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Chapter Text

If pressed, Bart would admit he and Kon were doing something ridiculously stupid, sneaking into Gotham while the big, bad Bat was still there.

But Kon had heard Superman and Green Lantern whispering to eachother that Batman rarely left his cave these days and how worried they were for him, losing a son and all.

And, really, how could the two metas resist the chance to do the one thing the Teen Titans or the fucking League could do - because NO ONE could sneak into Gotham without a Robin by their side without facing the Bat’s wrath - and sure, they were just going to snap pictures and mock any other hero they came across for the following century or two.

Which was the reason why they were hiding under a roach-infested cardboard box, Bart vibrating in a stupid effort to dissipate the usual radiation that clung to the air around Kon like a beacon and that would surely lead Batman - and thus their pissed off guardians - to their exact location.

That is, until the radio one of the homeless men huddling together for warmth next to them burst into static and a soft, whispery voice started drifting into the night air.

“You two are just making it worst, you know?” the voice said, making both boys turn. “You are literally sitting in an enormous UV cloud, and if Batman doesn’t catch that, the pimps trying to pass off their counterfeit money will and you really don’t want that.”

“Who are you?” Kon asked, eyes narrowed.

“A friend,” the voice replied. “Who wants you to leave the city without causing a major issue with the League.”

“Are you working for Batman?” Bart asked.

“Nah,” the voice laughed. “Not for lack of trying, though. But no, I’m… Self- employed?”

“Why should we trust you?” Kon hissed, aching to fly off.

“Why shouldn’t you?” another laugh. “Look, you can trust me or not, but Batman is two blocks away and speeding.”

Kon narrowed his eyes and Bart could bet he was using his super hearing to search for the batmobile.

The clone cursed and their choice was made.

“How do we hide?” Bart whimpered, his vibration acceleration way beyond his control.

“I might regret this later but you can come over,” the voice sighed. “Get out of there, take the subway west for four stops and the five blocks south, I wouldn’t recommend you use your powers though, it’s better if you blend in the crowd.”

“Four subways stops west and five blocks south, then what?” Kon growled, wondering how long it would take them to walk there.

“Then up,” their mysterious saver sighed. “You’ll be seeing me right away.”

Any reservation they might had had is quickly dissolved the moment the pimps and crooks started running at the sight of the Batman.

They rushed to the subway without looking back, their feet making wet sounds as they did so.

Kon so hated running the human way.

“Fooouuur…” Bart laughed as he counted the blocks. “Aaaand five! We are here!”

“Now up?” Kon asked, frowning. “How?”

“Here,” the same voice called from a building at the same time as the main door was buzzed open. “Take the elevator to the top floor. I’m at the penthouse.”

“Yay!” Bart cheered as he grabbed Kon’s hand and dragged him, staring in awe at the expensive-looking moldings and decorations that lined every single wall of the reception. Beaming at the doorman who just raised an eyebrow at them before sending them on the elevator, no questions asked. “This is like a movie!”

“Too much so,” Kon sighed. “I bet Lex Luthor’s there.”

“No way,” Bart argued. “He sounded too nice to be Lex Luthor.”

“Way!” Kon replied. “Luthor can make himself look nice too, ya know?”

“I resent the comparison,” the voice called, alerting both boys that they had finally reached their destination. “He’s far too old for us to be alike.”

The metas turned, gapping as they found not a mobster like Kon feared nor a wise old wizard like Bart hoped but a skinny, wide eyes boy – a boy their age, a boy like them – staring back with a small, shy smile.

“I’m glad you guys made it,” the boy said. “I feared Batman would be able to track you anyways.”

“You are a kid!” Kon shouted, floating over to inspect their unnespected savior.

“So are you,” the boy replied, raising an eyebrow. “Mathematically I’m quite older than you, so.”

He shrugged his shoulders.

“Come in, you can wait here for the morning and then leave without Batman noticing.”

“Thank you!” Bart beamed, entering the luxurious apartment without a second thought.

“Yeah, thanks,” Kon grumbled, feeling embarrassed. “Err..”

The boy smiled.

“Tim,” he said. “My name’s Tim.”

Kon nodded.

“I’m Kon,” he said, thrusting his hand forwards.

“I know,” Tim laughed, shaking the proffered appendage. “Cocoa?”

They spent the night sharing stories and jokes and interests. Bart laughing happily as he ate as many sweets as Tim could provide while Kon wondered whether Batman had sawdust in his head instead of brains because he had to be pretty stupid to reject Tim to be his new Robin when he was so intelligent and loyal – he wouldn’t even tell them the Bat’s real identity, no matter how much of a douche he had been to him – and, really, it was really his loss if he didn’t want this awesome dude who had hacked his way into most of the League’s databases without breaking a sweat.

A small smirk pulled at his lips.

“Say, Big Brain,” he said, sitting as physically possible to Tim as he could and enjoying the other boy’s nervous twitch. “If Batman doesn’t want you, why don’t you come with us?”

“Yeah!” Bart cheered. “You can be a superhero with us, Timmy, please say yes?”

Tim lowered his eyes, his mouth pursed in thoughtfulness.

Bart and Kon stared at him impatiently.

“I would have to prepare,” he said finally. “Can you give me a year?”

Kon laughed, wrapping his arm around Tim’s neck. “Sure thing, Brains, all the time you need.”

“We are gonna be the new Teen Titans!” Bart beamed, snuggling against Tim’s other side.

“We can’t be Titans,” Tim argued, his cheeks flushing. “We are not technically teens yet.”

“Then we’ll be better than them,” Kon nodded. “Our own team.”

Tim stared at them, smiling.

“I would like that.”

Chapter Text

Clark splutters when Selina Kyle, of all people, sits in front of him on the round table, her low cut dress revealing more than he would have liked to see on a lady as her green eyes sparkle in amusement.

“M-miss Kyle?” he asks, trying to hide his discomfort.

“Superman?” she purrs.

“What are you doing here?” Bruce growls, saving Clark from the embarrassment.

“I came for the PTA meeting?” she says innocently, curling one of her curls into her manicured finger. 

Clark can practically hear the way Bruce rolls his eyes under his cowl. And who could blame him? Selina Kyle was a notorious… lady thief for all Clark could tell and Bruce’s ex if Barry could be believed, to have her here playing house when they were trying to place some semblance of order into his clone’s group of rag tags was…

“I’m guessing you will say Secret is your sister?” Bruce challenges, sitting by Clark’s side and eyeing the way the other ‘parents’ watch them back and forth eagerly.

Selina laughs.

“Of course not, Batman,” she says. “I’m here on behalf of my godson.”

Bruce’s eyes widen, his lips tightening.

“You have a godson,” he says simply, his voice dropping an octave.

“We have an agreement,” she shrugs, her ruby lips curling fondly. “I play godmother and teacher so you adults don’t freak out over his size…”

“And he cleans your records and gets you an early release,” Batman finishes for her, a sudden feeling of dread pooling in his stomach. “He’s from Gotham, then.”

“Did you ever doubt it?” she mocks with amusement.

Clark stares at them, wondering how bad it can be, the stray-superhero-shadow-mystery his clone has been keeping, while Bruce can only fear for his son’s mental stability, as he realizes he sent his new Robin, his sociopathic Damian, to join the new Young Justice in an outing with the infamous Mastermind.

——

“And so, we though Big Brain over here was cool and should totally be a superhero on his own,” Kon finishes with a bright smile and a tousling of Mastermind’s hair.

“I helped!” Bart chirps, leaning into the other boy’s shoulder.

Mastermind flushes lightly under his black mask, his hands idly preparing a smore that he places symmetrically on a plate before Robin.

“Why Mastermind, though?” Cassie asks, her eyes wide. “Sounds like a super villain’s name.”

Mastermind sends Superboy an ‘I told you so’ look, but the young clone just laughs harder.

“It doesn’t, it’s super cool!” he defends. “Plus Brain is like a super genius! There’s very little he doesn’t know or can’t find out in seconds!”

Robin scowls like an exact replica of his father, his eight-year-old mind unable to comprehend such ability.

“Prove it,” he challenges, his lips puffing in a pout. “Tell me something only I can know.”

The group turns to stare at the small hero as he visibly frowns, pale blue eyes staring into Damian’s dark blue before he smiles gently.

“Your middle name is Thomas, but your family on your mother’s side did not approve,” he says slowly, tilting his head to the side.

The team turns at one to look at Robin who gapes for a second, his cheeks flushing in shock and awe.

“See?” Kon cheers. “Our Brains is awesome!”

“Indeed,” Damian agrees, already plotting the removal of Grayson from the Manor and the instauration of Mastermind as his brother. He just hopes he is an orphan or that his parents will accept a small fortune for him. He knows his father will appreciate the other boy’s brilliance.

Back in the cave, Bruce shivers in foreboding.

Chapter Text

Selina was not maternal - not in the conventional way - and never wanted to be, so when she came back to her apartment one chilly autumn evening only to find a boy sitting against her door, her first instinct had been to knock the boy away with her foot and go on her way. However, her curiosity had been pickled the moment the kid’s pale blue eyes pierced her own and a small, nervous smile lit his face.

“Good evening, Miss Kyle,” he said, his voice soft as a kitten’s. “I hope I’m not intruding.”

She raised an eyebrow, scanning the boy’s neatly pressed clothes, expensive, and the small shoes hugging his feet perfectly. The kid was not from the streets then.

Odd.

“What brings you to my humble abode, kitten?” she purred, arms crossing over her chest as she leaned against the wall. There was something intriguing about this rich boy, about this little kitten daring to approach her, knowing full well who she was and what she did, and yet unafraid of her claws and her fangs.

He stood, dusting his jeans shyly before he straightened to his full height – not an impressive one, of course, but he was young and she was biased, spending most of her time around Batman and his overgrown birds – eyes growing serious.

“I am here to make you an offer you can’t refuse,” he said, lips twitching.

She smiled.

“Oh?”

“Well,” he smiled, rubbing the back of his neck with a hand. “Sort of.”

“I’m all ears, kitten,” she laughed, opening the door for him and ushering the boy into her apartment. Her curiosity had been teased and apparently the boy really wanted her attention. Who was she to reject such a tantalizing puzzle?

“Milk?” she asked, humoring herself in her role of hostess.

The boy shook his head.

“I would love to, but I’m afraid I don’t have much time,” he said apologetically, eyes downcast. “Maybe some other time?”

“Of course,” she sighed, sitting on her favorite chair and crossing her legs. “Well then.”

He blinked, his cheeks flushing.

“Right,” he mumbled, swallowing, and the constant switch between cold seriousness and childish embarrassment was really amusing to watch. This boy was adorably entertaining, Selina would give him that. “I need a mentor, Miss Kyle, it’s just a once a month job and you could roam the streets all you wanted?”

Selina tilted her head to the side, an eyebrow rising in disbelief.

“I’m sorry?” she asked.

The boy sighed.

“Well, Batman and his friends told my group that no member could operate without adult supervision,” he explained, hands resting on his knees. “And asking my parents for their approval is, of course, out of the question.”

“I take it your parents don’t know you are applying for an early degree in vigilantism?” she smirked. “Naughty boy.”

“Which is the reason Batman forced us?” he wondered out loud, a pout curling his lips. Selina resisted the urge to coo. The boy was pressing all her buttons in ways she hadn’t thought possible for someone still not over puberty.

“What’s in it for me if I were to, ah, hypothetically play your… adult supervision?” she asked, shaking her head.

The boy perked considerably, pulling a small computer from his bag and immediately showing her the screen.

Her whole record stared back at her.

“Just the press of a button and I can delete it all?” he offered.

Selina’s eyes widened.

“How?”

“Well…” he hesitated. “Let’s just say that’s my superpower?”

Catwoman leaned back on her seat, eyes narrowing for a second, lips pursing in thought.

“Batman would know you tampered with the police’s mainframe,” she said, blinking when the boy smiled eagerly.

“Yet, he would have no proof?” he offered.

The woman stared at the child for a minute, committing his features to memory, the way his hands would nervously hold onto his computer and his eyes would stray to her window every few seconds. He was nervous but never threatening, he was really a boy trying to make a difference.

“Why not go to Batman directly?” she asked finally, confused.

The boy flushed, his whole body slumping.

“I…. tried to reason with him, a year ago…” he muttered. “It didn’t go too well.”

Selina’s eyes widened.

“You went to Batman when his kid died?” she asked in disbelief.

“He needed a Robin!” the child protested. “How was I supposed to know he had one in the oven?”

Selina laughed, her hand unconsciously reaching to pat the boy’s hair, her nails carding through his black hair.

“Well, then, kitten,” she said, her ruby lips stretched into her usual smirk. “I believe you just got yourself a godmother.”

The boy’s eyes widened, shining with hope.

“And you, my fairy godmother, just got yourself a second chance,” he said happily, clicking some commands onto his computer and then carefully packing his computer. “Thank you, Miss Kyle, you won’t regret this.”

“I’m sure, kitten,” she replied, standing. “It’s late for you to be out, I’ll prepare a guest bed for you.”

The boy laughed, a breathy, soft sound.

The sound of someone that is not used to happiness.

“Thanks, but I really have to get going before my parents realize I’m not in my room,” he said, shaking his head and walking towards her window. “I’ll see you soon!”

Without another word and before Selina could try to stop him, the boy had opened her window and launched himself out from it. He muted cry of shock was cut short, however, when she saw Superman’s brat – The Superboy, no less, - holding onto her new godson and flying away, waving at her and leering his usual teenage leer.

She laughed out loud.

Her life had suddenly turned even more interesting.

Chapter Text

Tim has never been a violent person, nor has he experienced confrontation as a child - it would be hard to be confrontational when you have no one to confront - which is why he is holding Bart’s hand as tightly as he can while he hides his face onto the other child’s shoulder, his lips curled in discomfort.

“Guys?” Bart tries, his hand awkwardly patting Tim’s hair.

“Brains is just too awesome to be a kitten,” Kon scowls, crossing his arms over his chest, his cheeks puffing.

Selina raises an eyebrow, clearly offended.

“Kitten,” she hisses. “Is my godson and also smart enough to request my advice.”

“He’s not yours!” the young clone snaps. “He’s Bart’s and mine!  WE found him!”

“What am I, a pet?” Tim asks Bart, scowling when the other teen nods. “Maybe this was a bad idea?”

“See the bright side?” Bart beams. “Kon likes you so much he’s not even ogling Miss Kyle’s boobies?”

Tim looks thoughtful for a moment.

Then he smiles shyly.

“You are right,” he agrees, snuggling onto Bart’s side.

“As if I’d ogle that granny,” Kon growls, and Selina immediately bares her teeth, her hands curling into claws.

“Excuse me?” she snaps.

“You are… Tim’s god momma, so you are old,” the clone explains naturally. “Too old to know what’s cool for that matter.”

Selina seems to be about to claw the teen’s eyes out - not even caring that the Kryptonian will most likely break her fingers before submitting to her - when Tim decides enough is enough and stands between the two gladiators currently wrecking his living room.

His mother will be most annoyed if she sees what Selina’s heels and Kon’s stomping have done to her ancient Persian carpeting.

“Umm please, Aunt Selina, Kon, stop fighting?” he asks, feeling lame and embarrassed when they turn to look at him blankly.

“Kitten,” Selina sighs. “I am trying to protect you. The suit I brought is Batman created Kevlar and leather.”

“But it has cat ears,” Kon protests. “Tim would look ridiculous!”

Bart facepalms, shaking his head when Superboy and Catwoman glare at eachother.

Tim sighs.

“Maybe we can compromise?” he says, pulling on the black suit but leaving the kitty-eared hood off, and then wrapping the dark blue cloak Kon brought around himself to complete the ensemble.

Shyly, he turns to regard his friends, cheeks flushed pink.

Selina smirks, ruby lips covering her teeth.

Kon eyeing him from head to toe.

“You look like a cyberpunk puppeteer,” Bart chirps, smiling. “I like it!”

“Mastermind,” Kon laughs. “Awesome!”

Selina’s hands run through his hair, styling it gently.

She nods her approval and Tim feels peace settle around him once more.

Crisis adverted.

Chapter Text

Bruce stares at Alfred as the old Englishman considers scissors and combs and pulls the makeup kit from the cave and back to Damian’s room.

“Anything I should know, Alfred?” he asks, scowl marring his face.

“Nothing you don’t already know, Master Bruce,” Alfred replies, expressionless. “If you were paying attention.”

“I always pay attention,” Bruce states, his scowl deepening.

“Of course you do, Master Bruce.”

Bruce waits for half an hour, trying his best to remember what he should already know and failing miserably - it’s not his fault, he tells himself, Joker was lose last night and Ivy the night before and Crane the one before that, he’s busy - when he realizes he has no idea what Alfred could possibly mean and if he can sneak into his son’s room before their butler notices he might get an idea and try to save face in front of his family.

Slowly, he peers in.

His son is sitting on his bed, small legs dangling as Alfred runs a comb over his dark hair, taming it to fall over his eyes while the child examines the perfectly pointed ears that Alfred has attached on top of his normal ears and the way his eyebrows were… Shaved?

He gapes.

“Do close your mouth, father,” Damian says, eyeing his father from the hand mirror he is using. “It is not logical.”

“Most illogical indeed,” Alfred agrees, eyes bright with amusement. “Please remain still, Master Damian.”

“Do hurry up, Pennyworth,” the child urges, cheeks flushing with excitement. “Timothy and the others will be here any minute.”

“Patience, Master Damian,”

“But they are at the door now,” Damian almost whined and, sure enough, the doorbell rang once, twice, three times in rapid succession.

Surely Impulse was the one at the bell.

Bruce let his massive hand cover his face, a growl rumbling inside his chest.

“Master Bruce,” Alfred says without really turning around. “Can you please get the door while I finish Master Damian’s costume?”

Bruce growls once more before walking - not dragging his feet, of course, that would be childish of him - towards the main door.

Sure enough, Impulse, Superboy and Mastermind are there.

Or, actually, what appears to be Han Solo and Chewbacca and… Something with a suit and enormous glasses.

“Yes?” he asks, hoping his scowl mirrors the one he usually send The Joker or Poison Ivy.

Superboy grins that same irritating little smile that Clark uses on him whenever he thinks he’s being childish.

He hates metas.

“Hello, Mr. Batman!” Impulse beams, his arm wrapped cozily around Mastermind’s shoulders. “Is Dami ready?”

He wants to tell them that no, ‘Dami’ is not ready and will never be, not for them, but his own traitorous son, who still tries to claw at Dick’s face whenever the other man is near, but melts like a spoiled kitten under Mastermind’s hands - he’s blaming Talia on that one - peeks from behind his father’s legs and gives them all a small wave.

Impulse squeals while Superboy whistles appreciatively.

“Awesome Spock, Rob!” they cheer.

Mastermind nods his approval.

“You look very cute, Damian,” he says, smiling.

Damian flushes.

“Thank you, you look perfect as Dr. Jones yourself,” the child replies, hands resting behind his back. “It was a logical choice for you.”

Mastermind’s smile widens.

Bruce rolls his eyes.

He definitely doesn’t like the kid.

Alfred appears silently behind them, his eyes full of pride.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to drive you, sirs?” he asks.

“Thank you Mr. Pennyworth, but we wouldn’t dream of making you go to San Francisco and back just for us,” Mastermind says with a shake of his head, his glasses slipping down his nose.

“The clone will take us to Comi-con and back, Pennyworth, do not trouble yourself,” Damian says.

“Yeah, we’ll ride the Kryptonian express!” Bart laughs.

Alfred nods, ushering the boys inside to hand them snacks he has prepared, of course, and all four children beam and follow him happily, of course.

“What is he supposed to be anyways?” Bruce mumbles.

Damian turns to him, eyes wide.

“Father!” he whispers urgently. “He’s obviously Dr. Indiana Jones!”

Bruce blinks, tilting his head.

“Indiana Jones wears a hat and a whip….” he states, blinking.

Damian blinks back, his lips curling into a pout that Bruce was definitely blaming on Talia - despite what Alfred and thousands of childhood pictures of him would say otherwise - his small hand reaching for his suit’s sleeve.

“He uses the hat when he’s out in adventures, and the suit when he’s teaching,” Damian explains patiently, wide blue eyes staring at him as if it is the most obvious thing in the world and his father is being particularly obtuse on purpose.

Bruce sighs.

“Of course,” he says, running a hand through his son’s hair. “I’m sorry, Damian.”

Damian’s eyes seem to fill with a little pity, and he decides to wrap his arms around his father’s waist offering all the comfort his eight year old body could provide.

“Don’t worry, father, I will take it upon myself to educate you appropriately,” he says, his right hand petting his father’s arm.

Bruce is the Dark Knight.

Bruce is the night.

He is definitely not melting at his child’s adorable concern.

Specially not with Mastermind’s inquisitive eyes on him.

He really hates that kid.

Chapter Text

“You shouldn’t be doing this,” Bruce says as he lands before the boy patiently sitting on one of Gotham’s most luxurious buildings, legs dangling over the rooftop.

The boy turns to him, eyes wide behind his mask.

“I’m sorry?” he asks, tilting his head to the side with mock innocence.

“This is not a game, Tim,” Batman tries again, approaching the boy as one approaches a feral beast.

It makes the corners of Tim’s mouth twitch in amusement, he notices.

“I am not playing a game, Bruce,” he replies, pouting. “I’m doing this because no one else will. I told you, when we met, you needed a Robin and even if you weren’t about to take one or call Dick, the city needed someone to keep you grounded.”

Bruce frowns.

“You never approached me again,” he accuses.

“I assumed my presence alone would be a reminder of what you lost,” Tim says simply, shrugging small shoulders. “I honestly didn’t know you had a Robin on the way.”

Bruce’s whole body goes tense.

“Are you using my son to get back at me?”  he growls, hands tightening into fists. Child or not, promise to his parents or not, no one is going to hurt his little boy.

Tim’s eyes grow frigid.

“Who do you think I am, Dami’s mom?” he hisses, hair standing up like a cat’s. “Unfortunately for you, Mr. Wayne, the world doesn’t revolve around the bit, bad Bat. Yes, I wanted to help you at first, but after a while I realized I’d rather fill the voids your emotionally stumped self couldn’t.”

Bruce stares.

Tim shrugs.

“I like Dami, he’s a great kid, despite his parentage, and I want him to be happy,” the child scowls. “Which is why we brought him into our team.”

Bruce can’t utter a word, his blood is boiling inside his veins and he will admit - if only to himself - that if the boy was five or six years older, he would feel particularly attracted.

He shakes his head.

“Explain,” he sighs.

“Kon, Bart, Dami, we all know loneliness,” the boy says. “Having no adult to rely on, fearing others might reject you because of how unique you are. We lean on eachother, and therefore, we grow together.”

“You are not an orphan,” Bruce immediately challenges, his scowl returning. “I’m sure your parents will have something to say about your team.”

Tim’s shoulders slumped.

“If you are able to find them and bring them back, you would really be the world’s greatest detective, Bruce,” he sighs. “I’ll even throw in a clue, last I heard they were on Peru unearthing some mummies or… I don’t know, a llama. But that was six months ago so, they might have moved elsewhere.”

“You don’t know?” Bruce asks, hand on his hip.

“They sent me a birthday card with a llama, so I’m guessing Peru or Bolivia, but as I said, that was six months ago,” the child replied.

“Your birthday is next month,” Batman stated, lips tight. Damian had been following Alfred all week stating that they needed to start planning for Timothy’s birthday and a month couldn’t possibly be enough.

Tim laughs, his usual shy laugh.

“I know that,” he says, eyes straying back to the city bellow them. “Look, you are not my mentor, that ship sailed and all. Don’t worry about me and if I die well, there’s no need to mourn me, huh? I’m not Jason, and I’ll never be.”

“You could…” Bruce begins, but is quickly interrupted by the insistent beeping coming from Tim’s high-tech phone.

“And that’s my cue,” Tim beams. “Don’t cry for me Mr. Wayne, the truth is…”

He laughed.

Bruce’s own lips twitch as the boy lets himself fall into the air, arms stretched as if to fly. He watches him go and waits for the moment he will pull his grapple.

Which never comes as Superboy catches Mastermind and flies away with him.

Cheekily waving at Batman.

He wants to tell them that no metas are allowed in Gotham, wants to remind them of the rules.

But he guesses that if he did so, he would look no better than an old man waving his walking cane and telling those rowdy kids to get off his lawn.

He scowls.

“Damned Mastermind,” he mutters and vows to scowl all during the brat’s birthday party next month

Chapter Text

Dick gapes as Damian proudly hands him document after document where he is officially being kicked out of the Wayne family - him being an adult not whistanding - and stating that he has exactly twelve hours to remove all his belongings from family property or his presence will be considered hostile and reported to the proper authorities.

… All signed by Bruce himself.

Damian grins at him, all sharp teeth and mischief.

“I expect you gone by the time I return from patrol, Grayson,” he says, waving towards Superboy and Impulse as they arrive to their meeting point.

And no, Dick is not hurt that Bruce lets Dami hang out with his little friends whenever he wants and he had to beg to meet the Titans every weekend - he likes Superboy, he’s a cool kid, and Bart is an adorable little cookie - so he is not bitter.

Dami is eight, after all.

He needs friends.

And yes, he knows he wasn’t a good older brother to Jason and all, but he thought he was doing a good job with Dami, he was attentive and kind and always seemed interested in whatever he wanted to huff at him.

He thought the child would eventually warm up to him.

And apparently he was mistaken.

It hurts.

“Mr. Grayson?” a soft voice calls, startling him. He turns and stares as a boy looks back at him with wide blue eyes and a small, shy smile. “What are you doing here? Are you going to patrol with us?”

The boy is familiar, he knows, but so much has happened today that he can’t make the connection.

“You are…” he trails off.

The boy’s smile dies a little.

“I went to your apartment almost a year ago? Batman needs a Robin?” he tries, lower lip jutting out into a small pout.

Dick’s eyes widen.

“Timmy!” he says, wrapping his arms around the boy’s shoulders. “You’ve grown so much! And that suit! You look great!”

Tim’s face grows impossibly hot, his eyes so bright and hopeful that they hurt to look at.

His smile returns.

“I did what you told me and went to talk to Mr. Wayne,” he explains, tilting his head in remembrance. “He wasn’t all that happy.”

“That’s B for you,” Dick laughs, ruffling his hair.

Tim nods.

“So I met Bart and Kon and decided I wanted to help with or without Batman’s approval and here I am,” he says, showing off his dark cape and black suit.

Dick’s laughter is loud then.

“Wait, you are the dread Mastermind?” he asks, guffawing. “Bruce rants about you every other week.”

Tim laughs his customary soft laugh, cheeks flushing in pleasure.

“So I’ve heard, I think he didn’t have us in mind when he sent Damian to the Young Justice HQ?” he shrugs. “Not our fault, I promise.”

“He’s just sulking,” Dick assures, petting Tim’s hair. “He’s just sore his baby boy would rather play around with you guys than learn how to take the mantle from him.”

“Grayson!” Damian scowls, approaching them, eyes narrowed. However, whatever sarcastic and most likely poisonous rant that is at the tip of his tongue dies immediately when Tim’s wide eyes focus on his smaller frame and his smile shines brighter than ever.

“Damian, you are so lucky, having Dick as your older brother!” he beams, hand instantly reaching to hold Damian’s own.

Damian gapes.

“You know eachother?” he asks, tilting his head in apparent kittenish confusion.

Tim nods.

“We met when I was a kid and then when I wanted to help out your dad,” he explains, absolutely shining with excitement. “Living at the Manor must be so fun when he is around.”

Dick wants to grin when Damian’s face starts losing color, and the way a bead of sweat rolls down his forehead the more Tim seems to be happy around him.

So, yeah, he’s a lousy big brother, but hey! He’s learning!

“It’s a shame, though,” he bemoans dramatically, allowing his whole body to rest gently on top of Tim’s. “It seems like Bruce wants me out of the house.”

Tim’s eyes widen.

“What?”

Damian growls, ripping the papers Dick is so obviously going to hand over to Mastermind.

“Don’t be silly, Grayson!” he snaps, ripping them to shreds before Tim has a chance to even glance at them. “I will talk to father and sort this out, you are part of our family and nothing will change that.”

Dick mock-swoons.

“Oh, baby Dami, I knew you loved me!”

Damian growls louder.

Tim smiles.

“You are awesome, Damian, I’m so proud of you.”

Damian flushes, his fingers tightening around Tim’s.

“I’m just doing what’s right,” he mumbles, his own smile shy. “Maybe you can come over and play with me and… my brother?”

Tim beams at him.

“I would love that.”

Dick’s grin widens with the sudden clarity of those who can finally see the whole picture before them. The way Damian seems to turn from ferocious – and quite rabid – tiger to mellow and cuddly kitten whenever Tim smiles at him and the rants Bruce has developed as habit since his baby Robin joined his own team, always about that damned brat.

The way Bruce’s signature never, ever, in the history of ever, misspelled Wayne like that.

No wonder Damian wanted him out of the house.

He guesses it’s adorable in its own twisted way and yes, he will have to stay at the Manor more often.

How else is he going to help Bruce save face when he realizes his little demon brat is not looking for another brother, but a wife?

Or maybe, when Damian himself realizes it?

Yeah, he’s so staying a Wayne.

Chapter Text

Damian never grew up in a traditional home with the traditional familiar unit and values. He saw blood as he learnt how to swim and hear screams of agony as he was lulled to sleep on his mother’s arms.

He’d like to believe he knew true despair then, even if he had never experienced it himself.

That is until that very day when he realized his inaction was the true source of his panic, as he sat in an uncomfortable plastic chair in absolute silence, holding a hand as pale as the moon in his own and watched, helplessly how Timothy trembled.

And no, he couldn’t blame his best friend and comrade for their position. After all, Tim had done the right thing, the one thing he would have done as he frantically burst into the cave one night, half-costumed and frantic, and explained he had just received a ransom note from a man in Haiti who was, apparently, in possession of Mr. and Mrs. Drake and didn’t Batman know anything? Could he please set their differences aside – Damian had never known there were differences between his Father and Mastermind – and save the parents that while not there most of the time, he loved beyond reason?

His father had taken one look at Tim’s frantic blue eyes, his trembling mouth and tear-stained cheeks before nodding as typing away on the computer, fingers banging the keys with urgency as he worked.

Mastermind had fallen to his knees in relief, his breathing ragged, his hair in disarray.

Damian decided to step up himself.

“I’ll call the team,” he whispered as he dried his friend’s tears with his own cape. “We’ll be ready as soon as you say the word.”

Tim nodded at him, his smile tremulous.

“Thank you.”

And Damian had moved with the fearful urgency he had never experienced before, he had called Kon and Bart and Jaime and Cassie and everyone he could think of, he studied the geography of the island and the best way to mobilize their forces without causing a major natural disaster – maybe Bart can run fast enough to go over from the continent, and Kon needs to land somewhere away enough not to upset any villages but close enough so he won’t need to run afterwards – and Cassie asked what it was about and Bart groaned something about school when Damian grew irate and barked how this were important hostages, important hostages that happened to be Mastermind’s parents

And his team grew silent and ready, determination in their eyes as they all prepared for takeoff.

His Father had finally pulled up a map that looked like one of the areas Damian had already memorized, dots littering the place signaling enemies and patrol and armed forces and he was surely ready to leap into action himself when Damian had grabbed Tim by the wrist – too driven to marvel at the way he was already matching him in size like he usually did – and was pulling him to his feet by force alone, he gave his father a grateful nod and a promise to come back by dinner before he yelled a quick: “NOW CLONE!” as he leaped over one of his father’s earlier prototypes and into Kon’s arms, Tim by his side.

Batman had only snapped into action as they flew away from Gotham with an exclamation of his name.

He would be in trouble the moment he set foot back on the Manor.

And maybe, someone could argue it was the main reason why he continued to sit by Timothy’s side at the hospital, hours after the team had stormed the Obeah Man’s hideout and rushed the Drakes to safety – his father had arrived twenty minutes later, so he had been left to deal with the villain, and yes, that would mean Damian would be grounded for life.

“Brains,” Kon-El whispered, his hand on Tim’s shoulder while the other held a small, plastic cup. “Coffee.”

“No, thank you,” Tim whispered then, pulling Damian from his musings.

In all honesty, his main reason was that he felt the all-consuming need to see this all to completion, that he felt Tim’s hand tremble in his own and could easily see how small he looked, how defeated.

He had never felt despair like this, the frantic need to make it all better when there were no more fighting to be done, no more solutions in his hand, no more violence to deliver.

He was powerless and his best friend, the one person more important to him than life itself was helpless.

It hurt.

“Tim,” Bart urged, his own eyes wide. “You need to eat something.”

“Not hungry,” the other boy replied instantly, his eyes set dead on his own shoes. “Thanks.”

To their left, Catwoman – Selina, Tim liked it when he called her Selina, or Auntie – was talking to a blood soaked doctor in hushed whispers and furtive glances as the group of boys sitting in silence.

Her head nodding every so often as she listened to the news.

A nurse approached then, her nervous posture evident when she completely avoided the group and made a beeline directly towards the adults.

“Mrs. Drake is…” she whispered, trying to be as quiet as possible.

And Damian let out a small yelp of surprise when Tim burst out of his seat, knocking onto the plate of doughnuts Bart was holding in his haste to dash into the room where his mother had been wheeled earlier that day.

Damian jumped from his place as well, ready to follow him, only to be stopped by his father’s massive hand on his shoulder and Selina’s concerned face before him.

Timothy was standing before his mother’s bed, holding her pale hand in his own and staring deep into her eyes with a myriad of emotions Damian was hard pressed to describe.

The woman looked back at his with weakened eyes, full of sleep and drugs and pain killers.

“You are hurt…” she whispered, her voice soft, hollow, a female approximation of her son’s.

“I feel from bed when the doctors called me,” he whispered back, his smile painful, tremulous.

Janet Drake’s lips pursed with effort.

“I’m divorcing your father, Timothy,” she said, her hair falling over her eyes. “I think… I think I need to stay in Gotham, with you.”

“Mother?” Tim asked, his eyes wide.

Janet swallowed, eyes lowering towards their joined hands.

“I’d rather be here in case you…” she took a deep breath. “In case you fall from bed again.”

A tear rolled down Tim’s cheek, followed by another, and then a third one.

Janet motioned for a nurse to help her get comfortable in her bed, her voice a hiss of authority and power that had the young woman complying immediately.

“Come rest with me, son,” she whispered once she was ready, her free hand patting the now fee side of her bed.

“But you are…”

“You slept by my side the last time I was in a hospital,” she interrupted, an eyebrow raised. “I can survive your breathing on me once more.”

“I was a newborn then, mother,” Tim tried, his teeth sinking onto his bottom lip hesitantly.

“And you are thirteen now, I don’t see the point,” the woman argued back, shaking her head. “I am hurt, I am drugged and sleepy, but I won’t rest well until I am sure you are sleeping as well, Timothy, you know how I hate not sleeping well.”

Damian felt his heart clench in his chest as he watched Tim allow himself a small snort/sob of relief before he took off his shoes and carefully climbed into his mother’s bed, making sure not to touch her too much yet never letting go of her hand.

A thousand words passed between mother and son then, making it clear from where the young teen had inherited his prodigious intellect.

Whispered half-sentences left their lips in a mockery of communication no one else present would be able to decipher.

The hand on Damian’s hand relaxed as the two finally fell asleep, facing eachother, hands tightly clasped together.

“If I had gotten there on my own,” Bruce whispered so low Damian had a hard time understanding him at first. “I would have been too late.”

Selina shook her head, knowing no words would be of comfort to the man.

Damian sighed, trying to imagine what it would have been like for Tim to lose the parents he so obviously adored, the woman who could look at him for a second and know his most inner secrets, the one who had clearly taught him.

He wondered if he could feel such desperation if it was his own mother the one being threatened.

“The doctor says Mrs. Drake won’t be walking on her own any time soon, I think I can stay around some time as a nurse if my godson needs me to,” Selina whispered to Damian’s father. “For now I’ll take the rest of the children home, it’s been a long day for all.”

Bruce nodded, something expanding and contracting inside of himself.

Damian thought of slipping his hand around his father’s to comfort him, the way Timothy and his mother had done, the way he knew his father would respect. Then the image of his mother, dead on the ground, was replaced by one of his father, motionless, cold, and he decided to wrap his arms around his father’s muscled waist, burying his face against the man’s expensive shirt.

“I love you, Father,” he said tightly.

Bruce wrapped his own arms around him, lifting him from his feet and holding him in silence until Damian could feel the tremor of his limbs subside, years later he would remember the night and understand his father had been half-relieved because he had prevented another boy from being orphaned, and that was good, but it was the first time he had actually contemplated what would happen if Damian died, if he died and left him behind.

That night they slept together on the couch, among pictures of Grandfather Wayne and Grandmother Wayne and cookies Alfred had ready for them, wrapped in blankets of the softest wool and the smell of cocoa in the morning.

And the fear, the anxious despair that had been brewing inside of Damian was finally appeased with the soft ping of his phone signaling a message from Tim:

‘Thank you.’

Chapter Text

The lights sparkle like the diamonds adorning her neck – nothing too big, nothing too small, she is a perfectionist, after all – and the smell of human sweat and expensive perfume barely reaches her nose as the cool hand of her darling boy rests gently on her shoulder while he pushes her chair around the room.

“Are you sure you want to be here, mom?” Tim asks her, his pale blue eyes shy and self-conscious as they survey the ballroom of the famous Wayne Manor. Looking for any threat, any enemy or escape route that might be important or necessary later into the night.

She sighs and makes a mental note to talk to Selina about paranoia later.

“I am quite sure, son,” she jokes, her voice soft, a whisper only he can hear for its humor. “We are in the safest place in Gotham and you know it.”

Tim hesitates, his lips curling stubbornly.

Janet loves her child so much it hurts.

“Don’t you worry, little man,” a voice calls cheerfully, making Tim tense and Janet’s small smile turn fond and frosty. “I can definitely escort your lovely mother around tonight and I swear on my honor to return her in one piece.”

Tim blinks.

“Huh…”

Janet feels herself contain laughter.

“Oh, Oliver,” she sighs, offering her hand to her childhood schoolmate and feeling appreciation when the man bows at the waist to be at eye level with her.

Such a gentleman, Oliver, such wasted potential.

Tim’s hand curls on her shoulder, tightening, unsure.

Janet tries not to coo at her beautiful, brave, little boy.

“I will be fine while Ollie is with me, Tim,” she says, her hand resting on top of his and squeezing, her eyes sincere and a little bit warmer than usual. “You go along to see your friend, I’m sure Mr. Wayne the youngest must be anxious to see you.”

Her son locks his gaze with Oliver’s, his eyes growing steely and cold as the artic itself, his lips pursed in a way that reminded Janet of her late father at his most controlled-yet-disappointed.

He nods.

“I will be in the next room if you need me, mom,” he says finally, leaning to give his mother a kiss on the cheek and his usual small smile. “And if Mr. Queen gets too… inappropriate…”

“I will make sure to stab him in the eye with my shoe, I promise,” she says, her hand on her son’s cheek.

To their left, Oliver laughs nervously, his fingers tugging at his bowtie.

“You never change, Janet,” he says jokingly as he watched Tim leave. Janet raised an eyebrow at him, at his ridiculously styled goatee and his golden blond hair, the way his eyes seemed to crinkle with humor and small curls of past tragedies that still made work on the lines by the corner of his mouth.

“Neither have you, Ollie,” she says simply, squaring her shoulders when the man took his place behind her chair and started pushing her himself. “Is anyone else I should know in attendance tonight?”

Ollie raises an eyebrow, eyes fond.

“Mostly people from school, some foreigners pretending to care about the festivities and a few reporters pretending to be dates, the usual crowd more or less,” he replies with a small shake of his head.

She nods, her red lips curling with amusement.

“Oh, look, is that Alexander’s ex?” she asks, tilting her head to the side innocently when Ollie splutters and chokes behind her.

“His what?” he asks, trying to stop the shaking of his limbs that horribly hides his laughter.

“The man that looks like Alexander’s boy? Far left corner with the glasses?” Janet says as if it is the most obvious thing in the world, her chest warming with sadistic satisfaction when said man falter in his steps, his cheeks turning a fiery red at the same time as the rest of his face turns chalk white.

“You know about that?” Oliver asks, eyes wide. “Did Ted tell you?”

Janet raised an eyebrow, offended.

“The day I need Teddy to tell me anything about the world I live in,” she deadpanned. “Is the day I will consider an incoming apocalypse.”

“As sweet as always, Jan,” Ted laughed, approaching the pair and leaning in to wrap his arms around Janet’s bony shoulders. “You look great.”

“As always,” Ollie leers jokingly, earning an amused eyebrow from Janet and a mock whack on the back on the head from Ted.

“I feel I should tell you I’ve been ordered by my little godson to protect his mother’s virtue from ‘whoever approaches her too much’, Ollie, and that includes you.”

“I thought he meant ‘Alexander’,” Ollie jokes, shaking his head in a way that Janet knows he uses to make his hair fluffier and his face less threatening, she has watched him do that since they were in kindergarten, after all.

“Alex? Please,” Ted laughs as he catches a flute of champagne from a passing waiter and gently hands it to Janet, only to flush in embarrassment when the woman shakes her head and hands him a bottle of yoo-hoo in turn.  “Alex wouldn’t approach us even if his life depended on it.”

Ollie whistles.

“Wanna bet?” he says as they notice the man in question slowly making his way towards them from the dance floor, champagne in hand, diamond cufflinks sparkling, eyes full of satisfaction and mischief in halves.

Janet raises an eyebrow when he leans in to kiss the back of her hand.

“Janet, darling,” he greets, his smile venomous like a snake’s. “You have no idea how happy I was when I heard you were okay.”

Ollie and Ted look at eachother in mock dismay.

Janet’s lips curl into a smile of her own.

“Of course,” she says, her thumb stroking his fingers. “How are you ever going to surpass me in stocks if I die, my dearest Alexander?”

Ted covers his laughter with his drink – hmmm, Yoo-hoo – while Ollie looks at them in confusion.

“Wouldn’t he win by default if you were to die, Janet?” he asked, his face a perfect picture of fake-air headedness.

Luthor and Janet raise an eyebrow in unison.

“Of course not, Ollie,” Janet says, shaking her head. “Should I die before Alex here managed to win over me, I would be a permanent reminder of how he could never best me.”

“May I remind you my company is worth several billions more than Drake Industries, Janet dearest?” he asks, sipping his drink. “And please, I’ve told you already to stop calling me Alexander, it’s Lex now.”

“May I remind you, Alex, that Drake Industries is not my company but my former husband’s? Therefore you have yet to face me in the stock market? “ she asked back, her eyes glinting. “And if I didn’t call you that ridiculous nickname when we were children, what makes you think I would do so now?”

“Always so rebellious,” he says, fond and annoyed and competitive as usual. Ted and Ollie can feel the tension between the former school rivals rise and they look at eachother to find a way to defuse the situation.

“Ah, Bruce is about to make his speech, right?” Ollie says loudly, flinching when Janet’s and Lex’s eyes turn coldly to him. “Shouldn’t you be by his side, Janet? This party is your welcome back party after all.”

“Is it?” Janet says absently, eyeing how Bruce is somewhere in a corner, silently whispering with that reporter that slipped by security – Alexander’s ex – and eyeing them back. “I guess I shall have to thank my future son in law for this, as it is obviously his idea.”

Lex and Ollie look at Bruce, then at Janet.

Ted groans.

“You are so sure Bruce’s kid is going to marry Tim, Jan,” he complains. “They are children.”

“My son is perfectly lovable and a great catch, Teddy,” she hisses, piercing her friend with a glare. “And Damian Wayne is making quite a compelling courtship. How could I possibly refuse should he ask for my son’s hand in marriage?”

Behind them, the reporter that happens to be Lex’s ex snorts and Bruce chokes, Janet feels satisfaction fill her.

“The boy is barely eight, Janet,” Luthor laughs, waving a hand dismissively.

“And yours is three and I still tolerate his attempts to have my Tim close, I don’t see your point, Alex,” she replies simply, an elegant shrug to her shoulders. “A shame he doesn’t measure to Wayne’s child in my Tim’s eyes, huh?”

Ted facepalms then, as he notices the way Lex’s eyes fill with understanding, how the gears in his prodigious brain start turning and he has to give it to Janet, who has always enjoyed knowing more than the other occupants in the room and letting them know she is as intelligent as them, if not more. He can easily see the questions fade from the other man’s gaze and the connections seem to link up.

His shoulders square in that cocky-ish pose of his, his eyes locking onto Bruce’s who has just heard their conversation from a flushed Clark and there is a challenge there, that one thing Lex cannot resist.

Wayne’s Child is better than yours, Janet had implied.

Bruce’s DNA is more appealing than yours.

The two geniuses stare at eachother, their postures one of pride, of strength.

They nod at eachother, a warning of things to come.

“No wonder she and Lex never married,” Ollie whispers in Ted’s ear. “Those two are too alike.”

Ted can only nod, knowing that Luthor and Wayne will start a feud over whose child will get to marry his little godson – Janet, how could you? – and he will be in the middle trying to protect his virtue while Janet cackles in amusement. Maybe he should tell Miss Kyle? She’s the boy’s godmother?

He should have let Dent take the mantle of godfather when Janet suggested it, even as cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs as Harvey is these days, he would have done a better job and would have stood Janet’s little games a lot better.

Too late for that, he guesses, and takes another sip of his Yoo-hoo.

He’ll let himself be cuddled to sleep tonight and most likely Mike will have a plan of action in the morning.