he could hear their suddenly uneven breathing.

"He'd tattle on your ass," Red Hood said after a few long moments. "With something like this, he'd get all serious and say, 'I'm sorry, but this is important. We have to tell B.' Except maybe he'd try to help you cover for the whole not noticing thing. I'm not gonna help you cover for that."

"Yeah, cause you're the jerk big brother," Red Robin said. Renegade thought he heard his voice trembling the slightest bit.

He wondered who they were talking about. His guess was Nightwing. The way they spoke, the grief in their voices… The Bats were a family, and they'd lost the oldest brother. Renegade's heart gave a pang in sympathy.

He wondered if he'd had younger siblings, once upon a time, because some buried instinct wanted to comfort them.

"Fine, let's go tell B," Red Robin groaned. "You're still a jerk, though."

"Yeah, yeah, let's get going, Replacement," Red Hood drawled, and the two of them grappled away, leaving Renegade alone in the alley.

He hadn't learned much. He didn't think he'd learned anything useful. But for some reason, the conversation he'd overheard felt important to him, like it would mean something if he just unlocked it properly. He tucked it away in his memory and headed back to the safe house. He'd think it over there.

The safe house was empty when he arrived. It seemed Deathstroke was still out. Renegade slowly stripped out of his armor and into more comfortable clothes, then he sat down with the laptop and, after checking once more that Deathstroke was nowhere to be found, started googling about the Bat family again. There was still something missing, but he thought that, once he found out what it was, maybe everything would fall back into place.

He turned the laptop off quickly when he heard Deathstroke's footsteps in the hallway, and he stood at attention when Deathstroke stomped through the door. The look on his face was angry, and Renegade's stomach sank.

"I thought I told you to stay away from Batman."

Renegade swallowed hard, wishing he hadn't already stripped out of his armor. "I wasn't anywhere near Batman tonight."

"Following one of his brood is just asking for him to find you."

Renegade couldn't explain the strange pull he'd felt towards Red Robin. He didn't even bother trying. "I'm sorry."

Deathstroke took a step towards him. Renegade resisted the urge to step back. "Don't make me regret bringing you on this contract."

"Yes, sir."

Deathstroke pulled out a knife, and Renegade tensed up despite himself. Sometimes, the knife was better than a bullet, but normally, it was worse. He was certain it would be worse tonight.

Sure enough, Deathstroke walked behind him and stabbed the knife into Renegade's back, right into his spine. As the blade severed his spinal cord, Renegade lost all feeling in his legs and crumpled to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut. Deathstroke crouched in front of him.

"From now on, you'll listen to me, or I'll stab this knife in your neck and leave it in until I'm done with this contract."

"Yes, sir," Renegade rasped. Deathstroke had done that once before, paralyzing Renegade from the neck down and leaving him unable to remove the knife on his own. He'd only left him like that for an hour, but it had been more than long enough. It would be days, if not a week, before they were done in Gotham. The thought of being unable to move that entire time was enough to make Renegade's heart pound.

Deathstroke nodded once, then he yanked the knife out and stalked out of the room. Renegade remained on the floor. He'd have to wait until his spinal cord healed, and then he'd have to wait through the awful burning of his nerves reconnecting. He hated being so helpless on the floor of the living room, exposed and unarmed, but he did his best to keep his breathing regular. No one would be able to get into the safe house, and he wasn't really any safer from Deathstroke in his room. The reassurance of the closed door was purely psychological. Renegade knew full well that it wouldn't even slow Deathstroke down.

He bit down hard on his lip when his nerves finally reconnected, nearly biting through it from the pain. When it finally lessened, he slowly moved to get up and staggered into his room, closing the door and falling face-first onto the bed.

He tried to review what he knew once again. Gotham was familiar. Deathstroke was being paranoid. Renegade's headaches were getting worse, and Deathstroke knew why but wasn't telling him. He had known what Batman was going to do before he moved. There was something about the Bat family that felt so incredibly familiar.

The Bats were grieving. He didn't know why that was important, but he couldn't help but feel it was.

It was clear, he thought, that he wasn't going to get any answers from Deathstroke. If Deathstroke had wanted to tell him about his identity or his past, he would have done it six months ago. If he wanted to tell him something about Gotham, he would have done it when they arrived. If he wanted to tell him something about Batman, he would have done it after Renegade fought him. Deathstroke wouldn't volunteer the information, and asking for it was just asking for trouble. But ignorance wasn't an option. Renegade was so close to figuring everything out, and he had to know.

Maybe he'd have to go after the information in a different way. If he wanted to find out about the Bats, maybe he had to go to them.

Deathstroke would be furious. A knife to the neck would probably be the least of Renegade's worries. But if he did things well enough, Deathstroke would never even need to know what happened. If he didn't do it well enough… Well, if it told him who he was, then it would be worth it anyway. He had to know. He had to. He hadn't realized before how much that gaping void bothered him, but now that everything seemed so close to filling it, he realized that he couldn't live with it for much longer. He had to act. If that meant going to the Bats, then so be it. If that meant disobeying Deathstroke, then so be it.

He'd leave the next day. He'd find Batman's headquarters at night, when the Bat himself was out in Gotham. He wasn't sure quite yet how he'd find it, but he thought he could manage it. Maybe he'd just follow one of the pulls he'd been feeling lately, and it would take him there. He was certain, somehow, that he could find Batman if he looked.

If Deathstroke wouldn't tell him the truth, he'd have to find it out himself.

Renegade had thought it would be difficult to break into Batman's headquarters, but instead, it was almost absurdly easy. And it was familiar too, in the way so many things about Batman were strangely familiar. He must have been inside his headquarters before, he just didn't know why.

It was almost like a cave, he thought, looking around. Batman's cave. A Batcave, perhaps, and the portmanteau provoked an odd sense of déjà vu. Emboldened, he crept further. No one seemed to be there, after all, and while he was sure there were cameras and most likely alarms, he'd come for the very purpose of getting caught. There was no point in stealth.

That was his plan, after all. He'd spent the day with Deathstroke, finalizing their plans, and then he'd managed to get Deathstroke to agree to let him patrol alone. Once they'd split off, he'd let his body lead him where it wanted to go, and it had taken him out of Gotham and into Bristol, and then into a long tunnel, and then, finally, into the cave that he knew had to belong to Batman. Now, he just had to wait for the Bat himself to realize he was there, and then, hopefully, he would get some answers.

There was a computer with massive screens along one wall, and a large training area in another corner. There was a spot where Renegade assumed Batman's car would be, were he not out patrolling Gotham, and spaces next to it for what appeared to be a line of motorcycles. Only a few were still there, and Renegade ran a hand along a sleek black and blue one. Strangely, while the other motorcycles looked well-used, this one looked like it hadn't been touched in a while. The wheels were pristine, and the paint unscratched. The strangeness kept Renegade's attention for a few moments, but then he tore it away, exploring the rest of the cave.

There was a glass case not far from the motorcycles, and Renegade approached it slowly. Inside was a blue and black suit, one he recognized from his research on Gotham's vigilantes as belonging to Nightwing. The case had the feeling of a memorial, and Renegade knew, as he'd known when he eavesdropped on Red Hood and Red Robin the night before, that Nightwing's absence was a permanent one.

He stepped closer to the case, not quite able to help himself. Something about the costume was familiar, but he wasn't quite sure what. He knew he'd seen it before, though, and he knew… he knew…

He'd had a headache since before he even entered the cave. But right then, staring at the Nightwing costume in the middle of Batman's cave…

His head had never pounded quite so hard.

He blamed the pain for the fact that he didn't notice the footsteps behind him until there was the barrel of a shotgun pressed to his back. "Batman would be very displeased with me if I shot someone," a voice said, "but I believe he would understand this time, given the circumstances."

Renegade raised both his hands slowly. "I'm not here to fight." He didn't know who was behind him - none of his research had indicated a Batman-affiliated vigilante with a British accent - but it didn't really matter, not with a shotgun to his back. Renegade would heal from it, of course, but he knew from experience that getting shot with a shotgun was incredibly painful.

"Forgive me if I find that hard to believe," the man replied. "You are Deathstroke's partner, are you not?"

"He doesn't know I'm here. I… I need to talk to Batman."

The shotgun remained against his back, but Renegade didn't think he was imagining the way the pressure eased slightly. "And what business do you have with Batman?"

"I have questions for him. I promise, I'm not here to fight. I'm unarmed."

"Given the way you fight, I do not find that particularly reassuring."

"Please," Renegade said, and his voice cracked on the word. "I need Batman."

For a moment, the man behind him said nothing, then he sighed. "If you are not here to fight, I trust you will not protest being locked in one of the cells, at least until Batman returns. I will call for him once you are secured."

"Thank you," Renegade said, feeling his shoulders slump in relief. He followed the nudges from the shotgun to the cell, which was far nicer than he'd expected it to be. He allowed the man to lock it behind him and sat down on the cot, and he turned just in time to catch a glimpse of the man who'd held the shotgun to his back before he walked out of sight. He was older than Renegade had expected, and he was wearing a suit and a domino mask, and something about him struck a dull chord in Renegade's memory, but he couldn't- He couldn't-

His head was pounding.

The man returned after a minute, standing in front of Renegade's cell with his hands clasped behind his back. "Batman is on his way back to the Cave. He should arrive in approximately ten minutes."

"Thank you," Renegade said quietly.

"If you explain whatever problem you require Batman to solve, we may be able to begin researching now," the man offered.

"No," Renegade said, shaking his head. They were all familiar, all the people who worked with Batman, but Batman was the one he needed. "I need Batman."

The man sighed. "Very well," he agreed, and then he walked back over to the computers. Renegade couldn't see him, and he'd be out of earshot for a normal human, but if Renegade strained his hearing...

"…don't know how he got in," a woman's voice was saying. Renegade wondered if she was part of the "we" the man had referenced. "He didn't hack our systems or sneak past them or anything. They just didn't register him as a threat. It was like if one of us had come back from patrol early. I don't know how he did it."

"Then we must simply count ourselves lucky that I was heading down to the Cave anyway," the man said. "And that he did not seem particularly violent."

"Which is weird, given that he's Deathstroke's partner," the woman replied. "But your shotgun might have helped with that too."

The man hummed in agreement. "I'll have to hide it again before Batman returns. He's always so dreadfully put-out when he's reminded of the firearms I keep around the house."

"He'll see it in the footage," the woman said, sounding a bit dubious.

"Yes, but he won't know where it is, and he can't dispose of firearms when he doesn't know where they are."

The woman snorted. "Whatever you say, Penny-One."

"You've researched Renegade, yes? What did you find?"

"Barely anything," the woman admitted. "He's stealthy, and good at it."

"And yet he did not appear to use much of his stealth when entering the Cave tonight."

"Well, if he's here to see Batman, it doesn't make sense to hide too much."

"He could have lain in wait until Batman returned," the man countered. "It would have put him in a much stronger position than he's in now, in one of the cells."

"Maybe that was his plan until you caught him."

"If he's as skilled in stealth as his lack of records seems to indicate, I would think it would be harder to catch him."

Honestly, Renegade was a bit embarrassed by the man's ability to sneak up on him, but he hadn't really been trying, so he supposed it was alright. The man was right, he could have lain in wait, but he'd decided against it. He wanted Batman's help, and it seemed more genuine to come to him in peace and openness. Perhaps it was stupid - Deathstroke always did call him an idiot - but it was the choice Renegade had made, so he'd have to live with it.

"Well, Batman is on his way back, and he'll be able to deal with whatever this is," the woman declared. "Red Robin and Spoiler are heading back too, but they'll hang back, in case something goes wrong. Is Signal still upstairs?"

"Indeed, but I'd prefer not to wake him unless absolutely necessary."

"Having a mercenary in the Cave doesn't count as necessary?"

"Not when the mercenary in question is locked in a cell."

"We've both considered the thought that this could be a trap, right? Or a distraction?"

"I've ran all the scanners in the cells," the man reported, and Renegade's gaze flicked around the cell. He hadn't noticed scanners, but he wasn't particularly surprised to hear they existed. "He does not seem to be a threat."

"And in case this is a distraction, only Batman, Red Robin, and Spoiler are heading back. Robin, Black Bat, and Red Hood are staying out." The woman sighed. "I just hate not knowing what's going on. I don't want anyone else to get hurt. If someone else…"

"I feel the same," the man said, his voice soft. "But I do not believe it will come to that. We have Renegade in a cell, and Batman is nearly here. We can handle this."

"We thought we could handle the bombs in that building too," the woman said, grief heavy in her voice.

"This is not like that," the man said gently.

"I know," the woman sighed. "I know, it's just… Maybe it's Deathstroke being here that's making me think of him. Nightwing and Deathstroke always had their weird rivalry."

"I miss him too."

It felt invasive to listen to the conversation, one that was clearly meant to be a private sharing of grief. Deathstroke would roll his eye at Renegade's sentiment, but he did almost wish he could leave the man and woman to mourn in peace. But their conversation had already given Renegade helpful information. If he hadn't heard them, he might not have noticed the presence of Red Robin and Spoiler, and he wouldn't have known that Signal was there. He didn't want to be caught off guard. He wasn't there to fight, but that didn't mean he wanted to be vulnerable.

"Batman is almost here," the man reported. "I ought to go hide my shotgun."

The woman let out a watery-sounding chuckle. "Okay. I'll keep half an eye on you guys while I coordinate the others."

"Much appreciated, as always, Oracle."

Batman's car was quiet as it approached, but Renegade still heard it, along with the sounds of two motorcycles. The motorcycle engines cut out before the car engine did, and Renegade imagined Red Robin and Spoiler were hiding their motorcycles so he wouldn't know they were there. Anyone without enhanced senses wouldn't have been able to pick up on the subtle difference in sounds, and honestly, Renegade wasn't sure he would have noticed if he hadn't been listening for it. He hoped it wouldn't matter. He didn't plan on letting on that he knew Red Robin and Spoiler were there, not unless he had to.

"Penny-One," a gravely voice stated, and Renegade perked up a bit. That was Batman's voice, and it prompted a strange feeling in his chest. His head pounded, but he hardly noticed the pain through his anticipation. Batman might know who he was. Batman might be able to tell him his identity. Batman might be able to tell him his past.

"Renegade is in a cell, sir," the man told Batman promptly. "He's waiting for you."

"And he wouldn't say anything about what he wants?"

"Nothing, sir. He said he needed to speak with you in particular."

Batman sighed. "Then let's see what he wants to talk about."

Renegade knew Batman could walk silently if he wanted to, but he made no effort to muffle his heavy footsteps. Perhaps it was meant to be some sort of intimidation technique. He'd have to try much harder to intimidate someone who worked with Deathstroke.

"Renegade," Batman growled, stepping in front of the cell. "I hear you want to speak to me."

"Batman," Renegade said, nodding. "I do. I… I need to know… Have we met before?"

Whatever question Batman had been expecting, that clearly hadn't been it. "We fought earlier this week."

"No, I mean… Before that. Do you know who I am?"

Now Batman just seemed confused. "You're Renegade, Deathstroke's partner."

"No, I mean…" Renegade groaned. "Do you recognize me?"

"Explain," Batman demanded.

"Six months ago," Renegade said, aware that Deathstroke would be furious at him for sharing this and not caring, "I was in an accident. I… I don't know the details of what happened. But I lost my memory. Even my healing factor wasn't enough to fix it."

"You share Deathstroke's healing factor?" Batman asked sharply.

"Deathstroke and I have the same powers, from the same serum," Renegade said. He'd get shot for that reveal, at the very least. He carried on anyway. "In the accident, I hurt my head somehow, and now I don't remember anything from before it happened. And Deathstroke will barely tell me anything. I don't know who I am. But when I fought you… It felt familiar."

Batman's face was entirely unreadable. Some of that was the cowl, but Renegade had the feeling he wouldn't have been able to read him without it either. "Familiar how?"

"Like we'd fought before. Deathstroke told me we have, but he wouldn't tell me anything more. I hoped that maybe you would."

Batman's head barely moved, but Renegade had the distinct feeling he was being sized up from head to toe. "Deathstroke lied to you. We've never fought before. I've crossed paths with Deathstroke multiple times, but I've never crossed paths with you."

Renegade squeezed his eyes shut, feeling his one chance to learn about his past slip away. "I only started wearing this helmet after the accident. Deathstroke told me we fought before I started wearing it. Do you think you might recognize me if I took it off?"

"You're willing to reveal your identity to me?" Batman asked, a bit dubiously.

"You don't get it," Renegade hissed, struggling to tamp down on a burst of temper. "I have no identity other than Renegade. I don't know who I am. I'm willing to do whatever it takes to find out."

Batman was silent for a long moment. Renegade tried to read him through the cowl, but he couldn't. He waited, hardly breathing, until Batman said, "Take off the helmet. I can run a facial recognition scan."

Renegade let out a long, slow breath. He'd hardly taken his helmet off since he arrived in Gotham, only removing it to eat and shower. Deathstroke had even insisted that he sleep with it on, just in case. If he knew Renegade was removing it now, in front of an enemy, he'd be furious. Renegade would be lucky if he stopped after emptying a full clip into him.

Renegade reached up and undid the hatch on the back of his helmet. Slowly, very slowly, he took it off.

Batman took one look at his face, and then he looked like he'd been shot.

"You know who I am," Renegade said, excitement flooding his body. Batman recognized him. He had to, with that expression. He wouldn't react like that to a face he didn't know. "You recognize me."

"I do," Batman said, his voice suddenly hoarse. "You're my son."

Chapter Text

"This is weird," Steph declared as she and Tim waited in the tunnel, just out of view of the Cave. "The whole thing… It's weird, right?"

"Deathstroke is always weird," Tim replied, not looking up from the gauntlet he was fiddling with.

"Yeah, but this is, like, really weird. And who even is Renegade anyway? Even Oracle couldn't find anything on him."

"Deathstroke has never brought him to Gotham before," Tim said. "But maybe he's new. He's definitely younger than Deathstroke."

"He doesn't move like someone who's new to the game," Steph countered.

Tim shrugged. "He could have been an athlete first or something. Or maybe he's just new to going by Renegade."

"Didn't he follow you the other night?" Steph asked. "When you were meeting up with Hood?"

"Someone followed me. We never saw them clearly, but… Yeah, it was probably Renegade."

"So he could follow you around Gotham for who knows how long until Hood noticed him, which he said was pretty much just luck, but then Renegade takes all the effort to break into the Batcave and gets caught by Penny-One in about five seconds? This is weird, Red."

Tim opened his mouth to respond, but before he could say anything, Barbara cut in on the comms, sounding more frazzled than Steph thought she'd ever heard her before. "Spoiler. Red Robin. Get in the Cave."

"On our way, O," Steph said as she and Tim started sprinting down the tunnel. "What sort of situation are we walking into?"

"I… Honestly, I think you need to see it for yourself," Barbara said helplessly. "I'm seeing this through multiple cameras and I'm still not sure I believe it."

"Is it good or bad?" Steph pushed.

"If it really is what it looks like… good," Barbara declared. "Really, really good."

Steph shared a look with Tim, and then she ran faster.

Renegade was supposed to be in one of the cells in the back of the Batcave, so that was where Steph headed, Tim at her heels. Barbara would have mentioned if Renegade had gotten out, she assumed, so Renegade was probably still there. It didn't explain why Barbara had sounded so urgent, but-

And then Steph caught sight of the unmasked figure in the cell, and she skidded to a stop so quickly she almost fell over.

"What is it?" Tim asked, barely stopping before he crashed into her. "What- Oh my god."

Steph gaped at the cell, unable to summon a single word. She understood Barbara's reaction now, understood why she'd said, if with caveats, that this could be a good thing.

Because the person in the cell, wearing Renegade's gear and holding his helmet, was Dick.

"Let me just say, this is not exactly what I was expecting," Dick said, looking from Bruce, who was standing motionless in front of the cell, to Steph and Tim, and then back to Bruce. "You said I'm your son?"

"Dick?" Tim breathed.

Dick winced a little. "Okay, yeah, I probably deserve that, but I swear, I wasn't following you to hurt you-"

"No," Bruce interrupted, his voice a croak. "It's your name. Richard John Grayson. You go by Dick."

"Oh, so we're dealing with amnesia?" Steph asked. "You don't remember anything?"

Dick shook his head. "Nothing from more than six months ago."

"I knew he wasn't dead," Tim whispered. "I knew it."

"We need to run tests," Bruce said abruptly. "This- We don't know for sure yet if this is really Dick. We'll need to do a blood test, and-"

"How did you survive?" Tim interrupted.

Dick shrugged. "I don't know. All I know is that I was in an accident six months ago, and it was bad enough that even my healing factor couldn't save my memory."

"Healing factor?" Steph repeated.

"He said he has the same abilities as Deathstroke," Bruce said sharply. He was going back into Batman-mode, Steph could see it. All of his feelings were getting shoved to the side so he could do the practical thing. Honestly, he probably wasn't wrong to do so; they did need to run tests and check if this was really Dick, and they needed to be objective to do it.

"That must have been how you survived," Tim said, nodding once. "The explosion didn't kill you immediately, and then Deathstroke injected you with the same serum that gave him his powers. It healed you, but for some reason, you still have amnesia."

"It took a while for me to heal fully," Dick said. "Deathstroke said I was unconscious for a week, and it took another two weeks after that before I was ready to go back into the field."

"Do you think Deathstroke did it on purpose?" Steph asked Tim and Bruce. "Erase Dick's memory, I mean? He's always been kinda obsessed with him. If he thought this was a chance to get him to be his partner, maybe he'd take it." She looked back at Dick. "Uh, sorry, I didn't mean to speak about you like you're not there, but…"

"No, I get it," Dick said with a nod. "This is weird. But I don't think Deathstroke did this on purpose. The first time I woke up after the accident, he was really surprised that I didn't remember anything. I guess he could have been lying, but I'm normally pretty good at knowing when he's lying to me." He hesitated, frowning, and added, "At least, I thought I was."

"We need to do a blood test," Bruce said again. "We need to confirm that you really are Dick."

Bruce was right, they had to confirm it, but honestly, Steph was pretty sure she knew what the tests would show. This felt like Dick, even without his memories. Her gut told her that this was real, and she'd learned a long time ago to trust her gut.

"Okay," Dick agreed easily. "Do you want…?" He pulled out a knife that Steph hadn't noticed he had and held it against his hand.

"What are you doing?" Bruce demanded immediately.

"Getting you a blood sample?" Dick asked, a bit tentatively. "Don't you need one?"

"Oh boy," Steph muttered.

"I'll use a syringe to take a sample," Bruce snapped. "And you told Penny-One you were unarmed."

It was fear and worry for Dick that sharpened Bruce's voice, Steph could tell, and considering that Dick had been about to slice his hand open, she didn't blame him for it. But Dick didn't remember Bruce, so he went tense and set the knife down on the ground before taking a step back from it and putting his hands up.

"Sorry, sir. That was all I had on me, I swear."

Steph looked over at Tim, wondering if they should interfere. Defusing the situation a bit would be a good idea, she thought. But Tim was just looking at Dick, clearly still caught on the fact that he was alive, so it would be up to Steph alone.

"I'll get the sample," she offered. "I mean, pre-med student here, I know what I'm doing. B, Red, why don't you two go get everything else ready for all the tests?"

Both of them wanted to protest, Steph could tell. "Guys," she said, trying to imbue her voice with as much meaning as she could, "you should really get the test ready. Dick and I will be fine."

Tim snapped out of it first. "Okay," he said, although he still hadn't fully taken his gaze off of Dick. "Come on, B, let's get everything ready to confirm this."

"We don't know for sure if he really is Dick," Bruce said. "This could be a trap."

"Then you should get everything ready to figure that out," Steph said. "Go on. Shoo."

Bruce and Tim went over to the Batcomputer, if a bit reluctantly, and Steph went to the med bay to grab a syringe. Dick hadn't really moved at all by the time she got back. He was watching everything, though; she could tell. It felt a little different from Dick's usual watchful eye.

"Okay," she said, "I'm gonna go in there and take a blood sample. Don't stab me or anything, okay?"

"I'm not going to stab you," Dick said. He kicked the knife away from him, towards the door. "I wasn't going to stab anyone, really. I just always have that knife on me, just in case."

"No, I get it," Steph replied. "I have two hidden knives in my suit. You told me once that the Nightwing suit has at least one hidden knife too, although I have no idea where you keep it, since that thing is skintight. And honestly, B was more worried about you than anything else. That's why he was so weird about it. He's weird about a lot of stuff, to be honest."

"He feels familiar," Dick said quietly. "When we fought, I could predict what he was going to do. But… I don't know him as my father."

"Well, we'll either fix you up, or you can just make new memories," Steph said. "Take a step back, okay?"

Dick took an obedient step back, and Steph opened the cell door and stepped inside. She closed it behind her, then she stepped towards Dick with the syringe.

"Not afraid of needles or anything, are you?"

"No," Dick said, although he watched Steph with wary eyes. "Was I before?"

"Nah, but I don't know what you've been up to in the last six months," Steph replied. "Maybe you have needle trauma now. We've got every other sort of trauma here, after all."

She slid the needle into Dick's vein and extracted a full syringe's worth of blood. She pulled out a bandaid afterwards, but the wound just closed by itself, right in front of her eyes.

"Healing factor," Dick said, slight amusement in his voice. "It's convenient with stuff like this."

"Honestly, you've gotten hurt enough times that a healing factor is probably a good thing," Steph said. "We can worry way less about you getting yourself killed now."

"I can still die," Dick offered. "But it's just not as easy."

"I said we'd worry less, not that we wouldn't worry at all," Steph teased, and it almost felt like things were normal again. They weren't, of course, and they wouldn't be until Dick got his memory back, and maybe not even then, but it was better. It was definitely better.

"I should go bring this to B and Red," Steph said, holding up the syringe. "And I should, uh…" She bent down and picked up the knife. "Sorry, but, I mean… You're Deathstroke's partner."

"No, I get it," Dick said, although Steph could see the new tension in his shoulders. She completely understood why being unarmed made him uncomfortable, but she had to admit, him being armed made her feel a little uncomfortable. Dick would never hurt her, but even if the DNA matched, this wasn't exactly Dick. She didn't want to think he would hurt her, but she couldn't be sure.

Steph stepped out of the cell and closed it behind her, then put the knife down on the table and hurried over to Bruce and Tim. "Here," she said, handing Tim the blood sample. "Even if the blood sample matches, though, how do we know he's not a clone or something?"

"He'd have to be force-grown to look as old as he does," Tim said as Bruce took the blood sample from him and began running the tests. "And we can check for that."

"Blood type matches," Bruce grunted. "But thirteen percent of the population has O-negative blood."

"I think it's him," Steph said quietly. "I mean, maybe I'm being too optimistic, but it feels like him, doesn't it?"

"I think it does," Tim agreed. "I knew he wasn't dead."

"We need to wait for the test results," Bruce said, but Steph could tell he was hopeful. Of course he was. This was Dick, and he might be alive.

They'd lost so much, and they'd been lucky enough to get a lot of it back. They'd gotten Dick back from death once before. Steph hadn't dared to believe they would do it again, but now…

Now, even as Bruce ran the tests to confirm it, she was pretty sure she believed.

Bruce stared at the DNA results. Double checked them. Triple checked them. Confirmed to make sure all the markers were correct and everything was as it should be. Quadruple checked, just to be sure.

"It's a match," he said, his voice hoarse. "The DNA is a match."

Steph almost fell out of her chair. "It's a match? It's really Dick?"

"There's no indications of accelerated growth or cloning," Tim said, leaning over to look at the results. "It's him. It's really him."

The words felt like they were coming from far away. Bruce stared at the results, vision fuzzing in and out. He was dissociating, he knew, but he couldn't think of anything to do about it. Dick was alive. Dick was alive, and they had him back. He'd been working for Deathstroke, he'd been their enemy, but that was fine because he was alive. Bruce didn't care what his son did, as long as he was alive to do it.

Someone shook his shoulder. "Bruce," Steph said, in a tone that indicated she'd said it several times before. "Tim is telling the others. I'm gonna go tell Alfred. Are we going to let him out of the cell?"

"Let him out of the cell," Bruce repeated mindlessly, then he shook himself and made himself focus. "Yes. I'll let him out."

"Okay," Steph said, shooting one last look at Bruce before she disappeared up the stairs. Alfred had gone upstairs before Dick took his helmet off, and Bruce hadn't told him anything else about it. The only people who knew Dick was back were the people in the Cave and Barbara, who was impossible to hide anything from anyway. Bruce hadn't wanted to get anyone's hopes up. He hadn't wanted to tell people that Dick was back and then have to take it back when they found out he was a fake.

But he wasn't a fake. All of the evidence showed he wasn't. There was a chance, of course, that someone had figured out a sophisticated enough way of creating a fake Dick that it had fooled even Bruce, but Bruce knew he was paranoid enough to make that unlikely. This was really Dick. This was really his son. He was back. He'd come home.

Bruce walked over to the cell, still somewhat in a daze. Dick was sitting on the cot, his leg bouncing. He stood up once Bruce was in sight.

"What did the results say?"

Bruce leaned over and opened the door. Perhaps it was foolish, perhaps it was dangerous, but this was his son. "It's really you."

Dick stared at him, then at the open door. "Are you… letting me out?"

"I don't lock up my children," Bruce said. "I'm sorry I did."

"You trust me out there?" Dick asked, still not moving.

"You're my son," Bruce said simply. "I'm not locking you up. You can come out."

Dick slowly stepped out of the cell. Bruce saw his eyes flicker towards his knife, which Steph must have confiscated, but he didn't go over to take it. Bruce honestly wasn't sure whether or not he would have let him.

"Oh my goodness," a voice gasped, and Bruce turned to see Alfred, Steph behind him. Alfred's hand was on his chest, and his eyes were wide. "My dear boy. My dear, dear boy."

"Were you the one with the shotgun?" Dick asked tentatively.

Bruce saw a spasm of grief pass over Alfred's face. He couldn't blame him; this was his son, this was Dick, but he didn't remember them at all. It was a miracle they had him back at all, one Bruce would never stop being grateful for, but he wished they had all of him.

"I was, and I apologize for that," Alfred said. "My name is Alfred Pennyworth. I am the butler here. If you should need anything, anything at all, you may come to me."

"Oh, uh, thanks," Dick said. Bruce saw him shift his weight a little. "Um, Batman-"

"Bruce," Bruce interrupted. "My name is Bruce Wayne. You call me B."

"You're-" Dick blinked at him. Bruce pulled off the cowl, and Dick's eyes widened even more.

"Well, that explains a lot."

"What does it explain?" Steph asked. "Oh, Steph, by the way. Stephanie Brown."

"I thought Batman was familiar, and I also thought Wayne Enterprises and Bruce Wayne were familiar," Dick said. "Uh, Bruce, are you planning on having me… stay here?"

Bruce froze. Steph's eyes went wide, and Alfred's lips tightened.

"I would like you to," Bruce finally said. "I won't force you to. But I also won't-"

He hesitated. He was going to say, I won't let you and Deathstroke kill anyone, but if it came down to a fight, would he be able to fight Dick? Would he even be able to win if he tried, after what happened when he fought Renegade a few nights before?

"I told the others," Tim said, rushing over breathlessly. "Including Duke, I sent him a message. He might be asleep, but we can wake him up."

"Did you tell them everything?" Bruce asked.

"I told them Dick was alive but has amnesia, and we ran the tests to confirm it's really him," Tim replied.

"Did you mention the whole Renegade thing?" Steph asked.

Tim hesitated. "Uh. No."

"So that's gonna be a shock to the others," Steph said dryly.

"Does it matter?" Tim asked. "You're not going back to Deathstroke, right? You're staying with us?"

"I… don't plan on going back to Deathstroke," Dick said slowly. "He'd be furious with me."

"So you're staying?" Tim pressed.

"Hey, Tim," Steph scolded lightly. "Give a guy some space, okay? Did the others give an ETA?"

"Nothing specific, but they're all coming as fast as they can," Tim said, tearing his gaze away from Dick. "Probably fifteen minutes maximum."

"Someone should stay out," Bruce said, although he couldn't imagine asking any of his children to do that. "Especially while Deathstroke is here."

"Kate is staying out," Tim said. "She said she might swing over tomorrow to see Dick, though."

"Kate?" Dick asked tentatively. His gaze had been bouncing from person to person as they spoke, and Bruce knew he was trying to put together all the pieces. There were a lot of pieces, for someone with no prior knowledge of them.

"Kate Kane," Bruce supplied. "My cousin. She's Batwoman."

"And everyone else?" Dick asked, looking at Tim.

"Jason, Damian, and Cass. And Duke is upstairs."

"Red Hood, Robin, Black Bat, Signal," Steph supplied.

Dick looked overwhelmed and perhaps slightly ill. "Could I clean up first? And maybe change out of…" He gestured at his suit. "This?"

"I can fetch clothes for you," Alfred offered immediately. "Or shall we all go upstairs?"

"The others will be coming in here, so we might as well wait," Steph said.

"We'll stay down here," Bruce decided. "Dick, you can go shower if you want."

Dick nodded slowly. "Uh, where are the showers?"

"I'll show you," Steph said. She seemed determined to act as normally as possible, just as she had been all along. Steph had done her best to keep everyone from spiraling in guilt, and now she was trying to keep everyone, including Dick, from being too overwhelmed. "Come on."

Dick looked to Bruce, waiting. It took Bruce a moment to realize he was waiting for permission. He nodded, and Dick followed Steph to the showers.

"I shall bring clothes down to the Cave, then," Alfred said, and he hurried up the stairs. Bruce knew Alfred well enough to know that he would take a moment to compose himself once he was out of view.

"Is Barbara coming over?" Bruce asked Tim, forcing himself to focus.

"No, she said she'll come over tomorrow," Tim replied. "I think she was crying."

Bruce remembered Dick and Barbara as children, as Robin and Batgirl. "She and Dick are close, and she took his death hard. I'm not surprised."

"I still can't really believe he's actually here," Tim whispered. "I mean, I always thought he could be alive, but there was also always part of me that thought maybe I was being too optimistic or going crazy or something. But here he is. He's alive. He's back. We got him back, Bruce."

"We should see if we can determine the cause of his amnesia," Bruce said. "We might be able to reverse it."

"I can run some brain scans tomorrow," Tim offered. "If Dick is okay with it."

"We also have to be prepared for Deathstroke to retaliate," Bruce added reluctantly. He would never let Deathstroke anywhere near Dick ever again, and he didn't like the idea of Deathstroke being near any of his children, but they had to plan for his likely reaction to them taking Dick back. "He's had an obsession with Dick for years. This probably only heightened it."

"He's not getting his hands on Dick again," Tim said with a cold ferocity that almost startled Bruce, even as he agreed with it. "Not ever."

"He'll try, but we'll stop him," Bruce said, his thoughts already twisting into plans. "We should also figure out who Deathstroke came here to kill."

"Do you think Dick will tell us?" Tim asked, a bit hesitantly.

Bruce didn't answer. He'd like to think that Dick would tell them, that Dick would help them stop Deathstroke and save his future victim, but Dick had spent the last six months with Deathstroke poisoning his mind. He'd come here with Deathstroke to kill someone. And he said he didn't plan on going back, but that didn't mean his loyalties had shifted entirely.

"I can see if I can track what they've been doing," Tim offered after a moment of silence. "If I can see what areas of the city they've been spending the most time in, I might be able to get an idea of who the target is."

Bruce hated the plural pronoun, even though he knew it was correct. "Good idea."

Dick had always told him that he should praise the younger kids more. He'd never asked for praise himself, but Bruce later realized that he spoke from experience when he said that the younger kids needed more validation than Bruce was giving them. He hadn't realized it early enough, though, so it was only after Dick's supposed death that he began putting Dick's suggestions to use. He wondered if Dick would be proud of him for it. Probably not, since Dick couldn't remember enough to know what there was to be proud of.

Tim bounced on the balls of his feet, then blurted out, "He said he wouldn't go back to Deathstroke, but he didn't say he would stay. Do you think he'll stay?"

"I think we need to give him time," Bruce said, as much as the very idea pained him. "This is a lot to take in. We need to let him process and see if we can help him remember."

"But he has to stay," Tim said, sounding very young all of a sudden. "We just got him back. We can't lose him again."

"We're not losing anyone," Bruce declared firmly. "Even if he doesn't stay, he'll still be alive."

"I can't lose him again," Tim whispered. "Not after everything, B. I can't do it."

Dick had always been better at dealing with the others' emotions than Bruce, but Bruce knew what to do when Tim cried; he opened his arms and pulled his son into his embrace. Tim went boneless against him and shook silently. Bruce held him tight.

Alfred came back down, nodded at Bruce, and headed towards the showers with a bundle of clothes. A minute later, Dick, Steph, and Alfred came back from the showers, Dick wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt that his wet hair was dripping onto. He hesitated when he saw Tim crying, his face conflicted. If Bruce was reading his expression correctly, there was a part of Dick that wanted to comfort Tim, but he didn't know how or if the comfort would be appreciated. It would be, Bruce thought, but he didn't say anything, just squeezed Tim lightly. Tim looked up at him, then followed his gaze to the others. He quickly scrubbed at his face with the heel of his hand and tried to smile.

"Uh, the others should be here any minute. Are you, uh, are you ready to meet them?"

"They know I don't remember them, right?" Dick asked, and Bruce realized he was nervous.

"They know," Tim confirmed. "I told them."

Dick nodded. "Okay."

Bruce felt an urge to hold him too, to reach out and pull him into his arms the same way he'd pulled in Tim. He didn't. Maybe, when they got Dick back fully, memory and all, he would, but now…

He would figure out a way to fix things. He was Batman. He could do it. He wouldn't give himself another option.

He was getting a second chance, after all, and he would be damned if he would mess it up.

When Drake sent out the message, Damian hadn't dared to fully believe it. He'd never believed that Richard could be alive, not like Drake had. They'd worked together to find Richard, yes, but Damian had always thought they would find a body. He'd just hoped it would be enough to throw in a Lazarus Pit.

If Drake was to be believed - and he swore that he was telling the truth, that even Father had confirmed it - then a Lazarus Pit wouldn't be necessary after all.

Damian was almost back to the Cave when he crossed paths with Todd and Cain. None of them spoke, but they all picked up speed, just a little bit. If this was real, if Richard were really back…

Damian pushed his motorcycle as fast as it could go.

They roared into the Cave, and Todd stormed forward almost before either Damian or Cain had gotten off of their motorcycles. "Where is he?" he yelled. "This asshole doesn't get to fake his death twice-"

"Jason," Drake began, sounding exasperated.

"Hi," a familiar voice said, and Damian scrambled after Todd to see Richard, wearing sweatpants and an overlarge t-shirt. He looked almost, but not quite, the same. "If you're Jason," he said, looking at Todd, "then you must be Cass" - he looked at Cain - "and you're Damian, right?"

Richard was looking at Damian, a slight, hesitant smile on his face, and there was absolutely no recognition in his eyes.

"Right, introductions," Drake said hurriedly. "Uh, that's Jason, he's Red Hood. That's Cass, she's Black Bat. And that's Damian, he's Robin. Duke must be asleep because he hasn't read my message, but he's Signal."

"Shit, you really don't remember anything, do you?" Todd asked, looking at Richard in shock.

"Nothing from more than six months ago," Richard confirmed.

"So what have you been doing for the past six months?" Todd asked. "And how did you get here?"

Richard shot a look at Father, who stepped forward. "As far as we can tell, six months ago, after the explosion, Dick was found by Deathstroke. Deathstroke injected Dick with the same serum that gave him his powers, which healed him physically. He had no memory when he woke up."

"Wait a second," Todd cut in, "are you saying Dick has been with Deathstroke this whole time?"

"He told me we'd been partners for years," Richard said, his voice a bit hesitant. "He wouldn't tell me much about my past, but he always said we'd worked together for a long time."

"You're his partner?" Todd demanded. "Shit, are you Renegade?"

"I am," Richard agreed, and Damian whirled on his heel and stormed over to the stairs.

"Damian?" Drake called, but Damian ignored him. He couldn't stand here and listen to this, he couldn't. That was Richard, but it wasn't his Richard. How could it be? He didn't remember anything. He didn't even know him.

He burst out of the Cave into the Manor and realized he hadn't gotten out of his costume. Pennyworth had a rule about that, one that Damian almost always followed. He wasn't about to go back down into the Cave, however, so he just headed up to his room. He'd change in there, and then-

Then-

"I know it's hard," a voice said behind him, and Damian turned around to see Brown. She was also still in costume, although she'd taken off her mask, and the look on her face was sympathetic.

"You don't know anything."

"He was my Batman for a while too," Brown said. "And he doesn't remember me either."

"It's not right," Damian burst out. "The way he looked at me-"

"It hurts," Brown said plainly. "It's hurting all of us. We've got him back, but not all of him." She hesitated and looked at Damian. "But that's not all that's bothering you, is it?"

Brown was irritatingly perceptive. "He worked with Deathstroke."

"It wasn't his fault. He didn't remember anything, and Deathstroke manipulated him."

"I know," Damian said with irritation. He didn't blame Richard for what had happened at all. He knew what Deathstroke was like, and he could imagine what he'd done to manipulate Richard. That wasn't what upset him. Or, no; that did upset him, but it wasn't what had driven him from the room.

"I once heard Richard tell Deathstroke he would rather die than work with him," Damian said quietly. "Renegade worked with him by choice. Does that- Is there any of Richard left?"

Brown's face fell. "Oh, Dami. We have to believe there is."

"Don't call me that," Damian snapped. Richard called him Dami, and while the others had picked it up occasionally, he'd never let them use the nickname without protest. To be honest, it had taken a long time before he let Richard use the nickname without protest. And then, once Richard was gone…

That was his nickname, and no one else's. For the most part, no one else tried to use it. When they did, Damian made it very clear that it would not be tolerated.

He wondered what he'd do if the version of Richard that was currently in the cave called him Dami. He didn't like to think about it.

"Okay," Brown said, her voice still achingly gentle. "But we can't think like that. Dick is down there. He may not remember us, but he's alive. And I think he's still in there somewhere. He might not ever get all of his memories back, but I think he still is fundamentally Dick."

Damian swallowed. "If he does regain his memories, he will be horrified to find out what he's done."

"And we'll cross that bridge if we come to it. When we come to it, hopefully. But at least he'll be alive and back with us, right? And now, at least he's alive. We can move forward from here. Even if he- if he never remembers, we can make new memories. We can make this better, Damian. We just have to try."

Damian looked at Brown for a long moment, then he nodded once and turned back around to reenter the Cave. He could hear Brown at his heels. The others were mostly in the same places when they returned, and Richard looked up at him as he approached. It was almost enough to send Damian fleeing again. Richard didn't look at him like Richard, he looked at him like someone who was making sure they were aware of any potential threats in the room.

But Damian was a Wayne and an al Ghul, and he did not flee, so he stepped forward. "Father. What shall we do to fix Richard's amnesia?"

"I was thinking I could do a brain scan, if you'd be okay with it," Drake said, addressing the last half of the statement to Richard. "We could see if there are any abnormalities."

"What sort of brain scan?" Richard asked.

"An EEG test and a CT scan, probably," Drake said. "Maybe an MRI, depending on what the CT scan shows, but we don't have a machine here, so we'd have to go somewhere else to do it."

Richard nodded slowly. "The EEG might be… strange. The serum affects the brain. But the CT scan should still look the same as a normal human, I think."

"You said some things are familiar, though, right?" Drake asked. "So I could use the EEG to see what your brain activity looks like with familiar things and with unfamiliar things."

"What sort of things are familiar?" Damian cut in, wondering if he really wanted to know the answer.

Richard looked over at him, a little startled. "Uh, Batman was familiar, and Bruce Wayne was too. And Wayne Enterprises. And-" He hesitated, a slight frown on his face. "With all of you, there's this sort of… this pull. I don't-"

Damian's brows pulled together in thought as he tutted. Richard made a soft noise, then he said, "That. That's familiar. I- You and I were close, weren't we?"

The question shouldn't have hurt so badly. "You were Batman, for a time," Damian said. "I was your Robin. We- We were the best."

"I was-" Richard looked over to Father. "I thought I was Nightwing. Wasn't I?"

"When you started out as my partner, you were Robin," Father said. "That was when you were nine. When you were eighteen, you… left and took up the mantle of Nightwing. And then, when you were twenty-four, I was lost in time, and you took my place as Batman."

Richard swallowed. Damian could still read him well enough to know he had a great deal of questions. "Okay," was all he said.

"Before we begin going too deeply into old memories," Pennyworth said suddenly, "perhaps we ought to move this discussion upstairs. I'm afraid I haven't had the time to make the usual snacks, but I'm certain I could put together something. And perhaps it might not be the worst idea for everyone to get some rest." He turned to Richard. "If I may be so bold, Master Dick, I would assume that your past few months have not been particularly restful."

"It would be nice to not have to wear my helmet to sleep," Richard agreed tentatively.

"Deathstroke makes you keep your helmet on when you sleep?" Todd demanded.

"Not normally," Richard said quickly. "But he made me do it here. He told me it was because of poisonous gases that some of the villains use, but I think it must also have been to hide my face in case anyone recognized me."

"Can Deathstroke be affected by the gases?" Father asked. "And you now, I suppose?"

"I don't think they would kill us, but Deathstroke did imply that some of them could drive us insane," Richard said. Damian hated hearing him say us in reference to Deathstroke. "He also- There's a gas that makes you live your worst fears, isn't there? I don't know if that would have brought back any memories, but maybe he wanted to avoid that too."

Damian had only seen Richard under the influence of fear toxin once. He'd screamed and begged and cried, and then he'd refused to talk about it once the toxin wore off. Damian knew that the family was involved, however, because Richard had screamed their names, pleaded with them for some unknown reason.

Damian wondered what Richard would see under the influence of fear toxin now.

Father hummed. "Well, you won't need to wear the helmet here. The chance of you being exposed to any gas is very low, and we have antidotes in the Cave."

"Alright," Richard agreed, albeit a bit tentatively.

"Shall we go upstairs?" Pennyworth asked. "We can find a more comfortable arrangement than standing together in a rather damp cave."

"Right, good idea," Father agreed.

"Although you will have to change," Pennyworth added. "No costumes upstairs."

"We know, Alfie," Todd said. "That's why we all keep stashes of clothes down here, even the ones who don't live in the Manor anymore."

"Then I would suggest you change into the clothes from one of those stashes, Master Jason, and then you may come upstairs and benefit from my cooking, as you now rarely do, seeing as you no longer live in the Manor."

"Alfie's cooking is great," Todd told Richard conspiratorially.

"I'm not actually that hungry," Richard said. "I'm kinda tired. Would it be okay if I just went to sleep?"

"Of course, dear boy," Pennyworth said softly. "Your room is exactly how you left it, save for the things your siblings pillaged from it. I'm sure all those things will now be returned, yes?"

"Everything but the hoodie," Todd said. "It's crazy comfortable."

Pennyworth sighed. "Come with me, Master Dick. I'll show you upstairs."

Richard's eyes flickered to Father. Damian made a note of the deferral.

"Go ahead," Father said. Damian could tell he'd noticed the deferral as well, and he didn't like it. "Have a good night."

Richard nodded. "Thanks."

Pennyworth brought Richard upstairs, and in the silence left in their wake, the others stood without a word. Finally, Jason broke the silence with a light noise of disbelief.

"You know, all evidence shows that we're basically impossible to kill, at least permanently. Maybe it's some sort of meta power."

"Should I wake up Duke to tell him or just tell him in the morning?" Drake asked Father. "It feels weird to wait, but he was also really tired earlier."

"He ought to know," Damian cut in. Thomas had only joined the family about a year ago, but he was still a member of the family, and he had known Richard before the explosion. "He would want to be awoken."

"You're probably right," Drake said, nodding. Damian was too focused on everything else to even gloat about that. "I'll wake him up and tell him."

Father nodded. "And everyone," he said, looking vaguely pained, "be careful. I know this is Dick, but he has been working with Deathstroke for the past six months, and we can't know for sure that they haven't done this as a trap."

"Dick wouldn't!" Drake protested immediately.

"Deathstroke would," Todd muttered.

Their Richard would never, but Damian wasn't sure about this one. He nodded sharply, then he headed off to change.

And if he took a few more minutes than usual - if he had to pause a few times to cry or gasp or simply breathe as the news hit him all over again - no one said a thing.

Some nights, Alfred would poke his head into Bruce's room, just to make sure he was alright, that he was breathing, that he was there. He'd started doing it when Bruce was small, and then somehow, he'd never stopped. He did it often on rough nights, nights when Bruce had been injured, but he also did it sometimes on slow nights, on nights when nothing has gone wrong at all. It was a guardian's prerogative, Alfred told himself. It was just checking in on his charge.

As Bruce began to bring home charges of his own, Alfred began to check on them too. Sometimes, with the children, it was a matter of making sure they hadn't snuck out when they weren't supposed to, but sometimes, it was just to stand in the doorway for a moment and watch them breathe. Some nights, when the ghosts of past dangers felt a little too present, walking from room to room could soothe the panicked beast in his chest.

It was no surprise that tonight was one of those nights.

The first room he checked was Stephanie's, the room that became less and less believable as a guest room with every passing day. He didn't turn on the light, not wanting to wake her, but the sliver of moonlight peeking in through the gap in the purple curtains showed Stephanie sprawled on her bed, half on top of and half under the covers. Her blonde hair tumbled over her face, but Alfred could see that she was breathing. He watched her for another moment, then he closed the door.

The next room was Duke's. The first thing Alfred noticed was the jacket crumpled in a heap on the floor, and he held in a sigh as he picked it up and smoothed it out, draping it over the back of Duke's desk chair. The desk, as always, was covered in books and papers. Alfred didn't stop to read them; if Duke wanted to share, he would do it himself. Instead, Alfred turned to the bed, where Duke was drooling lightly into his pillow. Alfred watched the rise and fall of his chest, then he closed the door.

The next room was Cass's, and unlike Stephanie or Duke, she woke when Alfred pushed the door open. She always did. "I'm merely checking in," Alfred whispered, and Cass nodded, turning her head and nestling back into her covers. Alfred stepped forward and ghosted a hand over her hair, brushing it away from her face. He rarely touched his charges when he visited them, not wanting to wake them up, but Cass was already awake, and he knew she'd appreciate the touch. Sure enough, her lips twitched into a slight smile. Alfred smiled back, then he closed the door.

The next room was Damian's. He used to wake whenever Alfred checked on him, but he didn't any longer. Perhaps his subconsciousness had finally admitted that Alfred was no threat to him. He did twitch slightly, and Alfred was careful to remain as silent as possible, but Damian didn't wake; he just curled a bit tighter around Titus. Once, Alfred had tried to make and enforce a rule that there would be no pets on the beds. It had failed spectacularly, and the sight of Damian curled around Titus with Alfred the Cat keeping watch at the foot of the bed was proof of it. Alfred watched a moment longer, then he closed the door.

The next room was Tim's. There was a chance he'd be awake, Alfred knew, but he doubted it; he hadn't seen Tim drink coffee or any of his energy drinks before he disappeared into his room. Sure enough, when Alfred pushed the door open, Tim was asleep, albeit sitting up on his bed with his laptop in his lap. Alfred closed the laptop and set it on Tim's desk, then he carefully guided Tim down onto the pillow and under the covers. Tim didn't wake - he normally didn't wake easily, once he actually fell asleep - but he did make a few mumbling noises, too quiet to discern any words. Alfred tucked him in, then he closed the door.

The next room was Jason's, and Alfred was careful to be silent as he opened it. Jason didn't always wake when Alfred checked in on him, but he sometimes did; Alfred thought he was too used to sleeping in places that weren't safe and thus was never able to fully let down his guard. To his relief, the door opening didn't seem to wake Jason. He was lying across the bed, on top of the covers, with his face half squished against the pillow. Alfred watched the way his shock of white hair fluttered with every breath, then he closed the door.

The next room was Dick's.

Alfred had still gone into Dick's room in the six months that Dick was dead. He'd kept it dusted and clean. He'd kept it just as it had been before. But on the nights where Alfred's feet led him from room to room, he'd always stayed outside Dick's door. He hadn't wanted to see the empty bed.

Tonight, the bed wouldn't be empty.

Alfred opened the door.

Dick always slept either sprawled across his entire bed or curled up as tightly as he could. Tonight, he was curled up tightly, so tightly he was almost entirely hidden under the blanket. Alfred was unsurprised to see it.

He also was unsurprised to see that Dick's breathing shifted, just slightly, as the door opened. Dick always slept lightly, and normally, there were even odds whether or not he'd wake when Alfred checked on him. As Renegade, of course he would.

"I apologize for waking you," Alfred said quietly, then he added, "I'm Alfred. The butler."

He hadn't had to add qualifiers like that since Dick was nine, but as long as Dick didn't remember them, they'd be necessary.

Dick sat up, blankets pooling around his hips. "Am I not allowed to sleep?"

Alfred blinked at him. "Of course you're allowed to sleep, Master Dick. I was merely checking in on everyone. Why wouldn't you be allowed to sleep?"

"During my training with Deathstroke, there was a week when I wasn't allowed to sleep," Dick said, his voice conversational. Alfred's stomach twisted at the casual horror. "Every time I dozed off, he would wake me up. Then we'd spar. He only let me sleep on the seventh day after I was able to hold him off for ten minutes."

"My dear boy, that is torture," Alfred said, his voice on the edge of breathless.

Dick shrugged. "It was training. I needed to be able to fight in any circumstance."

Alfred had been in the army for years, back when he was young. He'd gone through a great deal of training. Never had he been kept awake for a week. He shuddered to think what other circumstances Deathstroke thought Dick might need to fight in.

"No one will do that to you here," he told Dick firmly. "I will wake you in the morning for breakfast, but if you're still tired, you needn't come downstairs. You may sleep as much as you'd like."

Dick eyed him, his face unreadable. The lack of recognition in his eyes was like a knife to the heart. Dick was family. Alfred loved the boy dearly, and he knew he was loved in return. There was no sign of that in his eyes.

Then again, Alfred supposed he ought to be glad Dick was alive to look at him at all. For six months, he'd thought he'd never see him again.

"Is there anything you require, Master Dick?" Alfred asked. "The room has remained unchanged in these past six months, but if you require something new, I can procure it for you."

Dick looked around the room slowly. "This was my room, right?"

"It was."

Slowly, Dick got out of bed and walked up to the Flying Graysons poster framed on the far wall. "Batman- Bruce said my last name was Grayson, right? I'm Dick Grayson?"

"Indeed you are."

Dick reached out one hand towards the poster, hesitating with his fingers a hair's breadth from the glass. "So, this is…"

"The boy is you," Alfred said. "The man is your father, John, and the woman is your mother, Mary. Together, the three of you were known as the Flying Graysons. I never had the privilege of seeing you perform live, but Master Bruce and Master Tim both did."

Slowly, Dick's fingers traced his mother's face. "I… I feel like I should remember them. The names are almost familiar, like I met them once or I saw them in a dream or-"

He stopped. Swallowed. "They're my parents," he said quietly. "I should know who they are."

The pain on his face was almost tangible. Normally, when that level of grief was in Dick's eyes, Alfred would offer him a hug. He wasn't as tactile as Dick, but he knew a hug could comfort Dick like few other things, especially when he was in this sort of mood.

But now, Dick didn't remember him, and he'd been trained by Deathstroke for the past six months. Alfred didn't know how he'd react to a grown man reaching for him, especially one who'd held a shotgun to his back mere hours ago, but he didn't like to think about it.

"I can look around this room and make guesses about the person who lived in it," Dick said. "But I don't remember any of it."

"Master Bruce will find a way to restore your memory," Alfred promised. "He has done the impossible before."

Dick was still staring at the poster of the Flying Graysons. "I'd like to be alone. Is that allowed?"

"Of course," Alfred said, nodding. "I will leave you. But Master Dick… Whether or not you have your memories, you are part of this family, and we are all very glad to have you back."

Dick didn't look away from the poster. "What time is breakfast?"

Alfred closed his eyes against a wave of grief. "Nine o'clock."

"Then I'll see you at nine o'clock."

"Until nine, then," Alfred agreed, then he closed the door.

Bruce was standing outside, a vaguely guilty expression passing over his face as his eyes met Alfred's. "I wanted to check on him," he said. "But I didn't want to interrupt you."

"So you were eavesdropping, then," Alfred said, the look on Bruce's face suddenly making sense.

"Do you think he'll stay?" Bruce asked, sounding very young. "He doesn't remember us, and he's been brainwashed by Deathstroke for the past six months. What if he leaves?"

Alfred thought about the boy in the room behind them. "I don't believe he will."

"What if he's not here in the morning?" Bruce asked. "Alfred, I- I don't know what I'll do if he's not here in the morning."

"He will be," Alfred said, gently but firmly. "And if he is not, Master Bruce, you will find him. We know that he's alive. If he disappears, I do not think you will allow anything to prevent you from finding him again."

"You're right," Bruce said, slumping a little. He looked at the door and asked, "Do you think I should go in or stay out here?"

"I think you should go to bed, Master Bruce," Alfred said. "This isn't a dream. You can sleep, and Master Dick will still be alive in the morning."

"How do you always see right through me, Alfred?" Bruce asked ruefully.

"Years of practice," Alfred replied dryly. "Now, off to bed with you."

"G'night, Alfred," Bruce said as he shuffled off to his bedroom in the same way he used to as a child.

"Goodnight, Master Bruce." Alfred turned to the closed door and added, "Goodnight, Master Dick."

Everyone was in their rooms. The family was complete for the first time in six months. Alfred could go to bed secure in that knowledge.

He just hoped it would stay that way.

Seeing Dick like this was… strange. It was him, Bruce had confirmed it, but he was also different. Sometimes, he spoke like Dick Grayson, and sometimes, he spoke like someone else entirely. Sometimes, he moved like Dick Grayson, and sometimes, he moved like someone else entirely.

And sometimes, he reacted like Dick Grayson, but most times, he reacted like someone else entirely. Right now, Jason was learning that the hard way.

He'd barely touched Dick before he'd been flipped over his shoulder hard and slammed into the ground. Half a second later, Dick was on top of him, his knee pressed into Jason's chest and his hand around Jason's throat. And the look in his eyes…

Well, that wasn't recognizable as Dick Grayson at all.

Jason tried his best to flip them over, but Dick's grip around his throat just got tighter, and he pressed down on his knee in a way that threatened to crack Jason's sternum. "Alright!" Jason wheezed. "Alright, shit! Dude, it's me. Jason? Your brother? We talked last night, remember?"

The hand around his throat loosened, and a bit of hesitation flitted over Dick's face. "You tried to grab me from behind."

"I tried to get your attention," Jason corrected. "Alfie made breakfast."

Dick removed his hand and relaxed a bit, but still not enough to let Jason actually get up. "Why didn't you say something?"

Yeah, that was probably on Jason. "We all used to do this," he said, a bit embarrassed. "Sneak up on each other like that. We could almost never sneak up on you, unless you were really sleep-deprived. I… wasn't thinking."

Slowly, Dick got up, removing all of his weight from Jason's chest. He bent over and held out a hand to help Jason up, which Jason accepted with only a moment of hesitation.

"Sorry, then," Dick said, a bit awkwardly. "Most of the time, when people sneak up behind me, it's not a game."

That had been true of him before as well. That was true of all of them, but they all could recognize each other's footsteps, and they all knew that their family wasn't a threat. If someone came up behind Jason in Crime Alley, he'd flip them the same way Dick flipped him. But if that someone was one of his brothers, he'd be able to tell.

Then again, it made sense that right now, Dick couldn't.

"My bad," Jason said. "Probably shouldn't play games like that with the amnesiac mercenary-in-training."

"I'm not really in training, but okay," Dick said, which… Yeah, Jason wasn't getting into that right now. He didn't know how much mercenary-ing Dick had done, but he didn't think he wanted to.

Dick ran with Deathstroke. Jason was pretty sure he'd done a fair bit.

"You said something about breakfast?" Dick said after an awkward pause.

"Right, yeah, Alfred made breakfast," Jason said. "Do you know where the dining room is?"

"Haven't gotten to it yet," Dick replied. If he was exploring the house, then that somewhat explained why Jason had found him in a mostly-unused sitting room. It didn't quite explain why he was allowed to explore the house unsupervised, but Bruce could be a sap, and Jason had the feeling that Dick as Renegade was pretty sneaky.

He didn't like to think of Dick needing to be supervised in his own house, but he had to be realistic. Dick didn't remember them. Dick had been working with Deathstroke. Dick had come to Gotham specifically to fulfill a contract to kill someone. Dick was a safety risk right now, and he ought to be monitored.

Speaking of the contract…

"I'll show you the dining room," Jason said. "Come on, let's go."

Dick fell in step with him, although he still seemed guarded. He didn't seem inclined to start a conversation, which wasn't particularly like Dick, but it worked for Jason, since he wanted to start a conversation of his own.

"So, what do you think of Gotham so far?"

Dick looked at him, a slight crease in his brow. "Isn't it my home? Isn't that what Batman- uh, Bruce said last night?"

"I mean, yeah, it's your home, but you don't remember it," Jason said. "This is your first time coming to Gotham that you remember, right? So, what do you think of it?"

"Gotham is… dreary," Dick proclaimed. Jason snorted. "But it has a charm to it. I thought it seemed a bit familiar when we first arrived."

Jason filed that away to mention to Bruce later. He'd appreciate any hints of Dick remembering things. "What places have you visited so far? Any interesting sights?"

Dick's expression shut down instantly, which was only kinda incredibly creepy. "You want to know about our contract."

"What?" Jason absolutely did, and that was absolutely what he'd been trying to figure out, but he wasn't going to admit it. "No, dude, I'm just trying to make conversation."

"The story that you have told me is… convincing. I wouldn't have stayed the night if it weren't. But I'm not entirely convinced yet, and I won't tell you anything about Deathstroke until I am."

"Fair enough," Jason said with a shrug. "I won't ask."

He'd definitely still try to figure out who Deathstroke intended on killing in Gotham, but he wouldn't ask Dick anything more about it.

"You're different around me than the others," Dick proclaimed. "At least, the ones I've spoken with so far. You're more… casual."

"Yeah, well, you showing up six months after we all thought you died isn't the weirdest thing that's ever happened to me, since I did actually die and have to dig myself out of my grave."

Dick nodded slowly. "How did you die?"

"The Joker beat me up and then blew me up," Jason said. "Which means you almost dying in an explosion was copying me, actually."

Given the look on Dick's face, the joke clearly didn't have much of an impact. Jason would have to remember it for when Dick got his memory back.

"Have I ever died before?" Dick asked after a few moments. "I overheard some of the others saying this was even stranger than the last time."

"You did die, but only for a couple of minutes. I wasn't there, so I don't know the details." Dick had never really wanted to talk about it, and Bruce didn't talk about it much either. Honestly, the only reason Jason actually knew Dick had died, however temporarily, instead of just faking the whole thing was because he'd dug up the mission report after they found out that Dick was alive. "But you pretended to still be dead and went undercover on a spy mission. We didn't know you were alive for months."

Dick nodded slowly. "I can see how this situation is stranger."

"Yeah," Jason agreed fervently. "At least last time, you knew who you were."

"Could you…" Dick paused, then shook his head. "Never mind."

"What do you need?" Jason asked. "I mean, I can't promise anything, but if you need something, I might be able to help."

Dick shot him a look, then sighed. "I… don't remember any of you. But you all remember me. All I know about you is what I found in my research before coming to Gotham and after fighting Batman the first time. Could you tell me about the others?"

"Sure," Jason agreed, although he wasn't quite sure what to say. "Uh, Bruce is… Well, he can be an ass sometimes, honestly, and he's really bad with emotions, but he does care about us. He's an okay dad in general. Alfred is the best person ever. He's the only reason any of us are still alive."

"What are my relationships with them?" Dick asked. "Alfred seems to both be a servant and family. I… don't understand."

It seemed to be costing Dick something to ask these questions. Jason figured Deathstroke probably wasn't big on being questioned and wished he knew how to kill the bastard.

"Alfred is technically the butler, but he raised Bruce after his parents died, so he's sort of like Bruce's dad. And Bruce raised you after your parents died, so he's your dad. Which makes Alfred sort of a grandfather."

Dick nodded slowly. "And we're all siblings? All seven of us?"

"Well, Steph is more like a… cousin, sort of? I mean, not really, but Bruce hasn't adopted her cause she still has, you know, parents. Oh, and Barbie will be coming over after breakfast too. Uh, Barbara Gordon. She's Oracle, but I don't know if your research would have said anything about her. She used to be Batgirl. She's also sort of a cousin? Except you two dated, so maybe that's weird. Then again, Steph and Tim also dated, so…"

"This is a very complex family," Dick said faintly.

"Yeah, kinda," Jason agreed. "I mean, it's normal if you're a part of it." The second the words left his mouth, he winced and backtracked, "Which you are, of course."

"I just don't remember it," Dick said quietly.

"Well. Yeah."

"It does seem like a nice family," Dick offered. "I can tell that you all care about each other very much."

"We haven't always, but we were in a pretty good place before you died, and it hasn't fully devolved yet," Jason said. "Although, just so you know, you're never allowed to pull that shit again, because I hate being the oldest brother. Cass isn't great at, like, life advice, and neither am I, but everyone came to me because they couldn't go to you and I was the next in line, apparently."

"I apologize," Dick said, although he sounded a little confused about it.

"Look, it's just…" Jason sighed. "You were B's first kid. You basically raised Damian for a year. You're kinda the glue that keeps the family together, and it really, really sucked around here without you."

"I… apologize," Dick said again, and he sounded like he meant it more the second time around. "I don't remember anything from before the explosion, but I'm sure my past self didn't mean to leave you alone like this."

"No, he - you - didn't," Jason said. "We were evacuating a building filled with explosives, and the bombs went off way sooner than we expected. It's not your fault that you didn't have time to get clear of the building."

"Did everyone else get out?" Dick asked, which was such a Dick thing to say that Jason could almost forget that he didn't remember anything.

"Yup," Jason replied. "You got out the last group, then you went back in to double check there wasn't anyone else there. We thought there were still almost five minutes until the bomb was going to go off." There hadn't been anyone left inside, which had just added insult to injury, since it meant Dick had died for nothing. Jason had almost killed the bombers when he caught them, and it was only because Cass had physically restrained him that they still lived.

"And everyone in the family was okay, right?"

"Duke got a minor concussion, but that was it," Jason replied. "You were the only one who- Or, at least we thought-"

"I get it," Dick interrupted mercifully. Jason wondered why the hell he was having so much trouble talking about this. He had no trouble talking about his own death, so why couldn't he talk about Dick's death, especially given that he hadn't even actually died? Dick was right there, he hadn't died, and yet Jason still couldn't say the words.

"Are we almost to the kitchen?" Dick asked, changing the topic. "I smell something good."

"That would be Alfred's cooking," Jason said. "Best cooking ever. Except the waffles. Don't tell him I said this, but his waffles are shit."

"I'll keep it in mind," Dick said. "Thanks for showing me the way. And explaining everything. And, uh, sorry for dying, I guess?"

"Dude, seriously?" Jason demanded. "You don't have to apologize for dying. Especially since you didn't even really die. You're back, that's more than enough. Now, let's go inside before this conversation starts being about emotions."

"Okay," Dick agreed easily. There was a small smile on his face, and it almost felt like old times. Not quite, but almost.

They'd get him all the way back. They would. If Jason had to call in every favor he was owed, if he had to spend every cent he'd saved, he'd figure out a way to get his brother back.

"Ah, Miss Barbara," Alfred said when he opened the front door. "Do come in. You're just in time for breakfast."

"Thanks, Alfred," Barbara said, wheeling her chair into the hall. "How's Dick?"

Alfred's expression went soft immediately. "He still remembers nothing, but he is still the boy we knew." His mouth tightened, and he added, "Although I shudder to think what Deathstroke has been doing to him. He was waiting for Master Bruce to give him permission to eat for nearly five minutes before Master Bruce noticed and told him he didn't have to wait."

"Any idea what's causing the amnesia?"

"Not yet, but Master Tim plans to perform brain scans after breakfast. Perhaps you could join him."

"I'm better with tech than human brains, but I can take a look."

They'd nearly reached the dining room, which was louder than it had been for the past six months, but subdued compared to what it had been like before. Barbara could hear Dick's voice, although he wasn't speaking much, and her heart clenched. He was back. He was alive. She'd seen it through a screen, but now…

"It's really him?" she asked Alfred quietly.

Alfred put a hand on her shoulder. "It's really him."

Barbara wheeled into the dining room. Conversation didn't precisely pause, but there were waves and a few muffled "Hey, Barbara"s through full mouths. Barbara wheeled over to her usual spot, left empty to make room for her chair, and took the plate Steph passed her.

"You're Barbara, right?" Dick asked her, looking over. "Jason told me you were coming over."

"I'm Barbara, but you usually call me Babs," Barbara said. She'd underestimated how much it would hurt to see Dick look at her with no familiarity in his eyes, to hear him call her by her full name as if he ever did that. "I don't know if any of the others gave you the rundown, but I used to be Batgirl, and now I'm Oracle, the Bats' information broker and general babysitter."

"Babs keeps us all alive," Tim supplied. "We'd be super dead without her."

"It's my pleasure," Barbara said dryly.

"It's nice to meet you," Dick said. "Or, I guess we've already met, but it's nice to meet you and remember it."

"We'll fix your memory," Tim promised. "We can do the EEG after breakfast."

"I can help, if you need it," Barbara offered.

"I'll let you know," Tim replied. "You can also just hang out with Dick while I'm getting everything set up. You didn't get to see him last night."

"Is there someone you're forgetting to ask about that?" Barbara asked dryly.

Tim looked at her in confusion for a moment, then his eyes widened and his cheeks went faintly pink. "Oh. Uh, right. Dick, do you want to hang out with Babs?" He shook his head slightly and muttered, "It's super weird to even have to ask that."

"Are we close, then?" Dick asked Barbara.

Barbara thought of teenage years in costume together, of a short-lived engagement, of sparks that had never fully died between them. "Yeah, we're pretty close."

"Jason said we dated?" Dick asked, a bit tentatively. "We weren't dating when I…"

"No, we dated a long time ago," Barbara assured him. "We've been friends since we were teenagers, back when you were Robin and I was Batgirl."

"And now you're Oracle?"

"Did Jason give you the full rundown?"

"He told me a lot, yeah," Dick agreed. "It's a very complex family."

"You can say that again," Tim muttered.

"You can blame your dad and his serial adoption tendencies for that," Barbara said dryly. "I guess we can also blame you, Dick, since you were the one who got him started."

Dick's gaze flicked around the table. "So Jason, Tim, Duke, Cass, Damian, and I are adopted?"

"Damian is Bruce's biological son," Barbara corrected. "And Duke is currently only being fostered by Bruce. His parents are still alive, but they were exposed to a lot of Joker Venom, and they haven't recovered yet."

Dick's jaw twitched slightly. "Deathstroke warned me about the toxins here."

Deathstroke made you wear a helmet because he didn't want us to find you and take you back, Barbara thought, but all she said aloud was, "They can be serious, but Bruce has antidotes to all of them downstairs." She dropped her voice and added, "With Duke's parents, they hid away while we were dealing with the Joker, and we couldn't get to them to administer the antidote for too long."

Dick looked over at Duke for a moment, then back at Barbara. "You have parents, though, right?"

Barbara couldn't help but snort. "Yeah, I do. My dad is the police commissioner, and my mom lives out in Metropolis. They got divorced when I was a teenager."

"Oh, sorry."

Hearing an orphan from a notorious family of orphans apologize to her because her parents were divorced was a somewhat surreal experience. It was made even more surreal by the memories of Dick sitting with her on rooftops, listening patiently and sympathetically while she ranted and raved about her parents' divorce and how mad she was at them and what was she supposed to do now? None of this information was supposed to be new to Dick. It was all supposed to be things he knew.

"It's fine, it's been a long time," she dismissed. She hesitated before asking her next question, but finally, she asked, "Do you remember anything about your parents?"

Dick's brow furrowed. "I saw their poster last night. They look vaguely familiar, but I don't remember anything concrete about them."

"What about Bruce?"

"Batman was familiar," Dick said. "So was Bruce, when I first saw him. But I can't place why."

"Am I familiar at all?" Barbara asked, wondering if she really wanted to know the answer.

Dick made a frustrated noise. "You all are, but I can't place how. It's like a weird sort of déjà vu." He hesitated, then admitted, "You do feel… trustworthy."

"We are," Barbara said immediately. "I know that doesn't mean much, but we're your family, Dick. You can trust us."

Dick didn't say anything, instead looking down at his plate and fiddling with his scrambled eggs.

"You don't need to take my word for it," Barbara added. "We'll figure out a way to get your memories back, and then you'll know. Until then, do you want me to show you some pictures and videos? We can see if anything sparks old memories."

"None of the pictures or videos that I found online of Batman or any of the others brought back real memories."

"I have better quality pictures and videos than anything you'll find online, and I've got stuff from in and out of costume," Barbara replied. "No harm in trying, is there?"

"Okay," Dick said, nodding slowly. "Okay, we can do that after breakfast. Um…" He looked over at Tim. "Unless you want to do the EEG first?"

"I need to get the whole thing set up, which will take a bit," Tim said. "You can do your thing while I get everything ready. But maybe do it in the Batcave, so we can just swap over to the test once it's ready."

"We can do that," Barbara promised. She turned to Dick. "As long as that's okay with you?"

"It's fine by me," Dick said. "Sorry, did you just call the downstairs the Batcave?"

"Hey, you named it, not me," Tim protested.

"I did?"

"It's a little before my time, but apparently, when you first started as Robin, you went on a naming craze," Barbara said. "Batcave, Batcomputer, Batmobile, batarangs…"

"Batarangs?"

"That's what they're called," Tim said, nodding. "You've got your own style of batarangs too, but you call them wing-dings."

"Did we have to remind him of that?" Barbara groaned. "It's the worst name."

"Hey, he used to call the Robin batarangs birdarangs."

Barbara groaned louder. "God, I forgot about that."

Dick looked between the two of them, some fondness on his face. "The names aren't that bad, are they?"

"Okay, you're definitely Dick, because only he would think that."

"I feel like I should be offended on his behalf," Dick joked.

"We've always hated your puns," Barbra told him. "Especially the bad ones, which is unfortunate, because you've always loved bad puns."

"I don't remember the last time I made a pun," Dick mused. "Deathstroke likes straightforward sentences with nothing extra to them. He wants to convey as much information as possible as quickly and clearly as possible."

Barbara and Tim shared a quick look. Barbara assumed Tim felt the same stab of fury towards Deathstroke that she did. Yes, Dick's puns were annoying, but Deathstroke didn't get to do god-knows-what to keep Dick from making them.

"Well, we'll get you up and punning in no time," Tim said, grinning wickedly.

"Now look what you've done," Barbara groaned. "It's contagious."

"It's not that bad a pun," Dick protested.

"Yours are usually worse," Tim chimed in. "And normally bat-related."

"When I was first in Batman's headquarters last night, the word Batcave did occur to me," Dick admitted. "That's part of why I was so surprised to hear it's what you actually call it."

"So you've literally lost your entire memory, but you remember your stupid puns?" Jason asked, leaning in to join the conversation. "Typical."

Tim's eyes brightened, however. "This does seem to indicate that the memories are still there, though. I mean, there's a chance that you just happened to come up with the name Batcave twice and it's a coincidence, but I think it makes a lot more sense if the memories are buried, and some things can make them resurface. Like how you said we're familiar. You said it was like déjà vu, right?"

"The name kinda felt like déjà vu too," Dick admitted.

"How did you find the Cave anyway?" Barbara asked. "Did you follow someone? We know you followed Tim the other day."

"Yeah, and the fact that it was Dick makes it okay that I didn't realize I was being followed, because Dick can follow almost all of us without us realizing it," Tim said, glaring at Jason as he did so.

"It was Dick, yeah, but he's been brainwashed by Deathstroke, so no, Timmy, you still need to work on your situational awareness."

"Yeah, but if he followed someone to the Cave, then they need to work on their situational awareness too," Tim shot back. He looked at Dick and added, "Please don't tell me you followed me to the Cave."

"I didn't follow anyone," Dick said. "I've been feeling these weird pulls around Gotham since Deathstroke and I arrived. It's like my body knows where to go even if my mind doesn't. Like a weird sort of muscle memory or something. Anyway, I followed the pulls last night, and at first, they just led me to safe houses and an ice cream parlor, but eventually, one led me to the Cave."

"Why didn't you mention this before?" Tim demanded, his eyes wide. "This practically confirms that your memories are still there! If you could remember how to get to safe houses and the Cave, even if you didn't remember what you were heading to, then the memories must be still in your head!"

"Which ice cream parlor was it?" Jason asked.

"Uh, I think it was called Marty's or something?"

"Yeah, that makes sense," Jason said. "You love that place."

"We went there on our first date," Barbara reminisced fondly.

"You used to take me there when we would patrol together," Tim added. "We'd go in costume and everything."

"You took me there a few times too, back in my Robin days," Jason agreed.

Dick blinked. "You were Robin?"

"Oh shit, no one gave Dickiebird the rundown on who's been who, did they?" Jason asked.

"Apparently not the full one," Barbara said. "Okay, quick who's who around the table. Jason, you first."

"Hi, I'm Jason, and I'm a vigilante," Jason said dryly. "I was Robin, I died, I came back, now I'm Red Hood."

"Tim?"

"I was Robin after Jason died, now I'm Red Robin," Tim said.

"And you were Drake for a while," Jason snickered.

"I thought Drake was your last name?" Dick asked, confused.

"Yeah, it is, which is what makes it such a stupid codename- Ow, Tim!"

"Tim, don't stab Jason with a fork," Bruce said, his voice long-suffering.

"Everyone, while I've got your attention," Barbara said, noting with some satisfaction the way all gazes snapped to her immediately. "We're going around the table and telling Dick all the code names we've had, since apparently you never gave him the full rundown. Tim and Jason went, so let's go around the table. Bruce, you're next."

"I'm Batman," Bruce said flatly.

"Yeah, that's pretty much it," Jason said. "The rest of us are way more creative about picking lots of names, but B is just Batman."

Damian shot Jason a dirty look. "I have only been Robin."

"Okay, correction, most of the rest of us are way more creative."

"Moving on," Barbara cut in quickly. "Cass, you're next."

"I was Batgirl, now I am Black Bat," Cass said.

"I was also Batgirl," Steph continued, "but I should probably start at the beginning, so, first I was Spoiler, then I was Robin, then I briefly died and went into hiding for a while, then I came back and I was Batgirl for a bit, and now I've gone back to being Spoiler."

"I've pretty much just been Signal," Duke said. "Except for a little while where a bunch of other kids and I had this We Are Robin movement, so I guess I was sort of a Robin then. I don't know, I don't really consider myself a Robin in the way the rest of you were. I'm good with just being Signal."

"And I guess I'm last," Barbara said. "I was Batgirl, I got shot, now I'm Oracle."

"And I was Robin, and then Nightwing, and then Batman, right?" Dick asked, a bit tentatively. "That's what you said last night? And then I was Nightwing again when the explosion happened?"

"You were Batman while I was… away," Bruce said. "You still take up the position sometimes when I'm busy, but since I came back, you've mostly operated as Nightwing."

"I was your Robin, when you were Batman," Damian jumped in quickly. "We worked as partners."

"I…" Dick looked around the table helplessly. There were lines of pain around his eyes, Barbara noticed suddenly, and his jaw was tense. She reached out on impulse and touched his hand.

"Hey," she whispered when his eyes met hers, "are you okay?"

"My head hurts," Dick admitted to her, his voice equally quiet.

Barbara squeezed his hand. "Dick and I are going to go into the other room for a minute," she announced, making sure her face made it very clear that no one was to follow them. "Tim, let us know when the EEG is ready."

"Right, will do," Tim agreed quickly.

Bruce looked like he was going to get up, but Barbara glared at him, and he subsided. She pulled Dick's hand slightly and led him out of the dining room, aware that all eyes were on them. She led him to the closest sitting room, then directed him to the couch. Instead of sitting down on it, he slid down to the floor and leaned against her legs. Barbara swallowed hard as she ran a hand through his hair. The position was familiar. She'd never thought she'd be in it again.

"My head hurts sometimes," Dick said quietly. "Ever since the accident, I get these awful headaches. They've been worse since I first arrived in Gotham. Deathstroke knows why, or at least he has some idea, but he wouldn't tell me what it was. I had my worst one ever when I saw Bruce." Dick hesitated for a moment, then added, "I think the headaches have to do with memories. They seem to come when I try to remember things."

"And you have a headache now?" Barbara asked gently.

"I've had a headache since I first entered the Cave last night," Dick admitted. "It… it gets better and worse, but it's always there."

Barbara ran her hand through Dick's hair again and felt him relax in her lap. "Do you want me to ask Alfred for painkillers?"

"I'm not supposed to use painkillers," Dick said, twisting a little to press his face against Barbara's thigh. "Pain doesn't affect us for too long, and if I'm stupid enough to get hurt, I should just deal with it."

Those were Deathstroke's words coming out of Dick's mouth, and Barbara hated them. "That's not how things work here," she said gently. "Do you want painkillers?"

"I don't know if they'll work," Dick admitted. "The serum affects my metabolism. Painkillers for normal humans might not have much of an effect."

"We can still try, but only if you want to," Barbara said. "It's your choice." If it were up to her, she'd give Dick painkillers in a heartbeat, but it was his choice to make, and she had the feeling he hadn't been able to make a lot of his own choices when he was with Deathstroke.

"I'm okay without them," Dick said. Barbara told herself very firmly that she had to accept Dick's decision, even if she wished he'd made a different one. "It's better now, with less people."

"It's worse when there's more people?" Barbara asked.

Dick shrugged against her legs. "More memories, I guess."

Barbara hummed, her hand still rhythmically stroking Dick's hair. It was obvious that he liked the sensation; he went more and more boneless in her lap with every stroke. He'd always loved to have his hair petted.

They stayed there until Barbara's phone dinged in her pocket. She fished it out as Dick sat up.

"It's Tim," she reported. "He's ready to do the EEG." She looked at Dick. "Are you ready?"

"I just want to know what's going on," Dick said, looking suddenly ancient. "Let's just go downstairs and get this over with."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

"Alright," Barbara said, because she couldn't deny also wanting to know what was going on. "Let's get you downstairs."

Then they'd just have to hope they'd get some real answers.

Cass watched, tucked up in the rigging across the Cave ceiling, as Dick and Barbara headed over to meet Tim by the EEG machine. Dick had been the one to show her the rigging in the first place, all of its secret nooks and crannies. He was the reason Bruce had put it up, back years and years ago when he'd first started as Robin. So many things circled back to Dick, Cass thought.

But she watched him move, and she knew the man sitting down in preparation for Tim's testing wasn't Dick, not fully.

The way people moved was unique to them. People could move in similar ways, and they often did; all of her siblings had echoes of their father in their movements when they fought, and after she first met Talia, she saw the whispers of her fighting style in Damian and, to a lesser extent, Jason. But everyone had their own quirks, their own flair. She could recognize anyone in her family by body language alone.

She couldn't recognize Dick anymore.

There were certain things that were unchanged. The base of his movements was still the same, and he still had some of his same grace. But he moved with more of a prowl now, and intermingled in that was a contradictory fear that didn't seem to match his other movements. It came from Deathstroke, she was certain; he'd taught Dick how to move like a predator, but he'd also treated him like prey.

And there was something else that Cass saw when she watched the footage of Dick and Bruce fighting, in their suits as Renegade and Batman. She'd watched it right after the fight, at Barbara's request - Barbara had been trying to learn anything she could about Renegade, so she'd asked Cass to take a look - and then she'd watched it again the night before, after Dick went upstairs to go to bed. She'd studied the video closely, watching it on repeat, and she hadn't liked the conclusion she came to.

As Renegade, Dick moved like a killer.

She'd never seen Dick move like a killer before. Jason, yes; Damian, yes; Dick, no. Dick was solidly nonlethal in his methods. He'd trained with Bruce since he was a child, and as far as she knew, he'd never deviated from Bruce's code. He moved like an acrobat, almost like a dancer. He moved like a protector.

But now, Cass could look at him and tell that he had blood on his hands.

It wasn't his fault, she knew. Deathstroke had manipulated him. Whether he'd somehow caused the explosion and Dick's loss or he'd just happened upon him in the aftermath and seized an opportunity, none of them knew, but it was clear that nothing good had happened to Dick after that. She could read the anxiety in his body language, the fear he tried so hard to hide whenever he was too close to Bruce or Jason, the only ones in the family who were bigger than him and close to Deathstroke's size. He was wary with all of them, but his fear with Bruce and Jason - his fear of Deathstroke - was different. Whatever Deathstroke had done…

Well, Cass knew one thing he'd done. He'd made Dick a killer.

Dick was sitting with Tim and Barbara, perfectly still as Tim pressed electrodes to his head, and Cass didn't think he was a threat, but she still swung down from the rigging and threw herself through the air to land near the little trio. Barbara applauded, a bit sarcastically, as Tim continued preparing Dick for the scan.

"Good morning," Cass said. She looked at Dick and, wondering if he'd understand, signed, "How are you feeling?"

"I'm alright," Dick signed back fluidly. "How are you?"

Cass smiled a bit, unable to help it, and offered Dick a thumbs-up.

"Okay," Tim said, "I'm ready. Dick, we're going to try to provoke some memories and see what your brain scan looks like, okay?"

Barbara leaned forward slightly, concern in her eyes. "You don't have to if you don't want to," she told Dick. "If you don't want us to try to trigger memories-"

"It's fine," Dick dismissed immediately. "Tim, go ahead."

"Okay," Tim said, although he shot Barbara a cautious look. "I was thinking I would show you some videos from… before, if that's okay? I have one from Bruce's birthday party last year."

"Okay," Dick said, and although Cass could read some nervousness and hesitation in him, she could also read determination. He wanted to solve this as much as the rest of them. He wanted to know who he'd been.

Tim pulled up a video on the computer and hit play. It was a video Cass recognized, one of everyone laughing as Dick attempted to lead them in a chorus of Happy Birthday. Bruce was rolling his eyes, but he was pleased. Dick was conducting dramatically, and even Damian was smiling. It was a good memory. They were happy in it.

Dick was watching with his eyes narrowed slightly, and then he winced, and Cass realized that she'd been missing something all along in his body language. She'd seen his tension, and she'd misread it as all coming from fear and uncertainty, but there was something else there too. There was pain. Every time she'd seen him, even back when she'd seen him on the video where he fought Batman, he'd been in pain.

And now, she could see, the pain was getting worse.

Dick winced again, then he hissed sharply. Cass took a step forward, but Barbara had already wheeled herself between Dick and the screen, and she took his hands in hers tightly.

"Dick. Dick, are you okay? Tim, turn off the video."

Tim scrambled to do as he was told, his eyes wide and shocked. "Dick?"

Dick was still and silent for a long moment, then he let out a long sigh and let himself fall forward, bracing his head on Barbara's shoulder. It was a pose Cass had seen him make before, and seeing him make it again felt like a punch to the gut. Given the look that flashed over Barbara's face, she seemed to agree.

"Tim," Barbara said, "did you get enough from the test to start figuring out what's going on?"

"I- Yeah, probably, let me-" Tim pulled up a screen of readings Cass didn't understand and nodded at them. "I've got enough for now."

"We can do more," Dick said, his voice raspy. "If it'll help, we can do more."

"No, I think this is fine for now," Tim said. Cass could read the traces of a lie; he could make it fine, but he'd hoped for more data.

"One more video," Dick said, pushing himself upright again. "You've already got the electrodes all over me. We might as well make it worth our while."

Tim eyed Dick hesitantly. "But it hurt you."

"It's fine," Dick replied. "Besides, I want to know."

Tim looked at Barbara, who swallowed visibly. "Alright," she said after a moment, "but Dick, if the pain gets to be too much, let us know."

"I will," Dick promised. Cass wasn't sure she believed him - his body held no lie, but she wasn't sure he could be trusted to know his limits - so she decided to keep an eye on him too. Now that she knew what she was seeing, she could watch for pain.

"This video is older," Tim said, pulling up a second one. "It's from when you were a kid. You're doing a trapeze routine for Bruce and Alfred. I was hoping it might bring back some earlier memories." He hesitated. "Are you ready?"

"I'm ready," Dick agreed.

Tim hit play, and Cass watched as a young Dick, wearing a red, gold, and green leotard, ran up to the trapeze and bowed for his audience. The camera was set up right behind Bruce and Alfred, so all Cass could see was the backs of their heads, but even that was enough to read their affection for Dick. He was shockingly small. Cass guessed he was around Damian's age, or perhaps a bit younger, and he was a tiny child. She supposed she shouldn't be too surprised; even now, Dick wasn't particularly large. He was lithe, and he was significantly shorter than Bruce or Jason. It made sense that he'd been the same as a child.

Dick scrambled up the ladder and grabbed the trapeze, then with one final wave to his audience, began to swing. Cass watched the way he moved, like gravity had no effect on him, and smiled. She didn't think she'd ever seen a video of Dick when he was so young, but it was nice to see that he'd moved mostly the same back then as he did when he was older.

Cass turned back to Dick, wondering what he'd look like on the trapeze now, and froze. Dick was stock still, his eyes glued to the screen, but Cass didn't think it was in a good way. The set of his jaw, the way he was so tense he practically shook…

"Tim," Cass said sharply, and she moved between Dick and the screen as Barbara had done before. Some of the pain left Dick's body when his line of sight was interrupted, but far too much of it still remained.

Tim scrambled to turn off the video once again. "Dick? Dick?"

Dick didn't respond. Cass could see the pain in his eyes, and she wasn't sure he even heard them. Even if he did, she wasn't sure he could think straight enough to remember that Dick was his name. He hadn't responded to it in months, after all.

Barbara must have been thinking the same thing, because softly, sounding like she hated to say it, she asked, "Renegade?"

Dick's eyes squeezed shut for a moment, then he opened them again. His body relaxed slightly as he looked at them. Cass figured it was partially from lessening pain and partially because he wasn't with Deathstroke.

"Sorry," he rasped. "Tim, is that enough?"

"That's enough," Tim said hurriedly. "That's- Are you okay?"

Dick leaned forward slightly, massaging his temples. "Yeah, I'm fine. It's already dying down."

"Are you sure?" Barbara asked quietly. "You said before-"

"I'm sure," Dick cut her off.

"Painkillers?" Cass offered.

Dick shook his head. "I'm fine, guys, really."

That sounded like Dick. He always insisted he was fine, no matter what state he was in. Cass had asked him once why he lied about being fine, why he said he was alright when she knew he was in pain. He'd avoided the question, and discomfort had rolled off him in waves. She never asked again.

"I should get started with this," Tim said, gesturing at the screen. "Uh, you can take all the electrodes off. And you can go upstairs, if you want. This'll probably be kinda boring for a while."

"You'll let me know if you find anything?" Dick asked, except it sounded a bit like a statement, one that Cass didn't think anyone would want to cross.

"I'll let you know," Tim confirmed.

Dick nodded slowly and started removing the electrodes Tim had pressed against his scalp. Barbara leaned forward, telegraphing her movements, and helped. Cass stayed back. She wasn't sure if her help would be appreciated, and there wasn't really enough room for three anyway.

"Let's go upstairs," Barbara said to Dick once all the electrodes were off. "Thanks, Tim."

"Yeah, of course," Tim agreed quickly. "I'll keep you guys posted."

Dick and Barbara headed to the elevator, Dick moving a bit slower than usual and Barbara keeping pace in her wheelchair. Cass and Tim waited until they were gone, and then, after the elevator doors had closed and the sound of the elevator ascending began to scrape through the Cave, Tim looked over at Cass and asked, "What did you see?"

"He moves differently," Cass said. "There are some things that are the same, but there are some things that are… angrier. More aggressive."

"Jason said he startled Dick this morning and got flipped and almost strangled," Tim confessed.

"There's fear in him as well," Cass added. "Deathstroke was not kind to him. And he is in pain."

Tim shrank into himself a little. "I shouldn't have done the second video. The first one was enough, really. And the second one hurt him more."

"He was in pain before," Cass said. "He has been in pain every time I have seen him."

Tim looked over at her sharply. "What?"

"I didn't notice it before," Cass said. "But…" Her voice faltered, and she switched to sign, which always felt more comfortable for her. "He's always in pain. Even in the video of him fighting Bruce. I didn't realize it was pain at first. It gets worse and better, but it's always there. I don't know if it's been there since the explosion or if it's something related to us."

"I should ask him," Tim said, jerking upright. "Depending on which one it is, it could mean… I need to ask him."

"No need," Barbara said as the elevator doors opened and she rolled back into the Cave. "Dick and I already talked about his headaches. He says he's been getting them on and off since he started with Deathstroke, but they've been worse since he arrived in Gotham, and he's had one more or less constantly since he broke into the Cave. He told me he had his worst one after he saw Bruce, but I don't know if the one he just had was worse than that." Barbara wheeled up to the monitors and studied the readings Tim had taken, then she added, "He thinks the headaches might be related to his memories. I think he might be right."

"Then that seems to imply something is blocking his memories," Tim said. "Something is hurting him when he tries to access them. So if we can get rid of the block…"

"We can bring back his memories," Barbara finished.

"We can bring him home," Cass added, knowing both Barbara and Tim would know what she meant.

Tim looked at the screen of results from the EEG and nodded once, cracking his knuckles. "Okay, Let's do this."

Barbara reached for Cass's hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Let's bring him home."

"You're Signal, aren't you?"

Duke jumped about two feet in the air. "How do you all always sneak up on me like that?"

"You could use to work on your situational awareness," Dick replied, sitting down in a chair across from Duke. He moved with almost the same grace Dick always did, but there was something just a little bit off. Duke believed that it was Dick - Bruce had confirmed it, after all - but it was obvious just from looking at him that their Dick wasn't mentally there.

There was a slight furrow between Dick's eyebrows, like he was trying to remember something. Duke took a chance and said, "My name is Duke."

Dick raised an eyebrow, but the casual expression didn't hide the way he stiffened. "You're the meta one, aren't you? Your power isn't telepathy, is it?"

"No, I'm not a telepath," Duke replied quickly. He wasn't quite sure what Dick would have done if he were a telepath, but Duke wasn't a huge fan of the coiled tension in all of his limbs. "But you called me Signal, so I figured you might be having trouble remembering my name. It's fair. There's a lot of us."

Dick studied Duke, his blue eyes familiar even if the expression behind them wasn't. "You act differently around me than the others. Did we not know each other before?"

"No, we knew each other, but not well," Duke explained. "Bruce only started training me like six months before you disappeared."

Which was why this was so awkward. For the others, this was the return of the prodigal son, a miracle they couldn't have possibly expected, especially since they'd already been blessed with it before. But for Duke, it was just the return of someone he sort of knew. He'd liked Dick, but he hadn't known him well. It hadn't been his place to grieve him alongside the rest of the family, and it wasn't his place to share their relief now.

"You're uncomfortable with me," Dick pronounced suddenly. "But not because you're afraid."

"I mean, I'm not sure I'd use the word uncomfortable," Duke said, avoiding Dick's gaze. "But, uh, you've got to admit, this whole thing is weird."

Dick snorted, and even though they hadn't spent much time together, Duke could tell that that moment was Dick Grayson, through and through. "I can agree with that."

"Yeah, definitely weirder for you," Duke agreed. "But it's still weird for us too. I mean, it's not the first time one of us has come back from the dead, and not even the first time you've come back from the dead, but I think you having amnesia and working with Deathstroke is even weirder than Jason coming back and starting a gang war."

Dick hummed in agreement. "How many have died? Jason and Stephanie both mentioned it."

"As far as I know," Duke said slowly, "Jason died, Steph died for a little bit and then faked still being dead for a while, everyone thought Bruce was dead for a while but he wasn't actually, Damian died for a while, and then you died and came back but pretended you didn't so you could go undercover as a spy. Oh, and I think Cass has died too, but she doesn't like to talk about it."

"So you're the only metahuman, but over half of us have died and come back?"

Duke hoped his little thrill at Dick referring to the family as "us" wasn't too noticeable. "Yeah, pretty much. But hey, you're a meta now too, so…" He held up a fist. "Meta buddies."

It took Dick a beat too long to realize that Duke was waiting for a fist bump, and his own fist was tentative as it tapped Duke's. Duke wondered if he should have gone for a high five instead.

"So," Duke said, searching for a new thing to talk about, "did Tim run any tests downstairs yet?"

"He did an EEG," Dick replied. "He said he had enough data to work with."

"That quickly?" Duke asked. "I was expecting him to keep you down there way longer. Tim normally likes to get a lot of data."

Duke could see hesitation flit across Dick's face, then he said, "It was because trying to access memories is painful."

"What?"

"He showed me two videos," Dick said. "But watching them… hurt. And so Tim decided he'd work with the data he had."

Duke didn't say anything, but he knew "hurt" had to be an understatement. Tim didn't want to hurt his family, of course, but for something like this, he was pretty sure they'd work past some discomfort. Tim would feel guilty about it, but Dick would convince him, and Tim would agree that it was worth it for the end result. It must have been bad for Tim to decide it wasn't worth the pain after all.

"What videos did he show you?" Duke asked instead. "Or, will it hurt to think about them?"

"I think it's fine," Dick replied, but he said it in a way that made Duke make a metal note to keep an eye out for any signs of pain. "The first video was of Bruce's latest birthday party, and the second was of me as a child."

Duke remembered Bruce's birthday; it had been one of the first family celebrations he'd been a part of, but everyone had done their best to make him feel included. Dick had been particularly welcoming; he'd grabbed Duke and Damian at one point and declared that the three Ds had to stick together. Damian had scowled, but he hadn't even threatened physical violence, which Duke now knew meant he hadn't minded at all.

He wasn't sure he'd seen any videos of Dick as a child, though, so he asked, "Were you a cute kid?"

Dick blinked. Obviously, he hadn't been expecting the question. "I… guess?"

"I've seen pictures of you as a kid, and you're pretty cute in those, but I've never seen a video," Duke added. "What were you doing?"

"A trapeze routine," Dick replied, still sounding a bit puzzled by the direction of the questioning.

"Yeah, that makes sense," Duke said, nodding. "You love the trapeze. You love just being in the air in general. I've heard that you used to swing on the chandeliers as a kid."

"I did?" Dick asked, looking up at the ceiling. "I… do like being in the air."

"You always do extra flips and everything too," Duke added. "Drives Jason crazy when he's working with you, but you didn't hear that from me. And- Oh, sorry, is this weird? Me talking about you like this? I mean, me talking about you like I know you better than you know yourself?"

"You do, right now," Dick replied. "It's not weird. It's… Can you tell me more?"

"Oh." Duke blinked. "Uh. You taught me how to use escrima sticks. The others have kept the lessons up, sort of, but no one else is as good with them as you are."

"Escrima sticks are my favorite weapon," Dick said. "Deathstroke told me not to bring them to Gotham. He said I needed to become more proficient with the other weapons we have."

Duke didn't think too hard about the other weapons. "Nightwing always uses escrima sticks. I don't think you really used them too much as Robin, but they've been your signature weapon since you became Nightwing."

"So Deathstroke was worried you might recognize me if I used them," Dick said. "Everything about this trip to Gotham was planned so you would have the lowest chance of recognizing me. I-"

Dick cut himself off. Duke waited a moment for him to continue, and when he didn't, he gently prompted, "You what?" Maybe it wasn't something Dick wanted to talk about, but Duke couldn't help but feel they were getting close to some sort of breakthrough, and he didn't want to let it die.

"I knew that Deathstroke wasn't a kind man," Dick said. "I knew that he did things that were… immoral. But I didn't realize that extended to me this much. I didn't think he would lie to me about something like this. I didn't think…"

The words this much were ringing in Duke's head like warning bells, but he shoved them aside. Maybe he'd ask Dick about the ways he knew it extended to him later, but for now…

"Deathstroke wanted to keep you," Duke said. "I haven't really faced him much, but the others told me that he's always been kinda obsessed with you. He didn't want to let you go."

"He doesn't own me," Dick said. "We were partners. He was in charge, I knew that, but I didn't think he would act like this."

Duke hesitated, not quite sure what to say. Before he could say anything, Dick shook himself and looked over at Duke.

"What exactly are your powers? I couldn't find details in my research."

Apparently, the conversation about Deathstroke was over. "I can control light, basically," Duke said. "I can manipulate light and shadows, and I can sort of… see where light has been? Or will be? So I can see things in the recent past and in the near future, sometimes."

"You can see the future?" Dick asked sharply.

"Only sometimes, and mostly only things in the near future," Duke replied. "And I'm still working on it. I'm better at seeing things in the past. And I've also been working on…" He reached out and pulled the shadows closer to them, making the room darker and darker. "This."

"Impressive," Dick remarked. "Can you make the darkness complete?"

Duke pulled the shadows harder, tugging at them as the room grew even darker. His powers kicked in for him, helping him see even as the darkness grew close to complete. Dick, he noticed, seemed able to see for longer than a human should. He wondered if that was another part of the serum. He should probably see if the Batcomputer had any records on what exactly Deathstroke's serum did.

"Very impressive," Dick said. "Can you make it brighter too?"

Duke released the shadows and embraced the light instead, and the room went from pitch black to brightly lit in an instant. Dick winced, shading his eyes, and Duke immediately released the light, letting the room settle back to its natural brightness.

"Sorry, I forget sometimes how much time human eyes need to adjust to bright lights," Duke admitted.

Dick squeezed his eyes shut, then blinked them back open. "Good fighting tactic, though," he said. "Just getting rid of the light may not be enough to stop everyone, but bringing it back that fast would disorient almost anyone."

Duke used his powers in his life as the Signal, of course, but he didn't use them offensively very often. Dick had a point, though, and Duke thought it would be a good idea to try it out sometime.

"Hey, Dick, can I- Oh, am I interrupting you guys? Or- Dick, are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Dick assured Tim immediately. "Duke was just showing me his powers."

"Too bright, too fast," Duke said ruefully. "My bad."

"What's up, Tim?" Dick asked, sounding almost normal.

"I was wondering if you were ready to do the CT scan," Tim said. "I've gone over the EEG results, and it seems like something is blocking you from accessing your memories. A CT scan should indicate if it's physical, and if not, then we can start looking into other options."

"Sounds like a plan," Dick said, standing. "Duke, maybe we can do escrima lessons again sometime. If you'd want that?"

"I'd love it," Duke said, grinning. He hoped the lessons would be with his version of Dick, but if they were with this new version… Well, he was sure he'd learn a lot, at the very least.

Dick gave him a little wave as he followed Tim out of the room, and it was familiar, it was something Dick had done before. He was still in there, Duke was sure of it. If they figured out what was blocking his memories - and Tim, Duke was sure, could figure it out - they could get him back.

Duke hoped they did it sooner rather than later. The three Ds had to stick together, after all.

"Bruce is downstairs," Tim told Dick as they headed down to the Cave. "He's looking over the EEG results now, and he also wanted to be there to see the CT scan. If that's okay with you?"

"It's fine," Dick replied. Tim wasn't as good at reading body language as Cass, but he could read a certain level of nervousness in Dick. He didn't think Dick was actually scared of any of them, and he was pretty sure Dick knew they weren't going to hurt him, but he still seemed a bit jumpy around Bruce, for a given value of jumpy. Tim expected it was probably due to their fight. It made sense, after all, that Dick would be wary around someone he'd fought brutally on a rooftop less than a week before.

"I can tell him to go, if you want," Tim said, although he knew Bruce would probably just end up lurking in another part of the Cave, watching them on the monitors.

"No, it's fine," Dick repeated. "Is the CT scanner in the Batcave?"

"Yup, we've got one downstairs," Tim agreed. "If we end up needing to do an MRI, we'll have to go to Leslie's clinic for that. We don't have an MRI machine in the Cave, but Bruce specifically funded the clinic so they could get one."

"Why not just buy one of his own?"

Tim shrugged. "B likes funding the clinic. That means anyone who needs an MRI can go and get one. And we've technically got enough space for the machine, but we'd have to get rid of other stuff. The Cave is only so big, after all."

Dick seemed to accept that as they made their way down the stairs into the Cave. He didn't ask any more questions about it, at least. In fact, he was quieter than usual as they made their way downstairs, and he was entirely silent once they arrived in front of Bruce.

At least, Tim thought of it as quieter than usual. Come to think of it, Dick now was quiet, much quieter than he'd been before. Tim wondered why, then wondered how angry the answer would make him. Given what Dick had let slip about Deathstroke, he thought he could probably make a guess.

"Hi, chum," Bruce said, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. It didn't seem to calm Dick at all, though; if anything, Tim thought he grew more tense. "Are you ready for the CT scan? We don't have to do it yet if you're not."

"I'm ready," Dick said. His sentence was a bit clipped at the end, as if he were preventing himself from saying something else. Tim wondered what it was that he'd almost said.

"You sure?"

"B, I've already talked to him about it," Tim said, hoping to diffuse some of the weird tension. "Dick's ready."

"Alright," Bruce said, nodding. "Tim, can you prep him?"

"Sure," Tim said, nodding. He turned to Dick. "We're not doing a contrast for this scan, so you pretty much just need to remove anything metal and take your shirt off. I can get you a hospital gown, if you want."

"It's fine," Dick said, pulling his shirt off over his head. His old familiar scars were there, Tim noticed, but there was nothing new, despite the explosion and the months with Deathstroke. Apparently, the serum didn't affect old scars, but it prevented the creation of new ones.

"Okay, anything metal?"

"Nothing."

"Then lie down here," Tim said, leading Dick over to the CT scanner and patting it. "It might be a bit uncomfortable, but it shouldn't hurt. Let me know if it hurts, okay?"

He almost wished Cass were still in the Cave, so she could tell Tim if Dick was in pain. But they'd decided that too many people might make him anxious, especially since the CT scanner was an enclosed space, so they'd decided on just Bruce and Tim. That still seemed to be making Dick anxious, but considering the situation, Tim wasn't sure there was anything that wouldn't make Dick anxious, at least a little bit.

Dick lay down in the CT scanner, and Tim joined Bruce over at the controls. "Is he ready?" Bruce asked gruffly.

"He's ready," Tim said, knowing better than to take the gruffness personally.

Bruce nodded and started the scan. Tim bounced a bit on the balls of his feet next to him, already wishing the scan could go faster. He watched Dick, or at least the part of him that he could see from his angle. There was tension in his body, but no more than there had been before, so the scan didn't seem to be hurting him or anything. It wasn't supposed to, but Tim didn't know nearly enough about the serum now running through his brother's veins to make any definitive statements about his health.

Waiting for the scan to finish was somehow boring and anxiety-inducing at the same time. Finally, though, the scan was done, and the results came up on the screen.

"Dick," Tim called, "you can come out, the test is…"

His voice trailed off as he looked more closely at the results. He looked over at Bruce, who looked as confused as Tim felt, then looked back at the results.

"The test is what?" Dick asked, emerging from the scanner and heading over to Bruce and Tim.

"This can't be right, can it?" Tim asked Bruce.

"I'll check," Bruce said, typing frantically at the keyboard.

"What's wrong?" Dick asked, looking at the scans.

"If this is correct," Tim said slowly, "you've got something lodged in your hippocampus."

"Something?" Dick repeated. "What do you mean, something?"

"I don't know," Tim admitted. "It's hard to tell on the scan. But maybe… a bit of metal, or something? It looks like metal. Maybe it's shrapnel from the explosion? Assuming that it's actually there and it's not just some glitch in the scanner."

Dick raised a hand to his head and ran it over his scalp. "I have shrapnel in my brain?"

"The scan seems to be functioning properly," Bruce reported. He was practically vibrating with stress, and Tim didn't blame him one bit.

"I mean," Tim said slowly, "the hippocampus is the part of the body responsible for long-term memory. And with your healing factor, it would be possible that you could survive with, uh, metal in your brain. And maybe your headaches happen because trying to remember things irritates the shrapnel somehow? I don't know if that actually makes any sense."

"It does seem reasonable to assume the object in your hippocampus is the reason for your amnesia," Bruce told Dick.

"Get it out," Dick said, his voice flat.

"We will," Tim promised, "but we'll have to figure out how. I mean, we'll need a brain surgeon of some sort, but we need someone who won't be weird about the healing factor-"

"Get it out now."

Tim blinked at Dick. "Now? But- Who's going to do it? None of us are even remotely qualified to do literal brain surgery on you."

"I'll heal," Dick said, his voice clipped. "If you won't do it, I'll dig it out myself."

"You can't do that," Bruce cut in. "Even if it weren't dangerously stupid, you wouldn't be able to reach the object without losing consciousness beforehand."

"Then I guess one of you has to do it." Neither Tim nor Bruce said a word, and Dick deflated a little. "Please."

"Dick," Bruce said slowly, "I understand that you want your memory back, and trust me, I want your memory back too, but it's not safe to dig around in your brain without having some knowledge of what we're doing."

"I'll heal," Dick repeated, some desperation in his voice. "But I need it out."

"Dick," Tim said gently, "what's wrong?"

"I have shrapnel in my head," Dick snapped. "I think it's obvious what's wrong."

"Chum," Bruce said, and apparently there were some things the shrapnel didn't block, because Dick crumpled under that tone, the same way he always did.

"I need to know who I am. And I can't go back to Deathstroke, but I can't stay here without knowing. I need to know. If taking this shrapnel out can fix my memory, I want it out."

"And we want it out too," Tim said, "but we just want to get it out in a way that's safe."

"Is there a superhero doctor who could do it?" Dick asked. "Or, you mentioned a clinic before. Is there anyone there who could get it out?"

"We could ask Leslie for help," Tim said, a bit doubtfully.

"Leslie isn't a neurosurgeon."

"Yeah, but she has more surgical experience than either of us."

"Please," Dick said quietly. "I want it out."

"Are you certain that injuries to your brain will be healed?" Bruce asked.

Dick nodded. "Deathstroke and I have both had brain injuries, but the serum fixes it."

Tim tried not to think too hard about Dick's brain injuries with Deathstroke. He'd just looked at a CT scan that showed that none of them caused any permanent physical damage, but to be entirely honest, he wasn't liking what he was seeing of Dick's mental state. Then again, he figured they probably ought to wait to think about that until Dick didn't have literal metal in his brain.

"Tim and I can figure out a plan," Bruce decided. "I can see if Doctor Mid-Nite is available, and if not, we can ask Leslie and Alfred."

"Are you sure?" Tim asked Bruce quietly. He was sure Dick could hear him, but Dick politely pretended like he couldn't.

Bruce looked over at Dick for a moment, then looked back at Tim. He didn't say a word, but Tim knew what he was thinking anyway.

If they didn't get the shrapnel out of Dick's head, Dick would figure out a way to do it himself. Maybe they weren't the best option, but they were better than whatever Dick would do on his own. It was better than Dick digging into his own brain. It was the best option they had right now.

"Okay," Tim said, nodding. He looked over at Dick. "We'll get it out. Just… be patient for a little longer, okay?"

Tim could see Dick's throat bob as he swallowed, then he nodded. "Okay."

We'll get you back, Tim thought, and he didn't let himself consider anything else.

Chapter Text

The first thing Dick was aware of was a dull, throbbing pain in his head. It felt oddly familiar, but he couldn't place why. He groaned, then he opened his eyes.

"Bruce?" he asked weakly. Bruce was bent over him, a mix of fear and hope on his face. Whatever had happened, it must have been bad.

"Hey, chum," Bruce said in an excruciatingly gentle voice. "How are you feeling?"

His head throbbed, and Dick closed his eyes again, reaching up to touch his temple. "My head hurts. What- What happened?"

There was half a second of silence. It must have been very bad. "What's the last thing you remember?" Bruce finally asked.

"I…"

The second he started digging for memories, they started coming back, and Dick immediately wished they'd stayed buried. Had he really… No, he couldn't have… He couldn't have…

"Bruce," he whispered, "please tell me I didn't actually work alongside Deathstroke for six months. Please tell me that was just some weird dream. Please tell me I didn't-"

His voice broke before he could finish the sentence. He wasn't sure how he would have finished it anyway. Please tell me I didn't kill all those people? Please tell me I didn't become Deathstroke's partner? Please tell me I didn't almost kill you on that rooftop?

He was pretty sure he had.

"You were amnesiac," Bruce said, the words heavy with an awful truth. "There was a piece of shrapnel lodged in your hippocampus. We were able to remove it."

"Oh god," Dick whispered. He didn't realize his nails were digging into his skin until Bruce pulled his hand away. The pain faded far too quickly, courtesy of the serum Deathstroke had injected him with. It had saved his life, he was pretty sure - he remembered the explosion, if only disjointedly - but considering all that had come after, he wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not.

Slowly, Dick opened his eyes. Bruce didn't look too angry, but he had to be. Dick had killed people. He'd been a mercenary, fighting alongside Deathstroke. He wasn't sure there was any place for him in Gotham anymore.

There certainly wasn't any place for him as a vigilante.

"I guess Nightwing is over, then."

"What?" Bruce asked, looking honestly surprised.

Dick laughed. It came out rasping and humorless. "I killed people, Bruce. Lots of them. And I'm a meta now. I'm not exactly the type of hero you want on the streets of Gotham."

"You wouldn't be the first metahuman hero in Gotham," Bruce said, and of course he wouldn't be, there was Duke, Duke had meta powers and Dick couldn't believe he'd forgotten that. Then again, he'd forgotten a lot of things recently. "And you wouldn't be the first hero who has killed people before either," Bruce continued, and Dick remembered the stories about a duffel bag of severed heads. "It might take a little while before you're ready to go out again, but if you still want to be Nightwing, I don't see any reason why you can't be."

"I want to be Nightwing," Dick said immediately, because he'd never stop wanting that. "I do, I just…"

Nightwing was a symbol of hope. After being Renegade, how could Dick ever be that again?

"We can figure things out as we go," Bruce assured. "For right now, I'm just grateful you're home."

Dick felt his lips twitch into a slight smile. "I'm grateful Deathstroke finally took a contract in Gotham," he said, half jokingly, and then the memory of who the contract was for slotted into place. "Oh god. Bruce, the contract, it's for Lucius."

"Lucius?" Bruce repeated, his face showing the same horror Dick felt.

It was for Lucius, Lucius, and Dick had been planning to kill him. He shoved that aside and focused on remembering everything he could.

"I- I don't know who put the contract out, but Deathstroke got it from Wintergreen, and it was a big enough payoff that he figured it was worth going to Gotham for." And oh, it made so much more sense now why Deathstroke had always avoided Gotham. He always avoided the topic when Dick asked about it, but now it was obvious. He didn't want to give up Renegade.

Dick wanted nothing more than to leave Renegade behind entirely, but he couldn't do that yet, not until Lucius was safe.

He forced himself back into those memories, pushed himself back into that persona. "He's got a routine," he said, hearing his voice as if it were from far away. "We figured it out. He goes to the same shop every Friday on his way back from work. We're going to block off the road he normally uses so he has to go near the Narrows instead, and then I'm going to shoot out his tire. When he gets out of the car, Deathstroke is going to kill him."

It wasn't too complex, as far as their plans went. Renegade had participated in much more complex ones before. But this one had as few moving parts as possible so it was the most likely to succeed. Batman would throw a wrench in their plans if he found out, but if they kept the information from him-

Wait-

Renegade's head started to pound, but it wasn't quite one of his usual headaches, and he wasn't Renegade anymore, was he? He was-

"Dick?" Bruce asked. "Are you with me?"

Yes, that was his name, that was who he was, he wasn't Renegade, he was Dick.

Dick clawed his way back out of the memories and focused on Bruce. "We need to stop Deathstroke. Today's Friday, isn't it? He's going to kill him tonight."

"What time?"

"The road is probably already blocked off," Dick said, trying to pull the memories back up to the surface without drowning in Renegade. "Deathstroke was going to do it in the afternoon. He… What time is it?"

Bruce checked his watch. "It's 5:44."

Dick swallowed. "We have half an hour. If all goes according to plan, Deathstroke is going to kill Lucius at 6:16."

"He'll have to change the plan slightly," Bruce said as he picked up his phone. "You won't be there to shoot out the tire."

"He'll figure something out," Dick said, grimly sure of it. "There… might be a contingency plan. I feel like there is, but I… I can't…"

There was a contingency plan, he was sure there was a contingency plan. They always had contingency plans, and when they were planning a hit in a town with a whole family of vigilantes, it would be stupid not to. But Dick couldn't remember it, it kept slipping away, and his head hurt-

Bruce squeezed his shoulder lightly. "Don't push too hard. You just had brain surgery. You need to take it easy."

Easy for him to say. "If I know Deathstroke's plan, I need to remember it."

He squeezed his eyes shut, reaching for the memory, but it was slippery and distant. He needed to reach it, he had to-

"Dick. We can handle this. We'll keep Lucius safe."

The memory refused to sharpen, and after a few moments, Dick gave in. "Okay."

"I'll get the others," Bruce said. A slight smile curled his lips, and he added, "They'll be happy to see you."

"Who did the surgery?" Dick asked, running a hand over his scalp. There was no scar, not that he expected one. He hadn't gotten any new scars since Deathstroke injected him with the serum.

"We got Doctor Mid-Nite to come do it," Bruce said, and yes, Dick remembered that. "He couldn't stay, but he said that you had to relax once you woke up. Even with your healing factor, it'll take time for your brain to fully heal."

"What about helping to stop Deathstroke?" Dick asked, already knowing what the answer would be.

Bruce reached out and tentatively ran a hand through his hair. Dick wondered if he was feeling for a scar too. "We can handle it," he told Dick gently. "You need to take it easy."

Dick leaned into his father's touch for a moment, then pushed himself into a sitting position. "Okay. If I remember anything else, I'll let you know."

"Just don't push it," Bruce said gently. "I don't want you to hurt yourself."

"Just call the others, B," Dick said, unable to keep from smiling slightly. "I want to see them."

Bruce nodded and picked up his phone. Dick watched him and hoped that he was hiding his headache well enough that Bruce wouldn't notice it. He would be fine, he had a healing factor now. The pain would fade soon enough. And until it did, he would just endure it. He'd be fine.

It only took a moment for the first set of footsteps to thunder down the Cave steps. "Richard?" Damian demanded, rushing over to the bed. Dick saw the fear in his little brother's eyes, and he knew how much it would cost him to show it. He opened his arms, and Damian threw himself into the embrace without hesitation.

"Hey, kiddo," Dick whispered into Damian's hair. "I've got you. I'm sorry."

"You are never allowed to do that again," Damian decreed, his voice wobbly and a little muffled from the way his face was pressed up against Dick's shirt. "Never, do you hear me?"

"Not planning on doing it again," Dick replied. "I'm sorry, Dami."

"Tt. Stop apologizing, you imbecile."

"The gremlin's right, you apologize too much," Jason said, walking over to the bed with Tim and Steph behind him. None of them could quite keep from smiling.

"Are you back-back?" Steph asked. "Like, fully back? One hundred percent?"

"I think so," Dick said, although he wasn't actually entirely sure. "A couple of memories are still a little fuzzy, but I think they'll come back soon."

"Good," Steph said, nodding. "Cause it's been really broody around here for the past six months. Like, really broody. Maybe it'll be livable again, now that you're back."

Tim reached out wordlessly and pulled Dick into a hug, apparently not caring that he was pulling Damian into one too. Even more surprisingly, Damian didn't swear to make him regret it. Dick would have to ask about that later.

"Oh, thank god," Babs said, wheeling over with Cass, Duke, and Alfred behind her. "You've really been through the wringer, haven't you, Boy Wonder?"

Dick laughed softly. "Will you ever stop calling me that? I am a full-grown man."

"No way."

"Master Dick," Alfred said, his eyes looking distinctly misty. "It is good to have you back."

"Good to be back," Dick replied. "And really back, this time."

"Indeed," Alfred agreed. "We were all happy to see you alive, amnesiac or not, but I must admit, this is distinctly superior."

"No arguments here," Dick said with a nod. "Anyone else want to join in the hug, by the way? We could make it a whole family group hug."

Cass wordlessly came over and plastered herself to Dick's back, snaking her arms around his waist from behind. Jason shrugged and sat down next to Dick, slinging an arm around his shoulders. Steph bounced over, then backtracked to grab Duke and bounced back over again. Babs wheeled over and placed a hand on Dick's knee, and Dick made a mental note to give her a proper hug when he wasn't covered in other people. Bruce stood at his back, a hand on his shoulder, and Alfred stood in front of him, dabbing at his eyes with a handkerchief when he thought no one was looking, and it was very nearly perfect.

It was too bad, then, that Dick had to ruin it by bringing up the assassination attempt that was going to happen in half an hour.

"Guys," he said tentatively, "Bruce and I need to talk to you about something."

"Shit, that's your bad news voice," Jason said. "What's the bad news?"

"No bad news," Tim mumbled against his side. "There's been enough bad news."

"I remember who the contract is for," Dick said. "I know who Deathstroke is here to kill."

All eyes focused on him. Dick took a deep breath, then said, "It's Lucius."

Tim was the first to react, the color draining from his face. "No."

"I'm sorry," Dick apologized quickly. "He-"

"It's not your fault," Jason said as he stood. "It's Deathstroke's fault, and I'm going to enjoy putting a whole bunch of bullets in him."

"I don't know who put out the contract," Dick said. "I don't think Deathstroke told me. But our- the plan was to kill him tonight. At 6:16. So, in less than half an hour."

"Do you think he'll change the plan, since you're not there?" Babs asked.

"I know there's a contingency plan, but I can't remember it," Dick said. "But I don't think Deathstroke will delay. He wanted to finish this contract as soon as possible."

"Wouldn't that probably be because he wanted to get out of Gotham before you remembered anything?" Steph asked. "Which kinda failed already, so…"

"So now he's got a bunch of angry vigilantes even more on his ass than usual," Jason replied. "If anything, that should make Deathstroke want to get out of the city even faster."

"From what I remember of the plan," Dick interjected, trying to get everyone back on track, "Deathstroke and I- Deathstroke is going to block the road so Lucius has to take a route home from work that goes near the Narrows, and then he's going to shoot the tire out and shoot him once he gets out of the car."

Shooting the tire out was supposed to be his job. Dick tried not to think about that.

"Do you remember the route?" Bruce asked.

Dick squeezed his eyes shut, wracking his brains. "Get me a map."

Someone produced a map immediately and handed it to him. Dick opened his eyes and traced a finger along the streets of Gotham, starting at the Wayne Enterprises building and making his way slowly towards the Narrows. He paused at a quiet intersection and tapped the map lightly. "Here. This is where Deathstroke is going to be."

"Assuming the plan doesn't change," Jason said.

"I know there's a contingency," Dick said, trying his hardest to remember. A hand squeezed his shoulder, and he looked up into Tim's concerned face.

"Doctor Mid-Nite said to take it easy after the surgery. That means no trying to remember things that don't come easily."

"Bruce already gave me the whole spiel," Dick sighed. "You guys should probably suit up and get ready."

"Dick's right," Bruce agreed. "This is Deathstroke, so we need all hands on deck."

"I'm ready to shoot Deathstroke," Jason said, stretching. "And just for him, I'll swap out the rubber bullets for real ones."

"Be careful," Dick urged. He didn't like the thought of any of his siblings going up against Deathstroke. He never did, but it felt even worse this time around.

"Don't worry, we will be," Jason promised. "Besides, there's seven of us and only one of him. We've got this."

Deathstroke knows that, Dick wanted to say. He must have planned for it. I know he did, I just can't remember what the plan is.

He could remember, if only vaguely, the act of coming up with a plan. He and Deathstroke had been sitting at the table, and they'd been talking over plans, and Deathstroke had said-

His head flared with pain, and Cass put a hand on his arm. "Easy," she told him, half advising and half scolding.

Dick managed a wry smile. "Doing my best."

"Let's go," Bruce said, leading the others across the Cave with one last look at Dick. No one wanted to go, that much was clear, but eventually, everyone did. Even Damian unpeeled himself from Dick's torso, although it wasn't without one last squeeze.

"I should head to the Clocktower to coordinate," Babs said, although Dick could tell she didn't like the idea of leaving. "I can do a better job of it there than I can here."

"Then you should go," Dick said gently. "I'll be here when you come back."

"Promise, Boy Wonder?"

"Promise."

Babs leaned forward, and Dick pulled her in for a tight hug. "You scared the shit out of us, you know that?" Babs whispered in his ear as he held her. "Don't ever pull that again. We all fall apart without you."

"Love you too, Babs."

Babs rolled off with one last look at Dick, and then it was just him and Alfred. "I shall coordinate from here," Alfred said. "If you wish to assist, you may, provided it does not cause you any pain."

"It's either I help you or I vibrate out of my skin, I think," Dick said. "I can't just sit here and do nothing. Not when it's Deathstroke." He never could, but now… He especially couldn't now.

"I understand," Alfred replied. "Although, before you help here, I must ask, have you eaten anything?"

"There's no way I can eat right now," Dick admitted. "Maybe later."

Alfred's mouth turned down slightly. "Not even something simple?"

"Later, Alfie," Dick urged. "Please."

Alfred sighed. "As you insist."

To be entirely honest, Dick wasn't sure he needed to eat anymore. If he did, he didn't need to eat anywhere near as much as regular people. He'd gone without food for days at a time with Deathstroke with no ill effects. Physically, he didn't think there was much he couldn't withstand anymore. Mentally… Well, he'd take a closer look at his mental state once things were safe enough for him to do it.

"We're heading out," Bruce said, suit on but cowl down, as Dick and Alfred headed over to the Batcomputer. "We'll keep in contact over the comms."

"We'll be here," Alfred said with a nod.

"Be careful," Dick said, wishing he could just remember the stupid contingency plan. "Deathstroke is dangerous."

"We'll be careful," Bruce promised.

"We are dangerous too," Cass added as she put her mask on.

Dick knew that. It didn't stop him from worrying.

The others all headed out with a roar of engines, leaving the Cave far too silent in their wake. Alfred sat down in front of the computer and pointedly patted the seat next to him. Dick sank down into it, although he would have been fine to stand. His head hurt, but it was nothing he hadn't worked through before under more dangerous circumstances. He did agree that he probably wasn't in good enough condition to go up against Deathstroke, even though he didn't like that fact, but he was fine to stand. Getting into that argument with Alfred wouldn't be worth it, though, so he sat.

"Comm check," Alfred said as he booted up the computer's systems. "Age order, descending."

Dick couldn't help but smile a bit as he remembered this quirk of Alfred's; the rest of them normally didn't ask for a comm check in a specific order, but Alfred always did. The specified orders could change, but he always had one.

"Batman, en route to the specified location," Bruce said.

"Nightwing, at the Cave with Penny-One," Dick cut in, even though he knew that, strictly speaking, he didn't have to check in. He'd been absent from check-ins for months, though, and if he knew his family, then he knew they'd like to hear his voice.

"Black Bat, en route to specified location," Cass said, and Dick could hear a bit of a smile in her voice.

"Red Hood, heading to check out the Narrows for signs of Deathstroke," Jason said.

"Spoiler, heading to the Wayne Enterprises building, hopefully so I can cut off Lucius before Deathstroke gets to him," Steph said.

"Red Robin, accompanying Black Bat and Batman."

"Signal, accompanying Red Hood."

"Robin, accompanying Spoiler."

The plan made sense, and the division of the groups made sense too. Jason and Duke knew the Narrows the best, so they could find signs of Deathstroke the easiest. Bruce and Cass were the best fighters, and Tim was the best strategist, so it made sense that they went to confront Deathstroke himself. And Dick wholeheartedly understood the urge to keep Damian as far away from Deathstroke as possible, and unless there had been some serious changes in his dynamics with the others, Steph was probably the one he would listen to the best. No one was working alone tonight. The whole set up made sense.

Dick still couldn't stop thinking about the contingency plan he couldn't remember.

"All accounted for," Alfred declared. "Keep the comms open. Report anything suspicious."

"If you don't know whether it's suspicious or not, ask me," Dick added. "I might be able to let you know."

"Understood," Bruce said. "But no unnecessary chatter."

"You got it, boss-man," Steph agreed. "Nothing unnecessary."

Bruce grunted. Dick grinned. Steph had always been a natural at pushing Bruce's buttons, and Dick for one found it very entertaining to witness. He wondered if she'd continued doing it while he was gone, or if that light had dulled. He hoped she'd kept it up; Bruce needed someone to keep him on his toes.

"Guys," Tim said uncertainly, "there's a report coming in from the GCPD. It's about… It's about a mass breakout from Blackgate."

The words speared through Dick's brain like a blade, but they also unlocked the memory he'd been working at since he woke up. "That's the contingency plan," he said, his stomach plummeting. "If things seem like they're going to go wrong, if there's any indication that the Bats are going to interfere, we're going to cause a breakout at Blackgate. The Bats won't be able to ignore that."

Alfred was looking at Dick with concern in his eyes, and Dick realized that, without thinking, he'd spoken as if he were still working with Deathstroke. He swallowed hard and repeated, "That's the contingency plan. A mass breakout. It's more than the police can deal with on their own. If you guys aren't on this, people are going to get hurt."

"And if we are on this, then Deathstroke is going to kill Lucius," Bruce finished.

"Nightwing," Tim asked, "is there more to the plan? Is it going to alter where Deathstroke tries to kill Lucius?"

Dick closed his eyes. "Deathstroke figured out the timing for the whole thing. When the breakout happens, Lucius will be a few blocks away from the original location. He won't want to go into the Narrows with a Blackgate breakout in progress, so he'll turn away from it instead and do a longer detour. Deathstroke will block off the road just before the bridge, so he'll have to turn around and go back. When he's turning around, I- Deathstroke will shoot Lucius through the front windshield."

Originally, that was supposed to be Dick's job. He didn't want to think about it.

"I'm the closest to that location," Tim said slowly. "And we can't all go after Deathstroke with a breakout happening."

"No way," Jason retorted, making the connection of what Tim meant immediately. "You're not going after him yourself."

"Red, you can't beat Deathstroke on your own," Dick added. "You shouldn't go alone."

"I'm looking at these reports from the GCPD, and we can barely afford to have one person not on this breakout," Tim countered. "And I'm the closest to Deathstroke's location. We can't guarantee that anyone else would get here in time."

"I hate to admit it, but Red Robin's not entirely wrong," Babs said, apparently having reached the Clocktower. "I'm liaising with Batwoman and the Birds of Prey to see if they can help, but Batwoman is the only one currently in the city. It's just us and her, and this is going to be a long night."

"That doesn't mean that T- that Red Robin should go up against Deathstroke on his own!" Dick yelled, only barely remembering to stick to code names over the comms.

"Red Robin," Bruce said, "can you get to the bridge and remove the barrier so Lucius doesn't think the road is blocked?"

"Deathstroke will shoot him!" Dick protested. "B, you can't seriously be agreeing with him on this."

"I'm not sure we have another choice," Bruce said, and Dick shot up out of his seat and stormed away from the computer.

"Master Dick," Alfred called, but Dick ignored him. His head was pounding, and his heart was pounding just as fast, and he had to do something. There had to be another choice. There had to be someone else-

Oh. Of course there was someone else. There was him.

He looked over at Alfred. He'd try to stop Dick if he knew that he was going out, so he couldn't know until Dick was already gone. Once he'd left the Cave, no one would go after him. Alfred wouldn't be able to catch up with him, and the others wouldn't leave their positions with a Blackgate breakout in progress. Once he was out of the Cave, he could help.

He'd need to suit up before he left the Cave, though, and he didn't know where Bruce had put his Renegade suit. He'd need to find it before he went out. He couldn't go out in civilian clothes, after all. He needed his suit-

But he didn't need his Renegade suit. He didn't want his Renegade suit, and the fact that his mind had immediately gone to it made him feel a little sick. He had another suit, a better suit, and he'd wear that instead.

He didn't know where the rest of his spare Nightwing suits were, but he did know exactly where to find one.

The case with his costume in it was morbid, Dick decided as he opened it and pulled out the suit as quickly as possible. He understood why Jason had finally put his foot down about Bruce getting rid of his old Robin one. If Bruce tried to put the Nightwing memorial back up, Dick would pitch a fit of his own.

The suit fit differently than it had before, stretching around new muscles that he hadn't had before. Dick had always been strong, but he'd never been bulky. He still wasn't, but Deathstroke had made him focus on his strength more than his agility, and it had resulted in some new muscle. The serum already made Dick stronger than a normal human, but Deathstroke hadn't seen that as a reason not to become even stronger.

He looked down at the mask for a moment before pressing it to his face. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the glass and swallowed. He didn't look quite the same. He wasn't sure he would ever again look exactly like he used to.

But as long as he stopped Deathstroke and saved Tim and Lucius, it didn't matter what he looked like, so Dick checked that his escrima sticks were secure in their holsters and then sprinted for the bikes.

He was just swinging his leg over one of the spares - he didn't know what condition his was in, and he couldn't afford for it to run out of gas - when he heard Alfred call out, "Master Dick!" He turned to face Alfred, took in his stunned and horrified face for a moment, and then he turned and sped out of the Cave as fast as he could.

He'd apologize later. Right now, he had a job to do.

It didn't take Dick long to realize that his mask couldn't link up the comm system. Either the comm unit in it was too old to link with the current system, or the mask was purely decorative and didn't have a comm at all. He suspected the latter; if there was any way to get in contact with him, he was pretty sure Babs would have already done it. The silence told its own story.

He didn't have any way to navigate to the bridge, but that was fine; he knew the way. He knew Gotham like the back of his hand, had known it deep in his bones even when he hadn't known anything else, and he took each turn with complete confidence that they were leading him the way he had to go. The real problem was time; he didn't know how late it was, and he didn't know if he would get there in time.

The bike whined as he pushed it as fast as it could go. It was dangerously stupid to ride a motorcycle this fast and he knew it, but he didn't have another option. Besides, it wasn't like a motorcycle crash could kill him, not anymore. He'd do what he had to do.

Somehow, he managed to make it to the bridge just as Lucius's car was pulling up. The barrier was still in place, but Lucius wasn't stopping the car; it was just a wooden sign, and he drove past it. Someone must have contacted Lucius about the fake roadblock. Dick wondered if Lucius was on the phone with Tim right now. He wondered where Tim was.

A gunshot rang through the air.

Lucius's car skidded to the side as one of the tires burst. For a moment, it looked like he was going to go over the side of the bridge, then Lucius must have wrestled the car back under control because it turned forward again as it rolled to a stop. For a heartbeat, everything was silent, then a motorcycle roared out of an alleyway. Tim hopped off and looked warily around, then he backed up to the driver's window, never looking away from the direction the bullet had come from.

He was going to get himself shot. Dick jumped off his bike and ran out to meet him.

"D- Nightwing?" Tim demanded. "What are you-"

"Deathstroke is probably already on his way down," Dick interrupted. "Get Lucius out of here."

"How-"

"Take him on your bike. Now get him out of here."

Dick carefully kept his voice steady and even. He hoped no one could tell how much effort it was taking to keep it that way.

"What about you?" Tim demanded.

"I'll be fine. Get him out."

"Nightwing-"

"Go, Red Robin, that's an order."

Technically, Dick didn't really have the ability to order Tim around, especially not under current circumstances, but his Batman voice had to be good for something. Tim hesitated, then he opened Lucius's car door, although he still cast a nervous look in Dick's direction. His gaze flickered past him, and his eyes went even wider.

"Nightwing-"

Dick had already turned. He knew those footsteps, and he knew the sound of that gun.

Of course he did. For six months, that had been all he'd known.

"Nightwing," Deathstroke said. There was something almost like amusement in his voice, and it send a flare of fury down Dick's spine.

"Go, Red Robin."

"Nightwing-"

Deathstroke was aiming his gun, and Dick didn't have time to argue. He pulled out his escrima sticks and ran at Deathstroke instead, hoping to buy Tim some time. He probably couldn't buy him too much - his head pounded, and it turned out that brain surgery wasn't something you shrugged off easily, even with a healing factor, and maybe everyone had had a point in trying to bench him - but maybe he could buy him enough.

Deathstroke avoided the swings from Dick's escrima sticks with ease, but he didn't have time between swings to take aim at Lucius, which was something, at least. If Dick could keep him focused on him-

Then Deathstroke grabbed Dick by the front of his costume and threw him across the bridge. Normally, Dick would be able to shake that off fairly easily, especially now, but his head hit a parked car hard, and his vision went momentarily white. When he was able to blink the whiteness away, it was to the sight of Deathstroke taking aim at Lucius as Tim desperately roared his motorcycle to life.

Dick still had one card left to play.

The bullet buried itself deep in his shoulder, but behind him, he could hear Tim and Lucius getting away, so it was worth it. In front of him, Deathstroke holstered his gun. His helmet covered his face, but Dick knew the expression he'd be making underneath it. He always made the same face when a target managed to avoid them.

Him, Dick corrected himself. Not them. Not anymore.

The alley was silent for a long moment, then Deathstroke sighed and turned to leave. Dick lunged forward before he could think better of it.

"Why? Why did you do it?"

Deathstroke stopped. "You should deal with that bullet before the skin heals over it and you have to dig it out."

Deathstroke had shot Renegade - Dick - before, when he was angry with him. When he was especially angry, he always made sure the bullet wouldn't go all the way through. Dick couldn't even imagine how angry he was now.

Tough. Dick was angry too.

"I deserve an answer," he spat. "You messed with my head for six months. Why did you do it?"

Deathstroke turned towards him, and then, to Dick's surprise, he reached up and removed his helmet. "I hate wasted potential. You're wasting yours. You could be great." He looked at Dick derisively. "You were great."

"I am great," Dick retorted. "I'm not wasting anything. And none of that gives you the excuse to do what you did."

Deathstroke shrugged. "And what are you going to do about it?"

Dick tightened his grip on his escrima sticks, then he put them back in their holsters, ignoring the way his shoulder burned at the movement. "Get out of here, Deathstroke. Walk away from this contract. And stay the hell out of Gotham. You owe me that much."

Deathstroke scoffed. "You would be dead without me."

"Get out, Slade," Dick said, abruptly exhausted. "Just go."

Deathstroke looked at him for a long moment, then put his helmet back on and turned away. He was gone in moments, but Dick stayed still a few moments more. Then…

Well, then he dropped to his knees and pressed his fist to his mouth, trying to smother the laughter or sobs or whatever it was that was trying to come out.

By the time Dick finally gathered himself enough to start heading home, the bullet hole in his shoulder had healed over. He pulled a small knife out of the lining of his boot, glad that it was still there after the suit had been on display for so long, and cut a small but deep X over the spot where the bullet had gone in. It would be easier to get the bullet out with forceps, and he knew there were some in the Batcave, but he wanted to deal with it himself. The others would be worried enough by the blood on his suit without someone else having to reopen the wound and dig the bullet out.

After a bit of painful maneuvering, Dick popped the bullet out. For a moment, he considered going to check on Deathstroke's safe house, to see if he was preparing to leave or preparing to make another attempt on Lucius's life, but he decided against it. He expected he'd already caused enough panic already without staying out longer than he had to. For the millionth time that night, he wished he'd grabbed a mask with a functional comm unit instead of the purely decorative one from the case. He expected Tim would have gotten the word out to the others about his confrontation with Deathstroke by now, and honestly, Dick was surprised no one had come to find him yet. He supposed the mass Blackgate escape had been a good distraction. He was just glad it had been Blackgate and not Arkham. The last thing this night needed was a Joker attack.

Once his shoulder stopped bleeding, Dick stood and retrieved his bike, then he started back to the Cave. He drove more slowly than he had on the way out, partially for safety reasons and partially because he wasn't particularly looking forward to the lecture he knew was coming. He was certain he'd get an earful in person from Alfred and an earful over the comms from everyone else. He was absolutely certain he'd get another earful from Bruce once he got back. Dick didn't regret his decision at all, and he did think that it had been the only one he could have made, but that didn't mean he was looking forward to hearing the others yell at him about it.

Eventually, though, he entered the Cave. Alfred was waiting for him as he parked his bike, then he pulled Dick into a tight embrace.

"That was foolish of you, and you are never to do such a thing again."

"You know I can't promise that, Alfie," Dick said as he hugged him back. "Anyway, it worked."

"That doesn't mean it wasn't foolish."

"There was no other option that both Tim and Lucius would survive," Dick said, maybe a bit too plainly.

Alfred winced. "That may be, but it doesn't change the fact that you are still recovering from brain surgery. And Master Tim told me that you hit your head and were shot while fighting Deathstroke."

"Both are healed," Dick said, tugging at the hole in the shoulder of his suit a bit to show off the unbroken skin underneath. "I'm fine, really."

"I ought to tell the others you've returned safely," Alfred said. "Master Bruce is quite upset."

"I know, I'm going to get a lecture," Dick groaned. "Trust me, I'm expecting it."

"If you wished to avoid such lectures, you might take better care of yourself," Alfred admonished.

"Alfie, I'm really fine, I promise."

Alfred sighed, then he walked over to the computer and unmuted the comms. "Nightwing has returned, and he appears no worse for wear."

There was an immediate flurry of responses. Dick caught Tim asking frantically about his gunshot wound, and Damian threatening him if he did something like that ever again, and Jason calling him an idiot with increasingly colorful language. There was nothing from Bruce, and for a moment, Dick felt a twinge of anxiety in his chest. Someone would have told him if Bruce had gotten hurt, he was sure, but then why-

"We will discuss this once I'm back, Nightwing," Bruce said, and even though his voice was sharp and Dick was definitely about to get benched forever, the sound of it prompted a wave of relief. Dick would rather Bruce be unhurt and angry with him than the alternative.

"Looking forward to it, B," he said. "And Red Robin, the gunshot wound is healed, I'm fine."

"I didn't see an exit wound," Tim said, a bit of an accusation in his voice.

Dick had been hoping not to get into that. "It's fine."

Alfred muted the comm and gave Dick a look. "Did you have to extract the bullet on your own?"

"It's nothing I haven't done before, loads of times," Dick replied. "And I heal fast now."

Alfred's frown deepened. "How many times have you had to extract a bullet on your own?"

Dick was certain he'd done it before the whole affair with Deathstroke, but he couldn't remember any occasions now. It made sense that Alfred wasn't entirely up-to-date on that particular skill of his. "It's not like I've kept count. But I swear, it's completely healed. And I think my head is too. It doesn't hurt anymore."

"Your head was hurting previously?"

Oops. "I mean, not too bad."

Alfred closed his eyes, making the face he always did when Dick or one of the others was being, in Alfred's opinion, particularly impossible. Jason always said he was probably praying for patience.

"Master Bruce will be quite displeased with all of this," was all Alfred said, then he turned the comm back on and said, "Spoiler, there are reports of ex-Blackgate convicts in a bar two streets away from you. Are you free to investigate?"

"Sure thing," Steph agreed. "We have any idea how much longer this is going to take? I think we're all waiting for our chance to yell at Nightwing for being a dumbass."

"Focus," Bruce scolded. "It'll take as long as it does for Gotham to be safe."

"I could come out and help-" Dick started, but he didn't even get to finish the sentence before every voice on the comm replied with a chorused and emphatic, "NO."

"You are to stay in the Cave, no exceptions," Bruce told him firmly. "You are not to go into the field."

"Am I not even allowed to go upstairs?" Dick asked in a mock-sad voice.

"As if your control freak ass could bear to be anywhere except right in front of the computer," Jason retorted. "You definitely inherited some of B's patented micromanaging skills."

"I do not micromanage!" Dick protested.

"No unnecessary chatter," Bruce cut in. "Hood, have the police arrived to your location yet?"

"Nah, but I can hear the siren, so they're close," Jason replied. "I probably could have left these guys. I don't think they're waking up any time soon."

Dick wanted to make a joke about how he hoped they would wake up eventually, and then his brain remembered the way a sniper rifle recoiled in his hands after he fired a bullet directly into a target's head. His stomach flipped, and for a moment, he thought he'd be sick all over the Batcave floor. He had no right to say anything about Jason's old body counts, not when his were far more recent.

Bruce said something in response to Jason, but Dick didn't hear it; he took a step away from the computer and tried not to let his hands shake. When Alfred turned to look at him, he gestured vaguely at his shoulder and said, "I should probably clean this up."

"Indeed," Alfred agreed, his voice deceptively mild. "Should you require assistance, I will be here."

"I'll be fine," Dick promised, and he gathered up the clothes he'd been wearing before and headed to the showers. He'd clean himself up, and he'd feel better. He'd probably feel better out of his costume too; he loved his suit, but it made him want to move, want to do things. As long as he was stuck in the Cave, he might as well dress more comfortably.

He stripped out of his suit and stepped into the shower, turning up the water to as hot as it could go. It barely hurt anymore, what with his newfound powers. At least Bruce's phenomenal water pressure still felt as pleasant as it always had.

Dick lost a bit of time in the shower while he was washing his hair, but he didn't think it was too long. He rinsed himself and got out of the shower, toweling himself dry and pulling on his previous clothes again. For the first time, he took a proper look at them. They were his, from before; slightly baggy sweatpants and a Daily Planet t-shirt that Clark had given him years ago. It had gone through the wash so many times that it had gone soft, and the design was faded and peeling. It was still one of Dick's favorite shirts. He'd chosen it that morning, but he couldn't quite remember why. He wondered if he'd known it was his favorite, even without his memories.

Maybe he was reading too much into things.

When he emerged back into the Cave, Alfred was still sitting in front of the computer and directing things. Dick watched him fondly. He'd missed this, even though he hadn't known what he was missing. He'd never felt at home with Deathstroke, not properly. He'd felt at home in the Manor, even before. He always had.

"Master Dick," Alfred called, "would you be so good as to help Master Damian? He needs directions."

"No problem," Dick replied. He sat down and put on a headset. "Robin, do you read me?"

"I read you, Nightwing," Damian replied. There was a thread of suppressed emotion in his voice. Dick would address it later. "I require directions."

"Penny-One told me you did. Where are you going?"

"I need the quickest route to the old sawmill on the outskirts of the city. I have a tip that says a recently escaped gang is massing there."

"Do you have backup?" Dick demanded immediately.

"I can handle this on my own."

"You should have backup. I can-"

"You are not allowed in the field. Batman's orders."

Dick clenched his jaw. "Yeah, well, you shouldn't go out against a gang on your own. Pretty sure Batman would give you an order or two if I shared that plan with him."

"Tt. I'll invite Signal to come with me. Is that sufficient?"

"It's good enough," Dick said, adjusting the comm settings so he could loop Duke into the conversation as well. "Signal, you there?"

"I'm here. You guys need something?"

"I have a tip for the possible location of an escaped gang," Damian said. "Nightwing refuses to let me fight them on my own. Are you available?"

"Yeah, I'm available," Duke replied. "Batman mostly has me watching over things right now, but I'm sure I could leave. Where's the gang?"

"The old sawmill."

"I can give you both directions," Dick said, pulling it up on the map. "You're both about equidistant, and you'll meet up before you get to the mill."

"Go ahead, then," Duke said. "Robin, let's go."

Dick obediently read them out the directions, and with every word, he wished he could be out there helping. This was partially his mess anyway. He'd worked with Deathstroke, he'd planned the Blackgate breakout, he'd caused this. The least he could have done was help stop it, but Bruce refused to let him do even that. Dick understood, he really did, but he also wasn't sure if he'd be able to make it through the night without sneaking out again.

Of course, Alfred did have an eagle eye on him, so sneaking out a second time probably wouldn't be as easy as it had been to sneak out the first.

When Duke and Damian were at the sawmill, Alfred had Dick help Steph with an interrogation, then help Cass with an investigation, then just chat with Jason for a little while. Dick knew Alfred was just making sure he was busy, but he didn't resent it. Being busy was a good thing. Being busy meant he wasn't thinking about everything he'd done. Being busy meant he wasn't thinking about the consequences that would bring down on his family.

Finally, the night calmed, and the others started making noises about come back to the Cave. Dick listened, wondering how long it would be until someone actually arrived. As it turned out, it didn't take long; Duke and Damian were the first ones to arrive, their bikes screeching to a halt.

"Richard," Damian called sharply. "Are you truly unharmed?"

"Truly," Dick promised. "I'm healed."

Damian promptly punched him in the arm, then threw his arms around Dick's waist. "That was an idiotic move."

Dick shrugged as he hugged Damian back. "It worked, didn't it?"

"You all need to stop using that as a justification for the craziest things," Duke groaned.

Dick grinned and reached out one arm, and Duke grinned back as he stepped into the hug.

The next people to return were Cass and Steph, who both bounded forward to hug Dick once they'd climbed off their bikes. Dick hugged them back, gathering one in each arm and pulling them close. He even lifted them and spun them around. It was barely any effort now; if he was going to have meta powers from Deathstroke's serum, he might as well use them in the places they could best be used. He had a feeling his super strength might be nice for hugs, as long as he was careful about it.

Steph was giggling when he finally put them down. "I guess you're feeling better, then?"

"I'm fine, really," Dick replied. "Am I going to have to repeat that to everyone who comes in?"

Cass nodded. "You worried us," she signed. "You've been worrying us for a long time."

Dick offered her a sad, apologetic smile. "I'm sorry. I'm back now. I'm not going anywhere."

Tim was the next to return, and he didn't even pause to speak; he just barreled into Dick and clung to him tightly. Dick held him, one hand curled behind his head. "I've got you," he whispered into Tim's ear, and he felt Tim shudder against him.

"I hated leaving," Tim whispered. "I didn't know if you'd be able to get away."

"You did exactly right," Dick assured him. "Lucius was the target, so you had to get him to safety. Where is he, by the way?"

"I brought him to the police station," Tim replied. "There were still some cops there, and I figured it was the safest place that wasn't with one of us." He looked up at Dick. "Do you think Deathstroke is going to go after him again?"

"I don't think so. I can check his safe house tomorrow to see, but…" Dick thought about the look on Deathstroke's face before he'd put his helmet back on and walked away. "I told him to leave, and I think he's going to."

"Just because you told him to?" Tim asked, sounding a bit doubtful.

Dick had to admit, it didn't sound like much, but it didn't change the fact that he thought it was true. "Deathstroke and I… He owes me, and he knows it. And I told him to forget about the contract and leave Gotham."

Deathstroke had scoffed and told Dick he'd be dead without him. Dick knew that was true, but he didn't want to think about it.

"You will not check his safe house alone," Damian said sternly. He'd changed out of his costume and now wore pajama pants and a t-shirt Dick was fairly certain had originally belonged to him.

"Agreed," Steph said with a nod. She'd showered, judging by the damp tips of her hair, and changed as well. Dick also thought her oversized t-shirt looked somewhat familiar. "Someone else will go with you. Or, even better, someone else could go instead."

"Guys-"

"We do not want you near Deathstroke," Cass signed. Aloud, she added, "Not again."

Dick understood that, but he also knew that he was the sturdiest member of the family now, and if anyone was going to have to go up against Deathstroke, he wanted it to be him. He'd heal from bullet wounds in minutes. No one else would.

The sound of a motorcycle engine heralded Jason's arrival, and he immediately walked over to Dick and slugged him in the shoulder, much harder than Damian had hit him before. "You're an absolute idiot, and if you ever pull that shit again, I'll shoot you."

"I'd rather stay bullet-free for as long as I can," Dick replied, pulling Jason in for a hug. Jason squawked, but he didn't actually try to pull away, so Dick held him tighter. It felt good to have his family in his arms. Before his return to Gotham, he wasn't sure when he'd last hugged anyone. He certainly hadn't hugged Deathstroke. He may well not have hugged anyone in the past six months. Some positive, affectionate human contact was a nice change from the other contact he'd had recently.

The elevator doors opened with a ding, and Babs wheeled out. She must have driven back and come in through the civilian entrance. Dick met her halfway across the Cave and grinned. "Mind if I pick you up?"

"Just this once," Babs said, reaching up.

Dick lifted Babs up out of her chair and hugged her tightly, burying his face in her hair. She wrapped her arms around him, one hand rubbing soothing circles into his spine. Dick clung to her a moment longer, reveling in the momentary comfort of not being the oldest, of not being the responsible one in charge. He loved his siblings, of course, but his relationship with Babs had always been different. She was older than him, and they'd never had to be responsible for each other, and they could work together as equals. Dick didn't have to pretend for her. He still did, sometimes, but it wasn't like how he pretended for his siblings. It was okay if she knew he was only human.

After a few long moments, Dick lowered Babs back into her chair. "Thanks."

She smiled softly at him. "Of course."

"Fair warning," Tim called from over by the computer, "Bruce is going to be back in like two minutes, and he's going to give you a massive lecture."

"Ooh, Golden Boy is in trou-ble," Jason sing-songed.

"Bruce does realize I'm an adult who can make my own decisions, right?" Dick asked to the room at large. "And that I don't actually have to do what he says?"

"You scared the shit out of him," Babs said. "You scared the shit out of all of us, but the rest of us have at least some idea of how to process our emotions."

"In my defense, I didn't realize that the mask I took didn't have a functional comm."

"Did you take the suit from the display?" Duke asked, gesturing at the empty glass case.

"Yeah, that thing was creepy," Dick agreed.

"Thank you!" Jason yelled. "I've been trying to tell B that since he put it up. I didn't fight him on taking down mine just so he could put up one for you."

"Oh, there's no way I'm letting him keep that up, and I'm going to make it very clear that if anything happens to me, he's not allowed to get another one," Dick said. He noticed the way everyone flinched a little at the words and immediately regretted saying them. He should have known it was too soon for remarks like that.

The Batmobile roared into the Cave before Dick could say anything else. He watched as Bruce stepped out and ruthlessly squashed the little panicked voice that told him to be very, very careful. Bruce wasn't Deathstroke. He might be angry, and he might yell, but he would never hurt Dick. He was safe.

"Hey, B," Dick called, stepping forward and squashing the panic again. "I'm not hurt, everything is all healed up, and I don't regret going to help Tim but I am sorry that I scared all of you, and- Oh!"

Bruce swept him up in a tight hug, and although a tiny voice in the back of Dick's head screamed for him to break the hold and get out, he ignored it and hugged Bruce back. He could feel the tension in his father's body, and he could feel the way it slowly dissipated the longer they held each other. If Bruce just needed a hug, Dick was happy to give it to him.

"Never do that again," Bruce said, his voice a low growl in Dick's ear. "I can't lose you."

"I can't promise not to do it again," Dick replied quietly, "but I'm not that easy to lose. I'm not going anywhere."

Bruce just held him tighter. Dick could feel how his fists clenched around the soft fabric of the t-shirt. He held Bruce back, just as tight.

"Group hug!" Steph yelled, and a moment later, Dick felt the pressure of a few of his siblings throwing themselves at his back. It didn't take long for everyone to join in, and Dick laughed as he felt Damian wriggle behind him and heard him protest that Jason was squishing him. They were a large group to hug like this, but Dick wouldn't have it any other way.

"Welcome home," Bruce whispered into Dick's hair, and Dick smiled, because he was.