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Nightwing joining the JL had been... a whole deal to be honest. Dick never thought it would be that weird when Bruce first mentioned it. To be honest, he was actually pretty excited; he had worked with Superman since he was about nine, and even when he had gotten to do some missions with the others during Earth catastrophes and bigger menaces, he hadn’t ever actually felt like he was part of something bigger. Yes, he was part of the Bat crew, he had been the first actually, and he was the founder of the Teen Titans, but even then the Justice League had always been their dream, and now they were finally letting him sit at the grown-ups’ table, and he could just not fuck it up.
It felt strange to have been there from the beginning but not being able to say anything about it, because he still remembered when the League was just Batman, Superman and Wonder Woman, occasionally teaming up to deal with some shit. Now there were a lot of heroes around, and in order to keep his identity secure he had to keep it cool and act as the new guy he was supposed to be. Even when the general public wasn’t much of a Nightwing fan and his real followers were limited to Gotham and Blüdhaven, among the hero community he was quite well known—but what could he say, he was charming, and most of the heroes around, if not his friends, were on good terms with him. That really chilled out his first couple of months actively attending the JL meetings, to be honest.
It really shouldn’t be that hard, apart from the fact that he had to keep it cool with the familiarity with Clark and Diana. There was another huge problem and his name was Bruce Wayne.
Dick tried his best, but the man practically raised him, he couldn’t help being a little out of character from time to time around him, but anyway he didn’t think it was that big of a deal, and even when he had won a few weird stares from the other members of the team when he stole some food from the Bat or subconsciously rested against him, he thought he was doing a good job.
Even though he had met most of the heroes around when he was Robin, he didn’t want them to figure out how young he actually was, because he was scared they wouldn’t take him so seriously, so he just let them believe he was in his late twenties even when he actually was just about to turn 22.
Anyway, he had been working with the League for over a year and still struggled with having to name everyone after their hero names. After spending years fighting crime with only his family and close friends, it was weird to have to call out the girl he’d spent the last thirty minutes making impressions of birds and bird jokes “Hawk Girl” to ask her to go to the dining room with him; it just felt... kind of aggressive?
But Bruce was unflexible with secret identities, and he had always been and probably always would be. He still remembered how embarrassing it used to be when he forbade him to tell the Teen Titans his real name even when everyone else was already on a civilian-name-basis.
Actually, now that he had come to work with B outside of the family, he kind of understood more why he was so terrified of people knowing who he really was, because if all they ever knew was THE Batman—king of shadows, the unbreakable leader and strategy master, all grumpy and emo—it would be a cracker to figure out he was actually Bruce Wayne, the massive himbo that tripped over someone’s dress at last year’s gala and misspelled the word “orange” on an interview. He would lose all respect for real.
But the thing was, he was ok with the fact nobody knew anything about him; it kind of gave him that sort of freedom he hadn’t felt in ages. He admitted it was a bit mean, and maybe Bruce’s ways had gotten to him stronger than he’d like to admit, but everyone was so nice to him and he had come to be the class clown and the juvenile spirit all around, so he really never had to tell them anything personal at all. Some of the other heroes would comment on their normal lives from time to time, nothing too important or relevant but easy things: their dog being sick, them having work to do a
fter a patrol. But Dick shared nothing; he didn’t have to. Every time anyone would ask the smallest question about his personal life he would just make another joke and forget about it.
That way he was just... the perfect, cheerful Nightwing, and no one had to know ever about all the other things about himself that would definitely spoil his image. About his parents dying, about the things Slade Wilson and Tarantula did to him, about how he lost his brother, how he had to deal with the man that was like his father attempting over and over again because he couldn’t bear the loss of his little boy. All the tragic things in his past could be ignored... in a way, at least when he was in the League.
And there, he could try to convince himself too that he was a good hero, just as Bruce pretended Batman was always strong and motionless. So yeah, in a way he understood why the Bat liked to keep things like that…
It was easier, for everyone.
---
Barry liked to think of himself as funny; he was funny, he had a charming personality, everyone could tell. Unfortunately, the team had been gifted with a younger, definitely more handsome version of himself and it had taken him a while to make peace with that.
He was not jealous of Nightwing or anything... maybe a little bit.
And even when after all it had been nice to have someone else around who wasn’t so scared of messing up with the Bat himself, sometimes he still thought he hadn’t fully figured out that boy.
First of all, he was still not fully convinced he was a human; he had to be at least a meta, because no human being should be able to do all the things that damn kid could do (he liked to call all the younger heroes “kid,” it made him feel better after all those years of him being the youngest one around). And some of the jumps and acrobatics Nightwing made were more likely to be the devil’s intervention than any alien ability he had ever seen.
Second, he handled things around the Watchtower like a second language. He had all the protocols and passwords memorized even before he arrived, he knew exactly how things must be handled in delicate situations, and he never once failed on a report even when the Bat kept adding stupid rules about them.
Barry knew he had been a vigilante for some time now, but most of them—when being in the presence of all the JL resources and technology—got confused at least once with one of the devices... but not him; he always just... knew exactly what to do.
As if that wasn’t weird enough, Batman didn't seem to hate him as much as he hated the rest of the world, and to be honest, that was the most terrifying thing of them all. He had been around for a while; he was way too familiar with Batman’s ways of speaking, that might sometimes feel like he wanted to murder you, but that was just him on a regular basis. He knew how to tell the difference between his “this is annoying” dead stare and his “I’m mildly amused right now” dead stare; he even once caught a glimpse of an “I think that joke was funny but I’m not gonna react to it because I’m Lord Darkness” dead stare and he felt like a champ for that one.
With Diana and Superman he gets it—they started the League, as far as he knew they’d been working together for years more than everyone else; they trusted each other and that’s just a fact. It’s not weird that Diana gets to place a hand on the Bat’s shoulder so she can see the computer screen better, or Superman cracking a small joke and bumping his shoulder, but THE FREAKING INTERN?! (Okay, not an intern but a recognized member of the League, but you get the point.) That was almost paranormal.
He and Lantern had had full debates about it, honestly hour-long conversations trying to figure out how Nightwing could steal half of the Bat’s salami sandwich right in front of him and come out alive.
In a way it might make sense, if you consider both heroes had worked in Gotham and probably interacted with each other before Nightwing came to the League, and also with the fact that they were the only two humans around (that is, if you believed their lies, which Barry had his doubts).
But still, there was something quite off about it all, but he just couldn’t put his finger on what it was.
“I wonder if the Bat ever had a bite of a marshmallow...” he mumbled to himself as he ate his second bowl of marshmallow cereal in front of the Watchtower computer.
“What kind of question is that?” Lantern argued as he finished filling up some reports and placed them next to him on the table.
“I don’t know... it’s just, I can’t really imagine him doing normal things, you know?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” laughed Diana from the computer. “Just because he’s a stoic hero it doesn’t mean he doesn’t have a life of his own outside the mask, a regular human life.”
“Well, we wouldn’t know that, would we, Di?” said Lantern.
“Yeah! Because if you know something youd never tell us...”
The warrior nodded her head slightly while smiling.
“You wouldn’t be able to handle it...”
He and Green Lantern shared an incredulous stare just as the screen started to make some noises.
“Speaking about the devil,” Barry said as he straightened up in his chair.
Batman’s emergency call had activated and the little yellow light was now blinking right next to his picture.
“What is it?” Superman entered the room instantly, as if the alarm had summoned him or something.
“It’s just a DW emergency level 7, nothing to be worried about,” Martian said from the corner of the room.
“Right, the yellow light means ‘I’m kinda having some trouble but not enough to actually ask for backup, just letting you know,’ so we shouldn’t worry until it’s orange light,” Lantern said stretching his arms; he must have spent quite some time on those files.
“Happy to know you have memorized the DW emergency codes, Green,” Superman huffed, his eyes still fixated on where the communication line with the Bat was opening.
“Batman,” Superman spoke firmly, “what’s your status?”
“Some problems with one of Gotham’s usuals, nothing too drastic, but I have been momentarily immobilized and the alarm went on by itself.”
“Do you think you’re gonna need backup?”
“Don’t worry about it, Supes!” Nightwing’s voice appeared out of nowhere. “We have this motherfucker right where we want him.”
What would Nightwing be doing on this line? Did the Bat call him for backup before everyone else? He was still a novice, but if he was the one closest, it wasn’t that weird... maybe.
"Nightwing, be careful with those gas bombs," Batman said, distracted by his conversation with Superman and returning to the actual mission he was on.
"I know, I know, I'm not a fucking kid. I know how Scarecrow's fear bombs work, so just let me do my job, old man."
Damn! That was bold even for Nightwing; the whole League was now around the screen, fully committed to the drama on the other side.
They could feel the tension between the two heroes even from there. Superman was the one who decided to intervene.
"I'm sure whatever differences you have to solve can wait until this threat is controlled, so why don't you just—"
Superman’s voice was interrupted by Nightwing’s annoyed groans.
"I could have done this by myself! I don't know what’s even your problem; it’s been years and you're still getting your nose in my business."
"Nightwing! Focus on the mission and stop being a brat. Scarecrow almost made it to the city!" Batman groaned on the comm.
Well… that was a weird conversation. A couple of stares were shared around the room, but no one said anything. On the screen, they could hear both men’s breathing getting faster as they were probably fighting the Scarecrow villain, and their argument stopped for almost a minute—until Batman’s pained groan was heard around the room.
"Nice move," said Nightwing, clearly sarcastic. "Next time try not to use your face to intercept the strike."
Batman groaned again.
"You better—"
There was a loud noise and something that sounded between a strangled groan and a scream from Nightwing’s mic, and everyone in the conference room tensed.
"Nightwing!" Batman screamed.
And then Nightwing screamed. He screamed!.
Barry felt a cold crawl up his spine as the terror-inflicted screams almost broke his ears, it was mortifying, as if he was being tortured. While the whole League tried to make sense of what had just happened, Superman reached the Zeta Tubes in a second.
It all happened way too fast—Batman asking for support, saying Nightwing had been hit, the constant screaming of the other hero almost unbearable, filling the place. In what felt like an eternity but was probably just a minute or two, Martian and Diana had the medical equipment ready just as Superman and Batman returned, dragging a frenzied Nightwing into the Tower.
The shaking body of Nightwing hit the ground regardless of the other two heroes’ efforts to hold him, as he was moving uncontrollably, sobbing and screaming.
A trail of blood stained the floor as Nightwing crawled in pain to the opposite corner of the room, not letting anyone touch him.
Superman held a hand up to stop anyone else from approaching, and when everyone finally stopped moving, he could have a clearer view of what was going on.
Nightwing looked terrified. He was curled up in the corner of the room, looking like he was in the middle of a panic attack as he held a pretty bad injury over his stomach with his arm. He kept looking around as if trying to make sense of what was happening, but all Barry could see was a really scared young man.
At that point, he himself started to panic too, because if he knew enough about Gotham villains, Scarecrow had a pretty bad fear serum he used as a weapon. But the thing was—if his memory didn’t fail him—the only solution was to try to calm down the person until the effect passed. And that injury needed immediate attention.
The problem was: how were they supposed to calm down someone they knew nothing about?
And that’s what really hit him: they knew nothing. Nothing at all about this man. Yes, he knew the jokes he liked to crack the most and what his favorite snack from the kitchen was, but that was useless now, because they needed to calm him down enough to put him to sleep and fix that wound before it was too late.
He looked around the room and knew instantly that everyone had pretty much the same thought.
The whole thing was so messed up.
But then the weirdest thing happened: Batman took a step forward.
He almost expected Superman to drag him away, because how would it be less appropriate for a moment like that than Mr. Bitter? But the thing is, Batman knelt on the floor to be at the same height as Nightwing, and he slowly got closer to him.
Nightwing kept shaking like mad, but his eyes fixated on the dark shadow coming toward him.
"Nightwing," Batman said—and his voice had never sounded so soft—"You’re gonna be okay, alright? I need you to know that you're safe right now."
Nightwing’s uncontrollable sobs decreased a little, but he still stared at Batman as if trying to figure out who he was and whether he should be more or less scared.
"We need to take care of that wound, do you understand?" Batman’s whole body language had changed by now; it was a completely different being speaking, there was no trace of the Knight of the Night apart from the suit.
Nightwing shook his head frenetically and melted even more into the wall.
"No… NO, stay away from me!"
Barry was about to suggest using his superspeed to knock him out when something even more shocking happened.
Batman removed his mask.
He wasn’t facing any of them, so all they could see was a mess of black hair covered in sweat and dirt. But facing Nightwing, something in the younger man finally snapped.
"Dad…?" It was a breathless word, almost like a prayer, and the next thing they knew, Nightwing was throwing himself at Batman, sobbing even harder than before.
"Dad! Dad, please—please make it stop, please—"
"It’s okay, it’s okay, you’re gonna be okay, chum. Just breathe."
It wasn’t only his voice softening; he was holding Nightwing almost as tightly as the other was holding him, and this time he spoke in such a tender, sweet voice that got the whole League was surely holding their breath.
What on the actual fuck was going on?
Next to him Green Lantern press closer to him and he could fell the other man was as confuse and frankly scared as he was.
Nightwing pulled back just enough to see Batman’s face, and as he kept crying, he spoke again.
"I don’t wanna die…I don’t wanna die just like he did… Dad, please—"
"You’re not," Batman said, firmly, but not aggressively like usual. "You’re here with me. I’m here, chum. Everything’s going to be okay."
From one of the infinite pockets of his belt, Batman grabbed a syringe.
"You’re okay…" he said as he injected Nightwing with the tranquilizer.
As Nightwing’s consciousness drifted, he murmured one last thing:
"I’m sorry…"
Batman held him tighter to his chest, and when Nightwing’s eyes finally shut, the room fell impossibly silent.
Superman and Diana took a few steps forward.
"Let’s take him to the medical ground," Diana said.
It took Batman more than it should have to let go, but he allowed the other two heroes to grab Nightwing’s unconscious body and lift him to the other room.
Batman stood up slowly, and before turning around, he placed his mask on his head one more time, over those messy black hairs of his—just like Nightwing’s.
And when he turned and started walking behind the others, he was back to being the same old Batman he had always been.
Cold. Calculating.
And emotionless.
---
Clark watched in silence as the rest of the League mumbled to each other in a tense attempt to stay calm and try to understand what had just happened. He let go a heavy sigh as he watched through the crystal doors of the medical wing how Batman knelt down over his son’s unconscious body on the bed and started to treat his wounds with precise moves and a stoic manner.
He knew him well enough to know that under that mask—not only the literal one, but that serious and grumpy one he always wore at work—he had been scared, at least for a second. And how could he not be? Dick’s screams… he himself had felt them in his bones. And it’s not like he doubted for a second they were going to be able to save him, but it was terrifying to hear someone you love make those sounds.
He had met Dick years ago, when he was just a kid, and at the time he and Bruce had been something more than friends, he had pretty much ended up co-parenting the child until his mid-teens. Even if his relationship with Batman was now way more complicated and they had decided to stay friends for the sake of the team, he still cared about Dick. And now that he was older—a man, part of the Justice League and a recognized hero—sometimes he forgot he was also the same little kid he had once been.
"Wait, so… what just happened?" Barry spoke behind him.
When Clark turned to his team, he was staring at a bunch of confused, slightly worried faces that were either looking at him for answers or staring through the same window where THE Batman was gently stroking Nightwing’s hair as he finished checking on his vitals and started giving him the antidote.
Clark took a deep breath.
"Well, there was always a reason why Batman was so careful about secret identities."
"Do you mean it’s true?" asked Hal in a weird tone. "Wing is Spooky’s son?!"
The commotion expanded through the room as each one of them made peace with the idea. He admitted it—if he were learning this for the first time, he would be extremely shocked too, although it was weird to imagine how they must have been seeing it, he knew Bruce. He knew who the Bat was beneath that armor. He also knew Dick, and trying to imagine how this news could be taken when they didn’t have the proper context could end up in chaos. They didn’t have time for that.
He could only exhale and try to find a way to calm everyone down for long enough so Bruce could take good care of Dick.
"Look, guys, I understand this is… shocking information, but I think what they need the least right now is us getting into their business."
Everyone looked at each other with guilty expressions and nodded softly. Clark was about to leave when, from the other side of the glass, Batman decided to put the privacy mode on, and the once-clear crystal went foggy, only letting them see blurry shadows through it.
Batman’s shadow took his helmet off once more, and his silhouette took a seat next to Wing’s hospital bed—for a reason that made some of his teammates tense next to him.
"How can his shadow be hot? Like, I’m being for real, guys—how is that even possible?" Flash said as he moved his hands frenetically in front of him.
Clark rolled his eyes.
"Drop it, Flash," he said, exhausted.
"No, but I mean it!" he argued.
Clark decided it was already too much to deal with to even think about how things were going to be from now on, let alone the next couple of weeks. So he decided that for today, there wasn’t much else to be done, and he might as well take a nap.
He left the Watchtower with an uncertainty he wasn’t used to, and planned to go home, take a quick nap, maybe shower, and come back before the rest of the League to have a chat with the Bat and his newly outed son.