Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Sometimes big events start from the smallest of places.

Sometimes events just snowball out of control, taking on almost a life of their own.

And sometimes, it’s hard to pinpoint what exactly set the whole chain reaction off.

In this particular case, we meet our heroes with the wheel already in motion, triggered by events long since out of their control. All that remains to be seen is, well, can they control the outcome? Or is this going to explode out of their hands, like an avalanche that only takes a pebble to set the whole hill in motion?

It was supposed to be “in and out”. A “quick trip”. (Air quotes definitely included.)

That’s part of why Roy agreed to the whole thing. Not because he couldn’t afford the time away, because he had all the time in the world for Dick, but because he’s going to be in Gotham. On Batman’s turf. And said Batman had a known beef with meta’s, an even more well known “No Metas Allowed” policy… and he’s here with Donna and Kory.

Not that he exactly gets on well with ol’ big dark and batty himself, but at least he’s not evicted from the city on sight.

He tells himself that’s why he’s so nervous, standing with Donna and Kory on the doorstep of an unassuming colonial in the suburbs of Gotham. They don’t exactly have permission from Batman to be here… but then, they weren’t exactly interested in asking.

They’re here for something else. Some one else.

This is definitely going to be one of those ‘act first, forgiveness later’ kind of things.

For his part, Roy frowns at Donna. “Are you sure this is the right address?” He shifts his gaze to stare up at the colonial. “This is… definitely not the Manor. And we’re not in Bristol.”

Donna nods. “I’m sure.” She pulls out her phone and double-checks the text anyway, just to be certain. Because some days really are like that, and it never hurts to check. “I got the address off Alfred himself.”

“Oh, well, that’s alright then,” Roy nods, but frowns at the colonial. “And we’re sure Dick’s here?”

Donna shrugs. “As sure as we can be, given the givens.”

“But Dick’s still not answering our texts,” Kory worries, biting her lip.

“Somehow, I’m not surprised,” Donna says.  “We all know what the media coverage has been like the last few weeks.”

They all grimace. Whether it’s the fact that Dick is something of a Gotham celebrity (or at least famous for being from a famous Gotham family), Kory is a model, and the attack and subsequent trial that led them here had been undeniably public… the coverage on all of it had been intense. In fact, Roy is fairly certain that this is the first day that none of their phones have been running hot with requests for interviews.

Mostly because the trial is (finally) over and the media cycle has moved on. Small mercies and all that.

“More to the point,” Donna continues, “even if Dick just had to talk about the attack during the trial, I can't imagine it would have been easy.”

They all exchange knowing looks at that.

Because Dick is many things, but he… doesn’t have the best track record when it comes to dealing with trauma.

Okay, so it would be accurate to say that Dick puts on a good show of being able to deal with trauma, but he’s absolutely lousy at talking about it. He’s very good at hiding things, at putting on a show of being okay… until he’s suddenly not and they find out he’s been spiraling for days. Weeks. So, yeah. If Roy had to sum it up, he’d say that Dick’s excellent at dealing with trauma. What he’s not good at is communicating that he’s dealing with it.

It’s an unspoken thing around the Titans' table that they all blame Bruce for that.

Roy gives Donna a look, nonplussed. “You mean, you think he had to talk about more… traumatic things. During the trial, I mean.”

“I don’t know what he talked about during the trial, none of us do,” Donna reminds him – reminds them all. “His session was closed, remember? But, I do know that lawyer he was up against in his cross. I can't imagine her not pushing him about, well… Everything,” she says, scrunching her nose up in disgust.

“Annnnd this is the first chance we had to check up on him since the court thing,” Kory sighs. “I wish Wally or Gar could have come too. They have a way of… brightening things up.”

“You mean that FleetFeet uses his speed to pester us, and Gar pranks us with his shape-shifting,” Roy says with a grin.

“True,” Donna agrees pensively. “I will admit that there are times that their particular brand of humor can be helpful in defusing situations.”

The door to the colonial opens. “Or,” says Alfred, raising an eyebrow at the three of them gathered on the doorstep, “you could come in like civilized people and greet your friend properly.”

Chastened, the trio apologizes and shuffles inside, hanging up their coats on the hooks just inside the door. Alfred leads them into the open-plan living and dining area and ushers them into seats. “Can I get you anything? Tea, coffee, juice?” He pauses. One eyebrow rises again. “Manners, perhaps?”

They all wince and exchange looks. Message delivered.

“Uh, we’ll all have a juice, if that’s what’s on offer,” Roy says with a diplomatic smile.

“It is, thank you,” Alfred says, and walks over to the kitchen. He bustles around getting out trays and tumblers and juice. “What brought you three all this way?”

“Hoping to see Dick,” Donna says. “It’s been a while since we caught up, what with the restrictions of the trial.” With all of them being called as witnesses, one of the restrictions was that they couldn’t see each other until their testimony had been complete – and afterwards, there’d been no time to catch up.

Roy… isn’t proud of how long it’s been since then.

Donna had basically commandeered their schedules and forced some time in, for all their sakes.

Alfred brings over the tray of drinks and sets it on the coffee table between the seats. “I know it has been a while since I’ve seen you all. Everything okay?”

Kory nods. “As well as it can be, all things considered. How is Dick faring?”

Alfred smiles a little at her words, but then sighs heavily. “In his room.” He sits on a seat to join them. “As he has been since his testimony.”

Roy blinks and does the mental time math. “But that’s—” A long time for Dick to be alone with his thoughts. Too long, in Roy's opinion, but that's exactly why they're here now.

“Indeed,” Alfred acknowledges with a grave nod, straightening with his jacket.

“Even for meals?” Donna asks, brow creasing.

Dammit. Roy’s seen this behavior before. He didn’t know it was this bad, or he wouldn’t have waited to come. (Certainly, he wouldn’t have waited for Donna to force the issue.) Because Dick is a man who feels things deeply. His rivers run deep, as the saying goes, and he’s more than capable of getting people to focus on the surface. It’s when he’s no longer capable of hiding those deeper currents that Roy knows he needs to worry.

Alfred nods again with a sigh. “I’m afraid so.”

“Is he eating at least?” Donna asks. Because Dick’s appetite also vanishes when he’s… not well.

Alfred shrugs. “The plates come out empty. I like to hope that means he’s eating.”

Roy looks down at his hands for a moment and then up. “Have you… pushed?”

Alfred looks up to the ceiling to where Dick’s room is for a moment, and then back down. “No. I haven’t.”

Roy’s hackles rise. “Why not?!” 

If anything, this is the one time where Dick needs to be pushed.

Alfred stares at his eldest grandson’s companions, wondering exactly how much to tell them.

At one point, the answer to that would’ve been simple. Evade, evade, evade. 

And yet. He knows Dick’s opinion of them, that Dick considers them his best friends. No. Like family. Dick… trusts them with his life. And with good reason, no doubt.

(He lays the blame for that at Bruce’s feet, kicking that young man out of this house at the age he did.) (Not that he himself can point fingers. At the time he’d considered himself constrained by his employment more than his emotions.)

(There’s so much he would change, if he just had the ability to do things differently.)

Well.

Now he can act on his emotions. And what are said emotions telling him to do?

He allows himself the luxury of one breath and makes his choice. (Makes his change.) “I have not pushed… because I did not want to overstep where I was not wanted.”

Roy looks at him belligerently. “Not wanted? I think this is one time where Dick would want you to push.”

Time for another truth. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. Young man, I have spent entirely too many decades pushing and enabling where I should not have. All of us in this house are… trying to figure out new boundaries.” He thins his lips. “I was trying to respect Richard’s boundaries, especially in light of some new information I have learned.”

Donna blinks. “What new information?”

Alfred sighs heavily and tugs on his jacket again. “I am… not entirely sure I should be the one to tell you. Given Bruce’s absence, it is Richard’s story to tell.” He pauses a moment. “On the other hand, we got to where we are now precisely because of too many secrets and lies.”

“That sounds like there’s a story there,” Kory comments as lightly as she can.

“There is,” Alfred says. He breathes in and lets it out slowly. He’s told Leslie, but it was with Dick’s quasi-permission. And all of his grandchildren know… but it is because they were there. On the other hand, the split in the family and the cause of it is very much a recent wound. So far, they’ve kept it private and out of the media. But he is very much aware that the more people they tell, the less they’ll be able to control the narrative.

But they are also Dick’s friends – and in some ways, they’ve been more of a family to Dick than Alfred himself has managed over the years. (While he’s trying to change that, he’s more than aware he’s not there. Not yet.)

Which makes it Dick’s decision.

Decision made, Alfred looks back at the Titans. “If you can get in to see him, ask Dick why we’re here. At the colonial, I mean, and not… the Manor, ” he says, an expression of distaste on his face like he’s just had to say the filthiest word. He stands. “Come. I’ll show you to his room.”

Alfred leaves the three of them alone outside Dick’s room and heads back downstairs, murmuring softly that he’ll be starting dinner in an hour and to just let him know if he needs to set the table for extra places.

The three of them watch Alfred depart and then exchange a look. There is obviously something going on here that they haven't had the time to get to the bottom of before now, figuring that Dick would tell them if it concerned them or if he thought they needed to know.

It's disconcerting to realize that Dick hasn't told them. Or thought they needed to know.

Roy grimaces to himself. It wouldn’t be the first time that Dick has kept things to himself that have upended his world.

But then, Roy can’t point fingers here. He’s done the same. Kept things to himself that in hindsight he really shouldn’t have.

(Yeah. And look where it got him?) (An addiction and a trip to rehab. Hell of a wake up call.)

(Roy has long since learned by now that he needs to talk to people, especially to his loved ones, about the things in his life. That he at least needs to tell someone.) (He hopes, for Dick’s sake, that they don’t have to hit rock bottom for Dick to learn that same lesson.)

(He had thought their friendship was good enough that Dick could come to them with things like these…) (Hell of a way to find out it’s not.)

No.

Don’t go there.

It’s not that bad.

It’s not.

This is… probably just a misunderstanding. A miscommunication.

Dick may not have had the time yet to tell them what’s going on.

Yeah. That’s it. It’s probably nothing. Roy’s just…  clutching at straws. Trying to find a reason to explain something he has no reason for yet. Dick is just as likely to be wanting some alone time to get used to how different his body is now and not just shutting himself off from the world, and from them, because his mental state had deteriorated that badly.

Roy lets out a breath and firms his resolve, reminding himself it’s probably just a misunderstanding. That his friendship with Dick is just as solid as he always thought it to be.

He looks at the girls – women, fellow heroes, whatever – who look just as uncertain and yet determined as he does.

Donna raises a hand to knock on the door, but hesitates. “Is he in there?”

Roy stops to listen. He can’t hear anything through the door, but that means nothing. Dick is a master of silence. “Maybe,” Roy shrugs. “I think so. This is where Alfred led us, anyway. And you know what Alfred is like.”

Donna hums in agreement.

They do know. More than once over the years, they’ve been at the Manor and Alfred has provided just the drink they need, or led them to the family member they needed without asking… Yeah.

Alfred is… Alfred.

Without even asking each other, they decide to trust Alfred on this.

So they play a quick game of Rock, Scissors, Paper to determine who gets to be the one to knock. (They’d use straws, but they didn’t think ahead to bring any with them.)

Donna loses both rounds, which is unusual for her. Or maybe she just wasn’t trying hard to win.

She knocks. “Dick. It’s me,” she calls softly.

Silence.

“You decent?” she asks. “Because I will come in.”

Silence.

“Tee,” Roy hisses. “What if he’s sleeping?”

Donna pauses to think. “At this hour?” she quirked a brow. It is, after all, heading into the evening. It is prime awake time for vigilantes. Especially for the Bats, who’ve made a name for themselves out of operating at night. (Except for Duke Thomas, or Signal as he likes to be known, but Roy supposes that there has to be an odd one in every family.) (Even in a family as odd as the Bats…)

Roy makes a face, aware of what he’s just said. “I know,” he replies softly. “But it could be—”

The door cracks open, and they fall silent.

“I’m awake,” Dick says. 

The room is dark behind him, so the best Roy can make out is that Dick’s wearing a gray oversized hoodie emblazoned with Hudson University and a loose pair of blue jeans. Which is not like Dick, who's been drawn to the light as long as they’ve known each other. 

“You might as well come in instead of crowding the hall.” Dick turns and goes back to his room and leaves the door open.

Roy follows the girls in, thinking to himself that he’s never going to be used to Dick’s new hoarser voice. (That’s fair. He might be wearing fingerless gloves by choice, to cover his new scars, but he still has moments where the constant sensation of compression on his hands takes him by surprise.) 

“Shut the door behind you,” comes Dick’s voice from somewhere.

Roy does, plunging the room into what feels like absolute darkness.

It takes Roy a couple of seconds – half a minute, maybe? – for his eyes to adjust to the darkness in the room. In the meantime, he’s standing just inside the door, feeling like a fool. The girls are no better.

(Kory doesn’t even light up her hair to help, sensing perhaps that there is… something special to this darkness.) (Something important.)

It takes him a while to pick out the details of the room.

It’s… sparse, even for Dick’s minimalist tendencies.

There’s a double bed lying directly on the floor, shoved against the wall under the window. There are block-out curtains on the window, pulled tightly shut. And there’s a couple of duffle bags leaning against the opposite wall. They're bulging, as if Dick hasn’t so much as tried to unpack.

Dick is sitting at the head of the bed and leaning against the wall, which looks… rumpled. Like it's been slept in a couple of times and he hasn’t bothered to make it in-between. He gestures vaguely around the room. “Make yourselves comfy, I guess.”

Roy snorts to himself. Comfy. Sure. He settles on sitting crisscross on the floor. (He’s sat on worse places than a hard floor. This is nothing.) Donna sits at the end of the bed, and Kory settles against the bags like they’re the comfiest thing she’s ever leaned against.

They stare at each other.

And when that gets dull, they stare at the room.

Roy runs his fingers across the bumps underneath the gloves, rememorizing the shapes of the scars on his hands.

His butt goes numb.

(He’s not going to speak first. That’s not why they came.)

Finally, Dick speaks. “So. Not that I’m not happy to see you guys and all that, but—”

“—But you’d like to know why we’re here.” Donna finishes knowingly.

“Yeah. That.”

“Is it so strange to know that we care about you? That we want to know how you are?” Donna asks gently.

Dick just shrugs and says nothing.

Roy sucks in a deep breath but forces himself to stay silent. Apparently, it’s one of those days.

Donna reaches out a hand towards Dick, but he doesn’t reach back. Her hand settles on the bed between them instead.

Roy hopes he’s not the only one who feels like she’s reaching across a chasm, that Dick is standing on the other side of it and they can’t reach him. He chances a look towards Kory, who looks as equally worried as he is.

Great. He’s not imagining it then.

Donna just looks at Dick for a long moment. “Why the darkness, hon? Is it your vision?”

Dick twitches. “I—How’d you guess?”

“You said in the part of your testimony I managed to catch that you have trouble with bright lights. I figured this was part of it.”

Dick nods slowly. “Yeah… the light was… giving me a headache. I figured turning things off might stop it.” He lets out a low laugh. “It did. Eventually. I haven’t been game to turn them back on.”

Donna nods slowly. “Headache. Nausea. Dizziness. Sensitivity to light… Dick, have you been tested for migraines since your injury?”

Dick stills. “Is that what this is?”

It hits Roy then that Dick must really be feeling down, if he can’t make that connection himself. Or maybe it’s a case of being too close to the forest to see the trees? Either way, Roy’s going to be kicking himself for not coming earlier for a while.

“I’m not a doctor, but it sounds familiar, yes,” Donna says, nodding slowly. “Does wearing the patch help?”

“You mean the eyepatch?”

“Yes.”

Dick gestures beside the bed, where – now that Roy’s looking – there’s a little pile of eye-patches. “Only if I’m wearing one before I’m exposed to strong lights, but there’s no guarantee. And it has to be the padded patch.”

Roy looks to the pile of patches and then back to Dick. Roy’s so used to seeing Dick as he’s always been that it’s taken him until now to see the… changes. The damage. It is still Dick, but… Things were different.

Even in the dim room, he can see that Dick’s damaged eye from the acid attack has started to turn the characteristic cloudy white-blue of blindness. Paired with the clear blue of his other eye, it’s a startling contrast. Chilling, almost. Add to that the chemical burns that streak their way across Dick’s forehead and down the left side of Dick’s face to end at his jawline, and well…

Yeah.

(Does that make him a good or a bad friend, that he hasn’t been paying attention to Dick’s injuries? That the scars haven’t registered as important to Roy until now?) (Bad, because it’s obviously something that very much affects Dick’s day-to-day life and therefore should matter to Roy as well. Or good, because Dick is his friend no matter what his outside looks like?) (Damn, but he hates these philosophical questions. There’s a reason he’s an archer and not a strategist. Just give him a target to hit, please and thanks.)

Dick sighs. “The thing is, it’s not like I can spend the rest of my life in a dark room, can I?”

Roy tilts his head towards Donna, silently asking if now is a good time to speak.

Donna tilts her head back towards him, just a little, which is as good as a ‘yes’ in their unspoken language.

Roy grins at his long-time best friend, knowing instinctively that this is his cue to lighten the mood.. “You could,” he admits. “I hear brown bags over the head are the latest fashion.” He snaps his fingers. “Or. I know. Just wear a box on your head!”

Dick hums, his somber mood broken, at least for the moment. “While the thought is… appealing, I’ll give it that, I can’t carry block-out curtains with me everywhere.”

“But you do have options,” Kory says, ever practical.

“Such as?” Dick asks, and just like that, the levity is gone. His voice is edging into tired now, and it bothers Roy far more than it should. “I can’t exactly go back in time and undo it.” He pauses. “Sorry, Kor, that was in bad taste.”

“I know what you mean, anyway.” Because Kory, like all of them, wishes that night had never happened.

(But then, they would have never found out Kory had a stalker if all this hadn’t happened, would they?)

“What I meant was,” she continues patiently, “what about wearing dark sunglasses on top of the patch? Or the patch with a hoodie pulled up? Or some kind of hat?”

Dick’s lip twists upwards. “I should just put you in charge of my wardrobe.”

“That is an option,” Kory agrees, then looks around the room. “You do, uh, have a wardrobe, right? Because I’m not seeing a closet.”

Dick waves vaguely at the bags she’s leaning against. “Yeah. In the bags behind you.”

Kory looks at Dick with a raised eyebrow. “That's not a closet.”

“Yeah. Alfred's been talking about doing renovations if we're going to be here on a more permanent basis.” Dick sighs. “I do have my place at the ‘Haven still, but… I haven't decided yet if I wanna go back to it. Keep my place, I mean.”

Because going back to Blüdhaven means living on his own, and going out as Nightwing again. There's no point in going back to the ‘Haven if he can't do both, if he's not sure he's doing both. Not when Dick's injuries are still healing and he's not probably not sure about his future as Nightwing still.

Roy swallows and decides all over again that fifteen years in Blackgate is too good for Dick's attacker. He should have gotten a life sentence like Dick is facing.

He looks at the bags Dick had pointed to and forcibly redirects his thoughts. And that's when he sees the problem. “But your bags are packed. Are you going somewhere?” 

Dick laughs. “Hell no. Not if I can help it.”

“But then—”

“I haven’t bothered to unpack since I got here.” Dick shrugs lightly like his words mean nothing. “Didn’t really see the point.”

Roy looks to Donna, who looks back and then to Kory, and then back to Dick.

Yeah, this is just as bad as they’d feared.

Dick hasn’t unpacked… because he’s in the middle of one of his rare depressive spirals. (Which they’ve learned – the hard way – to watch out for, because of this exact thing. The lack of self-worth. The lack of motivation. And if they don’t catch it in time… yeah.) (Roy knows all too well the only thing stopping Dick from sucumbing to his thoughts is that same lack of motivation, some fucking silver lining that is.)

Roy sighs to himself. It would be easier to pull Dick out of this if Roy knew what triggered it. Then again, Roy’s done this before – they’ve done this before - without knowing the trigger.

They can do it all again.

And this time, they’ve apparently got Dick’s family on their side, which will be a nice change. (They also apparently won’t be fighting Bruce tooth and nail for moments of Dick’s time, which will also be nice.)

Speaking of Bruce…

Roy tilts his head at Donna who shifts her leg which makes Kory sigh.

Dick either ignores them or is pretending not to notice their unspoken communication. Neither option is the greatest, considering he was the inventor of it (which is to say he noticed they were doing it and taught them how to take advantage of it) (which is to say he taught them to weaponize it), but Roy will take what they can get right now.

In any case, Kory takes the reins of the conversation just like Roy and Donna told her to. “Talking about points,” she says lightly, never one for subtlety, “when we arrived, Alfred made a point of saying that we should ask you our questions.”

Roy can practically hear Dick stiffen. “About what?” Dick asks flatly.

“About why you're here in this house and not… the Manor.” Kory very kindly does not echo Alfred's level of distaste, instead turning her statement into more of a question.

To be fair, Roy would like to know too. After all, when they visited last time, to plan out how they were gonna tackle that stupid trial, there hadn't really been time for questions. (They'd been pushing the law as it was, by meeting together after they'd all got their documents.)

But now they do have time.

And boy, does Roy have questions.

“Ah,” says Dick, some of the stiffness leaving his voice. “That.” He clears his throat. “That's… my fault.”

“Why? What happened?” Donna asks, eyes wide.

Dick shifts. “You know how I… told you all that I… didn’t die. That time with Lex Luthor and Ultraman, about a year ago, before I disappeared for six months. That the funeral was a fake?”

Roy nods. “Yeah. Worst day of my life twice over.” Attending the funeral of his best friend was one thing, yeah, because you weren’t supposed to outlive best friends, but then to be told said bestie was faking?

Yeah.

Not a fun day.

Dick clears his throat. “Bruce—I—” He sighs and scrubs at his hair. “I swear I was going to tell you all earlier, orders be damned.”

Roy stills. “What orders?”

Dick swallows. “It wasn’t faked. I did die.”

But that—

Why would—

What the hell.

Chapter Text

Roy stares at Dick.

How do you grieve someone’s death when it’s happened so long ago, but you’ve only just found out about it, and yet the person who died is right in front of you… alive?

“Dick, I love you like a brother man, you know I do, but… I’m gonna need time to get used to that,” he says, his mouth dry.

Dick nods slightly. “That’s fair.”

Donna reaches over and clasps Dick’s hand. (Roy recognizes the emotion. She wants to make sure Dick’s real, just like he does.) “But you are here. Now.”

“Yes.” Dick nods again, then turns his hand over to hold onto Donna. “I’m here.”

“I hope you realize that we’re not going to let go of you for a while.”

Dick smiles, a small and tremulous thing. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Roy clear his throat. “How, uh, how long…”

“How long was I dead for?”

“Yeah. That.”

Dick shrugs. “I don’t know. Not exactly. About a minute, I think.” He makes a face, and only then does Roy realize that Dick’s uncomfortable. Like maybe he hasn’t really discussed it with anyone before. “Long enough for the heart to stop, anyway.”

Kory frowns. “But. I don’t understand. Why would you lie about that?”

Dick sighs and thins his lips even as he gently extracts his hand from Donna’s. “It wasn’t my choice. I… there were orders, and they never got rescinded.”

Ah. Bruce.

Roy snorts to himself.

It’s always fucking Bruce, isn’t it?

He narrows his eyes at Dick. “If they never got rescinded, why are you telling us?” Because he knows all about the loyalty between Dick and Bruce. It’s thicker than he’d like, to the point that Dick has often defended Bruce’s actions to the rest of them, even when those actions are… unpalatable.

Dick sighs again and looks away, his good hand fiddling with a thread on the sheets. “I went undercover, twice over. I had a good long chance to think about what was important to me. I decided I don’t like lying.”

“But… lying is part of having a secret identity.” Donna clears her throat. “Unless… you've changed your mind about that…”

“No, definitely not,” Dick shakes his head. “That part, I can do. Secret identities are needed as protection, both for the one who has the identity and the people they are closest to. But this? This is different. I can’t lie and have it be for no reason.” He grimaces. “Lying about my death was just… stupid. It hurt people for no reason, for no benefit whatever.” He sighs. “Well, the reasons might have been valid at the time, but they no longer existed as soon as I was able to come back, so…”

Roy frowns. The more he's hearing, the more he's not liking it. “What do you mean, come back?”

Dick blinks at him. “Come back from the first undercover mission.” He scrubs at his face, carefully avoiding the burns. “I’m not explaining this well.”

“No, I think I’m getting a pretty good picture,” Roy says, his mouth dry and his thoughts swirling. “You died, Bruce told you to lie about it and sent you on an undercover mission. You came back, Bruce never told you it was okay to tell the truth, so you kept lying about your death, and then Bruce sent you on a second undercover mission. When you came back from that, you decided you were done with lying, and decided it was okay to tell the truth now. That about right?”

Dick winces. “Yeah. Not in so many words, but yeah.”

The room is silent.

Dick breathes in and out. Swallows. “And… just so you know, it wasn’t that Bruce told me to lie.”

Roy looks at the girls and back to Dick. He doesn’t really want to be the one to ask the question, because he’s made his opinion known about Bruce many times over the years. Namely, that Bruce’s style of parenting Dick was… not exactly nurturing.

Donna looks at Dick and somehow makes her body language gentle. “How did he convince you, Dick? Because I know it wouldn’t have been your idea.”

“It wasn’t. My idea, I mean,” Dick confesses. “I—we fought. About it. I lost.”

Donna must have seen something Roy hadn’t because she presses, “What do you mean, fought ?”

“Just that,” Dick says, and there's that damn hollow laugh again. “We kinda trashed the Cave.”

Roy inhales and feels his world righten.

Of course  Dick wouldn’t willingly lie to them. Of course  Dick would have fought tooth and nail to tell them the truth. But he didn’t, because Bruce beat it out of him.

And then the implications of what he’s just thought sink in, and Roy swallows. “Uh, you do realize what that is, right Dick?”

Dick sighs. “My therapist says it’s a clear-cut case of abuse of authority.” He scrubs his good hand through his hair again. “I dunno. I’m still too close, I guess. I just—” he sighs “—they suggested talking about it and telling someone would make me feel better about it.” He laughs again but it’s bitter this time. “And look at how that went.”

At least Dick is seeing a therapist, as small a consolation as that was. They probably wouldn’t even be having this discussion if not for that. On the other hand, this is the first time that he’s heard Dick admit out loud – at least to them – that Bruce’s behavior is anything verging on abusive. So that’s something.

Donna clears her throat. “How—How did it go?”

Dick looks at her, his gaze sharp and angry for all that one eye doesn’t work. “Alfred resigned, the family split against Bruce, and we kicked ourselves out of the Manor – my childhood home – to come here. So I dunno, Dee, you tell me how it went.”

Donna tilts her head. “It sounds… like an interesting story. That I want to hear.”

Dick laughs bitterly. “You really don’t. Much of it was my fault.”

“All the more reason for you to tell me, hon,” Donna tells him gently. “Get it off your chest.”

Dick sighs explosively.

Roy holds his breath. He has the feeling that this is the breaking point, that is going to be one of the things that makes or breaks his best friend. Because he’s not, well, blind to the fact that Dick is obviously going through things. But he also knows Dick well enough to know that he’s learned his emotional coping skills from Bruce and Alfred – which is to say that he bottles things up.

And that is where his friends come in. Their job has always been to try to open that bottle before it explodes from holding too much.

Donna’s always been the best of them at it, which is why they’re all leaving it up to her. (Gods, their friend group really did fall apart when she died.) (Mostly because they stopped communicating.) (It was the best thing that ever happened in his life when she came back.)

Dick closes his good eye and lets his head drop back against the wall with a thud. “Right. I guess I owe you guys that much.” He thuds his head against the wall again. “So, where were we up to?”

Roy’s fingers twitch with the need to cushion his friend’s head, but he stops himself. The intervention time will come later. Right now is the time for caution and investigation, to see how far and deep the cracks in Dick’s psyche run. (Deep. He’s going to say deep.) “We were at the part where you and Bruce trashed the Cave.”

“And your family… did not handle finding out well,” Donna says delicately. Master of the understatement there. “Which you still have not explained.”

“Right. So, before all this happened,” Dick says, waving towards his face, “and as a result of the Cave thing, I altered my medical files to lock Bruce out.”

Roy blinks. Last he heard, Dick and Bruce were… tight. It’s been, like, the foundation of his world since he was a teenager. The sky is blue. He’s a hero. Dick and Bruce are family. And just like family, sometimes they fight, but they’ll always make up. Always.

This is… new. Different.

He’s not sure he likes different .

“What did you change them to?” he asks, mouth dry.

“I made Alfred my next-of-kin. Of course,” Dick laughs hollowly, “life being what it is, I got a mission before I got the chance to tell Alfred.”

They all nod knowingly. That is a feeling they’re all familiar with. Being a hero (or vigilante, in Gotham’s case) has often gotten in the way of telling family members important information.

“Except, it was the mission where I was undercover for six months, so by the time I got back, I’d kind of forgotten that I had done it. And I especially forgot that I hadn’t told anyone. Then we went out to celebrate my return, and well…” he trails off.

Yeah.

That night was when they found out the hard way that Kory had a stalker, when he attacked her. With acid. Dick, being the hero that he is, stepped in front of it to protect Kory. (Only because Roy and Donna were distracted.) (Really, it could have been any of them that night.)

It ended with Dick having burn scars from the acid down the left side of his face, partially blind in the left eye, and burns on his right arm from holding it up to protect himself.

Some celebration that was.

“Yeah,” Roy says and looks down at his hands, now covered by the fingerless gloves he’s totally rocking. He got off lightly, since all he has to show for that night are the scars on his hands, scars that he gained from holding Dick under a shower to try and wash off the acid. It’s mostly splash damage. Which means his scars are splotchy and uneven on the back of his hands, and focused more on his palms and fingertips. But they healed well, all things considered. And he can hide them, if and when he wants to.

(Dick can’t hide his burns. Or the patch on his blinded eye.) (Which makes Roy instantly feel selfish about being relieved that he can hide his scars when he wants.) (But isn’t that the way that the proverbial cookie crumbles? You don’t always get what you want in this life.)

“So how’d that go?” Kory asks, leaning back against the bags and making herself comfortable. “How did Alfred handle it?”

“Better than I would have, I guess,” Dick says with another hollow laugh.

(For the record, Roy is starting to dislike the sound of that laugh.)

“He really came to the party, from everything I’ve heard,” Dick continues. “Made sure I got treatment and honored my wishes to keep Bruce out of things. I didn’t even see Bruce until I was discharged.”

Roy lets out a soft whistle. “That’s… pretty good, for Bruce. I mean, normally Daddy Bats is breaking down the doors to see you when you get hurt.”

Dick snorts and his expression darkens. “Yeah, well, you haven’t known him the last few years. He’s… changed. At least towards me.” One shoulder lifts and falls. “He’s fine towards the others, at least as far as he ever is. I would’ve kicked up more of a stink than just locking him out of my medical files if I’d ever seen him hurt the kids.”

Roy side-eyes Donna and Kory, who are also side-eyeing him. He doesn’t miss the implication that Dick is acknowledging that Bruce has hurt him. And add that to his previous admissions about fighting with Bruce – no, fighting with Batman – and Roy doesn’t much like the picture he’s getting about how Bruce has been treating Dick recently… No, not just recently. How Bruce treats Dick, period.

(Abuse. Roy’s suspecting physical abuse, and he’s hating the fact that if it is, they’ve all been turning a blind eye to it for… years.) (He hopes he’s wrong, that he’s getting the wrong picture. That he’s just getting the corner pieces and drawing the wrong conclusions from there.) (He doubts it.)

Roy sits there for a long moment, paralyzed by his own thoughts.

What do you say to something like that? To that kind of admission when it comes from your best friend?

Donna, being the amazing woman that she is, seems to know exactly what to say. “Speaking of the kids, how did they react to Alfred being your next-of-kin instead of Bruce?”

“Better than I thought. Damian handled it very well. Of course,” Dick sighs, “when they finally showed up, Tim and Jay wanted to know more.” He thuds his head, just once, against the wall. “They wanted to know why I’d kicked Bruce out of medical files.” He pauses a moment. “It’s just… they asked. It’s the first time they’ve actually asked me anything in the last few years.”

Roy pauses at this as well.

Not going to lie, he counts Dick as his best friend (they go back far enough that Dick’s a “brother from another mother” to him), but he’s also been slowly cultivating a friendship with Jason. While he wouldn’t call Jason a best friend – their friendship isn’t deep enough or long enough for that, not yet anyway – there’s definitely a friendship there. And as such, he’s heard Jason’s complaints about Dick and Bruce… and the rest of his siblings, to be honest.

Most of Jason’s complaints about Dick are about Dick not telling Jason things.

Roy had put down most of Jay’s whinging to the combination of going from being an only child to suddenly a younger / middle brother that came with being adopted, and the miscommunication that happens in families. Especially in the Bat Family, where hoarding secrets seems to be a family pastime.

To be fair, Roy had honestly thought that Jason had been asking to be told things and Dick was the one refusing to give an explanation. Which would, you know, be totally dick behavior. Or, you know, maybe it had been the standard refusals that come when you have secrets that aren’t yours to tell, which is not dick behavior but totally valid to keep as a secret. And Dick, maybe more than anyone, knows a lot of secrets that he can’t speak about.

Comes with the turf of being a vigilante for so long.

He hadn’t thought that maybe Jason was refusing to let Dick explain. Or refusing to listen, which is pretty much the same thing.

Roy narrows his eyes at Dick. “So… this is really the first time that Jason asked?” 

“About anything in the last few years? Yeah.” Dick winces. “Usually, whenever I saw Tim and Jay, I was getting the cold shoulder or, well, uh, they physically told me that they didn’t want to see me.”

“And by ‘physically told’ you mean?” Donna asks gently, thinning her lips just a little.

Dick shrugs with one shoulder. “I got punched a few times. I learned pretty quickly after that to give them a wide berth. That’s why I took that mission for six months of undercover work. Give everyone, myself included, a break.”

Roy frowns and resolves to have a word with Jason about clarifying more what ‘not being told things’ exactly means.

Seriously, the miscommunication issues in that family. (Roy’s aware that he can’t point too many fingers. The Queens have their own issues with communication and secrets… but they have nothing on the level of the Bats.)

“The problem,” Dick powers on, “was that my throat was too damaged at the time to explain to them the whole thing about the Cave, the fight, and being forced to lie and keep lying. So I told them to go look for the relevant file in our file storage system.”

“Huh,” Roy nods. He’s beginning to get a clear picture of what happened here. “I like your thinking, 99. Not your fault if they find it themselves, right?” He grins and holds his hand out for a high five.

Dick leaves him hanging. “Yeah, brilliant idea, except they didn’t find the file.”

Roy drops his hand.

“What do you mean?” Kory asks. “Either it exists or it doesn’t. It’s not a… what do you say… Schrodinger’s cat situation.”

“You’d think that, wouldn’t you?” Dick says mildly. “Except that Bru—Batman hid the files and deleted them from the main Cave system and erased them from the redundant system too. The only way to find them was in the off-site storage system… which only he and I knew about.” Dick stops at this point and looks around the room. “Hey, can you pass me the water bottle over there?” he asks.

It doesn’t miss Roy’s notice that Dick has to actively watch the bottle to make sure he’s grabbing it when Donna passes it over, or that his injured hand still has weaker grip strength. (Dick notices too, judging by the frustrated expression he makes.) They all politely ignore his struggles to open the bottle.

It’s what friends do, after all.

Dick carefully takes a sip and just as carefully recaps the bottle. When he next talks, his voice immediately sounds stronger. “So of course I got the kids and Alfred into it and then retreated.”

“Of course,” Roy acknowledges with a nod. “Strategic retreat, right?”

Dick nods and runs a thumb along the edge of the cap. “Yeah. At least, that’s what I was thinking, that maybe that way I couldn’t be blamed for what they watched. Of course, that way I also couldn’t control what they watched.” He laughs that hollow laugh again. “Because of course, my life being what is, they watched the wrong file.”

“The wrong—” Donna blinks. “You mean, there was more than one file there?”

“Yeah.”

They wait.

Dick says nothing, just bangs his head against the wall again.

Roy’s fingers twitch again, but he holds himself still. This, he thinks, this moment is important and he dares not break it.

Thankfully, Dick stops after just once. He swallows roughly, uncapping the bottle once more and taking another sip. “Bruce, uh—Batman had saved the file. Footage. Of my death. So… that’s what they watched instead.”

Silence.

Roy swallows.

He was right.

It is important. Just… Not in the way he’d hoped.

No, it’s important because he’s losing all respect for Batman.

“He saved that?” Roy exclaims. “That’s… more than a little ghoulish.” Ghoulish is the tip of the iceberg of the words he wants to call it, and not all of them are fit for polite company.

“That’s not all,” Dick powers on, voice grim and hoarse. “He had them organized by date. I saw… files relating to the deaths of the other kids too.” His lips thin. “I don’t know how he got some of that footage, either. I certainly didn’t give him permission. And I’m pretty sure they didn’t either.”

And Roy thought the first bit was bad.

This just keeps getting worse.

“On the upside, however,” Dick tries for a smile but it falls flat, “the family finally had proof that I had, you know, died. That I didn’t fake it. And I was able to tell them that it was Bruce who’d made me hide it and threatened me into keeping it hidden. So… There’s that.”

Roy’s head feels like it's spinning from all the revelations of the last… however long they’ve been in this room. If he feels like that, he can’t imagine the family coped any better when they were actually going through it.

“So how did they handle the news?” Donna asks, her voice gentle once more.

Dick’s lips thin once again. “We… argued. By which I mean that Alfred actually started yelling at Bruce about him withholding information for the ‘good of the mission’.”

They all look at Dick with wide eyes.

“But… Alfred doesn’t yell,” Kory states, like it’s a fact of the universe.

“He does,” Dick confirms with a firm nod. “It apparently just takes a lot to get him there. And he also resigned.”

“Resigned?” Kory asks, looking bewildered. “You mean he was employed all this time?”

“Yeah, news to me too. I mean, I knew he was the family butler when Bruce took me in, but… I kind of thought that he’d stopped that at some point and he was there with us voluntarily, you know?”

Donna nods sadly. “I do know. Sometimes, some people are just a fixture in our lives for so long, it’s… upsetting to learn that they’ve been there for different motives than we thought.”

“Amen to that,” Kory murmurs. “I hate stalkers.”

“Double amen to that,” Dick says, raising an imaginary glass.

They all raise their own fake glass and pretend to clink them together. Because that’s what friends do.

“So,” Dick continues, shuffling a little against the wall to get himself more comfortable, “when Alfred resigned, he… decided to leave, obviously. But he… he offered us a choice. About whether we wanted to stay with Bruce, or go with him instead.”

Roy nods, his mental picture of what happened more or less complete. “You all went with Alfred, right?”

Dick winces. “Not… quite.” He clears his throat. “Tim stayed behind.”

Annnnd… his picture just broke.

Donna frowns at Dick. “I don’t understand.”

Dick shrugs helplessly. “I meant what I said. Tim stayed behind.”

“I know. You said that. But I still don’t understand,” the Amazonian repeats. “Your adoptive father was revealed to be a liar and abusive and… Tim was okay with that? With being in his presence? With facing B’s anger at being revealed?”

Dick’s mouth opens and closes a few times. “It’s… It’s not like that. B— Bruce wasn’t like that.”

Donna crosses her arms and glares at him. “Explain. Before I fly out the window and retrieve our erstwhile fledgling, neighbors be damned.”

Dick stares her down. Brave man. “Bruce wasn’t angry, for one thing. It… broke him.”

“Broke him?” Donna asks flatly.

“Yeah,” Dick nods. “He… kind of reverted, if that’s the right word, back to himself. The kid from the alley who saw his parents die.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I’m probably explaining this all wrong.”

Roy sucks in a breath. He has a weird feeling that he kind of does. Understand, that is.

They’ve all hung around the Manor with Dick and been on missions with Nightwing to see how he interacts with his family, and in particular with Bruce and Batman. Bruce seems to compartmentalize himself to the point that he has a firm separation between Bruce and Batman… and doesn’t seem to realize that for Dick, there is no real separation between who he is as Dick and as Nightwing. Hell, for all his kids in general. And that most people’s brains don’t work like that.

Roy just… had no idea that behind the Bruce and Batman that he’d seen was another… personality? Identity? Is that the right word for it?

Either way, a lot of the things he’d seen Bruce do now make a weird sort of sense, like how he’d been able to so drastically change his personality and body language and well, everything about himself so quickly.

Weird, but… also strange and sad. That maybe, in all his effort to protect Gotham… Bruce had never really given that little child inside himself a chance to grieve and grow up like a child. To experience a childhood.

He feels for Bruce suddenly, and that’s not something he thought he’d ever say in this discussion.

“I think I understand,” Roy says finally. “At least, as I can from where I’m sitting, given that, you know, I didn’t go through it with you all.”

Dick grimaces. “It happened too quickly for me to call you all in anyway, or to tell you what was going on. One minute I’d found the files, then the family started watching them, and not even five minutes or so later Bruce arrived, and then everything just fell to worms. Ten minutes after that, we had our bags packed and we were leaving the Manor. Alfred drove us here, and… the rest you know.”

Roy lets out a low whistle. “Man. You weren’t kidding when you said it happened quickly.”

Donna leans over and places a hand on Dick’s. “Still. I wish we could have been there to help you all through it.”

“I know. So do I.” Dick slowly turns his hand over and grasps Donna's hand tightly. “But you’re here now. You know now. And that’s what matters.”

Chapter Text

“I know. So do I.” Dick slowly turns his hand over and grasps Donna's hand tightly. “But you’re here now. You know now. And that’s what matters.”

“Speaking of being here, has, uh, has Bruce… tried to contact you since it happened?” Roy ventures. 

Dick stills, an icy feeling trickling down his back. “Why do you ask?”

It is not, Roy knows, the right time to ask about his abuse suspicions. He needs to build up to that. But he does want to know if Dick has gone full ‘no contact’... or if Bruce has gone full ‘no contact’ either.

“Because me an’ Ollie have had some rip-roaring disagreements. Hell, I’ve come and talked them out with you a thousand times,” Roy says fondly. “But the one thing that usually starts our reconciliation is that Ollie extends the olive branch. And even then it's usually a letter. He’s a bit old-school that way. I just figured Bruce might be the same.” He wrinkles his nose. “They’re the same generation, after all.”

Dick nods slowly. “When the bandages first came off and I started wearing patches,” he says, waving towards his face and the patch over his eye, “I got a package from the Manor. It had some patches and… a letter.” He swallows. “I haven’t read it.”

Kory tilts her head and gives Dick a long look. “Where is it?”

“I shoved it in the bottom of the bag you’re leaning against, actually,” Dick says. “At the time, it was just… a bit too raw to deal with.”

“What about now?”

Dick stares at her. “What do you mean, ‘what about now’? Do you want to read it?”

“No. I'm asking if you want to read it. While we're here.” Kory hesitates. “Of course, we can give you a moment's privacy if you prefer.” Although they'd really rather not, given Dick’s mental state. But privacy and the having of it is as much a part of who they are as being a hero is. Hell, they would not be able to live together in Titans Tower without having privacy from each other when they needed it. (Some of them need it more than others, he’s found. And those ones are usually the ones with a secret identity to protect.)

In the Tower, privacy is as much a choice as it is a privilege.

Roy shrugs. “You don’t have to, you know. Read it now, I mean.” He tilts his head. “But then, you might want to. You know, mutual support and all that.”

Donna hums. “Because you know we’ll be here for you. No matter what the letter says.” Or doesn’t say.

Roy nods in agreement. Wouldn’t be the first time they’ve had to pick up after Bruce and it sure as hell probably wouldn’t be the last either.

Here’s the thing.

When Dick first got the parcel from the Manor, he’d known straight away that he wasn’t going to be able to open it.

Everything had still been too raw then. Too fresh.

No matter what the letter said, even if Bruce had said the most flowery of apologies and everything Dick had ever longed to read (hear), it would’ve just been dumping salt into a bleeding wound and then grinding it in.

But now?

Now, he thinks he might actually be able to read it.

Heh. It turns out that talking about things really does help.

But did he actually want to read the letter right now?

No.

He really didn’t.

(His walls were not yet rebuilt enough for that.)

But did he need to read it now?

Kinda yeah, actually. Because if he didn't do it now, he never would. At least with his friends here, they could… maybe check that it was okay first.

Dick sighs and nods. “Kor, the letter should be in the bag you’re leaning against. Down the bottom. If you could—”

Kory nods and gives a fierce grin. “My pleasure. I can get it for you.” 

Kory goes digging through the bags for the letter. She tries not to notice what else is in there – it's not her things, so it's none of her business – but, well, she has eyes, eyes that wandered. She’s kind of surprised at how much the bag holds; it’s a regular bag of holding as far as she could tell. But then again, these are Bats. Of course, they know how to squeeze anything and everything into a bag.

She finally emerges triumphant, holding the envelope, although a little tattered from how it’s been treated. She promptly offers it to Dick.

But Dick shakes his head, his lips thin. “No. I— I can’t. No. Let Roy read it first. Please,” he whispers.

Yeah.

He’s going full damage control protocols here, and what’s worse is that he knows it, and he’s pretty sure that his team knows it too.

That’s confirmed when Kory simply nods and hands the letter off to Roy, who takes it with a sharp, understanding nod. Even so, Roy takes a long moment before he can open it.

It’s not every day that you get handed a letter from the Bat, after all.

Roy frowns as he reads. No, skims through the letter. Dick can see his eyes moving too quickly for reading.

Roy looks up. “Do you want the good news or bad news?”

“There’s good news?”

“Depends on how you look at, I guess.” Roy holds out the letter over to Dick, his mouth dry. “It’s not from Bruce. Or Batman.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. I’ve seen both Bruce’s and Batman’s handwriting and this is… not it.”

Dick reaches out to grab it, but hesitates just before his hand touches the paper. “Who is it?”

“Tim.”

Dick’s mouth makes a little oh and he snatches the paper and reads it greedily, like a man dying of thirst. Parts of it are heavily scribbled out, sentences half-started and stopped in the middle, but he can still make it all out.

He’d know his brother’s messy handwriting anywhere.

Dear Dick brother family Dick

I’m writing this because Bruce can't and won't

You deserve to know

It’s my fault. All of it.

I’m sorry I wanted to come with you Why didn’t I just go with you?

Dick. I’ve attached to this letter some patches. I saw them and thought of you. There are some adhesive ones that you can wear under a mask, you know, if you ever want to go down that route again. Or under sunglasses. That works too. You do you and all that.

I’m going to watch the files and make things right. You’ll see.

Stay safe

Tim

Dick’s hand shakes as he puts the letter down. “What did he think I deserved to know?” he asks, his voice shaking like his hands. “And what’s he trying to make right?”

Donna frowns. “What do you mean?”

“Who’s he?” Kory asks, as pragmatic and direct as ever. “Tim? Or Bruce?”

“Here. Read this,” Dick says and passes the letter over.

When the letter finally comes back around to him, Roy actually gives himself time to digest it’s contents instead of just checking the handwriting and signature. And then it’s his turn to make alarmed noises, just like the rest of his friends.

Roy looks up at Dick from the letter, his face pale. “Do I want to know what files he’s talking about?”

Dick’s mouth twists. “My death wasn’t the only thing in Bru—Batman’s files. There’s… the other kids’ deaths in there as well, at least from what I saw. Maybe more.” He lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “I didn’t really take the time to go digging, you know?” He swallows, throat like sandpaper. “I only really had enough time to have a quick look at the dates.”

Roy nods and looks back at the letter, feeling a sense of nausea rise. “And Tim’s going to watch all of them? By himself?” he asks dubiously. “Is that… wise?”

“No,” Dick answers, almost by rote. “I don’t—” He cuts himself off and pauses. Thinks. “Dammit.” Dick hisses. “He’s by himself, isn’t he?”

Before Roy can really register what is happening, Dick has already scrambled up and bolted for the door.  

What the hell?

Roy stares after the retreating figure of his friend for a moment, struck silent in surprise. “So... That happened.”

Kory shrugs pragmatically. “Not what I would have picked to get him out of this room, but it worked.”

“But I didn’t plan— I had a whole—”

“Does it matter?” Donna interrupts in a huff. “We better follow him.”

Chastened, the three of them hustle out of the room and after Dick.

They catch up to Dick when he’s in the living room area, talking to Jason. Or trying to talk to Jason.

“Well hello to you too, Dick,” Jason drawls. “Long time, no see. How’re you doing anyway?”

“Hello, I’m fine.” Dick says impatiently. “You have a chat going, right? With Tim?” Dick asks impatiently.

Behind Dick, Roy glares daggers and tries his best to communicate the urgency of the situation. Predictably, it’s lost on Jason.

Jason frowns and crosses his arms. “You know, if I’m going to be sharing information – which I may or may not have by the way – I’d at least like to know why.”

Dick is practically vibrating where he stands. “The letter. Do you still have the letter, Roy?”

Roy looks down at his hands and finds that yeah, he’s still holding the letter. The letter. He tries to hand it to Dick – like the idiot he is – who shakes his head and points to Jason. So then he holds it out to Jason.

Jason stares at it and doesn’t take it. “What’s this?”

“Remember the letter that came from the Manor?” Dick asks, still vibrating but not so much.

Jason nods, the light of comprehension dawning. “Yeah. I—Is this that letter?”

“Yes!”

“And… You’re fine if I read it?”

“I wouldn’t be asking Roy to hand it to you if I wasn’t,” Dick says, just a little testily.

“Mmm, good point,” Jason hums and takes the letter.

Reads it.

And then looks up at Dick and the Titans, a green tint to his eyes as he crumples the letter under his fist. “I’m gonna kill my little brother for doing this.”

“One, you’ll have to get in line,” says Dick, undaunted by Jason’s obvious anger, “and two, I’d like my letter back please.”

“What? I—Oh.” Jason looks down and the green disappears from his eyes at the sight of the crumpled letter. He vainly tries to straighten it out again, but it’s obvious it’s been abused. “Sorry, D,” he says and hands it back. “You’d better take it.”

“Thanks.” Dick folds the letter and places it in the pocket of his jeans. “So. Plans?”

Jason frowns. “Find the twerp and bring him here?”

“Do you know where he’s working from?” Roy asks.

“Do you think he’d still be in the Cave?” Dick asks dubiously.

Jason snorts. “Maybe. But I doubt it. The kid always has had a stronger Flight than Fight instinct. I reckon he’s gone stealth and gone to ground.”

There are bounding steps and before Roy has realised that Steph is in the house, she’s already talking. “Tim’s probably gone to his Nest.”

Jason raises his eyebrows. “How do you know we’re talking about Tim?”

“You said ‘Cave’ and then ‘kid’,” she grinned. “Elementary, my dear Watson.”

Dick rolls his eyes. “I don’t suppose you know where this Nest is, then.”

Jason blinks. “Nest. Tim. He has a nest?”

Steph had disappeared at some point but she pops her head back out of the kitchen with a can of soda in one hand, a container of sorbet in the other. “Yeah. Don’t ask me why he called it that and not, you know, Safehouse or something. He takes the bird theme a bit too far sometimes if you ask me, but I can’t exactly judge.”

Despite himself, Dick’s lips twitch. “You, not judge? What’s the world coming to?”

“I know, right?” She grins unabashedly, flashing fingerguns. “Like, I started out calling myself Spoiler because I was literally spoiling people’s plans. So, you know, no judgment here.” She ducks back into the kitchen.

Dick looks back to Jason and raises an eyebrow. “So. Nest. I don’t suppose you know where it is?”

Jason grunts and shakes his head. “Nope. The brat never told me.” He pauses a moment. “Or showed me, for that matter. I know it’s near the Alley, but I don’t know where.”

Steph comes out of the kitchen again, this time holding popping candy. (Whatever she’s making, Roy thinks to himself, is either going to be a roaring success or an epic failure.) (Either way, he’s totally here for it.) “He, uh, may have shown me?” she says more than asks. “Except, I don’t think he realized he was showing me at the time though, so I don’t think it counts.”

Jason crosses his arms. “He Facetimed you when he was near it, didn’t he?”

“Yeah? I mean, there’s only so many facades to buildings in Gotham.” She shrugs. “And it was just another puzzle to solve at the time.” She is, after all, Cluemaster’s daughter. She may not have inherited his stupidity or love of villainy, but she did get his love of puzzles.

She pulls a face of disgust, as though the answer brought her no satisfaction. “It’s gonna be a whole thing, though. You’ll find out as soon as you get there.” 

The coordinates of Tim’s – of Red Robin’s – Nest, of course, are familiar to most of the family.

But they don’t know why until they’re standing in front of the building, which is when it sinks in what Tim did.

Jason mutters a curse and glares at the building. “Damn it, you got to admire his chutzpah, don’t you?”

Dick hums and jams his hands into his hoodie pockets. “Well. If he’s not on the outer with Bruce already… this is certainly one way to do it.”

“Explains why I’ve seen so much of him around the edges of the Alley,” Jason agrees.

Roy, Donna, and Kory all look at each other. (Because of course they all came with. For moral support, if nothing else.) (And like hell they’re going to let Dick out of their sights now.)

“I don’t get it,” Roy ventures. “It looks… just like any other apartment building.”

“It does now,” Jason says. “It used to be a theater.”

“Specifically,” Dick says, picking up the conversation thread, “it was the Monarch Theater, the same theater that Bruce’s parents were at the night they were killed. And if there’s one thing you find out about Bruce rather quickly—”

“—Apart from his nightly habits, you mean?” Roy says snidely.

“Yeah, apart from that.” Dick pauses. “No. It’s connected. B doesn’t process grief well.” Like, not at all, Dick thinks bleakly. “It’s why he… does what he does. It’s also why he does things like visit the place where they died every year instead of their graves. That kind of thing.”

“Oh.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” Dick kicks an imaginary pebble. “This is… not gonna go down well with B when he finds out.”

Roy lets out a low whistle. “Yeah, that’s… gonna sting on all sorts of levels.”

Jason grunts. “Well right now, I don’t care. B can go fly a proverbial kite for all I care about what he thinks.”

Dick thins his lips and thinks back to that confrontation in the Cave, to the revealed footage that was only the tip of the iceberg from the folders he saw. And to their brother who sent him a letter promising to look through it all. “Amen to that,” he says.

“So,” Kory says. “In other news. How are we getting in?”

“Rooftop?” Jason suggests, bouncing on his feet and grinning. “I do love a dramatic entrance.”

“Nah, I’m all for the vents,” Roy says, shaking his head. “Stealth all the way.”

Donna eyes the building, assessing entry and exit points.. “Windows? Maybe around the back?”

Dick rolls his eyes – eye dammit. “Front door,” he orders firmly. He does his best to glare at everyone. “It’s Tim’s place, not some villain's hideout. Come on, people. We’re better than that.”

“You sure about that?” Jason mutters, jamming his hands in his jacket.

Dick sighs and answers him anyway. “Yes. I’m sure.”

Roy walks up the steps and tries the door. “Yeah, I hear ya, except… It’s kinda locked.”

Donna hums and eyes the surroundings. “No offense to Bruce’s parents and Tim’s chosen safehouse – actually full offense to it – but I’d be kind of worried if he didn’t lock the door whether he was home or not.”

Jason rolls his eyes and shoulders past to go up to the door. “Locks are only a suggestion in Gotham.”

“Gently, Jay,” says Dick, just as Jason pulls back to kick. “It’s Tim’s place, not a hideout.”

“Spoilsport.” Jason pulls out lockpicks from somewhere in his jacket. “The slow way it is.”

“Or,” Roy interrupts, “we could try the intercom.”

“Intercom?” Dick blinks. “Who has an intercom in this day and age?”

“Your brother, apparently,” Roy says, pointing to the speaker beside the door.

“Double spoilsport,” Jason pouts. “Give me five and I’ll be through that lock. It’s a cheap knockoff.”

For the record, Dick would like points for how much he’s not rolling his eyes right now. “Let me try the intercom, then we’ll try the ‘picks.”

“Fine.” Jason mutters, absolutely not pouting as he puts his kit away again.

Dick reaches out and presses the buzzer. “Tim? You there?”

There’s a long moment of silence.

Dick’s pretty sure he’s not alone in wondering if they had come all this way for nothing. He leans on the buzzer again. “Tim?”

The speaker crackles. “Yeah. I’m here.”

Dick just about collapses in relief, for all that it’s hard to read emotions through the tinny speaker. This is the first time he’s heard Tim’s voice since the Cave, and he’s just starting to realize how much he’s missed him. “Tim. Let us in.”

The speaker crackles again. “Come on in. I’ll meet you in the parlor in a few.”

Right.

Tim’s apartment – building? – has a parlor.

Because of course it does.

On the other hand, at least Tim’s letting them in. (A part of him expected Tim to tell them to meet on the roof or something, so that he could keep whatever is inside a secret just a little bit longer.) (Or maybe Dick’s feeling sensitive from the last few weeks, which had blown open some nerves he hadn’t realized were still exposed, but that just proved Dick’s point. Sometimes, secrets are secrets because they are important.)

(On the other hand, this family has more secrets than they do safehouses. And nests, apparently)

The buzzer goes off and the door unlocks.

Jason grunts. “I still could have used my picks, you know.”

Dick refrains once more from rolling his eyes. “I know, Jay, but this way is more polite. I—” He comes to a stop just inside and pauses to look around.

Whatever he expected from Tim when it came to furnishing his own apartment – building? Did he buy the whole building? Or just this floor? – it’s certainly not this.

The first thing Kory lets out is a low whistle. “Expensive digs.”

Looking around, Dick has to agree. In this age of fast fashion and micro trends, it’s hard to keep up with all the fashion trends, but he knows what he sees when he sees it. And what he’s seeing is a tasteful blend of traditional with modern, of antiques with modern minimalism.

It… suits Tim.

Not so trendy that it’ll go out of style tomorrow, but also classic enough that it’s going to stay in style for a while.

Like he said, it suits Tim.

Who, speaking of which, is emerging from a corridor that feeds into the main room.

Tim looks tired, like he’s been up all night – then again, when doesn’t he? – and he’s dressed in clothing that’s heavily wrinkled, like he’s slept in them as well. Dick feels a pang in his heart at how his little brother is so obviously burning the candles at both ends without anyone here to keep an eye on him. Dick can’t help but resolve to do better. (As much as Tim will let him, at least.) 

Tim looks at them steadily. “So. You wanted to see me.”

Dick feels his heart break just a little at the distance in Tim’s stance and voice. “Yeah. I did. I do.” He runs a hand through his hair. There are so many things he wants to say to his brother, and so much that he can’t really say even with his family and friends with him. He settles instead for the basics. “I read your letter.”

Tim blinks. “Oh.”

Dick clears his throat. There are… so many things he wants to say, but he’s also keenly aware of their audience. Jason, well, he’s family, and the Titans pretty much might as well be, but he’s also aware that Tim thinks of them differently. (Some days, he despairs of how Tim sees the world.) (Tim tried to explain it to him once, and… yeah.)

Dick licks his lips. “Uh, thanks. For the patches, I mean.”

Tim looks at him. “You’re… welcome.” He pauses. “But you’re not using them.”

“No. I mean, not today.” Dick feels like kicking himself. He really should’ve worn Tim’s patches if he wanted to show his thanks for them. That’s like… manners 101. “I came out in too much of a rush.”

Tim frowns at him and then goes over to the coffee table and pulls out a drawer to root around in its contents for a bit. “Where is it… I knew I put one here… Aha! Here it is!” He emerges with a plain black patch, which he hands to Jason – he’s nearest – who hands it Roy, who then passes it to Dick with a grin.

“Put that on, idiot,” Tim orders.

“Yes, sir,” Dick says with a mock salute, and does so anyway. He feels a line of tension that had been gathering in his back release when his vision on his bad side is muted even more. “Thanks, Tim.”

“You’re welcome.” Tim crosses his arms. “Now, what did you all really come out here for.”

“Your letter, idjit,” Jason says, mirroring him by crossing his own arms.

Tim rolls his eyes. “You said that.”

Dick opens his mouth and then closes it. Looks to his friends, and then back to Tim. Looks to his friends. “Guys. Can you, uh, give us the room for a bit.”

Roy nods sagely. “Personal family business?”

“A bit, yeah.”

“No worries. We’ll be outside.”

Dick forces himself to wait until the three of them are alone before he turns back to face Tim. “You said in the letter that you were going to look at the files. All the files.” Dick clears his throat. “I mean—What the hell, Tim?”

Tim stiffens.

And Dick knows right away that he has to backtrack and try a different route. “It took all of us to look through even that one file we saw that day in the Cave.”

“Not all of us,” Tim says mulishly, tightening his arms.

“I—What do you mean, not all of us?”

“You weren’t there, remember? You went to the changing area. Which is out of sight of the BatComputer and soundproofed.”

Dick holds himself very still. “Realized that, did you?”

“Yeah. Afterwards.” Tim grimaces. “Was kind of distracted at the time.”

“That’s fair.” Dick allows himself one breath. “That’s because I’d already lived it, Timmy. I don’t really need to see it from another angle. I have nightmares enough.”

“Oh.”

“Which is why I don’t want you watching the other files without us there. They involve the rest of us as well.”

“Oh.”

Dick hears Tim’s tone and sees his brother’s body language. And he already knows the answer before he asks the question, but he asks it anyway. “You’ve already seen the files, haven’t you?” he asks, his voice soft.

“Well… not all of them,” Tim hedges, looking away. “And I was really only ducking in and out of them to make sure of what it was. So I wouldn’t say watched per-say. Maybe glanced at would be better.”

“That’s still not better,” Jason says, glaring at Tim. “I have half a mind to let Alfred at you.”

Tim frowns. “What—Why? I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“You still know what’s in the files and we don’t, Tim,” Jason says.

“No—Well, only a few of them. I stopped looking at the files themselves when I realized I could figure out the contents just from the dates,” Tim admits.

“Yeah,” Dick sighs. “There is that.”

Jason looks at them. “I… I don’t get it.”

“Most of the dates have to do with one of us dying, don’t they?” Dick says more than asks.

Tim nods somberly. “Yeah. Those aren’t dates I’m going to forget so easily.”

Jason pales. “You mean—-“

“—Yeah.” Dick nods tiredly. He’s had time to come to terms with Bruce saving footage of his own death at Lex’s hands. Hell, he still doesn’t like it but at least he’s had time to process the idea of Bruce having those videos (He also hasn’t quite gotten to the point of forgiving Bruce for it. Not yet. Maybe not ever.) (Especially since he did it without asking.)

But the point is… if Bruce saved the records of one death… wouldn’t it then stand to reason that he’d be capable of saving the records of other deaths?

No. This is Batman. Not Bruce.

This is the Batman that has always had contingencies on contingencies. Of course there’d be records.

Of course he’d save what records he could lay his hands on, whether the people involved consented or not.

Jason swallows, obviously coming to the same conclusion himself. “I—You mean. My death is there.”

Tim nods. “So’s everyone else’s. You actually caught me in the process of making a backup copy of the files so I could take them and show you.” He checks his watch. “Actually, if the computer’s sense of time is accurate, it should be finished about now. I’ll go get the drives.” He vanishes down a hallway, leaving Dick and Jason alone.

Dick sighs and sinks down into the couch while Jason stays standing tensely by the window, arms still crossed. Dick rubs his face, feeling all the tension that is still in his own muscles. Looking at Jason absolutely does not help, so he rolls his shoulders and stares at the floor instead.

“Do you think he’ll back with the files, or stay here?” he asks softly.

“He’ll come,” Jason says, his voice clipped. “I’ll make sure of it.”

“Jay.”

“Dick.”

“Little Wing.”

“Dick.”

Dick grins. “That’s not as effective an insult as you think, you know.”

“I know.” He can hear Jason roll his eyes from here. “I just— I just don’t see why it has to be an issue.”

“You’re upset about B having the files without asking, aren’t you?”

“Well. Yeah. Aren’t you?”

“Of course.”

Jason huffs, but stays otherwise silent.

“But,” Dick continues ruthlessly, “if I’m going to be upset about that, then I can’t get upset about Tim choosing to stay here.” He pauses. Decides Jason needs one more nail on this coffin. So to speak. “Just like I choose to be patient about all your death jokes.”

“Hey. The death jokes are funny.”

“Yeah. The first time. Not the thousandth time. Or the ten-thousandth time.”

Jason hums and finally uncrosses his arms. “Okay. Fair point. So I could probably stand to lay off the jokes. A little.” He finally leaves the window to flop down on the couch besides Dick. And like a true little brother, he takes up more than half the couch. “But I still reserve the right to disagree with Tim.”

Dick shoves his shoulder fondly. “You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t, Little Wing.”

“And don’t you forget it.”

Tim chooses that point to emerge from the hallway, holding up three thumbdrives. “Got them!”

Dick eyes his younger brother, wondering to himself exactly how much Tim overheard. And he also knows that he’ll never find out – Tim isn’t the kind to share unless he specifically chooses to. And when he does, it’s because there’s Reasons and Plans Within Plans.

And Dick wouldn’t have it any other way.

Jason straightens a little, eyes only for the drives. “All the files are on there?”

Tim nods. “Yep. Each drive has a copy.”

Dick looks too. “How’d you get the files to fit?” Because while he didn’t have time to look during that day in the Cave, he does recall seeing quite a few folders. And knowing Bruce, each folder would have multiple files. Audio and visual, both of which do not compress well.

Tim looks smug. “Compression tool of my own invention, plus these are super-high-capacity drives. So don’t lose them, they’re expensive to replace. Plus, they’re really the only copies, I’ve wiped the rest.”

Dick looks at the drives again, and then back to Tim. “You’re not keeping them on your own systems?”

Tim snorts. “Are you kidding? I like to think I can keep Oracle out of my systems, but I’m also realistic. There’s no way I’m keeping these files on a computer system that’s internet connected.”

Jason huffs and looks at Tim. “And are you coming back with said drives?”

Dick digs his elbow into Jason’s side. “What he means is, we’d love you to come back with us, if you want.”

Jason huffs again. “I meant what I said.” He looks at Tim and his gaze sharpens. “So. Timbotha. What’s it gonna be?”

Tim takes in a deep breath and lets it out slowly.

Tim looks at his brothers, takes in their body language. At the tension in Jason’s shoulders as if he’s gearing himself for a fight combined with his clenched fists. At the way Dick is twitching his leg despite the open position of his hands. They’re here, yes, but… they’re worried.

Worried… about him.

More to the point, he can see that Dick is working to keep himself open and approachable just as much as Jason is expecting rejection. And when he puts that together with what Tim had overheard when he was coming back with the drives…

Yeah.

All of that tells him he has one shot at this, at keeping his brothers as, well, his brothers.

And he better not fail it.

So there’s really no choice here, is there?

Tim faces them and squares his shoulders. “I’m coming back with you.”

Jason lets out a muted cheer, only to swallow it and twist and glare at Dick. “Dick! That’s my side.”

“I know. Alfred did teach you manners at some point.” Dick turns to face Tim. “We’d be pleased to have you back with us. I’m sure Alfred will bake you your favorites for a while.”

Tim’s gaze can’t help but wander towards the patch on Dick’s bad eye but when he tries to focus on anything else, all he can see is the deep scarring in Dick’s face and Tim’s heart breaks all over again. “I’m sorry,” he blurts out.

Dick frowns, and Tim can’t help but see how the movement pulls on the scarring. “What for?”

Tim opens and closes his mouth a few times but it’s like the words get stuck in his throat. When he imagined this moment, finally having the chance to say these words, it wasn’t like this. Actually, the scenario changed each time, but somehow his imagination never came up with his older brothers sitting in a couch in the Nest waiting on every word while the Titans cooled their heels outside.

Yeah.

Life has a way of playing tricks sometimes.

“Take as long as you need, Babybird,” Dick says soothingly, leaning forward just a little. “We can wait.”

Jason huffs a little but says nothing. Which means a lot, actually, coming from him.

It warms Tim’s heart, to see the trust his brothers are placing in him. That they’re willing to wait on him, and not demand things from him. (Bru—Batman does. And has.) That, more than anything, is what seems to work in unsticking his throat. Well, at least a little. “I don’t—I didn’t mean—”

Dick looks at him expectantly, his one working eye seeming to bore into the depths of Tim’s very soul as it catches in the light.

Tim swallows. His heart thuds in his chest. He’d give everything he has to change the past if he could. The least he can do is give up this. “I—I’m sorry about this.”

Dick blinks, and then blinks again in a classic double-take.

Jason just stares. “And what is this ‘this’ that you’re talking about, gremlin?”

“This.” Tim waves vaguely, aware it doesn’t help but doing it anyway. “The whole split thing.”

Dick leans back as comprehension dawns. “Ah. You mean the whole…” He pauses as he searches for a better word.

“Split,” Jason says with a grin.

“Fine. Split. With Bruce,” Dick agrees with a huff of his own. “Why am I hearing that you think it’s your fault?”

Tim double-blinks. It couldn’t be more clearer to him. Tim didn’t really think he’d have to explain it but... apparently he does. “Because I was the one who went digging for the files?”

“Yeah, so? I’m the one who pushed you to keep digging, not to mention keeping it hidden from Alfred, even though he told you to come to him first, Red Wing,” Jason says laconically. “Don’t you think I’ve got my fair share of the blame here?”

Dick turns to Jason, a frown of confusion on his face. “I—What? You and Alfred? You all knew? You knew what the files held?”

Jason shakes his head. “No. For the record, I had no idea of what Bruce was hiding. None of us did.” He pinches the bridge of his nose as if to force himself to think. “It was… back when we met you in the hospital, after the attack. You told us about needing to check the downstairs footage for the reason as to why you’d changed your next of kin to Alfred.” He eyes Dick. “Most unsubtle subtle hint ever, by the way.”

Dick shrugs uneasily. “I told you. At that point, I was still under orders not to discuss it.”

“Orders shmorders,” Jason mutters under his breath.

Tim uncrosses his arms and clicks his fingers as the memory returns. “That’s right! And I started looking straight away, you caught me, and Alfred said I needed to report anything I found to him ASAP.” He looks over at Dick. “So I don’t think any of us knew what we’d find.”

Jason clears his throat. “I… suspected. That there’d be something to find, at least.” He looks at Dick, eyes bleak. “There was missing footage, on the day you told us to look. And I’m a crime lord. You don’t hide things unless there’s something to hide. You better believe I told the gremlin to go digging, and to keep at it until he had everything.”

Tim nods. “And I’ll keep digging to make sure I’ve got all of it.” He pauses. “For the record, I haven’t watched all of it. I’ve just… found the files.”

Dick feels his heart stop. “You mean… there’s more. Than the folders we found that day.”

Tim nods slowly. “Yeah. I mean. It took some digging, and I may have burned a few things to try to find them… but, well, I got them.” He points to the three drives he’s already handed over. “These are the only copies.”

Jason stares at the drives. “You mean—”

Tim nods again. “Yeah. The files we saw earlier are the ones from the off-site storage. These ones,” he holds them up, “include all files I could find that were stored elsewhere. No, I’m not going to tell you where. BuI they were hard enough to get that I’m convinced that this all of it.” He grins, sharklike. “So I may have pulled everything and left a little virus – or two – behind to cover my tracks. But at least he doesn’t have them now. We do.”

Dick thins his lips. “I hope you documented everything.”

“In triplicate. Like always.”

Jason looks between them. “Why does he need to document? Isn’t it enough that the files exist?” And that they’ll have to watch them? To verify them?

Dick lets himself breath in, and then out. “I hope, for all our sakes, that it’s not, and I’m just… barking up the wrong tree, so to speak. I’m just thinking worse case scenario.”

Jason frowns. “Huh? What worse case?”

“I’m thinking globally. I’m thinking JLA level, Jay,” Dick explains patiently. “B’s a founding member of the JLA, not to mention both a founder and a signatory to their code of conduct. If he’s found to be in breach of their privacy rules…”

Jason lets out a low whistle. “That’s… gonna be fun.”

“Yeah.” Dick looks at his two brothers. “So. Let’s take these files back home and go from there, okay?”

Home, Tim thought. Maybe he hadn’t messed this all up after all because they really did want him to go home with them.

The three of them step outside the Robin’s Nest to find only Kory outside.

Dick does a double-take and looks around but, yeah, Roy and Donna are definitely not here. “Kor? Where are the others?”

“An alarm came through to the Tower. I volunteered to stay behind and wait for you while Donna took Roy back to the Tower to check it out. So you would not worry that something had happened to us. Because this is Gotham.”

“Because this is Gotham,” Dick echoes knowingly.

Tim sighs. “If you’re going to fly back—”

“Which I am,” Kory agrees.

“—could you, like, not do it from here?” Tim sighs. “I put a lot of effort into making this place inconspicuous. I really don’t want to bring attention to it.”

Kory winces. “Uh, it might be a bit late, after Donna’s departure, but I’ll see what I can do. Where would be the best place to leave from?”

The three of them hold a whispered conference.

“The Narrows?”
“C’mon, Jay, that’s too far and you know it.”
“The Alley then?”
“Aww, man, why is it always the Alley?”
“It’s literally right next door.”
“Fine. But you owe me one for this, twerp.”
“The T does not stand for twerp, Jay.”
“Bite me.”

Then Dick turns to Kory. “We can show you a place.”

“No, ‘Wing. I’ll show her,” Jason interrupts. “It’s my turf, after all.” He gives his two brothers a long look, and then gives Tim a sharp glance. “Tim. Make sure my idiot brother gets home in one piece, okay?”

“Hey!”

Tim nods. “I’ll do it.”

Jason disappears down the street with Kory, leaving Dick and Tim staring at each other.

Tim rocks on his heel, his gaze wandering for a few moments before tracking back to Dick.

“So,” he says. “I guess I should ask how you got here.”

Dick looks at him. Like, really looks at him. “I was with Donna, an Amazonian, and Kory, a flier who can fly almost as fast as Tee, and both of them are known for not having the patience for driving. They also don’t mind carrying people to avoid driving… And Roy, Jason, and I have enough dignity not to mind taking shortcuts every once in a while. You really have to ask me that?”

Tim winces. “Yeah. Fair point.”

They stare at each other for a long moment.

“We’ll Uber it,” they say in unison.

Dick pauses. “Hey, should we wait for Jay?”

Tim shakes his head. “Nah. This is near enough to the Alley that Jay’s definitely got his own transport stashed nearby.” He waves a hand. “He’ll be fine.”

Dick watches for a long moment, Tim’s gaze once again wandering as if expecting Jason to suddenly return all at once.  “This is in retaliation for something Jason did, isn’t it?”

“You betcha. He’ll be fine, though. C’mon. I’ll pay.”

Chapter Text

The Uber dumps Tim and Dick about three  blocks away from Pennyworth Manor — they’re not that dumb so as to make the driver take them right to the door of the place they’re staying.

In fact, , they specifically get the Uber to take them to the major shopping mall that’s near to where Dick and the others have been living these last few weeks. Innocuous enough of a destination, plausible enough too, large enough to get lost – and lose a tail if needed – but also close enough to their real destination that it’s not a pain to walk there.

Layers. They live their life with layers.

Others call it paranoia. It’s not paranoia when the monsters after you are real.

(Case in point, they really do lose a tail in the mall.) (Two tails, actually.)

(One of which is a reporter.) (The other is unknown, but it’s still a tail. Probably paparazzi, knowing their luck.)

In any case, they make sure that there are definitely no tails behind them before they make their way… home.

Home.

It has a nice ring to it.

Alfred is setting the table for dinner by the time he hears the knock on the door and approaching footsteps.

He’s using the mismatched cutlery and plates that they’ve managed to scrounge. (They should probably buy a matching set at some point but with everything that’s been happening, especially with the media focus that’s been on the family lately, it’s been slipping down the priority list.) (Besides, there’s a certain… charm in having everything workable but mismatched. It’s kind of like them, in a way) (It’s such a change from the Manor where everything had to be just so. It’s refreshing to have this place feel not just like a house but an actual home.) 

Alfred looks up from the table as he places down the last fork, and frowns. He can only see Dick. And that’s a problem, because he sent out two family members (plus the Titans, but he wouldn’t be surprised if the Titans were called away). “Di—Where’s Jason?”

“Coming,” Dick says. He moves to the side, to reveal the person behind him with a grin. “I brought someone else instead.”

“I—Tim!” Alfred rushes over and embraces his missing charge, hugging the young man tight. At first Tim is stiff, and Alfred fears he’s pushed too hard too fast, and he thinks of letting go, but then Tim loosens and returns the hug just as hard. No, harder. (Alfred knows better than to mention  the little sniff he heard.)

They stand like that for a long moment, taking each other in.

It’s the best moment that Alfred has had for a long while.

Finally Tim pushes away, and while Alfred is personally of the opinion that this child needs more hugging, he lets him go. Alfred himself also steps back and discreetly dabs at his eyes, but he’s equally sure he’s fooling no one.

Dick, meanwhile, has walked over to the hall containing the stairs that lead up to the bedrooms “Duke! Steph! Dami! Company!”

Alfred turns to glare at Dick. “Richard. I raised you better than that. And Tim is not simply company.”

“I know. But it’s a sure-fire way to get them here in a hurry.”

That, Alfred has to admit, if only to himself, is a fair point. “Perhaps. But I—“

He cuts himself off when Duke bolts into the room, hands glowing faintly.

The glow instantly fades when he catches sight of Tim. “Tim! You’re back!” He blinks. “For good, right?”

Tim nods slowly. “I—Yeah. At least for a while. I think.”

Not put off by the uncertain reply, Duke goes over and gives Tim a quick slap-hug then steps back. “Good. It was all weird, thinking of you being alone with him in the Manor. You’re better off here with us.”

“I wasn’t in the Manor. I had my own place.”

Duke side-eyes him. “Yeah, like that’s healthy. Living alone all the time. That’s how B got the way he is, from what everyone tells me. You—“

Steph barrels into the room brandishing a wooden spoon like she’s come straight from the kitchen – and Alfred’s trained eyes can see that she’s holding it as a weapon. She relaxes when she sees it’s Tim.

“Tim!” she yells, then dashes over to give him a hug, “That’s for coming back,” followed swiftly by an arm-punch, “and that’s for being an idiot and staying away as long as you did.”

Tim rubs his arm ruefully. “Yeah, yeah. I hear you.”

Damian runs into the room at this point, and he doesn’t bother being subtle about his own weapon, because he’s carrying his katana. He must have taken the time to retrieve it from where he’d hidden it.

Damian regards Tim for a long moment before finally deciding to return the Katana to it’s sheath.

“Drake.” Damian says mildly. “You are back.”

Tim nods. “So it seems.”

Damian flips the sword in his hands and takes hold of the hilt to point the sheathed sword at Tim. “I told you that there would always be a place for you at our table, Drake. Took you long enough to act on my words. In anyone else, I would call that lack a dueling offense.”

Dick stiffens from where he’s leaning against the wall and watching things unfold. “Dami.”

“Fear not, Richard. I will not waste my time on Drake,” Damian’s gaze turns sharp as he glares at Tim, “provided that Drake is staying.”

Tim nods. “I am. Yeah.”

Damian flips the sheathed sword again and hides it. “Then there is no offense.” His lips twitch, but then he pulls himself back under control, the only sign he allows himself of his good humor. “Welcome to ‘Pennyworth Manor’, Timothy.”

Damian vanishes back down the hallway, and it’s only then that Alfred realizes that it is, perhaps, the first time that Alfred can ever recall Damian calling Tim by his first name.

It must be a shock to Tim too, because he’s staring at the place where Damian was standing. “Did he just— Did he just first-name me?”

Dick grins and straightens from leaning against the wall to come over and clap Tim on the back. “Congratulations on joining Damian’s First Name Club. You must have done something that he definitely approves of to earn it.”

Tim looks at Dick, obviously bewildered. “How is coming back something that he approves of?”

Dick’s smile softens into fondness. “It means that you’re putting yourself firmly on the side of family, Timbit, and not on Bruce’s side. Or your own side.”

“Oh.” Tim mumbles. “Is that what it took for you?”

“For me to what?”

“For you to get Richard instead of Grayson from Damian?”

Dick looks at Tim steadily. “I think if you have ask that, you already know the answer.”

Tim winces and nods. “Yeah. Okay. Fair point.”

Alfred clears his throat from where he’s been hovering. As insightful as this conversation is, he has the feeling that he’s intruding. “I think… that I shall go and finish preparations.”

With the layout of the house as open as it is, even in the kitchen Alfred can still hear his boys talking. Softly, as soft as these boys can be, but he can hear them all the same.

He’s trying not to – goodness knows he’s learned his lessons from Bruce about not sticking his nose where it does not belong – but. But it’s hard not to when it’s about himself and his kids.

“Didn’t I tell you that you were missed, Timbit?” Dick asks, sounding pleased.

“Yeah,” Tim sniffs. “Sorry I didn’t believe you.”

“No offense taken.”

There’s a pause for a long moment, Alfred’s own hands stilling the middle of dicing some onions. When there’s a sniffle, Alfred takes in a measured breath, his own heart aching.

“Here, let me show you the room Alfred prepared for you.” Then there’s footsteps, going upstairs.

Deciding he’s overheard enough, Alfred focuses on preparing dinner. He is not crying, it is simply the chemicals coming off of the onions as to why his eyes are wet. 

Tim and Dick are back downstairs and everyone’s gathered in the living room while dinner’s cooking in the oven. (It’s nothing fancy, considering he didn’t know that Tim would be coming back today. If he’d known, he would’ve gotten the ingredients in for Tim’s favorite meal, lasagna. So he’s cooking something a bit further down Tim’s list of favorites, Carbonara.) 

(Yes, Alfred is apparently still not above attempting bribery through food.)

(Not that it ever worked on Bruce, but his kids have always been more susceptible.)

He’s stirring a pot over a stove when he hears a motorcycle approach that needs work on it’s muffler. Or maybe it just needs a muffler in general, considering he can almost feel the engine rumble through his rib cage and into his skull.

At first, he doesn’t think anything of it, other than a passing annoyance. Kids these days.

Then it stops outside.

He stops stirring and takes a step back from the stove, towards the knife block.

The door hits the wall hard and Alfred looks up just in time to see Jason slam the door closed behind him again. He is muttering under his breath as he stomps all the way inside.

Alfred smiles, stepping back towards the stove.

His family is complete once more, this time under his roof.

The rest of the day could go completely to worms, and he does not care. Alfred’s family is here, together.

It is not as simple as that, of course.

In this family, it never is.

For one thing, the first thing that Jason does on arriving back home is make a beeline for Tim, wrapping an arm around his little brother’s neck and grinding the knuckles of his other hand into Tim’s hair.

“Hey!” Tim protests.

To Alfred’s amusement and relief, Tim does not fight hard to get out of it, no doubt revelling in the contact.

“That,” Jason says, still grinding his knuckles, “is what happens to little brothers who dump their elders in Gotham without notice.” A beat. “Or transport.”

Alfred looks at Tim, who looks innocent – and therefore guilty as sin – and Dick, who’s trying to look unbothered – and therefore had known about, and apparently had done nothing to step in all about it. 

This family.

(On the other hand, they’ve obviously relaxed enough to tease each other, so that is something.) (Still, he does need to provide something of a guiding hand. Doesn’t he?)

“Tim,” he says softly, with a hint of remonstration as he keeps stirring the pot. ”What did you do?”

Tim pouts and promptly noodles out of Jason’s grip, proving Alfred’s hypothesis that Jason wasn’t really holding that tight. “Nothing, I swear.”

Alfred looks at him.

Jason huffs. “You’re lucky I was near the Alley when I was finished with Kory and I had a ‘cycle nearby, twerp.”

Tim rolls his eyes. “Okay, so nothing dangerous. I know the location of all your safehouses, Jay, and I knew where’d you’d be taking Kory so she could fly away. You weren’t at any risk of harm.”

“Prove it,” Jason glares. (Or mock threatens. Sometimes it's hard to tell in this family.)

Tim crosses his arms. “You know, I have friends that are fliers too. I’ve had to escort them out of the city plenty of times. I know all of the best places for them to have a good spot to get out of the city from. And, like I said, I know the places where you stash your vehicles, Jay. It wasn’t much of a leap to know where you’d be taking Kory from my place and where the nearest cycle is.” He shrugs. “If anything, you probably had to walk, like, five buildings.”

“Three. She was impatient.”

“Uh huh. So. No harm done.”

In the level of pranks played in this family… Alfred has to admit that it is relatively harmless. He looks to Jason. “And you are no doubt capable of defending yourself should the need arise during that walk?”

Jason looks outraged at the suggestion that he can’t. “Well, yeah. But— But— It’s the principle,” he splutters, finally crossing his own arms. “Whatever happened to leaving no one behind. Didn’t B teach you lot that?”

Tim scratches the side of neck, one of his tells for embarrassment. “Uh, not really.”

Jason lets out a hard breath. “That would… explain so much, actually.” He sniffs the air. “Say. What’s cooking? It smells good.”

Dammit.

Alfred had hoped to get further along – at least to plating – before he was found out. “Carbonara.”

Tim breaks out in a grin. “Aww, thanks Alfred. You didn’t have to do that for me.”

“Nonsense. I was already planning to cook it tonight.”

He steadfastly ignores the looks that the other kids give him, given that he’d told them that he’d be cooking Chicken Parmigiana tonight. This is more important. His family is complete tonight.

He can celebrate just this once.

Tim puts down his fork when the meal is complete, a sated look on his face. “Alfred, you’ve outdone yourself. That was somehow even better than I remember.”

“Yeah,” Steph says, just a hint of sarcasm in her voice. “Certainly better than your own cooking.” A beat. “Or Alfred’s chicken parmigiana.”

“Hush,” Duke says with a grin. “We just got Tim back, we don’t want to scare him away.”

Tim rolls his eyes. “Alfred’s cooking isn’t that scary, guys. In fact, speaking of satisfying…” Tim reaches into his pocket and brings out three thumb drives. “Here. I made these.”

Alfred stares at them. For all that he’s used to Bruce and his ease with technology, it still takes a while for the penny to drop as to what he’s looking at. But then, he didn’t expect it. “Thumb drives.”

Tim nods. “I made copies.”

“Copies,” Alfred echoes. “You made copies.”

“Yeah. Of the, uh, files. That were… downstairs.”

Alfred blinks. The downstairs files. It’s been long enough that he’s had to use such terminology that it takes a while to sink in.

Cave files.

Batman’s files.

Yeah.

Those files.

He lifts a hand towards the drives but as soon as he notices it is shaking, he drops the hand back into his lap. “All of them?” he asks quietly.

Tim nods slowly. “Yeah.” He clears his throat. “I had to do some digging to make sure, but yeah. This is all of them.”

He clenches his hands into fists.

There, sitting on the table in those innocuous drives, is all the evidence they have of Bru—Batman’s deception.

Alfred says as much, which makes Tim frown. “I did take copious notes and records of what I was doing, if it helps.”

“It does.”

Dick sighs. “If this goes where I think it will, we’ll probably need everything we can on our side.”

Alfred stiffens, ever alert to potential bad news. “What do you mean?”

Dick rubs his forehead, like he has a headache. “I’m not sure, but I think B might be in breach of a few laws.”

Damian clicks his tongue. “Richard. We are vigilantes. In Gotham. Of course we are in breach of the law.”

Dick sighs. “No. I mean… JLA law. Their code of conduct. That kind of thing.”

There’s a sound like everyone sucks in a breath all at once.

Shock.

What Alfred is feeling is shock.

“On the other hand,” Dick continues into the silence, “I could be wrong. It’s been a while since I looked at their codes of conduct.”

“That’s right,” Tim says faintly, like he’s recalling facts he’s not sure he wants to right now. “You're a reserve member of the JLA.”

“Mmm,” Dick hums. “Led it once or twice, too,” he says dismissively, like it’s just another Sunday thing. “I’m fairly sure there’s a section in there about not… doing things to other heroes without their consent.” He frowns. “I know the consent part is important. It was added after the Dr Light thing.[1] But I forget the details of what’s included.”

Damian frowns. “Dr Light? What is this in reference to?”

“Ah. Right. I keep forgetting that that was before your time.” He looks around the table. “Actually, it was probably before the time of a lot of you.” Dick clears his throat. “Honestly, it was a bit of a mess. I got parts of it from Bruce, parts from Clark, and the rest from analyzing BatComputer files and extrapolating from there, so I’m still not quite sure I know the whole story.”

Damian clicks his tongue again. “What do you know?”

Dick lets out a long breath. “Short version? Dr Light was found out to be a rapist. The JLA tried to mindwipe him using Zatanna, but lobotomized him instead. Batman appeared midwipe, tried to stop them, so they wiped him too.”

Jason stares at him. “I’m not sure what’s worse. The rapist bit, the mindwipes bullshit, or the lobotomy.”

Steph pushes her plate away, looking nauseous. “How about all of it?”

Cass nods. “All of it. Definitely all.”

“Oh, it gets better,” Dick says. “Because for B it wasn’t a full wipe, only a partial one. He knew that his memories had been tampered with.”

“He would,” the table chorused.

“Amen to that,” Dick agreed. “So it just made him even more paranoid of everyone and anyone. Which led to, among other things, his development of the contingency plans against the other members of the JLA.”

Tim snaps his fingers. “So that’s where they came from. I always wondered.”

“Uh huh. But when they found out about said plans – which they did – you can imagine the storm that created. I think he was kicked off the league for a bit.” Dick shrugs. “It was kind of crazy for a while there. Everything was happening all at once.”

Duke pulls a face. “Which is unusual how?”

“Touché.” Dick fingerguns him. “The point is, that’s when the section about not doing things to other heroes without their consent went into their code of conduct.” He frowns. “I’m just… I’ll have to read it again, just to make sure this is counted in that.”

The pit in Alfred’s stomach gets bigger and wider. “How so?”

“I mean that the footage we saw of my… my death? He definitely didn’t ask me if he could have it.”

And now Alfred feels like he has a headache too. “You mean—”

Dick nods. “I expect we’ll find more files in there, files that were gathered without our explicit consent.” He sighs again. “Then again, that’s Batman’s modus operandi all over; gather evidence and store it, whether people know he has it or not.” He leans back in the chair and crosses his arms. “Hell, I do it too, especially for cases.”

The atmosphere shifted, every single member of Dick’s family suddenly uncomfortable.

It’s Steph that voices the obvious question. After all, someone has to be the one to say it. (Alfred can tell that they’re all thinking it.) “You mean to say you think we should tell people when we have them under surveillance?”

“Yes?” Dick rolls his shoulders, a clear sign that he’s uncomfortable for those that know him. “No? Honestly, I don’t know. It’s just that I’ve realized what it’s like when the shoe’s on the other foot, and I don’t like it.”

“Fair,” Cass hums.

“I think…” Alfred says slowly, “that this is a point we’ll all have to give some thought to, though I believe it will be best to do so after we see what’s on the drives.”

Duke looks at Alfred and tilts his head. “You think that’ll change our answer.”

“Perhaps,” Alfred sighs. He can only go by what he knows of Batman’s character, and his suspicions. Of which he has many. “There is no clear cut answer to that question, leaving aside the legalities for the moment. I think it would behoove us all to do our research.”

Tim nods. “That’s fair.”

“Speaking of research,” Alfred ventures, taking a breath. In truth, Alfred is not sure if he should ask, but he is very much certain he needs to know. “Tim, do you have an idea of what types of files we’re looking at?” 

“Well… sort of? I mean, I know what dates are there. I didn’t look at the exact files, at least not many of them.”

Alfred nods. Even knowing the dates would be of help. “Tell me.”

Tim starts pointing around the table. “Jason’s death, Steph’s death, Dick’s death and, for some reason, six months of files afterwards, Jason’s reappearance, and—”

“Stop,” Dick interrupts. The colour has drained from his face, his gaze unfocused. “I know what he’s got. I know what links them.” He rubs at his head, which makes Alfred even more certain that he’s got a headache. “They’re all moments that Batman lost control. Of something or someone.”

Jason’s fork clatters to the table. “You’re joking. The big bad Bat losing control?” He laughs, a hard, harsh laugh that’s grating to Alfred’s ears. “We are talking about the same Bat, aren’t we?”

The table erupts into noise, as everyone tries to defend or protect Bruce. Batman.

Even as mixed as Alfred’s feelings are right now towards Bruce right now, he can’t deny that Batman has done a lot of good for the city. Just… maybe not as much good as a parent. And having watched it all from the sidelines, he has a fair idea of the why of it all. “Bruce…” Alfred begins slowly in a soft voice, instantly capturing everyone’s attention, “comes at things from a place of fear. Fear of loss, in all its forms. Which made him hold on all the tighter… perhaps at times that he shouldn’t have. It also meant that it terrified him everytime he experienced a loss of control, in any form.”

Jason looks at him mutinously. “Don’t tell me you’re defending him.”

“I’m not,” Alfred says calmly. “I’m just…” He stops and sighs. “I understand him. I do not excuse his actions, but I can understand where he was coming from. Is coming from.” He looks around the table, meeting each of their gazes. “Whatever the case, we need to watch the files to understand the full scope of what we’re dealing with here.”

“What we’re dealing with?” Jason echoes.

“We must know what footage Batman has, and how he has it, before we can begin to tackle the why of it all,” Alfred explains.

“The why of it?” Duke frowns. “Does that really matter? I mean, isn’t it bad enough that the footage exists?”

“Yes? No? I don’t know.” Dick shrugs. “I don’t really know what to think, honestly. I’m still trying to wrap my head around it.” He laughs lowly. “Bad enough I lived it. I don’t really need to keep reliving it by rewatching the footage, you know?”

Jason nods firmly. “If my death is there, let me tell you, I’mma gonna peace out. There’s no way in hell that I’m gonna watch that. Once was enough. And I can’t see that Bruce would gain anything by watching it…” His face darkens. “Not that he asked for that footage.”

Tim side-eyes him. “Jayce. You were probably dead when he took it from your mask. So. You know. He couldn’t really ask you.”

“Shut it, Timbit.”

“No.”

“Children,” Alfred says firmly. “Arguing about this will get us nowhere.” He looks around at his family, at the children (grandchildren) he’s taken under his wing, at the various expressions on their faces, and knows right away that this is not his decision to make. After all, isn’t that why he is here? Because he asked? And because he was utterly fed up with Batman deciding for them?

He clears his throat, which is enough to capture everyone’s attention. “Well. It seems to me that we have a decision to make.”

Like he expected, he’s greeted with various expressions of confusion.

“What kind of decision?” Damian asks. “Is it not obvious that we should watch the files as soon as possible?”

“Perhaps,” Alfred allows. “I was just thinking that—”

He stops short when a sound interrupts him.

Knock. Knock.

Wait. There’s someone at the door.

Chapter Text

Knock. Knock.

The sound of the knocking at the door halts the conversation in its tracks.

For a long moment, they all just look at each other in puzzlement, not a single one of them rising to answer it, not even Alfred.

“Does… anyone know we’re here?” Dick asks slowly, his grip on the table tightening. (Well, his grip with his good hand. The other hand he hides under the table.)

There’s a general shaking of heads, Damian’s gaze trained on where the door was as if he could possibly see through the walls.

“I have not had a chance to update our civilian postal addresses, let alone started the process for the, uh, nightly ones,” Alfred sighs.

Right.

Because that’s a total thing that they need to do. Especially if they plan on staying here. (Because… they might be staying here. Forever.) (Dick’s not sure yet how he feels about that.) Dick clears his throat and tries to refocus. “What about—What about being followed?” And by ‘being followed’ he means the media. Specifically the paparazzi. He had enough of that when he first was hurt, and during the trial.

And of course that goes down like a lead balloon.

Jason bristles and narrows his eyes. “I dare you to repeat that.”

“Jason,” Dick says placatingly, “you know I—”

Knock.

Knock.

It repeats again, harder and firmer, the sound of it echoing around Jason’s skull and rattling down his spine.

He’d really like whoever’s there to go away. But they seemed just as determined to keep knocking, to keep intruding on the dinner he was having.

“Someone really needs to go get that,” Tim says mildly from where he’s sitting. He’s also making no move towards the door. (He has, however, quietly pocketed the thumb drives.)

No one else moves.

“Fine,” Jason snarls, standing up and slamming his chair back, and he’s spiteful enough to feel a burst of satisfaction that the sudden move makes everyone jump. “I’ll be the one to get it.”

He stalks towards the door, telling himself he doesn’t care when no one follows. They’re all a bunch of idiots.

Jason yanks the door open just as Duke yells out “Wait—”

But it’s too late.

It’s too late.

For everything.

Jason swallows hard, the anger – rage, let’s call it what it is – draining away like water swirling the drain. His vision narrows, darkens, and his heartbeat thumps in his ears.

Fear. He’s feeling… fear.

No.

Not fear.

Terror.

Maybe that’s why his feet are frozen to the floor and he can’t seem to release the door-handle because all he can see is the yellow-toothed smile. Only Jason’s ears seem to be fully working.

The deranged cackle, after all, is unmistakable.

“Hello, Johnny!”

The Joker.

It’s the Joker.

Jason swallows. His throat is dry. Parched. So are his eyes. How long has he—

BANG
Crack

Whoever says that gunshots sound like a bang are lying.

In Dick’s experience, they’re more like a whip cracking at high-speed.

But it does bang-crack it’s way into near giving him a heart-attack, when he hears that sound and immediately realizes it’s coming from their front door.

Where Jay is.

And everyone realizes that at once, because they all jump up and – like the idiots they are – go straight to the source.

Or maybe not idiots.

Like they are reckless vigilantes used to diving straight into danger.

The point is, none of them even thinks to look first. Or grab a weapon on their way.

Stupid stupid stupid.

The folly of that is rather clear by the time Dick makes it to the foyer. Somehow he’s the last one, even though he thought that he’d been the closest. (Guess he really is losing his edge.)

Dick immediately feels his mouth run dry, when he sees Jason on the floor lying in a pool of slowly-spreading blood, and the Joker standing over him, grin bright, shotgun still smoking.

He’s ended up directly facing the Joker, and the others are spread around the house’s unreasonably large foyer – Duke, Damian, and Alfred to his right, and then Steph and Cass and Tim to his left. Except that he froze in his tracks near the entrance to the foyer, and he’s too far away to see where Jason was shot. He just knows it doesn’t look good. (But does it ever, in this family?)

His mouth speaks for him before his brain catches up. “How did you—” Then he slams his jaw shut, because it’s never good to be the focus of the Joker’s attention.

Dick gets it anyway, because the shotgun swivels towards him and aims at the center of his torso.

Lovely.

“How did I find you?” The Joker grins a macabre smile. “Or how did I find my ol’ friend here?” he asks, poking Jason’s body with his toe with careless concern.

Dick hides a wince at the careless movement, and then has to hide his relief when Jason groans.

At least he knows now that his brother is alive.

Small mercies.

Out of the corner of Dick’s eye, he sees Alfred edging slowly back towards the kitchen. Alfred must have some plan – or weapon – back there.

So he speaks again, this time desperate to keep Joker’s attention on him. “How did you find us?” 

The Joker grins. It’s not a pleasant smile. “It was quite easy, really. Especially now that you’re not all holed up in that fancy mansion on the hill, protected by its fancy security systems.” He laughs. “You really should look into better security. Or not. I do like a challenge, after all,” his smile sours, “but getting in here was pathetically easy.”

Right.

So far, it looks like that is an attack on the Wayne family.

Unpleasant, but this they can deal with. (They’ve dealt with worse.)

Dick clears his throat. “I’ll, uh, I’ll make a note for the future.”

The Joker almost pouts at him. “You should. I was hoping for more of a fight from you costumed freaks.”

The air stills.

The Joker—

The Joker knows—

He knows who they are.

All of a sudden, Dick has the feeling that he’s standing on a landmine – that they’re all standing on landmines. Or maybe, a better analogy would be that the Joker’s just a lit a fuse to a bomb, but no one in his family knows how long that fuse is. Only the Joker does.

Dick feels his heart sink further and doesn’t dare catch the eyes of any of his family.

This is it.

The Joker knows who they are… or has made a really good (accurate) guess.

Either way, this is not. Good.

He swallows. What’s worse is, he can only see one way out of this.

And no one (least of all himself) is going to like it.

The thing is, the family has only one rule when it comes to dealing with the Joker: Follow the crazy.

Sometimes that means playing along. And sometimes that means picking up the pieces in a Gotham torn apart by one of his rampages until he leaves enough clues to track him down.

This, Dick knows, is going to be one of the first situations.

(He has another personal rule: Be the distraction.) (It’s a rule born of the time when he was eight and learning the trapeze, twelve and following along behind Batman’s cape.) 

This, Dick also knows, is going to be the performance of his life.

Dick allows himself the luxury of one breath.

In.

Out.

And then he holds up his hands in surrender and steps forward slightly to make sure he and he alone has Joker’s attention. “All right. You got us.”

Dick can hear the hissed intakes of breath around him in surprise and shock – no doubt that he would so clearly admit something that they have spent literal decades hiding – but ignores them.

For this to work, their emotions have to be real.

“You’ve found out what we’ve been hiding,” Dick makes himself continue, injecting a little wobble into his voice. He swallows. “What—What do you want?”

Joker’s grin widens. “Dickie boy, I thought you’d never ask.” He clicks the safety off his gun and then cocks the gun to reload, the k-CHNK echoing around the room. “I want you to take me to Him. I want ol’ Bats.”

Dick makes a show of nodding slowly, as if he’s reluctant. “I—I can do that.”

“Dick!” Tim hisses. “You can’t—”

“Shut up, Timmy.” The Joker snarks at him, the gun swiveling towards Tim. “The adults are talking.”

Dick steps another half-step forward, desperate to get the gun – and Joker’s attention – back on him. And not on his family, please, dear God.

Anything but that.

(The Joker’s already killed Jason once – it damn well better not be twice – and then paralyzed and assaulted Barbara, not mention how he’s wrecked havoc on Gotham countless times in a bid to get Batman to finally break and kill him.) (Dick will not let Joker have the last laugh once more.)

(Enough is enough, dammit.)

Dick succeeds, at any rate, because the shotgun swivels back towards him. Center mass, as always.

(He should be afraid, but he’s not. Instead, the adrenaline is starting to kick in, his thoughts calming.) (This is, after all, where he grew up. The center stage, under the spotlight.)

(He’ll be fine.)

(He can do this.)

After all, all Dick has to do is get the Joker out of the room and away from his family – away from Jason especially. Then they’ll be able to give Jason first aid and Alfred can… get whatever he wants to get out of the kitchen.

A knife, maybe. Hopefully the biggest one they have.

At this point, Dick’s not picky.

The Joker gestures with the shotgun. “Take me to Him. Start walking, Robin,” he orders, then cackles like he’s just delivered a great joke.

Dick takes the knowledge that the Joker definitely knows who they are in and out of the mask – at least, knows who he is, and he knows from experience that it’s a very short jump from there to all of them – and carefully packs that away.

He’ll deal with that… later.

Right now, he has a family to save, and the Joker to deal with.

He can panic later.

Dick gestures vaguely behind himself. “It’s… back that way. D–Downstairs.”

Joker grins. “You’re taking me to the BatCave!”

Dick does his best not to look at Alfred, or at his family, when he nods in answer.

For the record, the basement level of the house contains Alfred’s rooms and the laundry, a bonus room they’d talked about converting into a home gym, and a larger flex space they’d been treating as storage. (Said flex space may now become Tim’s room now that he’s here.) There’d been some suggestions of installing a Zeta tube access point, but they haven’t got there yet. (And thank goodness for that.) (He is not allowing the Joker access to the JLA systems.)

What the basement does have are closed-in stairs as an access point, just wide enough for one person at a time. Which means that the Joker is going to have a choice: either he’s going to have to make Dick go down first, and thus expose his back to the rest of the family up here; or Joker’s going to go down first, exposing himself to any potential “hazards” down there. Either way, it’ll (hopefully) be a good spot to tackle him.

The Joker cackles as he strides over and uses the shotgun to nudge Dick out of the room. “Lead on, Macduff!”

As soon as the Joker and Dick are out of the room, Damian crosses his arms and frowns. “It is ‘lay on’. Heathen,” he mutters, glaring at the closed door the two of them left through.

Tim huffs. “Now is not the time, Damian.”

Damian rolls his eyes. It is always the time to speak properly. If he had to suffer through learning the rules of English in the guise of Shakespearan plays, then he can’t see why everyone else shouldn’t speak proper English too.

“Enough, children,” Alfred remonstrates gently, kneeling over Jason and applying pressure to the torso. “Do any of you have a first aid kit on you?”

The kids look at each other and shake their heads.
“No.”
“Nope.”
“Kitchen.”

Alfred thins his lips, obviously thinking through their options. “What about cellphones?”

Steph laughs lowly and reaches for the back pocket of her jeans. “Yep. The clown forgot to search.”

“Right.” Alfred thinks for a moment. “Cassandra, dear, take over applying pressure. Steph, I want you to ring 911 for me. Follow their instructions to the letter.”

Steph nods, somber. “Rogue protocols? Or, just, you know, break in gone wrong?” In other words, does she tell 911 that the Joker is here? Or is Alfred going to go… deal with it? (Or go and help Dick deal with it?)

Alfred meets her gaze. “Rogue protocols.”

Stephanie swallows. “But that means—” That they’ll treat this like a hostage negotiation – which it is not – and delay getting treatment to Jason.

(It’ll also mean that there’ll be absolutely no way that Jason’ll be able to stay legally dead after this.) (Can’t treat a bleeding gunshot wound in a dead body can you?)

“Honesty, my dear. We begin as we mean to go on.” He shifts his body to the side but keeps his hands pressed down. “Take over please, Cassandra.”

Cass kneels beside him and expertly takes over, pushing down just as hard – and then harder, until she gets a groan out of Jason.

Alfred gets up and ineffectually tries to wipe his bloody hands on his trousers. He gives up and then looks at Tim and Damian. “Boys. You have a choice. Come with me, or stay here and deal with the police officers and paramedics.”

Tim looks torn. “What are you doing?”

Alfred smiles. It’s not a pleasant smile. “Going Joker hunting.”

Tim and Damian exchange a quick look. In this, at least, they are in complete agreement.

“I’ll stay.”
“I’ll go.”

Tim clears his throat and speaks again. “I’ll stay and help manage things from here. Someone has to organize things, after all.”

Damian nods once, decisively. “I shall go with you.” He grins, all teeth and sharp edges. “My katana is in the kitchen with your gun, after all.” He pauses a moment. “I just have one question.” He looks to the only entrance, with the door now closed and no doubt blocked on the other side. “How are we getting out?”

Alfred’s smile takes on a mysterious edge.

The first thing that happens as soon as they’re out of the foyer is that the Joker closes the door and then shoves a chair under the knob.

Lovely.

As if this day couldn’t get worse.

But really, Dick should learn not to think things like that because the Joker immediately turns and grabs him by his bad arm and twists and pulls and tightens.

It’s all Dick can do to twist and go with the motion even as he’s gasping for breath. Tears spring to his eyes and he dimly feels his knees hit the ground, but that’s a minor thing compared to the electrical sharp burning spicy hot that’s the center of his world world right now.

Gods. What a way to find out he’s not healed yet.

Then the Joker lets go. “That’s just a taste of what I’ll do to you if you don’t cooperate with me, bucko,” he snarls. The gun prods him again. “Now. Where’s. my. BatCave?”

Alfred goes straight to an unassuming wall in the foyer and taps it, listening carefully.

Damian’s eyes light up as he watches, instantly recognising the motion for what it is: searching for a secret passage.

This day is only getting better.

“Aha!” Alfred exclaims and pushes on a piece of wainscotting about his eye level in the upper-right corner.

Damian makes note of its location for future reference. If nothing else, it would be handy to have a place to hide from his siblings when they get on his nerves.

“This way, Damian.”

Dick coughs and curls over his arm when the pressure of the Joker’s grip finally lets go, squeezing his eyes tight but feeling the tears trickle down his cheeks anyway. He hugs his bad arm to his chest and presses his hot hot forehead to the cold cold floor. The pain is spiking through his nerves, up his arm, and across his chest, like spicy-hot electricity carrying with it an undertone of burning.

It’s like his arm’s been doused in acid all over again.

Logically he knows it hasn’t, that he’s kneeling in the house in Gotham, but—

But—

Gods, what a way to find out that he still has some level of feeling in his arm.

He is not going to fall apart over such a stupid thing, he is not.

No, he is definitely not, not when Joker’s gun nudges his shoulder.

Once, and then twice more.

Yeah. Okay.

He gets the hint and swallows down everything he’s feeling and does his best to rise to his feet without using his bad arm at all. He turns to face the Joker, not even bothering to wipe his eyes or make himself look presentable. He just broke down over someone grabbing his arm, he probably looks a bit of a mess, and they both know it.

Why bother to hide it, at this point?

The Joker is staring at him with something strange in his eyes. “You’re not going to fall over from some tiny wittle boo-boo, are you?”

Dick lets out a hollow laugh. Falling over is a possibility, at this point. But he can keep going. That’s what Robins do, isn’t it? They keep going. “I’ll be fine.”

He’s always fine.

The Joker cackles, a sound that scrapes Dick’s nerves. “Good. I’d hate to come all this way and lose out on my BatCave.”

“Yeah. That.” Dick coughs to hide his wince. ‘My BatCave’ indeed. Damn, but the Joker’s crazy.

And obsessed. But mostly crazy.

Then the Joker proves that underneath all the crazy is a mind that’s still as sharp as ever. He tilts his head and stares at Dick. “Come to think of it, why are you leading me all this way to my BatCave? You’re really giving up the keys to the Kingdom this easily?”

Given that this is not the way to the BatCave? Yeah, he’s got absolutely no problem with leading the Joker to their basement.

But he has to sell it, so Dick bites his lip and hesitates. If he’s going to sell it… he has to make this believable. And there are historically only a few motives that the Joker understands.

Betrayal, yeah. The Joker would expect a betrayal or a double-cross at some point, because that’s just how his mind works.

Revenge would work too. 

And it just so happens that Dick has a few things to get off his chest.

Mind made up, Dick turns to face the Joker more fully and gingerly folds his arms – not bothering to hide the instant flash pain or weakness in his bad arm since the Joker has made abundantly clear he already knows about the injury. (Stupid arm. Stupid burns. Stupid bandages.) “Me and B may not be sympatico right now, but did you really believe I’d lead you to the BatCave like that?”

The Joker cackles. “It was an option.” Then his smile turns down, and Dick has to hide a shiver. It never means good things when the Joker’s smile turns sour. “So what do you mean by not being ‘sympatico’ with ol’ Batsy? Too many bats in his Belfry, finally?”

Dick frowns. “No. We just… realized we had differing opinions on how things should be done.” And by things, he means everything, particularly when it comes to family. And people’s lives. Frankly, he’s not sure he recognizes the man behind the cowl anymore… Not when he compares B to the man who lives in his memories, who had taken Dick in all those years ago.

The Joker cackles, his eyes lighting up with glee. “Oooo, a schism in the Bats. How delightful.”

These mood swings are giving Dick mental whiplash, but they’re part and parcel of dealing with the Joker. (He knew what he’d be facing when he volunteered for this.)

“I wouldn’t call what happened ‘delightful’,” Dick retorts dryly.

The gun lowers a little bit. “Tell me,” The Joker orders, his voice smooth as smoke. “Tell me everything.”

Alfred shuts the passage behind them as soon as Damian is clear, then turns to Damian and holds his finger up to his mouth in a shushing gesture.

Damian nods, seeing the problem immediately.

The kitchen is open to the lounge area, which leads directly to the hallway… and around the corner is the stairs that go downstairs. Which is where Dick was taking the Joker.

If Damian listens, he can hear their voices: Dick’s soothing low voice and the Joker’s high piercing cackles.

Which means they’ll be able to hear the Alfred and Damian too, if they’re not careful enough .

Damian goes straight to the place he hid his katana, taking even more care than usual to hide the sound of his steps. It helps that he’s in socks.

Alfred leaves his shoes by the passageway so that he’s also in socks and goes over to the kitchen island. He pulls a knife from the knife block – “Sometimes, simple is best, Damian,” he whispers – and then quietly opens the bottom drawer and pulls out a gun.

Huh. Damian knew that Alfred would have had a gun somewhere in the house. Jason totally owes him twenty dollars.

Dick thinks quickly.

He cannot give the Joker more ammunition against their family – against Bruce, who the Joker has always seemed to have a particular hatred for – but. But he also has to make the split believable.

Then he spots a picture Alfred has hanging in the hall, and knows what to say.

“Not much to tell. You know I’m the first Robin. I’ve always taken my responsibility to those that come after me seriously. I found out that Bruce wasn’t taking care of the kids as well as I’d like, so I took them with me. Alfred followed.”

Which is the truth… from a certain point of view, to quote a certain movie.

The Joker hums and seems to file that information away.

Which is the more frightening response, really, if Dick’s being honest. It’s when the Joker reacts right away to things, even if that reaction is… volatile, that the Joker can be handled. The times that he stews and plans and thinks… those are the times that he’s dangerous.

To get his mind off that depressing thought, Dick turns and gestures with his good arm at the stairs that they’ve finally reached. “Anyway. Here we are. After you.” He backs up just a little and holds his bad arm again, to really sell the idea that he wants the Joker to go down first.

The Joker blinks and looks at the stairs, as if he’s just remembered where they are and what they’re doing. (Maybe he has.) “You want me to go down there?” he says doubtfully.

Dammit.

Today is definitely not going the way Dick had hoped.

Deciding to put more effort into his performance, Dick faces the Joker fully and snorts. “Of course not. That’s just our second living area. You really believe the BatCave is down there?” he says derisively. “You do and I’ve got a bridge to sell you.”

The gun lowers again, just a fraction. “But you said—”

“You get to the ‘Cave through there.” Or they would have been able to, if they’d gotten around to actually installing the Zeta tube before today. “I never said the Cave itself was down there.”

The Joker hums to himself, sharp intelligence shining through the crazed glint to his eyes, if only for a moment. “Fair enough.” He eyes the darkened stairwell thoughtfully.

Yeah, he’s probably – hopefully – thinking the same thing Dick is.

Because someone is going to have to lead the way down the stairs. Whoever takes the lead is going to be vulnerable, exposing their back to whatever is down there. On the other hand, whoever follows behind will have their back exposed to potential ambushes from behind.

(Anyone sane would flip a coin.) (But the Joker may be many things, but he is not sane.) (It depends on what option the Joker thinks is more likely, ambush from behind or betrayal from below.)

(Or more accurately, it depends on how much faith the Joker has in one chair to keep Dick’s family at bay.)

Quite a lot, it turns out, because he gestures with the gun to make Dick go first.

Yay.

What’s worse, is that the Joker makes Dick descend with his back to him, facing forwards. And he waits until Dick is halfway down before descending himself and then keeps an easy pace with him, always the same distance.

Dammit.

There goes Dick’s half-formed plan of tackling him on the stairs.

Some days, the Joker is entirely too clever.

Creeping down the hallway is not the easiest thing for Alfred.

He didn’t buy this house thinking that he needed corners to peer around. It was more a case that he was going through one of those odd moments of being fed up with the Manor and Bruce’s increasing need for secrecy, so Alfred had been thinking more of openness, of some semblance of normal life after every single thing had needed to be so secretive for so long.

And, yeah, maybe, having a potential safehouse for himself had had a definite appeal, but Alfred also can’t deny that he was also thinking about the family. Why else would he buy a place with so many bedrooms?

(Turns out that he’d always had the family at heart.)

He’d just never really thought about having the danger within the house. (Although a part of him must have, to be so pleased about having a house with a secret passage.) (Although that cat was now definitely out of the metaphorical bag.)

It helps that the hallway is carpeted, and Alfred’s in socks. His steps make no noise, especially as he takes care to lift his foot fully before he puts it down again. He’s aware, in a kind of dim way, of Damian shadowing him at his side, somehow even more silent but all the more deadly despite his age. (Or maybe it’s because of Damian’s age. There are some very good Reasons that Alfred retired from his position in the Army to become a butler, after all.)

He sights down the barrel of the gun, and feels himself calm, his worries and anxieties draining away as old but not forgotten training takes over.

There’s just him, his gun, and his target.

(For the record, for all of Bru—Batman’s grandstanding about how hard the Joker was to capture… it’s easier than he’d ever thought it would be.)

(He lies. It’s exactly as easy as he thought it would be.)

He aims the gun.

Flicks off the safety.

Fires.

Walks forward to the top of the stairs.

Fires again. Double tap, straight to the heart, just to make certain.

Pauses.

And does another double tap to the skull.

Only then does he lower the gun.

Without having the gun sights in his vision to narrow his thoughts, he’s able to focus on more than just the Joker.

His senses trickle back in.

He sees the darkened hallway, and the stairs, leading down. The body, laying at the bottom. Dick, leaning against the wall of the staircase, staring back up at him with wide eyes

Alfred can hear the elevated breathing of Damian by his side. His own heart, pumping loud in his ears, from the adrenaline kicking in after the event as it always had. His ears are ringing just a little from the gun going off – he didn’t think to bring ear protection. (Because there wasn’t time.) (There still isn’t.)

He can feel said gun in his hands, and he belatedly points it at the ground and clicks the safety on. Then drops it for good measure and slides it further away with his foot.

There’s a sharp tang of gunpowder still hanging in the air, the afterburn of having shot so many times in such close quarters permeating the entire space.

He can taste blood in his mouth. He must have bitten his tongue at some point.

Alfred blinks, just once, and the world roars back in as his brain kicks back into gear. He turns to face Damian, regretting his choice to bring his youngest grandson along but also realizing it can’t be helped now. “Damian. Damian. Are you with me?”

Damian looks at him, eyes just as wide as Dick’s, but just as quickly he seems to shake himself as his usual stiff posture reappears. “Of course I am.”

Alfred nods. It’s not to his preference, Damian’s posture, especially since he’s seen the lad relax just a few hours ago, but Alfred has to deal with the cards he’s been dealt. (And he does not like the way Dick looks right now.)  

“I need you to go back to Tim and tell him it’s over,” Alfred orders, voice pitched deliberately soft to catch Damian’s awareness.

Damian nods, casts one last look down the stairs, directed not at the still body on the ground but at the shaking form pressed against the side of the stairwell. Damian clicks his tongue and finally disappears back towards the foyer, leaving Dick to Alfred

Alfred allows himself the luxury of one sigh and turns back to face the task in front of him. Namely, taking care of the body – which is to say, making sure that the Joker really is dead – and looking after Dick. Who worryingly hasn’t said anything.

It takes his eyes a few seconds to focus in the dark of the stairwell, for him to pick out the details. For him to see Dick. And what he does see concerns him. No. It worries him.

Dick is still pressing himself against the wall and mouthing the one word over and over and over.

Alfred has to look closely in the dim lighting of the stairwell to make it out, and even then he’s not sure what that word is. (No. He lies. His eyes aren’t that bad. Not yet. He’s just not sure he likes it… and what it means.)

“No no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no…”

It’s the one word. Over and over.

“Dick?” Alfred creeps forward. The task is made difficult by the body lying in the middle of the stairs, which he dares not touch. He’s not stupid. He’s killed someone, and he’s had the kids call 911. There’s going to be police crawling all over this soon, and CSI. He has to leave as much of the scene intact as possible.

But Alfred also has a grandson to rescue, and he knows which one takes priority right now.

His family will always come first.

Dick stares into the distance and doesn’t make any sign of acknowledgement. Just keeps mouthing that damn word over and over.

Dammit.

He knows the signs of a flashback when he sees it. He saw it often enough with Bru— at the Manor.

What’s worse is that he has no idea what triggered it. All he can do is help Dick through it. (And hope he can do it before the GCPD descend on the house.)

Like he said. Family first.