Chapter Text
Neither of the boys try very hard to hide the cell feed from Tim’s phone. Alfred has ushered them as far as the medlab, and Bruce suspects he’s only arranging drinks in the corner under his own guise of not ears dropping.
Tim lowers his phone as far as his lap and Damian slinks from his side, a holding truce as they watch Bruce’s approach. “So, what’s the plan?” Tim asks, frowning slightly.
Bruce regards them both, Alfred, mind flicking to Barbara and the four other open avenues he’s arrange his thoughts to form. The plan is still working. Bruce says, “Barbara’s doing some digging. His last phone call mentioned rising crime rates between the vampires in Bludhaven.”
Damian’s expression drops into a scowl. “You mean his conversation with the mayor,” he clarifies and Tim’s head chants sideways.
Bruce grunts slightly. Damian’s eyes narrow. “Grayson wouldn’t just walk himself into a vampire bite, Father, it was clearly a trap—”
“We can’t make assumptions,” Tim interrupts him, no real dispute in his voice. He’s frowning harder, continues, “We should check out Bludhaven—” and Damian’s glare dies between one quick glance and another, turning back to Bruce as he straightens in place.
Tim’s saying, “There’s no way of knowing if the phone call was fabricated, by either party. And we can’t trust anything Dick says now.”
Bruce’s frown doesn’t cease. He turns his gaze to the cabinets ahead, thinking. Tim adds, “If Babs has a lead, we should chase it.”
“No,” Bruce finally says. “Dick wasn’t in Gotham on a whim.” He sweeps his eyes back to the pair. “We need a better picture of the situation before we try Bludhaven.” Bruce pauses.
Tim grasps the pause before he can continue his train of thought, “So? We can do both.” Bruce’s frown harshens as he considers them.
Another pause. He says as Alfred approaches with a tray, “Damian’s right—” Damian’s expression goes sour, perhaps predicting where this is going. “Dick didn’t just walk into a vampire bite.” His eyes narrow on them. “He was caught off guard, whether by a trap or something else.”
Alfred settles the tray on the counter, and Bruce watches both their expressions harden, Tim’s gaze shifts away. “Neither of you are going anywhere.” Damian scowls, clearly about to set his own argument. Bruce tries, “I know you both want to figure out what happened…” he sighs. “I’m not letting you walk in uninformed after Dick was so easily—compromised.”
Damian scoffs under his breath. “It wouldn’t have been easily.”
Bruce watches Alfred present the pair with a drink, Tim’s mouth opens as he takes it only to be interrupted by Alfred this time. “Well, I’m certainly glad you feel that way, Master Bruce.” He turns on him next, and Bruce notes how he isn’t being offered a drink. “Because I don’t think it’s a wise idea for you to go anywhere before someone checks your injuries.”
Bruce frowns. The medlab is looking more strategic by the second.
Tim grows an air more accusing than suspicious, shifting in place as he eyes him. Words curling, “You said you were fine.”
Bruce huffs through a breath. “I am.” He watches Alfred raise an eyebrow with exasperation, but the ache of his nose and chest does come back. “The fight was hardly our most productive,” he continues. “Dick was stalling as much as I was.” Whether consciously or not, is the real question.
No one looks particularly happy with this, and Bruce sighs. With three eyes on him, it’ll be hard to keep the peace with an exit, as much as he wants to. He moves to sit down on the nearest gurney and Alfred starts shifting through the medlab with practiced ease.
The air relaxes back at his allowance, and Tim’s head tilts more thoughtfully as he considers him. “You said earlier you thought he was hypnotized.” Bruce hums. “I didn’t think vampires could hypnotize each other.”
“Hm.” His eyes drift, Damian’s assessing the conversation as intently as before and Tim’s frowning once again, gaze drifting. “Manipulated, then.” Though Bruce isn’t about to rule the possibility out. He has no doubt any attempts at assassination by Dick would’ve been met with much greater success, newly enhanced and otherwise. Which means something was holding him back.
It didn’t seem as simple as him battling his newfound bloodthirst, either. And vampiric or not, Dick isn’t the type to play with his food.
Either it was strategic or, Bruce hopes… Dick’s not as far gone as he was trying to seem.
He banishes the thought, resolve hardening. Turns his attention to Alfred as he continues assessing Bruce. There are too many reasons Dick might’ve let himself be captured outside of sentiment, none of them good.
Tim reads the shift in demeanor expertly. He moves to check his phone , eyes lifting as he says, “He’s pacing. Should I try?” His expression’s hard, out of place with his current lack of uniform, but not by far.
Bruce curbs his immediate denial, considering them. Damian looks ready to override the offer with his own but holds back. If Dick, locked in a cell, decides to be cruel, there’s nothing Bruce can do to shield them.
The thought quietly drifts, Dick wouldn’t want them near him like this. He’s not sure which would be more unforgivable, allowing them to be hurt, or allowing Dick to hurt them. But the only person Bruce would trust more to handle the current situation is in the cell. He inclines his head.
Tim nods back, glancing sideways at Damian, who’s yet to say anything, though Bruce can see he wants to. Tim sighs, mutters, “Should’ve kept my gear on.”
Damian takes the invitation, smirking. “Your lack of foresight continues to astound, Drake.”
Tim grins back, amusement sharp in a way it rarely is with anyone else. “I’m so glad one of us was ready for Dick to try and murder Bruce.”
He stands, drains his cup in one go and walks out before Bruce can offer any further advice. Damian gaze finds him immediately, all traces of humor gone. “Father?”
Bruce turns to Alfred, who says from the clean collection of medical supplies he’s established in wait, “It will only be ten minutes at most if you co-operate, sir.” His co-operation is less of an option than a threat for restraints. He turns to Damian.
“I’ll need to contact Andrew Bennet.” Damian shows minimal recognition for the name, head chanting. Zatanna, possibly, though Bruce won’t chance bringing in anyone else without a scope of their situation. “Did Barbara contact the others?”
Damian nods, standing from his place, though he leaves his drink untouched on the nearest surface. “A warning about Richard’s channels being compromised. Only Stephanie and Cassandra responded.” Bruce nods, unsurprised, it’s not unusual for them to be too busy to reply. Jason’s not even in Gotham, and if Dick were looking for a collaborator, there are much easier targets. Everyone else, for example.
“Make sure they’re aware of the likelihood of an ambush and extend the warning to cover everyone’s unconfirmed reliability. Check with Barbara, she’ll know everyone’s status.” And if she’s been turned, their entire network is already compromised, waiting to turn outright malicious. Not to mention their chances exceedingly dim. Dick is one thing, Dick and Barbara is a whole other strategic monster Bruce is hoping he won’t have to deal with.
“A meeting in the morning should give us enough time to prepare. Make sure everyone’s on guard, whatever they hear from now should be appraised as a trap.”
Damian nods, already moving and Bruce turns to track him. He says when Damian pauses, “Don’t mention the reason, Robin.”
Damian rolls his eyes. “Obviously.” Suddenly more interested in the conversation, he lags, arms crossing. “How are we going to check no one else is a vampire?”
Bruce exchanges a brief look with Alfred. “I’ll handle it.”
Damian looks fleetingly disappointed. He mutters, “I suppose I won’t be allowed to try and stake them.” He sends Bruce another eye roll at the immediate sharp glance that garners. Comments with vindictive cheeriness, “Hopefully Drake’s not compromised, I can only imagine their plot is unfolding perfectly,” and drifts out of the room as if he’d love nothing more than to be greeted with the knowledge of Dick and Tim’s perfect infiltration.
Bruce sighs, turning back to Alfred. “It would make sense for Dick to target one of us beforehand.”
The quirk of Alfred’s lips is grim. “If nothing else, sir, no one’s impatient enough to reveal their advantage without the assurance of keeping it.”
Bruce resists another sigh. “How reassuring.” He sends Alfred a hard glance. “I’ll be quite upset if you reveal yourself a turncoat, Alfred.”
Alfred’s lips quirk up. “Much the same, sir. If you could leave off any vampire bites until I’ve assessed your ribs, I’ll be most grateful.”
There’s not much Bruce can say in response. His headache should be evidence enough, though acknowledging it will likely garner more disapproval than a set of fangs.
It is, without a doubt, going to be a long night.
With their immediate circle’s trustworthiness taking sudden priority, Bruce’s call to Andrew Bennet gets waylaid. Dick’s own alliance, unfortunately, takes an even more permanent postponement. Bruce rejoins Damian at the Batcomputer, once again in his own suit. Alfred’s work on his ribs and disapproval over Bruce’s minor concussion completely disregarded.
Damian glances up at his approach, and Bruce is unsurprised to see him assessing Tim and Dick’s ongoing conversation. Dick is apparently feeling much more talkative, but the blazing red of his eyes through the feed doesn’t credit the conversation in their favour.
“Anything?” Bruce asks, watching Damian turn back to the feed as if bored. The screen has Damian’s contact with the others clearly on display, and if they’ve been faked, Bruce knows he has much more immediate problems to worry about.
“Oracle’s supposedly accounted for everyone. I have verbal confirmation from Thomas as well as Cain and Brown.” Bruce hums. All of which can be faked. Damian continues, “Drake’s shown no faulty alliance besides his usual deplorable interrogation technique.”
Bruce’s lips twitch slightly. If Dick really decided to bring Tim into his plan, Damian will take it at great personal offense, never mind the repercussions of their betrayal. “Nothing then?”
Damian sighs. He sends the screen another look of distaste before standing. “Unfortunately.” He eyes Bruce. “Should we determine our loyalty before or after I fill you in, Father?”
Bruce tilts his head, turning once more and Damian follows at his heel. He guesses as he does, “Holy water?”
“Among other things.”
“Can I test Drake?”
“Absolutely not.”
Damian sighs, though he can’t be surprised. There’s a lapse in conversation as Bruce leads them through the Cave. Damian breaks it before they reach their destination, “You’re not sure if Richard’s capture was strategic.”
Bruce glances sideways and Damian looks up, waiting. “I have my doubts.”
“Because he cried?”
Bruce tilts his chin slightly. They're coming up on the weapon storage. “Because none of us appear to be dead.”
“Hm.” Damian considers this. “So far. Perhaps he plans to ambush us.”
“Possibly.” Even without intention, the capture could easily turn strategic. “Did he appear erratic?”
Bruce sweeps his gaze, watches Damian chant his head, cape flaring as he walks. “Yes. Your manipulation theory?” Bruce says nothing. “If I was planning to take us down, pretending I was emotionally vulnerable while I wait for the others to convene wouldn’t be out of the realm of possibility, Father.”
Bruce stops before the third locker. “I’m well aware.” He presses his hand to the keypad, inserts his code as prompted. The locking mechanisms shift. “Do you think that’s what Dick would do?”
The silence stretches. Bruce unlocks the first case and Damian’s eyes trace everything with avid attention.
“If there’s any of Richard left,” Damian finally speaks up, but his tone is blazing with contrary conviction. Bruce hands him a silver vial without comment and Damian sends it a look of distaste.
He downs its contents, screwing his nose as he hands the empty vial back but otherwise shows no sign of faltering. Bruce places the vial down, exchanging it with several stakes and Damian outfits them to his utility belt, eyeing the other weapons appraisingly.
“Vampire’s are already dead,” Damian mentions, twirling the last stake. Bruce pretends not to notice the sharpness in his gaze, the way Damian tracks his response from the corner of his eye, considering each weapon in turn.
He grabs a holster of smaller stakes from the wall. A crossbow, three canisters of holy water, more bombs. He regrets neglecting to increase his stock. He takes two out of four hybrid blades off the wall and Damian adds those to his arsenal with increasing glee. Bruce turns to look at him and Damian sets his jaw, chin lifting.
“We’ll get more information from them if they aren’t ash.”
The slits of Damian’s mask narrow. “Of course, Father.”
Bruce stares at him for several long moments, stares until dread unspools in his stomach and he forces himself to turn away. “Don’t let any of them near you, Robin.”
Damian’s answering smirk is vicious. A sing-song quality to his voice as he repeats, “Of course, Father.”
Bruce takes several stakes for himself, the remaining vials of holy water. Everything else, he grabs for Tim and Alfred.
His comm sparks, as if on cue. “If you guys aren’t going to stake each other,” Tim’s jibe holds a distracted quality, and Bruce wonders what he’s doing besides watching their surrounding cameras. “Can you come back? We have a problem.”
Damian scoffs. “Since you obviously can’t handle it.”
“Hurry up,” Tim returns flatly. Damian exchanges a single glance with Bruce and takes off running. Bruce sighs, securing the weapons before following closely behind.
Damian beats him to the platform, but Tim’s still saying as Bruce climbs the steps, “You didn’t have to run.” He sounds more amused than flattered, but the flattery is there.
Damian gnarls his teeth at him, which doesn’t help his cause. Bruce steps up to Tim’s other side and Tim shifts his gaze from the screen for the first time, sending Damian an insouciant side-eye. He’s in uniform again, but his cowl is pulled back.
Bruce hands Tim a vial before things can deteriorate. Tim takes it, and Bruce watches his eyes flit between them with sudden attention. He drops them, rolling the vial between his fingers with consideration. Bruce watches him pop the lid and sniff its contents. Bruce turns to the screen when he pours some into his gloved hand and sniffs that as well.
He worries it between his fingers. Damian drawls out, “Are you going to run a toxicology report on it?” Bruce imagines he’s dying of anticipation.
Tim cocks his chin, as if considering it, but the quirk of his lips gives him away. “No, it’s okay,” he returns, as if Damian’s question were even slightly genuine. What he does instead is visibly pour part of its content into his mouth, swallow, and hand the rest to Bruce.
Bruce finishes the holy water and hands the vial back to Tim without comment. Tim pockets it for, Bruce imagines, a later toxicology report. “Sorry,” Tim tells Damian.
Damian sighs. “I suppose you can’t help it.” As if it is, contrarily, entirely Tim’s fault he’s not a vampire.
“Boys,” Bruce says, and manages not to pinch the bridge of his nose.
“Sorry,” Tim says to Bruce this time, still not sounding overly so. He turns back to the screen.
Bruce and Damian follow his shift in attention. “What’s this?” Bruce is hoping the vagueness of his request will prompt Tim to explain all of it.
“Hmm,” Tim says instead.
It takes Bruce several seconds to adjust to the chaos of Tim’s screen. His eyes narrow on the windows, and Tim shifts them around, absently grouping them into something more coherent, decidedly not for his own benefit. Damian huffs, but Bruce elects to wait for him to finish.
There are more video feeds than anything and Tim closes the ones Bruce knows were tracking them. Enlarging Dick’s live cell feed as Bruce takes note of the rest. There’s several of Dick within the last month and two archived clips from today’s surveillance. One of Tim and Dick’s earlier conversation, the other is from hours ago, trained on the Manor’s gates.
“He was here then?” Bruce comments, referring to it. 12:30. That’s two hours before Alfred came to collect him. One of which Bruce wasn’t even on the premise for.
Tim hums again. “Yeah. He was staking us out. Think he was waiting for you,” he finishes and closes that window too.
Bruce frowns. “When did he let us see him?”
“12:25,” Tim confirms. “And only once.” He sounds amused Dick bothered with even that.
Bruce doesn’t berate him for it, resigned to it becoming a theme. There’s always some level of novelty when any of them are compromised. He watches the searches Tim’s running show up an alarming number of criminals. He considers the code trail Tim’s keeping visible and lets his eyes flit back.
“You think he’s turned the criminal element,” Bruce surmises as Damian explodes—
“Did you lock Gordon out of the Batcave?” He sounds absolutely delighted.
“What? No!” Tim whips around, comparatively appalled. “I didn’t—I couldn’t lock Barbara out of the Batcave, first of all.” Damian crosses his arms together, smirk broadening.
“That would be like squaring a circle. Besides—”
“Obviously,” Damian interrupts. “Is that why you’ve set up a truly amateurish display of—”
“—The only thing amateurish is your interpretation. Babs helped me set it up.”
Damian sounds a touch alarmed at this. “And you’re trusting it?”
Tim twists around in his seat to look at Damian. Bruce steps forward to frown at the screens Tim has open, using his distraction to man the controls himself. “Wha—why wouldn’t I?” Damian’s concern dawns on Tim a moment later. “Oh. It’s not like, a recent development; we’ve had it set up for a while. It evolves.”
This does the opposite of reassure Damian. “What situation have you two been concocting where this would be—”
“This one...? Mainly.”
Damian lets out a frustrated breath. Despite Tim’s partial understanding, Bruce doesn’t think he’s realised Damian’s concern for this most likely stems from the implication of Tim and Barbara sitting around developing electronic strong arms for anyone. “What if both of you were compromised?”
“Well,” Tim says then falls silent. “In our defence, when we started it seemed really unlikely we’d ever have to use it.”
It’s hard to picture a Tim and Barbara that fresh faced now. Bruce adds the pair bonding over the hobby to his vague list of future concerns. Tim adds thoughtfully, “I’m pretty sure Dick knew about it for a while there.”
Vague list of future concerns. Bruce leans over to rewind the video of Tim interrogating Dick as the pair devolve into bickering. Dick must have snapped the remaining cuffs early on, because he gestures freely at Tim beyond the glass. In this moment, his eyes are red-rimmed, his usual sky blue. They fix onto Tim's still form with intensity racketing towards wild.
“—here? What’s the point of this? There’s nothing I can give you you’ll believe and you’re only going to get yourselves killed trying to verify.” Dick's nearly pressed against the glass, the energy in him barely restrained, like he would be shaking Tim if he could. Tim, in comparison, is unmoved. The cowl hides any response from Bruce. The way Dick lets out a low hiss of annoyance and slams both hands into the glass hints at one. “Let me out, Tim.”
Either Tim does something else Bruce can't make out through the screen or simply doesn't answer quick enough, because Dick drags himself away in frustration. He paces, but only makes it several strides before that annoys him too. He stalks towards the cot, collapsing into it. His legs curl toward his chest and he hides his face from view. He goes still.
“Why?” Tim asks, the way he might inquiry about a roster change he doesn't see the benefit in but might. It's not a goad so much as an expression of interest. If it were any one but Tim, Bruce would be worried by it. Dick doesn't respond.
The seconds stretch out until Bruce can feel the tension. He thinks Tim will have to reengage, but Dick surprises him by breaking the standstill first. His voice is level now, exhausted. “You’re all going to get yourselves killed,” he repeats.
Bruce’s eyes narrow. Tim cuts through the questions Bruce wants to ask, “How so?” Tim tilts his chin. “Who are you worried will kill us besides you?” Another silence stretches, heavy as a bow draw.
Bruce pauses the video.
“I’m just being… reasonably cautious,” Tim settles on.
Bruce turns to consider him. “Do you think Barbara’s been turned?”
“Well, no. But—” Tim wrinkles his nose. “Dick’s being weird.”
Damian sends him a look of disbelief. “He tried to murder Father.”
“Yeah,” Tim agrees, sending Damian a look right back. “Weird.”
“Thank you,” Bruce says, “For that enlightening character assessment, Tim.”
Tim smirks, straightening in his seat. Unfortunately, he seems to also pick up on Damian’s momentary speechlessness. “Y’welcome. It’s my innate perceptiveness,” he starts lazily. “Expert situational awareness. Years of experience.” His eyes flit to Damian. “Maybe if you—”
“Shut,” Damian bares his teeth through, “Up.”
“No.”
Incredibly, neither of them decides to poke their tongues out at each other. Bruce has learnt to take miracles as they come. “Red Robin,” Bruce says instead of stepping between them. Tim’s gaze flips around. “Elaborate. You think he’s turned criminals.”
Tim’s brow furrows as he frowns. He looks back to the screen, specifically the freeze frame of his earlier interrogation. He moves the mouse around absently, inconsequentially. “Yeah. He was being really loud about our network’s inevitable betrayal, but I don’t think he’d miss the easy pickings, right? If he’s really expanding his circle…”
Tim twists again to look at Bruce, frowning more deeply. “But that’s not our most pressing problem.” Damian shifts at Tim’s shoulder, silence dubious. Bruce braces himself, trusting Tim’s priorities intrinsically. Tim turns in his seat, circles the cursor with intent. He brushes over several video stills of various surveillance footage containing Dick.
“These are all after his meeting at the waffle house, right up to today.” Tim stops on one and Bruce’s gaze falls to it naturally. Studies the still frame, the time stamp. Dick’s in casual clothes, standing outside a coffee shop. Keeping up appearances, his mind supplies. “What’s wrong with this picture?”
There’s a small beat. Damian drawls out, “Apart from the atrocity of Bludhaven’s urban planning?”
It takes Bruce longer than he likes for it to click. “It’s daylight,” he says in realization. Tim’s lips press together in a grim smile. “He’s standing directly under the sunrays.”
Dick’s been misusing his trackers for days. He stopped calling Barbara a week ago. There is no answer here that doesn’t contain a manner of prior intent and Bruce rolls their options over like a loaded barrel, hot. Either Dick was collaborating with his attackers while actively hiding his tracks from them prior to his turning or, somehow, he isn’t burning, a feat Bruce hadn’t known even Bennet to manage.
Bruce turns to look at Damian as he speaks, glaring at the screen. “There’s an easy way to narrow this down.”
“In three hours,” Tim finishes. “Sunrise.” They turn their gaze to Bruce in sync.
Bruce presses his teeth together, looking back at the video stills in silence. He doesn’t like playing with the thought of potentially knowingly torturing his currently restrained first born; blood-stained, tear-streaked, breathless. “Maybe we should ask Dick,” Tim says.
“You think he’ll volunteer?” Damian asks incredulously, but even as he does, he seems to realise the likelihood. His expression shifts and all at once, hardens into something impenetrable.
Bruce turns to watch the live cell feed, tracing Dick’s still figure. “He’s been largely coherent,” Tim continues, then hesitates. “It could… if he’s really hypnotised like you think, B…”
“It would prove nothing,” Damian contests indifferently. His own suggestion losing favour under the realisation Dick could, and likely would, consent to being set on fire if he’s in his right mind, if he thought it might help them.
Tim opens his mouth, hesitates again as he looks to Bruce but doesn’t falter. “It should be his choice.” After a long moment, he offers, “I really don’t think he’ll burn.”
“And even if he refuses, it will tell us something.” Damian gains derision with each word. Tim’s eyes shift to consider him. He shrugs helplessly and Damian cuts his own gaze away, scowling. He crosses his arms tight. “You realise nothing he does can be trusted.”
Tim doesn’t respond to this. Bruce clinches his molars together a final time. “I’ll ask him,” he states, no room for any contest. He discards the conversation fully in saying, “Is there anything else?”
Tim fiddles with the controls. “Criminals would make sense. They aren’t as closely monitored. It would slip through the cracks if they disappeared but… Dick has more heroes on speed dial than anyone.” Tim stares at the keyboard a second longer before turning to Bruce, the slant of his eyes a granite wall.
Bruce’s lips press down. He looks to the monitor for the umpteenth time. Heroes are more closely monitored and just as likely to slip through the cracks. It feels heavy. That Dick might’ve decided to cultivate those cracks instead of bridging them, that Bruce can’t think of anyone who wouldn’t let Dick get away with it out of faith alone.
Bruce watches Dick on the live feed, he's blinking at the ceiling, expression otherwise blank. He appears smaller than he usually would. “Who couldn’t he turn?”
Tim is quiet for a long second. He obviously doesn’t appreciate being a sounding board for this discussion. “Flash,” he finally starts, reluctant in a way he rarely is, as if contemplating this has already willed it into existence. “Any Speedsters, really. Not without a bloodbath. He couldn’t get Supers without Kryptonite but. Obviously.” Tim fiddles with his cursor but doesn’t spell it out.
Dick could ask Clark for Kryptonite and Clark would lean over and hand it to him. If Dick didn’t have it before his turning, he could get access as easily as any of them. Tim continues, “It’s a tossup on the Amazons.” Tim looks to Bruce, but Bruce doesn’t interrupt. He has no more information on their vulnerability to vampire bites than Tim does.
Tim presses his lips together, turns his gaze back to the screen. He turns the conversation on, “And then it’s just a case of priority. Assuming the sun is still a weakness, he’d need to eliminate anyone with light powers.”
“Magical users,” Bruce adds. “They’ve proven to be formidable contenders.”
“So, everyone,” Damian surmises blankly. “Except the Flashes. Fantastic.”
“There are worse Hail Mary’s to have,” Tim says, matter-of-factly. And Bruce supposes that’s true, but if he had any choice in a team, it wouldn’t be one that could be set loose on everyone around them when the aforementioned bloodbath starts winning out over subtlety. An all-or-nothing ally.
“We’ll have to make contact with them as soon as possible,” Tim announces as a similar thought occurs to Bruce. He swings around to make eye contact. His expression has softened back, gone somewhere quick and assertive instead of hypothetically grim. “Bruce, they have to know. They’re too dangerous to let go unmitigated. They’re too hard to contain. Dick would recognize that.”
Dick would recognize that, in a way few others might. He’s made a similar trademark of humour and charm so many of the Speedsters tend towards. Bruce has seen firsthand the way those traits allow for underestimation.
Dick’s shown no sign that this will be a brute force takeover. If he doesn’t want a bloodbath now, he wouldn’t keep the possibility as a trump card; he’d eliminate the risk. And the easiest way to eliminate a Flash isn’t to catch them, it’s to invite them over to dinner and stab them in the back.
Bruce says none of this. “We can’t guarantee the extremity a vampire bite would provoke in them. It’s possible their heightened metabolism wouldn’t contribute to the extreme bloodlust we’re accounting for.”
Tim watches him, blinking from his curled position in front of the Batcomputer. “It’s possible,” he agrees, and in this moment, neither of them are discussing friends. Invite them over to dinner. He looks towards Dick’s cell feed on screen.
“Do we have locations on them?” When Bruce looks back, Tim answers with a frown and quickness towards the controls. Bruce turns towards Damian next, who straightens under his attention, eyes shifting from where his active observation had transferred to Tim. “I think it’s time to call a family meeting.”
Damian’s eyes thin with anticipatory delight. “Can I test Brown?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Father—”
“No, Robin.”
From the corner of his eye, he sees the time shift on screen, the minutes click closer to dawn. “Do you want me to contact Barry?”
He unholsters the weapons he'd gathered, hands Tim the stakes and he takes them without comment. “No.” He only adds when Tim frowns, “I’ll call him. What’s his status?”
Tim gestures to the screen and Bruce sees for himself. A live from the Watchtower. Flash is on duty, the numerous screens of the monitor hall on display. They illuminate half of his face in inky blue as he turns towards the figure sitting next to him. On screen, Hal Jordan smiles.