Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It started innocently enough—just a hum.

Dick was perched on the edge of the couch, absentmindedly tuning his old guitar. His fingers worked swiftly, but his mind was far away. It wasn’t until Alfred cleared his throat that Dick realized he’d been humming a familiar tune.

“Is that… Journey?” Jason leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. He smirked as he caught the melody. ”‘Don’t Stop Believin’?’ Really, Goldie?”

Dick shrugged, grinning sheepishly. “Hey, it’s a classic!”

“You’re singing Journey?” Tim walked in, a cup of coffee in hand. “What next? Queen?”

Dick chuckled, setting the guitar aside. “Actually, I was thinking more along the lines of Elton John. ‘I’m still standing, yeah, yeah, yeah…’” He sang the last part, his voice slipping effortlessly into the melody.

The room froze.

“Whoa,” Jason said, pushing off the wall. “When did you learn to do that?”

“Do what?” Dick blinked, confused.

“Sing like a freakin’ Broadway star,” Tim replied, his tone half-joking but genuinely impressed.

“I wasn’t singing, I was just…” Dick trailed off, his expression shifting as he realized they were serious.

“I’ve always sung,” he admitted, scratching the back of his neck. “Y’know, in the shower, during patrol… just never thought much of it.”

“Are you kidding me?” Stephanie poked her head into the room, phone already recording. “We’ve known you for years, and you’re just now dropping this on us?”

“I didn’t think it was a big deal!” Dick protested, laughing.

Alfred, ever the calm observer, interjected. “Master Dick, I daresay you’ve kept quite the talent hidden. Shall we test it further?”

Later That Night

Patrol ended early—an anomaly in Gotham’s chaotic rhythm. Bruce decided they could afford one night to indulge in Alfred’s idea: karaoke in the Batcave.

Dick stood reluctantly in front of the makeshift stage. The others sat sprawled across the Bat-computers and training mats, waiting for him to start.

“This is so stupid,” he muttered, flipping through the song list.

Damian crossed his arms, unimpressed. “If you’re going to do this, Grayson, at least choose something with substance. Not one of your insipid pop ballads.”

Dick raised an eyebrow. “What would you suggest? Metallica?”

Damian smirked. “Chopin, if you’re capable.”

“Noted.” Dick rolled his eyes and pressed play. The opening notes of “Bohemian Rhapsody” filled the cave.

And then, he sang.

“Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy…”

Jason’s jaw dropped. Tim nearly choked on his coffee. Stephanie burst out laughing in delight, and even Damian’s scowl softened into something resembling awe.

When the song ended, the cave erupted into applause.

“You’ve been holding out on us, Goldie,” Jason said, shaking his head. “We’re never letting you live this down.”

Bruce, who had been silently watching from the shadows, finally spoke. “We could use this.”

“What?” Dick asked, still catching his breath.

“As a cover,” Bruce explained. “A singing vigilante. People wouldn’t suspect you. It’s… tactical.”

Dick groaned. “No way. I am not becoming ‘The Nightingale’ or whatever name you’re cooking up.”

The Morning After

The next morning, the family gathered for breakfast, which Alfred served with his usual precision.

Dick absentmindedly hummed “Here Comes the Sun” while pouring coffee.

“Oh no, not again,” Tim groaned. “He’s been bitten by the music bug.”

Damian rolled his eyes. “At least it’s not Journey this time.”

Bruce, reading the paper, muttered without looking up, “It’s a good song.”

“What did you say, Father?” Damian smirked.

Bruce didn’t answer, but Dick caught the faintest upturn of his lips.

Jason leaned back in his chair. “Alright, so here’s the deal, Dick sings us into battle next time. Imagine we’re taking down Two-Face, and Nightwing belts out some Queen. Instant chaos.”

Dick threw a piece of toast at him. “Not happening!”

Later That Week

It didn’t take long for the secret to slip beyond the family. During a routine patrol, Dick caught himself humming “Eye of the Tiger” while taking down a group of thugs.

The leader, disoriented, actually stopped mid-fight. “Dude, are you singing?”

Dick grinned, flipping the guy onto the pavement. “What? You don’t like Survivor?”

By the end of the week, Gotham’s criminals had a new name for him: The Nightingale.

“I hate it,” Dick complained during their next debrief.

“You love it,” Jason teased. “Now sing us out, Nightingale.”

And, despite himself, Dick did.

“Don’t stop believin’… hold on to that feeeeling…”

The family joined in, laughing as their voices echoed through the Batcave

Chapter Text

The Batcave had been eerily quiet after their impromptu karaoke night. Patrols returned to their usual chaos, but the memory of Dick’s hidden talent lingered in the air, sparking casual teasing whenever Jason or Tim got the chance.

Tonight, though, Gotham was calm. For once, the family gathered in the Manor kitchen for a late dinner.

“Why do we even have this many pots if no one cooks?” Jason complained, rifling through a cabinet.

“Alfred cooks,” Tim replied, leaning against the counter, scrolling on his phone. “You’re just looking for snacks.”

“Found Pop-Tarts,” Jason announced victoriously.

“We have Alfred, and you’re eating Pop-Tarts?” Stephanie snickered, grabbing one from the box.

Across the room, Dick stood by the fridge, his mind elsewhere as he began softly singing under his breath:

“My heart’s a stereo… It beats for you, so listen close…”

Stephanie froze mid-bite, a gleam of excitement in her eyes. “Oh my God, he’s doing it again!

“Doing what?” Dick blinked, the realization dawning too late.

Jason grabbed a spatula from the counter and held it out like a microphone. “You better keep going, Nightingale.”

Dick sighed, but the grin tugging at his lips betrayed him. He leaned against the fridge and sang louder this time:

“Make me your radio, and turn me up when you feel low… This melody was meant for you, just sing along to my stereo…”

Cue the Impromptu Concert

Tim joined in first, adding the rap verse with surprising accuracy.

“If I was just another dusty record on the shelf…”

Jason jumped in next, slapping the countertop to the beat, his deep voice clashing hilariously with the melody. Stephanie, never one to miss out on chaos, danced around the room with a wooden spoon, lip-syncing along.

Even Damian, perched stoically at the kitchen island, couldn’t help muttering, “Your pitch is slightly flat, Grayson.”

“Oh, come on, Lil’D. Don’t just sit there. Join us!” Dick laughed, throwing an arm around Damian and pulling him into the fray.

Alfred walked in just as the chorus swelled again, his perfectly arched eyebrow rising ever so slightly at the sight of his charges singing and dancing around the kitchen like children.

“Master Dick,” he began, though his tone carried a hint of amusement, “may I remind you that the kitchen is not a concert hall?”

Dick spun dramatically, using a whisk as a microphone. “But Alfred, this melody is meant for you!”

The others burst into laughter, and even Alfred allowed himself the faintest chuckle.

As the last note faded, Jason clapped Dick on the back. “Seriously, man. You need to do this more often.”

“What, sing to you guys in the kitchen?” Dick teased.

“I’m just saying, if we ever need a decoy during a heist, we’re sending you in with a karaoke machine,” Jason replied.

Tim smirked. “Think about it. You could disarm an entire room just by singing Sweet Caroline.”

Damian crossed his arms, glaring. “This is ridiculous. We are vigilantes, not entertainers.”

“Tell that to the criminals who stopped fighting to record me last week,” Dick shot back, making everyone laugh again.

Later, as the others drifted off to their rooms, Dick stayed behind in the now-quiet kitchen. He grabbed a glass of water and leaned against the counter, humming the last lines of the song to himself.

Bruce appeared in the doorway, his presence as silent as ever.

“You’re getting too comfortable with this,” Bruce said, though there was no edge to his voice.

Dick shrugged, grinning. “What can I say? My heart’s a stereo.”

Bruce shook his head but allowed the faintest hint of a smile. “Just don’t let it distract you on patrol.”

“Yes, sir,” Dick replied, mock-saluting as Bruce disappeared back into the shadows.

But as Dick walked up the stairs, he couldn’t help humming again.

“If I could only find a note to make you understand…”

The Manor echoed faintly with the sound of his voice, as if even its walls had been waiting for this melody all along.

Chapter Text

Gotham’s skyline burned with neon and moonlight as the Batfamily spread out across the city. Dick was perched high on a rooftop in Burnley, scanning the alley below where a gang war was spiraling out of control.

“They’ve got hostages,” Tim’s voice crackled over the comms. “At least three in the alley. Nightwing, you’re the closest.”

“On it,” Dick replied, vaulting effortlessly from the rooftop. His grappling line sang through the air as he dropped into the chaos.

The gang members, clad in mismatched colors and wielding crowbars and bats, barely had time to react before he landed in their midst.

“Hey, guys,” Dick said, his voice light but his stance ready. “Any chance we can do this without someone needing stitches?”

Predictably, they lunged at him.

The melee began, but for Dick, it was like a dance. His movements were fluid, precise, each punch landing with the rhythm of a well-rehearsed performance.

Somewhere in the middle of the chaos, a melody slipped into his mind—one he couldn’t help but hum as he dodged and countered.

“I miss the taste of the sweet life…”

A swing of a bat missed him by inches. He countered with a kick, sending the weapon clattering to the ground.

“I miss the conversation…”

A second thug came at him with a crowbar. Dick ducked, flipping the man onto his back before twisting to block another strike.

“I’m searching for a song tonight… I’m changing all of the stations…”

The hostages watched in stunned silence, but one of them—a young woman with her phone half-hidden in her hands—hit record as Dick’s voice broke through the fight.

He didn’t even notice he was singing louder now, the lyrics falling from his lips in time with his strikes:

“I was there for you in your darkest times… I was there for you in your darkest nights…”

By the time the gang was subdued, tied up, and waiting for the GCPD, the melody still lingered in the air. Dick knelt by the hostages, his smile reassuring.

“You’re safe now,” he said, cutting through their bindings.

The young woman stared at him, her eyes wide. “That was… incredible. Are you always this cool?”

Dick chuckled, helping her to her feet. “Let’s keep that between us, okay?”

She nodded, but the sly smile she gave him should’ve been a warning.

The Morning After

Dick had barely taken a sip of his coffee the next morning when Jason’s voice boomed from the living room.

“OI GOLDIE! GET IN HERE!”

He groaned, setting his mug down and heading toward the commotion. He found Jason, Tim, Stephanie, and Damian crowded around the massive TV, all staring at a YouTube video.

The title read: “Masked Vigilante Sings While Saving Hostages! Gotham’s Nightingale?”

“Oh no,” Dick muttered.

The video played. It was grainy but unmistakably him, moving like a storm through the gang while singing Maps with unintentional but undeniable charisma.

“So I’m following the map that leads to you… The map that leads to you…”

Jason was laughing so hard he was practically crying. “Dude, you’re a meme now. Look at these comments!”

Tim scrolled down, reading aloud. “‘Who needs Batman when you have this guy?’ ‘Sign him up for The Voice!’ ‘Is this vigilante single?’”

Stephanie clutched her stomach, laughing. “You’re Gotham’s new heartthrob, Nightingale!”

Damian, arms crossed, scowled. “This is absurd. He’s a vigilante, not a performer.”

“Tell that to the internet,” Tim quipped, refreshing the page. “It’s already at a million views.”

Dick ran a hand over his face. “This is so embarrassing.”

Jason threw an arm around his shoulders, still grinning. “You kidding? This is amazing. You’ve got a fan club now!”

Bruce entered the room, his expression unreadable as he took in the scene.

“What’s going on?” he asked, his eyes narrowing at the video on the screen.

“Grayson’s a pop star,” Damian deadpanned.

Bruce sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This compromises your anonymity.”

“It wasn’t on purpose!” Dick protested.

“We’ll have to spin this,” Bruce said, already calculating. “Tim, take the video down.”

Tim smirked. “I’d love to, but it’s already been reuploaded about a thousand times.”

Bruce frowned but didn’t press further. Instead, he looked at Dick. “From now on, no singing during missions.”

Jason, still holding back laughter, muttered, “Good luck with that.”

Meanwhile, Across Gotham

In a dimly lit apartment, the young woman who had recorded the video scrolled through the comments on her post, a small smile on her lips. She’d titled it “Gotham’s Nightingale Sings Us to Safety.”

Her phone buzzed with a text from her friend:

“You’re famous! The Nightingale guy is trending everywhere!”

She smiled, typing back:

“Yeah, but he saved us. He deserves it.”

As the views climbed higher, so did the legend of Gotham’s Nightingale.

Chapter Text

The Batfamily was split across Gotham for the night’s patrol. Jason and Tim were chasing down a stolen shipment of weapons in the Bowery, while Damian covered the docks with Bruce. That left Dick with the Narrows, where a suspected child trafficking ring had been operating.

He hated these cases more than most. Gotham’s darkness was bad enough without dragging children into it.

The warehouse was cold and silent when he slipped in through a skylight, his footsteps soundless on the beams above. He spotted the kids almost immediately—three of them, no older than ten, huddled together behind crates. Two armed guards paced nearby, laughing about something cruel.

Dick’s jaw tightened as he dropped silently behind them. Within seconds, both guards were on the ground, unconscious.

“It’s okay,” Dick said softly, kneeling in front of the kids. Their wide, tear-streaked faces stared back at him. “I’m here to help.”

The kids were trembling too much to move, their fear almost palpable. Without thinking, Dick sat down cross-legged, lowering himself to their level. His voice was quiet, soothing as he began to sing:

“She works the nights, by the water… She’s gonna stress, so far away from her father’s daughter…”

The melody floated gently in the cold air, his tone soft and comforting.

The smallest of the three, a little girl clutching a tattered stuffed bunny, blinked up at him. “What’s that song?” she whispered.

Dick smiled gently. “It’s a song about being strong, even when things are hard.” He reached out a gloved hand, offering it. “Come on, let’s get you somewhere safe.”

The girl hesitated but took his hand, and the other two followed her lead. As he led them out of the warehouse, he kept singing.

“Rockabye, baby, don’t you cry… Somebody’s got you…”

By the time they reached the police cars waiting outside, the children were clinging to him. One of the officers, a kind-looking woman, stepped forward. “We’ll take it from here, Nightwing.”

Dick knelt down, looking each child in the eye. “You’re safe now. These people will take care of you.”

The little girl didn’t let go of his hand right away. “Will you come back?”

He hesitated, his heart clenching. “I’ll always be around,” he promised.

When Dick returned to the Manor, he was greeted by a familiar sight: Jason, Tim, Stephanie, and Damian crowded around a laptop.

“Oh no,” Dick groaned, already guessing what they were watching.

“Dude,” Jason began, spinning the laptop around to show him the headline: “Gotham’s Nightingale Sings Lullaby During Rescue!” Below it was a video—grainy, but unmistakably Dick, singing softly to the children in the warehouse.

“I didn’t even see anyone recording,” Dick muttered, sinking into a chair.

“Welcome to the internet,” Tim said, smirking. “This one’s already at two million views. People are calling you Gotham’s guardian angel.”

“They’re also asking when your album’s dropping,” Jason added, laughing.

Damian crossed his arms, glaring at the screen. “This is ridiculous. We are supposed to strike fear into criminals, not serenade civilians.”

“You’re just mad no one’s calling you ‘adorable,’” Stephanie teased, ruffling Damian’s hair.

“Cease that at once, Brown!”

Bruce walked in, his expression as stoic as ever. “Another video?”

“Yup,” Jason said. “Dick’s basically a pop star now.”

Bruce sighed. “We’ll need to manage the media fallout.”

“Oh, come on,” Dick said, leaning back. “It’s not like I planned for this to happen.”

Alfred entered the room with a tray of tea, his calm demeanor unshaken. “Master Dick, while the attention may be unintentional, perhaps it is not entirely unwelcome. Gotham could use a bit of light amid the darkness.”

Dick smiled faintly. “Thanks, Alfred. I think.”

By afternoon, Dick’s “lullaby” had been picked up by news outlets nationwide.

“Nightwing: Gotham’s Singing Savior?” Tim read aloud from his phone. “Oh, this one’s good: ‘Who Needs Batman When You Have a Nightingale?’”

Dick groaned, burying his face in his hands. “I’m never going to hear the end of this, am I?”

Jason clapped him on the back. “Nope. But hey, you’re giving Gotham something to talk about that isn’t just murder and mayhem. That’s gotta count for something, right?”

That evening, as the family prepared for another patrol, Dick found himself alone in the Batcave for a moment. He pulled up the video on his own phone, watching as his singing self led the children to safety.

He sighed, a mix of embarrassment and pride settling in his chest.

“Rockabye, baby,” he murmured softly to himself, closing the video. “Don’t you cry.”

He glanced up as Bruce entered the cave, the cowl in his hands.

“Ready?” Bruce asked.

Dick nodded, slipping his own mask on. “Always.”

As they launched into the night, the melody still lingered in his mind, a reminder that even in Gotham’s darkness, there was always room for hope.

Chapter Text

The training room was alive with the sound of quick footsteps and laughter. Cassandra Cain, Stephanie Brown, and Barbara Gordon had gathered at Wayne Manor for one of their “Batgirl bonding sessions,” which often involved a mix of sparring, gossip, and occasionally dragging Bruce into a reluctant group activity.

Dick was lounging on the sidelines, spinning his escrima sticks idly. The girls had invited him to join, and while he’d initially declined, he couldn’t resist watching them spar. Cass was fluid and graceful, Stephanie was fiery and determined, and Babs was sharp and strategic even in her wheelchair, calling out tips and tricks.

“Come on, Dick,” Steph teased as she dodged one of Cass’s lightning-fast strikes. “Don’t just sit there looking pretty. Join us!”

Dick smirked, standing and spinning his sticks dramatically. “Oh, you’re not ready for me, Steph.”

Cass tilted her head, her lips curving into a small smile. “Show us.”

Barbara rolled her eyes fondly. “He’s going to turn this into a performance, isn’t he?”

“Always,” Steph quipped.

Dick took a moment to stretch, then stepped into the center of the room, striking a mock regal pose. “Ladies, prepare yourselves. Because you are about to be graced by royalty.”

Before they could respond, he began to sing.

“‘If all of the kings had their queens on the throne, we would pop champagne and raise a toast!’”

Cass immediately adjusted her stance, moving in for an attack. Dick dodged with a laugh, twirling out of her reach.

“‘To all of the queens who are fighting alone, baby, you're not dancing on your own!’”

Steph burst out laughing, trying to catch him off guard, but Dick flipped effortlessly over her, landing lightly on his feet.

Barbara clapped along, clearly entertained. “Keep going, Boy Wonder!”

Dick grinned, spinning to face Cass again. She feinted left, and he dodged, using the beat of the song to time his movements.

“‘Disobey me, then, baby, it's off with your head!’” he sang, pointing playfully at Cass, who shook her head with an amused smile. “‘Gonna change it and make it a world you won't forget!’”

Steph lunged for him, but Dick caught her wrist mid-air and spun her around like a dance partner.

“‘No damsel in distress, don't need to save me,’” he crooned, dipping her theatrically before letting her go.

Cass used the moment to strike, her movements fast and precise, but Dick ducked, sliding across the floor and popping back up.

“‘Once I start breathing fire, you can't tame me!’”

Steph flopped onto the mat in mock defeat. “Okay, this is cheating! You can’t distract me with music!”

“You’re just mad he sings better than you,” Barbara teased.

“I can’t believe you’re all letting him get away with this,” Steph grumbled, sitting up.

Dick extended a hand to help her up. “No hard feelings?”

She took his hand, but instead of standing, she yanked him down with her. He hit the mat with an undignified oof.

“Gotcha!”

“Okay, I deserved that,” he admitted, laughing.

Cass sat cross-legged on the floor, watching the scene with her usual quiet amusement. “Sing again,” she said simply.

Dick propped himself up on his elbows, grinning. “You like it, huh?”

Cass nodded.

“Fine, but only if you spar with me,” he said, sitting up fully.

Cass tilted her head in consideration, then stood, extending a hand to him.

As he took her hand and let her pull him to his feet, he resumed singing, his voice softer this time:

“‘In chess, the king can move one space at a time, but queens are free to go wherever they like…’”

Cass moved first, her strikes calculated but gentle, as if matching his playful energy. Dick danced around her attacks, their sparring looking more like choreography than combat.

Barbara and Steph watched from the sidelines, smiling.

“He really is something else,” Barbara said.

“Yeah,” Steph agreed. “But don’t tell him I said that.”

Dick finished the song with a twirl, stepping back and raising his arms dramatically. “And that, ladies, is how you empower the queens of Gotham.”

Cass gave him a small bow, her smile soft and genuine.

Steph rolled her eyes. “You’re such a dork.”

“And you love it,” Dick teased, ruffling her hair.

Barbara wheeled over, shaking her head. “I hate to admit it, but that was kind of impressive.”

Dick beamed, slinging an arm around her shoulders. “That’s all I needed to hear.”

As the girls laughed and teased him, Dick felt a familiar warmth in his chest. This was his family—chaotic, wonderful, and full of love.

“Alright,” he said, grabbing his water bottle. “Who’s up for round two?”

Cass raised her hand immediately, and the laughter started all over again.

Chapter Text

The skyline of Gotham glittered faintly under the overcast night. The rain had just stopped, leaving the city slick with reflections of neon lights. On a rooftop near the Bowery, the brothers were gathered, ready for patrol.

Dick, standing at the edge of the roof, stretched dramatically. “Alright, gentlemen. Tonight, we keep Gotham safe, we keep it clean, and we—”

”—don’t listen to your speeches,” Jason interrupted, leaning against a chimney. He twirled one of his pistols casually, a smirk tugging at his lips. “C’mon, Dickhead. We all know you’re just here to show off.”

Tim, perched on the ledge with his tablet, didn’t look up. “He’s got a point. Your speeches are like the preamble to a bad rom-com.”

Damian huffed, his arms crossed. “Tt. At least he tries. Unlike some of us who think snark is a valid contribution to strategy.”

Jason raised an eyebrow. “Says the kid who sulks more than he talks.”

Dick turned, hands on his hips, grinning as a tune started running through his head. He began to hum. Then, he broke out into song, his voice smooth and steady:

“Hey, brother… There’s an endless road to rediscover…”

Jason groaned dramatically, pressing his hand to his chest. “Oh, great. He’s singing. Again.”

Tim smirked, not even looking up. “It’s like his version of a theme song at this point.”

Damian rolled his eyes but didn’t entirely hide the smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “He thinks he’s inspiring us.”

Dick continued, undeterred, gesturing grandly as he turned back to the city.

“Oh, if the sky comes falling down… For you, there’s nothing in this world I wouldn’t do…”

They took to the streets, splitting up to cover more ground but keeping comms open. As always, the banter began almost immediately.

“So, Nightwing,” Jason’s voice crackled over the comms, “how’s the spotlight life treating you? You still viral? Did they start selling ‘Grayson Fan Club’ merch yet?”

Tim snickered. “Don’t give him ideas, Jay. He’ll start charging us royalties for using his name in jokes.”

Dick chuckled, crouched on a gargoyle. “Oh, ye of little faith. I’m not that shallow.” He paused before adding in a sing-song tone:

“Oh, brother, I will hear your call… Even if I lose it all…”

Jason’s voice came back immediately, sarcastic. “You losing it all would be the dream.”

Tim joined in. “Careful, Jay. He’ll write that into his next song.”

Damian’s voice cut in, annoyed but dryly amused. “Focus. Or are we singing criminals into submission tonight?”

Jason snorted. “Hey, it might work. That voice of his could either charm them or knock them unconscious.”

An hour later.

They regrouped near a warehouse in the Narrows, where a gang of smugglers was unloading stolen tech. Dick motioned for silence, but Jason had other ideas.

“Hey, fearless leader,” Jason whispered, nudging Dick. “How about you show them one of your viral flips? Maybe they’ll surrender out of awe.”

Tim stifled a laugh. “Or cringe.”

Dick sighed but couldn’t resist whispering back in rhythm:

“Oh, sister, I will help you out… If the sky comes falling down…”

Jason rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide his grin. “Fine. Let’s see you back it up.”

They moved in with precision. Damian struck first, darting forward like a shadow, his daggers flashing. Jason followed, his guns firing rubber bullets to disarm the thugs.

Tim flanked from the shadows, using his staff to trip up escape routes, while Dick—true to form—performed a perfect somersault before landing in the middle of the chaos.

“Was the flip really necessary?” Damian muttered, disarming a thug with a clean strike.

Dick grinned as he ducked under a punch. “Always.” He spun, kicked, and couldn’t help but add:

“For you, there’s nothing in this world I wouldn’t do…”

Jason barked out a laugh mid-punch. “You’re impossible.”

_____________________

On their way back to the Batcave, the teasing continued.

Tim pulled up his tablet, showing Dick a clip from social media. “You’re still trending, by the way. Someone edited your patrol footage into a musical montage.”

Dick groaned. “I don’t want to know.”

Jason leaned over Tim’s shoulder. “Oh, you do. They synced your flips to ‘Uptown Funk.’ It’s hilarious.”

Damian looked up from sharpening one of his knives. “Why does society idolize such mediocrity? Acrobatics are hardly impressive compared to swordsmanship.”

Jason smirked. “That’s rich, coming from the kid who practices somersaults in his room.”

Damian’s glare could have cut steel. “At least I don’t shoot at people as a ‘distraction.’”

“It works, doesn’t it?” Jason shot back.

Dick, walking ahead, started humming again, letting the teasing wash over him. Then, almost instinctively, he began singing quietly but audibly:

“Oh, if the sky comes falling down… For you, there’s nothing in this world I wouldn’t do…”

Tim sighed with mock exasperation. “He’s never going to stop, is he?”

Jason clapped a hand on Dick’s shoulder. “If we’re lucky, he’ll lose his voice.”

Dick just smirked, launching into another verse.

________________________

Back at the Batcave, Alfred was waiting with tea and his usual knowing expression. “I trust Gotham is still standing?”

Jason grabbed a cup of tea, smirking. “Barely, thanks to our resident Nightingale over here.”

Dick leaned on the counter, checking one of his wingdings. “You’re just mad because I make it look good.”

Tim settled into a chair, typing away on his tablet. “Not until you’re off the internet, so… never.”

Damian finished his tea and stood. “I’m going to bed. Try not to embarrass yourselves any further while I’m gone.”

Jason laughed. “Night, demon spawn.”

As the others filtered out, Dick lingered for a moment, glancing at the monitors displaying Gotham’s skyline.

“Oh, brother… There’s an endless road to rediscover…”

Despite the constant teasing, the bickering, and the chaos, he wouldn’t trade his brothers for anything.

Chapter Text

The mission brief had been straightforward: infiltrate The Gilded Cage, a high-end nightclub rumored to be a front for one of Gotham’s most elusive crime syndicates. Their target was Lionel Graves, a mid-level boss with loose lips and a penchant for beautiful company.

“Alright,” Barbara’s voice crackled over their comms as the Bat-family gathered in the Batcave. “We need someone to get close enough to Graves and convince him to talk. He has a thing for charming brunettes.”

“I’ll do it,” Cass said quietly, stepping forward.

“No way,” Dick said firmly. “You’re not putting yourself in that situation.”

“Then I’ll go,” Stephanie offered immediately, adjusting her gloves.

“No,” Dick interjected, crossing his arms. “Too risky.”

“Risky?” Steph raised an eyebrow. She huffed. “You’re always saying we’re capable, but the second it’s something like this—”

“Because I’m the big brother, and it’s my job to protect you!” Dick shot back, a teasing grin softening his tone. “And besides…” He turned to the costume rack, his grin growing mischievous. “This sounds fun.”

Bruce, who had been silently observing, pinched the bridge of his nose. “Dick…”

“Relax, B,” Dick said, already rummaging through the wardrobe. “I’ve got this."

__________________

An hour later, the team was assembled in a discreet surveillance van parked a block from the club.

Steph was laughing so hard she could barely breathe. “Oh my god, Dick. You look… amazing.”

Dick stood in front of them, hands on his hips, decked out in a sleek black cocktail dress that clung to his figure perfectly. A brunette wig cascaded in waves down his back, and a touch of expertly applied makeup highlighted his already striking features.

“Don’t forget the heels,” Dick said, spinning to show off the stilettos he’d somehow managed to master in less than ten minutes.

Cass tilted her head, her lips quirking into a small smile. “You look… convincing.”

“You mean gorgeous,” Dick corrected, flipping his hair dramatically.

Tim looked like he wanted to crawl under the nearest table. “I can’t believe I’m related to you.”

"You don't." Jason deadpanned, earning him an elbow from Cass. 

“You’re just jealous,” Dick teased, ignored Jason rubbing his arm, and checking his reflection in a compact mirror.

“Focus,” Bruce’s voice cut through the comms. “This is a mission, not a fashion show.”

“Can’t it be both?” Dick replied with a smirk, slipping a diamond-studded clutch over his shoulder.

________________

As he approached the club, a familiar melody started playing in his head. With a grin, he hummed softly under his breath:

“And when I start to talk like that (like that). Oh you won't know how to react…"

---

Inside the club, the atmosphere was electric. Neon lights pulsed to the beat of the music, and the air was thick with laughter and the clinking of glasses. Dick sauntered through the crowd with the ease of someone who belonged, drawing attention wherever he went.

The song playing over the speakers seemed to sync perfectly with his mood, and he found himself mouthing the words:

“I'm a picture perfect face. With that wild in my veins. You can hear it in my growl growl growl..."

Graves was seated in a VIP booth, surrounded by bodyguards and sycophants. As Dick approached, he let the music guide him, his movements fluid and confident.

“So keep your eyes on me now”

“Hello, handsome,” Dick purred, slipping into the seat next to Graves with a dazzling smile.

Graves blinked, momentarily stunned. “Well, hello there. I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“Not yet,” Dick said, leaning in just enough to let his perfume do the work. “But I think we’re about to become very good friends.”

Graves chuckled, clearly intrigued. “What’s your name?”

“Diana,” Dick said smoothly, twirling a strand of his hair.

As Graves started talking—clearly eager to impress—Dick’s comm crackled softly in his ear.

“Is he buying it?” Barbara asked.

“Oh, he’s buying it,” Dick murmured, keeping his tone sultry.

“Careful,” Bruce warned.

“Relax,” Dick whispered, his lips barely moving as he listened to Graves prattle on about shipments and safe houses. “This guy’s an open book.”

Meanwhile, back in the van, Jason was wheezing his ass off. “I can’t believe he’s pulling this off.”

“I hate how good he is at this,” Tim muttered, shaking his head.

______________

By the end of the night, Dick had everything they needed—locations, contacts, and a timeline for the syndicate’s next operation.

As he slipped out of the club and back to the van, he couldn’t help but hum the final lines of the song under his breath:

“Ain't nobody bringing us...”

The door to the van slid open, and the rest of the team stared at him.

“Well?” Steph asked.

Dick grinned, holding up a flash drive. “Mission accomplished.”

Jason snorted. “You’re unbelievable.”

“You mean fabulous,” Dick corrected, tossing his wig onto Jason’s lap.

Bruce sighed, already pinching the bridge of his nose again.

“Don’t worry, B,” Dick said, plopping into a seat. “I’ll save the dress for the next gala.”

Steph burst out laughing, Cass smiled, and even Damian cracked a tiny smirk.

And as the van drove off into the Gotham night, Dick leaned back, humming the tune of “Pop/Stars” with a satisfied grin.

"...down down down down"

Chapter Text

The battlefield was chaos. Smoke rose in thick plumes against an alien sky of deep crimson and violet, while the ground beneath the Justice League and Bat-family trembled with every explosion. They stood on a distant planet, one of the outermost worlds under threat from an intergalactic conqueror.

The Justice League had been called in to defend the planet’s population, and the Bat-family—ever resourceful—had joined to provide tactical support. What was supposed to be a straightforward evacuation had turned into an all-out war as the conqueror’s forces swarmed the cityscape.

“Spread out!” Batman barked, his voice commanding even over the chaos. “Protect the civilians!”

Superman shot into the sky, his eyes blazing red as he intercepted a squadron of enemy ships. Wonder Woman charged forward with a cry, her sword gleaming as she cut through the armored invaders.

On the ground, the Bat-family fought like a seamless unit. Tim was perched on a rooftop, directing drones to shield fleeing civilians. Damian was a blur of movement, his katana slicing through anything in his path. Jason, with his explosive arsenal, held the line against a barrage of alien tanks. Cass was everywhere and nowhere, taking down enemies with silent precision, while Stephanie coordinated evacuation routes.

And Dick—Dick was in the air, his grappling hook and acrobatics keeping him in constant motion. His escrima sticks sparked with electricity as he fought, the adrenaline pumping through his veins like music.

The battle was long and grueling. The alien conqueror’s forces were relentless, their weapons far beyond anything the Justice League had encountered before. But they held their ground, inch by inch.

______________________

Hours passed, and the battlefield shifted. The League and the Bat-family regrouped on a raised plateau, their enemies closing in from all sides. They were battered, bruised, but unbroken.

“We’re surrounded,” Tim reported grimly, scanning the area with his upgraded visor.

“Outnumbered,” Jason added, cocking his guns. “But that’s nothing new.”

“Hold the line,” Batman ordered, his cape billowing as he stepped forward.

As they prepared for the next wave, Dick stood at the center of their formation, his chest heaving as he caught his breath. Despite the exhaustion, he smirked, gripping his escrima sticks tighter.

“You know,” he said, his voice carrying over the battlefield, “I always thought we were a bit dramatic. But maybe we are gods.”

Cass tilted her head. “Gods?”

Dick grinned, his eyes alight despite the blood smeared across his cheek. “What else would you call a bunch of stubborn humans who never know when to quit?”

From somewhere deep in his memory, a melody surfaced, its rhythm syncing with the pulse of his heartbeat. He couldn’t stop himself—he began to hum.

“‘I will be your warrior, we’re fighting for the glory…’”

Stephanie groaned. “Not the time for singing, Dick!”

“Always the time for singing,” Dick shot back, his grin widening.

____________________

The next wave hit, and they fought like demons—or gods. The alien forces were ruthless, but the Justice League and Bat-family fought harder, every movement honed by years of training and unyielding determination.

“‘We’re rising up… rising like a phoenix…’” Dick sang under his breath as he flipped over an incoming attacker, his electrified sticks slamming into its chest.

Damian, fighting beside him, glared. “Grayson, focus!”

“I am focused!” Dick retorted, sliding under another alien’s legs and tripping it with a sweep of his foot. “‘Like the gods that we are…’”

Even in the chaos, his energy was infectious. Stephanie found herself humming along as she detonated a line of charges to collapse a bridge. Jason rolled his eyes but smirked, fighting back-to-back with Dick as the two brothers tore through the enemy ranks.

____________________

The turning point came when Wonder Woman and Superman pushed through the enemy's front line, clearing a path to the conqueror's main ship.

“Go!” Batman ordered. “Take them down!”

The League surged forward, leaving the Bat-family to hold the plateau. The fight was brutal—wave after wave of enemies, their weapons tearing through the air. But no one wavered.

Dick’s voice rang out again, clear and defiant:

“‘We’re gods, we’ll take it all! Nothing can stop us now!’”

“Did you rehearse this?” Jason shouted over the din, blasting another alien.

“Nope!” Dick flipped onto a crumbling pillar, his movements fluid and precise. “It just felt right.”

____________________

By the time the Justice League returned, victorious, the Bat-family had cleared the remaining enemies. The plateau was littered with debris and fallen foes, and the team stood at its center, bloodied but triumphant.

“Mission accomplished,” Superman said, landing beside Batman.

“Barely,” Bruce muttered, surveying his team. His eyes landed on Dick, who was leaning on one of his escrima sticks, still humming under his breath.

“You never stop, do you?” Bruce asked, his tone exasperated but fond.

Dick grinned, his eyes sparkling despite the exhaustion. “What can I say? We’re gods.”

Jason groaned. “If I hear that song one more time…”

“Don’t pretend you don’t love it,” Dick teased, earning a snort from Stephanie.

As they made their way back to the League’s ship, the melody lingered in Dick’s mind—a reminder of their strength, their resilience, and the bond that held them together.

Chapter Text

The Bat-family was home—finally home after yet another intergalactic mission with the Justice League. For once, there were no immediate disasters, no looming threats, and no patrols scheduled. Bruce had ordered everyone to rest.

Except rest wasn’t something the family did well.

Dick was sprawled on the couch in the Batcave, his legs draped over the armrest as he flipped through his phone. Jason leaned against the counter in the kitchenette area, absently looking for snacks. Tim sat cross-legged on the floor, typing furiously on his laptop while Damian and Cass talk quietly in the corner. Stephanie had claimed one of Bruce’s chairs and was dramatically munching on popcorn as she scrolled through a magazine.

It should’ve been peaceful, but the silence felt… off.

Dick sighed loudly, breaking the quiet. “This sucks.”

Jason raised an eyebrow. “We just saved an entire planet, and you’re bored already?”

“I’m not bored!” Dick protested, flinging an arm over his face. “I’m just... ugh.”

“Articulate,” Tim muttered without looking up from his laptop.

“Okay, fine,” Dick said, sitting up. “Everything sucks.”

“Oh, here we go,” Jason muttered, but Dick ignored him.

“Everything sucks,” Dick began dramatically, throwing his head back. “Just kidding! Everything is great.”

“Please, no,” Damian groaned, pausing mid-talk.

“Yes,” Cass whispered, a ghost of a smile on her face.

Dick stood, gesturing wildly as he continued, “No, really, I haven’t thought about my ex today! Oh wait—” He clutched his chest as if in agony. “I just did!”

Stephanie cackled, tossing a piece of popcorn at him. “You’re so extra.”

“And you love it,” Dick shot back, catching the popcorn in his mouth.

Jason sighed. “Why are you like this?”

“‘But I went outside for the first time in a few days,’” Dick sang as he paced dramatically around the room, gesturing to the dark monitors.

“We literally got back from another planet less than 24 hours ago,” Tim pointed out, but Dick ignored him.

“‘And it felt nice, and I might try doin’ exercise!’” Dick did a series of exaggerated stretches, earning a rare giggle from Cass.

Jason snorted. “You’re insufferable.”

“Thank you!” Dick replied, beaming.

He grabbed Tim’s hand, pulling him to his feet. “C’mon, Baby bird, dance with me!”

Tim immediately tried to retreat. “No. Nope. Absolutely not—”

“Too late!” Dick spun him in a wide arc, ignoring Tim’s protests.

“Why do you let him do this?” Tim asked, glaring at Jason, who leaned against the counter with a smirk.

Jason shrugged. “You think I’m gonna stop him?”

Steph stood, joining in with a dramatic twirl. “You’re just mad you can’t pull off the moves, Timmy.”

Cass watched quietly for a moment before stepping in. Within seconds, she had out-danced all of them, her graceful movements making the others look like clumsy amateurs.

Damian, meanwhile, glared from the sidelines. “This is absurd.”

Dick slid over to him, hands on his hips. “Oh, come on, Dami. Live a little!”

“I refuse,” Damian said, crossing his arms.

“You sure?” Dick teased, grabbing his arm.

Damian yanked it back, though his movement gentle. “Yes!”

Dick grinned. “Suit yourself, little brother.”

As the impromptu dance session spiraled into chaos, Bruce appeared at the door, arms crossed. He cleared his throat, and everyone froze.

“Care to explain what’s going on?” he asked, his voice dry.

Dick stepped forward, not missing a beat. “We’re bonding.”

Bruce stared at him. “Bonding.”

“Yep!”

Jason snickered. “I’d call it something else.”

Bruce sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Just… keep it down.”

“Yes, Dad,” the group chorused in unison, and Bruce walked away muttering under his breath.

_____________

When he was gone, Dick turned back to the group with a mischievous grin. “Where were we?”

Tim sighed, plopping back down with his laptop. “Everything sucks.”

“Just kidding!” Dick exclaimed, striking a pose.

Jason rolled his eyes. “I’m moving out.”

“No, you’re not,” Dick replied, winking.

“Unfortunately, he’s right,” Stephanie added, throwing popcorn at Jason this time.

And despite the chaos, despite the ridiculousness of it all, everyone was smiling. Because maybe everything didn’t suck after all.

Chapter Text

The Batfamily regrouped after patrol, returning to the Manor just as the first light of dawn crept over Gotham. They were exhausted but victorious after dismantling another of Black Mask’s smuggling operations.

As they trudged into the Batcave, Stephanie leaned against the Batcomputer, scrolling on her phone. “Well, Nightingale, you’re still trending.”

Dick groaned, peeling off his domino mask. “Please tell me it’s dying down.”

Stephanie snorted. “Hardly. Someone made a compilation of your best moments set to The Nights by Avicii. It’s surprisingly motivational.” She hit play, and the room filled with the song’s opening notes.

“He said, ‘One day you’ll leave this world behind, so live a life you will remember…’”

Jason, halfway through removing his chest armor, paused and grinned. “Honestly, this suits you, Goldie.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dick muttered, swiping the phone from her. He couldn’t help but smirk as he watched clips of himself flipping through the air, dodging punches, and—of course—singing.

“If you’re done admiring your fan edits,” Bruce interrupted, walking in with his usual stoic demeanor, “we have a new mission.”

Bruce tapped a button on the Batcomputer, bringing up a grainy video feed. A young man in tattered clothes was running through a dense forest, speaking into a shaky camera.

“My name is Elias Krane,” the man said, panting. “If you’re seeing this, I need help. I’m being hunted—there’s something out here, something… not human.”

The video cut out abruptly, leaving static.

“This was sent to Oracle an hour ago,” Bruce said. “The signal originated from a remote part of Appalachia.”

Jason crossed his arms. “So, what are we dealing with? Some wannabe horror movie monster?”

“Possibly,” Bruce replied. “Or it could be a trap. Either way, we need to investigate.”

“Who’s going?” Tim asked.

Bruce glanced at Dick. “You and Nightwing will take point. It’s your kind of case—stealth, recon, and maybe a little public relations cleanup for our viral sensation.”

Dick rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. “Alright. When do we leave?”

“Now,” Bruce said.

_____________________________

The drive to Appalachia was long, giving Dick and Tim plenty of time to discuss the case.

“So,” Tim began, grinning from the passenger seat, “how does it feel knowing half the internet wants you to drop a single?”

“Feels great, thanks,” Dick deadpanned. “Just wait until they find your old TikToks.”

Tim paled. “You wouldn’t dare.”

Hours later, they arrived at the edge of a sprawling forest. The air was thick with mist, and the trees loomed like silent sentinels.

“Creepy,” Tim muttered, checking his equipment.

“Stay close,” Dick said, activating his escrima sticks. “Let’s see what we’re dealing with.”

They moved silently through the underbrush, their ears tuned to every rustle and snap. Suddenly, a distant sound caught their attention—a haunting, melodic whistle.

“What the heck is that?” Tim whispered.

“Not sure,” Dick replied, his grip tightening on his weapons. “But I don’t think it’s friendly.”

The whistling grew louder, echoing through the trees. Tim scanned the area with his infrared goggles. “I’ve got movement, ten o’clock!”

Before they could react, a shadowy figure lunged from the trees. It was humanoid but twisted, with elongated limbs and glowing red eyes.

“Not human,” Tim said, firing off a grapple to dodge the creature’s claws.

Dick rolled forward, striking the creature with his electrified escrima sticks. “Whatever it is, it’s fast. Stay on your toes!”

The fight was brutal, the creature’s speed and strength pushing them to their limits. But as they worked together—Tim providing cover fire while Dick went in for close strikes—they managed to drive it back into the woods.

Breathing heavily, Dick looked at Tim. “That thing wasn’t alone. I saw tracks leading deeper into the forest.”

Tim nodded, his face grim. “We’ll need backup.”

“Agreed,” Dick said, pulling out his communicator. “But first, let’s find Elias. He might have answers.”

____________________________________

As they pressed on, the adrenaline of the fight gave way to quiet determination. Dick found himself humming again, the melody of The Nights filling the silence between them.

“He said, ‘Go venture far beyond these shores… Don’t forsake this life of yours…’”

Tim glanced at him. “You really can’t help yourself, can you?”

Dick smirked. “Hey, if we’re going to fight monsters, we might as well have a soundtrack.”

Tim shook his head but didn’t argue, a small smile tugging at his lips.

The forest stretched endlessly before them, the unknown lurking in every shadow. But together, they pressed on, ready to face whatever came next.

Chapter Text

The forest grew darker as Dick and Tim moved deeper, the air heavy with tension. The whistling sound from earlier had faded, replaced by an eerie stillness that felt wrong.

“This place feels like it’s alive,” Tim murmured, scanning the area with his goggles. “No sign of Elias yet.”

Dick nodded, his senses on high alert. “Stay close. Whatever that thing was, I doubt it’s the only one.”

The sound of a snapping twig made them both spin around, weapons at the ready. From the shadows emerged Elias Krane, his face pale and streaked with dirt. He looked terrified.

“Help me,” he whispered, stumbling toward them.

Dick stepped forward cautiously. “Elias, we’re here to get you out. Are you hurt?”

Before Elias could answer, a guttural roar erupted behind him. The same creature from earlier lunged out of the shadows, but this time it wasn’t alone. Two more monstrous figures flanked it, their glowing red eyes fixed on the group.

“Move!” Dick shouted, pulling Elias behind him as the creatures attacked.

The battle was chaotic. Dick moved like lightning, his escrima sticks crackling as he struck one of the creatures, forcing it back.

“Where there’s a will, there’s a way, kind of beautiful… Every night has its day, so magical…”

The lyrics hummed in his head as he flipped over another creature, landing a solid kick to its chest.

Tim fired a smoke pellet, creating a momentary distraction. “Dick, we’re outnumbered here!”

Dick ducked a swipe from a clawed hand, his voice steady despite the chaos. “Just keep moving! We’ll find a way out!”

Elias cowered behind a fallen tree, his voice trembling. “You don’t understand. They’re not going to stop!”

Dick glanced at him, determination hardening his expression. “Neither are we.”

“And if in the morning I’m still alive… Maybe I’ll break through tonight…”

He launched himself at the nearest creature, his strikes landing in perfect rhythm. Tim joined him, the two of them working in tandem to drive the monsters back.

The fight reached a fever pitch, the creatures snarling as they circled. But just as it seemed they might be overwhelmed, a deafening screech pierced the air. The monsters froze, their heads snapping toward the sound before retreating into the shadows.

Tim panted, lowering his weapon. “What just happened?”

Elias shakily stood, his eyes wide. “They’re afraid of something… or someone.”

Dick exchanged a look with Tim, his instincts screaming that this wasn’t over. “We need to get out of here now.”

________Back at the Manor_______

By the time they returned to the Batcave, the sun was rising over Gotham. Elias was being debriefed by Alfred while Bruce reviewed the footage from their suits.

Jason was the first to break the silence. “So let me get this straight: you fought forest monsters, saved a guy, and didn’t even bring me a souvenir?”

“You wouldn’t have fit in the car,” Tim quipped, earning a laugh from Stephanie.

Bruce turned to Dick, his expression unreadable. “The creatures retreated. Did you see why?”

Dick shook his head. “No, but Elias thinks something scared them off.”

“Great,” Jason muttered, leaning against the wall. “As if Gotham wasn’t bad enough, now we’ve got cryptids in the mix.”

Damian, sitting on the edge of the Batcomputer, frowned. “Tt. If they are a threat, we will eliminate them.”

“Not until we know more,” Bruce said firmly. “For now, we’ll monitor the area and follow up on Elias’s intel.”

Later, as the others dispersed, Dick found himself in the gym, trying to work off the lingering adrenaline. The events of the night replayed in his mind, and once again, the melody of Waiting for Love slipped from his lips.

“Monday left me broken… Tuesday, I was through with hoping…”

Jason poked his head in, smirking. “You know, one of these days, you’re going to accidentally record a full album.”

Dick rolled his eyes but kept singing. “Thursday, waiting for love… Waiting for love…”

Jason chuckled. “Well, if this whole vigilante thing doesn’t work out, at least you’ve got a backup career.”

As the Manor settled into quiet, Bruce stared at the footage one more time, his fingers steepled under his chin. The creatures were unlike anything he’d ever encountered, their movements primal yet calculated.

In the background, Alfred’s soft voice echoed as he reassured Elias. The young man’s fear was real, and whatever was lurking in the forest wasn’t done with them yet.

Somewhere far away, the forest whispered its secrets, waiting for the next chapter of the the story.

Chapter Text

The Batfamily convened in the Manor’s library, the dark oak-paneled room filled with maps of Appalachia, scattered research on cryptids, and a growing sense of unease. At the center of it all stood Zatanna Zatara, her arms crossed as she regarded the footage on the Batcomputer.

“I don’t like this,” she said, her usually confident voice tinged with unease. “Those creatures aren’t just monsters. They’re… bound to something. Or someone.”

“Bound?” Dick echoed, leaning forward.

Zatanna nodded. “They’re not acting on instinct. There’s magic here—dark, old magic.”

Damian stepped forward, his green eyes narrowed. “Then tell us how to destroy them.”

Zatanna hesitated, her gaze flickering to Bruce. “I can’t. This kind of magic isn’t my specialty. It’s not my problem.”

Jason snorted. “That’s a convenient excuse.”

She shot him a sharp look. “It’s not an excuse, Todd. This isn’t just some hex or curse I can undo with a wave of my hand. This is chaos magic, and if anyone knows how to deal with it, it’s—”

She stopped herself, visibly reluctant to continue.

“It’s who?” Bruce asked, his voice calm but commanding.

Zatanna sighed, her shoulders slumping. “John Constantine.”

Tim frowned, pulling up a file on the Batcomputer. “Constantine. Occult detective, chain smoker, professional headache for the Justice League. That Constantine?”

“The one and only,” Zatanna confirmed, rubbing her temples. “If those creatures are what I think they are, they’re tied to a chaos nexus. And Constantine’s tangled with those before.”

Bruce’s expression remained stoic. “Will he help?”

Zatanna laughed dryly. “That depends. Do you have a bottle of good whiskey and infinite patience? Because you’ll need both.”

Jason leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “Great. So we’re outsourcing to the guy who probably made a deal with the devil for rent money.”

Zatanna smirked. “Pretty accurate, but he gets results. If anyone can stop those creatures, it’s John.”

“Where do we find him?” Bruce asked.

Zatanna’s face darkened. “Last I heard, he was in Liverpool. But if he owes you a favor, you might be able to drag him stateside. Just… don’t expect him to be happy about it.”

As Zatanna prepared to leave, Dick caught her by the arm. “Thanks, Zee. I know you didn’t have to help.”

She smiled faintly. “Be careful. You have no idea what you’re stepping into.”

After she vanished in a puff of shimmering light, Dick returned to the others. He tapped his escrima sticks against the edge of the table, humming quietly to himself.

“I just need to feel it all… Before we let go…”

Tim glanced at him. “You’re humming again. Is this a new thing, or should we be worried?”

Dick grinned. “Just thinking. If we’re calling Constantine, we’re in for a ride.”

Jason smirked. “What’s new? It’s never boring around here.”

_______________________________

Constantine’s dingy flat was cluttered with books, cigarette packs, and the lingering smell of stale whiskey. He sat at his desk, shuffling tarot cards, when a swirling blue portal opened in the corner of the room.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered, watching as Bruce Wayne stepped through, followed by Dick and Tim.

“John Constantine,” Bruce began, his tone as imposing as ever. “We need your help.”

Constantine took a long drag from his cigarette, eyeing them warily. “You lot always need something. What is it this time? Vampires? Demons? Another bloody Lazarus Pit?”

Dick stepped forward, showing him the footage of the creatures. “These things. They’re hunting people in Appalachia. Zatanna said you’d know what to do.”

Constantine’s expression darkened as he watched the video. He stubbed out his cigarette, muttering under his breath. “Chaos nexuses. Always a mess.”

Tim crossed his arms. “So you’ll help?”

Constantine sighed. “Help’s a strong word. But I’ll take a look. Just don’t blame me if things go sideways.”

Bruce’s jaw tightened. “We’ll take care of the fallout. Just do your job.”

Constantine smirked. “Alright, Bats. Let’s see how deep this rabbit hole goes.”

_________________________________

Back at the Manor, Jason was less than thrilled. “So we’re trusting our lives to a guy who looks like he sleeps in alleys and drinks his breakfast?”

Damian scoffed. “Tt. If Father trusts him, that is enough.”

Stephanie grinned. “Plus, he’s kind of hot in a haggard, world-weary way.”

Jason groaned. “You need better taste.”

Dick chuckled, leaning back against the couch. “Relax. Constantine’s messy, but he gets the job done. We’ll be fine.”

As the family prepared for what was sure to be another chaotic adventure, Dick couldn’t help but hum softly again, the lyrics to More Than You Know playing in his mind.

“I just need to feel it all… Before we let go…”

Chapter Text

Constantine paced around the perimeter of the Appalachian forest, his trench coat flapping in the wind. The Batfamily stood nearby, watching him with varying degrees of skepticism as he muttered incantations under his breath and occasionally flicked ashes from his cigarette onto the ground.

Tim leaned toward Jason, whispering, “Is he doing magic, or just talking to himself?”

Jason smirked. “Probably both.”

Constantine ignored them, crouching near a patch of scorched earth. He ran his fingers over the charred grass and sniffed the air. “Right, then. Whoever summoned these nasties had no bloody clue what they were dealing with.”

Dick stepped forward, his escrima sticks holstered at his sides. “So, what are they? Demons? Spirits?”

Constantine glanced up, his blue eyes gleaming with amusement. “Close, mate. They’re chaos-bound servitors. Magical hitmen, you could say. They hunt, they kill, and they don’t stop unless you sever their link to their summoner.”

Bruce folded his arms. “How do we sever the link?”

Constantine stood, brushing off his hands. “Easy. Find the poor sod who summoned them, make them undo it, or—” He drew his finger across his throat. “Problem solved.”

Damian scowled. “How barbaric.”

Constantine shrugged. “It’s the magical equivalent of turning off the tap. Now, where’s the fun Nightwing? I need his… unique skills.”

Dick raised an eyebrow. “What skills?”

Constantine grinned, taking out a small, enchanted tuning fork. “That voice of yours. Heard you’ve got a knack for humming. Sing me a little tune, will you?”

Dick blinked, confused. “You want me to… sing? Here? In the middle of a forest?”

Constantine waved the fork lazily. “Not just any singing. Whistle something light. It’ll help me suss out where the magical resonance is strongest. Chaos magic loves sound.”

“Fine,” Dick said, shrugging. He brought his lips together and started whistling the tune of a song that had been stuck in his head all morning.

“Can you blow my whistle, baby, whistle, baby… Let me know…”

The sound carried through the forest, clear and melodic. The Batfamily exchanged amused glances, but Constantine was surprisingly serious, his eyes closed as he listened.

The tuning fork in his hand began to vibrate, glowing faintly.

“There we are,” Constantine said, grinning as he pointed deeper into the forest. “The resonance is strongest that way. Whoever’s behind this mess, they’re hiding in that direction.”

As they trekked through the woods, Constantine walked beside Dick, clearly entertained.

“You’ve got some pipes on you, mate. Ever consider ditching the bats and going on tour?”

Dick smirked. “I get enough attention just being Nightwing. I don’t need a singing career on top of it.”

Constantine chuckled. “Shame. The magical community could use a bloke like you. A little music can work wonders with the right spell.”

Tim snorted. “Great. Now he’s recruiting Dick for his magical boy band.”

Constantine threw Tim a look. “Careful, kid. I’ve turned people into toads for less.”

They reached a clearing where the air felt thick and heavy. In the center was a crude altar, surrounded by symbols etched into the ground. The chaos magic was palpable, making the hairs on the back of their necks stand on end.

“This is it,” Constantine said, stepping forward. “Whoever did this is long gone, but their work’s still ticking.”

Bruce scanned the area, his detective instincts kicking in. “Can you break the spell?”

Constantine crouched beside the altar, muttering an incantation as he examined the runes. “Maybe. But it’ll take time. Keep an eye out for any nasties while I work.”

Dick stood watch near the edge of the clearing, his fingers tapping a rhythm on his escrima sticks. Without realizing it, he started whistling again, the same lighthearted tune.

Constantine smirked as he worked. “You’re quite the cheerful one, aren’t you? Not many blokes whistle while standing guard against chaos monsters.”

Dick shrugged. “You have to find moments of levity where you can. Keeps the job from getting to you.”

Constantine gave him a sidelong glance. “Wise words for someone so young. Reminds me of myself back when I wasn’t so… jaded.”

“You mean before you started living off whiskey and cigarettes?” Dick teased.

Constantine barked a laugh. “Touché, Nightwing. Touché.”

By the time they returned to the Manor, Constantine had successfully dismantled the chaos altar, though he warned that whoever created it wasn’t going to stop easily.

As they entered the Batcave, Jason immediately pounced on Dick.

“So, Goldie, are you a vigilante or a songbird? You’ve been whistling up a storm lately.”

Stephanie grinned. “I say we make it official: Nightwing gets his own theme music on patrol.”

Damian rolled his eyes. “Tt. I fail to see how this is relevant.”

Tim smirked. “It’s relevant because it’s funny.”

Dick held up his hands. “Alright, alright. Enough with the jokes. Constantine needed it for the spell. Blame him.”

Constantine, lounging on the couch with a glass of whiskey Alfred had reluctantly provided, raised his glass. “Don’t drag me into this. You’re the one serenading the forest.”

Bruce sighed, clearly unimpressed. “Focus. We still have a summoner to track down. This isn’t over.”

But even as the team dispersed to regroup, Dick couldn’t help but whistle softly as he headed to the showers.

“There’s nowhere we can’t go… Whistle, baby, whistle, baby…”

Constantine smirked, muttering to himself. “I like this one. Bloody weirdo.”

Chapter Text

The Justice League’s makeshift magical war room was chaos incarnate. Books floated midair, papers scattered across the dimly lit space, and the smell of incense and ozone lingered. At the center of it all stood Constantine, Zatanna, and other magical heavyweights like Doctor Fate and Etrigan.

And then there was Dick Grayson, standing awkwardly in the corner, holding a glowing microphone.

“Let me get this straight,” Dick said, gesturing to the magical instruments hovering around them. “You want me to sing to stop the apocalypse?”

Constantine grinned as he strummed an enchanted guitar that seemed to tune itself. “Not just sing, mate. You’re leading the charge in a magical battle of the bands. Think of it as saving the world… with style.”

Dick pinched the bridge of his nose. “This is ridiculous, even for us.”

Zatanna smirked, adjusting her top hat. “Chaos magic is powered by emotions, and music channels emotions like nothing else. It’s the perfect counterspell.”

Doctor Fate’s booming voice filled the room. “The nexus of chaos must be neutralized. Only through harmonic resonance can we seal it.”

Jason Blood, half-listening as he tuned his drumsticks, added dryly, “Translation: sing or watch the world burn.”

The “band” consisted of:
• Constantine on the guitar,
• Zatanna on the keyboard,
• Jason Blood (occasionally Etrigan) on the drums,
• Doctor Fate on backup vocals, and
• Nightwing as the lead singer.

Tim had been sent as a reluctant liaison, now sitting on a stack of books, watching the rehearsal unfold.

“This is either the dumbest idea I’ve ever seen or the most genius,” Tim muttered, munching on a bag of chips.

Jason Blood shot him a glare. “It’s both.”

Constantine nodded at Dick. “Alright, sunshine. You’re the star of this show. Give me something strong—something primal.”

Dick sighed, stepping up to the magical microphone. As the glowing runes around the room began to pulse in rhythm, he closed his eyes and started singing.

“First things first, I’ma say all the words inside my head…”

His voice echoed through the room, resonating with the magical energy crackling in the air. The instruments followed, each chord and beat amplifying the power in the room.

“I was broken from a young age, taking my sulking to the masses…”

As Dick sang, he found himself drawn deeper into the rhythm, his voice carrying an almost otherworldly force. The runes on the walls glowed brighter, and even Constantine looked impressed.

“Blimey, he’s got it,” Constantine muttered.

The team was transported to the chaos nexus—a swirling storm of energy hovering over a decimated city block. Floating in the eye of the storm was the summoner, a young sorcerer overwhelmed by the power they had unleashed.

“They’re not going to listen to reason,” Zatanna warned. “The magic has consumed them.”

Constantine adjusted his guitar strap. “Good thing we’ve got something louder than reason.”

As the summoner unleashed waves of chaos creatures, the magical band began to play.

Dick’s voice cut through the storm like a blade:

“You made me a, you made me a believer… Believer!”

Each word sent shockwaves through the air, destabilizing the creatures. The guitar riffs from Constantine and the pounding drums from Jason Blood kept the energy high, while Zatanna’s keyboard filled the gaps with shimmering melodies that disrupted the creatures’ forms.

The summoner snarled, raising their hands to counterattack, but Doctor Fate’s voice boomed out, harmonizing with Dick’s:

“Pain! You break me down, you build me up, believer… Believer!”

The combined force of their voices sent a ripple through the chaos nexus, causing cracks to appear in the storm.

Midway through the performance, one of the chaos creatures lunged at Dick. Without missing a beat, he flipped over it, his movements seamlessly blending into the rhythm of the song.

Jason Blood grinned. “He’s a performer, alright.”

Constantine laughed as he played a blistering solo. “Told you he’s the star.”

As the final chorus approached, Dick stepped to the forefront, his voice rising above the chaos.

“Let the bullets fly, oh let them rain… My life, my love, my drive, it came from… PAIN!”

With one final, powerful note, the chaos nexus shattered, and the creatures dissolved into nothingness. The summoner collapsed, the dark magic leaving their body.

_______________________________

Back at the Manor, the Batfamily sat around the dining table, listening to Tim’s recounting of the events.

“So let me get this straight,” Jason said, trying not to laugh. “Dick just joined a magical boy band to save the world?”

Tim nodded, scrolling through his phone. “And went viral again. People are calling him the ‘Singing Vigilante’ now.”

Damian frowned. “Tt. Is there no limit to Grayson’s absurdity?”

Stephanie grinned. “Oh, I’m loving this. When’s the album dropping, Dick?”

Dick groaned, burying his face in his hands. “I can never show my face in public again.”

Bruce, sitting at the head of the table, simply sipped his coffee. “As long as the world is safe, I don’t care how it happened.”

Jason smirked. “Well, the world’s safe, and now we have a popstar in the family. Win-win.”

From the corner, Alfred chimed in, his tone perfectly dry. “Shall I prepare the concert hall for your next rehearsal, Master Dick?”

Dick let out a long sigh, though he couldn’t help but chuckle. “You’re all impossible.”

Chapter Text

The Batcave buzzed with activity. Damian was meticulously cleaning his katana, Tim sat at the computer engrossed in code, and Jason leaned against the Batmobile, lazily scrolling on his phone. Stephanie and Cassandra were sparring nearby, throwing playful insults as their kicks and punches collided.

Dick sat at the central console, his feet propped up as he hummed a familiar tune, polishing his escrima sticks. The air was calm, for now.

Tim glanced down, his eyes widening as he tapped the screen. A smirk crept onto his face.

“Uh… guys?” Tim called out, trying to suppress his laughter. “You all need to see this.”

Jason wandered over first, groaning. “What now? Did Nightwing accidentally go viral singing again?”

Tim shook his head, his grin growing wider. “Nope. Way better. This? This is ancient history.”

He cast the video to the massive Batcomputer monitor. The grainy footage flickered to life, timestamped from years ago.

The Video: Welcome to Gotham

It was almost night time in Gotham. The handheld camera wobbled before focusing on a young figure perched on a gargoyle.

It was Robin. Dick Grayson in his original costume, complete with pixie boots, green shorts, and a bright yellow cape. His cheerful smile radiated an energy that Gotham rarely saw, his youthful exuberance almost blinding against the city’s gray backdrop.

Then, young Robin started to sing.

“Welcome to Wonderland, we’ve got it all… Potions and pastries that make you grow tall…”

He somersaulted down from the gargoyle with effortless grace, landing on the cracked pavement below. The camera followed as he began skipping down the street, twirling his staff like a baton.

The siblings exchanged puzzled glances.

Jason squinted at the screen. “What is this?”

They watch as Robin hopped onto a lamppost, beaming at the camera.

“Forests and cottages, castles and cards…”

The screen panned to the Iceberg Lounge. The broken windows framed a sinister scene: inside, the Penguin stood surrounded by his thugs, barking orders. His monocle gleamed menacingly as he rapped his umbrella on the floor, his beady eyes darting toward the camera.

Suddenly, his voice broke through the background noise, sharp and grating: “Get that thing out of here!”

Robin, oblivious, continued swinging through Gotham, his voice as light as ever.

“Welcome to Wonderland, look where we are… You’ll find the Mad Hatter’s tricks aren’t so bizarre…”

The video cut to an alley shrouded in fog, where Jervis Tetch stood muttering to himself. His crooked hat tilted forward, casting shadows over his face, while a group of hypnotized victims staggered aimlessly around him. The camera caught a close-up of one victim’s empty, glassy eyes, sending chills through the Batcave.

The song continued, light and cheery, as Robin twirled his staff and danced past Gotham’s most terrifying sights.

“Magical cabins and lovely white rabbits with clocks…”

The camera descended into the sewers. The dim, flickering light revealed Killer Croc crouched in the shadows, water dripping from his jagged teeth. He snarled at the lens, the low, guttural sound sending a shiver through the audience.

“Dancing through a dream underneath the stars…”

Inside Arkham Asylum, Harley Quinn skipped through the hallways, her mallet dragging noisily behind her. Her high-pitched laughter echoed, unsettlingly hollow. The Joker sat in his cell, carving grotesque faces into the wooden handle of a crowbar. The camera lingered on him a moment too long, capturing his slow, deliberate grin as he turned toward the lens.

Robin, cheerful as ever, swung by outside.

“Laughing till the morning comes…”

Robin pointed out more sights as the video continued.

Scarecrow appeared in a dark alley, his burlap mask barely illuminated by the weak glow of a streetlight. He held up a canister of fear toxin, twisting it slowly in his hand as though deciding who his next victim would be.

The camera shifted to Poison Ivy, standing amidst her overgrown garden. Vines curled and writhed unnaturally around her, their movements almost serpentine. Her glowing green eyes pierced through the screen.

Finally, the video cut to Two-Face, flipping his scarred coin in the dim light of a warehouse. The coin gleamed as it spun, casting brief flashes of his disfigured face before landing in his palm. He turned to the camera, his voice low and gravelly: “Do you feel lucky?”

Robin’s cheerful voice carried over it all, contrasting starkly with the horror unfolding on-screen.

“Wonderland’s open for just you and me… So we can live in a fantasy!”

The video ended with a freeze-frame of Robin’s smiling face as he waved at the camera. The brightness of his grin felt almost eerie against the backdrop of Gotham’s villains.

The Batcave was dead silent.

Jason was the first to react. He doubled over laughing, gasping for breath. “Holy—What did I just watch? That was like… a horror movie narrated by Peter Pan!”

Stephanie was already on the floor, clutching her sides. “His pixie boots! He’s literally skipping! And the villains—oh my God, no wonder Gotham tourism tanked that year!”

Tim snorted, holding up his tablet. “It says here that people reported having nightmares after this video went viral. Nightmares, Dick.”

Cassandra tilted her head, her expression calm but her voice amused. “Cute. But… scary.”

Damian frowned. “Tt. Father allowed this? He looks like a fool. And what was that ridiculous costume?”

Jason replayed the video, pointing at Robin dancing in front of Killer Croc. “Look at him! Skipping around Gotham like it’s Disneyland while Croc is ready to eat him!”

Dick, his face bright red, groaned and buried his head in his hands. “It was supposed to make Gotham look fun! I thought it would make people less scared.”

Tim smirked. “Mission failed, huh?” He waved the tablet, scrolling through the comments. “‘I couldn’t sleep for days after this.’ ‘Why does the kid look so happy while Gotham looks like a horror show?’ Oh, here’s a good one: ‘This video is why I never visited Gotham.’”

Stephanie laughed harder. “Dick, you basically ruined Gotham’s reputation. You’re a walking anti-tourism ad!”

Amid the chaos, Bruce entered the Batcave, his expression as calm as ever. He glanced at the screen, where the video had paused on Robin’s cheerful face.

Jason pointed at it, grinning. “Hey, B. Did you know about this? Your golden boy traumatized an entire city.”

Bruce folded his arms, his face unreadable. “The video was… effective.”

Tim’s jaw dropped. “Wait, what?”

Bruce continued. “Crime rates dropped that year. Fear works, regardless of the method.”

Stephanie laughed. “So you’re saying Dick’s ‘Welcome to Wonderland’ act actually helped Gotham?”

Bruce gave a small nod. “Yes. And it’s still one of the most memorable deterrents we’ve had.”

Jason threw his hands up. “Of course you’d think that. Only in this family would this count as strategy.”

As Jason and Tim continued teasing Dick, Bruce turned to him with a rare glimmer of approval in his eyes. “Good work.”

Dick blinked. “Uh… thanks? I guess?”

Jason snorted. “Congrats, Dickie-bird. You gave Gotham nightmares and a hit song.”

“Welcome to Wonderland… This will never end…”

Chapter Text

Snow fell in slow, lazy flakes over Gotham City, covering its dark streets in a deceptive blanket of calm. Holiday lights blinked in defiance of the gloom, wreaths hung from lampposts, and somewhere in the distance, a Salvation Army bell chimed. It might have felt cozy if it weren’t Gotham.

For the Batfamily, the holiday season brought a rare chance to pause and enjoy some semblance of peace. But for Nightwing, it was something much more—a time of unparalleled, chaotic joy.

Dick Grayson loved the holidays. He loved the warmth of family dinners, the glint of tinsel, and the cheerful tunes that played from every corner of the city. But most of all, he loved Gotham during Christmas.

And this year, Gotham’s villains learned just how much he loved it.

______________________________

It started with a group of petty thieves breaking into a jewelry store. They’d gotten as far as cracking the safe when the lights flickered, the security alarms suddenly falling silent.

And then they heard it.

“You better watch out…”

The voice came from everywhere and nowhere, impossibly cheerful and eerily calm. The thieves froze, their breaths fogging in the chill air.

“You better not cry…”

A shadow moved above them, and suddenly Nightwing dropped from the ceiling, landing with a graceful thud. He stood there, smiling, his escrima sticks gleaming in the faint light.

“Boys,” he said, his voice brimming with cheer. “Didn’t anyone tell you? Santa’s watching. And so am I!”

Before they could react, he was on them, the hum of his escrima sticks crackling through the silence. He danced between them like a performer, his strikes precise but just painful enough to send a clear message.

As the last thief hit the ground groaning, Nightwing knelt down and placed a small, wrapped gift beside him. The tag read: “Better luck next year. Love, Santa’s Helper.”

___________________________________

Word spread quickly among Gotham’s criminal underworld. Nightwing was everywhere.

Oswald Cobblepot had been running an underground auction in one of his ice lounges, selling priceless stolen art pieces to Gotham’s wealthiest criminals. His cane tapped against the ground as he reveled in his schemes, the chill of the room matching his icy smirk.

Then the lights flickered, and the chill deepened.

“You better not pout…”

Cobblepot’s monocle slipped as his head snapped up. “What’s that?!” he barked, his voice echoing through the cavernous room.

The tune grew louder, clearer, as though the air itself were carrying the melody.

“I’m telling you why…”

A figure swung down from the icy rafters, landing on a table with effortless grace. Nightwing stood there, silhouetted against the blinking holiday lights, his escrima sticks sparking faintly.

“Oswald! Looks like someone’s on the naughty list this year.”

The Penguin squawked, reaching for his umbrella, but Nightwing was already moving, his cheerful voice filling the room.

“Santa Claus is coming to town!”

With a crack of his escrima sticks, the lights went out entirely, plunging the room into darkness. For the next few minutes, the only sounds were the thuds of bodies hitting the ground, the shattering of ice sculptures, and the relentless cheer of Nightwing’s song.

When the lights came back on, Cobblepot was tied up with tinsel, a Christmas bow stuck to his top hat. A box of coal sat in his lap, and a tag dangled from it that read: “Happy Holidays from Nightwing.”

_________________________________

Edward Nygma was next. The Riddler had commandeered a TV station, broadcasting riddles to hold Gotham hostage.

“Solve my puzzle, Gothamites,” he sneered into the camera, “or your city’s Christmas tree goes up in flames!”

But before he could deliver his next clue, a faint jingling sound interrupted him.

“He’s making a list, checking it twice…”

The Riddler froze mid-sentence, his eyes narrowing. “Who dares interrupt my—”

Nightwing burst through the window in a shower of glass and glittering ornaments. He cartwheeled onto the desk, his boots knocking over Nygma’s carefully arranged papers.

“Don’t mind me,” Nightwing said, his grin wide. “Just delivering some holiday cheer.”

“You’re ruining my broadcast!” Nygma screeched.

“You’re ruining Christmas,” Nightwing countered, slamming an escrima stick onto the control panel, sending the Riddler’s signal into static.

“He’s gonna find out who’s naughty or nice…”

Minutes later, GCPD found Nygma hog-tied with Christmas lights, a glittering star perched atop his bowler hat.
_______________________________

Even Jervis Tetch, the Mad Hatter, couldn’t escape Nightwing’s festive wrath.

Tetch had been holed up in an abandoned toy factory, forcing kidnapped Gothamites to reenact scenes from Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. He paced between his “guests,” reciting twisted rhymes while his mind-controlled minions ensured no one dared escape.

“Now, now,” Tetch sang, his voice lilting. “Wouldn’t want to upset the Queen’s tea, would we? Stay in your seats, my lovelies, or—”

A sudden crash interrupted him as a giant Christmas ornament smashed through the factory’s skylight.

“He sees you when you’re sleeping…”

Tetch whirled around, his eyes wide. “What—?”

Nightwing descended with a dramatic flip, landing in the center of the room. He adjusted his mask, grinning at the terrified captives.

“Don’t worry, folks. Santa’s Helper is here to save the day.”

For the next five minutes, chaos reigned. Nightwing dismantled Tetch’s operation with an almost unsettling glee, singing all the while. By the time he was done, Tetch was dangling upside down from a candy-cane-striped rope, muttering incoherently about “smiling nightmares.”

_______________________________

The Joker was next.

It happened outside an abandoned amusement park. Joker was midway through an elaborate scheme involving a stolen Ferris wheel and enough laughing gas to cover three city blocks when Nightwing appeared, dropping onto the ride and casually kicking the control panel out of his hands.

“He’s making a list, checking it twice…”

Nightwing twirled his escrima sticks, their electric hum barely audible over his singing. “Naughty as always, Uncle J. Santa’s going to be so disappointed.”

The Joker cackled, clapping his hands. “Oh, Nightwing, my boy! You’re finally getting it! The theatrics, the flair! You’d make dear old Uncle J proud!”

“Glad to hear it,” Nightwing said brightly, knocking him out cold with a single strike. He turned to the other henchmen, his grin growing. “Anyone else?”

They all ran.

Nightwing hoisted the unconscious Joker over his shoulder and delivered him to Arkham, humming the chorus of “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town.” As the guards dragged Joker inside, he groggily called out, “Goodbye, Nightwing! Keep spreading that holiday cheer, you lunatic!”

Nightwing waved enthusiastically. “Merry Christmas, Uncle J!”

Among the chaos.

Two-Face had been ambushed in a dimly lit warehouse, finding himself tied up with festive ribbons while Nightwing serenaded him with “Deck the Halls.”

Scarecrow had barely escaped with his dignity intact after being chased down the street by Nightwing on a motorized sleigh, laughing gleefully as he pelted him with candy canes.

_________________________________________

Back at the Batcave, the rest of the Batfamily observed this cheerful reign of terror with mixed reactions.

Jason leaned against the Batcomputer, smirking. “You know he’s scaring the crap out of them, right? The singing? The presents? That’s some serial killer-level holiday spirit.”

Tim chuckled, scrolling through his tablet. “Social media’s loving it. Someone called him the ‘Christmas Poltergeist.’”

Cassandra tilted her head, her lips twitching into a faint smile. “He’s… happy.”

Damian huffed, crossing his arms. “Tt. He’s making us look ridiculous.” But his voice lacked its usual bite, his eyes lingering on the screen as Nightwing cheerfully escorted a tied-up Two-Face to GCPD headquarters.

Bruce, meanwhile, sat at the Batcomputer, quietly sipping coffee. His gaze followed Nightwing’s antics with a rare glimmer of amusement. “He’s fine. Let him enjoy himself.”

Jason raised an eyebrow. “Fine? B, he just called Joker Uncle J. That’s not fine; that’s horrifying.”

Bruce’s lips twitched into the faintest of smiles. “He’s festive.”

__________________________________

Despite their bickering, the Batfamily gathered around the dining table that evening for their annual holiday dinner. Alfred had outdone himself, the table laden with roast turkey, mashed potatoes, and an array of pies.

Dick, still buzzing with energy from his holiday “patrols.” He led a loud, cheerful toast. “To family, to Christmas, and to making even the Joker afraid of holiday spirit!”

Jason raised his glass. “To freaking out criminals with carols.”

Damian muttered something about maintaining dignity, but his plate was piled high with food.

As the snow fell softly outside, the Batfamily laughed and teased each other, the warmth of their bond shining brighter than any holiday lights.

And somewhere in Gotham, a group of bruised and terrified villains vowed to never cross paths with Nightwing again—at least, not during the holidays.

Chapter Text

Jason Todd was an absolute menace.

John Constantine knew this. He had seen demons, ghosts, eldritch horrors, and even Batman himself, but nothing quite prepared him for the sheer lunacy of Jason’s latest request.

"You want me to what?"

Jason grinned, positively gleeful as he leaned back in his chair. "Make an animated short of my death. Like, full on sitcom and all that stuff."

John stared at him. "Mate, are you high?"

"Nope." Jason popped the ‘p’ with a smirk. "It’s my deathday, Constantine. I deserve something special."

"And you think traumatizing your family with a cartoon version of you getting bludgeoned to death is ‘special’?!"

Jason’s grin widened. "Yep."

John dragged a hand down his face. "You need therapy."

"Probably," Jason admitted. "But since I saved your sorry ass last year, you owe me a favor. And this is it. So start animating, magic man."

John groaned. He should’ve known making a deal with a Todd would bite him in the ass.

A week later, the final product is done.

And Jason, cackling like a lunatic, cannot wait to show his family

---

Sunday, Wayne Manor's living room.

It’s rare for the family to sit down together, let alone for movie night. But since Bruce is away on Justice League business (thank fuck), it’s the perfect time.

“So, what are we watching?” Tim asks, already suspicious.

Jason beams. “A classic.”

Tim narrows his eyes. “If this is some low-budget action film—”

“Oh, no,” Jason interrupts. “It’s animated.”

Cass tilts her head. Stephanie is still munching popcorn. Damian looks unimpressed.

“Whatever it is, it better not be a waste of time,” the youngest mutters.

Jason presses play.

And then—

Chaos.

The screen lights up with a dramatic opening sequence:

”BATMAN: DEATH IN THE FAMILY—THE JASON TODD EXPERIENCE.”

A grainy, comic-style intro appears, featuring a chibi-Jason with a speech bubble: "HAHA, LOOK AT ME, I’M MAKING BAD LIFE CHOICES."

Tim immediately looks at Jason. “What the fuck?”

Jason shushes him.

The animation continues.

And it’s ridiculous.

A chibi-Jason steals the Batmobile tires, gets adopted, punches thugs, and flips off authority at every chance. It’s exaggerated, absurd, and narrated like a damn sitcom.

Then it gets worse.

The Joker appears—animated with a giant, stupid grin—holding a crowbar labeled "Plot Device."

Jason starts howling with laughter as the Joker starts rhythmically beating his chibi-self, complete with sound effects.

BOINK. BONK. KAPOW.

Tim turns green.

“JASON,” Steph yells. “WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?!”

Damian is frozen. “This is… unacceptable.”

Jason is crying with laughter. “OH—OH, JUST WAIT—”

The scene cuts to an explosion—labeled "BAD PARENTING CHOICES—BOOM!"—before fading to black.

Silence.

Jason wipes away a tear, turning to his horrified siblings.

“So? Thoughts?”

Stephanie has stopped eating popcorn.

Tim looks like he’s going to pass out.

Damian rubs his temples. “You need Arkham.”

Cass just squints at Jason, tilting her head.

Dick, who had been sitting silently until now, finally speaks.

“…Jason,” he says slowly. “Is this a prank?”

Jason grins. “Obviously. You guys should’ve seen your faces.”

Dick doesn’t smile, just look at him.

Jason frowns. “…What?”

The screen flickers.

And then—

It changes.

Jason blinks. Wait. That’s not what I made.

The animation fades into a different scene.

It’s Gotham. The cemetery.

Rain pours as Bruce kneels before a grave.

Jason’s grave.

Jason stiffens.

Soft piano music begins.

"Wherever you go, that's where I'll follow
Nobody's promised tomorrow"

The screen shows Bruce, still in his suit, staring at Jason’s tombstone.

Unmoving.

Unbreaking.

"So I'ma love you every night like it's the last night
Like it's the last night"

Alfred stands behind him, silent but grieving.

And then—

It cuts to Dick.

Standing in front of Jason’s grave, drenched in rain.

"If the world was ending, I'd wanna be next to you
If the party was over and our time on Earth was through"

Dick was crying.

Jason stops breathing.

“Wait,” he says. “What—”

The animation plays on.

It shows Dick, fists clenched, whispering words that Jason can’t hear.

Until—

“I should have been there.”

Jason’s throat closes up.

The video keeps going.

It shows Bruce and Dick—once so close—slowly tearing apart in grief.

Bruce shutting down.

Dick trying to reach him.

Failing.

Their family was breaking.

"I'd wanna hold you just for a while and die with a smile

If the world was ending, I'd wanna be next to you"

Jason’s hands tremble. “This… this isn’t mine.”

Dick, voice soft, says, “No. It’s not.”

Jason turns to him.

Dick, who is sitting stiffly, avoiding his gaze.

Jason’s voice shakes. “You—”

Dick doesn’t look at him. “I knew about your prank. So… I made some request for Costantine.”

Jason’s chest hurts.

The video fades to one last image.

A younger Jason—Robin Jason—standing beside Bruce and Dick.

Smiling.

Alive.

"...and die with a smile"

--‐----------------------------------------

The screen goes black.

Silence.

Jason can’t move.

He can’t breathe.

His hands grip his knees, nails digging in.

It’s too much.

He doesn’t even realize he’s shaking until Dick suddenly grabs him, pulling him into a hug.

Jason freezes.

“I’m sorry,” Dick whispers. “It just- You..you're alive, and I want you to know that I-we have missing you so so much-”

Jason makes a small, choked sound.

The family watches in stunned silence.

Jason never cries. Not when he was learning about his mother betrayed him, not when the Joker continue to beat him with that damn crowbar, not even when he was thrown into that bloody Lazarus Pit.

But right now, in the middle of the living room, in front of everyone—

Jason Todd is crying.

--------------------

Jason, being Jason, recovers quickly. 

As in, he wipes his eyes, shoves Dick away, and pretends it didn’t happen.

But later that night, as he sits alone on a rooftop, replaying the video in his head—

He quietly hums the song to himself.

And for the first time in a long time,

He doesn’t feel alone.

He felt loved.

Chapter Text

Dick had always imagined that if Jason died, he would know.

Not in a logical sense. Not because Bruce would tell him—because Bruce should have told him.

No, he always thought that if something happened to Jason, he’d feel it.

Some kind of deep, gut-wrenching awareness that his little brother was gone.

But he felt nothing.

Nothing but the warmth of Tamaran’s twin suns on his skin, the lingering scent of alien spices in the air, and Kory’s hand in his, oblivious to the fact that his family was breaking apart without him.

And then—Danny Chase opened his damn mouth.

It happened in the middle of a casual conversation, after he just return from Tamaran.

Danny was running his mouth, as usual. “It’s not like Batman needs another Robin. The last one didn’t exactly work out, did he?”

Dick, who had been only half-listening, froze.

His heart skipped.

“What?”

Danny snorted. “You did hear, right? Jason Todd? He’s dead.”

The world tilted.

Dick’s stomach plummeted.

For a second, he thought maybe—maybe he misheard. Maybe Danny was just being an asshole, maybe—

But the way Donna stiffened beside him. The way Kory’s grip on his wrist tightened.

No.

No, no, no.

He turned to them. “Tell me he’s lying.”

Silence.

“Tell me,” Dick’s voice cracked, “that Jason is not dead.”

Nobody spoke.

Danny just shrugged. “Huh. Guess he really didn’t tell you.”

Dick barely registered the sound of his own breathing.

Jason is dead.

Jason is dead.

And Bruce didn’t tell him.

---

He doesn’t remember getting back to Gotham.

He doesn’t remember storming into the cave.

He doesn’t remember much of what he said—just the feeling of his own voice shaking, of his fists clenched so tight they hurt.

But he does remember Bruce’s eyes, empty and exhausted.

He does remember Bruce punching him.

And he does remember Bruce’s words, sharp and final, like the swing of a blade:

"I don't need or want another partner ever again."

Something inside him snapped.

He walked out of the cave, out of the manor, out of Bruce’s life—

And Jason’s death chased after him.

--------

The dreams start that night.

Not bloody. Not violent.

Just—Jason.

Jason, alive and laughing, shoving his stupid leather jacket at Dick because “C’mon, you look cool in it, don’t be lame, Grayson.”

Jason, arguing with Bruce, arms crossed, chin tilted up in that way that meant he wasn’t backing down.

Jason, sitting on the hood of the Batmobile, flipping through a book, feet kicking lazily like he had all the time in the world.

Jason, alive.

Jason, alive.

Jason, alive.

And then—gone.

Just—gone.

The dream never shows him how.

It doesn’t need to.

Because every time he wakes up, gasping, sweating, his ears are ringing with a song he doesn’t recognize.

Soft.

Haunting.

A melody he never knew existed until now.

"Oh, lost, lost in the words that we scream
I don't even wanna do this anymore
'Cause you already know what you mean to me
And our love's the only war worth fighting for"

The first time, he brushes it off.

The second time, he shrugs it away.

The third, the fourth, the fifth time—

It stays.

The melody follows him, whispering in the back of his mind at the worst moments.

When he sees the empty spot where Jason’s suit should be.

When he passes Crime Alley.

When he walks past a mirror and catches a glimpse of himself and, for a second, sees someone else—someone younger, smaller, cockier—standing in his place.

It lingers.

And Dick never tells anyone.

Because how could he?

How could he tell them that Jason haunts him not as a ghost, not as a vengeance-driven specter—

But as a memory?

How could he explain that Jason isn’t screaming in his dreams, that he isn’t angry, that he isn’t blaming him—

He’s just there.

Existing in a space where Dick can never reach him again.

And the song keeps playing.

"Wherever you go, that's where I'll follow

Nobody's promised tomorrow

So I'ma love you every night like it's the last night

Like it's the last night"

Dick tells himself that one day, it will stop.

That one day, he’ll sleep without hearing that soft, bittersweet tune in his head.

That one day, he won’t wake up reaching for a brother that isn’t there.

That one day, the song will fade.

It never does.

And that’s a secret he will never share with anyone.

"If the world was ending, I'd wanna be next to you

If the party was over and our time on Earth was through

I'd wanna hold you just for a while and die with a smile

If the world was ending, I'd wanna be next to you

If the world was ending, I'd wanna be next to you

Ooh

I'd wanna be next to you"

All he ever wanted was his Little Wing back.

Chapter Text

The dim glow of the Batcave’s monitors cast long shadows across the walls, flickering like dying embers. Gotham's nighttime hum was muffled by the thick rock surrounding them, isolating the two figures in the medical bay.

Dick sat beside Damian’s bed, his cowl pulled down, revealing the weariness in his eyes. Damian, bandaged and scowling, lay stiffly under the blankets, his arms crossed. His pride had taken just as many hits as his body tonight.

“You should be resting,” Dick said softly.

“Tt. I would if you’d leave me be.”

Dick raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. They both knew the truth—Damian wouldn’t sleep unless Dick made him. It was a silent ritual they’d fallen into over time, a secret neither acknowledged out loud.

After a beat of hesitation, Dick began to hum.

Damian twitched, glaring at him. “Grayson—”

“There was a king…
Living carefree…
He wanted the world, he wanted everything…”

Dick’s voice was low and steady, weaving through the cave’s silence like a spell. Damian’s lips parted slightly, but he didn’t interrupt. His body relaxed, just a fraction.

“He ruled with a fist
His people were starved
He watched as they begged behind his castle guards…”

Damian’s brows knitted together. “A weak ruler. He hoarded wealth and let his kingdom rot. Foolish.”

Dick chuckled. “Not everyone is taught to rule like you were, little D.”

Damian huffed, but his eyes stayed fixed on Dick, absorbed in the story hidden in the song.

“Diamonds and pearls
Emeralds and gold
He bathed in the riches only he could know…”

Damian scoffed, but the tension in his shoulders eased.

“But with time came age
His health in decline
The fate of his legacy left to the tides…”

Dick’s voice softened, and Damian’s eyelids grew heavier, though he stubbornly held on.

“So he ran to his queen and demanded a child
Planted his seed then he cast her aside…”

Damian’s jaw tightened. “Coward.”

Dick’s fingers brushed through Damian’s damp hair, combing it back absently. “He wasn’t fit to lead.”

Damian didn’t protest the touch.

“Several moons later she bore him a son
But died just to give him his own flesh and blood…”

There was a brief flicker of emotion in Damian’s gaze, but he said nothing. Dick continued singing.

“The son grew like weeds
He soon was eighteen
He ventured outside of the castle to see…”

Damian shifted slightly, his lashes fluttering as he listened.

“The faces so gaunt
The dead in the streets
They cried out for help but nobody could hear…”

He exhaled, barely above a whisper. “They suffered under his rule. Yet he did nothing.”

Dick nodded, his fingers still tracing absent circles against Damian’s scalp.

“Deep down inside him something had stirred
He laughed at the ruins his father incurred
Fire in his veins he stormed back to the throne
Stared down the king with a rage still unknown…”

Damian’s body was heavier now, his breaths deeper. His grip on consciousness wavered.

“The father decreed
The new rule of law
His son to be banished outside of the walls…”

A quiet scoff. Damian’s lips barely moved. “Weak move. A challenge was inevitable.”

Dick smiled. “And so it was.”

“But the son had a plan
And his heart was convinced
There’d never be room for both king and a prince…”

Damian’s hand twitched. His fingers curled slightly into the blanket.

“He rallied the people and charged through the gates
Shield in one hand but the other a blade…”

His voice softened, barely above a whisper.

“With one fell swoop his own father deposed
He sat on the throne and adorned his new crown…”

Damian’s breath evened out, slow and steady. His body had fully surrendered to sleep, but his fingers, barely visible in the dim light, still clung to the blanket.

Dick exhaled softly.

“The son was elated
The kingdom was his
Diamonds and emeralds and gold-plated bliss…”

He hesitated for a moment, brushing Damian’s bangs away from his forehead.

“But what of the people?
The legends don’t say
Just like a memory
They faded away…”

The lullaby faded into the stillness of the Batcave, leaving only the quiet hum of machinery in its wake.

Dick watched his little brother sleep, tucking the blanket more securely around him.

Then, with a soft sigh, he leaned down and whispered,

“There was a king…
Living carefree…
He wanted the world…
He wanted everything…”

And with that, he pressed a gentle kiss to Damian’s hair before slipping away into the shadows.

Chapter Text

Stephanie Brown was having an absolute garbage day.

Patrol last night had been awful—some gang punk had managed to land a hit on her, and now her ribs ached. Then, she woke up late, spilled coffee on her only clean vigilante hoodie, and somehow managed to trip into a puddle while walking.

So yeah. Bad day.

She sighed, rubbing her temples as she leaned against a railing outside of a store. “Maybe if I stay really, really still, the universe will forget I exist for a minute.”

And then—

"Do you ever get a little bit tired of life?"

Stephanie froze.

The voice came from nowhere. Or at least, that’s what it felt like. Her exhausted brain short-circuited for a second. Okay. Either I’m hallucinating, or someone’s got the worst timing ever.

"Like you're not really happy, but you don't wanna die?"

Her head snapped up. There was still no one in sight.

Oh god. She was losing it.

"Like you're hangin' by a thread but you gotta survive?"

And then—bam!—Dick Grayson flipped dramatically down from a low rooftop, striking a ridiculous pose, arms outstretched like some Broadway performer as he sang directly at her.

"Like your body's in the room, but you're not really there?
Like you have empathy inside, but you don’t really care?"

Steph blinked.

Then snorted. Loudly.

“Oh my god,” she wheezed, covering her face as Dick kept going, spinning dramatically like he was in a one-man show.

He reached out and gently took her hand, singing the next line with the most over-the-top anguish she’d ever seen on a human face.

"Like you're fresh outta love, but it’s been in the air—"

She punched his arm, but lightly. “Dick, stop—”

He gasped, clutching his chest. “How could you hit me during my soulful performance?”

“Because you’re mocking me,” she deadpanned.

“I would never,” he said, clearly lying.

She rolled her eyes. “You owe me for this. You can’t just roast my bad day and leave.”

Dick grinned. “What if I told you I had Bruce’s unlimited black card, a car, and absolutely no obligations for the next five hours?”

Steph's eyes lit up.

“Oh, you are so paying for dinner.”

Once fancy dinner and a shopping spree later...

“You’re a menace,” Dick groaned, carrying at least ten shopping bags as they walked through the mall.

“And you are a blessing with working arms,” Steph said sweetly, sipping on a milkshake.

Dick shifted the bags to one arm and pulled out his phone, rapidly texting their siblings.

QueenNeverCry: Status update:
Steph is now armed with six new pairs of boots. If she kicks me later, it will be lethal.
Also, I think she found Cass’s favorite hoodie in another color and bought two.

NoCoffeeNoLife: You’re enabling her.

Brucesfavorite: GOOD.

IneedacrowbarforChristmas: Make sure she gets something ridiculously expensive. Bruce can afford it.

DamianW: She always wastes money.

QueenNeverCry: Damian, I watched you try to buy a horse last month.

DamianW: Tt. That was an investment.

Steph peeked at his screen. “Tell them I’m buying you something too.”

Dick raised an eyebrow. “Are you?”

Steph smirked. “Yeah. It’s called ‘carrying my bags without whining.’”

Dick groaned but didn’t argue.

---

After dropping an alarming amount of money on shoes, accessories, and possibly some Bat-tech upgrades (not that Bruce would notice), Dick finally drove Steph home.

As she hopped out of the car, she hesitated for a moment. Then, before Dick could say anything, she leaned over and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.

“You’re the bestest big brother” she said with a grin.

Dick blinked, momentarily stunned.

Then he chuckled, shaking his head. “And you are the world greatest gremlin.”

Steph winked. “But you love me anyway.”

And with that, she disappeared inside, leaving Dick grinning like an idiot as he texted their siblings one more time.

QueenNeverCy: Mission success. Shopping bags secured. Steph in better mood.
I have been kissed on the cheek. I am now the Best Brother™.

NoCoffeeNoLife: …Jason’s gonna fight you for that title.

IneedacrowbarforChristmas: Too late. I’m stealing the card next.

DamianW: Father will kill you both.

Brucesfavorite: Good job 👏🏼

Chapter Text

The first time Dick heard Tim say it, he thought he imagined it.

It had been an offhand comment, muttered under Tim’s breath as they worked on the Batcomputer.

"I mean, I had to prove myself, right? Otherwise, why would Bruce have kept me around?"

Dick had laughed—because it was ridiculous. Bruce didn’t keep them around based on usefulness. They were family.

Tim had only smiled back, small and unreadable, before returning to his work.

It should’ve been nothing.

But once Dick noticed, he couldn’t stop noticing.

The way Tim worked himself to exhaustion, grinding through sleepless nights. The way his shoulders tensed when Bruce praised him, like he didn’t believe it. The way he hesitated to join in on family outings, like he thought he was inviting himself.

And worst of all—the way he never fought back when Jason made a jab about him being a "replacement."

Jason didn’t mean it, not really, but Tim didn’t argue.

Tim just took it.

Like he believed it.

That’s how Dick found himself outside Tim’s bedroom at 3 AM, holding a portable speaker.

Tim was awake, of course. Hunched over his desk, coffee gone cold by his elbow, dark circles under his eyes so deep they might as well be permanent.

Dick knocked, but didn’t wait for an answer.

“Hey, baby bird.”

Tim glanced up, barely. “Hey, Dick.”

Dick grinned too casually. “Whatcha doing?”

“Working.”

Dick rolled his eyes and pressed play.

The song started softly.

"Made a wrong turn, once or twice
Dug my way out, blood and fire"

Tim froze.

Dick leaned against the desk.

"Working on what?" he asked, too casually.

Tim narrowed his eyes. "What are you doing?"

“Serenading you, obviously.”

“What the hell—”

Dick sang along dramatically, flopping onto Tim’s bed.

"Bad decisions, that's alright
Welcome to my silly life"

Tim’s ears turned red.

“Stop it,” he muttered, glancing toward the hallway like someone might catch them.

Dick only grinned wider.

"Mistreated, misplaced, misunderstood
Miss knowing it's all good, it didn't slow me down"

Tim folded his arms. “Dick.”

Dick ignored him, turning the volume up.

"Mistaken, always second guessing, underestimated
Look, I'm still around"

Tim glared, looking every bit like an offended cat, but his fingers twitched at his sleeves.

Dick sat up, voice softening.

"Pretty, pretty please, don't you ever, ever feel
Like you're less than fuckin' perfect"

Tim froze again.

His whole body locked up, stiff and unreadable, eyes flicking to the floor.

Dick’s heart squeezed.

Slowly, he patted the spot next to him.

“Come here.”

Tim didn’t move.

Dick let the song fill the silence.

"Pretty, pretty please, if you ever, ever feel like you're nothing
You're fuckin' perfect to me"

Tim clenched his jaw.

He wasn’t looking at Dick.

He wasn’t breathing right, either.

Dick reached out, fingers just brushing his wrist. “Tim.”

That was all it took.

Tim sat down stiffly beside him, keeping his eyes forward.

Dick didn’t push.

He just sat with him, letting the lyrics do the talking.

"You're so mean (you're so mean)
When you talk (when you talk)
About yourself, you were wrong"

Tim swallowed hard.

Dick nudged him gently. "You know that, right?"

Tim didn’t answer.

So Dick sang, softer this time.

"Change the voices (change the voices)
In your head (in your head)
Make them like you instead"

Tim let out a breath—sharp, shaky.

Dick wasn’t an idiot.

Tim knew he was loved. Knew the family cared.

But knowing and believing were two different things.

And somewhere, deep down, Tim still thought he had to earn it.

Dick hated that.

He didn’t care how many times he had to say it. He’d make Tim believe it.

So complicated, look happy, you'll make it
Filled with so much hatred, such a tired game

Dick bumped their shoulders together. “I see you do that, y’know.”

Tim blinked. “What?”

“Act like you’re fine when you’re not.”

Tim turned red again. “That’s not—”

“Tim.”

Tim looked away.

Dick nudged him again, more insistent. “You don’t have to do that. Not with me.”

Tim exhaled slowly.

Dick didn’t push.

Didn’t need to.

"It's enough, I've done all I can think of
Chased down all my demons, I've seen you do the same, oh"

Tim ran a hand through his hair. “It’s—” He hesitated. “It’s not that easy.”

Dick nodded, quiet. “I know.”

Tim bit his lip, staring at the floor.

Dick gave him a moment before reaching over to squeeze his wrist.

The song swelled.

"Pretty, pretty please, don't you ever, ever feel
Like you're less than fuckin' perfect"

Tim let out another breath.

This one came out lighter.

The weight on his shoulders didn’t vanish, not entirely, but it eased.

Just a little.

Dick took that as a win.

"Pretty, pretty please, if you ever, ever feel like you're nothing
You're fuckin' perfect to me"

Tim sighed, leaning his head back against the headboard.

Dick watched him for a moment, then grinned. “Sooo… was my serenade effective?”

Tim rolled his eyes. “You’re an idiot.”

“An effective idiot.”

Tim huffed. “…Maybe.”

Dick beamed. “Good.”

Tim shook his head, but there was a tiny smile on his lips.

That was enough.

Dick didn’t need Tim to say anything.

Didn’t need some big confession.

As long as Tim knew—really knew—that he never had to earn his place in the family…

That was all that mattered.

"You're fuckin' perfect to me"

Chapter Text

Gotham stretched before them, a sea of twinkling lights and dark alleyways. From their rooftop perch, the city looked almost peaceful, but Duke knew better. Gotham never slept.

He pulled his knees to his chest, his yellow and black suit standing out against the shadows. Across from him, Dick Grayson—Nightwing, the golden boy of the Batfamily—lounged on the ledge with the effortless ease of someone who had been doing this for years.

And he had.

Unlike Duke.

Duke was still new to all of this—new to the Batfamily, new to the nighttime vigilante life, new to Bruce’s brand of silent expectations. Everyone else had grown up in this world, forged in darkness and trained to perfection. And then there was him.

An outsider trying to find a place where he wasn’t sure he belonged.

“You’re quiet tonight,” Dick mused, tilting his head. “That’s usually Bruce’s thing.”

Duke exhaled sharply. “Just thinking.”

Dick studied him for a moment before, without warning, he started singing.

“Do you ever feel like a plastic bag, drifting through the wind, wanting to start again?”

Duke turned to him, baffled. “Are you—are you seriously singing right now?”

Dick grinned, completely unbothered.

“Do you ever feel, feel so paper thin, like a house of cards, one blow from cavin’ in?”

Duke groaned. “Dick.”

Dick ignored him.

“Do you ever feel already buried deep? Six feet under screams, but no one seems to hear a thing?”

Duke huffed, rubbing his temple. “Do you ever have an off switch?”

“Nope,” Dick said cheerfully.

“Do you know that there’s still a chance for you? ‘Cause there’s a spark in you.”

Duke clenched his jaw, glancing away.

Dick nudged him. “You wanna talk about it?”

Duke hesitated. He’d been holding this in for weeks, but saying it out loud felt… pathetic.

Still, the words slipped out before he could stop them.

“I don’t know if I fit here.”

Dick didn’t interrupt. He just listened.

Duke exhaled. “You guys—you were raised for this. You were trained to be Gotham’s protectors. I got thrown into it because of my powers.” He gestured vaguely. “I don’t have your combat skills. I don’t have Tim’s brains or Jason’s sheer battle instinct or—whatever the hell Damian is.”

Dick snorted. “A goblin.”

Duke let out a small laugh but shook his head. “I feel like I’m playing catch-up in a game I was never meant to be in.”

Dick was quiet for a moment before he smiled.

“You just gotta ignite the light, and let it shine. Just own the night, like the Fourth of July!”

Duke gave him an unimpressed look. “I swear to God.”

Dick grinned but sobered quickly. “Duke, do you know how I became Robin?”

Duke blinked. “Bruce took you in?”

“Yeah, but before that, I was just a circus kid in bright colors running after a guy dressed as a bat. A child in the adult world. I didn’t fit in either.”

Duke frowned. “That’s different. You were his first.”

Dick shook his head. “I was a kid who lost everything. I didn’t have years of combat training. I just knew how to flip and punch things. Bruce didn’t pick me because I was a perfect soldier. He picked me because I wanted to be here.”

Duke looked away. “It’s not the same.”

“It is.” Dick nudged him again. “Duke, you don’t have to be like us. You bring something none of us have. You bring light.”

Duke huffed. “Because of my powers?”

Dick shook his head. “No, because of you.”

Duke swallowed.

“Baby, you’re a firework. Come on, show ‘em what you’re worth. Make ’em go, ‘Oh, oh, oh,’ as you shoot across the sky!”

Duke sighed. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love me for it.”

Duke didn’t respond, but his lips twitched.

Dick grinned. “Look, Bruce wouldn’t have brought you in if he didn’t think you belonged.” And then, quieter, he added, “And we’re really glad you’re here and is one of us.”

Duke blinked, caught off guard. “You—” He hesitated. “You really think I belong?”

Dick draped an arm around his shoulders. “Duke, you’re not just some side player in our story. You’re writing your own.”

Duke swallowed, trying to fight the warmth spreading in his chest.

Dick clapped his hands. “Alright! Deep emotional talk over. Food time.”

Duke huffed. “You’re lucky I like food.”

“That’s the spirit!” Dick slung an arm around him. “Now, do you want me to sing on the way there, or—”

Duke groaned. “No. Please no.”

Dick just laughed.

“Boom, boom, boom. Even brighter than the moon, moon, moon.”

And for the first time in a long time, Duke felt like he was exactly where he was supposed to be.

Chapter Text

The sky stretched wide over the fields, painted in soft hues of gold and lavender as the late afternoon sun bathed the world in its warmth. A gentle breeze stirred the wildflowers, making them sway in waves like the ocean, rustling softly as if whispering secrets.

Cassandra Cain stood at the edge of the field, her dark eyes scanning the rolling landscape. She had never seen anything quite like this. Gotham was all sharp edges, shadows, and the ever-present hum of danger. But here? It was open, endless, free.

Dick Grayson, standing beside her, took a deep breath and spread his arms wide. “Welcome to my favorite getaway.”

Cass tilted her head slightly. “Pretty.”

Dick grinned. “Yeah, I figured you’d like it. This was my escape back when I was with the Titans. Whenever things got too crazy, I’d sneak out here for a little while. No villains, no responsibilities—just this.”

Cass took a slow step forward, crouching down to brush her fingers against the delicate petals of a lavender flower. It was soft against her calloused hands, and she turned it over gently between her fingers, watching the way the light caught on the deep purple.

Dick sat down in the field, stretching his arms behind his head, watching her. “I thought you might like a place like this. Somewhere quiet.”

Cass looked at him, then at the field again. Slowly, she sat beside him, her fingers still tangled in the flowers. A comfortable silence settled between them, filled only by the rustling wind and distant birdsong.

Then, softly, she began to sing.

“Lavender’s blue, dilly, dilly, lavender’s green.

When I am king, dilly, dilly, you shall be queen…”

Dick blinked in surprise, his head turning toward her. Cass’ voice was quiet, almost hesitant, but steady. Each note was carefully formed, each word deliberate. She didn’t talk much, but when she did—when she sang—every word seemed to matter.

A smile crept onto his face. “Who told you so, dilly, dilly, who told you so?” he joined in, his voice warm and light.

Cass glanced at him, something in her eyes softening.

“’Twas mine own heart, dilly, dilly, that told me so.”

Her voice and his blended together, carried by the breeze, drifting through the wildflowers.

“Call up your men, dilly, dilly, set them to work,

Some to the plough, dilly, dilly, some to the fork.

Some to make hay, dilly, dilly, some to reap corn,

While you and I, dilly, dilly, keep ourselves warm.”

Cass leaned back into the field, lying down amidst the flowers, her dark hair blending into the earth beneath her. She looked up at the sky, watching as the clouds drifted by, fingers still brushing over the lavender petals.

Dick followed suit, lying beside her. “Y’know,” he said after a moment, “you have a nice voice. You should sing more often.”

Cass was silent for a beat. Then, barely above a whisper, she said, “Only… with family.”

Something warm settled in Dick’s chest, and he turned his head to look at her. She met his gaze, her expression unreadable, but her eyes—those always said enough.

He smiled. “Well, then I’ll sing with you anytime, Cass.”

Cass seemed to consider that. Then, as if testing the words, she softly continued the song.

“Roses are red, dilly, dilly, violets are blue,

Because you love me, dilly, dilly, I will love you.”

Dick hummed along, letting the melody wrap around them like a warm embrace.

“Let the birds sing, dilly, dilly, and the lambs play,

We shall be safe, dilly, dilly, out of harm’s way.”

Cass closed her eyes, the tension that always rested in her shoulders slowly unwinding. For once, there was no need to fight, no reason to run, no mission to complete. Just the sky, the flowers, the music, and them.

And in that field, surrounded by lavender and sunlight, they were safe.

Chapter Text

Bruce sit in the dark, staring at a dim screen still running surveillance loops from hours ago. He wasn’t seeing the data. Not really.

He was seeing him.

“High dive into frozen waves where the past comes back to life…”

Dick Grayson. The boy who had been everything he wasn't—hopeful, kind, bright. Everything Bruce had buried to survive.

He had hurt him. Time and time again. Fired him when he was still injured. Gave his name, his colors, his legacy to another without a second thought. Let him suffer under Deathstroke’s hand. Sent him undercovered and fake his death. Failed to stop any of it.

He couldn’t stop remembering. The things he’d said. The things he hadn’t. The boy he’d raised to fly—and clipped the wings of more than once.

“Fight fear for the selfish pain—it was worth it every time…”

He still remembered the way Dick had looked after he was fired. Still healing. Still bleeding. The boy has been scared, shocked, angry. And yet, Dick still chose to forgive him.

Dick always came back when he need him.

Bruce didn’t deserve that loyalty. That love. He’d taken so much from him. And Dick had every reason to hate him. But he didn’t.

That, more than anything, scared Bruce.

“Man, you’ve gotta stop brooding like this or the Batcave’s going to develop its own weather system,” said a voice behind him.

Bruce turned.

Dick stood at the edge of the Batcomputer’s platform, a duffel bag over one shoulder, a bag of Alfred-approved takeout in the other. He looked tired. Worn. But he smiled anyway.

Dick always smiled.

“Hold still right before we crash, 'cause we both know how this ends…”

“I didn’t call you,” Bruce said.

Dick raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t have to. Alfred did. He’s threatening to resign and take Titus with him if we don’t have a ‘heart-to-heart’ before sunrise. And let’s face it—none of the others are emotionally available enough to handle this mess. So.” He gestured dramatically. “Here I am.”

Bruce hesitated. “You shouldn’t keep forgiving me.”

“A clock ticks 'til it breaks your glass and I drown in you again…”

Dick snorted. “Please. If I waited for you to stop blaming yourself for everything wrong in the universe, I’d be a hundred and bald.”

Bruce looked away.

Dick stepped closer.

“I hurt you.”

“Yeah,” Dick said softly. “And so did I.”

“You shouldn’t be here,” Bruce said gruffly, eyes flicking away. “Not tonight.”

Dick sighed. “You’re doing that thing again.”

“What thing?”

“Pushing me away when you’re hurting.”

Bruce clenched his fists. “You don’t understand. I failed you. Over and over. You had every reason to leave—and you stayed. Why?”

"'Cause you are the piece of me I wish I didn’t need…”

Dick set the food down and walked to him. “You think I don’t know that? I do. And yeah, we’ve had some bad fights. You’ve hurt me in ways no villain ever could.”

Bruce flinched, but Dick stepped even closer.

“But that doesn’t mean I stopped loving you. It doesn’t mean I stopped being your son.”

Bruce’s voice cracked. “You should hate me.”

“I don’t,” Dick said softly. “You are the piece of me I wish I didn’t need sometimes, sure. But I’m still chasing that bond. Relentlessly. Because you’re worth it.”

“Chasing relentlessly, still fight and I don’t know why…”

Bruce sat down heavily on the nearest chair, suddenly feeling the weight of every year. Every mistake. “I don’t deserve you.”

Dick knelt in front of him, placing a hand on his knee. “Too bad. You’ve got me anyway.”

Bruce looked at him then. Really looked. At the boy - now man who should’ve hated him, who had every right to walk away—and still came back. Still smiled. Still called him “Dad” in that soft voice when he let himself.

“Why do you stay?” Bruce asked. “After everything I’ve done?”

Dick stared at him, and for once, all the jokes, all the smiles, faded.

“Because I love you,” he said simply. “Because someone has to. Because I know you love me too—even if you’re really, really bad at showing it.”

“If our love is tragedy, why are you my remedy?”

“You’re not supposed to forgive me.”

“And you’re not supposed to need me,” Dick shot back. “But you do. Admit it."

Bruce’s voice cracked. “I don’t deserve your forgiveness.”

Dick shrugged. “Tough. You’ve got it anyway. And let’s be real, you need me to run this dysfunctional family. Jason is one bad day from adopting a crow army. Tim hasn’t slept since 2013. Cass communicates with that new barbie doll that Steph gave her, Duke want to be the star of Gotham's Christmas tree this year, and Damian tried to decapitate the vacuum cleaner last week. Someone has to hold the line—and bless Alfred, he’s only got so many years left before he ascends to godhood or just gives up on us all.”

“…Fair.”

“If our love’s insanity, why are you my clarity?”

“Look,” Dick added, leaning against the console with a casual shrug. “I’m not perfect. You’re definitely not perfect. But we work. Somehow, we make this family work. You think I stuck around just because I had nowhere else to go?”

Bruce stayed silent.

Dick smiled again—gently, this time.

“I stayed because you're my dad, because you're my family” he said. “And that means something. Even when you mess up. Even when you make mistakes. You showed me how to get up again. You raised me to be better than you thought you were.”

Bruce’s chest felt too tight to speak. So he didn’t.

“Also,” Dick added, tone shifting like it always did when things got too heavy, “someone has to make sure you’re eating and not just sipping brooding juice in the dark while plotting Gotham’s bedtime enforcement program.”

Bruce blinked, and—miraculously—let out a small breath of a laugh.

“…Thank you.”

Dick clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Anytime, B. Now sit down, eat something, and maybe take a nap. I’ll run night patrol. You’ve earned one break in your emotionally constipated life.”

Bruce actually sat.

And for the first time in what felt like years, he didn’t feel the weight of the world so completely crushing.

He had his son.

Maybe he's not a good father.

But maybe—just maybe—he could be the man his son already believed he was.

And somehow, that made it bearable.

Chapter Text

It all started, as most Bat-family disasters do, with one sentence:

“I got this off a black-market magic dealer in Metropolis.”

Jason grinned proudly, holding up a jagged crystal glowing ominously.

Duke immediately turned around and walked out of the room.

Dick gasped. “Jason. Jason Peter Todd. What the hell did you just bring into our home?”

“I dunno,” Jason shrugged. “Some chaos rock. Might curse us. Might explode. Either way, we get snacks.”

And then the rock pulsed.

And then Jason said, “Well sh—BABY SHARK, DOO DOO DOO DOO DOO DOO—”

Silence.

Confusion.

Absolute hysteria.

Tim slowly peeked out from behind the Batcomputer. “…Did you just… sing?”

Jason’s eye twitched. “I did not dips—BABY SHARK, DOO DOO DOO DOO DOO DOO—”

Steph dropped her protein bar. “Oh my God. You’re cursed. You’re Baby Shark-cursed!”

Cass silently walked up, solemn as death… and handed him a pink shark plushie.

Jason looked ready to cry.

-----

Twenty Minutes Later, Batcave

Jason: “Okay, okay, so I can’t curse, I’ll just say it nicer—I’m going to politely end you, Timmy—MOMMY SHARK, DOO DOO DOO DOO DOO DOO—”

Tim: “This is the best moment of my life.”

Damian: “Finally, Todd’s words match his intelligence level.”

Cass: holding up her phone “Streaming this.”

"Fu—LET’S GO HUNTING, DOO DOO DOO DOO DOO DOO—”

Steph collapsed to the floor, laughing hysterical. “He sings the lore. I’m crying.”

“I hate all of you—RUN AWAY, DOO DOO DOO DOO DOO DOO—”

Dick was filming with three phones.

“Smile, Jaybird,” he grinned. “This is going in the annual Wayne Family Cringe Compilation. Also, I’m uploading it to the Titans group chat, Roy would be thrill.”

“I WILL END YOU—IT’S THE END, DOO DOO DOO DOO DOO DOO—”

Bruce finally entered the room mid-rant. “What in God’s name is going on?”

Jason turned, eyes desperate. “Bruce, for the love of everything holy, I need Constantine, Zatanna, or an exorcism.”

“Why?”

Jason opened his mouth—

“Because whenever I say f- BABY SHARK, DOO DOO DOO DOO DOO DOO— this happened. MAKE IT STOP”

Bruce blinked. Looked at Alfred. “...We’re being punished for something.”

Alfred sipped his tea. “Indeed, sir. Possibly for everything.”

Bruce, being the responsible father he is, just sighed and mutter something under his breath before saying “This is a magical anomaly. I'll contact Zatanna.”

Jason: “I need vengeance. I need to punch someone and say bad words while f—RUN AWAY, DOO DOO DOO DOO DOO DOO—”

Steph: “What if we wrote new lyrics?”

Tim: “Or made a remix?”

Cass: “Bat-Squad Shark.”

Dick: “No. Wait. Wait—YES.”

Duke: "Jason will kill us when this end."

Damian: "I'd like to see him try"

They spent two hours creating Baby Bat Shark.

Jason rapped the bridge against his will.

-----

When Zatanna finally shows up, she looks at Jason up and down, then bursts out laughing. “You activated the SiliCurse Crystal?”

Jason: “Fix it—”

Zatanna: “That’s the ‘Family Fun’ curse. Designed to disrupt violent speech. Harmless. Hilarious.”

Jason lunges.

“I SWEAR TO GOD—BABY SHARK—”

Zatanna snorts. “Okay, okay, I’ll reverse it.”

She snaps her fingers.

Jason opens his mouth. “…You’re all &!@—”

Sweet, glorious silence.

Jason exhales, eyes glowing. “Freedom.”

Tim (grinning): “You okay?”

Jason: “Peachy.”

Duke: “Any… songs stuck in your head?”

Jason flips them off.

Cass: “I made you this.”

(She hands him a plush shark with his helmet.)

Dick, tears in his eyes, whispers, “Family bonding is beautiful.”

Jason throws it at him. “I will end you.”

Everyone flinches—

But no music.

Jason smirks.

“…I kept the remix though.”

---

Jason alone in his room.

Singing quietly under his breath, against his will:

“Baby shark, doo doo doo doo doo doo…”

He stares at the mirror in horror.

“…No.”

Chapter Text

Everyone knows the Bats don’t kill.

It’s practically a city-wide PSA.

Heroes don’t kill. Batman doesn’t kill. Robin doesn’t kill.

Well...most of the time.

Tim knew his family’s stories like prayers.

Jason killed because death changed him. 

Damian killed because he was raised that way.

Cass killed before she had words—and now would rather carve herself apart than repeat the sin.

But Tim?

Tim Drake doesn’t kill because Batman said not to.

Not because of trauma.

Not because of morality.

Not because it feels wrong.

But because Batman said don’t.

And Tim listens.

“Insane, inside

The danger gets me high

Can’t help myself

Got secrets I can’t tell”

The thought of killing doesn’t scare him.

That’s the part that scares him.

He could, easily. Efficiently. Cleanly. Messily. Emotionally. Clinically. He’s catalogued every version. Compiled exit strategies. Assessed psychological profiles.

Just in case.

He tells himself it’s about preparation. Contingency. The mission.

But he’s aware.

He knows how thin the line really is.

Jason fell over it like a meteor.

Damian danced along it with a blade in hand.

Cass crossed it, and bled in silence until someone taught her how to heal.

Tim never crossed it.

But he stood right on the edge.

He tells himself it’s about preparation.

That knowing how to take a life is different from choosing to do it.

He knows the psychology. The slippery slope. The thin red line that separates the people in capes from the people behind bars.

But sometimes, when he watches someone walk free after hurting a kid or blowing up a school or manipulating the system just right—

“I love the smell of gasoline

I light the match to taste the heat”

He’s never actually lit a building on fire.

But he’s fantasized about it.

About watching corruption crumble into ash.

About control. About consequences.

About what it would feel like to stop playing by rules that only seem to protect the worst people.

He doesn’t love death.

But he does love control.

The moment where the chaos bends beneath him.

When every variable clicks into place, and the power lies solely in his hands.

The ability to end it.

To choose.

"I've always liked to play with fire

Play with fire

I've always liked to play with fire"

There’s a side of him—the one that designs ten ways to dismantle an enemy in under a minute, who knows how to paralyze a man with a broken toothpick and a paperclip—that wonders how easy it would be to stop playing by the rules.

A side that whispers when he sleeps.

Burn it down.

Build something better.

He suppresses it. Drowns it in data. Smothers it in logic. Pretends the thrill in his chest is something else.

---

Dick noticed.

He know his little brother well enough.

At first it was small things:

The way Tim’s eyes would linger a little too long on a dying villain.

The stillness in his fingers when typing out a kill order for a hypothetical mission.

The lack of fear in conversations that should’ve made his voice tremble.

In how Tim’s hands never shook—because he’d already thought through every version of the worst-case scenario.

Dick didn’t panic.

Didn’t tell Bruce.

Didn’t try to patch it with sunshine and pancakes.

Didn't even try to "fix" it.

His little brother is perfect thank you.

He watched. Waited. Wondered if he should say something.

But Tim wasn’t haunted. He wasn’t unraveling.

He was just… aware. Capable.

There was no trauma behind it. No flickering panic in his hands. Just an intellect sharp enough to see all the angles—and a will strong enough to hold back anyway.

So Dick never say anything about it.

He just stayed close.

Invited Tim out to eat after long patrols. Dragged him into movie nights. Called him to fix the blender even when he could do it himself. Gently invaded his space with teasing and warmth and reminders of the human things.

Like he did for Bruce all these years. Like he does for Damian.

Like someone once did for him.

---

Tim wasn’t traumatized. Not in the way people expected.

No haunted looks.

No broken sobs.

No sleepless nights filled with shaking hands and whispered “I almost—”

No. He slept fine.

He ate fine.

He smiled when he meant it, most of the time.

That’s what made it more unsettling.

He was fine.

Utterly and absolutely fine.

And he knew it.

---

Dick saw it and didn’t run.

He didn’t look at Tim like a ticking bomb.

Didn’t try to extinguish the fire.

Not blinding. Not preachy. Just... present.

Rooftop races.

Trivia nights.

Game tournaments with the Young Justice crew.
Texting Bart, Kon, and Cassie with: “Your little gremlin needs socializing. Playdate: now.”

And they came—chaotic, loud, alive.

Tim never fought it. Never left early.

He'd sit among the laughter, mildly bewildered but steady.
He’d glance at Dick in the middle of the chaos, and just nod once. Like: I get it.

“I ride the edge
My speed goes in the red
Hot blood, these veins
My pleasure is their pain”

Cass understood it.

Jason did too, in a way that made their bond oddly steady.

Even Damian seemed to respect it, the way little brothers recognize their older brothers’ ghosts.

But Dick carried it.

Carried Tim’s potential like a glass jar with a lit match inside.

Not to smother it.

But to make sure the jar never cracked.

“I love to watch the castles burn

These golden ashes turn to dirt”

Tim isn’t broken.

He’s aware.

He’s clinical.

And that terrifies people more than rage ever could.

Because anger is human.

Tim’s calm is not.

“Oh, oh-oh, oh-oh

Watching as the flames get higher”

Dick understands that.

Understands how sometimes the best thing he can do isn’t talk, or dig, or demand confessions—but simply be there.

He doesn’t shine a spotlight on the darkness.

He just… stays lit.

Like a lighthouse.

And a lighthouse never scolds a storm for its violence.

It just stays light.

“Rite of passage, classic maverick

Match in the gas tank, ooh, that’s wretched

Unstoppable, legendary animal”

And when the fire flickers too close, when Tim’s hands hover a little too long over a weapon he wasn’t supposed to consider—

Dick nudges a bowl of cereal into his space. (Because cereal is magic!)

Calls in Kon and Bart for a “mandatory video game tournament.”

Texts Cassie and wonders if she can drag Tim to a sparring match and a smoothie.

Sometimes being a big brother isn’t about fighting darkness.

It’s about never letting your little siblings sit in it alone.

"I've always liked to play with-"

Tim doesn’t kill.

Yet.

But if his family got hurt.

Well.

If that line gets crossed, if the fire finally spreads just so he can protect his family.

Tim doesn't think he'll mind after all.

Because love doesn’t flinch from fire.

And Tim?

Tim’s always liked to play with fire.

Chapter Text

It started like any other Tuesday.

You know, rooftop chase, minor property damage, and Jason threatening to dropkick a villain into next week. Standard.

Until Control Freak popped out of a TV-shaped portal and shouted, “I’m bringing some family programming into your lives, bats!”

Next thing they knew—

BAM.

Everyone but Damian was turned into a farm animal, all still in their hero suits.

Jason: a giant angry pig in a red bat helmet, snorting in pure murderous rage.

Tim: a grumpy cow with dark circles under his eyes and his Red Robin cape flapping from his tail.

Steph: a smug chicken laying sparkly eggs and flapping dramatically.

Cass: a silent cat-goat hybrid with glowing ninja eyes and terrifying headbutts.

Duke: a very dramatic rooster, who screamed every five minutes for no reason.

Dick: a golden retriever-looking horse, still doing flips and whinnying in rhythm.

And Damian?

Still human. Still in Robin gear.

Except now he was wearing a full-on farmer costume—plaid shirt, overalls, sun hat, and a glued-on white beard that he kept trying to murder with his teeth.

Worst of all?

The only way to break the spell was to sing… the entire "Old MacDonald Had a Farm" song.

Damian narrowed his eyes at the cackling Control Freak and hissed, “I will personally feed your liver to Killer Croc.”

Control Freak laughed. “Not until you sing, little farmer boy.”

Tim (the cow) slowly turned to glare at Damian with the deadest eyes. “Just do it.”

Jason (the pig) oinked in defiance and tried to roll at Control Freak. He got stuck in a kiddie pool.

“Begin!” Control Freak shouted, now wearing a director’s headset and filming this like a nature documentary.

Damian sighed through his nose like a disappointed Victorian mother and began:

“Old MacDonald had a farm…”

“Ee i ee i o…”

Dick the Horse: “NEIGHHHHHH!-OMG BABY BAT YOU'RE ADORABLE” (perfect pitch, backflipping)

Jason the Pig: “OINK OINK—YOU’RE ALL DEAD AFTER THIS!”

Tim the Cow: “Moo.” (emotionally hollow)

Steph the Chicken: “CLUCK-CLUCK—look I laid a glitter egg!”

Duke the Rooster: “SCREEEEEEEEEEE!”

Control Freak was wheezing.

Damian was dying inside.

Cass the goat thing just launched off a wall and headbutted Control Freak mid-oink-verse.

“He’s stunned! KEEP SINGING!” Tim mooed urgently.

“And on that farm he had some cows…”

“Ee i ee i o…”

Tim: “Moo-moo here.”

Jason: “Moo-moo there—WHY AM I MOOED?? I’M A PIG!”

Damian: “Here a moo, there a moo—this is beneath me.”

Steph: “Everywhere a moo-moo!”

Control Freak wheezed, doubling over in laughter. “This is… this is art.”

Cass the Goat activated stealth mode and charged.

But Damian kept singing. Because the moment he stopped, the spell reset. And he was NOT starting from cows again.

“Old MacDonald had a farm…”

“Ee i ee i o…”

“And on that farm he had some CHICKS—”

Steph: “CLUCK-CLUCK HERE! CLUCK-CLUCK THERE!”

Duke: “CLUCKCLUCKCLUCKCLUCK—THIS IS MY TIME TO SHINE!”

Dick: whinnies like it’s a Broadway musical

Jason: “WHO EVEN SAYS CLUCK LIKE THAT—”

Tim: “Please just let me die.”

Damian continued.

His eyes were dead. His fake beard was sliding off. Control Freak was on the ground now, crying with laughter.

“And on that farm he had some pigs…”

“Ee i ee i o…”

Jason: “Oink-oink HERE! Oink-oink THERE! HERE AN OINK, THERE AN OINK, EVERYWHERE A—”

Cass (from the shadows): “Oink.” (Terrifying.)

Tim mooed in resignation. Dick kicked a backflip over a hay bale. Steph laid a rainbow egg. Duke screamed again because he could.

And Damian finished:

“Old MacDonald had a farm…

Ee i ee i o…”

CRACK.

The spell broke.

Everyone popped back to normal.

Jason was still lying in the kiddie pool. “I hate you all.”

Damian tore off the fake beard with murder in his soul.

Steph picked up the glitter egg. “Do you think this’ll hatch into disco?”

Tim looked at the camera Control Freak dropped, picked it up, and deleted the recording. “No one speaks of this. Ever.”

Dick grinned. “But guys—we were a band.”

Cass just clucked softly and headbutted Control Freak again for good measure.

And somewhere, across the multiverse, the Teen Titans felt a disturbance in the Force… and immediately started looking for the footage.

Chapter Text

"They say everybody dies twice.

The first is your body's demise

The second is the last time someone remembers you, so"

Dick Grayson has done both, unfortunately. 

When he was younger, the idea of death used to terrify him — not his own, but the deaths of the people he loved.

He still remembers the way the world went silent when his parents fell. The snap of the rope, the crowd’s gasp, the circus lights blurring with tears. He remembers standing too still, too small, as Bruce Wayne knelt in front of him, offering the one thing Dick didn’t realise he needed most — a home.

Then came the years of fighting beside Batman, of learning how fragile life could be. The victims he couldn’t save. The partners who didn’t come home. Jason’s blood on the warehouse floor. Bruce’s funeral that wasn’t real. Damian’s small, still body in his arms.

And of course, his own death — public and humiliating.

The world watched Nightwing die.

Well, sort of. Luthor revived him after a few minutes, so maybe that didn't count? 

The point is, he came back, of course. He always did.

New name, new scars, new mission. Agent 37, Spyral. The world forgot Dick Grayson existed, and he learned how to be a ghost.

And then—

When he finally clawed his way back to Gotham, ready to say I’m home—

Bruce didn’t remember him.

Not Nightwing.

Not Robin.

Not Dick Grayson.

That was the moment he realised: there are things worse than death.

Death is an ending.

Being forgotten is erasure.

"If I never speak my mind

Blank white pages, empty lines

When it comes, the day I die

What is it I leave behind?"

He’d screamed at Helena once, in the quiet of a mission gone wrong.

“Everyone keeps saying I’m lucky to be alive—but if no one remembers who I am, what’s the point?”

She hadn’t answered. She just poured him another drink and let the silence sit.

"Would I be washed away? 

Memories left to decay 

If I were never brave enough to say what I want to say

'Cause

All this fear that stays inside

Keeps my memories confined

Don't forget me, don't rewind

Find my reason, find my rhyme"

Later, when the world turned again and the memories came back, he’d felt guilty for those words. Bruce remembered him. His family remembered him. Gotham still called for him.

But that fear — that gnawing terror of being left behind, of fading — it never really left.

Now, standing on the rooftop of Blüdhaven’s clock tower, the city lights flickering below him, Dick hums to himself. The wind whips through his hair, the sea-salt air stinging his nose. The night smells alive.

“Just like a cure, just like a remedy,” he murmurs under his breath,

“Searching for something to live beyond my days…”

It’s funny, he thinks, how life never stops giving him chances to start over.

Robin, Nightwing, Batman, Agent 37, leader, brother — he’s been all of them, and somehow, he’s still the same kid who wanted to fly.

He’s made peace with it.

Death isn’t the enemy.

Being forgotten isn’t, either — not really.

The only thing that matters is how he lives while he’s here.

He smiles faintly, the reflection of the city glittering in his eyes.

“I’ll be a memory,” he says to the night, half-singing the line. “Let me stay with you forever and always…”

The comm crackles.

“Nightwing, status?” Batman’s voice, low and steady, filters through.

“All clear, B. Just doing a perimeter sweep. You sound like you’re losing your touch — I found three muggers before you even clocked in.”

“Nightwing.”

He grins at the tone. “I’m fine, B. Promise.”

A pause. A subtle exhale. “Understood. Good work.”

The line clicks off.

Dick shakes his head fondly. Bruce never says it, but that’s his version of I’m glad you’re safe.

"Writing myself into our history

Showing the world the reality in my mind

I'll be a memory

Let me stay with you forever and always

Before I go, I'll leave a legacy

Stuck in your head like a melody one last—"

Hours later, back at his apartment, the others crowd his communicator channel — Jason swearing about traffic then yelping as Cass pinches him, Tim rambling about casework, Damian sneering about Steph's inefficiency, Duke snores, it's still too early for his day patrol, Barbara laughing softly in the background.

It’s chaos. It’s perfect. It’s home.

And in the middle of it, Dick opens a new page in his logbook — neat handwriting across the first line.

“What is it I leave behind?”

He taps his pen, thinking. Then smiles as the words come easily.

"Song I write it's the mark I leave

All my feelings, my hopes and dreams

Past and present, who I'll be?

Scream it loud, are you hearing me?"

He closes the notebook, satisfied.

Outside, dawn breaks over Bludhaven — pale light spilling over the harbour.

He steps out onto the balcony, still humming the song softly under his breath.

"Just like a cure, just like a remedy

Searching for something to live beyond my days 

Writing myself into our history

Showing the world the reality in my mind"

Because maybe he will be forgotten one day.

Maybe history won’t remember Nightwing the way it remembers Batman.

Maybe his name will fade from headlines, from statues, from stories.

"I'll be a memory"

But he knows this much:

Somewhere, a kid will grow up braver because of him.

Someone will smile when they think of that ridiculous bluebird.

His family will carry him in their laughter, in their stubbornness, in their hope.

"Let me stay with you forever and always"

That’s enough.

The sun rises fully now, gilding the city in gold.

Dick leans against the railing, eyes bright, the grin soft and sure.

"Before I go, I'll leave a legacy"

He’s been Robin.

He’s been Nightwing.

He’s been dead, forgotten, rewritten.

And somehow, he’s still hopeful.

Not untouched.

Just unbroken.

"Stuck in your head like a melody one last time"