Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“You’d be a fun little bird to play with, hmm? Everyone always talks about how Robin’s don’t break, but I’m sure if I gave you a good enough beating then you’d start to scream wouldn’t you?”

Damian can’t speak for the tape over his mouth but his disagreement is written in his eyes and in how he pulls against the restraints. Muffled noises attempt to escape from Damian’s mouth, and they don’t sound pleased at all.

Still, Dick can’t stop his scowl as he watches Damian’s captor wander away to talk to someone else in the warehouse. A lieutenant, from what Dick had gathered while hiding above the pair on the support beams criss-crossing just below the ceiling. Damian had been captured a few hours earlier on patrol and the whole family had been out searching since. The warehouse they were in had some kind of tech suppressing the trackers Damian had on him so they’d had to search the hard way.

In the end, it was a warehouse in Dick’s section of the city to search that had made warning bells start ringing in his head and now here he was.

He hadn’t sent a message to anyone else in the family yet.

Dick couldn’t explain why (he could, he just didn’t want to), but he felt that it would be better to wait and gather more information first.

…Or give himself more people to fight, to get the anger out and get some blood on his knuckles. His family would be told, but only after Dick had neutralized the threat himself.

He wasn’t in the mood to be especially safe tonight. Proper procedure was out the window, backup unnecessary. Dick wasn’t an idiot for this, because no matter how angry and fiercely protective he was feeling he was he wouldn’t endanger Damian.

No, he wasn’t an idiot. Dick was just confident.

In himself, in his skills, in his current ice-cold bloodlust.

Dick wouldn’t need help, so he didn’t ask for it.

He breathed slow and deeply as he continued to survey the ground below, a sense of fiery anticipation settling in his gut. Damian looked relatively unharmed; all things considered. Just tied up and pissed off, a few rapidly darkening bruises creeping along any sliver of exposed skin, and up one side of his brothers face. What bothered Dick most was that his brother looked slightly disoriented but that was to be expected in a kidnapping situation. The man holding him however did seem inclined to torture if given enough time, so he had to act before that.

Nightwing had already scouted outside, and he began to move on the rafters to head back out. He would need to take those outside down first, so that their exit would be clear and so that once he started to engage with those inside the warehouse he wouldn’t be ambushed by more opponents. If he had his family with him, they could split off to take down both groups at once but Dick still couldn’t find it in himself to comm them and explain where he was.

They would all go down for hurting his brother, and they would all go down at his own hand.

Dick was at the edge of the warehouse, just about to go through a vent in the roof when the voice of Damian’s main captor reached his ears, the hard surfaces of the warehouse doing nothing to muffle sound.

“You’re in luck, little Robin. It just so happens that one of my men has some extensive experience in… persuasion. I’ve never learned the art myself, but I have an enthusiastic teacher,” Dick squinted to see the man’s grin widen uncomfortably, “And I have a test subject.”

Fuck. No.

Nightwing wasted no time in immediately leaving the warehouse with a renewed urgency. Time was working against him, Damian’s captors ramping it up unexpectedly quick. Fuck.

He had wanted to get more information before taking all the guards out. Needed to know who was going to come looking for them when it became clear they were gone, and whether this abduction of Robin was spur of the moment of planned. It was the right call to wait this long. Information was necessary, especially in a situation like this.

Still, he fucking hated himself for it as he heard a muffled screech from behind him. Damian’s.

Angry at himself for what he nonetheless knew was the right call, Dick let the emotion course through his body and then crackle out with the electricity of his escrima sticks as he hit the ground outside the warehouse and let them jut into the first guard. Then into someone else, and then another, then another. Dick was vindictive and he was fast. More brutal than normal, with the kind of efficiency he felt Slade would be thrilled to see from him. The thought made him scowl, and his next blow to someone’s sternum was harsh enough that it sent his opponent to the ground with a sickening crack. Dick sneered at the blood spattered around him. He had to finish this quickly and then get back to his brother.

God help anyone who got in his way.

It took only a few minutes for every single body but his own to be on the ground.

Only one of his escrima sticks was left in his hand, and he felt the sensation of blood on his knuckles, and the beginnings of it crusting along the surface of his suit. Dick couldn’t quite remember how any of it got there…

It didn’t matter though, not when it was for Damian.

Barely any time was taken to locate the missing escrima stick to where it had been flung in the battle. The handful more seconds it took to scale the side of the warehouse noiselessly to crawl back into the roof to run along the support beams felt too long. Damian’s pained noises had cut off very quickly after Dick had gotten outside – or at least he hadn’t been able to hear them – but Dick also knew that didn’t necessarily mean anything good.

Once his youngest brother was in sight, Dick saw red.

Damian physically didn’t look too bad; it was nowhere even close to the worst injuries the kid had ever had. Still, the shallow cuts trailing up one of Damian’s arms where his suit had been cut away were enough for him to feel another crashing wave of cold fury.

The main captor was listening intently as another man, presumably the lackey who had torture skills, described how best to injure someone in a way that caused pain but wouldn’t likely cause death. The shallow cuts made sense, Dick supposed, but even with the comparatively mild injuries to what could have been inflicted, he wouldn’t be showing any mercy.

It was Damian’s posture though, that sent a wash of terrified alarm crawling up his throat to make his breath hitch. His youngest brother – his Robin – was barely moving, and his breathing seemed shallow. Damian’s shoulders shook a little with every too-quick inhale and Dick wasn’t sure if he was glad or not for the domino mask.

On the one hand, he couldn’t gauge Damian’s condition better with the white-out lenses over his brother’s eyes. On the other, he didn’t want to know what would be found behind them because Dick would genuinely throw up if he had to see his Robin look afraid while being unable to immediately come to his side and comfort him.

Damian wouldn’t be there for much longer, he soothed himself, though the swirling maelstrom of fury didn’t quiet inside him.

The two captors were busy discussing the benefits of certain types of blades and Dick would almost be impressed with the commitment of the main abductor if Damian wasn’t his test subject. If his younger brother wasn’t desperately trying not to appear scared as people around him clinically discussed the best ways to bring him to ruin.

Dick took a deep breath.

Inhale.

He gave his escrima sticks an experimental twirl, watching as some of the fresher blood flicked off. Normally he didn’t end up with much blood on him, his typical fighting style keeping him quick and giving injuries unlikely to cause external bleeds. This wasn’t a normal situation, and he wasn’t fighting like it.

Dick watched as a droplet of red slid off the edge of one of his sticks onto the beam below him. He saw Damian shudder.

A familiar sense of cold apathy washed over him.

Exhale.

Dick was twirling through the air and hitting the ground before his lungs could finish contracting. The second guy – the one experienced in torture, the one who must have initially demonstrated the shallow cuts along Damian’s arm – was down before he could scream. A deceptively deafening crunch follow his unconscious body to the ground.

The first of Damian’s captors, the one who was leading this -- the one who wanted to torture his kid – stumbled back, yelling in alarm. It took several seconds for the other guards and lackeys in the warehouse to swarm around Dick. Too long, he mused, beginning to swing one of the sticks into somebodies face with another distinct crack. If they wanted to get Nightwing, they’d have to be so much quicker than that.

It didn’t take him long to finish off the whole group, a few well-timed kicks helping to unbalance his opponents. Unpredictability was important against this many enemies, he considered idly, sending the last man down to the ground with a pained shout, electricity running through his body as Dick’s escrima stick also slammed into his stomach.

Dick took one breath, a tiny, satisfied noise. He twirled his weapons again, loosening his wrists up as-

“Put down your weapons,” a voice demanded, and Dick instantly whipped around to see the main kidnapper having returned to the fight, and pick up a blade and move toward Damian, still tied up away from the rest of the fight, “I’ll slit his throat if you don’t!“

Rookie mistake. Have a knife at your hostage’s throat before making a threat.

Before the man could actually draw the blade to Damian’s neck, Dick saw his chance and was moving. He was always known for his speed; this was even faster than usual. He was dropping one escrima stick to reach and twist the blade away from his Robin before the other man could blink.

He was clearly inexperienced, even beyond not being familiar with how to torture. Maybe this was spur of the moment, just a random guy that got lucky beyond his actual skills. Dick couldn’t help but snort, cruel amusement curling in his cut.

“Should’ve been quicker,” he mocked, pitching his voice slow and condescending, “If you wanted to try and take what’s mine.”

Without any further warning Dick pulled the man away from Robin’s side, simultaneously twisting his arm unnaturally. The noise he received was half a gasp and half a scream.

“Your name?” Dick queried, watching as the man’s face contorted into a horrible grimace.

The kidnapper grit his teeth and shook his head, “No, I won’t tell you tha- Fuck!” Dick smiled faintly as the man tried to shift away from Dick’s currently electrified escrima stick. He wasn’t able to go far, and the gasps of pain Dick got were immensely satisfying.

After a moment he took his thumb off the button on his weapon, and the man sagged slightly, looking up at Dick with something wary and terrified in his eyes.

“Name?”

This time, all the man could do was close his eyes meaningfully and let his head drop, as though ashamed and trying to hide, “…Oscar Brant.”

Dick thought for a moment, “Never heard of you.”

“I… I’m new to Gotham,” Brant sounded miserable. Good.

All he could do was huff an amused breath, “Yeah no shit. I’d love to spend more time with you, but I’ve got to be getting Robin home too. So, while this will need to be quick, I’ll be nice and give you a little lesson while I’m here hmm? This is going to be crucial to you surviving in Gotham, okay?”

Brant nodded shakily, eyes wide.

Dick smiled without pleasure, “So here’s the thing, we’ve got a lot of vigilantes here. Batman is probably the one you think of most yeah?” Dick didn’t wait for a nod from Brant before continuing, “Well, he’s got a whole collection of other bats that inhabit this city. A few others, too, but Gotham is our main place of residence. And the thing that you need to know – the thing that might save your life one day – is that all of them, every single bat in this city and beyond…”

He raises the escrima stick from being placed threateningly into Brant’s stomach to instead pressing into the man’s throat. Dick makes sure to look into the criminal’s eyes and examine every inch of terror locked in his expression.

“All of them are mine,” Dick hisses, “My family. And I will not hesitate to ruin anybody that comes after any one of them.”

Brant was nodding frantically, but he wasn’t finished.

Dick was perhaps more Batman than Nightwing in the next moment, as he gestures back to the chair Damian is still in. His posture has relaxed, no longer shaking so much. Dick hopes it is because Damian knows that his older brother has come for him. He fights against the itch to immediately go to Damian’s side; Dick has to make damn sure that Damian’s captor knows better after this. He needs to put the fear of God – or more accurately, the fear of an angry Nightwing – into him.

He looks back to Brant.

“This one, he’s not quite the same as the rest. I will go to the ends of the earth for all of them, no exceptions. However, this one, this one is my Robin.”

He pushes forward and Brant goes stumbling back, just managing to keep upright. He looks terrified. God, Gotham is going to eat him alive.

“Mine,” Dick snarls again to ensure the point sticks, his voice sounding foreign even to himself with how vicious it is.

The man chokes on a gasp as one of the escrima sticks presses further against his throat. Dick doesn’t relent.

“…Yours,” Brant spits out, and Nightwing raises an eyebrow.

“Anyone send you?” He asks dispassionately. The change in topic is sudden but Dick knows that he’d probably start something he wouldn’t be able to stop if he continued going down that train. Dick was also aware that if his mask was off now then his eyes would be burning with cold fury. Wally had told him once that it was one of the most terrifying things he’d ever seen.

Brant is shaking his head before Dick has even finished speaking, “No! No, we just…”

“Just got lucky?” Dick mocks, unable to resist a mean smirk, “There’s no room for that in Gotham, not when you take a Robin.”

And it seems that Brant has at least some common sense because he looks at Nightwing with pure terror and a dawning, horrified understanding, “I think I’m getting that.”

An automatic laugh rips out of Dick before he can stop it, “That’s good, but let’s not pretend you’re ever going to get a second chance. You knowing better now means fuck all, because you will not be touching him again. Here’s what will happen, I’m going to give you a choice alright? Because you might be lying to me – Nuh uh, none of that,” Dick raises a hand to stall the desperate protests from Brant, “You could be lying, and we need to make sure you aren’t. Your choice is who will be getting that information out of you. I assume you’ve heard of the Red Hood?”

After a moment where the man’s eyes widen, horrified, Brant gives a shaky nod, “Yes… the crime lord.”

Dick smiles. It isn’t nice. “That’s the one. You’re choice is between me and him. No other options here, Brant, me, or the Red Hood. Who do you want to interrogate you?”

Brant audibly swallows, eyes darting nervously around. His mind clearly spins at the question but comes to a conclusion surprisingly quick. He is shaking and doesn’t meet Dick’s eyes as he mutters, “Red Hood,” the man tacks on as an afterthought, “Please.”

Nightwing resists the urge to frown in disappointment, though he knows that this will probably be good for Jason to do. His little wing has a similar protective streak and Dick supposes that it would be cruel to completely stop Jason from indulging it. On the other hand, it is promising that someone who clearly knows Jason as a dangerous crime lord would still prefer his interrogation to Dick’s. As long as Brant knows exactly what will happen to him if he harms a Robin – as long as he knows that Nightwing will be so much worse than a crime lord – then Dick is satisfied.

Brant eyes him warily, “What are you going to do to me for now?”

Dick bites back a scowl as he moves his thumb over to the button on his escrima stick that will activate the electricity. He takes one last look at the terror in Brant’s face and knows he’s gotten his message across. Even so… “I’m going to do so much less than you deserve.”

He stabs the stick forward into Brant’s throat, pressing the button and watching as Brant drops to the ground, gasping and convulsing. Once the twitching and screaming has stopped, having fallen out of the range of Dick’s weapon, Brant reaches up and grasps desperately along his neck. Faintly fascinated, Dick distantly wonders what it feels like to get to so many volts directly to the throat. He’d always had a particular interest in electricity and its effects.

Brant was extremely out of it now, and Dick found his last piece of satisfaction in pulling his arm back from the kneeling figure in front of him. He put as much force as possible into slamming the escrima stick over Brant’s face and sending him sprawling entirely over the ground, unconscious. The man would have a very nasty bruise, Dick was sure.

The thought made him smile.

That satisfaction – and the pleasure of knowing he was succeeding in saving Damian – were almost immediately washed away by guilt.

He probably should have called the others. He should have done this right and not gotten so angry. He should have-

Dick sighed, knowing that he couldn’t have done this any other way. Brant was only ever going to go down from his blows, Dick wouldn’t allow anything else. Protective fury was nothing unfamiliar to him, and he took a breath, trying to let the feeling settle back down inside him for the next time it would be useful. This wasn’t the first time and unfortunately wouldn’t be the last time that he went a little… wild in defence of his loved ones.

A deep breath.

He turned away from the unconscious figure of Brant, moving inhumanely quick back to the chair Damian was tied up on. It was like a calling he was powerless to resist, not that he wanted to. The desire to be back at his Robin’s side was all-consuming. Dick deftly ignored the assorted people littered around the rest of the warehouse, all knocked out and heavily injured by him. He had more important things to focus on.

The gag came off first and Damian didn’t speak for a moment, and Dick felt his own terror swell, bile rising in his throat, “Robin?”

It took a few moments for his brother’s head to tilt over to him and Dick resented the domino for hiding Damian’s eyes.

“Ni…Nightwing?”

“Hey bud,” Dick could almost sob from relief, “You alright? I’ve got you now.”

Damian’s head lolled back for a minute, “Good…”

“Robin,” he prompted again, starting on the restrains holding Damian down. Dick scanned Damian’s body for any more injuries because it seemed that he was significantly more out of it than he should be for the injuries he had. It could just be some kind of trauma response but to be frank Dick knew Damian had gone through worse things than this and come out practically chipper (or at least what qualified for chipper when it came to Damian), “Did they drug you?”

“No,” Damian murmured and Dick’s body eased slightly at the answer, “The… initial abduction. They were sloppy, I hit my head.”

Dick frowned and after he undid the last of the ropes tying Damian in place he leaned up to gently prod Damian’s head to feel for any kind of bump, cut, or other injury. Damian remained limp in the chair, letting Dick do as he pleased. He couldn’t stop a displeased noise from escaping as his fingers ran over a bit of swelling. A careless injury did support the theory that this was a random abduction by a group of amateurs which was a small relief but head injuries were frequently troublesome. He scanned over the rest of Damian’s body that he could see and it did seem like the head injury was the biggest concern, everything else was fairly minor and the bruises seemed to look worse than they were. It had been a rather long patrol even before Damian was taken, so the poor kid is probably also just absolutely exhausted. None of this stopped Dick from needing to exhale sharply from his nose, trying not to let the protective fury show too much on his face.

“Come on Robin,” Dick says softly after he’s finished checking Damian over, trying not to speak too loud so that he doesn’t aggravate the injury, “We’ve got to get out of here and get you home to rest.”

It’s a testament to Damian’s exhaustion that he doesn’t fight against the contact, instead letting himself be gently wrapped up into Dick’s arms so that he can be carried out.

“Talk to me, hmm?” Dick murmurs as they start the journey out of the warehouse past all of the unconscious bodies Dick had littered across the ground. He doesn’t send a glance back to the man he’s left sprawled among the chaos. The only thing he’s really sure of (beyond the fact that Damian is his and anyone who tries to hurt his Robin won’t be walking away unscathed) is that he’s going to have a lot of blood to wash out of his suit.

Damian only gives him a long hum in response, tilting his head into the crook between Dick’s neck and shoulder. If it was in any different situation Dick would be thrilled by Damian seeking out contact. As it is though, he can only be relieved by the fact that his little brother seems to be getting some comfort from being held by him.

“It’s alright,” he continues to reassure as they make their way outside, “We’ll get you home and then you can have some rest.”

After they are out in the open air Dick turns his comm back on to let the others know that he has Damian.

”What?!” Steph is the first to respond, breathless but relieved.

The blonde was his Batgirl, and Damian their Robin. She understands Dick’s relationship to the youngest Wayne in a way that the others don’t.

“Do you need help or-“ Duke cuts in as well.

“No,” Dick sweeps his voice over them all, silencing Duke and the other voices that have joined in, “I got everyone down – seems like a group of amateurs but I’d say we should still more thoroughly talk to the leader. Damian is safe, I have him with me. No urgent injuries, though he does have some swelling on his head and is a bit disoriented. We’re going back to the cave, so Batman I’d appreciate it if you could bring the Batmobile over to us.”

“On my way,” Bruce sounds no less intense now than he ever does, but Dick thinks he can hear relief in the man’s voice.

“I’ll meet you at the cave,” Steph’s tone leaves no room for argument.

Dick smiles over Damian’s head, “Great.”

“Hood and I are together; we’ll come too and check over where he was being held,” Tim says.

“Sounds good,” Jason affirms, and his voice is a little more vindictive as he adds, “I’d be happy to get some more information from the leader N.”

Dick gives them the address and after Tim tells him that he and Red Hood are on their way, Cass is the next to speak up, “The rest of us will stay out?”

Batman grunts an affirmative and Barbara is quick to follow up, “I’ll stay on comms for you and everyone else around tonight.”

“Alright then.” Dick sounds too chipper to his own ears, but he knows relentless energy and optimism is what his family expects from him, “Be quick, and I’ll keep an eye on Robin in the meantime.”

“Tell Robin I hope he is well,” Cass says.

Dick feels warmth for his family swell in his chest, “Will do.”

The comms go quiet after that and Dick mutes his own so that he can return all of his focus to Damian. He shifts Damian in his arms so that he can move one hand up and run his fingers through his Robin’s hair.

Damian impossibly melts more into the hold and is completely slack against him.

Dick continues to quietly talk to him – passing along Cass’s message -- not wanting to make too much noise but also not wanting Damian to go to sleep yet. He rambles about anything he can think of and ends up mentioning some of his favourite tricks from his circus days, along with a couple more he’s come up with since.

“I’d love to show you one day,” Dick says before he can think better of it.

There’s a beat of silence and then Damian murmurs back, apparently having been listening to him even while a bit disoriented and extremely tired, “I would like that.”

Dick feels warmth bursting through his chest because god he loves this kid. On a whim, he presses a kiss to Damian’s hair, “When you’ve recovered, then.”

He feels more than sees Damian nod slightly before his youngest brother finally decides that he’s had enough of the contact and starts to shift until Dick sets him on the ground. At least, that’s what Dick thinks until Damian says, voice too weary for his age, “I would prefer not to appear so weak before the others.”

Before Bruce, Dick thinks, because that’s who it always comes down to in the end. Still, all he can do is murmur, “Needing – or just wanting - affection isn’t weak.”

It’s a discussion they’ve had before and Damian allows a small, hesitant nod. Damian must know he’s thinking of Bruce though, because he lets himself sway into Dick’s side for a brief moment more, “Father… will not be pleased.”

No, he won’t, he probably won’t talk to you much if at all for a few days at best, and a few weeks at worst. Not a few months, like he might have a couple years ago, not when I’m going to be here to stop it before it gets that bad. He won’t act like a father should, he will clam up to protect himself even if all its doing is hurting you. Bruce won’t be good at this like you need. He doesn’t deserve you. He doesn’t deserve you. He doesn’t deserve you. He doesn’t-

“It’ll be okay,” Dick murmurs over his storming thoughts, though he knows Damian probably sees through it. Comforting words can still mean something even if they don’t get to the heart of the issue, “I’ll be at the manor for a while, so I can keep you company. I’ll be there so often you’ll get sick of me.”

It’s a pathetic attempt at a joke, but he expects Damian to scoff either way.

He doesn’t expect for Damian to gently reach for his hand and hold on like the physical connection between them is his only tether to the world. He doesn’t expect for Damian to look up to meet his eye, something both distraught and sincere aching in his gaze despite the lingering tiredness.

“I don’t think I could get sick of you,” Damian says, too honest, and Dick can’t help the way his heart aches in his chest.

“I couldn’t get sick of you either,” Dick replies, and it feels too insignificant for the sea of emotion wailing in his chest. It’s honest, though, and that’s all he can offer Damian in this moment.

His Robin must understand, because after all their work they made their way to being in sync and never quite fell out of it again even after Bruce reclaimed Batman. Damian smiles at him.

It brief and small and Dick returns it with his own, though it’s a far cry from the mega-watt grin he gives to the press.

Damian squeezes his hand, leaning forward like he wants to say something, a question in his eyes-

“Robin! Nightwing!” Tim’s voice cuts through the moment and Damian’s warmth is gone from his side in an instant.

Dick turns to see Red Robin swing down from some rooftop and he looks relieved to see them. Something in Dick’s chest settles even as he feels colder without a small hand in his. Another of his brothers is safe in his line of sight.

“B is bringing the batmobile, he’s… two minutes out, I think – and so is Hood, he went to go meet up with him first - from the next street over if you can make it there Robin?”

“Yes,” Damian nods, and Dick tries not to mourn how the kid stands straight and rigid like he wasn’t just held captive and beaten. Like he has no room to be in pain.

He tries not to mourn for the fact that in this family it may well be the truth.

“Good,” Tim looks incredibly more relieved for a moment and the ghost of an affectionate smile wisps across his face as he says, “Glad you’re back in one piece.”

“Tt,” is all Damian gives in reply, but Dick doesn’t think he’s imagining the grateful tone behind it, or the slight way Damian untenses.

Dick throws an arm around his youngest brother, wanting to comfort Damian as much as himself that the younger is still alive and well (with well being a relative term). Damian offers a token protest, but doesn’t brush him off, not until the batmobile appears in their line of sight and Dick starts moving away before Damian has a chance to push him.

God, what a fucking mess.

A few minutes later, once Damian has been bundled up safely into the Batmobile and Tim’s already poking around outside the warehouse, but before he and Damian have been taken home (because god forbid Dick lets his Robin out of his line of sight right now), he pulls Jason aside.

The man scowls initially but upon seeing that it’s Dick settles somewhat. When Dick tells him that the leader is there inside, Jason’s gaze goes darker. And then, when Dick tells him that the man had been preparing to torture Damian Jason looks positively furious.

It can’t possibly match up to Dick’s own rage, but he is warmed by the fact that his brothers have all bonded to the point of being protective over each other.

“You can’t kill him,” is all Dick says, and he carefully keeps his tone firm but not too harsh. No need to start a fight or give an indication of how pissed off he really is.

Jason’s eyes narrow but after a moment he nods, “He’s got information we need?”

“Yes,” Dick says, “And… I think he’ll be more receptive to you.”

“Letting the Red Hood scare him huh? Nightwing not got enough of an intimidation factor?” Jason teases, anger easing slightly and taking a backseat.

Dick is quietly proud of Jason for his control as he gives an easy smile, like he hadn’t offered that scum the choice between him or the Red Hood. Like the man hadn’t been shaking and terrified, unable to meet Dick’s eyes as he’d said he would prefer to talk to the Red Hood.

“Unfortunately, people seem to think I’m the nice one,” he laughs, as though it isn’t a reputation he purposefully encourages just for moments like this. Moments when peeling back the smile to show his anger underneath has more of an effect on people than if Nightwing had a vicious reputation.

It was always scarier when the ‘nice one’ snapped.

Jason snorts, “You don’t help yourself there N, with your whole… thing,” his brother makes a vague gesture towards him, “All the jokes especially make you seem way too cheerful to be a terrifying vigilante.”

“You make your fair share of quips too,” he gives a token protest.

“Yeah,” Jason grins, “But I’ve got guns.”

Dick laughs again and Jason takes this as his cue to venture into the warehouse to find the man who captured Damian. He trusts that the Red Hood will get all the necessary information out of him.

If not, Nightwing can always pay him another visit.

So, Dick gets into the Batmobile and politely brushes off the questions about what he’d been talking to Jason about as he presses himself as close as he can to Damian. It’s not strictly necessary, the Batmobile has more than enough space, but Damian leans into the touch and it shouldn’t look too out of place to Bruce. Dick gets to comfort his brother, and Damian doesn’t have to deal with believing Bruce thinks he’s any sort of weaker for it. Regardless of what Bruce actually thinks, Damian will always feel he doesn’t live up to expectations.

Eventually, he says that Jason was interrogating the guy who grabbed Damian and Bruce gives him a disapproving glance from the driver’s seat.

“Red Hood is not-“

“-Using actual bullets tonight, remember? We need information, so J won’t kill the guy.”

Bruce looks annoyed still, but Dick knows he’ll be proven right. Jason won’t kill the dirtbag, he trusts that because he believes Jason will listen to him. If Jason happens to make the man a little more miserable and maybe give him a few more bruises to add to the collection Dick has left well…

Who could blame him? Dick certainly wouldn’t, and if Bruce tries then Dick knows which side of the argument he’ll be on.

Instead of trying to press the point, Dick just turns to Damian next to him. The poor kid looks exhausted but is making a valiant show of pretending he isn’t. Dick feels another swell of resentment for the fact that this act is for Bruce’s benefit. Batman hasn’t ever done well when a Robin was injured, but Bruce is always worse.

He settles and lets his hand brush over Damian’s to give it a quick squeeze before pulling back and turning his gaze to the window. Damian lets out a small breath next to him.

“Predominantly just bruises,” Alfred is quick to diagnose once they are back in the cave and out of their suits, relief clear on his face, “Nothing lasting.”

Bruce eases with this information too, and after a nod is quickly sweeping out of the room. Steph scowls at him, though she seems just as relieved as Dick that Damian is alright.

Dick can’t manage to feel better with how Damian’s face crumples a little as the kid takes in his father’s rapidly vanishing back. Fucking Bruce, unable to just say that he gave a shit about his kids and was worried about them.

“Alfie?” Dick asks, giving his sweetest smile that even after all these years makes Alfred soften to him, “So Damian is okay to sleep in his own room?”

“Yes master Dick,” Alfred nods, a knowing glint in his eyes.

He claps his hands together, “Wonderful, would you mind making some hot chocolate and bringing it up to us there?”

The butler sends him a warm smile and then one to Damian as well, “Of course.”

Steph gives him an equally understanding look and she calls to Alfred as he goes, “None for me thanks, I’m going to go back out in a minute.”

Alfred gives a serene nod, and Steph returns the gesture before moving to Damian’s side with an easy grin as she leans to gently squeeze his hand, “Glad you’re okay Damian. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

In an entirely characteristic move, Damian doesn’t acknowledge the touch beyond turning his nose up even as he answers with something grateful in his eyes, “Goodnight Brown. Don’t be foolish on patrol.”

Steph squeezes Damian’s hand once more before turning to Dick and giving him a quick nod with too much understanding in her eyes that he returns before she is sweeping out of the room as well.

It’s only after she vanishes fully through the doorway that Damian turns to him with a question in his eyes. “Hot chocolate?”

Dick moves to Damian’s side and ruffles the kid’s hair, pleased when Damian doesn’t even offer up his usual protests. The pleasure quickly dies as he considers that it’s likely because his poor Robin just wants some affection after being kidnapped. Even if it only lasted a few hours and is hardly the most traumatic thing Damian has ever been through, he’s still a kid and kidnappings aren’t easy. Dick is able to admit that well… he maybe isn’t the best person to understand how to empathize here because to be frank kidnappings are routine to him. The ‘boy hostage’ nickname didn’t come out of nowhere after all.

Regardless, he lets his hand gently settle on Damian’s shoulder, “Hot chocolate will warm you up a bit more, and it’s a good comfort drink.”

It speaks to the trust between them that his youngest brother doesn’t immediately scowl and say that such things are beneath him. Damian has come to learn that he’s allowed to need or want things like this. Small luxuries to make life a little easier.

Dick is just pleased that he’s been able to contribute to teaching Damian that.

“Curling up in bed with hot chocolate is the medicine I’m prescribing you,” Dick smiles gently, “And then get loads of rest.”

“It was hardly the worst experience Richard; I don’t believe that I need such care. Never mind that sweet drinks are no kind of medicine.”

He can’t help the endeared grin that blooms over his face, “None of that matters, because can’t I just want an excuse to spend some time with my Robin?”

Damian, somewhat predictably, eases immediately and gives a proud smile that the kid quickly tries to smother with a scowl, “You’re too clingy Richard, but I suppose it cannot be helped. If you insist we must drink hot chocolate then I will allow it.”

“I’m glad,” and Dick can feel his heart bursting with love for his little Robin. He eyes how tired the kid is and remembers how dead on his feet he’d been before, “Want me to carry you up?”

The relaxation of moments before snaps away and Damian tenses automatically. He shoots a few nervous glances around the empty cave as if to make sure they are really alone before he finally looks back to Dick. Damian looks unbearably young as he gives a quick, quiet nod.

Dick smiles again, hoping it doesn’t betray how devastated he feels for his kid. God, Damian deserves so much better than the emotional constipation of them all. He curls his arms around his Robin and Damian helps by winding his own around Dick’s neck to have a better grip. Damian sinks into his arms like he’s been waiting for them and presses his face into the space between Dick’s neck and his shoulder. They are pressed together as closely as possible, and Dick breathes easier with Damian in his arms.

The trip upstairs is long only for the size of the manor, not because Dick struggles at all to carry Damian. He’s strong from a lifetime of acrobatics that require nothing less than peak physicality and from the years of being a hero. Even without that, Damian is so small in his embrace even if Dick knows one day he’ll likely grow up to be taller than all of them except probably Jason and maybe Bruce.

Damian is a child, and he deserves so much better than the life he has.

Dick can only hope that what he can give is enough regardless.

Several hours later Damian has gone to sleep after he’d stayed up with Dick even despite his exhaustion. The pair of them sitting up in Damian’s bed drinking hot chocolate and just talking about anything and everything. Dick hears a lot about school, stuff he’s not had the chance to learn much since Bruce came back. It’s… painfully similar to his days as batman. Where most of the time it was just the two of them, Alfred always lingering in the background until he felt he was needed. Similarly, tonight Alfred comes up to collect their mugs and sends them both a look of unbearable fondness, even as Dick sees his own sadness reflected in the older man’s eyes.

“Master Damian misses you,” Alfred says, as he ventures into the room to take their mugs and press a kiss to Damian’s forehead at the same time.

“…I miss him too,” Dick murmurs. Everyday.

The butler nods knowingly, “I hope you will visit more, master Dick.”

He looks up from watching Damian’s sleeping form, always so much more peaceful than he is when awake. “Yeah, I’ll… I’ll try.”

“I’m glad,” Alfred comes to the other side of the bed and Dick can’t do anything but blink in surprise when the man leans down to press a kiss to his forehead as well, “Master Damian is not the only one who misses you.”

Dick feels his chest cleave in two even as warmth floods through him, “Thanks Alfie.”

“Of course, dear boy,” his grandfather smiles softly and with an affection that makes a lump form in Dick’s throat, “Now lets leave the young master to his rest.”

All Dick can do is nod, and he slips gently out of the bed and tucks the covers back around his Robin, brushing a few errant strands away from Damian’s face.

Alfred lingers a few moments to watch before finally turning to go, “Goodnight master Dick.”

“’Night Alfie,” he sends the butler a grateful look before pressing his own kiss to Damian’s forehead, “Night Dami, sleep well.”

There’s no response from the sleeping Robin, but Dick can only smile at the way his kid settles down further into the blankets. He stands slowly and after a final glance at Damian, safe and asleep where no harm will come to him, he turns off the lights before heading to his own room.

Dick doesn’t get more than a few steps down the hall before another figure rounds the corner and he rears back to see-

“Jason?” He can’t help how surprised he sounds. Dick really wouldn’t have expected him at the manor tonight, considering that Jason prefers to spend his nights in his own safehouses. Since they’ve all been getting along a bit better Jason occasionally spends the night but its always a rare occasion.

“Came to drop off the info to B,” Jason says by way of explanation, but there’s a strange look on his face.

Dick barely avoids narrowing his eyes, instead choosing to roll the tension out of his shoulders and hum, “Yeah? Did the guy have much to say?”

Jason’s stare is piercing, “Oh yeah. Acted absolutely terrified before I even came in.”

He knows.

“Huh, weird. Guess maybe your reputation is more fearsome than you thought,” Dick keeps his voice mild.

“Guess so,” Jason looks harder at him, like he’s trying to see Dick’s soul.

But a battle of wills is a battle Dick was never going to lose, and Jason blinks first. Still, Jason wouldn’t be himself if he wasn’t inhumanely determined and unable to be deterred.

“Lots of bodies on the floor,” Jason remarks, also too casual, “Lots of pretty harsh injuries too, by the looks of it.”

“Well,” Dick shrugs, like they weren’t some of the most pathetic people he’d ever fought, “You know how it goes sometimes. Every now and then you have some particularly durable criminals.”

At this Jason snorts – seemingly automatic – breaking the illusion of the conversation, “Yeah fucking right.”

“What do you want me to say?” Dick raises an eyebrow and keeps his voice even, “Damian was in danger, and I did what was necessary. Nothing more than what they deserved.”

“Hah,” Jason half-laughs, with a faint surprise in his eyes even as he visibly assesses Dick, “Can’t argue with that.”

Dick nods, trying to understand his angle here, “Glad you agree.”

“No harm comes to a Robin right?” Jason asks after a beat and it’s a testament to all of their progress that he doesn’t sound bitter.

“Never again,” Dick says honestly as he makes eye contact with his brother, It’s a promise, an oath, a plea, and a threat to anyone who dares touch his family.

Jason nods, and there’s a respect there that wasn’t before, along with a burning protectiveness, “Never again,” he echoes.

Dick smiles, and it isn’t nice or soft like the ones he was giving to Alfred and Damian mere minutes ago. Instead, this is a smile that only he and Jason need to know about. One that seals this promise that they are making, a pact between the older brothers to protect their siblings. Bright and violent and so full of love.

Never again.

Not to my family.

Not to my Robin.

Chapter Text

The first time it happens in front of someone else in their family, Dick is barely paying attention to it, not specifically.

It’d been a long, long night. An Arkham breakout that required all hands on deck. Just about everyone has come back to the manor afterwards, preparing to mindlessly made their way to bed.

Dick isn’t asleep yet. Neither is Bruce.

This is because out in the field earlier Robin had disobeyed an order from Batman to sit out of a fight. Instead, Damian had seen some civilians in trouble a street over and gone to help them. He’d gotten mildly injured – Alfred had checked him over the moment they got back home and declared it something that would heal in just a few days. Regardless, Bruce had been furious as soon as he couldn’t find Robin in the exact same spot as he left him and didn’t hear a word else about it. Not even when every single other member of the family had insisted that Damian was right to go help and that sometimes they just got hurt. Bruce had snarled that no; his word was final and he couldn’t work if he couldn’t trust his Robin to obey.

Dick had felt an ancient fire spark in him at that. He’d smiled at his siblings, including Damian who had gone increasingly quiet ever since coming back to the cave. His Robin looked wary and scared, and Dick did his best to look reassuring.

“It’s been a long night guys, I think we all need some sleep before saying anything drastic.”

Everyone in the room except for Damian and Bruce had tensed at that. They all looked at Dick cautiously, clearly knowing what was about to happen, but obediently herded Damian upstairs with the help of Alfred who sent Dick an approving smile. Jason too, paused to look back.

No harm comes to a Robin. Never again.

Their promise echoes in Dick’s ears and he lets the grin on his face widen into something less restrained and friendly. Jason seems to take this in the spirit it was intended and gives his own nod, disappearing a moment later upstairs.

Then, his focus is entirely on Bruce, his world narrowing solely to the two of them as Dick feels his anger burn under his skin and prepares to spit it out from his mouth.

“You’re a fucking asshole sometimes Bruce,” Dick begins candidly, saving his true vitriol for when it’ll actually be needed.

Bruce doesn’t look away from the Batcomputer for a moment, but his posture does tighten, “You were right Dick, it’s been a long night. Maybe you should just-“

“No,” Dick smoothly cuts his father off, “You don’t get to postpone this conversation, or try to avoid it entirely. Not like you avoid the fact that your worry for your children has turned instead into something you channel into hurting them. Damian did the right thing tonight. And I know you’re worried about him and what could happen. I know. You want him to be safe and for you that means keeping him under lock and key right?”

Bruce doesn’t say anything, just stays hunched over in front of the computer. He’s stopped typing, and the artificial light silhouettes him.

“Yeah, yeah it does,” Dick answers himself scornfully, “And maybe that works with objects, maybe you can keep old suits and trophies but you can’t do that with people. Damian is a human being, and one that’s been trained – by you and by me – to do the right thing. You cannot honestly treat him like that for trying to help people. B, you need to express yourself in a way that isn’t fucking anger. Especially to your child.”

At this, Bruce finally turns and stands. His face is dark, and uncharitably Dick is half surprised he’s not still wearing the cowl. Hiding his feelings behind a mask is practically an art form when Bruce does it.

“Nightwing-“

“Oh? Before I was Dick but now I’m Nightwing huh? Please, keep trying to distance yourself from someone who’s known you and been your family for over a decade.”

Bruce snarls, “You don’t have any idea what it’s like to be responsible for-“

Dick actually laughs, sharp and bitter, “Do not start that fucking conversation with me Bruce. Not when I’ll be the one winning it.”

“With your experience being Batman?” His father snaps, “I’ve been wearing the cowl longer than you ever did-“

“I’ve been a vigilante since I was in the fucking single digits. You may have a few years on me, sure, and I may not have been Batman for long but you have no fucking room to pretend I have any less experience with responsibility. I took care of Damian. I’ve trained the other Robin’s just like you have. I’ve led the Titans for years. I have my own city that I protect on my own – for longer than you’ve ever been solo in Gotham by the way. I came on the scene pretty early in your career.”

Bruce doesn’t seem to have anything to say to that and Dick can only laugh meanly, “Oh get over yourself. We both know the weight of having a Robin B. Damian was mine first. And with that I know that he deserves so much better than this. I managed to balance my worry for him with the fact that I can’t protect him from absolutely everything. You need to as well. All you can do is protect him as much as you can without restricting his freedom. Be his fucking safety net Bruce, don’t be a control freak!”

His father scowls harshly, “I can’t just-“

“Don’t fucking act like you’re incapable of this!” he hisses, trying to find a crack in the other man’s expression, “Damian needs you to do better than this. You’re his father and you need to start fucking acting like it.”

Bruce looks impressively stoic across from him, except for a twitch in his jaw that Dick fixes onto like a bloodhound. “This isn’t a thing you can half-ass, you can’t do what you did with me.”

At this, Bruce finally snarls back, something sparking in the man’s expression, “And what did I do with you, Dick? I gave you a home, people to love you. I gave you a name-“

“No, the fuck you didn’t!” Dick almost screams, impossibly more angry than he was before, “Robin was mine first. It still is mine.”

“It belongs to Damian now,” Bruce scowls, somehow missing the fucking point entirely, “But even that might be a mistake. He’s too volatile, he needs to-“

Dick automatically takes a threatening step forward, blocking Bruce’s view of anything but him, “Robin is mine, my family, and yes, now it is Damian’s but that is because I chose to give it to him. It isn’t yours to give and take away, no matter how much you fucking like to. Every Robin carries my family’s legacy and my name. Robin belongs to Damian because he belongs to me. Damian is mine, and if you try to bench my Robin and steal it from him, then I am more than happy to take him,” Dick heaves a few heavy breaths, trying desperately to suck in more air even as he continues to try and ram the point into Bruce’s head, “If you won’t treat him better, then I will. Act like a fucking father Bruce, or-“

He cuts himself off, realizing too late precisely what he is threatening.

“Act like a father,” Bruce says, face shutting down, suddenly even more guarded with not a shred of emotion showing, “Or you will?”

Dick can only manage a sharp nod, not trusting himself to speak yet. Even if he hadn’t been prepared to say it, he was being entirely honest.

“…I’m his older brother,” he forces out after a moment, voice returned to a normal volume even as it rasps from his yelling, “I… I can’t replace you to him, Bruce. I can’t. But please he deserves the best from you, he’s a good kid – and he’s just a kid. I can’t be his father, because you are, but if you don’t support him the way he deserves, then I will do it.”

Bruce’s face breaks a little more with each word until Dick can finally see the feelings behind the mask. Something between anger and sorrow sits on his pseudo-father’s face.

“…I didn’t realize you felt this strongly about Damian being Robin,” Bruce begins haltingly.

Another quick nod from Dick. He can’t bring himself to say what he’s thinking. Yes, of course I do. A Batman should always defend his Robin. A Batman should always support his Robin – his kid. You used to understand that, you’re the one who taught me.

Dick doesn’t speak, or else he would start cursing Bruce and never stop.

His father doesn’t say anything for several long moments either.

“…Okay,” Bruce allows finally, “Damian will remain Robin.”

“Good,” Dick answers, keeping his tone carefully level. He’ll pretend as much as he has to, that he would let Bruce give any other answer.

Because it is something that all of the rogues in Bludhaven and Gotham and anywhere that the Titans fought had learnt over the years, that Nightwing doesn’t make idle threats. Bruce seems to be catching on too, and it’s a good thing for Damian.

Dick tries not to feel the slightest bit of resentment. There’s an ever-present tug in his chest to have his Robin at his side but Dick knows that isn’t his place anymore. He fucking hated being Batman -- and nothing would change that -- but Damian made it bearable, and even fun. It’s good that Bruce keeps Damian with him, and Dick tries desperately to convince himself of that.

The flare of loss and longing he feels seeing the pair on the skyline is something he doesn’t need to acknowledge. He’ll just find more time to patrol together with Damian other nights and fill the void. It won’t be exactly the same, but maybe it can be better. Dick has always felt more like himself as Nightwing.

He hopes Damian agrees.

“Damian is just a kid,” Dick emphasizes suddenly. Bruce looks surprised, because normally Dick just leaves after their fights. This is too important though, he has to make sure Bruce knows this, “Before he is Robin, before he’s a vigilante, before he’s an ex-assassin, before he’s your son specifically, he’s just a kid.”

“I know,” Bruce says softly.

Dick tries to stop the vile fury rising in his throat and nearly chokes on his next words, “Then please act like it.”

Bruce nods, and Dick closes his eyes, swallowing the phantom, bitter taste of ash in his mouth. Fuck he wishes this wasn’t the way things were. He wishes Bruce was just… good. He wishes that he didn’t have to scream at his father to stop him from taking away his kid’s safety net and most tangible connection to the family.

Because once upon a time, Damian had latched onto the fact that he was the ‘blood son’ and asserted his demands for a place in the family because of it. Now, Damian wore the colours of Dick’s family, picked up the mantle, and bore Dick’s name. Every single Robin was irrevocably part of the family in a way that even blood couldn’t necessarily replace. All of the other members of their family that hadn’t been Robin’s forged their own places, but to be Robin was to have one made for you. Dick, in naming Damian Robin, had made sure he would be permanently etched into the fabric of their lives.

Bruce couldn’t take that away, couldn’t rip Damian from the tapestry. Damian was just a scared kid at the centre of it all, and being Robin was a shield and a tether for him.

Dick exhales sharply, swallowing back the despairing bitterness he feels when the subject of Robin as a mantle comes up. He closes his eyes for a moment, trying to expel the memories of being fired. Of Jason taking up the mantle, him subsequently dying wearing the suit. Then memories of Tim, then of Dick needing to give it to Damian instead.

“Goodnight Bruce,” he murmurs, suddenly so, so tired.

A lifetime of dealing with Bruce Wayne has aged Dick in a way nobody else but his family will understand. Each of them in their own way have been irreparably changed by knowing Bruce.

In his most uncharitable moments, Dick wonders if perhaps they are all ruined for it.

He turns away from his father, who is still silhouetted by the light of the bat computer. It makes his stomach twist. He walks back upstairs and sheds the weight of the cave like it is a particularly cumbersome coat. The sudden chill of the manor doesn’t help dissuade him of that comparison as he begins to wander through it.

Dick had always considered it something of a joke, that even despite the Batcave being a literal cave underground that should theoretically be much colder than the home above, the manor often seemed so much more frigid. Dick had compared it to a mausoleum once, when he had first been taken in by Bruce.

Alfred really is the only permanent saving grace. He cooks and cleans and warms up the rooms he’s in to stop the manor’s other inhabitants from letting the phantom frost of the past’s ghosts overcome them.

All of Bruce’s kids have the same effect, even if most of them don’t live there anymore and are only temporary guests. Dick knows he’d started the trend because Alfred had told him several times over the years. On even later nights than usual that see Dick curled up in the kitchen with haunting spectres crawling at the edge of his vision. Alfred would find him and press a mug of hot chocolate into his hands, telling Dick that he made the manor so much brighter and homely. That no matter how many people he did or didn’t manage to protect outside the manor’s walls, he’d at least saved those inside it.

Dick wonders on those nights whether Alfred might be just as broken and ragged as the rest of them. If, just like Bruce, something in him died the same day as Martha and Thomas Wayne. The difference then, Dick thinks, is that Alfred doesn’t lock off parts of his heart the way Bruce does. Alfred wants to live in the present moment and relishes every day with them, while Bruce is always torn between his grief-bound duty to Gotham and his family.

He’s happy to have brought light to the manor’s many rooms again, and Dick likes to think it helps Alfred that nowadays there’s almost always at least one other person there with him. All of the kids have filled the house with trinkets and marks of their presence. Dick still remembers the misty-eyed look Bruce had on his face when he saw the kitchen doorway a few months ago.

Dick had finally convinced Jason to stand there again and get his height recorded like he had when he was young. The doorway is littered with little marks of all of them growing up. Each of them that comes to the manor has a few dashes to represent the passing time. Jason is the tallest of them all now, and he and Dick had shared a look after Dick marked his new height. Jason ran his fingers over his newest dash, and Dick ran his over Jason’s oldest. From a tiny, cheerful kid to a fierce crime lord who’d risen from the dead.

Bruce found them, and upon realizing what they were doing at looking at, had corralled Jason into accepting a hug while looking at Dick with ancient, aching eyes. Dick understood. He’d been there for the aftermath of Jason’s death too.

There is years and years of history etched into every room here, and Dick feels like a fleeting, insignificant part of it sometimes. It’s sort of similar to the feeling he gets looking into the night sky anywhere that you can actually see the stars (damn Gotham and Bludhaven for their persistent cloudy nights and light pollution).

But in this moment, wandering the halls as he considers all the history lurking here, Dick can’t help but remember when he was the head of the family. When the manor was his. Of course, Dick had left for the penthouse with Damian and Alfred at the first opportunity, but for a very brief moment Dick had been here and thought that he had inherited the manor and Batman and all that being Bruce’s right hand entailed.

He’d ended up with Damian, then.

The youngest bat, the youngest Wayne. Dick’s sudden new responsibility. For the first few weeks Dick had thought of Damian only as Bruce’s son but all too quickly it devolved into my Robin, my kid, my son.

Dick sighs into the chilly night air and realizes he’s wandered into the family wing of the manor. Unsurprising, to be frank, but Dick’s mouth curls into a frown anyway.

With everyone at the manor tonight the rooms around him will all be full and on instinct Dick finds himself peeking through each door. Despite his paranoid worry being one of Bruce’s worse traits – with how often it led to invasions of privacy – Dick found it was one of the things he couldn’t begrudge the man for all that often. It was grating and led to several arguments between them sure, but it was an impulse he understood. The desire to keep his family safe was an all-consuming and constant ache in his chest.

So Dick carefully checks on Steph (drooling on her pillow, clutching a bat plushie Cass had won for her at an arcade once), on Jason (sleeping with one hand tucked under his pillow where Dick is sure he has a weapon), on Tim (having crashed after too long without decent sleep, his blankets aren’t even pulled over him so Dick goes and tucks him in properly), on Duke (splayed out in a rather strange position, Dick doesn’t envy the aches he’ll have in the morning), and on Cass (her hair falls over her face awkwardly and Dick again steps in to brush it gently away).

The last person he has to check on is Damian, who has taken the room opposite Dick’s. (When he did, several of their siblings had teased Damian for blatant favouritism and his little robin had snarled but never actually denied it.)

Dick approaches the door, making sure his steps are still gentle because he knows Damian to be a rather light sleeper even amongst their ever-vigilant family. He’s not expecting to see a faint light on and Damian sitting in bed with his knees pulled up to his chest. The light from the kid’s desktop lamp casts his face in a mix of stark shadows with only a few planes of his face illuminated. A heavy feeling settles over Dick.

Damian looks up when he comes in, tensing automatically before recognizing him.

“Hello Richard,” he murmurs, easing again even though he doesn’t uncurl from the self-soothing position. Damian glances away from Dick and turns instead to his hands wrapped around his legs.

“Hey Dami,” Dick softly closes the door behind him, not wanting to wake up anyone else, “What’s got you up so late? Especially after that patrol, we were all pretty wiped out.”

Damian hums softly, still not looking back up at him. Dick moves closer, intending to sit on the edge of the bed in front of Damian. Instead, to his surprise, Damian shuffles a bit to make space next to him. He can’t help but smile affectionately, getting onto the bed next to his Robin.

They sit quietly for a few moments and Dick just waits as Damian fiddles with his own hands. Either he wants to talk or he doesn’t, and regardless Dick is content to just stay here with him.

“…I disappointed father tonight,” Damian mutters abruptly, “I… I do not particularly enjoy the feeling.”

“Oh, baby bat,” Dick feels his heart breaking in two, “I don’t think anybody enjoys disappointing their father.”

He’s not sure that’s true, necessarily. Dick can think of several times when he’s been achingly proud of disappointing Bruce. When not living up to his expectations meant being better him in so many ways that were so much more important.

Equally as much though, Dick knows he’d still always had the creeping voice in the back of his head scolding him. Bruce has, knowingly or not, instilled a burning need for praise into all of his children – especially his Robins. Dick resents the influence Bruce has on all of them, even as he knows that so often a good job from his dad will make him beam like nothing else.

Damian doesn’t need to know all of his thoughts about that though, and he looks just as miserable as before. Dick slowly lifts an arm up and is quietly pleased when Damian slips under it and curls into his side.

“I’m proud of you,” Dick whispers into Damian’s hair, pressing a light kiss there, “You did what you could today, and even if Bruce doesn’t think so, I am so, so proud of you.”

His little robin doesn’t say anything for several long moments, but he does burrow his face into Dick’s shirt and one hand grips onto his shirt and the other arm wraps around Dick’s waist. For his part, Dick brings both his arms up to fully circle around Damian.

“You did what you could,” Dick repeats softly, “Nobody can ask you to do any more than that.”

Damian pulls away only to gaze up at him with glistening emerald eyes, “…Not even Batman?”

Dick’s heart rips open in his chest and he squeezes Damian lightly, “No, not even Batman.”

For several moments they stay like that, Damian pressing his face back against Dick and taking the offered comfort. Dick feels the weight of grief ease in his chest the longer he gets to hold Damian close, but it springs back when the smaller boy speaks again.

“Do you… do you think he’ll take Robin from me? For not listening?” Damian’s voice is small, too quiet for the fierce, passionate kid that he is.

Dick told Bruce that at the core of things Damian is just a scared kid. It hurts so much worse to see the evidence of that.

“No,” he murmurs, pressing another kiss to Damian’s hairline and hoping that it somehow conveys the depth of his love, “B isn’t going to take Robin from you.”

Damian pulls back slightly again, “You talked to him?”

He hums, “Yeah.”

“Oh,” and Dick has no idea what that reaction means coming from Damian.

“He won’t take away Robin,” Dick says again in lieu of trying to decipher it. Damian will tell him what he’s thinking if it’s important. He trusts that, after all their time together and all the energy spent on making sure he is a safe harbour for his Robin.

Damian gazes critically at him, searching. Dick doesn’t know what he’s looking for but he assumes Damian finds it because he, again, sinks back against Dick, “Okay.”

The one word says so much.

Okay, I trust you to be telling me the truth. I believe you. Thank you.

Dick squeezes Damian tight, “I love you so much Dami.”

The hand wound in his shirt tenses, and Dick smiles ruefully into the darkness over Damian’s head. It’s always a gamble saying those words aloud to any of his family members and Damian is no different. He tries to say it as much as possible and depending on the situation Damian might return the words but maybe tonight has been emotionally charged enough already-

“Love you too,” is whispered into his shirt, so quiet Dick barely hears it.

He carefully doesn’t acknowledge it beyond giving his little robin another slight squeeze, “We really should get some sleep though, it’s been a long night.”

Damian relaxes in his arms, “Very well, I suppose that if you are tired Richard then we can sleep.”

Dick politely ignores the way Damian yawns right after he says it. He also doesn’t mention the fact that he has his own room just across the hall. They detach from each other to rearrange the pillow and pull the blankets up over themselves. Then Damian lets himself be pulled again into Dick’s arms and just cuddles closer. Dick remembers how touch-starved he always was as a kid growing up in the manor. Bruce has always been chronically incapable of normal displays of love and though Alfred will give out hugs on occasion he doesn’t tend to be all that physically affectionate either. He won’t let Damian be the same as him. His Robin will receive all the attention he needs and all the comfort he deserves.

“Goodnight Richard,” is mumbled somewhere into the night.

“Goodnight Dami,” Dick responds with another kiss to Damian’s hair.

From there, he listens as Damian’s breathing slowly evens out and the kid goes even looser in his arms. It’s always saddened him how much younger Damian appears while sleeping. Dick dozes sometime after that, lost in drowsy half-dreams until he hears footsteps beside them and quickly turns his head to look at what’s caused it.

Alfred stands over the bed with a characteristically soft smile.

“Nothing to worry about master Dick,” he says, “Just turning off the light.”

Dick lets out some kind of faint noise of affirmation, “Night Alfie.”

“Goodnight my dear boys,” Dick feels a gentle hand brush hair out of his face.

The soft sounds of Alfred clicking off the light, leaving, and quietly shutting the door behind him lull Dick back into dozing. Because there -- in bed with Damian warm and sleeping in his arms -- Dick feels safe. Even in this house of ghosts and too many years of tragic history, there is always some warmth to be found. He knows that there is always Alfred watching over them all, and Dick knows that he will be here to keep an eye on his siblings and on Bruce as well. Tomorrow he will still be Nightwing, and Damian will still be Robin, and the world will keep spinning.

Dick lets his eyelids flutter closed and sleep gently carries him away.

Chapter Text

Dick doesn’t regret it.

A mission that shouldn’t have had the league be present, but wires got crossed and Bruce was away and Dick didn’t have time to liaison and then things just went wrong. Dick had found out about a bomb in the building and knew he was the only one close enough and with the skills to disarm it before it took out the whole area. He managed to convince everyone else with him to go ahead and help the others fighting outside. Hopefully that would keep them from the blast radius, or at least put them where others who could protect them from it would be.

He could never regret trying to get his loved ones out of harms way. Dick was alone, just like he should be. Only he would be in danger, only he would have to risk being blown up in case the bomb went off. Only he-

“Nightwing!”

He froze as Robin’s voice reached his ears and he turned from the device in front of him to see his youngest brother running in.

“Don’t move!” He exclaimed, holding up a hand to stop Damian, “There’s a bomb in here, I’m not sure when it’s set to go off but you need to leave.”

Damian had gone still at the start but after Dick had finished took another step forward, looking annoyed, “No, I can’t leave you here to deal with it alone.”

“I’m more familiar with explosives than you are,” Dick reminded, trying to ignore the feeling of his heartbeat in his throat. Fuck he needed to get his little brother away from here before the bomb went off, “I’ve had more time to get familiar with this kind especially, they’re more common in Bludhaven.”

It was a blatant lie. Dick would be able to disarm it either way of course (unless it went off before then, his traitorous brain reminded him), but he needed to make it sound like he was the most logical choice to be here. Damian wouldn’t leave otherwise.

“…Very well,” Robin looked especially unhappy now, “You may disarm the bomb but I should be here to watch your back in case-“

“Damian,” he snapped, aware that he sounded harsh but he really didn’t want Damian here and in unnecessary danger. He even decided to ignore the no names in uniform rule. He needed to make this clear and Damian had to pay attention, “I need you to go. I can’t focus with you here and in danger too when it isn’t necessary so please, go.”

“Richard-“ Damian started, but something on Dick’s face must’ve made him stall. The older man could read the conflict on his younger brothers face even as Damian finally relented, “I… understand. I would not want you in danger if you did not have to be…”

Dick couldn’t stop the sigh of relief, “Thank you, Dami, thank you. Please make sure you are safe and out of the way first, and then I’ll be able to fully focus. I can’t do that with you here because I’d be too worried about you, y’know?”

Damian frowned, and Dick felt a flash of guilt at his brother’s expression – probably the closest to pure misery that Dick had seen from him – but it was quickly washed away by the urgency of the situation and he waved his brother out, “Go, please.”

Robin still visibly hesitated but eventually he relented, “…Good luck Richard.”

“Thank you, and don’t worry I’ll be fine,” Dick sent his best reassuring smile and finally – finally – Damian left.

Without further pause, Dick turned back to the bomb and began the too-familiar movements of slowly taking it apart to disarm. It was going well, and Dick’s heartrate had slowed to something only slightly faster than usual when-

“Hey! What are you doing!” Some unknown voice called.

“Shit-“ Dick didn’t turn quick enough to avoid the punch thrown at him and he wiggled his jaw despite the sudden ache there. Nothing seemed broken, that was good.

Spitting a brief spray of blood onto the ground, Dick quickly turned to fully face his new opponent. The man was wearing some kind of maintenance uniform, which was probably how they got into the building to plant the bomb. Several other sets of footsteps reached his ears and Dick internally groaned. This would be more trouble that it needed to be.

“Come on then, let’s get it over with,” He beckoned to the guy in front of him.

His opponent looked mildly perturbed but didn’t say anything, just jumped towards him and with a practiced ease, Dick dodged the clumsy move and slammed a fist into the guy’s side. As the man doubled over Dick swiped a leg under him and he went down hard.

Dick would normally try to definitively knock him out but the footsteps were closer now and suddenly there was an influx of four people into the room.

Fuck, he mentally sighed, never an easy day.

Everyone rushed him at once and Dick found himself leaping in turn at the biggest guy on the right first. He went down with a powerful kick behind the knees and when the man buckled Dick kicked at his face, sending him toppling backward. The next closest person got a punch in to Dick’s side but years of going up against metas and people with the equivalent of godlike powers meant he barely registered the pain. Dick whirled around with a right hook to the side of the man’s head that sent him stumbling back. The next opponent filled the gap immediately and Dick felt a flare of irritation. There was still a faint ticking as the bomb counted down. He didn’t have time for this.

Dick reached for one of his escrima sticks and whirled it in a hand, letting electricity crackle along its surface.

A smile crept along his face.

With a crack he slammed one end into his opponent’s face, hitting his nose. The guy gasped and reared back, but Dick didn’t let him get far and bodily shoved him to the ground before letting electricity incapacitate him. The guy who he’d punched before was back in his face and sent a violent kick that Dick caught in the side. He gave a quick grunt before snapping back harder and striking his opponent on his upper side, right along his ribs. The man coughed out with a trickle of blood trailing down from his mouth but didn’t go down so Dick turned slightly to have a better angle from behind and then wrapped one arm quickly over the man’s chest, crossing over his neck, and then bent back. Using a mixture of momentum and his own strength, Dick sent the man flying above him and he hit the wall with a groaning thud.

Dick popped back up immediately, there should only be one more-

His eyes instantly found the last person, standing neatly with the bomb in hand with a wide grin. The timer must have accelerated, the ticking was quicker now.

“I have rigged it to blow in thirty seconds Nightwing,” the man looked far too pleased with himself, “You cannot escape in time and neither will your friends. We will die, yes, but so will the heroes of the world! If you move me the bomb will go off automatically. You can’t stop-“

An anticlimactic fizzing sound and a metallic clang echoed through the room, cutting the man off. He looked down at the bomb – more specifically, at the orange exposed wire on top that Dick had just thrown a wingding at, severing it cleanly before the weapon hit the wall.

“Good thing I have impeccable aim then,” Dick deadpanned.

The ticking stopped. Nothing happened for several long moments.

“Oh shit-“ the man started, immediately dropping the bomb, and trying to run out the door.

Resisting a snort, Dick grabs the back of his uniform and pulls the man back easily, “Oh no you don’t.”

Then, with a powerful, sweeping blow, Dick struck his escrima stick across the guy’s chest and sent him sprawling with an oof. To his credit, the man got up on unsteady legs even if it was only for Dick to twirl his escrima stick again before swinging it at his opponent. The weapon connected with a sickening snap and the feeling of bones caving under the sheer force.

A pained gasp came from the man and he sunk down to the ground with a whimper.

Dick eyed the people all looking varying degrees of miserable but none with fatal injuries.

“Well, it’s been fun, but I’ve got to ditch now so say hi to the guys in blue yeah? I’m told prison is lovely this time of year.”

He didn’t have anything on him to tie them up, which was unfortunate, so Dick settled for just taking the deactivated bomb and then locking the door behind him after leaving. Hopefully that would at least slow the men inside down so that they couldn’t pick themselves all up and find a way out until the police or some other authority could grab them.

It didn’t take long for him to make his way out of the building again and find a congregation of heroes. Raised voices echo faintly through the air though he can’t tell what they’re saying. As soon as someone catches sight of him and points, everything goes quiet. Dick’s eyes catch on Robin looking dejected with an eerily familiar expression, Red Robin almost vibrating at his side. Dick feels a frown curl over his face.

“Nightwing!” Superman sounds surprisingly concerned as he moves closer.

Wally flashes to his side, “Shit man that could’ve been bad.”

Dick blinks in surprise, “Sorry?”

“The bomb!” Wally exclaims, “It was only like two seconds from exploding when you got it – that was cool by the way.”

“Okay… but how do you all know about that?” Dick carefully ignores the words two seconds from exploding, they make an unpleasant weight twist in his chest.

Tim’s face shutters slightly, “Where all of us were fighting – a distraction group, we think – a screen came up showing you with a timer.”

“Ah,” Dick swallows, “Yeah that would’ve been a bit… nerve-wracking.”

“We’re glad you’re okay,” Clark smiled, patting him on the back.

A sudden thought occurred to him, “Wait, when did the footage come on?” Dick tried to keep his voice controlled but fuck he’d said Damian’s name and Damian had said his. This is why they had the no names in uniform rule but Dick had been an idiot. Shit. Bruce would genuinely kill him.

“As Robin was leaving. Nothing irreversible. I’ve already hacked the system and wiped the footage. Oracle is working on making sure there isn’t any other copies. We think it was automated though to come on once the bomb reached a certain time until detonation, so we think nobody was watching earlier.” Tim explains, clearly reading Dick’s worries in his face.

He couldn’t repress a sharp, relieved breath, “That’s good, that’s really good. Well done.”

Tim’s face didn’t contort into a bashful pride like it often did when Dick complimented him. Actually, if anything, his younger brother’s face became even more displeased but he didn’t speak.

Dick remembers how people had been yelling before he showed up, “So… what’s up everyone?”

Everyone’s gaze almost immediately flicks away from his face and suspicion makes Dick’s eyes narrow.

An undeniably awkward silence sits uncomfortably in the air for several seconds until finally Barry speaks up carefully, “…Red Robin was uh… a bit annoyed with Robin for leaving you alone.”

Dick feels something cold settle in him, he raises a challenging eyebrow towards his brothers, “RR?”

Tim resolutely keeps his gaze fixed on the ground and so Dick’s gaze goes to Damian. His robin is clearly trying to keep his face carefully blank in a way disturbingly similar to how he acted right after leaving the League for Gotham. Maybe it’s a sign of either how he’s changed or how much Dick has come to know him that he can see the discontent and hurt swimming below the surface of Damian’s whole demeanour.

Neither says anything and a few of the other heroes start to drift a little further back, still watching (heroes are a nosy bunch) but giving them the illusion of more privacy.

Deciding on a different approach, Dick starts, “Robin did leave, but only because I asked him to. It isn’t something to start a fight over, he was just following my instructions okay?”

Tim still doesn’t look at him, but his fingers are twitching restlessly at his side.

“Okay?” Dick prompts again, unwilling to let this become a bigger issue, “I’m not-“

“You could’ve died!” Tim finally bursts, eyes locking onto his, burning with an indignant anger, “We are supposed to work together. Robin just left and then you got ambushed. You could have died, Nightwing.”

Dick resists a sigh, a pained sorrow sinking into him now that he knows Tim’s issue, “I know, but I could die any time. That’s just how the job works.”

“And I know that! But he,” Tim jabs an accusatory finger at Damian, “Shouldn’t be leaving you like that. It put you at a greater risk and left you without anyone to cover you. We saw how little time you had N; we saw it. You being caught off guard by those guys could have been avoided if Robin was there and you wouldn’t have been in such a risky situation. If…” Face contorting like he’d tasted something unpleasant, Tim forces out, “If you had died, it would be his fault.”

“Oh shit…” some hero gasps in the background.

Damian flinches at the words but doesn’t say anything, just curls further into himself. Dick can barely hear anything for the sudden blood rushing in his ears. He understands where Tim is coming from – lord knows concern for his loved ones had made him mean and sharp often enough – but this isn’t the kind of thing someone forgets about. Damian is unsure enough in the family already, a big fight with Tim might cause irreparable damage to them both.

“Red…“ he starts with a heavier tone.

Tim cuts him off, snapping, “No! This isn’t a… a training accident or a mistake on patrol, N. This is your life and a conscious, thought-out decision on his part. You can’t just-“

“This was my choice so don’t you dare put it on him,” Dick interrupts with rising emotion, voice raising in volume to match, “Robin followed what I asked. Don’t you dare punish him for it, not when it’s me who caused it.”

“But he left you!” Tim exclaimed, lingering panic and concern etched into his frame as anger ebbed away to show the true source of Tim’s words, “He left you alone to deal with the bomb!”

Dick barely managed to avoid rubbing his temples, letting out a harsh breath instead, “Because I asked him to. I couldn’t focus with-“

“Yes you could! Nightwing you disarm bombs on a semi-regular basis, often with distractions, you didn’t need to be left alone without any backup. Just because you care about him doesn’t mean he gets to abandon you in the field!”

“Don’t interrupt me,” Dick starts, “Just let me talk, okay? Because this is not on Robin. Yes, when I asked him to leave a good part of it was because I care about him and my gut reaction is always to try and protect him even if it disadvantages me. But,” Dick emphasises the word and raises a hand to silence Tim who already is opening his mouth to interrupt again, “It’s also just a good tactical decision. Why should more people put their lives in danger when only one of us had to? I noticed that other people were coming and I fought them all off. I’m not helpless, I knew I could handle myself. I didn’t need Robin with me, so I didn’t want to put him in danger too.”

“I…” Tim finally falters after Dick’s words, and his expression cracks a bit to reveal more of the worry underneath the anger, “You could have died,” Tim finally said, and he sounded miserable, a far cry from the spitting venom of a few moments before, “I can’t just-“

“Hey,” Dick breathes, soft affection and painful guilt warring in his chest even as he reached for his brother, “I’m okay.”

Tim came easily into his embrace and practically sagged against Dick. He accepted the weight and just wrapped around Tim, “I’m here, and I’m fine. It isn’t Robin’s fault, even if something had happened to me. I wanted him to be safe, yeah? He didn’t have to be there to disarm the bomb, and it was an unnecessary risk for him to be there.”

“I know,” Tim mumbles, and Dick can tell that he does understand, but he still feels the need to emphasise it.

“It was close – really close, I get that. But if I had died-“ the whole group of heroes around them make wounded noises and Dick feels something warm in his chest at their care for him even as he makes his point, “If I had died or gotten injured because the bomb went off, I’d much rather that Robin wasn’t there and hurt too.”

All Tim can do is nod against him, “I know.”

Dick gives his younger brother a smile, “I know you do, and I’m glad you understand. I won’t put myself in unnecessary danger, but we both know this job comes with unavoidable risks.”

Tim hums a soft agreement.

“Apologize to Robin?” Dick prompts after a few moments, loosening his hold.

His younger brother pulls out of his arms with only a little reluctance on his face as he turns to Damian who is still standing alone among the mess of heroes, looking too tiny compared to the adults around him. Dick aches at his youth.

“Sorry Robin,” Tim says after moving a little closer to their youngest sibling, “I was… worried, but I shouldn’t have taken it out on you… I won’t do it again.”

Damian kind of sinks into himself and looks equally as miserable as Tim does, “Thank you.”

There’s a beat of quiet, where nothing moves and Dick swears he isn’t breathing as his younger brothers continue to stare at each other. Finally, Damian shifts to glance briefly at Dick instead before looking back at Tim with an emotion Dick can’t name in his eyes, “…It’s Nightwing, I understand.”

Tim lets out a relieved breath and shoots his own gaze to Dick as well, “Yeah.”

Indescribable affection bursts in him for Damian and Tim, and he can’t help but move to them and wrap them both into an embrace. Neither protests, and Dick is quietly pleased as Tim lets one of his own arms move around Damian in their hug too.

“You’re both mine,” Dick murmurs to them, wanting them to understand how important they are to him, “You’re my brothers, and so I’ll do anything I can to protect you.”

“We know,” Tim says, sounding calmer again after releasing the tension despite a lingering strain, “We just want to protect you too, you need it.”

Damian nods, and he sounds more like himself too as he snarks, “Yes, you have a habit of doing idiotic and dangerous things. Like throwing a wingding at an exposed wire on a bomb about to go off.”

Dick laughs, unwinding from them both and letting them stand on their own, pleased that they’re getting along even if it’s to tease him, “In my defence, cutting that wire really was the last thing I needed to do to disarm it, but I am glad I have you both to keep an eye on me.”

His brothers agree with an endearing sincerity and Dick smiles before he abruptly remembers that there is a whole collection of other heroes around them.

“Good thing the bats have Nightwing, huh?” Hal jokes, “Otherwise the whole lot would be completely emotionally constipated instead of just mostly.”

And with that the last of the tension starts to seep away like it was never there in the first place.

Dick can’t help but snort, “Oh don’t worry, I have my moments too.”

Despite the resolution, it’s not overly surprising when Damian disappears pretty quickly once they get back to the Manor despite the apology. Alfred, waiting to check them over for injuries, shoots Dick a slightly bewildered glance at how their youngest darts upstairs as soon as his suit is off without a word.

“Don’t worry,” Dick tries for a reassuring smile, “I’ve got him.”

Tim has been looking progressively more upset as Damian shut down again on the way home, “It’s my fault, I should-“

Alfred’s eyebrow raises impressively as he surveys them.

“It’s okay,” Dick soothes, “You probably should talk to him a bit about it, but not right now. He’ll be a bit too antsy for it tonight – and besides, I don’t think it’s entirely what you said that’s got him like this.”

Images of Damian’s initial refusal to leave echo through Dick’s head and he suspects his robin was blaming himself the second he saw Dick was ambushed even before Tim said anything to him.

Tim looks understandably sceptical but hesitantly nods, “Okay, I’ll find him tomorrow then…?”

“I think that’s a good idea,” Dick smiles softly, “Now, it’s been a long day so you should get some rest.”

Almost immediately Tim looks more lively and opens his mouth to protest but Alfred beats him to it, “Perhaps not sleep master Tim -- it is still rather early by all of your standards – but a little relaxation never hurt anyone.”

Faint reluctance is evident on Tim’s face but under both Dick and Alfred’s gazes he relents, “Okay. I’ll go… watch a movie or something.”

Dick shares a glance with Alfred as Tim slowly trudges upstairs as well.

“I trust you’ll be taking care of yourself as well, master Dick?” Alfred prompts, “Managing this family isn’t your sole responsibility.”

A wry smile curls across Dick’s face, “I know Alfie.”

“But you’ll act as though it is anyway?”

Dick politely doesn’t answer, just dipping his head in a slight nod to say, “Goodnight Alfie.”

An old melancholy that Dick had been recognizing in Alfred’s face since he was fired from being Robin appears once again. “Goodnight master Dick.”

Unable to face the suddenly too honest grief written into every inch of the cave, Dick turned to go upstairs. He could immediately feel the stuffy weight of the manor press in upon him. Even in the dark it felt like the shadows clung to him around every corner. It was like trying to swim through tar.

Being out at night running along rooftops was freeing, the rush of cool air hitting his cheeks and the crackle of his feet against gravel. As Dick soared overhead, it felt like the dark was a comforting blanket wrapping protectively around him. The inky blackness of Gotham and Bludhaven was interrupted by streetlights and the ambient sounds of people going about their lives.

It was too quiet in the manor.

That was something that had bothered Dick as a kid too, and he likes to think he’d made it a lot more bearable. Laughter and the messiness of childhood bringing life to the previously almost untouched halls. The remnants of Bruce’s parents and their lives were always present here, but Dick knows that both Bruce and Alfred had become almost afraid of ever disturbing the still air and the memories lingering. He and all of the kids that came after had brightened the manor, reminding the older men that it was okay to actually live in their home.

Time had soured Dick to this place in some ways, gaining some bad memories of his own that made him avoid certain rooms. Still, regardless of all that, part of Dick would always consider it home. The good outweighed the bad, he thought, it just didn’t feel like it so much at night. When everything was almost dead silent and the dark hid any signs of their family.

At night, it felt the way it did when Dick had first moved here. Like time had stopped within the manor the day Bruce’s parents died, preserving the place in a perfect moment of grief.

Coming again to the hallway that branched off into everyone’s rooms, the only light was a faint gold creeping from under Damian’s closed door. Faint sounds of footsteps and rustling were stark in the otherwise quiet space.

Mouth twisting into a faint frown, Dick approached and gently knocked.

The sudden silence was sharp, and he could almost taste Damian’s panic in the air.

“Just me,” he called softly, “Can I come in?”

A long moment stretched with no reply. Dick waited patiently.

“…Alright…” came the quiet response, barely audible as it was muffled through the door.

Inching the doorknob down slowly – Dick wasn’t wholly immune to the atmosphere of the manor, even he sometimes hesitated to disturb anything – light flooded over him and into the hall behind. Dick closed the door and let his eyes find his robin.

On the floor and curled up against one wall, Damian eyed him cautiously. Titus was pressed firmly against his side and one of Damian’s hand’s was loosely wound into his fur.

“Hey Dami,” Dick greeted, moving across the room to sit cross-legged in front of him, “How’s it going?”

The look he received was thoroughly unimpressed, “Playing dumb doesn’t suit you Richard.”

“Really? I thought it was a good look,” he cracked a slight smile before sobering, “But I actually do want to know how you’re doing.”

Heavy silence sat between them as Damian’s gaze darted away and his hand moved through Titus’s fur.

“Damian-“

“I left you,” the sheer despair in Damian’s voice was heartbreaking, “I shouldn’t have, Tim is right, it’s not what I should’ve done! I should have… I should…”

Dick watched as Damian trailed off, still not looking at him. Delicately, he said, “You couldn’t have known what would happen.”

“But that doesn’t matter, “ Damian exclaimed, his eyes snapping back up, “I’m supposed to be Robin. I’m supposed to help people not… not leave.”

“I asked you to,” Dick told him, straddling the line between softness and being firm, “You listened to me, and I’m glad you did. I managed, I didn’t need your help.”

Gaze swimming with desperation, Damian asked, “But what about the day you do? What about if one day this happens again but you can’t save yourself in time? Just because you want to keep me safe. I’m not worth-“

“Absolutely not,” Dick cut him off with sudden ferocity, heart burning with the need to make sure Damian understood this, “Never, never say that. You are worth it. You are my priority Damian; I can’t say it any other way. Keeping you safe comes first for me, alright?”

Damian’s face was drawn into a frown but his lower lip wobbled slightly as he stared up at Dick, “Really?”

“Always,” he swore, hoping his voice carried his conviction, “In every way that I can, I’m going to keep you safe.”

“I want to keep you safe too,” Damian whispered, “We’re partners.”

Shaking his head softly, Dick shuffled closer, “I know. You’re my Robin, always.”

Without any more prompting, Damian pressed himself against Dick’s side. He didn’t seem to want anything more than that and the presence of Titus on his other side, so Dick didn’t try to wrap one arm over him.

“You can’t ask me to not care,” Damian said after a moment, sounding a little firmer the way he usually did.

A soft smile came to Dick’s face before he could try and hide it as he repeated, “I know, but caring doesn’t mean we can remove the risks of this job. You want to help people, right?”

Damian nodded.

“Well, I want to help too, and when doing it that means that sometimes things just happen. Things go wrong,” Dick tried not to think of any specifics, there were far too many missions that had ended badly over the years and far too many people that got hurt, “You can’t save me from all of it, not without stopping me from doing the things I love.”

For a moment, Dick wondered if Damian could feel the lingering shadow of Bruce in the way he could. The man had unknowingly given him a crash course in just how damaging it was to try and protect people by locking them in a cage away from danger.

“I’ll do what I can to protect you, and you’ll do what you can to protect me,” he continued, shaking away the feeling, “But we need to trust each other okay? Trust me to be able to care of myself, and I’ll return that. I’ll tell you if I need help, but I’m capable myself right?”

“You know you are,” Damian mumbled, brows furrowed.

Dick nudged him with a slight smile, “Yeah but I need to make sure you do.”

Glaring up at him flatly, his robin said, “Yes, Richard, I know you are a competent hero.”

Huffing out a quick laugh, Dick went on, “Good. I can handle a lot, so you don’t need to worry about me so much. There might be a day when I can’t stop something bad from happening, and I might not be able to ask for help or you might not be able to get to me, but that will never be your fault, okay? Even if we have another situation like today where I ask you to leave and then it goes wrong, that’s not your fault. I asked you to leave, you trusted me. You trusted me to take care of myself. That’s good, Dami, that’s what I want. Even if it feels bad, that’s what I want from you. Keep yourself safe, because that’s what I’m trusting you to do, right?”

Damian’s frown was still heavy but he nodded slowly, “Right.”

“If this kind of thing happens again, trust me, and I’ll trust you,” Dick repeated, “And then, even if something bad happens know it will never be your fault. I’m never going to blame you for trusting me and following what I ask, I’m happy about it actually. If something happens to me, and you aren’t there because I told you to go, then I’m content with that. Never blame yourself, and never think that you aren’t worth it because to me you are.”

After finishing his sentence, Dick went quiet, letting the words sink into the space between them. The only sound was their breathing until, tentatively breaking the silence, Damian said, “…Okay.”

“Yeah?” Dick prompted, wanting to make sure his point had gotten across.

He received a slight nod from Damian, “Yes, I… I understand.”

It didn’t escape Dick that his robin likely didn’t fully feel like he was worth the affection being offered, but Dick could continue making that point clear as often as necessary. For now, it was enough that Damian didn’t blame himself for leaving today.

Loaded silence sat longer for a few minutes and when it seemed as though Damian didn’t have anything else to add, Dick said, “You should expect Tim to come up to you tomorrow by the way, he still feels bad.”

Like a switch had been flipped, Damian’s nose wrinkles in distaste, “Why? Is he going to try and have another emotional conversation?”

Snorting, Dick tells him, “He was worried when you left after getting back here, he thinks he really upset you.”

It’s a slight risk to say it so plainly but Damian ignores it, just shaking his head, “No, he already apologized.”

“It was still not a nice thing to do in the first place,” Dick points out.

Humming softly, Damian’s gaze is fixed on his hand running through Titus’s fur, “I’ve been harsh to him before, and I understand that he was worried, like I was.”

“That’s a pretty mature way to see it,” he comments back. Damian could be being honest, or this might become another issue between him and Tim.

“Not all...” for a heartbeat Damian stalls before continuing, “Not all siblings have relationships of sunshine like you want. It doesn’t mean we’re… on bad terms though.”

Resisting the urge to raise an eyebrow at his youngest brother, Dick just agrees, “That’s true.”

They lapse into silence, Damian evidently unwilling to elaborate further on the subject.

“Tim’s just downstairs watching a movie,” Dick says after a beat.

“Okay,” Damian pointedly doesn’t react further. The twitch of his fingers gives him away.

Suppressing a smile, Dick outright asks, “Do you want to go and see if we can watch with him? It’s still pretty early by our standards and I’ve been wanting to have a movie night for a few weeks.”

It’s a flat out lie, although it’s not wholly untrue. A movie night with some of his siblings sounds nice, but Dick hadn’t really considered it before now.

“I guess,” the reluctance of his voice doesn’t match how he’s the first to get up and start towards the door, calling for Titus to follow.

Dick is quick to trail behind him downstairs to the theatre room. Once Damian pushes open the door Titus runs in with a cheery bark and Tim jolts in the seat he was curled up in. Immediately, his eyes dart to Damian.

“Hey Timmy!” Dick says brightly, giving no hint to the fact Tim’s worry is written over his face, “Mind some company?”

“Uh,” the cogs turning in his younger brother’s head were almost visible, “Sure? Want some popcorn?”

Damian shook his head, going to sit down in a seat in the row above Tim, “No thank you.”

“I’d love some,” after grabbing a handful from the bowl Tim held outstretched, Dick went and sat next to Damian, right behind Tim, “What are we watching?”

“Oh, right,“ Tim’s attention snapped back to the screen and he rewound it to before whatever he’d missed when they came in, “Well, it’s actually pretty good so far-“

Whatever the explanation was, Dick didn’t really hear it. He tried to pay attention, he really did, but exhaustion was lingering through his whole body. There hadn’t really been time to process earlier, the fact that he’d apparently only been seconds away from death. Quite frankly, Dick wished it was a more uncommon experience in his life, but even though he’d faced similar risks before it never quite got easier.

He didn’t fear death, not in the way most people did. It wasn’t some looming shadow he constantly worried about; it was a very real presence always at his side. There was a sense of familiarity with death now that Dick didn’t have when he was younger. He’d witnessed death, and he’d been affected by it.

Dick didn’t fear pain, he feared who he would leave behind, he feared for the people he’d be letting down and leaving without a safety net, or a leader, or a partner, or a brother.

Tim and Damian were among those he feared leaving.

Both were watching the screen, and despite saying he didn’t want popcorn Damian kept leaning forward to reach for some out of Tim’s bowl. For his part, Tim just accepted this. It was a quiet moment of kindness between them, and Dick was confident that today wouldn’t damage their relationship irreparably.

But what if he had died? Would they still be like this? Or would Damian’s devastation and Tim’s desperate worry have created a vortex of hurt and lashing out?

It was pointless to pretend that everything was fine now, that just because he made it through today that things were wholly alright. Because one day, Dick would die. He wished he could honestly say that he believed it would be peacefully and of natural causes at an old age. It wouldn’t be, he knew; when Dick died it would probably be in battle.

But those weren’t problems for tonight. He could worry about death and leaving people behind and how to make sure his family would be alright without him another time.

Leaning forward to snag some of Tim’s popcorn, Dick tried to relax.

For now, all he had to do was enjoy the movie with his brothers.