Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The bi-monthly League nominations were the bane of Oliver’s existence sometimes. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy a good heated argument among the main League members, and he often added to them himself, but he could only listen to various Superheroes bickering about the pros and cons of Booster-fucking-Gold so many times before he lost it. He actively had his head in his hands when the verdict was finally reached and he sighed, slumping back in his chair.

“Right. Now that that’s taken care of—” Superman said, chipper as always. “—does anyone else have someone to put forth?”

There was a flare of yellow lightning as Flash’s hand shot up at inhuman speed, and Oliver could have strangled him. From glancing around at the other League members, he could tell that most of them shared that sentiment. Except Batman, he just always looked like that.

“Yes, Flash?” Superman said, his own smile faltering only slightly.

Flash lowered his hand and almost seemed to second guess himself momentarily before deciding to continue. “There’s this guy Wally works with sometimes. Nightwing. I… I can’t say I know a ton about him, but I’ve worked with him a few times and he’s… good. Like, good good. Completely human, but he’s smart. Good in a fight. He seems like a good person to have around.”

“I can vouch for him,” Cyborg said, sitting up straighter. “We’ve worked together before. I can’t promise he’d want the job though. He works out of Bludhaven, last I checked.”

Dinah perked up from where she was slumped against the table next to Oliver. “That’s next to Gotham. Batman, what do you know?”

All eyes immediately turned to where Batman sat with his arms crossed, looking impassive as always. There was a long moment of silence and the corners of Batman’s mouth turned ever so slightly downward. Finally, in a flat tone of voice that gave no more away than his face ever did, he said, “He’s… well trained. Fast. Could be useful.”

That was practically glowing praise coming from the Bat, Oliver was almost impressed, especially for someone he’d never even heard of.

“Is that official approval?” Superman asked.

After another long moment of stoic consideration, Batman gave a single nod. “We could use more operatives equipped to handle stealth-based missions.”

Superman turned his attention back to Flash. “And you think he’s trustworthy?”

Barry shrugged. “I watched him save Wally’s ass from a rogue with a rather large hammer. I’d trust him.”

“He’s a good guy,” Cyborg offered. “And a good fighter. He’s got a pretty good eye for tech, and he’s terrifyingly quiet when he wants to be. His identity’s locked up tight, but he’s not the only one.” Vic offered a pointed look at Batman.

“Sounds like this guy’s gonna give Bats a run for his money,” Ollie chuckled.

There were a few other laughs from the other League members but they died quickly when the gaze of Batman’s white lenses fell on Oliver.

“This Nightwing… he seems mysterious. Perhaps dangerous, but perhaps worth it,” Wonder Woman said with a thoughtful look on her face, breaking the tension. “It may be worth extending an invitation.”

There were general nods of agreement that Oliver couldn’t help but think wouldn’t be happening if Batman hadn’t given his rare stamp of approval. More than rare. Oliver didn’t even think that stamp of approval existed before now. It felt like there were too many unknowns about Nightwing to even consider offering him a spot, but even Oliver found himself more inclined to agree.

“Well, then the invitation shall be extended.” Diana smiled. “I trust there are no other matters to be discussed, yes?”

That was Diana’s way of saying that she wanted to leave and if anyone else raised their hand, she was possibly going to cause grievous bodily injury to them. Luckily, this subtextual meaning got across to everyone, and there were general words of agreement as everyone began to stand up and file out.

The last thing anyone said of note was Flash as he stood to go, “I’ll send Wally after Nightwing. I think he knows where to find him.”

…

Standing in the middle of the command center of the Watchtower, Nightwing looked fairly unassuming. Oliver thought so, at least. He wasn’t that tall, and while his skin-tight suit showed muscle definition, he was slim. The only visible weapons on him were a pair of escrima sticks on his back, and he couldn’t stand still to save his life. In that way, he was much like the younger Flash, who stood next to the League’s newest recruit, fidgeting at super speed.

“So, this is the world famous Justice League,” Nightwing said slowly, carefully observing every member of the League that was there, much as they were observing him. “Glad to be here, I suppose.”

He wasn’t nearly as excited that new recruits usually were to be in the Watchtower, Oliver noted. Hell, he wasn’t nearly as excited as Oliver was the first time he’d seen the Watchtower. Wally had spent at least ten minutes running to every window he could find, and that was impressive at super speed.

“Are you guys gonna talk to me, or are you just gonna stare?” The corners of Nightwing’s mouth quirked up in a teasing grin, seeming perfectly at ease in front of a group of the most powerful people on the planet.

Superman floated forward, breaking out of the group of League members. “Sorry, Nightwing, it’s been a while since we voted in a new member. And I have to admit, information about you has proved… allusive.”

Nightwing’s eyebrow arched up and he cocked his head to the side, looking curiously at Superman. “Is it now? I’m surprised, I was under the impression that you had a certain Bat on your team that could do anything.” His gaze shifted, almost imperceptibly, over to Batman and his grin ticked up further on one side than the other. “Anyhow, good thing Flash knew how to find me.” He jerked his head to the side slightly, indicating the younger Flash beside him, but his gaze, as far as Oliver could tell behind the white out lenses of his mask, stayed fixed on Batman. Batman’s facial expression never faltered, and he stared back impassively.

Superman cleared his throat, bringing the attention back to him. “Right. Very good. For the time being, you’ll be a probationary member. You’ll have provisional watchtower access, provided you are accompanied by another League member. We’ll send you on missions accompanied by senior members until we have a good idea of your abilities.”

“And until you know you can trust me, yeah?” Nightwing laughed. “I’d guess that’s part of it. That all sounds fair. I can’t promise I’ll always be available — my city still takes priority — but I’ll try to make myself less… allusive was how you put it?”

Superman smiled, extending his hand for Nightwing to shake. “Sounds good. Feel free to explore the watchtower, just stay with another member.”

Nightwing clasped Superman’s hand as Wally came up behind the new recruit and threw his arm around his shoulder. “I’ll show him around!” the younger Flash volunteered.
Superman nodded and released Nightwing’s hand. “Of course. Welcome to the team.”

“Provisionally, right?” Nightwing joked, knocking against Wally’s side. “Happy to be here. Wally’ll keep an eye on me, I’m sure.”

With that, the League members began to file out. Some stayed behind to greet Nightwing or shake his hand. Ollie caught sight of Batman standing at a distance, carefully watching the new recruit, but that wasn’t that odd. Even with Batman’s seeming approval, Oliver was sure that Nightwing would get put through the ringer before he earned his full membership.

…

Once they were around a corner, Wally nearly doubled over laughing, practically hanging off Dick with his arm still around his shoulder. “Dude, are you gonna tell them?”

“Walls, you’ve been having regular sleepovers at my house since you were twelve. If your uncle hasn’t figured it out yet, the rest of them have no hope. And I, for one, am amused.”

“I don’t actually need to show you around, do I?”

“Nah, I helped B set up security for this place when I was like fourteen. And snuck through the ventilation system once. Besides, I stole the blueprints from his computer before I came up here. I bet I know this place better than some senior League members.”

Chapter Text

Things were quiet for a few weeks, which set Clark more on edge than if there had been a minor alien invasion to keep the League occupied. At least Nightwing seemed to settle in okay, showing up in the watchtower occasionally with Wally by his side, or looking at tech with Vic. Clark was trying to keep a closer eye on him, just because there were so many unknowns, but the air of mystery around him slowly seemed to fade away. He seemed personable, smiled and joked often, and while he usually stuck with Wally or Vic, the others seemed to like him.

They still didn’t know what he could do though. A side effect of having no world-threatening emergencies for a time meant that they hadn’t seen Nightwing in action yet. Nobody had a great idea of the full scale of his abilities, and therefore Clark had now idea how to even begin assigning him to missions. New members usually entered the League with a few months of news coverage and shaky phone videos at least, but Nightwing barely had a newspaper mention.

So, what to do when there were no enemies to fight? Have him fight other League members. Clark decided to set up a few good-natured sparring matches. He gathered Nightwing in a training room, along with a few prospective matches for him to fight, and a handful of other League members that were curious to see the newest recruit fight.

Nightwing stood in the center of a wrestling mat, bouncing lightly from one foot to the other as he looked over his possible opponents with a crooked grin on his face. “So, who am I fighting?”

“Well…” Barry started.

“You were supposed to fight Green Arrow,” Clark continued. “However—”

“He’s currently indisposed,” Diana finished.

“He messed up his arm on patrol last night,” Barry offered. “Black Canary was also an option but—”

“She’s covering for him,” Clark sighed. “It’s a strange situation because—”

“No powers, I get it.” Nightwing shrugged. “Not to brag, but I do think I could hold my own against a few of you anyway, but I digress. So who am I fighting?”

Barry raised his hand with a slightly strained smile on his face. “That’d be me. I’m gonna let Martian Manhunter into my brain to tamp down my speed.”

Nightwing stared at him, an eyebrow raised. “...Right. No offense Flash, but do you have any formal combat training? I’m sure you could hold your own usually, but—”

“He’ll kick your ass, Uncle Barry,” Wally called out from where he leaned against the wall of the training room, looking amused. “In like, five seconds flat.”

Barry gulped and lowered his hand.

Nightwing laughed as he finally stopped shifting his weight from foot to foot as he scanned each League member in the room, as though sizing them up. “Look, I’ll fight him if you want, but I’m not sure it’ll be that useful. If pitting me against someone because of superpowers is really the issue, why don’t I just fight him?” Nightwing pointed, and it took Clark a moment to register that he wasn’t pointing at him or Diana, but between them, where Batman had stood looming silently this entire time.

You could have heard a pin drop. Before Clark could attempt to let the kid down easy, explain that there was no way he was fighting Batman as a new recruit and lasting more than a few seconds, and also that he’d really rather not have their newest member further on the Bat’s bad side than everyone else way, Batman stepped forward between him and Diana and regarded Nightwing with a frown.

“That’s not a good idea,” Batman growled.

Somehow, this just made Nightwing smile even wider. “Oh, I think this is a great idea, B.”

Clark had just enough time to think, Okay, that settles it, Nightwing has a death wish, before he registered that the corners of Batman’s mouth twitched up in a nearly imperceptible smile.

Without any other words spoken, Batman and Nightwing positioned themselves on either side of the mat and the small crowd of spectators all stood back. Clark thought about trying to stop this, and he could have, in theory, but he thought it prudent to let this die now. A lot of new recruits came in with a bit of a cocky attitude, trying to prove themselves against the more powerful heroes on the roster. A lot of times that meant trying to beat Batman at his own game. Best Nightwing got knocked down now, rather than screw something up on an actual mission later. But there was still a nagging feeling in the back of his mind that something was off about Nightwing. He came off as cocky, yes, or maybe just too fearless for his own good, but something told Clark that there was more substance to that disposition than most young heroes had.

The two opponents squared off, and Clark took one look at Batman — imposing, heavily armored, and trained to his absolute peak — and Nightwing — young, lithe, relatively short, and still a virtual unknown - winced inwardly on Nightwing’s behalf, and signaled for the fight to begin.

The fact that Nightwing didn’t immediately end up on his back was a miracle in itself. He dodged the first blow, then the second, then the third, and flipped out of the way of the fourth, kicking Batman in the chest as he did so. Batman stumbled, recovering in a fraction of a second, but it was enough time for Nightwing to get the escrima sticks off his back. They crackled with nasty looking blue electricity, which would have worried Clark, if he didn’t know that they had no chance of getting through Batman’s suit.

Clark thought that Nightwing’s luck would run out, and soon. But the fight went on like that. Nightwing dodged any blows that would have knocked him down in an instant, and traded his own blows back with a vengeance. Neither could get the upper hand. After a minute, Clark remembered that he was supposed to be analyzing Nightwing’s abilities, not just staring dumbly as the young hero continued to stay on his feet. He was fast, that much was obvious, and his brain could certainly keep up with his body, if not think ahead. He landed strategic hits, trying to knock Batman off balance, using the weight of his suit against him, and, at one point, even managing to tangle Batman up in his own cape momentarily.

Then — absurdly — Nightwing started laughing. As the opponents traded blows, Nightwing cackled like he was having the time of his life, dodging when he could, taking the hits he couldn’t get away from without faltering, and landing his own blows in the slight windows of opportunity afforded to him. Clark caught sight of a fierce smile on the young hero’s face too, different from the rehearsed, easygoing expression he wore around the League. It was pure, unbridled excitement.

Just as Clark thought that the fight might go on forever, Nightwing raised a hand to throw one of his escrima sticks, but Batman lept at him, swinging his fist in an arc that Nightwing easily should have dodged, but he didn’t. Batman’s fist connected with the side of his face, the laughing stopped, and the weapon Nightwing was throwing went wide.
Nightwing reeled from the harsh blow, and that should have been when Batman knocked him to the mat, ending the fight. He could have, easily. But Clark watched as Batman faltered, just for a split second, but it was enough for Clark’s ears to pick up on a ping, ping, ping noise, before Nightwing suddenly sidestepped, and the escrima stick that Clark thought he’d thrown wide connected squarely with the back of Batman’s head, having bounced around the room and off the back wall.

Batman fell forward, hitting the mat hard, and Nightwing stood victorious, laughing again as red bloomed on the side of his face and blood poured out of his mouth from a split lip. He picked the escrima stick up off the mat and attached both of them to his back again, then offered a hand to help Batman up.

To Clark’s further surprise, Batman clasped Nightwing’s hand and allowed himself to be hauled to his feet. This was so unprecedented that Clark had no idea what to expect next, but Batman wordlessly turning and leaving the training room wasn’t it.

“So,” Nightwing turned back to the shocked spectators, his crooked grin splitting his lip further and showing blood covered teeth, “who’s next?”

It was immediately obvious that no one in their right mind wanted to fight him now, and it wasn’t a great look for a legion of superheroes, so Clark took over, dismissed the remaining League members, and told Nightwing he should go take care of his injuries.

…

Bruce found Dick back in the cave, still in his Nightwing costume but with his mask off, sitting on a cot in the med bay with a cloth pressed to his lip. He stood at a distance, watching him as he traded the now bloody cloth for an ice pack that he pressed against his cheek.

“I can see you, you know,” Dick called, leaning against the wall. “You can drop the big bad bat act and come out of the shadows. Why do you loom in the shadows here anyway? This is like, your natural habitat.”

Bruce stepped into the lights of the med bay and pulled his cowl back. Rather than respond to that, he said, “You could have dodged that punch.”

Dick shrugged. “I could have.”

“You didn’t.”

“I didn’t.”

“Why?”

Dick started laughing, then winced as another line of blood began to drip down his chin from his lip. “Because I knew that you knew I could dodge it. I saw it coming from a mile away, and you knew that. You thought I would dodge, so you swung hard. No point in trying not to hurt me if you know your fist isn’t going to connect with anything. Except it did, ‘cause I stayed put. And you don’t like it when I get hit hard, especially if you’re the one doing the hitting. You falter because you’re worried about me, don’t dodge my escrima stick, I look cool in front of all of your friends. Checkmate.”

Bruce’s face set into a scowl. “You shouldn’t put yourself in harm's way to win a fight.”

“Come on B, I’m fine,” Dick said while actively wiping blood off his face. “You don’t have to get all sulky because I outsmarted you. Or because you hit me. Besides, to assuage your guilt, I’ve already gotten my revenge.”

“Which is?”

“I already told Damian that you punched me. You might want to watch your back for a few days.”

Chapter Text

People were a bit more wary of Nightwing after the incident in the training room. It wasn’t that they didn’t like him, but someone who could hold his own against — and then outsmart — the Bat was someone who was not to be fucked with. It didn’t seem to bother Nightwing though. In fact, Barry would wager that he found the whole situation amusing. The young hero spent most of his time with Wally anyway, who didn’t seem at all fazed by what went down.

Which was another thing. Barry tried, desperately, to get any information out of his nephew about what Nightwing’s whole deal was, or even just how he met him. But Wally, infamously blabbermouthed as he was, kept quiet for once in his life. All of his questions were just met with hysterical laughter or an amused grin and a shrug. The only information he actually got out of him was, I’ve known him since we were kids, Uncle Barry, you should know that (followed by Barry attempting to string together a web of all of Wally’s childhood friends and coming up empty) and ‘Course I know who he is under the mask. I’m not telling you though.

Which is why, on Nightwing’s first mission with the League, Barry kept sneaking glances at him out of the corner of his eye. He didn’t seem nervous, which was strange. Barry was nervous and he’d been doing this for years. They were on a jet, heading to eastern europe to track down the remnants of a robot defense program that had gone astray and began attacking its creators, and Nightwing hadn’t so much as twitched this whole time. In fact, he was actively tinkering with a piece of tech in his lap, his face creased with concentration as he examined and tweaked the different parts.

Barry didn’t pay much mind to the gadget itself until Nightwing turned it over and he saw a very distinctive Bat-shaped emblem on the side. He stared at it for a few long seconds, eyes wide, and then blurted “Is that Batman’s grapple gun?” far, far too loudly, judging by the fact that Dinah turned around from the front of the jet, looking curious.

Meanwhile, Nightwing didn’t even look up. “Huh? Oh, yeah. It’s one of his old ones. It works pretty well, but sometimes it catches and won’t fire. I’ve been trying to fix it.”

Barry made eye contact with Dinah, her eyes as wide as his, then looked back at Nightwing, who didn’t seem to see it prudent to explain further.

“Um… how’d you, er, acquire one of Batman’s gadgets?” Dinah asked slowly, brushing her long blond hair away from her face from where she was in the process of pinning it back for the mission.

Nightwing shrugged, still focused very intently on the device he was messing with. “I stole it from him a while back. I figured I might be able to do something with it, but this damn mechanism is still giving me issues. I might ask Cyborg for help with it later.”

Barry and Dinah continued looking between each other and Nightwing, who still seemed oblivious to their astonishment. First this kid beat Batman in a fight, then he stole something from him? And he said it so nonchalauntly, as though he did it all the time. Barry considered for a moment that he should probably tell Batman that their newest team member was stealing tech from him, but then he remembered that Wally liked Nightwing, and would rather not see him get pounded into a still living, but bloody pulp.

Suddenly, Nightwing messed with a mechanism inside of the grapple gun and the line shot out sideways, hitting the side of the jet with a clang and leaving a dent there. Nightwing finally looked up, staring at the spot where the grapple hit with his mouth slightly open. “I’ll… put this away for now.”

…

Stealth wasn’t exactly Barry’s strong suit. He could usually get in an out of a situation so fast that getting spotted wasn’t exactly a worry, but now he, Black Canary, and Nightwing were hidden in the shadows outside of what looked like a heavily armored government facility with robot guards, that was surely chalked full of more robots than Barry ever wanted to see. They didn’t have the keycode to get inside, so the plan was to wait for the door to open and then have Barry run the two non-speedsters inside, then wreak havoc to give Nightwing enough time to shut down the hub powering the robots.

Nightwing, despite his tendency to be unable to stand still while at the watchtower, was practically a statue as he carefully examined the robot guards in the moonlight. “They’ve got weak points on their backs,” he muttered quiet enough that Barry and Dinah could hardly hear him. “Exposed wiring. Rip that out. Or cut it. They should go down.”

Black Canary nodded and thumbed at the choker around her neck, while Nightwing reached for weapons in the hidden pockets of his suit. Barry faintly heard Nightwing mumble, “Huh, those aren’t mine,” but then the armored door of the facility began to open, and Barry didn’t have any time to question what that meant before he grabbed his teammates around the waist and ran them inside.

…

Barry would much rather think that he just wasn’t a good choice for this mission, rather than thinking he was total fuck up in this particular instance. Or that part of his brain was still devoted to puzzling out the mystery that was Nightwing. Yeah, that was it. Which meant he couldn’t be entirely blamed for the fact that he accidentally ran into the path of Canary’s cry, got thrown into a wall, swarmed by robots, and then blacked out. It wasn’t his finest moment. As his vision faded, he felt his body being dragged away, and faintly saw Canary and Nightwing fighting back to back, taking down one robot after another, and had just enough time to think Hey, at least those two are kicking ass, before his mind went blank.

When he woke up again, fighting his way out of inky black unconsciousness with his ears ringing, the first thing he noticed was a layer of broken robot parts covering the ground. Then he realized that he was suspended by his wrists by a rope from the ceiling, holding him up so his toes could barely graze the ground.

He didn’t fully have time to gain his bearings before a flying weapon of some sort cut through the rope — dropping him to the ground — then embedded in the wall next to his head. Head spinning, Barry blearily gazed over at the weapon to find a wicked sharp looking metal bat. Oh great, I fucked up so badly that they had to send Batman after me. I’m never going to hear the end of this, he thought, his head thumping back against the wall behind him.

The next thing he knew, Black Canary was at his side undoing the rest of the ropes and Nightwing casually plucked the batarang out of the wall. Barry dully thought to himself that Batman was probably going to want that back, but then he realized that the Dark Knight himself was nowhere to be seen.

“Wh…where’s…Batman?” Barry managed, his words coming out garbled.

Dinah looked alarmed, and immediately went from undoing knots to checking him over for injuries. “You must have hit your head pretty hard, Flash. Batman wasn’t on this mission.” She looked around, as though to make sure no one was watching, then went to pull back his cowl to examine his head.

Barry batted her hands away. “No…no, I know, but…” The buzzing in his ears was steadily fading as his healing ability caught up with him, and he looked over at Nightwing to double check that he was, in fact, holding a batarang. Unable to get the right words out, Barry just listlessly gestured to the weapon in Nightwing’s hands.

“Oh, no, this is mine.” Nightwing tossed the weapon from one hand to the other, actually looking a little confused. “Well, not mine. I’m the one that threw it, but to be honest, I’ve got no clue how I got these.” As if by magic, because Barry still couldn’t quite parse how the pockets in Nightwing’s suit worked, he produced five more batarangs and held them out for Barry and Dinah to see. “I’ve got similar things, except they’re obviously not shaped like bats. As to where these came from…” he shrugged, pocketing the batarangs again.

“Erm, well…” Dinah said carefully, “you did say that you stole that grapple gun… did you… uh… take those too?”

Nightwing actually looked like he was considering the question, as if he could have stolen batarangs and then forgotten about it. “Maybe? I mean, I’ve picked dozens of them up off of rooftops, but I don’t usually carry them around with me. The more concerning question is probably where the hell my wingdings went, but, oh well, I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it.” And as if that was the end of a completely normal conversation, Nightwing shrugged, then bent down to help untie Barry.

Barry desperately hoped that Wally knew he’d made friends with someone who had a total lack of self preservation. Who even thought about stealing Batman’s gear? Much less was successful? Barry briefly wondered if Batman knew and had let him get away with it to help a young hero out, but he squashed that thought as soon as it came up. Batman didn’t seem like the type.

…

Bruce looked up from the case files he was studying when a pile of batarangs were suddenly dumped on the desk in front of him. He looked up to find Dick, unmasked but still in his suit, with a frown on his face.

“Where are my wingdings?” he demanded.

Bruce blinked, picking up a batarang and turning it over in his hands. “I think Tim has them.”

“All of them?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

To be honest, Bruce had no clue. When Tim asked him for batarangs to give to Dick while he worked on the wingdings, Bruce had assumed he had Dick’s consent to experiment with them.

Dick sighed in annoyance, his shoulders dropped, and he yelled “Timothy! I don’t care if you mess with my weapons, provided you ask first.”

A muffled, yelled reply of “Sorry!” came from somewhere in the cave, but it didn’t sound particularly sincere.

Dick grumbled a few words under his breath, then picked the batarangs back up and stowed them away in his suit, then collapsed on a spinning chair next to Bruce, slowly pushing himself around in a circle. “Hey, B, remember that grapple gun I took from you a while ago?”

“Still giving you hell?”

“Yep,” Dick mumbled, popping the ‘p’. “I might get Vic to look at it. If he can’t figure it out, I’ll hand it over to Tim to mess with.”

Bruce nodded, and flipped through his case file for a few minutes. “How’d your mission go?”

“Have you ever seen robots tie someone up before?”

“So, not great?”

Dick laughed, kicking his feet up on the desk next to Bruce. “Oh, wonderful for Dinah and I. Barry… not so much.”

Chapter Text

Batman hadn’t responded to any League correspondence in five days. That in itself wasn’t too alarming. The man had dropped off the face of the earth for two whole months before, only for Clark to later learn that he’d been dismantling an international assassin organization from the inside out and hadn’t thought to ask for help. Or warn anyone. They had been extremely close to erecting a fallen hero memorial for him that time, but then he showed up at the weekly meeting as though nothing had happened.

So Clark usually wouldn’t be worried, but Lois had come home talking about how Gotham was currently in deeper shit than it usually was. Bad enough that the citizens were supposed to stay on lockdown. Arkham breakout. Something Clark should have known about, as a reporter if not as superhero, but he (and the rest of the League) stayed out of Gotham’s business as a rule of thumb, and at the Bat’s insistence.

Clark tried to reach Batman through League communication, asking if he needed help, or if he was still alive, but it all remained unanswered. Finally, as a last ditch attempt to get through, he sent an alert with a video correspondence feature, hoping that if Batman picked up the call, even for a split second, he’d be able to see what state he was in.

To his surprise, the call was picked up, and Batman appeared on the League monitor, recorded from a camera in his gauntlet. He was in the dark streets of Gotham, running from something in the shadows that roared behind him. “What do you want?” he growled.

“To make sure you’re alive.”

“Alive,” he grunted. “Busy.” He went to turn off the call, but the thing behind him roared louder and Clark’s ears picked up on human screaming and he saw a glimpse of something flying through the air before it crashed directly into Batman. The video feed went fuzzy and when it cleared, it showed a crooked view of the street, and the object that had been thrown.

Except it wasn’t an object. Nightwing picked himself up from a crumpled heap on the ground, holding his side. “Solomon Grundy… why did it have to be Solomon Grundy…” he whined to himself, sounding dazed.

Then the video feed started moving again as Batman pulled himself to his feet, and then it went out.

Clark was on his way to Gotham before he fully asked himself why Nightwing was there.

…

Superman was fast, but not instantaneous, and he got delayed trying to stop a giant crocodile monster (Killer Croc, if he remembered correctly, a fitting name) from destroying an apartment block. Once Croc was safely bound in some steel beams from a nearby construction site, Clark continued flying through the city, looking and listening for Batman or Nightwing.

It was deceptively quiet in Gotham, as though he’d caught the very tail end of whatever happened, but Clark spotted signs of battle everywhere he turned. Collapsed walls, crushed cars, and — interestingly — a sword with a red and green hilt stuck into the wall halfway up the side of an office building. He followed the worst of the destruction until he found the two people he was looking for on top of a building near the harbor, whatever had been chasing them seemingly taken care of. Clark stayed hovering at a distance, watching and listening to their conversation with his super hearing.

Nightwing was leaning heavily against the wall of the stairwell entrance to the building, his suit torn on the arm and left of his torso where his hand was pressed against an injury. He was wincing, but Clark couldn’t tell if it was in pain or because he was currently getting yelled at by the Bat. Well, yelled wasn’t right. Clark had heard him yell before and this wasn’t it. This was just an annoyed, harsh tone, somehow deeper than his usual Batman growl.

“Go home,” Batman growled at the young hero, which had been exactly what Clark was expecting to hear.

“I’m fine, B,” Nightwing responded through gritted teeth, which didn’t seem like the proper response.

“You’re hurt. Go home,” Batman ordered, then went to turn away to end the conversation.

Nightwing pushed himself off the wall, righting his posture even though Clark could hear how his breath caught with pain, then he grabbed Batman’s arm, stopping him. Clark was ready to quickly fly in to stop Batman from pummeling another League member, but no hit came. Batman just turned sharply back around, glaring.

“I just need a breather. Bruised ribs. I’ll live. There are still rogues unaccounted for. I can fight.” Nightwing dropped his hand from where it had been clutching his side, and Clark quickly used his x-ray vision to make sure his ribs weren’t actually broken.

“Besides,” Nightwing continued, “if you’re going to yell at me, then you’re definitely going to have to yell at him.” He pointed behind Batman and up, right to where Clark was hovering a few buildings away. “I know you’re listening, Supes. You can come down now.”

Sheepish about eavesdropping, Clark touched down on the rooftop. Nightwing smiled and waved, while Batman just glared.

“Sorry,” Clark apologized immediately. “The state of things looked pretty dire.”

“It’s under control,” Batman growled. “Leave.”

Clark would have liked to point out that the giant lizard monster he fought didn’t look too ‘under control’, but there was the faint beeping noise of a communicator from Batman’s cowl, and he turned away from the conversation, saying, “Gordon. Talk.”

Clark sighed and turned his attention to Nightwing, scanning him over for other injuries. He had a nasty gash on his arm where the suit was torn, and another on his temple over his mask. His escrima sticks were neither in his hands, on his back, or on the roof, and Clark had to assume that’d been lost during the fight, but otherwise, Nightwing was right; he’ll live.

When Clark pulled his focus back from looking for physical injuries, he noticed that he was staring after Batman, scowling. “It’s not personal, you know,” Clark offered. “He doesn’t like people interfering in his city.”

Nightwing snorted, a humorless smile crossing his face. “Oh, believe me, I know. But I was in the neighborhood when shit went down.” His smile changed to a wry grin, like he was in on a joke that Clark wasn’t. “Visiting family.”

“Oh, well, I’m sure you learned that Gotham isn’t to be messed with,” Clark chuckled weekly, indicating the gash on Nightwing’s arm.

“Yeah, I already knew that too. I’ve fucked with Gotham many times and come out worse for wear.” At Clark’s confused look, Nightwing continued, “I grew up here. Most of my life, at this point, which is weird to think about.” His eyes went serious, as though he were thinking about past events, but then he shook his head and the look cleared. “Besides, I’m just across the river in Bludhaven now, and it sucks there too. I’d come back more often if someone learned to accept help,” he yelled that last part, cupping his hands around his mouth for dramatic effect.

Superman winced. “You have a death wish.”

“Eh, he doesn’t kill people.”

“Not the point.”

Nightwing looked like he was going to continue, but at that moment, Batman came striding back across the roof. “Riddler’s the only prisoner unaccounted for. I can handle him.” He looked pointedly at Nightwing, “You’re hurt. Go home,” then he turned his attention to Clark. “You, leave.” With no other words, Batman jumped off the side of the roof, shot a grapple line off into the distance and disappeared into the shadows.

The moment he was gone, Nightwing’s posture faltered and he seemed to curl in on himself, clutching his side once again as he hissed in pain. He took a few slow, deep breaths, then straightened himself out again, still gritting his teeth.

“Maybe you should go home,” Superman said hesitantly. “Here, I can fly you.” He held out a hand for Nightwing to take.

Nightwing looked at his hand, considering. Finally, he said “Yeah, take me back to the…” He faltered, as though making a last second decision. “Take me Bludhaven, please. I’ll give you directions when we get across the river."

As Clark grabbed Nightwing, careful of his injuries, and took off into the sky, he couldn’t help but wonder how this kid was still standing. Not because of his present physical condition, but because he seemed to actively reject the healthy fear of Batman that everyone else had ingrained in them. Clark had thought it was because he was new, but now he was starting to think it was something else. Maybe it was because he grew up in Gotham, probably regularly hearing about Batman. Gothamites were a different breed, and Clark had learned to stop questioning them long ago.

…

The Riddler tended to be easier to dispatch when he didn’t have time to plan. Once Bruce dropped him on the steps of the GCPD, he stopped on a lightpost and connected to the comm channel with all of the other bats. “Riddler captured. Report,” he said simply shooting a grapple towards a nearby building to start making his way across the city.

A chorus of ‘all good’s and one ‘fuck you’ from Jason let him know that everyone was accounted for, except Nightwing, who was hopefully already getting stitched up back at the cave.

Once he made a final round of the city and found no obvious further disturbances, he returned to the cave, pulling off his cowl as he entered the main hub. Cassandra, Stephanie, and Tim were all half out of their costumes, sitting in a line on the floor while Cass stitched up a gash on Steph’s leg and Steph bandaged Tim’s arm. Damian looked fairly unscathed, save a few bumps and bruises, but was lamenting the loss of one of his swords while Titus lay on his lap. Jason was nowhere to be found, which wasn’t surprising, and Duke — called out for night duty against his will — was getting a sprained wrist fussed over by Alfred. Barbara was still at the clocktower, monitoring the city to make sure nothing else went awry.

That was everyone except Dick, who wasn’t anywhere in the cave. Bruce quickly opened Nightwing’s comm channel. “Nightwing, report.”

“You have such a lovely way of asking if we’re okay,” Dick hummed back through the earpiece.

“Where are you?”

“My apartment. Someone told me to go home.”

“I meant—”

“I know what you meant, B. You meant go back to the cave so you can worry over me while I’m in your direct line of vision. Unfortunately for you, your worrying tends to come out through yelling and disappointed lectures, and I’m good without that for the night, thank you very much.”

Bruce sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Do you need someone to come help you with your injuries?”

“I’ve got most of them taken care of. There’s a gash on my back that I can’t reach that’s going to need stitches, but I’ll call Wally to help. He can get here faster.”

“Very well,” Bruce forced the words out of his mouth, unhappy about it, but before he could turn off the communicator, Nightwing continued.

“Hey, B?”

“Yes?”

“The once in a blue moon family dinner that got interrupted by this mess; we’ll reschedule, yeah?”

“Of course.”

Chapter Text

Hal had been off-world for a while. He expected a few things upon his return; a warm welcome from the League, a nice cup of coffee, a few days break from all this hero stuff if he was lucky.

He did not expect the Flash to run up to him the moment he got into the Watchtower, grab his shoulders, and suddenly start rambling at super speed. “There’sanewcompletelyhumanleaguememberandhe—”

“Human speed, Barry.”

Flash stopped, took a deep breath, then started again. “There’s a new completely human League member and he beat Batman in a fight, vaguely got away with fighting crime in Gotham, and may or may not steal Batman’s gadgets on a regular basis.”

Hal stared back at Barry, blinking dumbly for a few seconds. “Fuck.”

“Yeah!” Flash agreed, nodding at super speed and shaking Hal’s shoulders. “It’s terrifying. And the worst part is, he’s not even a scary person. He’s nice, and he tells jokes, and he’s my nephew’s best friend, and I am so confused.”

Hal opened his mouth to respond, but got cut off by hysterical laughter coming from the other side of the room. He looked up to find the younger Flash leaning against the wall with his cowl pulled down, nearly doubled over from laughing so hard.

“Oh, I’m having such a good time with this,” Wally cackled, wiping his eyes. “Remember, Uncle Barry, you’re the one that nominated him, and it was the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Barry cursed under his breath. “Tell me more about him. Please.”

Wally made a zipping motion over his mouth. “Not a chance. If you haven’t cracked it yet, I’ve lost all hope. Superman wants you guys in the meeting room, by the way.” With that, he turned and zipped out of the room, his laughter trailing off down the hallway.

Barry hung his head. “I’m in hell.”

“C’mon, Barry, let's get to the meeting room,” Hal said, patting Barry’s shoulder and steering him after his nephew.

Only a handful of people were actually in the meeting room when they got there. Batman and Superman stood near the monitors in the front of the room, obviously scouring over information, while Green Arrow and Black Canary looked over paper maps and plans at the table. The younger Flash had joined someone dressed in a black and blue suit that Hal had never seen before tapping away at a holo-screen. Hal had to assume this was the new recruit Barry was talking about, but at a first glance… he didn’t look like much. Young, not armored, slim… Hal had been picturing someone a bit more imposing. Though, he thought that if he saw this kid take Batman out, he’d be more scared than if it was someone more imposing.

Superman noticed them as soon as they walked in and nodded to Hal. “Welcome back, Green Lantern.”

“Glad to be back.” He turned his attention to the new recruit and held out a hand to shake. “Hi, I don’t think we’ve met yet.”

The young man didn’t even glance up from whatever information he was looking through. “Hi. Nightwing. Sorry for the lack of niceties. Busy.”

Hal awkwardly lowered his hand. “So… I’m guessing there’s an issue?”

Superman nodded gravely, sighing as he turned back to his monitors. “Big issue.”

“Care to elaborate?”

Hal jumped when it was Nightwing that answered from beside him, still lost in his research. “Gotham problem leaked out of Gotham, and that sucks for everyone involved.”
“Jonathan Crane,” Batman said gruffly.

Hal mentally ran through Batman’s rogue gallery until he landed on, “Scarecrow? Isn’t he in jail?”

“Yes,” Batman huffed, also not turning away from his research to speak, “but someone’s gotten their hands on his fear toxin.”

“A modified version of it, anyway,” Nightwing continued, standing up with his holo-screen and heading to the front of the room. He plugged what he was working on into the monitors that Batman and Superman were at and a bunch of maps that Hal couldn’t begin to decipher appeared on the screens. “I found a group of thugs with the toxin in Bludhaven a few weeks ago. Weird, but I didn’t think much of it. Shit jumps the river from Gotham all the time. Me included, I suppose.” Nightwing chuckled slightly, but Hal didn’t get the joke. “Anyway, long story short, it wasn’t an isolated incident. Someone’s supplying criminals with fear toxin, and not only in Bludhaven. There have been incidents from coast to coast. I’ve been tracking them, and it’s officially reached danger status, especially because—”

“These incidents have just been tests,” Batman interrupted gravely. “Something bigger is coming.”

It seems I’m not getting those few days off from this hero thing, Hal thought, sighing.

…

Hal almost would have let his guard down about the new kid, if not for the fact that it was incredibly obvious that Superman was keeping an intense eye on him. He seemed harmless, all things considered, despite what Barry had said about him. Quick to laugh and quick to joke, but still laser focused on the task at hand. And yet, Superman watched him, closely, tensing if he ever got too close to Batman. That alone was enough to put Hal on high alert, even as he tried to focus on stringing together the information presented to him.

Currently, Nightwing and Wally had their heads bent over the same data sets, discussing possibilities of an antidote for this strand of toxin from samples Nightwing had collected. Considering Batman was on the other side of the room, Hal finally managed to turn his attention to what he was actually supposed to be looking at.

“Hey, guys,” Hal called out, his eyes narrowing on the maps he’d been given to study, “that spot in New Mexico where there’s a concentration of incidents? There’s a decommissioned military base at the center of it.”

Batman grunted vaguely in acknowledgement. “Nightwing, start—”

“Already on it, B,” Nightwing interrupted, quickly switching over to the holo-screen gadget he’d been on earlier, typing away furiously at the interface. “Got it! Closed down in 1993, yadda yadda. Oh fuck, there’s a ton of classified information here. That’s never good. Uh…” His eyebrows knit together and he redoubled the speed on whatever he was inputting. “Looks like they tested weapons. How much you wanna bed that the army left a bunch of their old shit sitting around when they packed up and left?”

“Highly likely,” Batman sighed.

“Wally, start trying to hack into the classified files. Hal, help him. Barry, start working on the antid—” Nightwing and Batman ordered at the exact same time, causing them both to stop in the middle.

Nightwing physically jumped up and whirled around on Batman. “No, no, no. Gross. Ew. The day I start talking like you is the day that I beg Wally to vibrate his hand through my chest and stop my heart.”

“You already talk like him sometimes,” Wally noted, already typing possible passcodes into a computer at super speed, digging through the classified files that Nightwing brought up.

“Walls, this is the utmost betrayal of many years of friendship. I’m never forgiving you.” Nightwing slumped back in his chair, pulling his screen up again, while Wally chuckled. “As I was saying, Barry, please start working on the antidote. It would be greatly appreciated, thanks.”

Batman just huffed and turned back to his work. As soon as his back was turned, Nightwing stuck out his tongue at him like a young child.

“I did see that, Nightwing,” Batman muttered.

“Yeah, yeah, and what are you gonna do? Ground me?”

Superman cleared his throat and actively moved to hover between the two of them. “Perhaps we should get back to work?”

Nightwing, Wally, and Batman all continued on with their tasks, while Hal scanned the faces of the others in the room to make sure they were in the same speechless state he was. Even Hal wouldn’t have tried to get away with that, and he took pride in occasionally trying to piss off the Bat. Nightwing did it with no fear, and Hal thought that this might be the fastest a new League member had ever earned his respect. He didn’t know what the fuck was up with Nightwing, but he knew that he wanted to see more of it.

…

They disbanded for the day after another hour. Hal caught up with Nightwing in the corridor, clamping his hand on his shoulder as he came up beside him.

“I gotta give it to you, kid, you’re gutsy,” Hal laughed.

Nightwing raised an eyebrow at him. “I’m not really a kid. Then again, I think you’re as old as my father.”

“Come on! There’s no way I’m more than ten years older than you.”

Nightwing shrugged. “I was adopted.”

Hal pushed Nightwing’s shoulder lightly, laughing. “Right, sure. So, kid, what do you have against ol’ Bats anyway?”

“Oh, so many things,” Nightwing chuckled, “but nothing major right now. Why?”

“Because it takes some serious guts to mess with him! I figured you must have a vendetta or something.”

“I guess he’s less scary when you grow up around him.”

“Ah. Gothamite?”

The corners of Nightwing’s mouth perked up strangely as if he were holding back a laugh. “Yeah, something like that.”

“You guys are a different species, I swear!” Hal laughed, patting Nightwing on the shoulder. “I’ve never met someone from Gotham that wasn’t at least a little bit of a freak.”

“I think it’s what happens when we get only three days of sunlight a year. I also think there might be something in our water, but we’ve never been able to confirm that."

“I like you, kid. Glad you’re on the team.”

…

Bruce, as he often was, was digging through files on the batcomputer when Dick finally made his way back to the cave. Dick came up behind him, looking over his shoulder at the continued information from the day’s meeting that he was scanning through.

After a few seconds of silence, Dick said, “Hey, B?”

Bruce grunted in acknowledgement, eyes still focused on his research.

“Do you think we should tell the League that you raised and trained me?”

Bruce’s fingers paused on the keyboard and he slowly turned around to face Dick. “...Do they not know?”

Dick laughed so hard he doubled over, clutching his sides. “No! You’ve worked with most of them since I was a literal child and they had no fucking clue that I exist. I wonder whose fault that is, Mr. I-Work-Alone! Now I’ve earned Hal’s respect because he thinks I hate you, I think Clark is worried for my sanity and physical wellbeing, and Wally told me that Barry might be on the verge of a mental breakdown.”

“If Barry hasn’t cracked it yet, the rest of them have no chance. Bart ate dinner here last night.”
“Exactly! That’s what I said!”

Bruce sighed and turned back to his work. “Leave them be. If they don’t figure it out, it’s their fault.”

Chapter Text

Clark really didn’t want to send both Batman and Nightwing on this mission. He was almost entirely convinced that forcing them to work together would end in bloodshed eventually, and more than just the split lip Nightwing got when the two of them first fought. Unfortunately, Batman had the information and experience dealing with the fear toxin, and Nightwing had proven himself useful enough that not taking him seemed stupid.

Also, everyone else with comparable technical know-how was busy.

So far, nothing had gone wrong. Batman, Nightwing, Black Canary, and Green Arrow had been sent to break into and sneak around in the abandoned army base, while Clark, Green Lantern, and both Flashes waited on coms. The basic idea was to disable their tech, flush them out, then arrest them. That was, if everything went according to plan.

Of course, nothing went according to plan. The coms had been silent as the stealth team infiltrated the base, then an alarm started blaring, and there was just enough time for Clark to hear Nightwing say, “Well, that’s not good,” before everything went to hell.

The door to the facility they were watching literally exploded outwards, sending Nightwing and Black Canary tumbling out soon after. Canary just barely landed on her feet and whirled around, using her Canary cry to deflect some sort of projectile that got fired out after them.

Suddenly, Batman’s voice crackled to life on the coms. “Opponents have alien tech. Stealth mission abandoned. Engage in combat. Canary and Nightwing, report.”

“Little busy for a report right now, Batman!” Canary yelled as things that, at first glance, looked smooth, white, alien droids clawed their way out of the building.

“We’re fine, B!” Nightwing shouted, leaping out of the way of a projectile that promptly burst into flames upon hitting the ground. “We could use you out here though!” He threw one of his escrima sticks and it bounced off three of the mech suits, then back to his hand, barely leaving a dent. “Well, that’s not great.”

That seemed like the cue for Clark and the rest of the League members on standby to join the fight.

…

Whatever fight they had been anticipating, it wasn’t this. Whatever alien tech their foes had gotten their hands on seemed everything resistant. Clark had some luck tearing apart droids and mech suits with brute strength, but his heat vision and freeze breath just bounced right off of them. Their luck was only holding out in the sense that they didn’t seem able to deploy their fear toxin yet. Clark ripped through a droid, then shot himself into the air to visually check in on the rest of the team.

The enemies broke through Green Lantern’s constructs like they were nothing, Canary had some success knocking the enemies off course with her cry, the Flashes were running damage control — deflecting projectiles and doing their best to confuse the enemies by zipping around — and Green Arrow was mostly just dodging at the moment, hitting where they could and looking for weak points to shoot.

It took another second for him to locate Batman and Nightwing. The two heroes were swarmed by bots, but holding their own, literally fighting back to back. They held the enemies back well enough, but couldn’t make a dent in the numbers.

Clark dove down, managing to rip off the cannon arm of a bit that was swinging towards Nightwing.

“Thanks, Supes!” Nightwing yelled, flipping out of the way of a projectile. The moment he landed, he whirled around and whistled. Before Clark could process what was happening, Batman ducked down and Nightwing vaulted off of his shoulders, twisting in mid-air, and grabbing an alien drone and slamming it into the ground. Nightwing’s attack managed to crack the outer shell, and the moment it hit the ground, Batman had already thrown a batarang that lodged itself in the crack and then exploded.

Maybe Clark shouldn’t have worried so much about them working together. He was worrying a bit more now about why they worked so well together. He realized, thinking about it, that they had similar fighting styles, similar gadgets, and even similar tactics. It was just hard to think of anyone — especially anyone who was as personable as Nightwing — as being like Batman. Especially considering that Nightwing had Batman’s current skill in combat at at least a decade younger. It occurred to him that he didn’t actually know how old Nightwing was, but probably around Wally’s age, if not younger. He should be among the younger generation. Promising, yes, but inexperienced compared to the senior League members. Unless he’d been training since he was an actual child, there was no reason that Nightwing should fight the way he did.

In Clark’s momentary distraction, another droid swung at him with a mean looking metal first that probably would have actually managed to do some damage to the Kryptonian, but before it could make contact, Nightwing shot a grapple line that wrapped around the droid’s arm and tugged it off course for a split second. The line snapped, causing Nightwing to curse under his breath, but it was enough time for Clark to catch the fist and snap the arm off at the joint.

Nightwing backed up until he was back to back with Batman again, then, in a movement so fluid that Clark probably wouldn’t have noticed save for his enhanced senses, grabbed one of Batman’s grapples off his utility belt, then shot the at the same droid that had just attacked Clark, then used that leverage to pull himself and the droid closer together and ram one of his escrima sticks through the droid’s armored skull and into its computerized brain.

Clark vaguely thought that Nightwing was going to get an earful about taking gadgets later, but his brain was still trying to catch up with the fact that Nightwing seemed to know exactly where the gadget he was looking for was, and exactly how to use the tech that wasn’t his. He briefly remembered Barry babbling something about Nightwing stealing Batman’s gear, but he hadn’t believed him at the time. Something in the back of Clark’s mind also thought that Batman had a safeguard on his suit that stopped anyone that wasn’t him from taking gadgets off his belt, removing pieces of armor, or removing the cowl, but maybe had built in exceptions for League members, considering the reason that Clark knew about it was because Green Arrow had once been zapped trying to treat an injury while Batman was unconscious.

They continued like that, making any dents in their enemies that they could, until Canary suddenly yelled through the coms, “This drone I just took down is beeping in the bad way things beep before they go boom, I don’t know what—” and then her voice cut off abruptly as Clark’s world turned upside down, and he was flung through the air by a shockwave of pure heat and force.

…

Clark recovered quickly. When he opened his eyes, he found a wasteland of broken and scattered alien droid pieces. His instincts kicked in, and he immediately started searching for his less-than-invulnerable teammates. Hal had been in the air when the blast went off, and there he remained, enveloped by his green light as a shield. It looked like the two Flashes grabbed Dinah and Oliver, speeding them away from the blast, but had still been knocked off their feet. The four of them lay in a crumpled heap on the ground, but Clark could hear heartbeats, and they began to pull themselves up as he watched. That left Batman and Nightwing.

Batman remained where he stood, luckily close to the edge of the blast. He was hunched over with his back towards where the explosion came from, enveloped by the cape that Clark knew was just about everything-proof. But no Nightwing. Clark didn’t know his heartbeat that well, but he could still pick it out. It was beating, but Clark couldn’t see him, even as he flew over and used his x-ray vision to search through the rubble, expecting to find Nightwing under a pile of robot parts. He wasn’t there.

Then Batman stood to his full height and his cape fell back, revealing the wide-eyed young hero it’d been wrapped around. Nightwing stumbled backwards, looking dazed but no worse for wear. He looked around, and after determining that they were no longer in the heat of battle, he began laughing, managing to sound only slightly unsettled.

“Well, good to know that the ‘if things go boom, hide behind the cape’ instinct is still firmly hardwired into my skill,” Nightwing chuckled, scratching at the base of his neck.
“It’s not a bad instinct to have,” Batman grunted, looking Nightwing up and down as though to check for injuries. “Keeps you alive.”

Nightwing’s mouth quirked up in a crooked smile and he pressed a finger to the com device in his ear. “Hey, Flashes, Arrow, Canary, you guys good?”

“Just wonderful,” the younger Flash groaned from the other side of the battlefield as he pulled himself to his feet.

“I feel like I just ran into Canary’s cry again,” the older Flash continued, “but nothing broken, just very bruised.”

Black Canary and Green Arrow both agreed, and the Flashes grabbed each of them and sped them over to where Nightwing, Batman, and Superman already were, while Green Lantern landed next to Nightwing, completing their group.

“What the hell happened?” Lantern cried, kicking a broken droid leg in disbelief. “There’s no way they wanted their whole alien robot army to just go kaboom!”
“Maybe they saw that the robots weren’t making easy work of us, and thought that might take us out?” Canary suggested.

“Or it’s the pitfalls of using alien tech. You don’t know exactly what it does, and sometimes it explodes on you,” Nightwing said. “Either way, we’re not done. We still gotta take down whoever’s behind all this, and figure out what they’re doing with the fear toxin. The fact that it hasn't been used on us already worries me, but it could also mean that whatever they were building isn’t ready yet. We have to take it out before they can finish.”

…

As their team regrouped, picking through the alien rubble for any clues and trying to come up with the best plan of attack, Dick caught Bruce checking him over a few times from under the cowl. When it was clear the rest of the team was occupied, Dick finally spoke up.

“I am okay, you know,” he said lightly. “Lucky for you, I apparently still know that you’ll keep me safe if things go sideways. I know I don’t always listen to that instinct, but it worked out this time. Look, I even still have all of my fingers.” He held up both of his hands and wiggled his fingers around to prove his point.
Bruce grunted in response.

Dick rolled his eyes. “You’re impossible. Talk to me.”

“I don’t like going into this without an antidote for this strand of toxin,” Bruce grumbled. “It’s not safe.”

“We can’t wait any longer. And hey, we gave the research Flash started over to Red Robin and Oracle. I know you trust them to get it right. The moment they finish the antidote, we’ll know.”

Chapter Text

As the team crept through the army base, Clark couldn’t help but think it seemed far too empty. The stealth team had reported that they hadn’t run across anyone, but they hadn’t gotten through the whole building before everything went south, but this truly looked abandoned. The rooms they checked either had busted equipment or nothing at all. Occasionally they found evidence that someone had been working here — footprints in the dust, new notes on old blueprints, and, now that they knew what they were, bits and pieces of the alien droids they’d just fought — but no signs of life.

Clark stopped and focused his hearing, listening for any sounds of life, and…there, a single heartbeat somewhere below them. “We need a way down,” he said, scanning the building for passages. “In that room up ahead. There’s a trapdoor with a stairwell beneath it.”

They quickly made their way into the next room, and Nightwing tried the metal trapdoor, but it was locked. Clark took over, ripped the door off its hinges, and placed it to the side, and the team made its way below ground.

They found themselves in a long room that Clark thought might have once been used for testing experiments, but had long since been emptied out. Lights flickered overhead, and part of the room to their left actually seemed to have caved in slightly, but that wasn’t their biggest worry. Their biggest worry was a man standing on the far end of the room, unassuming in stature, wearing a labcoat, surrounded by what very much looked like cobbled together explosives made from the same white, smooth, alien tech they’d fought upstairs, and holding a detonator.

“I wouldn’t come any closer if I were you!” the man yelled, brandishing the detonator. “If I let go of this button, even for a split second, these bombs will go off. Now, you may be able to survive that, Superman, but I don’t think your friends will. And I don’t think any of you would enjoy the toxin set to release with them. It’s better than Scarecrow’s old formula, and even the Bat couldn’t have made an antidote this quickly.”

“You’ll die too,” Nightwing spoke up, looking far too confident for someone who wasn’t explosion-proof. “What would you achieve?”

“You think I’m the only one behind this?” the man laughed. “No, I’m just a cog in the machine. If I take even one of you down with me, then my purpose is fulfilled. However, I don’t intend to die today. Which is why you, Mr. Black and Blue—”

“Nightwing.”

“—are going to walk forward, slowly, with your hands up and stand right next to my lovely bombs as some extra assurance, then I’m going to walk right through your super-powered friends and up those stairs, and they aren’t going to even think about touching me, if they don’t want you to go kaboom. Got it?”

Nightwing clenched his teeth and squared his shoulders, but held up his hands nonetheless. “Got it,” he hissed through his teeth.

There should be a way out of this, but as Nightwing took his first few steps forward, Clark couldn’t think of one. Even with the Flashes’ speed, they couldn’t risk jostling that detonator, and Clark couldn’t get everyone out in time. He tried to glance at Batman, see if he was thinking of anything, but the man’s face was impassive as always, if turned down in a harsher scowl than usual. It looked like they’d have to cut their losses and try to track down their target at a later date. They couldn’t risk Nightwing. At the moment, Clark was all too aware of how human Nightwing was.

Then, when Nightwing was almost to the man, everything went sideways. Either the man lost his nerve, or this had been his plan all along, but he dropped the detonator, and Clark’s world turned upside down for the second time that day.

Except, not as much as it should have. Clark found himself slamming into the wall behind him, but without as much force as he’d been expecting. He looked around wildly to find Canary, Arrow, and both Flashes in a similar state, dazed but now out, and Batman had managed to stay on his feet with his cape pulled up in front of him like a shield. Looking frantically to the other side of the room, Clark saw blood and gore. The man that was threatening them was no more than a splatter across the floor, but only one bomb, the one directly behind him, had gone off.

Then, Clark found Nightwing. He’d been tossed back nearly half-way across the room, his suit torn and bloody, crumpled on the floor with his limbs at awkward angles and gasping for breath as a green-tinged fog around him quickly began to dissipate. And Nightwing, protector of Bludhaven, newest recruit to the Justice League, began to scream.

It was a hoarse, ragged, wretched scream that sounded like it hurt, and as the young hero thrashed around in fear and pain, Clark started to make out words. “Dad… please… please help… dad, I need you…” screamed in agony and terror, at the top of his lungs, like a child that had been left all alone.

And it suddenly hit Clark that he knew nothing about this kid. He had no name, no home address, no relatives to contact. If something happened to him, Clark would have no idea who to tell. As personable as the young hero seemed, as friendly and likable, he was still a mystery.

Clark may not have known much about Nightwing, he had to admit that, but he knew that he was hard to shake. He laughed off injuries and smiled more when things got bad. Clark had a feeling that was what kept him going. He beat Batman with a grin on his face and blood on his teeth and played off injuries just so he could keep fighting. Seeing someone like that scream helplessly for their father, and being utterly unable to do anything about it, made him think, for a terrifying second, about Jon. About what would happen if his own son was ever in danger, and Clark couldn’t hear, and didn’t know, and was unable to help him. It didn’t feel right for one of the most powerful men on earth to feel so helpless.

Batman reacted first. Of course he did, he was always the most practical. He was across the room and knelt down next to Nightwing checking his injuries in just a few seconds. That wasn’t shocking. What was shocking was what came out of his mouth.

“I’m right here,” he said, in a voice so unlike his own that Clark questioned for a second if it was actually Batman that spoke. It was still deep, but sounded like a normal human voice, and not the growl that he usually spoke in. “I’m right here, you’ll be okay. Nightwing— Robin, everything is going to be okay.”

And the mystery that was Nightwing clicked into place in Clark’s head, but the full picture he’d uncovered was too overwhelming, and he had no time to examine it now.

“Flash!” Batman yelled, suddenly back in the voice they were all accustomed too. Wally zipped over next to them, which seemed like the right option, considering Barry looked shell-shocked. “Take him home. Now.”

It took some careful maneuvering, but Wally managed to collect a screaming, incoherent, injured Nightwing in his arms, and then he was gone in a flash of lightning.
Everyone just stared at Batman in the ensuing silence. He stayed on his knees for a second longer, staring at the spot where Nightwing had been, then he stood up and wordlessly shoved his way past the rest of his team, face set in a deep scowl that made most of them jump out of the way anyway. He disappeared up the stairs, hitting the wall of the stairwell with his fist so hard that Clark was surprised the bones in his hand didn’t snap. They all just watched him go, unsure of what they should do or say.

…

By the time they made it back to the Watchtower, their mission failed, no one had said a word. Clark could tell they all wanted to, they all had a million thoughts running through their heads, but no one was ready to say them out loud yet. Part of Clark thought Batman would be back at the tower, ready to explain everything to them, but the smarter part knew he wouldn’t be.

Canary spoke up first, collapsing in a chair as she peeled her mask off her wide eyes. “...It makes sense, if you think about it. The way Nightwing fights, his skill level, the fact that he had access to Batman’s gadgets… it all tracks.”

They all nodded vaguely in agreement except for Hal who shook his head. “No, no, I refuse to accept this! You all think Batman is capable of spawning a child? Really? Besides, there’s no way Batman could raise a child and have him turn out psychologically sound.”

Canary’s eyebrows knit together as she considered this. “...Is there anything about Nightwing that screams ‘psychologically sound’ to you?”

Hal tried to sputter out a response but came up short.

Clark sighed and floated between them. “Our primary concern should be Nightwing’s wellbeing and recovery. Once that’s taken care of, then we can ask Batman about certain details that he may have withheld from us. Okay?”

Clark took the general nods and grumbles of agreement as confirmation.

…

Clark had access to the Batcave, in theory. He’d never actually been inside. His access was only for emergencies, and Batman never considered anything enough of an emergency to actually ask for Clark’s help, but now, Clark decided that the health and safety of a League member was reason enough for him to let himself in.

The passage he entered through was cold, damp, and dark, and he immediately felt his skin crawl with the feeling that he wasn’t alone. He could hear actual bats in the distance, and something else nearby, something close, and moving, and—

Suddenly, a girl seemed to materialize out of the shadows, making Clark jump. Logically, he knew she didn’t just appear, she must have been sneaking around, following him since he entered, and the fact that he hadn’t heard her freaked him out. Looking at her, she nearly blended into the shadows, even while standing right in front of him. Her black suit covered every part of her, including her mouth where it looked stitched shut, and her cowl had pointed ears at the top, almost like Batman’s. A lot like Batman’s, actually.

The girl stepped towards him and Clark fought the urge to step back. She stopped, looking him up and down, then cocked her head to the side and pointed back the way Clark came. “Brother hurt. Family matter. You, leave.”

“Brother?” Clark stuttered, his brain almost failing to connect the dots. “Nightwing is your brother?”

The girl nodded and simply continued pointing back down the passage.

“Sorry, I can’t leave. As a senior member of the Justice League, I have to ensure the health and safety of its members. I’m just here to check on him. And ask Batman a few questions.”

The girl somehow managed to convey displeasure through her nearly featureless mask, but she dropped her hand, took another good look at Clark, and disappeared into the shadows again. He took that to mean he was okay to go on, and with a shaky breath, he did just that.

Clark finally made it to what seemed to be the main hub of the cave and found Batman sitting in front of a large computer in the center of the cavern, hunched over whatever he was working on. Clark floated silently up behind him and cleared his throat.

Batman didn’t jump, or even look surprised that Clark was there as he turned around in his chair, fixing Clark with an unpleasant glare.

“How’s Nightwing?” Clark started, hoping it was a neutral enough question to not get him immediately kicked out.

“Breathing,” Batman answered gruffly. “Bruised. Minorly burned. Miraculously, nothing broken. As for what psychological effects the fear toxin may have, we don’t know until we make an antidote and wake him up.”

Clark winced at the report, not helped by how emotionlessly Batman delivered it. “Look, I know this isn’t a great time for you, but we have to talk about—” he was cut off by a voice carrying from around a corner.

“Father, I demand to know what is happening with—” the source of the voice, a young boy in a red, yellow, and green costume with a domino mask over his eyes, rounded the corner. He immediately froze, then, in a split second, had a sword drawn from a sheath on his back and pointed threateningly at Clark. “Alien. This is a family matter.”

“Robin, sword away,” Batman ordered.

The boy’s face twitched like he was considering disobeying, then he sheathed the sword with an annoyed click of his tongue. He scowled at Clark, in a way that looked terrifyingly familiar, then turned on his heel and disappeared back the way he came.

“Robin…” Clark muttered, looking where the boy had just left. “That’s what you called Nightwing.”

“Many have held the mantle. Nightwing was first.”

“He called you father,” Clark noted. “And the girl I met near the entrance, she said Nightwing was her brother.”

“Mhm.” Batman turned back around in his chair, typing away again on the computer.

“You have three kids, and you never thought it was important to tell us? Even after one of them joined the League?”

“Incorrect.”

Clark nearly screamed. “What do you mean ‘incorrect’!? Nightwing called you dad, Robin called you father, and the girl—”

“Black Bat.”

“—said Nightwing was her brother, ergo, she is also your child.”

“All of that was correct.” Batman still wasn’t looking at him. “But, legally speaking, I have six children. Are we done now?”

Clark sputtered for a response, but eventually just sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, realizing he probably wasn’t going to get any more information out of this conversation. “I don’t want to question why you felt the need to clarify ‘legally speaking’. I’ll get out of your cave, soon, I promise, but I do want to check on Nightwing.”

Batman grunted in what Clark parsed out to be reluctant approval and stood, stalking off without another word. Clark followed and he soon found himself in what must have been a med bay with a line of sterile-looking cots. Nightwing lay unconscious on one of them, and there were two figures at his bedside. A boy in a smooth black cowl and a suit that had two belts crossing over his chest and a young woman in a wheelchair with a domino mask over her eyes. They were both taking samples of blood, and fussing over wounds. Around them, lightning flashed as Wally sped around to other parts of the cave, bringing them equipment and transporting the blood samples. The boy with the sword, Robin, sat in a chair at a distance with his arms crossed, looking generally upset.

“Kids four and five?” Clark guessed, not entirely intending it to be out loud.

“I’m number three, actually,” the boy in the smooth cowl answered, though his concentration didn’t break. “Robin’s four.”

“Family friend,” the young woman offered.

Clark didn’t have the mental capacity to contemplate the fact that there were still two children unaccounted for and a family friend had somehow been added to the list. No one seemed interested in explaining anything to him either. He thought the kids might be more receptive to questions than Batman, but the two in front of him were busy and he didn’t think he’d get anything out of the one with the sword. The one in the shadows, Black Bat, didn’t seem that interested in him either, if he could even find her again.
He decided to try his luck with the Bat himself again. “So… I’ve met four of them. Where are the other two?”

When Batman didn’t answer, Clark thought he was just being obtuse, until Clark turned his head and found Baman staring down at his injured child with a look of concern etched on his face.

Before Clark could apologize, maybe lay a comforting hand on his shoulder, Robin had put himself between him and Batman and drawn his sword again. “I think you have imposed enough, Alien.”

“Woah, woah, woah,” the boy in the smooth cowl dropped what he was doing and stepped between Clark and the point of Robin’s sword, which Clark thought was rather brave for someone that presumably didn’t have invulnerable skin. “Sorry about Robin, we haven’t exactly managed to socialize him yet. But… he is right. This is a family matter, you should leave. To quickly answer your question, Signal should be finishing his patrol just about now, who the hell knows where Red Hood ever is, but I’d wager Star City, and Batgirl — because he always forgets to mention Batgirl — is in Bludhaven until we fix Nightwing. Happy? Great. Bye now.” The boy turned back to his work, just as Wally sped back into the room and handed the young woman a vial of something.

“Here you go, Oracle,” he said, out of breath, which was impressive for a speedster. “That should help.”

The woman — Oracle, apparently — began administering whatever was in the vial into a syringe.

Clark turned and sped out of the cave from where he’d come from, feeling like he was intruding. He probably was intruding. So, he left before he could ascertain the boy in the smooth cowl’s name, or why there was another child that Batman apparently always forgot to mention, or why their ‘family matter’ included Wally (perhaps it was because it was a Nightwing specific ‘family matter’), or why the name Red Hood sounded familiar. He thought that Lois had written a story about him once, but the only connection the name was bringing up in Clark’s mind was of a crime lord, and that didn’t seem right.

…

By the time it was well and truly night, they’d administered an antidote to Dick, treated the worst of his wounds, and deemed him stable enough to put him in his own bed for the night so he wouldn’t have to sleep in the med bay. Then Tim got sent on patrol with Barbara monitoring him from the cave. Alfred advised against Bruce and Damian going out, “In case Master Richard needs anything,” but Bruce had a sneaking suspicion that it was more for their own sakes.

With Duke returning from his patrol, filling out a few reports, then crashing in his own bed, Stephanie checking in from Bludhaven, and a news report that Bruce caught of a Red Hood sighting in Star City, everyone was accounted for. Safe as they could be, given the circumstances.

And yet Bruce still couldn’t sleep. It took everything in him to not go back down to the cave, single handedly track down whatever group had done this to Nightwing, and beat them all to a pulp with his bare hands. He would have liked to, if for no other reason than it would occupy his mind for a few days or weeks while Dick recovered. But he stayed in bed, staring up at the dark ceiling. He told himself it was to keep Alfred from being disappointed in him, but part of him knew it was because he was scared of what he would do.

He was startled from his thoughts by a shadow passing in front of his door. He’d left it open in case Dick woke up and yelled for anything in the middle of the night, and now the boy himself stood, favoring his right foot over the left, and leaning heavily on the doorframe. “D…Dad…” he croaked so weekly that Bruce almost didn’t hear him.

Luckily, Bruce’s reflexes were good, because he was out of bed and across the room to catch Dick right as his legs gave out. He held him against his chest, careful of his injuries, and dragged him over to the bed.

“Dad…” he mumbled again. “I never—” his voice caught behind a sob in his throat, “n-never call you…call you that… m’sorry… but I—”

“It’s okay,” Bruce hushed, trying to ignore the way his heart swelled, then clenched painfully in his chest. “You shouldn’t be out of bed, chum.”

Dick buried his face further against Bruce’s chest, his body shaking as sobs bubbled up from his chest. “I know, but—” he clutched Bruce’s arm, fingernails digging almost painfully into his skin, “c-can I just stay here tonight? I’m scared. Shouldn’t be s-scared, it’s just the… the toxin, but I—”

“Shh.” Bruce hesitantly brought up a hand to brush Dick’s hair away from his forehead. “Of course you can stay.” He’d never been good at comforting any of them, even when they were young. Dick had been the youngest, plagued by memories of his parents’ death and still scared of the monster under the bed, and yet he’d never gotten comforting him down to an exact science, but he figured what he did then couldn’t hurt now. He helped Dick day down in the bed, then turned on a lamp in the far corner of the room so it wasn’t as dark. He lay down on his back, staring up at the ceiling again, and, just as he’d thought he would, Dick grabbed his arm and wrapped himself around it, then pressed his face to his shoulder.

Bruce could still feel the way Dick was shaking and the way the shoulder of his t-shirt got wet with tears, but he was at a loss for what else to do. Maybe being here was enough.

The relative silence, broken only by Dick’s quiet sobs, was interrupted by another figure in the doorway. Damian this time. “Father, Grayson is not in his bedroom, and I fear—” he stopped short when he saw the scene in front of him. “Oh.” He squared his shoulders and walked stiffly over to the side of the bed Dick was on. He leaned down and pressed a quick, awkward kiss to his brother’s temple, then straightened up again. “Grayson will gloat about this when he recovers. Tt.” Then, he turned on his heels and left as quickly as he’d appeared.

Against his arm, a slight, hollow laugh mixed in with Dick’s tears. “Glad to know h-he’s inherited your e-emotional intelligence.”

With his free hand, Bruce reached across his body and gently stroked his fingers through Dick’s hair, trying to calm some of the shaking. “He does love you.”

“I know.”

“I do too.”

“I know.”

Chapter Text

The League didn’t hear from Nightwing or Batman for a few weeks. Superman had been the only one to go to Gotham, but he only went once, and he wouldn’t talk, other than to say that Nightwing was being taken care of, and he’d be back eventually. That left Wally, but his own appearances at the watchtower were sparse at best. When cornered, he’d only answer “Nightwing’s doing better, really. I’m keeping him company while he recovers.” and “It’s really not my place to tell you. He’ll be back soon, I promise.”

Then Batman showed back up. Hal was off duty, but lounging in the Watchtower, when the Dark Knight himself stalked past him, as though he hadn’t just been radio silent for a few weeks. Hal literally fell out of his chair trying to get up fast enough to follow him. He speed walked, almost ran, to catch up with Batman, but when he finally fell in pace with him, the Bat stopped in his tracks and turned to sharply glare at him.

“If you're going to talk to me about anything other than monitor duty scheduling, I’m going to walk away,” Batman growled.

Hal took his chances anyway. “So, Nightwing is your—”

Batman disappeared down the hallway before he could finish the sentence.

…

After a week of Batman returning to normal League duties and patently refusing to answer anyones questions, Nightwing finally walked through the zetas, his arm slung around Wally’s shoulder, laughing at something the speedster had said.

The common area they were in had a few people in it. Diana, Clark, and Batman were working on something to one side of the room, while Hal, Barry, Oliver, and Dinah played a game of card in their off time. Any noise in the room immediately died down when Nightwing walked in and all eyes turned to him, except for Batman, who just kept working on the holo-screen pulled up in front of him.

“Uh, hey,” Nightwing grinned, waving awkwardly.

There were a few more seconds of silence, then Diana broke it. “I am glad to see you have recovered from your injuries, Nightwing. We have all missed you.”

“Glad to be back.” Nightwing nodded in her direction, and that was enough for the trio to turn back to their work.

Nightwing and Wally tried to continue on, but Hal practically hissed at them in a stage whisper. “Psst, you’re not escaping that easily. Get over here.”

Nightwing turned to look at him and his mouth twisted into a crooked, mischievous grin. “The Bat’s kept his mouth shut, has he?”

“Uh, duh,” Ollie said, throwing down his hand of cards on the table in front of him. “Has that man ever been forthcoming with personal information?”

“Not once in his life.” Nightwing flounced over and sat on a couch adjacent to their card game, tucking his feet up so he sat criss-cross. Wally sat next to him. “What do you want to know?”

Everyone in their group stared at Nightwing for a moment, as though trying to quantify him, or reexamine him in a new light. Hal could see that everyone was coming up empty.
It was Ollie that finally built up the courage to ask, “Are you really Batman’s son?”

Nightwing’s mouth twitched, trying to hold back a laugh. “Yes, though I have to admit, I don’t always phrase it like that out loud.”

“Did he, like… build you in a lab, or something?” Hal asked, trying to conceptualize how Nightwing even came to be. He was too close in age to Batman (or at least, what Hal guessed Batman’s age was) for him to have been naturally conceived, and Hal really didn’t want to consider that Batman had maybe just stolen him off the street.

This actually did make Nightwing laugh, collapsing sideways against Wally. “What? No! Hal, I already told you I was adopted. I never actually lied to any of you about anything. I told Clark I have family in Gotham, and I do, I told you I was adopted, and I am.” He shrugged. “I didn’t even fully mean to deceive you. Before I got recruited, I assumed you guys knew about me. I’ve been doing this since I was nine.”

Dinah perked up at that, raising a concerned eyebrow at Nightwing. “‘Doing this’ as in…?”

“Vigilantism,” Nightwing leaned back against the couch as though that were a normal thing for him to reveal about himself. “I’ve been fighting crime with B in Gotham since before the Justice League existed. ‘Course, I was Robin back then.”

General sounds of disbelief erupted through the group, summarized by Hal crying, “Holy shit, Bats created a child soldier. I don’t even know what to do with this information. Kid, how are you, like, functional? Growing up with Bats as a guardian, I’m surprised you’re not feral.”

Nightwing narrowed his eyes behind his mask, raising an eyebrow at Hal. “I can’t say he was the most conventional dad out there, but he did, like, hug me. Do you guys think he locked me in a cage and only let me out for training exercises or something?”

“No,” Dinah tried to assure, but it was ruined by everyone else in the group immediately saying, “Yes.”

“I don’t believe you,” Hal decided, crossing his arms. “I’ve never seen Batman hug anyone and my brain refuses to conceptualize it.”

Nightwing snorted, standing up from the couch. “I’ll be right back.” Then, without a care in the world, he waltzed over to the Dark Knight, tapped him on the shoulder, and held out his arms for a hug.

Batman looked unimpressed. “What are you doing?”

“You know what I’m doing. C’mon.”

“Why?” Batman huffed, sounding unmoved as ever.

“Trying to prove something here. Come on, I know you want to.”

Batman sighed, but then, in a move that Hal’s brain still refused to process, actually wrapped his arms around the younger hero, practically causing his cape to envelop him.

Nightwing laughed and hugged back harder before pulling away. “Thank you. That’s all I needed.”

Batman gave an unintelligible grunt and turned back to his work. Superman, Hal noted, was looking a bit like he’d been exposed to some kryptonite as he watched as Nightwing swept back to the other group. Wonder Woman, to her credit, seemed unfazed.

“Point proven,” Nightwing laughed, dropping back down on the couch. “I did receive at least some love and affection in my formative years, though I can’t attest to how functional I actually am as a person.”

“You’re functional,” Wally said, “just very, very weird sometimes.”

Nightwing shoved his shoulder playfully into Wally’s. “Gee, thanks.”

“You!” Barry blurted suddenly, pointing an accusatory finger at Wally. “How could you not have told me?”

It was Wally’s turn to laugh. “One: it wasn’t my secret to tell, and—”

“I swear to you, it wasn’t even that secret,” Nightwing interrupted.

“—two: it was really fucking funny.”

“I’m never trusting you again,” Barry claimed with a huff.

“Gosh, Wing, you’ve turned my own family against me. My own flesh and blood. What a friend you are.”

“He’s related to you by marriage, he’s not even your flesh and blood.” Nightwing shoved into Wally harder this time, almost knocking him off the couch. “Besides, Barry, I really am surprised you didn’t figure it out sooner. Bart’s friends with my younger brother.”

That led to another outburst of disbelief and some playing cards being thrown. It took a minute before Ollie managed to get out, “Are you trying to tell me that Batman raised not one, but two children?”

“Wow, Supes didn’t tell you? I was told he paid a visit to the cave while I was unconscious and almost ended up on the wrong end of Robin’s sword,” he said, as though it made sense. “‘Raised’ is questionable. We’re almost all strays, showed up at different ages, but I have—” Nightwing actually counted on his fingers, like he was doing mental calculations in his head “—four brothers, one sister, one pseudo-sister, and a family friend that I refuse to acknowledge as another pseudo-sister because I dated her once and that would be weird.”

The sounds of outrage that followed were nearly drowned out by Nightwing and Wally’s laughter.

…

When they got back to the cave, Dick still felt incredibly giddy, bounding ahead of Bruce and throwing himself into the chair at the Batcomputer so hard that it spun around. “B, this is the best day of my life.”

“Glad you’re amusing yourself with the incompetence of our teammates,” Bruce mumbled, pulling back his cowl, but a small smile twitched across his mouth nonetheless.

“I hope you all know that they think you’re some sort of emotionless, crime-fighting, shadow demon.”

“That’s the point of the costume.”

“Yeah, yeah, the whole ‘I am vengeance, I am the night’ deal,” Dick continued to idly spin himself in the chair. “It wouldn’t hurt you to open up a little bit more, you know? They are your friends.”

“They’re my coworkers. They don’t need to know about my personal life.” Bruce came up and grabbed the back of the chair, stopping the spinning.

“If you don’t call them your friends, that’s a little sad, because it means you don’t have any.” Dick squirmed around in the chair, trying unsuccessfully to pry Bruce’s fingers off.

“I have friends,” Bruce claimed.

“Oh, really? Like who?”

The length of time it took him to respond was an answer in itself. “Leslie.”

“Dr. Thompkins? She’s your physician, B. You only see her when one of us is almost dead.”

“Gordon.”

“He gives you information on the roof of the GCPD every few days, and you usually don’t even stay for the entire conversation.”

“Lucius.”

“He works for you, doesn’t count.” Dick finally managed to get Bruce’s hands off the back of the chair and immediately started spinning again.

Bruce hmphed and crossed his arms. “I suppose… maybe… it wouldn’t hurt to… talk to them a little bit more.”

“Great! Then we can hopefully avoid any more incidents such as this one, where you semi-accidentally hid the fact that you had a child for sixteen years. Besides, if they reacted like this to finding out about me, imagine how they’re going to react when they find out you’re Bruce Wayne.”