Chapter Text
Dick wakes up with lightning crackling over his skin, the phantom burn of electricity shocking him into awareness. For a moment, he flounders. An unreal mesh of liquid- sense around him, muffling and exaggerating every sensation by tens. His brain feels foggy, shifting against his will and jerking every which way. It’s overwhelming for his mind, but his body feels blissfully numb. He can’t register anything over the crowd in his head, stuffed behind his eyes and through his ears. A gasping breath rattles in his chest. Everything is out-of-focus and all-too-clear.
He feels heavy. As if encased in jello, every movement blocked by tons and tons of weight stuck down into his muscles. His senses feel like they’ve quadrupled in quality; ears stinging with each breeze, arms tingling with sensitive nerves, and his face burns with the assault of smells he can’t quite pick out. It takes everything in him to force his eyes open.
It’s only worse from there. He’s seeing in double, triple . His sight shakes and wiggles, looking all around in different rhythms while he tries to gather himself. Dick bites down on his lip to try and prevent noise from escaping. The action is rewarded with a cry of pain.
His brothers are an afterthought. Somewhere nearby, he can feel them, but none of his eyes spot anything. Dick drags a hand over the rough gravel beneath them, trying to ground himself with something. The pain is sharp and instant, though he’s sure it doesn’t break skin. His brain spins in place. A shaking, shuddering mass of new nerves and sensitive sight. The sky above them finally wobbles and warps into one image. In startling clarity. Dick breathes out. If not for the migraine that blurs the edges of his vision, he feels like it’d be possible to pick out dust particles in the clouds . Then, his mouth moves against his will. A voice not - quite-his escapes.
“What,” It says, short and stilted. The voice is warbling. Too loud. Dick’s throat swallows dry air, though he doesn’t tell it to. It tries again, and this time the voice is slightly smoother. “ What ?”
Oh , He thinks, with dizzying realization, My brothers are very close.
Magic is the simple explanation. A dry, morbid amusement curls below his throat. Dick closes his eyes. One set, two sets, three. The clouded sky is blocked by thin eyelids, the layered orange glow soothing his-their tired senses. Dick feels more than he realized. Jason is stiff, somewhere floaty near his temples. Tim shifts and rocks, closer to the nape of their neck. Dick himself feels centralized, packed tight in the middle of their head.
It’s a strange sensation, sharing a body. He can feel everything . Some of him is dull and dim, a shade of his brothers hovering mentally nearby. One of his arms--
Oh, god .
Dick reopens their eyes. They swing, wildly, to the body beneath them. The movement leaves their neck aching. Everything is unrecognizable. Tim hisses a stream of pained air. Jason flicks their tongue against clenched teeth, a frown etched over their face. Dick wants to scream.
The body is misshapen. A long torso, mostly bare, spotted with three shades of skin. Dick and Jason share a similar color, if off by a few tones, but Tim’s pallid color marks their stomach in bursts of white. Fabric hangs off of them in strips. It’s torn, dirtied and burnt in patches. A mix of red and blue streak neatly over their chest, the rest a simple black. Dick can’t quite focus on it much longer, but his eyes stay open when the others inspect it. He hears everything anyway.
Two sets of arms, the lower pair starting somewhere at the bottom of where their pectorals would’ve been. A bumpy structure protrudes at the top. Dick hears Tim murmur something about a second collarbone. He feels distinctly sick. Light pink-white scars decorate their skin. From cuts along arms from deflected weapons, to the thin, barely-there surgery scars from Jason’s autopsy , cutting over their upper collarbone and down their chest. It’s stretched and grey in some places, spanning all the way down their lengthened torso. They can’t see much else with the angle they’re given. Worse, their body is weak and aching. Tim and Jason finally let their head drop, bouncing sharply against pebbles beneath them. Their vision whites out with the overwhelming shot of agony . As soon as it starts, it leaves, the starbursts in their vision become the only sign of the pain at all.
Curse word , Dick thinks. He hears Tim echo the thought, and Jason tries to laugh through their mouth. It comes out in a weary grumble.
They study the sky above, mind sparkling and fizzling out of solutions and plans. None of them know where-when- what they are. Even when they’re still, the body trembles in exhaustion, slumped heavily against the ground. Distantly, they register something landing nearby. Their ears prick, a jolt shooting through their body. It’s a fully primal, reactive response. Jason shifts, rocking twice until they struggle into something upright. Their torso slumps forward, upper shoulders sliding into a slouch. The lower set roll with them for a moment before stopping an inch or so behind.
“Weak,” Tim mumbles. Their lips are heavy, and the word comes out slurred. “At-ro- fee .”
Dick hums, the upper left hand twitching. He spreads the fingers, and then lowers them one by one, repeating the process. Once. Twice. Three--
One of the other hands slaps over his. Blinking, Dick studies the lower right arm. It’s dark, a reddish tint mottled with moles that he attributes to Jason. A second of focus, and he can feel the man’s consciousness floating somewhere near it. His brother’s control is clumsy. The palm of his hand lands heavily over the back of Dick’s, successfully putting an end to the fidgeting. Tim shuffles their feet against the gravel. Leaving Jason to sigh through their mouth, gritting their teeth because he can’t stop it. He forces their eyes up and over, surveying their surroundings.
The skyline is just familiar enough. It’s Gotham, at the very least. Something itches at the back of their head, screaming wrong . They continue searching. Their ‘landing pad’ is elevated. Judging by the gravel, and the little concrete lip a few feet from them, it’s likely they’ve fallen onto a roof. Jason rolls forward further, trying to turn their head. Sparks of pain shoot across their neck in response. Dick breathes through their mouth, trying to quell the pain and ignore the stinging tears in the lower set of their eyes. Tim quivers , their upper right arm jerking to the side, yanking them away from the skyline to look over at the furthest ledge. Jason opens their mouth to complain–
Whatever he meant to say dies before it reaches their lips.
A shadowed figure, hunched and looming against the night sky. Their mouth closes with an audible click. Tim blinks in quick succession, for all three pairs of eyes, and murmurs unintelligibly below his breath. The undercurrent of worry cuts through Dick’s own thoughts, and he opens their mouth again to say anything, interrupted when a weak sound escapes them instead. Jason snaps their jaw shut.
“Do you know,” Bruce’s voice asks, the deep growl of Batman reverberating over the roof. His voice, while seemingly quiet, almost echoes through their over-sensitive ears. He sounds deafening. Tim twitches, the upper set of their eyes squinting. Dick slides the lower set closed, trying to gather his thoughts. “ Where you are?”
Jason tenses in their mind, throat closing for a moment. Tim surges past him, past Dick , until he’s allowed to speak. Anxiety flashes in their gut, the need to report, respond, speak coursing through their veins like acid. Tim opens their mouth, forcing the words out.
“G oo -” Their voice strangles for a moment. Jason lurches forward, trying to fight the instinct. Dick grabs him back with everything he has, freeing their mouth. Tim’s lower left arm twitches forward, suspending in the air for a moment, miming a grasp. With Jason properly subdued, he continues. The name sounds wrong on their tongue. “ Got-aam .”
Batman watches them. Behind the whites of the cowl, Dick is sure he follows every twitch of their body. He knows the man is studying them for every second. Debating himself, wondering if they’re a threat. After a long, unsettling silence, he replies, just as steady as before.
“There are no metas allowed in Gotham,” He says. The growl is all the same. But, somehow, Tim relaxes at the tone. Considering , He whispers in their mind. Waiting .
“Acci-denn..t,” Dick says in place of Tim. Their main set of eyes reopen, flicking left and right. Mentally, he’s searching for a Robin, trying to place when they are. “Nnn…”
He can’t quite force the second word out. Their throat cinches shut, choking around it. Wet coughs overtake them, leaving their body trembling. Tim absently clutches at the pale part of their abdomen, tearing through loose pseudo-fabric to grab at their side. Each cough leaves their chest scratched raw. They’re obviously dehydrated. The sharp jerks from every heaving breath sends pain lancing up their abdomen.
When the coughs die down, Batman is still watching them. His posture has fallen into something smaller, shoulders loose.
“Not… me-tt-a .” Jason growls before the others can stop him. Their voice has roughened with the coughing fit.
There’s no immediate response. Not that they expected that, anyway. Batman watches them while they struggle to regulate their breath.
With a strange amusement, Tim considers the label of ‘meta’ in their head. They’re still, technically, fully human. But with multiple limbs, multiple eyes , whatever else they’re left with… Are they metahuman? Jason pushes and shoves at their younger brother until he quiets down. Hysteric laughter dies out in their chest before it can escape.
Dick shuffles their feet again, slow and cautious. Bruce makes no sign of unease as they move. It takes an embarrassingly long time for them to make it onto their knees. Pebbles dig into their sensitive skin. The pain helps them focus on the task. Their four arms extend and tuck with each movement, trying to balance against the weight. Tim flits back and forth between helping, but more often than not, keeps a pair of their eyes on Batman as they work.
Jason and Dick almost manage to make it to their feet in tandem. As they rest the full weight of their body on their otherwise unused legs, however, their knees lock up and give out. They fold , in Tim’s eloquent words, like an undercooked pastry . Dick sucks in a sharp breath, preparing for searing pain.
Instead, he’s met with kevlar arms catching them around the torso. Batman’s armored hands shift them against his body, a quiet grunt of exertion as he lifts them up. Jason struggles for a long moment, strangely limp against the vigilante. After a few seconds of allowing their brain to reboot, Tim swings an upper arm over his shoulder. Dick takes their legs, stumbling until their feet are flat. The roof pricks at their bare feet. None of them speak, trying to balance themselves. Outside of the city’s white noise below, the air is silent.
When they’re stable again, Dick is able to release their grip on Batman’s cape, unaware that they’d grabbed it at all. Jason bares their teeth, upset and anger curling in their abdomen. Batman shifts and hovers his hands around their extended torso. With a startling clarity, they suddenly realize they’re taller than Bruce . It feels wrong.
“...Can you stand?” He asks, softer than before. It’s not quite kind , but it’s something adjacent.
Jason jerks their head into a nod. Tim releases his hand from Batman’s side as well, slowly tucking it back over their stomach. They don’t move, instead allowing Bruce to back off a few steps. Now, standing on their own, Dick can’t help the way he studies their body. He looks down, extending their arms and eyeing each limb with curiosity. Their torso is as long as they expected-- double arms, double collarbone, leaving them with a misshapen set of pectorals. Their body isn’t quite fit , not defined or skinny. It’s a smooth wall of skin and muscle and fat. None of them want to wonder what a mess their insides are. Lifting their gaze again, Tim studies Batman , head tilting absentmindedly.
“This is new for you,” Batman observes, moving so his cape obstructs the view of his body again.
Dick hums in acknowledgement. He uses his arm ( upper left, the tanned olive skin speckled with shades of white on his elbow ) to rub at their face, squinting their eyes shut. Taking the moment to deliberate with his siblings. Tim leans forward in their mind, pressure building in their temples while he considers.
We should tell him. Help would be better. He won’t let us go it alone . Tim finally says, and the pressure disperses.
Jason snorts a laugh, so rough that it escapes them physically. I hate to agree, and says nothing else.
Dick, of course, had known his decision from the beginning. He blinks open the upper set of eyes, peeking at Batman. The figure watches them patiently, waiting for a response. Tim and Jason each blink open their own eyes, and only then does Dick finally respond.
“F-er us ,” He agrees. Speaking is still… a little hard. Cotton fills their throat, dry and rough. He purses their lips, raising the lower left hand to make a so-so motion. “Not… purr - pose.”
Batman shifts. It’s a barely noticeable movement beneath the cape, but all three Robins note it as surprise . His voice doesn’t waver when he asks, “There’s multiple of you. Do you know where they are?”
Dick grins, wide, and Jason rolls his set of eyes, waggling his lower-right fingers in a lazy wave. Tim doesn’t wave his own, but he hums in assent at Dick’s unasked question.
“Here,” Dick tells him, using his hand to tap the side of their head. It smarts for a moment, then vanishes.
“Multiple of you,” Batman says, stilted. His white lenses reveal nothing. “...In one body?”
Tim makes a sarcastic sort of “ ding-ding, ” noise.
“Alright,” Bruce manages, and then pauses. He nods. “Give me a moment.”
They all watch him turn, hand raised towards where his ear is hidden beneath the cowl. Again, their ears prick, and without meaning to, they’re able to listen in on his comms. An electronic voice buzzes and crackles, tinny and ear-splitting . Jason jerks back, lower hands reaching up and around their upper set of shoulders, pressing over their ears. Tim blinks in surprise, stunned by both the high-pitched electric keen, and the strange movement of their arms. Over the comms, Batman is discussing them .
“It’s… I’ve never seen anythin’ like it,” A voice says, and her voice is familiar to all three, even when muffled. Stephanie . “Just from the video, this is big stuff, B-man. I can look into it, but I dunno what could’ve done that.”
“Or who ,” Batman replies, and here, he glances back at them, startling at their posture. “Hang on, Spoiler.”
They take note of her name-- her vigilante name. Based on that alone, their time period has narrowed. It’s possible that she’s new, of course, but with how Batman addresses her, they’ve been working together for a while. He trusts her, is what they gather. Enough to expose the idea of a new ‘threat’ to her. But , Dick starts, she seems to be doing… what, Oracle work? As Spoiler?
Tim hums a short agreement. Something’s not adding up.
Batman turns to face them, hand dropping from his cowl. He’s wary. Jason has kept their hands tight over their ears, even in the absence of the buzz. With a burst of thought, a wave of calm , Dick shifts, his upper left grabbing lightly at the wrist of Jason’s arm, tugging it gently from their ears. Tim follows suit, notably harsher. Jason sighs, but lets it happen, rotating and dropping his arms to dangle.
“Sorry,” Dick murmurs. “El- elect-”
The words catch in their throat. Another short cough and they try again.
“Comm,” He says, this time. Shorter words fit better in their mouth. He assumes it’s something like their other limbs, where their control is stiff and clunky. To be safe, he gestures at his own ear. “Buzz loud.”
“You can hear it,” Batman manages. He shakes his head. Pauses, and nods. “Right. Fine, look.”
They wait while he gathers himself, fingers wiggling absentmindedly. Their condition has apparently stunned Bruce. Jason mutters something rude about the man, and Tim snickers, their lips twitching on the outside. Batman takes a deep breath.
“I need to… take you with me,” He says, finally. “You know who I am.”
“Bat,” Tim says, simply.
“Right. I’d like to…” Bruce shifts, body unreadable. He’s still debating, even as the words come out of his mouth. “Figure out how this happened, maybe if it’s reversible.”
Dick opens his mouth, planning on asking something about the JLA, and is swiftly cut off by Tim, who tilts their head, and says, “Cave?”
Batman stiffens, while Dick and Jason hold back laughter. The vigilante’s jaw clenches, relaxes, and there’s the distinct hiss of a sigh. The hard line of his shoulders hasn’t eased. He’s still suspicious. For good reason, but it’s still funny to watch the man react. He seems to shake himself out mentally, and then gestures for them to follow.
“Against better judgement, yes.” He offers them a hand, and it all suddenly clicks. He’s not expecting them to grapple off after him. They can’t . He’s leading them towards the edge of the roof. A quick glance around shows the lack of any fire-escape, so the given answer is clear. “I don’t think you’re… harmful, at the moment.”
Jason hums. “No.”
They shamble forwards, slow and deliberate. Every step sends a wave of pain up their shins, like they’d forgotten to stretch before a workout. Gravel digs at their feet. With practiced ease, they ignore it, focusing on their path. Dick takes Batman’s hand, both of their left limbs unconsciously grabbing onto it. They practically encase it between their own. Tim watches Bruce frown, before wiping the expression away.
It’s silent as Bruce uses a free hand to hook his grapple safely on the roof. Then, he turns back to them.
“I’m going to have to hold onto you,” He says. “With what we’ve seen so far, I don’t know if you could make it down on your own.”
They nod, jerky and short. The movement stutters slightly, torn between rhythms. Batman gives a short grunt of acknowledgement and moves. One of his hands grabs onto the grapple tightly, adjusting for weight. He leads them to the very edge of the roof, and moves his hand gently in their grasp. It takes a few moments for them to realize what he’s asking. Dick releases his hand, and Jason supplements it by gripping the man’s cape for stability. Batman shifts his arm to support them around the torso, just as he had before. He doesn’t comment on their grasp. It’s not particularly comfortable, but it’s the best they can do for now.
The slow descent feels like an eternity. Bruce makes no noise as they go, despite the strain their weight must put on him. As soon as they touch down, they’re extracting themselves from his hold, shifting and rubbing at their sore torso. The alley they’ve landed in is fully empty, save the trash and dirt that gathers in the corners. Neither of the buildings have side-doors, and no dumpsters can be seen. Dick blinks twice, then glances towards the brick wall at the end of the alley, away from the road.
With just a little strain, they listen for something. A deep, rumbling noise, followed by a quiet hiss of air. Batman takes three steps back, head tilted curiously as they walk past him. Jason presses a hand against the faux-wall, drumming his fingers against it. They glance over their shoulder, where Batman watches them consideringly.
“Path?” He guesses, and they can’t help the grin when Batman’s shoulders sag lightly.
“Passage,” Bruce agrees.
He walks towards them, pressing his own hand against the wall. Tim watches closely as his hands sink into the brick, pressing a pattern against well-hidden indents. The wall vibrates shortly and pulls apart . They all turn to stare, eyes widening and taking in the sight. A quick check-in assures them that they’ve never seen something like this from their own Bat. Taking the chance to duck eagerly between the walls, they study the metal passage with interest.
A hand lands on their shoulder, and they startle as one, whipping to look at the perpetrator. Batman, to his credit, doesn’t flinch, but takes his hand away. He gestures silently for them to move. Jason considers not listening for the spite of it. He’s quickly vetoed when Dick and Tim slink back over to the Bat, on account of the ever-nearing rumbling. Tim titters something unintelligible as the Batmobile whips around an unseen corner. The headlights flare and Dick slams their upper and lower eyes shut, squinting with the main set. An unwilling hiss leaves them. Instinctually, they jerk back until their shoulders knock against the wall.
Batman gives them a long look, hand twitching shortly, and the lights shut off. Embarrassment rolls in their stomach. Dick blinks away spots, while Tim shuffles their feet.
“Thank you,” Tim murmurs, but his ‘th’ comes out sounding like a ‘d’ , unrefined and childlike. “Sen-si-tif.”
They get a short grunt in reply. Bruce’s hands twitch again, and the front doors lift up. He offers them a hand again, but Jason refuses, still apprehensive from the headlight situation. Weakly, they shuffle towards the car, hands against the cool metal for support. It takes them three agonizingly long minutes, but they manage. They land heavily in the passenger seat, tucking their lower set of arms over their torso, and crossing their upper set to fit. In order to sit comfortably, they have to crane their neck and upper shoulders forward. Once settled, Tim chances a look over at Bruce.
He’s already sat and buckled, fingers tapping intermittently at the dashboard. There’s a dim, blue light coming from the screen, but none of them can see through the glow well enough for details. It blurs into lines of unreadable text. Begrudgingly, Jason tears their eyes away from it. Nothing other than a headache would come from trying any longer. It’s obvious their body’s sensitive at the moment; the last thing they need is a migraine.
The car starts moving with a jerk and it takes them all a moment to realize it’s moving backwards . Tim blinks, glancing around the car while Dick looks out the window. For a dizzying second, their vision overlaps and doubles, and then splits clear. The tunnel races by. All they can see of it is the little floor lights blurring. Batman himself doesn’t seem to notice their surprise, or is actively ignoring it for the effect.
Overall, the drive lasts maybe ten minutes, fully in reverse. Some of the turns had made their stomach curl and twist. Despite it, they’ve managed not to empty it all over the Batmobile. Bruce says nothing during the ride. He’s studying them, but they’re much too caught up in the drive to notice.
The change in lighting comes quick. The car slows down on a dime, clicks and rattles filling their ears as something catches on the tires. They tense in sync, feeling the car spin itself, and then the cave is in front of them. Dim light washes over the batmobile. Tim’s breath catches in their throat, and three sets of eyes widen at once. Somewhere to their left, Bruce taps away at the dash again. None of them care to check what he’s doing, too enraptured by the difference.
Their cave had been nothing to scoff at. Large computers, open space, training mats and a med-bay the size of their living room. But the cave in front of them is better . In place of the large, flatscreen computer monitors, there’s fizzly blue-purple holograms hovering just above the control board. Tim coils tight in their throat, anticipation and excitement bursting from him in waves.
It’s also leagues bigger.
There’s a roughness to the center of the cave that tells them the formations had been natural, but as the space extends from the middle, it smoothens. Man-made. He’s extended the cave. The med-bay is closer to a medical wing . The mats are laid out, baskets of towels lined against the wall, next to racks of weapons. Each section, they note, is divided by glass walls, complete with what look like automatic doors. It’s the cave, but it’s certainly not theirs .
“Seems I’ve managed to surprise you,” Bruce says, voice breaking the awed silence. It takes a few moments for them to tear their eyes away. Tim doesn’t bother, letting Jason and Dick use their own sets to focus on the man. If he’s bothered by the sight, he doesn’t show it.
“Cave,” Dick manages, hollow. “ Big .”
Jason snorts a laugh, causing Dick to scowl at the air, and turning the laughter into a strange gravelly noise. This appears to surprise Batman. He tilts his head.
“You really are multiple people,” He says, as if he hadn’t quite believed them before.
“ Th -aid s- th -o,” Jason replies, lips curling up from Dick’s frown. His grin is much sharper, subdued.
“...That, you did,” Bruce agrees. Then, he flicks a switch, opening the doors once more. He climbs out of the vehicle and they follow at a much slower pace.
Getting themselves out was easier than getting in . Their hands still grab at any free handle for support, but it’s smoother than falling into their seat. Pain shoots up their leg for a short second, weakened once more by the disuse during the car ride. Jason hisses a curse, and Tim shuffles them forward, ignoring all parties.
They’re aware of Batman’s gaze when they start walking. He follows them silently as they stagger into the middle of the room, eyes flicking every which way. There’s a line to his posture that reads as amused , so they let it slide. Dick and Jason step back for a moment, letting Tim take the lead, and hold back laughs when his hands immediately start fidgeting. It’s obvious when Bruce notices the change, leaning forward to observe them closer. He’s always loved spot-the-difference.
“You’re different,” He says aloud, after a few seconds of silence.
Tim nods his head. There’s no point in lying.
“They’re in ‘ere, s-dill,” Tim tells him, distractedly. Their speech is still improper , but it’s improving. “Le’mme up.”
There’s no verbal response. Instead, Batman walks right past them, towards the computer. Tim’s much too focused on his own study of the cave, so Dick takes the initiative to follow him. It’s even bigger up close. Once they’re close enough, the details of the screen become clear. Instead of one big screen, it’s tens of smaller ones. The holo-screens are tall enough that they have to look up for some of the tabs. Absently, Tim flicks his hand out, waving it near one of the screens. It pixelates in the air, before responding and scrolling down on whatever unnamed article it had been set to. Jason hums in surprise, one of his hands twitching towards a separate screen to do the same.
Dick keeps his hands to himself, thank you very much .
A few moments of silence pass, Batman’s back turned as he messes with a screen somewhere to their right. Tim adapts to the computer quickly. After a minute or so, he’s idly scrolling through recent news articles. Jason takes longer to get used to it, fingers fumbling over the lack of physical touch and sending his screen into fizzly shapes every now and then. Dick watches both sides with interest. He’s not contributing to the mess, but doesn’t make any moves to stop it.
“What are you--” There’s a sharp puff of air when Batman turns to watch them. Dick glances over, lips stretching into a smile. The man has a sort of resigned tilt to his mouth that pulls a giggle from them. “You shouldn’t be touching that.”
Tim drops his arm obligingly. On the other hand ( literally ), Jason makes a considering hum, wiggling his fingers through the screen a bit more. Batman eyes them for a few seconds longer, the white lenses over his eyes squinting. Instead of allowing him to suffer in his consequences, Dick uses his hand to pull Jason’s back to their side, ignoring the protest.
“Cool,” Dick says in lieu of an explanation.
Tim lifts a shoulder in a shrug, supplying his own, “New. In’ress-in’.”
Jason doesn’t quite dignify any of them with a response, weakly shaking his arm. Dick lets go after a few tries. Thankfully for all of them, he doesn’t try to reach for the computer any further. Batman shifts silently. He’s studying them again, they’re sure.
“I need to scan your body,” He begins. “Since we aren’t sure what caused-?”
Bruce pauses here, tilting his head towards them in question.
“No clue,” Jason says. Dick uses his hand to give a cheery thumbs up.
“Right. It’s best to run some tests and see what we find.” Batman waves his hand gently, beginning to walk towards the wide-open medbay. “And make sure that you’re… physically fit.”
None of them stop the laugh that escapes, following Batman at a much slower pace. When the laughter cools off, Dick manages to speak.
“Not men’ally?” He asks, mirthfully. Bruce pauses, then shakes his head in something like exasperation.
“I think we’re past that,” Is the response they get. It’s surprisingly funny, for a Bruce line. They reward it with a small grin.
The medical wing is even more impressive up close. There’s around six cots, three on either side as they enter. Over to their right is a door, closed off tightly enough that Tim guesses it’s an emergency surgery room. Dick steers his own eyes towards the shelves upon shelves of supplies, against the walls. At the very back of the room is a full counter, lined with jars of simple bandages and such. There’s two more sets of cabinets above and below it. Jason whistles low, impressed. The noise earns them a dry look from their vigilante guide.
As Batman leads them further into the room, stopping somewhere by the cot closest to the back, Jason pauses them in their tracks. Dick and Tim both stumble with the sudden stop. They can see Bruce freeze from the corner of their vision, but Jason’s much too occupied with what he’s found. Dick follows in interest, which drags Tim alongside them.
Slow and heavy-footed, Jason shuffles them towards an inconspicuous bin, in between the second and third cots. It’s the same off-white as most of the room, with a pale blue lid. It’s not sealed shut. Just beneath the lip is a bunched up piece of red-green fabric. Crouching down, Jason’s hand reaches out and pushes up on the lid before the others can speak.
It’s a bin full of blankets . The most prominent pattern lays on top, a bright red blanket spotted with green. In the center of each dot is a stylized ‘r’-shape. Tim uses his free hand to grab at it, thumbing over the soft material. Dick tilts their head, and his own hand joins the mix, digging through the bin and studying each blanket. After the Robin one comes a blue-and-yellow batgirl; a deep purple bat-pattern; a superman; an unfamiliar gold-and-green spotted with symbols; two red-and-gold, with separate letters ‘R’ and ‘S’ respectively; an eye-searing yellow, blocked in segments with black; and finally, a frayed, stringy little blanket covered in stars, beach-balls, and elephants. Emblazoned across the front are embroidered letters happily displaying ‘ Haly’s Circus ’.
While the Robin, Batgirl, and Signal themes stand out, the three variants throw them off. Tim’s brain chugs out ideas-- new vigilantes, different identities , possibly, even if it looks like Richard Grayson is present. With a short sigh, Jason drops the lid onto their arms. Two garbled, dismayed yells sound and both brothers pull their arms from the box. Pain stings up their wrists from the heavy lid. In tandem (and just to annoy Jason), they rub at one another’s arms, soothing the ache.
“Did you… want one?” A voice asks, and it’s enough for them to remember that they’re not alone in the medbay. Dick jerks their head up, towards the sound. Batman looms on the other side of the cot they’ve crouched next to. He’s stiff and uncomfortable.
Jason forces them to stand, lower hands clenching into fists. He goes to shake their head, but suddenly stops. Tim jerks his hand toward open-air, a meaningful kind of gesture that screams, dude . Batman watches them silently. Dick breathes out, giving himself three whole seconds to think it through.
“We… o’tay,” He says. Resolutely, he turns from the bin, his fingers absently stretching and clenching again. “No need.”
They take four steps forward. Batman is silent for ten terribly long seconds. A heavy sigh, and then he’s nodding, turning on his heel.
“Follow me, and we can scan you,” He tells them. Without another prompt, he starts explaining. It’s the most he’s spoken all night. “It’s not totally accurate, but it’s the least invasive. The machine runs over basic diagnostics, and is able to detect a few choice chemicals that may be harmful.”
He pushes open the door, and the next room is something right out of a sci-fi movie. A glass tube takes up the majority of the room, clean metal extending from either end to secure it to ceiling and floor. It’s open-faced, with no visible door that closes. Next to it, a small holo-screen, too brightly-lit for them to make out details on.
“It will also run simpler tests, such as x-rays, and something like an MRI.” Batman moves to the side, fingers gliding over the hologram until it changes from a neon-blue to a steady green. “There are markings on the floor that will tell you where to stand.”
Jason doesn’t like the look of it, and he tells them as such in their mind. Dick isn’t much of a fan either, but-- it’s Bruce. They’ve trusted him thus far, and it’s highly unlikely that he’d take them all the way to the cave to do something horrible to them, alternate realities be damned. Lastly, Tim slides his own thoughts in. He agrees with Dick for the most part. No signs have indicated this Batman as being anything but the kind of man they know, save any timeline alterations they’re unaware of. He’s certainly no villain. Not with the bucket of blankets and easygoing mentality that led them to his cave.
They step into the tube.
The moment they’re inside, the light flickers, and changes to a blacklight. Dick makes a small noise of surprise, watching as a few of their scars light up under it. More specifically, Jason’s scars light up. Tim tilts his head, blinking down at them. None of them notice the way Bruce has frozen, too focused on dissecting themselves. Jason brings his hand to the front and turns it over for a better look. It’s not just his autopsy scar, but every small scar he’s had lights up.
“Huh,” Tim says. He carefully doesn’t mention the connection between the scars out loud, but hurriedly runs through--
So, potentially, are we glowing because of the Lazarus Pits? Tim starts, faux-cheer in their mind.
He feels their face pale when Dick realizes what that means, and they’re now studying the body in earnest. Jason flicks his eyes back up to Bruce, who’s startlingly still.
I… don’t think we’ve got a good explanation for this one, gentlemen , Jason tells them. Dick makes a sort of concerned groan, lifting their head to meet Batman’s eyes.
“Glow,” Is what they say, playing for ignorance rather than trying to explain themselves. Their voice sounds nervous to their own ears. Tim hopes it works in their favor. “Why?”
Their words seem to bring Bruce to the present. He twitches in place, seeming to pull himself together before he manages to speak. It’s very unlike their own Bruce, but also entirely familiar. His fingers work over the screen in front of him. Tim is suddenly very aware that they have no clue what he’s doing. Most likely, he’s double checking the results. They can’t feel any changes in the tube itself, but with the technology they’ve seen so far, that’s not surprising.
“I am going to give you the benefit of the doubt,” Bruce begins. His face is set somewhere between stern and wildly lost. “Be honest with me. Have any of you been in contact with a– green pit? Or anything similar?”
Jason deliberately stills. He stretches his hands in a short, nervous fidget. Slowly, he nods their head.
“Once,” He says. Leaves it there.
They receive a short nod. The tapping has calmed, and Bruce lifts his head to look at them through his inhuman white lenses. It’s obvious they’re not meant to hear the low sigh that follows.
“Have any of you been in contact with a man named Ra’s al Ghul?”
Jason opens his mouth, and is immediately stopped by Tim , of all people. He squints in confusion, tilting their head at nothing. Bruce watches them silently. For the benefit of the man, they hold a finger up to tell him, wait .
So, potentially. Hypothetically, Tim starts. If I had contact with Ra’s, do you think--
Dick gasps out loud, unable to stop himself. They claw over his control, trying to take it back before he speaks but--
“ Whe’ ‘id you en’oun’er Ra’s ?!” He bursts out, speech hasty and slurred. Tim winces, using a hand to cover their mouth. Dick speaks through it. “ When ?!”
Bruce startles at the outburst. They’re still mostly contained in the tube, so he doesn’t move closer. However, there’s a shift to his posture that means he’s ready to move at any moment. He’s still watching, but keeping quiet.
It was-- during the timestream mess, it wasn’t… all that long?
Any time with Ra’s is long, J ason counters. For some reason he seems to be the only sane one at the moment, and it rubs him the wrong way.
Dick breathes out, heavy, and their shoulders slouch. We have really got to talk about this.
Is now the best time? Tim thinks pointedly, lower-left hand gesturing roughly towards Batman. The man himself tilts his head, lenses squinting at the address. Dick and Jason want to protest, but Tim’s logic is unfortunately sound.
“T- wo o’ us,” Tim says aloud, hand falling from their mouth to fidget. “An’ it was… not … pur’ose?”
“ Two ?” Bruce asks. He seems surprised again. “...Alright. Okay, thank you for… your honesty.”
They nod.
He runs a hand over his jaw after a moment. Dick can hardly imagine the stress and confusion they’re causing him . Jason’s lips twitch in reply, unable to help his amusement. They give him the silence, if only to preserve their own innocence before they send him over the edge. Bruce takes his time. After a full minute, he sighs.
“Alright.” He waves a hand for them to exit the tube, so they do, hands fidgeting nervously. “Let’s head back to the medbay.”
Bruce pushes open the door, and stepping into the open medical wing has never felt so freeing. He gestures for them to take a seat. With notable relief, they settle onto one of the cots, slouching into the soft material immediately. It hasn’t been long, but their legs are weaker than usual. The chance to rest them is irrefusable. Bruce snags something from a cabinet. When he approaches them, they realize it’s a small water bottle.
He extends it to them and it takes Dick a few moments to stare. Slowly, they reach out and take it. Their hands fumble over the lid for a moment, weakly grasping it. Then, cracking the seal and swallowing a few mouthfuls before he can retract the offer.
“Rest here,” He tells them, gruff again. “Your scans are being processed. I am going to… look into something. Stay here, until you’re cleared.”
With that, he turns and exits into the Batcave. Jason blinks after his leave. It’s very sudden. Tim hums agreeably, eyes bouncing around the room. It’s obvious the whole… League of Assassins had set him off, but considering the small changes in this world from theirs, they don’t have the proper information to determine why .
If Ra’s is outright bad, they’re a victim of some League experiments.
If Ra’s is closer to good (unlikely; Bruce’s voice certainly hadn’t been positive so much as carefully neutral), then they’re a plant of some kind.
In the case that it’s some secret, third thing, then they have nothing to go off of.
Annoyance sparks in their chest and Dick takes the time to quell it before he speaks. The anger soothes into something calmer. A simmer below their collarbone rather than the frustration from before. Tim sighs aloud, moving to gracelessly flop onto the cot, arms splayed out. Their torso is too long to lay comfortably, so their head and upper shoulders hang off entirely, staring upside-down at the little blanket-basket in between them and the next cot over. The little Robin-like blanket still peeks out from where they’d haphazardly closed it.
Deciding there’s no consequence, Tim comes to the decision they might as well . With some struggle, Tim rolls their shoulders and stretches with his upper right hand, until his fingers barely brush the fabric. He doesn’t quite reach it, to both Dick and Jason’s amusement. He shuffles their torso further off the bed, reaching out again. Jason locks his hand around one of the little bars on their bed, keeping them from sliding off. Finally, Tim’s able to snag the corner between two of his fingers.
He makes a short ‘a-ha! ’, which is promptly followed by the sound of polite applause. Tim jerks their head around, fully expecting to see one of his brothers making fun of him (shortly forgetting wherewhen they are), and is instead met with the sight of polished dress shoes.
All three sets of eyes flick up to the man before they process who exactly it is.
Alfred Pennyworth stands in front of them, hands clasped gently from where he’d been clapping moments prior. He’s starkly young er . Not young , but nothing like the old gentleman they’d last seen. A simple, black domino hides his eyes. Tim’s grip on the blanket slackens in surprise. At the release of their anchor, Jason and Dick find themselves scrambling with their many arms to properly catch themselves. They end up in some sort of reverse crab-walk, with four arms supporting their torso and their legs loosely sitting on the cot, Robin blanket left behind. The butler watches them with a careful expression, eyebrows raised and a slight smile tilting his lips.
Embarrassment rises automatically in response to the look leaves all three floundering for solid ground. In a feat of strength, they manage to keep quiet while maneuvering back onto the cot, turning cautiously to face the butler. Alfred gives them a moment to recover. Then, he scoops the blanket from the floor and deposits it in their lap.
“If you had wanted a cover, you only need ask , sir,” He tells them. With a kind of elegance only Alfred has been able to achieve, he swipes his eyes over their form, lingering on various scars and humming. “I assume you’re Batman’s mystery guest?”
Dick clears their throat, managing a drawn-out, “Yes.”
Alfred hums again. For what Bruce brings in sullen silence and incomprehensible grunts, the butler makes up for with those lilting sounds. He watches them fidget in the quiet for a few beats.
“Well,” Alfred begins. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”
“No,” They reply. Jason flicks his eyes to the side, and speaks up. “ Th- ank you.”
“It’s no trouble, sir,” He says. “Has Batman told you anything else, yet? Or has he ran off?”
Tim doesn’t bother hiding their grin, flashing two fingers in answer. The butler heaves a sigh, nodding. Without further prompting, he strides into the other room, doors swinging behind him. He’s gone for less than two minutes, returning with a hologram-tablet, flicking his fingers across the screen. Alfred makes his way right back over to them, turning the screen towards them. Dick leans forward on instinct, scanning the tablet.
In just the short amount of time in the tube, this is what it tells them:
‘Increased brain activity, similar to that of those with Speedster metagenes.’ Beneath it, a small note reads: ‘ Unlikely to be linked. Patient shows no sign of metagenes in samples taken.’ Jason barely has time to wonder when samples were taken before they keep reading. ‘ Due to multiple entities in mind?’
‘Bone structure differs from basic human. Two clavicles, two sets of ribs. Upper ribs appear four short of average count, bottom set has two extra.’ Tim makes a short, confused noise, his lower hand skimming over their torso. ‘Muscles and bones appear to be still-growing at a faster rate. It’s a wonder they’ve been able to move their arms at all. Growth may lead to further injury, if they don’t have enough room in their body to support the movement. ’
Gently, they blink at the screen, and then back up at Alfred. The butler has been silent the whole time, allowing them a moment to think. He watches them with that still-neutral expression. It feels weird when directed towards them, but there’s really nothing they can do when they’re well and truly outsiders. After a few moments, Dick slowly hands the tablet back, ignoring how their hands shake.
“ Dh- ank you,” Tim mutters, trying not to sound as awful as they feel.
“Certainly, sirs,” Alfred replies. His voice is softer, obviously registering their trouble. Tim takes a moment to note that he’s begun addressing them plurally as well. Likely, he skimmed the file on the way over. The butler extends a hand slowly. When none of them react, he gently takes one of their upper hands in one of his own. “Please, do try to rest for a moment. Batman will not be much longer, and we will get you all settled.”
Jason waits until Alfred is gone, and releases a drawn-out sigh. They slump sideways on the cot. Their Robin blanket twists around their legs, warm and heavy. Frankly, the situation doesn’t feel real. It’s a strange, gross feeling, when none of their family recognizes them. Dick flicks his eyes away from the ceiling, towards the medbay door. It’s glass, so they can make out foggy figures way off in the cave, but nothing of detail. Who they assume is Bruce is standing before the holo-screens, shadowed by (likely) Alfred, making some point as they talk with their hands.
Tim forces their eyes away one by one, until they’re all closed. Since arriving, they’ve had no time to rest. And, judging by that stupid tablet, they’re not going anywhere anytime soon. All in all, they deserve to rest. A lot .
“Concur,” Jason mutters aloud, too tired to care for freaky mind-speak , as he lovingly names it.
Dick manages a grin, palming at the Robin blanket until it’s stretched tight over their legs, barely tucking under their lower shoulders. Within the next five breaths, they’re out like a light.
. . .
The next time they wake is about as comfortable as it had been waking up on the roof.
They don’t slowly rise to consciousness so much as startle awake. A single day had done nothing for their senses. Like a raw nerve, their body aches the moment they’re awake enough to realize it. Their nose burns with the chemical-smell of the medbay, as well as the distinct copper-tang of blood . Jason forces his eyes open, slowly followed by the others. White light assaults their eyes; the pain is sharp and immediate. A garbled cry spills from their mouth and four sets of hands all fly up to cover their face.
“ Shit, ” Someone hisses, followed by stumbling footsteps somewhere to their right. The light dims, but they don't move their hands for a good thirty seconds. “My apologies. The lights have been dimmed.”
After a few deep breaths, Dick forces their hands away and blinks open their eyes. When they’re not assaulted by LEDs, they all sigh as one, struggling to sit up and take a look at whoever was in the room. For a split second, Dick expects Alfred or Bruce. But the voice hadn’t been quite that old or low. Jason rolls their shoulders out and glances towards the door.
It’s… Damian.
But also not .
Their brother (the one still at home, on a sick leave and fighting valiantly against it, despite any and all Nyquil administered) is small, tightly-strung. Before them, the man wearing their brother’s features is anything but. It’s him in the straight slope of his nose, and the upturn of his eyebrows. The color of his skin, and the sharp, fine texture of his hair. However, this Damian is somewhere near Dick ’s age, if not older. He’s tall like Bruce, but unmistakably thin and sharp like Talia. He’s hovering by the door, eyebrows drawn together, his posture loose, but controlled. Jason squints, a frown tugging at their mouth.
“I can leave, if you wish,” Damian tells them. Tim’s thoughts freeze in place, because-- that’s outright worry . The man shifts, drawing them back to the present, and the sharp metallic scent that pervades the air.
Dick latches onto that, eyes dropping to where Damian’s hands are pressed against his forearm. He shifts them forward, shaking their head gently. Waving a hand, he urges Damian further into the room, taking his time to catalogue the new-Damian.
The suit he wears is eerily similar to the Batsuit. After a moment, both Tim and Jason point out that it’s also got League influence. It’s simple, deep green body armor, cloaked in a cape that’s so deeply golden that it’s near-black. Across his chest, outlined in thin lines of yellow-gold, is a triangle topped with an upside-down crescent. A hero symbol, likely. Sideways against his back is a short sword, a style none of them can name off the top of their head. Tim thinks it’s a sheath, with how matte the blade is. Jason notices that, instead, it’s made of what looks to be dulled metal in the shape of a weapon. Like escrima sticks, Dick agrees.
“No,” They finally say aloud, feet silent on the floor as they land. Dick makes a show of frowning, and locking their eyes onto his arm. “Hurt. Nn eed help.”
Damian watches them closely, eyebrows furrowed in a cautious expression so intensely Bruce that it aches. After a pause, he nods.
“If you are sure,” He murmurs, and then makes his way to one of the many cabinets.
The ease of which he moves, the comfort of his actions, tells them just how much older he truly is. Tim doesn’t bother to hide the way they observe, padding quietly over to Damian. He gives them a short, curious glance, but returns to bandaging his injury when they don’t speak. Jason lets him work for all of ten seconds. From there, he extends a hand, fingers flexing in a grabbing motion.
“Help,” He says, simple and gruff. Damian fixes them with an intense look. Tim waves the hand a little, insistent and repeats, “ Help .”
“...Oh,” Damian manages. “I will be fine. It is alright.”
They roll all six eyes, much to Damian’s bemusement. He freezes when they reach past him, grabbing the gauze from his hand with a huff. They’re still not quite dexterous, stiff and clumsy, but it’s better than him doing it one-handed. Jason manages to clean the wound with a nearby disinfectant, and Dick wraps it swiftly. It’s nowhere near as neat as it should be. Yet, when Tim cheerfully sticks a little Superman sticker (taken from a jar stuffed with JLA-related others) onto the bandage, Damian doesn’t say a word otherwise. He dips his head gently, lips twitching. For all that he had been Bruce, that expression is entirely Talia.
“Thank you,” He tells them. “It… will do.”
Dick huffs a laugh, one of his hands patting Damian’s shoulder. “Do fine .”
“Certainly.”
They shuffle back a few steps, watching Damian inspect their work and then inspect them . Tim fidgets, index nail scrubbing over his thumb in the barest sign of nerves. Slowly, they chance a look towards the clock. Unfortunately, it’s digital , and the stupid electronic-glow leaves them blanking. Dick frowns. Turning back to their little-older-brother, they ask.
“Time?”
“Around four in the morning,” Damian says. His eyes flick over them in a manner far too similar to Alfred. Then, glances at the digital clock shortly, as if connecting a puzzle. “You arrived somewhere between midnight and two am, I believe. You have not been asleep long. You should rest some more.” He gestures towards the bed, unaware of their bluescreening brain. “I did not mean to disturb you. We will collect you in the morning.”
For some reason, that’s just not enough . Jason shakes their head vehemently. A few steps forward and Dick is putting one of their hands onto Damian’s shoulder. He doesn’t flinch, but the shoulder in their grip tenses before they speak.
“Com’any,” Dick tells him, mock-serious. He nudges Tim mentally, who waves a lower hand around at the empty medbay. “Alone suck-sth . Stay.”
Damian frowns at them, squinting. After a moment, he huffs.
“I read your chart,” He says. “Multiple personalities. I’m sure there’s plenty for you to talk about together.”
‘ This is why Damian should never be the oldest, ’ Tim tells them, a mix of wary humor and unease in their neck.
Jason makes a show of only rolling the lower set of eyes, for both little-brothers. “ Boring. We wan’ talk to sth -omeone new .”
“...And I was the first you saw?”
Damian sounds outright dry . His eyebrows are raised, lips turned into something that might be a smile. It’s enough for Dick to respond with a bright grin of their own. He squeezes Damian’s shoulder once and then releases it. They shrug and turn on their heel, only stumbling a very slight bit. By the shift of cloth behind them (an aborted catch, most likely), and the following click of his tongue, they know Damian is staying. He’s older, but he’s still their brother
“Fine, then,” He starts. Damian follows them all the way back to the last bed, taking a seat across from them when they settle. Somewhere during the trip, he’d shed the golden-black cape. The muted green armor he wears appears more flexible than they’d thought at a glance. He folds his legs beneath him when they sit. “Introduce yourselves to me. We’ll talk .”
Tim can’t hold back his giggle at that, leaving Jason to sigh right after. They both shove Dick forward in tandem. He accepts the invitation with ease.
“Wing,” Dick says, eyebrows waggling when Damian frowns. He obviously knows that’s not his real name, but they’d rather ease any confusion with the others, if they exist as Damian does. “I’m old-e st .”
“ Wing ?” Damian repeats. “You can’t expect me to-”
“Todd,” Jason says next, too happy to interrupt. The slight frown only deepens. The contrast between ‘Wing’ as a name, and then an actual one has likely thrown him off. But Damian does not interrupt when Tim waves a hand. “Red.”
“...I suppose I will have to accept these.”
“Names ’re ‘portant ,” Dick announces, waving their upper arms as if physically fluffing the idea. “Can’ give ‘em up.”
Damian hums. He tilts his head at them, eyes unamused. “Fine, then. Wing, Todd, and Red.”
He turns his head to look at the Robin blanket that they’d been mauling. An upward twitch of his eyebrows, he glances back over in question, almost too gently for the Damian they know.
“What made you choose this blanket?” He asks. It’s strange to see him seeking conversation. But, then again, they’d asked for it.
They twist their hands into red fabric, glancing down at it. Golden-yellow ‘r’s stare back, circled in opposing greens. Tim makes the collective decision. He swallows back the knot of Dick’s emotions, and frankly ignores Jason’s, before remembering they need an answer. Damian’s watching them silently. His eyes are heavy, but he’s startlingly patient. Another glaring difference from their little brother at home.
“It’s…” Tim rolls the words around his mouth, through their head a little. They settle on, “Pret-ty.”
Damian nods sharply along. He’s silent while they search for more.
“Fami- lar ,” Dick allows. That earns them a hum. If they’re right, Damian’s got to know they’re holding back. So, best bet, deflection. He rolls their shoulders forward, upper-left hand outstretched until it taps Damian’s little chest-symbol. “Like yours?”
Their little-older brother glances down at his chest, raising his eyes to meet theirs. He seems somewhere between surprised and curious. In a surprising feat of encouragement, he leans forward. “Yes. Our hero-sigils are familiar to you?”
Jason snorts, lower shoulders shrugging. The movement jostles their uppers in an uncomfortable push . Tim hisses at the pain, jerking the upper set back into place and rubbing at them. Damian is tense when Dick risks a glance, hands hovering forward as if to help. He tilts his head at them.
“Sore,” Dick says, apologetic. “S’rry. Don’ move tha’ same.”
Then, after a moment, Tim replies to the original question. “Tha’ symbols are…”
He struggles for a moment. Because, well, one of them is. Batman’s. Robin’s. But Damian’s symbol isn’t. It’s not something they’d seen in their own world, either. Of course, consistencies would differ. Especially with whatever… age and time mishaps occur here as opposed to theirs. It makes sense-- despite Dick’s disappointment --that ‘Robin’ wouldn’t be the trademarked sidekick. Damian stares at them, eyes thin and flinty. He’s following their expressions in a manner like Cass would. Catching every detail and logging it into a bigger picture.
“...Mem-ber-ble,” He finishes, a complicated mix of emotion in his voice.
Damian nods shortly. Very slowly, he raises a hand to rest on the blanket as well. He traces a neat little ‘r’ and sighs. “This is true. Vigilantes will always be controversial, I suppose.”
With a quirk to his lips, Damian meets their eyes. They all stare back, intrigued by their newest brother. His smile disappears under their gaze. A quick fall that leaves something like begrudging affection from all of them to stir. Dick forces their lips into a content grin, fingers drumming absently along their lower forearms. Damian observes the movement openly.
“Are… many?” Dick decides to ask, eyes flicking from blanket, to basket, to Damian again.
If he’s surprised by their question, it doesn’t show. Damian chews at the inside of his cheek for a moment. He shrugs one shoulder, nodding along to their question. His eyes avoid theirs, the first sign of something wrong. If that weren’t enough, the frustrated set of his jaw would have given it away. Damian responds to them with a short,
“There are enough.”
All three of them take a moment to think. Jason thinks back to the bucket; the various symbols they didn’t recognize, in various levels of age. It’s not more than they have at home, sure, but– well, that’s never going to be wrong. In Jason’s mind– in Tim’s , in Dick’s, in Bruce’s– there will always be too many, and every new vigilante will oppose that. It’s a meaningless, overdone cycle.
Jason sighs, desperate to break the silence. He makes them shuffle back onto the bed, until he can comfortably pull their legs up as well. Dick flows with the movement, rearranging their arms to cross comfortably with the upper pair and rest against their knees with the lower. The height of their torso leaves them looking down a bit at Damian. In turn, he pushes off of his knees and stands, hands dusting off his front in a smooth motion.
“Anyway,” He says, casting them another long stare. “It’s quite late. Try to get some rest, if possible with all… of you in there.”
Tim snorts at his phrasing, the laugh falling from them sharply. They nod eagerly, waving a lower hand in casual dismissal. “Go, d’en.”
The click of Damian’s tongue is so quiet they almost don’t hear it. He turns with a nod of his own, striding out of the room in only a few steps. It’ll be hard to fall asleep this time. Jason twists, pulling the blanket off of their body and stretching out. They lay back down, flicking the fabric out once and letting it cover the little bit of their legs it manages to reach.
The empty medbay is… painfully quiet. The low buzz of dim lights by the bandages, and the shifting of their bed every time they breathe a little too deeply. Dick huffs a laugh. It’s not like these beds are meant to host humans of their size. The term ‘humans’ used lightly.
Dick and Jason each close their eyes, but Tim keeps his locked on a smudge against the ceiling. He stares at it, trying to clear his head of theories and worries and– well, trying not to bother the other two people occupying his head.