Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Nine months ago— Wayne Tower, Central Gotham. 

“I nearly asked for security to escort you out, you know.”

“Still time.” He pulled his hood back and dropped into the chair opposite Bruce’s desk.

“We had an agreement, Jason.”

“If anything, you have an agreement with the Red Hood. Not me.”

“Why are you here?”

“Blunt as ever, Bruce. But I’m not here to spar with the Dark Knight, so let’s reel it in.”

“Why are you here?” he repeated, ignoring his commentary entirely.

“I’m not stupid enough to think you’re completely clueless as to why I came back. I got jumped by a Talon last week-”

“But why are you here?” he stressed the last word. “I can only assume you haven’t been gone so long you’ve forgotten your way to the cave.”

“I told you, I’m not here for a chat with the Bat. I came to talk to Bruce Wayne, and if he’s not open for conversation maybe this was a waste of my time.”

He and Bruce never exactly saw eye to eye, and small talk was never their thing. At least not in this life.

Bruce narrowed his eyes, skeptical, but he knew Jason wouldn’t burst through Wayne Tower’s doors for nothing.

Whatever brought this on was serious, but if he needed Batman he’d damn well go get Batman.

He also hadn’t come alone—though his guest didn’t realize he knew it yet.

“What do you need?”

On the way here, Jason thought of many ways this conversation could go. He could make his request and walk away after he got his “yes,” bring up his dilemma if he said “no” as a means to convince him.

Old habits die hard—so he ripped the band-aid off, suspecting Bruce had already noticed the small figure in the lobby.

“You’re a grandpa. Again.”

“What?” If Bruce expected him to start off with anything—it surely wasn’t that.

“Don’t play dumb with me. I know you’ve got eyes on all of us. You always did.”

“That’s assuming I care to dig into your personal life.” His chair scraped the ground a bit as he stood. “I’ve made it a point not to look too deeply into yours specifically.”

“You’re really going to stand there and act like the world’s greatest detective didn’t have a clue?” Jason arched a brow.

“Aware of a child? No. Though it does explain a few gaps in Queen’s intel.”

Good to know Oliver wasn’t that much of a snitch.

“If the Talon knows where I am, they know where she is. So yeah, we’ve got a little problem.”

“You’ve still yet to say how this is a problem for me. Unless you’re also here to say your identity is compromised.”

“As far as I’m aware, no. But they came out of Gotham. To Star City. They came looking for Red Hood-”

“Meaning they’re targeting you specifically. Why?”

“Didn’t exactly get the chance to ask before they tried clawing my face off.”

“So it is a Batman problem.”

“Not exactly. Consider it more of a family matter. Her mother died just before her second birthday. Got sick. Nothing more to it, but I’ve been alone in this with her for the last four years.”

“She was born before you even left Gotham.”

“Well, she didn’t exactly think she was mine until a few…signs made their way through.”

Bruce nodded. It would have been hypocritical to say he should have known, given his own history.

“I’d like to give myself a pat on the back and say there haven’t been any scares or complications over the years, but then I’d just be lying to myself.”

“The Talons are a whole other level of problem in their own right.”

“Exactly.” The next part was going to be hardest of all for him.

He was never good at asking for help, especially not from him, but he had to put his pride and resentment aside for the time being.

He was trapped. Tangled in a web of trouble spun by his own choices—he couldn’t let her get caught with him. Not without a fight.

“I can’t keep this up on my own anymore, Bruce. She’s a good kid. Smart. Quick. But the Talon… it almost got the best of me, Bruce. It came close. Too close.” His eyes went distant, but the worry wasn’t for himself.

He’d worn the same expression himself.

“If you die, she’s alone.” Jason winced at the very thought of it.

The idea of dying is a pill so much easier to swallow when you have so few people to live for. “I need to know someone will be there if something happens. Roy’s gone. Haven’t spoken to Kori in years. Artemis and I went our separate ways a while back.”

“No one else to turn to, then.” Bruce started pulling up the camera feed outside his office door.

A small figure sat in the far right corner, closest to his secretary, currently engrossed with what he could only assume was some kind of video game. The way small fingers violently hit the screen briefly reminded him of his youngest.

Her face was hidden beneath an oversized pink hood and grey baseball cap.

A Black Bat figure sat in the chair beside her as if it needed its own seat.

She was small, blonde, with skin nearly porcelain.

“No one else I’d rather dump that kind of promise on.”

Bruce saw through that mask, too.

“What’s her name?”

“Aurora. She prefers Rory.” Granted, her legal name wasn’t his first choice, but he wasn’t exactly there to give his input.

“She’s seven?”

“Six. Turns seven in November.”

Bruce paused before asking something a bit more complicated, eyes glancing from the man in front of him to the live feed.

“Does she know?”

“As far as she’s aware, I’m a security guard. Night shift. Sometimes at the docks, other times the bank.”

“I’m assuming she goes to school.”

“Elementary. Great at reading, bad at telling time.”

“Her mother?”

Jason’s expression turned even more somber. “Like I said, she got sick. Managed to put two and two together, found me before she started losing her mind to the disease.”

“What’s your current alias?”

“Jason Todd.”

Bruce deadpanned. “What?”

“You’re telling me you use your actual name? Your deceased name?”

“My death certificate was a ‘clerical error,’ and the media just loves to exaggerate. No one’s cared enough to ask questions-“

“Yet. Have those friends change it back.”

That was one demand Jason refused to meet. “I want my real name on my daughter’s birth certificate, thanks.”

Bruce… could somewhat respect that. They’d figure out the details later. Questions first, arrangements later.

“Anything else I should know?”

“No.” Jason stood to leave. “I just needed you to know she’s out there in case something happens. That’s all. Could’ve been a text, probably, but I operated under the assumption you wouldn’t answer.”

“Jason.” Bruce walked around his desk, grabbing his upper arm like a vice.

What now?

“There’s nothing more to be said, Bruce.”

“There’s much more. Like you said, you have other ways to get ahold of me. But you came all the way here. You came back to Gotham.”

It’s because I’m desperate. “It’s because I couldn’t trust you’d answer-“

“Come home.”

Jason thought he was hallucinating. “Excuse me?”

“I said, ‘Come home,’ Jason. You don’t have to do this alone. She doesn’t have to do this alone.” His voice was softer and yet serious as ever.

“Bruce… I’m not raising her in Gotham.”

“Crime is lower now than it has been in the past 30 years.” Bruce said it as if that made a huge difference in a city still double the national average.

“She’d be living in a house full of vigilantes.”

“She’s already being raised by one,” he retorted.

“Fine. How about the fact that I can’t do what I do in your precious pit of hell.” He had him there. He knew it—and Bruce knew it, too.

It was true… but Bruce couldn’t just let Jason leave with her. How could he? This was the Court of Owls. A Talon.

If they were in Star City specifically with Red Hood as a target, Bruce already knew a fire had started somewhere.

He just didn’t know why or how it involved the formerly most violent vigilante of Gotham City.

“We can reach an… agreement, of sorts.”

Jason had to be dreaming. Maybe he slept through his alarm for the first time in a decade. Maybe Superboy tore through reality and he’d fallen victim to its shattered pieces again.

“You can’t be serious.”

“No killing. I’ll tolerate some of your methods- within reason. Come home. If the Court wants Red Hood dead, they won’t stop until he is. Until you are.”

“Rory deserves as normal a childhood as possible.”

“She’d have more protection. She’d be surrounded by people who care.”

“And the hell that comes with them.”

Bruce could tell he was getting to him, in a way. He wasn’t going to convince him for his own safety, but if Jason’s drive right now was Rory, he’d use that to his advantage.

“You stopped stealing from my safe houses a while back. I know I didn’t give you enough to sustain yourself and a child for long.”

Was he really going to go there? Who was Jason kidding— it was Bruce Wayne, of course he was.

“We’re doing just fine.”

“We could get her a better education. A majority of the time, someone is home to watch her. It’s almost as secure as the Hall now.”

He was too good at this.

Bruce couldn’t actually be using her against him while also being willing to work with him. That wasn’t Bruce Wayne, and it most definitely wasn’t the Batman.

“What’s the catch?”

“We can talk later about the extent of what I’m willing to overlook. I get full access to her healthcare, education, and both of your whereabouts. If there’s anything else I need to know, you have to tell me now. No more secrets, no lies. No turning off locations, going dark.”

Jason contemplated for several seconds. The shock was still there. It sounded good—great even.

But all things with Bruce came with a price. It was just a matter of if he was willing to pay it when the time came.

“You do realize this would all be temporary, right?” Arms crossed, he made his intentions clear. “Once the Court’s dealt with—we’re gone.”

Could he really deny an easier life for her? The socialite guardian of the night was convincing if nothing else.

Jason hated that school. Teachers there were always bitter with him for not being a “PTA” parent.

He never had the time to take her to many dances, birthday parties, or assemblies. Maybe he could actually go to those things, let her have those experiences.

The safe house, formerly owned by Roy, was secure enough—but was it really?

Those neighbors were nosy as fuck, too. Old cat ladies. Bleh.

He knew more eyes on her would come with dangers in the shadows behind them, but he’d be an idiot to pretend he didn’t bring the same baggage. A few extra sets would be extremely helpful—some even welcomed.

Bruce hesitated briefly. “Fine. I’m meeting her now.” He adjusted his collar, somewhat eager.

“Now? You realize she has no idea who you are, right?”

“Is there anything else I need to know?” The answer was yes, judging by how he stiffened. “Jason.”

“That’s a discussion for the Bat.” He said it a little too quickly.

He needed to figure out the best way to put it. If she was staying here, maybe that meant a chance to figure out their other challenge: learn the extent of what Rory was capable of anything more at all—or how exactly she came to have her… “gift.”

“It’s definitely more of a Batman problem.”

“This entire meeting feels like both.”

“Later. I swear, just… if we’re doing this, we need more than the hour your secretary said you have for lunch. It may be best to plan your meeting for another-”

He hadn’t even finished his sentence before Bruce’s head was outside the door, pointing toward the waiting room chairs.

“Cancel everything and bring her in here, will you?”

“Bruce.” What did he just get himself into?

“Family emergency.”

“Of course, Mr. Wayne. I’ll let them know now. Sweetheart,” she said loud enough to gain the child’s attention with a smile, “Mr. Wayne will see you now.”

She seemed unsure whether she should move, slowly coming to a stand and grabbing her figurine with a cautious glance toward the now open door.

The dark-haired lady clicked her heels over, taking her hand and walking her closer to the large stranger in the nice clothes.

“It’s fine, Rory.” Jason made sure he was back in her line of sight as he nodded to her.

Still unsure, she slowly walked past Bruce as if brushing against him might contract some sort of disease.

“Thank you, Regina.” Her boss said before closing the door.

Jason watched from beside a bookshelf as the two interacted for the first time, holding his breath and hoping she didn’t say anything outrageous.

“Hello, Rory.” Bruce started. “My name is Bruce. Bruce Wayne.”

She looked to Jason in a silent ask for permission to respond. He gave her the all clear. “Go on.”

“Hi, Bruce. My name is Rory.”

“Your full name, Rory.” Jason prompted gently.

She stared at Bruce, who noted she had her father’s eyes, before the last of two hands left the front hood pocket, clutching Black Bat.

“My name is Aurora Skylar Todd. I like Rory better because I hate the princess.”

Bruce looked down at her and lowered to one knee. “Not a big princess fan?”

“She sleeps all the time. I hate sleeping.” She seemed to relax her grip a bit, smile slowly turning more genuine rather than a practiced gesture. “Why is your name on all the things?”

“Because I own most of those things. Or help to fix them.”

“Things here must break all the time,” she observed.

He always did act so different when it came to kids. It was like watching a whole other person.

“Is this Black Bat?” He gestured to her hand. “Are you a fan?”

She nodded, hopping up and down with a toothy grin. “Her outfit is cool. She makes big guys cry. Dad says I should make that a pieority when I’m older.”

“Priority,” Jason corrected her.

Bruce wasn’t sure how to take that response. “I didn’t realize she was such a fighter.”

“She’s like Batman but cooler. Do you watch the news at six?”

“I can’t say I do.”

She put her hands up, starting down the rabbit hole of her favorite TV program and how she watches it every morning in hopes Black Bat will pop up on screen or Robin.

“Robin is, like, cool, but he’s not Black Bat cool. Or pretty. He’s kinda strange looking. He wears really, really bright colors, and someone on TV said they think it’s so he can get shot.”

“I don’t think that’s the case.”

“I dunno.” She shrugged, holding the figure to her chest. He deduced she must prefer her left hand at the reflexive grip. “But I know Black Bat one day is gonna kick Straw Hat’s ass so he doesn’t scare my dreams.”

Bruce looked at Jason, puzzled, believing he understood but wanting to be sure.

“Scarecrow,” he confirmed. “She saw him on the news and thinks he’s the boogeyman.”

Rory took the chance to let her eyes wander around the room, hand inching over Bruce’s desk as something caught her attention.

“Rory, don’t touch that.” Jason spoke before Bruce could even react, her hand freezing over the name plaque.

Bruce had seen that look before—eyes wide, grin still half on her face like she’d been caught mid-mischief. It was the same expression once worn by a boy with scraped knuckles and too much fire in his eyes, Alfred’s scolding having no effect on his amusement. He never thought he’d see it again until it stared back at him now, softened on a child unaware of the weight the gesture carried.

Jason moved closer, stepping between her and the desk, resting a hand on her shoulder.

“You know the rules.” His voice was stern but not sharp, his hand lingering until she stepped back.

Rory’s lips pushed into a pout, eyes darting from the shiny plaque to her dad. “I promise I wasn’t gonna break it.”

“I know that,” he softened just enough to ease her shoulders, “but that doesn’t mean you can touch.”

Bruce watched the exchange in silence. The way Jason pulled her back in line wasn’t angry or indulgent- it was steady. Unexpectedly so.

He cleared his throat to regain the girl’s attention. “Your dad’s right. You should ask permission first.” His voice carried less boardroom authority and more careful weight.

“Does it break easy?” she questioned.

“Things here do break easier than they look.” This was his chance to redirect. “What doesn’t break so easily is curiosity. Do you ask a lot of questions, Rory?”

Jason saw right through him.

“Dad says I don’t stop!” She giggled.

Bruce pressed on gently, despite the visible shift in Jason’s posture. “That’s good. It means you pay attention. I heard you’re very smart. Do you like school?”

“Reading’s easy. My teacher says I’m smarter than most kids. But I don’t like math. Or clocks.”

“Clocks?” She scrunched her nose.

“They don’t make any sense.”

Bruce hummed. “Maybe you just don’t have the right teacher. What are their names?”

Jason’s jaw tightened. The casual tilt of the question, the way Bruce phrased it as if small talk—he was digging, and his daughter was completely oblivious to the fact, as most children would be.

“Miss Opal. She’s nice. She let me bring home the class turtle last week!”

“Sounds like she trusts you.” Bruce’s eyes flicked over to Jason. “That’s rare.”

A beat of silence.

“Do you usually walk to school, Rory, or does someone drive you?”

Her eyes lit up and she started to answer, but Jason had had enough of that.

“Sometimes Dad-“

“Enough.” His voice cut firm, hand finding her own, steady rather than harsh as she looked up at him in confusion.

He hadn’t exactly agreed to the full extent of Bruce’s offer yet. There were still pieces of it up for discussion. This wasn’t just a casual introduction—clearly, this was him trying to get information out of her in case Jason walked away with her.

“She doesn’t need to answer that.”

Bruce only raised a brow, as if he hadn’t asked her anything more invasive than her favorite color.

Jason wasn’t giving him the room to dive any deeper into the past few years of their life just yet.

Rory blinked between them. Discomfort held for a moment as the two stared at each other, a silent conversation.

One that Rory quickly broke.

“Do you two hate each other?” she asked suddenly.

Neither were quite sure how to respond. Her childish question hung in the air when a growl relieved them of having to answer.

Rory lit up, grabbing Jason’s wrist and tugging him toward the door. “Burger time?!”

“You haven’t fed her today?” Bruce crossed his arms.

“What? Of course I did.” He pointed to her. “You just ate an entire adult-sized breakfast burrito. It’s a wonder you don’t weigh a hundred pounds.”

“You promised,” she pouted “You said when it’s lunch time we’d go get a Bat Burger and I can get another toy if I was good.”

“It’s not lunch time.”

“My stomach says it’s lunch!”

“It’s not even twelve yet, Rory, just hang on a second-“

“I’ll have them bring us a car.” Bruce said quickly, pulling out his phone. “I could eat.”

Jason shot him a look sharp enough to draw blood.

“I’m sure it’s not exactly the fine dining you’re used to.” Jason hissed.

“I’ve been plenty with your brother.”

Son of a bitch.

The man didn’t stutter. He knew exactly what he was doing. They never outright called each other that.

“You have a brother?” Rory was in awe at the information. It almost overwhelmed her poor head.

The older she got, the more time she spent around other kids, the more she wondered why their family was so small.

She knew her Mother was gone. Her grandma too old to visit often, too frail to chase a child around. Jason had explained his own Mother was also gone. For the most part, it was just her, her ‘brother’, and him.

She had the smallest family tree of her entire class.

Jason had dodged her questions in the car and wasn’t any more open once they sat down.

He let Bruce lead into the establishment— easier to check angles along the way, but Jason himself chose the table. Corner, back to the wall, sight-lines on all doors.

Bruce still had him simmering, jaw tight, while Rory bounced in her seat, rambling on about what toy she wanted as the grease-and-salt air hit.

“I hope I get a new one this time! I have Batwing, Robin, and two Batgirls at home already.”

“I thought you’d have more.”

“We don’t have a Bat Burger near our house. It’s too far.” she explained, swinging her feet.

“It’s not that far. You just can’t eat two hamburgers and a sleeve of fries every night.” At the rate she was going, Bruce would know their address and her blood type before they even ate.

He couldn’t just pick her up and leave at this point, which is why he let Bruce drag him here in the first place.

He hadn’t thought this through.

He had underestimated just how much curiosity was kept in that small body beside him.

“Does Dad’s brother eat here all the time?” she asked Bruce, the waiter coming up to them before he could respond.

A young man, maybe late teens or early twenties, clicked his pen. “Hiya there folks! My name’s Ted and I’ll be your server today. What can I get started for ya?”

He looked at Rory for a second as if expecting her to order, but she quickly turned to Jason.

“You can ask.”

“What’s the toy today?” she blurted, bouncing onto her seat, causing the waiter’s hands to go up.

“Woah there, kiddo. You’ll face-plant!” He eyed the wobble of the chair nervously.

Seeing as Jason made no motion to stop her, Bruce reached over and steadied it himself.

“She’s fine,” Jason muttered, flipping the menu over. “Anyone other than Batgirl or Robin and I think she’ll be thrilled.”

“Or Batwing. Please not Batwing. I already have him, too.” She pleaded.

The waiter started to sweat a bit and gave a nervous laugh.

“Well…it’s actually a mystery box promo for the next two months. It could be anyone from Batman to the Red Hood.”

How ironic those are the two he chose to reference.

After placing their order, Rory got a bit restless.

“Do you know if Dad’s brother has Bat Burger toys?”

“Rory, go play,” Jason nodded toward the play area.

“Nope!” She shook her head, “I wanna hear about Dad’s brother.”

Jason glared at Bruce again, no menu to read as a distraction now, arms crossed on the table top.

“Choose your next words carefully,” he warned, knowing he couldn’t stop him. Lying to her was futile at this point— it had been almost thirty minutes since Bruce opened his big mouth and Rory hadn’t shut her own since.

“Your Dad has three brothers.” Bruce said anyway.

The waiter reappeared with their drinks, breaking the tension for a second.

Rory’s eyes went wide. “Three brothers?!”

“Yes.” Bruce nodded, “One older, two younger. He also has a sister.”

“I’ve always wanted one,” she said wistfully, “but Dad said the stork died.”

Jason nearly choked on his water, earning a sharp look from Bruce.

“So if my Dad has three brothers that means I have three uncles.” She held up three fingers, “and if my Dad has a sister I have one aunt.” She added a fourth.

Bruce nodded.

“What’s their names?” she asked.

“Dick, Tim, and Damian.” Jason cut in at last, “Cassandra is my sister’s name.”

“Where are they at? Which one likes Bat Burger? Do they eat hamburgers too?”

Jason was a bit curious himself.

Robin wasn’t in the news nearly as much. Neither were Black Bat or Batgirl. And Red Robin? Practically silent these days.

Then again, he heard Tim Drake was busier than usual these days.

“One lives in a city not far from here called Blüdhaven,” Bruce explained, “Only the youngest, Damian, still lives with me while he’s in college. The other two have apartments here in the city.”

Bruce would have to elaborate further later. Especially the part where Damian goes to college?! What the hell?

“Alright, folks, here we go!” Eddie returned with their food, sliding plates across the table. Rory snatched the mystery box with enough enthusiasm to nearly dislocate the poor guy’s arm.

“Dad you should open it.” She begged, “I always get the same one over and over again, but you’re lucky.”

“So we don’t want Robin, Batgirl, or Batwing?” He asked visibly more relaxed now as she nodded, her hands clasped in anticipation.

Jason tore the box open with an exaggerated slowness, letting Rory’s anticipation buzz louder than the chatter around them.

“Not Batgirl, not Batwing.” She whispered.

He finally pulled out the toy and blinked. “…Batman.”

Fuck his life, am I right?

Rory blinked before taking it in her hands, inspecting it closely. “He’s the leader, right? That’s Batman?”

“Mhm.” Bruce smirked to himself a bit.

Rory stared at it for a long moment, then shrugged. “He looks like someone’s grandpa got lost on Halloween-“

Jason choked again while Bruce set his cup down a bit too loudly, making the moment even more sweet for his ego.

“Ahem. Jason.” Bruce regained his composure a bit too quickly for Jason’s liking. “Maybe she should wash her hands.”

Translation: Send her away so I can interrogate you.

Fun.

“You heard him.” He nodded to Bruce, the child pouting before dragging her feet to the ladies’ room. His eyes remained on her until she reached the door, where she gave one last sulking glance over her shoulder.

“I told you I’d answer your questions later.” He snapped.

Bruce leaned forward, voice low, calm in a way that put him more on edge. “I can’t seem to find your angle.”

“What angle?”

“Where does she fit, Jason? Of all people…You could have walked away- she was young enough. With the life you lead, why keep her?”

Every muscle in his body felt wound tight as a wire.

“You’re asking me why I’m not some deadbeat? Why I didn’t throw her away because that would’ve been easier?” His voice climbed in a way that drew stares he didn’t care for. “She’s a kid, Bruce. She’s my kid. I couldn’t just walk away from-“

“You know better than anyone the risk of involving a child. No matter the extent of what she knows. That can’t be your whole answer.”

To an extent, he wasn’t wrong.

Jason leaned in, eyes hard. “There’s more to this than you know, sure, I’m not laying it out here- not where she or others may hear.”

“Others?” Bruce narrowed his eyes, brows furrowed at his choice of words.

“All you need to know is she’s with me. And I don’t care who I have to go through to keep it that way. To keep her safe.”

The diner seemed to quiet at that point, a few stares still lingering as forks clinked softer and straw slurped slower. A few whispers from tables nearby filled the space his outburst left behind.

Bruce didn’t seem the least bit rattled, only feeding the intensity between the two. He was unreadable at this point.

Rory came bounding back, hands still a bit damp from the sink, sliding back into her seat without a clue of the minefield she stepped into. Unaware of the charged air and burning eyes between two adults, she rambled.

“The soap smells weird here. Like cherry chapsticks.” She shoved her toy Batman across the table to Bruce, grinning. “I had him wash his hands for you, too. They were probably yucky from beatin’ up bad guys.”

Jason forced a laugh when she looked back up to him, still carrying the tension from moments before, but smoothed it into a practiced easiness, a false warmth.

He let her chatter fill the space, even as the weight of Bruce’s stare pressed into him.

Bruce just watched. An observer as usual, assessing them both.

The intensity would leave the restaurant with them.

So would the eyes of the owls. 

Chapter Text

Present Day— The Narrows, Gotham City.

“Nah man. I hear that Red Hood guys back in town.”

“No shit. I thought he was screwing up the jobs at Star City?”

“Made his way back apparently. Took down a whole office full of penguin’s boys the other day. Blew up a shipping container full of goodies.”

“Damn it. As if the Bats aren’t bad enough. Now we’ve got the guy in the helmet back here swinging around with guns?”

“And a crowbar.” A deep, modulated voice cut in from above.

There he stood, vigilante of the hour, crowbar in one hand as he smacked it into the other.

“Don’t forget the crowbar.”

“IT’S RED HOOD-“

“Enough chit-chat, Captain Obvious.” He dropped on top of the man directly below, crowbar slamming against the back of his head. Hard enough to do some damage, but he was an expert at this point when measuring how permanent it was.  

Speaking from experience, as both wielder and victim.

Two of the remaining three tried rushing him, coming up for dual punches that were quickly blocked as he thrust the iron bar forward, both shielding himself and bloodying their fists. One screamed as his bones cracked.

The other came at him with a wide swing, which he dodged, ducking down before delivering a counterstrike to his stomach that sent the man crashing into a nearby crate.

“WE’LL DRAG YOUR BODY THROUGH THE STREETS!”

“If you’ve got the bones left to do it.” He retorted, a few pointed hits and the trash-talker met pavement with a sickening thud.

Two down, two to go.

The crowbar had served its purpose for the time being as he reattached it to his back.

He couldn’t deny it…he felt damn good being in enough good graces for a tech upgrade.

Speaking of which: pro tip.

If you’re going to fight a guy five inches taller than you— maybe don’t charge at him head-first. Especially when all he has to do is throw a leg up and all of the sudden you’re falling flat on your back, followed by Red Hood yanking you up by your open jacket and head-butting you into unconsciousness.

“Fuck this…” number four started making a run for it, terrified, only for a gunshot to whizz past his ear, burning itself into the wall.

He fell to his knees as he shook, heart rate through the roof, breathing hard as he pleaded.

“DON’T- DON’T HURT ME! PLEASE I’LL DO ANYTHING I— FUCK!”

He was slammed face-first into the ground, arm twisted straight up behind him and the barrel of a gun pressed into the back of his head.

“Anything? For me? You shouldn’t…” he smirked to himself “But if you insist. Two-Face. Where?”

His tone was much more serious at the end, demanding and threatening as any interrogation would be.

“Anything you want, boss. T-this is all I’ve got-“

“For that I’ll only break the one.” Making good on his promise and twisting the limb quickly with a pop. The man screamed in agony before the handle of the gun slammed into the side of his head, effectively silencing him for the night.

Red Hood stood, rolling a shoulder with a groan before making way to the roof.

Wayne Tower.

He really could see everything from where he sat. His helmet to the side, domino mask clenched between his teeth as he drew the crowbar free again, running a thumb across the steel to wipe it clean. A streak of crimson smeared across the metal, bright under the lights around him.

When tilted just right, it shifted. No longer red. Blue-green.

He froze. Blinked. The color was gone. Just blood. Normal, human blood.

But his chest tightened all the same, city under and around him disappearing— replaced by stone floors, rushing water, the dim glow of the cave.

Nine Months Ago— The Batcave.

Bruce’s voice cutting through the hum of computers: cold, precise, impossible to ignore.

“You’re not making any sense.” His eyes never leaving Jason’s face. “You’re saying something is wrong with her blood?”

The caves hum filled the beats of silence between them.

“You heard me. She heals. Instantly. Like nothing ever happened.” He couldn’t meet his gaze, head turned to the side as he leaned against the wall with crossed arms.

“Define instantly.”

The younger dragged a hand over his face with closed eyes. “A paper cut, scraped knee- blink and it’s gone. No time to grab a bandage-aid. No clotting. No scarring. Just… gone.”

“And you’ve tested this? More than once?”

Jason bristled, jaw tight for what felt like the hundredth time that day. “Do you think I wanted to? I didn’t have to. Her mother saw it first. Hell, the day she was born- that damn cord was wrapped around her neck. Doctors said she shouldn’t have survived. Best case? Brain damage. Minutes later not even a bruise. No marks. Not a single health complication. I’ve seen cuts seal before she can cry, burns vanish before blisters.”

“And now?”

Jason’s voice was raw, cracking. “Now she’s starting to notice. She knows it’s not normal and I don’t even know what to tell her, because I don’t understand it either…But there’s only one thing I’ve ever seen heal like that. With that sickly glow to her veins.”

“The Lazarus pit.” The words left him like a verdict.

Jason nodded. “I can’t think of any other comparison. The way it heals. It even looks like it.”

“Looks like it?” Bruce spun his chair to the console, pulling up footage.

Ra’s al Ghul emerged on screen from said waters, screaming as a gash closed over glowing flesh. His eyes wide, a mix of agony and terror of the mind.

“Her veins.” Jason’s muttered, tone almost sick. “You can see them shift under her skin. For just a split second— this blue-green glow. Then the wounds gone. It’s not a coincidence, Bruce. I know what it sounds like but I’m being dead serious.”

Bruce didn’t move at first, silent for a long beat before he rose, deliberate.

“You think it’s tied to the pit.” His words weren’t a question, but an assessment.

“It’s almost like I took one dip and she was born with the side effect.” Jason’s eyes seemed somewhat distant. “Which shouldn’t even be possible.”

Bruce’s finger flew across the keys.

“Improbable. Not impossible.” The monitors lit with data, decades of compiled reports. “Ra’s has used it thousands of times. The primary consequence: the body heals as the mind fractures. His aging slowed to near stasis. Sanity eroded with every resurrection.”

Jason took a step closer, tone sharper and somewhat more focused. “And Talia?”

More clicking. “Minimal exposure by comparison. A handful of immersions. Enough to trigger instability. Mood volatility. Unpredictable attachments. Damian is under the impression she abandoned it long ago. Yet neither him or his mother have experienced this as far as we’re aware. And she’s his daughter- his blood. He’s subjected himself to the Pit more than any living being, and nothing indicates this manifestation.”

Bruce’s fingers stilled on the keys. Ra’s had subjected himself to the Pit for centuries. If it altered DNA, if it rewrote the code itself, it would be seen in him. But his biology remained human. Corrupted by age, twisted by regeneration, but still human. No trace of the luminescence Jason described.

He shifted the monitor to an old genetic scan, grainy but precise. “Talia inherited his bloodline without any signs of corruption. Damian inherited hers. No mutations or anomalies. Whatever the pit does, it doesn’t seem to pass through the genome.” 

“So then why the hell does my kid’s arm light up like a glow stick when she gets a fucking boo-boo.” Clearly frustrated, Bruce met his aggrieved expression with an unyielding stare.

“That’s the question. And until we have an answer, we can’t begin to predict what it means…”

Bruce keyed in a code. A panel slid open with a hiss, rows of extractors gleaming in the light.

“Fuck no.”

“The only way to be certain is to run a full analysis. Sequencing, cellular regeneration markers, blood panels.”

Jason’s voice sharpened to a near growl as he stormed toward him. “On her? Forget it. She’s not a damn lab rat.”

Honestly, what more did he expect?

Bruce didn’t argue. Instead he turned and, without another word, drove the end of one into Jason’s arm with practiced speed. Snap-hiss. Jason flinched at the suddenness of it all.

“What the hell, Bruce-“

“You lived.” Bruce said coldly, sealing the vial. He held it up between them as if for inspection. “If you want answers, this has to happen. I won’t waste time debating while she bleeds green light.”

“She doesn’t bleed green, it just-“ Jason’s chest heaved. “You don’t get it. She’s not like us.”

Bruce remained stiff. “Which is exactly why this needs to happen. A single sample. She can sleep through it, if you insist. But without testing this entire discussion is pointless.”

The cave went silent again, Jason’s locked on Bruce. Anger choked to frustration.

Finally he exhaled hard, shoulders sinking.

He had to think rationally here. Bruce wasn’t wrong— and he expected this, so why was he fighting against the reality so hard now that it was here?

“…How many samples? Realistically.”

“One. For now.”

“If she so much as whimpers-“

“I won’t let her.” Bruce was already loading a fresh cartridge, much to Jason’s dismay. “I’ll give you something to put her under.”

“Fine.”

“You’ll need to bring her here.” Jason gave a questioning look. “I’ll need a full-body scan. Data purposes.”

An hour later…

“YOU SAID A SCAN!” Jason’s fist banged against the glass, the sounding echo matching his raw, enraged voice.

Bruce didn’t bother looking up at him. His gaze flicked to the face of the child asleep on his table. A silent ask for forgiveness, then back to the task at hand.

His movements were steady, deliberate— practiced precision. He drew the scalpel across Rory’s upper arm. A clean, vertical cut across the skin, shallow and no longer than an inch. She winced in her sleep a bit. 

Crimson welled up, but then a shift—something unnatural moved beneath the skin. Veins lighting faintly with that same blue-green described to him earlier.

Before Jason’s fist could slam against the glass again, the wound sealed before his eyes. Flesh sealed, smooth, unmarked as if the cut had never been there in the first place.

The only evidence was the unused gauze in Bruce’s hand.

He leaned closer, eyes sharp, watching it mend in real time.

“What?!” Jason was furious, hands spread out. “You cut her to prove me right? Like I was some kind of LIAR?!”

A silence stretched between the men, cutting through the glass. Heavy as lead. Bruce didn’t blink. Didn’t move. Only studied Rory like a puzzle that demanded solving.

Only none of the pieces fit the picture.

Jason’s gut sank.

He knew that look— this part of Bruce never wavered, never hesitated. The Bat wasn’t cruel, but he was near merciless in the pursuit of answers.

Jason hated it. Hated watching his daughter become another mystery on the table.

But he also knew the truth he didn’t dare speak out loud was if anyone could figure this out, if anyone was going to help her, it was the Batman.

So he slowly sat down in the chair behind the glass, jaw tight and fist clenched. His eyes watching Bruce’s every move, regret biting at the edges of his anger.

Present Day— Wayne Tower, Central Gotham.

The days passed quick enough, but the lack of answers ate away at him.

In a single night, the Batman was capable of defeating literal ancient beings, demons, the undead. He found antidotes for fear toxins, genetic mutations, disease— yet he still had no answers when it came to his own grandchild.

Jason’s fist clenched on his lap as he leaned back, staring into the void that was space.

It wasn’t for lack of effort. The Knight had made major progress, he’d give him that. But between saving the City and leading the Justice League- he had other priorities.

Rory was immune to illness, healing speed damn near rivaling Flash himself in terms of open wounds.

She appeared to heal broken bones faster than him though, funnily enough.

The irony almost drew a bitter laugh from him. The fact he was tortured, killed all before the age of eighteen and here he was…the dead brought back to life, creating a child that they were unsure even had the ability to die at this point.

The door slid open a few feet behind him.

“Didn’t expect to see you out this late.” He said, not looking back.

This company being a bit more welcoming than most. He didn’t fully trust Duke, but there was a mutual respect.

Understanding at the very least— both being shaped by the cruelty of this City, after all.

Though that’s not exactly rare.

Duke was in his civil attire, a simple t-shirt and zip-up. Hands in his pockets as he strode towards him.

“From what I hear, you’re about the only one who prefers daylight around here.”

Duke leaned his back against the railing.

“Guess I really am the only one dumb enough to like Gotham in the daylight.” He grinned, looking down at him. “I hear Rory finally got her hands on that Signal toy. Three days in a row at the B-Burger, right?” He teased as Jason rolled his eyes, sitting himself back up.

“That’s it, I’ve peaked. Merchandising is the dream.” The younger shrugged. “Took them long enough though. Luke had a figure before me. Luke.” He threw an arm up in playful frustration. “He barely clocks in here.”

Jason paused. How many times had he worked with Luke since coming back?

“I think I’ve only seen him in action three times since I’ve been here-“

“Right?” Duke jumped to his side, legs crossed as he removed a soder-cola from his pocket, cracking it open before taking a swig. “I mean, I respect the guy, but that’s not patrolling. That’s a guest appearance. I’d need to take a step back too if I were in his shoes, but damn.”

Jason couldn’t argue with that. Luke had pulled back over the last year, pausing his role as Batwing.

Lucius Fox had always been Bruce’s tech backbone, his moral compass in the world of business.

But, like Bruce, he’d gotten older, his health deteriorating. As far as Jason could tell, the old man still had a few years left— it’s not like the man was dying, but his use of a cane was a symbol of such.

Luke fought the idea of being the ‘corporate hero’ until he couldn’t any longer. The relationship between him and his father was complicated, but relatable.

“I’m still struggling to understand why Tim isn’t more involved.”

“Yeah, well, he’s too far up Lex Luthor’s ass to see the sun.” Jason pulled out a cloth from his pocket, using it to clean a few smudges on his helmet.

“Hey now.” Duke got serious. “C’mon, you know it’s smoke and mirrors. Someone has to babysit Luthor from the inside. Better him than me. I’d barely pass the hiring process.” He motioned toward the LexCorp building not too far off, glassy and arrogant on the skyline.

A sizeable spectacle with that generic, Metropolis feel to it. Shaped with an odd slant at its top, reaching nowhere close to where the two now sat.

Jason shook his head. “That doesn’t make the comments any less reckless. The streets are suspicious of the Waynes. Again.”

“You didn’t seem to care so much when your name wasn’t attached.”

Jason muttered. “I don’t need the additional eyes on me.”

“If you really wanted low-profile, maybe don’t dust off the most infamous name you’ve ever worn. Just saying.” He shrugged. “Or, like, not assault Bruce in front of the Academy that he funds. In his city. In broad daylight.”

He winced. That wasn’t exactly his finest hour as someone trying to keep on the down low.

It especially wasn’t the best example for a seven year old.

“I won’t say it was right, but he backed me into a corner.”

“It felt like he backed you into a corner.” He corrected. “You didn’t have to clock the guy right that minute.”

“At least I’m not causing a war on Twitter. ‘WayneTech really out here donating millions to Gotham while their CEOs family can’t donate three brain cells between them.’”

“It’s too much attention, Duke.” Jason’s voice dropped. “Tim could get dirt on Lex without making a spectacle out of the rest of us.”

“It’s not Tim’s fault LexCorp picked it up.” Duke reasoned. “You heard him. Had he known, he would’ve found a way to erase it.”

“Yet here we are.” Jason’s bitterness wasn’t just about Tim. It was the fallout.  The flood of questions afterward.

Bruce Wayne had been seen for the first time at Gotham Academy since his youngest son’s graduation— arguing with the most private of his children on the steps. Of course the public went insane.

He knew he had to let it go. The damage was done, but the advantage Bruce seemed to have now left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Now that the public knew Rory was connected to Bruce Wayne, discretion mattered a bit less.

The memory of his failure alone gave him a headache as he placed his helmet back on, a means of dragging himself back to the present. His eyes flicked toward Duke, who still sat beside him as if he had nowhere else to be. 

Why was he here at this hour?

“…What are you doing up here, anyway? Don’t tell me you came all this way to drink a soder-cola and watch the stars.”

Duke lifted the can with a grin. “I mean, don’t knock it until you try it… Nah. My grappling line jammed on me last week. Nearly face-planted into a GCPD cruiser by Diamond. Figured I’d swing by for a small upgrade before I end up headlining the ‘Hero Falls’ instagram.”

“Yeah, that’d look real great next to Signal finally getting an action figure.” Jason stood, popping his knuckles before pulling out his grappler.

“Exactly. Can’t tarnish the brand this early.” Duke said in mock defense before watching as  Red Hood shot his line toward the nearby Radio Tower.

“Not so much as a wave.” Duke rolled his eyes, chugging what remained in his can before smacking his chest with a fist and burping into the sky. “Shit, I’ve really gotta lay off the caffeine at night.”

Nine Months Ago— Bristol Township, Gotham City (Wayne Manor)

Rory was a smart girl. She knew she was.

Her reading skills above average, handwriting pleasing to the eye.

Plus her Dad told her so. She’s got a big brain.

But she always struggled when it came to numbers. Especially when they were on a circle in front of her face, little lines that didn’t even match what they were supposed to.

Why do people still make clocks like that?

That’s probably why she was so frustrated when they left her in what was supposed to be her new bedroom— a bed too large for her, two boxes of clothes and toys against the wall, her backpack hanging on the bedpost.

She stared at the clock on the wall, still unable to read it, wondering how long it had been.

Her Dad had told her to sit still, not go anywhere, lay back and read a book or play with action figures— neither of which he remembered to open up first.

The distinct sound of a car in the driveway drew her toward the nearby window, curiosity piqued as she moved the curtain aside. She frowned at the realization her window was just in front of a tree, blocking her view.

“This is bullshit.” She stomped her foot, crossing her arms. Her eyes flickered to the boxes, a new idea sparking within her. 

If her dad wasn’t coming back to open them anytime soon, she’d just have to do it herself.

She took a second to read what he wrote on the side. It wasn’t much help in figuring out which was which considering he’d only written her name.

She huffed and clawed at the tape, nails too short to get a grip.

Dad would’ve used a knife, but she wasn’t allowed near those. Not that she had one anyway.

A quick look around the bed, drawers, closet— nothing helpful. Just socks and a couple of shirts.

That’s when her gaze landed on the wall above the dresser.

“Damned leaves.” Damian hissed as one smacked him across the face. He crushed it in his hand, discarding its brittle remnants before stepping inside.

The manor was too quiet for his liking.

His eyes flicked to the clock on his wrist. Early. Much earlier than planned.

A sigh escaped him as he took off his coat and slid it onto a hanger in the closet beneath the stairs— the one Grayson, in his endless need for levity, dubbed the Harry Potter closet. In truth, it was only coats.

The door shut with a soft click. His gaze caught the photograph sitting on the entry table.

Alfred. Watching him still.

“This had better be worth it.” He muttered, pocketing his phone when a heavy thud came from the floor above him. 

He stilled for a moment, jaw set.

Rory grunted, fingers wrapped around the hilt mounted in front of her. It rattled in its brackets, stubborn as stone. She planted one socked foot harder into the top of the dresser, ignoring the groan it released beneath her.

A loud creak.

She froze, head snapping toward the door like she’d been caught. She waited a second, but seeing as no one entered, she focused back on the task at hand.

“Stupid thing,” she gasped, yanking again. Her arms shook, small muscles straining.

It gave an inch, her grinning a bit in victory before the dresser lurched suddenly.

A wobble, then another. She threw herself against the wall to steady herself, one hand now on the wall.

“Just- give- it- up- shitty-“ she gasped, tugging at the sword mount.

The wall bracket cracked, the dresser tilted, and she yelped—Until a hand snagged her by the hood, yanking her down to solid ground in one fluid motion.

She landed hard on her feet, winded, the sword clattering somewhere across the room.

She blinked up at Damian Wayne’s very unimpressed glare.

“…uhh, hi?”

“You could have cracked your skull,” he snapped, surveying the chaos. “And for what? Defacing furniture?”

She wilted under his gaze “I was just-“

“Spare me.” His gaze swept across the boxes, backpack, rather pathetic amount of child’s clothing.

He looked back at her with an arched brow. 

“You live here.” It was more an accusation than a question. The blonde nodded, nervous.

His jaw locked so tightly it felt as if his teeth would shatter. He only stared at her, silence on his end thick and suffocating.

Then it cracked.

“Another one.” He spat. Fists clenched at his sides. He could see it all over again— another child dropped into the chaos. His tone held a venomous disbelief. “He actually took in another one.”

It was laughable, truly. The child stared back, confusion evident.

“You don’t even have a Pennyworth to save you while he sulks in a cave. Absurd.”

“…Are you a burglar?” Rory asked carefully. 

“Me?! You are the intruder. Child.” His words stumbled over each other, sharp but messy.

He had just saved her life. And plus she recognized him from the picture downstairs, so her Dad must know him.

“Rory.”

His eyes narrowed. She seemed far too small. Innocent. Gullible.

“How old are you?” He asked, studying her. 

She seemed to lack self-preservation skills. 

She proudly held up seven fingers.

“SEVEN?!” he barked as if the number was an insult.

Approximately an hour later.

Jason and Bruce came off the elevator only to hear Rory chirping:

“…and that one is Batman. He’s the leader but he’s kinda old and sad because he needs a girlfriend.”

Jason nearly broke the door off its hinges.

Piercing green eyes greeted them. Damian sipped his tea, setting the cup back down into its saucer. Like a Victorian aunt.

Rory sat with a pile of opened toys and an orange juice.

Bruce’s jaw tightened.

“You know what, Damian? You might need a girlfriend, too.” 

Jason felt his blood pressure spike. “Rory-“

“Don’t glare at her as if she’s the problem.” Damian cut in, placing his cup down with surgical precision. “Leaving a seven-year-old in a room alone with nothing but existential dread for company? Inspired parenting.”

“She had books! Toys!” Jason snapped. What else could they want, a pony? Flat-screen? Rory didn’t need that shit. He was out here doing his best, but apparently “keeping the kid alive” didn’t make the cut on Damian’s gold star chart—

—Damn it. He hated the way his voice came out sharp, defensive. Like he was failing her already. Still not to be trusted.

“She was nearly flattened under a dresser.”

Rory pouted. “You don’t open the boxes.”

Jason pointed like that was the end of it. “Go to your room.”

“But- what about the donuts?”

Jason blinked “What donu-“

“They were out of Boston cream, but I got an éclair. Basically the same, except for it’s French, fancy, shaped a little different.” Dick breezed in through the back door like he still lived there, keys hitting the counter with a clatter. He dropped a napkin in front of Rory while holding the box with one hand. “Your Dad ever tell you about them, kiddo? No? He doesn’t mention a lot of things, so you’re welcome.”

Jason’s head throbbed as his daughter betrayed him for a pastry, chewing happily while he contemplated a swift, merciful self execution.

He was raising a traitor with a sweet tooth.

“When did you get here?” Bruce demanded, voice tight.

“Oh, like five minutes after Damian. Carb emergency. You know how it is.” He gestured with a powdered hand. “That café on Westchester? Incredible. But they were out of chocolate syrup. Tragic. You’re stuck with sprinkles.” He pointed at the pastry box.

“What do you two know?” Bruce ignored the gesture entirely.

“That I cannot, in good conscience, hold this child accountable for the idiocy inherited from her Father.” Damian really didn’t miss a beat, did he?

Dick made a face. “Woah.” He pointed to Rory. “She’s princess Aurora, not— what that was. Don’t insult our niece like that.”

Rory beamed, cheeks full of betrayal.

Jason’s veins bulged. “She is NOT your niece.”

“Oh, she is now.” Dick beamed. “I’m Uncle Dick!” He froze. “…okay, branding nightmare. Uncle Richard? Uncle Awesome? Uncle Fun Guy- no, that’s mushrooms-“

“Dick.” Bruce’s voice blunt as ever.

“Damian. Both of you— the living room. Now.”

Dick threw his arms up as if placed under an arrest. “Now let’s all calm down. You two don’t have very much time for a much past due explanation, here. Just look at the clock.”

“I can’t tell what it says yet.” Rory said, squinting her eyes to count the small lines. 

“Pathetic. Even her arithmetic is delayed. Years behind where you should be.”

“She’s a child.”

“She needs to start training.”

“You mean school?” She asked.

“Yes. And training. Both.”

“Both of you. Now.” Bruce held the door open for them. Dick gave Rory one last passing wink before making his way out, Damian glaring at Jason just behind him.

Ten minutes later…

Cassandra knew she was walking into trouble, silent as ever, brow arched. Barbara rolled right in after her.

“Oh wow,” Barbara drawled. “Didn’t realize we were doing a full house meeting. Thought it was just a Bruce-and-coffee kind of morning.”

Jason froze where he was standing.

“Hello to you too.” Jason muttered.

Cassandra tilted her head, studying him like she wasn’t sure he was entirely real. Her lips pressed into a faint smile— amusement more than warmth.

“I thought you were halfway across the country somewhere. Or, like, Venezuela? After you were banned from this house.”

“Lately I’ve been under house arrest more than exile and trust me- it’s not as fun.”

“What are we here for, hm? Mission gone wrong. Another screaming match with Bruce? Or maybe,” she gestured vaguely toward him, “you finally decided to play nice?”

Though she came off more mischievous, Barbara was somewhat hopeful.

“Not your business, Babs.”

“It is my business.” Her arms folded tight. “You don’t just waltz back into Gotham after years of running around Star City. What are you doing here, Jason?”

“That’s enough,” Damian snapped, his voice sharp. “Father says all questions will be answered at the end of this briefing.”

“Briefing?”

Cassandra lingered near the doorway, silent, gaze cutting between them, selective muteness making things worse.

Jason muttered under his breath. “Great. Just great.”

The silence stretched until Bruce finally spoke, “Sit.”

Jason dropped heavily into a nearby chair as Damian stationed himself by Dick. Barbara wheeled closer, ignoring the younger’s glare. Cassandra just leaned against a bookshelf.

“So what is it then? You don’t just walk back in after all this time unless there’s something big to unload.”

“Patience,” Bruce said.

One word should have silenced them.

It did not.

“Oh no. You don’t mass-text us to drag our asses here for an ‘emergency family meeting’ and then play all cryptic. Let me guess- you’re dying again? Terminal cancer? Lupus?”

“It’s never lupus.” Dick nudged Damian, whose eyes dared him to speak further. “Damn. You’re really no fun, you know that? Dr. House.” 

“That’s why he’s here. Last wishes.” Barbara pushed.

“For fuck’s sake, Barbara-“

“My money is on early-onset dementia.” Tim appeared in the doorway, scarf half-off, smiling. “What else explains Jason willingly sitting in the same room as Bruce Wayne again?”

Jason breathed a sigh of relief— Tim wasn’t hostile. At least, not yet.

Barbara snapped her fingers, mock enthusiasm bubbling. “Ooh- secret triple life! He’s got more than one alias. Not Red Hood, not Jason Todd- what do we think, Cass? Something dramatic. Crowbar Crusader?”

“Hilarious.” Jason rolled his eyes.

Cassandra didn’t respond, only tilted her head toward the table beside the kitchen door, where a small plastic figure sat half-hidden behind a vase. Jason stiffened under her gaze.

“Alien parasite?” Tim took a seat in the loveseat. “He’s been replaced. A genuine imposter. Calling it now.”

“Don’t be absurd.” Damian muttered, bristling.

“Metahuman awakening.” Barbara continued, still unrelenting. “Late bloomer. Wouldn’t that be a riot?”

Cassandra finally spoke, leaning herself to stand straight, eyes never leaving Jason.

“A secret.” Her gaze flickered once more to the figure— Robin, then Jason. Her silence said the rest.

“Enough.” Bruce silenced them all. “Jason is—“

A child’s scream from the kitchen had Jason bolting up toward the kitchen door, those fuck-ass parental instincts kicking in.

He barely made it three steps before Rory came barreling in mid-scream:

“DADDY! THERE’S A SPIDER IN MY CRAYON BOX!!”

Rory clung to him like a koala, and Jason’s knees nearly buckled. He breathed a sigh of relief.

The room around them, however, froze.

Bruce’s jaw tightened.

Damian muttered something in Arabic that sounded like curses, face-palming.

Dick just slowly popped a Dorito into his mouth, the crunch being the only sound for a moment.

“Damn…” Tim muttered, rubbing his chin as he eyed the scene in front of him up and down. “Plot twist.”

“Did she just say Daddy?”

“A child,” Cassandra stated, calm as ever.

Tim blinked hard: “…wait, hold on, did she say there’s a spider?”

“That’s what you’re worried about?” Damian rolled his eyes.

“My mind is not processing much else at the moment.”

Jason crouched, trying to soothe her. “Kiddo, it was just a little spider. No big deal.”

“It touched my hand.” She sniffled.

Tim raised an eyebrow, voice dry. “Of all Gotham City’s horror stories I’ve heard, this might be the most implausible. And yet-“ he waved vaguely to Rory, an awkward smile, “Evidence.”

Jason scowled. “Go to hell, Tim.”

Rory popped her head up, lower lip trembling. “It was huge!” She spread her arms, illustrating a tarantula that was probably the size of a dime. Her father wiped her tears as best he could.

“It was probably just a house spider, they don’t hurt you if you leave them alone.”

“They should leave my crayons alone! I was coloring!” She hissed. “It was huge!”

“Rory, it was probably the size of a dime.” Jason muttered.

“Size of a dog,” she shot back.

Barbara was glowing at this point. “Jason Todd, raising a kid. This is the Gotham equivalent of a solar eclipse- we’ll be telling our children and our great-grand children.”

“I know, right? And a girl Dad? Who would’ve thought.” Dick said before realizing all eyes were suddenly on him. He quickly shoved another handful of cool ranch Doritos into his mouth, face red, his posture screaming for them to look elsewhere.

“You knew.” Barbara hissed.

Dick choked, spraying crumbs everywhere. “What? Me? No- well- maybe- like an hour- I mean- don’t look at me.”

Jason groaned. “Damn it, Dick.”

Jason’s insult came easy, but the knots in his stomach felt tight. Everyone in the room wasn’t just judging him— they were judging Rory. And the little gremlin sat there coloring like she hadn’t blown his entire plan sky high.

“Drama between loved ones stresses me out in a whole other way, okay?!” Dick wheezed, breaking the tension.

20 minutes later.

Tim raised a hand as if he were a schoolboy asking a question. “You’re telling me Jason- who, last I checked, lived in a safe house full of stolen WayneTech and Jane Austen novels- managed to keep an entire human being hidden from us for the last five years?”

“I have got to call Stephanie.” Barbara was on the phone before anyone could stop her.

Tim leaned forward, brows furrowed. “Wait. So she’s seven? Which means she existed before…” he started doing the math out loud. “When did you even have time for- wait, more importantly- how has no one noticed a tiny human following you around for half a decade?”

Jason groaned.

“Honestly I’m impressed. Horrified. But impressed.”

Dick, meanwhile, sprang up from the couch. “I’m pissed at you denying me the pleasure of baby girl Todd, but I forgive you on account that I’m officially an uncle. Do you know how long I’ve waited for this?!”

“Weirdo.” Barbara mumbled, then suddenly brightened when Stephanie picked up the phone. “Oh my god, Stephanie, drop whatever you’re doing and get over to Bruce’s place-“

“Barbara.” Bruce followed her as she wheeled off, not truly caring to stop her.

“She has got to meet Mar’i soon!” His grin was so wide it could’ve cracked his face.

“Woah, hold on-“

“Do you understand what this means? Cousins! Built-in best friends! Playdates! Sleepovers! I’ve been waiting years for this.”

Jason pinched the bridge of his nose. “You are not setting up a playdate like this is some kind of kindergarten orientation.”

Dick was already spiraling. “We’ll take them to the zoo! And the amusement park! Mar’i can show off her American Girl collection, they can share snacks, and- oh- they can dress up as tiny superheroes for Halloween together. Jason, this is fantastic!”

“Grayson, please sit before I put you through a wall.” Damian hissed.

Rory wandered back in, headphones on, coloring book under her arm. She plopped herself at the coffee table and went right back to work, deciding she was tired of being alone.

They swarmed around her like sharks.

Barbara wheeled right up to her, practically vibrating. “Hello, sweetheart. What’s your name?”

Rory took off her headphones to hear her better and shrugged, then went back to coloring. “Dad says strangers shouldn’t ask kids questions.”

Jason groaned, dragging a hand down his face.

Barbara was delighted. “Oh I like you. Stephanie is going to lose her mind.” She went right back to texting.

Tim crouched down to her level, inspecting the page under her hands. “Well my name is Tim, so I’m not a stranger anymore. Can I see that pretty picture you’ve got there?”

Rory glanced up at Jason, who hesitantly nodded.

“Black Bat. She’s my favorite.”

That seemed to gain a few stares to the room’s opposite end.

Jason cursed under his breath. Again. 

Cassandra moved closer with the grace of a ghost. She crouched just enough to see the page. Rory had drawn what looked to be a distorted version of Black Bat mid-leap, cape spread like wings, crayon strokes messy but enthusiastic.

Rory grinned up at the crowd, paying her no mind. “She’s the coolest. She’s like a superhero ninja lady! I watch her on the news and on YouTube all the time!!”

Cassandra wasn’t quite sure how to react. But she knew she loved the feeling— the proof that someone so small out there saw her the way most saw Batman.

No one had spoken that way of her in a while.

Cassandra tilted her head with a faint twitch of amusement at the corner of her mouth.

“My name is Cassandra.” She suddenly spoke with an outstretched hand, Rory pausing to look up at her.

“Hi Cassandra. My name’s Rory.” She smiled, shaking her hand happily.

“And she has taste.” Dick cut in. “Even better. Cousins, favorite superheroes, family bonding- we should host a reunion. I’ll buy t-shirts.”

“Grayson,” Damian snapped, “you will not drag her- or anyone else- into your lunacy.” He scowled down at Rory. “Does she know any self-defense?”

“Why?”

“I see. Training at dawn, then.”

“Over my dead body!”

“Tempting.” Damian muttered.

“She doesn’t need training.” Bruce’s voice was low, firm.

Damian’s jaw tightened. “I’m not saying she should learn to be part of a fight.” His tone was sharp, almost offended. “I’m saying self-defense. Gotham eats the unprepared. She’s your blood, so she’ll need it just to survive schoolyards.”

Jason’s eyes narrowed, fist clenching a bit. He wasn’t stupid and Damian wasn’t wrong— Gotham ate kids alive— but to hell with the idea he was letting his daughter sign up for Bruce Wayne’s Ninja Bootcamp. She was barely old enough for math homework. She didn’t need a batarang, she needed recess.

“She’s a kid.”

“In Gotham.”

“Not, like, forever… probably. Besides, I taught her a few small things this last summer. Rory, what do we do if somebody you don’t know tries to touch you?”

She pointed at her teeth. “Bite their hand off.”

Damian pinched the bridge of his nose as if his soul was leaving his body. “You’ve raised the equivalent of a feral raccoon.”

“Dad also says I can kick them in the balls! I kick, like, really hard. Like soccer player hard.”

“That is assuming they have a pair. Todd, your child is sorely unprepared to live here.”

“Why does he keep calling my Dad that? His name isn’t Todd.” Rory asked Cassandra, who shrugged and took a seat on the floor beside her.

“What else do you color?”

“So sometimes I’ll draw Wonder Woman but, like, in a rainbow…” she babbled on while Damian and Jason continued their spat.

“Oh I’m sorry Damian. I didn’t realize you were going to school for a PhD in parenting.”

“I am simply stating the obvious fact that you have failed to instill the required…”

“Both of you, that’s enough.” Dick tried coming between them, only for them to start shouting.

“No, Stephanie, this isn’t some late April Fool’s joke…at some point…Well, no, I’m not sure…” Barbara continued on the phone.

Bruce was getting a headache right alongside Jason, who it seemed may pounce on Damian any minute now.

He sat down beside Tim, who looked at him quizzically.

“So… there’s really no other reason Jason brought her here?” Bruce arched a brow. “It just seems strange that he of all people would raise a kid, right? Especially here…”

“That’s exactly why I convinced him to stay.” Bruce explained. “I’m not sure it was entirely in his best interest to take such a task on alone. This way they both have a support system...”

He lied through his teeth yet again.

Because Bruce couldn’t exactly say out loud that maybe, if he could just do right by Jason once— just once— he’d feel less.

Tim slowly nodded, unsure of how true any of it was. He was still suspicious, even if he thought nobody else was. He did tend to overthink, though, and that was something he worked on himself over the years.

His next question finally came to mind.

“Wait, why does Damian think she’s seven? If I’m doing the math correctly, she’s only six.”

Damian’s head snapped at the mention of his name. “SIX?!”

“She rounds up.”

Chapter Text

Eight months ago — Wayne Manor, Bristol

Jason sat cross-legged on the living room floor, a needle clenched between his teeth and plaid skirt bunched in his lap as if it had personally wronged him. Rory stood on the coffee table in knee-high socks and a replica of said skirt, arms crossed, glaring at her reflection in the TV screen.

“This skirt is evil.”

“It’s a uniform,” Jason muttered, tugging a hem straight. “It’s supposed to look evil.”

“It’s itchy.”

“Everything’s itchy when you’re little.” He pulled the thread tight, only to jab his thumb. He swore under his breath, which earned him a pointed look from his daughter.

“You said no more cussin’ and shit.”

“You said no climbing on the coffee table.”

She stomped one socked foot in victory. “See! We’re both wrong, Daddy. That’s equality.”

Maybe she was watching the news a little too much lately.

Jason dropped his head back against the couch with a loud groan.

This man has faced mob bosses, assassins, supers, even demonic cultists that one time — yet plaid fabric was proving to be his version of Kryptonite.

How the hell did Alfred not crash out on them every time they came back with torn suits and missing sleeves?

Somewhere behind him, the news anchor on TV spoke about Gotham’s newest corporate ‘savior’.

“…LexCorp’s grand reopening downtown after their security incident last December…” He tried to tune it out, then killed the volume with a click.

“Can we carve pumpkins instead?” Rory asked, tugging at the stiff blouse. “I like pumpkins. They don’t make me look like a librarian.”

“You barely know what a librarian looks like outside of Mr. Lynch back in Star.”

“Yes, I do. They’re old ladies and men and they give nasty looks. Like you’re doing right now.” She hopped down, poking a finger into his cheek.

Before he could fire back, the doorbell rang. He considered pretending he wasn’t home before a familiar voice shouted through the door.

“Jason Peter Todd! Open up before I bust this door down!”

He’d truly love to see her try.

“Who’s that?”

“Trouble,” He muttered, going to answer it anyway.

Stephanie’s blonde ponytail swayed as she burst inside, freezing mid-entrance as she saw Rory standing in the center of the living room, blouse half-buttoned and tie dangling like a noose.

“Oh my god,” Steph whispered, clutching her chest. “She’s cuter than you deserve.”

Rory blinked. “Who are you?”

“I,” Stephanie announced with purposeful dramatics, “am your new favorite person. And Grandpa Bruce says we’re going out.”

“I never agreed to that.” Jason cut in, “Out where?”

“Haircuts, nails, snacks. A spa day.” She waved her phone like it was a permission slip. “Barbara’s in. Cass is in. Dick is coming with Mar’i.”

“Fine. Rory, let’s go get dressed-“

“Oh, you’re not invited.” She informed, happy as ever.

Jason froze. “The hell you say?” He planted his hands on his hips, irritated.

“Yikes,” the blonde winced. “Yeah, Bruce wants you to wait here for him to come back. Not sure why, but Barbara’s money is on a ‘heart-to-heart’ type of discussion. And nobody- and I mean nobody- wants to see that.”

Jason’s eyes narrowed. “Then she’s not going.” His daughter? In a bustling, crowded Gotham mall without him? Absolutely not.

Rory whined, clapping her hands together in a plea.

“Dad, wait! Please!”

“Rory-“

“I wanna go on a spa day! Please!” She dragged the word out with all the pitiful force a child could muster, weaponizing big eyes.

Jason crossed his arms, refusing to budge.

“Hold on. You’re telling me Dick gets to tag along with Mar’i but I can’t go with my own daughter? What kind of double standard bullshit is this?”

Stephanie held up both hands. “Listen, don’t shoot the messenger, big guy. Bruce is the one pulling the strings here. He wants you to stay behind for-“ she made air quotes, “- a very special ‘dad chat’ or whatever. And if you think I’m volunteering as tribute for that, you’re insane.”

Jason’s scowl deepened. “So Dick is just exempt from that, too? Figures.”

Fucking Golden boy.

Steph bit her lip before answering. “Listen, Dick’s only coming because of Mar’i. She’s been, uh… having a hard time.  Little bit of self-control power stuff. He didn’t wanna leave her out, but he also can’t risk her slipping up without him there.”

Jason’s eyes flickered to Rory, bouncing on her toes at the idea of a spa day, and then back to Stephanie. “And that’s supposed to make me feel better? If the,” he whispered the next part. “If the half-Tamaranean needs supervision, maybe my six-year-old shouldn’t be dragged into the middle of it.”

“Dad, please! I won’t even eat sweets while we’re out. I’ll- I’ll stay still the whole time!”

Jason raised a brow. “You? Still? That’ll be the day.”

“I promise I’ll be really really good.”

Jason rubbed a hand behind his neck, debating. He could really feel that headache forming. “This isn’t about you behaving, kiddo. It’s safety. A crowded Gotham mall? Do you know how many bad people crawl out of the woodwork there? Purse snatchers, guys who think it’s funny to hide razor blades in apples, kidnappers-“

“Jason.” Stephanie hissed with a look. “It’s a salon, not a war zone. She’ll be fine.”

His stare was flat. Unchanged. “Every time somebody in this family says that, it’s followed by an explosion a quarter of a mile away.”

“Oh, please.” She rolled her eyes.

Jason wasn’t easily convinced. However, one of the key points in moving here was so Rory had the opportunity to do things just like this. Have days outside of the house, make memories beyond four walls, classrooms, and television.

He tried to reason with himself. Cassandra was one of the best fighters he knew, very observant. Barbara was one of the strongest people he knew, in many ways. Stephanie— well, they were never super close, but Rory had only met her moments ago and seemed to be willing to stick close to her if he asked.

He supposed Dick being there wasn’t a terrible idea.

He crouched down to Rory’s level, voice softer but edged with concern. “Look…If anything- and I mean anything- feels weird, you tell Cass or Dick, okay? You don’t wander off from Stephanie. You keep close to Barbara. Don’t talk to strangers.”

Rory nodded furiously, hair bouncing. The kid really was due for a haircut. “Yes, sir!” She gave a salute, leaning forward to hug him, screaming a symphony of “thank you” before running upstairs to change.

Stephanie grinned. “She’s going to be fine. Promise.”

“She’s due for a haircut.” He sighed, pulling out his wallet. “Just don’t send her home with any wild colors or tinsel. The Academy will send her home first day.”

“Don’t worry about it.” She pushed his wallet back toward him, “Bruce’s footing the bill for today. Whether he knows Cassie has his card or not is yet to be determined.”

Jason shook his head, pulling out some cash and handing it to her anyway. “I’ll pay for my own daughter’s haircut, thank you.”

“Alright, I guess.” She shrugged, taking the wad and putting it into her crossbody.

The two waited. Going over a few rules, Jason unrelenting when it came to the idea of her entering a public dressing room alone.

“Alright. I get it, eyes on her at all times. It’s the mall, Jason, not a nightclub.” She huffed, grinning once she heard loud skipping steps coming down the stairs.

“I’m ready for the spa day!” she cheered, much more comfortable in a pair of jeans and Wonder Woman sweatshirt. Jason couldn’t help but grin to himself a bit, seeing as she packed that ugly little purse he got her for Christmas last year.

Rory hugged him tightly once again. “I promise I’ll be the best girl today!”

She was beyond thrilled, taking no notice as Jason slipped something from his pocket into the back pocket of her jeans.

Insurance.

“Just be safe, okay? That’s all I’m asking- that and don’t come home bald.” He earned himself a small laugh, then a kiss on the cheek before Rory dashed over to Stephanie by the doorway.

“Do you think they’ll have pretzels?”

Meanwhile— Titan’s Tower, Jump City

“Dad!” Mar’i shot out like a comet, rhinestone headband holding back a mess of black curls, denim jacket half-zipped over a knee-length dress of matching color. “Mom said you told her I can’t use my powers at Grandpa’s anymore? What gives?!” Her eye flared blue in irritation.

“Well, good morning to you, too.” He bent to her eye level, voice bright and coaxing— the exact tone he used on hostile witnesses and moody eight-year-olds. It usually worked.

Usually.

“You promised! You said I’d never have to hide them here.” She muttered, crossing her arms as she pulled away mid-air before landing softly on the floor with a pout.

“It’s nothing permanent, little Star. Just for the time being.” He explained, grabbing the small duffle she discarded mid-flight.

Mar’i tilted her head, curls bouncing. “That’s what you always say. ‘For the time being’ is adult code for ‘until forever’.”

“Untrue.”

“Prove it. Call Mom right now and say you’re sorry.”

Dick frowned as she looked away from him, pressing the elevator button. “Mar’i, you know that’s between me and your Mother.”

“Whatever.” She huffed, folding her arms.

Her attitude had only sharpened recently- a storm cumulative of her age and the mess of recent home events.

Dick and Kori’s marital problems, to be exact.

“I didn’t even break anything here. Not the couch, not the lamp, not even the dumb pickle jar last time.” She frowned, checking her reflection in the chrome of the elevator doors and adjusting a few curls.

Dick softened, guilt tugging at his chest.

“This isn’t because of what happened on Tamaran, sweetheart. I told your mom to explain that-“

“Mom said she’s not doing you any favors by telling me what happens over on your side of the family.” She tilted her chin, satisfied with the way his frown deepened.

Score one for Mom.

He let out a low breath, his chest a bit tight at her words. Of course she did. Silence and distance were supposed to help them all heal— so far, it only served a bitter taste in his mouth.

A long black car idled, trunk popped open for her bag.

“Well…” he tried, forcing a smile. “We’ve had some unexpected additions to the family. Your Uncle Jason is back and, uh, he brought someone very special with him.”

She arched a brow. “What, like a girlfriend or something?”

“Not exactly,” he said with a shrug, “it’s a long story. And we have a good thirty-minute drive!” He smiled, opening the back passenger door for her.

“Oh, brother.” She sighed before getting in.

An hour later—Robinson Galleria, Central Gotham

The mall was crowded as usual but nowhere near as busy as it would be on a weekend, though still full of chatter. Rory took in the smell of salty pretzels and sugary cinnamon rolls nearby, mouth watering. She trailed close to Barbara and Stephanie, clutching the strap of her bag tightly as she stared at bright storefronts.

She was nervous enough being in a mall this big without her dad— meeting her cousin only twisted her stomach a bit harder. She tried to calm her nerves by reading a few banners hung near the ceiling.

“Wayne Enterprises” “LexCorp Grand Reopening November 19th” “Got Milk?”

Mar’i spotted her from the side first. She slowed her steps, tugging at her father’s coat sleeve. “That’s her?” She asked under her breath, already giving Rory a once-over from head to toe.

The girl had zero fashion sense, clearly.

Dick nodded, hopeful the unimpressed look on his daughter’s face didn’t carry to the table.

Rory gave a small smile as Dick came up with a wave. “Hey guys! No Cass?”

“She’s on her way.” Barbara smiled. “Traffic, I suppose.”

“Hi…” Rory started, just as she and Barbara had practiced when they first sat down. “I’m Rory.”

Mar’i tilted her chin, headband twinkling under the fluorescent lights. “Yeah. I know.”

The flat reply made Rory blink, smile faltering. She nodded slowly, then smiled a bit wider as her eyes caught Mari’s jacket front. “I like your jacket.”

Mar’i smoothed the sequined patch on the front. “Of course you do. It’s cute. And your…” She eyed her feet in disgust.

Rory looked at her shoes, frowning. Suddenly she felt a little sick inside.

“They’re my outside sneakers.”

“Exactly.” Mar’i twitched her lips with a smirk, but it faded fast. She crossed her arms. “Nothing special.”

Dick stared mortified, Stephanie giving a stomp on the foot that caused him to clear his throat. “Mar’i…”

“What? I didn’t lie.” She protested, shooting him a look. He pivoted back to his signature grin, nodding his head in the direction of the younger.

When Mar’i looked back at her, her mouth dropped.

She wasn’t crying, but it was evident that Mar’i had made her uncomfortable. Biting her lip as she looked down at the floor, scuffing one against the tile like she wanted to sink into it.

Mar’i shifted, suddenly feeling a bit restless. The sight left a sour feeling in her she wasn’t very proud of. She tugged at her sleeve, glancing sideways.

“I… they aren’t that bad,” she muttered, too quiet for her father but loud enough for Rory. “Your shoes, I mean.”

Rory was still uncertain. “You think so?”

Mar’i shrugged as if the words weighed more than she wanted them to. “I’ve seen worse. Like, bad worse.”

Stephanie raised a brow unimpressed as Dick exhaled, grateful for any crack in the storm.

By the time Cassandra joined them, things seemed to have calmed down.

Rory offered to share a pretzel that was swiftly rejected by Mar’i, who preferred sweet over savory.

“Okay. So let’s do a bit of shopping first. Rory, you have a hair appointment today around two, so let’s plan on heading to the salon around then.” Stephanie had planned it all out, grinning to herself as she tapped on her phone screen. “And with that I just turned off the credit limit Bruce put on his card for today. Let’s roll, people!”

The first store they walked into, Rory let her fingers trail over a rack of simple cotton T-shirts, the color-coded kind in stacks. She picked up a gray one, holding it against herself with a small smile.

Mar’i wrinkled her nose. “That’s not even clothes. That’s, like… something you wear to paint a wall.”

Rory’s cheeks heated. “It’s gray.”

“Gray isn’t a color, it’s a mood.” Mar’i moved two racks down until sequins caught her eye. She yanked a glittery top free and held it up triumphantly. “Now this is a showstopper.”

Rory pulled a pair of soft, stretchy pants from the rack, hugging them to her chest. “These are good. They’ve got, like, bendy knees.”

Mar’i was appalled. “Bendy knees? Rory, those are pants for grill dads. My dad wears them when he burns hot dogs.”

“They’re comfy.” Rory defended, already imagining herself climbing a tree in them.

Now that she lived somewhere with a tree she could try to, that is.

“Comfy is for couches, this is for, like, looking cool at the movies- going on dates.” Mar’i grinned, cheeks blushed.

Rory looked at her confused. “Dates?”

“With boys, silly.”

“Oh.” Rory scrunched her nose. “My Dad says boys are evil. He should know. He was one when he was little.”

Mar’i giggled behind her hand, like Rory said something silly. “Not all boys. Some boys are cute. Like… movie boys cute.”

Rory blinked at her, unimpressed. “Movie boys aren’t real people. They live on TV.”

“They are too real people!” Mar’i huffed, tossing a skirt of glitter behind her back and listening as it landed into the nearby shopping cart. “And when you’re older, you’re gonna wish you listened to me about not wearing grill-dad jeans.”

Rory stomped her foot down, holding the pants like a shield. “Well, when you’re old, I’m gonna be able to climb a tree. And you’re gonna watch me from the bottom saying ‘my sparkly skirt won’t let me climb a tree like Rory’ and I’m gonna laugh and you’re gonna be stuck.”

Dick, listening from a few feet away, buried his face in his hands. Stephanie leaned toward Barbara, whispering.

“Should we stop this or let them battle it out?”

“Trust me, I won’t need to know how to climb a tree.” Mar’i smirked.

The debate carried all the way to the shoe aisle. Rory jumping up and down in a pair of sneakers Cass helped her velcro on. She stomped on the floor, watching as they flashed red and blue.

“Look! These are awesome.”

“Awesome? Rory, those are police shoes.”

“They blink,” Rory argued, stomping harder so a whole stack of boxes fell nearby. “You can’t not look at them!”

“You’re supposed to walk into a room, not blind everyone with a foot disco party!” Mar’i complained.

Rory giggled, stomping again until Stephanie had to hold the cart steady. “They come in rainbow too, Rory.” She smiled.

“No thanks, I like police shoes!” Rory stomped again. “If bad guys chase me, my shoes warn the police!”

“Can’t argue with safety.” Dick laughed.

Mar’i threw him a look before yanking a nearby shoe box, sending the stack toppling with a thud.

Dick sighed as she turned away with a shrug.

“You can pick it up, Daddy. I know your arms work. Anyways! Look at these. They have an off button for when you grow up and get bored.”

“Oooh.” Rory grinned.

By the time Rory had her hair appointment, Dick had already pulled Mar’i into a corner twice to reprimand her.

“Mar’i, sweetheart, you’re coming across awfully rude.”

“No I’m not. I’m helping her shop.”

“Mar’i-“

“No, Dad, you don’t get it, she’s- like- so lost! She wants to buy police shoes and costume skirts.” Her blue eyes were as wide as saucers, the white glowing a small bit as if she were actually getting a bit distressed. “And grill dad jeans. GRILL. DAD. JEANS.”

This was a Gotham-level emergency in her opinion.

“She doesn’t think you’re helping, she thinks you’re being mean.”

“Mean?! No. What’s mean is you all buying her ugly stuff.”

“Maybe she thinks you’re the bully, princess.”

Mar’i gasped, clutching imaginary pearls. “ME?!” She said a little too loud, genuinely offended. A few people looked their way.

“Hey. Pause.” Dick put his hands up, taken aback by her sudden outburst. “Two things: one, you can be right and unkind at the same time. Two-“ He put his hands on her shoulders, pushing her down so she wasn’t a quarter of an inch off the ground. “-you need to take a deep breath before you float away.”

“I am nice. I am a good girl.” She declared, spinning away with all the drama of a star exiting stage left. “And I’m staying flat on the ground just fine.”

“Good to hear, now please go be nice.” He raised a hand and smiled awkwardly as she softened a bit; the high-five still a bit too soon.

Rory, meanwhile, stared at the page of various haircuts in confusion.

She never let anyone else touch her hair outside of her dad and grandmother— and grandma’s yearly cut almost always ended in animal crackers, none of which were in sight.

She suddenly felt overwhelmed.

Now? Now she had choices. Too many. Her lip trembled.

“I want my Dad.” She pouted, looking up to Cassandra, who was mid ponytail removal with both the calm and confusion of a bomb tech.

How did Jason manage to pull her hair up so nicely but also tangle it at the same time?

Cass tilted her head. “Why?”

“I dunno what to do,” she sniffled. “I like all the pictures. If I pick wrong my Daddy’s gonna look at me and ask ‘Rory, why do you look like an egg?’ And I’ll cry.”

“He would never compare your head to an egg.”

Before Rory could elaborate, Mar’i came stomping back into the salon, still mumbling to herself about jeans and light-up shoes before stopping cold when she saw Rory’s tear-streaked face.

“Hey! Why are you crying?” She asked, genuine concern lacing her voice.

Barbara looked at Dick with a raised brow, flipping through a magazine in the waiting area. His grin a little too wide for someone who was supposed to have just scolded a child. “Well?”

“I think I nailed it. High-fives and everything. Go team, you know?”

The redhead groaned and threw a hand to her forehead. “Oh, Dick.”

“What?”

Rory sniffled again. “I don’t- I don’t wanna be u-ugly.” She explained, bottom lip wobbling.

She plucked the book from Rory’s lap, flipping through it. “Well you certainly don’t look pretty crying like a baby. Hmm… see this? Too short. You’ll look like a potato chip or a boy. And your hair isn’t long enough for this one…”

“Wow. Great job, Dick. She came back in here so much more kind. Gentle.” Stephanie’s voice dripped with sarcasm as his cheeks heated.

“I… uh…”

“If she makes this any worse, I’m calling your wife or whatever you two are right now.” Dick’s head whipped around at her choice of words, his body immediately stiff and shoulders straight.

“My wife. My wife Kori.”

Stabbing her finger at a page triumphantly, Mar’i grinned. “This one says: I’m stylish but I can still climb a jungle gym.”

Rory blinked at her, sniffling quieter now. “Really?”

“Trust me.” Mar’i puffed out her chest. “I’ve been accessorizing since I was born. Unlike my Dad, I know what I’m talking about before I open my mouth.”

Stephanie gave him a wide-eyed glance. “Damn. You’ve caught strays like three times today.“

Dick watched from the corner, opened his mouth— and then closed it again. Rory was hanging on Mar’i’s every word like it was gospel.

Cass tilted her head once again, but this time, just a tiny approving nod.

Rory wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand. “Okay. I’ll do that one, please.” She asked the man behind her, who nodded before grabbing a brush.

Mar’i smirked. “See? Easy. You’ll look perfect, I promise. And if your Dad says you look like an egg, ignore him. He’s wrong.”

Rory kept slouching, however, tiny fists gripping the black fabric like she was about to be executed. Her stomach twisted a bit. She wanted to bolt up and run still.

It was like her aunt had this strange way of knowing her plans, hand placed firmly on her shoulder as she smiled reassuringly.

“You’re going to be fine.”

Rory felt a sudden rush of courage, nodding slowly and gulping as the stylist approached.

The stylist parted Rory’s hair carefully, comb gliding through blonde strands. “For the curtain bangs, you have two lighter pieces in the front that will work perfectly.” The man smiled, as he trimmed it so that the ends brushed the child’s collarbone.

The finishing touch was a set of curtain bangs that fell gently to either side of her forehead, just long enough to tuck behind her ears.

When he turned her around, Rory couldn’t help but smile.

That was until Cassandra picked up her phone. “Stephanie. This one’s close.”

“Ugh.” Stephanie groaned. “Seriously? Why did Duke need today off of all days? Morning fights aren’t my thing.”

Meanwhile—Wayne Manor, Bristol.

Jason sat stiff on the edge of his seat, arms crossed tight, every muscle indicating he was ready to bolt.

Bruce, by contrast, seemed more at ease— calm and methodical as always. This was his playing field: schedules, filing, contingencies. “Enrollment forms need more than one contact,” he said. “Emergency protocols need signatures. If there’s an incident, the school needs to know who else has authority.”

“You mean you,” Jason shot back.

Bruce countered quickly. “I mean stability, Jason. There are gaps when you are Red Hood. Where I’m Batman. If she needs someone, for any reason, there has to be more than one person in her corner.”

Jason’s jaw flexed. He hated how reasonable it sounded. Hated even more the way Bruce spoke— like he already held space.

“You saying I can’t handle my own kid?”

“I’m saying you may not always have the time to.” His eyes cut across the table, sharp but not unkind. “This isn’t about you. It’s about her.”

Jason’s mouth opened, then shut just as quickly. Memories of social workers and unanswered phone calls stuck like glass in his throat.

Bruce reached for a file he’d already prepared, sliding the somewhat blank contact sheet across the table. His hand lingered a second too long before pulling back.

“I’d recommend listing in order of those most available. Someone she can rely on if you aren’t able to be reached.”

He stared at the paper, then at Bruce.

“Seems like the first choice was already made for me.”

Bruce didn’t respond.

With a muttered curse, he took the pen. Signed where he was asked, each scratch of ink feeling like a confession of some sort. He held out on the list, however, eyes hard on the page.

“You have until the end of the night to complete it.” Bruce’s voice stayed even, tone flat.

A deadline dressed in courtesy.

He bit back the urge to argue. Next on the agenda.

“For the school’s records, I’ll be putting down Dr. Leslie Thompkins as her primary physician.”

Jason leaned back, clicking his pen open and shut again. “No shit, Sherlock.”

Bruce gave him a look.

“What? You think I was gonna pick Crane? Hugo? Relax. I’ve got her covered.” He started filling out another section, not looking up as Bruce went on.

“Her file from Star City. Leslie says it’s… thin. Hardly anything beyond vaccinations. No records of illness. Nothing that would indicate any complications...”

“I know.”

“She will notice if something… unusual comes up. She’s thorough. Too thorough to miss a pattern like Rory’s.”

“Isn’t that kinda the point? We can’t trust her with just any doctor and we should never actually need her. I don’t chalk it up as a red flag- I see it as part of the problem you’re supposed to be helping me look into.” He scoffed to himself. “Besides, she’s patched up enough members of this family to know not everything about us makes sense. Rory wouldn’t shock her half as much as you think.”

“We also have to discuss nightly operations,” Bruce started. “Rules. Boundaries. We spoke briefly already, but I need to be clear.”

“I think you were pretty clear during the hour long ‘how to be a good little vigilante in Gotham’ lecture. Save the bullet points. I already know.”

Bruce’s tone was firm, voice low. “I’m trying to make it clear to you, Jason. No killing-“

“Damn. You really think I was running around stacking bodies on Star City rooftops every night?” He leaned back, half a smirk pulling at his lips. “ I knew better than to step on Queen’s toes. Guy’s got his own crusade, and the last thing I needed was to screw with one of your precious league members.”

Bruce arched a brow.

Jason just shrugged, deliberately casual. “I kept my head down, I handled what was mine, left his chessboard alone. Didn’t pick fights that didn’t belong to me. You think I don’t know how to keep boundaries? Trust me- I’ve been playing nice as much as possible. Unless you heard of some war between me and Green Arrow that I somehow missed.”

“I haven’t,” Bruce admitted. “But that doesn’t change the fact your ‘playing nice’ still leaves too much wreckage behind. You answer to Gotham’s rules when you operate here.”

Jason tilted his head, grin fading. “Just figured you could give me enough credit not to paint me as some mindless executioner before you went on about that.”

Bruce didn’t flinch. “Credit doesn’t erase what you’ve done. If you’re operating here again, you’re setting up in the same districts as last time. I don’t care how you did things in Star City or anywhere else you’ve been. Here, you keep brutality on a fine line. You don’t leave permanent brain damage or paralysis.”

“Little ironic, don’t you think? Batman telling me not to be brutal. You run half the city’s freaks off rooftops every other week. Last I checked, fear’s part of your playbook.”

“I know where the line is,” Bruce’s voice came out more of a growl. “That’s the difference. And if you can’t keep that line clear…”

He let the words hang for a beat. It looked like he might stop there— jaw wired shut. Until, finally, he exhaled with a voice firm but edged with something unspoken.

“I won’t just pull Red Hood off the streets this time. Rory doesn’t deserve to see her father dragged back into the same darkness he spent years crawling his way out of.”

The weight of it hung between them. Not an accusation, really— more of a line in the sand Bruce felt forced to draw.

Jason’s expression hardened, a flicker of wounded pride flashing beneath that cold wall of defiance he put up.

“Say that again,” he muttered, quiet but dangerous.

“I don’t want her watching you fall apart,” Bruce continued, the words like gravel in his throat. “Not into anger. Not into bad habits. If you can’t keep control… she’ll learn what that looks like. And I won’t let that happen.”

“No. She won’t. Because she doesn’t even know the other part of this exists. I’ve kept Red Hood off her radar, and I’m damn sure going to keep it that way.”

“She will find out eventually.”

“But not today.”

“But she will. Then what?”

It was a question Jason wasn’t prepared to answer. One he didn’t.

“That’s all for now.” Bruce’s voice broke through the standing silence. “I’ll need that contact list by the end of the night tonight. We have a tour scheduled at the Academy tomorrow. Have yourselves ready before ten.”

Hours later…

Rory skipped through the front door, grinning so wide her freckles practically danced. Jason looked up from his position on the couch, already smiling when he saw the swing of her new haircut.

“Hey, kiddo. Wow-“ he stood, crouching to her level, brushing a small strand of hair off her cheek. “You look beautiful, Rory. Really great.”

Her chest puffed, eyes sparkling. “Yes! I’m not an egg!”

“An egg?” Jason chuckled, ruffling her bangs. “Definitely not an egg. More like a pumpkin head.”

But then she turned her head, the light catching just right—

Jason froze. His smile vanished as he leaned closer, squinting.

“…What the fuck is that?”

Rory blinked. “Huh?”

He reached out, thumb hovering just shy of her ear, where a tiny silver stud gleamed. “That. Right there. In your ear.”

“OH!” Rory clapped her hands over them, giggling. “They pierced ‘em! Don’t they look pretty? Just like Mar’i!”

Jason’s eyes snapped up, locking on to Dick in the doorway. “YOU.” His voice dropped low, dangerous.

Dick instantly put both hands up, dropping whatever bags he held before starting. “Hold up! Let me explain—“

Minutes after the salon…

Dick was digging for his wallet at the counter of a Claire’s, cursing whatever villain attack resulted in him being left with two curious kids and his own bank card.

He glanced up to see Mar’i and Rory occupying themselves with a rack of glittery scrunchies and earrings.

Perfect. They were keeping busy and he was up next in line, anyway.

Or so he thought. By the time he grabbed the receipt and turned around, Rory wasn’t by the scrunchies anymore.

She was in a chair. The chair. The piercing chair. A cheerful teenage employee was already snapping on gloves while Rory beamed up at her.

“Wait- what-hold on, what’s happening?!” Dick stammered, nearly dropping all of the bags in his hands.

Mar’i shrugged, arms crossed, smirkinf. “She said she wanted earrings. I said go for it. Big kid choices, Daddy.”

“Mar’i, she’s six!” Dick hissed, running forward.

“Exactly.” Mar’i followed. “Mommy got mine done when I was four.”

Rory gripped the chair’s armrests with all the determination in the world. “Do it!”

Click. Click. Two tiny studs sparkled before Dick could protest the employee, who smiled as Rory squealed in delight, patting her ears proudly. Not a tear falling, the pain overshadowed by pure, childish joy.

“Don’t you people have to ask for consent first?!” Dick’s voice cracked like Bruce during the great PTA meltdown of Damian’s sophomore year.

“You her dad?”

“I mean, well, I’m the adult.”

“Well, I quit fifteen minutes ago and she gave consent.” The employee— or former, he now supposed—shrugged. “Have fun, kid. Last of my career and on the house.”

Rory kicked her feet as Dick dropped everything, both hands rubbing down his face. “Jason is going to bury me.”

“Rinse with sterile saline, don’t twist, no alcohol.”

“Why are you still here?” Dick hissed, the taller woman shrugging before taking her leave.

“Don’t worry- I’ll make sure Grandpa doesn’t use baby’s breath at your funeral, Dad.” Mar’i grinned.

Jason’s face was stone-cold. Rory was still twirling, hair bouncing, earrings flashing.

“Let me get this straight. You took my daughter for a haircut…” his eyes snapped up to Dick again. “… and came back with her pierced up by a random stranger who didn’t even work at the fucking Claire’s?!”

Dick flinched. “It wasn’t- okay, yes, but in my defense-“

“Where was Barbara? Cass? Stephanie, even?!”

“Explosion on Fifth Street. Condiment King-“

“They left my child alone with you over the motherfucking CONDIMENT KING?!”

“And Crazy Quilt! They collaborated, for some reason, I don’t know!”

“Since when does that require all three of them?”

“Crowd control?”

“She’s six years old, Dick, she still asks me if goldfish crackers count as a food group!” He practically growled.

Dick paused, thinking for a moment. “…I mean, they do have cheese.”

Rory pouted, turning those wide eyes up to look at him, bangs brushing her cheeks. “Don’t I look pretty though? I was really brave. I didn’t cry even a little bit. I didn’t bleed either. It wasn’t messy!”

Jason’s expression cracked, brushing a thumb under her ear carefully. His voice softened, a warmth in it he couldn’t fight off. “I love them, Rory. You look very pretty.”

“And fancy?” She grinned.

“Very fancy.” He nodded.

Dick breathed a sigh of relief, seeing as Jason calmed down.

Jason smiled despite himself, pulling Rory into his chest.

Over her shoulder, however, his eyes cut back to Dick with murder written all over them.

The older man went pale. “Uhh…”

Mar’i smirked from the couch, swinging her legs. “Hey Rory, don’t you wanna show me your room?”

“Yeah!” Rory smiled, grabbing her by the hand and running up the stairs.

Jason rolled the gun in his palm, slow and deliberate.

“Relax. They’re rubber,” he said, tone flat. He cocked the hammer back, eyes locked on Dick. “But they still sting.”

His face drained. “Now Jason…”

“Three…” Jason started, raising the barrel just enough.

Dick threw the bags and bolted out the door before he ever heard “two.”

Jason smirked, disarming the firearm before tucking the gun away and shutting the front door.

“Rory! Time for Mar’i to go home!” he yelled. “- and come try on this damned skirt again! Next time I’m paying for a tailor.”

Later that night…

Jason brushed her hair back, watching as she tugged the blanket under her chin and adjusted beneath her quilt.

The dreaded contact sheet sat on her dresser nearby, mocking him in silence. Still blank.

“Rory…” he started, Bruce’s words of someone you can trust still clinging to part of his brain. “If you’re ever at school…Let’s say something happens and I can’t be there- which should never happen. You know I’ll always be there… But if not, who do you think would help you?”

Rory frowned, brows furrowing up at him as she thought hard. She suddenly sat up a bit, grin from ear to ear.

“Damian!” She chirped.

Jason blinked. Frozen. Out of all the names that could’ve come out of her mouth. “Excuse me?”

“Damian,” she repeated matter-of-fact, like it was the most obvious answer in the world. “‘Cause he grabbed me before the drawah could hit me. He was, like, super-fast, Dad!“

He sat still for a moment. Damian. The kid he butted heads with almost more than even Bruce— the demon spawn who has literally used a hug as a weapon against him.

“Unbelievable,” He muttered.

“He didn’t let me fall in my room,” She yawned. “I don’t think he’d let me fall anywhere else.”

Jason shook his head before letting out a deep sigh. “I’m scared to ask, but who else?”

“Oh, I really like aunt Cassie.” She mumbled, already drifting off a bit. “She makes me feel better.”

Now that Jason could live with. “Alright, two more. How about Uncle Dick?” By the time he asked, she was already asleep. Breathing soft, steady.

Out cold.

She must’ve been completely worn out from the mall fiasco. More than he’d realized.

He took a second to look her over in silence, watching her chest rise and fall.

The lamp on the dresser caught the glint of those damned earrings, tiny sparks of silver flashing every time she shifted against the pillow. He should’ve been pissed all over again.

But instead he just looked at her. Really looked.

Wondered if the holes would close like any normal kid’s would, or if he removed them if they’d grow over immediately.

They really did suit her. Made her look older, braver somehow.

Dick would still make the list despite today’s chaos, but he figured that meant being bumped down a peg or two.

Babysitting privileges revoked until further notice.

Jason frowned a bit. The truth tugging at him like a string wrapped around his neck.

The people Rory named weren’t the loudest, brightest, or most kind-friendly of choices. She didn’t pick the fun uncle or the dressy aunt— Rory chose the two she felt helped her the most.

Cassandra, who despite her silence, apparently made Rory ‘feel better’, whatever that could mean. Then Damian, who didn’t let her fall.

She was already deciding for herself who she trusted the most without his help.

Jason leaned over, brushing a kiss to her temple before killing the light.

When he closed the door behind him, the silence of the surrounding rooms and hallways pressed in. That half- blank sheet in his hand, staring back at him accusingly. 

Hand pressing to his forehead, he let out a deep sigh before clicking the pen in his other hand. “Cassandra… Richard Grayson…” He let the pen linger above the next line.

“…Damn it…”

That Next Morning—Gotham Academy, “The Heights” District. 

Rory clutched her backpack strap, eyes darting between the courtyard and cluster of older students milling around in blazers matching her own. She was nervous— Jason could tell by the death grip on his pant leg.

He leaned down to her level, whispering something to her Bruce couldn’t quite pick up before she gave a slow nod and a step forward.

Her grandfather, or ‘GB’ as she took to calling him, looked as if he were in his element: calm, unreadable, perfectly at home in the shadows of the Academy’s gothic towers where the vines bent and twisted over stone like veins in the architecture.

“Mr. Wayne!!” The call rang across the courtyard, clear and confident as ever. A girl Jason didn’t recognize jogged toward them, weaving through her fellow students with practiced ease— blazer sleeves rolled neatly at her elbows, a scarf wrapped loosely around her neck that met the length of her hair.

Her backpack was art of its own, immediately drawing Rory’s gaze. Compasses, stars, and what suspiciously looked like a Robin symbol.

“I almost couldn’t believe it when I saw your name on my schedule this morning!” She stopped in front of them, straightening a little, but her grin stayed wide. “I hear I’ve been personally requested as your tour guide for today, thank you very much for the opportunity…” Her dark eyes held a smug pride to them.

Bruce gave a small nod. “You came with quite the recommendation, Mia.”

Jason muttered under his breath, “By who?” but Maps had already crouched down to Rory’s height.

“And you must be Rory,” she said with enthusiasm. “My name is Mia Mizoguchi. You can call me Maps. And don’t you worry about a thing! I’ve got the real tour planned. The one with useful information. Like which vending machines never give what they say on the label, what wall your uncle ran into his first year. The works.”

“…vending machine?”

Maps flipped her clipboard open. It was covered in post-it notes, all color coded. “Now, technically, I’m supposed to give a speech about school spirit and student pride and whatnot, but that’s pretty boring for you littles-“ she pointed dramatically to the looming building behind her. “- did you know there’s an old observatory there? Most don’t. I can get you there in ten minutes tops if your little legs are fast enough. For, you know, academic emergencies.”

Jason raised an eyebrow. “Why would she need to know that?”

Maps turned to him without missing a beat, standing up straight. “Sorry! You must be Jason, right?” She threw up a hand for him to shake. “Haven’t seen you around anywhere. You’re not even on our list of alumni. A total mystery.” She tapped her pen against her noggin. “… I like mysteries.”

“Maps,” Bruce said sternly.

“Right, right. Conspiracy to the side. Professional hat on.” She motioned them forward, voice lowering as she leaned toward Rory. “But if you do want ghost stories later, find me. I tell the best stories. It’s why I’m the only one here left with your Uncle’s real phone number.”

Rory let out a small laugh for the first time that morning, nerves in her shoulders loosening.

She liked this Maps girl.

The library doors creaked open, tall shelves stretched to the ceiling, ladders tucked into corners, dust swirling in the light that broke through arched windows.

Rory’s eyes went wide.

Maps swept an arm out like a showman revealing a grand stage. “The Wayne Library of Gotham Academy!,” she said, obvious pleased with herself. “Well, technically it’s just the library, but your Grandpa’s donations keep this from crumbling to dust so I give credit where credit is due.” She shot Bruce a cheeky grin. “Best place on campus. Everything from books and history to a few ghosts and conspiracies. Not too shabby.”

Jason sneezed. “This place is pure dust.”

“Dust and mystery.” Maps corrected.

Rory didn’t hear a word they said. She’d spotted a rope cordoning off to the side, a grin making its way to her features before her feet carried her forward. Little fingers twitched toward the velvet rope.

Maps eyes lit up like fireworks. “Ooh, going for the restricted section already? Bold.”

Jason moved smoothly, grabbing her hand before she could give it a tug. “Don’t.”

Rory looked up at him, caught. “…But what if-“

“Nope.”

She gave a pout. “But Dad-“

“Rory.” He leaned down, his voice stern but warm as he looked her in the eyes. “You can’t go around your first day causing trouble. You don’t break the rules here, you learn them. Got it?”

She bit the inside of her cheek before nodding slowly, letting the rope slide from her hands.

“Eh, don’t sweat it.” Maps cut in, completely unfazed. “Even I’ve tried to break in there a time or two. Make good friends with Librarian MacPherson and you’ll get the real stories.”

Rory’s eyes widened again, sparkling with excitement.

“Don’t give her any ideas.” Bruce cut in, dusting off the backpack Rory discarded. “She’s harmless but curious.”

Maps’ grin only seemed more genuine. “Even better.”

“So Damian went to school here?” Rory asked, sipping from a chocolate milk carton.

“Mhm,” Maps nodded, crossing her legs as she watched Jason and Bruce walk into the Headmaster’s office. “He was supposed to graduate with me but ended up leaving early. Did your Dad tell you he’s going to school to be a doctor? Long road ahead for him on that one. Personally, I just hope he doesn’t go the therapy route because, well, he really needs a therapist more than he needs to be one.”

Rory blinked, straw still in her mouth. “Damian’s gonna be a doctor? For shots?”

Maps laughed. “Not exactly. More like… I think he’ll be more like the doctor that tells other doctors what to do. Or the kind that looks at weird science problems and goes ‘Tch, simple’ while everyone else is in a panic.”

Rory made a face. “So I wouldn’t get any stickers after?”

“Afraid not, kid.” Maps leaned back, arms crossed. “But hey, maybe he’ll give you stickers. Niece privilege and all.”

Rory sipped again, thinking hard. “I thought he’d be a dog doctor.”

“Why’s that?”

“Mar’i told me he doesn’t just have Titus dog- he has a cat and a cow and another animal she says looks like a bigger dog. I think he likes animals more than people.”

Maps tapped a finger to her chin, thinking on it. “Hmm… you know what, kid? I think you might just be on to something.”

“What about you?”

“Hm?”

“What do you wanna be when you get old?” Rory asked, twirling her straw now.

Maps arched her brows, looking to the ceiling. “Ah, that dreaded question.” She weighed the possibilities. “Well, when I was your age, I wanted to go to space. Not so much now. And Damian laughed at me when I said I wanted to be a professional cartographer last year- that’s a map-maker, by the way.”

Rory giggled. “Because of your name?”

“Exactly!” She snapped her fingers. “Maps the map-maker! I thought that sounded pretty good, but no dice. Now? Hmm.. archaeologist? Maybe a historian. Something where I can chase the mysteries, dig into old stories. Forgotten places.”

“Like a treasure hunter.” Rory laughed, then went on with her next question.

“…So are you Damian’s girlfriend or something?”

Maps nearly choked on her own laugh. “My god. Did he start dating?” She slapped a hand to her forehead in mock horror. “Oh, that poor girl. Whoever she is, she’s going to need a medal. And a therapist. And probably a sword or three.”

Rory frowned. “So you’re not?”

Maps leaned in, lowering her voice with a grin. “Nah. Trust me, your uncle and I make a great team and all, but he’s not really my type. I like fun. He’s a brooder. I solve mysteries for the love of the game, he solves them because I think he’s a bit of a closeted chaos junkie.”

Rory tried to hide her giggle with her left hand— not really understanding what she meant, but finding it hilarious nonetheless.

Maps smirked. “Besides, if Damian Wayne is dating now, I’m starting a support group. First meeting: sympathy snack and escape plans. Grappling lessons included, of course.”

Hours later— Wayne Manor, Bristol.

Damian was bent over a chessboard, eyes flicking over the pieces with surgical precision before Rory plopped down across from him, swinging legs under the chair.

“Miss Maps said you’d be a terrible boyfriend.” she announced suddenly.

Damian’s head snapped up, glare sharp. “Excuse me?”

“And she said if you have a girlfriend that lady needs a medal and a sword.” Rory giggled.

Damian’s jaw clenched. “Typical Mizoguchi. Incapable of keeping her commentary to herself.”

“She also said she likes fun people and you’re not fun at all.” She added helpfully.

His glare sharpened. “I’m plenty of fun, for her information.”

Rory shrugged. “I dunno. She says you brood too much. I believe her.”

Damian moved a pawn with unnecessary force. “Do you even know what brooding is? Remind me to never leave you alone with her again.”

Rory kept grinning, before picking up a knight and running off with it in her hand. “I’m gonna tell her you got mad!!”

Damian muttered a curse under his breath before chasing her. “RORY! I NEED THAT.”

Chapter Text

Six Months Ago— The Batcave, Gotham City.

Bruce still couldn’t explain it.

She had the traces of ‘Lazarus Residue’, as Bruce decided to call it—the newly discovered traces of Lazarus in one’s genome after use. Something  he was unaware existed until recently.

He now knew Jason had passed something to Rory through his DNA. He deduced this residue was the same reason Jason seemingly hadn’t aged past twenty-three in appearance.

He also found Damian came back with the exact same markers courtesy of Talia.

Talia from Ra’s.

But none of that served to explain Rory’s ability, or their lack of it.

It just didn’t add up.

Bruce stared at overlapping graphs across monitors, his jaw set. Trying to find something different about her in particular.

Tim leaned over his chair, tapping a key to bring up another overlay. “I really don’t like this,” he frowned, “None of these are pulling anything that makes her different from Damian or Talia.”

“It’s wrong.” Bruce said flatly.

“Or it’s right, we aren’t testing for the right thing, and that’s the problem,” Tim countered.

It was silent for a time. Nothing aside from the hums of computers and various other pieces of equipment.

“You do realize when Jason finds out, he’s going to kill us both.” Tim didn’t look up from his screen. “Or at least me. Definitely me first.”

“He won’t find out.” Bruce spoke with a tone of finality. Calm. Absolute. “Not until I have answers worth giving.”

Tim shot him a glance. “I’m not comfortable lying to him. His blood isn’t in a test tube- that’s his child’s. He asked for your help. Not mine.”

“I wouldn’t involve you if it wasn’t necessary, Tim. Don’t think of it as going behind his back. I’m asking you to help me protect your niece.”

Bruce’s words landed heavy. For him, it was simple math: Jason was too close, too protective, too volatile. If he knew Bruce enlisted Tim’s help, he’d shut down. Try to take her and vanish.

That wasn’t an option.

“It’s almost like she’s hiding it,” Tim muttered, frustration creeping in. “Her cells, I mean. Her body. On paper she’s normal aside from this Lazarus left-over nonsense Jason passed on, but whatever makes her any different isn’t showing up in a clean draw. Or a deep tissue scan.” He hesitated, “…I think it’s time we consider an active extraction.”

Bruce’s eyes narrowed. “What are you saying?”

Tim stiffened a bit before making his thoughts known. “I just… I’m saying if the anomaly only occurs as a direct response to physical-“

“Enough.” The word cut like a blade. Bruce’s gaze snapped to him, unflinching, a heavy weight behind it.

Tim faltered but pressed on. “I’m not saying I want to hurt her. She’s a kid. Jason’s kid. But you know biology doesn’t reveal its secrets without pressure. Stress response, the nervous system, they exist for a reason. If this response only activates if she’s physically hurt, then we may never see it unless-“

Bruce’s tone was ice. “You’re suggesting we collect while she’s wounded.”

“If it’s the only way to get the answers that save her life, yes.” Tim’s jaw felt tight.

Jason’s voice carried faintly from the other side of the Cave, arguing with Damian over drills. He didn’t hear the muted tones of the console, didn’t see Tim sitting in front of the computer with his daughter’s DNA strand on a screen.

Tim hesitated, face softening. “I didn’t even want to put this on the table, Bruce, but we’re running out of angles here,” His laptop closed with a quiet snap, popping out the hard drive and sliding it into his pocket. “You can’t drag me into an investigation and act shocked when the suggestions aren’t sunshine and rainbows.”

“Jason would never agree to that.”

“Then don’t ask.” It came out darker than Tim intended. Humorless. “He doesn’t exactly know I’m helping you as it is, so let’s not pretend you’re the poster boy for respecting boundaries at the moment.”

“Fine.” Bruce came to a stand, “then I don’t agree to that.”

Tim rolled his eyes, arms stretching until the joints of his shoulder popped “Alright. We’ll circle back when you’ve cooled off.”

“No. We won’t.”

“Sure thing, Bruce. If you say so.” He came to a stand himself. “You know your stamp of disapproval doesn’t change the fact that it’s the only card left in the deck, right?”

“Tim.”

“I’m just saying.” He gave a shrug. “We’ll see how long it takes before you’re the one to suggest it.”

Bruce didn’t bother to look at him, his stare focused back on graphs that gave him nothing.

He had a feeling it would come to this, but he couldn’t take such a leap. Not yet. Not now.

Not until all options were exhausted.

All of them.

Twenty minutes later…

The knock boomed through the manor like someone was trying to breaks its door off the hinges. Tim froze mid-type, headache still throbbing from his and Bruce’s conversation earlier.

It rattled the floorboards, glitter pens rolling across the carpet in a way that made her sit up straight. “Who’s at the door?” she asked, crown half-finished in her lap.

Tim already knew. Nobody else announced themselves like a battering ram from hell.

“You should know by now.”

He cracked through the door just enough to glare, and sure enough, Kon stood there grinning like an idiot, jacket collar popped, sunglasses over his eyes.

Ugh.

“There you are,” Kon said, muscling past him before Tim could block the entry way. “I’ve been everywhere looking for you. Apartment, LexCorp, Wayne Tech, your sad little stakeout diner. Thought maybe that Crocodile guy on the TV ate you up again.”

Before Tim could answer, Kon plucked the paper crown off his head— the one Rory had planted there minutes ago— and dropped it onto his own, letting it sit crooked.

“Not now, Conner.” Tim groaned, shoving the door shut behind him as the jacketed nuisance threw himself across the couch, boots landing square on the coffee table.

Rory narrowed her eyes and stood. “Feet off the table.” She pointed with a stomp of her foot.

Kon tilted his head toward her, as if she were joking. She wasn’t.

“They’re clean,” he said weakly.

“They’re gross,” she shot back, hands crossed and cheeks puffed. “Get them off!”

Kon made a dramatic show of swinging his feet down, sighing as if she’d wronged him. “Tough crowd.”

Then, without missing a beat, he turned his grin back to Tim. “As I was saying… You weren’t anywhere to be seen. Starting to think you’re avoiding me.”

“How very observant,” Tim muttered, crossing the room. He sat back at the loveseat, eyes drifting between the text of his file and his laptop like Kon’s presence wasn’t even worth acknowledging.

Kon sprawled further into the couch, slouching like he had no bones, crown sliding sideways until it perched at an angle over one eye and sunglasses now hanging by the shirt collar. “You know, it’s kind of cute the way you keep running. Like you think I won’t catch up.”

Tim didn’t look up. “Cute isn’t the word I’d use.”

“Adorable?” Kon pressed.

“Annoying.”

Kon clicked his tongue, then glanced at Rory. She held up four markers in her little fists— black, yellow, orange, green— waiting for someone to decide.

He plucked the orange one with a smirk. “This one for Timmy boy here.” He twirled the orange between his fingers as his eyes cut toward Tim. “Bright. Sharp. Hard to ignore.”

His smirk tilted before handing it back to her.

Rory got to work immediately.

“You keep trying to hide from me, but it never works out for you.”

Tim’s pen scratched another line across a margin. “Or maybe you just don’t take a hint.”

“I take hints. Just not the ones I don’t like.”

“You’re a stalker.” Tim said flatly, hands clicking away again. “I’m busy. Go home.”

Kon leaned his head back with a humorous laugh. “Stalker? No. I’m persistent. That’s the word you’re looking for. You can jot that down in your little file if that helps.”

Tim finally looked up, unimpressed. “Persistent is a word stalkers use to make their actions sound less harmful in the eyes of others.”

Kon smirked, shrugging to himself. “Hey, some people would kill for this kind of devotion. You should be flattered.”

“I’m not.”

“You say that,” Conner drawled, “but you never actually throw me out. It’s almost like you enjoy my presence.”

Tim’s pen tapped against his temple. Deliberate. “No. It’s because I’m waiting for you to get bored and leave.”

Kon leaned forward as Rory held up her finished art project— a crooked orange crown of swirls and stars. He took it from her small fingers with exaggerated care. “Of you?”

Before Tim could react, he swooped in, settling the crown squarely onto his head. He leaned in close, smirk curling as he invaded Tim’s personal space. “Never.”

Tim shoved him back instantly, scowl sharp. “I have work to do, Konner.”

Rory laughed as Kon fell into the couch with one hand pressed over his chest as if he’d be wounded. “Cold as ever. You wound me.”

Tim ripped it off his head, dropping it onto the desk with a slap. “You’re insufferable.”

“Insufferable? Please. You’d be lost without me. Admit it- your nights are boring until I show up. Aren’t they, Rory? Probably full of paper cuts and clicks all night.”

Rory paused in thought before nodding in agreement, much to Tim’s distaste.

He shrugged, taking a sip of his mug. “I’ve had plenty of boring nights. They’re preferable, I assure you.”

Kon leaned forward, crown of paper and blue now spinning on his finger. “Sure, preferable. That’s why you let me in every single time I knock.”

“You barge in,” Tim corrected flatly.

“You open the door,” Kon shrugged, still smirking. “Point is, you don’t stop me. And we both know you could. If you really wanted to.”

Rory finished yet another two crowns, clicking a glitter pen cap back in place, though her eyes kept darting between them.

Following their back-and-forth with interest.

Tim’s jaw flexed. “It’s easier to let you tire yourself out than it is listening to you claw at the door like a lost puppy.”

“Translation: you don’t want me gone.”

“I’m not doing this right now.” Tim’s patience had finally snapped, pen slamming on the table as he came to a stand.

Kon only waved as he left, hearing him mumble something about needing aspirin.

Once out of earshot, Kon got down on one knee beside Rory— who currently was wiping glitter on her jeans. 

“So,” he started, voice low as if they were about to share a secret and chin propped in his hand. “Bernard been around lately?”

Rory blinked. “Who?”

Kon wrinkled his nose, waving a dramatic hand. “Tall. Pasty. Wears sweaters that look like they came out of a dumpster.”

She giggled, shaking her head. “No. He sounds silly.”

“Not exactly.” He took a glance at the direction Tim had walked off to, before whipping his head back to her. “He’s actually, like, evil. Really evil. If you see him, I recommend getting your Uncle Tim away as far as possible. He’s Bernard blind. Thinks he’s a good guy and- wham! Your Uncle’s heart will be pieces before he can sip a tea and pop his NyQuil.”

Rory squinted. “He’s a supervillain?”

“And boring. Very, very boring. So just-“

“What are you doing?” Tim suddenly interjected, making Konner jump.

“Oh, nothing, just… uh…” he sweat dropped a bit. “…crafting?”

“Please leave.” Tim said, blunt and cold.

Kon only grinned. “Whatever you say.”

Tim’s eyes narrowed. “Out. Now.”

He seemed much more serious this time, making Kon’s grin falter a bit. “Oh, c’mon, don’t be like that. I came all this way for a visit. You think I’m leaving just because you’re a little cranky?” He barked out a laugh.

He was too loud.

“That’s it.” Rory mumbled, looking around.

Before Kon could toss another line, she suddenly grabbed the nearest thing within reach— a tub of glue— and hurled it across the room. Tim’s hand shot out and caught it mid-air with practiced skill, his grip a bit too tight as it exploded on Conner’s shoulder.

“Hey!”

“OUT!” She shouted, red faced and puffy cheeked. “You’re too loud! My dad’s upstairs taking a sleep and you’re gonna wake him up and shit.”

Kon froze, eyes wide, then looked down at his stained jacket. “Wow. Betrayed by my tiniest ally.”

“Conner.”

“I’m going, I’m going… that wasn’t very nice, baby blonde.” He said with a frown, making his way to the door.

“Uncle Tim, your boyfriend is too loud.” She grumbled, clapping glittery hands together as the two men froze.

Tim’s jaw locked, heat rising to his ears. “He’s not my-“

Kon sputtered, face flushing as the crown he’d placed back on slipped down his head a bit before he snapped that smirk back into place, adjusting his new favorite hat.

Tim knew some bullshit was about to come out of his mouth when he leaned against the door frame, one arm braced above Tim’s head as he leaned in just a little too close. “Boyfriend, huh? Thought you weren’t on the market just yet… kid seems to have good instincts, sure you wanna argue?”

Tim’s eyes narrowed “Conner. I swear to God. Move.”

He only dipped a bit closer. Tim could feel his breath fanning his ear. “Closer or farther?” He spoke lowly. Insinuative.

That earned him a reply in the form of a hard shove to the chest and door slam in his face.

Kon laughed to himself, adjusting the crown on his head with a smirk. “Same time Tuesday?”

He knew he wouldn’t get an answer.

The manor soon fell quiet, save for Rory humming to herself on the floor.

Tim stayed at the door a moment longer, jaw tight. His skin still prickled where Kon had leaned it. He hated how easy it was to slip back into old rhythms. The beat of that drum.

Because that wasn’t his Kon.

He was dead. Full stop.

He’d seen the body, seen the hole carved through his life. What was outside the door had the same powers, same smile, same body— different edges.

Different person.

And against his better judgement, Tim liked him. But he wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice.

Attachment to a shadow only leads you getting burned in the light necessary for its existence.

That’s why he had to keep working. LexCorp was where the answers lived. Funding streams, labs, files that shouldn’t exist but always did. Every data trail mattered, every slip of classified R&D.

Tim Drake Wayne didn’t work with Lex’s company for the reason the public thought. Or even Lex himself.

Luthor had his fingerprints all over Kon’s resurrection. Tim just needed proof. Records. Test logs. Something that explained why he was gone and back again but so very different.

So he worked. Interned. Chose LexCorp over Wayne Tech in a way that spurred the papers, caught Lex’s attention.

If getting closer to Lex Luthor and tarnishing his public reputation was the way he got answers— so be it.

“Uncle Tim!” Rory’s voice yanked him back, bright and oblivious. “I need more glitter.”

Business as usual.

Tim blinked, exhaled, and crossed the room. “You’ve got enough glitter to hurt the house. Who’s going to clean all that up, Aurora?”

Rory’s grin made him arch a brow. “Whoever’s watching me.”

Tim deadpanned, eyes dark between strands of even darker hair. “Let me guess…” the grin he received told him everything.

30 minutes later…

Maybe Tim could kick a child.

Like, actually.

Rory didn’t just scatter little specs of glitter all across the floor— she somehow managed to get it on his laptop during the cleaning process.

“Damn it, Rory.” He hissed, blowing at the keys in an effort to get as much off as possible before he had it resort to the inevitable q-tip method.

The child winced, lips tight with regret written all over. “I didn’t mean it. I just wanted to make it pretty.”

He brushed another fleck off the screen, unimpressed. “Pretty. Right. Nothing says sleek-high functioning machine like craft store glitter. And in pink.” He turned to face her, glitter clinging to his skin. “You’ve do realize how hard I’ve worked to organize my chaos, right? You can’t go touching things that aren’t yours. I know Jason’s grilled you on that. Don’t make me have to sit for a chat about it, too.”

Tim rolled his eyes, moving to take a drink from his coffee mug only to blink down at the small dots floating at the top. “Rory.” His tone was disappointed. Blunt.

“You did that!”

“How did I do it?”

“The wind out your mouth.”

“The wind out of my-“ he blinked suddenly.

Oh.

“Whatever,” he closed the laptop with a small click. Controlled. “Go wash your hands. I’m leaving.”

Rory nodded, biting her lip as she headed for the sink. She didn’t notice at first— too busy scrubbing at the glitter between her fingers— but when she turned her head to the front door to wave him bye, she caught it.

Tim paused by the table, fingers brushing the crooked paper crown she’d made him. His expression didn’t shift— no pause, no second thought.

He just folded it up and dropped it in the trash on his way out.

She stared at him as he left, soapy bubbles dripping from her hands, chest tight. She turned back to the sink, trying really hard to be a big kid and not cry because someone didn’t like her. She scrubbed her hands so hard the glitter scratched against her palms.

She really didn’t mean to cry, but tears spilled fast than she could blink them away.

Jason’s bedroom door was closed, the low rumble of his snore drifting through wood while Rory breathed in deep.

She sat curled against the wall beside it, knees tucked under her chin. She sniffled but had no tears cascading down her cheeks any longer.

A shadow moved at the end of the hall. Bruce’s steps came to a slow when he saw her, small and hunched outside her father’s door.

“Rory?” His voice was low but not unkind.

She looked up, eyes red, a small hiccup caught in her throat.

Bruce crouched, a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth with a glance from her to the door. “Did your dad say something?”

Her head jerked into a quick shake. “No.”

His brow furrowed deeper. “Then why are we crying?”

Rory curled up a bit more into herself, playing with her sweatshirt sleeve. She mumbled, voice barely reaching his ears. “My daddy doesn’t make me cry.”

Bruce waited, patient in his silence, before slowly lowering himself into taking a seat beside her. The weight of his presence filled the halls but he didn’t crowd her. Just sat, back against the wall, giving her the room to find words as his coat brushed against her sleeve.

“I just want Daddy’s brothers to like me.” Her voice came off muffled from where she buried her head into her arms.

The words settled heavy in the halls. Bruce’s jaw tightened lightly, the only indicator of his thoughts. He let a breath out through his nose, steady.

“They do.” He spoke quietly. Deliberate.

Rory sniffled, hugging her knees. “It doesn’t feel like it.” She choked back a sob. 

He turned his head, really looking at her. “They don’t always show it. Your Uncles are all very different. They carry different weight. That makes them sharper than they mean to be.” His ton softened just slightly, a fraction one would miss if they truly didn’t know him. “But that isn’t about you.”

She put her arms down, face pressing against her knees. “I just want them to like me.”

His hand came down, resting heavy but carefully on her shoulder. “They already do, Rory. You don’t need proof of that.” He hesitated, then added quietly. “And if they ever forget how to show it, I’ll remind them.”

Her eyes lifted at that, blinking through the blur. He didn’t smile, not really, but there was a warmth in his gaze she hadn’t felt previously.

Bruce let her lean into him, steady as stone but with the faintest shift of his arm so she did so more comfortably. He didn’t push her to stop sniffling, didn’t rush her. He just sat there in silence, keeping watch and eventually moving to brush a pieces of hair out of her face.

He didn’t miss the way she curled in tightly, chin still tucked, body angled like she was bracing against the world. It felt familiar to him, her body language at least. 

Shoulders stiff, small frame pressed close but never fully relaxed. He didn’t comment on it. Only adjusted himself to keep her against him the way he could never quite manage with the man on the other side of the door.

Three Days Later …

“Hey dad,” Rory grinned hair a mess as she walked up to the kitchen table, tie askew, little red folder in her hands proudly.

“Yeah?” Jason turned his head her direction, putting down the kitchen knife he was using as she walked over to hand it to him. “What’s this?”

“My teacher sent you a letter!” She chirped, watching as he made quick work of sliding a single paper out in front of her homework.

“What? You fail another math test?”

“No! It says it’s about meeting other dads and moms. Like friends!” She cheered, eyes glancing around before landing on the silver object he’d just placed down.

She grinned.

Arching a brow, Jason began to read, only to take a deep breath when his eyes landed on the dreaded words ‘Parent Teacher Association’.

“This is not ‘like friends’, Rory- give me that!”

Rory jumped as his voice raised, grabbing the far too large blade from her hands, stabbing it into the board.

Small arms crossed, grumbling. “I wanna help with dinner.”

“If you can’t reach the counter without a stool, you can’t cook in the kitchen.”

“But you said elves help make Santa cookies and they’re short, too.”

“Elves are normally adults.” He countered, flipping through his phone with a hip leaned against the counter. “Hmm… shit. I’ll have to make sure I don’t work that night.”

Jason then slid from the first paper to the next, a frown making its way to his face. “Okay, a sixty seven isn’t terrible… it might not be the worst idea to sign you up for after school study group-“

Rory groaned.

“But, hey, why did we lose two points on the spelling test? You got everything right.” His eyes narrowed in confusion, flipping the paper right-side up.  “…yeah. You aced that shit.”

“I dunno,” Rory shrugged. “But Mrs. Harriet gave it to me with my letter and said ‘Aurora, give this to your father please’ and I said ‘Okay Mrs. Harriet, thank you for my test back’ And then I left and Maps took me to GB’s car.”

“That name sounds familiar…” he’d have to ask Bruce.

Or maybe not.

It was probably fine.

It wasn’t.

Chapter Text

Six months ago— Gotham Academy, “The Heights” District.

The folding chairs creaked as the PTA meeting dragged on, the older woman— Mrs. Harriet— presiding at the front like she owned the damn school. Jason lasted all of the meeting in silence until the very end, when she circled back to “new additions”.

Stacking her papers just so, the lady dismissed everyone else around them. “Mr. Todd, if you would please.” She beckoned, coaxing him to remain in what had to be the most uncomfortable chair he ever sat, clearly not made with someone of his stature in mind.

She got right into it.

“Now, Mr. Todd,” she began with a smirk. “Firstly, I’d like to extend yet another welcome to our community. Secondly, I must say- your daughter shows remarkable aptitude. A surprising grace. Bright. Punctual. Even early. One can say she is… well rounded.”

She paused as if expecting him to speak before tilting her head, smile thin as glass. “Which is why it pains me to hear her saddled with such an unsavory nickname.”

Jason didn’t blink. “Her name’s Rory.”

“Aurora,” she corrected smoothly. “Aurora carries such dignity. Belonging on scholarships, invitations, a letter head. Rory sounds so…” She gave a look of distaste. “…masculine. A name shouted across a bar, if you will. One hears it and thinks of rowdiness rather than refinement, which is truly a shame-“

“Excuse me?” Jason stood up, chair scraping hard against the linoleum. “You’ve got a lotta nerve saying that about a six-year-old.”

“Please, Mr. Todd. It’s nothing personal. It’s about what a name says of one’s family.” Her eyes flickered up and down over him just once. A practiced dismissal. “Aurora reflects the class and elegance we aim to achieve. Rory.. well, it surely does her no favors.”

Jason’s jaw locked. He never wanted to throw a chair at a woman who wasn’t actively trying to kill him so badly.

“Funny, you wanna lecture me on class when your name sounds like it belongs in a museum, Harriet. Real uplifting.”

The woman stiffened, visibly taken aback a moment. “Well, Mr. Todd, I see you are a man easily upset by a woman’s suggestions.”

“Oh don’t play it off like this is some display of toxic masculinity. I don’t care if you give me the worst shift at your little ‘gluten-free, vegan-friendly’ bake sale. Rory is fine and her name isn’t any of your concern.”

Harriet looked at him with fire in her eyes as he turned his heels and walked away, her ears practically smoking.

Later— Wayne Manor, Bristol.

Jason hadn’t even sat down before his rant began, his voice carried down the hall, storming into the dining room where Bruce was already eating.

“-and this hag sat there in this chair acting like she’s the queen of the PTA when really she’s just bitter at the world because it stopped calling her important a decade or so ago.”

Bruce shook his head as he heard Jason’s rant, silently wishing he opted to walk back up to his study.

“Father,” Damian muttered, pulling out a chair. “If Todd keeps speaking, I’ll remove my ears.”

Bruce sighed. “Do I really want to know?”

Damian smirked, somewhat amused as his fork nudged the breadbasket away. “He had the pleasure of meeting a dear friend of ours.”

Rory perked up instantly, reaching with a grin. “Toast. Thank you!” 

Damian sent her a flat expression. “It’s bread, not toast. Toast requires heat. Try to keep up.”

Bruce’s brows furrowed.

Jason dragged a hand through his hair, laugh sharp. Humorless.

“She looks me dead in the eyes, Bruce, and tells me my kid’s name is a problem. Like I’m ruining her chances at scholarships and shit because I won’t force her to write ‘Aurora’ on her homework. Can you believe that? Real bold coming from a woman with a name like Harriet.“

The sound of cracking ceramic cut him off rather abruptly.

Jason blinked, sitting up straight and turning his head just in time to see Bruce’s plate had a now visible fracture.

“Bruce?”

Bruce’s body was rigid, face frozen like a chill ran through him- and one did.

“Yes,” Damian confirmed as he stabbed into a carrot. “Harriet still reigns.”

“She doesn’t have any children left.” Bruce’s voice was flat, the statement sounding mostly as if he meant it more a reminder to himself than anything else. Eyes locked on nothing. Pupils sharp.

“She teaches me spelling words,” Rory spoke grinned. “I have good papers in her class.”

“A miracle, considering your math performance.”

“Harriet doesn’t need one,” Jason explained. “She teaches English. You know her?”

Bruce’s jaw clenched. “Does she know we’re related?”

“No. Far as I can tell.”

The following silence was heavy, threaded with something almost… haunting. Bruce laid down his fork with deliberate slowness. 

“When’s the next meeting?” It came out more of a demand than a question.

Two weeks later— Gotham Academy, “The Heights” District

The classroom smelled of crayons, burnt coffee, and that dreaded woman’s perfume she had to have sprayed everywhere.

Mrs. Harriet stood at the front, clipboard hugged to her chest like it was holy scripture.

Jason sat three rows back, Rory next to him drawing bats and spiders in the margins of a spare agenda packet.

The meeting was still going and he just realized they weren’t even halfway through.

In addition, that one Mom in the back corner wouldn’t stop undressing him with her eyes.

‘Go home to your husband, Bridgette. You’re married.’

Harriet cleared her throat, lips stretched into that pinched smile she wore like armor. “…and so, no masks this year, no witches. We must present the highest standards for our children’s costumes-“

The door behind them suddenly opened, Jason glancing back with a scowl until he saw who it was.

Bruce Wayne. He walked in as if he belonged there, the hum of conversation flattening instantly under the weight of his presence. Tailored suit and all, the kind of face every Gotham paper would pay to photograph— and here he was, strolling into the PTA meeting like it was a boardroom.

Jason sat up straight with wide eyes. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.” He told him not to come here. Period.

“Mr. Wayne.” All triumph and joy fell from Harriet’s voice, holding the clipboard with an irritated grip before she coughed in adjustment. “What…an unexpected honor.”

The other parents looked to Bruce as if he was a knight in shining armor.

Bruce gave her a tight nod, choosing a seat front and center. The folding chair groaning but not daring to collapse. “I heard tonight’s discussion was on holiday events. Thought it best I attend.” His voice carried, calm and smooth, but it rolled over the room like a distant clap of thunder.

Jason pinched the bridge of his nose. “Of course he did.”

Just interact as little as possible. Deep breath. 

Harriet’s smile tightened the longer he spoke, clipboard trembling just slightly under her fingers. She cleared her throat, voice now brittle.

“Of course. But….you have no children enrolled here. Why should your opinion weigh so heavily?”

The air seemed heavier all of the sudden. A few sideways glances, Jason sitting forward in his seat with his head buried in his hands.

Bruce adjusted his cufflinks. A simple, practiced motion.

“No children. But grandchildren.” His gaze swept the crowd. “Wayne family children have been studying here for decades. That investment is not up for debate.”

“And just which student are you present for?” Her edges were cracking.

Rory raised her hand politely, grin wide. Harriet blinked, struggling to maintain her smile. “Yes, Aurora?”

Jason sat up straight at the call of her name.

“He’s my grandpa! I call him GB.” She giggled happily, words ringing out like a bell.

“…How charming.” She could see the resemblance between the two now.

Not her and Bruce. But him and Jason.

How could she not have seen it before?

“Surprise.” Jason muttered, notably irritated. Between her and Bruce, he was ready to pull Rory out already.

That’s when Warren, seated just beside Bruce and his own son, stood. He adjusted his tie nervously, offering Bruce a quick smile. “Mr. Wayne- sir.” He said with a gesture to their seats. “Here- why don’t you have your family move up here? There’s plenty of room.“

Before Jason could protest, Bruce gave him a nod, Warren guiding a small boy out of his chair with a hand to the shoulder. His son rolled his eyes but shuffled over without a fuss.

Jason raised an eyebrow. “Uh-“

“Dad, come on!” Rory grabbed his hand, tugging him up from his seat while struggling to keep hold of her materials.

Damn it all.

“Thanks, man.” Jason tried to sound like he wasn’t in pain.

“No problem,” Warren replied simply, sliding into a seat. He glanced toward Harriet, secretly taking in the glory of her pain. “Seems only fair.”

Bruce nodded, arms crossing as Rory took the seat between Jason and himself.

“Thank you, Terry’s Dad.” She said aloud, earning a grin from the man.

Jason looked to Harriet, who visibly swallowed her fury. “Guess that settles the seating chart, huh?”

Parents nearby whispered among themselves.

The visual was one not to be ignored: The socialite, her newest student, and the only father who neglected the use of a visitors badge.

A solid wall of Harriet’s worst nightmare.

“Why does she look so angry?” Rory asked. 

Jason leaned over to whisper in Rory’s ear as the woman turned heel toward her desk. “Because she’s a witch. That’s why she doesn’t want kids dressing up as one for Halloween.”

Rory put a hand over her mouth in a failed effort to conceal a laugh, making Harriet glance back with an arched brow.

“Continuing…”

After the meeting.

Time went on. Paper pumpkins, bake-sale sign up sheets, candy restrictions for class parties, and finally Harriet tapping on her clipboard.

Her thin smile sliced right into Jason, who had somehow managed to keep himself from dying of boredom.

“Mr. Wayne, Aurora, if you would please stay behind.” She spoke brightly, as if there was no malice to her intentions.

Jason arched a brow at his lack of mention, unmoving.

Once the room was mostly cleared, she continued. “One last note before we conclude. It concerns Aurora-“

“Rory.” Jason corrected, sitting up straight, his eyes narrowed to her own. But she wasn’t looking at him.

Her eyes slid right past him, directly on Bruce. Who should be in the cave and not a creaky white chair surrounded by children’s art and chalk boards.

“Precisely that. It’s already become an academic issue, I’m afraid. Points have already been deducted from her spelling assessments for using a nickname in place of her proper name. I raised this concern with Mr. Todd previously-“

“Who told you she goes by Rory. End of story.”

Rory looked back and forth between the two, confused.

“-but the matter continues. Her grades continue to decline.” Harriet spoke right over him, gaze still on Bruce as if Jason didn’t even exist. “It reflects poorly. Yet, her father doesn’t seem to care much for such issue.”

Bruce shifted, about to speak when Jason cut him off. “I’m sitting right here, Harriet.” He had to catch himself, ‘hag’ being on the tip of his tongue.

“As Aurora’s grandfather, sure you will understand the weight of a name. It would be a mistake to not make such adjustments now. While the child is young enough to adapt.”

Bruce’s jaw flexed, deep in thought.

Jason swore under his breath. “Are you actually considering this?”

Bruce looked toward him, speaking evenly: “Consistency does matter, in a way.” He spoke carefully. “It might be best if she used Aurora for school work, Rory at home.”

None were more surprised than Harriet, who was fully prepared for an argument disguised as a debate between the blue-eyed billionaire.

She clicked herself back into place quickly. A practiced smile. “Well, then, I suppose we’ve found a compromise.”

Jason’s chair screeched in a way that made Rory jump. “I’m not agreeing to that. She’s Rory. That’s her name, that’s who she is.”

Harriet addressed Bruce alone, silently enjoying the reaction from a man she saw classless. “Of course, Mr. Wayne, I will let you impress the importance of our discussion with your son.”

Jason didn’t dare bite back. He could feel his blood running cold.

She made it sound as if he wasn’t even there, like Bruce had some kind of authority over him in the once space he’d never truly be welcomed.

“Rory, c’mon.” Jason knew his limits. He had to get out of there before he erupted.

Rory made quick work of grabbing her backpack, which lay hung on a hook in the corner of the room, before turning to wave at Mrs. Harriet.

“Goodbye, Mrs. Harriet!”

“Goodbye, Miss Aurora.” He couldn’t do this every three weeks. Not with that woman.

His boots echoed too sharp on polished floors. The buzz of what little parents and children were left seemed to echo in his ears as if the halls were full, the starting of cars.

He could hear mumbles all around him, sharper than they should’ve been, talking about how Bruce Wayne burst in for his poor granddaughter whose dad didn’t even know he needed a visitors badge.

He walked fast enough that Rory had to half-jog to keep up with him, backpack bouncing along with thick, blonde strands. His grip was almost too tight on her hand.

“Dad!”

“Not now, kiddo.” He didn’t mean to come off cold, but his jaw locked so tight it physically hurt.

Bruce’s stride behind him was steady and stiff. Like he just walked out a board meeting and didn’t agree with Harriet the hag of the Parent Teacher Association. The sound of his steps made Jason’s skin crawl— not in fear, but this anger he’d managed thus far to keep at bay.

When the doors finally opened, the cool air did nothing for the blood boiling in him. If anything it somehow made things worse, that Gotham night air.

Jason stopped dead in his tracks, words spitting before he could stop them. “You really agreed with her. You really sat there and actually considered what she had to say.”

Bruce’s stare was flat. Unflinching. “Jason-“

“No. Don’t ’Jason’ me,” he let go of Rory’s hand a bit harshly, it swinging down to her side as big eyes blinked up at him. “You let that woman look you dead in the eye, talk over me like I wasn’t there- make decisions and compromises for MY child. You have no right.”

“I was defusing the situation.”

“You aren’t even supposed to be here. I told you I would handle it.”

Bruce’s eyes narrowed. “I came here to support both of you. You don’t know Harriet.”

“I don’t care. And that defusin’ bullshit? You were agreeing with her. Backing her up, right in front of my kid. What the hell do you call that?”

Bruce’s jaw clenched, his voice clipped. “She has a point. I don’t care for her methods, but if it is affecting Rory academically-“

“Don’t you mean ‘Aurora’ as you apparently prefer?” Bruce took notice of how his voice rose, fist clenched. “Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare stand there and tell me she’s in the right.”

His voice cracked a bit, a few parents and students taking notice now. A few glanced over, quick to avert their eyes when Jason’s glare caught them. Rory shrank back a bit, fidgeting with her sleeve.

Bruce’s tone didn’t waver. “You need to think ahead. Names, records- they do matter. The school handbook requires she go by her legal name. And these things do matter. One day, she’ll need every advantage she can get.”

He was really pushing it. “She needs her father. That’s what she needs. Not you stepping in, making choices for her and finding solutions like I’m not standing there perfectly capable of doing this on my own.”

Bruce opened his mouth to speak, but Jason was already falling over the edge. Voice raw.

“Say it. Say I’m not enough for her, Bruce.” It came out dangerous. Cold.

And then a small hand tugged at his sleeve.

“I-I can write Aurora,” Rory’s own voice came out much smaller, almost scared to speak up. She’d seen her dad get mad before, even at her, but he didn’t yell at people like that. He didn’t like yelling at all.

Not in front of her. “I-I don’t have to be Rory.”

If her dad was mad about her name, she’d just have to change it. Make it all better.

That was it. There it was. Any sense of self control? He lost it.

He pushed Rory behind him, still somehow gentle despite the fact his body was moving before his better judgement had a chance to catch up.

Bruce exhaled through his nose, knowing what was coming but doing nothing to stop it. Too many eyes. “Jason-“

The punch cracked across the night, fast and hard enough to rattle the silence of the courtyard and parking lot combined. Bruce’s head snapped partially to the side, his body rigid.

A few light gasps from those yet to leave.

Click click.

Rory’s squeak muffled against Jason’s shoulder as he pulled her close, picking her up and storming off just as his knuckles began throbbing.

Bruce straightened himself, wiping a bit of blood off the corner of his mouth. Steel eyes watching him storm off, wide doe ones looking back over a shoulder at him with concern.

Jason always did hit hardest when his emotions ran high.

A few hours later…

“Sounds like you were super subtle.” Barbara’s voice came back dry, unimpressed from the other end of the phone.

The gunfire cracked sharp in his ears, shells clinking at his feet. He reloaded without missing a beat, voice low into the mic.

“Don’t start with me. Between him and Harriet the hag,” click pull. “I was ready to pull Rory out before they started acting like I didn’t even exist.”

The next three sounding shots echoed throughout the cave, making Dick pause at the entrance with mild interest.

“I held it together the whole time. Then Bruce-“ He fired again, only this time the shot went wide, making him swear under his breath and readjust.

“-cut you off, took over, acted like his opinion was the end of the discussion. Yep. Sounds familiar.” Barbara paused, softer now. “But you know it did more harm than good, right? Bruce may have agreed with her-“

Jason grit his teeth, lining up with a moving target.

“-but at the end of the night, you proved her right. Names matter. Bruce’s name matters.”

Two clean headshots. He exhaled loudly, smoke curling from the barrel.

“And just how did I prove her right? She had Rory asking if she should start writing Aurora on everything. I tucked her in tonight with her asking me why people don’t like her name, if it’s ‘bad’. He let that happen.”

“If Bruce is being too loud, then be louder than him.”  She advised. “And not with your fist, either. Be louder than he is, not messier.”

Jason holstered his pistol, jaw tight. He still felt bubbles of rage and pure adrenaline coursing through him— even after what was coming close to three hours of various modules and AR training exercises.

“I’m not entirely sure you can get much louder than Bruce’s boardroom presence colliding with the head of the Parent Teacher Association.”

Dick gave a whistle as he made his presence known, Jason turning his head sharply toward his form.

There he was— hanging upside down on a piece of workout equipment, arms crossed and hair falling around his face with gravity.

“Yikes, Bruce Wayne versus the Parent Teacher Association? I don’t miss that.”

“I’ll call you back.” Jason hissed, clicking off-line with narrowed eyes. “What are you doing here?”

“Me?” He suddenly threw himself off the pole with that beyond expert-level gymnast precision. Courtesy of his upbringing. “Just thought I’d pop in… see what was going on…” he pulled his phone out of his pocket, a smile with far too many teeth making its way through. “…ask why your face is all over a few gossip blogs-“

“What?” Jason’s voice came out an even mix of surprise and annoyance.

“Yeah. You might want to unmute the family group chat, Tim tried warning you hours ago.”

Jason made his way to a nearby workbench, grabbing said device, which he turned off after four missed calls from one livid Bruce Wayne. He scrolled through with a scowl, thumb jabbing at the screen.

So this is what Barbara meant by proving Harriet right- headlines as loud as a car crash.

“Wayne Family Drama at Gotham Academy: Bruce Wayne Takes a Hit!”

The attached photos were blurry but damning— him mid-swing, Bruce half-turned, Rory’s stunned expression.

“Son of a bitch.” He muttered, fighting the urge to kick the bench in front of him.

“Relax, it’s Gotham.” Dick leaned his back against the equipment, arms crossed again, face plastered with an infuriating calm. “Tomorrow it’ll be Ivy attacking a chemical plant or Harley spotted buying hair dye- it never sticks for too long.”

Jason shot him a glare. “That’s not the point, Dick.”

He scrolled a bit farther. His pulse spiked.

There it was, another article, only this time they seemed to zoom in closer to the little body behind him.

“Wayne Legacy Expands? Mystery Child Seems at the Center of Wayne Family Implosion.”

He flicked through more posts— many of them about his return to the public after so long, even more about his violent outbursts toward a beloved public figure. But over the course of the last hour it seemed people drifted more toward her presence than anything else.

Calling her a ‘Mystery Wayne’.

“They’re making my daughter a headline.” He muttered, voice low. “Taking guesses.”

Dick came closer, leaning over with narrowed eyes. “Damn. They already spun it into a soap opera.”

Dick wondered if Vicki had reached out to Bruce trying to get a scoop yet. Maybe.

Probably.

Jason’s grip tightened around the phone until the glass creaked a bit. “She’s six. Six and they’ve got her face plastered across gossip blogs like she’s some scandal.”

“Jay-“

“No. Don’t you get it?” He snapped, pacing hard enough his boots echoed off the walls. “This is exactly what I didn’t want. She’s supposed to be a kid, not another accessory to Bruce’s image. They’re already trying to dissect her, figure out some connection. Next thing you know they’ll ask who her mom is, where she came from, how long Bruce has known her for- and don’t even get me started on the fact certain people know what we do, what this place is, and that she exists now.”

Dick let out a slow breath. His voice came off steady. Calm. “Look… I get it. I really do. Mar’i’s been in the spotlight before-“ he frowned as Jason cut him off.

“They don’t even know her name; they’re already judging the glitter on her backpack, saying she’ll end up on the streets when she’s older- this one’s them trying to figure out where her damn shoes came from!”

“I know.” His voice softened, just for a beat, before sharpening. “But maybe- just maybe- you should’ve kept yourself under control. At least until you guys got to the car. Hitting Bruce like that? You gave them the headline, Jay. You put her in the spotlight.”

Jason turned to him, his eyes burning. “What the hell was I supposed to do? Just let him talk over me, make decisions for her like I wasn’t even there?”

“No. You weren’t.” His tone was cutting as he shook his head in disappointment. “But that wasn’t about Rory. That was about you. It was selfish.”

Jason bristled, ready to fire back, but Dick raised a hand. “I’m not saying I don’t understand. Believe me, I get it. Mar’i’s been shoved into the spotlight before and,” his mouth twisted in annoyance, “unfortunately for me, she eats it up. Photos, blogs, all that garbage. TikTok’s banned in my house for a reason.”

He shook his head, voice dropping even lower. “I know what that knot in your stomach feels like. The world staring at someone you love under a microscope. You don’t want to share them with the rest of the world, especially not Gotham.”

Jason said nothing. He knew there was more.

“But you handed them the ammunition this time, Jay. Don’t make that same mistake twice. Bruce was wrong to barge in like that. Trust me, we all know. But what you did isn’t protecting Rory, that’s throwing her straight into their line of fire. If you want to keep her safe, say your piece and learn to walk away.”

He hated when Dick put himself in the middle of his and Bruce’s spats. That he cared.

He hated it even more when he was right.

Every part of him itched to argue but words stuck in his throat.

“You don’t have to like it.” Dick gave a shrug. “God knows I never have. But Rory? She’ll take her cue from you- If you walk away, she learns she can, too.”

The breath Jason let out was sharp. He dragged a hand down his face, “That’s not exactly my strong suit.”

Dick’s mouth twitched into a faint grin. “Good thing you’ll have plenty of time to practice.”

Damian’s expression hardened as he scanned the screen in front of him. Rory’s picture— unintended, grainy, tagged under her full legal name. The headline didn’t matter so much as the comments.

He exhaled once, sharp through his nose, and slid quietly down into the terminal. He couldn’t erase Todd’s stupidity— Gordon already tried. No such luck.

The image wouldn’t stop spreading. Too many hands, reposts, screen grabs.

But her name… that, at least, he could excise.

He reasoned with himself he wasn’t waiting for Drake to do such tedious work only because he had the time to do so— unspooling links and overriding tags. Editing metadata was a task of its own.

An entire evening wasted on scrubbing the name “Aurora Todd” until search results bled empty. To most eyes, she’d remain another nameless child in Gotham’s background noise.

He’d leave the conspiracies.

Damian leaned back, eyes on the cursor blinking against a blank search bar. The photo remained. He couldn’t touch that. Not without drawing attention.

But her name was gone.

He was about to shut the screen when one of the comments made him pause.

‘My bet is on the streets by twelve, knocked up by fifteen.’

He really should have went back to studying.

Just closed the screen. He’d done his part.

Instead, the sunlight was bleeding through the curtains when he finally looked up. He sat cross-legged on the living room floor, laptop wheezing on five percent battery, chip bag open. Blank search bars stared back at him. The accounts that spat their filth were no longer accounts at all— bricked devices, shredded passwords, digital lives salted to ash.

Rory was humming her way out the door for school by the time Jason went for his keys and stopped short at the sight of Damian there, hunched over, sunlight pale on his face.

“You look somehow more homicidal than usual this morning.” He muttered, brows furrowed.

Damian snapped his laptop shut, expression unreadable.

“Mind your own business, Todd.”

Jason blinked at him, then shook his head, letting the door slam shut behind him.

“Creepy little bastard.”

Days later— Wayne Manor, Bristol.

The house was quiet. The kind of quiet Jason never trusted. Rory in the library humming some off-key tune reading while Damian studied in a nearby corner.

Cassandra was using the training area of the cave for non-vigilante related practices— ballet.

Jason himself opted for the upstairs balcony. He took a slow drag of a cigarette, something he often didn’t offer himself the luxury of.

If you considered cancer sticks a luxury, of course. Just another habit he worked hard to break being fallen back into, a product of recent events and high tensions.

He’d have to shower and brush his teeth the minute he walked back inside.

Rory hated the smell.

He could feel his presence before he saw him. Per usual, just when he felt like his nerves were finally coming down and he could enjoy a moments silence.

“Dangerous game wearing the suit so close to the window.”

Not really. Nobody was getting close enough to the Manor’s property to ever see anything.

Bruce patrolled more than anyone, so it was no surprise they hadn’t crossed paths in the five days since the incident.

He didn’t turn around right away, watching the ember trail out into darkness with a flick.

“Let me guess. A list of ways I’ve screwed up this week? A scolding for the literal hit to your precious billionaire image? Or is this just a social call?”

The older didn’t answer right away. Jason heard the faint shift of his cape. His boots getting closer.

Not his full patrol gear— the suit but no cowl, his jaw set in that usual way Jason attributed to being the world’s worst RBF.

Bruce watched Jason take another slow drag, then directed his eyes off to the distant woods.  A frown.

“What happened at the academy,” He said after a long moment. Low, flat. “I mishandled it.”

The laugh that came out was sharp. Humorless. “Mishandled it? Okay, yeah. That’s the word we’ll use for you making me look like an idiot in front of a bunch of suits. Worst of all in front of her.”

Bruce’s voice came out steady. “I undermined you. That was wrong.”

Jason turned his head in a way almost jolting. Disbelief. This almost sounded like an apology.

“I should’ve backed you,” he continued. “You’re her father. That hasn’t changed. It won’t.”

Jason shifted, jaw tight. He wanted to spit something back, to drag up years of incidents and comments— but he didn’t see this look on Bruce often. Least of all for him.

The no judgement, lack of a lecture, iron and truth version of Bruce Wayne he experienced barely enough times to count on one hand.

Jason looked away, snuffing out his cigarette on the railing. Rubbing the heel of his hand over his jaw, the lingering taste held on his tongue as the smell of smoke clung to his breath.

“…I almost walked away, you know.”

Bruce finally looked over at him. “Her mother had a husband. A man she thought was Rory’s father up until she realized…” he trailed off a bit, “…now she’s everything, you know. I screw up plenty. But not with her. You don’t know what I’ve done for her. To keep her safe. Maintain her innocence, childhood… figure out her…situation. You don’t know what I’ve given up or taken on, so don’t you ever-“

“I know.” He actually said it like there wasn’t a hint of doubt about him beneath his tone.

Jason wouldn’t believe that so easily, though.

“Psh…” He exhaled hard through his nose. “You’re shit at this whole apology thing, you know that?”

Bruce didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. “I’ll work on that.”

The words lodged somewhere in Jason’s chest, a deep sigh making its way through.

He didn’t forgive and forget so easily, but a bitter half-smile broke to his lips anyways.

“Just stay in your lane. Don’t make this shit apology thing a habit. People might start thinking you’re human.” He disappeared inside after that, leaving Bruce alone with the night and lingering scents.

Bruce turned to leave himself when he glanced back to the small outdoor table, packet still open and lighter still present as he glanced between his suit and temptation.

He shut the door slowly.

“…it’s laundry night.” He muttered, lighting one quickly before anyone could see.

Chapter Text

Present— Wayne Manor, Bristol

The door creaked as Damian slipped inside. Jason’s room was a total bust— nothing important, no hidden documents or contraband. Utterly useless.

Which only left the child’s.

Todd had an alternative reason for coming back here, he just knew it.

His eyes swept across the bedroom, calculated. Chaos and faint patterns.

In the nine months since her arrival, she’d certainly made herself at home— unlike her father.

A bed too large tucked beneath a quilt stitched with squares of yellow and green. A star-shaped pillow, Wonder Woman and Robin plush slumped together across it while a button-eyed Batman lay face-down on the floor.

Todd would never admit to purchasing them.

Bursts of color everywhere. Crayon drawings lining parts of the walls, the floor having scars of said coloring sessions gone astray.

Unlike the rest of the room, one place was kept visibly neater— intentional. Organized.

A short, wooden shelf beneath the window.

A handwritten sign across the top in uneven writing: “Rory’s Little Library.”

Damian crouched in front of it, scanning the lineup. The top shelf: Sagging under a jumble of fairy tales, dog-eared picture books. The spines peeling but clearly well-loved.

The bottom: Thin chapter books far beyond her supposed reading level— children living in boxcars, the science of stars.

His head tilted slightly at the green crate beside a beanbag. Unlike the bright spines of her books, its contents were flat— gray. Adult.

“What would a six-year-old want with newspapers?” It felt especially random.

Oh.

Folded copies of the Gotham Gazette stacked unevenly. Headlines all featuring heroes from Gotham and beyond: Everything from Batman cuffing up the Riddler, Flash mid-sprint, Wonder Woman standing tall among city ruins. Half of the pages bore circles in crayon or stickers of glittering stars.

A childish bucket of heroes.

And there was Jason. Not Red Hood— never Red Hood, the more he sifted through them—but Jason. That grainy photo snapped of him on the Academy steps, fist landing squarely on Bruce’s jaw, Rory’s stunned face a few feet away.

She seemingly ignored her own presence in the picture, instead covering Jason’s figure with hearts and stars.

Damian lingered far longer than he’d like to admit.

Her father sat among her heroes, the caped and extraordinary. And yet not a single image of Red Hood.

No articles of drug busts, villain arrests, or rooftop brawls. No vigilante exploits with Batman, Robin, or even Black Bat— who occupied the bulk of her collection.

Only Jason.

Her world had split him cleanly in two. And she only knew of one half to love. To Rory, Todd was no criminal, no outlaw.

He was her father. Her hero.

He could do no wrong.

It left a heavy feeling in his chest. A sick twist to his gut.

There would come a day she learned the difference— that her father wore two faces. Wasn’t who she believed him to be.

And he was certain Todd didn’t see it.

The media still saw him in this gray space, this fictional line between hero and villain, after all. Yet it was clear, due to his absence, Rory determined Red Hood was no hero.

So what did that make him?

He smoothed the pages flat and laid them back inside, gaze shifting back to the walls. 

Upon first glance it was childish clutter. But the longer his eyes traced images, the more a story was told through messy strokes and scribbles bleeding past the lines.

It felt deliberate. Less like imagination, more like memory.

Something was wrong.

Jaw set, Damian pulled his phone free. One by one, he captured each drawing in frames, preserving every careless scribble.

A room with a chalkboard. Stick people.

A man with a long black line in his hand— like a needle or a blade— stood beside a smaller figure sitting in a chair. His face, if you could call it that, was drawn in angry red shades.

Beside it in green: “Doctor.”

The next page a girl holding a flower. But the flower was clearly dead.

The next showed a man in red. A mess of scribbles for his jacket, holding the girl. Little yellow stars drawn around them. A smiley face in the corner.

Then there was a White House with the red door. Two stick figures outside, one bent over a mound of brown. The girl’s arm seemed to be gone. Hand dripping green.

Above, the word: “Ouch.”

Finally a bathtub. Blue wax pressed into the paper until it tore. Snowflakes falling from above— white and gray all over the floor. Girl’s head above the water. Tearing up with a frown.

Something was just so wrong.

“Damian!”

The shout of his name caught him off guard. He hadn’t heard footsteps, hadn’t seen the shadow in the doorway. Too distracted by a child’s drawings.

Pathetic.

Rory ran straight into him, arms wrapping just above his waist. She giggled up at him. “Did you come to watch the movie with me and Cassie?!”

Annoying. “I-“

“Why are you in my room?” Her voice carried no suspicion, only genuine curiosity.

He wasn’t sure how to respond, a rare failure of words.

“You have a… nice room,” he said flatly. A passable lie.

Eyes blinked wide, stunned. Then his tone softened by a fraction. “Your library is impressive.”

“Oh!” She clapped her hands, hopping on her toes. “You want a tour!”

She grabbed his sleeve before he could react, tugging him toward her bed. He considered protesting, then stopped himself. Why sneak around when his niece was so eager to parade her secrets for him?

“This is my bed,” she announced, climbing up a small wooden stool. “GB got me steps ‘cause it’s tall and I’m short. I already had Wonder Woman, and my Dad got me Batman for Christmas. Robin’s from Uncle Richard.”

She quickly jumped down the other side, landing neatly before pointing a hand toward a dresser— notably new in comparison to the rest of the furniture.

“This is the drawah GB got me, ‘cause we smashed the other one.”

“We?” He arched a brow. “I recall it was you who treated it as a ladder.”

That wicked grin made its way to her face. “It was teamwork!”

“No. It wasn’t.”

Rory ignored him, walking over to a small vanity just beside the closet.

“This is where Mar’i and I do makeup after sleepovers. And where I brush my hair for school.” She explained, before tugging the closet door open. “Now this is where I keep my clothes… and my Dad’s extra stuff.”

Damian paused, looking behind her. He took a quick scan of its contents— rows of bright outfits now hung carefully, shoes lined against the wall, a Halloween costume dangling in the back.

And then there was the corner. Damian’s brows furrowed.

“A sleeping bag?” The same kind Jason used years ago during their stakeouts— cheap, practical, too short for a man of his size.

Rory nodded. “Dad sleeps over all the time! Right by my bed.”

So perhaps Todd had been here last night. When Damian searched his belongings.

“Did he sleep over yesterday?”

“Yeah! I threw Batman at him ‘cause he was really loud.” She frowned at the memory. “Like a train. He woke me up.”

That explained why the plush was on the floor. “I see.”

Rory huffed, crossing her arms, just as annoyed now as when it happened. “I told him he snores like that and he just laughed at me. Then he rolled over and just got louder.”

Damian’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “So he stays here often?”

“Mhm!” She nodded, bright as ever. “Like… a lot. I think it’s because he gets night sick.”

“Night Sick?” He stilled.

“Yeah! Like he says he dreams and his belly hurts. That kinda sick.”

Damian’s gaze sharpened, tone much more serious. “And what makes you think that?”

She shrugged, small shoulders rising and falling. “He gets a look on his face and is all sweaty. He says he feels bad and sleeping in my room makes him feel better. I think he’s maybe scared of the dark, too.”

He said nothing. His eyes lingered on the sleeping bag folded neatly in the corner, then back.

“Sometimes I ask him to sleep in my room because I think he’ll end up here anyway.” She admitted with another shrug.

He should have brushed it off. Children said things like that— fear of the dark, nightmares. But something about the phrasing sat wrong with him.

Not he has nightmares, but he gets sick.

A physical response to something he couldn’t shake.

Damian’s jaw felt tighter all of a sudden. He forced his voice down flat. Careful. “I see.”

Rory seemed to beam in satisfaction of his understanding, before darting back to her vanity to show him a sparkly hairbrush.

Damian didn’t follow. His eyes stayed stuck to the floor where Todd spent his nights, feeling a knot inside his chest.

A man haunted enough to sleep on the floor beside his child wasn’t someone to be dismissed as careless.

Rory didn’t get the chance to ask what he was looking at when Cassandra knocked on the door, stepping inside herself.

She looked at Damian in surprise.

“Classes were cancelled for today,” he lied. “Rory pulled me into a room tour.”

Cassandra didn’t believe a word out of his mouth. He was lying; she just didn’t know why.

“Rory. The movie,” she said simply, the young girl putting her brush back where it belonged before grabbing her Wonder Woman plush.

“Damian are you coming to watch with us?” She asked after a spin. “Pretty please! You can sit far away if you wanna. It’s supposed to be a fun movie!”

Five months ago—???

It started dark.

It always started dark.

Not like normal darkness. Like darkness in motion. The kind that swallowed people whole.

It was thick. Alive. He felt like he was drowning and they weren’t listening.

They weren’t stopping. She was just a little girl. She was just so small.

Her scream. It was too high in pitch, too sharp, too familiar. “Stop! Please!”

Rory.

“OUCH!”

Everything around them white. Metal. Sterile.

He just kept hitting that glass. Throwing his body against it, punching.

A chalkboard littered with strange symbols. Another with ABC’s.

The air smelled like bleach. Iron.

His throat burned, his legs and arms suddenly cold and dead.

A table. Arms pinned. A man in a white coat with a needle the size of her little arm. Green.

He tried to shout but choked. Nothing would come out. He wanted to scream for her but he couldn’t even do that.

She screamed again. Choking, writhing, light crawling under her skin. She was begging for them to let her go. Just let her go home.

Then she screamed for him and he lost it.

Banging until he could feel that sting in his fists, trying to say something— anything. Just let her know her Dad is here. He’s right here.

“I’m right here, Aurora.” That wasn’t his voice. That was the voice with her. In front of her.

She sniffled and choked, blinking and trying to go still. Like she had given up.

“Sh, sh, sh.” He was doing this to her. That bastard.

He’d kill him. Avery.

“STOP! SHE’S JUST A LITTLE GIRL!” And he did. The man in the coat froze.

He turned to Jason slowly, but his skin only somehow grew colder. That wasn’t Avery.

It was his voice but that face— that dreaded Talon.

Its hand suddenly dropped to its side. Syringe clattering to the floor.

It stared right at him— no. Behind him. Someone was behind him.

He didn’t take his eyes off the little girl on the table. Whoever it was could go to hell. He just had to meet her eyes. She just had to know he was there. That he was going to help her. That he’d find a way— just something.

And then the light went out and he froze. He couldn’t see her anymore— but the single lightbulb left on right in front of his face shadowed a young man perfectly.

His face bloodied.

Red tunic. Torn cape. Old mask cracked through the middle. Cape torn in too many places.

Robin.

Not the boy wonder of glossy headlines. The one who thought earning that suit was the best day of his life.

Jason had a letter for him in his wallet.

The one Jason buried.

He looked exactly as he remembered on that warehouse floor— half dead, full fury. Ready to spit in the face of a clown despite knowing he was through.

When he spoke it sounded like both of them. Past and present. A shadow of one.

“She can’t die.” Robin’s head tilted. “Unlike you and me, she won’t get that release.”

“What?”

Robin’s voice dropped. Low. Almost like a confession he despised.

“They’ll keep her alive long after she wants to stop. Long after she understands what that means.”

He heard her whimpering. The straps snapped as she struggled. “Then help me—“

“We couldn’t even help ourselves.” Robin’s voice cracked. Regretful. “It’s going to be worse for her.”

There it was. That face. That expression that he felt his face morph into when he heard the click of the bomb.

“She’ll wish she were so lucky.”

Click.

BOOM!

Five months ago— Wayne Manor, Bristol.

“RORY!” Jason shot up. He wanted to vomit.

Lungs on fire, pulse racing. He had to remind himself to breathe. Deep. In and out.

In and out.

In and out.

He was in his room and out the door in less than ten seconds, the ringing in his ears not stopping. Sweat trickled down his spine. Everything felt cold as ice.

Another night of shaky breaths and twitching limbs— but tonight he wasn’t popping out a sleeping bag and listening on her bedroom floor for footsteps. No watching shadows until the sun rose.

Fuck it.

Tonight he didn’t pause at her door. He ripped it open.

Rory curled up on her side, knees pulled up, blankets half kicked off. He stared at her chest for a second to see its rise and fall. Steady. Even and soft breaths.

For a beat he just stood there. Stared at her sleeping face for too long.

He stepped across the floor and didn’t bother waking her up this time. Not tonight.

He just scooped her up like she weighed nothing. “It’s okay,” he breathed into her hair, ridiculous and raw. “You’re okay. You’re not going anywhere. I’ve got you.”

She awoke with a stir, mumbling something, then met his eyes. “Mm… sleepover?”

She mumbled, yawning a bit, hands wrapping around his neck and pulling her tight against him because they both knew the answer.

He nodded, running a hand through her hair before grabbing one of her two throw blankets off the foot of the bed, along with her Wonder Woman plush.

“My room tonight. Is that okay?”

She spoke with a yawn. “Yeah.”

He nodded, placing one last kiss on her temple before taking her to his room.

He set her down on the bed before making sure the door was locked. He added the bolt pretty recently.

Yesterday.

The manor was the most secure place in the city, most likely. But one more bolt didn’t hurt, right? Neither did the sensor on the window he triple-checked was locked.

He moved her to the hollow of his side and curled his upper body around her like a shield.

It was so pathetic. Dramatic. Really it was.

But tonight she’d sleep with him. Not alone in her room with the shadows and the dark. Tonight she wouldn’t be left alone. Couldn’t be.

He would still lie awake for hours. From one forty-five to around seven.

That was fine. He could live with that.

Every muscle was coiled. He stared at the wall some moments, the window others.

Her the most.

This house was impossibly quiet. Good. He could hear her breathing.

He was going insane. He knew he was.

This was becoming too much of a routine lately.

Early Next Morning— Dick Grayson’s Apartment, Blüdhaven.

Blüdhaven sounded different. Still chaotic, still loud, but alive in a way Gotham and the Manor hadn’t felt since his homecoming.

Dick’s apartment of present day was a hundred times when he first got here. Jason remembered breaking into it a handful of times. That dingy place back in, where was it, the south side? East end?

He didn’t really care. By the time he knocked on the door, his jaw was tight and his knuckles still white from gripping the handlebars of his bike too hard.

Well, Bruce’s bike, but when was the last time he used it? Not like it was a collector’s item. Basic.

The door opens halfway through the second knock. Dick stood there, barefoot, mug in hand and blowing steam away from his face. “You look like crap.”

“Morning. Move.”

Jason brushed past him, the smell of cheap coffee and something burnt.

Definitely not the same. Bigger. Open windows for actual light. Sounds mostly street vendors and passersby. He actually had framed photos now, not push pins and stacks. A couch that you actually would care if you spilled a beer on it.

A cat lifted its head from behind the coffee table, blinked twice, and went back to ignoring him.

Jason frowned. “You feeding strays again?”

“She’s not a stray.” Dick closed the front door. “She’s Mar’i’s little science project. Damian ‘helped’ her adopt it. He also pays for the food because I still think she’d be better off wherever she came from.”

Jason snorted. “Kid’s gonna be the reason the League of Assassins has a damn petting zoo one day.”

“He’s not a kid anymore,” Dick said, somewhat somberly. Like the thought hurt him. “She named it Blip-c.”

“Which stands for?”

“Bat-licking interdimensional pussy cat.”

Jason gave him a flat look. “There it is.”

The smell of coffee and something faintly sweet hung in the air.

“Mar’i here?”

Dick shook his head. “School.” He moved toward the kitchen. “Kori took her this morning. She’ll be back off planet tomorrow, but Mar’i is gonna be back by lunch. Coffee or something stronger?”

“Both.”

A few minutes later, Jason had a mug in hand. Heat grounding him just enough to talk.

One good thing about Dick was he didn’t push. He just sat and waited. Elbows at his knees, though.

That shit was weird but very on brand.

“Nightmares,” he said finally. Eyes glancing at pictures on the wall by the TV.

“Of?”

“Rory.” Her name came out rough. Like sand in his throat. Grainy. He glanced down at his mug. “I’ve had ‘em before but not like this.”

Dick’s tone softened. Low. Big brother pants on. “What kind?”

Jason exhaled, long. Leaned over and put the mug down. “I… it’s always the same,” he started. “A room. Big, white, too bright for your eyes. Avery is there. He’s got this needle. And Rory she’s just screaming. Calling out to me. I can see her but it’s like I’m stuck. Frozen. Just… watching. Every time he sticks her with it she screams and I just- I stand there.”

Dick just watched him with that quiet sadness that came from years of being everyone’s emotional triage nurse. Again.

Jason swallowed. Ripped the scar along his chin. “Lights go out. I look up- it’s me.” He glanced back at the older man. “It’s Robin. Standing there. Mask cracked, suit torn to hell. The boy wonder who Joker took out in front of his older self. Looking at me like he already knows how this ends. Says she’s gonna end up like I did.” His fist clenched again. “But she won’t go easy. Won’t get to rest. Just… hurt.”

Dick’s jaw tightened. “Like when you asked me to meet you in Star City last year… but the Robin bit is new.”

Jason gave a dry laugh. “Yeah. I know. Then I rip her from her bed in the middle of the night like a crazy person. Stick her in bed beside me and listen to her breathe. Even then I still can’t shake it.”

He was restless. His hands found nothing. “I just keep hearing her screaming in my head. Begging for her dad to come save her.”

“You’re a Dad.” Dick spoke quietly. “That’s what we do. Make up worst-case scenarios. Lose sleep over them.”

“You say that like it’s normal.”

“Because it is.” He took a slow sip. “With or without the mask. I remember when Mar’i was first born. I used to have this dream…,” his eyes seemed to darken a bit. “We’re on a mission. I don’t know why, but we are, and she’s with us for some reason. In Kori’s arms one minute, and then… blink out. No body. No trace. Kori had a few, too. Especially after Deathstroke broke out. Fire, explosions, the kind of stuff that never leaves your head… Even Damian had one.”

Jason blinked. “Damian?”

Dick nodded, shrugging as he stirred the black in his mug with that little spoon he kept in there. “He’s a good uncle to her. One time, two in the morning, he’s outside her bedroom window with a pair of night vision goggles.” He chuckled a bit, then stopped himself.

A pause.

“It was around that time Ra’s came back. Again. Just before you left,” he set his own mug down now. “Had a dream he used her to get to him. To Bruce. It was rough but after three days, he put it to rest. But for us it doesn’t stop. You just kind of learn to function on the edge of it, you know?”

Jason’s brow creased. “Yeah, well. I don’t want her to grow up watching me twitch every time a door creaks or the wind blows wrong.”

“She won’t,” Dick said simply. “She’ll see a dad who cares. Who gets scared.”

Jason’s eyes drifted to the window as silence took over. Nothing heavy. Just quiet.

Blüdhaven was always so hazy in the mornings. “I keep wondering if coming back to Gotham was a mistake. Maybe it’s my head telling me I made the wrong call.”

“Maybe,” Dick leaned back up. Elbows on his knees again. “Or maybe let’s consider it a reminder of why you’re here in the first place.”

“More specific, Nightingale.”

“You went to Bruce because you couldn’t protect her alone. Because you care. You wanted her to have some sense of normalcy even if it’s eventually anything but.”

“-I also wanted Bruce to make her stop glowing green light, too. And he hasn’t exactly given me much on that end.”

“But he will have answers. You know he won’t quit. He’ll find a way. Bruce always does… Rory seems so much more hopeful than when I first met her.” Dick smiled a bit, making Jason arch a brow.

“Hopeful? If I wanted to give her hope, I wouldn’t have brought her to Gotham. That’s like sending your kids to summer Camp at Arkham.” He scoffed.

Dick just shrugged. “But she is. And she has played off the whole ‘I’ve never met my Uncle Dick’ wonderfully, by the way, it took Bruce two weeks to realize she was a little too eager for those donuts. Phenomenal little actress.”

Jason didn’t respond right away.

“Avery is gone.”

That made Dick look up. “What do you mean, gone?”

“I mean gone.” Jason stared out the window, watching a pigeon fly by. “Last known address, empty. Phone disconnected. Bank untouched since two years ago. No movement. No rumor. Like he fell off the grid.”

“You’re sure?”

“Triple-checked. No digital trail. Not even a whisper from his usual circles.”

Dick frowned. “You think he’s alive?”

Jason exhaled through his nose, running a hand through his hair. “That’s the problem. I know he is. I can feel it.”

A silence stretched between them.

“He’s the guy you told me about, right?” Dick spoke up. “From Jump. Rory’s mom-“

“Yeah.” He spoke quietly. Like the words left a bitter taste in his mouth. “He wasn’t just controlling, Dick, he was obsessed. With both of them. For very different reasons,” he went to pick up his mug, eyes still anywhere but the man beside him. “It’s only a matter of time before some nosy journalist finds the court documents.”

Dick’s brows furrowed. “I’m going to need you to elaborate. I thought the custody issue was handled outside of court.”

“It was. He wasn’t her husband. Not legally. Played house long enough for people to think he was. When she got sick, she reached out. Rory was never his.”

He rubbed a hand over his face, pausing briefly to think. “We made an agreement. Quiet. No court, no lawyer, just a notary. Her signature, mine. He had no legal right to her if something happened. And then it did.”

Dick stayed quiet, letting him work through it himself while also questioning just how exactly that worked. His face flickered in confusion.

“He didn’t have a clue?”

Jason’s jaw flexed. Grip tightening. “She knew he’d fight it. When she died, he found out the hard way. He snapped.”

Jason leaned back, eyes dark. “He tried to take her. Told me I’d be ruining his ‘work’. That I was destroying what she could be. Stole what was left of her mother. The look in his eyes. Losing control of her, watching her mother die.”

His voice dropped in a way that Dick could only compare to one other large man in black. “You ever just look a man in the eyes and know he’s gone? Nothing left to reason with? That’s what I saw. Losing control broke something inside.”

Dick exhaled slowly. “That’s when he attacked you.”

Jason shook his head. “No. Her grandmother.”

Dick sat up straight. “Her grandmother?”

“I had her watching Rory that night. She tried to stop him.” He frowned. “By the time he tripped my alarm, she’d already called the cops.”

Dick’s stomach sank. “And?”

“And what?” Jason finally looked back at him. “He left that woman with permanent brain damage before I even got there. Rory watched him beat her within an inch of her life. I barely reeled myself back in before JCPD came knocking.”

The room stilled. Even the city noise outside seemed too far away.

Jason swallowed. “Judge gave him five years for what he did to Elaine. He didn’t even serve one. Retrial. Technicalities- he walked. I moved us by then.“

Dick nodded. “Star City.”

Jason nodded. “Got her birth certificate fixed. Last name changed. He went dark six weeks after his release. No sightings. No fighting me for custody. Guys like that don’t disappear, Dick. They stew.”

Dick’s tone was low. “And now her face is everywhere.”

“Exactly.” Jason laid his cup down a little too hard. Voice cracking a bit. “It’s like I handed her location on a silver platter. Gave him a damn map. He knows where we are. Where to start looking.”

Dick didn’t say anything at first. He knew where this was headed— guilt. One neither of them wanted to own.

“It’s not your fault, Jay,” he said finally, his voice sympathetic. Soft. “You were protecting her. You are protecting her.”

Jason’s laugh held no humor. A clap of his hands. “Yes. Because me losing my temper and putting a target on her back is just grade A parenting and protection.”

Dick’s eyes met the thumb tracing the rim of his own mug. “If it makes you feel any better,” he muttered. “I talked to Bruce after our conversation back at the cave.” He hesitated a bit. “He feels it too- the guilt, I mean. None of that should’ve ever happened.”

Jason looked up, wary. “You think that fixes it?”

“No but sometimes it’s good to know you aren’t the only one losing sleep over it.” He sighed. “He told me he overstepped. Should’ve let you handle it. Trusted that you could.” His eyes softened. “He tried to help his way. Made things worse.”

A bitter huff escaped before Jason could help it. Bruce never did know when to quit. It wasn’t exactly his skillset.

“Guess that’s one way to put it.”

For a moment, neither spoke. The city outside buzzed faintly. Nothing moving between them except that damn cat that kept rubbing against Jason’s pant leg.

Then Dick, quieter. “You both messed up. But that kid looks at you like you hung the damn moon, Jay. Don’t lose that trying to punish yourself for having a moment of weakness like that.”

Jason gave a faint nod. “You sound like Babs when you say shit like that.”

“I wondered if she wasn’t your first text.” Dick let himself grin a bit.

Jason deadpanned. “She’s everyone’s first text.”

“She’s like your therapist at this point. Might start collecting co-pays,” Dick stood, stretching his back with a pop before flashing that smug older-brother type look. “Maybe I will, too. This place isn’t cheap.”

“Speaking of which- how the hell did you afford this place? Circus give a bonus I didn’t hear about?” Jason’s eyes flickered around the apartment, seemingly more unimpressed than he actually was.

Dick grinned, moving toward the kitchen. “Titan leader money.”

Jason blinked. “That’s a thing?”

“I know, right? Yes, we get paid. No, it’s not fantastic for almost dying every other week- but after a few alien crises and one interdimensional lawsuit, I’ve got a decent pension plan going.”

Now that was fucking stunning.

A real shock to his system.

“You’re telling me the guy who lived off takeout and gym showers for two years out of pure spite has a pension plan?”

“Hey, don’t knock it. Some of us believe in adulting… eventually… after their wife threatens their life just a few times.”

“Adulting. Okay, Dick, you have a cat named Blip-C.”

Dick pointed at him over his freshly refilled mug. “No. No- Mar’i and her favorite Uncle have a cat named Blip-C. I’m just the landlord.”

“Keep telling yourself that.” Jason stood to leave.

“And just circling back here- you’re completely forgetting about the time period I did live in the Tower.”

“You mean freeloaded off of Bruce trying to teach Damian friendship?” That wiped the smug expression clean off Dick Grayson’s face.

“…Teamwork and it all worked out in the end.”

“I’m sure.”

A few hours later…

“So yeah,” Nightwing said, legs crossed on top of a streetlight, city glow washing blue across his armor. “Jason’s having nightmares again, and you should be… probably more worried than you are.”

Static crackled for a moment. Batman’s voice broke through, even and unreadable. “Nightmares.”

“Yeah. The really fun kind with the screaming, cold sweats, pulling his kid out of bed at three in the morning on a school night to make sure she’s still breathing.” Dick’s tone was dry. “You know, classic vigilante parent bedtime routine.”

A pause. Batman must’ve been in the air, because he heard that familiar rush of wind. “He told you this?”

Nightwing nodded as if he could see him, coming to a stand. “Pretty much. But that’s not my point,” he shot off his grapples to a nearby rooftop. “He’s not sleeping,” jump. “He’s paranoid- more than usual.”

He hit the rooftop without a sound. “And considering the fact this involves a lovely mixture of personal agenda, psychological obsession, Lazarus Pit side effects, and somehow custody law- I’d say he’s not wrong to be.”

There was another crackle. “You think he’s unstable.”

“I think he’s scared,” Nightwing countered, frowning. “And if you’d seen the look on his face or heard how he spoke about it, you’d be too. He’s not unraveling just yet- he’s waiting. For something to go wrong.” He closed his eyes for a split second, but continued. “The kind of waiting you did with each of us. With me. When I started out as Robin.”

Batman didn’t reply right away. That meant he was listening. Thinking.

“Look, I know you and Jay had your… moment at the Academy, but she’s a kid, Bruce. A kid in the headlines because you two couldn’t get along. You of all people know what that does to someone.”

The reply was low, careful. “I’ve been monitoring for movement under Roland Avery’s name since Jason first mentioned him. Nothing yet.”

“Yet,” he repeated. Scowling. “See, that’s what worries me. Jason said the guy went dark years ago. No trace, no trail, but that never lasts with people like him unless he’s headlining himself in hell right now. Guys like that- obsessed ones- they wait for noise. And congratulations, Bruce, you helped make plenty of it.”

Batman’s voice came out flat but with the faintest hint of edge. “Duke’s been running extra patrol routes near the Academy. She’s safe.”

He couldn’t help but let out a huff at that. “Yeah well Jason doesn’t exactly see that, does he? She’s safe because he doesn’t sleep. She’s safe because he sleeps on her floor when he does. You know what that tells me?”

Batman didn’t answer.

“It tells me we’ve got a repeat on our hands. That pattern is starting- paranoia, guilt, nightmares. The last time we saw that trifecta, we didn’t lay eyes on him for years.”

That earned nothing. As expected. No anger and no rebuttal. More like he didn’t have a defense ready.

“I’m not saying he’s about to spiral.” He looked down over the skyline. Trying to will himself to speak softer. “I just… he’s carrying all the weight and has none of the trust. And if Avery’s out there, he knows what Rory can do. Researched her for years. If this guy resurfaces- Jason’s not going to call for help. You know that.”

“He will if Rory’s in danger.”

“No,” it came off sharper. Angry. More emotional than he truly intended. “He’ll handle it if Rory’s in danger. There’s a difference.”

Another pause. Then a quick “Keep me informed.” Before the channel was cut.

His lips twitched. “I always do, Bruce.”

He couldn’t help it if it wasn’t what he wanted to hear.

“Another rooftop therapy session with the big guy?”

He nearly jumped out of his skin at her voice.

“Damn it! Barbara-“

“Field names only on comms.”

His brows furrowed. Confusion and then terror.

“How long have you been clicked on?”

He heard clicking. Her keyboard.

“Well it started off with ‘Jason won’t ask for help’ so… a while.”

Keys stopped just as relief washed over him.

“You’re needed at a corner bodega three blocks down.”

“Can we discuss the fact you’re able to listen in on us like that? I didn’t even hear a click. East or-“

“Southeast near a corner store. I’ve got eyes on a surveillance camera,” he could feel her smirking on the other end. “Three guys in ski masks trying to bust their way into an ATM with a crowbar, what looks like a leaf blower suspiciously converted into a pressure drill, and a dream.”

“Well consider me about to become their worst NIGHTmare.” He grinned, making a run and jump to the next building over. Thrilled with himself.

“Get it? NIGHTmare. NIGHTwing.”

“If you have to explain the joke it’s not funny.” She was typing again, this time a bit faster.

“More of a pun, really.”

“Goodbye, Dick.” She clicked off just as he landed between said criminals with a twirl of his escrima sticks, frown on his face.

“What happened to field names only?”

Chapter Text

Three months ago— LexCorp Gotham, Tricorner Island. 

Tim dipped a tea bag into what had to be the most colorful mug he ever used in his life.

He was a heavy coffee person before all of this— but now coffee turns his stomach; tea helps.

Lex Luthor should really take some of those millions he’s shelling out to attack the Supers and use it to buy his break rooms some matching silverware. Maybe a few spoons would be nice.

Poor Carter ended up buying some from the mart and they bend so easy only he used them now.

Tim stood by the counter, sleeves rolled and dipping it in and out on repeat while said man reiterated his latest crisis at the table just behind him.

“Tell me this isn’t insane,” Carter said, gesturing with both hands, the plastic stir stick still in his grasp. “They scheduled me on Sundays again. Sunday! Do you know what Sunday is? Church day. Family day. My kids are gonna think I moved into this building.”

Tim smiled, taking a seat by him. “You could always bring them in. Teach them the joys of corporate living.”

Carter barked a laugh, loud enough to turn a few heads. “Right, sure. Nothing says childhood memories like watching Dad file quarterly reports and edit computer codes so billionaire baldie can buy his twelfth car this year.”

“You could always convert to something that doesn’t meet on Sunday,” he offered dryly.

Carter pointed at him with mock seriousness. “That’s blasphemy, Drake. Don’t tempt me.”

The room chuckled. Carter carried spaces like he did that spearmint gum in his pocket— late-twenties, Metropolis born, high energy with a lanyard that had far too many keys.

You could hear him coming up the elevator at times. Not very discrete. Reminded him a bit of Bart in how fast he spoke sometimes, faster and faster as if a clock were to ding and silence him.

He somehow made the sterile Lex floor seem a little more human.

Tim like him more than anyone else he’d met thus far in the stuffy gray walls Lex put up.

Carter cared about people. Actually noticed when others were having a bad day. Made ‘working’ here bearable.

Almost.

A voice slid in from the far side of the room. Always smooth. Never quite expected.

“Hard to argue with devotion,” Kessler said, arranging the sugar packets at the coffee station with a frown. His tone polite. “Though I imagine Mr. Luthor finds faith in something else entirely.”

Tim smirked. “Profit?”

“Legacy,” Kessler corrected, softly tapping the rim of his cup once before taking a measured sip. “He’s very clear about that.”

Carter groaned. “Oh do not start with that playbook of his, man. I’ve already got to go through those dreaded staff updates where he practically compares himself to Einstein. That egos the size of the Daily Planet Globe.”

Kessler allowed himself a smile, small but genuine-looking. “Brains and ego do often share a seat at the table, Carter.”

The man stopped mid-spoonful of pudding. “And that right there is why you’re his lap dog, Kessler. All calm and vocabulary. Meanwhile I’m living on caffeine and prayer.”

Tim chuckled. These moments felt normal. Good, even. The three of them at a table, pretending they didn’t hate it here. Carter was half-leaned on the table, talking about his twin boys’ soccer league. Kessler contributed what his more corporate and clinical personality would allow, the kind of listener who made you feel like he was silently cataloguing every word.

He was the opposite of Carter in many ways. Desk always immaculate, email replied in perfect grammar and format.

They’d worked side-by-side for months now. Kessler was one of the best in the business and the lab. Great with numbers, better with people. The press ate out of the palm of his hand. Investor briefings he managed, found out by bugging his computer, were a breeze. Charity optics were another specialty.

He was one of the three faces LexCorp put on when it wanted to look more human.

Despite himself, Tim considered Kessler to be an ally of sorts. He was just as easy to work with as Carter, never bragged, never questioned too deeply. Just composed.

Very opinionated, though.

But well connected with the company. More importantly, based on what Tim gathered, not involved in any mutant/alien related activities.

Carter jabbed at his salad, seemingly less pleased at what remained of his packed lunch. He really needed to just steal another one of his boys’ pudding cups.

“You know Kess, my priest caught you on TV last week. Says you have the ‘best diction I’ve ever heard in a sinner.’ His words, not mine.”

Tim coughed out a laugh. “You mean your Dad?”

Carter shrugged. “Well duh.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Kessler smiled faintly, a tilt of his head.

“He’s obsessed with public image. Quite literally preached to me about vanity last month and now he’s all ‘maybe the twins should take a speech course at the school’. My boys go to Martha Wayne Elementary, not that prestigious private school in the Heights,” he suddenly jabbed his fork into a tomato, nose scrunching. “Man, I swear- if I pack one more salad I’m gonna lose it. Should’ve stolen another pudding cup from my boys’ lunchboxes.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “You’d traumatize them.”

“God willing, they’d survive. They’re resilient.” He paused, grin widening. “Speaking of kids tho- your niece? Cutest kid ever. Absolutely adorable. My youngest saw her on the news after that Academy incident and, I kid you not, declared her the first love of his life to Jesus.”

Tim blinked, shoulders tensing a bit, half a laugh caught in his throat. “He’s seven, right?”

“Six and three-quarters,” Carter beamed with pride, pulling out his wallet. “Apparently that’s the age where they start planning weddings.”

Tim stiffened a bit, but tried his best to keep it cool. “She’ll be flattered,” he said lightly, glancing around the room before leaning in and lowering his voice. “But let’s keep it quiet, okay? Rory doesn’t exactly need more attention right now.”

Kessler arched an eyebrow, testing the name.

“Sorry, man, I didn’t mean to stir things up. The whole thing looked a bit rough, though. Her dad- uh- he okay?”

Tim’s fingers tightened around his mug a bit. “He’s… managing. Gotham’s always watching, you know how it is.”

Kessler set his cup down with a soft click. “Managing,” he swallowed what remained in his mouth. “Interesting word for assaulting someone outside a school.”

The air seemed to thin a bit, Tim arching a brow as he rubbed his temples.

These damned fluorescent lights.

Carter’s laugh came out nervous. Faltered. “Wow, okay, Kessler. Guy had a bad day. Media blew up.”

Kessler didn’t look away from Tim. “A bad day is missing your train. Punching a man in front of your child- that’s a statement.”

His voice didn’t seem malice. Only irritated, oddly enough.

Tim rubbed the back of his neck. “My brother is uh… he’s been through a lot.”

Carter sensed the need to change subject, which Tim had already thought up a way of doing so himself, but he beat him to it.

“You know who else has been going through it lately? Amir from floor five. Yesterday he said…” the story dragged on from there.

Tim’s day at the office was a lot more boring after that.

Officially speaking, he was a junior data analyst in their communications division. Unofficially, he was viewed as WayneTech’s quietest countermeasure.

It had taken him six months to earn Lex’s approval to even walk on property.

Lex didn’t hire Wayne heirs.

But Tim Drake-Wayne had walked in with perfect grades. Too polite of a smile. A reputation for ‘drifting’ from his family’s company. More private publicly.

He’s built up and sold the story for a year before they made contact: A young man tired of being the understudy to a corporate dynasty he believed was headed in the wrong direction, burned out from a hundred boardroom meetings. The same young man who bashed his relatives online toward the end, not in anger, but in exhaustion.

Not hatred— just done.

Lex loved that.

Opportunity wrapped in resentment. A prodigy with a famous last name who’d rather build than battle. Held the same ideology as Lex himself, or so he thought. 

Lex thought he could use Tim as a weapon— WayneTech’s eyes turned inward, one stray heir for the public to see cracks in the Bruce Wayne’s image.

Meanwhile Tim was feeding mediocre advise that baldie and his people only took seriously two-tenths of a time and purposefully over achieving so he could get more access digitally.

The comms floor always had a faint buzz from its light fixtures. Cheap shit.

By late afternoon the floor was its usual soft buzz. When he logged back in, the badge light blinked once to authentic the network. He barely took notice anymore.

Scrolling through the last of the reports, he half-listened to the low rhythm of the HVAC. He’d been searching for weeks for a real trail. Anything beyond the surface level.

Not that bland PR work Lex handed his division.

He came up try until recently. Almost gave up.

Then he found it.

Three folders deep in was “Subject-S7T.”

The cluster of files not matching the usual format. No subject lines, no product names, just long encrypted strings and routing metadata that bounced through a relay in Europe.

The headers referenced shell companies he didn’t recognize, couldn’t find many details on: Helios Biotech, Serpentis Group, and Skylar Dynamics.
None of which appeared on LexCorp’s official partner lists, yet all three routed through the same financial relay— small, timed transfers to an unregistered facility.

He leaned back, rubbing his temples again as the light flickered. Probably another off-site research shell against the supers.
Against Conner.

Lex had dozens— Cadmus, TTK, Operation Solar— whatever he was calling them this quarter. 

Still, there was something just so deliberate about how the data looped between the three companies. Like each one had a piece of the same equation.

He saved a copy, flagged it for review on the device he was feeding it into, and shut it down.

Meanwhile— Gotham Academy, “The Heights”

The Gotham Academy Spring Fair smelled of lemonade, poster paint, and Elmer’s glue.

Courtyard crowded with trifold displays and sale booths in the halls this year.

Kids explaining things they barely understood.

Rory stood behind her booth, chin held high, hair in pigtails this time.

The sign above her table was written in two very different styles— half was neat block lettering: “PHOTOSYNTHESIS”

The other— drawn in sparkly bubble letters with a sun in its corner and cloud stickers: “THE SUPER SUNLIGHT MACHINE!!!”

The project itself was a clear plastic container— a repurposed salad bowl housing a single potted plant. Glitter all over it. Jason had helped her rig a tiny LED lamp over it on a timer that blinked on/off, replicating sunlight.

Next that one sat a second plant, wilted. No glitter in its dirt. Dropping in darkness under a piece of cardboard “shade” Rory somehow managed to make look similar to an awning.

She had two arrows drawn on the board behind them. But with two different sun stickers at the ends:

☀️-> “GOOD AIR! HAPPY FLOWER!”

😞-> “BAD AIR! FLOWER GRAVE!”

Her narrating was as chaotic as her handwriting.

“Plants they eat the sun like I eat cheeseburgers- kinda! They slurp it up with green parts and then breathe out good air. So if you don’t have plants you don’t have breathing and we all die!” Her grin was wide and hopeful of response as the mother in front of her frowned.

Damian, leaning against her table, put a few dollars into the donation jar and glared in return. “Is she incorrect?” He dared, watching as the woman slowly shook her head ‘no’. 

“It’s magic dirt and sunlight and wodder teamwork!” Rory cheered, throwing her hands up as the boy slowly nodded before his mother nudged him away.

Damian arched a brow at her. “You named it Super Sunlight Machine?” 
He didn’t add the last part where he questioned if she thought that was an award-winning name. 

Rory nodded proudly. “Dad said I should name it something sciency!”

Bruce looked over the display. “And this one,” he pointed to the plant on its death bed. “This is what happens without sunlight?”

“GB!” Rory grinned, waving before walking over with a bit of pep to her step. “Yes. It gets tired and sad ‘cause nobody gave it food!”

Cassandra snapped a photo as Rory threw both hands up and declared, “And that’s why plants are heroes! If no plants we all go into the dirt and become plant food later!”

“A little dark with that last part,” Jason whispered, leaning down to her ear. “Maybe let’s leave the death talk out of it, okay?”

Bruce gave an approving nod. “Very practical, Rory.” He slipped some money in the donation jar nearby. “For more happy plants.” He smiled.

Rory tilted her head. “You brought money this time?”

Last time her GB came— the Gotham Academy Annual Bake Sale— he’d only brought bank cards. 
He could’ve sworn the paper she gave him said otherwise, but he ended up leaving that day with no more than three brownies and a bag of peanut butter cookies. 

“I try to be prepared.” Bruce said, deadpan.

Jason snorted. “You realize that’s basically a glitter fund, right? She already donated to plant a tree or whatever.”

“As required by the project documentation.” Damian cut in, scrolling on his cell phone.

“A worth while investment.” Bruce nodded, looking around and noticing not many children had any donations in theirs whatsoever.

Damn it. He didn’t bring enough fifties. Twenties would have to do. 

Damian muttered. “You aren’t the one who has to clean it later.”

“I help.” Jason hissed. He’d cleaned up after Rory’s crafts plenty of times. Many times, actually. And he made her help.

Damian didn’t bother looking up from his phone. “Not very well.”

Cassandra stifled a laugh.

Damian was getting on Jason’s nerves lately with that. Little things he did for her to seem ‘helpful’ like he wasn’t the demon spawn he was, waiting for a chance to use his actions of ‘help’ as a way to say ‘Jason can’t even do this’. 

He kept his eye out on that one. Dick wasn’t convincing anyone when he went on with that “Damian is a good Uncle” nonsense. 

Rory’s first week there he had to ask her name four times. 

So great! 

Later…

Rory was sitting between Bruce and Jason, legs swinging, glitter smudged across her sleeves and the tablecloth under her water bottle.

She wasn’t really paying much attention, whispering to Cassandra from across the table and asking her questions about what plant she’d like to be if had to pick.

“I’d be a snapdragon,” Rory smiled. “They sound cool. Or the one that looks like a bell. Or one of those little flower trees with the pink petals.”

“Cherry blossom?”

The teacher in charge started handing out awards— none of which Rory’s project won. “Second place…”

Jason shrugged. It didn’t matter at the end of the day. He wasn’t a huge academics kid himself. Rory’s education was important but she didn’t have to prove anything to these snobs.

The girl had moved on to ripping that little star off her teacher gave her for participation when it happened.

“…Karlo. And for first place overall Creative Design— Photosynthesis and Super Sunlight Machine, Aurora Skylar Todd.”

Jason nearly spit out his water. “Wait- what?”

Rory squealed as Cassandra motioned for her to head up to the podium, smiling. The teacher seemed to flinch as she dashed up there, pigtails bouncing, accepting a trophy half her size.

A few kids started muttering, her age and older— “It’s just dirt in a bottle.” “She didn’t even set it all up herself.”

Then, from the back of the student’s section:

“ARTISTIC VISION, PEOPLE! STEM AND ARTS, LET’S GO! RESPECT THE GLITTER!”

Click.

Laughter ripped through the audience.

“Mizoguchi.” Damian muttered, facepalming.

Jason was stunned. He loved his daughter and thought her capable of many things— but what was even happening right now? When did he stand up and start clicking his phone camera button like the suburban housewives he met at the PTA?

Bruce’s mouth twitched like he was holding back a smirk.

Rory stayed on stage for a group photo, before skipping back down the aisle, trophy clutched tight. Happy as could be.

“I won for sparkles, Dad!” She announced, moving to sit on Jason’s lap.

Cassandra snapped a picture of them before he could see, smiling to herself. This was a rare moment Jason seemed to actually relax.

Barbara was going to be so sad she missed out. Again. 

“I know. Awesome job, kiddo. I told you it looked great.” He gave her a high five, watching as she turned to display it to Cassandra who was behind them.

“See aunt Cassie. I got one! We should FaceTime Babs and Stephy!!”  She grinned, kicking her feet a bit.

“You’ll see Barbara tomorrow morning,” Jason reminded. “Just wait and you can show it to her then.”

Bruce paused the claps he gave along with the rest of the crowd. “Tomorrow?”

Jason shrugged. “I needed a sitter and I guess she wants to, I don’t know, hang out on her day off?”

Jason wasn’t going to lie— he found it odd, too. Suspicious.

But it was Barbara. Probably the most reliable person he knew. Best with a batarang, too. Rory would be fine. 

Early Morning— Wayne Manor, Bristol. 

The drive to Bristol felt longer than he remembered. The road curled like it wanted to forget where it led.

When he finally say the gates, they didn’t seem the same. Like something was off.

Then again, everything felt off to him over the course of the last three months.

He let himself in.

It almost felt… unwelcoming? Somehow. Like he truly wasn’t supposed to be there, but who cares when you have a key.

He told himself he was just here for the flash drive. The one that ended in another “leave it, I’ll do it” type of spat with Batman two weeks ago. No real reason to linger, no point in coming while anyone else was home.

But he stopped when he stepped through the dining hall— since he came in from the back way.

Since when did Bruce let them do project on the table? Let alone ones involving glitter and glue sticks.

In the middle sat Rory’s project, propped upright as if on display. A golden sun. Photosynthesis. Death.

He couldn’t help it— the corners of his mouth twitched. It was absurd.

A simple cause and effect model where light equals life as darkness equals death.

Nice.

His eyes met a small gold trophy rested beside the display: “Creative Design Display”

Fingerprints all over.

He picked it up, engraving plate crooked. Must have been her first school trophy; she’d probably shown everyone else before leaving it here for the world to admire until it had its own place.

For a second something tugged at him. A feeling of sorts. Maybe it was pride, maybe it was the envy reserved for people who maintained the luxury of being proud of small things.

There was a hum somewhere— faint but steady with a cooling feel that had the feeling flattened before it could shape.

He set the trophy down somewhat carefully.

That’s when he saw the newsletter with Bruce’s pen line beneath the words: “Skylar Dynamics— Proud Sponsor of Gotham Academy’s Science and Sustainability Program.”

He folded the paper, slid it into his jacket, and turned for the door.

The LED lamp blinked again, casting the little gold trophy in pulses of false daylight. 

It looked almost alive— dim, bright, dim, bright. 

Then it burned out.

By the time Tim reached the car, the only thing left was clarity: Skylar Dynamics. Gotham Academy.

He’d handle it. Alone.

After all, it seemed, he felt more alone than ever as of recently— With the exception of his own mind. 

Four years ago—Jump City.

Brown eyes blinking awake with a bit of a groan. The baby was crying. Again.

She let out a deep sigh before bringing herself to a stand, making her way to the nearby bedroom. She’d never been to this part of Jump City before Jason moved here, but it felt safe enough— quiet.

Quiet was important for the baby. That’s probably why he’d opted for a smaller unit on the top floor. Nothing amazing, but it had the necessities for him and her granddaughter.

Jason really needed to get a toddler bed when he found the time.

There she stood, two-year-old Rory in the crib Elaina herself had brought over months ago.

When her own daughter… she dared not think on it. Too many tears. Heartache. Stolen dreams and shattered hearts.

Including the little girl whose hair matched her own in a way that felt almost ghostly to her now. Grim.

But beautiful.

She still cried for her when she first woke up— too young to understand that the familiar warmth and light was now deep in the earth. In the darkness.

Elaine shushed the two-year old, scooping her up into her arms and coaxing her into light sniffles.

“I know sweetheart, I know…”

That’s when it came. A knock on the door.

She blinked in confusion before checking the time. Four in the morning. Rory’s father wasn’t supposed to be back just yet. Another two hours, maybe three if she were lucky.

She wanted to be as close to the little one as possible.

How sad that also could never be.

She put Rory back down quickly, going over and picking up the small cat plush she loved so much. “I’ll be right back.” She said softly, sending her a smile.

Rory was still sniffling by the time the shouting started.

“Jason said you can’t be here!” Elaine yelled through the crack of the door, her flip phone dialed up nine-one-one and ready to hit call.

Avery just smiled. “Come on, Laney, you know me.” His smile was too casual for her taste. “I just want to see her. That’s all. Please.”

Despite the knot in her stomach, he tugged at her heartstrings. He just seemed so desperate.

But Jason was clear with her and her own daughter clearer while on her deathbed— Jason would take over in the event of her death. Roland Avery was not her husband. He was no longer on her birth certificate.

“I’m sorry.” She let a few tears fall. She truly did see him as her own son. “But he said if I let you back in here, I won’t see her. Go home, Roland. I will talk to him again-“

A fist slammed on the door hard enough to make the chain rattle and the wood creak. Roland Avery was no small man by any means, and Elaine felt as if she may have a heart attack at the action.

“THAT’S NOT ENOUGH,” his face suddenly twisted, eyes somehow even darker to the point where she couldn’t recognize him. She hit the call button.

Ringing…

Avery took a deep breath, closing his eyes a moment before coming out with a voice much more calm. Precise. Smile coming back.

“I just want to see sleeping beauty off to bed. That’s all.” She hated the way he said that.

Ringing…

“She’s already asleep.” Elaine muttered, about to shut the door when there was a sudden cry that made her glance back.

“Mama?”

Avery’s face fell in an instant. “Is she now?”

“Hello?”

The door flung open with a sound so loud and sharp the room shook. Elaine’s phone was thrown along with her body into the wall behind her, landing with a clatter as a voice continued on the other end.

“…emergency?”

He walked right past her, eyes fixated on the voice down the hall that now cried out for comfort. Elaine groaned in pain, still stunned.

The minute that chain broke, a small red light blinked between the frame and the wall. Barely visible.

Those cries didn’t cease when she was abruptly pulled out of the crib, cat plush barely clinging to her chest, screams muffled by his shoulder.

Elaine willed herself up as best she could, grabbing at his leg as he tried to walk out the door. He tugged her off easily and made a motion to leave before she spoke up with words that made his grip tighten painfully around the small body into his arms.

“You can’t just steal her from us. From her father!” Those words struck an already weak cord, snapping it in half.

Rory was still sobbing, snot and tears running down as she was placed down to stand beside the couch, leaning against it.

His face was like nothing Elaine has ever expected from another man, let alone him.

He was insane.

She tried to scoot herself away from him, only to watch in horror as he adjusted one of his gloves.

“I am her father…” he grabbed her by the collar of her sweater, swinging her into the wall corner with a loud crack echoing as her and Rory both screamed.

Elaine couldn’t feel anything but white, hot pain throughout her body as he grabbed a nearby lamp.

The smell hit Redhood first. Blood.

Rory’s sobs and shrieks echoed through the walls and the voice of a madman— low, frantic— muttering words that his stomach twisting.

Elaine lay nearly unrecognizable against the corner of the wall, blood pouring from her mouth and body broken.

“She’s special,” Avery said, crouching over on one knee to reach for the girl, whose eyes were bright red and body shook all over. One bloody hand reached. Then, just as a finger touched her cheek. “You don’t even know what she can-“

Redhood slammed him into the ground a few feet away, the sound cracking through the apartment.

“You touch her again,” his voice came out distorted through the modulator, “I swear to God you’ll-“

Avery fought back— wild, desperate, swinging and missing with a quick dodge as Rory wailed and hid behind the other end of the couch.

He caught Avery’s wrist, twisted, and listened as the bone snapped.

The following scream wasn’t human.

Redhood threw him through the nearby TV stand. Rory wailed louder.

Avery saw her and tried to crawl, sputtering blood as he glared. “You don’t get it,” he rasped. “She’s proof. She’s the next step. She’s mi-“

Redhood’s fists hit his jaw hard.

Then again.

Then in the ribs-

“Dah!” He froze as it came out through choked sobs.

The word hit him hard. He froze, his chest heaving and gloves slick with Avery’s blood.

Rory had made her way over to Elaine at some point, trying hard to shake her awake. Cheeks streaked, eyes red, snot, tears, and a bit of blood on her pale face.

His breath caught. He didn’t move for a second. Didn’t breathe.

Her sobs hitched as she stumbled back a bit, trembling, clutching the hem of Elaine’s sleeve again as if it would help her disappear.

“Rory…” His voice came out low, warped through the modulator. Mechanical. Cold. She flinched at the sound.

Redhood realized too late as he caught his reflection in pieces of shattered glass— the armor, the blood, the strange large man in a red helmet that gave a distorted reflection of her own terrified expression.

Meant to scare criminals.

Not her.

“Hey, I-“ the sound only made her cry harder.

He tore the helmet off fast, ripping it free and tossing it aside. The domino mask hit the floor next.

“Rory,” Jason tried again, voice raw now. Real. “It’s okay. It’s Dad, okay? Look at me, kiddo- see?”

She hesitated, eyes darting from the mask to his face. Not really processing that he wore it. Clueless as to what it meant.

She was far too young to understand or know what she was even seeing.

Jason dropped to his knees, coming closer. “Come on, kiddo. I’ve got you. I’m right here.”

She quieted to hiccups, reaching out for him with some hesitation before sobbing into his arms, shaking like a leaf.

She may not have known the helmet or the mask, but she knew him.

He shushed her, one hand on her head pulling her closer, the other feeling Elaine for a pulse.

Why did she open the damn door?

He stiffened at the faintness of it. Shallow breathing. He had to get her medical attention. Soon.

But then he heard the sirens.

Jason’s eyes widened, taking Rory with him as he ran to their bedroom, leaning down only to snatch the helmet and mask on his way.

He placed her on the bed, her sobs now light hiccups as he lifted up the floorboard in the closet.

“Shit, shit, fuck.” He muttered, tossing them inside while ripping off his gloves as the sirens got closer.

Boots, belt, armor— he could hear them pulling in by the time he managed to slip on a pair of sweatpants. He didn’t bother with a shirt. No time. 

If they questioned his scars, well, that was a problem for later. Most never asked anyways. 

He picked Rory up again who seemed to calm down enough to where her hiccups were only every few seconds.

He really didn’t want her to see any more than she already had, so he kissed her forehead before putting her in the closet with the light on.

They were at the bottom floor. Seven flights.

He checked Elaine one more time. Still breathing.

This next part was gonna really suck, but he couldn’t exactly look unscathed with an old lady and a scientist bloodied on the floor.

At least he got two more good punches in on an unconscious Avery before clenching his fist and throwing himself against the window just enough to crack it, leave a few bruises on his back, the works.

Not enough. He looked down at himself— clean cuts, split knuckles, blood that wasn’t his. Too neat. Too deliberate.

Cops tended to be pretty dumb here.

But not stupid.

“Come on,” he muttered, jaw tight.

Three floors away.

He slammed his head into it just hard enough to cut and bruise his forehead, his fist next into the wall. The plaster cracked a bit. Skin split clean across knuckles.

He gave a hiss and wiped the blood lazily at his shoulder before offering himself a hit to the ribs.

The things he did for this secret identity bullshit.

He heard a faint rustle in the closet. Rory.

He put himself on the floor with his back against the door, muttering. “It’s alright, Kiddo. I’ve got you.”

After that he put on the damned theatrics soon as the cops busted in.

When they moved that next week, he’d make sure to pick somewhere far from here. 

Maybe one of his and Roy’s old places.

That wouldn’t be so bad. He could think of maybe two Bruce wasn’t fully aware of.

Because Jason Todd could go anywhere he wanted.

Just not home.

Chapter Text

Rory wasn’t one for fancy pajamas— sweats, messy hair, and absolutely no socks. Ever.

“Hey. Come on, wake up.” His hand shook her gently on the shoulder, only for the to groan and try burrowing herself deeper into her blanket. Her hair stuck out in a wild, tangled mess. The legs of her sweatpants were twisted halfway up from where she kicked in her sleep.

She blinked blearily at him, drool on the side of her mouth. The kid was not a pretty sleeper. “…Sleepover?”

“No,” he said with a grin. “It’s midnight. No more round up. Officially seven years around the sun. Get up.”

Still half-asleep, she sat up a bit, dragging the blanket with her as she allowed him to lift her up. Jason tossed it back on the bed, laying her down gently on the floor as she rubbed her eye.

She shuffled with him down the hall, feet scuffing against the wood, tanning loud enough to where he paused and shushed her. “We can’t wake up them up, ok?” He whispered. “They’re sleeping.”

“It’s dark.” She mumbled, scratching her stomach.

He led her out past the back doors, the grass cool and wet against her feet when stepped on the blanket he’d spread by a tree. A bit more away as the night cool hit her skin, she grinned at the sight of a brown paper bag.

Jason sat down with a grunt, pulling it open. “You know the drill.” He grinned, watching as she plopped down cross-legged, already busting the bag open and grabbing one, sugar coating her fingers.

He hoped they were any good. The ones Dick bought last time were fine, but they were closed on Saturday night.

She handed one to him with a smile, eyes glittering up at the stars.

Jason was never a huge party person himself, thus Rory was raised on simpler traditions.

The last five years he was the first one to wish her happy birthday, scooping her out of bed at midnight on the dot, some form of sugar in hand.

The last three, Rory asked if they could stay up staring at stars. She loved stars— they were one of her favorite things in the entire world, the most magical thing she’d ever seen.

When they lived in Star City, it was just an open window and a pillow on the bedroom floor. That time they had to celebrate in Jump, it was on the roof of their apartment.

Stars, donuts, and a gift. Plain and simple. All they needed.

Only after she was done and made her pitiful attempt at cleaning her hands with a napkin did he slide the small box across the blanket.

“Present time?” She asked, mouth still full.

“Swallow first and yes.” His hands made its way to his phone, snapping a picture of her powdered-covered form with a smirk.

He didn’t do pictures often but when he did, well, she was ninety percent of his camera roll. Which only included about two hundred and twelve photos, four videos, and a saved voicemail from Alfred.

She popped it open quickly, small fingers fumbling until a bracelet tumbled out. A charm bracelet with a kid-friendly clasp. The sturdiest one he could find— a little star and cat hanging down.

Rory was ecstatic, “For me?!”

Jason nodded once, brusque. “Won’t break easy. Wear it or don’t, it’s your choice, but I’d prefer you make use of it as much as possible.”

For various reasons.

He smirked to himself as she excitedly asked him to unlock it, jumping up and down as he clasped it on. “It’s pretty! I’ll wear it all the time!”

“Just don’t lose it, okay? I’m not sure I’ll be able to replace it very quickly.” He leaned back from his position on the ground a bit from the sheer force of her little body throwing itself on top of him, her hug almost choking it was so tight.

She twisted her arm from behind his back to let the charms catches the light. “It’s already my favorite!”

“Good to know, now can you let your old man breathe?” He gasped.

She sat back down with a hop, still looking at it before he motioned for her to take another donut from his hand.

Sugar dusted across her lap, the star and cat charms clinking softly.

The night fell quiet. Just the two of them, one looking at Stars and the other wondering at what age she’d ask for an actual party.

Then a voice.

“Cute bracelet.”

You have got to be shitting him right now.

His head snapped toward the trees, jaw tightening. “…Why?”

Stephanie walked up with that shit-eating grin of hers, having been crouched just past the tree line, a bakery box balanced on her hands and a grin that screamed ‘caught ya.’

“Awe hell,” Jason muttered, standing up. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Relax,” she said, striding toward them. “Don’t pop a gun out, I’m just here to bring the party.”

Rory shot up, grinning. “Stephy!”

“How did you even…” he trailed off, eyes slowly lowering to the small body beside him. “Did you tell her?”

Rory blinked. “Yeah! She asked if I was gonna have a party. I said ‘me and daddy do stars and donuts date’ and then we made paper crowns.”

Jason took a deep breath before slowly letting it out into the open air.

It’s alright. Just a cake. Stephanie isn’t the worst company, Rory seems fascinated by her, it’s fine.

Stephanie set the box down with a smile. “Don’t give her that look. Princess here didn’t do anything wrong. Besides, someone had to upgrade your sad little donut ritual.”

She brought an awful lot of plates and forks for just three people.

“Donuts are fine,” he snapped.

“They’re great,” she agreed breezily. “But you know what’s even better? Sprinkles!” She flipped the lid— a sheet cake inside, bright frosting piled high. “Don’t freak out, Todd, it’s small. I didn’t blow the budget. Besides, even Damian has a cake and a candle with whoever’s available each year.”

Jason’s eyes went from the cake, to the plates in her other hand, and back her. “You made a group chat, didn’t you.”

Stephanie smirked.

“You-“

“Happy Birthday, Rory!” Dick came up from behind him, his voice bright and easy. His hands were shoved in his jacket pockets as he stepped out of the glow of the porch light. “Mar’i helped me pick you out something.”

His daughter trailed in just behind him, holding a box wrapped in mismatched pinks and blues. Rory waved her down, cheering.

“Mar’i! Come sit by me!”

“I picked the best gift.” Mar’i announced proudly, dropping it into her lap.

Dick gave Jason’s shoulder a pat. “She really did. Took her time. Honestly impressed me.”

Jason groaned louder. “Damn it all.”

Tim followed a beat behind, careful steps, a gift bag dangling somewhat awkwardly. And Jason thought the kids looked tired— the shadows under his eyes told the story of a man who hadn’t slept in days.

“It’s nothing big. Just thought she might like it, you know?” Tim mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. He leaned Jason. “If I pass out, please don’t leave me outside, I will wake up mid-air.”

Jason gave him a confused side-eye. “What?”

“You know what, never mind— Hey Dick. Can you carry me if I…” Tim’s voice trailed off as Jason looked back up in Rory’s direction, only to catch Duke leaning against a tree while Damian tossed a blanket over her and Mari’s shoulders.

The two girls giggled, tugging it around them in a makeshift tent, glow sticks flickering beneath the fabric.

“Don’t read into it,” Damian said sharply, catching Jason’s stare. “Children catch colds easily.”

Dick smirked. “Just say you care, Damian. It wouldn’t kill you.”

Damian’s gaze cut him. “I said exactly what I meant.”

“Rory, where did you get those?” Jason questioned, frowning at the neon stick in her hand that she then used as a pointer.

Duke.

“…Really?”

Duke shrugged. “Festive.”

“Festive?” Jason repeated. He pointed at the kids, who were already waving them like neon swords. “This is a baby rave waitin’ to happen.”

Stephanie whooped, twirling hers around her finger. “Now this is a party!”

Damian’s voice cut through, low and disdainful. “Ridiculous. Cheap plastic and toxic dye.”

“Five minutes of fun is still fun,” Duke shot back.

“They’re rubbish.” Damian retorted. Cold.

Rory jabbed hers into him like a wand. “Miss Maps and that pretty boy said you weren’t fun.”

Jason, who had picked up another donut, choked on powdered sugar. “Okay, now that’s beautiful.”

That’s when he froze mid-bite, her words registering.

Just who the hell was ‘pretty boy’?

Tim mumbled. “She’s not wrong.”

Damian’s jaw locked tighter. “Mizoguchi never keeps her mouth shut and Colin did not say such things. Nor would he.”

“You’re being boring right now.” Mar’i deadpanned.

Damian exhaled through his nose. “…Then I will remain boring. Rory, stop slouching.” He requested, his eyes flicking once to the blanket to ensure it stayed tight over their shoulders.

Before Jason could defend her, a new presence slipped into the circle.

Cassandra.

She lowered herself cross-legged onto the blanket across from Rory. Gaze warm.

Rory lit up, abandoning a donut mid-bite.

“Cassie!” She smiled, throwing her arms around the woman, who brushed her fingers through a mess of blonde.

“Should have brushed your hair.”

“We weren’t exactly expecting much company.” Jason countered, arm propped on his knee. Irritated.

This was one of the rarer traditions he’d hoped to keep going…Now it was a family reunion in the middle of the night with neon sticks and whipped frosting.

“Look what my dad got me! It’s my favorite thing of ever!” She held up her wrist proudly, the metal glowing in a combination of neon and moon light.

Cassandra raised her brows with a nod of quiet approval, listening to them jingle with a knowing glance back at Jason.

She nodded once, Rory soon leaning against her side while Stephanie started setting up the cake.

Jason’s shoulders dropped, thankful at least one of them knew how to keep it simple.

So there they all were. In the back yard of Wayne Manor, powdered sugar unknowingly sticking to Jason’s jacket while the kids giggled with glow sticks clashing like swords. Cass sitting cross-legged as she helped Stephanie in putting a line of seven candles on the cake, Dick laughing a little too loud at Tim trying to keep himself from passing out against a tree, Duke Thomas cracking yet another glow stick just to see how bright he could get it, and Damian scowling into the night like he may disown them all.

Jason muttered under his breath about it being insane, rubbing the back of his neck in mourning of ‘midnight donut date’, before he let his eyes trail upward.

She looked happier than he’d seen her in a long time, powder coated t-shirt and grass covered feet.

He tried not to get sentimental over it, but seeing her that way he couldn’t help but smile to himself.

She deserved that much happiness in her life.

And then that gravelly voice cut through the yard that made heads turn.

“Did you do the song yet?”

Every head turned as Bruce stepped out of the shadows, broad shoulders framed under the porch light.

“GB!” Rory smiled.

Mar’i waved. “Oh hey, Grandpa!”

Jason’s stomach sank. “…The what?”

“The song,” Bruce said flatly. “Happy Birthday.” His eyes flicked to the cake box. “I see candles.”

Stephanie’s eyes went wide. “Oh shit- I forgot a lighter.”

Jason sighed. “Of course you did.”

“Hey, don’t look at me!” Stephanie held the cake up defensively. “I remembered the cake. I got the candles- that’s, like, ninety percent of the battle.”

Duke smirked, slowly pulling out another glow stick and snapping it. “Neon candle. Problem solved.”

“Yes!” Rory squealed.

“No.” Jason said sternly.

Dick laughed and went fishing for his keys. “Relax, Jay. I’ve got one in the car I’m sure of it.”

Tim waved weakly from where he was still slumped against the tree. “Check the glove box. Middle compartment. Under your phone bill.”

”It was due Tuesday,” Mar’i grumbled. “That’s why mine doesn’t work anymore.” 

“Dick is really bad about that.” Duke muttered. 

Jason muttered how the event was an absolute nightmare for the hundredth time, Bruce settling into the background as Rory waited patiently, hands now folded on her lap.

The song they sang was off-key. Loud. Damian didn’t bother with it, Stephanie was too loud, Dick was the only one on key, and Tim—

“Dude, wake up.” Duke gave him a nudge just as Rory blew out the candles. Tim jolted upright, nearly falling into the crowd in front of him.

“Sorry-“ he rubbed his eyes.

“Why are you so down?” Duke’s eyes were laced with concern, keeping a hand on Tim’s arm to keep him from pitching sideways again.

Tim’s mouth pulled into a thin line. “This might be day four.”

“FOUR DAYS?!” Stephanie half-yelled, cake knife in hand still.

“Five in another twenty minutes.” He admitted, rather bluntly, staring at the grass.

Bruce’s eyes flicked to Tim, heavy with concern, though he said nothing.

Jason groaned. “My daughter’s birthday and I’ve got a walking corpse in the yard.”

Tim bit back the urge to say how bold a statement that was, considering Jason was one.

Jackass. 

“Okay. Quick gifts, then we’re heading inside before Boy Wonder number three eats grass.” Stephanie suggested.

”Boy who?” 

“Gift time!” Jason said a bit too loud, ignoring his daughter’s question entirely. 

Rory straightened immediately, standing up and plopping herself down by Jason with a bit of a bounce, the box Mar’i had given her in hand.

Rory tore it open, smiling as a doll tumbled out. A cloth figure with messy blond yarn hair, button eyes, and a stitched smile.

“She looks like me!” Rory beamed.

“Mar’i helped me pick her out.”

“You did?” She asked, earning a nod.

“Yeah!,” Mar’i started. “I told Dad we needed one that actually looked like you.” 

Rory held the doll up beside her face, turning to Jason with a smile.

“She’s perfect!”

Jason smirked, “Messy hair and all.”

“Okay, mine’s next,” Tim muttered, pushing a bag across the blanket from where he now sat. “It’s… practical.”

Rory lifted out a bright pink bedazzler gun.

Jason stiffened. “…No.”

“Yes!” Rory yelled, holding it up like a prize. 

“I still find glitter in my shoes. In my keyboard. In the coffee maker. This saves us all. You’re welcome, everybody.”

Stephanie cackled, clutching her stomach. “Oh my gosh, he actually bought her containment glitter!”

Cassandra nodded in approval. “Necessary damage control.”

Jason groaned. “This is gonna be hell.”

Rory hugged it tight, the grin that gave Bruce those flashbacks slowly making its way to her features. “I’m gonna bedazzle everything.”

“God help us,” Tim mumbled— then let his upper body fall backward with a thump, top of his head in the grass, head halting sideways and eyes slowly shutting.

He was out cold.

“Guess that’s our cue to wrap this up.” Duke said, brow raised as he began collecting glow sticks.

Dick laughed, clapping his hands together. “Alright, gifts are done. Let’s be quick and head inside. The girls probably need to head back to bed soon.”

“Can Mar’i sleepover?” Rory asked suddenly, doll clutched close to her chest as Mar’i put her hands together in dramatic prayer.

“Please!”

Dick smirked. “If Rory and Jay don’t have any other plans, by all means. You’ve definitely got clothes here.”

Jason exhaled slowly through his nose. He was too tired to fight it. “…Fine. Whatever. But you’re both in bed in twenty minutes. No bedazzler tonight.”

“Yes!” The two jumped up and down, before making a dash into the house.

From the corner, Bruce gave a closed-mouth smile. It really was a sight, their little friendship.

From his own corner, Damian’s expression flickered into one of dread before he regained his self-composure. He didn’t move an inch, but his mind went immediately to every other “sleepover” he’d been forced to endure with Mar’i Grayson present.

He cared for her, of course. Very deeply.

She was the daughter of the brother he trusted most, his niece in every sense that mattered. But sleepovers with her were… trying. Endless questions, schemes, determination to pry into every corner of his personal life.

And now Rory, emboldened by her cousin, had joined the crusade— convinced beyond reasoning he harbored a secret girlfriend.

Which he didn’t. Not really. He had…whatever they were— but she wasn’t his girlfriend.

He supposed he’d survive, however, he still hadn’t the opportunity to give his own gift.

Later that night… 

Of all times to catch her alone, it had to be as soon as the girl got out of the restroom, her hands still wet with water that she wiped on her shirt. 

She stopped dead in her tracks when she saw Damian standing in the hall by the door— perfectly still, hands clasped behind his back, expression unreadable. For a beat she thought he may be holding a book.

He’s wasn’t.

Damian stepped forward and, with the same clinical brevity he used once for ordering soldiers as a child, set a small object into her palm.

It looked like a glittery lipstick. But he knew Rory didn’t wear makeup.

“If someone scares you or tries to take you, press this. Aim that end away from yourself, Rory.” His voice was flat but held an odd softness when he said her name. “Do not hesitate. If it’s a man larger than you, do it twice.”

Rory turned it over, brows furrowing. “Does it shoot sparkles?”

“No.” He spoke seriously. “Electricity. It will hurt them enough to give pause.” Then, as if the conversation were finished, he took a step back before turning and walking away without so much as another word.

That next morning..

The kitchen looked like a war-zone.

Mar’i and Rory had been up all night making a new plan on how to snatch their youngest Uncle’s cell-phone and discover who his super secret girlfriend was.

Then they ended up zombies that next morning as a result, both of them half-awake over bowls of soggy cereal.

Bruce shook his head as he took a sip of his coffee at the nearby counter, reading the paper.

Dick came in through the back door, not really meaning to enter as quietly as he had. Suppose one could say it was a habit to sneak up on people sometime in this family.

It wasn’t until he leaned over Rory’s head to grab something for the table-

THZZZT!

The sound was violent, followed by a sharp yelp and the smell of ozone. Dick jumped like he’d been hit by lightning, legs almost going out from under him.

“WHAT THE HE-“

THZZZZZT!!!

The second hit caught him square on the hip, and he went down with a loud thud, grunting as he took a slice of cake down with him, smashing on the ground by his face.

Bruce’s eyes widened only a fraction. 

Rory sat there blinking, both hands wrapped around the little pink ‘lipstick’ she’d kept in her sweatpants pocket.

Bruce recognized it instantly. That wasn’t a small shock Dick received twice only moments ago— it was far too high a grade for anything legally sold to civilians.

He sighed.

“Uncle Damian said if it’s a man bigger than me, do it twice.” she said matte-of-fact, putting it down by her bowl and spooning another bite.

Mar’i just gawked at her father on the floor. “Oh my God, Dad- you just got wrecked.”

Damian, already in his sweatshirt and travel bag, looked up from his phone where he’d been scrolling the news.

He didn’t even blink. “She followed protocol.”

Bruce let another small sigh escape him.

Jason appeared a second later, looking around and piecing together what had happened after a brief pause. “Did… did you give my daughter a taser?,” he picked it up off the table as Dick groaned and sat himself up, “Is this from the armory?!”

Damian finally looked up, perfectly calm. “No. I customized this one,” he corrected. “She can handle it, clearly.”

Jason stared, jaw dropped. “You gave a seven-year-old a military grade taser, Damian!”

“I offered her protection. Seven and unarmed in Gotham?” Damian countered, arching a brow. “Now she’s not.”

Mar’i had tears in her eyes from laughing as she helped her father to sit down. Bruce turned another page like he’d rather be anywhere else.

Damian tossed his apple core from earlier into the nearby trash can, passed behind Rory, and gave a faint nod of approval.

“Well done. Aim for the neck or groin next time.”

“Okay!”

Jason leaned over the counter while looking at the taser in his hand. Skeptical.

“Rory, where did you even find the button for thi-“ he must’ve found it, because next thing he knew-

THZZTTT!!!

Bruce had fallen over onto the floor, coffee spilling all over his page.

“Grandpa!” Mar’i ran over with concern.

“Oh no, GB!” Rory cried, following her.

Dick looked at them both with what could only be compared to silent betrayal. “Uh, hello, I got zapped too! TWICE!”

Mar’i peaked her head over and frowned. “…you deserved it,” she finished. Not missing a beat, turning to check on Bruce, who waved them all off.

“I’m fine.” He muttered, coming to a stand and sighing deeper than ever before, picking up the soaked paper.

Jason was still frozen in place, holding the taser like it might go off. “Lesson learned. Nobody touch anything Damian gifts my kid, I guess.”

Rory nodded her head, shrugged, and took it back.

Damian, halfway out the front door, let his voice carry faintly. “You’re welcome.”

Jason glared after him. “I heard that!”

“I think you were kinda supposed to.” Mar’i shrugged.

Rory tapped Bruce’s leg, plate in hand. “Can I have a piece of cake?”

Bruce, drying his coffee-soaked sleeved, just groaned. “Only if you promise not to tase anyone for the rest of breakfast.”

Rory considered it seriously. “Even if they scare me?” She blinked.

Jason threw his hands up. 

”At least he told her how to use it.” Dick somewhat defended with a shrug. “He gave Mar’i worse.” 

”I got a bracelet that puts me in a hamster ball.” 

”Which actually Tim made for something else,” Dick explained. “Then it ‘went missing’.” 

Chapter Text

Three Months Ago— Barbara Gordon’s Apartment, Burnside.

There was a glow only the Gotham sunrise could provide—half gold, half smoke, and almost blinding.

Floor-to-ceiling windows caught the light just long enough to make it feel softer than it normally would. Brick and steel.

Rory thought the apartment smelled like cinnamon and ink, plants in corners and shelves holding books just a foot too high for her to reach. There was a kitchen island but no stools—Barbara never saw the use for them. She didn’t have much company over.

The kitchen table was small and oval. Only three chairs. A small couch and coffee table in the living room that the front door opened into. The fire escape was just outside the kitchen window, which looked like it might fall if anyone truly tried to use it.

“I like your house,” Rory said, kicking her feet as Barbara wheeled herself back to the table, setting down a plate of eggs. “It’s pretty! You have nice plants.”

“Why thank you, Rory.” She took a long, slow sip from her own glass and just watched her for a moment, silently thanking her lucky stars she remembered to toss her escrima sticks and spare batarangs in the nearby closet.

“I’m glad you were able to come over and visit,” she began. “I don’t get many visitors.”

Maybe that’s why she asked for Rory’s company? She couldn’t be too sure, but she hadn’t lied when telling Jason earlier of feeling that strange sense of loneliness since Alfred passed.

She sometimes found herself wondering if maybe he felt the same some nights; if his mind ever filled him with self-pity when he realized there would be more days people needed something from him rather than wanted to be near him.

It was tough taking over completely. And that was just digitally speaking—she shivered at the thought of what that house must look like before Damian did his weekly deep clean.

Bruce’s room had to be abysmal by now, truly.

She was curious as to how dinner would look later this week. The last few Jason missed were a bit boring. Sad.

Alfred being gone was one thing. Jason being banned from Gotham’s streets? That was another.

Except for the time Mar’i asked Damian if Jon had a girlfriend. Dick’s crash-out was one for the books, truly—especially when Damian said yes… and Mar’i then asked if the relationship was a happy one.

Okay, well, Tim revealing his breakup with Bernard was pretty memorable, too. Especially since Kate thought that Bernard was his dog.

Good laugh…and Stephanie’s follow-up asking if he stalks his exes like he did her in high school? Pretty awesome.

“My dad says you’re super busy all the time,” Rory said.

Barbara nodded. “I am. So long as I have my laptop, I can work almost anywhere I go, so I pretty much do all the time.”

Also not a lie.

Rory’s nose scrunched up. “I don’t think I’d like that job very much. It doesn’t sound very fun.”

She scooped another spoonful into her mouth with an audible swallow.

“That’s why I’m gonna be an artist when I grow up. Art is fun. And when I can’t do art anymore, I’m going to own a Batburger and make sure they have foods everyone can eat. Damian says he can’t because the cooks are bad.”

No lies detected, however Barbara knew the real reason was probably due to the fact he didn’t eat meat.

Barbara smiled with a bit of an eye roll. “Damian thinks all cooks are bad.” The brat.

“I think he likes my dad’s cooking, but he likes making him mad more, so he says ‘it’s edible, I suppose,’ and makes a face.” She tried her best to replicate the expression, crossing her arms with a theatrical huff.

Barbara chuckled.

“Sounds like a Damian thing to do,” she continued. “So… has your dad had any more sleepovers lately?”

Rory set her fork down slowly, lips turning into a frown as she nodded solemnly. “He was on my floor again the other day.”

Barbara frowned.

Jason promised her he’d try to get a grip on that. “Does he still do it a lot?”

Rory shook her head. “No…” she hesitated a bit before meeting Barbara’s eyes. “But I asked to yesterday… the day before I felt scared.”

Barbara arched a brow. “You did?”

The girl nodded, fidgeting with a sleeve under the table. She didn’t tell her dad—he’d be too worried about her, and he was really busy lately.

“I woke up in bed really sweaty and my chest kinda felt…” she looked away for a moment, “I was scared until I got to the wodder.”

“Water?” Barbara tilted her head.

“Yeah. Like… light wodder?” The poor girl wasn’t quite sure how to put it. “Pretty wodder? It was really pretty, and when I got close to it, I wasn’t so scared anymore.”

“Scared of what?”

Her eyes closed for a second, as if trying to remember something.

A face she was too scared to name.

“A man,” she murmured.

Barbara blinked at her, wondering just who or what she could mean—what she could’ve seen to make her dream such things.

She leaned over as best she could, taking the small girl’s hand with reassuring eyes.

“We all have bad dreams sometimes, you know? It makes the really good ones even more special.”

That seemed to work wonders for her. Rory smiled softly, finishing up her plate before getting out of her chair.

“Do you want help?” she asked, watching Barbara stack their plates and cups.

Her head shook, a few pieces of ginger hair falling from her messy bun. “No thanks. But if you could turn on the news for me, I’d really appreciate it. The remote should be on the couch.”

The child nodded eagerly, heading to the other room.

She really liked her aunt’s apartment, but it was a little odd. Not many rooms or doors.

She finally found the remote seated on the arm of the couch, pressing a few buttons.

She skipped by all the cartoons and stuff. They were fine to watch sometimes, but Rory loved the news just like Barbara and her GB.

There was a time that was her only connection to the world.

She didn’t get out much back in Star City.

Pre-K, kindergarten, a few store trips, and her trips to see her grandma Elaine in an assisted living facility were the extent of her adventures.

Now she had plenty of places to go. Including Aunt Barbara’s.

She heard water running in the kitchen. A particular pin on her backpack gleamed once in the light on the table.

“Aunt Babs, can I make art on your floor?” she asked. “I forgot to make a new treasure for my friend at school tomorrow.”

Barbara smiled sweetly back at her, pausing, then scrubbing. “Only if you can refrain from using glitter, please.”

She nodded in understanding, immediately getting to work.

By the time Barbara was done, she seemed to finish, capping a marker.

After some small talk, the television became background noise while Barbara caught up on a few things—finding herself working even today on something.

Between Tim and Bruce being at each other’s throats recently, she took up some of the LexCorp surveillance herself.

Oracle encryption key active— Channel Status: Secure.

From: Barbara Gordon, [email protected]

To: Kara Z, [email protected]

Subject: Tim’s latest rabbit hole.

Hey Kara,

Heads-up: We have a list of shell companies connected to what seems to be some underground research. Got it from Tim. See attached.

Tell me the first one doesn’t sound like your cousin’s least favorite bald billionaire didn’t just resurrect another “totally normal and not suspicious research branch” with that first one.

We aren’t 100% on what this means, but Tim’s been digging deep.

The names are buried in the headers of encrypted strings bouncing through a relay in Europe.

Has Conner expressed any more… erratic behaviors?

From: Kara Z, [email protected]

To: Barbara Gordon, [email protected]

Subject: Tim’s latest rabbit hole.

Barbara,

You had me at ‘bald billionaire’. (Also need updates on your date with that Jason Bart or Bard or Barney or whatever).

Anyways— Conner has been… trying. Sometimes he’s more grounded, others he’s back in full swing with the whole ‘jacket-and-attitude’ thing. I think he’s still figuring out who he’s supposed to be after everything that happened.

It’s more his focus Jon seems worried about.

He’s been watching Tim. A lot. When he thinks nobody notices.

I guess Clark asked him about it once and he brushed it off— once said Tim “reminds him of something.”

It’s almost like he’s tracking him. Keeping count of his movements, tone, even his breathing.

The part that worries me the most? Conner has himself convinced Tim has some kind of health issue. Last week it was his heart rate keeps changing, spiking here and there for no visible reason. Yesterday it was him swearing he heard Tim choking up a lung. 

I told him to rest but I did still want to make you aware.

I’ll be sure to check on your list. If it ties back to Lex, we might be looking at something we thought we buried years ago.

Thanks!

Barbara frowned, halfway through typing a reply before she noticed Rory go still.

Shoulders locked, eyes fixated on the TV like she’d just seen a ghost. Hands shaking.

“Rory?” Barbara sat her laptop down, voice careful.

A commercial played on screen. Nothing but chatter.

Rory’s face drained to white.

“Rory, are you o-“ the girl suddenly threw a hand over her mouth and shook her head. Too late. She stood and bolted for the kitchen sink, the sound that echoed sharp and wet.

Barbara came just behind her, removing her hair tie along the way, pulling the tie from her own hair as she moved. “Easy there,” she murmured, gathering Rory’s hair back and looping it out of the way.

She trembled under her hands, skin ice cold, but no real fever.

“Hey- hey, look here,” Barbara turned her around, grabbing a bowl out of a nearby cabinet. “What’s wrong?”

Rory shook her head. “I dunno. I’m sorry,” she cried, tears welling, breath hitching. “I-I want my dad.”

Barbara gave a nod, chest tightening. “Okay,” she said softly. “We’ll call him, okay? But first, let’s have a friend of mine take a quick look at you, okay?”

Her only response was a weak nod.

Barbara reached for her phone.

“Hey Leslie. Do you have a second for a house call?”

Later…

“She’s been shaking since it happened,” Barbara explained, closing the door behind her. Leslie Thompkins stepped inside, coat unbuttoned, bag in hand. “No fever, her color is coming back really slow. Says she isn’t sure why.”

Leslie set her bag down on the coffee table and moved with that ever-admirable calm and efficiency. “Alright, sweetheart. You must be little Todd, right?”

Rory blinked, the blanket Barbara had thrown over her shoulders clutched in small hands. “My name’s Rory.”

Leslie nodded, smiling before kneeling beside her. “Alright, Rory. I’m Dr. Thompkins. Your old man calls me Leslie.”

Rory gave a small, uncertain nod.

Leslie unzipped her bag, pulling out a stethoscope and thermometer. “Mind if I check a few things before he gets here and asks me a hundred questions? Nothing scary. No needles or anything.”

Her shoulders visibly eased a bit, nodding once more before letting the blanket fall.

“Good girl.” Leslie brushed the thermometer across her forehead, waiting for a soft beep. “Like you said, no real fever. That’s a good thing.”

She slipped the stethoscope over her ears and rested the diaphragm against her small chest. “Deep breath in for me… in… out…”

She repeated the same after moving it to her back. Barbara watched from the end of the couch, arms crossed, eyes tracing every reaction.

“Lungs are clear,” Leslie murmured. “Heart sounds good, but I’d bet money your rate is a little high.” She turned around, retrieving a blood pressure cuff and wrapping it around Rory’s arm. “Uncross your legs for me.”

Rory did as instructed without issue.

Pump one.

Pump two.

Pump three.

“Pressure’s a little low, heart rates still high. Could be dehydration. Feels more like adrenaline.”

Rory looked between them. Nervous. “Am I sick?” She’d never actually been sick before.

“Maybe,” she kept her tone light but made a motion to Barbara before pulling out a sucker. “But I think it’s more like your body just panicked thinking you were. I’ll be right back, let me go have a chat with your aunt.”

Rory slowly nodded, seemingly unsure what was going on still, taking the sweet from her and reaching for the blanket.

Leslie started cleaning her supplies on the table, Barbara handing her a roll of paper towels. “Well?”

Leslie’s lips pinched together, head shaking. “I don’t think it’s anything viral.”

“Food poisoning? I mean, we ate the same breakfast and she didn’t exactly make it to lunch.”

“No,” she didn’t look up, full focus on wiping her thermometer’s end. “You said the TV was running. On the phone. No disco party scenes, right? Flashing lights, strobing.”

Barbara’s brows furrowed. “You think it was a seizure?”

The Doctor shrugged. “Can’t be too sure. Panic can look like that sometimes— but it can also mask something neurological.” She reached for her penlight, motioning to Rory. “Before I run a quick neuro check,” her eyes narrowed a bit. “Any history of traumatic events? History of jitters, paranoia, generalized anxiety symptoms?”

Barbara shook her head. “Not that I really know of, but her dad is on his way now… she did mention having a nightmare this morning. Kinda had her shaken up.”

Leslie gave a nod before approaching her patient again. Rory blinked up at her from the couch, still pale, stick hanging from her mouth.

“Alright, little Todd. Arms out straight for me, palms up toward the sky. Hold them. Good girl.”

Rory followed instructs perfectly, though her hands wobbled slightly. Leslie caught that. “Now close your eyes and keep them there for me.” She waited a few seconds, eyeing her carefully for any twitches or drifting.

“I’m going to put my hand in yours. Give me a good squeeze. Hard as you can.” Rory obeyed.

“Alright, well,” Leslie leaned back, popping out a pen and notepad. “That’s encouraging.”

“You think it’s nothing serious?”

“I think,” Leslie clicked her pen closed. “her reflexes are intact, her pupils are fine, balance is good. But that doesn’t mean it’s nothing.”

She glanced at the TV, eyes dark as the screen. “What exactly was playing when it started?”

Barbara shrugged. “I wasn’t really paying attention. It was background noise more than anything— maybe a tech commercial? Something about home surveillance. A corporate ad. It was really anything-“

There was a knock at the door, loud and heavy.

Jason.

The handle clicked, hinges creaking softly. “Babs?”

Rory’s head snapped up, eyes instantly wide but this time seemingly relieved.

“Hey,” she gestured for him to come inside now as she had that morning, “She’s over there.” She gestured in Rory’s general direction, who gave Jason a weak smile.

“Hi dad.”

“What happened?” Jason didn’t waste a beat, down on one knee, looking her over with both hands on her shoulders.

“I threw up in the sink.” Rory stuttered a bit, embarrassed flush making its way through as she fidgeted with her sleeves again. “I’m sorry.”

“Rory, it really is fine.” Barbara assured her. “She really couldn’t help it.”

Jason’s eyes met Leslie, who gave a head tilt. Inspecting him.

Her eyes were just a mirror of his own. That hair part was a dead giveaway away, too, though it looked like she cut her hair in an absent minded effort to hide it.

“Is she okay?” He asked, eyes filled voice layered with concern.

Leslie hadn’t seen that in a while. She gave a small nod, the kind she’d been passing out to vigilantes since the eighties. “I think so. I’d like to run a few tests at the clinic this week. Just to rule some things out. Maybe play catch-up, if you’re open for it.”

Her bag shut with a click that told Jason it wasn’t just a request— Doctors orders, more like.

Jason nodded. “Yeah, whatever you need, just let me know a time.”

“Babs said I need a shower. My hair has icky in it.” Rory whispered, tired, leaning into him.

Jason huffed a breath, half-laugh, half-sigh. “That’s alright, Kiddo. You’re still my favorite.”

There was a silence after that. It clung to the air like flies in a trap, a small buzz about but no real movement. Just two women glancing back at each other and a father concerned for his daughter.

More deeply than they could ever know, truly, because Rory never got sick. Rory couldn’t get sick.

At least that’s what Jason had experienced over the years. That’s what Bruce had told him weeks ago.

A dark thought clawed at his brain as he drove her back to the Manor that afternoon— what if Bruce was wrong about that? If so, what else could he be wrong about? 

And why the hell didn’t he have any answer for him yet? For her?

His grip on the steering wheel tightened.

He was done waiting. 

That Next Week— Wayne Manor, Bristol.

There was a hiss from the skillet, oil snapping.

Jason worked it like second nature, shoulders loose, somewhat more relaxed than usual.

Cassandra stirred a pot beside him, careful. Measured. She wasn’t great, but she wasn’t bad either— her rhythm calm though not exactly culinary.

Duke, however, was fighting a losing battle with a bowl of mashed potatoes.

Jason didn’t bother to look up. “You’re not building drywall, Duke. Ease up before you break the bowl. I think you grabbed one of Alfred’s favorites.”

He spoke it as if the elderly man were still there. Sometimes he forgot he wasn’t… his lack of presence felt but the fact he wasn’t truly there not registering.

Duke grunted, forehead sweating a bit. He gripped the masher like his life depended on it.  “Man, I don’t get… how you make this thing… move. It’s like cement.”

“Because it is cement.” Jason countered with an eye roll. “Cass, can you grab the salt? And taste test what he’s done over there. I swear if it tastes like the sea, I’m kicking you out with Dick.”

Duke deadpanned. “I’m doing my best. And so was Dick.”

Cassandra narrowed her eyes. “He caught a towel on fire.”

“He didn’t see the open flame.” Damian defended, still not looking up. “Richard isn’t short of basic culinary skills. He was simply distracted.”

“Yeah,” Duke murmured, still fighting the battle in his bowl. “He can’t not answer when his wife calls. He’s still in the dog house as-is.”

Damian had found a way to utilize his own set of skills, cutting rows of tomatoes and peppers at the other end of the countertop.

Each piece cut with surgical precision. 

He also didn’t dare look to the skillet, eyes focused, stacking slices in various bowls.

“Well?” Duke asked, as Cassandra blinked at the taste.

“Bland.”

Jason shrugged. “Better than pure salt I guess.”

“You are heavy-handed with the seasonings yourself.” Damian said, glancing to Jason’s work station around the stove with furrowed brows.

Jason shook some paprika in with a glare. “Yeah, well, some of us have taste buds, Goldilocks.”

The radio, half-buried under a pile of recipe cards and kitchen utensils— courtesy of Tim, who was also asked to leave— crackled into focus again:

“…leaked records confirm Todd was assigned custody after the mother’s passing,” Jason froze. “Her partner at the time was arrested shortly after, pleading guilty to charges which included-“

Jason dropped the spatula onto the countertop with a hard thud. “Turn it off.”

Duke froze, hand halfway to the dial. “It’s just the news, man.”

“It’s trash,” Jason hissed. “They don’t get to spin her life like it’s some kinda circus act.”

“…living facility-“

Duke killed the voice mid-sentence.

A silence stretched. Cassandra laid her spoon down gently, a curious look in her eyes.

Damian, however, was the one to speak up. “So it is true,” another slice. “Another did claim custody.”

Jason didn’t answer at first. He turned the heat down on the pan and watched the steam curl like smoke while taking a deep inhale through his nose.  “Yeah. He did. Came to the apartment one night, tried to snatch Rory in her sleep.” His eyes narrowed at the memory, jaw set tight. “Didn’t make it far.”

He lifted the pan by the handle, moving the melted butter around with practiced ease. “I never liked the way he acted about her. Or her mother,” he put it back down with narrowed eyes. “I started noticing…” he had to remind himself not to share too much. “…He acted like she was a replacement of some sort when her mother died. Lot of expectations.”

Duke’s hand stilled. “That’s… really messed up.”

“Tell me about it.” Jason walked over, taking something from Damian’s area.

“Wait, how did you get custody? Unless you went to court.” Duke questioned.

Jason shrugged. “Her mother and I had a document drafted and notarized before she died. An agreement.”

“Shared?” Cassandra asked, no longer moving herself. He had her full attention with this.

“Delegated. She also drafted a new will for guardianship nomination or whatever…she lied about it. The guy tried to fight it after I started limiting contact. He’s gone now.” 

Damian held up the cutting board and used his knife to slide thinly cut pieces into a bowl, his tone cool yet probing. “Were you close?”

Jason paused for a moment. Blinked.

“Her mother.”

He was caught off guard by the line of questioning.

“She wasn’t the love of my life or whatever, if that’s what you’re asking.” He pushed the food around the pan. “But she was good. Gave me something normal, for a while. Did her best by Rory, from what I saw.” He adjusted the burner dial a bit, hesitating. “That’s not nothing, I guess.” 

The room thinned into silence a bit, which was good, as he wasn’t in the mood for any more questions.

Then Damian pressed again. “What became of him?”

It was that tone. Insinuative. 

Jason’s head snapped up, eyes narrowing.“What do you mean- what became of him?” 

Damian turned, twirling the knife in his hand almost threatening, meeting his stare without so much as a flinch. “You said he tried to take her. That he was arrested. Yet you speak of him like he’s gone. Did you kill him?”

Blunt as ever.

Jason’s grip on the pan tightened, knuckles white. “Don’t.”

“It is not a question of great difficulty,” Damian shot back. Calculated. “You have an entire ledger of blood. So tell me- was Rory kept safe because of actual legal intervention or did you handle him your way?”

That little shit. Even headed into his early twenties, Damian Wayne didn’t seem to know when to shut his damn mouth.

Jason’s laugh came out humorless. “You little bastard-“

Duke raised his hand, body tense. “Guys, come on now-“

“No,” Jason cut him off, stepping toward Damian with a dangerous glint in the eyes. “You think I’d use her as an excuse to settle the score? That I’d risk the suspicion?”

Damian’s toned remained. Unfazed as he paused his little knife game. “As I said, you have a history. That’s what makes you dangerous.”

“Bold comin’ from the little demon brat who killed before learning to tie his own shoes.” Damian’s jaw clenched at the jab. “What’s more dangerous is how quick you are to throw out assumptions than anything.”

Silence. The only sound being the sizzle of the skillet.

That was until Cassandra took to stirring again. Calm. “Garlic. Burning.”

Duke looked at her as if expecting her to say something else, but per usual she made her statement and left it out in the air.

It seemed to somehow work, Jason turning back to the stove with still white knuckles and a firmly set jaw. Damian picked up the knife again, but each slice sounded like challenge off the board.

Duke made note to have Dick set them up as far away as humanly possible at the table.

There was nothing spoken for a long time— that was until laughter boomed from upstairs, making Jason pause.

“What the hell could they one laughing about so hard?”

Cassandra suddenly started coughing at the table behind them loudly, gaining all eyes.

“Potatoes. Duke.” She struggled between coughing fits.

Duke paused, going over to the bowl she’d made for herself as a way of taste testing. It barely touched his tongue before his eyes went wide, gagging.

“It’s… sweet?”

Damian walked over, picking up the ‘salt’ he he’d been gradually adding. “…This is sugar.”

“And you’re out.” Jason said, back to them as he continued his work.

Duke mumbled to himself on the way out.

Meanwhile, Upstairs…

Rory gave a huff, letting Mar’i brush her hair while she sat on her knees trying her best to color inside the lines of the ‘coloring page’ she’d ripped from Tim’s folder. A place with a bunch of computers, water, and rocks.

Mar’i stopped suddenly, placing the brush down, a grin on her face. In the mirror. “Hey Rory,” she said in a sing-song tone to get her attention. “Do you wanna help me on a mission?”

Rory blinked and put a cap on her glitter marker. “A mission?”

Minutes later, Rory lay on her knees on the floor, surrounded by marks and pencils.

She finished coloring a notebook cover in bold purple: “Operation D.”

Mar’i perched beside her, grinning with excitement.

Stephanie walked in, smile on her face as she plopped herself cross-legged onto Rory’s bed, looking at them with interest.

“I think we need a list,” Rory started. “Maps says all good detectives have a list.”

Stephanie raised an eyebrow, eyeing the cover. “Operation what now?” She asked, taking a star pillow of Rory’s and holding it in her lap.

“Operation: Find Out Damian’s secret Girlfriend,” Mar’i whispered like it was top-secret intel.

She immediately snorted. “Oh wow, you two really are his worst nightmare.”

Mar’i nodded, chewing the eraser of her pencil in a way all too familiar to Stephanie’s memory. “Maps, maybe. All his school pictures were with her all the time. That’s weird.”

“I dunno. She said to me one day he’s no fun and she likes fun boys.”

“Yeah, but did she talk about him a lot?” Mar’i asked, tapping the eraser to her lips.

“Yeah!”

“I’ll write her down anyways,” she shrugged, jotting her name down. “In the movies, girls act like they don’t like boys they really do all the time.”

Maps = Maybe but he’s not fun

“Hmm… Oh! What about Raven?” Stephanie added, causal.

Rory frowned. “Who’s Raven?”

“A girl Damian used to train with,” Stephanie explained, very careful with her words. “At uh… at Bootcamp. A friend. She’s nice, pretty serious vibe according to Dick.”

Mar’i nodded quickly. “Yeah. Nice, but scary. The don’t-mess-with-me but also actually scary ghost type. My mom says she’s one of the best though.”

“Oh,” Rory grinned, turning the book her direction.

Raven = Nice but scary.

Mar’i perked up suddenly. “Emiko.”

Rory tilted her head. “Emiko?”

“I don’t know,” Mar’i grinned like she uncovered some kind of secret. “But I saw her name pop up on his phone once.”

Stephanie raised her eyebrows. “Emiko Queen? Oh, she’s real. And sharp. Definitely add that one.”

Oh how she wished she could see the look on Damian’s face when he inevitably found this list someday. Maybe tomorrow, maybe in a few years. But it would be spectacular.

Rory gasped as if they struck gold. “Suspicious.”

Emiko = phone girl? 

Stephanie leaned back on her hands, smirking. “So the suspects so far are Maps, Raven, and Emiko. I think you girls are off to a solid starting lineup.”

Rory and Mar’i fist-bumped.

“Operation find the secret girlfriend!” Rory stood up, fist in the air.

Mar’i followed soon after. “Begins now!” She declared, only to earn a pillow to the face.

“Congrats, you’re both nosy little stalkers. Alfred would be so proud.”

Their laughter tumbled down the halls.

“Do you think he really has a girlfriend, Steph-y?” Rory asked, using her little stool to hop onto the bed beside her.

Stephanie slid her phone down into her hoodie pocket and shrugged. “I don’t know, Rors. Damian’s… hard to read.”

On the surface, her grin stayed easy. The same one she always wore, teasing and bright. But in the back of her mind, a thought twisted like a knife.

Two little girls in the house. Laughing, plotting, scribbling in notebooks like nothing else in the world mattered to them.

She couldn’t help but let her mind wander off at times. A baby’s small weight against her chest, a soft kiss on her head before handing her over.

She never really could say she regretted that decision— but the ache it left. She wondered where she was now, what she looked like.

Did she laugh like Rory? Was she a little bratty with the best intentions like Mar’i? Was she shy, bold, or careful? Would she ever get curious enough to know about the woman who gave birth to her?

She leaned herself back against the headboard, stretching her arms as if to wave the thoughts away. Her grin forced a bit wider.

“Girlfriend or not, I guarantee he’s not ready for your little schemes ladies.”

Rory laughed, clutching her notebook tighter. Mar’i snorted, starting to pick up the mess they’d made on the floor.

And Stephanie just watched them for a moment too long, heart heavy and light all at once.

She never regretted it, but she did think about what could’ve been was life any different.

With Rory around, those thoughts and feelings crept up more now than ever.

Maybe because she was a blonde.

Probably because Stephanie didn’t know if her own daughter was.

Later that night…

The dinner table wasn’t often full at Wayne Manor these days. Especially not in recent years.

And tonight in particular was a bit harder than most— anniversaries, birthdays, little markers only the family remembered— the silence pressed down even heavier than usual.

With Jason being back this year, most everyone agreed he would do most of the cooking. Typical bullshit.

He was thankful for Cassandra and Kate, who weren’t the worst supporting roles in the kitchen after Duke finally got kicked out over the potatoes.

They tried to fix them. Keyword being tried.

Bruce carved in his usual silence. But there was a space gone unfilled. A presence everyone recognized to be missing— even the little girl who hadn’t met the person who once filled it.

Jason sat beside Rory, who had far too much ketchup on that patty. Stephanie was the first to speak up, finally cutting the silence they’d settled into.

“So… Gotham traffic’s a nightmare lately,” Cassandra gave a nod in agreement. “Took me forty-five minutes to get here.”

Tim glanced up, dead pan. “When is it not?”

He’d been a lot more dry lately. Noticeably so.

Cassandra kept her eyes on that.

“Still,” she pressed, “forty-five minutes to move seven blocks? I could’ve walked faster.”

“Then walk,” Damian muttered. He didn’t dare add his childish, internal commentary at the end.

The quiet sank again.

Dick cleared his throat as Mar’i messed with her mashed potatoes, mumbling about the texture.

“Tastes kinda like a bad sugar cookie…” she murmured.

“So… Damian. Uh- med school, right? How’s that looking?”

Damian didn’t even glance up from his plate. “Still a sophomore, Richard. I have two years until then. You ask the same every time.”

Technically, through his personal studies, Damian Wayne was educationally on par with a third year medical student…but he had to pace himself for the sake of not standing out too much. He’d also been working on it since he set his mind to it at fifteen, so that helped.

Dick blinked with a bit of a flush, caught, and gave a rub to the back of his neck that made Mar’i shake her head.

Jason smirked at his plate, about to lift his head and throw something in, when Rory tapped his arm.

She held up her cup, face earnest. “Daddy, I need more wodder, please.”

He gave a nod, about to stand, but the silence that followed was suddenly.. different, in a way.

Damian’s eyes snapped up first, sharp as ever. He thought he caught that same slip-up before. At the Academy.

“…Wodder?”

Jason stiffened. “She said water.”

“No,” Damian said firmly. “She pronounced it incorrectly. Precisely as you do when speaking too quickly.”

Dick broke into a grin, obviously thrilled. “She absolutely did. Like little Jay, I love it.”

Tim leaned back, smirking. “I’ve noticed it as well. It’s subtle most of the time. But the same exact slip.” 
Mar’i narrowed her eyes at him. 

Jason scowled, jabbing his fork into a piece of meat. “You’re all hearing things. She’s fine.”

“Say it again, Rory,” Stephanie coaxed, grinning. “Say water.”

Rory, confused, did exactly as she asked. “Wodder.”

“Damn it.” The whole table seemed to crack up a bit, minus Bruce and Jason. Even Damian cracked a small smirk.

Jason groaned. “Oh this is just great.”

Barbara folded her arms, amused. “You don’t even realize you do it, do you? Not until she does.”

“Here’s the one I noticed earlier,” Tim suggested. “Rory, say ‘in the drawer.’”

“Now, come on, let’s-“

She cut her dad off, still at a loss. “In the drawah?”

The table erupted.

Jason pointed his fork. “Knock it off. You’re all corrupting her.”

Jason’s childhood accent was drilled out of him by Bruce long ago— it was too close an identifier to his east-end roots. Understandable when he donned the mask at the time.

The slip-ups were rare. It only happened when he spoke quickly, opened his mouth without much thought.

“You corrupted her,” Duke shot back with a grin, taking a roll.

Cassandra spoke up, quiet but firm. “I hear you often when she speaks.”

She wasn’t helping his case here.

“Alright, enough.” Jason muttered, gesturing toward her, knowing of one word in particular he never let slip. “Go on, kiddo. Say coffee.”

Rory perked up. “Coffee.”

“See! Normal. Perfect. You can all shut up now.” He tried going back to his food.

“Daddy, I still need more wodder.” She spoke up, face scrunched in annoyance, cup lifted high his direction.

Jason just pinched the bridge of his nose and dropped his fork with a curse as Dick tried not to choke to death on a spoon.

Barbara turned to Duke whispering something to her about needing a video.

“Enough.” Bruce cut in, his tone casual but still deep. Final.

There was a small silence that comforted his ears soon after. Jason was halfway through shoveling a fork of potatoes, everyone else slowly going back to their meals as well.

That was until Kate leaned an elbow across the table, smirking with a point.

“Rory,” she said. “Say… orange.”

Bruce glanced up with an arched brow.

Jason froze. That bitch. Who even invited her? “Don’t-“

Rory squinted her eyes in deep thought. “Ahrange?”

Stephanie lost it— wheezing into her napkin, Mar’i chanting it like a song between laughs.

Dick was practically on the floor at this point and Kate just smirked in a way that made Jason wish he was anywhere else. Damian’s chair jolted a bit as Dick’s foot hit his chair, hissing as it caused him to spill his drink.

“Damn.” He muttered, getting up to grab another napkin.

“Unbelievable.” Jason muttered, taking a drink.

Bruce’s face was unreadable at his end, but on the inside he felt one of those sparks of joy that seemed few and far between lately. Laughter bounced off the walls. He’d missed that. He really did.

But the laughter rolled on a little too loud. Just too long.

Rory had the table in absolute stitches, beaming at first— cheeks red with pride at being the center of attention. The reason people laughed.

But slowly, the giggle tapered off. A shift.

She pressed her cup against her chest, still empty, and glanced down at her plate. Burger untouched.

The jokes had carried on a little too long for her. Jason muttered into his potatoes, not noticing her dilemma.

Bruce hadn’t laughed throughout the entire ordeal, shocker there, but the grin that tugged to his lips slowly morphed into something else.

“Pass the wodder, B.” A younger Jason, struggling to lean over the table of the diner, scowling when Dick laughed at him.

“What’s your problem, circus freak?”

He set his knife down, cutting steady through the laughter. “Don’t tease her too much,” he said, gaze shifting between her and Jason.

“It suits her.” He added simply, before returning to his plate.

The table quieted, teasing ebbing into soft smiles and nudges. More casual conversations started to develop.

Rory blinked, corners of her mouth slowly tipping upward. She picked up her burger again, taking a bite and kicking her feet a bit.

Jason met Bruce’s eyes from across the table— something complicated and different flickering in them, but not a word spoken.
He looked away, muttering to himself that it was settled at last, before joining in on a conversation between Kate and Dick.

Bruce let his eyes linger on Rory a moment longer. Just a moment.

A pitcher was soon brought out, handed to Jason with a mutter about her cup still being empty after everything.

“Dad,” Mar’i suddenly looked up, gaining Dick’s attention. “Rory and I wanna have a sleepover in the movie room if that’s okay.” 

He pretended to think it over a moment. “Hmm… depends. Are we planning to actually sleep, or are we needing to pick a movie?”

“Movie?” Cassandra questioned, head tilting.

“Oh no!,” Stephanie shouted mid-chew with a point of her spoon. “Girls, don’t let him pick anything. Ever.”

“Why not?” Dick frowned, glancing back at her.

Damian rolled his eyes. “Because last time you chose Mama Mia.”

“And everyone sang along!” Dick grinned.

“I considered seppuku.”

Rory blinked, confused as she avoided the peas on her plate with a bit of a scrape as her spoon hit her plate. It had to be the most random food assortment in the world, but she ate like a horse: Cheeseburger, potatoes, and peas.

“Seppuku?” She repeated, tapping her spoon on the plate now.

Jason’s face fell into a somewhat irritated expression, shoulders slumping. “Oh so that you say without issue?”

“I can say all kinds of weird things.” She paused, thinking quietly to herself a moment with a twirl of her spoon in the potatoes. “Hmm… Oh! Sabah.. no..,” she grinned. “Sabra jamillan?”

Cassandra caught the way Bruce and Damian visibly stiffened, though neither stopped what they were doing.

Damian’s eyes in particular gained her interest— Narrow and dark, as if he uncovered something that sent him on the defensive.

He caught his father’s eyes and slowly shook his head, then set his cup down at an even pace, swallowing before he spoke.

“Sabran Jameelan.” He knew those words well.

(Author note: I don’t speak Arabic, obviously, so if someone could help me out here— this is what it says to type in for English transliteration…I hate using google for foreign languages, nothing ever seems to be right and it PMO. Also Rory is supposed to say it wrong tho.)

Tim’s brows furrowed. Clearly Arabic. Those who heard her would just assume it was something she’d heard Damian muttering about before, but it seemed out of character for him to say something like that.

“Yeah!” Rory said, mouth now half-full.

“Oh great, now she sounds like you.” The glare Jason shot Damian’s way was one of annoyance.

He knew that little hell spawn was around her too much. That’s one of the reasons he’d been playing around with Barbara the idea of looking for an apartment.

Little did he know those weren’t the words of Damian Wayne.

But it was most certainly something his mother would say.

Later that night—The Batcave

Bruce’s brows furrowed, hand on the back of the chair Damian sat in. The screens glowed cold and blue.

The younger clicked his pen in silence— rhythmic, sharp— just staring at the computer with him, both sets of eyes fixed as pins marked across the map of Gotham at various locations.

The glow illuminated their faces, scowls mirrored and brows furrowed in perfect sync.

Damian finally stilled his pen. “The Academy,” he said. “The only location she has been alone during a period without consistent watch.”

His father nodded, already having come to the same conclusion. “I’m having Oracle do a full sweep of their surveillance feeds, but…” he exhaled through his nose, “…Talia was never one to leave traces.”

“As expected,” Damian muttered, arms crossing.

The true question was why his mother chose to make an appearance in the first place?

He leaned back—jaw tight.

Why the Academy? Why the child? A way to get a message to him? Invade his personal life further—no. To remind him she could, more likely.

Retaliation for the silence between them? Possibly. He wouldn’t put it past her.

Bruce said nothing, but his man ran wild. He felt a tightness in his chest. Twisting.

Talia al Ghul didn’t make casual visits. And of all people, the fact she had chosen her…

Very few people knew of his granddaughter’s ability. Barely a handful— Damian wasn’t one of those trusted.

At least not by Jason.

Bruce had already crossed the line by involving Tim; a reckless enough decision on its own.

If Damian learned what the girl could do, he’d insist on involvement.

But if Talia and the League….If Ra’s found out—he didn’t let his mind wander.

“I take it she’s not reached out to you, then?” Bruce asked, though he was sure by his son’s expression he knew the answer.

Damian’s tone came out dry. “Of course not. Though I’ve noticed her guard’s presence from time to time. I assumed her surveillance was punishment for my lack of response.”

Bruce paused. “You haven’t been writing back?”

“The last of her letters arrived with one from Grandfather,” A faint, humorless smirk to himself. “He was certainly less than pleased to hear my choice in career. I suspect your father’s name has become blasphemy in his household.”

Bruce didn’t quite know how to take that, but gave a short nod in exchange. “But you do have a way of contacting her.”

“I do,” Damian said. “Though she’ll have anticipated this conversation by now. My mother never deposits sensitive information on paper.” His eyes flicked toward the digital clock. “Todd will be putting Rory to bed within the hour. I’ll speak with her.”

“No.” His voice came out more of an order than a suggestion. “I’ll talk to her. See what I can find out. Robin should head to the Academy tonight. Set up further surveillance.”

Damian didn’t bother arguing. He saw no point in it. He could always speak privately with her later— in his own way. On his own terms.

The very saying Aurora uttered tonight… his mother had written it to him once. Spoken the words to him as well.

Beautiful patience.

Minutes later—Wayne Manor, Bristol

Rory sat on her stomach, kicking her feet in the air behind her as she hummed one of the songs Maps played her during study group after school.

“…all sound the same. ’Cause though the truth may vary this…,” she scribbled with a green crayon, then paused, thinking out loud. “Shit or ship?”

“Ship.”

Her shoulders jumped. Bruce took a seat on her beanbag, his body far too large, the resulting crunch painful under his weight in a way that made her smile.

“This ship will carry our bodies safe,” he finished.

“You know Maps’ ‘Breaking into Crypts and Acing Midterms’ songs?” She blinked, putting her crayon down and sitting cross-legged.

Bruce shook his head. “No. But I’ve heard them before.”

“Maps says their other songs are nice, but that’s her and mine’s special song,” Rory smiled. “I think she’s kinda my best friend- but don’t tell Mar’i. She’ll get sad.”

Bruce had heard Dick mention it before—Mar’i struggle with other kids, a loneliness of being caught between worlds. She looked like her father with the heart of her mother.

So like both of them, but so different.

Too human to be Tamaranean, too alien to ever feel ordinary.

But that was a conversation for another time.

“I see,” Bruce spoke quietly. “Rory, I’d like to ask you something.”

She nodded with a bit of a head tilt. “Is it about music? ‘Cause I don’t know what the band’s called. My tablet has it! I can ask Dad for it back. He took it when Tim tattled on me.” She frowned at the end.

How was she supposed to know that it wasn’t a coloring page?

“No,” Bruce smiled a bit. Genuine. “Not music. Do you remember what you said earlier? Sabran jameelān.”

“Oh no.” She froze. “Is it something bad?!”

Bruce shook his head, adjusting a bit. This bag was almost worse than those dreaded plastic chairs at the Academy.

He’d get her a better one later. There’s no possible way she found comfort in it.

“I’m just curious as to where you heard it, that’s all.”

“Oh.” She seemed to calm down a bit before biting her lip, unsure of what to say next. “Umm…”

Bruce frowned a bit, softening his tone. “You won’t be in trouble,” he assured her. “Promise we won’t tell your dad, if that helps.”

Rory hesitated a bit, thinking hard, before looking around, then leaning up and to link pinky fingers with a small nod of satisfaction.

“I made a new friend at school,” she spoke in a whisper. “She’s really nice.”

“Does she have a name?” he asked.

Rory shook her head with a frown. “No, but she said it can mean ‘rising up’.  And that’s more important.”

Bruce arched a brow. “Is it, now?”

The child picked up her crayon again, deciding to multitask, though she wasn’t aware that’s what she was doing.

“She says all names have meaning and that my name means dawn, so that’s what she calls me all the time,” she turned to the small box beside her, picking out a black crayon and a piece of paper, then lifting it toward him. “Here! You can color, too.”

He didn’t refuse her, though he wasn’t sure what to draw. Bruce Wayne was a terrible artist. That’s likely why he opted for the first thing he could think of—the manor.

“Did she now?” He glanced up at her from his sheet. “You must see her pretty often for her to call you that all the time.”

Rory reached for another sheet of paper, starting to fold it into a messy circle.

“She taught me some tricks, too,” she said suddenly. “A magic trick. You wanna see?”

Bruce set his crayon down, humoring her. “Of course.”

“You gotta fold the petals first like this.” She bent each corner in until the paper looked like a tiny closed flower. “Then you put it in water and you wait. You can’t touch it or blow on it or anything—just wait.”

Bruce said nothing as she handed it to him. “You can try it later.” She smiled.

“That’s… a very old trick,” he said finally, quietly.

“She said her son knows how to do that, too. That he liked to draw and do things like that when he was little, but not all the time like me.” She started to make another one, frowning a bit. “I think she misses him. She talks about him lots.”

“I see.” Bruce checked his phone. He didn’t have much time left.

“You said tricks,” he murmured. “More than one. What else did she teach you?”

“I can’t show you that one,” she said without looking up.

Bruce stopped his crayon mid-scribble.  “Why not?”

“It’s only if something happens.”

Bruce’s jaw tightened. “What kind of something?”

She shrugged. Too casual, for her grandfathers’ taste. “I dunno. She said to do it if something happens, and it’ll all be as it should.”

Bruce’s breath caught. The phrase felt like a stone sinking in his stomach.

Be as it should… Beautiful Patience. 

He knew that cadence. That tone. The way Talia wove comfort into command.

Early That Next Morning—Dick Grayson’s Apartment, Blüdhaven.

Mar’i sat sideways on the couch, tablet knees to her chest where her tablet lay propped for her scrolling pleasures.

Earbuds in, volume low enough that Kori could hear an audio describing another way to dress for dances and whatnot.

Kori smiled to herself. Typical Mar’i. Always something fashion-related.

She dropped her overnight bag near the door lightly, calling softly. “Good morning, little star.”

Mar’i didn’t bother looking up. “Hey, Mom.”

Her tone was fine— not sulky, just distracted. The kind Kori recognized as coming from someone who doesn’t want to talk but hopes you’ll make them.

She came closer, kneeling beside the couch. “How was dinner last night?”

Mar’i sighed and hit pause. “Weird.”

“Weird how?” She questioned, watching her daughter shrug and hit the screen to play one of those odd bird games.

“I don’t know. Almost everyone was fake-normal. Again.” She twisted her screen as the gameplay required. “Like, they were laughing but nobody was actually laughing. It was annoying.”

Kori tilted her head. “Was there a reason?”

Mar’i just shrugged again. “They made fun of the way Rory talks. I like the way she talks. It’s funny.”

“Oh?”

“It wasn’t mean at first,” Mar’i said quickly, defensive for both her family and herself. “It was funny. Even Rory laughed, but I saw her stop. She looked sad. I was gonna throw a spoon, but Grandpa noticed, too.”

“Bruce?”

“Yeah. Told them to stop. Dad tried to pretend it was fine, Jason got all mad, and then everyone started talking like it never happened.” She leaned up, grabbing her drink off the table and taking a sip from its straw.

Kori let her continue, noticing the way her daughter chewed on it a bit.

Another one of those little ticks of Richard’s.

“They all act super weird around her, ya know?” She frowned as her character died. “Jason treats her like she’s gonna break. Grandpa looks at her like she’s a bomb. Uncle Tim just pretends he’s not staring at her all the time like the weirdo he is. BTW,” she glanced up at her briefly. “I saw him fall asleep in his chair, like, twice.”

Her attitude toward Tim wasn’t surprising.

She never did quite forgive him for snitching on her last December.

Kori frowned. “And your father?”

Mar’i gave a soft snort. “He talks too much and keeps forgetting Uncle Dami isn’t a doctor yet.” She paused the game just then. “He’s trying to make everything not seem so weird when he does that.”

That made Kori smile sadly. “You see quite a lot.”

Mar’i glanced from her screen to her mother— bright as ever. Sun-kissed as always to a point she almost seemed out of place next to her and her dad. Red hair like fire, eyes bright and green.

She silently cursed the idea she got stuck looking like her father so much. She wanted eyes and skin like that, too.

If the baby got them and she didn’t she was going to be really mad.

“I don’t mean to,” she said finally. Back to her game. “Like sometimes people just treat her different. Almost like she’s supposed to be scary.”

She rolled her eyes as the words left her mouth, tapping away at the screen. “Nothing about Rory is scary.  She says ‘wodder’ and I’ve seen her fall out of a tree before.”

Kori brushed a curl back from her face. “Fear often wears polite clothes.”

“Yeah,” the child muttered. Eyes rolling. “Well, it’s still ugly.”

Kori laughed, proud despite herself. “You sound like me.”

That made her smirk. “Dad says that’s a threat.”

The silence after that was brief and warm. Then Mar’i blinked and slowly frowned to herself again, clicking the tablet off.

“She looked so happy when people were laughing. But then she seemed so sad when she realized it was because of her.” Mar’i bit her lip. “Rory is little but she’s not dumb. She knows they’re all weird to her.”

Kori’s smile faded as she reached out, squeezing her hand. “I’m sure they care for her very deeply.”

“I didn’t say that!” Mar’i defended. “I just… people look at her like she’s special. But not in a happy way. Rory is a happy girl,” she frowned again. “I think she should just stay that way.”

Kori nodded, silently thinking of the energies that must’ve been in that room.

“You can’t choose how others look, but you can choose what you see.”

Mar’i blinked a bit, then smiled. “I saw a kid who just wanted more ‘wodder’.” She giggled behind her hand.

Dick came in minutes later, barely noticing Mar’i in the corner if not for the loud sips she took.

He yawned, his body on autopilot.

Not that last night was rough or anything, but he did end up thrown into the sewer, so that wasn’t great. Like a cold plunge but with a smell he hoped he got off his skin.

“Morning,” he mumbled, kissing his wife’s temple before opening the fridge.

“I told mom you all made Rory sad last night and Grandpa told everyone off on your phone. Thought you should know.”

He froze mid-fridge search. “…Oh?”

Then he froze again as he turned around with the eggs, the words finally landing. “Wait. Hold on.”

He turned around, shutting the fridge with a snap. “On my phone?”

Mar’i looked up, finally. “Yeah. You were in the shower and it kept dinging, so I read them.”

He stared. “You- why- how did you find out-“

“Your password is my birthday, Dad, everybody knows that.”

“No. They don’t.”

“Yes, they do.” Kori informed him. “And Mari’s is the day she and Damian adopted Blip-C.”

Mar’i froze herself at that, slowly heading to her settings with a huff.

“And you can’t be upset for having a daughter who takes initiative.” Kori’s lips barely moved, but she had the faintest smile pulling.

Dick turned toward her. “You’re not seriously-“

“I am not joking,” she said softly, meeting his eyes. “She said you have all been acting strange.”

He paused. “Strange?”

“Quiet,” Kori said. “Different.”

Mar’i cut back in. “You were weird last night. Everyone was except for Steph, Kate, and Night Light Boy.”

“His name is Duke. You know this.” Mar’i shrugged. Not really caring. “And define weird.”

He was confused. Everything felt fine— better than fine, actually.

Bruce was his quiet self, mumbling in the background. Damian only cursed in Arabic a few times, Kate kept the gore stories to a minimum, and there were even a few laughs!

Big win! Huge!

His daughter came to a stand, walking over and taking the bowl her mother poured for her and heading to the kitchen table.

“Like when people act happy because someone is watching.”

The words landed heavier than they should’ve. Cold.

Dick shoved the fridge again, leaning against it with a thing of juice in his hand. His jaw was set tight.

Kori noticed that for sure.

“We were just trying to make dinner more normal for your cousin, alright?”

“Normal doesn’t sound like what I’ve been told.” Kori crossed her arms, clearly skeptical.

Dick exhaled through his nose, staring at the counter top. “It was fine. She was fine.” 

“No she wasn’t.” Mar’i said. Quietly. Like she was afraid he’d get upset at himself.

That pulled up his gaze. “Mar’i. Let it go.”

“Dick-“

“It was just a dinner, Kori.” He shook his head. “Nothing insane. Not like whatever she said.”

There it was.

He wasn’t just aggravated. He was defensive. Not even angry. Rarely angry.

Kori’s voice was steady but low. “Mar’i notices these things, Dick. You should not dismiss that. Just give her a chance to explain herself.”

“Yeah,” Mar’i cut in, spoon hitting her bowl with a clink. “Especially about T-“

“Mar’i.” His voice came out stern.

He hadn’t raised his voice. He didn’t have to. It was the tone— the one that meant enough.

The one that was meant to shut her up like one of his teammates rather than his own daughter.

He’d never talk to her Uncle that way. Not for something like this. 

But Dick also never meant to talk to her that way.

“Hey,” he started, catching himself. Trying to soften the blow. “That’s not what I-“

“You never let me say anything.” She muttered, voice small but sharp, a twinkle in her eye.

Her frustration hit faster than he could apologize, her standing up with a scrape of her chair, a faint lift of a few strands of her hair.

Kori sighed, the light bulb over the counter flickering a bit, a faint pulse of gold skimming across the bulb. The air felt that familiar charge. Weak but clearly there.

Her daughter’s cheeks were red. “You always do that! Every time I try to tell you something, I have to shut up!”

“Mar’i-“

“You’re the worst! And everyone pretends she’s fine but she’s not! I can tell. You all suck!” The lightbulb shattered, but the only one who flinched was herself.

Dick closed his eyes. Ashamed.

Not in her, though.

“Mar’i,” Kori said gently, but her daughter was already backing away from the table. Eyes glassy.

“I’m sorry,” she choked. “But I’m not dumb, dad. I see stuff, too.”

“I never said-“ Kori’s glare froze him in place.

Mar’i took the opportunity to make a dash for her bedroom, trying to steady her breathing.

Back in the kitchen, Dick had his face in his hands, upper body on the counter.

He felt like a failure every time it happened. He hated that tone in his voice— it just slipped so easy with her, making her flinch before he even realized.

Kori’s lips were pressed together, tea gone cold in her hands.

“She’s eight,” she spoke finally. “She feels everything.”

“I know, Kori,” he muttered with a groan.

“Then you should know that she values your opinion very deeply. She does not flicker when she is wrong, only when she is scared.”

He looked up slowly. “Scared of what?”

Kori’s gaze softened. “Of being ignored, Dick.”

She looked at the mug in her hands. Swished it around a bit. Frowning.

“With my people trying to rebuild and your patrols, neither of us are here consistently,” she explained, going over to the table and setting her cup down with a deep exhale. “And with the baby… we don’t make the time we should. With her.”

A pause.

“Or for each other.”

Her words weren’t accusation— but pure exhaustion.

Dick leaned against the counter, refrigerator humming behind him. “You’re not wrong.”

“No,” she said quietly. “And neither is she.”

He opened his mouth, then shut it just as quickly.

Morning light crept across the floorboards, dust caught in its rays. He could hear the ruckus of the city around him— cars, yells across street corners, a few sirens here and there.

Kori lowered herself into the chair, elbows to the table. “She is eight, Dick. She should not be so overwhelmed speaking with her father about a dinner. Children forget things quickly. She remembered so much of last night- I believe her. There is something strange.”

She eyed him warily, licking her lips before shaking her head. “And I won’t pressure you, but I believe you know what’s causing it.”

So she could tell.

She could always tell.

He stared down at the countertop, tracing a line across it with his finger. A habit. “She’s got your emotional read and all that jazz…,” he frowned. “And your heart. The only thing she really got from me was the eyes.”

“And hair.”

“I did not donate that texture. Color though? Absolutely.”

“And you are wrong.” That had his eyes on her again.“You gave her your heart.”

Funny thing that was. “I don’t think-“

“Too big for small things,” she continued, swirling the spoon in her mug as she mourned its steam.

“Yeah, well,” he tried for humor, not expecting his voice to crack halfway through. “She’ll grow into it.”

“She should not have to grow into loneliness.”

The statement stabbed him straight through the chest. To the point his breath hitched.

He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes on her bedroom door.

“I’m doing what I can… we’re doing what we can.”

“I know,” her hands folded neatly. “But she feels the space between us. We have barely prepared her for the baby, as well.”

He looked at her— really looked now. The tired behind her glow. The slight swell behind her robe he still hadn’t found the right time to talk about.

He’d been waiting for the right moment.

He always was.

“I’m trying.”

“I don’t need you trying,” it came out more of a plea than cruel. “I need you present. She needs you. You can’t be halfway between a mission and home so much, just as I can’t be between worlds.”

She rose, coming slower until her hand rested on his upper arm. “She needs me. She needs you. She burns brighter every year without anyone to help her manage the light routinely. That can’t be anymore, it just can’t.”

He couldn’t help himself. Managing things was so much simpler before this last year… before he escaped. Again.

Deathstroke knew who he was this time. His identity was compromised and their last battle… the threat he posed now had him edge constantly.

He didn’t lie to Jason when he said he lost sleep over it.

They’d moved three times.

Then they found out five months ago Kori was pregnant again.

And Mar’i started having these emotional bursts of energy he couldn’t understand how to explain to her, the remaining Tamaraneans reached out to pull his wife from exile.

The life they’d built was in shambles, it felt like. To the point Kori was gone so often he was getting asked if they were even still married at all.

The sunlight reached them fully. Clean, golden light made the edges of her hair glow faintly, reflecting against the counter top.

She really was the second greatest love of his life.

His first was currently in her room holding onto her mattress as to not fly into another ceiling fan.

He was about to go back to her room. Try to talk to her. Apologize.

But then Kori blinked suddenly and froze.  Calm shattered.

“Oh.” 

“Oh?” He furrowed his brows, confused.

Kori tilted her head slightly, lips pursing, taking a slow gulp. “I forgot.” She pressed a hand lower to her stomach with a faint, thoughtful hum and awkward pause.

“Did you call and tell your family?” She questioned. “The Titans? Like you said you would.”

“I was going to next week. I mean, Damian saw right through me so he’s known for weeks and Bruce is a little suspicious, I really wanted to talk to Barbara first. Maybe even Jay, they keep their mouths shut better than-“

“Tell them before tomorrow.”

That caught his attention. “Before tomorrow?”

“Yes,” she said lightly. “Or at least three days from now. The timing is not exact.”

His brows raised. “…Kori?”

She smiled faintly, somewhat sheepish, before picking up her mug and walking to the bedroom.

Dick blinked.

“Koriand’r?”

“There were doctors on site,” she bit her lip as she paused in the doorway. “Male Tamaraneans develop differently. Their cells metabolize solar energy at a higher rate. My body adapted. The new planet had two suns.”

“Male Tamar…,” he trailed off, grinning. “A boy?”

“In three days or less.”

Excitement turned to horror.

“Three days or less?!,” his mouth gaped. “Kori, you said we had two months!”

“I was wrong.” She murmured, sitting at the bed’s edge and situating herself. Her expression was calm, patient. “I thought I told you already.”

“You absolutely did not!”

“I said I had news.”

“Kori,” he leaned down, both hands on her shoulders as if she was the one who needed steadying. “I thought you meant you’d found a diplomatic contract or whatever their issue was this time, not- this!”

“Well,” She seemed to think hard, then mildly added. “I did both.”

Dick inhaled deeply as he dragged a hand down his face, groaning into his palm. “You’re telling me you’re about to give birth and that’s just, what, casual news to you?”

His wife folded her arms, arching a brow, clearly unbothered as she shoved him away lightly before settling into her side of the bed.

“Kori,” he sighed. “I shouldn’t be learning this between a family crisis, dinner, and coffee.”

She blinked once. “You did just fine with Mar’i.”

“That was different! I had at least a week’s notice then!”

“I did not realize Earth men required so much time.”

He gave her a look that could curdle milk. “Time?! I have to- oh my-Okay. Okay. I have to call Bruce. And Barbara. The Titans. Everybody.”

“You have one day now,” she said gently, feeling her stomach. “Maybe less.”

“One…” he stopped mid-sentence, half laughing. “One day?”

Kori tilted her head. “Possibly five hours. The feelings are not exact.” Her brows furrowed, then her eyes widened.

“Something is wrong.” It came out a whisper. A deep concern. 

He choked out a nervous laugh. “Yeah, Kori, I just learned I might have a son by dinner time?”

“Richard…”she spoke slowly, “You have everything ready here,” she reminded. “The room, the supplies. You are a good father, Richard.”

“Yeah, but my family doesn’t know!”

“It doesn’t matter,” she muttered, grabbing his arm. “Call Raven and anyone else you need that can get here soon. Tell Mar’i to come see me. Something is wrong.”

He blinked, fear slowly settling in. “Wrong?”

Kori knew her body well. She knew her emotions, also. She knew her daughter’s emotions even better.

That’s how she knew something was wrong with her son.

“Raven. Now.”

Chapter Text

Seven months Ago— ???

Wind scraped at the cliffs like blades, the mountain air burning thin as ash in the night.

A few trembling flames broke darkness. That all too familiar glow illuminated much brighter than all of them combined.

Ra’s stood before one of the remaining Lazarus Pits— not kneeling, not slouching, but inspecting.

It breathed now. Slow. Labored. Sick.

The readings of his device meant little. Something his chemists had crafted decades ago. When science still thought it could outwit fate itself.

He marked it down within his ledger. Careful. Scowling.

“Still descending,” he murmured.

Despite its green glow, the Lazarus Pit turned black where it met stone. A ring of residue. Of decay.

The chamber smelled of rot and iron. None other had entered in days. By his command, no one would.

His guards thought the sealing of this sanctuary by his own hands, so long before sunrise in the days previous, was no more than ritual.

His daughter knew better.

His mind had shattered in some sense. Perhaps with his overuse of the waters before him. He’d never truly bore himself with such discovery.

Not when Ra’s had begun trading faith for study, out of a desperation he had not felt in ages.

He tilted the vial in his hand, letting a single drop of it fall into the glass. It smoked pale. He watched it dance only a moment before the fumes caught in his throat.

It was sharp enough to leave a sting where the air entered the body, but tempting enough it sang that all too familiar hymn of just once more to him.

But he could not afford. Not anymore.

The last time it had cost him three days of memory and two months clarity. The delirium which followed was, needless to say, inconvenient.

A hiss escaped. Faint.

His pen stilled. He exhaled. Steadied himself.

“Mockery,” he said quietly. Footsteps echoed behind him now, soft and precise.

“You should not have come, daughter.”

“Nor should you,” Talia replied. Her cloak still dusted with snow, tone calm but eyes cold as she took in the scene before her— closed gates, empty vials, torches burned down almost to wax pools.

“You have not rested in days.”

“The pit decays faster than anticipated. Every sample has suggested corrosion.”

“You sound surprised.”

Ra’s turned, one brow arched. “Wouldn’t all man be, to see God bleeding?”

“I would wonder,” she said evenly, “if it was ever God at all. Or more the fruit which spread sin like a contagion.”

He smiled faintly. Tired.

“You have your mother’s tongue. Always eager to wound.”

“The League grows restless,” Talia allowed herself to lean against the nearest pillar, the art on it a snake. “Whispers you refuse counsel. Rumors say you have held unsavory company as of late.”

Ra’s narrowed his eyes, closing one of his books with a harsh snap. “Counsel?” His tone sharpened. “From those who can’t even recite the ancient rites? Mercenaries you train in air-conditioned hall and deem themselves disciples of this era?” He turned to her harshly, a new vial in his hands. “No, daughter. That will not fix this.”

He gestured to the pit as he leaned down, scooping a bit within and holding it up meet her gaze. “Do you not see the dull of the waters? Darkness at its rim. It began years ago. Now it decays rapidly enough to pose a major issue. A disease spreading quickly. No found reasoning.”

He rose to stand. “In Prague, first, then Varanasi. Now here. The decay has spread and now each pit is weaker, shorter-lived. One refuses entirely.”

“You have used them too often,” she spoke quietly. As if anticipating his explosion.

Which she did. “The body may only cheat death so many times before she grows weary. Perhaps such imbalance is not in waters, but a man who has abused them for centuries.”

“You speak in poetic justices.” His eyes narrowed. Dangerous.

“I speak in your refusals,” her eyes narrowed onto him. “Perhaps the universe seeks to moralize your survival now, father.”

There was a long silence.

She spoke more out of concern than malicious intent. She was his daughter, after all. Daughters care for their fathers even when it’s not such a convenience.

“You forget yourself, daughter. Without the Lazarus Pits, the world would have drowned in plague and war a hundred times over. Your very existence in question. I have preserved a balance where no other could.”

She stood straight suddenly, daring to step closer. “You have preserved yourself.”

The words cut into him with a depth he didn’t expect. He didn’t answer immediately. He simply walked past her, back to his ledger, writing.

The ink caught and smudged midway.

He frowned. “You think my eyes so old they are blind to the stares you and your son carry?”

Talia stiffened at his mention. Ra’s rarely brought up Damian in recent times. Their relationship was… strained, to say the least.

“You measure my every breath with each passing year. Waiting for its last. Knowing well I may not return to lead all I have built in this next chapter of its history.”

The quill snapped between his fingers, ink bleeding across his palm in a darkness comparable only to the four corners of the room where the light couldn’t quite reach. Splinters in his finger tips. “The boy is now a weakened man. He ignores the purpose of his very conception,” he spoke it like poison on his tongue. “To lead what his bloodline has built-“

“No.”

The word cut into the air sharp, intentionally so, as Talia leaned forward, finger pointing in accusation— her tone no longer so measured or diplomatic.

“Damian has chosen to lead what his bloodline has built,” each word felt it was meant wound his very soul. “Just not yours.”

Ra’s went still as a statue.

The torchlight trembled in a long stretch of silence, though not in rage. Grief, disguised too late as pride.

“He walks the path of another patriarch,” Talia didn’t quiet herself. “One who lead not by conquest. It burns you how he carries your genius, your will, your precision- but spends them in service of a name which isn’t yours.”

Ra’s jaw locked in place. She read him like a book as he watched the remaining ink slip between his knuckles to the floor in uneven drops. Staining the stone.

He would not clean it.

His voice dropped dangerously for how softly it came. “You mistake tragedy for virtue.”

“I mistake nothing.”

“Medicine,” he ranted bitterly. “He thinks in temporary solutions. He believes the world can be soothed and bandaged… healed,” he turned sharply. “You cannot mend rot, Talia. It must be cut away to endure.”

Her silence and unreadable expression only deepened the rage within him. His voice was low. Vibrating.

“He chases an illusion of mercy because he bears the name of a man long surpassed-“ he stopped himself. The name almost burning his tongue.

A name he never knew to care for until recent years.

“Thomas Wayne.” He spat it out venomously as if the syllables themselves had offended him.

“If only you knew what that name has cost me. To sit idly and watch such small a legacy take favor,” he pressed a trembling hand to his temple, forcing breath through his teeth. “I once thought his son my successor. Now I see he haunts their family as a ghost which poisons everything it touches using sentiment and nobility. Even now his message stains of victories measured in lives spared rather than futures secured.”

The pit seemed to murmur ghostly behind them— almost mocking yet again.

Talia’s face softened just a fraction. “He’s his mother’s son,” she said. “What anger you carry for the name Wayne, you’ll not lay before me.”

Ra’s gave a low laugh. The kind that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Anger is fleeting. What I feel is much older in name…,” he looked back to that dark ring but didn’t fully turn. “Erosion. Every generation eats away at what is built—carving sentiment into strength’s place until the world mistakes weakness for wisdom.”

When he turned to the pit again, his shoulders shook with something not quite right. A deep breath.

He stayed that way for a while, back turned, breath sharp in a way almost painful. Barely audible over the whisper of the pit. What of the quill that wasn’t splintered in his hand was broken on the table, dripping over its edge.

When he finally spoke again, his voice had softened in a way that made Talia’s eyes narrow once more— it was layered with exhaustion, rippled with something comparable to grief.

“I do not blame the boy for his choice,” he spoke as if Damian were still a child now. “I blame the design that shaped him. The illusion that empathy can be made to guide creation. Salvation built on pity.”

He faced her again, hand lifted, ink seeping into his sleeve. “He will not lead the future. He will nurse it. Bond its wounds and call that progress, and when it dies again, he will do what all doctors do: bury the failures, name it natural, begin again. Temporary medicine, you call it.” He walked himself carefully to the table, grabbing a nearby cloth. “The phrase suits it well.”

No change in her expression, though she could laugh. He made it sound as though her son were to become some saint.

He was many things, but that would never be.

“But the world doesn’t need healers. It needs an architect. One who does not fear the cost of permanence.”

She did not disagree.

She was raised not to.

Ra’s knew she was no more against it than himself, despite their conversation.

He had long forced himself to accept the effects of her motherhood— that even as her son fought her, she would still come to his defense if pressed.

It’s why he dared not attack him again. Not that she’d pose any real challenge, but because she would try.

Talia’s gaze shifted back to the pit. It seemed to call out to her as well in recent years— softly, persistently. The natural chemicals mingled with its supernatural pulse, releasing a scent she had known since childhood… only rotting.

The rituals she once performed beneath its glow now felt like echoes of a faith she no longer believed in.

For if there was a God, it was not these waters.

“There is one who understands the world’s patterns,” she froze at the phrasing.

“I have seen it,” he went on. “One who looks at chaos and sees order. One drawn, not bred. The pattern repeats; the current seeks its vessel. It always has.”

“You mean another acolyte.” She eyed his back carefully.

“I mean one meant to finish what I began.” His tone was patient, almost indulgent. “One who seeks balance. They will soon recognize it for what it is.”

“You believe they will come to us?”

“In some form,” Ra’s said. “The design never dies with the architect. A mind which comprehends order cannot remain content among chaos. When they see the world collapsing- when their new perspective rises to the forefront- they will come, whether they wish to or not. Their own mind will force it. They will inherit.”

“They will inherit nothing if you destroy it yourself first.”

“Do not lecture me on restraint,” his gaze snapped back to her. “You think I have not grown to wish I could prevent myself from dipping into the waters again?”

“I-“

“Then you are a fool,” he cut her off. “You think I do not feel it scraping behind my skull? Each use steals more. Memories fade, names blur, ventures blend.”

He pressed a hand to his temple, closing his eyes briefly. “But I must not yet perish. Not until their mind is ready. Trained.” He allowed a faint, humorless smile to graze his lips. “I have no use for martyrs. They are close to conditioned- though a final design remains to restore.”

“And if you fail?” She challenged.

Ra’s let the silence between them settle once more, the giant churn of the pit filled the gaps his pride couldn’t.

His expression darkened, light from the pit trembling across his features.

“And if you fail?” she asked again.

“Failure,” he said slowly. “Failure is rarely an option afforded to those the world fears. And yet-“ he paused, almost as if weighing the words on his tongue. “There are new predators. Ones who fancy themselves architects, yet build only mausoleums.”

Talia frowned. “The Court.”

He gave a nod. “Bold. Masked scavengers masquerading as monarchs. Peeling at the edges of my dominion, prying where they have no place. Their reach extends beyond Gotham now. Within our very sanctuaries. They seek Lazarus in caverns and temples, not knowing what they touch.”

“So the rumor is fact.” Talia question, “How can that be?”

“That does not matter so much. They have moved on,” his eyes met her own in that particular way which told her the next part would be much more serious. “They collect blood.”

“Blood?”

“Of those who have touched the waters, those whose veins hum with its residue. To them, it is power condensed- a liquid inheritance. They seek eternal breath.”

“You’re certain?” She knew he was.

“I’ve lost men to them,” Ra’s admitted. “Some taken alive. Others drained dry. For research.”

The word hung between them, obscene in its precision.

Talia’s eyes narrowed. “Then their reach is wider than believed.”

Ra’s exhaled through his nose. “A nest of merchants dealing in eternity. Testing its limitations. I… underestimated them.”

He hesitated, then added- quietly, almost as if speaking to himself, “They’ve begun to seek the children.”

Talia went still. “Children?” She repeated.

“Those who have inherited Lazarus touched blood by proximity or accident. Lineage. Contamination.”

He didn’t look at her when he said it. That made it worse.

“Before he was eliminated, an agent sang. They seek not only shadows or healed, but the bloodlines. Those who have carried its influence unknowingly. It’s echo.”

Talia’s shoulders straightened. “You mean-“

“Ours,” he finished. “Mine. Yours. The son you share with the detective. The detective himself, possibly. Even the Red Son of Gotham.”

Ra’s’ voice remained measured, but the air cooled between them to a chill felt through any armor.

“They are blind hunters chasing immortality by scent. And now, they believe there is another child-“ he hesitated, choosing the word with precision,”-born of a man awoken and then healed in this very room.”

Talia’s expression gave nothing away, but she could feel her pulse in her throat.

“You’re certain?” She had not heard of another child. Surely no extension of Jason Todd.

Though Damian and her had not spoken in some months.

“Certain enough,” Ra’s said. “Scouts have traced blood signatures. Mutations left in the genome of those who’ve touched the Pits, directly or otherwise. They think the child carries. Yours as well. A diluted strain, perhaps… but potent enough to study.”

“They will not stop with the League,” he watched as a single fist of hers clenched. He continued. “If they truly hunt every lineage that has tasted this alchemy- myself, you, Damian, the detective, Todd, and now…”

His voice trailed off. He had no name. Only an echo.

Talia didn’t move. Her eyes remained fixed on the pit now, but her thoughts had already strayed elsewhere— Gotham, rooftops, a child whose blood she silently hoped for their sake the world would forget.

“Then they know too much,” she said flatly. 

Ra’s nodded. “Though I do not appreciate your intrusion, I suppose it might be beneficial you warn the boy if you must. It may be wise the child stay hidden. If The Court takes her, they’ll unmake what little balance remains in the shattered mind of her father.”

Talia had not answered him.

The birds nearby tweeted softly, one of the few which could rise high enough to reach this place. She stood there a moment.

The wind moved the fabric of her cloak and she allowed herself to breathe it.

She had come seeking clarity on another matter, but that would wait.

Her thoughts unspooled in silence.

Another child.

She almost smiled at the absolute absurdity. Another consequence, more likely. Jason was one, himself. A resurrection by accident, spat from the universe when time itself cracked.

She still remembered the day she found him, a state far worse than imaginable. Half-dead, half-feral, and wandering. His eyes unfocused, body moving on instinct alone.

Mindless.

He should have been a corpse, instead he was breathing. Barely.

She frowned.

She had brought him with her against her father’s better judgment. Claims of study herself, curiosity. But in truth it was to ease guilt.

Repair the shape of her once beloved’s grief— it pained to watch him fold into silence. She’d hoped returning what was lost might heal what war between them had destroyed.

Ra’s was once fascinated by what the boy represented— a resurrection without ritual. A living anomaly.

He called it experiment.

She claimed it mercy.

His mind returned whole— his heart came back fractured. Rage and grief fused together.

She didn’t give Bruce his son back, she brought an avenger.

When Jason left, she did not stop him. She gave him weapons, money, a way out— and in doing so, cut her final tether to Ra’s’ authority.

Something she would not rebuild until the birth of her son.

He called it a mistake.

She called it deserved.

Jason deserved to choose his own damnation.

And now there might be a child of his— a girl, it seemed. Did she have his eyes along with the faintest trace of that cursed water?

Perhaps he wasn’t so far gone as Damian wrote of his banning.

He wouldn’t have returned to Gotham if Bruce thought otherwise— which the papers made clear was true of the Redhood.

Her body soon stilled as she exited the gates. Now believing to understand her father’s concern—If The Court found her, this girl, they would not see the complexity of her role in the family.

Talia’s hand clenched at her side before she realized it moved. The sound of leather creasing.

She thought of Damian then— her greatest miracle and failure all in one. Too clever for peace, too proud for protection. He’d stopped writing months ago; a familiar silence she dare not press against.

He was his father’s son, after all.

And Bruce… Bruce would never stop trying to fix what could not be. Every wound he felt was his duty.

Every ghost his penance.

He would already be guarding her. Damian would be watching her too, even if he pretended indifference as she expected.

But Jason… if he was her father, his mind and heart being what she knew, he would attempt to burn cities to ash before letting her go.

The thought stirred something in her. Not fear.

Pity.

If the girl existed, Talia did not know her name, but she knew her representation: another innocent born into legacy’s cage. Another piece of the board none of them could stop playing.

“It may be wise the child stay hidden.”

He meant strategy.

She heard a warning.

A child hidden is one already hunted.

She drew her cloak in tighter, pulse steady again, boots crunching snow.

Thinking strategically, the loss of this daughter or her own son would be disastrous. So they’d both be placed under watch, one and the same.

Let her father believe she was only following his instruction. Let The Court think itself a predator.

She knew better.

If war was coming to Gotham, she would see the battlefield first.

Before her father mistook it for fate.

Over Five Months Ago— Gotham Academy, “The Heights”

Rory was adjusting her backpack strap with a huff, trying to wedge a book into the front pocket.

The fabric was a muted green. Stitched across the bottom in neat thread was her nickname. The rest stayed cluttered with patches and pins— stars, planets, something glittering gold.

She frowned as the zipper caught, shivering from Gotham’s October chill.

“Shitty bag,” Rory muttered, trying her best to fix it.

“Careful,” Talia spoke calm and low as to not spook her. “You’ll tear it.”

Rory turned fast, her eyes wide. The lady was tall with dark hair and a really long coat that almost touched the ground.

Rory wasn’t sure who she was, and her dad would be mad if he came to pick her up and saw her talking to a stranger, but maybe she was from the school? She was supposed to talk to adults at school.

Talia leaned down, taking in her appearance now that distance was closed. Her hair had the same wild part Jason’s once had; her eyes wide, curious, impossibly bright against the dull evening.

“Umm,” Rory thought for a second before nodding. “It’s okay. It does that.”

Talia smiled, small and patient. “Does it now?”

She had one knee on the ground now, an elbow propped on the other as she looked at her with complete interest. Her full attention for what seconds they had.

“Well, yeah,” she shrugged. “My daddy says he’ll fix it, but he gets pretty busy. So does my GB.”

“Fathers often are,” she said quietly. “It is how daughters build patience.” She rose to a stand. “You should remind him. Some things don’t wait to be mended.”

Rory tilted her head, not sure exactly how to take her comment, but she smiled anyways.

“I will,” she said. “When he’s not so sleepy.”

Talia’s eyes trailed to her ears, small studs glistening in the light. The face of youth. Small hands.

Rory clumsily adjusted the bag strap with both arms while Talia memorized every detail.

“You’re Rory,” she said softly. “As you prefer, yes? But your true name, Aurora, is it?”

Rory blinked at her. “Only teachers call me that. It’s too long.” She explained, shivering a bit as the lady held out her hand for a shake.

“I find it lovely in meaning,” Talia tilted her head. “Do you know its meaning?”

Rory shook her head, blonde hair bouncing as she shook her hand. “Mommy picked it. She’s a flower now. Uncle Dick thinks it’s because she wanted me to be like a princess.” Her nose scrunched at the end.

How curious a way to say one had died.

“Then she chose well.” Talia’s voice dropped to a hush. “It means dawn. The first light after the darkest night.”

It truly was poetic irony, the more she thought of it. She couldn’t help but arch a brow as the child stifled a laugh, bouncing on her feet a bit.

Innocence poured from her in every sense, truly.

“Like the sky?” She snickered.

Talia’s lip quirked up a bit. Genuine. “Precisely.”

Rory grinned in pride at her own understanding. She liked this lady. She was really pretty, too. Her eyes reminded her of somebody.

“I didn’t know names could mean stuff.”

“All names hold meaning,” Talia’s eyes landed on a particular pin on her backpack. “Even when their bearers forget.”

Rory’s eyes followed hers, small hand brushing against the enamel pins on her strap before finding the very one her new friend seemed so excited about. A red R, stylized in black enamel.

Talia knew Damian thought himself clever.

“Oh!,” she pointed proudly. “This one is from my Uncle! He gave it to me for school,” her voice dropped to a whisper. “He says I’m not allowed to trade this one away. It’s special I think.”

“Oh?” Talia’s pulse quickened before her expression did. “Your Uncle?” She asked, her tone smooth.

“Damian!” Rory explained. “He’s cool but him and my dad fight all the time. He’s gonna be a doctor. I think he should be one for animals. But don’t tell him I said that because he doesn’t like when I tell people about him.” She giggled, covering her mouth.

Talia looked at it for a moment too long— her son’s mark— something cold settled beneath her ribs. It wasn’t just a trinket. She knew the work of the hands she’d raised: that metallic seam along the base, the invisible pulse of a transmitter.

So he did have eyes on her. At the very least her location.

Good. As to be expected.

Pride stung as much as comfort.

“Do you wish to know what his name means?” She asked, eyes returning to hers.

Rory nodded. “Yes, please.” She requested politely.

“Alright,” Talia said. Her voice dropped low, careful. “It means to tame. To make calm what cannot be controlled.”

Rory’s eyes widened. “Like… wild animals? He has lots of pets.”

“Sometimes animals,” Talia explained. “Other times the world.”

Rory blinked at that, nodding before tilting her head, seemingly deep in thought. “He’s not very calm, though. He kinda gets mad.” 

“Yes,” Talia agreed. Her lip quirked once again. “He does upset easily, doesn’t he? He is not yet calm.”

For a moment, silence. Then an idea.

“Aurora.” Talia hesitated, “if you remember the meaning of your name the next time we meet, I’ll bring you something very special.”

Rory’s eyes grew impossibly wider, her whole face lighting up. “Like a treasure?”

Talia’s smile was faint. Secretive. “Something like that.”

“What kind?” Rory’s small voice came out eager. “Like shiny treasure or storybook treasure?”

“Perhaps both,” she said. “But only if you remember the meaning.”

Rory stood taller, serious now in the way only a child trying to impress could be. “I can remember! I’m the best reader in my class, so my GB says I’m really smart.”

“I’m sure you are.” She nodded. “But this is important. Aurora means dawn. The first light after dark. Do not forget.”

Names truly did hold a great importance in the world. However, this was more a way to put plan into action rather than educate. 

The child nodded solemnly. “Dawn. I can remember.”

“Then I will bring you something very special. A small treasure, but a treasure.”

Her eyes shone. “Okay!”

For a moment, Talia only watched her— the way her head sat on her shoulders utterly unaware of the danger within her veins.

She adjusted the child’s blazer gently. “You should go,” she moved around her small form, shadow towering over. “Before they worry.”

Rory nodded, taking a step toward the courtyard before hesitating. “You didn’t say your name.”

“Another time.”

Before Rory could ask what she meant, her head snapped up as a voice called out to her:

“Rory! C’mon, baby detective, you’re gonna be late!”

By the time the girl turned around, the lady was already gone.

No footsteps, no coat turning the corner. Only the faint stir of cold air where she had been.

The security camera above her clicked back to life, its red light steady once more after nearly two minutes of darkness.

Rory blinked at where she stood, frowning a little, then smiled again, deciding it didn’t matter.

“Dawn,” she whispered quietly to herself, testing the word like a secret she wasn’t ready to tell.

Two Days Later..

The next time Rory saw her friend, it was during lunch. She was sitting in the cafeteria eating with Maps when something bright caught her eye— there she was. In a tree, oddly enough.

She giggled a bit at how bizarre it was. A grown lady had climbed in the tree, just like she practiced at home with Mar’i.

Maps followed her gaze, catching some kind of movement only to blink and it disappeared. Suspicious for sure.

“Are we lookin’ at ghosts or what?” She questioned, making Rory bust out laughing with a nod.

“Maybe? I dunno. There was a lady hanging out in that tree-“

“HANGING?!”

It wasn’t until later in the day that Rory made her way over during recess, teachers somehow missing her as she ran over and looked up.

She wasn’t there. Rory frowned.

That Next Monday

She’s managed to make it there a lot faster this time— better yet, she didn’t get caught like the last two.

Talia leaned back with that usual casual grace that seemed so out of place.

The girl ran to her, out of breath, clearly in need of endurance training.

“I remember,” she said after a deep breath, hands on her knees with a grin. “I-I remember! I’m Dawn.”

Talia’s lip quirked a bit. “Yes, you are.”

Rory noticed she had a hood this time as Talia pulled something from her pocket. Slow. Deliberate.

Rory blinked at it, confused.

“It’s so tiny.” Rory looked over it with interest. “A little button!”

It was small. Brass, maybe bronze— dull around its edges, but the center gleamed faintly when the light hit it. An engraving spiraled across it, tiny and intricate, almost floral if you didn’t know how to read League script.

Purposefully small enough to go unnoticed, beautiful enough to be considered a ‘treasure’ by a child who thought in stories.

“It’s not very shiny for a treasure but it’s really pretty,” Rory half-teased. Not disappointed in the least.

“Not all treasures shine,” Talia replied, voice low. She touched the button tip with her finger. “It’s a treasure that can be sewn. On a coat, or a sweater-“

“Like a secret treasure?” She questioned, head tilting slightly as the lady in front of her gave a single nod.

“Indeed.” A small, practiced smile. “The best kind.”

Rory’s curiosity bloomed again as she lifted it into the light. “Why is it swirly?”

“It means return.”

“Return,” she repeated. “Return to where?” 

“Nowhere in particular.” Talia explained. “It is for when one feels lost. If so, touch its center. You will find your way again.”

“Like magic?”

“Something close to it.”

Talia pulled out a needle, already threaded, before fixing it in place herself on the girl’s coat sleeve. The motion was practiced, impersonal— until her hand lingered. Her expression unchanged, but her tone somewhat softer.

“Do not lose it, Dawn.” She said, looking to her face. “It is easy for a child to lose themselves.”

“I won’t!” Rory promised, beaming now at both the object and nickname. “I promise.” 

It didn’t need said again how not all treasures were meant to be seen.

November Third

Rory made her way to her desk at school that morning, the charm bracelet Jason got for her birthday jingling.

She noticed something in her desk she didn’t recognize.

It was twisted in white paper, tied neatly to a close with green ribbon.

A gift, she realized.

Another button from her friend, but this one was a little odd. Black. The symbol slightly different, too.

When she asked her friend what it meant, she confused her. It made her laugh.

It was funny how something so small could be so many things— choice and finding.

Four Months Ago

Their meetings became somewhat routine around this time— could have been more consistent, had Bruce not increased patrols of the area.

Not a good sign.

Rory would wait for some kind of sign. A gleam in the tree visible to her from the window again, a whistle she’d begged to learn— but sometimes it was just this feeling.

It was like a whisper to her. The same she felt when her Uncle came home from his classes, or her dad came into her room at night.

Small pulls in an uncertain direction.

Today it led her to the front steps again, mittens on small hands and a coat far too big.

“I brought more paper with me this time.” She made a motion to hand it to her, the edges a bit wrinkled, but Talia thought it would suffice.

She didn’t speak at first— only glanced down at the paper, smoothing edges that were crumpled by small hands and poor folder placement.

She crouched beside her, knees bending with that same precision she’d use in battle.

“Watch,” she said softly.

Gloves fingers pressed flat against stone steps. Perfectly folded. Perfectly aligned. Each motion a clinical precision.

“Sharp folds, clean lines.”

“Clean lines.”

“A weakness in the fold ruins.” She murmured, Rory catching it faintly.

Talia’s gaze flickered it her. Rory tried her best with her own sheet.

It was still a bit messy, just as she expected.

She reminded her to start from its center. Slow. Even.

Click. Click.

“Look again.” She motioned to her own, silently calculating what time they had left. “Not too tight. Petals need room to breathe. Remember: Sabran jameelān. Beautiful Patience.”

Small hands in mittens worked as carefully as able. Imperfect still. Lacking grace, but she did it successfully her second attempt.

When she turned to display it proudly, the lady was gone. Red light on the camera blinking again.

That had also become routine.

Three Months Ago…

Talia knew they were there the moment she approached the steps, though she clicked the device in her pocket anyways.

Rory stood waiting for her, hem of her coat brushing the stone. Cheeks pink from the chill as hands held up a piece of folded paper.

“It’s a surprise,” she said, bouncing on her toes and breath visible in the air. “I drew you the stuff I talked about at the tree earlier.”

“I see.” Talia’s gloved hand lowered to take it. Her eyes flicked once more to the gates just as the engine shut off. “I do appreciate it, Dawn. Perhaps it will help us both to understand.”

The sound of gravel under shoes cut through quiet— deliberate, measured. Damian’s first, then Bruce’s just behind.

Talia didn’t turn, simple offered her best smile of no teeth, smoothing the girl’s collar.

When Damian was close enough, he immediately took the small girl by the shoulder and jerked her around.

“Inside.” He muttered, head motioning to the car, though his eyes never left his mother.

The girl blinked up at him. “Dami?“

“Now.”

Her hand tightened around her backpack strap. “But I was just-“

Bruce’s shadow stretched behind him, his tone even and absolute. “Go wait in the car, Rory.”

She hesitated. Eyes wide, frown on her face. A glance to Talia and a “Will I see you again?” made Damian stiffen and grab her by the hand.

“Car. Now.” His voice was cold. Bitter. Demanding in a way he hadn’t used on her before, making her mouth hang open a moment.

He didn’t make it two steps with her when Talia responded.

“Yes,” she said without much pause. Quiet and sure in a way that made Bruce go on the defensive. “You will.”

His jaw tightened. “No. She won’t.”

Rory’s face fell again— confusion and hurt as she looked between all of them. The air felt so heavy to her. So wrong.

Damian muttered curses as he all but dragged her away.

A breeze of air. Long coats moving with the wind, silence stretched for a moment.

The car door shut.

Rory pressed her face against the glass, breath fogging the window as Damian shook his head at her from the other side.

She watched them. Couldn’t hear a word, frustrated but knowing immediately this wasn’t good.

Her GB looked a lot like her dad at the moment. His shoulders looked stiff, his eyes stopped blinking, and his jaw was set tight.

Her friend’s long coat shifted in cold wind. She wasn’t moving much. Just standing there— chin held high, hands still in her pockets, as if she didn’t care for a word he said.

Rory frowned.

Damian and GB were being mean.

Bruce’s voice stayed calm, but it was the kind that made criminals breath hitch. “We’ve confirmed weeks of meetings. All off-record, all during school hours.”

Talia’s expression went unchanged. “Children are observant. She took notice of me a few times before your own surveillance.”

Damian stormed back over, jaw tight.

“That’s not what I asked.”

Talia tilted her head. “Then ask what you mean, Bruce.”

She’d long dropped the honorific. Painfully so.

Bruce didn’t care. Not now.

His tone stayed level. “Why her?”

A pause— thought. Not hesitation.

“She carries traces none can ignore,” She spoke softly. Like she wasn’t being interrogated by her former lover.

Damian folded his arms. “This isn’t the first time you’ve reached out without an invitation.”

She turned to him, just slightly. Taking in his figure with a single, slow glance and swearing each time she saw him— for the briefest moment— he was a nine-year old with far too much pride.

“You’re still upset over my letters, it seems.”

He gave a short, humorless breath. “Your last ended with his writing behind yours. I wasn’t sure which of you I was supposed to answer.”

Something faint passed over her eyes, whether it be guilt or pride. Maybe both.

“Your grandfather writes for himself. I had no say.”

“And now you show up here,” Damian said, voice low but sharp. “Forgive me for assuming this isn’t a coincidence.”

“I don’t ask forgiveness,” she replied. “And you continue to confuse coincidence for consequence.”

Bruce’s tone stays stead with words all surgical. “Consequence?”

Talia looked between them. Assessing.

Her eyes then made it to the empty courtyard, the windows, motion sensors tucked into brick corners.

She put her hood back up. Slowly.

“You chose here when you brought her into this.”

Damian tried not to sound protective, angry.

But that cold and composure— it slipped so easily where his mother was concerned. It always did.

Talia measured how much truth the courtyard could hold as Damian took a half-step forward.

“You must know the answer. You’ve already seen when the Pits touch the bloodline.”

“You think they’re after her.” Bruce said carefully.

“I know they’re after my son.” She turned to Bruce now, speaking of Damian as if he weren’t there. “I know they have nests with whispers of her name. All of ours.”

“Ours?” Damian’s eyes narrowed.

“There is… a Court. They seek blood rather than vengeance. They no longer crave ritual but inheritance.” Her gaze met her son’s own. “That includes you.”

“I’m not a child anymore.” He snapped.

Her reply came fast. “She is.”

Two words cut through air like something too close to the truth.

Bruce’s shoulders tensed. “You’re implying the Court knows who she is. What happened to Jason.”

Talia took a breath, glancing once toward the car— Rory’s reflection in the glass— before lowering her voice.

“I am implying you must keep them safe from what comes. From what my father holds close, and what your city continues to feed.”

“You don’t get to dictate that.”

“I’m not dictating,” she answered. “I’m warning.”

Bruce’s voice dropped. Low. Final. “You will stay away from her, Talia.”

No, she wouldn’t.

Her lips curled faintly. “I make no promises.”

“Then you’ll leave us no choice.” She arched a brow at his voice. Briefly stared.

Not Bruce, but Damian, unmoving and precise in his tone which said that is final.

She studied him for a long moment. Eyes dark, unreadable.

When her voice returned it was clam enough to unnerve both men, her gaze shifting back to Bruce in a way that was sharp. Dangerous.

Tactical, almost.

“Should you fail to protect them,” she said quietly. “I will make it right by the ride of dawn. Make no room for error.” 

Bruce’s jaw tensed. “That sounds like a threat.”

“I speak in balances. A vow,” she said simply. “All will be as it should.”

Then she turned, the sound of her boots echoing off the stone as the wind caught the hem of her coat.

A final passing glance as a figure waved goodbye beyond thick glass.

She returned not with any physical gesture, but with her eyes. Invisible to those around them.

Rory smiled, then let it fall off as she blinked— and she was gone.

Damian was already moving.

“Damian,” Bruce started, but he was already ripping open the car door behind her. Hard.

Rory startled as Damian slid into the backseat beside her, coat carrying the cold. 

“Damian,” Bruce’s tone was clipped. “Not now-“

He was ignored. “How long?”

“What?” Rory didn’t like the look on his face. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

“How long have you been talking to her?”

Rory frowned, fidgeting with the button on her sleeve. “A little while, I guess.”

Damian arched a brow. “Rory.”

“I don’t know,” she shrank back a bit. “She’s really nice…”

He exhaled sharply through his nose— something close to a sigh. “What has she said to you?”

Bruce eyed them from the open passenger door. Silent. Listening.

“Just stuff. About being careful.” What Rory’s fingers were fidgeting with seemed to have caught his eye. “She said everyone needs to learn to be their own guard. That you can’t wait for heroes to come save you.”

Damian’s eyes narrowed onto that little bronze button. That symbol.

That stopped him cold.

Small, old-fashioned, etched faintly at the center a spiral marking he’d seen before lining his mother’s travel robes.

“She taught me how t-“

He grabbed her wrist before he even realized he’d done it. Harsh.

“She gave you this.” It was more of a statement than a question.

Rory gasped. “Ow— you’re hurting me!”

“Damian.” Bruce grabbed his shoulder, only for Damian to shove back. “Let her go. Now.”

He didn’t. Not yet. He lifted her sleeve to her gaze. “Where did you get this?”

“She sewed it on,” Rory said quickly, voice shaking. “She’s said it helps me if I get lost-“

That was enough.

He ripped it clean from its thread, the sound sharp and damning in the silence. Small bronze disc now in his palm, cold and harmless. But he knew better.

“Damian.” Bruce warned again, managing to turn him halfway and meet his eyes with a grip on his upper arm. His tone was quieter this time— the kind that meant control was slipping.

Rory’s eyes filled with tears. “It’s not bad! It’s a treasure she gave me!”

He turned back sharply, words coming out fast and cutting deeply. “You listen to me now, you will not speak to her again. Not at school, not anywhere. Understand?”

Her lip trembled. “She’s not bad.”

“You will not tell Jason,” he ignored her plea. “Not a word. You say nothing about her, you avoid her-“

“She’s my friend-“

“She’s dangerous, Rory.”

“She doesn’t look like a mean person.” Rory defended, her voice cracking. Frail but still defiant.

“Looks can be deceiving. Stay away from-“

“Well she looks like you.”

That stopped him.

For a split second, everything in him stilled. 

Those words hit harder than she could have ever known, but the look on his face told her she’d said something wrong. Something hurtful. Instant guilt bubbled up to her throat.

He just stared.

Bruce’s expression was like grief and deep sympathies wrapped into one.

“Damian, that’s enough.”

He exited the car with a slam of its back door, knuckles pale around the ‘treasure’ his mother had given a child too young to understand its true value.