Chapter Text
Dick stopped outside of her apartment door. "Do you need me to- should I-"
Barbara tries to stop herself from grimacing. She fails. "No, really, Dick. That's alright. Go home. Sleep in your own bed for once," She tries to joke, but it falls flat, the looming presence of the makeshift bedspread on the couch looming over them.
Dick laughs half-heartedly anyways. He stood there, staring at her, reaches down, squeezes her shoulder. "Call me? If you need anything?" He croaks.
Barbara nodded, and he went to leave, before looking over his shoulder. "You can always stay at the manor, you know. Alfie and Bruce, they can take care of you. It would mean a lot to the boys. Timmy misses you and Jason-"
"Goodbye, Dick." She grits out.
Dick sighs, closing the door behind him.
Barbara hadn't seen anyone apart from Dick and Kara since she'd left the hospital.
That isn't to say she's been a recluse, she just wasn't in the mood to be coddled to.
Which, granted, Dick might have not been the best choice of company to avoid coddling.
That wasn't the first time a bed at the manor had been offered to her. It certainly wouldn't be the last.
It also wasn't the first or last time Dick had tried to bring up Jason, and Barbara had brushed him off.
Her reaction to Jason's return hadn't been what anyone was expecting, that she knew. She'd stared at Jason.
Big, broad, angry Jason.
He looked so much like his father- Bruce, that is- Willis was a pathetic little man who didn't know the difference between his ass and his face. She always knew Jason would never be anything like him.
However, what disturbed her even more than his larger-than-life physique, when it felt like just last year, he'd been a five-foot nothing kid, was his attitude. He radiated the same sort of false confidence and dangerous rage that Dick had. Dick's been better at covering it up lately, he always was for his younger siblings, but Barbara knows how much hatred fills every single muscle and nerve ending.
It's not like the Wayne men had ever made her feel uncomfortable; she'd known them far too long to think they'd ever do much of anything to her. But she's seen Dick beat a man to death with his bare hands, and seen Bruce bring the monster back to life. You just can't look at people the same after that.
She'd thought- hoped- Jason wouldn't turn out that way. Although it should have been a relief that he got to turn out into anything, she couldn't help the way her stomach twisted and turned, bile rising in her throat.
So, she stared at him. Probably with a sour look on her face because she was so disgusted. She really was. She wasn't sure what she was disgusted at, but it didn't matter. Her view of Jason had forever been tainted. Whenever she heard his name, or thought about him, there were no warm fuzzy feelings, with an overtone of guilt and world-crumbling grief. Now it was just that gross, sickly green feeling that she felt in the hospital.
She did miss Tim, though. She couldn't bear to be in the manor yet, but maybe she could take him out for ice cream.
She owed the kid as much.
Tim's parents had died while she was out- a triple blow to the poor kid, Steph had passed a year before Barbara got shot, and he was still mourning her when it happened. It was clear he was still reeling from everything. He'd never had to grieve before Stephanie, and never learned to do it healthily before his entire world came crashing down around him.
Bruce had officially adopted him, and now he was staying in the manor full-time, and she just wished she had been awake when it all went down, so she could comfort him. Lord knows Dick and Bruce were never quite good at that.
Right after she regained consciousness, Tim had been attached to her. He climbed into the bed with her the first chance he got, burrowing himself under her arm and resting his face on her shoulder. She saw the way Jason's jaw clicked and his eyes hardened when he came to visit her and saw Tim asleep in her arms. She pulled him closer protectively. She and Jason had practically had a stare-off before Dick broke the silence.
She hated Dick for that, acting like everything was normal, when it was anything but.
Nothing was normal. Nothing was alright. It hadn't been for years. And she was sick and fucking tired of pretending like it was.
Barbara's therapist, a sweet lady a little older than her father, named Winifred, told her it was better to face things head-on. Barbara hadn't quite warmed up to Winifred yet, she preferred her previous therapist's no-nonsense attitude, which kept her honest and on-track. But Winnie's sweetness quelled an ache in her chest she hadn't noticed before.
Damian sat on the floor of the cave, across from Drake. Damian was sharpening his knives, one by one, testing them gently on his hand (Father had just about had a full-on panic attack the first time he did it, even though he never presses hard enough to draw any real blood). Drake was lying on his stomach, feet floating around in the air as he studied various blueprints. He was chewing on a pen cap, scratching the back of his head with the pen.
Jason was sitting nearby at the large computer- dubbed the 'batcomputer'- looking up the names of drug dealers. His feet were kicked up on the desk, his large boots discarded haphazardly a meter and a half away.
Father was out dealing with some D-list villain- because justice has no priorities- and Pennyworth was upstairs preparing a late-night snack.
Such was their way of life.
If Grayson's movies and TV shows were anything to go by, it was quite a strange routine, though it was the most domesticity Damian had ever experienced.
Grayson, the only one which Damian did not know the location of, had just descended the stairs.
Jason turned around in his chair. "Hey Big Bird, how's Babs?"
Grayson froze. "Erm- she's-" he laughed a little, "Well, she's stubborn as all hell, but what's new, right?"
He walked towards Damian and Drake, stopping a small distance away from them, hands in his pockets.
"Parallel play?" He asked Jason, a twinge of amusement- sarcasm?- in his voice.
He shrugged. "Oh yeah. Real good for development, I hear."
"Yeah, for infants." He laughed.
"They both missed out on it. Didn't really have other children around, apparently."
"The woes of an only child." Grayson said wistfully.
"You were an only child for most of your life." Drake remarked, not looking up from his papers.
Grayson sniffed. "Where's B?"
"Riddler." Drake answered, even though Grayson was very clearly speaking to Jason. If he'd bothered to pay attention. "Damian thinks he's no big deal." He circled something and wrote something in his atrocious handwriting.
"He isn't." Damian said petulantly.
Grayson laughed. "No?"
"He asks riddles."
"And kidnaps people." Drake said.
Damian slid one of his knives across the floor at him. Drake rolled over his papers, crinkling them. He sat up and glared at Damian. "The hell?"
"Language." Grayson scolded.
Drake picked the knife up. "You don't have to throw things at me." He said quietly, dropping the knife into his sharpened pile. Damian moved it into the unsharpened pile, glaring back at him.
Drake turned to Grayson, now fully pulled away from his work. "Is Babs gonna come over soon?"
"I don't know if she- well, maybe. She might just prefer taking you out." He scratched the back of his neck.
"Oh. That's okay, there's a new movie coming out I think she'd like, I-"
"Is she still mad at Jason?" Damian asked, running his knife across the whetstone, then placing the tip on his index finger, pressing it gently against a callous, then running his thumb over the sharp blade.
Damian, distracted by the habitual ritual he'd been doing for the better part of an hour, which was trained into him from such a young age, he could do it without ever having to open his eyes, did not notice the large, expansive silence that had enveloped the cave. It was not the same warm, comforting silence of Drake's scratching pen and Jason's winces from phantom pains whenever he twisted to the side to examine a file. Instead, it was cold, vile, like a snake that had slithered into everything that could make noise and snuffed it out.
"She's not- mad at Jason." Grayson said, laughing awkwardly.
"Oh." Damian said awkwardly.
Stephanie was sitting on a patient bed, feet swinging as she babbled on about why she thought she was ready to go back to America.
Of course, Leslie told her no.
"The first thing you'll do is jump right back into that ridiculous costume."
"Yup." She said, "So? Tim's still doing it. Besides, with Barbara hurt, they need anew Batgirl."
"They don't need anything, Steph."
She crossed her arms. "Tim's still doing it." She muttered petulantly."
"Yes, well, Bruce is his legal guardian now. There's nothing anyone can do about it now."
"I'll get myself adopted, then."
"And what are you going to do with your mother?" Leslie asked, hands on her hips.
Stephanie waved her hand, blowing a bubble with her gum. It popped, exploding onto her chin. "I'm sure she won't mind." She said as she tried to clean herself up.
And Leslie's heart ached. Because she knew she could not keep Stephanie at bay for much longer. The young girl was determined to go back to America, to Gotham, to the people that nearly killed her. This little girl who made a mess of herself- always, no matter how clean Leslie thought she ought to be- who just barely outgrew pigtails, and still had Leslie do her hair for her.
What was she even going back for? Who did she think she had to prove herself to?
Stephanie sighed, her chin in her hand. She was bored.
"I'm gonna go find some kids to play with." She said, sliding of the bed and slinging her backpack over her shoulder, exiting the tent.
What was she going to do with that girl?